#with medieval lit background

[amphibimations]

(06) Macbeth comic 01- Geese

[dropthecop]

my on-and-off interest in arthurian legend is probably one of the more embarrassing interests i have because it's like. "ohh i am in agonies because of the fictional character" and everyone Gets that. but then the fictional character is a medieval knight.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Camgirl!Reader X Loser!Konig

This is safe, you think. Getting some losers to jerk off to your body, knowing they would have nothing to find you. Filming from a specifically made background with some dumb anime figures and your pretty pink ring light, never getting any information that people might use to get to you. For fucks sake, you even faked an accent so no one could know where are you from. You're banning any subscriber from an area too close to you - most Europeans are not getting you a lot of money anyway, so as soon as you see an Austrian IP address, you're getting your mods to ban them. Until this one. You stare at the donation in awe. You were popular - but not popular enough to have donation over 1000 Euros for something as silly as calling a name in the video. You were popular, but you were also paranoid and it held your back from growing your account. No video chats before you could gather enough for non-disclosed apartment in a protected area, no face pics until you got enough money to move immediately if something would go wrong. The guy is weird, obviously. He is always so eager to send you money, he already bought all of your photo and video sets, asking for new ones almost every day - and you know rich people, you know people who are saving their last cents to get to their favorite camgirl...and Konig didn't seem like neither. Always having such weird requests too - like you speaking in German and praising him like he is a king from some medieval fantasy. Or talking to him like you're a mean girl from some cheap high school movie, always belittling him. Then apologising with tears, playing into some perverted revenge fantasy. Tying yourself up so he can pretend that he did it, that he could do whatever he wants with you now. Sometimes he wants you to call him daddy or sir - and sometimes he asks you for pictures in that heavy military vest he bought from your Amazon wishlist after you expressed the desire to play into army chick glam. They guys is weird, the guy is obsessed, he will pay for you to insert largest dildo into your soaked pussy and spread ass, and then he would still say that his cock is bigger. Would make you a freaking size queen with the size of the stuff he sends - making you whine and cry for real as you struggle to acomodate, asking your daddy, your commander for help. Begging for him to come - always just a play pretend until someday, he finally showed up on your doorstep. Always a play pretend so he could send you more money, until you suddenly woke up in a dimly lit basement. Maybe you should have banned him a long time ago.

[astronicht]

Hi I hope this isn't presumptuous, but so, that post you made about Tolkien making the lads leave their weapons outside the hall and CS Lewis thinking the hall was gonna get burned down by a lady who also wanted to kill herself... what's the historical precedent for that? Is there a trope in medieval lit where people like... do that? I ask because uh. I am obsessed with Children of Hurin and there's a scene where that like, happens. And I'm obsessed with that scene, and would love to know if there's like, cultural/mythic context that would enrich my knowledge!

OH BOY, sorry I'm getting to this late, it's been uhhh a summer, but one, this is a very good question!! And two, yes there is absolutely precedent, particularly in early medieval literature, and high medieval literature set in the early medieval (circa 500-1100 AD) past. I'll let someone else debate how often people actually historically locked their enemies into a hall and burned them, but especially in Old Norse literature (and if Fellowship felt like it leaned a little more on Old English literature, Two Towers, where Eowyn appears, felt a little more Old Norse) this is common. Off the top of my head, you've got many Icelandic family feuds ending in burning the whole family in their hall, like Njal's Saga (Old Norse), Attila the Hun dramas (yeah he's a big guy in the burning halls circuit, but actually not in the way you might expect) like his cameos in Volsung Saga (Old Norse) and Nibelungelied (Middle High German), and my vague recollection of a few Irish and Welsh versions that no search engine is giving up for me right now.

This, predictably, got long and slightly off topic.

Disclaimer: As usual, I should say I come from an Old English-centric background, and Old English literature is actually notable among all its neighbors for not burning down too many halls. Second disclaimer, all links are not proper citations, they just go to wiki.

Hall-burning in literature is, to my understanding, part of the concerns of a few early medieval cultures in which revenge is not only expected but in many cases legally reinforced and codified, and one in which conflicts could spiral to engulf -- figuratively, or literally and in flames -- entire families. Many medieval Icelandic sagas are focused on this exact type of destruction of whole families or friendship/community units. Most relevant of these to Eowyn, Two Towers, and the vibes of Edoras (since alas I am only partway into RotK and can't speak to Children of Hurin yet!) is Volsung Saga, which is set on the Continent, not Iceland, and actually has to do with Attila the Hun. As mentioned before, an incredible amount of stuff turns out to have to do with Attila. We will come back to him!

So, on the particular post you're talking about, a few people iirc have replied pointing out that the hall in TT is clearly supposed to be based on a hall from Old English literature, namely the hall in Beowulf, which famously did not actually get burnt down. And that's all true! I was not posting with much nuance; I was mostly having a joke at the expense of CS Lewis. However, I was also referencing a very very common trope in Old Norse/early medieval stories, and I personally think JRR was as well (AND I think Beowulf was also very consciously referencing the exact same motif anyway) (no one has to agree with me, a tumblr blog, on any of these points).

The thing about the hall when our heroes approach is that the scariest damn thing in that hall is Eowyn. Certainly not every hall-burning story requires a woman with no other recourse to set the fire (in fact, the "warrior band approaches unknown hall which might have a grudge against them" is a trope that can get you killed in a pretty homosocial environment, as I guess Aragorn at least was aware, being a big reader). Still, the presence of a woman who is swiftly running out of options does fit what I'd consider one of the or perhaps The best known version of the early medieval burning hall trope: Gudrun, who shows up in at least a dozen different texts in both the Scandinavian and the German language traditions, including Volsung Saga, a text which itself often gets paraded around as the basis of lotr (which I'm sure it is, in that JRR appears to have simply and very fairly based lotr on every piece of early medieval vernacular literature I can think of).

In a portion of Gudrun's story (which of course changes a bit in each retelling), after her first marriage she is unhappily married to Atli, who is none other than our main man Attila the Hun. After Attila kills her brothers for reasons (in one version, her father), seeing no other way to take the necessary revenge and no other way out, she kills the two sons she had by him, serves them to Attila for dinner, has Attila killed, and then sets fire to the hall with everyone in it. After this, she attempts to drown herself.

The self-destruction of this act is a really important beat, and has only gotten more-so as a comparison to Eowyn the further I've read into RotK (currently, I'm at the houses of healing after merry and eowyn take on the witch king). It's a lot clearer in the book than the films, for me, that Eowyn going off to battle was not so a straightforward empowering and/or freeing move, despite allowing her some agency, but more the one path she saw as available to her with which to die with honor (which was pretty much exactly what Gudrun was facing as well). Like Gudrun, whose first husband was a great hero but has died, Eowyn's romantic choice is a hero who is presumed dead (sorry Aragorn they did Not believe in your ghost skills). In fact, in some versions Gudrun does put on armor and fight with her brothers before they're killed. She kills Attila with her own hand, with the help of another man who needs to avenge a blood feud against Attila.

So while Eowyn didn't get forced into marriage to Attila Wormtongue (with apologies to both historical Attila and that one historical skald also called Wormtongue who was reportedly hot) and burn the whole place down, she's still trapped, and like Gudrun chooses destruction alongside her household.

Reading her arc feels so much like watching Tolkien write a fix-it for Gudrun. What if she got this one little chance, and this one other little chance, and this one more -- tiny little shifts in the narrative that allow her to get out, and not through fire, and not through death.

Anyway, this got away from me. I hope it added some context to the Children of Hurin arson case! Thanks for the ask

[seafarersdream]

Could I request Ewan Mitchell X reader :)

Maybe something where they work on set together and he hears that reader likes rock music so they go to a concert together?

Birds of a Feather (Ewan Mitchell x Y/N)

Y/N L/N plays Alys Rivers, but off-screen, it’s Ewan who’s getting bewitched. He thought he’d spark some chemistry for the cameras, but he’s in deeper than he planned. Word count: 4,2k

TW // Strong language and profanities, smoking and alcohol use, mild sexual content.

“Fuck, is that Rage I hear?”

Ewan Mitchell’s voice cut through the noise like a knife. Y/N L/N turned her head, still puffing on her cigarette, her eyebrows shooting up. She pulled one earbud out, letting it dangle against her collarbone.

“Depends,” she said, a teasing grin playing on her lips. “What’s it to you?”

Ewan’s face lit up with a mischievous grin, his eyes bright under the studio lights. “Mate, I’m a sucker for a bit of RATM. Didn’t peg you for a rock fan, though,” he replied, hands shoved casually into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, a faint good ol’ England drizzle making the material glisten.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Seriously? You think I’d play a witch in medieval times and not have a thing for rebellious rock?” She took a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling smoke that curled lazily in the damp Watford air. “I’m disappointed, Ewan. Thought you’d have me figured out by now.”

Ewan stepped closer, his boots crunching on the gravel beneath. The smell of coffee and bacon butties drifted over from the food cart, mixing with the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. The studio lot was buzzing with crew members, some rushing around with props, others laughing in groups, and the usual hum of film equipment humming in the background. But all of that seemed to fade as he locked eyes with her.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to catch up on, yeah?” he said, tilting his head slightly, his voice softer now, almost testing the waters. “Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Get to know each other. You know… build that Aemond and Alys chemistry they’re all banking on.”

Y/N smirked, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “What, you think we need to build chemistry?” she challenged, a playful edge to her tone. “I thought we were just supposed to, I dunno, act.”

Ewan let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, don’t bullshit me, love. You and I both know this whole on-screen spark thing doesn’t just happen. Gotta work for it.” He took out his own pack of cigarettes, offering one to her. “And who knows, maybe we’ll actually end up liking each other.”

She took the cigarette with a raised eyebrow, tucking it behind her ear for later. “Fine,” she replied. “Coffee sounds good. But if you think I’m gonna pretend to like you just because some big-shot director thinks we should, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Ewan grinned, lighting his cigarette, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. “That’s what I’m counting on, dove.”

They walked towards the little coffee stand set up near the trailers, the air thick with the smell of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. The crew was still buzzing around, setting up for the next scene, but Ewan only had eyes for her.

