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peachyteabuck · 1 year

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cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

summary: after you’re officially coronated, your already-atypical relationship with your personal knight becomes something even more scandalous

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

content warnings: the world’s most historically inaccurate royal au!, knight/personal guard!peggy, queen!reader, murder of a minor character, attempted murder of a main character, violence done onto the main character, virginity taking, strap on use, dubious consent, praise, i made steven grant rogers a misogynist for shits + gigs, protective!peggy, dom!peggy, sub!reader, blowjobs on strapons, manipulation

divider by @firefly-graphics

This is your dream. This has been your dream since you knew what dreams were. Every moment of your life since the minute you unleashed your first scream was dedicated to primping and priming you until you were molded into the perfect queen.

This is your dream. As a baby, you were sequestered from everyone but the doctor, your parents, your nanny, and the wet nurse to ensure your health. You met the first person outside of that tight circle was introduced to you when you could walk. Even then, they were quarantined before and after.

As a child, you spent hours being quizzed on complex philosophy and mathematics by candlelight until your nanny begged for the tutor to stop. Being up until well before sunrise wasn’t enough: any moment you could be awake should be dedicated to meeting the same standards would-by kings were held to.

As a teenager, the focus turned to your appearance. Reading and writing were joined by a hair and make-up session. You recited factoids and roleplayed conversations with other rulers and aristocrats and constituents while you were shoved into corsets and fitted for dresses.

Your entire life has led up to this day, to this moment.

So why are you here, picking at your cuticles, as you hear your family and allies of the crown celebrating joyously? A new queen was not a frequent occurrence, especially one who reigned without a sudden, unexpected death or drought. None of that had occurred—your mother, aging and desperate for a life of her own, had informed you of her plan to abdicate the throne on the eve of your 16th birthday. It would give you two years until they’d announce, and a few more for everyone in every kingdom to adjust to the news.

You can hear your personal guard come in, the formal armor clinking as she steps. She prefers to go without (something about stealth being the best protection), but given the occasion, tradition requires her to be in full regalia.

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

You bite at your nail, pulling at the dead skin as you attempt to ground yourself. Staring off into the distance, you say nothing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peggy had been your main guard since you were preteens. You, trying to learn politics and languages and negotiation tactics. Her, learning the ins and outs of palace protection from her mother. She was much scrawnier back then, limbs resembling the branches of a freshly planted oak tree. Peggy had bloomed since then, all muscle and confidence. She had also, over the years, become your closest confidant.

“Princess,” she says, her tone knowing. You can’t see her smirk, but it rests atop her words like moss in a pond. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

A crash, quickly followed by bellows from amused, drunken palace goers, stops you from responding immediately.

“Don’t call me that,” you finally say with a sigh. Might as well start getting used to correcting people now, you think. Though, your tone does not have the kind of royal tone you’d often heard from your mother. “I am now your queen and you will address me as such.”

She smiles softly, nodding just a little. “My apologies, your majesty, you were a princess for a very long time, and so it will take effort to get used to.”

You don’t disagree—it’s still hard to remind yourself to respond to the title when it’s called. You start to speak, wringing your hands every so slightly. “Margaret-“

“Please, your majesty,” she interrupts you, raising one hand to her chest. “You mustn’t. Now that you are queen, I think it’s best to refer to me as Peggy. It’s what my mother called me.”

As you roll the name over your tongue, the sounds feel like a tough cut of meat between your teeth. Still, it seems important to her, and given all she’s done for you over the years, you feel as though you owe her. It’s then, as you run through what it would be like to call for her in front of the rest of the court, that you let yourself smile just a little.

“It’s very improper,” you say quietly, as though someone could hear you admit to entertaining such a thought.

Peggy just grins—big and toothy. You ignore the way your heart swells at the sight. “That it is.”

“And what would the queen mother think?”

“What the old crone doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It’s hard to suppress a laugh in your state, the giggles overwhelming your defenses within seconds. It sometimes feels as though your mother is a lighthouse at the center of the sea, locating ships with horrifying precision. Queen or not, the thought of her knowing you’re deviating from her desires spikes fear in your gut. A terrifying woman, it’s easy to treat her the same way one treats a prison guard.

But then you think of your mother—not the queen, but the little bit of her that exists outside of the demands of royal life. She’d been queen for years when she was your age, your grandmother succumbing during the birth of her youngest brother. Within hours after he entered the world, your uncle became an orphan and your mother became a queen. Their roles overtook them, both of them mourning as they grew into their roles. It was your mother’s job to rule. It was his job to remain as far from the public eye as possible.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Peggy places her hand on your shoulder. You can feel her thumb rubbing into the sore muscles there, and you wish she could apply that pressure to every inch of your skin. She allows you to sit with your non-reply, the nice quiet a welcome change from the cacophony of noise. She looks you up and down a few times, noticing the way you wring your hands and how you bite at your bottom lip.

You don’t know it, but she watches you in the same way she did when you were teenagers. She couldn’t stop, watching as you both grew to fit the titles you were expected to live up to as adults.

But she can’t do anything about it—not now. Not until the time is right.

“May I?”

You nod.

She takes the crown from your head, holding it gingerly as she inspects it. You were able to design your own crown given the circumstances. It all had to be kept under a veil of secrecy, of course—the jewelers and blacksmiths were sequestered until everything had finished, and even then were sworn to secrecy for fear of beheading.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You sound more mournful than you intended. It really is beautiful, is the worst part. A half-circle peaking in the middle, pearls topping each peak. At the center, swinging as your knight holds it in her calloused hands, rests a dangling cameo made of ivory and obsidian.

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again. It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess. She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them. His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

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dduane · 1 year

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Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you've talked about before in another post, but I just finished the first draft of my first novel, and I was wondering if you could talk about what your experience was like getting your first novel edited and published. I have this story that I'm excited about but no idea what to do with it now that I've reached "The End," do you have any advice on what my next step ought to be towards eventually getting it published? Thanks in advance!

First of all: thanks for asking. ...And now I have to warn you that I am possibly one of the worst possible people to ask about what their first novel's publication looked like... as it was completely atypical.

Not that that's going to stop me, mind you. (And you know what? I'm inserting a cut here, because this goes on a bit. Warning: contains [calculated] dissing by old friends, pulp non-fiction, unexpurgated language, unexpected awards nominations, and advice that's worth just what you're paying for it.)

What happened with me and my first book goes like this:...

In the late 1970s I was starting to burn out on psychiatric nursing, and was offered a job as assistant to the novelist and Star Trek ["The Trouble with Tribbles"] writer David Gerrold. I took it happily, as I was in a place in my life where I really needed some kind of change. The work with David was part-time; I also occasionally did special duty nursing shifts to help make ends meet.

Now during this period, I was writing for my own amusement (as I'd been doing all my life from about age eight onward). Right then I was working on a project I'd been tinkering with from my late high school years right through college, nursing school, and my first couple/few years of practice as an RN. This was the background worldbuilding for a vaguely Tolkienesque, somewhere-between-late-Medieval-and-early Renaissance fantasy scenario featuring a couple of moderately unusual magic systems, a sexually diverse culture, and a pair of "These Two Idiots"-style protagonists with complex interleaving problems.

While I was working for David, I had a lot of opportunity to observe, close up, what the life and workflow of a career writer looked like. Slowly, over a year or so, the realization crept up on me that what David was doing, I could do too. And it was at this point that I finally admitted to him that I thought I might want to write as well.

David's (as I later discovered, extremely calculated) eyeroll could probably have been seen from space. "Oy, not another one," he moaned. After which I went away from the abortive conversation pretty much resolved never to speak to him about this again... but also with a single thought filling my brain: You fucking supercilious sonofabitch, I'm going to show you that I'm not just another one.

