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#i was wondering if its appropriate enough to post but i made these in the end so ASJBAJC i hope you like it 😭
kalembappe · 8 months
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do with that what you will | j.b. 5 (feat. e.h. 9)
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a/n: remember when I wrote? back in June? Time flies. Also hi anon who req'd this forever ago, title's yours. also proofread! but don't hold it against me, english is a hard language. wordcount: 4501 nsfw under cut! minors dni 18+...pwp(very little plot), choking, oral(m receiving), public(?), unprotected p in v sex, overusing of italics
You were moody today. He could tell by the way you avoided his eyes to how you’d only talk when acknowledged (by someone else) but not before plastering that scrunched smile that only he could tell was fake. It’s not like your reasons are invalid, if anything he was the one to blame for this but he doesn’t have time for your petty squabbling, you’re in public and you’re both adults. You know well enough that you should act like it.
At least that’s what he thought until he saw his old friend, the one that just completely bodied his team 14 hours prior to tonight is now standing next to his girlfriend, you’re talking with that pretty smile that was the death of him, easily would be the death of anyone else.
He looks like a lamppost, he observes the man dressed in all black; a complete contrast to his bright platinum hair slicked into its normal bun.
You looked more at ease now that you were talking to him, you both did. Compared to your stiffness to other people, you seem to warm up to him. You were so comfortable that you even let him stand by you with your arm pressed against his broader one.
Not as broad as mine, but you know I– Again, he catches himself. He should stop. That’s his friend too. The interaction unfolds, what should be friendly, is anything but to him. To him. He should look away, but he can’t.
This isn’t supposed to bother him. It wouldn’t bother him as much as it does if he didn’t know that Erling used to pine for you. Grovel at your feet even. He remembers that boyish grin he makes every time you would interview them post game or before. People would point it out online, saying things such as you favor the Dortmund players or that you’re so critical but praise Erling like he was god and even thought it was funny at first knowing he himself made you see god.
It’s unfair that he suddenly wanted to show Erling his place, he isn’t even sure if he knows that you and Jude were a thing at all and maybe only now had he suddenly found the confidence in himself to finally talk to you; but that was never a priority in his brain when he boils catching sight of a hand that isn’t his resting on your back.
Jude set the shot glass down a little louder than normally, clinking against the marble of the table. He picks up another one, it’s his third
or fourth. Actually, He isn’t sure, he lost count and he doesn’t leave his place. He doesn’t move when Erling’s pinky taps on your back, his patience runs thinner by every inch that finger dips lower than where it’s welcome.
The only thing that breaks Jude from his reverie is when he catches your eye as you turn back for the shortest moment, droopy and paired with a lazy smirk. He didn’t care much until he realized what it implied; you’re tipsy, not enough to be too vulnerable, but enough to let yourself be reckless to do something you shouldn’t. You wink, solidifying his conclusion–you know what you’re doing.
Before he knows it, you’re back to entertaining his “friend” only this time you’re a lot more confident, talking louder, smiling wider, even grabbing his bicep as you slightly tilt your head back from laughing. It irks him, but he’ll play your game. He wonders if Erling knows he’s playing too. *
You’ve been avoiding him all night. Even at home– his home you mean (where you luckily had some appropriate clothes), dodging kisses and pretending like you don’t feel his stare at the back of your head just like he was doing now; seconds before Erling asks you to go dancing. A bit of a surprise since you thought he only approached you to ask where the toilet was and now you’re dancing? He had to lean down to your height to be audible over the music. The question hangs in the air–Should you? Probably not.
“Sure.” It comes out before you realize, but the acknowledgement in his face tells you that you indeed said it out loud.
You have to stop yourself from turning back too fast when you feel Erling’s palm rest lowly on your back, he says something you don’t listen to– he’s getting himself another drink(looking back, his intentions were obvious if he started drinking right after he asked where the restroom was). His attention shifted long enough for you to finally steal a glance at Jude, who’s shot glass threatened to crack between his fingers. He liked to pretend it was Erling’s pinky, grip tightening as he watches it brushes on your back. His stare follows as you take the initiative of walking Erling to where the people are drunk and dancing.
From anyone’s point of view, it seems like the next story on Hello! Magazine, awaits Erling, but contrary to how it appears, your mind was occupied completely and utterly of Jude. How much you hated him, how he looks like sitting with his legs spread, wondering how far you could press till he cracks. It’s all fair play though, he out of anyone should know.
He promised himself that after the game, you would get to hangout. You were excited, you thought maybe you’d go out for dinner, do something intimate; just the two of you, but after a day’s rest (that you so generously granted him) he says he needs to attend a party, for old time’s sake.
You didn’t know how to react at first, should you be mad? You started to feel so, but thought to yourself; do you even have the right to? You shook that thought off your head. Of course you did! You let your insecurities go before settling on disappointment. Jude saw this, thought it’d be better if you spent what could’ve been your date together at the party. With his friends. Might as well bring his mum, she’s better company anyways.
Call it what you want, maybe It’s a bit childish how you hated the thought of sharing Jude to anyone, a bit possessive; but it’s hard having to arrive at a party together only to split up and socialize with other people so you can keep things hush, water down suspicion. You understand why he does it, you think it’s best too. But just for tonight, you hoped; you didn’t have to share him with the world. Alas, another day goes where you have to. Anyway, if he liked to do it so much then he shouldn’t mind if you share a little too.
The music changes once your heels click on the dance floor, the song’s slower. Erling’s stills, “I’m not good at this” Hands hover over your body, he didn’t know where to place them. He’s antsy, it’s cute–you won’t deny that; the drinks wear off when you’re nervous. Suddenly he’s aware that you’re dancing with him. You feel a little bad knowing you’re using him, regardless, he’s still a nice guy. Always thought he was a little sweet. Your eyes crinkle as you smile, watching him blush. Confidently, you push down the hands onto your hips before adding a firm pat to reassure him. “Keep it there.” You sound more serious then you’re supposed to, it makes Erling gulp. All his confidence may have just been the alcohol talking, and if he were being honest, he wished he drank a bit more.
Jude watched as you giggled–he scowled, you’ll have nothing to laugh about if you keep this up. If he was jealous when Erling put a hand on your back, he was livid when he watched you laugh with Erling, like you’re actually enjoying yourself. He’s not one to be insecure, he’d never even entertained the thought but that seemed to change when this jealousy turned into something worse. He couldn’t put it into words. It boils in him as your hips sway, you’re too close to each other, but he’s rooted where he stood. He’s mesmerized and enraged, but he won’t go down without a fight.
Minutes pass and Jude finds himself seated next to his friends, he figured he needed to let loose, maybe people were getting suspicious with how he’d only kept his attention to that girl dancing with Erling Haaland. Gio yells over the music, “did you order this?” his eyes shift to his friend, confusion replacing Jude’s then blank face. He almost said no before catching a group of girls giggling to themselves. Just as Gio was about to return them back, Jude tapped his shoulder, “I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for a reply, already trekking his way to his next mission.
Erling’s let’s his limbs set loose, even if he’s just jumping to the music, you’re jumping with him. It’s dark, but it was lit enough that he could make out the shape of your jaw and the curves of your body, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t noticed but it drew him in even more. He spins you, back resting on his front, hands are on your hips as you sway to the rhythm. For the first time tonight, Jude was the last thing on your mind.
But from where you stood, you felt eyes on you; consciously, you opened yours only to get a glimpse of something that made your blood cold. Hands were on him. Everywhere. He’s got his arms out with two girls wrapped on him like he was a tree. The music tunes out, the hands on your body disappear, and it’s red. You see red. It makes your fingers twitch. He catches your eye, how your movements slow until your whole body’s rigid, and thought to himself; I’ve won. He grins, satisfied with your reaction. But if anything, you’re the stubborn one in this relationship.
Erling’s voice is soft on your ear, polite as he is. “Are you okay?” You don’t look his way, you’re busy making sure Jude’s watching. You trail your eyes back to Erling with a smile that fooled anyone.
He’s upside down from your point of view, the outline of his jaw more prominent under the shadow. The stare you give makes his cheeks hot. He’s about to say something but the words get caught in his throat when the feeling of your hips grinding back at him registers in his brain. He short circuits, forgetting every word he’s known.
Jude’s smirk leaves as soon as it arrives, dropping and taken over by his wide eyes–ironically mirroring Erling’s expression who’s grip lands on your hips for leverage. Your eyes look blown under the light, big and innocent like you don’t know what you’re doing–but Erling knows, they both know you do. You’re close to his face, enough that he could see the remnants of gloss on your lips.
It happened quickly, someone spilled liquid on you, mostly your shoes but also a little on your dress. It’s beer. You look up, both of you pulled away. Maybe you should’ve cared that you ruined it, the shoes that Jude bought you. Jude. Fuck. You look up, he’s already leaving sans the two girls he had all over him. Maybe you overdid it this time. Taking a quick glance at Erling, he’s occupied with the person apologizing to him, reassuring the man. He’ll be fine on his own, you think to yourself. When Erling picks his head up, you’re already gone.
You follow him amidst the sea of sweaty drunk people, shoving, and pushing. You think of what you want to say, apologize? That’s completely unfair. It’s not like you were gonna actually lean in and he shouldn’t have ditched you in the first place or canceled last second– And where does he think he’s going?
You curse this world for giving him long legs, walking two steps at a time. Everything just decides to be an inconvenience to you today. Your voice is dry with alcohol and the lack of use, but still you yell over the unnecessarily loud club music.
“Jude! Can you please– slow down! Asshole...” You say the last part in a normal tone only to realize you’ve said it loud enough for him to hear. There’s a cold breeze on your shoulders that tells you you’re at the exit, the door’s open and it’s quiet. Jude turns slowly, a more than displeased expression on his face.
“Me? I’m the asshole?” He scoffed.
“Yes. You ditched me!”
“And you seemed to find great company.”
A scowl disturbs your features, “You were doing the same thing!”
Before he responds, he pauses, Jude does something you both have been avoiding all night. He takes a deep breath, recollecting himself. His voice is steady, “Look, I can tell you’re upset about tonight,”
“Wonder what gave that away–”
“Let me finish.” You cross your arms on your chest, mumbling to yourself. Jude takes a step in your direction, enclosing your figure on the wall but (as much as you’d hate to admit) it isn’t suffocating, he’s warm and the scent of his clothes are comforting. His fingers stroke your arm up and down till they reach the space between your neck and your shoulder. They linger for a moment before softly brushing the hair clinging to your skin.
“I know why you’re mad, okay? I get it baby.” You sigh when his head ducked to your height. His voice is so soft on your ear that you can’t help but sink into the wall, his body pressing flush on yours. Lips graze the shell of your ear, leaving a soft peck on the sensitive skin. Jude
 dazed, you whine his name. “I know you can’t help it..” He continued, “I know you can’t because,” fingers stroke your throat. “Well ‘cause you’re a whore.”
As soon as your eyes open, there’s a grip that tightens at the sides of your throat, squeezing out a strangled noise from you. A whimper or a moan, You aren’t sure anymore. There’s a pause in the air, he waits for you to say something. You don’t–no, you can’t. The damp spot on your underwear strengthens his claim. Heat rushes to your cheeks, you want to tell him off at least, leave a snarky remark but embarrassment floods in your stomach and his hold on you is immovable. His eyes speak for himself, Look at me–it read, but you never had the strength to look away in the first place.
“You think I’m gonna let you off easy? You’re used to that aren’t you. ‘Cause I spoil you too much, isn’t that right?” His tone is sweet, his hand brushes your temple gently, but it isn’t real–the only thing you could register with a lack of air in your brain. Your body shudders when the stroke of his hand travels lower, the one on your neck slacking but he still keeps you between him and the wall. So close that you could feel his breath on your cheek, his knee taking place between your legs and pressing slowly, you gasp.
“Jude not– here.” You curse at yourself. It was supposed to come out firmly, a command, rather it sounded like a meek plea. Jude’s leg bumped against your clothed front like he was playing with you, your thighs tried to shut but it only made things worse. “Please we’re in public–” He paused his movement before scoffing at your words.
“Really? You didn’t seem to mind while you were fucking around with Erling. ‘In public’, for someone in the media, you could lie better than that.” You wince when you recall the events earlier tonight and how he spat your name out in disgust. “Maybe I should just keep you on a short leash so you don’t hump on people like a bitch.” The words are shameless, and the lack of a better term, fucking vile that it makes you squirm. You look down, unable to meet his eyes.
“Why are you so bothered? Thought you liked this...? So open for everyone to see
” His hands massage low on your back, reclaiming what’s his. Jude’s tone was frustratingly cocky that you almost rolled your eyes if his knee didn’t come up and down again to get your attention, a surprised whimper escaped from you. “Hey, Don’t cry for me yet, I’ve barely started.”
Your hands press flatly on his chest, “Jude, can we just– let’s do it somewhere more private.” You do your best to coax the man with eyes he normally can’t just say no to, thinking that seemed to soften him just a little.
He takes a step back, enough that you can breathe your own air, albeit keeping you from sinking to your knees with his hands on your waist. He sighed, “You’re right.” *
Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the mascara that you meticulously applied earlier although waterproof is probably running down your cheeks. Drool gathers around your lips, he thumbs under your jaws; a reminder to keep it slack. Jude’s torturously slow with his movements, making sure that you take all of him. You do your best to do the complete opposite and take him in eagerly, the head of his cock reaching the back of your throat causing both of you to moan. Jude, having none of it, sinks deeper in response, causing you to flinch your head back in a fit of coughs. He wipes your swollen lips of the liquid that gathered with a dumb grin on his stupid face, enjoying the sight of you on your knees.
You swallow back spit to clear your throat, holding onto his thigh so the strain on your knees wouldn’t hurt as much. Catching your breath, you glare at him, “Dick.”
He flashes a smile, “Yes, what did you think it was?” He looked completely unserious, relaxed even, bringing down one of his hands to his side. He tucks your chin between his fingers, “Come on, angel. The faster you get me off, the faster it is for you to get up off your knees.” Lightly, he slaps the head of his cock on your cheek. The pout you make is endearing, a glimpse of your usual adorable self that he’d nearly ruined by slotting himself between your lips. “Unless
you want to keep at it till someone walks in and sees the Fox sports journalist giving head to a Dortmund player? I can already see the tabloids– fuck.”
