#caroline discourse

[sdv-confessions]

I know the implication is that Abigail is the Wizard’s daughter but to be honest it just doesn’t seem in character for Caroline to have cheated on Pierre. Like it could be narratively satisfying in a “I’m projecting my self loathing into my kid who is a monument to all my misdeeds” kinda way, but nothing in her current characterization really points to her as anything other than a slightly repressed housewife with a workaholic husband.

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[juniperhillpatient]

honestly the more I think about it Katherine’s little trick of compelling an entire small town & basically letting them live their lives / making sure they were safe for the most part & treating it as a blood bank drinking from people but not killing them was objectively way more ethical than Stefan’s method of unregulated animal hunting. like Damon compels people to let him drink & then makes them forget too & I don’t think that’s a bad thing per se but he does also frequently kill people for fun & entertainment & while I think that’s just him being a little silly if we’re being objective I guess it’s bad. Elena & Caroline stealing blood bags from the hospital while treated as the most ethical option (aside from hunting animals as if unregulated hunting isn’t terrible for the environment not to mention the fact it makes the vampires weaker & more susceptible to attack / less able to protect their human friends which is bad) is actually the WORST option the more I think about it. hospitals already have trouble getting enough blood donations. just because you’re not doing the act of murder you’re basically killing people who are expecting blood transfusions by stealing blood from a hospital. especially in mystic falls where people need an unusually high amount of blood transfusions I’m sure! Like cmon. I’m not saying Katherine actually did anything she did to be a good person she was clearly just being pragmatic but the people in her little “we love Katherine” town were happy. Who cares if they had to donate blood to her every now & then? they literally didn’t mind. in conclusion katherine pierce if ur reading this I have really easy to find veins & -

[tgslar]

The Portal communitys refusal to engage with the two female mcs in any respectable way and basically removing their entire characters just to put all the attention on the three or so infinitely less interesting male characters never ceases to amaze me

[vicontheinternet]

Caroline would make for the best archetype of the Lightskin mixed girl with light eyes and sandy blonde hair in the south that’s fawned over the “perfect” mixed child that every one who wanted a mixed kid wanted, to come looking out like that

[kiarpennington]

Name a ship that never became canon that you will forever be mad and delulu about; I’ll go first! For me, that is Caroline and Klaus from The Vampire Diaries! Let me know yours!

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

I love The Vampire Diaries a lot. It is an amazing show and I’m halfway through, but wow if there isn’t some flaws

First: Why is everyone a fucking martyr?

Would I die for the people I care about? Sure. But even I have some self preservation skills, and after a couple times of life saving I’m practically a bodyguard at this point. Don’t want to say the show is unrealistic(cause duh vampires) but I really doubt every high school teenager is just itching for a reason to die for their friends

Second: Why does the show keep glossing over the fact that almost every vampire(if not literally every single one) is an assaulter?!

They mind controll people into letting them drink their blood, and to have sex with them. I mean Damon literally compelled a woman to be his girlfriend, who he drank from and had sex with. I wish this was addressed more, but I also understand why it wasn’t

Third: The lying and miscommunications…why?

I understand that this show is a drama and therefore bound to have those things. But how does anyone trust each other at ALL?! Everyone lies and goes behind each other’s backs whenever they get the chance, and then everyone acts like the bestest of friends. And I understand they’re teenagers, but please fucking communicate with each other and stop being jealous over minute details and interactions

Summarizing what someone else said, “If these people weren’t the main cast/protagonists who we were forced to like and vote for, they would all be the villains of the story”

I know it sounds like I hate this show, but I don’t. I do love the show a lot. I more so just wanted to make this to see other people’s thoughts, and for me to voice my own. I would still 100% recommend this show, but it’s definitely not everyone’s cup of tea

[transmutationisms]

genq what are the actual reasons that plagiarism is bad apart from profit and prestige?

so there are two main angles i usually think of here, which ultimately converge into some related issues in public discourse and knowledge production.

firstly, plagiarism should not just be understood as a violation one individual perpetuates against another; it has a larger role in processes of epistemological violence and suppression of certain people's arguments, ideas, and labour. consider the following three examples of plagiarism that is not at all counter to current structures of knowledge production, but rather undergirds them:

in colonial expeditions and encounters from roughly the 14th century onward, a repeated and common practice among european explorer-naturalists was to rely on indigenous people's knowledge of botany, geography, natural history, and so forth, but to then go on to publish this knowledge in their own native tongues (meaning most of the indigenous people they had learned from could not access, read, or respond to such publications), with little, vague, or no attribution to their correspondents, guides, hosts, &c. (many many examples; allison bigelow's 'mining language' discusses this in 16th and 17th century american mining, with a linguistic analysis foregrounded)

throughout the renaissance and early modern period, in contexts where european women were generally not welcome to seek university education, it was nonetheless common practice for men of science to rely on their wives, sisters, and other family members not just to keep house, but also to contribute to their scientific work as research assistants, translators, fund-raisers, &c. attribution practices varied but it is very commonly the case that when (if ever) historians revisit the biographies of famous men of science, they discover women around these men who were actively contributing to their intellectual work, to an extent previously unknown or downplayed (off the top of my head, marie-anne lavoisier; emma darwin; caroline herschel; rosalie lamarck; mileva marić-einstein...)

