#go to a church older than my country

[eachmostremembering]

i'm thinking about travel and if i bust my ass i can finish undergrad by the summer and scrape together some grants and loans and beg i can maybe go to germany

[sailforvalinor]

😶

[fourspiceblend]

It's funny cause for the most part of the game, I didn't really care about people's criticisms of Engage's writing and thought they were just mad the story was straightforward and didn't try to be overly complex... But now that I'm (finally) reaching the endgame, there's a loooot of weird plotholes that 3H would be jealous of lol.

[faetreides]

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

please consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !!

You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

[reallyromealone]

Warning: male reader NSFW pet names (bunny, baby boy, baby, good boy, darling) virginity loss

KAEYA X BARBARAS OLDER BROTHER READER

Kaeya was absolutely smitten with the older brother of Barbara, soft gentle smiles as he helped Lisa around her Library when he wasn't at the church with his sister.

He was just so perfect and innocent.

"My my, If it isn't the church's prettiest deacon" Kaeya said smoothly as (name) stepped into the knights building, dressed in the male counterpart clothing of his sister albeit less idol themed "ah! Mr Kaeya it's a pleasure to see you again!" (Name) said with a slight blush as the handsome man sauntered over to (name), eyes doing filthy things to the poor man "what are you doing here though, Lisa is gone book collecting with the traveller"

"Well you see, I actually came to see you!" (Name) said cheerfully much to the blue haired man's surprise"really and why is that?"

"I...wanted to see if you possibly wanted to get lunch with me" (name) was a mess at this point as Kaeya took a moment to process this saint like creatures words but apparently he took too long because (name) looked a little heartbroken "O-oh I must have misread the signals, I'm very sorry Mr. Kaeya, L-lets forget I said anything..." (Name) said chuckling nervously as he turned to walk away only to be pulled back by Kaeya "now now, I never said no did I? Who could deny such a request"

(Name) was a goner at this point, his sister's didn't tell him what to do if he said yes!

"O-ok!"

The two went out and soon the day became more than just lunch, somehow (name) ended up pinned between the wall and Kaeya as the tanned man ravished his neck and hands slowly took apart his clothes while his leg rubbed against (name)s crotch "so fuckin' pretty, the prettiest little thing in the country" Kaeya said deeply as he let (name) tug at his hair, the sweet angel was most definitely a virgin.

"You want me to take you? Ruin you for anyone else?"

"I-I...please Kaeya...."

That was the first time he heard (name) say his name without 'mr' stamped infront of it and Kaeya would be a dirty liar if he said it didn't go straight to his cock "lemme take you home, your first time shouldn't be in a grimy alleyway"

(Name) let himself be led to kaeyas home and let the blue eyed man strip him down on Kaeyas bed "god, I might just keep you here... Serve my cock and be my little fuck bunny" Kaeya said almost thoughtfully as he imagined (name) in bunny ears and a cotton tail and groaned.

Another time.

He needed to focus on the shy baby boy before him, a red blush looking away with a painfully hard cock he tried to hide.

All for the taking.

Keaya stripped down and watched (name) carefully as the sweet Deacon gave into temptation "touch yourself for me" Kaeya commanded and (name) blushed heavily as he looked at the other "don't you want to be my good boy?"

That seemed to do something, Kaeya keeping that in his memory for later as he watched (name) shyly nice his hand down and stroke his cock, letting out soft moans as he looked away and his his mouth behind his hand.

He wanted to be a good boy for Kaeya so badly.

He like Kaeya so much it hurt, the thought of being bad for him oh (name) wouldn't allow it.

"Don't cum yet bunny" Kaeya said as he moved his hand the the base of (name)s cock "you only get to cum on my cock alright?"

"O-ok..." (Name) said obediently as he let Kaeya manhandle him, every touch seemed to unlock more and more of (name)s inner slut as he was settlled ass up as Kaeya licked his virgin hole "ah! No! That's dirty!" (Name) said panicked and kaeya just pulled his ass closer to his face "looks good to me" he mumbled before eating (name) out, keeping a tight grip on the beautiful shaking man's cock to keep him from cumming.

He'd cum on Kaeyas cock and it alone.

Using his spare hand he fondled (name)s glorious ass and spread it for better access as he continued his meal, the sound of (name)s beautiful melodic moans sent shivers down his spine.

They were so needy

So desperate

Like the call of a siren

And he was a foolish sailor

(Name)s ass had loosened enough for Kaeya to introduce his fingers and God he could tell already that even with prep his bunny was gonna be tight.

Three fingers and he still felt like a tight fuck toy.

"You sure you want this, you can always back down" Kaeya said softly to his bunny as he turned him over, (name) teary eyed and looking at him so desperately "p-please be gentle"

"Of course baby, don't wanna tear this cute little ass"

Kaeya grabbed some oil beside his bed and rubbed it on his cock, smiling all cocky as he guided his cock inside the others messy little hole.

He was right.

Even with prep his ass was still tight as hell "f-fuck!" (Name) squeaked out and Kaeya felt his brain short circuit as he took in (name), the sweetest and most innocent man in all of mondstadt just swore.

He didn't even think that was possible honestly.

"God you're so fucking hot"

Kaeya slowly pulled his cock out to the tip before thrusting harshly in, creating a slow deep and rough pace as (name) quickly came undone, already fucked out and begging for more.

Who knew he would be such a little cock whore?

"God baby, you're so good" Kaeya said pulling (name) into a soft kiss, continuing his thrusts as he slowly heated the kiss up, swallowing all those cute noises he produced as Kaeya dominated the kiss and (name)s mouth as he explored his newly conqored territory.

"P-please..." (Name) begged as he clung helplessly to Kaeya "please what? I'm no mind reader" Kaeya said as his hips snapped slow and hard, taking his time to make (name) his hungry little cock whore line he was destined to be. "F-faster..." He mumbled looking away with a heavy blush only to make a choked sound when Kaeya gripped his waist and began absolutely pounding into him "see? That's not so hard is it baby?"

(Name) couldn't even reply as his world was rocked, Kaeya taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking and biting roughly, before moving and leaving Hickeys wherever he so desired.

(Name) was his, he could do whatever he wanted with his slutty body.

(Name) was completely cock drunk as he let Kaeya take what he desired and in return he took what Kaeya gave him.

"Fuck baby, I'm close you gonna cum for me? Gonna be a good boy and cum for your Kaeya?"

(Name) could only nod as Kaeya continued his work, strong grip bruising his pretty skin as he felt himself draw close.

Kaeyas hips stuttered as he climaxed into (name), pulling out and watching his cum leak out "messy boy"

"'m sorry..." (Name) mumbled as his body vibrated and tingled, coming down from his high as his body was covered in sticky cum "my, even after sex you're still such a polite boy"

"I-is this--- are we--" (name) struggled to find words as Kaeya chuckled and kissed him sweetly "I don't think I could ever let something so wonderful like you go, are you alright with that?"

"I like that..." (Name) smiled softly as they began softly kissing "sleep now darling, I will be here when you awake"

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 8th

Breeding, Papa Nihil x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Breeding; power imbalance; dubcon; Nihil is a selfish lover tbh; no after care; dirty talk; degradation; manipulation; this is actually really creepy and dark, please don’t read this if older men manipulating younger women for sex triggers you; use of scissors to cut off clothes; no foreplay; unprotected sex; piv sex; minor restraint; praise kink;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask (if you want to be added to the list please let me know!)

The following fic contains scenes and elements that some may find disturbing. I have highlighted particular content warnings above that may be particularly triggering to some. If you are in any way in a place where this fic could trigger you, please do not read ahead. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

I do not condone the actions taken in this fic. Please remember that it is a work of fiction, and meant for entertainment purposes only.

Thank you.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

You were merely a young sister in the Satanic Church when you met him. You’d barely taken your vows, just out of your teenage years and not even making a name for yourself in the Ministry when you assigned your first job. Papa Nihil, the founder of the Ghost Project and head of the Satanic Church, was spending the early 60s touring multiple countries, attempting to topple governments and recruit new members to the church. It was your job, while on tour, to make sure Nihil got everything he needed and that he was comfortable. His son, Primo, who was the same age as you, had been left behind to run things in his father’s absence and take care of his two infant brothers. His father got to gallivant and do what or whom he liked.

Nihil enjoyed the fame and success the Ghost Project brought him and the church, and while it wasn’t considered “righteous” to fornicate with others out of wedlock, it still didn’t sit correctly in most people’s moral codes. He enjoyed strings of girls, each one a different variety to the other. Nihil wasn’t picky, and that was perhaps the only good thing about him. If you had a vulva he wanted you, end of story. But this was his biggest problem, as he was already promised to a different sister, a future Prime Mover - and it wasn’t his favourite Ministry squeeze, Sister Imperator.

But this was how you found yourself sat on your 45-year-old Papa’s sofa, his hand grasping harshly at your thigh and his painted lips attached to your neck. That very same hand moved up towards your core and began to rub you through your tights and panties. You weren’t entirely comfortable with this situation. You wanted to give Nihil what he asked for, and in fact your body was craving it, but your mind constantly thought of his future Prime Mover and his lover, who was only in the next room. You told him this, said that you could go and get Sister Imperator for him. But it was no good. Papa Nihil wanted you. “You wouldn’t deny your Papa, would you?” He murmured into your neck. His fingers were swiping just right on your clit and had you gasping out. “More importantly, you wouldn’t deny your Dark Father, would you? He loves the gifts you give him. Will you, scricciolina? Will you give Him what He asks for?” Little Wren. He liked calling you that because you were as sweet and soft as one, a fitting name for someone so cute and pliant.

You nodded. “Y-yes, Papa.” You replied, your hips beginning to buck to meet his hands.

“Brava ragazza. Stendersi. Spread yourself open for me.”

You lay on your back on the couch, Nihil pulling himself away from you just long enough to let it happen. It didn’t matter that you were still fully clothed, Nihil always preferred it when you were while in public spaces. Not that he’d stop fucking you if he got caught. He always said it was to preserve your modesty, but there was always a darker look in his eye when he grabbed the scissors from their location and sliced through your tights. He’d slice your panties too if he were impatient enough, which, today, he was.