The sound is enough encouragement, Jude’s cock twitches as he watches you (all he ever does) your pink tongue licks a stripe up his length before you suckle on the tip, cheeks hollowing, sealed tight, taking your time. Your answer is clear, Jude doesn’t know whether to celebrate or crumble. His grunts are short and restricted, yet they echo in the wide restroom that you were dragged to on a whim, how you got here happened in flashes of red lights that disappeared when you heard the door shut, unsure if he locked it–you know you didn’t but it adds to the thrill, the thought makes your stomach swirl and your knees shut.
You’re kind enough to sink your mouth deep till you're half way. Slowly, you pick up the pace. The rise and fall of his chest accelerate, gasps turn into moans. His hips meet yours, although his movements were careful, he was desperate. It didn’t help his resolve when your eyes fluttered at him, all pretty even with you gagging on his dick. His hands absentmindedly found their way to the back of your hair, finally letting himself yield and start fucking your throat. You try your best to catch up even if you’re no longer moving in your own accord and just making sure to breathe through your nose. Just as his moans turn ragged, he pulls you off, leaving you gasping for air. He lends you a minute, tilting your chin up at him to meet his eye.
“All good?” he waits for you to nod–you do, still trying to breathe. He strokes your lips with his thumb, wiping it dry. You look up at him, eyes hazy and blown. “Get up.” He commands, tone stripped of all its grit. You’re a beat too slow that Jude forces you up your shaky knees himself. You have to hold onto him and lean into his body. He’s just as wobbly but he tries his best to be steady for you both.
You’re close enough that he could steal a chaste kiss. What was an intimate exchange turned greedy. You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but you’re not close enough, urging him to lean to your height, his palm traveling from your spine to the back of your head. He needs to feel your body and engrain the scent of your perfume on his. He flips you over, back now on the wall, hands greedy on your skin like he doesn’t know where to with your body. You nibble on his bottom lip a tad too hard that it makes him hiss. You kiss it better, sweet for a moment before swiping your tongue across it. He takes the hint and deepens the kiss and slips his tongue in exchange. You part, he leaves a peck on your forehead, drawing his lips to your cheek then to your neck
You’re getting impatient. Your body’s a lot more fidgety, writhing with every press into you. “Jude can you- I want-”
“Be quiet.” His tone was cold, still he kisses you dumb, he has the lips for it. It’s physical and intangible. He draws you in and lures your soul out, it makes your knees weak and turns you breathless. Your arms settle on his shoulders–they’re taught and big, your clothed cunt brushes against his dick—it makes you dizzy, sinking further into the wall.
He shifts your leg up on his hip, the other following naturally. You breathe heavily, his hands are impetuous on your body while he hikes up your dress roughly, settling for the fabric to hug your ribs. He pushes the flimsy material of your knickers, groaning as he sees you clench on nothing when the cool air meets your throbbing cunt, shiny with arousal. Fuck, baby. He mutters, voice above a whisper, you can’t tell if he meant to say it out loud.
He strokes himself on your clit, rubbing with his cock, goading needy little moans out of you. You feel like crying when his tip finally stretches your hole. You’re loud enough that Jude has to silence you with his lips as he fully fits the head of his cock in. He catches your whimper in his open mouth, gasping together when he places you higher on the wall, pushing deeper. You’re tight with the lack of prepping, but you’re wet. So deliciously wet. Taking him in like butter on a hot knife. He presses his face against your neck, grunting and breathing heavily. You’re left in an even more muddled state, spilling incoherencies, trying and failing to hold in your noises. You’ve completely given up on the silence, fuck it.
A grip on your face stills you, it’s then when you recognize the familiar callous hand covering your mouth–your noises. You don’t have enough time to tell him off, you couldn’t if you tried. His eyes burn on your skin, the warmth in your neck gone, you feel the tightness of his muscles in every buck of his hips, slapping against your skin. His stare is heavy on you– that alone flushes your cheeks. You push his hand away, instead tucking your head in his neck to muffle yourself , holding on for dear life while he thrusts faster and faster still.
  Your alternative catches your noises, poorly at that. Your eyes are shut, meeting his movements as you focus on the heat building in your stomach. He’s driving into your pussy like he’s trying to fuck you into the wall. Each word that tries to escape is garbled in your pipes, strangled and aching for release.
“You gonna come? Already?” He mocks you. “Come on, let me see my dumb girl.” Your grip softens around him, Jude maneuvers your face with his hand before fixing his palm to rest on your throat like he does although now looser. “What a mess
” You’re close, he can tell. Your stomach tenses, clenching onto him as if you’re dreading the second that he’ll pull out. He laughs, unsure of why but he tightens his grip, one that’s become so familiar on your neck that it’s grounding. The lack of air and the heaping pleasure turns your brain into a puddle, everything around you clouds, your own voice and the muffled music louder than it was, bouncing off the walls.
It’s when you open your eyes that your stomach drops, it’s a second that slips as soon as it passes. Your legs shake, thighs tensing around Jude. The same eyes you spent looking at the entire night stares back at you, wide and struck. Erling stands there, tense in his spot, taller than the space between the open door, music leaks in, almost blending with your high moans but the sound bleeds into his brain. He can’t describe what he felt strongest; jealousy, shock, or the tightness in his slacks. For now he swallows his own spit, the picture of your writhing body ingraining itself in every memory he has of you. Ruined. You’re completely ruined.
“Oh my–Erling–”
Jude smirks, “No, It’s Jude.” He teased, loud enough that all three of you could hear.
“N–no, I mean– It’s– Fuck. Oh god!”
“Yeah, that one works too.” It’s embarrassing how slippery you are inside, Jude rocking in and out of you like a piston with the stamina of an athlete.
Erling’s planted on the floor, it feels like he’s holding in a breath that’s stuck in his lungs. He should look away, but he can’t.
“Go ahead,” He whispers between thrusts, holding you against the wall. This time his words are close, only for you to hear. You have no choice, unable to utter a word, gasping, forced to take it. “Come for me while you look at him.”
It’s pathetic how you follow, eyes fixed towards the door when your orgasm crests in an explosion that leaves you shaking and trembling, legs wrapping tighter around Jude’s waist. Ultimately, you fail the task at hand, eyes nearly rolling back when your mind goes blank, the sensation tingles all the way to your satin shoes, throbbing and pulsing. His grunts turn into gasps, nails digging into your thighs when he climbs his own high, finally spilling into you.
You recollect, breathing heavily against each other. The last thing you saw were a pair of icy blues. As soon as you pick your head up from Jude’s neck, they’re gone.
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plotbunny-bundle · 3 months
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Bruce having his morning coffee looking out the window: "Is that a fucking peacock?"
I made this with https://fakechatmaker.com and microsoft paint
attempt at an image description and more legible text under the cut.
Image description
[a fake screenshot of an unlabeled discord chat. The time marked at the top of the fake screenshot is 9:26 AM.
An image of a peacock standing on grass. A person without an icon labeled Me, implied to be Bruce Wayne comments “Apparently we have a peacock”. The time of this comment is labeled as 7:54 AM.
A person labeled Robin III with an icon of an overhead view of the Gotham skyline replies “oh you found it”
An icon of a black and yellow flashlight labeled The Signal replies “was that not normal fake rich people shit?” Then corrects himself to “stuff” with an Asterix.
Batgirl 3.0 who has an icon that is a block of purple replies “OMG did Damian steal it from Penguin or something?”
Me(Bruce Wayne): “language.”
The Signal: “sorry”
Nightwing whose icon is a comic panel of Nightwing eating popcorn comments “B I don’t think this is an appropriate place to be having this discussion.”
Me replies “My front yard is not an appropriate place for a peacock.”
Robin III comments “@Batgirl 3.0 He did. Exotic animal trafficking raid. About a week and a half ago.”
 Me asks “how long has that animal been in my house?”
Robin IV: “he is not an animal! He is a majestic peafowl who deserves more than to live life in a cage!”  Robin IV’s icon is the Robin symbol associated with Damian Wayne.
Red Hood whose icon is a brick wall comments “WHO IS BLOWING UP THE GROUP CHAT AT EIGHT IN THE FUCKING MORNING!” in all caps.
Me: “language.” Red Hood responds with an emoji of the middle finger.
Nightwing: “Guys let’s calm down. It’s just morning and we were all up late last night.”
The Signal: “I wasn’t.
Batgirl 2 whose icon is a yellow Bat symbol over a black background. Asks “cute what’s its name?”
Robin IV: “His name is Richard”.
Batgirl 3.0: “LMAO”
Nightwing: “excuse me!?”
Robin III replies with a crying laughing emoji.
Red Hood: “Ha that’s perfect. Hold on.”
Robin IV: “it isn’t an insult you imbeciles! The peafowl is a majestic animal that represents the beauty and grace of the flying Graysons!”
13 minutes later Red Hood replies by posting a black-and-white picture of Nightwing in his discowing costume.
The Signal replies with two crying laughing emojis.
 Batgirl 3.0 replies “what is that?”
Robin III:  “Nightwing’s first costume. It was Acrobat inspired. It’s not as bad as the mullet.”
Batgirl 3.0: “Oh I have to see that.”
 Robin III: “give me a moment. I’ll find a photo.”
Nightwing: “don’t dish out what you can’t take little brothers. B has footage of both your first weeks as Robin.”
Robin III: “which means he has footage of you to Dick”
Nightwing: “Caroline. Hill.”
Robin III: “you wouldn’t.”
Nightwing: “you have no idea what I do.”
Red Hood: “I change my mind. It is still worth getting woken up at ass a.m. for this.”
Robin III: “really? Look at your eighth grade textbooks in a while? I wonder if Rena is still around.”
Me (Bruce Wayne) : “enough. Tim Dick stop blackmailing your brothers. Damien you will find a rescue for Richard. We will not be keeping him. Everyone else next time you see a strange animal in the manner tell me or Alfred as soon as you can.”
Robin IV :“yes father.”
The Signal : “well that was an interesting way to start the day.” The time of last comment is 9:25 AM
End ID]
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wretchedshade · 1 month
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What I Think Your Fave Twst Character Would Give You For Valentine's Day 💕
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Tis the season for capitalism and appropriately themed tumblr posts! Enjoy the headcanons from me to yours during this very merry February ✌
Heartslabyul
Riddle: 
A nice patterned mug with some of his favourite tea in it
Also a formal invitation to an aptly themed tea party
Left a personalized note in there thanking you for your camaraderie and endless patience with Ace and Deuce (there's also a reminder to not be late for the party on the back)
Trey:
Some heart shaped strawberry and vanilla macarons
He insists that they were leftovers from a batch sent to him by his parents, but how does that explain the faint smell of strawberry-vanilla wafting off of him instead of his signature minty toothpaste scent?
There's also a mini toothbrush/toothpaste set in the box they came in with a scarily cryptic reminder to “brush afterwards!!”
Cater:
A selfie stick! (Of course)
Also some cute Valentine's Day themed accessories for an on theme selfie photo-op later
The pics came out great and he even printed one out for you to, and I quote, “keep forever and ever as a reminder that Cay-Cay loves ya!”
Ace:
Acts like he totally forgot it was valentine's day in the first place
“Valentine's Day is a fake holiday anyway, I don't know why everyone cares so much about it in the first place!”
Ends up sliding you a hastily drawn Valentine's Day card during class after stewing over what he said all day and making himself feel guilty
Deuce:
Spent all night writing a heartfelt letter about how much he appreciates you (he went through so many sheets of paper trying to decide what was too embarrassing or too much to say)
It took him until nightfall to actually work up the courage to give it to you
He promptly ran away afterwards but the gesture was still sweet nonetheless
Savanaclaw
Leona:
Straight up forgot to buy anything in the first place
Ended up sending Ruggie to Sam's and bought a cheap off brand hallmark card
But at least he went through the effort of signing it, and if he really likes you, threw in a prepaid gift card (he also put a little heart next to his signature and immediately erased it, but if you hold it up to the sun you can still see it faintly)
Heck maybe he even taped a flower from his favourite Greenhouse nap spot to it for good measure
Ruggie:
Took you on a lavish shopping spree with a pricey 40 thaumark cash limit (I know right? Pump the brakes, Mr. Moneybags, we get it)
During the trip he taught you some smart ways to save cash on overpriced Valentine's Day gifts and the extraordinary art of the haggle with shopkeepers
Sam ended up kicking you both out of the shop but you had a fun time anyways
Jack:
Gave you a mini cactus to match his own!
He grew it from a new growth from one of his and had been nurturing it until it was big enough to give to you
He even hand wrote a little cactus care pamphlet to go with it
The pot also seemed to be hand-painted as well, you can only wonder how long he had been putting all of this together and the dedication is greatly cherished
Octavinelle
Azul:
Taught you how to not fall for multi level marketing schemes and scam artists ❀ (much to Ruggie's dismay) 
Ok just kidding, you actually just spent the whole day doing sudoku puzzles with him
Winner had to buy the other's lunch the next day and Valentine's Day be damned, he did not come to fool around and play games (except he absolutely did, he just hates losing. So maybe it's a good thing you let him win in the end)
Floyd:
Made you a really creepy looking shrimp doll saying “It's just like you! Shrimpy!”