...I'll never be able to thank him enough for that. Fury can be so motivating. :)

In the aftermath I got busy pulling together my background material with much more focused intent, and beating the most significant parts of it into something that started looking like a plot. It came together with surprising speed and unnerving insistence—one of the very few times in my career when a project, once begun, has simply flung me into the writing chair and insisted that it was the most important thing in my life and needed handling now. And when in the fullness of time David went on vacation, leaving me to house-sit at his place in LA, I immediately started using his very early computer to transcribe my novel's so-far-only-handwritten draft material.

I took what I thought was considerable care to cover my tracks... but not quite enough. On his return from vacation, when he was putting out the trash, David found some of my discarded draft pages, read them, and confronted me (with a certain amount of friendly teasing) about what had been going on. Then he said to me, "What I've seen of this thing doesn't look too bad. Let me see it when you're finished, and if it looks good enough, I'll ask one of my publishers if they want to take a look at it."

So that's what happened. I finished my first draft and a polish of it in about six weeks, and passed it to David. He read it and immediately handed it on to his editors at Dell, who were just starting a fantasy line for which they needed product. Two weeks later, they said they liked the novel and made an offer, which I accepted. Not a vast amount, but respectable enough. So there it was, my first sale: this book. Which then got me nominated two years running for the Astounding Award, and opened the door for the sale and publication of So You Want To Be A Wizard, as well as my earliest Star Trek work and my entry into the animation world.

I remember very little about the editing process, except that it was painless. What was not exactly painless was the book's cover, about which...well, the less said here the better. But the book came out to generally good reviews. So, with this series of events behind it, you can see why as regards first-publication stories, I'm a first-class outlier and should definitely not be counted. (Also to be avoided by new writers if at all possible: the experience of having half their strongly-selling first novel's initial print run pulped in the warehouse* because it was taking up room needed by a new book by a world-famous novelist.) (Whom I have long since forgiven, since it wasn't his fault, and...well, what can you do? Shit happens.)

...Anyway, that's more than enough about me. Now let's talk about you.

My first advice about what to do with the novel you've just finished? Stick it in a drawer (literally or figuratively speaking, whichever suits your case better) and don't look at it for at least a month. Two would be better. You can spend those two months thinking about your next moves... because you need to give those some consideration before you do anything else.

The question that you first need to answer is going to at least partially shape what you do next. And it's this:

Are you seriously considering making a career out of writing?

It's not that it can't be done! Of course it can. But it won't be easy... not at all. Anyone who tells you it will is either just outright lying through their teeth, or trying to sell you something. ...Or both.

Be honest with yourself as you consider this. If you aren't, you may be letting yourself in for considerable pain over a prolonged period... and I'd sooner you were spared that, if you can be. In particular, be clear about the difference between the statements "I want to write" and "I want to be a writer." Often enough people like the sound of the lifestyle and what they see as going with it—the signings, the book tours (physical or virtual), the interviews, the best-seller lists—without any real concept of the grueling, day-to-day, weekends-are-for-other-people, why-am-I-making-less-than-minimum-wage-most-of-the-time labor that underpins it.

If you simply want to write and be published—without the concept of a career necessarily being involved, or the lovely shimmering dreamlike vision of Giving Up The Day Job—you now have work pathways available to you that would've been unimaginable in the previous century. Self-publishing makes it possible for you to get your work in front of many, many eyes without necessarily having to submit yourself to the specific set of trials that go with achieving the initial stages of an intended career. Selfpubbing still has significant unique challenges of its own, of course, which have to be evaluated so that you can tell (as the commercials say) if they're right for you.

But if you're thinking of a career in what's usually being referred to these days as "traditional publishing", then you face a number of challenges that don't necessarily come with the self-publishing end of things. In particular: many publishing houses no longer consider manuscripts that come to them un-agented. So you're going to need to find an agent who's willing to represent your work... and this is a task that no longer looks anything like what it did when I found mine. (Or rather, when he found me, having been recommended to me by one of my editors. I've been with him for even longer than I've been with @petermorwood... and that's saying something. But this is yet another way in which my career's been wildly atypical.)

There is so much that could be said about this subject alone—the business of researching agencies to see which one seems like a good fit for you, the art of writing the perfect query letter to get their attention focused on a given book, and so much more—that I could hardly begin to even skim the surface of it here. There are whole websites devoted to shopping for agents, not to mention how to pitch yourself and your work to a given literary agency.

Let me leave this whole subject here for the moment. We can come back to it another time, because right now you need to be thinking this through. ...This I'll say, however. For the past six to nine months I've been pulling together links to various online resources that can be beneficial to new writers just getting started. These will be available as posts over at the FicFoundry.com site that I'm going to be bringing online before summer. I'm hoping to build that into kind of a compendium site or clearing house for online resources on this subject. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, thanks for inquiring about this. You're standing at the first branching of what I'm hoping will be, for you at least, a fascinating variant of the Choose Your Own Adventure genre. :)

More on this later.

("Wait. Did she just call us idiots??")

*Now that we live in the era of just-in-time warehousing, this is something that fortunately doesn't happen much any more... as far as I know. But once upon a time, if somebody's new best-seller was going to the warehouse in its many thousands of copies, and your relatively-less-well-selling book was taking up space that could be used by the other author's "more valuable"/higher-priced titles, your books (5-10K of them, in my case) were simply thrown into a machine and turned into papery mush. And these go on your sales record as "unsold copies". (sigh) Some discussion of this phenomenon can be found over here.

#advice #writing advice #career stories

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inaconstantstateofchange · 7 months

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Do you have any OCs? Or plot bunnies in your head right now if not?

I do, thank you for asking! ^^ It's for the Baldur's Gate 3 fic I'm working on with my OC from the game though, so I don't know how to answer well without spoilers, but I'll do my best.

Kelis (she/they) is a red Dragonborn with the Dark Urge background, which means they woke up with no memories, only a deep and abiding lust for blood, and the sense that they had been someone terrible. A big part of her story arc is putting together the pieces of who that someone was, and determining who she wants to be moving forward.

She's a druid, for reasons I have very much thought out and excitedly tied into Forgotten Realms lore, and has a largely self-contained personality, broken by the occasional and very unexpected joke, which generally prompts more hilarity than deserved reaction-wise from that unexpectedness.

They tend to spend a great deal of downtime in Wildshape, because, while it does not completely suppress their urges by any definition, it does dampen them slightly. The shape they choose varies for a while, until their skill grows enough to maintain an owlbear form, at which point it is rare to find them in any other. She ultimately tends toward good actions as a person, but most often for very atypically "good" reasons, which is something I find very interesting to explore. She also has no qualms about cheating or manipulating other "evil" people, saving the efforts toward good that she has for those who deserve it.

And finally, most interestingly of all, the story she spawned is actually defined more by her absence than her presence, as it is a time-travel redux where one of her companions is sent back to the beginning of the original timeline with everything as it was, except for Kelis, nowhere to be found.

#ahhh thank you so much for the ask!#no obligation to ask any further question of course!#although anyone who DOES wish to is of course welcome to do so #my writing #kelis #finira bene #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #bg3 durge #ask

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true-blue-sonic · 3 months

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Big & Amy for the opinion bingo

Big:

"Why do they look like that" refers to his eyes, because they're just so... atypical compared to the look Sonic characters usually have? They're almost realistic circle-ish yellow cat eyes compared to the much more stylised and big ones that the cast usually has. But yeah, other than that, I don't really have an opinion on Big. He's just kinda... there for me. I don't hate him, but I wouldn't be mournful if he never showed up again either, so to say. I don't care for fishing minigames, and Big's personality as gentle giant with a simple nature doesn't catch my interest either. Nor do I like his voice much. That being said, I do like his few moments where he shows a more introspective and aware nature, like him discussing with Froggy that nobody would go out of their way ("bother" in his own words) to save them while the two of them are on the Egg Carrier in SA1. It's got something almost saddening over it? And that makes it only sweeter that Sonic does help them <3 But other than that, not a character I am particularly engaged with.