You heard the familiar rip of your tights before you felt the coldness of the blade against your labia. One horizontal snip later, your panties were now destroyed and your sweet, delectable cunt exposed to Nihil’s predatory gaze. He palmed himself through his trousers at the sight of you, but it didn’t take long before his cock was out and lined up to your entrance. You were wet enough to welcome him without pain, but not so wet as for the stretch to be completely comfortable or pleasurable. But even so, he pushed all the way in not even considering your own state. The groan he released was somewhat primal, and just the feeling of your unprepared hole was enough to get the man going.

He braced himself on top of you, letting his whole weight on your body and pressing you down into the sofa. He began babbling incoherently in your ear as he fucked you for his own pleasure. “Ecco, take it like a good girl. Take your Papa’s cock.”

You felt completely degraded but there was a huge part of you that was thrilled by this. Knowing that Nihil didn’t care for you, knowing that he was just using you to get what he wanted excited you to the point where you should be concerned. But the more he thrust in and out of you, the wetter you became. The closer he got to cumming inside you, the tighter you squeezed without realising you were doing it.

What if he came inside you? What if he got you pregnant? The thought of it should disgust you. This man was old enough to be your father, and barbaric enough to enjoy this because he thought you were sweet and innocent. But you were losing yourself to the pleasure, to the idea that he would release his white, sticky cum inside you and put you at risk for pregnancy. If you were pregnant, then everyone would know. Everyone would see that Papa Nihil had laid claim to the newest sister. You were part of his harem, at his beck and call. Free to use whenever he liked.

“Talk to Papa,” he said, “t-tell me what you’re thinking.”

You moaned. “Papa!”

“Your… your cunt is so tight, scricciolina. Why?”

“I - mmm fuck! Papa! I want your c-cum!”

Nihil chuckled above you. “You want to receive your Papa’s cum, hm? Want - merda - Nihil to knock you up? Fill up this tight cunt and fuck a baby into you? Is that it?”

“Yes!”

“Want to be round and full with my spawn? Such a good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.

You had heard rumours from the other sisters who had been in your position that Nihil’s biggest kink was spreading his seed around. Because of your words, he seemed to lose a little more control than he had previously. His mind began to wander and his mouth let slip every single thought. “Cunt so good, might make you my Prime Mover. Might fuck you until you’re pregnant with the antichrist.” Your stomach dropped at the thought, especially since your previous worries had returned at the mention of ‘Prime Mover’ but your mouth released a moan so loud, it bordered on pornographic. The coming of the antichrist was a big deal for the church, and an honour for the woman who bore him. You hadn’t considered it before, but now you had, there was no turning back.

Your legs wrapped around Nihil’s waist and kept him trapped between them, only allowing him to pull back a certain amount. “Fill up my c-cunt, Papa! I want your cum so badly.” You were practically wailing now, your nails running down his clothed back. “Get me pregnant, sh-show the Ministry who I belong to. Please, Papa!”

That seemed to do the trick. With one final and brutal thrust, reaching all the way to the back of your pussy almost painfully, Nihil stilled. His cum spilled out of him while his mouth released a groan so low, it was practically a growl. “Th-that’s it.” He stammered. “T-take my seed.”

When he pulled out of you, you felt his cum leaking from your abused hole. He noticed it too, and spent a little while watching it ooze from you before standing up and dressing himself. “You should head back to your room.” He told you, not even looking in your direction. “You have an early morning, don’t you?”

You adjusted your own clothes, feeling his cum running down your thighs as you stood. “Yes, Papa.”

And with that, you left.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[flowerandblood]

Sweet kiss, sweet blood (3)

[ dark vampire! • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, profanation, fluff ]

[description: A centuries-old vampire lives in Victorian England, bored and discouraged. His old friend sends him a letter, inviting him to his new country house. Aemond arrives there to rest. Next to the property, there is a small chapel, visited by the faithful. It turns out that at night, a young lady prays in it. Sexual tension, profanation, murder, blood drinking.]

I owe the idea for this wonderful series to: @qyburnsghost

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The thought of her warm, moist lips against his hand occupied his mind for the rest of the night. He pretended to listen to Criston, who was telling him something passionate after returning from the hunt, but what he was really doing was replaying their meeting in his mind.

There was something bright, shimmering about her, like a star in a dark night sky. He thought it was a pleasure to watch and listen to her. Criston only caught his attention when he asked him a question that made him shiver.

"Tomorrow is Sunday. It's supposed to be cloudy, so I'm going to Mass. People here are very curious, I have to show myself once in a while during the day. Do you want to join me?” He asked, wiping his hands stained with the blood of the rabbits that he had brought for them on a white handkerchief.

Aemond pursed his lips, trying to keep a straight face and not show how excited he was at the thought. He knew she would be there. Moreover, Ser Criston knew her father and knew he would have to introduce him to them in order not to arouse suspicion. He decided it was the perfect combination of events that excited him more than it should have.

"I will join you. I don't have anything else to do here anyway." He said, feigning indifference, reaching for the goblet of blood that he had placed in front of him a moment earlier.

Mass was early in the morning so they both changed into clean clothes, wanting to represent themselves well. Aemond tied his hair back with a black ribbon and put on a top hat, staring in the mirror. For some reason his whole body tingled at the thought of seeing her again. He was curious to see what she looked like during the day.

He and Criston set off in a carriage along a misty, country road to the church a few miles away. They took umbrellas with them just in case, because it had been raining lightly since morning. The weather was gloomy and ugly, it was also quite chilly for the summer period, but for them it was perfect conditions, not causing any discomfort.

After a few minutes they reached the place. They arrived at a small, wooden church with a beautiful garden around it. Inside candles were lit, which was suppoused to help the faithful in the absence of sunlight.

Ser Criston greeted everyone along the way, each time grabbing the edge of his top hat as he stepped inside. They sat in one of the first pews, as befitted their status. Aemond looked around, but to his disappointment she was nowhere to be seen. He felt his whole body tense in pleasant, exciting anticipation.

He flinched as he heard the main, wooden door creak open. Even though he was fighting with himself he glanced slightly over his shoulder. He immediately pursed his lips, feeling a shiver. He saw their whole family.

Her father looked like a very serious, stern man, his dark mustache quivering menacingly under his nose as he spoke to his wife who nodded meekly. Behind them stood their probably older daughter with her husband, a round, smiling man with ruddy cheeks.

He whispered something to his wife, and she laughed lightly, hiding her embarrassment. Their youngest daugther was standing next to them, looking straight at him. He marveled at how pure joy she had in her eyes.

She was dressed in a light, austere, victorian gown with a deep waist. Her hair was braided at the back in an elaborate, sophisticated bun, with strands of her hair twisted at the sides. She looked gentle and polite, her clothes expressed humility and modesty, although they emphasized all the qualities of her body.

He cleared his throat, turning his gaze to the altar as he saw her family seated in the front row with her. Mr. Whaterfield extended his hand to Criston.

“Ser, it's pleasure to see you again. I hope that life at Mantfield Abbey is going well for you and you are happy with your residence." He spoke in a low, booming voice, a note of cautious cordiality in his voice. Criston stood up and shook his hand.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Whaterfield, I live perfectly well there." He replied courteously, smiling barely perceptibly. Mr. Whaterfield glanced at Aemond, and Criston knew he had to introduce him.

"This is my dear friend, Ser Aemond Targaryen, who has come to visit me. He appreciates the very beautiful views and landscapes of Mantfield.” He said softly, and Aemond nodded.

He tried with all his strength to look at him and not at his daughter who was looking at him intensely. Mr. Whaterfield bowed.

“I am very pleased to meet you, sir. I will take the opportunity to invite both gentlemen to tea at our home, at a time that is convenient for you." He said calmly, his wife smiled warmly at them.

Criston cleared his throat, nodding his head. He knew he couldn't say no, he had to socialize with the townspeople if he didn't want to attract attention.

"Thank you, sir. We will adapt, we just ask for information when we can appear." He said calmly.

Mr. Whaterfield smiled in satisfaction and motioned for his family to sit down. Aemond immediately looked at her, sitting right in front of him. He had a perfect view of her slender, long neck, unobstructed by any hair.

Her scent filled his nostrils again, the memory of her lips on his skin made him feel his manhood throbbing in his pants. He wondered if she got wet between her thighs at the sight of him. He pursed his lips as he lowered his head, deciding that this was not the best topic to think about in the House of God.

After a while the pastor came out, they got up and the mass began. The priest was quite a young man, about thirty years old. During the sermon he spoke fiercely about God's mercy and love for one's neighbor.

Aemond thought he was being too theatrical about it all, and he was clearly lacking in life experience. There were no personal thoughts in what he said, just empty phrases.

His gaze flicked back to her neck, her wonderfully throbbing artery. He flinched when he saw her turn in profile towards him, not looking at him, as if she just wanted to make sure he was still there.

He felt an unbearable tension in his pants and throat. He wanted to touch her. Lean forward a few inches and brush his lips against her neck. He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, feeling that his manhood was completely hard now. He wondered why he lost his temper so easily around her.

Then it was time for the Eucharist. Of course neither he nor Criston approached, recognizing that sacrilege was not their passion. The whole Whaterfield family on the other hand lined up in front of the pastor. As the priest placed the Eucharist on her moist, pink tongue, Aemond shivered, as if he had just experienced her intimate, private sphere. He felt Criston nudge him on the shoulder.

"Stop staring at her, for God's sake." He whispered impatiently, correcting himself on the seat. Aemond pursed his lips, looking away from her, staring blankly ahead.

After the Mass crowds of people came out of the church, talking to each other. Mr. Whaterfield stopped them as they headed for their carriage. He and his family stood under umbrellas, the rain fell around them.

"Ser Criston, Ser Aemond, my wife and I will be happy if you grace us with your presence tomorrow at noon." He said with a pleased expression on his face and Criston bowed. The hour wasn't the best for them, but he couldn't help it.

"With pleasure." He said, and after a while the pastor joined them, holding out his hands to Mr. Whaterfield.

“Ah, my future son-in-law! Ser Criston, have you met Pastor Smith yet?" He asked, pointing to the man who had spoken before them in the church. Criston shook his hand, smiling courteously, wishing he could just go back to his mansion.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, sir." He said, trying to keep his voice pleasant.

Aemond stared at him, then looked at her. He saw that she was pale, her gaze lowered as if she was deep in thought. Mr. Whaterfield continued.