He tried his best but it is just not in the cards for him to create things that are cute, they always end up looking terrifying
The sentiment is there but it didn't help that the eyeballs popped out of its head when he dropped it in your hands and he laughed just a tiny bit too hard about it
Jade: 
Built a custom terrarium from things he collected on his Mountain Lover Club expeditions
He included a page detailed with every single item in there on it
It wasn't until you brought it back to your room and gave it a solid read through that you saw that a couple of the plants in there were CARNIVOROUS, which explains why the case he used has a lock and key on it
You don't know why he put them in there and at this point you're too afraid to ask so it's best you just say thank you the next time you see him and leave it at that
Scarabia
Kalim: 
Had his parents send over some of the most delicious handmade chocolates from his hometown
You shared them together and damn were they delicious
You nearly choked to death though when he told you they were normally about 400 thaumarks a box and that his family normally sends him about 6 boxes each year
Despite the near death experience it was extremely sweet, and the chocolate even more so
Jamil:
Made you lunch with a recipe used a lot in his family
He added a few extra special touches to it though but that only made it even better
Though the meal was great he looked like he'd ran himself half ragged trying to put it together in time (he probably had to deal with the repercussions of one of Kailm's “great ideas” halfway through what he was doing)
In return you gave him maybe the greatest gift of all: a quiet place to have a well deserved nap (the V.I.P Guest Room key was much appreciated)
Pomefiore
Vil:
An extremely complex looking collection of skincare products
He goes through the entire routine with you, showing you how to properly apply each product and explaining what each one's benefits for your skin are
You're most likely not going to remember any of what he said as he was at it for at least two hours, but you were just content to sit and listen to him talk and appreciate the time he took out of his day to come and teach you himself
Rook: 
A scrapbook of some extremely, let's just say, “candid” photos of you (candid meaning “how the hell did he take these pictures without me noticing?”)
When you asked him how long he'd been collecting the photos for he merely smiled and said “oh just as long as everyone else's” which promptly ended any and all other questions you had (which was many)
Epel:
A box of apples from his family's farm!
Sorry, did I say box? I actually meant CRATE
He showed you some cool ways he learned how to cut/peel the apples (the discretion with the knife wielding from his Housewarden was greatly appreciated)
The apples were amazing and the knife skills were dope as hell
Ignihyde
Idia:
Sent you an Email saying, and I quote, “Happy Valentine's Day since apparently it matters to some people or whatever”
But waaaay at the bottom he attached one of those heavily photoshopped anime reference Valentine's Day card memes
It was a mass Email share too so you can only wonder if he put that there on purpose or attached it as a joke and just forgot to delete it
Ortho:
Handcrafted the most perfect pop-up card ever???
You toyed with the idea that he just bought it but then remembered that this is Ortho, if he's going to do something then it is heavily researched prior and is executed perfectly
The pop-up design inside the card was of you, him, and Grim all together and yes, it was adorable
Diasomnia
Malleus:
A beautiful watercolour painting of the Ramshackle House (ghosts included!)
He wrapped it himself, which was evident due to the shoddy tape job (hey, at least he tried) and was actually quite bashful when he handed it to you
He said he started working on it after several visits to his “favourite quiet spot” and thought you would appreciate owning it more than anyone else at Night Raven would
You obviously do, and it currently hangs proudly in the Guest Room where everyone can see it
Lilia: 
Made you a nice “home cooked” dinner
He claims that he used to cook it all the time back in the day and it was "quite the crowd killer!”
Judging from the looks AND smell of it you absolutely believe that statement and fear that you may become a part of said “killed crowd” if you ate any of it
You said thank you anyways which seemed to make him content enough so he left (little does he know after that you immediately took it out back and had Grim torch it. Legend says its ghost still haunts the Ramshackle House to this day)
Silver:
A copy of his favourite book
You remember it from when you were in the Library one day and saw him passed out at one of the tables and was using it as a pillow
He told you that his Father used to read it to him as a kid to help him fall asleep (because apparently he struggles with that??) and that every time he read it, it reminded him of home
He hoped that you too could feel that sense of belonging and familiarity whenever you felt homesick and needed a little piece of home to feel better
Sebek:
A duplicate portrait of his role model and personal hero!
“EVERYONE SHOULD STRIVE TO MATCH THE LEVEL OF RAW POWER AND GRACE THAT MALLEUS HOLDS! USE THIS PAINTING AS A REMINDER TO WORK HARD TO REACH YOUR GOALS AND ACHIEVE NOTHING SHORT OF PERFECTION!”
You could've done without the Shia Labeouf style pep talk but the notion was nice enough on its own
The painting is actually really nice too, very detailed, but now you have to explain to all your visitors why there's a huge portrait of Malleus Draconia in your common room
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diavolosbaby · 1 year
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Hi! So, I saw your Teen!MC being comforted by Simeon post, and I really loved that. I've gone through abuse Luke that from my family my entire life, and quite frankly that post made me cry bc it was very well writtenđŸ„čSo, I was wondering if you could write something similar for more characters? If this makes you uncomfortable feel free to delete this btw😅
Sure :)
I'll do Luke, Barbatos, Satan, and Leviathan :)
Abuse Comfort
Characters: Luke, Barbatos, Satan, Leviathan
Genre: Angst,comfort
Format: headcanons, mini fic
Pronouns if used: they/them
--------------------------------
Luke
- When you tell him, he doesn't believe it. He would have never guessed someone as bright as you went through something so dark.
- actually starts to tear up, he's sad that you went through something so sad
- hugs your waist and nuzzles his head in your stomach, whining about how he's sorry
- actually says some things about your family, not so nice things but still very appropriate (he's still luke)
- he's mad and sad at your family, but the way you're comforting him and not the other way around makes him even more mad and sad at himself
"Waaaaaaaah! How could humans be so mean! Mean to someone like you too! Its not fair you didn't deserve that...sniff.... Theyre more demon-like than anything I've seen in the Devildom... Must be if they treat you so bad...im sorry MC...sniff"
Barbatos
- listens very closely, making eye contact with you or looking directly at you if you avoid his gaze
- very minimal touches while you explain, its meant to be a soft gesture of comfort. He hopes you get that
- when you're done he slides his gloved hand over your head smoothing down your hair
- he plants a kiss to your forehead and then leans his own against it, taking a breath before speaking with closed lids
- You can't tell whether he's angry or sad for you, he tries to hide it very well but you still saw his slightly furrowed brows and slight frown
"My dear MC, how anyone could treat you like that is beyond me. Please leave those memories behind you. Here in the Devildom, here with me... It will be better. I will be better. You will never receive such treatment again. Please believe me."
Satan
- he had his hand over yours before you even started, sensing the tension
- he squeezed your hand a bit, not enough to hurt you but enough for you to notice
- he was mad, angry, furious, that ANYONE could treat you like that, could be so heartless
- but he knew tight now you didn't need someone to protect you. What was done was done. Right now you needed comfort, and you trusted him with that -he gently wrapped his hands around your head and led you towards his chest, you didn't put up a fight
- played with your hair while he whispered sweet nothings to you, except these sweet nothings were sweet somethings, because they did mean something to the both of you
"That... Is terrible. So terrible. I don't... Understand how humans could do that to their own children. And we're the demons...i apologize MC. I'm... Sorry. You didn't deserve that, you were only a child... Their child and they treat you so horrid... It's despicable, truly.."
Leviathan
- paused his game when he saw you were serious
- gave you his full attention, his mouth slightly agape and eyes widened as his brows furrowed in worry as he listened
- took him a moment to take it all in but when he did all he felt at that moment was sorry for you.
- asks if he can hug you and when you say yes he hugs really tight, its awkward but you can feel his worry and determination to make you feel better
- not the best at comforting but will you for your sake
"What... Are you... For real...? Uh... C-can I hug you... MC...? Ok, alright. Uh.. Sorry. I just don't get it. Humans are so supposed to be, well, humane. Thats like the total opposite... Totally unfair to you MC I'm sorry...um..well, I hope my brothers and I can be a better family to you MC...i mean it, alright?"
Again sorry this took so long and hope you liked it :)
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nicoline1998enilocin · 9 months
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Hi, and welcome to my Steve Rogers Masterlist. It is nice to welcome you to my little corner of Tumblr! 💙
On this Masterlist, you will find all my series, one shots, requests, and AU's that will include fluff, smut, and angst, but each story will have its own appropriate warnings. If you'd like to check out what other characters/people I write for, you can check out my Main Masterlist.
For now, I hope you will have fun with all the things I have written so far! 💙
I do not work with a tag list. If you want to be kept up to date when I post new fanfics, you can follow @nicoline1998enilocin-library 💙
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All graphics are made by yours truly
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|  Angst ~ đŸ„€Â  |  Fluff ~ 💙  |  Smut ~ đŸ”„Â  |  Blue title ~ 1K+ notes  |
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Learn to live with the consequences | đŸ„€ 💙 You come out of a mission with a lot more than you bargained for, but you couldn't be happier with how everything turned out in the end.
Little bubbles | 💙 đŸ”„ You're getting married to the love of your life, and find out you're expecting not too long after. The journey to finally hold your little baby in your arms isn't quite the way the two of you had hoped, but all three of you get out stronger on the other side.
Expanding the family | 💙 You and Steve have been enjoying a beautiful life together ever since Steve retired from is post as Captain America and an Avenger. Now that you have more free time on your hands, it's the perfect time to add a furry friend to the family you've built together.
Special treatment | đŸ„€ 💙 After being retired for 5 years, Steve asks you to join the Avengers on a mission. You ask him not to give you any special treatment, but he feels very protective over you and can't help but keep an eye on you throughout the whole mission.
Misunderstanding | đŸ„€ 💙 You were working out when you got approached by a new agent. He wanted to ask you out on a date, but before he could, Steve suddenly appeared by your side. When the agent realizes you were already seeing him, he practically ran out of the gym.
Protecting my best friend | đŸ„€ 💙 All of the Avengers are going to a bar, and Steve is keeping a close eye on the man who is trying to get your attention. He is trying his hardest to keep his cool, but he won't hesitate to intervene when things go too far, and you're getting uncomfortable.
Always on my mind | đŸ„€ 💙 You have constantly been on Steve's mind since joining the Avengers. He can't seem to get you off his mind since you came back from California, and he wonders if you want to go out with him. When he finally gathers all his courage, he is taken aback by your answer and wonders if asking you out is a mistake.
We'll always protect you | đŸ„€ 💙 Steve's dream has always been to become a Dad, and suddenly, that opportunity seems closer than he could ever have envisioned. When a little girl is abandoned in front of the Avengers Compound, he can't help but take an immediate liking to her, and he feels the urge to keep her safe no matter what.
Reading nook | 💙 You recently moved into a new house that'll accommodate you and your growing family, but your one wish in the new house has yet to come true. You've wanted a reading nook for a long time, and when you're away on business, Steve decided to surprise you by making the reading nook of your dreams.
Forever yours | 💙 Anyone close enough to Steve knows he has two love languages. One being physical touch, the other being the gift of small presents. Steve never fails to surprise you when he gifts you something that you only spoke about once in a throwaway comment, and it makes you appreciate him even more than you already did.
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Off Limits | đŸ„€ 💙 đŸ”„ | COMPLETE
Interpreted Romance | đŸ„€ 💙 đŸ”„ | ON HIATUS
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Betrayed | Part 1 & Part 2 | đŸ„€ 💙 đŸ”„ [ Part 1 ]You're the latest addition to the Avengers, and Steve takes on a bet behind your back that he wouldn't be able to take your virginity. When you find out about the bet a few weeks later, you lose it and your superpowers rise to their full potential.
[ Part 2 ] It has been a few weeks since you found out about the bet the guys placed on Steve taking your virginity. You haven't been back to the Compound since, but now that you're back you will not hesitate to make life absolute hell for each and every one of the guys who were involved.
Mornin' Captain! | 💙 đŸ”„ You and Steve are enjoying a comfortable Monday morning at home, spending the entire morning in each other's arms while thinking about nothing but each other and the little life growing inside you. The two of you could get used to this and are starting to plan a life with your little human inside your belly.
Dancing in the street | đŸ„€ 💙 Steve hasn't been himself lately, so he returns to his roots and goes to the part of New York he grew up in. As he's strolling around Brooklyn, he suddenly spots you dancing in the middle of a crosswalk, and he can't help but smile at your enthusiasm. When he gets pulled into a dance, he lets himself go and dances with the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
Listen | đŸ„€ đŸ”„ Working together with your ex is already difficult enough, but the fact that you're sleeping in the bedroom next to him isn't much better. Since the two of you have broken up, Steve has brought home many women, and you are starting to lose sleep because they keep making too much noise. When you try to get Steve to stop, the conversation takes an unexpected turn, and you end up in his bed again.
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iamtotallyfineokay · 6 months
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A new game?
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Hey guys, I decided to change the idea for a bit. In one of my last posts, I mentioned my idea of Yandere FNAF UCN. In another previous post, I also said my how Yandere UCN is just Ultimate Custom Night slowly becoming Ultra Custom Night, while the robots practically simp for reader dangerously. However, I realised how it might not be appropriate, as the creator of Ultra Custom Night would probably not want their game being used for x reader fanfics with the storyline of Left4Dead Lovesick FNAF edition in an office. So I tried to change it! Instead there is a FNAF fangame I made up in my head based off the FNAF community’s stuff, like fanmade animatronics and fangame characters for example. I’m still building the plot, so please ‘bear‘ with me. Enjoy!
-
You are (Name). You work as a small streamer online, with you gaining an adequate amount of subscribers and followers on Twitch and Tumblr, due to the FNAF content that you created. People like you for your SFM and Blender animations and your occasional FNAF memes. You even made fanmade FNAF merch which was pretty good. You recently requested your followers what FNAF games they want to see you play. Some of them began requesting games like Five Nights at Candy’s, Dormitabis or Animators’ Hell. Others stick to requesting original games like Pizzeria Simulator, FNAF World, and Security Breach. You then start playing the games your followers requested the next day on Twitch.
As you finish your run on Ultra Custom Night, you cross it off the list of requested games that your followers asked you to play. However, there was one odd request you were curious about. This request mentioned a game called The Last Terminal at Freddy’s, which you went on to find on Gamejolt in your free time. However, it didn’t exist(?), only having a Page Not Found screen on your computer.
However, according to the anonymous requester, they proclaimed that, like Ultra Custom Night, this new fangame has a lot of animatronics as well as new mechanics. The requester said, in a nutshell after that, the game is just if the whole community stuffed FNAF games, fangames, book and fanmade animatronics, all put into one game that is programmed and formatted like Ultimate Custom Night. They even mentioned that if The Last Terminal at Freddy’s was compared to Ultra Custom Night, UltraCN would be only about a percent of the content that The Last Terminal at Freddy’s has, as animatronics far and wide across the FNAF community are out in it, with the original FNAF animatronics, to the FNAF AR skins and animatronic variants, to wonderful fanmade animatronic variants, to even the smallest things like the FNAF easters eggs, loading screens and such.