Amy:

I like Amy! I think she's got an interesting blend of characteristics to her: she's got her girly side that loves romance, she's got her hot-headed side that's short-tempered and snappy, and she's got her helpful and kind side that makes her give everything for her friends. She makes a good "heart" of the team, I feel like. And I like the idea that she's willing to keep up with Sonic and always chase after him, because she just loves him that much. Plus, she has an interesting weapon in her Piko Piko hammer! It's cute and girly but in the same vein packs an unexpected punch, just like Amy. She's not a character that I am deeply engaged with, but I am always happy to see her. And Cindy Robinson has become a lot better as her voice actor over the years imo. So overall, an character that I don't love-love but I do very much like!

#thanks for the ask ^-^

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magebunkshelf · 1 year

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This was originally posted to my Ko-fi page. If you follow me there, you may have read all this already.

The Earth is minutes away from being destroyed by a colossal stray meteor, when abruptly you are beamed up to an alien ship. All of a sudden, you are the last human being in existence.

I actually don't remember where this story idea came from! I know I wanted to try an alien abduction story, but to blow up the planet in the first few minutes is kinda Douglas Adams. I think the alien abduction scenario was the start of the concept, but then I had to ask why the speaker was taking the listener, but I'm not a fan of yandere-esque stories, and things like 'scientific study' alien scenarios are a bit obvious.

Interactions between the listener "Starshine" and Captain Nor Ji'yashic, mainly in looking into the differences between terrestrial and alien species, were influenced to a degree by the fiction-writing subreddit r/HFY, it's fascinating to have stories that focus on interactivity between people who are from completely different backgrounds, and have a violently different view of the world around them. The physical differences are the obvious starting point, and as much as I adore the various designs some awesome artists have made for Ji'ya, I'm not sure I could ever codify an official 'on-model' design, because it'd take away from what people imagine; but I had in mind a thin insectoid design with four crab-like legs, and a pointed head almost like a Jackal from Halo. Mentioned several times are the differences in necessary inputs between humans and chichet; the listener requires far more oxygen than Ji'ya, and also eats and drinks more as well. While Ji'ya is a little taller than you, humans are inordinately stronger than chichet.

Ji'ya is a complicated character. I don't like having 'they act weird because they're an alien', even if the differences are unexpected they still need a satisfying explanation; how could an individual like this develop? How could a species like the one they belong to develop? Behaviours are informed by societies are informed by evolution. With characters of different species, I think it's important to trace the development of their species to pre-sapient levels to decide how their society operates in the present.

The chichet people are very social. I tried not to go too insectoid, as insects are terrestrial animals and not an indication of how aliens might look, but it's fair to use insects by analogy; chichet developed on a rocky, muddy planet, and are predominantly subterranean. I like to think of them as a species of extroverts. However, you will always have individuals who buck the trend, who vary from the average, because life is messy and interesting like that. Ji'ya is a very atypical chichet. They don't like interpersonal interaction, and relish the simple peace of their own company. They're not shy, they just don't like having to tolerate other people for long.

Ji'ya was abrasive right from the start, to the point of being outright insensitive, almost callous. This was always a mask; Ji'ya can't handle letting their guard down enough for people to think that they actually care. Their rudeness is a defence mechanism; don't get too close to me.

Of course Ji'ya cared about Starshine from the very beginning. In part 1 they say "...if I'd have sent a distress signal, your planet would still have been in pieces long before anyone would have received it." However, right at the end when the listener leaves the deck, they send an "Update to my last broadcast." Ji'ya had already sent a distress signal before the abduction, but doesn't want Starshine to know, because then it would become more obvious that they care. By part 2, Ji'ya begins to warm to the listener enough to start opening up. Uncharacteristically, Ji'ya finds that they enjoy having Starshine around. Though they may deny it... yeah, you're kind of the ship's pet!

The alien society is a big, complicated place. The space-faring civilisation is called Citizen Space, or the Citizenry, consisting of fourteen sapient races and governed by the Council. There may be others in the galaxy which, like humanity, are uncontacted. I didn't want to have a galaxy at conflict, with nefarious alien species plotting war. Nothing wrong with that, but it seemed to distract from the point of the story; being pulled from the everyday familiarity of planet Earth, and dragged halfway across the galaxy, forced to find a new way of living in a literally alien world. The listener is already in enough trouble as-is without adding to it, there's still so much to play with in a friendly, peaceable galaxy. After part 3 I was questioning which direction to go; do we introduce a new plot thread where some faction wants the last human for scientific research, or as a museum piece, or some other dastardly reason? Do we get into the bureaucratic mess of introducing a new sapient race into the Citizenry? I don't think that's why anyone started listening, and it's important to not stray too far from the original draw to a story. It took me a while, but I now have a part 4 and 5 in mind for Ji'ya and Starshine that I believe will fit better!

There was a short conversation in part 3 that I particularly enjoyed. The listener is the only surviving part of Earth, even the Moon is no longer in orbit. Sol3 was utterly shattered, soon to become little more than a debris belt. You are all that remains. "All that time, all that evolution, all that history; you alone carry it. You are Earth."

I like the idea of Ji'ya and the listener approaching some governing body, perhaps to attain greater legal protections. They ask Ji'ya who and what this creature is, and Ji'ya responds, "This is Earth."

#mage bunkshelf #audio rp

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noblehcart · 11 months

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HC Dump: Dominic Lewis Ivanov

Dominic was adopted and raised by a middle class family in Plymouth, UK though adopted out of an agency in London.

he's an only child as his adoptive parents couldn't have a child and didn't have the finances to adopt a second child.

due to the naval base in the area it inspired Dominic to enlist in the Navy as a Naval Pilot. he has a ridiculously long career with the Navy and has mostly retired to fly private planes with a company.

he has been married & divorced. bisexual as hell.

both his adoptive parents have passed away due to being an older couple when they adopted him. its four years after his adoptive mother's passing that he decides to look into who might be his biological parents. he discovers that his biological mother was the atypical teenager who felt incapable of caring for him, never had any other children and had already died of a car accident rather young. he then searched for his father (andrei ivanov) to find that he too had passed away of a heart attack very recently... but had children.

in truth Dominic is ecstatic to have siblings because he always wanted brothers and sisters and finding out he had both delighted him to no end till he worried that they would reject him.

he eventually tracked them down and found his sister, Liesel's bookshop and when he walked in the door and sees her and she sees him the two immediately embrace tearfully sensing the connection. she explains that they recently found a letter from their later father telling the family of dominic's existence, but he didn't know how to find him before his passing. dominic is 6 years older than liesel.

things aren't as smooth sailing with his younger brother stefan (in which dominic is 2 years older). both are surprised to discover they both enlisted but in different branches. their personalities clash in an unexpected subtle way, but dominic is still curious to learn more about his younger brother even if the feeling isn't mutual.

according to gabriele, andrei's widow, she swears dominic is the spitting image of his father and very much carries andrei's warmth and heart though he's just as playful, charming and teasing as his uncle aleksander.

#/ dominic lewis / headcanons #// headcanons

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magicaltear · 10 months

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5 things you never get tired of writing

Tagged by: @ailendolin

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing. It can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. Then tag more writers!