it is standard practice today for university professors to run labs where their research assistants are grad students and postdocs; to rely on grad students, undergrads, and postdocs to contribute to book projects and papers; and so forth. again, attribution varies, but generally speaking the credit for academic work goes to the faculty member at the head of the project, maybe with a few research assistants credited secondarily, and the rest of the lab / department / project uncredited or vaguely thanked in the acknowledgments.

in all of these cases, you can see how plagiarism is perpetuated by pre-existing inequities and structures of exploitation, and in turn helps perpetuate those structures by continuing to discursively erase the existence of people made socially marginal in the process of knowledge production. so, what's at stake here is more than just the specific individuals whose work has been presented as someone else's discovery (though of course this is unjust already!); it's also the structural factors that make academic and intellectual discourse an élite, exclusive activity that most people are barred from participating in. a critique of plagiarism therefore needs to move beyond the idea that a number of wronged individuals ought to be credited for their ideas (though again, they should be) and instead turn to the structures that create positions of epistemological authority under the aegis of capitalist entities: universities, legacy as well as new media outlets, and so forth. the issue here is the positions of prestige themselves, regardless of who holds them; they are, definitionally, not instruments of justice or open discourse.

secondly, there's the effect plagiarism has on public discourse and the dissemination of knowledge. this is an issue because plagiarism by definition obscures the circulation and origin of ideas, as well as a full understanding of the labour process that produces knowledge. you can see in the above examples how the attribution of other people's ideas as your own works to turn you into a mythologised sort of lone genius figure, whose role is now to spread your brilliance unidirectionally to the masses. as a result, the vast majority of people are now doubly shut out of any public discourse or debate, except as passive recipients of articles, posts, &c. you can't trace claims easily, you don't see the vast number of people who actually contribute to any given idea, and this all works to protect the class and professional interests of the select few who do manage to attain élite intellectual status, by reinforcing and widening the created gap between expert and layperson (a distinction that, again, tracks heavily along lines of race, gender, and so forth).

so you can see how these two issues really are part of one and the same structural problem, which is knowledge production as a tool of power, and one that both follows from and reinforces existing class hierarchies. in truth, knowledge is usually a collaborative affair (who among us has ever had a truly original idea...) and attributions should be a way of both acknowledging our debts to other people, and creating transparency in our efforts to stake claims and develop ideas. but, as long as there are benefits, both economic and social, to be gained from presenting yourself as an originator of knowledge, people will continue to be incentivised to do this. plagiarism is not an exception or an aberration; it's at best a very predictable outcome of the operating logics of this 'knowledge economy', and at worst—as in the examples above—a normal part of how expert knowledge is produced, and its value protected, in a system that is by design inequitable and exclusive.

[somerabbitholes]

do you have any book or essay recs that are eye-opening or ones that challenges your thought process if u get what I mean

100%, here is writing that shifted something inside me:

Books

Figuring by Maria Popova: about how genius and creativity is a human project; she looks at all these ways in which ideas connect with each other; the book is just a really beautiful exploration of how the search for truth and beauty is a human project. She also runs a blog which is very good

The Lonely City by Olivia Laing has forever changed how I think about loneliness for the better, and I can only hope to have something as beautiful to say someday

Invisible Women by Caroline C Perez: I'm putting this here more because it could put in numbers and quantify the levels of gender disparity, and to my mind, give a sharper edge to the conversation that was feeling very abstract and theoretical to me

Ducks, Newburyport by Lucy Ellman: this is a difficult read, mostly because the book is a 1,000-page stream of consciousness that is basically one long sentence. I loved it, and at the end of it I remember going wow, you thought this book up

A similar feeling came from reading The Indian Ideology by Perry Anderson, but I want to point out that this is a book that requires a reasonable level of familiarity with the discourse on secularism, democracy and social justice in India

The Tribe by Carlos Manuel Alvarez: essays, part-memoir, part-notes from journalism, about Cuba in the 2010s and especially after Castro died. It was such an excellent glimpse into what living during and through this shadow of the Cold War could be like

I'm currently reading Second-Hand Time by Svetlana Alexievich, which does a similar thing with Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union and until the mid-2010s. It's very very interesting and heartbreaking and emotive and informative all at once seeing how the Russian people thought about the end of the Cold War