“So, you got a favorite Rage song, or is Guerrilla Radio just your go-to for when you’re bored on set?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She shrugged, leaning against the counter as she placed her order. “Depends on my mood. But yeah, that one’s a banger. Bulls on Parade if I’m feeling a bit more… intense.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “What about you, Mitchell? You a poser, or do you have actual taste?”

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to reverberate through the air. “Touché. I’d say Know Your Enemy speaks to me. You know, all that anti-establishment, fuck-the-system vibe. Kind of like me.”

“Wow, deep,” she deadpanned, though her lips twitched into a smirk. “So you’re the rebellious type, huh?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Depends on who’s asking, love.”

She felt a spark run down her spine, something electric buzzing in the air between them. “Alright, I’ll bite,” she said, taking her coffee from the barista with a nod. “What’s your deal, Ewan? What’s got you all eager to cozy up to me?”

He took a sip of his coffee, considering his words. “Honestly? You intrigue me. The way you’ve got everyone eating out of your hand on set, but still keep this air of mystery. I want to crack that code.”

Y/N’s smile widened, but her eyes stayed sharp, playful. “Good luck with that. I’m not some open book for you to read, Mitchell. You might find some things you’re not ready for.”

Ewan’s grin only grew, a flicker of excitement dancing in his gaze. “Oh, I’m ready. And I’ve got time. Plenty of time.”

She gave a short, amused laugh. “We’ll see about that. But don’t think I’m easy to impress. You’re gonna have to do better than coffee and rock music trivia.”

He raised his cup in a mock toast. “Challenge accepted, L/N.”

Ewan took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke swirl around his lips before exhaling slowly. “So, come on then,” he prodded, his voice carrying a low, teasing lilt. “You can’t drop a Rage song and then just leave it at that. What else are you into? Gotta be more to you than just some classic ‘fuck the man’ anthems.”

Y/N flicked ash off her cigarette, eyeing him with a small, conspiratorial smile. “You’re looking at a die-hard Deftones fan, mate. White Pony is my Bible. I swear by it.” She paused, a flicker of excitement sparking in her eyes. “Got the album cover tattooed on my ribs, actually. Wanna see?”

Ewan’s brows shot up, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Bloody hell, you’re hardcore,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of admiration. “Yeah, show me. I’m not gonna say no to that.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Cheeky bastard.” But she lifted the hem of her shirt just a fraction, revealing the tattoo of said pony against her ribcage, the ink standing out against her skin. His eyes traveled over the design, appreciation evident in his expression.

“That’s sick,” he said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. “Always had a thing for a girl with a good tat.”

Y/N dropped her shirt back down, feeling the rush of cool air against her skin, but his gaze was still warm on her. “Deftones, huh?” he continued. “Got a favorite track?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “Depends on the day. But Cherry Waves always gets me. There’s just something about that slow, seductive build. It’s like… drowning in sound, in the best way.”

Ewan nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah, I get that. Chino’s voice is like, sex in audio form. Never thought I’d meet someone who’d get that vibe.”

Y/N chuckled, but her eyes were sharp, amused. “And you? What’s your poison, Prince Regent?”

He scratched his jaw, the faint stubble rasping under his nails, a self-deprecating grin spreading across his face. “Ah, I’m a bit more basic, I suppose. Metallica’s my go-to. You’ve probably noticed,” he added, tugging at the faded Metallica t-shirt he was wearing.

She glanced at the shirt, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Subtle. But hey, I can’t blame you. Metallica’s the real deal. Those riffs could wake the dead.”

“Right?” Ewan agreed enthusiastically. “And there’s something about those old-school thrash vibes that just… I dunno, lights a fire in you, you know? Makes you wanna break shit.”

“Or at least headbang until your neck snaps,” Y/N added with a laugh. She leaned back, crossing her arms, her demeanor relaxed. “But come on, be honest. How many Metallica shirts do you actually own?”

He scratched the back of his head, looking slightly sheepish. “Too many, probably. Enough that I could wear a different one every day of the week.”

Y/N shook her head, mock disbelief on her face. “Sheesh, you’re such a fanboy.”

“Oi, don’t knock it,” he shot back, grinning. “At least I’m consistent. Plus, you’ve got a Deftones tattoo. I think we’re both in pretty deep.”

She nodded, conceding the point. “Fair enough. So what do you do when you’re not, y’know, worshipping at the altar of Hetfield?”

He laughed, a soft rumble that seemed to cut through the cold, wet air. “Not much, honestly. Hang out with mates, go to gigs when I can. Read a bit, usually some weird existential stuff that just makes me more confused about life.” He paused, studying her. “What about you?”

She shrugged, looking thoughtful. “Same, really. Love a good gig. I read too, but I’m more into the horror stuff. Stephen King, Shirley Jackson, you know the drill. And, obviously, I smoke way too much.” She waved her cigarette as if to prove a point.

Ewan nodded, a spark of interest in his eyes. “Horror, huh? Never took you for a gore enthusiast.”

“Not gore,” she corrected, leaning in closer, her voice almost conspiratorial. “Psychological. The shit that gets under your skin, makes you think. I’m not about blood and guts; I’m about the mindfuck.”

He blinked, clearly impressed. “Damn. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “I aim to keep people guessing, Mitchell. Keeps life interesting.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “Alright then. How about a deal? I’ll show you my favorite dive bar in Camden, and you can tell me more about how you like to mess with people’s heads. We can drink, play some pool, maybe even argue about whether Deftones or Metallica is the superior band. Fair?”

Y/N leaned back, considering him, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “That’s a dangerous proposition, Ewan. You sure you can handle me?”

He held her gaze, his smile steady, a challenge in his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure, witch. I’m fucking counting on it.”

The space between them felt smaller, more intimate, and the air around them buzzed. Whatever was brewing between them, it wasn’t just for the cameras.

And both of them knew it.

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The rain had let up just enough for them to venture out of the trailers, and now they found themselves huddled under a flimsy awning, kebabs in hand. The smoky scent of grilled meat mixed with the dampness of the air, a comforting aroma against the steady patter of raindrops. Y/N wiped a bit of sauce from her chin with the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on Ewan as he chewed thoughtfully, the wheels in his mind clearly turning.

“So,” Y/N started, around a mouthful of kebab, “this whole Alys and Aemond thing… it’s twisted as fuck, right? Not exactly a love story, more like—”

“More like two leeches feeding off each other,” Ewan finished for her, wiping his mouth with a napkin and nodding. “It’s not the classic star-crossed lovers bullshit. It’s darker… messier. There’s nothing romantic about it.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. “Exactly. It’s like, Aemond spares her not because he loves her, but because she’s useful, she’s… an asset. And Alys, she’s not some helpless damsel. She’s got her own agenda. She’s in it for the power, the protection. Maybe even a little revenge.”

Ewan took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall, his expression thoughtful. “And then there’s all that shit about her being a witch or enchantress,” he said. “Bastard daughter of Lyonel Strong, maybe from an older generation… probably served as a wet nurse to Harwin and Larys. Could’ve even been around when Lyonel himself was a kid. Some say she bathed in maidens’ blood to stay young. I mean, fuck, that’s some crazy lore to have.”

“Right?” Y/N leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “And we’re supposed to sell this on screen. The idea that she’s at least forty, but looks young as hell, unnaturally young. There’s all these rumors swirling around her. She’s supposed to be this mysterious figure who might be pulling strings in the background, using Aemond as much as he’s using her.”

Ewan nodded, taking another bite of his kebab. “Yeah, that’s the crux of it. They’re both parasites, just leeching off each other. Alys needs Aemond for survival, for the power he brings as a prince, and Aemond… maybe he’s just fucked up enough to be into that, into her mystery, her darkness. But there’s no love. It’s not tender, it’s—”

“—purely transactional,” Y/N interjected, finishing his thought. “He keeps her alive, she gives him… I don’t know, maybe an edge? A sense of power? She’s like a trophy, a spoil of war he doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t want to let go of either.”

Ewan’s eyes sparkled with a strange kind of enthusiasm. “And the weird thing is, that’s exactly what makes it interesting. It’s not some fairytale. It’s raw, it’s real. Like, imagine how we could play that dynamic on screen—two people circling each other, never quite trusting, never fully connecting, but somehow bound together in this fucked-up dance.”

Y/N grinned, her eyes lighting up with the same fire. “Oh, I’m all in. Let’s lean into that. Make the audience uncomfortable. Make them question who’s really in control. Aemond’s got the power, the title, the dragon, but Alys? She’s got her own kind of power. A power that scares him.”

Ewan shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against hers as he leaned in. “Yeah, I see that. Aemond’s not just sparing her because he’s merciful; he’s sparing her because there’s something in her that speaks to the darker parts of him.”

Y/N nodded eagerly. “And Alys—she’s no fool. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s playing him, playing this twisted game where she’s both victim and victor. She’s a survivor, and she’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive, even if it means manipulating a prince.”

He laughed softly, his breath misting in the cold air. “It’s almost like they’re two sides of the same fucked-up coin. Both willing to use whatever they’ve got to survive. She’s his spoil of war, but he’s her key to something bigger.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “So, how do we show that on screen? How do we make it clear that they’re both… parasites, but also predators in their own right?”

Ewan leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “I think we play with the power dynamic. Like, in one scene, Aemond thinks he’s got her under his thumb, but then there’s a moment—a glance, a whisper, something—that makes him second-guess. Makes the audience second-guess. Is she afraid, or is she playing him? And then in the next scene, she’s the one in control, but there’s always that tension, that threat of violence just under the surface.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes alight with excitement. “Yes, yes. And we need to make it physical too. Not in a sexy way, but in a way that shows their dependence on each other. Like, when they touch, it’s almost painful. It’s not about passion, it’s about possession. And the audience should feel that. Feel the discomfort, the unease.”

Ewan’s grin widened, his excitement palpable. “Fuck, I love this. It’s gonna be wild. People aren’t gonna know whether to hate them, root for them, or just feel fucking sick watching them.”

“Perfect,” Y/N agreed, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Because that’s exactly how it should be. No clear lines, no easy answers. Just two messed-up characters.”

Ewan chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna make one hell of a fucked-up power couple on screen, love.”

She smirked, finishing the last bite of her kebab and wiping her hands. “Well, if we’re gonna do this, we better do it right. Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

And just like that, in the middle of a rainy, half-forgotten corner of a studio lot, they laid the groundwork for something undeniably electric. Something that would blur the lines, and the strange, unsettling dance that would soon unfold on screen.