1 - Hurt/Comfort Like you mentioned in your own post, it also brings me a lot of joy to explore deep human emotions and empathy. I haven’t written about physical injuries all that much, but most of my favorite characters have canonically been through the wringer. I love giving my characters space to grieve, to breakdown, to feel. These quiet moments are usually neglected or rushed by the entertainment industry, so I love dedicating lots of time to them. We all need a gentle touch and encouraging words every now and then, even something as simple as an “I know” to reassure us that we are understood and not alone in our pain.

2 - Historical Accuracy One I never expected to enjoy so much, tbh. I started using this tag in my 1917 fics, and I think it is safe to say that it’s a double-edged blade. I adore history and research, and I’ve gotten to learn so much these past 3 years, but it is easy to become overwhelmed with all of the information or spend more time than needed doing research. I often have to pull back and refocus on my actual plot. Still, having historical accuracy in my fics is very satisfying, and I’ve found that it breathes life into the story and makes it coherent.

3 - Finding beauty in unexpected places This shouldn’t be surprising considering I mainly write about soldiers and superheroes. When the situation is dire, when you have to fight side-by-side with others to protect the world, you start realizing that there’s beauty to be found everywhere. I don’t like writing characters who are stoic or who run from their feelings. Instead, I like it when they embrace them and allow themselves to feel every little emotion until their chest is full to bursting. The best example I can think of is that comic book page of Iron Man going up to hover right in the border between space and atmosphere just to breathe.

4 - Platonic Relationships What can I say? Writing ships and romance is fun, but I also love providing my characters with a solid support system. Their friendships are meaningful and important too! I often like to toy with the “will they won’t they?” line, but I leave that to the readers’ discretion when I do. When I’m writing very angsty fics, I prefer to focus on the support a platonic soulmate would provide rather than a romantic one. It might just be me, but I’m usually not comfortable with grand shows of romance whenever I’m feeling sad.

5 - Canon Disabled Character Is this surprising? I feel like I’m the least surprising writer out there. One of my absolute favorite characters to write is Doctor Strange, of course I’m going to focus on his disability in my fics. It always bothers me how the MCU constantly forgets that its heroes have disabilities, so I make sure to touch on that on my fics. Chronic pain, trauma, Tony’s breathing issues, PTSD, broken bones that didn’t quite heal right, you name it. Disabilities come hand-in-hand with stories set during WW1 and superhero universes, and I hate it when writers forget to include moments where this can be shown because they are focusing too hard on big action scenes and explosions. Well, not in my fics!

Tagging: @atypical-snowman @kiki-shortsnout and @writeyourownstory

#tumblr game #ailendolin #tear-chan talks #writing and stuff #fanfiction

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jeannereames · 2 years

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Hi Dr.Reames. So glad to see your blogs. You said that in your novel, Alexander and Hephaistion had ups and downs in their relationship, even though they had always loved each other so much. Given how long the relationship has lasted, I suspect the history might have been the similar,too. I'd like to ask that what do you think (or guess) about the state of their relationship at the time of Hephaistion's death?

First, while not a direct answer to your question, some of the entries below deal with the period of Hephaistion’s death and Alexander’s reaction, or even hypothetical choices.

Has Alexander’s attachment to Hephaistion been played down in recent history?

What happened to Hephaistion’s “stuff,” after he died? https://www.tumblr.com/jeannereames/648950546701713408/this-is-a-bit-tangential-but-do-we-have-any-idea?source=share

What if ATG could choose to keep Hephaistion alive, if he gave up being king? https://www.tumblr.com/jeannereames/664901315661594624/weird-question-imagine-a-magical-hypothetical?source=share

Now, as for their relationship at Hephaistion’s death…. Originally, I had a long discussion about Hephaistion and Krateros, but a lot of it involved material that, honestly, I don’t want to put out in public (yet), because it’s for the monograph. So while I usually like to show y’all, via explanation, my “work,” so to speak—how I come to my conclusions, in order to demonstrate how we do “do” history—in this case, I’m keeping my cards closer to my chest. Some of it is material I’ve published before, but I’ve changed my mind on some things, after examination of texts and more thought.

So this will be much shorter. Some of you may appreciate that. LOL.

At the time of Hephaistion’s death, his relationship with Alexander was “complicated.” Not at odds, mind, but I think enough water had gone under the bridge that part of ATG’s profound reaction to his death involved guilt.

IME of bereavement, couples, siblings, very dear friends, etc. who had a “complicated” relationship at the time of the death of one, often resulted in a more profound mourning by the survivor. What do I mean by “complicated” mourning? Anything that is atypical and may therefore throw an emotional monkey-wrench into the normal mourning process.

For a full discussion of Alexander’s mourning behavior, as well as bereavement studies, see my “The Mourning of Alexander the Great,” Syllecta Classica 12 (2001) 98-145. Yes, that is a very long article, and it’s over 20 years old, but I still stand by it, and consider it one of the more important contributions I’ve made, overall, to ATG studies.

In any case, Hephaistion’s death was automatically “complicated” because it appears to have been unexpected. Although he’d been ill, he was enough on the mend that Alexander left to attend the boys’ events. His crisis came fast and he was dead before Alexander could reach him. That meant no “goodbye,” which is quite important.

So, some of ATG’s “extreme” reactions (which aren’t, in fact, that extreme) owe to the suddenness of it all. Most of Alexander’s behaviors were pretty normal…it’s just he had oodles of money and influence to express his grief unbridled. (For more on this, see the article.)

Yet I do suspect some guilt complicated it further. Not necessarily residual guilt from his dressing-down of Hephaistion in India, as that was 2/2.5 years prior. Given the eventful nature of their lives, even 2 years was a long time. Moreover, ATG had subsequently awarded Hephaistion several significant marks of public honor. But at least one clash (that with Eumenes) was recent, and initially, Alexander had sided with Eumenes. He changed his mind, perhaps once he learned more about the conflict, but it was probably only a few weeks to a month (at most) prior to Hephaistion’s demise.

So, while I don’t think they were at significant odds, in grieving, the smallest oversight can become hugely significant: the classic “mountain out of a molehill.” Why? The impossibility of full resolution. Small things can become Very Big in a sudden-death situation. Ergo, the recentness of the Eumenes conflict probably weighed on ATG’s mind, in addition to the fact he didn’t get to say goodbye.

#Alexander the Great #Hephaistion #Hephaestion #Hephaistion's death #Hephaestion's death #Mourning of Alexander the Great #Alexander the Great grief #Classics #ancient Macedonia #tagamemnon

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itrin · 2 years

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damien gorham/owen green

[cracks knuckles and digs out a pan and a spoon] fine, I guess I'll have to feed myself.

my ideas about damien gorham/owen thompson, a (massively) rarepair ship:

I haven't listened to nor do I know anything about the AM Archives so disclaimer

criminal bf with upstanding citizen bf is something I die for

Damien's grumpy, wet racoon vibe paired with owen's golden retriever energy is so, so compelling to me

like I love damien with all my heart but this man is a pathetic and wet and Owen is better is most aspects and the two of them together fulfills my heart

this grumpy, growling man with [insert negative integer] social skills, no interpersonal skills, and no good and healthy relationships to speak of ever paired with a chipper, financially stable man who is used to atypical people and situations , is emotionally stable and embedded in a shitty institution but tries his best to be as morally upstanding as he can -- good food to consume

ik in the beginning damien despised agent green for his history with Joan but I take that to be more childish possession than any actual feelings of attraction towards Joan, like "this is my friend u cant be friends with them" elementary playground type beat and ik owen was/is in love with joan but we can just ignore that here, does not register and is not perceived thank u very much