Essays (there are definitely more, but I’m the worst at remembering names)

Geographies of knowing, geographies of ignorance by Willem van Schendel

The Trouble with Wilderness by William Cronon

Marrying Libraries by Anne Fadiman (if this is not what love is, I don't want it)

Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical by John Rawls

Fences by Zadie Smith (I read this in her collection, Feel Free but I think you can find it online too)

[saintmelangell]

hi! i was interested in a topic and i realized you were probably one of the better people to ask. what resources would you recommend for studying the impact of christianity on sex and sexuality?

the oxford handbook of theology, sexuality,and gender is invaluable, but i'm unsure if there has been a new edition since 2014.

historical texts: if you are an absolute beginner, the chapter sexuality in christian traditions by adrian thatcher, in the cambridge world history of sexualities: volume ii is a good, solid overview. additionally: contextualizing gender in early christian discourse by caroline stichele and todd penner. christianity and sexuality in the early modern world by merry wiesner-hanks, sexual desire and love: origins and history of the christian ethic of sexuality and marriage by erich fuchs.

critical + liberation theology: god, sexuality and the self by sarah coakley, touching our strength by carter heyward, indecent theology by marcella althaus-reid, why women need the goddess by carol christ, sexuality and the black church: a womanist perspetive by kelly b douglas, enfleshing freedom: body, race, and being by m. shawn copeland, postcolonial imagination and feminist theology by kwok pui-lan, queering christ: beyond act up by robert e. goss, the good news of the body edited by lisa isherwood, theology and sexuality by susanna cornwall, queer theologies: the basics by chris greenough, our lives: a womanist queer theology by pamela r lightsey.

critical issues in sexuality: the making of biblical womanhood by beth allision barr, #churchtoo: how purity culture upholds abuse and how to find healing by emily joy allison, the cry of tamar by pamela cooper-white (NB: don't know why google books doesn't have the most recent second edition), jesus and john wayne by kristin du mez, catholic sexual theology and adolescent girls by doris m kieser, black gay british christian queer by jarel-robinson brown.

additionally, am extremely excited about the release of lower than the angels by diarmaid macculloch in april: i would keep an eye out for its release and try to read it if you can, as i suspect it's going to be an excellent, critical historical overview.

there are, of course, gaps in my recs, but everything i recommend here i consider essentially introductory. you'll find some of this work is focused more on gender, but we cannot discuss sexuality without also discussing gender; additionally, the majority of non-white theologies (womanist, east asian, indigenous) are engaging with gender rather than sexuality at this point in their respective developments.

[sdv-confessions]

Ooh! based on the previous abigail is wizard’s daughter confession!

I believe Caroline is the wizard’s daughter because Rasmodius has a dialogue where he explains that his ex-wife is the witch who created our Void chickens. He says it was a messy split, so I’m not denying that it’s possible he could have been with Caroline before/after divorcing the Witch. But I don’t think we’ll ever have confirmation on it because we don’t know anyone’s ages.

However, hair color-wise, it wouldn’t be abnormal for Caroline to have green hair because her father and mother are magical (as the witch is green). Abigail’s hair could be purple genetically from her grandfather, Rasmodius.

But who really knows? I don’t like to step on other people’s headcanons, so I fully support if you want to think Abigail is the Wizard’s daughter. But please don’t treat it like it’s a fact :)

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[ms-hells-bells]

the accusation that tortoise media (the ones who exposed the neil gaiman accusations) is a conservative outlet is even more ridiculous when you realise that not only did they produce who trolled amber?, the podcast looking into the foreign and domestic influencing of the online discourse surrounding the depp v heard case, but they also produced visible women by caroline criado perez, which talked about the sexism via male as default in most of society from playgrounds to drugs to cars.

ah yes, conservatism, famous for defending unpopular female victims and discussing class level misogyny in all its forms.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #12 – Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men by Caroline Criado Pérez

I don’t read much in the way of non-historical nonfiction, but I am very much known as A Reader by friends and family – and so, I usually get at least one very buzzy bit of pop-nonfiction every Christmas or birthday. This was from my sister, and I opened it having never heard a word about the book or (I thought – I do in fact vaguely remember some of the campaigns she talks about organizing in the book) the author before. Having read it, the book is perfectly fine – though it feels more dated than the 2019 publication date really justifies. To a great extent it feels like a distillation of early 2010s feminist blogging and discourse, which is to say not much of it really felt new enough to be worth a whole book for me.