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The neon sign above the dive bar flickered erratically, casting a dim pink glow over the rain-slicked street. Ewan leaned against a brick wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his breath misting in the cool night air. He checked his watch, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he spotted Y/N approaching, her hair damp from the drizzle, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“About time, rockstar,” he called out, pushing off. “Was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

Y/N shot him a mock glare, pulling the collar of her leather jacket tighter around her neck. “Not a fucking chance, Mitchell. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” She stopped in front of him, her breath visible in the cold. “Besides, I’m dying to see you butcher a Sex Pistols song.”

He laughed. “Oh, I’m gonna butcher it all right, but at least I’ll do it with style.”

When they entered Ewan’s favourite haunt, the place was already alive with noise — a crowd of people spilling out onto the street, laughter and shouts mixing with the sound of music bleeding through the walls. The bar itself was a dingy little hole-in-the-wall joint, the kind of place that reeked of spilled beer, sweat, and stale cigarettes — perfect for a night of raucous fun.

Ewan grabbed her hand without a second thought, pulling her through the throng of people, weaving between groups, dodging spilled drinks and overenthusiastic dancers. His hand felt warm and solid around hers, and she felt a thrill run up her spine as he led her toward the back, where the stage was set up for karaoke.

They found a spot near the bar, grabbed a couple of beers, and settled in to watch the chaos unfold. Someone was already up there belting out Anarchy in the UK, the crowd shouting along, half the lyrics lost in the drunken fervor.

“Alright,” Ewan said, leaning close to her ear to be heard over the noise. “What’s the game plan, then? Are we going full-on punk, or are we gonna scare everyone off with some Deftones?”

Y/N laughed, taking a swig of her beer. “Let’s save the Deftones for when everyone’s had a few more drinks. Gotta build up to that kind of intensity.” She tapped his shoulder with a teasing grin. “But I’m down to start with some Pistols. Pretty Vacant? God Save the Queen? What do you think?”

“Pretty Vacant it is,” Ewan declared, slamming his empty bottle down on the bar. “We’ll go up there, make some noise, and show these amateurs how it’s done.”

A few minutes later, they were on stage, the microphone in Ewan’s hand, and Y/N standing beside him, both of them grinning like idiots. The crowd cheered as the opening chords blared through the speakers, and Ewan launched into the song with a reckless abandon, his voice loud and raw, not giving a damn if he hit the notes or not.

Y/N joined in, her voice harmonizing with his, the two of them bouncing around, pulling ridiculous dance moves and throwing their arms around each other, their laughter spilling over the lyrics. Ewan’s voice cracked on the high notes, but it only made her laugh harder, and she nudged him with her shoulder, causing him to almost drop the mic.

“Oi, careful!” he shouted over the music, his smile wide and infectious.

“What?” she yelled back, still grinning. “Can’t handle a bit of roughhousing, Mitchell?”

He laughed, spinning her around in a playful twirl before pulling her close, their bodies pressed together as they sang, their voices blending into one chaotic sound. The crowd cheered louder, feeding off their energy, clapping and shouting as Ewan and Y/N tore through the song with an unfiltered joy that made everyone in the room feel like they were part of something wild, something free.

When the song ended, they stumbled off stage, breathless and laughing, grabbing fresh beers from the bar. Ewan’s hand found hers again, a reflex now, his thumb brushing against her knuckles.

“You,” he said, panting, “are a fucking riot.”

Y/N raised her bottle in a mock toast. “Right back at ya. Didn’t think you had that much crazy in you, Mitchell.”

He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Stick with me, dove, and you’ll see plenty more.”

They spent the next few hours hopping back on stage, belting out punk classics, pulling out the most ridiculous dance moves they could think of, egging each other on. At some point, Ewan dropped to his knees, sliding across the sticky floor in a terrible imitation of an 80s rock star, while Y/N howled with laughter, egging him on with chants of “Encore! Encore!”

They took breaks to smoke out back, leaning against the graffitied wall of the bar, their breath mingling with the cold night air, the world spinning around them. Ewan lit a cigarette, passing it to her, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

“Alright,” Y/N said, taking a drag, her voice a little hoarse from all the singing and shouting. “I’ll admit it. You know how to show a girl a good time.”

Ewan’s grin was bright and unapologetic. “Told you, didn’t I? Never should’ve doubted my ability.”

She laughed, flicking ash off the cigarette. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

They smoked in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise from inside spilling out in waves.

Ewan took a final drag and flicked his cigarette away, turning to face her, his expression suddenly a bit more serious, though his eyes still held that glint of mischief. “So, Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “What do you say we make this a regular thing? You and me, beers, bad dancing, and a hell of a lot of noise?”

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. “You offering to be my partner in crime, Mitchell?”

He took a step closer, their faces inches apart now. “I’m offering to be whatever you want, love. As long as it means more nights like this.”

Y/N’s smile softened, her voice almost a whisper. “Careful, Ewan. I might just take you up on that.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Good,” he replied, his voice steady. “Because I was hoping you would.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that tasted of beer, cigarettes, and something new — something neither of them could quite name yet, but both were eager to explore. The night felt endless, the city alive around them.

The sound of the door creaking open was drowned out by the music and drunken shouts pouring from the bar, but the voice that followed cut through the night like a whip crack.

“Oi! Get a fucking room, you two!”

Ewan and Y/N broke apart, breathless and startled, still close enough that their noses brushed. Ewan’s grin turned sheepish as he glanced over Y/N’s shoulder to find a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a smirk on his face, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The bartender, Harry, stood there, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

“Christ, Ewan,” Harry drawled, lighting up his smoke with a flick of his lighter. “Have some decency, will ya?”

Ewan laughed, his hand still on Y/N’s waist, a playful glint in his eye. “Can’t help it, mate. Your place has that kind of magic, you know?”

Harry snorted, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Magic, my arse. More like too many cheap beers and not enough sense.” He nodded at Y/N, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You got your work cut out for you with this one, love. He’s a right handful.”

Y/N grinned, leaning back slightly but not quite letting go of Ewan. “Oh, I’m starting to get that,” she teased, glancing up at Ewan. “But I think I can handle him.”

Ewan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I’m standing right here, you know.”

Harry gave a mock bow. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your little love fest. Just came out for a smoke, but if you’re gonna go all Romeo and Juliet on me, at least take it to the alley or something. Don’t need to see any more of your face-sucking than I already have.”

Ewan’s laugh was loud and unapologetic. “Alright, alright, you old bastard, we’ll take it elsewhere. Don’t want to scar you for life.”

Harry grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Too late for that, mate. But do me a favor — keep it PG-13 inside, yeah?”

Y/N gave a mock salute. “We’ll try our best.”

Harry shook his head, still chuckling to himself as he turned back toward the door. “I’ll hold you to that. And Ewan, you owe me a pint for that little show.”

“Deal,” Ewan shot back, still grinning as Harry disappeared back into the bar. He turned to Y/N, his expression softening just a fraction. “Guess we’ve got an audience now, huh?”

Y/N smirked, her voice teasing. “Seems like it. So, what do you say? Wanna go scandalize the rest of the neighborhood, or…?”

Ewan’s grin turned mischievous again. “Lead the way, love. I’m game if you are.”

They left the warm glow of the bar’s back entrance, stepping further into the night, their laughter echoing down the narrow alleyway as they disappeared into the London streets, leaving behind only the faint smell of smoke and the memory of a kiss that promised many more to come.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#52: The Ring Finger (1.06)

gif cred: @machonnes

We’ve arrived at the TOWL finale. 🥹🥳

And y’all, the way this finale kicks off with that opening scene...🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥. Episode 6 hit the ground running by starting with one of Richonne's greatest moments. I love how in the first episode of TOWL, Rick essentially gave his hand for the marriage. And now in the final episode, Michonne gives her hand in marriage. 🥰

Thanks to this gorgeous wedding ring scene and their parting kiss in the woods, this teaser is top tier. Also, Richonne + candle-lit scenes stayed a blessing to the end 🕯😍...

Sometimes there are scenes that make me want to know exactly who came up with the idea so I can thank them personally. And this right here is one of those scenes. 😋 Whoever’s idea it was to have Rick put the ring on Michonne’s finger while making love surrounded by candles needs a medal lol. 👌🏽🏅

So diving into these finale revelings, I noted that the episode description for The Last Time says “Rick and Michonne have to perform a near impossible miracle” And well, since Richonne is blessed and highly favored of course they pull off a miracle. 😇

The episode begins with Rick saying, “I remember it all. What it was like. Who we were. Who we are now.”

If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think we’d heard Rick say this line before this episode. Like the following sound bites from different characters are all lines previously said throughout the miniseries, but I think this opening line from Rick is new. And it hit me on the rewatch that he’s talking about him and Michonne specifically rather than a broader ‘we’.

Like I interpret this as Rick saying how, after all their years apart, he still remembers everything about the life and the love he and Michonne had before and who they were together. You know that man has an excellent memory. Especially when it comes to Michonne. 😋

And I like that he says ‘who we are now’ because even after all they’ve been through apart, after all the ways they’ve grown and changed, who Rick and Michonne are now is still so compatible and connected. Still soulmates. 😌

Also, the episode after Rick left TWD was called 'Who Are You Now' and I love that years later, this miniseries so beautifully illustrated that who Rick and Michonne are now are still wholly each others.

The first shot as Rick says this is a shot of mountains as the helicopter flies over the terrain. And then I adore that when he says “Who we are now” we get to see Richonne in the now as they lay in this setting that always gives me regal medieval vibes fit for TWD's royal couple. 🤩

gif cred: @nerd4music

Now, I always smile when I think about my first time watching this scene. I knew this episode had an S rating going in but I didn’t know what that would entail since I thought Episode 4 would probably be the last time Richonne had a bedroom scene. And so when they cut to this scene, I remember my eyes immediately focused on what items were left on top of the table because it’s the finale so I thought certainly the stuff on the table was intentionally placed.

