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trulycertain · 6 months ago

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On Dragon Age & Accents

(My unhelpful tuppence, as an English player.)

One small thing I wish had come up in Veilguard from previous games: the accent worldbuilding. It wasn't always consistent - DA:O only seemed to care about country or race, anyone non-human being generically North American and anyone human being mostly RP English unless they were Antivan; for regional accents, they seemed to purely use them for effect or go with VAs' natural ones. (There are about two bandit NPCs who seem to have badly-done Midlands English accents purely because they're not meant to be very bright; thanks, love Canadians reinforcing that stereotype. Anders being Lancashire seems to be pure coincidence because of his voice actor - you rarely ever hear the accent in any consistent way in other NPCs, and it's completely ignored in his very Southern DA2 recast.)

But by DA2, there seemed to be definite trends: Free Marches could be RP English or North American depending where you came from; dwarves tended to sound North American but there were exceptions for some people raised on the surface; elves tended to be either Welsh or Irish, which matches the "very old culture with a linguistically completely different root from Trade/English". Starkhaven is most definitely Scots.

And then DAI! DAI, my love.

DAI kept DA2's trends, while finally giving us more complexity and regional accents, albeit limitedly (and still with some inconsistencies). Finally, we have a (vaguely Germanic) Nevarran accent! And Miranda Raison did such careful work constructing it! The Avvar, Ferelden's mountain folk, sound Northern English. I'd hazard a guess that several sound Yorkshire, actually - this matches the whole "the Orlesians got up there less" lore in real terms; Northern England and Scotland, particularly Yorkshire, was under Viking rule longer than the South, which became Norman-conquered earlier, and there are subtle dialectal differences to this day. (Similar thing happened with the Celts and Romans, and the Avvar are blatantly Celtic and Pictish). There's a reason that RP ("neutral posh") English is Southern, from the seats of power. Cullen's from Honnleath, somewhere smaller and less Orlesianified, and while it's softened by the character's travel and the VA's own posher bents, there are moments the Northern English accent gets leaned into, a little similarity with the Avvar. It's a coincidence but it works so well, lore-wise. Sera's VA sounds... Derbyshire? I think? which is Midlands/Northern border and sounds more than Northern enough to keep a consistent Fereldan sound. And in terms of NPCs? A lot of Fereldan NPCs suddenly start turning up Northern, albeit less broad in their accents! Have a listen round the Crossroads. I remember Gaider mentioning Dorian wasn't originally meant to be Indian, they sealed it for sure when they cast Ramon Tikaram, at which point everyone went, "Yup, let's run with it", cast his dad accordingly, and Gaider figured that Dorian was either part of a pretty big migrant population (which, other than the Dorian Gray reference, the fact his name roughly means "from across the sea" also makes sense), or quite a lot of Tevene folk natively were. Considering Tevinter started as essentially "mage Rome" and morphed into, even according to the writers themselves, "mage Byzantium" and it's very close to Seheron, which I feel is North Africa/Middle East influenced - Tevene folk being akin to folk of Turkish, Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan and Bengali backgrounds makes a ton of sense.

It is... exceedingly rare to hear working-class British accents in fantasy series at all (unless Brits make them, and then we're still often peasants or generic NPC #2, a la Origins). It is even rarer to have a fantasy series bother to keep immigrant accents and show the moulding of them through the generations. And I can only think of one other video game that has consciously cast British Asian actors, that's how rare it is even in games that supposedly care about representation - despite the fact that Asian folk make up something like 30% of our population.

Now: would I like some more background on why some accents in the Marches sound British and some don't? Yup! Would I have liked to have more regions in the elves' Irish accents and the dwarves' NA? Yup! But do those really matter? Nope! They would have been lovely icing on the cake, but the underlying cake was great. The plot didn't need it. It didn't have to be perfect, and the filtering of British culture through Canadians, and strategic anachronism? Those are things I love about Dragon Age. I loved how much they seemed to be trying and how much they were thinking about the lore. And I loved hearing a "British accent" that finally made sense to me, not played into the long attempts by toffs to stamp out everything North of London or outside England.

And then Veilguard sort of... forgot about it most of it? Adored that we could play as a Geordie! I really, really love them continuing pointed casting of folk with British Asian ancestry for several Tevinters (*waves lovingly at elek and neve*). But then... uh... look! Working-class Tevene people with generic Mancunian accents! To show they're working-class! That's fantastic progress... for Origins. But lore-wise, by DATV we've already shown that Manchester and Northern English accents live... *points at Ferelden* somewhere over there. We're back to "Tevinters mostly sound like generically evil English folk", as in DAO and bits of 2, which, sure, Dorian doesn't contradict - but then why not have everyone sound Southern, like him? Or add a different tint to it? And no, I am not saying everyone should put on bad "ethnic" accents, and I do appreciate the number of American, English and Mediterranean accents in Tevinter showing a very Roman "you're a citizen of the Imperium but you might have been born in one of its several countries" - but…

Gideon Emery's slight Afrikaans tint made a ton of sense with Fenris and what part of Tevinter he was meant to be from, even if it was unintentional; Jennifer Hale's take on Krem was going for English but came out more Aussie to my ear. Something like those could have been really interesting. But that also means that, including Fenris, we've now had several slaves with an accent that reads... quite posh, to English ears. Same with Neve, who is supposedly proudly from the shithole part of Minrathous, but she and several others have very RP "posh" accents (while others like Tarquin and Elek are Mancunian). Now, not everyone picks up their local accent! I am one of those people! I ended up cursedly plummy for a long time! But... we had hints through the series that Tevinter class markers would be very different from Fereldans', but they're now the same, for some reason?

Add that to the fact that they didn't want to make even one VA suffer through doing the Nevarran accent... See, it makes total sense for Emmrich, who's a posh professor who's done a lot of international study and would probably have learned Common as a second language with a very generic, "neutral" accent; he also was very concerned about appearances with his class background and trained himself not to give much away. And I'm sure the Mourn Watch has international students. But no Nevarran NPCs sound pointedly Nevarran? Not a one? Kal Sharok has hints of something interesting going on but it's rare, and the Anderfels is just... full of sad English and American-sounding people. Rivain is supposedly Caribbean and there are a bunch of actors of Caribbean descent they could've cast, but we only have one NPC sound even slightly so? That's when it stops being "Trade is taught with a neutral accent and there are a lot of Fereldan immigrants and slaves in Tevinter" and starts feeling handwavey.

Basically: I wouldn't mind if we'd gone with most fantasy games' "Eh, we cast broadly based on sound, stereotype or none of the above"; I'm very happy to just go with it. However, DAI told me to pay vague attention because the accents meant something. Then DATV has heel-turned and is telling me "Nah, go with it" the way Origins did. My ears are... confused, to say the least. And we're back to "'working-class' has one accent, and characters with something to say who aren't cast as stereotypically plucky underdogs are all Southern and posh", which just... makes me really sad. I don't hear people who sound like me, my family, or my friends growing up, in Dragon Age anymore. I did hear they had a different voice director in DATV, so maybe it's that?

#veilguard critical #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #meta #ie me rambling #it's a 'mildly critical' i think?#it's not a big part of the game and i doubt many people noticed. it doesn't ruin anything. i just miss some bonus things #folks who are scottish/irish/welsh/canadian/usian please nudge me if i've got something wrong or you want me to include something #there are some accents i can't hear nearly as well in terms of picking out regions so this is very much missing info in parts i think #tru plays veilguard

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onlythegeste · 7 months ago

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Gansey Nerdery

Ganseys are actually a really clever piece of knitwear, okay? And I feel they deserve extra love.

Here is a Gansey:

Please excuse the crap photo, it's because it's one I knitted myself. They are traditional fishermen's jumpers that are designed to be warm, hard-wearing, and close-fitting enough not to be at risk of entanglement when using machinery.

While you can get fully-patterned Ganseys, most of them are half-patterned like this one. This is because most holes happen in the lower part of the sleeves and body, and plain stocking stitch is easier to mend.

The knobbly-bobbly edge is because I used a Channel Islands cast-on, which is traditional for Ganseys from Guernsey (which is where they get their name from), but not something you see as much with the variants from Cornwall, North-East England or Scotland (which are all Gansey hotspots). This particular Gansey is otherwise mainly Scarborough pattern, although the banding on the sleeves is more commonly a Cornish thing.

Ganseys are reversible, as there's no difference in the front and back, which spreads wear and helps avoid elbow holes.

They also don't have seams, as such, as traditionally they're knitted in the round as one piece. Like so:

There are 'false seams' up the sides, which are just purl stitches that help you keep your place in the pattern without needing stitch markers etc. when you're in the stocking stitch section. There are also grafts at the shoulders, and you pick stitches up around the armholes for the sleeves, which obviously does make a join, but there's no sewing required as sewn seams are inherent weak points.

Another thing Ganseys have to avoid weak points that might result in holes developing is sleeve gussets. They look like this:

You can also do a double gusset, by carrying on the false seam up the middle of the gusset as well, rather than just around the edges, which I did on the navy one, but alas I don't have any pics as it's currently packed away in a box somewhere and I'm not willing to go digging for it, so you only get to see the single version.

The gusset is knitted halfway as part of the body, then put on a spare needle or stitch-holder while the upper body gets knitted as front and back separately (you can apparently also knit the top part in the round and then cut the armholes, but cutting knitwear scares me), then the second half is knitted as part of the sleeve:

The false seam continues down the sleeve, which then gives a nice reference point for where to put thumbholes, if desired. It's very easy - you just switch to knitting back and forth for about 1.5"-2" before returning to knitting in the round.

The collar also has gussets, which helps it stand up. Those involve picking up progressively more stitches either side of the shoulder graft while knitting back and forth for a few rows, before you can pick up the rest of your collar stitches and do some nice ribbing. You can do this before or after the sleeves, as you prefer.

I don't seem to have a picture of it with both sleeves in situ, but yes, the cream one absolutely was a copy of James Fitzjames' Gansey from The Terror. If you're looking for a sign to make one yourself, do it - it's fun!

As a closing note, I wanted to talk about yarn. Ganseys are traditionally done in pure wool 5-ply, which is sort of between 4-ply and DK in terms of weight (broadly equivalent to most sports-weight yarns if you're either unable to get Gansey/Guernsey yarn or prefer a different fibre content) and very tightly plied. This, paired with the thinness of the knitting pins (aka double-pointed needles, usually between 2mm-2.75mm), gives a very tightly-knitted garment that is pretty windproof, as well as being water resistant and still warm when wet. Hence very suitable for both fishing and polar exploration. You could do them in oiled wool for even more waterproofing if you wanted, but I have no idea where to get pre-oiled yarn or how to oil it yourself, and honestly I can't imagine it would be necessary in most modern circumstances.

Unless you actually intend on exploring polar regions, in which case you could probably use all the weather-proofing you can get!

#gansey #knitwear #the terror #the terror amc

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auspicioustidings · 2 years ago

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Savage

Summary: Request for some Scottish warrior Soap taking an English maiden as a prize.