,maybe its ooc bc tbs is not fresh in my memory

okay so aus i've fumbled around with in my head (long paragraphs ahead):

after owen gives damien money on the street and damien finds out from Wadsworth that green actually lives on the other side of the city (damien interacting with Owen here and all of damien's interactions with Wadsworth is A+ imo), damien decides to stalk green bc he hates being lied to, hates not knowing shit and being outta the loop and also he's very curious. so he stalks him and then he blinks and suddenly greens gone?? just disappeared and Damien's glancing around trying to spot him and then turns around and Owen is fucking standing right behind him -- the professional creep got out-stalked by a golden retriever and Owen, in a gesture of goodwill, invites damien into his house for tea ig?? damien does bc he's deeply unsettled that someone got the drop on him without being atypical, and there's a violin in owen's house bc he's been meaning to learn and damien, for reasons unknown to him, offers to teach him and Owen readily accepts bc its a chance for damien to learn how to interact positively with human beings and Wadsworth is aware and likes having green keep a physical eye on damien. ANYWAYS DAMIEN TEACHES OWEN AND HE HAS TO STAND ON HIS TIPTOES BEHIND HIM (damien gives off short guy energy I dont make the rules) AND HE LEANS AGAINST HIS BACK AND HOLDS HIS FINGERS OVER OWEN'S TO GUIDE HIM INTO THE PROPER POSITION!!!!!!!! screaming its domestic and cute and they're both so dismayed like "im falling for him?? of all people...okay ig... :/"

phone conversation au??? Wadsworth passes off the duty of calling damien in the morning onto Owen and at first its short calls to receive updates and keep proper tabs but eventually its grows longer and damien tells him stuff like what he's cooking, how he learned to cook, his recipes and how he learned them, and Owen describes his day-to-day paperwork and stuff, his own house, what he's cooking and they both complain about stuff like laundry piles or the streaks left when u mop the floors (its initiated either by damien complaining and grumbling about something trivial and mundane or Owen hearing the sounds of sizzling and asking what's cooking); eventually it gets into deeper stuff like respective childhood trauma and each of them feels seen and heard by the other and idk they meet up once in a while for "dates" that they dont admit are dates. Wadsworth gets suspicious, Joan bright gets suspicious, mark gets suspicious -- idk but conflict comes and tests their new and unexpected relationship and either it breaks or it holds (fingers crossed for the latter)

damien having a panic attack bc he saw or thought he saw his Parents on the sidewalk and collapses shaking against green's door or just randomly on green's route; OR damien crawls bleeding into green's house thru a window he jimmied open after getting beat up yet again in a manipulation-gone-wrong-moment but either way Owen is left with the task of taking care of a physically and mentally vulnerable damien, a damien with no defences, no walls, just raw emotion and honesty and this inside peek into damien gorham is enough for Owen to ~fall in love~

damien is kept by the AM like how mark was, to be experimented on and he either guilts or goads Owen into delivering some news from the outside and this leads to them talking some more about random stuff until eventually Owen falls in love, recruits someone (mark or sam idk probs mark) to break damien out and idk they run away together, forever moving on the run from the AM and wadsworth and its what damien is used to?? ig he finally gets the roadtrip of his dreams?? owen insists on visiting the giant ball of twine

id say this last au is purely self-indulgent but literally everything in this post is anyways damien got the powers beaten outta him and after some lost meandering, eventually sets up a house for himself somewhere remote-ish (maybe its ithaca, maybe somewhere else) and ends up taking in a rejected atypical kid on the run, abandoned by their family, and damein knows all about being alone as a child so yeah he takes 'em in. and then another kid comes, same circumstances, rejected by family, friends and the world and hurting and alone. then another kid, and another until eventually its like the Gorham Home for Runaway Atypical Kids Or Something — he has his hands and house full of kids that need a home and someone to understand them and accept them for whoever and whatever they are no judgement. idk specifically how it'll work but green reaches out and develops a kind of professional "business" relationships where kids are exchanged between the Gorham Home and the AM (like if the AM cant "handle" or if the kids wants institutional help idk but Damien absolutely does not give them up unless the kid themselves want to leave) and ofc damien calls during owen's off-hours bc he wants to check up on the kids he sends him and does not give a shit about his hours so damien has to listen to background noise of Owen cooking or doing laundry (spicy: damien calls when owen's masturbating and there's a lotta ways this scene could go down) and yeah

i have so many thoughts about them...and so should everyone im clinging onto them like a raft

#the bright sessions #damien gorham #agent green #Robert gorham #tbs #rarepair #damien/owen #au idea #owen thompson #the bright sessions damien #the bright sessions owen

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tenshusuto · 1 year

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//hey donna, resident shady shopkeeper mun who recently joined the fandom last year and has stolen my attention and love for your version of this madhatter. i love having you on my dash and you just know i've followed you on all my blogs -- at least the active ones i currently run lol. you are a breath of fresh air with this urahara guy and trust i've seen so many versions this past decade but i enjoy interacting with yours a lot because you keep that lighthearted, fun yet naughty aspect of him alive and you go out of your way to invade inboxes and troll ppl and we just love that sm xD do continue doing and maybe even up it a notch lol! and it's okay if you don't write as much. just you being around when you pop on is enough to brighten most anyone's day because your muse is most always up to no good and we enjoy that a lot. keep doing what you do and here's to more shenanigans this coming year! <33

Mims, Mims, Mims. Once again you let your chains lose to become absolute and heartwarming inbox sunshine. But sit back, I have a kind bouquet of words for you too. I noticed a recent spree of your lovely profiles lurking about and following but I gladly welcomed all of them with open arms. You're so open and friendly, and you love giving your characters revolutionary development through connections, that's what I see mostly with Starrk. It makes me evenly enjoy seeing you on my dash and participate in chaos or starting some of your own (even when Akon chose to be Kisuke's chronic pain of criticism xD and Rose with Visored lowkey roasting him with whole dating thing, I cried tbh), we all live for those foot in the mouth funny moments. I am generally looking forward to my working schedule improving, so I can write properly and make my time less content-premium. *Me, scratching chin and thinking about how to put it with explaining that I am in this fandom for quite a whiiiiiiiiile but because I am a very PRIVATE and secretive person who hardly ever reveals any Infos that including tag*

Now, then about my road with Kisuke - how should I say this ... it's complicated and longer than this blog says but I still kinda prefer to refer to it as an entirely fresh and new start simply because I liked the sound of as you say new Urahara (rather than almost a decade of trolling in my partners SLs) and to be honest this blog for Kisuke was never meant to go public. It was made for private aest. inventions, headcanons that should have served a different purpose and instead of CC attached to another platform. So, how this happened I have no ideas, something had to be in the air back then. However, I was delightfully surprised to receive a feedback echo that this atypical interpretation evoked interest to the point of actually getting interactions and an unexpecting amount of love. There's no greater joy for writer and a humble, morbid Lady — to hear that their dummy scribbles are appreciated. Thank you so much, you are loved, and may 2023 bring you a lot of happiness and joy! Happy New Year! <3

#mun stuff ;#positivity!#<333 #hangover typos 2023 ;#mun answers ;#ooc.

