#i complain about a lot of things and dislike a lot of things but i'm glad a taylor album (and all it entails) isn't one of them

[oneinonemillion]

Thoughts and stuff.

An interesting thing I realized about The Boys fandom is how many people just find a reason to hate on Starlight specifically. Like, if it isn't about her personality, it's about her relationship with Hughie, if it isn't about Hughie, it's about her beliefs, if it isn't about her beliefs, they point out the fact that the actress got surgery. And Annie hasn't even done anything that's remotely dislikable compared to Maeve, for example. The only thing that she really did that I hated was her manipulating Gecko, but Butcher and literally the rest of The Boys manipulate people like nearly every fucking episode. I see some people complain that she's boring, but Annie really isn't? She's sort of like Hughie, but she can definitely realize when Hughie's doing something fucked up and call him out on it. They play off each other nicely, and I love how Annie's trying to find her way outside of the Starlight costume, I love that she abandoned it. She deserves a W for once.

I think Homelander's just super hypersexual because he associates having an orgasm to feel at peace and happiness. He's spent almost all of his formative years in a chamber, forced to stew in his own feelings with nothing as a proper outlet. Masturbating was probably a stress release for him.

People just now realizing Firecracker sucks is so funny to me. A lot of the fandom is very quick to forget that their favs are actually horrible people and it's entertaining to me. With Soldier Boy, I see a lot of people in love with him, either it being some men who view him as "based" or whatever the fuck they say, or women who think he's just so misunderstood and traumatized. Yes, Soldier Boy is indeed traumatized, but he's very willing to do terrible shit. He beat Noir until he was practically brain dead, he broke up a fucking civil rights protest, he killed MM's family. Soldier Boy is not misunderstood, he's still a terrible man. So is Homelander. Sure, his backstory is tragic and no kid would come out normal after experiencing that shit, but a lot of stuff he does is out of his pursuit of pleasure and or pettiness. All of the deaths in his hands could have been prevented if he just didn't give into his feelings, like with Madelyn's death, or with Becca's rape. There's no other reason for him to do what he did to Becca just out of pure boredom. He uses that to spite Butcher after he connects the dots. He also dated a *Nazi*, he just wanted a woman to praise him again and Stormfront did a lot of that. He was willing to ignore the weird shit she was spewing because she gave him validation and made him feel big. That's what Homelander likes.

Another thing I don't fully get about the fandom is how some people view Hughie as completely pathetic or hopeless, like he follows Butcher's every word. He really isn't. He killed Translucent on his own accord and liked it, he took the V when even Butcher told him not to, he momentarily left The Boys because he found the amount of death and gore going around to be horrible. Hughie can fight for himself, he can do bad things and be kind of a dick. Over the seasons, I think Hughie grew to not really need Butcher. If anything, Butcher needs him.

I think Sage actually does like Deep a bit. Not romantically, no, but she does find him fun to be around, she just hates how her brain gets in the way of her enjoying things. She always has to think about something, use her mind to analyze everything nearly twenty four seven. I think she likes Deep because he doesn't *have* to think too much. Deep is sort of stupid, or at least, stupid to her standards, and I think she likes how simpleminded he is. It entertains her. She likes that she can be on his level when she's lobotomized and carefree.

I'm happy Kimiko and Frenchie aren't together. It would feel weird to pair a guy with a girl who he helped out of being a weapon, it's too reminiscent of those white savior fantasies that I see all over the place. He doesn't want Kimiko for that, he doesn't think of her in that way, they're just close and that's fine. They enjoy each other's company, and that's fine.

I don't want Homelander and Firecracker to get together. Like, I have doubts that they're gonna do that and I hope they don't, but them getting together would be absolutely annoying. Homelander doesn't even seem like he likes her, and he had more respect towards Stormfront than her. It's their outfits, they match well together so it seems obvious for them to do the devil's tango, but God I hope they fucking don't.