Words: 3.7k

CWs: Violent non-con (I am so serious, do not ready this if it's not your thing), hardcore smut

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Authors Note: This is very much a rape fantasy. Traditionally rape fantasies have historical grounding in minorities who felt ashamed of their own desires so had to fantasise a situation in which they were blameless for engaging in a stigmatised action because it was forced. It’s sort of where a lot of the noncon trope in bodice rippers comes from because women in unhappy marriages need a fantasy in which they can get rid of the shame for wanting passionate or rough sex because they imagine they fought against it. A lot more people have rape fantasies than people generally realise and truly a miniscule barely there number of them would ever think it was ok to actually assault someone. All that to say, this is not me condoning anything in real life. If you find fantasies like this don’t do it for you, then do not read it, but don’t then shame people who do. There is psychology behind why people fantasise about these things, it’s pretty normal and you don’t need to be worried that it is some moral failing. Mind your business.

It was a miraculously good match for you, a high ranking soldier of the King’s army. You were technically of noble blood, but just barely. You lived simply, not in a large house but in a small village where you held no sway over anyone else and were treated as common. But the village was close to the border between England and Scotland and every day it became more tense as whispers of raids from villages to the West skittered between houses like rats.

You didn’t know how your uncle had made arrangements for this beneficial marriage for you, but it would get you moving South in a few days time to marry and then you would finally be able to relax with this war much further away from you. You had heard horror stories of what happened to young maidens when savages came pillaging. They said that they didn’t wear anything under those kilts, they said it was to make it easy to bury their cocks in any hot hole they could find. They said they didn’t have any tame qualities, not like the English. Scottish men were feral, the comparison to dogs not holding water because at least dogs could be trained.

When you retreated to bed you got on your knees to say your prayers. As always you had to beg forgiveness for the licentious thoughts that sent thrills straight to your cunt whenever you thought about the images all those rumours put in your head.

–

The noise of chaos woke you in a panic, heart hammering against your ribcage as the smell of smoke drifted on the air and war cries sounded. You recognised your own kinfolk of course, the battalion of soldiers stationed here to keep eyes on the border. But it was the cries of those animals from the country to the North that sent you scrambling out of bed in only your chemise, knowing you had to run and hide before they could see you.

You slipped out of the bedroom, a frightened little rabbit looking for a burrow to hop into. The smell of smoke was stronger in the main room and you could see the orange glow of flames through the window. Going outside would be a risk, but hiding in here may get you burned to a crisp should this building be lit up. You did not have time to make the decision as the door burst off of its hinges, a muscular man in a blood spattered kilt with a warrior's mohawk and wild eyes panting like a dog as he caught sight of you.

You were frozen, unable to even breathe. And then after a beat his mouth stretched into a horrid manic grin as he bounded towards you. That finally shifted you from freeze to flight as you scrambled back through to the bedroom, trying to get to the small window. You threw the top half of your body through the gap but his rough hands grabbed your naked ankles and yanked you back, hard. You felt the chemise catch on the window frame, the fabric bunching up to completely expose you to him before he let go of your ankles letting you crash to the ground.

Your knees throbbed from the hard floor and by the time you were trying to crawl away he had his hand in your hair, brutally pulling your head up and craning it to look at him leaning over and getting into your face.

“Hear I have a wee noble bitch on my hands.”

Of course he would know. There were families here who would tell them anything to save themselves and pointing them in the direction of a noble maiden, one who was betrothed to an English soldier at that, would certainly be information that could spare them. The shouts outside sounded more heavily weighted towards those in his own gruff and growling accent now. The English soldiers were losing.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about ser” you cried gently, not knowing how else to save yourself.

“Bonnie words” he growled, pulling so sharply at your hair that you thought your scalp might be bleeding and using his other hand to grope meanly at one of your breasts through the rough fabric of your nightwear.

You cried out, feeling the tears immediately spill over and stream down your face. He was so strong, you could barely budge against his hold, and he reeked of blood and fire and sweat and hot arousal. You squeezed your eyes shut and he only growled at you.

“Ye’ll keep those eyes open, yer going tae watch yer wee English cunt take me like a whore or I’ll take yer tight arse instead.”

You choked on a sob and opened your eyes, seeing that his were full of sick glee and heat. The hand groping at your tits moved under the chemise to cup roughly at your sex and he pulled you to your feet by that hand. You screamed at how it felt as he abused you with his hand, grinding the heel against you. You felt a hot flood of bitter shame as he swiped a finger violently through your folds. What he found there made him pause for a moment, his face lighting up in unrestrained glee.

“Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

You had heard women who said it would be better to be wet if they were to be taken against their will. You did not agree. Him knowing that your traitorous body found his rough abuse of it arousing was so humiliating you felt you would rather die. He was so oppressive in his demeanour, so big and aggressive above you that you imagined he may break your bed with what he was about to do to you. How foolish of you to think he would have that level of mercy.

“Going tae show all those bastards how their women take Scottish cock” he laughed, spearing two fingers inside you to their full length with no softness at all and pulling you by them.

You could not breathe. You had never had anything inside you and those two fat fingers felt like they were stretching you so much you would tear. He walked backwards so he could keep them firmly inside you and you stumbled pathetically after him, needing to keep as close to him as possible to stop the painful press against your walls that came from him pulling if you did not move.

The shame was overwhelming as you emerged, full of his fingers and stumbling after him with tears streaming down your face, to find that your country's soldiers had been defeated with the survivors on their knees, hands bound. You were being paraded in front of them you realised, they had been put right here in the town square so they could bear witness, the Scottish soldiers standing behind them feral and full of lust as they took in their leader pulling you in front of them by the cunt.

When he ripped his fingers out of you, your knees buckled and a high whine left you. You had went from feeling too full to feeling far, far too empty. You could barely hear anything but the blood rushing through you as your heart hammered. That and him as he taunted the soldiers on their knees.

“Our women would ne’er let ye touch them, they’d die first. Yer clean wee English princess on the ither hand?” he said, planting a booted foot to your chest and pushing until he had you pinned on your back underfoot, “she’s gagging fir it. Foaming at the gusset tae take strong Scottish cock, put a real warrior in her belly.”

His own men cheered at that and you watched on with horror as he cocked his head at one of them and he began to approach you.

“Naw a monster though am I my wee slut? Ye’d be wet enough fir one of their small English cocks nae doubt, but fir mine? Going tae need something to help me sink in good and deep.”

The other soldier went to his knees between your legs and you watched as he pulled his throbbing cock from under his kilt, jerking it violently. You tried to move away, his cock so close you could feel the heat of it between your legs, but the boot on your chest held you still. When you tried to close your legs the man touching himself used his other hand to wrench one of your knees until it was touching the ground, using his own knees between your thighs to help him keep your glistening cunt fully on display.

When the head of his cock stroked through your folks, slicking you with his pre-cum and bumping at your clit, you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t quite manage to bite back your moan. They laughed meanly at you as the man found his release, spurting hot cum all over your pussy, smacking his cock against your stomach when he was done to shake off the last drops.

It was filthy, you felt sticky and like you were on fire. The next soldier took his place and spat right on your already disgusting cunt as he began to stroke himself. By the time he had painted you with his seed and the third was started, the man above pressed his foot harder to get your attention and all you could do was stare up into his taunting eyes, trying to focus on him so you could not think of what was going on between your legs. You cried up at him, trying to find any level of sympathy in him.

“Keep crying and I’ll gie ye something tae cry about princess.”

Oh you hated him calling you that when you were pinned down in the dirt, defeated soldiers of your country watching as their enemies smeared their cum all over your exposed body. Watching as they made a sloppy mess out of you in preparation for their leader to shove his cock deep inside and pump you full of his savage children.

You did not know how long you stared up at him, not able to look away as you felt the heat of his men on your body, your own body getting hotter and hotter with each slide of velvety throbbing skin against your own. He had started to talk to you, his eyes not budging. It wasn’t the defeated soldiers he was taunting, it was you, ruined and disgraced under his boot.

“See how good I am tae ye little whore? Letting my men make ye flush wi pleasure. Don’t deny it, think I cannae see yer face whenever ye feel a cock on that wee untouched pussy? Like a fucking bitch in heat. I’ll fuck ye like one. Get ye on yer hands and knees so ye can look yer precious King’s soldiers in the eye when ye fall apart on my cock. When ye’r fucking begging for my cum. Wilnae even have tae dae any work, ye’ll be fucking yourself back on me ye needy slut.”

You shook your head in horror at his claims, the true fear being that he would make them true. Already you felt in a daze, felt empty and desperate. But you felt fear as well as he put his arm under his kilt, rucking the fabric up to grab at his cock. It was huge and you found yourself panicked and squirming as the last of his soldiers grunted and slapped the meat of your thigh to get you to stay still. You were rambling incoherently as the man above stroked slowly at himself, causing that thick weapon between his legs to throb and seem even bigger.

“It won’t fit, it’s not going to fit, please I’ll die, you’ll split me open. It’s so big no no I can’t, I can’t!”

You didn’t even feel the last of his soldier’s loads splatter onto you, didn’t notice when his hands left your flesh. You would have rapidly purpling skin in the shape of fingerprints all over your thighs from how you had been held still by all of them, but you could not feel the dull pain of it through your fear of what was to come.

“Ye’ll take whit I gie ye and ye’ll fucking thank me princess.”

He removed his foot and it was only then you realised that he had been pressing down hard enough that your breaths had been shallow. The rush of oxygen from being able to fully expand your lungs again made you horribly dizzy, but it also flooded right down to your clit and made your body jerk violently with the sensation.

He didn’t take his hand from his cock and he bent so he could use the other to grab your ruined hair again, yanking your head up and shoving himself into your mouth. You choked, legs scrambling to get underneath you to give you some stability with which to batter your fists against his thighs, trying to pull away. He laughed meanly at your attempts, moving the hand that was touching himself to join the one tangled in your hair on the back of your head and pulling your head at the same time as he thrust forward, settling himself fully in your throat.

You were gagging around him, tears really streaming down your face now as you begged him with your eyes to let you breathe. He held you there, his own eyes glittering with satisfaction, until your muscles started to give in and you felt your eyes dropping closed as your brain became cottony. Then all at once he pulled you off and you were gulping in oxygen around your coughing and sputtering, the rush much more intense this time.

He held your head tilted up at him so he could watch your face as he shoved his boot between your legs and got you over the edge. Oh weren’t you a delicious little thing for him, getting off so hard on how he used you, moaning shakily and wantonly in the dirt beneath him in front of his triumphant soldiers and your defeated ones.

“Good fucking girl” he growled with a feral grin, letting you ride it out with little aborted thrusts on his boot, unable to control your body.

You looked gone, eyes glazed and body slack. Couldn’t have that, he needed you screaming for him. He needed your blood fighting between being frozen with terror and boiling with need. And he needed you full of him, needed to be able to feel his own cock through your stomach so fucking clearly that he could jerk it.