The book is polemic through and through, divided into sections that each advance and apply the central thesis to a different subject or area of life. That thesis is the severity – and severe impact – of what Criado Perez calls the ‘gender data gap’ – the lack of sex-disaggregated across a wide range of fields, and a general disinterest in analyzing what data there is to determine how women are impacted, or the degree to which their interests are taken into account, by any given policy of phenomenon. There’s no pretense of disinterested objectivity, and you can at points feel evidence being bent and angled just so to best suit an argument, but it barrages you with enough data points in any given chapter that I always found at least a few to be both new and compelling (something like a quarter of the book’s page count is taken up by its voluminous citations and end-notes).

The book’s main goal is convincing you that the data gap is a) real and b) bad. The former it manages to do pretty convincingly in most cases, the later it sometimes struggles to convincingly explain to the satisfaction of anyone but demographers and statisticians. Still, it does a better job than any other book or essay I can recall explaining actual specific and consequential concrete harms what it terms ‘male as default’ thinking actually causes in the world, both in terms of data gathering and in, e.g., manufacturing protective equipment or user interfaces to fit an ‘average’ user that are somewhere between inconvenient and entirely useless (if not actively dangerous) for a large fraction of women trying to use them.

Every section of the book is focused on that central thesis, but there are a lot of tangents as well – reading it really did feel like a ‘best of feminist blogging’ at points. Often in a good way, occasionally not (we can all hope and pray that some day the 2016 Democratic Primary will finally end). It all did leave it feeling oddly dated not even because it’s especially old or because the problems it discusses have all been solved (lol) but just because the particular style and aesthetic of discourse has so thoroughly fallen out of fashion.

In what could charitably be attributed to that datedness, or less charitably lead one to have dire suspicions about where the author’s politics have gone since publication, the complete absence of any mention of trans issues was striking. Like, literally complete absence – issues of race, nationality or (once or twice) sexuality were at least nodded at from time to time, even if this is not exactly a richly intersectional text, the concept of someone being transgender simply never comes up. Which is a bit disquieting as you read it, given how liberally the book uses essentializing language about sex and gender (the chapters on medicine especially often read like men and women are different species entirely). Hardly overtly hateful or anything but the book was published in 2019, it’s not like trans issues were unknown at the time – you’d think they would have been mentioned once or twice in terms of drug effects and how symptoms present if nothing else (but they do make broad and general statements about physical ability or height a bit more awkward, I suppose – maybe I should count my blessings there was no section on women’s sports).

Anyway yeah, interesting enough book. Would never have read it if I didn’t receive it as a gift, but hardly a waste of my time to. I’m not sure it’s going to convert anyone who isn’t at least a bit concept to the idea of gender-bases analysis on its own, but if you find yourself needing to do so it at least provides plenty of arguments and evidence to use.

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Also, Wickham is the sexy bad boy. Who doesn't love a sexy bad boy? (Not me, but I seem to be weird like that...)

I am currently being downvoted on Reddit for saying it's gross to want Caroline Bingley to go through a Taming of the Shrew plot 🤦🏼‍♀️

I am so SO sorry that I don't want a woman to starved, gaslit, and denied clothing until she absolutely submits to her husband. My bad.

[supremeuppityone]

This was written for Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek; Week 5 [April 27-April 30, 2025] – Horror. Canonish Klaroline historical AU. In 1492, Caroline left Bulgaria with nothing, but managed to catch the eye of the powerful and enigmatic Lord Niklaus. Being under his attentive care was a blessing. But was it also a curse?

Noble Sacrifice

Warning: Angst

“By the pricking of my thumbs,  Something wicked this way comes.” ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

            Rich tapestries threaded with gold. Sumptuous brocade gowns. Ruby ring. Emerald necklace. Roast boar and venison. French wine. It was nothing like the mother country. As Caroline impatiently waited for the fumbling handmaid to finish lacing the sides of her evening dress, she tried to calm the fluttering of her heart, for she felt certain this night Lord Niklaus would ask for her hand.  

            Two years ago, she arrived on the shores of this dreary country with its crowded, foul-smelling city with little more than a pair of ragged dresses and an ache in her breast that she suspected would never mend. How she missed her daughter. 

            It was of no import, she told herself, impatiently waving away the glassy-eyed handmaid. The servants under Lord Niklaus were odd, almost as though they’d been struck silent, and there was a lethargy to their movements. Quite peculiar.

            Gathering her skirts in a soft rustle of brocade and silk, she ventured down the arched stone hallway toward the great room where she was to meet Lord Niklaus and Lord Elijah for the feast. The brothers had been generous in their patronage once they’d learned of her plight. It was a dangerous gamble she’d undertaken, but honesty didn’t keep one’s belly full. So, she played the role of the helpless orphan, merely looking for a kind word and warm meal. Of course neither was true. She wasn’t an orphan and she was far from helpless.

            The brothers Mikaelson were playing a role as well, she was certain of it. They behaved as noblemen of proper means, but whispers had reached her ears that their power was not that of the landed gentry. It was other. At the moment, Caroline couldn’t fathom what dark deeds the Mikaelsons were a part of, but she was certain it was bigger than the petty squabbles of this village’s council elders. 