But then...my eyes started picking up on some motion going on in the background - and I was gagged. 🫠

I quickly realized that the most important thing going on in this scene is those two lovebirds in the back re-consummating the marriage. 👌🏽

gif cred: @nobleriver

I love everything about this. 🥰 The sensual setting with the abundance of candles. (And I just know it was that true blue romantic Rick that lit all those candles for their special 'wedding night.' 😋)

The rich colors, the lighting, the literal and figurative smokiness coming off this scene, the way the camera slowly glides over the table and inches closer to Richonne fully in their element together. 👩🏽‍🍳💋

gif cred: @nobleriver

After Rick had to watch the memory of Michonne burn away in the premiere, it’s beautiful that in the finale Rick gets to be truly back with Michonne surrounded by the far more romantic and uplifting flames of all those candles. 🕯👌🏽

Whenever I see this scene now, Richonne is all I see. 😋 But the items shown really are intentionally placed and all tell the story of their travels: the noodles, the whiskey, the soda, the map and notes, the CRM uniforms and thread. And the sound bites that play from the characters also tell the story of Richonne’s TOWL journey.

At first, I thought the sound bites were simply recapping the journey, but on rewatch I see they have even more intention in both shaping the story thus far and setting up what's to come in this finale. 

First Michonne says, “My name is Michonne. I lost someone. Years ago.” And in the background it’s so sweet seeing all the caressing going on between Rick and Michonne. Once again, it’s a canon fact that he loves being on top of her. And I love the way they’re holding onto each other and the way he’s tenderly touching her face. 🥹

gif cred: @nobleriver

Then Okafor says, “You both possess something I believe the CRM needs to become what it needs to be.” And while Okafor was originally saying that to Rick and Pearl, the line is reiterated here because it’s Richonne who truly possesses something that can change the CRM for good.

(Side note: Y'all, I must admit it's a true challenge for me to try and write and pay attention to what these characters are saying right now when Richonne is back there like that making me distracted. 😋 I keep having to rewind and refocus.🤭

Like I know we all see the way Rick has Michonne's legs hiked up in the air during this part. These talented actors are very good at selling these scenes, that’s all I gotta say lol) 

gif cred: @nobleriver

Then it’s a bit of an audible jump scare when Jadis says, “People are a resource.” Didn’t quite want to hear a snake at a blissful moment like this lol.

But I'm pretty sure that corpse's line was used because Rick and Michonne are about to protect the people from the people with their plan to expose the CRM higher-ups.

Then we get a palette cleanser from hearing Jadis when we hear the best bestie Nat say, “I know how to build things and I know how to burn things, but it takes more than that at the end of the world.” And the intentionality behind using that line here is definitely because Richonne will end up employing Nat’s techniques to take down the CRM's leaders and also because the concept of building vs. burning was explored throughout the show and led to the answer that sometimes you have to do both. 

As Nat says this, we see Richonne’s backpacks and other things spread out on the ground. The way all their stuff is sprawled out...it seems like the second the mood hit and the candles were lit they threw everything off and got down to business lol.

I like how the most significant items are closest to Richonne’s bed. There’s a bloody sword and ax which feel like they pay homage to some of Richonne’s signature weapons. And I like how the blood on the sword and hatchet just adds to the fact that this stunning love story takes place in an apocalypse of all places, between two apocalyptic all-stars.

Along with the weapons, there’s Rick’s prosthetic, the meaningful iPhone, and the Danger lighter.

And best of all, y’all...there’s the wedding ring. 💍😏

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

As Beale’s voice says, “You tried to escape four times. Why are you here?” Rick slowly grabs the wedding ring, serving as a visual answer to why he’s here - He’s here because of Mrs. Grimes.

And y’all, when I tell you I nearly passed out just seeing that he was slowly grabbing the wedding ring. 🤭 I did not know that this epic love story was going to get this good. #BoundlesslyBlessed.

Along with the visual answer, there's then a verbal answer to why Rick and Michonne are here when Thorne says, “There’s someone you love out there.” I love hearing that play over this visual of Richonne, because truly Rick and Michonne are the one for each other and their love has fueled them to keep going. 

As this is said, Rick proceeds to do the most romantic thing ever when he slowly slides the wedding ring onto Michonne’s ring finger. Just 🫠…our ship is goated for a reason. It just don’t get any better. 👏🏽

gif cred: @msanonships

I love the way Michonne is looking up at him with her hand on his chest and then when she realizes what Rick’s up to she holds up her hand and watches as he puts the ring on her finger all slow and sexy. And Rick is locked in during this moment, honey. 🔥

I adore how honored Rick is to be able to put this ring on Michonne and to be her forever husband and to have her as his wife. She’s Mrs. Grimes...

And I just love that he wanted her to wear the wedding ring for this intimate moment that gives such wedding night vibes. Like there’s something so sacred and majestic about this scene, especially with the lux colors, lush blanket and pillows, and the candlelight glow. 😍

Not only does Rick feel that Michonne deserves the world - he makes it his personal job to give it to her. And he does a damn good job, doesn't he? 👏🏽👏🏽😊

gif cred: @lousolversons

Rick is also very good at making things a moment and this crowning moment very clearly had an affect on Michonne. Because as Rick so tenderly slides his hand down Michonne’s arm and then looks in her eyes, Michonne looks up at her husband like she thinks he is truly the sexiest man on planet earth.

And you know what we always say…Michonne is always right. 😇

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

I love that Michonne’s journey took her from one; looking quite taken by Rick in their pre-canon seasons of TWD.

To two; lying down alone fiddling with Rick's ring on her finger in her final TWD episode. (Which I've always loved that after Rick's season 9 departure, Michonne wore that ring because she knew that who she and Rick were to each other was 100% husband and wife).

To three; now lying down with Rick over her so lovingly placing her wedding ring on her finger. 🙌🏽🥳

Rick always wants Michonne to know, in every way that he can express, how much he loves her. 🥹 And the abundant love Michonne continuously has for Rick is always written so clearly on her face. 🥹

Also, with Rick not having a ring finger himself it feels like placing this wedding ring on Michonne during a moment where they’re this one and interconnected is almost like placing the ring on them. 

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

As they have this eye contact moment that is just chemistry on another level, it’s paired with Michonne’s heartrending line from the masterpiece Episode 4 when she asks Rick, “Do you still love me?” And Rick passionately answers, “Always.”

Those are fitting lines to include because this TOWL journey had Richonne having to navigate what their love looks like now and officially see that they truly have always loved each other and always will.

And now here they are in this beautifully intimate moment, one in every way, letting their undying love just fill the entire atmosphere. 🥰

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

And truly, Rick looks at Michonne like she’s the most beautiful treasure in the world. At this moment, he's looking at her like he’s again thinking “I love you always.” And in all ways. Amen. 👌🏽

I adore how, after he puts the ring on, both Rick and Michonne look like they've somehow managed to fall even deeper in love by the second.

Michonne softly places her ring-clad hand back on Rick's chest and then he leans in as they share another very passionate kiss. And y’all, the only beef I have with this teaser is with that fade-to-black. It comes in too quick lol. 🤭The fade-to-black could’ve waited just a second or two more, because you know some of us be greedy. 😂

But regardless, it’s a great hot-and-heavy kiss and just shows yet again that Rick and Michonne are each other's strongest craving. This whole Richonne ring moment was perfect. 🤩

TOWL really said 'I now pronounce Richonne the hottest husband and wife on television.' 🔥👏🏽

gif cred: @msanonships

Ages ago, I was really eager for Richonne to have rings of their own, and little did I know I’d just have to wait about eight years and then Rick would put a ring on Michonne in a stunning lovemaking scene like this. And once again, it was entirely worth the years-long wait. 😇

I appreciate the way this opening scene just immediately set the tone of how TOWL started as an epic love story and would conclude as an epic love story. What a dream. 👏🏽

And because we’re spoiled, y’all, the teaser doesn’t even end there. 

They then cut to the woods with Rick and Michonne looking like the baddest to ever do it in their black CRM uniforms as they walk forward with the helicopter in the back. Move over Mr. and Mrs. Smith, this is Mr. and Mrs. Grimes on a mission. 🔥

gif cred: @nerd4music

And then as Rick and Michonne walk, they stop and turn to each other and immediately kiss like their life depends on it and I’m always here for it. Like I’ll forever be elated over the fact that there were kisses in every single episode of this 6 episode miniseries, and not just that but most episodes had multiple kissing scenes too. Richonne kissed more in 6 episodes than they did in their four seasons on canon on TWD.

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

And truly, not even just from a shipper perspective but from a story perspective, it makes perfect sense for these characters who are madly in love and haven’t been able to express it for over eight years to be kissing all the time like this. Cuz I mean...

And now that they’re back together, of course these soulmates are going to make up for that lost time every chance they get. It's just realistic. 😌👌🏽

So I love that our goated captains came back to make this 6-episode miniseries and said guess how many episodes we can fit kisses into...

All 6, baby. 😋 This particular kiss in the woods is meaningful too because Rick and Michonne are about to part for the first time since agreeing to go home together and you know for magnets going their separate ways isn’t easy or ideal, especially when what they’re parting to do is dangerous.

But I love that because their kisses are communication, this kiss was the two making it so clear to each other that no matter what the CRM tries to do, they are each other's ultimate choice and they’re in it together.

Like I love the reassuring vibe of this passionate kiss and the way Rick holds her face and then the way they stare into each other's eyes afterward and nod, again communicating so much. 🥰 They’re about to reenter the lion's den and this moment just felt like them giving each other the strength to do so. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

And y’all, you know I stay getting distracted by Richonne so I forgot Michonne's voiceover is actually saying something in this scene lol. Lemme go happily rewind a sec. ⏮😋

Okay, so while they share this golden kiss, Michonne gives insight into their plan when she says, “It sounds simple, right? We go in. You get the briefing. I get the dossier she left behind. We bring what we know to the city, then go home. Together.”

As this is said, Michonne holds Rick’s arm until the last second as he turns to go which is sweet. They are really each other's baby, y'all. 🥲And as she watches him, we hear her say, “It’s never that simple.” 

gif cred: @msanonships

I know that this last line is meant to be ominous but one thing I'm grateful for about how TWD & TOWL approached Richonne is that it's not like other relationships and things in the show that have to ultimately end in tragedy. Richonne was built to last and be an actual lasting win for Rick and Michonne in this series, which is why I never feared that the two would split up or die because the love they found with each other is the one thing this franchise allows to be unbreakable and triumphant.