You were thrown forward, top half of your body collapsing pathetically into the dirt right where it was covered in the sweat and cum of his soldiers. He manhandled your hips up, leaving your face crushed into the dirt and your ass up high for him, cunt presented. You felt his hot breath at your ear and it was a sudden shock when you realised he was growling lowly into your ear, his words for you and you only.

“S’going tae hurt, yer going tae scream yerself hoarse for me and then I’ll get ye tae milk me when I rip pleasure out of all that pain. Will treat ye right after little princess, like one of my good Scottish lassies, but right now ye’r my fucking English whore.”

The confusing mix of sentiments cleared some of the fuzziness from your mind but you had no time to dwell. He was right, it did hurt and you did scream yourself hoarse. He had lined himself up and plunged into you, cock coated and slick from the cum of his soldiers but no less huge inside your tight virgin pussy. He had split you in two, you were sure of it. His cock must have broken through you, was sitting in your ribcage and punching all the air from your lungs.

You blacked out for a moment, coming right back to when he pulled out to fuck brutally back into you again, slapping your ass so hard that you felt the sting all the way up to your fingertips and making you choke on the sob that fought through the screaming. He ripped at your hair, making you look at the defeated soldiers on their knees. Making you watch their own cocks swell at your treatment. Your utter ruination was making them hard. Your head being wrenched back meant you had to go to your hands as he pounded you, and you saw how they looked as one of your breasts was fucked right out of the chemise, bouncing lewdly for them to see with every hard thrust.

The humiliation had you digging into the dirt like you had claws, feeling the bite of the earth pushing under your nails. It sparked something in your brain, almost like you could see them sharpen. Like you could feel your shoulder blades become more pronounced, become something sinewy and sleek and animal. He was fucking you like a predator and you were drooling and howling and panting like his prey, back bowed as he pulled your hair harder and had to staring at the sky babbling prayers into the night air.

“S’too much, can’t, I can’t. Full, too full.”

“Ye fucking can. Yer tight fucking cunts trying tae strangle me, wants my cum so bad naw? Perfect English pussy, so slutty and needy for a real cock” he growled, hand letting go of your hair and smacking your ass right over where he had before, causing you to howl at the pain.

The pain and something else, something that had no place here and yet had been lingering from the moment he had caught you. Something that had been getting closer and brighter and more insistent with every abuse you were subject to. Something that he invited in when your arms collapsed beneath you without him holding your heads weight anymore and he ground your face into the ground before bringing his hand to your clit and pinching.

Your scream was raw and hoarse, throat well past being able to produce a clear sound. The orgasm was blinding and every bone felt like it had liquified. You saw white and then you saw hardly anything, only vague shapes and colours. The only thing now was how his cock filled you. The shame was gone, replaced with the truth that you loved this. You loved how he used you like this, how he violated you in front of these soldiers just because he could.

“That’s it princess, fucking take it” he hissed, stopping his thrusts and letting you do all the work.

You didn’t even realise now how you wildly fucked yourself back on his cock trying to chase the pain of overstimulation, addicted to the way it made you feel some sick hazy pleasure. You were drooling onto the dirt, tasting the earth mixed with cum and finding the disgust of it only felt right now. When his hand came to your stomach and pushed to feel himself bulging there you came again, harder, babbling thank yous to him.

He bit out a string of curses above you as your pussy squeezed so hard it was forcing him out, but he was strong as he forced himself balls deep and held there, finding his release as you milked everything out of him and into your womb. The liquid heat of it was the last thing you felt as you passed out, blissed and fucked out of your mind.

–

John MacTavish allowed himself a moment to lean his body against your back, inhaling the scent of sweat and dirt and cum and fear and lust from your limp body. So good for him, took it perfectly. He hissed when he finally pulled out, resisting the temptation to just keep going beyond what would feel good because fuck, being inside you had been a religious experience.

He was nothing if not a man of his word though, and he scooped your body gently into his arms to get you onto a horse and ready for him to take over the border where he could give you that princess treatment he had promised. The surviving soldiers they would leave beaten and bloodied but not dead. After all, someone had to tell your betrothed all the details.

“Fucking MacTavish” he hissed after excusing the man who had given the report.

He had made him give it in full detail, told him to leave nothing out.

“Kept her alive by the sounds of it, maybe looking to get a bastard out of her” Garrick mused.

“Knowing him he’ll keep her near the border to taunt us instead of moving her further up North” Price added.

Simon Riley would not be letting his betrothed get away with allowing MacTavish of all people to take the maidenhood that rightfully belonged to him. She needed a proper punishing fuck from an English man to learn better.

“Doesn’t matter where he keeps her. I’m going to take her, and she’s going to learn what happens to sluts who spread their legs for those Scottish bastards”.

#mhairiwrites #fanfic #cod au #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #cw: noncon #rest assured this isn't likely to become the kind of thing I write because it is well out of my wheelhouse #I've got a half chapter of Firewatch written and will finish that off #But I'm looking to do a little more of the Teashop AU after and that is going to stay fluffy and wholesome as hell #darkfic #dark content

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vintagerpg · 19 days ago

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From the top of Scotland to the lowest point of Cornwall aligns roughly with the distance from Detroit to Atlanta — about 800 miles, or an 11-hour drive. At its widest, a bit north of London and Cardiff, Britain is 300 across — my grueling bus journey home from GenCon in Indianapolis to Newark last year was 700 miles, 2.3 times the width of the UK. There is nowhere in the country where you can stand and be more than 75 miles from the ocean. We have an excess of space in America, true, but to me, the density of stuff in the UK, relative to the amount of undeveloped land seems mind-bogglingly high.

Oh, by stuff, I mean the sort of things that might be collected in Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain (originally 1973, this is the 1977 revised edition), a landmark, 550-page book from Reader’s Digest, of all places. I don’t even know what to call it. An encyclopedia? Guide book? Codex? It’s all those and more, really, and contains a density of information that is maybe impossible to fully parse — I have trouble just counting up the number of contributing authors. I’ve been reading it for three years now and I feel like I’ve barely made a dent.

There are detailed within: holy wells, strange creatures (Black Shuck is in here, though they missed the nuckelavee, alas), seemingly every guiser imaginable, notable trees, witches, assassins, stone circles (of course), haunted houses, tragic tales, plenty of Arthurian hangovers. There are maps with intriguing icons, detailing every corner of the countries. There’s so much art, many historical pieces, but a number of strange new illustrations as well. It’s a treasure trove.

The story behind cover illustration, I think, neatly encapsulates the many strange wonders inside. That’s a stylized drawing of the Dorset Ooser. The book claims it might represent a remnant of worship of the Horned God (unlikely) and that every village in Dorset might have had a similar mask, which was used in parade during the Christmas season and possibly to shame adulterers. But even that isn’t a certainty. There are only two photographs of the mask (it’s hollow inside and could be worn, the jaw hinged, but no eye-holes, so the wearer would have needed to be lead around and wouldn’t know who they were mocking) and sometime around 1900 the thing just went missing. Imagine having that thing laying around and A. Not really knowing what it was for and B. Eventually misplacing it!

#Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain #Reader’s Digest #dungeons & dragons #tabletop rpg #roleplaying game #rpg #d&d #ttrpg

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mpchev · 1 year ago

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Dissertation on Fanfiction Bookbinding — Looking for participants! [EDIT: Thank you so much, participants found!!!]

[Edit continued: I'm still sorting through emails and setting up meetings, will reply to everyone very soon, I can't even begin to thank everyone enough for the visibility that's been given to this 💜 I'll keep the updates coming as I work on the dissertation (and learn how to bookbind), in case anyone would like to follow along. For any questions about the research or comments/suggestions/resources about ficbinding, my asks are wide open. Thank you thank you thank you!!!]

Hi! My name is Marie Chevrier, I’m currently doing my postgraduate dissertation on fanfiction bookbinding, and I’m looking for people to talk to about it!

If you’ve ever taken a fanfic from somewhere online and turned it into a physical copy, either for yourself or as a gift, I’d love to know more. From printer paper stapled together to typesetting and painted edges, nothing is too simple or too complex — I’m interested in the whole process, what motivates readers or authors to bring the story to a different format, and how it’s one more way to interact with stories actively and creatively. This will be the final project of my MLitt in Folklore and Ethnology with the Elphinstone Institute (University of Aberdeen, Scotland).

What to Expect

To participate, you must be 18 or older and speak English. I’ll give you more details and answer any questions you might have via email, and will then set up individual video calls with participants (if you happen to be in North-East Scotland, we could also meet at an agreed public location). I’ll tell you more about the dissertation and explain how what you share will be used, which depends entirely on what you agree to, including if you would prefer your contribution to be credited or anonymised. I will ask you about your experience with fanfiction bookbinding and if you have some examples to show me, I would love to see them! Meetings will last approximately 45–90 minutes and take place in June 2024. You have the right to withdraw your participation at any time.

Contact Information

If you’d like to participate or have any questions, please send me an email at [email protected]

To know more about the Elphinstone Institute, please visit https://www.abdn.ac.uk/elphinstone/

To know more about me, here's an intro post for you.

If for any reason you don’t wish to participate but still have comments/suggestions/resources/musings you’d like to send my way, please do!

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marauroon · 1 year ago

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congrats on another new blog for a new fandom 🤭

as a blog-warming request, can we add another fic to the best friend James with no boundaries pile???

HYPOTHERMIC - J.POTTER

you are the only feasible solution that james can think of to warm up his frozen extremities

cw — james and reader have an unconventional friendship, james and sirius being brothers as per, swearing, typical teenage antics

james potter x fem!reader || fluff || 1.8k || requests open!!

a/n: another new blog has spawned for another fandom (the marauders are encapsulating all of my thoughts rn)🤭 thanks for the ‘blog-warming’ request ml 🫶🫶

It’s a crime James thinks, to have snow in April. It never snows in April back down in England, hell they’re not likely to have snow at all.

But apparently living up north in Scotland spelled different news.

It was even more of a crime that he had to go out in the snow. Quidditch was great, but no one should have to be flying in -2° weather.

It was April, it was snowing, and James was cold.

By the time the team hit the showers he swore his fingers were going to fall off from hypothermia, a sentiment shared by most of his teammates as they spent a collective ten extra minutes under the hot water.

The trudge back to the Gryffindor common room was almost as treacherous as the training itself, the stone walls of the castle doing absolutely nothing to block the chill that ran through it’s corridors.

Sirius swears to him that he sees some of the paintings shaking, and honestly he can’t blame them, he’s practically shivering himself and he had a long-sleeved t-shirt and a jumper on.

He has one singular plan. Sit in front of the fire and stay there until he was sure that all of his organs had defrosted, even if that meant missing dinner. That was a lie, he would definitely leave the embering comfort of the fireplace for dinner.

Now he was thinking about it, he was starving. Maybe he could convince Sirius or Peter to go down to the kitchens early with him to sneak something back up.

There’s an almost unanimous sigh of relief as the team walk through the fat lady’s portrait, like their muscles relax just from seeing the familiar red and gold decor and decide to just give up right then and there.