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chiropteracupola · 2 years

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What is your opinion on every Daniel Craig era James Bond movie in release order

alright, here goes! (although I will admit I had to go and check the proper release order, as in typical fashion I went and watched them in reverse...)

casino royale: a fascinating setup for this entire era of movies, given that it inexplicably feels the most soulless of all of them. the men have not yet acquired texture, if that’s a sentence that makes any sense. tension and release of various plot points (particularly the torturing and the elevator) do not hit quite right for me. the self-defibrillation was kind of cool though.

quantum of solace: I Did Not Like Any Part of It. by the end I was unable to relish things exploding, which is atypical for me. I watch these as a treat in order to watch something explode and then say ‘haha, explosions’. scenery boring, plot worse. unfortunate that one of my worst childhood nightmares involves being suffocated by oozing tar, given that that. uh. happens in this one.

skyfall: a real mixed bag! first half is typical early-Daniel-Craig-era fare, gunfights and explosions and uncomfortable dalliances with women with no personalities. in the second half, though, we transfer over to the style we see much more often in the rest of the movies, and things start to flow much better. my view might be a little distorted by the fact that I enjoy Foggy Mountainous Landscapes, Shadowy Manor Houses, and Cool Old-Fashioned Guns more than I enjoy most of the usual players in a james bond thing. mildly interesting villain, which was a fun change!

spectre: the only instance where my awkward reverse-order experience actually messed with my understanding of the plot. not my favorite overall, but fun as a through-thread between two that I mostly liked. aesthetically, plot-wise, character-wise, all kind of ...ehhhh. it was a movie, they exploded a large building, 148 minutes of my life I won’t be getting back.

no time to die: my favorite of all of them, as it’s a perfect balance of I Enjoy James Bond and I Detest James Bond, since I do both those things in approximately equal measure. contains the vague suggestion of something resembling an enjoyable romance rather than the endless whatever-it-is-ness of most of the previous movies, which was refreshing! bizarrely aesthetically pleasing in unexpected ways - the location title cards are lovely and the scenic norwegian landscapes are very pleasant to behold. the final environments are vaguely star-wars-y but I found it suitable enough. plot is convoluted in ...a nice way? although most of the side characters are still, as usual, lacking in arcs that satisfy me. and he dies at the end, which brings a wonderful end to this whole tormented series of films! love it when he finally experiences consequences so thick you could stand a spoon in them! I spent a good five minutes post-nttd chortling all the air from my lungs while my family stared at me in horror. it was great.

thank you for asking, this was great fun, I love to complain about james bond movies for having the things that james bond movies are known for in them, and it’s been rather a while since I’ve gotten to do so!

ah jimmy b, I’m glad you’ve been freed at last from the endless spiral of sequels. ...for now.

#answers from the cupola #james bond spoilers #...I guess?#reading people's reviews for nttd again and starting to think that a lot of what people find Fun about the early-series movies #is exactly the stuff I find Uncomfy about them - it fascinates!

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caterjunes · 1 year

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re: the gnome post - "gnome" was a completely random and off-putting comment. the op reacts as if they're scared there's a gnome approaching them with ill intent. they post a blurry pixelated image where pretty much all you can make out is a pointy shape - presumably a gnome's hat - as if this is a "found footage" horror flick. all of this suddenly shifts the tone and intent of the post in a way that is funny because it's unexpected, and because the op committed to a bit that was thrown at them seemingly at random. the humor also comes from the fact that op was annoyed at "typical" tumblr comments, and the "joke" starts with a very atypical comment. hope this helps!

this is incredibly helpful, thank you. i was mostly struggling with the blurry pixelated image, so knowing the (presumed) intent of the image helps a lot

#matty cares about your concerns #gnomes #thank you to the other folks as well

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thesevro · 3 years

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be the boss / toji f.

𝖙𝖔𝖏𝖎 𝖋𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2.1K words

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: who you gonna call when you be feeling horny? TOJI FUSHIGURO!

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: calling toji daddy, phone sex, face-fucking

TOJI STARES AT his phone screen with a laughing gleam in his eyes.

"You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" he breathes out as you angle your phone to give him a better view of the special, personal show.

"If it can get you over here," you murmur, "Then I'll just keep doing it."

Your hand plays at the gleaming hem of red silk that hugs your figure. It's loose around your legs. The darkness of your room leaves much to Toji's... wild imagination. His eyes stray from the hand that slides between your open legs to focus on your face. He grunts as your brows furrow and your mouth falls open in a soft moan.

"You thinking of my hand between your thighs?" He chuckles, in a slight daze as you whine, pulling the edge of your dress up further to finger your own pussy. "Thinking of my fingers in your cunt, baby?"

You sigh, parting your legs wider to bare yourself to the camera. Toji aches in his pants as you pull your panties to the side to put your wet slit on display.

Caught in four fucking k.

He giddily takes a screen-shot of your fingers inside your hole. His hand slips beneath his pants to palm himself from his boxers. Horny has never felt this hot. And he's never been this hard.

On your back, you look like a fallen angel. Like Lucifer's bad, naughty sister. The phone seems to sit right between your feet, giving him a good view of the wet, swollen folds of pussy. But the room you touch yourself in is dark, and he can just barely see the way your hole convulses around your fingers.

Your back arches from the mattress you lie on as your fingers find your clit. Toji tenses, breathing labored, hunched over his phone with the screen only inches from his face. You have him mesmerized. He swallows. Imagines your cum sliding down his throat.

When you stammer his name, crying softly in pleasure as you near your high, Toji grins with jaded confidence. He can see you losing your mind to pleasure. To need. To the thought of his fingers inside you, and not yours.

"You gonna cum like that? Just thinking of my cock in your pretty little cunny? Dirty slut. Even the thought of it makes you feel so good, yeah?"

You gasp out a yes, yes daddy, panting in the empty room. He sees your shoulders tense, your head fall back further into the pillow, and decides to be a little evil. A little bit of a devil.

Because why should he let you enjoy that beautiful body of yours on your own?

"Don't cum." You don't seem to hear him. His tone lowers to a rough, commanding growl. "Don't fucking cum, (Y/N)."

You immediately slip your fingers out of your hole. You gaze down at your phone with blown pupils and a red face.

"What's wrong?" you ask in a shaky voice. "Did I do something wrong, daddy?"

Ah, you know him too well. That thing you call him... always makes him think of fucking you 'till you scream words dirty as sin.

"Wait for me. If you cum before I get there, you won't get daddy's cock." He blinks at you with the eyes of a watchful predator. Fuck, is he ready to fuck you up. "You know that I'll know if you do, don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy. B-but please, please hurry." You swipe at your slit again. He huffs, swinging a thick coat over his shoulder on his way to the door, still on the phone with you. "I want daddy to taste this."

He takes off at a brisk walk. He ends the call now, whispers that you be a good girl and wait for your daddy. He knows that you will be. He knows that it was pointless telling you, if not completely inimical, because if anything he'd only made your pussy ache more.

He knocks at your door. Chuckles to himself for a second. He's never knocked on anyone's door before. He supposes something about you has changed him. With a pussy as good as yours he guesses such changes were inevitable.

You swing the door open, hair a pretty mess, bust nearly bursting from your dress. It's a tight one on you. He shares one look with you, then gets straight to giving his good girl her reward. Desperation comes over your features. From that he knows you had obeyed him.

"Were you good for daddy?" he asks, cupping your cheek with atypical fondness as he pushes you through the door.

"Yes daddy," you answer. "I was a good girl for you."

The only affirmation he offers you is a pleased hum he lets vibrate against your mouth as he slams the door shut and shoves you up against the wall. You moan into his lips. Wrap your legs around his thick waist. He can taste your sweet lipstick.

"What do you want me to reward you with, baby?" he questions, tonguing the shell of your ear and purpling your neck with bruises for love bites. "Want me to make you cum three times? Seven? I can make it good for you."

"Anything. Anything from you daddy."

In spite of the chuffed delight he feels at your easy subservience, he really wants to make this good for you.

"You have to let daddy know what his good girl wants," he says. "Come on, tell me."

Toji pulls back to smirk down at you. You seem dazed and far out of your head. If he can fuck you up like this, he wonders how many times you've done him over with your own coquettish teases. Though he doubts he's ever shown it the way you do.

"I want to suck on daddy's cock," you tell him.