Even though you were excited for it, there were other followers that responded to that requests, saying that the game is probably not real, it will be cancelled, or it might cause problems like lag or a virus being installed. You, however, like the naive Let’s Play player you are, had faith and waited for this new fangame, since the anonymous requester stated that the release date is around tomorrow, late at night, the time after you streamed your playthroughs of FNAF games. As you say goodbye to your followers while you shut off the stream, you were excited! A new fangame is coming! You then go to sleep, before waking up the next day, preparing a small meal, and going to Gamejolt to check on your computer to see if it’s there.
It was! It was released around midnight, showing impressive small leaks that weren’t enough to reveal much of its contents but just enough to show small gameplay clips and pics, with one image displaying a roster with instead a width of 15 characters! You grew giddy, straight to opening the game in the process. You then dive in blind as the first thing that pops up is a title screen reminding you of the formatting of the Animators’ Hell title screen. 6 animatronics take up each side of the screen revealing a middle showing the title of the game ‘The Last Terminal at Freddy’s’. You then notice that whenever 5 to 10 seconds has passed, a random animatronic on the title screen will be replaced by another one that isn’t on it. You then press the ‘Enter’ button on the screen. The roster was huge. It seemed like it never ended no matter how far you scrolled down your mouse down. It was always filled with only roster posters of animatronics taking up the screen. You saw a setting where cheats can be turned on, where there is no system to worry about running your run, and a system where you can’t die. You turn on these cheats, set the animatronics’ AI to one, and dive into your run. After that, you were met with piles of jumpscares frame by frame, before having to purposefully ending the night by turning your oxygen mask system off.
After that, you tried some fun challenges like ‘Candy’s Franchise’, where only FNAC 1, 2, and 3 animatronics are turned on, ‘Malhare’s Invasion’, where Springbonnie and his related variants hunt you down, and ‘Hot, Hot, Hot!’, where you mostly try to make your temperature as cold as possible, trying to prevent any fire-related animatronic come into the office to kill you. You were having a lot of fun in this. So when you checked the time, you were surprised it was getting pretty late. You also realised you didn’t turn on your camera to record this. Oh well, you can do it tomorrow on stream, it’s not like you played much of it anyway. You left the game, shut down your computer, then went on the rest of your day, although you can’t help but have a small gut feeling something strange might happen, so you try to shrug it off.
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Loading. . .
. .
. Loading successful. . .
Turning on title screen. . .
-
A bright flash of light awoke these haunting robotic mascots in a jolt like a shock. All they now see is black. Then, a dozen random animatronics see a face through bright mist against a dark background, while the rest stayed in their blinded state. A new player? Odd. The last time they were turned on was when a darkened figure tapped something in front of them, before all of them seeing black. However, they decide to stay put, though some of them were having a glitching effect after certain time intervals, before being swapped with another animatronic. This new face seems to have a jumpy, positive expression. Curiosity gets ahold of them. Let’s see who you are.
Numerous surprises await. You seemed quite happy to be in their presence, chuckling at certain animatronics who you adore secretly, complimenting the mechanics of others, while whole-heartedly just playing the game. This is new. It’s like facing childish innocence in an adult form, all grown-up while being jolly. The positive reaction they could get from players before you were the occasional comment of how this game is only a bit good while lacking content that could improve it.
This fun lasted so long they even forget time went on. To them it’s was hours and hours of fun, but to you, it was just only a few. Then there it was again. You greeted them goodbye, before pressing something in the corner and them seeing black. Oh.
Oh.
Oh well.
That’s sad.
It seems good things don’t last very long.
And it was quite tiring to be trapped in here after a ghost child named ‘Cassidy’ and a wicked old ghoul named ‘William’, battled each other and fought and fought and fought, only to eventually trap each other in this hell.
There were whispers of the vengeful spirit Cassidy hurling insults and blames onto William while the now-turned murder ghost himself sweared under his breath that the fault and outcast of this place was the golden girl who was given a second change at life and a deep hatred for William.
Each hour, these two fought and fought, until their voices crack and choke, broken from the constant negative words hurling at each other. However, a new player came in. A new one. A vessel. One so sweet that one could have their teeth rot in an instant if this new player becomes a candy.
Cassidy and William, putting their foul arguments aside, now went to their own companions about how a new potential vessel will be there now. A vessel of a perfect, self-imagined future, with good use, with Cassidy having a plan of the destruction of William Afton himself, not caring an ounce for the other animatronics stuck in this game, while William imagines a day where he will shred and kill and burn his future victims to the ground, after getting rid of the golden girl herself first. -
Charlie: But Cassidy, isn’t this a bit too much? Your spirit has reached a state of mind where vengeance takes over your thoughts and feelings.
Cassidy: But Charlie! Look at this! We are trapped in this stupid place because he was the man who started it all! If we get our hands on that person, we will be able to rest, or even better, end Afton himself!
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William: Baby, my daughter, I display a deed for you. I seem to have found an appropriate vessel. One that’s so naive that they probably won’t realise they are being controlled. All we need to do, is request Malhare for the help of controlling this vessel, and we will continue the reign of hurt and fright!
Baby (from the books): Of course, sir! May a reign of newfound terror be shown through a new vessel. Shall we start it when this little one comes on again?
-
These prideful spirits and trapped animatronics are torn in a constant state of acceptance and anger. However, a bigger tear will form, as one’s desires can get in the way of things. Cassidy might not see the destruction of the man who murdered her, while the murderer himself, might not see another drop of blood again. The animatronics might gain awareness slowly, while the other spirits watch from the side the chaos that they foresee and partake in. Maybe the spirits of the angered victim and the murderer might change their plans, though their results might turn out far more gruesome than before. But overall, the main thing you will notice is a fate for our dear (Name) that will not end very well for them.
-

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.. 
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OKAY THAT WAS LONGER THAN WHAT I PLANNED TO WRITE. But I hope you guys enjoyed it. This was longer than what I expected.
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trillscienceofficer · 2 months
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I was thinking that while Discovery has undoubtedly changed throughout the seasons (some ways long overdue, because if your idea of being "edgy" is just being racist then you get season 1), ultimately it's always been just like itself, very fond of big plots and big speeches, enamored with unnatural dialogue (in early seasons because the writers thought they were being so clever, in later ones because the show is deliberately dumbing its writing down), plagued by poor pacing, and the hopeful message that every season wanted to convey not entirely supported by what actually happens in the story.
In the latter respects season 4 did better than previous seasons, and again I certainly don't want to return to the season 1 approach, but my reluctance to watch season 4 wasn't entirely unfounded, either. I said this before but I'm in the 'generation' of Trekkies whose point of entry to the franchise was Discovery, back when it was a new show on Netflix, and it's always been... so viscerally disappointing to watch it constantly fall short of the potential these characters were offering. Season 4 did not exactly change my mind. If anything the handful of good episodes (which were very good!) made me long even more for the ideal version of this show that I could glimpse in there, and which I could wholeheartedly support and recommend without any caveats.
And I mean, this is not just on Discovery either. All the other live-action shows suffer from the same problems I outlined above, and SNW and Picard staunchly refuse(d) to confront their "edgy" racism issue while also being mediocre TV, so Discovery is still miles ahead of them. I also don't think the more structural writing problems should come as a surprise post-WGA/SAG strike. All these shows have been made on pretty strict budgets, by cutting corners wherever and whenever the production could (eg moving to Canada). I'm assuming the labor practices in the writing room and on set were along the lines of "squeeze these people for all they got as fast as you can, one season at a time" since 2016, and that is not a recipe for thoughtful, or even just sensical, television. (Plus, Discovery has had a history of workplace harassment in the writing room since basically its inception, and that can't have helped. That is hopefully something the show has left behind since season 3.)
So I suppose Discovery will keep Discovery-ing in the next, final season. The plot will be universe-ending, there will be speeches every episode, the dialogue will make you wonder how do these people even live huddled all together without going crazy—if Star Trek is overall an allegory about the workplace, then Discovery now reflects the recent corporate tendency to deflect actual grievances through the use of therapy language and the idea that everyone should be always 100% open about their struggles with everyone else, no matter how appropriate for the situation it is. That sums up my expectations pretty well, I think.
After all these years, I'm unmoved by Discovery's promise of a future where every big problem can be solved if you say the right words, with the right attitude. Contrary to its purported message, the show proved over and over that that isn't even enough to make a scifi show I could find consistently entertaining. But I will still be there to watch season 5, if anything because sometimes I like to see things to their end, and I'm still irrationally fond of this mess and these characters. Perhaps I'll have a good time along the way as well.
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penig · 11 months
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Concerning Pink Lemonade
So, in the wake of yesterday’s brief lemonade discourse with @prismatic-bell, I started wondering. I began my researches at home, by consulting my late-70s edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook. Yes, Betty Crocker is a corporate invention and shill, but her cookbook (at least for that edition ) is very handy for a lot basic things. If a dish is frequently found on American tables, odds are good it’ll have some sort recipe for it, even if it isn’t your favorite version of the dish. And sure enough, “pink” was down as a variation on lemonade, and the lemonade recipe itself is an acceptable one. Alas, to make pink lemonade the instructions are to make basic lemonade and add two tablespoons of grenadine syrup and a drop or two of food coloring! Which is about what you’d expect from commercial lemonade but I think we can all probably agree that it’s a cheat in a private kitchen and not worthy of the name “home cooking.”
So I started considering what I knew, or thought I knew, about pink lemonade, and why I thought so. That it was made from grapefruit I had no doubt - I distinctly remember my mom’s voice telling me that when I hesitated to drink it the first time. But I think the rest of the idea I had about it, though logical and experience-based, is not something anyone ever told me. (I have never actually made the stuff myself; never had that much grapefruit juice on hand.) Because, pink lemonade excepted, if a drink is made from a fruit, water, and sugar, it is fruitade - lemonade, limeade, orangeade. But grapefruitade is not a word and you only have to see or say it to know why. So grapefruitade became pink lemonade - essentially the same recipe, with an appropriate amount of grapefruit juice in place of the lemon juice. If a fruit is added to lemonade it becomes fruit lemonade - strawberry lemonade, raspberry lemonade, etc. Add one more fruit and you’ve got yourself a fruit punch.
This all seems tolerably obvious to me. But prismatic-bell’s evidence demonstrates that, to some people, strawberry lemonade is an alternate term for pink lemonade, not a separate thing.
So I asked my husband what was in pink lemonade and he said: “Well, if it’s real pink lemonade, grapefruit.” Which was highly gratifying but not definitive. He’s from Georgia and my family is all midwestern (though I”m an Air Force Brat and my cuisine, like my accent, is a kind of American Fusion). We are, however, the same age, and I thought it entirely possible that the original pink lemonade had fallen out of fashion and that Kids Today had never known The Real Stuff. So I cranked up the old search engine and went looking for pink lemonade recipes and culinary histories.
Well! Imagine my consternation when I turned up not one single pure grapefruitade recipe, only a lot of variations on fruit lemonade. Cranberry is apparently far the most common, but prismatic-bell’s strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, and even watermelon appeared. Even more shockingly, one of the legends of its invention (which are lost in the mists of the 19th century circus) is that it was created when a refreshment stand worker threw cinnamon candies into the lemonade. I can believe a lot of things, but I do not believe that.
So now I’m curious. I have no particular hope of a poll made on my blog getting any traction, but I’m going to turn the Shiny New Post Editor back on and make a poll, and plead for it to be reblogged around. I’m typing this in Legacy because I forgot and anyway who’s going to read all this before voting in a poll?
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tierseta · 6 months
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Hey there! Since it's Friday I take the opportunity to ask you something about Fouché ^-^ I always wondered how much he was responsible for the destruction of Lyon... What did exactly do there? And did he follow some specific orders or did he took some "liberties" when tasked to punish the counter-revolutionaries?
Hey! This is what Fouché Friday is for :) :)
This is gonna be long because I want to add some context since what happened in Lyon is complex and there are misconceptions about it partly due to anti-revolutionary propaganda. It will probably be more than what you asked for but I want to address the Lyon episode in its entirety. I am not a historian nor is Tumblr appropriate to give a thorough reply so I’ll leave it up to you to research more in details or ask follow up questions later if you want.
Lyon rebelled against the Convention, was sieged in August-October 1793 by the Convention’s forces and lost. The goal from then on was to purge it of the rebels and rally the rest of the population to the Revolution. Most of them, however, were not enthusiastic about this at all, for the same reasons that had led the city to rebel to begin with, and also because of the trauma caused by the siege. Upon his arrival in November, Collot wrote to the CPS about how the experience had “induced [in the population] a sort of indifference for life, if not total contempt for death.” This made the envoys’ task difficult, and can explain why they thought it necessary to take some heavy and unprecedented decisions (like using cannons for executions).
It seems the Convention wanted to make an example out of Lyon, understandably, since it was the second most important city of the Republic; the decree ordering the repression post-siege is worded very strongly, yet vaguely enough to be open to interpretation (I've pasted and linked to an English transcription below) The siege coincides with the decision by the Convention to suspend the Constitution and declare the government as Revolutionary until peace is achieved. Couthon, who was initially sent on mission to the army and took part in the siege, was recalled soon after Lyon’s capitulation because his method for the repression was deemed unadapted to the situation i mentioned above. He himself admits being baffled by the apathy of Lyon’s citizens as he says in a letter to Saint-Just:
I think people are stupid here by temperament and that the fogs of the Rhone and the SaĂŽne carry into the atmosphere a vapor that also thickens ideas. We have requested a colony of Jacobins whose efforts, joined with ours, will provide the people of Ville-Affranchie with a new education.
This is why Collot was sent from the CPS, along with Fouché, who had shown success in other missions (Nevers, Moulins), and Laporte. Albitte was also sent to Lyon but was soon reassigned to another area.