It’s a sight to be seen for sure, a majority of the student’s who’d taken up the lounge sofas and chairs for the afternoon looking on at the group with raised eyebrows and small muttered chuckles at their collective state.

“Have fun then?” There’s a decided smirk on Remus’ face as James and Sirius drag themselves over to the nook that you and him had curled yourselves into over the last few hours, and the two boys share a glance before turning it in your paired direction with a dissatisfied glare of jealousy.

You could not look comfier if you tried, tucked in either corner of one of the long sofas right next to the fire with blankets over your laps and flushed cheeks from the warmth of the room.

James is the one to give up on his seething anger first, practically collapsing himself onto the unoccupied space between you and Remus and flopping over until he’s got his face firmly planted across your knees, a loud defeated groan rumbling from his throat and vibrating through the blanket to meet your skin.

“I’ll take that as a no—” You can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your mouth at the display, unperturbed by the side eye you gain as James adjusts himself so that he can lie on you without suffocating himself or crushing his glasses.

“I swear my organs were freezing over out there,”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Remus shakes his head from behind the book propped up against his knees, amused smirk still lining his features.

“It is not dramatic Moony, we were getting hypothermic out there, seriously,” Sirius gives a tug to James’ legs so that he can sit down with his head over the back of the cushion, and it leaves James sat on the floor as a result.

“Oi, first come first served—” James tugs one of the decorative pillows you have tucked under your arm from you so that he can throw it at Sirius’ head, and it is promptly returned by Sirius with a middle finger and a triumphant look to go with it.

James lets out a sharp scoff of indignation as he rears the pillow for another throw, but its plucked from his, stiff, frozen hands before he has the chance to.

“That’s enough both of you, we were trying to have a calm afternoon here,” You scold the two with no real malice as you tuck the pillow back into it’s spot underneath your arm, and James sighs heavily as he slings his arms over your legs to rest his chin on top of them.

“It’s not my fault Sirius doesn’t understand sofa etiquette,”

“You were hogging the whole thing,” Sirius scrunches up his face in exasperation, gesturing outwards widely with his hand and almost knocking the book right out of Remus’ lap. “Sorry-”

Remus sighs, and the two of you share a glance and a silent shake of your heads.

You loved the boys to death, but my god did they not know the concept of sitting still for more than five minutes.

That point was only further proven as James gets up from the floor to wedge himself between you and Sirius, giving his leg a deft kick in the process for payback as he tried to worm himself in between your side and the back of the sofa.

“James—” The movement laves you lost for balance, and you almost tumble right off the edge of the sofa as he invades your spot, one of your legs falling from the seat to brace against the floor.

“What? I’m cold, and you’re right next to the fire,” His invasion continues as he tugs the blanket you have draped over you towards himself until it’s covering his lower body entirely and leaving you half-uncovered.

“You can’t just kick me out of my spot—” You huff, more than a little miffed at being forcibly removed from the position you’d spent almost ten minutes perfectly arranging to make you as comfortable as possible for the afternoon.

“I’m not, I’m not,” There’s a strong grasp around your torso, and then you’re being tugged backwards until your half situated on top of him with your back to his chest. “I’m sharing your spot,” His words are emphasised by his chin landing against your shoulder and his arms encircling your waist like you’re a soft toy a child would take to bed.

It wouldn’t be too bad of a position if you couldn’t literally feel how cold James was through your clothes, like a human ice pack attached to your back.

“You’re freezing James—”

“I know,” He takes your words as an affirmation to bury his face against your shoulder, curling up his legs under the blanket and in turn forcing you to do the same. “I’m warming myself up,”

“The fire’s over there mate,” Remus and Sirius share an incredulous look at the two of you. “She’s not a heating pad,”

You have half the mind to agree with them, and James can feel the way you nod at the observation, responding with a dissatisfied grumble and his hands pulling up the hem of the jumper you’re wearing to warm his icy extremities against your skin.

“James—” The temperature makes you physically jolt, your back shooting up straight and forcing his head from it’s position against your shoulder.

“What?” He tugs you back against his chest with false innocence dripping from his vocal chords, his hands using your stomach as his own hot water bottle. “You’ll get used it it, it’ll be fine,”

“It is not fine, your hands are practically ice,”

“I was playing Quidditch in the snow,” He wastes no time in reclaiming his place with his head hidden against the crook of your neck. “Of course they are,”

“Ugh, you two make me sick,” Sirius puts his index finger inside his mouth in a mock gagging motion as he shifts to stuff his feet underneath Remus’ thighs in his own attempt at warming up.

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” James shrugs, and it jostles you slightly in his arms. “You don’t have to project Pads, we all know you’re sad because Moony won’t give you a cuddle,”

“That is not true,” Sirius huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, though his gaze turns to Remus nonetheless, and he is immediately met with a shake of Remus’ head. “Whatever,” He scoffs, raking a hand through his curls with an almost unnoticeable pout on his face. “Just get a room already will you? You’re disturbing everyone with your PDA,”

“Why don’t you just shut your mouth already?” James tilts his head with an annoyingly cocky smile, lifting his face just far enough off your shoulder so Sirius can get a good look at his expression. “I can smell your breath from over here,”

“You little—” Sirius rips one of the decorative pillows from underneath Remus to launch it at James’ head, but considering your position as a literal human shield it misses him completely, hitting you square in the face.

“Hey—” Your arms aren’t raised quick enough to block his assault, but they do return fire the minute the pillow is in your vicinity.

“Sorry sorry,” Sirius is more successful than you at blocking the projectiles pillow, laughing in the process. “Collateral damage, it’s what you get for pairing up with him,” Sirius scrunches up his nose in exaggerated disgust, and James responds by sticking one of his hands out of the blanket to flip him off.

You take the opportunity of James’ loosened grip to slip out of his arms and onto your feet, and his pettiness towards Sirius immediately turns into betrayal towards you. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere actually quiet?” You roll your eyes at him in feigned indignation, a small chuckle bubbling in your throat. “I love you guys but you are ruining my cozy afternoon,”

“No no I’m sorry I won’t fight with Pads anymore don’t leave,” He reaches his arm out to grasp at your wrist, giving it a small tug. “Stay c’mon, please?”

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly not believing a single word coming out of the boy’s mouth.

“I promise,” He extends his hand out with his pinky finger raised.

You give him a narrowed gaze, but upon a prompting of his hand as he waved it in your direction you linked your finger with his, and he used it as leverage to pull you right back into his grasp.

“See? It’s very cozy,” James ignores the way Sirius rolls his eyes as he shifts you around in his lap until you’re both comfortable.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

#james potter x reader #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #james potter #james potter fluff #harry potter fanfiction #asks 🪶

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sunlaire · 4 months ago

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i need a post rescue repressed/in denial jirv getting married then having a messy affair with hodge. Can you imagine. That he held out for so long! He made it back to Scotland and he even got married. he's doing his best to be the good Christian man he's suppose to be. Hodge is at the small wedding ceremony and he's a wounded bird but he's being so brave because this is what John wants. which means he doesn't want George. Even though, in the Arctic there had been times when he had thought maybe...but no of course not.

but then it's been a few months and hodge is traveling (he likes to keep on the move) and he stays a week with John. And they've both had a bit to drink . And it's like they're back there, in that cramped cabin again. leaning too close, almost touching. All those times where George was so sure they were close to something. And he was sure John could feel it too

"I'm glad you're here. how ive missed you, george." And it brings that awful sharp feeling of hope in the center of his chest. The glow of it used to keep him warm but now it grabs his throat and squeezes. It hurts. He goes to pull away

but John touches his hand. Holds it gently. "Let me confess that I've thought of you often in my new life here." His voice trembles and George grabs for his hand, holding it in both of his own. and then Irving kisses him! after all this time, it finally happens and Hodge wanted this more than anything and its the worst time and place . which is so horribly ironic because they are safe and warm and in a house and far away from the nightmare of the North. but its the worst time and place for this

anyway i think it would be fuuuuuucked up >:3

#the terror #hodgving #like yeah Irving is doing all the things hes suppose to #and hes more miserable than hes ever been #seeing Hodge is a blessing #even though the time spent with the man is so closely tied up with the trauma of the Arctic #Irving would still have him #also hodge puts on one of the Wife's dresses and Irving ***** *** ***** *****#i do like the idea of their first kiss being post rescue #but theres something really good about them having a habit of getting drunk and kissing and pressing against each other in their berths #john convinced it doesn't count because [insert bullshit reason] and george being in love with him #then he gets married and its that meme of the guy crying in the shower with the text 'When his new wife says you guys cant make out anymore #cant decide which is better theyre both so good

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 1 year ago

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While on military training during World War Two, Gilbert Bradley was in love. He exchanged hundreds of letters with his sweetheart - who merely signed with the initial "G". But more than 70 years later, it was discovered that G stood for Gordon, and Gilbert had been in love with a man. Information gleaned from the letters indicate Mr Bradley was a reluctant soldier. He did not want to be in the Army, and even pretended to have epilepsy to avoid it. His ruse did not work, though, and in 1939 he was stationed at Park Hall Camp in Oswestry, Shropshire, to train as an anti-aircraft gunner. He was already in love with Gordon Bowsher. The pair had met on a houseboat holiday in Devon in 1938 when Mr Bowsher was in a relationship with Mr Bradley's nephew. Mr Bowsher was from a well-to-do family. His father ran a shipping company, and the Bowshers also owned tea plantations. When war broke out a year later he trained as an infantryman and was stationed at locations across the country. At one point, Mr Bradley was sent to Scotland on a mission to defend the Forth Bridge. He met and fell in love with two other men. Rather surprisingly, he wrote and told Mr Bowsher all about his romances north of the border. Perhaps even more surprisingly, Mr Bowsher took it all in his stride, writing that he "understood why they fell in love with you. After all, so did I". Although the couple wrote throughout the war, the letters stopped in 1945. Mr Bradley moved to Brighton and died in 2008. A house clearance company found the letters and sold them to a dealer specialising in military mail. Perhaps most poignantly, one of the letters contains the lines: "Wouldn't it be wonderful if all our letters could be published in the future in a more enlightened time. Then all the world could see how in love we are." (Full article)

#history #gay history #lgbt history #lgbtq history #gay #mlm #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #wwii #ww2 #world war 2 #world war ii

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

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KARMA (Soap x Fem!HockeyPlayer!Reader)

soap masterlist

summary; you’re a hockey player, but you’re also johnny’s girlfriend. johnny comes to a realization after watching you get into a fight. 1.2k words!

authors note; this is not exactly what i envisioned, but it’s what i wrote. enjoy :-)

[WARNINGS: reader is implied to be a buff woman, violence, light blood and gore, suggestive content at the end.]

You and Johnny first met at a pub whilst he was on leave. He saw you from across the bar counter, looking up at a TV mounted above the bartender and sipping on something he doesn’t care to remember. What he does remember is you.