            Perhaps they were sowing discord to challenge Henry VII’s reign? If they were supporters of that pretender to the throne, the Duke of York, then they had enormous influence and even larger ambitions. And would lose their heads if they dared to join a rebellion. But she would do as she always had done — listen and watch for the unmistakable signs of change. And then flee if those changes did not suit her needs.

            Caroline kept her steps light as she quietly made her way along the hallway, the flickering iron sconces casting disquieting shadows that gave her pause until she scolded herself for giving credence to peasant ignorance. No. She must guard her position fiercely. Once wed to Lord Niklaus, she would set about producing an heir that would further secure her station. That wretched ache in her breast returned at the thought of a child. Her daughter had been wrenched from her arms and she’d no recourse no matter how she bargained and threatened the village midwife who’d taken the sweet babe at her stonyhearted parents’ behest. There was no balm to soothe what she’d lost. The only path was forward. 

            Booming laughter startled her and curiosity beckoned her forward. It seemed the brothers Mikaelson had retired to their private solar for a bit of drunken revelry before the feast. She glanced down at the lovely ruby ring with the intricate braided gold band and smiled. It had been the first gift from Lord Niklaus and she’d been overwhelmed by his generosity. He was a charming sort, and his countenance could’ve been framed by angels. Not to mention how he sparked lively discourse at every opportunity. He would be a worthy companion. Then why did this knot persist in her belly?

            Caroline stayed her hand from knocking, instead slipping behind the barrels of mead. It wasn’t a natural reaction to her future betrothed. But it might keep her alive. The heavy oak door with ornamental wolf carvings had been left ajar, and she couldn’t help but notice how the roaring fire cast a merry glow about Lord Niklaus. He mayhap be a devil, but he was a handsome one at that. 

            Lord Elijah would be handsome as well if it weren’t for that dour face he cast at his brother. Smoothing the crimson lacing of his garish velvet doublet, he pompously drawled, “And you’re certain of the girl’s continued ignorance, Niklaus?”

            Caroline narrowed her gaze at Lord Elijah’s obvious disdain for her. While he’d been nothing but gentlemanly in her presence, there was a coldness to him that spoke of more than just aristocratic scorn for commoners. He frightened her. But she’d always met his gaze steadily with a hint of challenge in her quirked brow. It always seemed to vex Lord Elijah. 

            But Lord Niklaus always favored her with a knowing smirk that made her blush. It gladdened her heart that Lord Niklaus was such a grand match. And yet...there was something troublesome about the man. It toyed with the murky edges of her mind, just beyond her reach. Lord Niklaus turned from the fire and regarded his brother with mocking laugh. “Your worries are quite bothersome. Of course Caroline is a lovely firebrand, but blissfully unaware of her status as a doppelganger.”

            Doppelganger? She was no doppelganger. Her people spoke of the samodiva, a spirit double, but that was nothing more than a peasant’s flight of fancy.

            “Come tomorrow’s full moon, she’ll be sacrificed to break my curse and I’ll be able to embrace my werewolf side once again.”

            Her chest drew tight beneath her bodice. What words now burned in her ears! The Lords Mikaelson meant to do her great harm! Perhaps her people’s foolish folklore carried the slimmest grain of truth; after all, the samodiva were considered death omens, she spitefully thought. Clearly, the Lords Mikaelson were addled in some manner that made them believe in nightmarish creatures. And that made them especially dangerous.  

            She stared at Lord Niklaus, still so vexingly handsome despite this dark revelation. His linen tunic bore the usual crimson stains — he was quite careless with his wine. Despite his drunken state, Lord Niklaus’ hand didn’t waiver as he poured from a dusty jug, filling the wrought silver goblets. “’Tis a pity to sacrifice such a charming creature,” he lamented with a sigh. “But I’ll kiss her soundly and thank Caroline for her noble sacrifice all the same,” he chuckled with a careless wave of his hand. 

            Tipping his brother a teasing wink, Lord Niklaus added, “I’d wager Caroline is quite the lusty wench. Shaking the sheets with that first doppelganger, Tatia, was such a mundane affair — as you well know.”

            Before Caroline could properly embrace her ire at Lord Niklaus speaking of her as though she was a common whore, Lord Elijah lunged at his brother, his stern features transforming into a monstrous visage of dark eyes and long fangs. And Lord Niklaus did the same.

            Phantom cold fingers gripped her heart as she hid behind the mead barrels. She watched the unnatural creatures grapple and claw at each other with cruel indifference that made her shudder and want to cry out in fearful wails. The brothers Mikaelson were monsters. Vampir. Vampires were real. Werewolves too, if Lord Niklaus’ cruel ravings were to be believed. The peasants of her mother country knew of these dark creatures. 