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

So many people say they're being plagarised and offer no proof except all this hearsay. The one time I saw two people actually offer proof @selfproclaimedunicorn dismissed it as their writing and the accused were basically writing the same generic boring mid smut and weren't being plagarised at all or plagiarising. She says they were causing drama over generic expressions. The funny thing was the complainants fic was being recycled in a new fandom by the accused and nobody really took it seriously except a handful of their mutuals. It's you lot who create cliques and fear mongering and this idolatry worshipping writers with huge followings, in time creating your own worst enemies. People with clout somehow in the fandoms always act like corrupt cops. But it's people in the fandom who create it. I've never seen you reblog anyone's work except your friends. I've seen Natasha reblog different people and offer nice comments. But you and your friends don't. And Ange is .... I don't know. Will she be a bullet you dodged? She has a big following end she was part of a group who were unbelievably toxic until she changed (?) People are just awful in this fandom and you know it getting a taste of it yourself here and elsewhere. I've no doubt people whose OCs are overlooked and ignored or whose x readers are not read, their voices are silent and people steal from them voraciously and nobody cares. People friends with the bigger writers close ranks and shut everyone out and everyone else is scrabbling to fit in and be noticed. I can name on one hand writers who write for the fun and not attention or notes. I don't know you and I'm sorry you have suffered this but welcome to our world

honestly, i wasn't going to answer this because so much of it is just fucking stupid.

I know exactly what you're talking about re misa, and you tagged the wrong blog. it wasn't her that said that, it was @julyzaa - and you know what...she wasn't wrong. she was talking about two fics that shared a similar premise. and we both agreed that it wasn't plagiarism. it was just two authors who wrote an aemond smutty one shot with similar vibes. of which there are a million and one fics like that right now. there is an importance in being able to discern the difference.

and i'll just say it, this obsession of constantly bringing up Ange is weird. it's creepy at this point. you're welcome to dislike someone, but it's becoming glaringly obvious that there's individuals in fandom that want to blame an outside person instead of looking at themselves and the company they keep. in my time being Ange's friend, not once have I been bullied/harrassed/intimidated - not even in a joking way. the chatting never turns toxic and the only time we're talking about other people is when shit gets weird on the dash (like it is right now). that's just normal social interaction, babes. we spend most of our time discussing fic and the show and our real lives.

and frankly, i don't know where this idea of 'clique' came from or why it seems this is an accusation that's being thrown around - not just at myself but others. there's no clique. there's no secret club or burn book or whatever you think there is lurking out there where we're concerned. im so confused as to why it's an issue that friend groups crop up and people get close. that's the nature of being mutuals! it's weird to be angry at people for making friendships and taking those friendships offline.

this is my blog and i'm allowed to reblog what I want - as is everyone else. you don't have a solution for whole 'clique' conundrum you seem so concerned with, so I can only assume your answer would be for me to just reblog everything I see, in hopes that your work reaches an audience. and i'm not going to do that. i will reblog the stories and edits that speak to me, that inspire me, that i actually enjoyed. and i've become friends with a lot of those authors, sure. because i put in the effort to get to know them. i stopped posting on tumblr because I got no response when posting my fic. My audience is clearly elsewhere. But it's always 'will you reblog my stuff' but it's never reciprocated, so what's the point in supporting mutuals if the mutual relationship is gone? have you ever reached out to me? have you ever struck up a conversation or attempted to chat about something other than fic? no? then why do you have any expectations of me at all where your fic is concerned? maybe look that the relationships you have formed and you'll have your answer.

[taylortruther]

unrelated to anything going on right now but i'm glad i like taylor's music so much because it's just... nice to know that i'll enjoy whatever she puts out? i can't think of any other interest in my life that i consistently enjoy this much. idk. it's just comforting to know that on april 19 i'll be listening and loving it.

[atalienart]

Well... what can I say :|

[sskk-manifesto]

(*・ω・*)b♪

[hwiyoungies]

went to the museum the other day with my friend and she was telling me about this thing she read about, about how modern art is usually made to reflect the viewer and using their ego for them to connect with it and how it was a very simple and in a way basic way of making art. like say the bean that is literally just a giant reflective sculpture and every picture that you take of it it's gonna have your reflection taking the picture of it. all of these because the thing people were doing the most in the museum was taking pictures of them in the museum so in a sense them in the art instead of just the art being art. anyways point of this was that it made me think about the trend of people always hating on storylines, be it on tv shows, movies, books, mangas whatever, because they're not done the way they want them to be, they're not seeing themselves reflected in it (not talking about representation but the story), so since it's not the way they would do things that means it's bad story telling, it's poorly written, it's overhyped etc. instead of seeing it as it is which is someone elses' story, creation, tale, and enjoying it and judging it from that point of view instead of the "ok but what would have I done". i feel like we're missing the point of a lot of things lately, especially when it comes to art, because we've become very egocentric about everything and constantly need to see ourselves in a way in it. again not about representation but rather people seeing a piece of art and immediately thinking "i could do that better" or "i don't get it therefore is bad" instead of enjoying the art for what it is and letting it convey what the artist wanted to, or maybe not, maybe a completely different feeling! but outside of how the art reflects the viewer, how i see myself in that art

[walker-extended-universe]

Me: Here's one thing about this show I like that I'm not a huge fan of and I think could be improved upon

Some people: OMG no one is making you watch the show!!! The door is right there GTFO!!! I can't believe you would be so mean to the writers how dare you???