The Convention’s decree regarding Lyon and the repression to be conducted there/Transcription in English
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Some context regarding Fouché:
FouchĂ© when he was assigned to the repression of Lyon on October 30, 1793 (spooky) was already known as an efficient and energetic –sometimes overly so– representative on mission. The CPS recognized his worth as such:
The services you have provided, citizen colleague, are the guarantee of those you will provide again. You will reignite in Ville-Affranchie (ie Lyon) the beacon of public spirit that has faded, seconded by colleagues whose soul is hardened with energy, yours will flood it with all the fires of liberty.
Fouché’s originality was his paternalistic approach to his missions; apart from encouraging young patriots to enroll in the army, he often organized festivals to educate the population on how to French Revolution 101, at least according to his interpretation of the Revolutionary ideals. He was then politically aligned with the Montagne, specifically with its most radical elements, like Chaumette and the “herbertists”. During his various missions throughout France, he had found a network of radical sans-culottes, and brought some of them to Lyon to make up for its limited patriotic scene, as did Collot with Parisian sans-culottes.
The repression had already started when Fouché and Collot arrived. Anti-revolutionaries were being judged, aristocratic houses were getting destroyed. In November, the commissions put in place under Couthon were replaced by the new envoys with a commission of surveillance and two revolutionary tribunals, one in Lyon and one in Feurs nearby. The tribunals only had two options for the judgments: death if guilty or acquittal if not. Still, Collot notified the CPS on November 7 that the tribunal of Lyon was powerless in inspiring terror on anti-revolutionaries:
The tribunal acts with more severity [than the military commission], but its progress is slow; it has still performed little [...] Even the executions do not produce the expected effects. The prolongation of the siege and the daily perils experienced by all have induced a sort of indifference for life, if not total contempt for death. Yesterday a spectator, returning from an execution, said: it's not too harsh. What could I do to be guillotined? Insult the representatives?
By the end of November, the repression team decided they needed to pull out the big guns
 literally, by holding mass executions with the use of cannons loaded with grapeshot on December 4 and 5, or by firing squad until mid-February. I’ll spare you the gruesome details but the grapeshot method was dropped immediately because it wasn’t as swift as they had intended it to be. Nevertheless, these two mass executions are what is usually referred to when FouchĂ© (and Collot) is called “mitrailleur de Lyon”. The Convention did not condemn them then; still, with Lyon’s women petitioning for mercy, and the evident violence of the events, backlash was in the air, and Collot returned to Paris on December 14 to defend the repression team’s decisions. After his departure, FouchĂ© became the de facto leader of the repression, which he kept enforcing with no sign of leniency until February, and, more importantly, with the approval of the Convention and the CPS. 
Which takes us to your next question; was he following orders or taking liberties? I’m tempted to reply that taking liberties was part of his orders. If you look again at the decree pronounced by the Convention about Lyon, you’ll see it’s basically just broad guidelines to organize the repression, which suggests the rest was up to the representatives. But FouchĂ© didn't act covertly. He followed these guidelines with the same energy the CPS had requested of him, sending reports of his decisions and of the principles guiding his actions. I told you about the festivals he organized to educate the population; he did those alongside Collot, then after Collot left. He organized a system of public welfare with property seizures from wealthy homes in benefit of poor patriots, etc. To know if he "went too far" or did just what he had to comes down to how these decisions and actions were judged by the national authorities (the Convention and the CPS). Probably the best indicator that they approved is that they kept FouchĂ© there until April to foresee the repression basically on his own. So what happened for them to recall him in April and demand that he justify his conduct?
On November 16, he and Collot had signed a document explaining their objectives, that I encourage you to read if not to learn about Lyon specifically but about the principles defended by the “hebertists”: Instruction addressed to the constituted authorities of the Departments of RhĂŽne and of Loire (in French). One very noticeable element specific to the situation in Lyon is the emphasis on “vengeance” and “expiation”. Everyone in Lyon bears the guilt of the rebellion; the unrepentant and unsalvageable need to die, while the republicans need to show even more energy than what is usually expected, because they bear the sin of allowing their city to trample the Republic. If these republicans apparently accepted these terms at first, they soon rejected them for reasons more social than political: they hated the Parisian and Nivernais Sans-culottes brought in by Collot and FouchĂ©, who in turn hated them back. Lyon's Sans-culottes were mostly poor workers of the local silk industry, whereas Collot and FouchĂ©'s Sans-culottes were more intellectual professions, clerks, business owners etc.
Very early on, Fouché had purged/displaced/incapacitated the local authorities and concentrated all power in the bodies put in place for the repression. He and his Sans-culottes were basically in charge of everything by mid-December: subsistence, inventories, destructions, seizure of excess riches and whatnot, ie all the measures announced in the document I referred to earlier. This concentration of power eventually put him in conflict with the local authorities, who either started bypassing decisions taken by the repressive apparatus, or see their own decisions immediately annulled by it, with some level of arbitrariness from both sides. Fouché had no control over this situation despite his attempts at taking it by force against the local Sans-culottes. This was what was reproached to him immediately after he was recalled to Paris in early April: oppressing the local patriots. It looked especially bad when you remember the hebertists were arrested in March because of their call to insurrection against the Convention.
Which should make you wonder “but if FouchĂ© was close to the hebertists, why was he not arrested with the other hebertists in March?”, which, yeah, indeed lmao. I'm sure he wondered the same and it got him down the paranoia rabbit hole. As a representative on mission, he had de facto a form of immunity (you don't just suddenly arrest the person in charge of everything in one area), not to mention Collot was protecting him; also, he dropped the level of violence of the repression by putting an end to the mass executions by firing squad in February, in part to ease the tension in the city, in part so he could tell the Convention that his mission was oh so very successful they don’t even have to execute dozens of people at once every day anymore now. But you can imagine his distress when he came back to Paris and saw the power balance had dramatically shifted in his disfavor when he was on top of the world just a few months prior.
More about his defense in the next Fouché Friday ask reply...
Ouch this got really long but I hope it was easy to understand!!!!
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answrs · 10 months
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Readmores And You - A Really Great Tumblr Feature!
(this is technically directed at stuff I've seen in a specific tag because of the content of said tag makes it more likely to spoiler things, but it applies to anyone likely learning the ins and outs of a new site. speaking of which, hello! welcome to tumblr!) (this got. longer than anticipated. apologies, I get bogged down in trying to make things as clear as possible. ^^")
I've seen this a lot recently in the VC tags especially, where the post goes something to the effect of "tw bloody animal!" then like six periods and the images of whatever dead thing the post is about.
I recognize this is probably being carried over from some other website (...reddit probably? maybe insta?) but please. I appreciate y'all so much for trying to do what you're doing. but this method of hiding pictures isn't effective on tumblr, but there is an infinitely better option!
"but why? it works fine on other sites?" firstly, a few extra lines typically don't even take up enough space on mobile (let alone desktop) to hide your pics, so even at a glance anyone is likely still seeing at least the top half of whichever picture you posted before even noticing the trigger warning on top. second, because you have to scroll all the way past the images at the bottom of your post anyway to get to the next one on your dash/in the tag/etc. so if someone comes across your post and the trigger warning is applicable as something they want to avoid, unless they have access to a keyboard to use a keybind shortcut that ive been here 12 years and still cant remember, they can't see any other posts after it without either having to scroll through the pics or outright block you. which is... not the most ideal of options I would say.
"but what else am I supposed to do then!?" I hear you ask.
READMORES!
tumblr has a wonderful feature known as a "readmore" that's built into the site! it creates a break in your post, which hides any content - be it words, images, whatever - that you place underneath it, not showing it unless the person viewing it clicks on the words "keep reading" (formerly "read more" - hence the name :D).
Cool, how do I do that?
on mobile you can place one by tapping an empty line and clicking the grey squiggle icon from the selection that allow you to insert an image/vid/link
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which will place a squiggly line into the post you're making:
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(desktop uses the same icon, it's just in a more compact row of icons.)
you can drag it around after placing it too, just like photos. (note: mobile can get finicky with this and it's usually just easier to remove it -click the big red X- and add it in the new place you want it.)
EDIT: some of the versions of mobile editor are broken and don't show the icons. to add it in manually type ":readmore:" (with the colons, but not the quotation marks) on its own line. Thank you for the reminder, LovingTogetic!
this is also a nice way to keep your blog tidy and not swamped in long and/or spoilery posts (say if you're posting 5k word fics, or extensive meta, or gushing over the ending of the latest game or TV show most people probably haven't seen yet)! it's not required, obviously, but it's generally considered a common courtesy for others that will be seeing your post cross their dashboard.
finally, an example of the readmore in action:
(ta-da!)
have fun out there y'all, I hope this is helpful ^^
as an aside (I wasn't sure where to put this but under the break seemed appropriate), you may also see a lot of personal/vent posts be fully under readmores as well, even if the post is only a sentence or two long. this is mostly so followers don't necessarily see it unless they specifically click, but there's a more frustrating history to it becoming a thing: when a post is reblogged, any content above the break is permanently frozen as it existed at the time, but anything under it will reflect edits made to the post. while not common, a certain type of user sometimes browse the various "do not rb" tags and will purposefully reblog personal posts in order to upset and distress the users. putting those things under a readmore make it so even if that happens, the text can be deleted from all iterations of the post. recently the site rolled out an option to lock a post to reblogs, but you gotta mess with the settings and it's mostly a habit after a decade here dealing with the nonsense.
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deducter · 7 months
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Suicide or not? (experiment results)
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This, dear readers, is the moment you've been eagerly anticipating: the results of the experiment. The path to the answer I've obtained, a curious journey devised by my own inquisitive mind.
Let me begin by explaining the purpose behind it all, followed by the details of the journey and the ultimate revelation.
So, what was the underlying objective of this experiment, and where did it originate? The rubber experiment was crafted to determine, when all that remains is a mere rubber, whether it was a case of suicide or murder. You might wonder, how is such a determination possible?
By discerning whether the deceased was right-handed or left-handed (or, in the most challenging scenario, ambidextrous, much like myself).
It all commenced when I found myself plagued by the wretched state of boredom; Then, a question arose within me.
 Initially, I believed it might be achievable simply by observing rubbers. Thus, I embarked upon collecting data. I 'borrowed' numerous rubbers from my fellow students, meticulously examining each one. Alas, no answer presented itself through such means. You see, it all hinged on how one scrutinizes the rubber, on the perspective (angle) from which it is observed. 
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And so, I delved into my knowledge of chemistry, conducting a modest research to identify the appropriate substance for examining the rubbers. Initially, I experimented with the talc powder I possessed, acquired from a fingerprint identifier kit.
Alas, the talc powder proved ineffective in my pursuit. Undeterred, I intensified my research, delving deeper into my reservoir of knowledge and scouring through various books and trusted articles.
With perseverance, I managed to narrow down the options to two potential substances. The first contender was Lugol's iodine, while the second was low-sulphur graphite powder. 
So, armed with all the necessary materials and a collection of rubber covers, I embarked on my quest. Initially, I had grand aspirations of conducting these experiments within the confines of our humble kitchen. However, alas, it soon became apparent that such a choice would be far from environmentally friendly. Let us conveniently overlook the certain wrath that would befall me if I were to proceed, courtesy of my mother.
I was fortunate enough to discover a lab that would serve as the ideal setting for my experiments, a stroke of luck that ranks among the finest moments in my endeavours. From this point forward, with the newfound laboratory at my disposal, I shall be posting a series of intriguing experiments.
Accompanied by my colleague, I ventured into the lab to commence the iodine experiment. 
In its unaltered state, the experiment dictated the amalgamation of potassium iodide (KI) with copper(II) sulfate (CuSO4), resulting in the formation of iodine molecules (I2). However, as Lugol's iodine already encompasses iodine molecules, I deemed it unnecessary to follow that particular course. Iodine, known for its volatility, possesses a proclivity for evading solution boundaries with ease. Nevertheless, an ample array of surfaces exists upon which iodine molecules readily affix themselves.
One notable exemplar is fats, for iodine exhibits exceptional solubility within them. Considering that fingerprints predominantly consist of fats, even the meagre traces of fatty substances present on our fingertips possess the capacity to harbour a sufficient quantity of iodine molecules. Consequently, these otherwise imperceptible fingerprints transmute into a distinctive hue of dark brown, rendering them conspicuously visible.
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Alas, it didn’t work. Failing is not the thing I just accept, and I had to find out why it happened. I actually expected this because rubber covers are made out of polyethylene. It is a type of thermoplastic polymer – and that thing, ruined the whole experiment. But I also did the experiment with a plain white paper, and it worked, as you can observe in this low-quality photo. 
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In the midst of my investigation, I turned to my final recourse: the enigmatic graphite powder. Its application yielded captivating outcomes. As you can discern, the fingerprint loops have become discernible, and their inclination provides vital clues. From the tilt of these loops, I can deduce that the rubber in question was wielded by a right-handed individual. Curiously, though, this rubber belongs to me, and I am, in fact, ambidextrous. Nevertheless, it is evident that it has predominantly been employed by my right hand, the hand that I write with most of the time. 
As you can see, the loops are tilted to the side that I showed with the little red arrow. By that, I identified that I held it with my right hand.
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You can’t deny the beauty of this experiment. So go on and try it. 
-ND
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shards-of-silver · 2 months
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Thrawn RarePairs Challenge 2024: FAQ
While I'm online, I decided to post the answers to some questions I received in DM. I doubt the askers are the only ones wondering.
Who can participate in the challenge?
Anyone who wants to! Be they fanfic writers, fan artists, pod fic producers... Anyone who wants to increase the variety of ships in the Thrawn fandom or has a rarepair they want to shed light on is invited. I would have made a private event if the goal was to be selective about who can join.
With that in mind, anyone who wants to participate but has reservations CAN SUBMIT ANONYMOUSLY. They can post their work on Ao3 anonymously, request it be added to the collection, and I will upload it just the same (so long as it follows the rules of the challenge). If you don't have an Ao3 account, DM me. We will work out an appropriate arrangement.
How are OCs/Reader fics treated by this challenge?