            And now so did she.

[caffinatedkrasova]

A Morning Cup of Coffee

You’ve never been a morning person, but now, with the farm, you’ve been forced to, but Harvey always makes those mornings more manageable. With his warm smile and hot coffee ready for you as soon as you're prepared to grace him with your presence in the clinic, you’ve decided to give him a little extra thanks for such special mornings.

The alarm on your bedside table rang out through your room, giving you a headache as soon as your head lifted off its pillow. You grumble out a curse as you turn the damned thing off. You realize that you’re already late to feed your chickens and rush out of bed, still in your pajamas, to your coop to fill their feeder. Your most enormous brood, Henretta, was the most displeased at your tardiness, giving you a slight peck to the hand as you collected the eggs for the day.

With an annoyed expression, you continued to finish up the necessary farm work for the morning, deciding that today was just one of those days where you’d be back in bed watching Netflix by 4 pm. But before you gave up on your morning, you decided to visit your lovely doctor. Who lifted your spirits with his delectable coffee creamer he kept just for you. You couldn’t understand his preference for black coffee but couldn’t argue if he kept your favorite in his fridge.

After setting the timers for your Mayo machines, you decide it might be better to be dressed when you go into town. You quickly change into something more presentable than your Junimo pajama set. While you’re sure Harvey would have no complaints about your attire even if you had worn a trashcan lid for a hat, you don’t want Jodi or Caroline spreading rumors about your disheveled state. You have already learned your lesson about those two.

As you head out the door in what you had reasoned to be an okay outfit, you chuckled slightly at the memory of Jodi and Caroline being so worried about you when you had gone to Pierre’s in your sweatpants and hoodie. They had thought you had gotten some illness and nearly dragged you to the clinic when you assured them you were okay and didn’t feel like getting into your overalls that morning to do your farm work. With all the commotion outside the clinic, Harvey had overheard and decided to see what was happening. When he heard what the discourse was about from Jodi and Caroline, he sided with them and demanded to take your temperature. When he had gotten you back to the clinic without them, he told you not to worry about them and offered to make you a coffee upstairs since you looked tired. That’s when you found out he liked his coffee plain black, and you couldn’t be more thankful for such noisy neighbors.

You finally reach the clinic doors. You check your watch, and it says 10:30 am. Harvey should be in the front clinic office now; he probably saw you coming from the windows. He had perhaps made the coffee for you by now, the unique mug he had bought for you when you spotted it on a trip to Zuzu City, the one only you could use. He had probably already added the exact amount of creamer and sugar you love every time. He’ll do this for you every time, like clockwork. Knowing your mornings are never complete until you’re drinking your coffee with him, talking about how horrible it is to wake up early and walk so far to get here.

A little bell chimes above you as you walk through the doors. The bright fluorescent lighting of the clinic waiting room does nothing to help your headache from waking up. The only comfort you seem to receive in your seconds of peril while your eyes adjust is your dear doctor's deep, joyous chuckle.

“You will never get used to those lights, will you?” He continues to laugh while you rub your eyes while they sting. You find it in yourself to laugh with him. I mean, with a laugh like that, how could you not?

“No, your lights are specifically designed to blast anyone walking through this door. Is it a visitor deterrent?” Your eyes finally acclimate to the light's brightness, and you can look at your doctor well. His dark brown curls frame his cute face, oversized glasses, how they sit perfectly on the slope of his nose, and the tint on his cheeks when he makes direct eye contact with you. And you notice your mug waiting on the counter with small amounts of steam coming from the top.

“No, they’re not visitor deterrents, but they’re designed to let you see better, especially for eye exams. But, enough of the doctor talk; you want your coffee?” He slides the mug in your direction, and you take it happily, your hands brushing his slightly as you take it. You hear him take a breath as he quickly grabs his coffee. You can clearly see the blush creeping above his collared shirt in this light.

“You know, Harv, you didn’t have to memorize my favorite coffee,” You give him a look while you sip your coffee before you continue, “But you did, and for that, I thank you deeply; I think you’re slowly making me a morning person.”

“It’s only coffee, Y/n. I like these mornings with you, so if that means keeping a disgustingly high-calorie creamer in my fridge, so be it.” He pauses to continue sipping his black coffee. Besides, what else would I do in the mornings, getting work done?” You go to slap his arm as he continues to laugh at his jokes. But he knows he is right. These mornings together had become a sort of ritual. You’d pray to Yoba for them to never stop, to only blossom into something you could keep forever as the two of you continue drinking your coffee and chatting about things that never mattered. You’d also pray that he had done the same.

“It’s not just the coffee; you know it, Harv.”