“I am incredibly happy that someone of God's calling will join our family. Faith is very important to us. My daughter is also looking forward to it." He said, looking at his youngest daughter.

She, to everyone's surprise, turned around and started walking along a dirt road in the rain. Her mother looked at her husband worriedly.

"She'll catch a cold." She said softly, Mr. Whaterfield pursed his lips, clearly enraged.

"You spoiled her too much. Forgive me, Mr. Smith, I'm sure she'll become more serious and calm after she become your wife." He said, patting the pastor on the shoulder. He smiled under his breath.

"Please, don't worry about it. When she gives birth to our children, she will learn humility."

Aemond stared at them intently, his lips pressed into a thin line. Criston stared at him in horror, wondering what was happening to him.

"Calm down." He whispered to him through clenched teeth as he opened the door to their carriage. Aemond stepped around him, opening his umbrella as he walked forward. Everyone gathered looked at him in surprise.

It was still four kilometers to her house, he thought. Walking in such rain, fever was almost certain, and with it her death. He wondered if her father didn't know, or if he thought it would be God's punishment for her disobedience.

He searched for her with his eye, as he walked over the ground which was slowly becoming mud. He saw her silhouetted under one of the large trees, sitting on the grass. She was probably waiting there for the rain to stop.

He approached her slowly, and when she saw him she stood up suddenly, shocked. Her hair, face and dress were all wet, her body was shivering slightly from the cold. He placed the umbrella beside her, taking off his cloak and putting it around her shoulders.

“Congratulations on choosing your future husband. He will surely lead you to holiness, miss Whaterfield." He said low and ironic, picking up the umbrella from the grass, now holding it above their heads. Her hands fisted the material of his coat, pulling it tighter around her. She looked at him with a furrowed brow.

“You are a men. You will not understand.” She spoke softly, weak and discouraged. She lowered her gaze, looking somewhere to the side, apparently thinking about something. “I did not accept his engagement. My father did it for me."

They stood for a moment in complete silence, only the pleasant sound of rain and drops falling on the grass could be heard around them. His expression softened at her words. Her hair was a bit messy now, stuck to her forehead and cheeks. He wanted to brush them away and adjust them, to touch her face, but he refrained.

"As far as I know, no one can force you to marry." He said calmly and low, looking her up and down, his eye still returning to her pale neck.

He thought he could bite her and steal her, take her for himself. Don't kill her, just drink her blood and take her to his bed alternately. She looked at him in such a way that he raised an eyebrow. There was disapproval and boredom in her eyes.

"Then you know very little." She said indifferently. He pursed his lips at her words.

They stared at each other, but this time she didn't look away from him. He thought she felt more confident around him during the day. Her question snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Why did you follow me?" She asked, looking at him uncertainly. He swallowed silently, looking at her pink, glossy lips.

“I figured I am good at getting young ladies home safely. Will you not agree with me, miss Whaterfield?" He asked low. He shivered as she smiled tenderly at him in gratitude, her gaze suddenly softening.

"Indeed, ser Aemond."

They walked in silence under one umbrella. The rain was falling so hard that not a soul was around them. He held his top hat under his arm as he looked around the seemingly, endless fields and meadows. After a moment he heard her amused voice.

"What do you think of Pastor Smith's sermon?" She asked teasingly, looking somewhere far away. Aemond smirked.

“It was unreasonably haughty, as all of him, I suppose. Am I wrong?" He asked, and she smiled slightly, exhaling softly.

"No. He's a good man, but sometimes I don't think he knows what he's talking about. As if every human problem could be answered in a single sentence.” She muttered discouraged, wrapping his cloak tighter against the wind. He thought that she was talking to him to distract herself from how cold she felt. Her lip trembled slightly, as did her hands.

"What are you praying for in the chapel?" He asked suddenly, and she looked at him in surprise.

She swallowed hard, looking away. He felt that the blood he had drunk in the morning had already absorbed into his body. He pressed his lips together, trying to control the hunger that was slowly struggling inside him. There was silence between them for a long time.

"You will laugh at me if I tell you." She said quietly, discouraged, a note of despair in her voice. A smirk appeared on his face at her words.

"Try me." He hummed teasingly with satisfaction in his voice. He heard her loud sigh, signifying that she had given up.

“I am praying for God to speak to me. For him to told me which way is right for me. But he doesn't answer." She said, lowering her head. She looked at him as if an idea had occurred to her. "But he sent me you, sir. So perhaps you should tell me what to do."

He shook his head in amusement at her words. She turned her head away, embarrassed and humiliated by his reaction. Seeing this, he spoke at last, the smile never leaving his face.

"I'm the worst possible person to give advice to you, miss Whaterfield." He said softly. She looked at him in surprise.

She blinked and pursed her lips, as if contemplating whether to say something. She was so close to him that once in a while their arms brushed against each other. He shivered every time.

He knew it was for sure because she wanted to take shelter under an umbrella and not get wet, but his body reacted intensely and strongly to it. She finally said something.

"You're the only one who listened to me." She said, there was warmth in her voice and a note of softness that made his bottom tighten. "Maybe you think too little of yourself."

He stopped, seeing her house on the horizon. He looked at her and placed his umbrella in her frozen hand. His cold fingers pressed against her trembling, soft skin. She looked at him, shocked.

They stared at each other for a long moment, leaning over each other, her mouth slightly parted in disbelief. He felt that the tension between them was unbearable. He lifted his hand, his thumb grazing her cheek, sending a strong shiver down her spine.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered, and she froze, her breath ragged.

He had a feeling that she was about to cry for some reason, her hand tightened on the handle of the umbrella that she was holding together with him.

He leaned closer to her so that their noses were practically touching. He wanted to kiss her. To sink his lips into her soft skin, to taste her saliva, to touch her tongue with his. To bite her lip lightly and taste even a small drop of her blood.

They looked at each other with hazy eyes. Her whole jaw was trembling, her eyes were all red with tears. He let go of her hand, which was clenched tightly around the umbrella. They pulled away from each other, pressing their lips together. She turned and walked briskly towards her house, still wrapped in his coat.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondsfavouritebastard @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @bellameshipper

Others: @talesofoldandnew @toodlesxcuddles @padfooteyes @iloveallmyboys

If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥️

[basilknell]

Vasily's Literacy

I’ve been asked a couple times about Vasily’s literacy, so here’s a quick overview of stats and pertinent information laid out regarding that idea. I’ll make my statement on my own opinion towards his literacy at the end, but for now I’ll focus on exact numbers and stats without interjecting opinion.

While this post primarily pulls specific stats from When Russia Learned to Read by Jeffery Brooks, I’ve read a couple papers and other books regarding these subjects I pull general statements from as well. Please note, though, that there were no large scale official census in Russia until 1897 so some of these stats from previous years could potentially be skewed.

Source Material

First and foremost: do we ever see Vasily read or write in the series?

No. However, this can be explained quickly away. Until running into Tsukishima, Vasily was likely (incorrectly) assuming that not only did none of the Japanese characters speak Russian, but they did not use the same writing system either. It would have been a waste of resources (paper) to attempt a conversation where a drawing could suffice. Additionally, there is no other scene in the series involving him and Tsukishima that would have warranted him writing to Tsukishima either. At least, none that we see. So, him never being seen writing does not necessarily prove he is illiterate.

Vasily’s Age

With that out of the way, there’s another important piece of information we need to pin about Vasily before we continue: Vasily’s age. While Noda specified he’s the same age as Ogata, Ogata is unfortunately given no age range. But, unlike these two, Usami does have a canon age: 26. We can use Usami as a frame of reference because Noda stated Usami is, in fact, older than Ogata. Thus, this means Ogata is 25 and so Vasily is also 25.

Now, I personally tend to make these two older, but for a frame of reference we are going to pin Vasily at 25 years old. The reason this is significant is to pin down exactly when Vasily went to school. If in 1907 he was 25, then the age he was deemed ‘school age’ (8 - 11) would be around 1890 - 1893. Of course, he always could have attended school at an earlier or later age, but for conjecture’s sake, we will use the average age such as these.

As I said previously, an official census was not published in Russia until 1897, but any previous information before that typically begins around the 1870s. So it would benefit us to default to 1897 statistics, but keep in mind that the stats are skewed a tad higher than they would have been.

Rural Literacy

Literacy in the late 19th century was not nearly as bad as people make it out to be (at a rate of around 21% in 1897), but only because rural numbers brought it down. For example, in industrialized cities such as Moscow, 70% of men were regarded as being literate. There were also a plethora of schools dotting the country, from Zemstvo-funded schools, to church schools, to state schools. It was often not the lack of schooling availability that caused a decrease in rural literacy compared to urban children, but rather social aspects.

I am unable to find exact stats for rural literacy rates around the year 1890, but literacy rose from 6% in rural populations in the 1860s to 25% in 1910. It’s also best to keep in mind, however, men were far more likely to be literate than women, and the young more likely than older populations as well. So, if we were to take an increased decade raise (rounding up to about 4% every 10 years), and exclude the population numbers from including women which will be about half the population, we get around a 36%* base chance Vasily is literate when he is from a rural population (of which he is – he is from Yeleninka, a rural town in the Orenburg voisko), still not excluding elderly populations.

This is still not a very high chance, but there’s some other factors to discuss. Firstly, would have to be involving his background. The reason literacy was so low in rural areas was because, although parents did place value on literacy because it allowed for social movement and potentially higher wages, parents simply could not afford the lost labor of their children attending school. If a family had several children and could afford the loss of labor, then a child was much more likely to attend school. So, even if Vasily’s family had been described as being poor by Noda, this had no bearing on Vasily’s likeness to attend school. Given Vasily is almost entirely assured to be in the military through conscription, he very likely had brothers. And if he had brothers – he was very likely to attend school compared to single children families.

Another factor involves his family’s occupation. Families dependent on agricultural work were less likely to send their children to school because it was expected for them to work on that same farm when they were older, thus limiting their need for literacy. But, if Vasily’s family were artisans or practiced some kind of craft alongside agriculture, parents highly valued literacy in comparison, and were more willing to spare the labor loss for schooling.

Religion also played a role. Specifically, those of the Old Believer faith tended to be more literate and push to educate their children regardless of their occupational status compared to regular Russian Orthodox peasants. Aside from a general cultural insistence on preferring literacy, there is no other reason why this occurred, as the only major difference between Old Believers and Russian Orthodox peasants was a matter of ceremony (excluding some fringe Old Believer cults). If Vasily came from an Old Believer family, they'd push for him to be literate regardless of the labor loss they'd experience.