They are allowed, with one caveat: all OCs count as a single character. Reader is a singular character of its own. OFC, OMC, and OGNC are all treated the same here. The point of the challenge is to increase the variety of ships in the Thrawn fandom. There are well over 100 Thrawn/OC fics. Thrawn/OC is not a rarepair. Similarly, there are already over 100 Thrawn/Reader fics. If you want to write, say Ar'alani/OC or Eli/Reader, however, that is allowed.
How will you treat incest/noncon/age gap/(insert other controversial ship type)?
Tag and rate your work appropriately. If you do that, you are allowed to join the challenge with any rarepair ship you want. My personal opinion about a ship does not determine whether it qualifies for rarepair status. I simply ask that all participants follow the "don't like, don't read/click" philosophy when it comes to perusing other people's entries.
That said, hate fics/troll fics/entries designed to bash a ship are not allowed. If someone wrote a (using this example for illustrative purposes only) Thranto fic about how toxic and awful they think the ship is and anyone who writes for it is stupid, one would be unlikely to consider that a true Thranto fic. Apply this logic to any ship you may be inclined to make works for. Don't create out of hate for this, please.
What if a ship gets over a 100 works over the course of the challenge? Can I still submit work for it?
Yes! The rarepair designation requires a ship have less than 100 fanworks on Ao3 as of the first day of the challenge. Some ships are very close, with over 90. If we are fortunate enough to have a lot of people participate and take some ships out of that category before the challenge is over, you can still submit works for that ship.
Are romantic ships and friendships treated differently for the purpose of this challenge?
Yes! Make sure to use the "&" instead of the "/" for platonic ships. So if a ship already has 100 romantic works and you want to write a friendship/family work (and the "&" pairing is under 100), go for it! This allows gen fics (my JAM) to be part of the challenge.
How will you treat threesomes/3+ character ships?
They are their own ship. For example: Thrawn/Eli/Faro is not the same ship as Thranto or Thraro. However, make sure you actually are writing/making a threesome and not a story about two people being together and hooking up with a third for a single paragraph. Honest tagging is important.
___
If you have any other questions, my messages/asks are open! Thank you for all the interest this event has already received. Dates will be announced after the poll closes.
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laughingmaidenarising · 4 months
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Growing Up Filianist
These are just some differences I’ve noticed across the years. I hope this post is well put together and makes enough sense. I have tried my best not to ramble, because I have the terrible habit of doing so. Requested by @tenebrouscandor-blog :)
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1. Not Having a Church Building
—> our Rite of Sacrifice was held in our living room. 7 aunts and uncles and their respective spouses, me and my 4 siblings, and my 15 cousins all crowded together in that space! Plus my Grandmother, who was the lady of our household. While all my friends told me about their beautiful churches and intricate mosques I would in turn tell them of our precious home altar, decorated with all sorts of precious trinkets, and the icons of the Mother and Daughter that were plastered about. Sure, it was a tight squeeze. But we laughed and rejoiced so much on Holy Days and Days of Observance that nobody ever complained.
2. Having a Home Altar
—> I remember mentioning one time to my friends in Home Ec. class (it must’ve been around middle school) that I was excited to place the gingerbread cookies we had just made on our home altar. None of them seemed to have a clue what I was talking about! Imagine my surprise. I was so sad that none of them had ever experienced the happiness of placing any home-baked goods or handmade craft we (my cousins and siblings and i) were proud of on the altar. My Grandmother always told us that when we placed them on the altar it was as if we were showing our Mother our gifts just as we show our earthly mothers things we are proud of. A way of saying thank you to our Mother for all the wonderful tools she gives us so that we are able to make whatever thing we made. It has a large statue of our Mother as the Virgin Mary, and has different cloth colors depending the season or holiday. Incense was always burning on it and the type would change according to the appropriate season or holiday. A little jar for our prayers would lay in front of it and if there was some prayer we were maybe too embarrassed to pray with everybody about we could drop it in the little jar. I could talk for hours on our home altar, so if anyone is interested i’ll make a seperate post on that :)
3. Holidays!
—> one of the most noticeable differences for me was the different holidays my family observed compared to, for example, my Christian friend. Halloween became Tamala, a 3 day celebration full of both solemnity and joy. Christmas was known as the Nativity, with a Fir Tree and a Star Fairy involved. New Years was celebrated but we also enjoyed the Day of Sai Herthe. Easter was spelled as Eastre to me (i remember my teachers being quite mad about that) and was much more stretched out than my christian friends Easter Mass and egg hunt. Of course, Filianism has its own special holidays. Maura, for example, is similar to Lent but not quite. Med-Maura is not a thing to Catholics, for example. (The month of Maura seemed sooo long to us as kids because we knew we would be gently encouraged to give something up in remembrance of our Lady’s death.) I could go on, but then I would be rambling. Once again, if anyone has more interest in hearing on specific holidays or just holidays in general please let me know!
4. Lady of the Household
The men in my family were most definitely never oppressed or hated or looked upon as lesser. There was, though, an emphasis on there being a lady of the household instead of a lord. Usually the oldest woman in the home. In my family that was my Grandmother, because she lived with us. For my cousins it was their own mother. the lady of the household was meant to be wise and patient and thoughtful. To guide the family closer to our Mother and to each other. She would sit at the head of the table, and lead out in most prayers (at dinner us kids would rotate on whose turn it was to pray) , and have the ‘final word’ if you will, in most if not all matters. So it was quite a shock to have a sleepover at a friends house and see their dad sitting at the head of the table instead of their mother (at my house it would be my Grandmother, but at my cousins houses it was their mother), and their father having the blessing, and all that.
I felt rather stupid for feeling shocked, because i’d taken world history. i knew that most of the world followed a male-dominated societal structure. but i’d never experienced a household like that before my first sleepover at 15. It was also quite different that most if not all of my friends would say “I have to ask my dad” and i would say “i have to ask my Grandmother”.
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I have tried my best to explain everything in a way that would make the most sense. I don’t know if I have achieved it, so if there are any things that need clarification please let me know and I will do my best to do so. I have written and rewritten this post multiple times over the past day or so because I was fearful that my points wouldn’t be understood or be criticized. I feel as though I always say this but: please remember that this is how I was raised. Perhaps other filianists would raise their children differently. I’m sure that’s alright. Everything I mention is not out of me claiming that the way I was raised is the only way, I am only showing a way.
Thank you!
Many blessings to you all
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artficlly · 1 year
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lady of the ghosts [chapter 3]
After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.
Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader
Warnings: mention of war, mention of torture, mention of poison, mention of burning alive, sexism, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 6.7k
A/N: this was an absolute mission to write! i was going to sit on it overnight and do another quick refine but I decided to post it early. thank you all for all the love and support. this chapter is setting up some plot points but trust me the bucky x reader drama is going to heat up next chapter. lots of love for you all, thank you for reading! as per usual sorry for any typos, not proof read!
chapter masterlist | main masterlist
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If you had thought being in Galanta would save you from forced socialization, you had been sorely mistaken. Shortly after breakfast, all of the guests were summoned to one of the upstairs tearooms. The room was large enough to accommodate a group of people but small enough that hiding in the corners was impossible. You expected they did it on purpose, to keep ladies like yourself from straying from the conversation. Events like these were designed to encourage mingling while keeping the environment appropriate.  
A fresh breeze blew in from the balcony, which overlooked the city, sending the emerald green curtains swaying with each breath. There were a variety of sweets and savories on the dark oak tables positioned between the waiting staff and potted plants. You had inspected the pastries, tarts, and fruits with mild interest, observing how each piece was only a mouthful in size. All the food, you had noticed, was love themed. The pastries and tarts are shaped like little doves and roses, and the fruit cut and diced into heart and star shapes. You wondered if King James was actually a romantic at heart or if he had just let the planners go wild. The Galanta Season was famous for its beautiful details, entertaining events, and impressive love matches. You supposed by now the event would plan itself without much input from the royals beyond the gold they paid. 
You had opted for some tea to keep yourself looking busy. Galantian teas were imported from the south, adding a tang of citrus to their flavor. You were unsure if you liked it as much as the stronger black teas of Faliene, but you enjoyed the sweetness. You had been horrified to see a woman add more sugar to her own tea while complaining that the citrus had made her mouth hurt. Faliene rarely had the luxury of sugar and sweets, so watching the overindulgence left an uneasy feeling in your gut.  
With one of his signature scowls on his face, Prince Micheal had been staring at you nonstop all morning. You knew the moment the two of you were alone, he would reprimand you for your actions the night before. You could not find the energy to care. Instead, you found yourself avoiding King Harrison and watching as he lingered near Princess Peggy. She was blushing and smiled politely at King James, who seemed to be keeping her entertained among the circling lords. Peggy would be quite the catch if James didn’t snatch her up in time. Watching the scene unfold, you imagined the lords as southern vultures, circling the available ladies as they slowly withered away. 
James had not offered you a glance the entire morning. You could understand why, considering that Princess Peggy had been determined to capture his attention since breakfast. You couldn’t help but wonder if Peggy truly liked James or if it was just to please her father. As children, she had mentioned James in passing to you, but never in recent years. During the war, she had not shown much concern for him, instead keeping her opinions to herself. She had never seemed to be the type to swoon over knights and princes; maybe she kept it a secret, or maybe she truly had no interest. 
“Lady Y/N. Forgive me, King Harrison was supposed to introduce us, but it appears he is busy.” A rough voice spoke from beside you. Your eyes moved from Peggy over to the man who spoke, instantly recognizing him. Lord Rumlow. The Lord of the Snakes. 
He wasn’t unattractive. Or old. He was quite handsome in a rugged way. His face was sculpted, with high cheekbones and a defined jawline. His skin had a light tan; he was a man who had seen labor before his time as a lord. His brows hooded over his dark eyes, and his strands of hair were dark and short. From the way he held himself, you could tell he was a fighter. You had seen it in knights before – the way they prowled on their toes, ready to strike. He was muscled and tall like Steve, his hands callused and steady with intention. 
Those hands, that body – the way he held himself. You had heard rumors about his blood ties to Hydrina and how his leap to lordship had been questionable. Although Rumlow was unofficially known as Lord of the Snakes, his actual title was Lord Rumlow of Dorasea. Dorasea was a port city, although smaller in size than Faliene. It was located on the border between Hydrina and Galanta, trading goods between the two kingdoms. Only within the last few years had the port been founded, around the time that the plague struck Faliene. Before the port was built, Dorasea was a small section of land, mainly known for its tavern, which supplied rooms for those traveling between the two kingdoms. The previous Lord of Dorasea was Rumlow's grandfather, and Rumlow's mother had been wed off to a Hydrian lord to protect Dorasea from raids by Hydrians. You supposed that was where the blood ties came in – the Lord of Dorasea was half Hydrian. At least, that is what you heard. 
“You made quite the entrance yesterday.” Rumlow continues, eyes snaking over your dress. 
Today you wore another traditional dress that was adapted to fit the Galatian weather. The silk skirts were made of a light blue with gray sections. It had been hardened with whalebone to keep the fabric tight against your skin, forgoing the need for a corset. The bodice cuts a deep v-shape in the chest area, only coming to a point below your sternum. Your shoulders were exposed with small cutouts, and then the blue fabric continued snuggly down to your wrists. You wore the same trident necklace, a belt made of woven sealskin leather, with silver chains looped loosely around your hips. The silver rings on your fingers tapped against your teacup as you replied. 
“It didn’t scare you off, you must be used to uncommon traditions after spending time in Hydrina?” You say, paired with an innocent smile. Your kohl-lined eyes survey him, judging his reaction to your comment. To your surprise, he smiles. It isn’t a kind smile; there is a darkness to it that you can’t quite analyze. 
“Tell me, why are you here? Everyone here seems to think you are here to find a husband, but you seem to be intentionally scaring them all away.” Rumlow asks, hand finding your shoulder as he guides you towards a quiet corner. You follow reluctantly, abandoning your cup of tea at a nearby table. You presume he doesn’t want to be overheard. He must also know that he can’t speak to you fully alone due to the questions that may arise. 
“I am here to find a husband, one who will accept me and my people.” You reply. Your tone bored, it felt like you had repeated those words countless times since arriving in Galanta. Stepping away from his touch, you clasp your hands in front of you, your thumb rolling over one of your rings. 
“So you are here to find a lord, not a husband.” Rumlow retorts. You note how still his body is, like a predator tracking its prey through the forest. 
“A lord, a husband
 the title doesn’t matter, as long as he can help me.” You drawl in disinterest. Across the room, you spot Steve watching you warily, like he’s preparing to march over and drag you away. 
“Lady of the Ghosts
 She's too smart for her own good, they all say. They must be wrong because you are speaking like a fool.” His tone is mocking as he speaks, yet he is still armed with a taunting smile. 
“I am no fool.” You say, narrowing your eyes at the Lord. 
“You have been given a choice, marry to save yourself or perish alongside your people. Why do you insist on perishing?” Rumlow continues.
“In saving my people, I will save myself. I get a choice in who I will marry, and I will marry the man who will help Faliene. If that man is not you, then I suggest you leave.” You snip back, motioning out into the room with your hand. Rumlow only chuckles darkly at that, shaking his head. 
“You must understand that realistically, no one will save Faliene. There are other ports, such as Dorasea, that have better weather conditions and could supply jobs to Falienean sailors. No one will marry you because you insist on holding onto that husk of a city.” He spells it out with a mocking grin. Any sense of politeness for the sake of pretending drops from your face, a glower overcoming your face. 
In that moment, it dawned on you. The moment he mentioned Dorsea, it all clicked into place. Now you understood why Rumlow had taken up the challenge of trying for your hand. Not only because you were both disgraced in the eyes of polite society but because you held something powerful. From what you had heard, Dorasea was successful in small amounts but needed more sailors with experience. Too many wrecks and lost cargoes had shaken the recent profits. 
There was a reason why Faliene had survived for all these decades, and that was because, undeniably, Falienean sailors were the best in the world. Not only could they navigate the icy Northern Ocean, but they could navigate any ocean. They were born with salt water in their blood; they called themselves the children of Nemue, Goddess of the Sea. Your house was ancient and known for its loyalty in seafaring and trading. Other continents and kingdoms trusted you because of your long line of dealings. They trusted Falienean’s because they knew they were one with the water and that they did not make mistakes. 