God, Johnny never believed falling in love at first sight and he still doesn’t, but holy hell did you stir something within him. Sitting there, back straight with your eyes glued to the TV, fidgeting with something circular, perhaps a coin, between your fingers. The way your bicep is bulging from the tight circumference of the short t-shirt sleeve…

Johnny wasn’t sure what exactly prompted him to talk to you, he definitely already came to the conclusion that you were likely going to just turn him away but holy shit, he’s damned if he left without trying to strike a conversation. Johnny ends up tilting his head, downing the rest of his drink for confidence before slipping into the seat next to you.

That day, Johnny learned that you were a pro hockey player for the professional women’s hockey team back in North America. Honestly, Johnny was surprised but more so by the sport and not the fact that you played one. You told him you were visiting someone here in Scotland, a friend—helping them move while your contract was being figured out. The more you talked, the more Johnny assured himself that it was absolutely a requirement to know you on some level.

Your voice captured his attention, your smile made his stomach tighten and bloom with warmth—even if he couldn’t convince you to go on a date with him, Johnny honestly would be just fine with being only friends. As long as he has a female hockey player in his contacts list, he’d be alright. You find out Johnny likes a bit of hockey himself, mostly paying attention to the international ice hockey federation. After learning that, to Johnny, he could see the way your eyes lit up.

Yes, you did agree to a date with this grinning man. Maybe quite a few dates.

Johnny found himself on his phone way more often whilst waiting with his team to be deployed. Constantly texting you, calling you, the whole nine yards. It earned him some glances and teasing from Ghost and Gaz, even his Captain—but he could tell his boys were happy for him. Johnny seemed more relaxed, laid back instead of his pent up self.

A couple months into the relationship, Johnny was finally able to file for vacation related leave. He was excited—secretly so was Price, as Johnny doesn’t really file for leave often—and you were ecstatic. It took a second to figure out arrangements, at the end of the day you insisted for Johnny to stay with you. Why stay in a hotel room when your spare bedroom is free? He was so reluctant, but you were so insistent with it.

“I have a practice game in a few hours,” You informed Johnny as you opened your refrigerator, taking out two cold water bottles stuffed somewhere in the door. You let the refrigerator door close by itself, and you tossed one of the bottles to Johnny. “Was thinkin’ you could come and watch?”

Johnny grinned, his lip curling ever so slightly where it exposes his top gum near his canine. “I would love to watch ye practice!” Johnny was enthusiastic with it; he’s being truthful, he’s been wanting to watch you in person. Johnny spent a couple nights binge watching the recorded games you played in on YouTube, which honestly was a slight mistake. You are a good player, great actually—but it always stirs something deep in his gut. Something about you bodying another player, even if it warrants a penalty… Gets him hot and sweaty, honestly.

That’s how Johnny found himself sitting in a seat right by the glass, a few feet away from your team’s bench. Tension filled his veins, making his shoulders rise to ears watching you, your team, and the practice enemy team skate around on the ice. The sounds of shouts, sticks slamming against each other as well as the ice, the collisions are harsh. Johnny’s been watching you for a while, keeping his eyes on that jersey of yours and he’s been noticing you’ve been slamming into this other woman.

Before bringing him to practice, you gave him a rundown of your team's roster, as well as the opposite teams. You overall had good things to say about nearly everyone, a smile on your face as you point to different people’s faces on the league’s website. Johnny watched the way your face contorted when you got to this one woman, though. He understands most beef stays on the ice, but the way you spoke about her? Johnny could tell there was something that remained on and off ice. You told him she’s “female Tom Wilson” which made him wince a bit.

So, when he witnessed you collide with that woman for the third time in one practice match, he wasn’t too shocked to see your gloves fly off. “Holy–” Johnny swears, standing up from his seat. His hands shoot to his head, holding it as he hears shouts and whistles blowing. Your hand is crumpled in the woman’s jersey, both your helmet and hers missing. Johnny’s heart is pounding in his chest, his arms feeling heavy as both you and the woman slam into the glass right in front of him.

He reaches forward and bangs on the glass, his eyes widening as he watches your fist make contact with her face square in the middle. Johnny winces as he nearly swears that he could hear her nose crunching under the weight of your fist through the glass. He’s not surprised when drops of blood splatter against the glass, but he still yells your name nonetheless. Part of Johnny is worried, knowing you’re against the woman who usually starts and wins fights, but.. You seem to be holding your own just fine.

Your fist pulls back and makes contact with her face over and over, blood smearing and snarls until a couple of your teammates pull you away from her by your arms. Johnny’s eyes are glued to you as your teammates skate you backwards from the woman, following the curve of the arena. The woman is on her hands and knees on the ice, a couple of her own teammates checking on her. Johnny just barely glanced at how there’s a dripping puddle of blood forming underneath her face because he can’t stop looking at you.

A feral snarky look on your face, your nose bleeding and bashed, blood dripping from your nose to your teeth, from your lower lip onto your jersey. Your left eyebrow is torn open and so is your upper lip. There’s blood splattered across your knuckles, which are surely broken open and bruised themselves.

Johnny hits the glass, his heart pounding but it skips an entire beat when you make eye contact. His breath stutters in his chest and Johnny’s cursing himself under his breath because his job must have caused wires to cross in his brain.

You look so.. Fucking hell. Johnny feels himself chubbing up in his jeans, a hot shot of arousal shooting down his spine. Your ferality is making his head spin and he shouldn’t be as turned on as he is from the way you spit a mixture of blood and spit onto the ice, being skated away and into the locker room, followed by your team’s medic and an angry coach.

Johnny presses his forehead against his palms, trying to calm his racing heart, his lewd mind, and his cock.

🏷️; @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @lieutenantlashfaz @fiveshotsofjager @queen-leviathan @eedwardss @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @live-love-be-unique @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp

click here to be added to my tag list! if you are here but not tagged, it’s your settings. tagged and you don’t want to be/mistakenly tagged? let me know! no hard feelings.

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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Travel back [...] a few hundred years to before the industrial revolution, and the wildlife of Britain and Ireland looks very different indeed.

Take orcas: while there are now less than ten left in Britain’s only permanent (and non-breeding) resident population, around 250 years ago the English [...] naturalist John Wallis gave this extraordinary account of a mass stranding of orcas on the north Northumberland coast [...]. If this record is reliable, then more orcas were stranded on this beach south of the Farne Islands on one day in 1734 than are probably ever present in British and Irish waters today. [...]

Other careful naturalists from this period observed orcas around the coasts of Cornwall, Norfolk and Suffolk. I have spent the last five years tracking down more than 10,000 records of wildlife recorded between 1529 and 1772 by naturalists, travellers, historians and antiquarians throughout Britain and Ireland, in order to reevaluate the prevalence and habits of more than 150 species [...].

In the early modern period, wolves, beavers and probably some lynxes still survived in regions of Scotland and Ireland. By this point, wolves in particular seem to have become re-imagined as monsters [...].

Elsewhere in Scotland, the now globally extinct great auk could still be found on islands in the Outer Hebrides. Looking a bit like a penguin but most closely related to the razorbill, the great auk’s vulnerability is highlighted by writer Martin Martin while mapping St Kilda in 1697 [...].

[A]nd pine martens and “Scottish” wildcats were also found in England and Wales. Fishers caught burbot and sturgeon in both rivers and at sea, [...] as well as now-scarce fishes such as the angelshark, halibut and common skate. Threatened molluscs like the freshwater pearl mussel and oyster were also far more widespread. [...]

Predators such as wolves that interfered with human happiness were ruthlessly hunted. Authors such as Robert Sibbald, in his natural history of Scotland (1684), are aware and indeed pleased that several species of wolf have gone extinct:

There must be a divine kindness directed towards our homeland, because most of our animals have a use for human life. We also lack those wild and savage ones of other regions. Wolves were common once upon a time, and even bears are spoken of among the Scottish, but time extinguished the genera and they are extirpated from the island.

The wolf was of no use for food and medicine and did no service for humans, so its extinction could be celebrated as an achievement towards the creation of a more civilised world. Around 30 natural history sources written between the 16th and 18th centuries remark on the absence of the wolf from England, Wales and much of Scotland. [...]

In Pococke’s 1760 Tour of Scotland, he describes being told about a wild species of cat – which seems, incredibly, to be a lynx – still living in the old county of Kirkcudbrightshire in the south-west of Scotland. Much of Pococke’s description of this cat is tied up with its persecution, apparently including an extra cost that the fox-hunter charges for killing lynxes:

They have also a wild cat three times as big as the common cat. [...] It is said they will attack a man who would attempt to take their young one [...]. The country pays about £20 a year to a person who is obliged to come and destroy the foxes when they send to him. [...]

The capercaillie is another example of a species whose decline was correctly recognised by early modern writers. Today, this large turkey-like bird [...] is found only rarely in the north of Scotland, but 250–500 years ago it was recorded in the west of Ireland as well as a swathe of Scotland north of the central belt. [...] Charles Smith, the prolific Dublin-based author who had theorised about the decline of herring on the coast of County Down, also recorded the capercaillie in County Cork in the south of Ireland, but noted: This bird is not found in England and now rarely in Ireland, since our woods have been destroyed. [...] Despite being protected by law in Scotland from 1621 and in Ireland 90 years later, the capercaillie went extinct in both countries in the 18th century [...].

---

Images, captions, and all text above by: Lee Raye. “Wildlife wonders of Britain and Ireland before the industrial revolution – my research reveals all the biodiversity we’ve lost.” The Conversation. 17 July 2023. [Map by Lee Raye. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

#paleo #ecologies #multispecies #tidalectics #geographic imaginaries #extinction #interspecies #ecoliving

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hollowed-theory-hall · 8 months ago

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Comprehensive Religion in the Wizarding World Post

I talked before about how I think wizards in the UK are mostly Christians of varying denominations (here and here) and how they likely have their own Anglican magical church with their own saints. What I want to do in this post is outline all the evidence from the books I gathered regarding their Christianity and their traditions to get an idea of what religion is to the average wizard in the UK. (Obviously, I expect there are differences between Ireland, North Ireland, Scotland, and different areas of England as irl different locations practice different Christian denominations. Likewise, minority religions exist as they do irl, like Anthony Goldstein who is most likely Jewish).

Some canonically Christian characters:

We know McGonagall is a Scottish Presbyterian:

Minerva McGonagall was the first child, and only daughter, of a Scottish Presbyterian minister and a Hogwarts-educated witch. She grew up in the Highlands of Scotland, and only gradually became aware that there was something strange, both about her own abilities, and her parents’ marriage.

(From Pottermore)

And we similarly see that throughout history we had other British or Irish Christian wizards in the books:

Like the Fat Friar, who is, as his name suggests — a friar, and ghost nuns Harry mentions:

They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead

(CoS)

Traditions:

But I want more evidence regarding the main characters, about whether Harry is Christian for example. The answer to that is a resounding yes.

I already mentioned in a past post how they celebrate Christmas and how their ceremonies for weddings and funerals look like a Christian ceremony with some added magical flare, but I wanted to look at other traditions:

Holidays:

They sing Christmas carols:

Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas.