Finally, some parents preferred to send their sons to school to lower their military conscription length. While university students conscripted only had to serve 1.5 years of the required 5 year length, those who completed at least 3 years of any schooling had that length lowered to 4 years. If a family had several sons, which meant their sons were eligible to be drafted by the lotto, they would be more partial to educating said sons.

For some stats: unfortunately I could only find the rate of attendance of boys in school for 1911. Please examine these stats with a critical eye that they should be lower. 88% of boys in rural areas attended school for at least 1 year, but by year 3 this percentage dropped to about 38.5%.

*My math numbers will be off because there were a decent amount of women who were literate, just at a noticeably lower rate compared to men. For ease of math’s sake, I removed them from the population entirely, though the original percentage statistic did include them. They originally were likely less than 1% of the literate population in the 1860s statistic I used as a base.

Soldier Literacy

While it is useful to look at literacy stats of Vasily’s background (being a rural resident), what’s more useful is the literacy rates of the army for when Vasily was serving.

By the 19th century, Russia realized the value in literate soldiers – but unfortunately for Vasily, schooling for soldiers that the government had originally created in 1855 was abolished across the 1890s. But this did not mean literacy still did not rise in the military, as certain soldier ‘uncles’ brought it upon themselves to educate other soldiers. In fact, literacy in the army rose from about 21% in 1874 to about 68% in 1913 – rounded up to about a 6% increase in literacy every 5 years. Vasily would’ve been conscripted into the army by 1902, and applying the rate of increase, there was about a 51% literacy of the army in 1899, and 57% literacy in 1904. A higher than half chance for Vasily, who we see actively still in the army by 1907.

There are other factors to consider as well: Vasily’s rank and station. While the illiterate often went to the infantry units, specialized units had much higher rates of literacy. As I’ve discussed in the past, technically Vasily was in a specialized unit – the Special Border Guard Corps. His literacy chance rises higher due to this factor, as literacy was especially preferred because of the ability to read topographic maps and telegrams.

It is not Vasily’s presence in the SBGC that also increased his likelihood of being literate – it was his rank as well. While Noda removed most telling marks from Vasily of his rank, such as shoulder straps, there’s two glaring tells. Firstly, are his and Ilya’s binoculars. Ilya appears to be to be a Feldwebel (equivalent to an American First-Sergeant, British Sergeant-Major) given his position of ordering the other soldiers, and that he has binoculars which were only used by officers. He is, like Tsukishima, a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO). Vasily himself also has binoculars, though one could argue this does not inherently make him an NCO because Ilya has at least two traits marking him as an NCO. After all, Vasily could have stolen his binoculars and his overcoat is one that a private would wear (Ilya does wear a private’s coat as well. Though, I have addressed before that the uniforms of the border guards gang are completely incorrect regardless of rank, so I am unsure of how much weight this should be given).

That second tell is actually Vasily’s cockade. The cockade worn on the hats of soldiers denoted generally their rank and status. So, while Vasily lacks any other visual clothing tells, his cockade can give a general idea if he is of a lower or higher rank, which does indeed change his literacy statistics.

[Pictured are 3 cockades. The far left is the cockade of a lower rank soldier, while the cockades in the middle and far right are cockades of officers. Thank you to @rdstrpv for this image!]

This information is important because NCOs were almost demanded to be literate. It was essential for their occupation, as being able to read maps was one of the most important skills for an NCO to have. If Vasily was an NCO, which his cockade would indicate, he almost assuredly would be literate.

[Pictured are the 3 different ways Vasily’s cockade is drawn.]

While in the anime Vasily’s cockade is given the appearance of the average lower-rank soldier, and typically this is how people place him. However in the manga, Vasily’s cockade is more ambiguous. When referencing it to the cockades above, it could pass as both a lower-rank or an officer’s cockade. The final example is of Noda’s detailed Vasily illustration that was not outsourced by an animation studio, nor constrained by swift time spent on manga panels. In this, Vasily clearly has on the cockade of an officer.

Obviously, given the anime drawing Vasily with a lower-ranking cockade and the manga is ambiguous, you could still make the argument he’s a low ranking soldier. Nonetheless, one should also consider that the government likely would’ve preferred to send a group of officers to apprehend a Tsar’s killer over, perhaps, privates, giving more credence to him being an NCO. And thus, Vasily’s literacy likeness goes up to almost-guaranteed. There were occasional examples of NCOs not being literate, but there were few and far inbetween, making it unusual that a young NCO was illiterate by 1907.

Cossack Literacy

Of course, Vasily was not necessarily in the SBGC. He could have instead been a Cossack. While the idea of an NCO and cockade still apply to Cossacks, I will still discuss Cossack literacy in the case you find Vasily to be of a lower rank.

Unfortunately exact statistical information regarding Cossack literacy has almost never been tracked before the Soviet period. Still, by the 19th century the Imperial Russian government had a special vested interest in educating their Cossacks, more so than their peasantry. There were many Cossack schools that taught everything from literacy to combat that children were almost required to attend. In fact, once entering the military at 21, Cossacks were required by the military to be literate unlike other soldiers, and if they were not literate they were mandated to pursue education while they were deployed.

This is not to say there were not illiterate Cossacks – one could finish their entire service as a Cossack without properly pursuing their literacy if they were crafty about it, similar to illiterate NCOs. But, again, this was unlikely. In comparison, Cossacks were far more likely to be able to read than that of the ordinary peasant in the army.

Final Thoughts

I’m of the opinion Vasily actually is literate, regardless of him being in the SBGC as an NCO or a Cossack. He’s a very prideful character, and it slowly became a limiting stigma that one was illiterate in Russia, even in 1907. This is not to say Vasily can’t be illiterate – many of the stats I gave showed that there was a decent chance for illiteracy, especially if he was a first-born son to a farming family and only low-ranked. But in my opinion of all the facts culminating, I find I prefer the idea of him being literate. Have fun with this information regardless, and may it help you in whatever you intend to write or draw in the future!

A big thank you to @rdstrpv for her help in answering a couple of my questions to make sure I wasn’t misrepresenting information, and for her images. She's always a big help.

[painfullymeta]

Warning: I'm Gonna Be Earnest Now

I am deep in my feels right at the moment so I am actually making a post of my own on this, the deep in my feels hellsite.

I am late GenX.  (Not quite what gets called Xennial IMO but definitely in what gets called the Oregon Trail (Micro)Generation.)  And for all you young whippersnappers, you have to understand "The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” ( - L. P. Hartley)

I am old enough to remember when AIDS was named GRID.  ("Gay-related immune deficiency.”)  I am old enough to remember ACT-UP, the Reagans’ abandonment, “If I die of AIDS just leave me on the steps of the FDA”, all those things that tired older people on tumblr try to remind people of when the TERFs come around to tell us to stop saying “queer” as if Queer Nation was a goddamn hallucination I had when I was a kid.

On the last day of high school, after the last exam, when none of us would have to ever see each other again if we so chose – that was the day that one of my friends, someone I had eaten lunch near every day since partway through freshman year, said to me “I have something to tell you.  I’m gay.”  And then he followed it up with “Is that okay?”

I hugged him.  He broke my goddamn heart and I hugged him.  "Is that okay," he asked me. Is it okay to be who I am, near you.

I was in college before I met someone who identified herself as a lesbian — and I went to a women’s college until I lost my shit and dropped out, and I expect that if I hadn’t done that I might have gone longer.

(Of course at the same time as I was clueless and not meaningfully connected with any sort of queer culture I somehow wound up with a friendgroup who, if we got bored and couldn’t come up with anything else to do, would watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show together.  This is what we did instead of going to Homecoming.)

By 2000, I was vaguely aware of trans things existing, and in fact met my first trans person while at Brighton Pride that year, though we didn’t really speak (I was there as the guest of some people in his extended social group) and I was vaguely confused and too awkward to try to do more than ‘observe and try not to fuck this up’.  I met a nonbinary person for the first time around then as well, and zie was the only one I knew of for nearly a decade.

By the mid-oughts I was with it enough to ask someone what pronouns she wanted me to use for her before sharing something about her on a message board.

(I am also old enough to have spent time on multiple message boards.  I’m old enough to resent the internet going through the world wide web instead of email and usenet actually.)

Sometime in the early oughts I guess I was at the subcommittee hearing in the Boston State House that was discussing, among other things, whether we might consider possibly condescending to allow same-sex couples to marry.  I was even going to testify!  (Please be impressed with my early twenties autistic ass I was terrified.)  There was a guy there - a senator on the committee - who was asking every person who came up if they were going to force his church to marry the gays.  Catholic, y’know, this being Massachusetts.  I revised my speech in my head to note that if we weren’t forcing the Catholic churches to marry divorcees yet he didn’t need to worry about it.

(Then my nose decided to haemhorrage all over my entire life and I couldn’t get it to stop bleeding so rather than testify while looking like an entire murder victim I went home.)

I was in my thirties when pregnancy-induced dysphoria made me start seriously thinking about my own sense of gender.

I was in my forties before I bought a binder.

I am from another fucking planet.  (The past is a foreign country.)

I know kids - multiple kids - who knew enough to identify as lesbians at an age younger than I think I knew that word.  (And I am one of those humans of freakish and unreasonable vocabulary and always have been.)

I crack jokes with one of my kids about the Queer Kids Stairs at their school, because that’s where the GSA kids hang out together after activities get out.  (While GSAs were around while I was a kid, they started in Massachusetts according to Wikipedia and that is not where I was when I was a kid, and to my best recollection I didn’t hear about them existing at all until I was an adult.)

I live in a world where my social circles include queer people of my generation, of older generations, of younger generations, and oh my gods, I look at the kids and my heart tries to explode.

My oldest knows more than one trans kid.  More than one *affirmed* trans kid.  (And we’ve talked a bit about the social dynamics that might make it more likely for the trans boys to be out than the trans girls, even now.)

And I’m writing this because of one of those trans boys, who is in the Coming of Age group at our church, and who is, apparently, in his credo, citing that thing I’ve seen on the tumblrs more than once, about how being trans means being a participant in the holy, divine process of creation, coming into being as himself.

And guys?