Dorasea did not have the same reputation. She was a new port, filled with inexperienced and unknown sailors. The only thing stopping Faliene from losing what little trade she had left was her legitimacy. That legitimacy was granted by the Falienean sailors, by your house, by your name. Rumlow needed legitimacy to stake a claim on the seafaring world. Rumlow didn’t just want you for heirs, but to reinstate himself as a sealord. He had the men, the money, and the land to do so. With your name and your sailors, Dorasea could become the biggest and best port in Galanta. All he needed was you. 
“Faliene is the biggest port in Haiford. It has the biggest imports of fish, ice, whale bones, and seal leather. It is the closest port to the capital of Haiford, and the cold weather means that the imported food does not expire as quickly. The men who work the sea are skilled at what they do, they can navigate the ocean like no other. Continents and kingdoms respect my name and my house. Why do you think that because Dorasea has seen some success that it will live up to the legend of Faliene?” Your voice is deadly as you speak, and your words are clear and precise. Rumlow stays calm, not even a fleeting look of discouragement crossing his features. You are growing to despise the way he holds himself, like he is better than you. 
“It will take money, time, and men to rebuild Faliene to a point where it will turn a profit. Not many are willing to spare those things for their own people, let alone a dying city of legend. These past few generations never saw Faliene at its best, they cannot perceive it as anything other than a weakness. Even if you did hire men to bring to Faliene, they would not survive the winter. I can understand why you do not want to abandon your people, but there are other ways to save them than rebuilding a city. You have your name and your house.” 
“What do you offer me? You want my name to secure Dorasea’s legitimacy, why should I give it to you?” You ask, tilting your head. 
It was no wonder why he wanted this conversation to be private. He couldn’t have anyone knowing he planned to take a monopoly over the sea trades; chaos would ensue. Even if these men scoffed and rolled their eyes at you, undeniably, sea trade was one of the richest in the Northern Continent. The way these kingdoms made money was by import and export; whoever ruled the sea ruled them all. They did not want to see you succeed because they knew that with money and men, you could take over the sea trade. By allowing you to be married off to an old lord who only wanted heirs, they would be ensuring that Falienean sailors would be cut from the competition. Only because you were a woman, due to Haiford's laws, were you unable to lead. As a woman, you had no way to make or use money effectively, no way to access your dowry, no way to handle accounts, and no way to handle politics. With a husband, you did have a way to lead. With a husband, you could conquer all. Did these lords understand the power you held over all of their heads? In that moment, you could have laughed at the irony of it all. You, a disgraced lady, holding the fate of sea trade for an entire continent. Rumlow had revealed his hand; otherwise, you would never consider his offer of marriage. He wanted to be the King of the Northern Ocean, with you, the Queen, by his side. 
“I can offer you safety and security in Dorasea. I can offer your people safety and security. I have land that your people can work on and jobs for seafarers at the port.” Rumlow explains, lowering his voice. He steps closer as a nearby lord lingers, hoping to catch parts of your conversation. 
“My people will never leave Faliene. They are strong-willed, their ancestors built that city, they bled into that snow and their ashes lie in the crypt. Falieneans won’t abandon their home at the command of a Southern lord.” You reply lowly, a grin spreading across your face as you lift your chin in defiance.
“With some persuasion, they will.” Rumlow says, and you scoff at his words.
“You don’t know Northerners. You can talk and pretend to understand, but you do not know the North or the ocean. You are a fool if you think you can control it. You cannot hold water in your hands, it will slip between your fingers.” You laugh at him.
“I am offering you an opportunity, I am offering to help you. Do consider it, you are an intelligent woman. You must see that this fantasy of saving Faliene will never go your way. I can offer your glory and riches, I can offer you an opportunity to laugh in all of their faces.” Rumlow says in a hushed tone, his eyes following the nosey lord. You resist the urge to flinch as he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen from your braided updo behind your ear. 
“I do not want glory handed to me by a man. I am not weak or incapable. If I am to find success, I will be building it with my own hands and blood. I would rather be The Lady of the Ghosts than The Lady of the Snakes.” You hiss at him, pulling away sharply. 
—
You hadn’t stood on the balcony long before Steve found you. After your chat with Rumlow, you decided to take some air. Most of the other guests had remained inside, watching you warily as you stared out across the land. Winter was mild here; Galatians referred to it as the wet season. The ground didn’t freeze and snow didn’t fall like in Haiford; instead, it remained green and lush, with the occasional heavy rain flooding the fields and turning the grass to mud. Your hands gripped the brick railings, the coarse texture rough against your skin. 
Winter was drawing to an end, which filled you with worry. It felt like any day you could receive news of your mother's death. When you left Haiford, the castle was damp and cold, and your mother’s cough was worsening. You wondered if you should have brought her here, into the fresh air and sun. A part of you dared to think you should’ve taken her back to Faliene and let her die with the salty air in her lungs. You would’ve let her swim in the bay one last time and collected rocks like when you were a child. You wondered if those same rocks still remained in your father's study, lined up by size on the windowsills. 
Rumlow’s offer haunted your thoughts, lingering and clinging like smoke. A part of you wondered if you should give up and take the offer to save your people. You knew they would never forgive you, but they would be safe. You would never lead; you would have children and watch as Rumlow stole all the glory and brought Galanta to her knees. You wanted to be a leader and to be successful. You knew you were capable of great things; you had known it since you were a child. There was a feeling inside of you, scratching and gnawing away, that knew that you hadn’t completed your destiny yet. Yet you knew you may never see greatness because of your gender. But in that moment, regardless of all that you did and thought, you couldn’t help but worry that you could either die alongside your people or die surrounded by a husband and children you would never come to love. 
“You’re not going to jump, are you?” Steve asks you from nearby. When you stormed out of the room, you watched him track your every move. You had barely been out in the fresh air for a few seconds before he followed you out. You couldn’t imagine the rumors that would be flying around inside; you didn’t want to think about King Harrison’s reaction to it all. 
“Perhaps I am.” You joke, glancing his way with a half-smile. Steve was dressed in his knight's uniform – leather chestplate and all. It was a seal-leather. That made you smile a bit more. He stood with his back to the railing, eyes focused inside the room, like he was pretending to be surveying the crowd. But you knew he was only paying attention to you at that moment. 
“What did Rumlow say to you?” Steve asks, his voice low. Your eyes flicker over his uniform, noting the shield with a star carved into the breastplate. His hand was on his sword, Ravensclaw, knuckles white around the leather-bound handle. The pommel of the blade was silver, intricately carved with the swirling pattern of ravens. You guessed the sword was from an Asgardian forge, the raven being the symbol of the Odinson house. Asgard was well known for not only their magical tattoos but also their forging skills. You wondered if the blade itself had similar patterns; you had never seen it drawn. 
“He offered to help relocate the people of Faliene to Dorasea on the condition that I marry him.” You sigh, looking back to survey the city and farmland. Directly below the balcony on the castle ground, there was a large garden. You watched as the gardeners fluted through the trees and bushes, pruning and watering the blooms. 
“Why is that so terrible? Other than the fact you would have to marry him,” Steve asks, and his voice feels distant when he is not looking directly at you. You hope the breeze doesn’t carry his words into the room; you don’t want any of the sneering lords to know. You bite the inside of your cheek. As kind and intelligent as Steve could be, sometimes he was completely oblivious to your feelings. He knew you wanted to restore Faliene, yet sometimes he was just as ignorant as the lords that chortled away inside. 
“He doesn’t want to save Faliene. He wants to give Dorasea legitimacy.” You mutter, a loose strand of hair tickling your neck. 
“I thought Dorasea was already legitimate?” He questions. 
“They lost three of fifteen ships to the Northern Ocean in their last export. He is losing money and respect. Even if he is legitimate in the eyes of the law, the traders do not respect him.” You explain with a sigh, glancing back over at Steve, who meets your eye with a worried look. He is silent, as if in thought, for a long pause before speaking. 
“He wants your men and your name.” He states, as if enlightened to your dilemma. 
“He wants control over all imports and exports coming from Galanta.” Words hang in the air for a long pause, and Steve’s brows furrow. He is deep in thought, his knuckles wrapping tighter around the handle of Ravensclaw. 
“You need to tell James.” Steve says abruptly.
“Why?” 
“Listen. There are things you don’t know about the war. About Rumlow and Hydrina. If Rumlow is plotting...” Steve trails off with a sigh, and you narrow your eyes at him. “If Rumlow gains that type of power, it would leave us vulnerable to an attack by Hydrina.”
“You think he is still working for Hydrina? Wasn’t he pardoned?” You question, moving closer so you are not overheard.
“It’s a suspicion. It is complicated.” Steve mutters, glancing back past the balcony into the room warily. 
“Explain it then.” You pry.
“I can’t. Not here, not now. Too many eyes and ears –I’ve already said enough. Talk to James.”
You open your mouth to say something, but Steve shakes his head at you. His eyes have moved past where you stand, observing someone nearby. You turn, and to your surprise, Princess Peggy has joined you both on the balcony. Her pink skirts dance around her in the breeze, strands of dark brunette hair sweeping across her face. She pushes them behind her ear with a smile.
“Lady Y/N, so sorry to interrupt.” She speaks, clasping her hands in front of herself as she sidles towards you. Her voice is soft and polite, with only hints of her Northern accent shining through. 
“Of course not, Princess. How can I help you?” You asked, subconsciously taking a step away from Steve. Had she noticed the two of you talking? You doubted she would say anything, but if she had noticed, others would have too. 
“Myself and a few of the ladies were going to take a walk through the flower gardens. I noticed you were already out taking some air, I thought you would like to join?” Peggy asks, still armed with a dashing smile. 
“Oh! Of course, that was kind of you to think of me.” You can’t help but let your icy composure melt a bit, returning her smile bashfully.
“Delightful!” Peggy squeals, linking her arm with yours in one swift movement. Her eyes met Steve’s for a moment, a blush crawling over her nose and cheeks. “Sir Rogers.” She squeaks. 
“I hope you enjoy the gardens, Princess Peggy, Lady Y/N.” Steve responds politely with a nod of his head. You note how his cheeks have grown a little pink. You give him a confused look as Peggy drags you from the balcony. 
—
One of the first times you spoke to Peggy, you spoke about flowers. Haiford had its own gardens, although they were sparse. It was mainly made up of mountainous plants and flowers, hardy and rough like the climate. Most of the time, the garden was made up of skeleton branches, knotted roots, and gnarled thorns. In the summertime, the daisies, buttercups, and blue wildflowers would bloom and add some color, but nothing in comparison to the blooms of Cala’s Keep. 
All those years ago, you caught Peggy out in the gardens, the hem of her dress caught on a dead rosebush. You had helped her untangle herself with minimal damage, although she did receive a scolding from her governess for sneaking out and ripping her hem. 
“What is your favorite flower?” You had asked her while untangling her skirt from the bush.
“A gallica rose. They grow them in Galanta. I saw them when I visited a few years ago
 I tried growing them here, but they always withered.” She had replied shyly, inspecting you as your fingers pried the fabric from the thorns. 
“Maybe they don’t like the cold. Where did you get the seeds?” You had asked, beaming up at her as you freed the fabric. She had beamed back, although it had fallen from her face when she saw how it had torn. 
“Prince James of Galanta gave them to me as a gift... He is very kind.” She had said it with a blush, loose strands of hair covering her face. 
“Hm. That is kind. It is a shame they don’t grow here.” You had replied while brushing the dead leaves from your skirts. “In the library, there is a book of all the flowers in the world, it even has colored illustrations beside each description.”
“But I can’t read.” Peggy had replied embarrassedly, the flush only growing a darker pink.
“That is okay. I can read it for you, and you can look at the pictures.” You hadoffered, and, Peggy had beamed at you with excitement. 
You stood staring at the bush of gallica roses with a frown now. The petals were bright pink, the center yellow, dusted with pollen. You couldn’t help but wonder if the engagement unfolding between Peggy and James had been in motion far before the war. Although Peggy and you had grown apart since those childhood days, you did feel happy for her. She seemed smitten with James, and from what you had witnessed, he was with her. Since the Season had officially begun, Peggy had captured his attention, chattering and blushing away. You couldn’t blame James; she was beautiful, sweet, and kind. But after that moment in the library, where he had looked at you with such delight and kissed your hand
 you didn’t know why their flirtations stung so much. Steve had obviously put delusions into your mind, convincing you that you had a chance. 
Steve. That was another man on your mind. You had noticed the looks and blushing between him and Peggy, and you feared asking what it was about. There were more pressing matters anyway; Rumlow was proving to be more of an enigma than anticipated. Steve’s words hung over you – why did you need to tell James yourself? What did James and Steve know about Rumlow’s involvement with Hydrina? There were missing pieces that confused the picture, but what you knew for sure was that Rumlow had a plan. You weren’t sure if that plan was to conquer the sea or something even bigger than you dared imagine. 
You lost Peggy and her crowd of ladies some time ago. While you were captured inspecting every petal and leaf, the ladies giggled and strutted their way through the garden. Many lords also twisted through the maze of bushes and trees, eyeing up the bashful ladies who blushed and battered their lashes. Falling behind had offered you some peace to think and also given you some time alone before lunch. You imagined it would be just as tortuous as dinner. You could only hope you weren’t seated next to Rumlow. 
As you turned the corner, finally abandoning the gallica roses, you paused. Down the narrow path stood King James, inspecting a bright blue flower. You hadn’t realized he had decided to wander into the gardens as well; you had assumed he would stay upstairs in the tea room with Steve. You watched him for a moment, noting how the light breeze blew through his brunette locks. Your eyes wandered across his face, then down to his tattooed fingers. 
“I wouldn’t get too close, that flower is poisonous.” You called out. His eyes snapped to yours almost immediately, a pleased smile crossing his face as he recognized you. The rest of the path was empty and silent. You knew it was improper to be alone with him, but you couldn’t resist the temptation. 