[thedarklyblue]

i want to KICK someone !!!

[maddy-ferguson]

This feels like my ga viewer parents or my sister who do not like byler because they do not like mike. The classic 'i do hate mike and will deserves better' mindset. I am afraid the duffers consequentially created negative outcome when they tried to make the ga feel sorry for will and wanted to tank mlvn by making it more cringe than it already is. it made many people either dislike mike, see will as a ''crybaby'' and not care for byler because they did not enjoy their dynamic.

yeah exactly like i think people are supposed to not be enamored with mike rn but idk i find it crazy in general that people who do think he's queer (twt bylers) and thus have some idea of what he's been going through seem to still have little to no empathy for him. because that's supposed to be the missing piece that's keeping the general audience from connecting with him yk so if you have that and you still barely like him it's like...idk. then it's kind of on them but also maybe once it's on screen and it feels more tangible they'll feel for him more. i feel like the lack of empathy might also have to do with the difference in time period a bit? like with people insisting (not in so many words) that he has to not know he's gay or he would be an awful person for still being with a girl etc. i think like you said and like people have said before instead of leading to people disliking them as a couple all the bad mlvn scenes made people not only dislike but hate mike. and like i just said i think part of it's intentional they had to know people would be frustrated with him but they're sooo frustrated with him...and i think part of the reason why is like anon said the only thing people remember him doing this season is complaining about his girlfriend to the guy who's in love with him. which sounds frustrating just writing it

[were--ralph]

why exactly do you dislike generative art so much? i know its been misused by some folks, but like, why blame a tool because it gets used by shitty people? Why not just... blame the people who are shitty? I mean this in genuinely good faith, you seem like a pretty nice guy normally, but i guess it just makes me confused how... severe? your reactions are sometimes to it. There's a lot of nuance to conversation about it, and by folks a lot smarter than I (I suggest checking out the Are We Art Yet or "AWAY" group! They've got a lot on their page about the ethical use of Image generation software by individuals, and it really helped explain some things I was confused about). I know on my end, it made me think about why I personally was so reactive about Who was allowed to make art and How/Why. Again, all this in good faith, and I'm not asking you to like, Explain yourself or anything- If you just read this and decide to delete it instead of answering, all good! I just hope maybe you'll look into *why* some people advocate for generative software as strongly as they do, and listen to what they have to say about things -🦜

if Ai genuinely generated its own content I wouldn't have as much of a problem with it, however what Ai currently does is scrape other people's art, collect it, and then build something based off of others stolen works without crediting them. It's like. stealing other peoples art, mashing it together, then saying "this is mine i can not only profit of it but i can use it to cut costs in other industries.

this is more evident by people not "making" art but instead using prompts. Its like going to McDonalds and saying "Burger. Big, Juicy, etc, etc" then instead of a worker making the burger it uses an algorithm to build a burger based off of several restaurant's recepies.

example

the left is AI art, the right is one of the artists (Lindong) who it pulled the art style from. it's literally mass producing someone's artstyle by taking their art then using an algorithm to rebuild it in any context. this is even more apparent when you see ai art also tries to recreate artists watermarks and generally blends them together making it unintelligible.

Aside from that theres a lot of other ethical problems with it including generating pretty awful content, including but not limited to cp. It also uses a lot of processing power and apparently water? I haven't caught up on the newer developements i've been depressed about it tbh

Then aside from those, studios are leaning towards Ai generation to replace having to pay people. I've seen professional voice actors complain on twitter that they haven't gotten as much work since ai voice generation started, artists are being cut down and replaced by ai art then having the remaining artists fix any errors in the ai art.

Even beyond those things are the potential for misinformation. Here's an experiment: Which of these two are ai generated?

ready?

These two are both entirely ai generated. I have no idea if they're real people, but in a few months you could ai generate a Biden sex scandal, you could generate politics in whatever situation you want, you can generate popular streamers nude, whatever. and worse yet is ai generated video is already being developed and it doesn't look bad.

I posted on this already but as of right now it only needs one clear frame of a body and it can generate motion. yeah there are issues but it's been like two years since ai development started being taken seriously and we've gotten to this point already. within another two years it'll be close to perfected. There was even tests done with tiktokers and it works. it just fucking works.