I’m not from the same planet as that kid.

Because I’m in my forties and I don’t even know what I’m creating.  And I’m terrified.

And here’s this kid coming out there with that as a core statement of belief that he’s prepared to stand up in front of, as the phrase goes ‘God and everyone’, to claim.

(I need to remember to talk to him about how in my Craft tradition there’s a canonically transmasc god.)

I know I’ve got at least two teenagers reading me and I just.  Y’all got this.  I know it’s hard and the world is scary and it’s fucking coming for us all but you are amazing and I am so full of inarticulate alexithymic feelings about all of you. The ones I know and the ones I don't.

We've come a long way from "Is that okay?" and you heal my broken heart.

[atths--twice]

Chapter Three

Sailing 101: A Study in Dynamics

It's time for a second date. And what could be better than an afternoon spent out on the water?

Monday afternoon 

Mulder stood waiting for Scully beside the sailboat he had reserved. He kept running through his checklist of what he needed to do once on the boat and also what he had brought with him to ensure everything was perfect. 

They had spoken after she came home from church and lunch on Sunday, her calling him nearly the instant she had arrived. He had smiled, listening to her discuss who she had seen and what she’d had to eat. 

“I make it a point to eat really well on Sunday, especially since my parents are paying for it,” she had said and he had laughed. “I mean they always say to get whatever I want, so I do. I used to hold back though, not wanting to seem rude, but now… well… I don’t.” 

“Makes sense,” he had said, picturing her ordering plate after plate, her napkin tucked into her dress to keep it clean. 

“I’m glad you agree,” she had said and he smiled again. 

“How do you feel about sailing?” he had blurted out as she had begun to speak but had then fallen silent. 

“In general or…?” she had asked and he had chuckled. 

“How do you feel about going sailing tomorrow?” 

“You… you own a sailboat?” she had asked incredulously. 

“No. I don’t personally. My parents have a boat, though it’s not what I had in mind as it’s far too large for an afternoon excursion.” 

“I…” 

“The yacht club has sailing classes of which I’ve taken my fair share over the years. I can borrow a smaller sailboat from there and we could sail around for a bit. Then maybe lunch at the clubhouse?” he had asked with a shrug, mentally reviewing his sailing lessons in his head. 

“The yacht club?” she had asked in a small voice. “And the country club too? Who are you, Fox Mulder?” 

He had frozen in place, suddenly worried she would think him snobby or pretentious. 

“We could do something else. It doesn’t have to be… I just thought that… Your dad being in the Navy, I thought maybe you might have a love the water too, but we don’t-”

“No. I do love it,” she had assured him softly. “I just… You usually picture someone different when you hear they belong to yacht clubs or country clubs. Someone…” 

“Older and snobby?” he had suggested and she had laughed nervously. “Well, I would tend to agree with you about that, though, that’s not how I would describe everyone.”

“I’m sorry if that sounded rude or if you took offense. That wasn’t my intention,” she had said, almost in a whisper. 

“Not one bit,” he had said quickly, shaking his head. 

“You know how to sail? You won’t sink us?” she had asked and he had heard the smile in her voice. 

“I do. And I won’t. Yachtsman’s honor,” he had said and she had laughed before agreeing to sail with him. 

She had insisted she would get a ride to the yacht club, not wanting to put him out, and now he was pacing, feeling nervous as he waited for her to arrive. 

A car pulled up and he halted in his pacing. Music was playing loudly as the door opened and Scully stepped out, looking around and shaking her head. 

“You’ll get a ride back or do you want me to pick you up later?” a man called above the music. 

“I’ll get a ride. See you next week, Charlie. Thanks for dropping me off.” 

“No problem, Dane. Have fun.” 

She grabbed her backpack and closed the door, waving at him as he drove away. 

“Hey,” Mulder called out and she jumped slightly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Didn’t scare me. I just didn’t see you there.” She smiled and walked over to him, slipping her backpack on as she did. 

“Hi,” he said, smiling at her as she stopped in front of him. 

“Hi,” she replied, her smile growing, her hands holding onto the straps of her backpack. “I missed you.” 

“Since last night when we spoke?” he teased and she shook her head. 

“Since you drove away on Saturday night,” she whispered and he hummed as he leaned forward, a hand reaching to hold her hip. 

He kissed her softly, her hands moving from her backpack to his chest and then wrapping around his neck. He pulled her closer and she moaned into his mouth. 

Breaking apart, they drew in deep breaths, their foreheads pressed together. 

“I think,” she whispered. “I think we should head to the boat. I don’t want to get in trouble at the yacht club. Find myself thrown out before I’ve even stepped a foot inside.” 

He chuckled and leaned back, looking into her eyes. She smiled and he nodded, stepping back as he reached for her hand to lead her toward the sailboat. She squeezed his hand and he grinned as he opened the door to the boat ramp. 

“It’s the perfect day for sailing,” she said and he nodded as they walked toward the boat. “I hope I’m dressed warm enough though, I know that it can get cooler on the water.” 

“I have extra clothes and blankets, if you do. No need to worry.” 

“Just thought of everything, have you?” she teased, squeezing his hand again as they stopped in front of the boat. “Oh, it’s nicer than I expected. I like it.” 

“They’re good little boats. Definitely better for the plans today than something bigger.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, taking off her backpack and passing it to him as he held her hand to help her into the boat. “Is your parents' boat docked here?” 

“Mmhmm, it’s just there,” he said, pointing as he handed her backpack to her. She looked and her eyes widened. 

“That’s their boat? It’s…” She stared at it as she sat down and he untied the boat, carefully stepping in beside her. 

“No, that’s the Youngs boat,” he said, smiling at her as he pushed away from the dock and began to prepare the sail. “Ours is much bigger.” 

“Bigger than that?” she asked, pointing as they began to pass the boat. 

“No. I’m just kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “Gotcha.” 

“So funny,” she said, setting her bag down and shaking her head. 

“I know,” he agreed. “The life jackets are underneath your seat. Could you pass me one and then put yours on as well? Safety first, you know.” 

“Of course,” she said, taking out the life jackets and handing him one. He slipped it on and then turned his attention to getting them out into the open water. 

He watched her, the wind blowing her hair gently as she smiled and closed her eyes. It felt like his dream and he could not help but smile in return. A larger boat honked at them and they both turned to wave as it passed by, children running along the side and calling out hello. 

“Hello!” Scully called back and the children laughed and screamed excitedly. “Aww. Aren’t they so cute?” 

You are, he wanted to say, but he only smiled as he adjusted the sail to catch more wind. 

“Mmm,” she said, leaning back and tilting her face to the sun. “This was a perfect idea. Thank you for thinking of it.” 

“Sailing always impresses the ladies,” he said, watching to see her reaction. 

“This is where the debauchery happens, isn’t it?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. He laughed and shook his head as she shook her own, a smile tugging at her lips. “I knew it had to be somewhere.” 

“Imagine attempting anything like that as an awkward teenager. We’d both have ended up in the water. That would put a damper on things for sure,” he said with a laugh, guiding them past some larger wakes. 

“So you haven’t won the ladies over with your sailing abilities?” she asked and he shook his head as he looked at her. 

“Only woman I’ve been sailing with is my sister. And she usually takes over as she is, in fact, the better sailor.” 

“I’m liking her more and more,” Scully said, opening her backpack and taking out a floppy, wide brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses. He smiled as she put them on and then leaned back, her face once more tilted toward the sun. 

They sailed around the harbor, not talking much as they absorbed the view and the weather. She had taken her hat off and braided her hair into two long braids, the wind causing it to tangle and cover her eyes too often. The hat was then replaced and he could not help but find her even more adorable. 

“Do you want a blanket or anything? It’s in that large bag there,” he offered and she shook her head. 

“Not just yet. But I’m sure I will soon.” 

Five more minutes and she was reaching for the bag, taking out one of his sweatshirts and a blanket. She put them on and smiled at him. 

“Much better,” she said and he nodded. 

“There is a spot about ten minutes from here. It’s a little cove with a dock. Do you want to stop there for a bit?” 

“If you want to, I’m game.” 

“Radical,” he said and she laughed, shaking her head and pulling the blanket further around her. 

“That sounds weird coming from you.” 

“Is bitchin’ better?” 

“No. Definitely not,” she laughed and he nodded in agreement. 

“Far out?” 

“No,” she said, laughing again and he smiled. 

“To the cove we go,” he said and she nodded. 

When they arrived, she was ready to help pull them in. She grabbed the buoys and tied them to the side as the dock came into view. Without even asking, she then took hold of the ropes and stood carefully to her feet, ready to jump out and tie the boat to the cleats. 

He was more than impressed as he watched her, doing his portion to secure the boat was properly docked. She smiled at him as he handed her her backpack and then the backpack he had brought, taking her life jacket and placing it into the boat. Taking off his own, he stepped out of the boat and stared at her. 

“We had a boat, a small one, but my dad sold it when we had to relocate. Aside from knowing about ships of all sizes, I also have basic boat knowledge,” she said, shrugging as she slipped on her backpack. 

“I figured you would. But still, that was pretty smooth-”

“Sailing?” she interrupted, her eyes shining. “Imagine that.” She slid her arm through his and he laughed as he picked up his own backpack. 

“You got me,” he said quietly and she nodded happily. 

“I certainly did,” she said as they began to walk up the small dock, her hand finding his and squeezing. 

“There isn’t really much to do here,” he said, walking into the grassy area that held two picnic tables and a community barbecue. “I just thought you might like to walk around a bit before we start heading back.” 

“You’ve been here before, obviously. What do you usually do?” 

“Well,” he said, stopping for a second and looking around. “We had a badminton set that we put up and played over there.” He pointed to the area away from the tables. “My sister and I would play and then my parents would join us after we’d eaten. Or if we were with other families, we would play with their children and the adults would drink and talk, getting louder as the drinks became stronger.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Scully said with a laugh. 

“We’d play horseshoes too sometimes, but that was when the pits for it were here. They took them out a couple years back. I think too many drunk college kids got hurt acting like idiots.” 

“Well, that’ll do it,” Scully said, laughing again. “Having seen the idiotic things our fellow classmates do, I can understand the need to remove them.” 

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting it go. “I brought some snacks. Just drinks and chips. Do you want to look around the area and have something to eat?” He smiled at her and she smiled back. 