“Is it? I wonder why it is planted in our garden. Maybe my gardener is plotting.” He replied, his eyes following you as you stood next to him to inspect the flower. It was brilliant blue in color, only fading to white near the tip. It was shaped like a cone, reaching as high as your hip. The petals were small, rounded diamond shapes that encircled the main stem. One could mistake it for a lupin hybrid if they weren’t careful. You ran a finger down the center of its star-shaped leaves.
"Its name is Kali Esoterica, although some call it Widowmaker. It originates from the Southern Continent in the swamplands. There was an Asgardian lady by the name of Fridga Gestidotr who was famous for using the poisonous petals to kill her husband. Every morning she would kiss him after coating her lips in a balm made from the flower, and then she would take the antidote. Her husband grew weaker day by day, until one day he dropped dead.”
“So, you are suggesting I don’t kiss my future wife?” He jokes.
“Maybe. Only if you find yourself growing sicker by the day.” You respond with a smile, and a silence falls over the two of you. 
You withdraw your hand from the plant, walking over to the next section of bushes. A large group of orange lilies greeted you, their leaves thick and green. You watched as a bee landed on one of the orange petals, collecting pollen from the center of the flower. As you walk further down the path, James follows you, observing as you inspect each flower with interest. 
“Are you alright? After Prince Micheal’s actions last night, I mean.” James speaks up, breaking the silence. You look up at him, smiling to yourself as you notice half of his face is obscured by a low-hanging branch. 
“I am fine. He had taunted me with far worse words, trust me.” You hum, ducking under the low-hanging branch so the two of you are face-to-face. The leaves tickle the side of your face as you tilt your head at him. “How much did you overhear?”
“Enough.” James replies. There is a haunted look in his eye. You frown, pushing the branch away with the back of your hand. 
“I am sorry. About what happened to your sister.” You say it quietly, noting how James swallows hard at your words. The two of you retreat further into the maze of hedges and trees. 
“Thank you.” James murmurs in reply, his hands running through the leaves of the tree parallel to you both. 
“I know that apologies and condolences will never be enough.” You sigh, a feeling of sympathy squeezing your heart as you survey his troubled face. 
“I expect you of all people to understand that. I am also sorry about your mother. And your father... And the countless other Falienean’s you have lost.” James speaks; he doesn’t look back, instead leading you deeper into the maze. You wonder if he knew it like the back of his hand, if he had grown up running and playing between the bushes and trees. 
“When my father died, it was so sudden. With my mother
 I think it will be a mercy when she finally passes. I have spent so many years mourning her, I don’t think I have any tears left to shed.” You explain hesitantly.
“It is strange. The suddenness of it all. I was angry with my parents before they were killed. I was angry because of what they allowed to happen to Rebecca. I hadn’t spoken to them in days, and then suddenly... they were gone.” James’ voice is faint as he speaks, pausing as he pulls back a branch so you can pass without becoming entangled. 
“Do you miss her? Rebecca?” You ask, and his eyes meet yours. Despite all the worry and darkness that haunt the blueness that stares back at you, you swear he smiles. His body is close to yours, and as you pass by the branch he holds back, you can feel the heat of him against your skin. 
“Always. We fought like siblings, and she was insufferable at times, but when she was gone? She was too good, too kind for what happened to her.” You watch the branch swing back into place as he releases it while speaking. 
“I never understood why they killed her.” You admit. You don’t think anyone outside the Barnes house did; maybe a few of the royal advisors and knights understood. They had kept it quiet; only half the story was ever known to the public. 
“They wanted to send a message. Prove that Galanta was weak. They accused her of being a witch and tortured her for weeks before she falsely confessed. They burned her alive and mailed her ashes back to Galanta. I remember my father opening the letter at breakfast and watching the ashes fall on his plate. They didn’t let me read the letter at first, but... it detailed everything they had done to her.” His tone was pained. You look away from James with a hard swallow.
The Northern Continent was known for its varying opinions on magic. Some believed it to be real, like the Asgardians, who practiced magic with their forges and tattoos. The people of Faliene were known for being superstitious and practicing what could be viewed as magic. Other kingdoms believed it was just rumors and scare tactics. Many people made fun of those who worshiped the gods, while others lived in constant fear of their wrath. You supposed that was why it was curious that Rumlow had approached you. It was clear he followed Hydrinan values, which filled you with a sense of dread. The Hydrinan’s were known for their hatred of magic and witches. When they suspected a village had been tainted by magic, they would burn it down entirely out of fear. You had heard of what they did to women who they suspected were witches – how they would torture them for weeks or months until death seemed like a welcome release. 
Prince Micheal’s words haunted you: ‘I’ll make sure they send you away to Hydrina like they did Princess Rebecca. I would find delight in hearing the ways they torture a woman like you’. He knew that by Hydrinan law, you would be considered a witch. Your people worshiped Nemue alongside other gods and goddesses; they practiced superstition and observed rituals. The new king of Hydrina would enjoy killing a woman like you; he was called Witchslayer for a reason.   
“I am glad you killed King Alexander.” You say abruptly, earning a tired smile from the troubled king. 
“Sometimes it does not feel like enough. Sometimes I wonder if I should have destroyed Hydrina completely.” James admits.
“There is always time.” You remark, and James chuckles quietly in response with a shake of his head. 
“Thank you. It is refreshing to talk to someone who truly understands.”
“Does Steve not understand?” You ask, and James shrugs.
“He tries.” He replies with a sigh, his tattooed fingers running through his hair. 
The two of you round another corner, ending up on a brighter, larger path. The trees are not as thick; instead, the hip-height flowers allow you to look into the nearby pathways. You pause near a bush of peonies, watching as a ladybug crawls across the salmon-colored petals. As you watch, you observe how no one is nearby. Steve’s words from earlier on the balcony hang in your mind. You needed to tell James about Rumlow. If Rumlow was plotting revenge with Hydrina, Galanta needed to be prepared. 
“Forgive me, but why did you pardon Lord Rumlow?” You ask, avoiding eye contact as you stroke your fingertips over the soft petals of the peonies. James’ curious gaze burns the side of your face, a short sigh escaping his lips as he rubs his stubbled jaw in thought. 
“It is complicated. He thought he had an allegiance to his father's blood in Hydrina. He thought so because Rebecca confessed that she was a witch. When he realized that Hydrina was losing the war, he came crawling back like the coward he is. He gave insider information that allowed us to succeed in the siege upon the Hydrinan capital, so unfortunately I had to pardon him.” 
“Do you have reason to believe he is still aligned with Hydrina?” You pry cautiously. You dare to look up at him, watching as his eyebrows furrow in confusion. 
“Why do you ask?” He asks, his voice low and suspicious. 
You open your mouth to reply but pause as you notice movement nearby. A few pathways across, King Harrison and Prince Michael have emerged. James’ eyes follow yours; the four of you are locked into a silent battle as King Harrison scowls in annoyance. Your hands gather your skirts, ready to make a quick departure. 
“I should tell you later. It would be improper for us to be seen together like this.” You say in a hushed tone.
Your eyes find a small path nearby, and your feet quickly move to escape the tense situation that is quickly unfolding. You move only a few steps away before James follows you, lightly grasping your forearm with his hand. You give him a bewildered look, your eyes following King Harrison as he watches the interaction with a look of outrage. 
“I do not care what King Harrison thinks. Tell me now, has Rumlow threatened you?” James asks, his voice low and urgent. 
“No. Quite the opposite.” You reply, your hands leaving your skirts. Across the garden, King Harrison and Prince Micheal had disappeared behind a group of bushes. You hope they get lost in the garden before they can interrupt your conversation. Or reprimand you. 
“What did he say?” James continues to question. His fingers carefully unwrap themselves from your arm. You stand in place, warily watching as he smooths down the fabric of your sleeve and takes a step back. 
“He wants to marry me. He wants the Falienean sailors and my name to gain dominance over the sea trade through Dorasea.” You reveal, watching as James’ forehead creases, brows knitting together in thought. 
“He wants to control all trade entering and leaving Galanta.” He states. 
“I fear this is bigger than Galanta. I believe he wants to control all imports and exports in the Northern Continent. He has the money and the men. With the legitimacy of my name and my sailors, he could start a war.” You express, your fingers twisting one of your silver rings.
“That snake.” James hisses, loathing clear in his tone. You share the sentiment.   
“Do you think he is working for Hydrina?” You inquire, watching as James turns around to stare into the bush of peonies with an irritated huff. 
“I am not sure. All evidence leads to that, but I know that he has not left Galanta in over a year. The new king of Hydrina, Zemo, does not seem particularly fond of Lord Rumlow either. This may just be a scheme to make himself important now that his reputation has been destroyed. But it is still alarming and suspicious.” He clarifies, his blue eyes boring into the layers of pink petals in front of him. 
“Regardless, I am not accepting his offer.” You reply with a sigh, lowering your shoulders as you step closer to the peonies. You watch James’ eyes snap over to you, and you wonder if the look he is giving you is one of relief. 
“No? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. It would make those lords you despise respect you.” He speaks carefully, as if gauging your reaction. You scoff with a smile, shaking your head at the king. 
“I have enough self-respect to not marry Lord Rumlow.” You chuckle, watching as he plucks one of the peonies from the bush. 
“Well, I am glad to hear it.” He hums in reply, handing you the flower with a coy smile. 
“What will you do? About Rumlow?” You ask, voice lowered. You roll the stems between your fingers, watching the flower spin. 
“I fear I do not know, at least not now.” He sighs. You tilt your head, looking up at him through your lashes. 
“I have every belief it will be fine.” You say, watching as the distressed look on his face melts, replaced by a soft smile. 
“With your help, I am sure it will.”
chapter four
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pyrrhiccomedy · 1 year
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Excuse me, I was wondering if you had any thoughts to share on AI produced content like art or writing? I believe you briefly touched upon it earlier but I cant find the post anymore
oh boy like
which conversation are we even having
there's the conversation about how AI-produced art will make it even much more extremely difficult for actual human artists to earn money from their work, which is bad
there's the conversation about how AI-produced art democratizes the availability of art for other kinds of creators, like hobbyists and writers and independent game designers, which is good
there's the conversation about how the databases for these AIs are populated unethically with art spiritually (if not legally) stolen from the same artists they are putting out of work, which is bad
there's the conversation about the exercise of creating an art AI is itself potentially a creative act, and that creating art with those AIs can also be a creative act, which is not bad, and also interesting
there's the conversation about how AIs, in reproducing the biases inherent in the images that they are trained on, make it very easy to produce highly realistic sexualized images of minors, which is very alarming
there's the conversation about whether or not images depicting harmful acts that did not involve the harm of an actual human being in producing them should actually be considered morally wrong, which isn't even about AI but becomes unavoidable if you dig into this for too long, which is, like, a whole can of worms
there's the legal question of whether or not users of these AIs can be held criminally liable for images they did not request or themselves produce but nonetheless do possess, potentially even without their knowledge, as for example when Lensa produces (unprompted) images of sexualized children when provided perfectly innocent portraits and saves them onto your system's temporary memory, which is a quagmire
there's the question of whether AI might actually be technologically capable of solving the problems of AI itself, becoming intelligent enough to 'edit' its problematic outputs, which requires a degree in some appropriate field to discuss in a meaningful way
there's the 'genie's out of the bottle, so what will the world look like now' argument
there's the 'chinese room' conversation, about whether or not AIs which produce art that is impossible to tell apart from human-made art should be considered 'artists' in their own right
there's the 'what IS art' conversation, which never goes anywhere but people do love having it
there's the conversation about how if a piece of art moves you, is it relevant or not that no human was involved in its creation
there's the conversation about neuroscience that's just interested in whether or not the human imagination is something that can be successfully patterned and replicated at all
there's the consumerist conversation, which posits that if no one misses art made by human artists and they are just as happy with AI-generated art, is that actually a bad thing?
there's the 'is AI-generated art a flash in the pan and will people get tired of it eventually' argument
there's the problem of AI-generated deepfakes becoming so realistic that even expert analysis sometimes fails to detect them, which, like, yikes
like I could go on and on, it's such a complicated topic with so many chewy lil morsels embedded in it it's hard to know where to start.
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primaviva · 3 months
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honestly prima i wonder y ppl write weird shit like aged up minors ,,,,,, like id start a whole research project because of how strange it is 2 even think of the idea of having sex with a 15 year old ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
no because THATS exactly what it is. aging up is just saying that you found them attractive as a minor, recognize it’s wrong, but age it up so suddenly your hands are clean of the consequences because at least YOU made then against the canon an appropriate age for sexual scenarios.
there are different types of aged up scenarios which are ok when you age a character up for the sake of time skip or domestic scenarios such as [character] as a mom/dad/ etc and other that are along the lines of non sexual prompts because the age up is for plot and not for the sake of sexualization. but we see this surge and recession where mainstream media picks up on a character that is attractive and even as a minor will sexualize and exploit. this happens every year with last years being avatar and before that another one.
i just find it so weird how it’s very clear why it’s wrong because you see the minor attractive, even as a minor yourself, but want to produce and publish nsfw content of that minor and push the already existing precedent that because they aren’t real and are fictional it’s okay. but what i find extra WEIRD minor or not this “peanut” blog acknowledges it’s wrong but doesn’t care because they want to see more smut. no one can stop them from making it that’s just a duh moment of the internet like okay keep and read to yourself. but to publish because you want to push and normalize an already occurring problem with miles? chile
. its already enough that he is a black male teenager which already means people will undermine how weird it is to sexualize character compared to if it were gwen or a white character or just female character because it’s more prone to sexualization than male characters.
im just SOOOOOO tired of the victim complex we continue to see when people get caught doing this and want to play certain roles while also trying to act unbothered and we see through it all. this “writer” knows they are wrong and just want something to keep them going or some attention. its just pure delusion that you have to ignore especially when someone is in the wrong and just doesn’t want to admit it YOU JUST IGNORE. personally i never block people because i never been bothered by someone that much to do so but what you should do is ignore the content and if anything also report it.
continue to clock weirdos who post nasty stuff like smut of minors!
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