So next, Rick slowly walks up to the gates with his hands up as his voiceover says, “I’m Sergeant Major Rick Grimes. You probably think I’m dead.” I like that line because as we know TOWL was a whole journey of Rick dying and coming back to life through Michonne. So now, for the first time in a long time, it’s Alive Rick rolling up to the CRM. 👌🏽

gif cred: @sowhumpful

Then as the CRM soldiers slowly open the gate for him, the teaser ends with Rick recalling his father's words saying, “He said I didn’t need to be scared. That it was just ‘the burning.’” Then the scene fades to black just like how this teaser started and y’all, I just gotta clap it up for that teaser. That ring moment alone had me overjoyed and then the kiss in the matching uniforms and Rick's fine gait up to the gate was the cherry on top. 👏🏽👏🏽

We were already feasting and the finale was just beginning. I appreciate that since this is ‘the last time,’ this show let Richonne do what they do best one last time and just put their love and chemistry on full display. 👌🏽😌

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

”Dear Assistant”

synopsis: you take up a job with the fatui, and you didn’t think being a doctors assistant meant being the doctors assistant.

tags: medical malpractice, dub-con, insertion, vulgar, explicit, sadist!Dottore

wrd cnt: 1.4k

a/n: lowkey not feeling like my best writing but i hope yall enjoy

You stood outside the unmarked door, clutching the letter that had brought you to this mysterious location. The Fatui's emblem adorned the top of the page, and the words "Confidential Assistant Position" were typed in bold font. You had applied for the job, hoping to use your skills to make a difference in the world of Teyvat. The pay was generous, and the benefits were unparalleled. But as you raised your hand to knock, a shiver ran down your spine. Something didn't feel right.

The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that seemed to stretch on forever. A figure in a white coat beckoned you forward, their face obscured by the shadows.

"Welcome. I am Doctor- ah, my apologies. You may call me Dottore. I've been expecting you."

You followed Dottore through the winding corridors, taking in the sights and sounds of the laboratory. Beakers bubbled, and strange machinery hummed in the background. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and something else... something sweet and metallic.

As you entered the main laboratory, your eyes widened in awe. Rows of workstations stretched out before you, each one cluttered with equipment and strange devices. In the center of the room, a large, metal table dominated the space. Dottore gestured for you to approach.

"This is where the real work happens, my dear assistant. I've been working on a project of great importance, and I require someone with your...unique voluntary willingness."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's eyes locked onto yours. His gaze was piercing, and you couldn't help but feel like he was seeing right through you.

"What kind of project?" you asked "Ah, well…" Dottore said, his voice low and husky. "I'm working on a project that will change the course of human history. A project that will unlock the secrets of the human mind and grant us unimaginable power."

He gestured to a nearby workstation, where a strange device hummed and whirred. It looked like a cross between a medical scanner and a medieval torture rack.

"This is the Neuro-Resonance Amplifier," Dottore explained. "With this device, we can tap into the deepest desires and fears of the human mind. We can manipulate thoughts, emotions, and actions. We can create an army of mindless drones, loyal only to us."

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Dottore's eyes gleamed with excitement. This was getting out of hand, and you weren't sure if you wanted to be a part of it.

"But what about ethics?" you asked, trying to sound calm. "Isn't this a bit... extreme?"

Dottore chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "Ethics are for the weak. In this world, it's every man for himself."

He stepped closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "And I think you are too, y/n. I think you have a certain... spark within you. A spark that I can fan into a flame."

You felt a flutter in your chest as Dottore's words sent a shiver down your spine. You weren't sure what he meant, but you had a feeling that you were in over your head.

Suddenly, Dottore's expression changed, and he became all business. "Now, let's get down to work. We have a lot to cover, and I need your full attention."

He gestured to the metal table in the center of the room, and you felt a sense of trepidation. What did he have planned for you?

"Please" Dottore said, his voice dripping with darkness. "Take off your shirt and lay down on the table. We're going to begin your...consultation."

You felt a wave of fear wash over you as you realized that you were trapped with some crazy scientist. But you had to keep this job, somehow.

Hesitantly, you removed your top, and layed your head down slowly on the cushioned end of the table. Dottore had soon started taping small pieces of wire and metal to your arms and torso, two on each side of your temples as well.

“Now, you’re going to help me with the first stages of this, excited?” He joked, taking this whole human experiment thing way too casually.

You lay there, breathing heavily as you don’t know what to expect.

He finished setting a few things up on the computer, and you observed a chart on the projector infront of you; screencasting the computer with a plethora of scattered pieces of what seemed to be data alongside a key.

Without much warning, Dottore pulled you up by your waist, hoisting your body up and standing next to you and holding your face up to look at him.

You haven’t gotten a chance to clearly take a look at him before, but you observed each fragment of his face; his eyes pierced yours in a way that turns them into ice, frozen in place.

“I need you to remain calm, try to keep your limbs the same.” He said, before snapping on a pair of blue gloves and pressing pressure points along your back.

Every harsh breath you’d take at the pressure caused the chart to create a spike in data.

The lower he went, the more data appeared on the chart.

“Hmm… I see.” He mumbled.

He set his clipboard down, and pushed your body down. “Don’t yell too loud now, I’ve been getting far too many noise complaints from the others.”

You felt as if someone struck a strong left hook into your stomach, the worst possibilities reaching your brain.

The room’s lights dimmed, even brooding noises of flickering lights distract you from your thoughts.

You were on your back, chilly scales under your hips and barely clad skin. With a sudden pull, Dottore pulled your trousers off, throwing them away and spreading your legs apart as if you’d signed away your body to him.

“Ack—Fuck-What are you doing!?” You hissed, as you felt his hand grab hold of your face roughly

“This is for the research, sweetheart,” He mumbled, his deep voice coated in mania.

“Doctor- please...” You gasped, feeling him dig for something deep within you, your hand under his grip struggling to free itself.

“I need to be sure, until the data calms down I can’t trust it.” He said, the annoyance laced with concern felt like an aftertought, not fully registered until he panted, “You signed up for this. Now do the part.” He said moreso like a warning.

Apart of you wanted to scream, but another was screaming to find out more. You felt shameful of the heat growing within you, and even more ashamed that he could definitely tell.

“Let’s see what the data shows, shall we?” He said sternly, picking up a rod-like device that seemed to be a good forearms length.

“I-“ You began, finding a it in you to at least say something.

“Shh…” He interrupted, shutting you up.

He dragged your body back up so he could sit behind you, pulling your hair to one side so he could observe what his hands were doing inbetween your legs.

“Doctor please I don’t think this is-Shit, Oh fucking God-!” You moaned, feeling his gloved fingers rip off your panties and insert the device inside you.

“Oh my…you’re so wet it just slid right in. You like this don’t you? Fucking slut.” He’d say, before pushing it in and out of you at a faster pace each swipe, laughing against your ear as the chart turned into a mess; points of data appearing every second.

“Ahh- Doctor-! It hurts….” You yelled, feeling the cold metal fill you up, over and over again as he rammed it inside you from behind, holding your thigh apart with his large hand as he observed the chart furiously.

“Shut up.” He exclaimed, moving his hand to cover your mouth as he kept going.

“Shhh….It’ll feel good soon. Just keep quiet. Such a messy little thing.” He said, letting you lay your head on his shoulder as you melted into him, feeling your pussy tingle with warmth as you felt the knot in your stomach threaten to burst.

And him pinching your hard nipples was just what you needed, feeling small bursts of liquid shoot out of you, splattering over the metal table

Your legs began to shake as everything escaped you, practically soaking the table along with the sleeve of his lab coat.

He felt tears from your eyes soak his hand as it ran down your face, muffled moans and pleas escaping your mouth and into the cavern of his palm.

“Tch- fine”. He said, removing the object out of you and leaving it on the table as he went back to his chair, “Clean this up.”

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[wingedblooms]

Here are some moments in the acotar series and spin-off that give the same vibes as these books @courtofmaas featured on instagram. These books were in the background when Sarah shared that she was working on the next acotar spin-off book.

Below the Edge of Darkness by Edith Widder

The River House had finally fallen quiet after the raucous Winter Solstice party, the faelights dimming to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadow of the longest night of the year.

[…]

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.

The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel’s bonus chapter)

The Once and Future Sex: Going Medieval on Women's Roles in Society by Eleanor Janega

“She loves to garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when–when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.” (acowar) 

-

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. (Nesta's memory of Mama Archeron, acosf)

-

"Go back to Feyre and your little garden." (acosf)

-

Elain said, "Then I will find it. I might require some time to...reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today."

"Absolutely not," Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. "Absolutely not."

"Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I tend to my little garden forever?" When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater."

"Then go off on adventures," Nesta said. "Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron." (acosf)

Redouté. The Book of Flowers by H. Walter Lack

If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta…she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. [...] Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground. (acowar) 

-

She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind…Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers–or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

-

If Elain’s mental gates were those of a sleeping garden, Nesta’s…They belonged to an ancient fortress, sharp and brutal. The sort I imagined they once impaled people upon. (acowar) 

-

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this…I think the world needs more gardens.” (acowar) 

Like @psychologynerd said in this post about the Book of Flowers, Elain is coming. 🌸

[mythological-art]

Hero

Artist: Edward Burne-Jones (British, 1833–1898)

Genre: Mythological Painting

Date: 19th Century

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Description

Edward Burne-Jones (1833-1898) is considered the most important and accomplished painter of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. He didn't have any formal academic art training and consequently developed his own very distinctive approach, using medieval models as his template but invigorating them with a completely fresh and modern look. His subjects were drawn from a wide range of legends, myths, and spiritual stories; he greatly admired the early Italian Renaissance painters like Botticelli, da Vinci, and Michaelangelo, from whose work he took a great deal of inspiration.

He was a friend of William Morris from their time at Oxford, and later of Dante Gabriel Rossetti and John Ruskin. He designed stained glass and tapestries for Morris' firm and was also a gifted book illustrator. Between 1864 and 1870 Burne-Jones worked principally in watercolour, afterwards concentrating on oil painting. He was created a baronet in 1894, and was also a recipient of the Légion d'Honneur, as his work was extremely popular in France, and in Italy as well, from a relatively early date.