“Look around, yes,” she said, adjusting her backpack. “Eat… no. You mentioned lunch at the yacht club. I’ll wait for that.” 

“Okay then,” he said, adjusting his own backpack. “Let’s explore the wooded area here.” 

“I’ll try not to touch any unknown plants this time,” she said with a smile. 

“If you do, don’t worry. I have the Super Salve,” he said and she chuckled softly as she reached to take his hand again. 

“Always prepared,” she said and he nodded. 

“Gotta be, with you around,” he said, squeezing her fingers and pulling her closer. 

“I’d be mad at that comment,” she said, sniffing with her head turned away from him. “Buuut… I know how well that salve works, so you’re forgiven.” 

“Thank you,” he said with a chuckle and she nodded curtly before looking at him with a smile. He laughed again, guiding her to the small copse of trees. 

When they walked back to the boat twenty minutes later, she held two large pine cones in her hands and in her backpack there were numerous rocks to which she had taken a liking. 

“What will you do with them?” he asked as they pushed away from the dock and he glanced at her, adjusting the sail. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure exactly. Well, about the pine cones anyway. I think I’ll paint the rocks and then put them on my desk. I like doing that. Gives the room a bit of color and…” She shrugged and smiled at him as she situated the pine cones. “I don’t know, I just like it.” 

“What do you paint on them?” he asked and she shrugged again. 

“Different things,” she said, twisting a braid and looking out at the water. “I’ve made ones of beach scenes, campfires, city lights… just different things.” 

“So they’re detailed, not just colored rocks,” he said and she looked at him with a smile and furrowed brow. 

“No! Not just colored! Like they’re Easter eggs or something?” she asked with a laugh and he shrugged, his hands raised with the palms up. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t see any on your desk the other night.” 

“Because I don’t have any there,” she laughed, giving her backpack a nudge with her foot. “Hence the reason I collected so many.” 

“Hence,” he repeated, laughing as he steered the boat back towards the yacht club. 

“Yeah, hence,” she said again, tugging at her life jacket and then leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. He stared at her foot, watching it move up and down and he smiled. 

“Well, I’ll enjoy seeing them when you’re done.” 

“Would you like to paint them with me?” she asked and he lifted his head to look at her. “Not today, of course. But maybe this weekend?” 

“I’d like that,” he said, grinning at her. “Although I’m not much of a painter.” 

“Psh,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive way. “It’s rocks… Fox.” She grinned and he laughed at the rhyme. “You can’t really mess up a rock.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” he agreed with a nod. 

“We could go to that park close to Toni's,” she suggested. “The park for artistic inspiration and then Toni’s for dinner? Or late lunch depending on the time?” 

“I’d like that,” he said, grinning as he nodded again. 

“Good,” she said, twisting her braid again as she looked down, almost shyly. “It’s a date.” 

“Totally,” he said and she shook her head as she raised it to look up at him with a smile. 

“Radical,” she said, echoing his word from earlier and he laughed loudly, the wind picking up and carrying his laughter across the water. 

The ride back seemed to take less time, the wind pushing them on. They were quiet, comfortable in the silence, as they watched other boats and Scully ran her fingers through the water, smiling as she watched it drip down as she raised her hand. He smiled as he stared at her in her big hat and sunglasses. 

So cute, he thought. Really wished I would have spoken to her sooner. 

“Does it ever make you stop and think?” she asked. 

“What?” he asked, feeling for a second that she was reading his mind. 

“Just how big the world is, how amazing. That this water is here, that it stays here, hundreds, if not thousands, of feet deep, and it’s just here. And that there are places in the world that we will never see, yet they are there, simply existing.” She stared at the water dripping from her fingers. “I’m touching something that someone might be wishing they could touch. In a place where someone might yearn to be. And yet I might wish to be where they are, exploring what their homeland may offer.” She looked at him, smiling slowly. “It’s wild isn’t it?” 

“Whoa… getting all profound on me,” he said and she exhaled a laugh. “But yes, I understand what you mean.” 

“This is big,” she said, waving her other hand to emphasize the area around them. “But it’s also small. It’s just… I don’t know. It just struck me and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Puts things into perspective,” he agreed with a nod. “I was just thinking, I wished I’d spoken to you sooner. Maybe this wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve gone sailing. Maybe it would have been a weekly occurrence, something we did every Monday.” 

She tilted her head, staring at him through her sunglasses, and shook her head slightly. 

“I wasn’t in a place then to spend my Monday’s sailing with anyone. I was… I was going through some things last year- my own personal things and I…” She shook her head again and leaned forward, holding her hand out to him. He took it and she squeezed gently. “I think… I think I would have broken your heart. And my own in the process.” She smiled sadly and he squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Because like I told you already, I really like you, Fox Mulder.” 

“Well,” he said, smiling softly. “Then we met exactly when we were supposed to.” She nodded, squeezing his hand again. “Because I really like you too, Dana Scully.” 

“Good,” she whispered and he nodded as they squeezed at the same time, smiling as she let go and leaned back, picking up the blanket beside her and wrapping it around her legs. 

When the docks began to come into sight, she took off his sweatshirt, packing it and the blankets back inside of his backpack. Into her own, went her floppy hat. 

Jumping out again as they reached the dock, she securely tied the rope to the cleat, smiling at him proudly. 

He took her life jacket and placed them both back in their correct space, then he furled the sail and continued securing the boat. He set their backpacks on the dock before stepping out and standing beside her. She smiled as they picked their things up and walked to his car to drop it off. 

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay for lunch here?” she asked, loosening her braids and letting her hair flow freely. “I do have a different shirt, but I don’t-”

“You look fine,” he said, taking in her attire of a black sweater and jeans. 

“You’re sure?” she asked again, quickly braiding her hair into one long braid that lay over her left shoulder. She twisted the end, biting her lip as she looked at the building nervously. 

“Hey,” he said softly, covering her hand and bringing it down to hold her fingers loosely in his own. “If it was a fancy place and there was a strict code, especially at this time of day, I would’ve told you. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable anywhere.” 

She stared at him, her sunglasses now off, allowing him to look into her beautiful blue eyes. She squeezed his hand, placing her other on his cheek as she rose up to kiss him softly. He put his hand on her hip to hold steady and kissed her back just as gently. 

“You,” she breathed as they broke apart. “You are something else. You know that, right?” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, squeezing her hip and stepping back. “I might.” 

She laughed quietly and he tugged at her hand, pulling her toward the building. She held his upper arm with her other hand and he smiled as they walked. 

“I promise that you don’t need to feel nervous,” he assured her as they neared the doors. “My parents are going to love you.” 

“Oh my God! Your parents are here?! Right now?!”! she asked, stopping in her steps and staring at him, her eyes wide. He smiled and shook his head, stepping close and squeezing her hand. 

“Gotcha,” he whispered. 

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Chapter 3

Cw:mentions of sex and torture methods very M-rated

Taglist @thegreatdragonfruta @cljordan-imperium @zablife

Gif by @queenlagertha

“He can wrap a garrote ‘round a man’s balls in less than two seconds.” Eva is head over heels over her gringo.

Her grandfather would be spinning in his grave.

Really, its embarrassing how much she wants this man.

“It takes me five, four if I’ve gotten the party started.” her cousin, the handsome and enigmatic spy currently fending off bold heiresses by the dozen, whistled in approval. “And when did your gringo tell you?”

When Eva felt the scarring in his balls as they desecrated the confessional, but alas she cannot say such things.

Not to Santiago anyways.

Oh, why did she have to be the only girl born in their age group?

All her female cousins are much older or far too young.

Only one cousin is married, and his wife is her former lover.

Antonia might take offense at having her gush about Jack and his talent for murder. She used to hate it so when Eva would go on and on about Diosdado, from his pretty eyes and the way stole that silver filly for her in Texas.

Funny wasn’t it, so desperate for friends here when she used to have so many in her home country.

She is supposed to start over, find people she likes and create a network of people they can use to gain control of high society.

In a society that views them as oddities and something that doesn’t belong there.

But she must make the effort to get the Boston elite to love her. No, not love, adore her so that when Jack goes into politics and their son becomes President not a single bad word is ever said about them.

“Church, and at his place. We hit it off and chose a pattern for the china and all that.” Eva answered hoping he didn’t see through the half-truths.

“If he backs out of the deal and you’re pregnant, you’ll be married off to that Republican in New Jersey, Evita.” Tiago warned and she dismissed it when she saw her gringo walk into the ballroom.

“He won’t back out, I’ve seen it. Your godson will be youngest President of the United States, mark my words.” The witch couldn’t help but give her groom her most radiant smile.

And sure enough, the wedding is an affair to remember.

All the who is who of Boston and even New York and the Pope himself blessing the union. She is decked out in the family ruby parure, and Eva is sure Boston is out of red roses because Jack bought them all for her.

They aren’t in love, but something tells the witch its just a matter of time.

How could it not, they were perfect for each other?

“He’s got more whores than you have shoes, prima.” Santiago whispered before offering a last chance to back out with a false identity and his place in Casablanca.

“Not after me. There won’t be any other women after me.” The witch said kissing his cheek goodbye.

“Do you think Abe and Mary ever did any of that?” he asked as they lay head to toe on the massive bed.

Their honeymoon in Florida had been wonderful, and for the rest of their stay in Washington DC, they make good use of Abraham Lincoln’s bed. A reward for giving the First Lady good news regarding the ill health of President Wilson after Eleanor Roosevelt confided in her about Eva’s clairvoyance.

Jack had not wasted a moment to show how proud he was of his woman for scoring them such an invitation and continued to teach her every trick every whore had shown him.

The witch had ridden his face while she sucked his prick better than any woman he’s had, or so he said teased after she’d swallowed every drop.

Keep his stomach full and his balls empty, that had been the advice from her senile English granny.

And Eva had put it into practice.

He won’t stray, his secretary will get tired of waiting and resign. His favorite whores will seek other protectors and any woman dumb enough to try anything, will find themselves with terrible luck.

She won’t kill or hurt them, just let them know she could do so with absolute impunity.

Jack is hers, only hers.

“Who’s to say, maybe that’s why she went mad after his death.” Eva quite liked the view, both of them naked and him tracing idle patterns on her scarred ankle, but she preferred his broad chest over any pillow the world had to offer, so she moved back to the head of the bed and kissed him better than any French whore ever could.