(OotP)

One of which actually mentions god, being: "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs".

They give gifts on Christmas, have Christmas trees, etc.

It's also made clear pureblood wizards celebrate Christmas at home:

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

(PS)

Additionally, the spring break at Hogwarts is referred to as an Easter Holidays:

“Ah, you’re worrying about the reaction of your aunt and uncle?” said Fudge. “Well, I won’t deny that they are extremely angry, Harry, but they are prepared to take you back next summer as long as you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas and Easter holidays.”

(PoA)

And we know they celebrate Easter as Mrs. Weasley sends them Easter chocolate eggs:

Percy’s letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs. Weasley had sent. Both Harry’s and Ron’s were the size of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee. Hermione’s, however, was smaller than a chicken egg. Her face fell when she saw it.

(GoF)

Use terms like god and hell:

And as I mentioned in the past, pureblood wizards often mention god and hell, even purebloods like Draco.

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly.

(PoA)

Or Amos Diggory:

“Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Diggory.

(GoF)

Godparents and Infant Baptisms:

As I mentioned in the past, godparents seem to have a legal status in the wizarding world:

“Yes . . . ,” said Black. “But I’m also — I don’t know if anyone ever told you — I’m your godfather.” “Yeah, I knew that,” said Harry. “Well . . . your parents appointed me your guardian,” said Black stiffly. “If anything happened to them . . .”

(PoA)

Sirius seems to explain to Harry that being a godparent in the wizarding world means more, and that he is his legal guardian as well after Harry doesn't understand it on his own. At least this is how I always read it.

Now, godparents are witnesses to a child's baptism, which is a common wizarding occasion in the UK, at least:

By and large, wizard clothing has remained outside of fashion, although small alterations have been made to such garments as dress robes. Standard wizard clothing comprises plain robes, worn with or without the traditional pointed hat, and will always be worn on such formal occasions as christenings, weddings and funerals. Women’s dresses tend to be long. Wizard clothing might be said to be frozen in time, harking back to the seventeenth century, when they went into hiding. Their nostalgic adherence to this old-fashioned form of dress may be seen as a clinging to old ways and old times; a matter of cultural pride.

(from Pottermore)

In an interview, JKR actually mentioned Harry's own christening:

Does Harry have a godmother? If so, will she make an appearance in future books? No, he doesn’t. I have thought this through. If Sirius had married… Sirius was too busy being a big rebel to get married. When Harry was born, it was at the very height of Voldemort fever last time so his christening was a very hurried, quiet affair with just Sirius, just the best friend. At that point it looked as if the Potters would have to go into hiding so obviously they could not do the big christening thing and invite lots of people. Sirius is the only one, unfortunately. I have got to be careful what I say there, haven’t I?

(Interview with JKR)

Yes, she mentions needing to be careful because she doesn't remember what she wrote oftentimes, but the intention is that Harry is Christian and was baptized as a baby with Sirius as his witness as his godfather.

Weddings:

Wizards have wedding rings:

“Harry, guess what?” said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glittered there. “You got married?” Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet.”

(DH)

Their weddings are preceded by a priest and they have the classic "I dos" in their weddings:

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dresses and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. [...] “Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle. . . . ?”

(DH)

They have bridesmaids, a best man, the bride is wearing a white dress, and the bride is walked down the aisle by her father — all very familiar traditions from Christian weddings.

Funerals and Burieals:

The funerals are proceeded by the very same priest wizard who proceeded Bill and Fleur's wedding:

A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood now in front of Dumbledore’s body. Harry could not hear what he was saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of heads. “Nobility of spirit” . . . “intellectual contribution” . . . “greatness of heart” . . . It did not mean very much.

(HBP)

Both James & Lily's and Kendra & Ariana's graves had bible quotes on them, again outright stating wizards in the UK are predominantly Christian and not pagan or wiccan like some fans like to believe:

She pointed to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and saw, upon the frozen lichen-spotted granite, the words KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation: Where you treasure is, there will your heart be also.

(DH) Quote from Matthew 6:21.

The headstone was only two rooms behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore’s tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. Harry did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it. JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

(DH) Quote from 1 Corinthians 15:26

Both these graves along with the graves of many other wizards (like Ignotus Peverell) are located in the graveyard behind the Christian Church in Godric's Hallow:

There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows. Behind the church row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow. Keeping his hand closed tightly on the wand in his jacket pocket. Harry moved toward the nearest grave. “Look at this, it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!” “Keep your voice down.” Hermione begged him.

(DH)

Non-Christians won't be buried in a Christian graveyard behind the church.

When Harry buries Mad-Eye's eye he draws a cross to mark his grave:

Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient—looking tree he could find. There in its shadow he buried Mad-Eye Moody’s eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand.

(DH)

Saints:

As I mentioned in the past, they have unique magical saints like:

Saint Catchpole - of Ottery St Catchpole.

Saint Mungo Bonham - of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Additionally, Hedwig, an historical witch Harry named his owl after:

He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic.

(PS)

Is very possibly a real canon Saint Hedwig or another magical saint of the same name.

Conclusions:

With all of this clear evidence that the characters in the series and the British wizarding world as a whole are predominantly Christian, including the blood supremacists purebloods, I don't really understand some fans' insistence on portraying them as pagan or wiccan or anti-curch. I mean, they don't seem to be regular church-goers and most are probably Anglican/another variant of Protestant which means they aren't under the Vatican and the pope, but they are still clearly Christian.

Like, I'd understand it if it was treated as fanon, but too often I seem to see wizards being non-Christian mentioned in canon-adjacent meta or when talking about canon and that's just not the case and it kinda annoys me. Especially when the Christianization of the wizarding world is blamed on muggleborns as an excuse for blood purity. Blood purity does not have a just reason behind it and the British wizarding world was Christian for centuries. Probably since Britain was Christian. and I'm sure their religion was affected by the reformation and such, but they were Christian before the Statute of Secrecy and after it, and it has nothing to do with muggleborns. Muggleborns aren't erasing wizarding traditions, changing wizard religion, or replacing purebloods in the workforce — it just doesn't have any evidence for it in the books. Blood supremacy, like irl bigotry and hate, has no good reason behind it.

Hell, I don't really care what their religion is and if they were pagan I would've written about it plenty, but they aren't pagan and it annoys me that this section of canon is ignored sometimes because I feel it's an integral part of the wizarding world we see in the books. Especially when it is ignored for the sake of giving blood purists an excuse for their anti-muggleborn beliefs.

Sorry for the half-rant at the end, but this is something I see plenty in fanon, and like, fine, that's fanon, do whatever, write whatever, headcanon whatever, I'm not a cop, I don't care, but recently I saw it talked about in supposedly canon meta, and that really annoyed me.

#harry potter #wizarding world #wizarding society #wizarding religion #hp #hollowedtheory #wizarding world of harry potter

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myheadsgonenumb · 3 months ago

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Lowkey begging for a brit picking on common nicknames and who they're used for cos i keep coming across 'poppet' and like- no hate but it's giving me such a massive ick bc that's used pretty exclusively for children 😭 i feel like i'd be super helpful for folks having reference for which ones are more familial/platonic/romantic/any, could throw in some more regional ones too like 'me duck' n 'pet' n stuff like that !!

Ooh, OK this is a really interesting question and quite difficult to answer because the usage of pet names is very regional so I can only give a partial response. I'm in Yorkshire, in the north of England - if any other Brits come across this and have more to add please reblog with your regional input!

I'd say "poppet" is a no in general. I think, if it's used at all in HP, it's used by Aunt Petunia to refer to Dudley, which should tell you something about it's general soppiness and yes, it would be used exclusively by adults for children.

I think the famous one that everyone thinks of when they think "Britain" is "mate". I'd say this is used more frequently towards men/boys than it is to women and that, while women will use it, it is more likely a man calling another man "mate". HOWEVER I would say it's used more between people who don't know each other that well, or at all, rather than between actual mates. It's not never used between friends, but often it is a placeholder word when you don't know someone's name.

In Scotland they use "pal"... but I think there can sometimes be a bit of an edge to that. If they're calling you "pal" they're not being friendly!

In the north we use the word "love" a lot. And everyone uses it on everyone (people claim that men even call other men "love" but I've lived in the north my whole life and never actually heard that). This can actually cause a bit of cultural misunderstanding when the southerners venture past Watford Gap. A lot of southern women take offence when a northern man calls them "love" seemingly out of the blue (e.g asking them "are you lost, love?") as they think the man is being sexist. He isn't. That's just how northerners speak to each other. Men call women it, women call other women it, everyone calls children it.

"Duck" and "ducky" are similarly northern but are falling out of use. They wouldn't look out of place in a Harry Potter fic, though, as long as the fic had similar vibes to canon, because the books have that slightly old fashioned (even for the time), cosy feel to them. The would be used by older characters to younger ones.

"Dear" and "Dearie" would also come under the same umbrella- grownups taking to children, or possible very elderly adults. "Dear" is now a bit contentious, as there used to be a car insurance advert where Michael Winner told a woman to "calm down, dear, it's only a commercial". Later David Cameron, then Prime Minister, caused a ruckus by quoting the first part to a female MP in the House of Commons and it is now seen as quite sexist and patronising. However, adults do patronise both young people and the elderly, so those two groups might still get called it.

"Pet" is northern, as well, I think, and more likely to be used by older people. Either older adults talking to younger ones, or an old man calling his wife it.

Where the north say 'Love' to everyone, I'm told the south west call everyone "My lover". Everyone - strangers, children, your gran. Everyone. It's not sexual or romantic at all.

"My lovely" (or just "lovely") is a less hilarious variation on the same, and one I use quite a lot with the teenagers I work with. Other adult to children terms of endearment tend to be "my love" "love" "sweetheart" (that one is used a lot) and "darlin'" (the g is not pronounced).

Equally, though men chatting women up might also use "love" and "darlin'". (Somehow the darlin' sounds different when its a chat up to when its being used on a child though, I think you put more emphasis on the "Dar" - drawing out the ar sound - if its a chat up.)

When it comes to people in closer relationships - whether familial or romantic, they still might use "love", sometimes "honey" or "sweetheart" (possibly "Darling" with the g if they are quite posh), but a lot of times the names will be much more personal and will vary family/ relationship to family/relationship (my mum has always called me "pumpkinella"). Going back to Petunia, you see her use a variety of personalised names for Dudley - like "Diddykins".

A bit like British people can take any word and make it mean "drunk" they can take any word and turn it into a term of endearment. Pretty much pick a noun and there will be a loving parent calling their child that somewhere in the UK, and it would be a nice touch in your fic to have individualised terms of endearment that various parents call their children. examples are things like "bug" "bunny" "chicken" "squish" "mush" "tinkerbell".

When it comes to romantic relationships, I think age plays a large part in which word is more common. Older couples will use "love", younger ones will use "babe" (but just to throw a spanner in the works, its OK for an adult to call a child babe as a term of endearment and everyone gets that that's not sexualised or romantic).