“I know”

“It never was, was it?” He doesn’t look at you; he stares into the mug you had bought for him in that run-down market you two had gone to after going to the aerospace museum in Zuzu for his birthday. He told you that you didn’t need to spend more money on him, that the evening alone was enough, but you insisted that you both needed unique mugs.

“No, it was for you.” When he finally looks back at you, he looks like a complete blushing mess. His expression could only be described as adoring. The intensity behind his eyes as the love he felt for you stared you down sent a chill down your spine. “I- I wanted to do this right, bouquet and all, b-but now it seems better, Y/n I love you. I love making your coffee in the mornings and that you come in daily to keep me company. I love how your h/c glows in the light, and you can never seem to wake up on time. Could you find it in yourself to love an old doctor like me? Because simply knowing you isn’t enough; I want to know you first thing in the morning and before bed. If you keep your socks on or off, how to wake you gently and keep you happy.”

“Harvey, I want all of that; I want you.” You round the counter quickly and rush to his arms. He holds you gently at first, then his hands from your back to your hair and waist. He keeps you close as his head dips into your neck, taking a deep breath. If this is how they continue, you have become a morning person.

He releases you from the crushing hug, but not before slowly planting his lips onto yours. The feeling of soft skin in contrast to his bristling mustache almost made you giggle from the tickling feeling, but as you both continued to deepen the kiss, his hand on your waist began to travel down your lower back, grabbing a handful of your ass. As you pulled back to gasp, Harvey aimed at your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You continued to gasp and whimper at the contact, writhing from the attention.

“You’re so wound up, I think I should prescribe you a massage. I can do it personally if you’d like?” You nod furiously, your mouth suddenly becoming dry as you try to think of words you could helplessly use to plead for Harvey. He turns you towards the clinic hallway, ushering you into his office. He turns you around again, leading you now backward, pushing you by your hip towards the exam table. Once flush against the table, he lifts you to sit on top of the exam bed. He quickly kisses you before gently pulling apart and giving you space; you give him a confused look before he continues, “I did say this was a massage, did I not?” You provide a disappointed look after he continues, “Do be a good patient by removing your clothing, please. I cannot get a good look at the,“ he pauses to clear his throat, “muscles in need of care, with them on.”

You lift your shirt above your arms, exposing your f/c bra to the cold clinic air. You can feel goosebumps rising as Harvey looks over your exposed skin. He stares in absolute awe before quickly shaking himself out of whatever thought that held him captive. Kissing you deeply, letting his hands roam your skin, the smooth, supple skin that his touch had warmed. You leaned into him, hoping that he would continue to hold you. He would never stop now that you had let him; he would find any opportunity to do so in the future.

He unclasped the backing of your lacy bra, sliding the garment off of your arms down onto the clinic floor. As your nipples rise to the temperature of the chilly clinic, Harvey wastes no time to take one into his mouth and cover the other in his large hand. Swirling his tongue around your areola, you jerk into his touch, quickly becoming aroused by his skilled tongue. You lean into his touch, needing one hand to keep you stable on the exam bed, and you use the other to tangle itself in his curly hair. You give a slight tug when he gives your nipple a small bite. He moans in response and moves to your other tit, wanting to give them both equal attention.

However, long after Harvey felt like adequate attention to your breast was up, he gently pushed you down on the exam bed. Once you had laid down comfortably on the table, Harvey continued his assault of hot kisses along your body. Starting from your breast, leading down your ribs and stomach, and heading towards the hemline of your pants. He looked up for your permission before continuing to pull your pants down your legs while continuing his kisses along your thighs and calves. When he finally gets your pants off, he continues his gentle kisses while his hands start to kneed at the plush parts of your thighs. He feels as if his heart is beating a hundred miles an hour with how you react to his touch. He must be ascending to Yoba himself from the pure sight of heaven in front of him.

You feel your skin radiating heat from the way his hands had spread out, one hand cupping your tits and gently tugging on your nipples occasionally. And the other hand had gently cupped the mound of flesh covering your most sensitive parts. He had wanted to continue massaging your tender and sore legs, but he could sense your growing tension and need for release.

He released his hold on your tits and thighs, moving his hands back to your waist as he looked for your permission once more as he continued to remove your underwear, tossing it to join its matching set on the floor of the clinic. Once you were undressed entirely on the exam table, Harvey grabbed a chair and brought it to the end of the table. Taking a seat in the chair, then pulling you by your ankles to the edge of the bed so that your ass was just barely in the air.

With little warning, Harvey dives into your pussy like a starved man, licking long flat stripes onto your clit. You gasp and moan, your hands diving into his hair, holding him in his place. A string of pleas and whimpers leave your mouth, unheard by your ears, as the pleasure that racks your body in waves comes over you. Harvey wraps his arms underneath your legs, trying to gain some leverage with how you're writhing beneath him. As he continues his ministrations, he slowly inserts a finger into your tight hole. You clench around the sudden intrusion, trying to relax into his touch, but each movement causes you to jump and shudder.