Antonia had taught her to kiss like that, learned it from her younger sisters’ French governess, the young and sapphic, Madame Delacroix.

Jack tasted of her, and she of him, and if Abraham Lincoln was anything like Eva’s Jack, it’s a surprise the Lincoln’s only had four sons.

“I think I love you.” Jack says so earnestly she believes it. It is much easier to fall in love with a witch than for a witch to fall in love with said person, one had the risk of being accidentally beguiled by the magic radiating from their lover.

Eva doesn’t say it back, instead she changed the topic, kissing him again and again so he knows his words haven’t affected her want of him. “I saw something just now.”

“Hm, what did the Holy Pythia see?” he asked between kisses and wrapping her closer to him.

“The youngest president of the United States being made on this very bed.” The witch answered knowing she’s going to leave this room with a limp and he forgetting she didn’t say it back.

When Eva hears it again, Jack is drunk as hell.

He had gone out to some club he took over and celebrated like old times. Jack had risen high, but he missed the violence, the adrenaline and danger of his former life.

Tonight he let the beast out and showed Boston he was still Jack Nelson even if he was now a Wall Street Stock Broker putting her gifts and his together to make them richer than they ever were.

He had tried to fuck two dancers, pretty things who thought they could make him forget her, but they hadn’t. even if he closed his eyes, the brunette couldn’t be Eva nor could the blonde get a rise out of him no matter how long he’d had her.

“Got harder thinking about the woman I got at home than the one licking my cock. The other one said I must really love you if my prick wouldn’t stay hard no other gal except you.” He undressed himself and said this as if it were a great demonstration of his feelings for her.

Given his history, it was apparently.

But she loves his brutal honesty, knows that Jack wouldn’t hesitate to call her out on her shit and expects her to do the same.

They are equals, even if he pretends otherwise to keep his reputation.

“So, you love me?” the witch asked him. She should say it back, they have been married for nearly six months and Eva should be sure of her feelings by now.

But she isn’t, between the babies and getting to know every facet of Jack, she puts off seeing if what they have is love.

It will come, she knows. And she is fond of him and cares for him dearly, she isn’t ready to call it love.

Mainly because the last time she truly let herself fall in love with someone, they married her cousin and led her to a downward spiral so awful she let herself get caught in hopes Carranza would just shoot her already.

“Yeah, wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t, sweetheart.” He answered honestly, inhibited by the alcohol and totally going to forget in the morning when he wakes up with a hangover from hell. “You’re the only one I want since that day in the church.”

“Even now that I’m pregnant with twins?” Eva teased him enjoying the show he was giving her.

He’d lost his shirt on the stairs, kicked off his shoes just inside the bedroom and tossed her his undershirt as she waited in bed.

“Even pregnant with the future president of the United fucking States of America and his VP.” He answered gesturing for her to undo his trousers only for her to refuse.

He did try to fuck other women, after all.

“I love you.” He said in a whisper once he got in bed with her.

“Tell me when you’re sober, Jack.” Eva responded and he promised to do so. Good thing he won’t remember this in the morning.

[etherealdiva]

Astro Observations Part 6

💛The zodiac sign in your 9th house I feel indicates the type of teacher you like to learn from

I have Aries in the 9th and I’ve noticed people I learn from are younger than me Hahah. It’s just their perception is so refreshing and different. I believe there are old souls in young bodies. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you know everything. I love learning from older people too but I’ve noticed I talk to the young crowd most.

💛The zodiac sign in your 8th I feel is the person you resonate with in regards to the occult (astrologer or tarot reader) my fav tarot readers on YT for example are Pisces. I believe I read that from another observation (I can’t remember who so I’m so sorry I can’t credit 😭 but not my original observation) but it’s true for me!

💛The zodiac sign your Venus or Mars is transiting in I feel indicates the type of man/woman you meet at that time and where. Now typically although Mars rules men and Venus women then but I feel since Venus represents love & relationships then I think that Might be more accurate!

Example: when I met a guy I dated who impacted me greatly Mars was in Sagittarius but Venus was in Capricorn in my 6th. What does Capricorn represent? Older male, authority figure, work and the man I was dating…he’s older, has his own company, and he’s an Aquarius which is traditionally ruled by Saturn who also rules Capricorn. But if we go by the energy/dynamic of mars with it being in Sagittarius and transiting my 5th house then I don’t think it would’ve lasted if it got serious. Also other guys who were going after me were younger and careless and wanted something short term. ✨Second example: I met another guy who impacted me greatly and Venus was in Aquarius in the 7th and Mars was in Taurus in the 10th. Aquarius represents the internet, unconventional, individuality and he’s an Aquarius rising and we met online. I don’t think I was talking to anyone else.

These are my personal interpretations and based on experience & observations!

⭐️Venus/Mars in Aries/1st: someone younger, confident, passionate, flirty, might want something short term, probably at the gym , outside or at a sports event

⭐️Venus/Mars in Taurus/2nd: someone all around stable, respectful, takes things slow, knows the best places to dine, romantic, at the bank, works in the arts, culinary, or finance

⭐️Venus/Mars in Gemini/3rd: at school, through your siblings/cousins, while on a short getaway trip, someone either younger or they have a youthful aura, someone talkative and flirty.

⭐️Venus/ Mars in Cancer/4th: at your home area, through your family (mom), at the beach or anywhere near water, someone nurturing, probably can cook, at a real estate opening (open house), someone romantic

⭐️Venus/Mars in Leo/5th: someone fun, confident, a performer, at a concert, romantic, at the park or maybe day care center (if you have kids)

⭐️Venus/Mars in Virgo/6th: at your work, at the gym, at the vet, someone reserved, polite, analytical, someone fit, will take their sweet time with you

⭐️Venus/Mars in Libra/7th: at a spa, museum, jury duty or a legal office, through your partnerships, someone flirty, someone romantic, charming, diplomatic, makes you feel 🥰 could ghost you also if your intentions & feelings aren’t reciprocated

⭐️Venus/Mars in Scorpio/8th: through a hookup/one night stand, through therapy, through an esoteric occult meet up, someone mysterious, sexy, alluring, private, dark and twisted (in a sexy way! Haha)

⭐️Venus/Mars in Sagittarius/9th: in another country, a foreign event, university, church, a spiritual retreat, a motivational speaker event, they could be your teacher, a life coach, they’re inspiring, fun, adventurous, might wanna keep it casual

⭐️Venus/ Mars in Capricorn/10th: at your work, public event, through your coworkers, they could be your boss, someone older, mature, wealthy, ambitious, but will also take it slow

⭐️Venus/ Mars in Aquarius/11th: on the internet, dating app, through your friends, through volunteering, through a tech event, someone different, intelligent, a nerd, independent and wants their space and spend time with you as friends; might ghost you or friend zone you

⭐️Venus/ Mars in Pisces/12th: someone spiritual, at a spiritual retreat, esoteric or occult meetup, near the water, someone mysterious, compassionate, someone who’ll put you on a pedestal, troubled past, a healer, someone who’ll make you feel like it’s a beautiful fantasy, could also disappear when they wake up to reality

I could be wrong, this is an observation but please let me know!

Love her page! 👇🏽

“𝖢𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖶𝖤𝖡𝖡 𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖮𝖨𝖣 𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖲𝖮𝖭𝖠 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 @factsrological”

My followers on my Instagram are mainly international (from Turkey & Italy)

I have a Sagittarius ascendant in the 1st in my webb persona so I’m assuming they see me as a foreigner as well as motivating and passionate which is true. In my natal Venus is in Aquarius so it’s all online and in my 7th so I have a relationship with my followers because I interact and engage with them.

This is honestly my interpretation for my own chart. Let me know yours if you check!

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Confused Heart Chapter Two: My Sweet Flower.

Older and Dark Camilo Madrigal x Female Reader x Younger Bruno Madrigal

It was Finally Friday evening. The favorite day of the week for nineteen year old Camilo Madrigal. It was more exciting than Sunday Church mornings.

He would get to see his sweet Name. 

His Uncle Bruno's wife.

That's right. Camilo had a dirty secret that could ruin the entire family. Not only does he love that married woman but he has been taking advantage of her over the past seven months.

The young man tried to get Name out of his mind. He loved his Uncle Bruno and didn't want to hurt him. Camilo felt guilty and was ashamed of his sins.

But, he failed. He slept with other women in college to move on. But, he realized he didn't want Name for sex and lust only. Camilo genuinely loves Name for her.

Thus Camilo was planning to have sex with you…again.

Every Friday evening, the Magical Madrigal family would visit Uncle Bruno's Casa for dinner.

Bruno moved out of the Casita after marrying Name. It was a beautiful house with loads of trees and plants. Cozy and comfortable.

Camilo knocked on the door and Bruno opened it. Both nephew and uncle hugged. Inside, the aroma of the food made Camilo's mouth water.

Name  would cook delicious food from all over the world. She loves to serve Russian and Turkish food to Madrigals mostly.

Camilo wondered which country food you will serve Tonight.

"For you." Camilo grinned at Bruno. It was expensive Champagne.

Bruno thanked the young man and the two chatted and mingled. Finally, Bruno had to leave Camilo to speak to another guest.

Taking another advantage, Camilo licked his lips and walked to the kitchen.

"Hola, Name. Need help?"

"Camilo!" You grinned and then hugged the boy.

Camilo returned the hug and felt your perky tits against his muscular chest. It felt so good and right you pressed against him.

How he wished you both were the same age and he met you first.

You said you needed a little help and thus Camilo helped you place the Mexican food you cooked on the dining table.

During dinner, Camilo would eat and steal glances and make polite conversations with whoever sits next to him. His little brother, father, or even an outsider guest.

The meal he ate was hearty. Bruno was one lucky bastard. A wonderful cook, and a beautiful tradwife you were. God fearing too. A perfect marriage partner. 

It was almost time.

Camilo watched Bruno drink his Champagne and as time passed by the family and other guests would slowly leave for their home.

Camilo lived in the Encanto University dorm.

So, his parents would not pry to where their son was going.

You didn't drink. Maribel, Dolores, and Isabel and you quickly washed the dishes and put the food in tupperware containers.

Soon, you retired to bed yourself as you were exhausted from being a hostess.

Camilo hid in the shadows watching the house finally be empty. 

It was now time.