In Greek mythology Hero was a priestess of Aphrodite at Sestos, on the shores of the Hellespont. Her lover, Leander, lived at Abydos, a town on the opposite, Asian, side, and at night would swim across the water to join her, guided by a beacon which she lit. One stormy night he was drowned, and Hero, in despair, threw herself into the sea. The story is told by the Greek poet Musaeus and by Ovid in his Heroides, a source which often provided Burne-Jones with subjects. The picture shows Hero lighting her beacon with dead leaves, the dark blue background suggesting the depths of night.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

Ohmygodohmygod

Mickey Garcia, smut, lingerie & 'keep your eyes on me'.

My first time writing for Fanboy and man oh man, did I enjoy it. Hope you like this!

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warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), language

Better Than Fiction

Mickey had been so excited when you surprised him with the gaming console he had been trying to get his hands on for months. He didn’t know you had been scouring the internet and calling every store in a 100 mile radius seeing if anyone had it or was getting it in stock in time for his birthday, but by the grace of the video game gods, you had managed to find one the day before his 30th birthday. You had broken more than a few speed limits going to get it to make sure no one else got it first, but the way he had lit up when he unwrapped it the next day had been worth the risk. It was so cute how happy he was and how he had immediately plugged it in and put in the game you had bought along with it. You didn’t even mind that he had spent the rest of his birthday playing it instead of the plans you had originally had. 

But that had been two weeks ago. And aside from when he was on base or in the air, Mickey hadn’t stopped playing it. You had barely had a full conversation with him, barely eaten any meals together, and your boyfriend, your sweet, normally horny and can’t keep his hands off you boyfriend, hadn’t touched you in two weeks. You were to the point of staging a break in and having the damn console be the only thing that went missing if he didn’t start paying attention to you soon. If your plan tonight didn’t work, you didn’t think you would have another choice. 

You stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of your shared apartment, fluffing your hair and adjusting the straps of your brand new lingerie. It was truly the skimpiest outfit you had ever worn. It was all sheer lace, lined in a blood red silk, and you felt so damn sexy. You ran a tube of your favorite red lipstick over your lips and stepped into the matching colored heels to complete the outfit. You had to give it to yourself - you looked damn good.

Giving yourself one more pep talk, you strutted into the living room. Like you anticipated, he was there on the couch, his controller in his hand as the video game played on the tv in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed you walk into the room. You cleared your throat from where you stood in the entry way, and he didn’t so much as glance in your direction. The last bit of your patience reached, you marched over to stand directly in front of him, your hands on your hips and face twisted in anger. 

“Honey, can you m��,” the words died off of Mickey’s tongue as he finally, finally looked at you. His eyes widened when he processed what you were wearing, his jaw dropping. “Holy shit.” 

“Mickey Garcia, I swear to God, if you don’t turn that thing off and keep your eyes on me for five fucking minutes, I’m going to throw it, and maybe you, out the damn window!”

You watched as he let the controller fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. Without taking his eyes off of you, he reached for the remote on the coffee table. He clicked the tv off without a word, and for the first time in two weeks, you didn’t hear some overdramatic, medieval battle playing as background noise in your apartment. Finally. 

“Mi amor…you look stunning. My God. You dressed up all for me?” 

HIs voice was filled with awe, and you could see his dick twitch from where it was confined within his thin athletic shorts. Satisfaction coursed through you, but you weren’t ready to let him off the hook yet. 

“I did,” you confirmed. You moved forward and straddled his lap, leaning forward to whisper directly into his ear. “But if you don’t have your head between my legs in the next thirty seconds to make up for the fact that you haven’t touched me in two weeks, I’m going to go find someone else who can appreciate it.” 

You barely got the words out before he was gripping your thighs and throwing you onto your back on the couch. You gasped in delight when he didn't hesitate to rip your brand new lingerie right off of you. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t realize I had been neglecting you. I’ll make it up to you.” He emphasized his words with kisses to your thighs, snipping at the skin. He buried his face in your pussy and inhaled deeply, groaning at your scent. You both groaned when he swiped his tongue through your folds. Oh, yes. This is exactly what you’ve been missing. 

“You can start by making me cum on your mouth,” you instructed, threading your fingers through his dark hair and pushing his face harder to you. His mouth felt heavenly as he worked you with his tongue diligently. “At least once. Maybe twice.” 

“I’ll make you cum as much as you want, mi amor,” he said, speaking the words against your soaking wet pussy before sucking your clit between his lips. “I’ll never ignore you again.” 

word count: 876

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Wanna participate in the party? See details here.

[anamazingangie]

The Women Surrounding a Medieval Queen

This goes through the different types of maids that would serve a Queen, as well as the different duties and function of companions or lady's in waiting

This is something i've had in docs as a personal reference forever. I'm putting it here so I can link it on discord, but please note NONE of this information is my own, it has all been collected from a dozen+ wikipedia pages.

Overview of Maid Types:

Maids traditionally have a fixed position in the hierarchy of the large households, and although there is overlap between definitions (dependent on the size of the household) the positions themselves would typically be rigidly adhered to. The usual classifications of maid in a large household are:

Lady's maid: a senior servant who reported directly to the lady of the house, but ranked beneath the housekeeper, and accompanied her lady on travel. She took care of her mistress's clothes and hair, and sometimes served as confidante. .

House-maid or housemaid: a generic term for maids whose function was chiefly "above stairs", and were usually a little older, and better paid. Where a household included multiple housemaids, the roles were often subdivided as below. .

Head house-maid: the senior house maid, reporting to the housekeeper. (Also called "house parlour maid" in an establishment with only one or two upstairs maids). .

Parlour maid: they cleaned and tidied reception rooms and living areas by morning, and often served refreshments at afternoon tea, and sometimes also dinner. They tidied studies and libraries, and (with footmen) answered bells calling for service. .

Chamber maid: they cleaned and maintained the bedrooms, ensured fires were lit in fireplaces, and supplied hot water. .

Laundry maid: they maintained bedding and towels. They also washed, dried, and ironed clothes for the whole household, including the servants. .

Under house parlour maid: the general deputy to the house parlour maid in a small establishment which had only two upstairs maids. .

Nursery maid: also an "upstairs maid", but one who worked in the children's nursery, maintaining fires, cleanliness, and good order. Reported to the nanny rather than the housekeeper. The nursemaid would often stay with one family for years or as long as their services were needed.  .

Kitchen maid: a "below stairs" maid who reported to the cook, and assisted in running the kitchens.

Head kitchen maid: where multiple kitchen maids were employed, the "head kitchen maid" was effectively a deputy to the cook, engaged largely in the plainer and simpler cooking (sometimes cooking the servants' meals). .

Under kitchen maid: where multiple kitchen maids were employed, these were the staff who prepared vegetables, peeled potatoes, and assisted in presentation of finished cooking for serving. .

Scullery maid: the lowest grade of "below stairs" maid, reporting to the cook, the scullery maids were responsible for washing cutlery, crockery, and glassware, and scrubbing kitchen floors, as well as monitoring ovens while kitchen maids ate their own supper. .

Between maid, sometimes known as a "tweeny": roughly equivalent in status to scullery maids, and often paid less, between maids in a large household waited on the senior servants (butler, housekeeper, and cook) and were therefore answerable to all three department heads, often leading to friction in their employment. .

Still room maid: a junior maid employed in the still room; as the work involved the supply of alcohol, cosmetics, medicines, and cooking ingredients across all departments of the house, the still room maids were part of the "between staff", jointly answerable to all three department heads.

A Closer Look

A lady's companion was a woman of genteel birth who lived with a woman of rank or wealth as retainer. Where ladies-in-waiting were usually women from the most privileged backgrounds who took the position for the prestige of associating with royalty, or for the enhanced marriage prospects available to those who spent time at court, a lady's companions usually took up their occupation because they needed to earn a living and have somewhere to live. A companion is not to be confused with lady's maid.

Like a governess, a lady's companion was not regarded as a servant, but neither was she really treated as an equal; however her position in the household of her employer was notably less awkward and solitary than that of a governess. Only women from a class background similar to or only a little below that of their employer would be considered for the position.

The companion's role was to spend her time with her employer, providing company and conversation, to help her to entertain guests and often to accompany her to social events. In return she would be given a room in the family's part of the house, rather than the servants' quarters; all of her meals would be provided, and she would eat with her employer; and she would be paid a small salary, which would be called an "allowance" – never "wages".

She would not be expected to perform any domestic duties which her employer might not carry out herself, in other words little other than giving directions to servants, fancy sewing and pouring tea. Thus the role was not very different from that of an adult relation in respect of the lady of a household, except for the essential subservience resulting from financial dependency. Lady's companions were employed because upper- and middle-class women spent most of their time at home. A lady's companion might be taken on by an unmarried woman living on her own, by a widow, a married woman who lived with her husband and sons but had no daughters and desired female company, or by an unmarried woman who was living with her father or another male relation but had lost her mother, and was too old to have a governess.

In the last case the companion would also act as a chaperone; at the time, it would not have been socially acceptable for a young lady to receive male visitors without either a male relation or an older lady present (a female servant would not have sufficed).

A lady's maid is a female personal attendant who waits on her female employer. The role of a lady's maid is similar to that of a gentleman's valet.

Traditionally, the lady's maid was not as high-ranking as a lady's companion, who was a retainer rather than a servant, but the rewards included room and board, travel and somewhat improved social status. In the servants' hall, a lady's maid took precedence akin to that of her mistress.

In Britain, a lady's maid would be addressed by her surname by her employer, while she was addressed as "Miss" by junior servants or when visiting another servants' hall.

A lady's maid's specific duties included helping her mistress with her appearance, including make-up, hairdressing, clothing, jewellery, and shoes.

A lady's maid would also remove stains from clothing; sew, mend, and alter garments as needed; bring her mistress breakfast in her room; and draw her mistress's bath. However, she would not be expected to dust and clean every small item, as that would be the job of a housemaid.

A maid, housemaid, or maidservant were once part of an elaborate hierarchy in great houses, where the retinue of servants stretched up to the housekeeper and butler, responsible for female and male employees respectively. The word "maid" itself means an unmarried young woman or virgin. Domestic workers, particularly those low in the hierarchy, such as maids and footmen, were expected to remain unmarried while in service

"What the fuck is a lady in waiting, then?"

A lady-in-waiting is a female personal assistant at a court, attending on a royal woman or a high-ranking noblewoman. Historically, in Europe, a lady-in-waiting was often a noblewoman but of lower rank A lady-in-waiting was considered more of a secretary, courtier, or companion to her mistress than a servant.