There is genuinely not one upside to ai art. at all. it's theft, it's harming peoples lives, its harming the environment, its cutting jobs back and hurting the economy, it's invading peoples privacy, its making pedophilia accessible, and more. it's a plague and there's no vaccine for it. And all because people don't want to take a year to learn anatomy.

[deceitfuldevout]

Highest Bidder

Dark!Robert Fishcher x Sugarbaby!Reader

Word Count: +3,066

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Loss of virginity, Human auction, Housewife kink, Breeding kink, Misogynistic remarks, Insults, Just plain abuse, Robert is a warning himself.

Author's Note(s): I have been thinking about this for a hot minute. Inspired by @mypoisonedvine Robert Fischer fic go check it out!!

You couldn't stop checking your phone for an update. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Did he bail? Part of you had hoped so. It would make things a lot easier. Years ago, if someone had told you that you'd be auctioning off your virginity, well, the first thing you'd do is laugh in their face.

That was before everything went to shit. Your parents ended up in neck-deep debt trying to pay off your college, borrowing money from some sleazy loaner company. Soon having no choice but to debate on filing for bankruptcy. Everything they've worked hard for, gone. You didn't want them to worry about that anymore.

This wasn't a huge deal for you. Personally, you've never had any luck with guys and would rather get this over with. Growing up you were always the awkward, ugly duckling of the friend group, so a boyfriend was out of the picture. Only sharing an innocent kiss with a childhood friend, but that was a long time ago. It was only after you reached your 20's where you began to bloom.

He'd bought your outfit and covered the cost of everything. He wants you ready and waiting for him, all wrapped up like a pretty present. He's very particular about these things, even making a list of errands to run before the big day. He requested for photos of the hair and makeup you'd be wearing for the evening. Scolding you every time you did something he disliked. He wouldn't even try hiding it. You reread his previous text message: Change the makeup. It makes you look like a cheap whore. You scoff at the response...how rude.

Even before all of this he would try to test your patience. Sending messages like, 'Do you know who I am? You should be more grateful that I'm giving you this much attention," or "Anyone would be lucky to be in your position,' which made you physically roll your eyes. This morning, he had given you a call as a reminder of where you would meet. He send you the hotel address with money for a cab.

He made sure to give you call in the afternoon as a reminder of what to do after arriving, ending it with, "I don't want to hear any complaining when I get there." before hanging up. You grumble a stray of curse words, this had better been worth it...

You couldn't believe your eyes on how luxurious the hotel was. It's entrance had been decorated with marble and brass statues. There wasn't a drop of it that didn't scream 'money'. You sheepishly sign in, allowing a worker to carry your bag to the room. It had taken a while before you could reach the top. Part of you was impressed, he had really gone all out.

As soon as you enter the room there was this sort of romantic ambiance to it. From the lighting, to the breathtaking scenery of the city. It was all so...dreamy. But this was no dream. You were going to have sex for the first time with some old, rich geezer, gross. You take note of a shopping bag left on the bed, opening it to find a lingerie set.

You held the fabric, inspecting the material. White lace, with hints of glitter that shine in the light. At least the old man has good taste. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, humming at the sight of it. Not bad...hell, you looked fantastic.

Suddenly the door knob jingles, then a heavy knock follows. You leapt from the bed, approaching to open the door for him. But before you could reach the knob it slams open. A man enters, sporting a well-tailored suit, dressed to the nines from head-to-toe. His hair is combed back, a few strands dangle against his forehead. As you scan the man's face, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

There's a light rosy hue to his cheeks. You first notice the striking blues of his eyes and how long his lashes are. He looks like he'd have no problem at all searching for someone. So what is he doing paying for someone like you? For a moment, you were in awe of his presence. Staring back at the man like a deer caught in headlights.

The meeting today had taken its toll on Robert. He was supposed to meet with you hours ago, but there had been an emergency with the company's shareholders. He could practically feel his blood boiling, to the point where it felt almost difficult to breathe. He tugs his tie off and yanks for his shirt to open, a few buttons go flying. He lets out a huff, scanning the room with his blue orbs for something, more specifically, someone.

"So you're the one I've been talking to eh?" a hint of humor in his voice, "Let me guess, you're a good girl caught up in the wrong crowd? Is that it?" he taunts, "I'm sure you've 'never' done this before," the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sinister grin. His eyes are emotionless. Cold as ice. Yet why did they seem so comforting? As if you've seen them before.