Of course you do. You have always sought his satisfaction instead of your own.

He can't say no to you this time.

You throw your gaze to the couch. It's such a filthy look Toji wonders how you can focus on a literal couch with that much indecency.

Toji slides his tongue against yours as he maneuvers you and him to the couch. His cock twitches in his pants. Anticipation boiling at an all-time high at the decadent sucking you'll give him.

Yeah. A lot of the time your mouth around his cock is all he can think of.

You press one kiss to the scar on his mouth. It's tender and sweet and everything he's ever closed himself off to. But you open him up like ripe fruit.

His coat hangs on the stand by the door. His focus diverts to the shadow of it for a second, body and mind calm. Red and white taillights brighten the glass of your door and window. A pacific serenity settles over him. Being here with you—even as you're about to deep-throat his cock in the skilled way you do with that pretty mouth of yours—lets him feel a very tiny degree of domesticity. A very tiny degree of peace.

Does he like it? Well.

"Daddy's got such a pretty girl," he compliments, sliding his thumb across your lips as you tie your hair up behind your head. "Let me do that for you."

You pull back from him in surprise. The offer is so abnormal and unexpected your instincts bring you away from him.

"What," he deadpans.

"Do you—do you even know how to—?"

"Who do you think has been keeping your hair up every time you do this?"

"Oh." A smile graces your mouth. Toji glares down at you but you only lighten up with bubbly laughter. "Sorry. Sorry, daddy. Here you go."

You hand him the hair tie. He puts your hair up with diligence, turning his nose up smugly as you touch the perfectly messy bun at the back of your head, nodding in approval.

"Daddy did a surprisingly good job," you tease.

"Keep talking like that and I'll have to shut you up with my cock, sweetheart."

"Mhm. Now let me do that myself."

It takes only seconds for you to undo his belt and unzip his fly. His breathing gets all worked up again. You blink up at him with doe-eyed innocence as you rub your face into his cock, indulging in the warmth of his length. Cheek receiving each throb of his dick.

"Something wrong, daddy?"

"Hurry. Up."

Uh oh. A little misstep on your part. Too much teasing.

You tilt your head, eyes still on him as you swallow his cock up. Your hands wrap around the fat length. You have to balance yourself on his thigh as the head of his cock taps the back of your throat. You swallow around your gag reflex. Toji breathes in sharply. Grasps your hair in a hand and patiently waits for you to finish taking him in. It is... very unlike him.

He's acting nicer than usual.

The muscles in your throat contract. Convulse. It's always been hard to suck this man's cock. It's bigger than your monthly salary.

You choke as his dick twitches in your mouth, eyes squeezing shut at the sheer girth and length of it. You struggle to breathe in through your nose. Toji notices.

"Want me to do the work for you, sweetheart?"

His question comes out as a heavy grunt as you hollow your cheeks and wrap your mouth around him tighter. You open your closed eyes, tempted to let him have his way with you.

The air pops with the sound of you pulling off his cock. You swallow through the ache in your throat and cheeks. Only three minutes in and your mouth is already exhausted.

"Fuck my face, daddy."

Toji stands and hastily adjusts your position so that your head rests against the couch. You relax your jaw and hold your smiling mouth open for him. He grips the bottom of your chin with his fingers and palm and gently taps your mouth with his cock. You widen your mouth.

The shirt wrapped around his musculature strains as he slides his cock into your mouth. His chest heaves, brows curling together as he watches himself fuck your face.

"Yeah, good girl," he praises in a hungry voice. He fucks his cock into your mouth slowly, keen to feel every struggling gasp and gurgled swallow of your mouth. He wants to cum in your mouth then slip the white mess off your tongue to paint your face filthy with it.

Soon his thrusts go wild. He grips the back of your head with both hands, tugging at your hair with his fingers and holding your head the way he holds your ass in doggy-style.

Toji smirks through his sex-drunk haze as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Drool spills from the side of your mouth. He can't wait to see his cum mix with it. Toji angles his body so that he can hump your mouth harder. So that he doesn't fall over when you suddenly reach upward to finger his balls with skill.

"Gonna take my cum? Does my good girl wanna take it?"

You lean upward to tilt your head back, loosening your throat further so that his cock goes nearly all the way down. He moans quietly. Throws his head back as you grab the backs of his thighs and part of his ass to push his cock in deeper. Your nose brushes the hair on his pelvis, lips almost kissing the same sprouts of hair. You're taking him in so far he can't help but groan and rut into your throat with hotter fervor.

You gulp through a clogged throat as he plugs your mouth up and full of cum. Toji's own mouth falls open and he breathes out hard from around a moan as he cums. You watch as he does. He gets so vulnerable when he releases. His face contorts and he hunches over to get his dick far down your throat. You wonder if there'll be any left on your tongue. You don't want to disappoint your daddy by having no proof to show.

His cock slips out of your mouth with a delicious slide. You suck your cheeks in as he does, lips savoring the sensation of the head of his dick catching at your mouth.

"Daddy knows his girl swallowed it all up," he says, holding your cheek in one hand. "So let him give her another reward for being so good."

———

END NOTE: Please do not take lewd photos of your partner without their consent. Such an act shows how little respect you have for their body and their wishes. Please ask for clear consent from them before taking such photos.

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wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Our Perfect Princess | Ateez

pairing(s): Poly!Ateez x Fem!Reader

genre: Fluff, some Angst, Comfort

warnings: Non-sexual elements of DDLG, brief mention of trauma and insecurities

word count: 1,9k

synopsis: After a long day at work, your boyfriends notice a little change in your usual behavior…

A/N: Please note that I’m not too familiar with the DDLG lifestyle, so I did my best to use the little knowledge I do have as well as extensive research to create this scenario. If anything depicted is inaccurate or false, please don’t hesitate to let me know so I can correct any errors. I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Yeosang knows something is off the moment you step into the dorm. Maybe it’s due to the fact your welcoming-embrace lasts a couple seconds longer than usual, or the unexpected pout that spreads across your lips when he recommends you take a hot shower before San and Jongho return with tonight’s dinner. Although you follow his advice, you drag your feet all the way to the bathroom, and even then, you pause to greet his other members with extravagant hugs, and, in Wooyoung’s case, a long, rather needy kiss.

Something is definitely off, Yeosang decides, before heading over to Seonghwa and Yunho, who seem to be deep in conversation. Somewhere amongst their murmurs, Yeosang catches your name and he can’t help the curious remark that slips from his lips:

“You guys think (Y/N)’s okay?”

Both Seonghwa and Yunho look up at the younger’s question, the former shaking his head while the latter answers with a shrug, “I don’t know. It might just be me, but she seemed… off.”

“I’m sure she’s just tired.” Seonghwa sighs, “You know how hard she works—and if something’s wrong, she would tell us.”

Yunho bites his lip, “I-I guess you’re right… I’m just worried.”

“Me too.” Yeosang agrees.

“Just give her some time, okay?” The eldest offers both Yunho and Yeosang a gentle smile before gesturing toward the living room, “Why don’t you guys build a blanket fort? You know how much she loves that—”

“Did somebody say blanket fort?” Mingi’s face appears from around the corner, bearing his infamous goofy grin and crescent moon eyes. “I’m already on it! Dibs on the air mattress!”

“No way! You got the mattress last time!” Wooyoung calls from the sofa, setting down his game controller to face the crowd. “You just want an excuse to hog (Y/N) all to yourself!”

Mingi shrugs, unable to deny Wooyoung’s observation. The 99’ liners erupt into an argument about you and your cuddles as they go about transforming the living room into the biggest blanket fort known to man. Seonghwa chuckles at the youngsters’ antics before returning to his task of preparing plateware and drinks.