"baby" is the same (though only a parent would call a child "baby", whereas an adult acting in loco parentis might use "babe") and used by parents to their children and between romantic partners.

I think, generally, the same words are used for and by all people, and the meaning of it is simply changed by the context. There's very few (possibly none) generic terms of endearment that you couldn't use with your romantic partner or child.

When it comes to young people talking to other young people - I don't really hear anyone use them out loud, unless they're being ironic (terms of endearment do tend to be a thing that you start to use as you get older) but on snapchat they call each other "pookie" "bestie" and "babe". These would all be terrible in a HP fic, however.

Back when I was young (and all this was fields) we didn't have group chats and so didn't call each other terms of endearment at all.

I've still never heard a boy call another boy a term of endearment (beyond "mate" - as per above) and that certainly didn't happen (in my experience) when Harry Potter is set. One thing boys did do in the past, which seems to be dying out (at least where I am) is give each other nick names based either on their name or something about their appearance e.g a boy whose last name was "Hobson" was called "Hobbo", "Shaw" was "Shawwy", names got shortened more e.g "Dave" and then there was names like "Ginge". This does seem to have died out totally where I am, but would be time appropriate for HP.

I think because Brits are quite reserved, terms of endearment are either used where the person isn't actually dear to them, and so there is no real meaning behind it (though it is used to be friendly) or in total private with loved ones. And when they are in private, the names can get weird and wonderful and totally unique.

We are far more comfortable showing genuine affection in public by insulting each other. So where I've never heard boys use actual terms of endearment on each other, I have heard them say "you wanker" or "you daft cunt" and mean it affectionately.

It's not all the time, every other sentence though. When someone has done something worthy of being laughed at for, their friends will laugh at them for it and use insults but it will all be in good fun. In my experience with teenagers today, it's not really an everyday occurrence to just call someone a "wanker" out of the blue, unless they're trying to wind them up/ start a fight. But in context of someone having been an idiot, then it's gloves off for insults between friends.

I hope this helps. I think the key is to not pepper every sentence with them and mostly have older characters using them towards younger characters. When it comes to romantic or familial relationships, you can't go wrong with "love" but it will come across as more authentic if you use something a bit offbeat and unique to that relationship. Just pick a word and make that "their word". And you can use insults as affection, but it has to fit the context. Someone has to have done something daft in order for them to affectionately be called a "daft cunt".

#ask answered #brit picking #harry potter #fanfic writing

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suckerforcate · 11 months ago

Note

This is so exciting!

I love Kate Stewart!

May I request a Kate Stewart x fem reader? Older woman x younger woman ( legal age gap of course)

A one bed trope/ forced proximity/ will they won't they trope.

Reader works closely with Kate Stewart. They have a very caring/ slightly flirtatious dynamic but both are in love with each other and Kate is very protective and possessive over reader and gets jealous when men flirt with reader as reader as regarded as a total catch .

Can be a mixture of fluffy , angsty and smutty😊

I'm so happy Kate is getting the love she deserves!

Pitlochry

Pairing: Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4223

Warning: 18+, oral sex

Summary: When you drive to Scotland with Kate and spend the night in a pub where a guy hits on you something in your relationship finally shifts.

A/n: So it's just a hint of the one-bed trope and more of a shared proximity. I also sprinkled a bit of pretend/fake relationship in there. I hope it's what you had envisioned!!! It's a bit longer than I had planned, hence why it took a bit longer. @freshmoneyalmondathlete <3 It's also my first time writing for Kate, so I hope it not totally off-character. I would love a repost, like, or comment <3

■----------------------------------------■

It had been months. Months since this strange sort of dance had started. You both knew there was something, but no one acknowledged it and work was way too time-consuming and hectic to talk about it.

You’d been working for UNIT for some time now, having started there as an exited young scientist just finding out about the wonders of the Universe. And you were good at your job, which helped you quickly work your way up into a bit of a more important position. You still did mostly lab work, and that was a part you’d never give up. But it was nice to be recognised for your hard work and to be given more responsibility.

More and more often you were right in the middle of the action. A trusted consultant for Kate when hell went loose, and it felt good. To know your opinion was valued by the boss herself. But it was more than that. You admired her, no question about it. What she does and the way she worked for it couldn’t be described as anything else than admirable. But you also couldn’t keep your eyes off her when you were in the same room. She took your breath away in all her smart pantsuits and high heels.

And whether Kate knew about it or she felt similarly, there’d been a sort of charged air around the two of you right from the beginning. It wasn’t unknown for the two of you to flirt even, or maybe especially in life-threatening situations. A way of staying grounded, keeping some light-heartedness to the job was all you could do to stay sane.

You obviously cared for each other immensely, but no one dared to make a step forward. And whenever you thought you’d ask her out something happened. Cybermen came, the earth was nearly invaded, the Doctor showed up. It felt like the Universe itself was against you. At least until now.

Your hard work had led to Kate taking you with her to a call they’d gotten up in Scotland. Someone had apparently seen something that could be connected to a scientifically unexplained phenomenon that Osgood had picked up upon a few days ago. It needed to be looked at and that’s how you found yourself in the passenger seat of a UNIT vehicle next to Kate on the way up to Scotland. It was cold outside. And considering it was November and you were driving up north, that was not surprising. You had thrown a sweater over your long sleeve, but you were still cold.

„Turn the heating up.“ Kate suggested, clearly having registered that you were cold. The way you were practically curled up into the passenger seat and had your arms crossed, it probably wasn’t hard to put one and one together. You turned to look at her and shook your head.

„Too much heating air gives me a headache.“ You explained and looked back out the window. It looked peaceful, just miles and miles of fields and flat land. In the corner of your eye you saw Kate nod in understanding. It was silent for a few seconds before she spoke.

„I have a jacket in the backseat. You can put it on.“ You looked at her and then turned your head around very uncomfortably to look at the backseat. Sure enough there was a cardigan, looking soft and incredibly warm. For a moment you hesitated. Another look at Kate, but she was just smiling softly. It was probably a bad idea and would make you fall even more in love with her. But you were so cold.

So you bent your back awkwardly and reached behind your seat to grab the cardigan. Your shoulder brushed Kate’s and your face was far too close to hers. The soft smell of her perfume filled your nose, and it made your heady dizzy. As soon as your fingers wrapped around the soft fabric of the cardigan you pulled it to the front and sat back normally. With a little bit of fidgeting you put the jacket on. The fabric a little tight around you, but so wonderfully warm. You let out a happy sigh and nuzzled into the cardigan with a soft smile.

„That’s much better, isn’t it?“ Kate said and even though you’d closed your eyes you could hear the smile in her voice. That beautiful smile, the one you wished would always be because of you. The familiar sensation of fluttering butterflies made itself known inside of you. You hummed in agreement and just nuzzled deeper into her cardigan. It smelled exactly like her and that gave you so much comfort.

You felt a tender touch on your cheek, soft fingers brushing over the skin there. Unconsciously you leant into it, humming happily. A warm chuckle, soft like honey made its way through the fog of sleep.

„(Y/n), dear. We’re there.“ The same warm voice said, soft and quiet. Sounding so much like Kate. Suddenly your eyes snap open. It was Kate. You immediately sat up straighter and untangled yourself form the complicated mess you’d brought your limbs into in the seat. You blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness around you, just a little light in the car on around you.

„I remember when I could sit like that.“ Kate chuckled amused as she pulled the car key out of the ignition. You looked at her next to you, still a bit out of it from the sleep. You hadn’t even realised you’d fallen asleep. But that soft, tender touch in your cheeks… You couldn’t stop thinking about it, you craved more of it.

„My old body won’t allow something like that anymore.“ She said, laughing, and before it registered in your brain she had stepped out of the car. You hastily put your shoes back on and in an attempt to quickly get out of the car, nearly fell face-first into the mud. In the last second you caught yourself, albeit not very gracefully. When you looked up you saw Kate peeking around the car from behind and grin at you, eyebrow raised. A bit embarrassed you stuck your tongue out to her and closed the car door. A hearty laugh came from Kate, slightly morphing into that absolutely ridiculous laugh of hers. It wasn’t heard too often around UNIT headquarters, it always made your heart warm.

„You’re being mean.“ You said, sounding like a petulant child, but it was clear you were joking. You rounded the car and stepped up next to her, grabbing your bag from the boot.

"And you’re not old.“ You added, the actual reason you’d even started that ridiculous exit from the car. Without waiting for an answer you walked away from the car and into the little inn that Kate had parked in front of. Kate looked after you, as soft smile on her lips and slightly shaking her head. She closed the boot and followed you inside.

The inn really wasn’t big and was more of a Pub with a few rooms than an actual inn. Very Scottish, but cosy and most importantly warm. You could just hope the rooms would be warm as well. There were a few people scattered across the room and an old man behind the bar. You walked up to him and his thick Scottish accent immediately woke you up. Half asleep you wouldn’t have understood a single word he said.

Kate came up next to you, and you looked at her, right in the middle of paying for the room. Room, not rooms. Kate suspiciously eyed the one key you had. You quickly wrapped up with the man and practically shoved her through the room and into a very badly lit hallway with creaky stairs.

„I didn’t understand a single fucking word of what he said.“ You told Kate as you walked up the stairs. The whole Pub had an unmistakable smell of spilled beer to it. „I think he said something about the other rooms all being full. And I think he assumed we were a couple.“ You explained, trying to remember the few words he’d coherently spoken and string them together. You heard a sharp intake of breath behind you and stopped in the last step to look back at her.

„Everything alright?“ You asked a bit concerned, it was hard to make out faces in the near complete dark of the hallway. But you could see Kate nod and wave you off. For a moment you hesitated but figured she’d speak up if something was wrong, so you kept walking. The room was at the end of the hall, and you opened the door easily, though just like the stairs, it creaked a bit.

You stepped inside holding the door open with your foot until you felt Kate hold it. Two steps, and you were in the middle of the room, and you abruptly stopped, resulting in Kate practically walking into you.

„What-…“ She started but immediately got why you stopped. Not only was it fucking freezing in the room, and you shortly thought about sleeping in the much warmer hallway, there was also just one bed. One, quite small bed. Your insides practically fell over themselves, fluttering at the thought of sleeping in that bed with her.

„I’ll sleep on the floor.“ Kate’s words pulled you out of your daze. Turning around to her, an eyebrow raised critically you shook your head. Absolutely not.

„Don’t be ridiculous, your back would kill you.“ Was your simple answer, and you stepped further into the room, rounding the bed and setting your bag down on the right side of the bed. You took Kate’s cardigan off and slipped out of the pullover underneath, leaving you in a long sleeve shirt. It was definitely freezing in the room. You just wanted to put on a thicker sweater on when you see Kate remained standing by the door, just watching you.

„Kate, we are grown people. We can share a bed for two nights.“ You nearly sounded like a scolding mother and that seemed to snap Kate out of it. She walked to her side of the bed and silently started unpacking her bag.