In some other parts of the world, the lady-in-waiting, often referred to as palace woman, was in practice a servant or a slave rather than a high-ranking woman though they had the same duties. In courts where polygamy was practised, a court lady was formally available to the monarch for sexual services, and she could become his wife, consort, courtesan, or concubine.

The duties of ladies-in-waiting at the Tudor court were to act as companions for the queen, both in public and in private. They had to accompany her wherever she went, to entertain her with music, dance or singing and to dress, bathe and help her use the toilet, since a royal person, by the standards of the day, was not supposed to do anything for herself, but was always to be waited upon in all daily tasks as a sign of their status.

Other functions historically discharged by ladies-in-waiting included proficiency in the etiquette, languages, dances, horse riding, music making, and painting prevalent at court; keeping her mistress abreast of activities and personages at court; care of the rooms and wardrobe of her mistress; secretarial tasks; supervision of servants, budget and purchases; reading correspondence to her mistress and writing on her behalf; and discreetly relaying messages upon command.

Ladies-in-waiting were appointed because of their social status as members of the nobility, on the recommendation of court officials, or other prominent citizens, and because they were expected to be supporters of the royal family due to their own family relationships. When the queen was not a foreigner, her own relations were often appointed as they were presumed to be trustworthy and loyal.

The ladies-in-waiting were headed by the mistress of the robes, followed in rank by the first lady of the bedchamber, who supervised the group of ladies of the bedchamber (typically wives or widows of peers above the rank of earl), in turn followed by the group of women of the bedchamber (usually the daughters of peers) and finally the group of maids of honour.

Ok here is where it gets confusing

First Lady of the Bedchamber is the title of the highest of the ladies of the bedchamber, those holding the official position of personal attendants on a queen or princess. The position is traditionally held by a female member of a noble family.

Lady of the Bedchamber is the title of a lady-in-waiting holding the official position of personal attendant on a British queen regnant or queen consort. 

The Maid of the Bedchamber was an office of high status selected from nobility. She had often been a maid of honour before she was promoted, because of birth or royal favor. Her tasks were essentially the same as the tasks of the maids of honour, though they were of higher status. 

A maid of honour is a junior attendant of a queen in royal households. 

The position was and is junior to the lady-in-waiting. 

Traditionally, a queen regnant had eight maids of honour, while a queen consort had four; Queen Anne Boleyn, however, had over 60.

A maid of honour was a maiden, meaning that she had never been married (and therefore was ostensibly a virgin), and was usually young and a member of the nobility. 

The mistress of the robes was the senior lady in the household who would, by appointment, attend on the Queen (whether queen regnant or a queen consort). Queens dowager retained their own mistresses of the robes. (In the 18th century Princesses of Wales had one too).

Initially responsible for the queen's clothes and jewellery (as the name implies), the post-holder latterly had the responsibility for arranging the rota of attendance of the ladies-in-waiting on the queen, being in attendance herself on more formal occasions, and undertaking duties at state ceremonies.  During the 17th and 18th centuries, this role often overlapped with or was replaced as first lady of the bedchamber. In modern times, the mistress of the robes was almost always a duchess.

A brief overview of a medieval household and the male/king's equivalents.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Jonathan expects to find the living room full of teenagers when he pushes the front door open. He expects to hear medieval music blasting with the tv on in the background, and trash strewn everywhere.

He’s expecting a lot of things when he comes home, but not what he actually sees.

The room is dark, save for the light from the tv, which is tuned to a basketball game. Billy is passed out in the recliner, white tank top tucked into his jeans, and the remnants of a once-lit cigarette perched between his lips. Jonathan smiles at the sight. Closes the door behind him and pads over to turn the tv off before plucking the cigarette from the blond’s mouth.

Jonathan does his evening routine as usual. Hangs up his coat and his keys, toes his shoes off, and afterwards finds the kids huddled around the dining table in the kitchen.

“Where’s the party at?” he jokes.

He’s immediately fixed with multiple startled looks. It doesn’t seem like they’ve set up their game just yet, which means they either just got here a little while ago, or they’ve been waiting in silence this whole time.

Jonathan suspects the latter of the two.

“You guys know you can use the coffee table again, right? It’s bigger,” he says.

The silence persists for a minute. Dustin leans to look around Jonathan skeptically, like he’s expecting something to jump out at him.

“Billy’s in there.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees, then chuckles after a moment. “Was he asleep when you guys got here?”

There’s a collective nod. Jonathan chuckles again.

“How long have you been waiting here?” he asks.

“About an hour,” Will says softly.

Jonathan cups a hand over his mouth in hopes of containing his amusement. It earns him a handful of glares.

“What’s so funny?” Max huffs. “He was watching sports in there, he would’ve blown a gasket if we asked to use the room.”

“It was a re-run,” Jonathan points out. “If he was asleep when you got here, I doubt he was paying attention to the game anyway.”

“Still…”

Max crosses her arms over her chest and looks off to the side. Jonathan sighs, the smile relaxing off of his face.

The kids have been over a few times now. They usually use Will’s spare key to come over when no one is home, or on the off chance that someone is home, it’s usually just Jonathan. Billy either isn’t around or he’s making himself busy outside.

It didn’t occur to him that they would react like this to coming over when it was just Billy at the house.

“Y’know,” he begins. Rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “I can understand why you didn’t, but if you had asked, he would’ve given you guys the room.”

The kids all look at him in disbelief, and some of them startle when there’s snoring from the next room.

“Right,” Dustin says. “Like he wouldn’t have just killed us and then gotten a beer from the fridge.”

“He wouldn’t have,” Jonathan reassures.

Dustin rolls his eyes. Max still isn’t looking at him. Lucas and Will look like they want to be anywhere else, and Mike seems like he’s over this conversation already.

Still, they all lurch forward in their seats, whisper yelling no’s over each other when Jonathan turns to walk back into the living room.

He stops beside the recliner and crouches down. Can see out of the corner of his eye that the kids are all bunched up in the doorway, willing him to stop as he sets a gentle hand on Billy’s bicep. Smooths his palm up and down softly until he begins to stir.

“Hey,” Jonathan coos. “Sorry for waking you up, bubs. How was your nap?”

Billy hums. Stretches and peeks his eyes open, smiling when he finds Jonathan next to the chair.

“‘S okay,” he says.

Reaches out and flicks the top button of Jonathan’s shirt open, which earns a chuckle as the brunet leans in to kiss him. Billy melts against him like ice cream to a hot spoon.

He whines dramatically when Jonathan pulls away, which prompts him to seal their lips together again.

“Someone’s starved for attention,” Jonathan muses.

“Haven’t seen you all day,” Billy huffs. “I deserve more than one kiss.”

“I’ve already given you more than one kiss.”

“I deserve more than two kisses, Jon.”

Amused, Jonathan takes hold of Billy’s wrist. Presses a kiss to his knuckles, then to the back of his hand, and trails his lips all the way up his arm until he reaches his neck. Billy tilts his head away and sighs while Jonathan lavishes his skin with attention.

“How was work?” Billy purrs.

His eyes are closed. Jonathan smiles into the crook of his neck.

“Good. Wish I got to see you on my lunch break, but I was unfortunately stood up.”

“I meant to call,” Billy says softly. “Mrs. Driscoll had an issue paying when she came to pick up her car, and by the time we got it sorted out, my lunch hour was over.”

“Oh, hun, you didn’t eat today?”

Billy chuckles when Jonathan splays a hand against his stomach.

“Figured I could take you out somewhere and make up for it over dinner, I guess. But then I fell asleep, and…” Billy trails off, brows pinching together in thought. “Shit, what time is it?”

“It’s almost seven.”

“Fuck, did I ruin game night?”

He sits up, clapping the bottom of the recliner shut, and Jonathan can’t help that he spreads a face-splitting grin.

“No, you didn’t ruin anything,” he reassures, rubbing soothing circles against Billy’s chest. “Except maybe your sleep schedule.”

Billy relaxes into his seat again. Blows a raspberry and lolls his head back.

“Sorry, I just— I’ve never dozed off like that before.”

Jonathan furrows his brows.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never slept on living room furniture before,” Billy repeats. Spreads a little half-smile. “It was kinda… nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Nice not being yelled at for hanging out in my own house, yeah,” Billy chuckles.

There’s a strange quality to his tone. Something similar to childlike wonder, but not quite there. It’s a little too sad for it to be that. Jonathan understands better than he wants to admit.

He wishes he could have given Billy this freedom sooner. Freedom to just be.

“I’m glad you got to nap, bubs,” Jonathan coos. Leans in to press a kiss to his partner’s cheek. “Do you wanna order some pizza? I bet you’re starving by now.”

“What happened to letting me take you out?”

Billy taps a knuckle under Jonathan’s chin and earns a chuckle. The brunet pushes himself up to standing and stretches.

“Too many mouths to feed. You’ll just have to make it up to me over lunch tomorrow, y’know, if you bother to show.”

Jonathan winks playfully. Confused, Billy glances over the back of the recliner and spies the kids dodging out of the kitchen doorway. He huffs a laugh to himself and falls back into his seat.

“Right,” he sighs, face turning a subtle shade of pink. “Pizza it is.”

[paladinbaby]

Fig faeth + song number 73 for the Spotify top 100 art ask please !!! 🥰🥰 xoxox

holy - king princess

[Image Description: A digital drawing of fig faeth from the waist up on a dark pink background. Fig is a pink skinned tiefling with round, pointed ears and tall horns. Her hands are crossed over her chest and she’s smiling up and to the side. She has long dark hair that falls around her. She wears a black tank top and choker, with a sheer blue robe with large sleeves over the top. Behind her ‘holy’ is written in a medieval style serif font with ‘by the sig figs’ written much smaller beneath it. There is a circular pink halo behind her head and she is lit from the top left with bright chunky highlights. End ID.]

[theeye2000]

The Hubs of Humanity 1

Prologue:

Back in the early 23rd century, as humanity began spreading its wings into the cosmos, the European Space Convention envisioned a groundbreaking project. They named it HUSB – Harmony of Urbanity and Space Bridges or as the public called it “The Hubs of Humanity”. At the projects core stood the idea to create a network of space stations and infrastructure pieces, each intricately designed to reflect Europe’s intricate designs and reflecting the architectural wonders of a wide range of European cities. It was like taking a slice of Paris, a bit of Barcelona, small snippets of Amsterdam and tiny amounts of Vienna and sprinkling their iconic look´s into the seemingly infinite abyss of interstellar space. The cities in the sky fostered significant cultural exchange, scientific collaboration, and good old human connection. Picture space stations modeled after the elegance of avant-garde designs of Berlin, the timeless charm of Rome or the sophistication of the medieval center of Prague.