Camilo rolled off of your sleeping form panting and sweating. He dressed you back into your nightgown. Then he watched you as he dressed himself up.

He hated how he always took you never awake. Always sleeping. He enjoyed you no doubt. But, he wanted you to beg for him and moan his name. To see your lovely eyes.

Camilo gave you one last look of longing before he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead. He then looked over to his passed out Uncle in jealousy.

Lucky Bastard.

The next Friday dinner was not the usual. Just like when Camilo first met you when he was twelve years old.

Bruno grinned. "I'm going to be a father!"

The table cheered.

"Holy Crap."

What have he done?

[jtl07]

What are your thoughts on the OCS?

Sometimes it seems like a manipulative cult that recruits vulnerable girls. But, it's also this found family for many of them. Is it good or evil? Is it both?

oh buddy. i ... actually have been having thoughts about this for the past few days (what is it with y'all being on my brainwave? must be something in the universe idk) as in, i've been contemplating the parallels between the OCS and the military.

so for context, i'm coming at this as a person who was in the military, who is a female poc from a middle class immigrant asian family. i give this context because i see a lot of the military in the OCS (i've mentioned it in some of my write ups and a big part of why i ended up writing the top gun 2 au) - mostly because the OCS is presented as an organization with a methodology that is built on violence.

i tried my best to be coherent but there's likely some meandering - feel free to ask further questions or clarification.

tl;dr - imo, it's all of the above.

i'm going to start with my experience in the military before i talk about the OCS because there's something in me that's chafing at the word "vulnerable." it's not that i think it's the wrong word per se, but that there's context that's needed.

for me, i had several family members who were in the military: my dad for one, several uncles, and a handful of my older cousins. this means i grew up learning that the military was a) one of the most honorable, respectable, and coolest professions you could join, b) the only profession where you were judged solely on your performance (i.e. racism wasn't overt), c) great financially because the pay was transparent and the benefits (back in the day) were fantastic if you stayed til retirement.

i don't believe any of that anymore, but that's what i'd learned. this is what my family believed (still does, actually). this is what many other poc believed too. compared with the opaque, racist corporate world - and having the responsibility of taking care of one's parents, who'd immigrated from their home country to give you "a better life" - having something stable and honorable like the military seemed like the best choice. why would i choose something else? how could i even see anything else? the military was the only choice i knew.

i left the military over a decade ago, but there's still a part of me that thinks "i'll never top my time in the military; i'll never have an experience quite like that." and the larger part of me can acknowledge now that yes, that's true. because when you're in an organization like the military (and comparatively, like the OCS) it's exhilarating in a way, knowing that you're part of something that's larger than yourself, knowing that you were deemed worthy - that you proved that you were worthy - of being part of this elite, special organization that has this grand, noble, world-saving mission. and yes, you feel a bond with the folks you serve with - bound by a vow to serve and protect, bound by experiences only they will understand.

there's nothing quite like that.

and i never want to experience that again.

because yes, it's exhilarating and exciting, and it's addicting in a way - to do all these cool things that folks make movies about, to know you're doing your part in keeping the people you love safe, to build relationships where no matter what, they've got your back.

but it's blinding. it blinds you to the violence, the harm that you're inflicting in the name of the mission - on both others and your own self. it blinds you to other ways of living. it blinds you to other ways of being safe - on both a personal and national level. this kind of experience trains you constantly: "this is the only way; this is the only choice."

and you can probably see why Beatrice's backstory resonated with me. of course she chose the church, the OCS - this was the only choice she had, the only choice she could possibly make to prove herself, to make herself worthy. in the OCS, she found a community of folks who, like her, were committed to a mission and ready to give their lives because, like her, that was probably the only choice they thought they had. it was the best choice they had.

maybe that's why i chafe at the use of "vulnerable" - because at the time, choosing the military felt like my shot at redemption, at salvation. it wasn't a moment of weakness, but of strength.

at least, that's what i had been trained to believe. and there is, apparently, still a part of me that believes it. even though there's the larger part of me that can see now the ecosystem that forced my hand.

it's also why i love Ava as a protagonist - how she was determined to find another way, how desperate she was to live. because organizations that are built on violence, organizations like the military, like the OCS, it takes folks who believe they need to prove themselves and takes advantage of that need, forces them to carry more than any person ever should, then calls them noble, calls them honorable, calls them worthy - all the while training them, ultimately, to die.

does good sometimes result from that, grow out of that? yeah. but the cost is very, very high.

[fumblingmusings]

Imagining a young Arthur thinking the Normans are irredeemable doomed for hell monsters from the moment they killed King Harold, made the heir Edgar and his sisters flee, wrecked Arthur's language and broke his legal systems, made 10% of his country a wasteland, killed over 100,000 of his people by starving them to death and leaving them freeze... All that horror from William I and II...

But then Henry I becomes King. He was born in Selby, not Normandy. He was a fourth son (like Arthur), set to inherit nothing and isn't trusted by any of his older brothers. He just maybe happens to be there with one of the said brothers is killed in a hunting accident (oh no....) and becomes King. He marries Edith, the daughter of Arthur's last Anglo-Saxon princess, ensuring that Alfred the Great's bloodline lives on. He uses the Anglo-Saxon justice and taxation system because it's still better than anything Norman. He puts Englishmen back in positions of government and the Church. Henry and Edith called their daughter Matilda aethelic when in private and gave their son William an Anglo-Saxon title of aethling... Those imported Norman aristocrats mocked them for it calling them 'Godric and Godifu' - that foolish King and Queen pretending to be lesser than. Playing at being English and not Norman.

But it works. Arthur and England are at peace for the first time in... a long, long long time. Yes northern France is a nightmare but what does Arthur care for that. These guys are stamping out slavery and serfdom... That's pretty stupendous. Plus, his way of life is winning out long term, not the Norman. At least, that's what he tells himself.

And having the thought that maybe his people and culture won't be as wiped out by this King playing politics in order to carve out his own space distinct from his brothers... little Arthur sees a little bit too much of himself in this guy. Only for Henry's only son to drown on a crossing from France back to England (trying to save his sister oh my God) and then it just sets the stage for the Anarchy upon Henry's death because god forbid Matilda is Queen like...

Point is I can see Arthur just going full on fuck it once Henry II becomes King (like what was the point of it all if Matilda's son was going to be King anyway). I like to think of it as the turning point from where he's a somewhat put upon forgotten about rainy droopy island that Vikings keep plundering to a nightmare himself. That desperation to prove himself, to be worth something, to take all that grief and pain and make it someone else's problem. It takes him 100 years after the invasion, but that's the point when the Arthur who used to hide in the woods from Denmark and Scotland disappears, and instead you get the Arthur who's... a bit of a giant hypocrite. And looks the other way.

The forcing a language on a population, the replacing the ruling class with loyal people, the leaving just enough of the old systems of government in place for purely pragmatic purposes, the use of scorched earth tactics if need be. Sometimes it feels like nothing changes.

What happened to him was wrong and yet what does England do to others for so long? I like the idea of an Arthur who learnt the wrong lessons from that invasion and thinks he was weak when it happened. Because to think otherwise would be to realise he'd done nothing wrong, and to realise that he was a victim.

And that's something Arthur just cannot be.

[ohsalome]

Sorry if this is a really annoying way to do this, I’m still a little new to tumblr and I’m not sure what’s the best way to go about this, but I saw the question from the Ukrainian Diaspora person and since I’m from it as well I thought I could maybe help.

(Note: a lot of this is from a Canadian lens, but a lot of it should apply to the states and maybe to other commonwealth countries to some extent)

So if you live in a town or city, my first go to would be to look for dance groups. This is definitely true in Canada, and I’m pretty sure true in the US: dance is at the centre of most of the diaspora culture here. Nearly every event will have performers, if they aren’t hosted by dance companies themselves, and it is the opinion of many older Ukrainian Canadians that dance is the most important thing here (there’s a long thing about diaspora history and trauma in there but that’s for later). Even if you don’t want to/can’t join a group, you can keep an eye out for zabavas to go to, especially around malanka (side note: the North American diaspora has a type of Kolomeyka that I believe is unique to us and originated in the Canadian Prairies, which is at most parties and Ukrainian events)

There’s also Ukrainian churches, which of course will have a number of Ukrainians, but if you’re not Christian maybe not a good choice

Ukrainian diaspora members are pretty obsessive about preservation and recording stuff, so anywhere there’s a population there’s a decent chance at a museum and a number of them have online portions. If you look up Ukrainian museum (insert country/region) stuff should come up, but for specific recommendations: the Ukrainian Village in Edmonton, AB is an open air museum detailing life of early Ukrainian Canadian settlers, and has some online tours, there’s the Ukrainian Museum of America and Canada respectively, and the University of Alberta has the Kule Folklore centre and the Bohdan Medwidsky archives.

On the topic of the University of Alberta, it at one point had one of the largest Slavic studies programs in North America, rivalling Harvard’s, and I would argue unlike others is Ukrainian centric rather than R*sso centric. It along with the University of Manitoba and Saskatchewan has a number of Ukrainian and Ukrainian diaspora resources (I’ll try putting some links at the end)

I found music to be a good way to connect with my heritage, especially folk songs. If you look up Ukrainian Folk Songs on YouTube you’ll get a lot to explore, but I’m sure that the Ukrainians here on tumblr can plug in a lot of people to check out

Finally, see if you can look into any Ukrainian political organizations in your area. In Canada we have the Ukrainian Canadian Congress as a sort of political representative for Ukrainian Canadians, but there’s other as well such as the Ukrainian Student Society in many universities. I’m not sure what the equivalents are in the states. There’s also scouting organizations such as Plast and SUSK, but I have no experience with them

As promised, links

Kule folklore centre

CIUS

Love Letters from the Past

The Ukrainian Village

Songs and Bands

Ukrainian Canadian ones

Zeellia

Balaklava Blues

Zubrivka

Millenia

Hloptsi z mista

Korinya

Ukrainian ones

Go_A

Один В Каное

Dakhabrakha

Христина Соловій

Тріо Маренич

Veryovka

Eteria

Individual Songs

А Льон Цвіте

Ой Розвиайся та Сухий Дубе

Хай Живе, Вільна Україна

Сонце низенько, вечір близенько

Ой у лузі червона калина

Ой чи є чи нема

Водограй

This is brilliant, thank you!

@bat-anon