A part of you wishes Kate really would sleep on the floor. It was the reasonable part, the one that knew this couldn’t end well. The bed was too small, the room to cold. Your body would surely seek warmth in Kate.

„I’ll treat you to dinner downstairs. As compensation for having to sleep in a bed with me.“ Kate said a bit softer again and looked up from her bag, now nearly completely unpacked. You look at her, your pj’s in hand and tilt your head.

„That’s really not necessary, but thank you.“ You knew arguing would get you nowhere with Kate, so you just accepted it. Quickly you finished unpacking your things as well and saw her waiting for you. She was leaned against the wall, hands stuffed into the pockets of her pants. She had taken her blazer off and the pale blue blouse underneath drove you crazy. The upper buttons were opened, and her sleeves were neatly rolled up. The sight alone made your mouth water.

You shook yourself out of it and without thinking put Kate’s cardigan back on. You missed the way Kate looked at you in her jacket and smiled softly, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed. The long sleeve and the cardigan would be too cold for the room, but the bar room had been nice and warm, with the fireplace alight. You walked over to Kate and gave her a smile. Opening the door you gestured for her to step into the hallway. She shot you a smirk and walked past you.

Nothing had changed in the bar room since you’d crossed it to get to your room half an hour ago. The old Scottish man still stood behind the bar, now reading a newspaper. Seven people were spread around the room. Three young women, crouched into a corner chatting and giggling like teenager. Best friends, you assumed. An old, presumably married couple sat at a table by the bar, eating fish and chips. And two men, about your age sat at a high table on the wall opposite the bar. They were just drinking beer, a bag of crisps in front of them.

You simply followed Kate to a table close to the fireplace. Sitting down across from her, your back turned to the warm fire you sighed happily. Kate smiled at you softly and opened one of the menu’s. When she was done looking through it, she turned it around and pushed it to you.

„What will you eat?“ You asked absent-mindedly, while looking through the menu. She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, running a hand through her blonde hair.

„Fish and Chips and the bitter they have on cask.“ She answered and pulled her wallet out of her bag. She looked ready to stand up and walk to the bar, just waiting for you to decide.

„I’ll have the pie and mash and the lager on cask, please. Thank you.“ You said and closed the menu, putting it back in its holder. She stood up and walked over to the bar to order your food and pay. You were thankful actually, at least you wouldn’t have to talk to the old man again. His accent really was not understandable. You watched her lean on the bar, looking so effortlessly attractive. One hand pushed into her pocket and the other gripping her wallet.

She had one leg behind her other, foot propped up on the tips and tapping on the floor impatiently. It brought out her figure even better, and you shamelessly stared at the way her suit pants clung to her ass. She paid and as you saw her reaching for the two pints in front of her you turned your head away. She placed the beer down in front of you and sat down on her chair again. You blinked your glasses together and spent the time waiting for the food talking about anything but work. A welcome change to your usual conversations.

At some point your mind slipped away, and you barely listened to a word she was saying. Her lips were moving, but the words didn’t hit you. You couldn’t help but stare at her lips, your eyes flickering down the few open buttons of her blouse, a tantalising amount of cleavage exposed for your eye. You were thankful that at some point the food had come and Kate was too preoccupied with it to see where your eyes were directed to.

„What do you want to drink? I’ll buy you one. You already paid for the dinner.“ You said after you had both finished eating and shoved your empty plate away. Without warning, she grabbed your glass and took the last sip of it.

„I like that. I’ll take one of that.“ She said nonchalantly and puts the glass back down. All you could do is nod, your eyes still glued to where her lips had touched the rim of the glass. You grabbed your wallet and headed over to the bar, trying to get your head straight. You ordered two half pints and paid for them.

„I’ve never seen you here before.“ Surprised you turned your head to the side. You saw one of the man from across the bar standing next to you. He was your age, brown curls, a tad taller than you. A slight Scottish accent could be heard in his voice. He actually looked kind of nice. Like someone, you’d be friends with, definitely not someone you’d date. But with men you could always see it in their eyes, he definitely wanted to pick you up. You gave him a polite smile.

„That’s probably because I’m not from around here.“ You said, putting your card back into your wallet and looked back at him, waiting for the beers to be ready. He had his eyebrows raised, the question clear on his face.

„London.“ You offered as an answer, and judging by his understanding nod you’d read his question right.

He leaned on the bar, trying a bit too hard to look relaxed. You turned to him fully and grinned, in the corner of your eye you could see Kate's eyes glued to you. A tilt of your head helped you take a look at her. She looked...jealous?

"And what does such a pretty London lady do in a dump like this?" His word shook you out of it, and you looked back at him, chuckling amused.

"I'm afraid, that's classified." He looked a bit taken aback, but he quickly found his smirk again and nodded.

"Classified, huh? What are you, the MI5?" Awfully pleased with himself, he grinned at you and just at that moment two half pints of Lager were placed in front of you. You took them, shoving your wallet into your jeans and smirked at the man.

"Maybe." You simply reply and walk past him, towards Kate. You missed the dumbfounded look on the man's face and just saw Kate's eyes still trained on you. A hint of possessiveness and jealousy still gracing her features. You more assumed than knew that the man would be following you. And when you set down across from Kate he stood right beside the table. You sighed and crossed your legs. Taking a sip of your beer first before giving him any attention.

"Let me give you my number, we would have to talk about your classified work." He said, and the innuendo was clear in his tone of voice and the smug expression on his face. You had to concentrate hard to not roll your eyes. You shot Kate a look and got an idea.

"Sorry, mate. But I'm already spoken for." You said and looked at Kate in just the right moment to make it clear who you were spoken for. You saw Kate's eyes widen a bit, but for the sake of the moment she pulled herself together.

You did not like the look in the man's face when he eyed Kate. Not at all. He looked at her disparagingly, like he would be a better match for you. And no doubt that's what he thought.

"Come on, how old is she?" He said and that was definitely a mistake. Your little thread of patience you had with men like him ripped in mere seconds. You looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business. Besides, she gives better head than you." Well, that effectively shut him up. He gawked at you for a moment, like a lost fish and then retreated back to his table. You snickered amused and sipped on your beer, but when you looked at Kate you didn't see the smirk you had expected.

Her whole demeanour had changed, and her eyes had darkened. The only word you could think of to describe what you saw was hunger. Sure, the two of you had danced around each other for months. And you were quite sure that there was something between you. But this was new.

"Drink up." She said and her tone of voice cut right through you and went straight to your core. A bit perplexed you stared at her, blinking a few times. But there was no patience in her eyes, so you quickly drank the rest of your beer. She stood up and reached out a hand for you to take. You took it and followed her through the pub, past the guy that had hit on you and into the darkened hallway. You went up the stairs, her hand still tightly gripping yours, and towards your room.

Inside the room you were immediately pulled flush against her and soft, warm lips pressed against yours. Considering the hunger and possessiveness you'd seen in Kate's eyes downstairs the kiss was surprisingly tender. But that was Kate for you, full of care and gentleness. It was what made her such an excellent leader. She always kept a clear head and could lead and make aliens falter with one look. But she never lost the care and empathy she felt for the world. For her officers and her team. For you.

Instinctively your hand reached up and tangled itself into her honey-blonde hair, soft and silky. You’d wanted to touch it for so long, and it nearly made your legs give out, the way she kissed you, so fiercely and yet so loving. When you both felt like you might suffocate if you don’t take a breather she pulled back and rested her forehead against yours.

„I don’t like men flirting with you.“ She admitted and nearly sounded embarrassed, like she had no right to feel that way. And you assumed in some ways she didn’t, but you wanted her to feel jealous. You wanted her to want you for herself.

„I figured as much. You were quite jealous.“ A soft giggle bubble out of Kate as you said that and the sound was so unfamiliar, so unusual for her, it made your heart stop for a moment. And with the way your heart warmed and everything inside you felt like you just wanted to hear her make that sound again, there was no denying your feelings anymore. You were head over heels, absolutely stupidly in love with her.

Gently you let your hand wander from her hair into her neck and played with the soft hair there. You felt her shiver slightly and a soft sigh escaped her. Her hands gripped your hips a bit tighter, her fingers digging into the material of her own cardigan draped around you.

"So, you think I give better head than that douchebag, huh?" She whispered, but there was a hint of a challenge in her tone, and you chuckled in responds. Slightly pulling back you were able to look her in the eyes. With a mischievous smirk on your lips you spoke.

"Why don't you show me?" She answered with a grin and suddenly her hands were all over you. Tugging the cardigan off your shoulders, pulling your shirt out of your jeans and pushing you back towards the bed. With a slight oof and a giggle you fell back onto the sheets, and you quickly kicked your shoes off. The sight in front of you made heat pool between your legs. Kate easily fell to her knees, settling between your legs in front of the bed. Her slender fingers made quick work of the button on your jeans.

"You'd like that, huh?" Kate practically husked, and it was enough to tell you that she was just as affected by all this. Eagerly you lifted your hips when she hooked her fingers under them hem of your jeans. Tantalisingly slow she pulled them down your legs, exposing more and more of your skin. From up in the bed you had a delicious view right into her blouse and the soft pale curve of her breast drove you crazy. Before you knew it your knickers were gone as well and strong hands pushed your thighs apart, digging wonderfully into your flesh. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and you just heard her hum.

"You're dripping, darling." She commented and that alone nearly made you burst. You needed her, now. One of your hands made its way back into her hair, impatiently pushing her closer to where you so desperately wanted her. She chuckled, deep and warm and the sound went up your spine and through your whole body like honey. The next thing you heard was your own moan as her tongue trailed through your folds and your fingers tightened their grip in her hair.

"Shit, Kate." You gasped. She was good at this, really good. No doubt better than the guy from earlier. Her tongue on you felt like heaven, and you asked yourself how you'd been able to resist her all these months. Your hips lifted up involuntarily, and you ground against her. Desperate for more, for her. Her hands held you steadily in place, fingers massaging the soft flesh of your thighs. Gasps and moans filled the room when she sucked on your clit, a wonderful mix of hungry and gentle that made your head spin. Your free hand gripped the bedsheets desperately. When you came your back arched off the bed and your thighs wanted to squeeze shut. But Kate held them open, spreading them for her to ride you through it and clean every bit of you up.

The smug smile on her lips when she pulled back and looked up at you made you laugh. Breathless but absolutely content. Gently to untangled your fingers from her hair and cupped her cheek.

"Come here." You said, smiling and pulled her up on top of you. One leg wrapped around her, you pulled her flush against you. Your thumb tenderly trailed over her bottom lip.

"You were definitely better than that douchebag." You confirmed and chuckled at her happy face, she looked awfully pleased with herself. Swiftly you pulled her into a kiss and switched your positions on the bed.

"Your turn."

The small, single bed definitely wasn't a problem anymore.

#doctor who #kate lethbridge stewart x reader #kate stewart x reader #kate lethbridge stewart #kate stewart #jemma redgrave

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