Construction kicked of on a massive scale and for a while the project was the talk of the galaxy. The stations became marvels of their own right, embodying the spirit of humanity and its creativity. But as fate would have it, the early days of the 24th century brought a devastating cosmic cataclysm. An insidious computer virus, born from the depths of the digital unknown, infiltrated the project´s communication networks and databases. It spread like a raging wildfire, leaving chaos in its wake, and toppling the human economy and causing the once-thriving interconnected system into disarray. The fallout left a haunting legacy for the project, as the collapse progressed and databases where wiped clean many station dwellers decided to abandon their ships, leaving them adrift and causing them to vanish into the vast expanse of space without any trace left. They became cosmic ghosts, silently orbiting in the darkness, their stories and beauty lost to the void.  Quickly forgotten by the rebuilding civilization that emerged from the ashes. Their memory fading into obscurity becoming fragments of an era long gone by. The civilization moved continually forward, leaving behind the mysterious past.

Many generations passed, and with the shift of cosmic currents, some of the long-forgotten stations reemerged from the cosmic background, having become new, beautiful obscure or even haunting shells of their former selves. Slowly many of them revealed new and diverse tapestries of fates. Some not just remnants but thriving hubs of life, sustained by reformed ecosystems and their resourceful inhabitants which had found a way to adapt to the sudden challenges of having to find ways to sustain their ways of living in space. Others had undergone large alterations, their original purposes re-imagined by advanced AI and machinery which was once designed to keep the stations operational. These technological custodians ensured the continued existence and advancement of these magnificent stations, evolving them into marvels of automated efficiency and sustainability.

The Hubs of Humanity: Aetherian Arboretum

Now after many of them had been long forgotten and become legends of a marvelous past the first of these celestial relics appeared at the edge of Humanities capital solar system. As it floated trough the vast reaches of the cosmos by pure chance it passed the outermost surveillance satellites of the Human system SOL1. There it was a space station which echoes the grandeur of an age long gone. A picturesque and mesmerizing blend of elegance and the neon glow of a bygone era. Tall ornate structures with their sinuous curves and intricate floral motifs rise from the main ring like structure and into the star lit fabric of space. Facades adorned with dim luminescent neon colors cast a surreal picture upon any eyes there to observe it. As it silently orbited throughout the cosmic ballet of space rocks of a region referred to as the Oort cloud it was greeted by a group of space vessels. Drawn towards it they cautiously approach the abandoned celestial haven.

As a group of explorers set foot onto it for the first time again, they marvel at the fusion of design and cosmic functionality. As they wander the deserted streets, the air is filled with an eerie silence, only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of nature overtaking the space. Vines gracefully cascade town the sides of once bustling structures as they intertwine wit the fading light of neon signs that once proclaimed the names of businesses now long forgotten. The corridors and walkways once trodden by station dwellers, now play host to a delicate tapestry of nature. Moss covering lower grounds and growing through cracks in the flooring and resilient ferns and flowers also pushing their way through the seams. Tables, doors, and windows adorned with wrought-iron designs being claimed by encroaching vines. The almost ghostly neon glow flickering and casting a dreamlike scene into the explorers´ eyes. The grand arches and domes of the once famous trading hub now softened by the embrace of ivy and climbing roses.

Amid this fantastic scene of haunting beauty, unexpected inhabitants had found their niche – flocks of chickens, descendants of once domesticated birds, had adapted to the continuous darkness of the abandoned space station. Their plumage had taken on otherworldly beauty as it reflected the surrounding hues of dim neon lights. Their feathers colored in ethereal blends of deep purples, electric blues, and luminous greens they created a mesmerizing spectacle of shimmers and shadows as they moved through the silent station. These avian inhabitants adapted to the perpetual darkness of the station developing nocturnal rhythms and clucking that harmonized with the faint hum of the station´s former vibrancy. They had become the unexpected guardians of this rediscovered neon-lit legacy.

As the explorers reluctantly tore themselves away from these mesmerizing scenes, they delved deeper into the bowels of the ship, where they uncovered relics and objects of the once flourishing and passionate inhabitants. It also became evident that the station had undergone its profound metamorphosis, triggered by the exhaustion of its fusion systems and batteries several generations ago. The once state-of-the-art machinery had gracefully transitioned into a state of energy conservation. Basic life support systems hummed softly, maintaining the atmospheres delicately balanced atmosphere as the surroundings were bathed in the perpetual dim glow of neon lights, nurturing the lush flora overtaking the stations interiors. The artificial gravity modifier, a relic of advanced technology, continued to function on a minimal level. Its low persistent hum serving as an unseen orchestrator, allowing the abundance of plants and neon-feathered chickens to thrive in their cosmic sanctuary.

As the explorers continued their way through the corridors, they marveled at the ingenious processes that had sustained the stations delicate balance over the years. In this cosmic tapestry, the explorers sensed a quiet resilience. An enduring legacy left by a bygone era that unwittingly had given rise to this flourishing microcosm. The space station, now reemerged as a living testament to adaption, whispering its story of metamorphosis through the hushing echoes of its few still operational automated systems, the soft neon-glow of plant lights, and the vibrant clucks of chickens against the backdrop of the celestial stage.

With high anticipation, the explorers access the ship´s extensive database, eager to unveil the secrets hidden within the almost dreamlike structure they had been navigating. As the displays flickered to life, they revealed intricate schematics and blueprints of the station. The designation “Aetherian Arboretum” adorned the digital representations of the mighty station´s architecture. The name resonated with an ethereal quality, capturing the essence of this celestial haven. Armed with the new knowledge of the station´s identity, the explorers felt a deeper connection to it. As it stood as a testament to human ingenuity and the enduring spirit of exploration as it transcended its initial purpose as a hub of exploration and trade, evolving into a beacon of life amid the cosmic abyss. The name now etched into humanity’s records once again it was soon to become a thriving celestial haven again.

The news of the Arboretum´s rediscovery and its unique transformation captured the imagination of Earthlings in a wildfire. Recognizing its unique historical and ecological significance, authorities and swiftly declared it a protected zone and placed it under historic and natural preservation. The once-abandoned station a testament to the harmonious coexistence of nature and technology, underwent careful restoration with the goal of preserving its unique atmosphere while allowing eager tourists to experience the surreal beauty of the station in a small selected section. During the beginning of its restoration, the celestial sanctuary was moved in a stable orbit around Saturn, creating a celestial backdrop that added to the mystique of the cosmic destination. As visitors disembarked onto the transformed space station, they marveled at the now again neon-lit arches, domes and towers, the vibrant flora and the more than enthusiastic clucking of the specially adapted chickens. Educational Programs were established quite quickly to inform about the Arboretum´s rich history, its transformation and the unique ecosystem within it. Conservationists closely monitoring the neon-feathered chickens, ensuring their well-being and natural behavior are not disturbed in any significant way. As the space station orbited Saturn, the "Aetherian Arboretum" stood not only as a destination for eager earthlings but as a symbol of the boundless potential for exploration, preservation, and the celebration of the cosmic wonders that unfolded beyond the confines of Earth.

[findroleplay]

Hiiii~ (:

I’m looking to for a roleplay partner! No fandoms as I do mostly written up plots, to which I’ll list below the names of those said plots after the rules. If you are interested, please come my way with the name that you seem interested in and I’ll send the plot to you.

◦•●◉✿ Rules ✿◉●•◦

• I’m 26 years old, so be 20+. Please no one underage!

• Will be semi-lit to literate. Grammar isn’t to much of my worry. mistakes happens. We'll be in third person and use "" for speaking.

• I can be any role, male or female.

• No males, only roleplay with females whom can be either male or female.

• I mainly do 1v1/ocxoc. I don't do doubles nor group rps.

• Genres I prefer are romance, medieval, drama, edgy, some action (if needed), historical fiction, mythological, fantasy, and gore. I rarely do modern, but will do one if either one or more of the other genres are with it.

• I am okay with triggers, though prefer them to be in the story or character background of a character. Not played out in the roleplaying process.

• We can gladly take the rp to discord. You can find me with xsakura_eleanorx.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

◦•●◉✿ Plots ✿◉●•◦

1. Demon x Human

2. Curse love

3. Dark Prince x Light Princess

4. Arranged Marriage

5. Hunter x Demon

6. Falling for a Mafia boss

7. Vampire x Human

8. Childhood friends turned lovers

9. Enemies to Lovers

-

[margridarnauds]

At @sunites request -- My Firbolg BG3 character

So, for background, for people who know me through other things or are relatively new: I'm a medievalist with a focus on medieval Irish literature. And one of my most enduring loves is a group of people from medieval Irish lit called the Fir Bolg, who are a pseudohistorical group of people who settled Ireland and are the inspiration for the DnD Firbolg (a process that a friend of mine discusses here, for the curious).

...so. Naturally. I'm all over DnD Firbolg and downloaded the mod to recreate one of my favorite characters from medieval Irish lit, the great and much maligned hero, Sreng mac Sengainn, the man who made the gods bleed.

And he is. Tall. So tall.

I actually can't get over how tall he is. I love this mod so much.

He's a fighter, in keeping with his status in his main text as a champion for his tribe.

In his main text, Sreng is an incredibly dedicated and shrewd warrior -- he doesn't crave bloodshed or violence, he enjoys the company of the ambassador for the invaders (...potentially a little too much) and advises against war even though the nobility shut him down, but when the actual battle begins, he is able to hold the battlefield, on his own, against an army of supernaturally powerful opponents for THREE DAYS and even hacks off the arm of their leader.

I don't know how well this really translates into the more peaceful, reclusive Firbolg of DnD, but I'm definitely going to be playing him as a Lawful Good fighter (potentially with a Paladin of Vengeance multiclass, simply because Sreng's people, including his father, were enslaved by the Greeks and I think that would be a great nod to that tradition, having him be inclined to protect the weak.)

(His Dream Guardian is, incidentally, the ambassador for the other side that he was...close to in his main text.)