And against what he told Yunho and Yeosang, even he can’t help the slight bit of concern that filters through his veins at the thought of your odd behavior.

You exhale another heavy sigh as you towel dry your skin before moving on to pat down your hair. Your gaze falters to the bathroom mirror, and though it’s covered in a sheen of heavy steam, you can just make out the dark skin underneath the crest of your eyelids. You hoped your scorching shower would erase the evidence of an exhausting day, or at the very least, clear the fogginess from your brain… but seemingly no such luck.

Usually, you’re able to keep the familiar fog at bay, but between your boss overworking you to the bone and the piles of schoolwork and exams looming in the upcoming week, it’s been increasingly harder and harder to maintain a regular headspace. And it certainly doesn’t help when you have eight attentive boyfriends doting on your every worry and whim…

You’re not sure why you haven’t told them about your atypical lifestyle, possibly because of the avoidance of any possible ridicule or your own personal shame and embarrassment. Even so, you know your lovers, and you know they wouldn’t judge you… so what exactly is holding you back?

You decide not to delve too much into the question for fear of slipping further and instead focus on slipping into your pajamas: a pair of your favorite sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that once belonged to Yunho. After tidying up your shower supplies and a final glance at your reflection, you exit the bathroom, a veil of steam seeing your form out the door. While you’d love nothing more than to bury yourself in a mountain of stuffed animals and binge watch your favorite cartoon for the rest of the night, you’ll compromise to cuddling with your boyfriends and vegging out on takeout and Friends reruns. You head toward the living room, fully prepared to hide your regression for another day—

—until you catch sight of the massive blanket fort that has overtaken the space.

“(Y/N)! Finally!” Mingi hops up from his ginormous bean bag chair and nearly tackles you to the floor in a great, big bear hug. You find yourself greedily drowning in his warmth, and have to hold back a displeased whine when he pulls away too soon. “What do you think? I’m pretty sure we used every blanket and pillow in the house…”

“It’s c-cute.” You curse at your awkward response, praying your gentle giant of a lover doesn’t notice the breathiness and faraway nature of your tone. Thankfully, Mingi remains oblivious and excitedly leads you to the highlight of the fort, an air mattress decorated with countless fluffy blankets and a couple of San’s prized plushies. The sight reminds you of your own safe play-pen at home… and suddenly it’s that much harder to keep an adult headspace.

“Here, (Y/N)...” Jongho smiles in greeting as you take a seat on the mattress. Not even seconds after you settle in, the maknae is quick to offer you a takeout container. “Heard you had a rough day, so we got your favorite. Don’t eat too fast, okay?”

You hum, not trusting your voice at the moment, and accept the food. Seconds later, a hand appears on the top of your head, gently ruffling at the roots of your hair.

“Hey, baby.” Hongjoong leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head before affectionately caressing your cheek. “They didn’t work my precious girl too hard today, did they?”

Your chest grows tight at the leader’s caring tone. It’s no different than how he usually speaks, but the voice at the back of your mind can’t help but purr in delight.

“Don’t even think about it, hyung.” You’re abruptly pulled into Mingi’s chest, just barely avoiding spilling your dinner all over your lap. “Everyone agreed that I get snuggle rights for the first hour—you can wait your turn.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes with a chuckle before glancing back down at you. His amused expression falters slightly as he studies your face, being replaced with something akin to concern. You can’t help but squirm underneath his scrutiny, releasing a frustrated huff when that same fogginess attempts to overtake your mind for the millionth time.

After another moment or two, Hongjoong murmurs, “Are you okay, beautiful? You’re sure nothing’s bothering you?”

“I’m fine.” As soon as the response leaves your lips, you know you answered too soon for your lover not to be suspicious. Sure enough, Hongjoong doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even as the rest of the boys begin to filter into the room and take their respective seats. Against Mingi’s booming protests, San collapses on your other side before sending a dastardly wink in your direction. You giggle at his antics, earning a strange look from said mischief maker:

“Since when do you giggle…?”

Your amusement immediately disappears.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

San seems to want to press the issue further, but Seonghwa’s voice beats him to it:

“(Y/N), do you want anything to drink? San and Jongho bought coke, sprite and—”

“J-Juice…?” You say hopefully, receiving another round of confused expressions from your surrounding audience. Before now, they probably weren’t sure if you even drink juice seeing as you never asked for it before—the thought deepens your doubts.

“...I’m not sure if we have juice, but I can look. Be right back, baby.”

Seonghwa disappears into the kitchen, leaving behind a tense and unsteady type of silence. You choose to calm your building anxiety by taking a couple bites of your dinner, hoping that Wooyoung will just turn on the TV and this moment will fade into the buzz of comedy and cliches. Answering your prayers, Wooyoung indeed does switch on the television, but the tension still remains. Even long after Seonghwa returns with a tall cup of apple juice.

“Okay—I can’t take this anymore.” Yunho exclaims after another bout of uncomfortable silence. Your eyes begin to ache with the beginnings of tears as the man turns his attention to you, and you have to focus really, really hard to keep your hands from trembling. “(Y/N), sweetheart… You know you can tell us anything, right? We wouldn’t look at you any differently.”

“Yunho-hyung is right, doll.” Yeosang agrees, “We know something’s wrong, but if you don’t talk to us, we can’t help you.”

You shake your head frantically, “Can’t you guys just leave this alone? Please…?”

“Don’t cry, (Y/N), babe—” Mingi hurriedly takes your quivering form into his arms again, rubbing your back and whispering words of encouragement in your ear. “We’re all here for you, okay?”

“And we’ll always be here for you.” San hums from your other side, reaching forward to weave your fingers between his own. “Just tell us what’s going on, babygirl. Don’t hide from us.”

“I’m…” You inhale a deep breath, attempting to defuse the pressure budding within your chest, before burrowing your face in the crook of Mingi’s neck and finally murmuring, “I’m… a little.”

A brief moment of silence passes at your confession, allowing you to mentally prepare for the rejection inevitably coming your way. However, you’re pleasantly surprised when Wooyoung leaps from his seat with an excited shout:

“I knew it! Tell me again why no one listens to me around here!?”

“Wooyoung…” You lift your head in time to watch Hongjoong pinch the bridge of his nose and send the younger an unamused glance. Upon noticing your attention, his expression immediately shifts into one of warmth and tenderness before gently addressing you, “We… had a feeling you were a little, but we didn’t want to assume anything until you told us.”

“And we don’t see or love you any differently, kitten.” Seonghwa continues with a smile of his own, “If you’d like, we’d love to learn more and, only if you’re comfortable, help make things less stressful for you.”

“You… You want to be my caregivers?” You completely rise from Mingi’s hold, gazing at each one of your boyfriend’s with a combination of shock and relief. In return, you only find eyes of love and acceptance.

“Of course. We want to make you happy, (Y/N).” Jongho answers, earning a hum of agreement from the rest of the crowd. “But like Seonghwa-hyung said, only if you feel comfortable—”

“I-I’d really like that, you guys.” You laugh, attempting to hold back tears of joy. “Do you mind if I, uh, regress a little tonight?...”

Yunho nods with a smile, “Anytime you want, bubs.”

“How about this—” You shift around to watch San gather a couple of stuffed animals before laying them in your lap. He leans down to cutely rub his nose against your own with a chuckle. “—we’ll bury you in a mountain of stuffed animals and put on your favorite cartoon? How does that sound?”

You almost cry out of joy.

“I’d like that. A whole lot, Sannie.”

“Our perfect princess has spoken, boys.” Yeosang hums, “Let’s get to building the biggest, best stuffie mountain for our favorite girl.”

Something tells you you’re in very, very good hands for the rest of the night, and even greater beyond, to come.

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