After you adjust to the first finger, Harvey inserts another, quickly making work of stretching your poor tight little pussy. He would almost feel pity for how tight you think; it must have been a while since someone has adequately cared for you, and he will happily take the job with care. With another finger inserted, you release a hearty moan while your back arches off of the exam bed. Your hand that was buried in his hair clenches and pulls harder than you intended, and Harvey fucking loves it. The primal groan that releases from his throat sends chills down your spine and even more juices to spill from your cunt.

You can hardly handle any more teasing before you release, and you desperately need to cum on his cock and not around his digits. While it’s appealing, you’d instead finish together the first time. So you tug on Harvey’s hair, signaling for him to pull away from your delicious cunt, and he does so begrudgingly. He truly thinks that if he could spend the rest of his life between your legs, he would.

As Harvey stands from his chair, you can see the bulge in his pants that has grown considerably since the start of the ‘massage.’ He quickly undoes his belt with the speed of a man who desperately needs to get laid and frees his weeping cock from the confines of his pants and boxer briefs. He pumps himself a few times, enjoying the look on your face when he has beaten whatever estimate your imagination had given him.

He gently places his hands underneath the back of your knees, pushing them towards your chest while he slowly grinds his hips against yours, slightly sputtering from the contact. His face was completely red from the acts he was committing. He had always been a morning person, but this morning had put every other to shame. The view of your tits being pushed up by the folding of your legs and how wet your cunt made his cock feel was almost sinful.

He slowly pushed his dick into your wet cunt, savoring the way your tight hole had clenched around him the moment he entered. He wanted to rut into you the moment his cock had touched your soaked entrance, but he had to show restraint for your poor little pussy, or he would hurt you, and that was the last thing he wanted. He leaned down to your ear, his breath hitting the shell of your ear and making you shiver. “You’ve got to relax, dear. If you’re too tight, I won’t be able to fuck you like you want.”

You squirm and moan on his dick, wanting to take more of him desperately. You wrap your hands around his arms, pleading with your body for him to continue, your brain too far gone to help you make your case. Harvey, deciding to take pity on your whining state, pushes his cock further into you. His hands gripping your leg and the back of your head, leaning into your neck as he ruts slowly into your pussy. As you slowly begin to loosen around him, he continues his agonizingly slow pace as your pussy drips its juices onto the tiled floor of the clinic.

Harvey readjusts himself, leaning back up to take a good look at you, how your breasts bounce from your hips slapping together, how the sound travels around his office, and wildly how your face contorts when he finds that spot that makes you see stars. Once he finds the place once more, he changes his rhythm to ruthlessly pound into your g-spot as he gently applies pressure to your lower stomach and starts rubbing small circles into your clit with his other hand.

Your back arches off of the exam bed as you moan Harvey’s name for what could have been the hundredth time; you couldn’t have kept track if you had tried. From the angle he was pounding into you, you doubted that you could do anything but moan and wail as you continued to take the brutal thrusting from Harvey. This was far from the gentle touches and kisses that Harvey had given you earlier; this was pure animalistic Harvey. The Harvey that needed to be buried inside of your tight walls while he spilled his seed into you, the Harvey that needed you to cum on his cock over and over again before he was satiated.

Harvey had bucked his hips into yours, his rhythm slowly slowing to bucking and whimpers as he continued to brush small circles into your clit. You could feel the final wave of your orgasm coming, but before you could try to warm Harvey, you feel a coil within you snap, and a warm feeling flood your insides as a buzzing fills your head. You can feel Harvey double over, his head falling onto your chest as he gathers his breath. When he slowly pulls out of you, you can feel the cum slowly pooling out of you as Harvey sucks in a breath watching the pornographic scene in front of him.

“Yoba, I should have asked about a condom. I am so sorry-“ Before Harvey can continue his apologetic rant, you interrupt him with a deep kiss. Holding onto his shoulders, pulling him in deeper, wanting to pinch yourself and hoping to Yoba it wasn’t a dream. Thanking Yoba again that it wasn’t, you pull back from Harvey and decide you are a morning person.

Thank you for reading this coffee and joint-fueled smut; if you enjoyed please let me know because writer's block is a bitch, and I am struggling bussing this.

[flowersforthemachines]

inspired by this post by @thewardenisonthecase. I haven't introduced any of these OCs on the blog except for Ghilasara and the tiny bit of Cerastes, and I think that's a great way to go through all of them at once. encouraging everyone to do the same with their OCs as well

* Specifically the part where he counts on her killing him and gets her kicked out of her home. Doesn't actually care about the church as a building.

* Comes clean during the lock-in scene.