He drops his suitcase at the end of the bed, turning towards you. He eyes you up and down, as if he were deep in thought, "Give me a spin," and of course you follow his orders. He raises a brow, "Come here," he commands. You stare back at him, unsure of what he'd just said. Robert sighs, he doesn't have time for this. He's slightly drunk and exhausted from work. Right now he just wants some hard, animalistic fucking.

He tugs your underwear to the side, examining his prize. He bunches up the waistband of your panties before yanking the fabric down. You held your breath, now riddled with anxiety. This was a bit too...casual for comfort. He fists the fabric, holding it to the side while the other hand held your hip.

His voice is deep, much deeper in person, "Hold it for me," he wants to get a good look at his purchase. His thick fingers slide down your pubic area, grazing against the bare skin, he hums, "Even waxed yourself like I told you to, good girl." he slaps the side of your hip, as if he were examining livestock. Your stomach coils at the realization. Never in your life have you felt so...objectified. Still, now wasn't the time to back down. He pushes you against a desk. Until you were now leaning on the table.

He spreads your folds with his thick digits, examining them closely. He held your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly. You let out a whine from the sensation, bucking your hips from the sudden discomfort. He retreats his hand before flipping you over. His chest now against your back. He pushes you against the table, bending you over for a better view. He was in no rush.

He rubs his fingers over your bare slit. His thumb caresses your bundle of nerves. As soon as he retreats you finally snap the fabric back in place. Now lowering your head with embarrassment. He grips your chin, lifting it until you're face-to-face, "No don't hide from me now..." he plops himself on a chair, tilting his chin up, "Why don't you make yourself useful and help me get this off?"

If you weren't getting paid you would've scoffed at his rudeness. It was obvious he was into power play. Being in total control of everything. Now wasn't the time for letting your emotions emotions get involved. You help him remove his coat and tie, even unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. He's still wearing his pants, now unclasped. He stares you down, a smirk now lingering on his cold features, "Take off your clothes,"

When you start to quickly unclasp the garter belt, Robert's voice booms, "Stop." he orders, "Do it slower," he leans back in the recliner, already palming his erection. You shyly unclasp your belt, letting the straps fall off each shoulder. His hand grazes on an exposed breast, sending shivers down your spine.

He chuckles, "Oh...don't tell me you're that sensitive?" a crude remark. Your brows furrow, why did he have to tease you so? He notices your obvious discomfort, "Don't worry darling, your only job is to fuck," as if that would make things better, "Do you know how to suck cock?" he questions. You give him a hesitant nod, "No...I've never done it before this is my first time--"

"I didn't ask for a whole life story,"

"...No," your lips press in a thin line. He was really pushing it, "So you've never had sex or sucked cock before, tell me, what have you done?" he pulls out his member, already hard and leaking. It's tip was flush pink, the same as his lips. He spits into his palm before working himself up, he knows you're nervous. He wants you to be intimidated by him. He pumps his shafts with slow strokes, "Tell me, what gets you off..." he sighs.

You look down to your feet, suddenly his voice booms, "No, do not look away," to which you began to tear up. His voice is soft now, "Sweetheart, look at me," he huffs. You look up at him now with tearful eyes, he groans, "Oh...that's it..." stroking his cock faster. A finger points directly at you in a 'come hither' motion. You walk towards him, still eyeing his shaft. How was that going to fit?

You felt warm despite the lack of clothing, there's a pooling sensation between your legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. His tongue darts against a breast. He teases the bud with his teeth. He made sure it was swollen and sensitive before giving attention to the other breast.

You never knew it could feel this...good. As soon as your hands reach for his hair he instantly stops, Robert remembers the reason why you're here. It wasn't to see him. You only wanted one thing, and he doesn't have time to play pretend. He just came here to collect what he's owed. At the end of the day, you were just a hired whore. He swats both hands away, giving you the cold shoulder. He lifts himself from the seat, throwing you against the carpet. You're confused at the sudden mood swing. It frightens you. Where the hell did that come from?

"It's a shame, you were doing so well," Robert sits up, his leaking cock now presses against his abdomen. He's pissed. He paid you for your time, you were suppose to focus only on his needs. Every word that came from his mouth dripped with anger, "It seems like you need a reminder on whore etiquette," he knows you've probably fucked a few before him, this was all part of your little roleplay act.

"I'm not a whore!" you detest lying, what made him not believe you? Forget it...this wasn't worth an argument, "You know what? You can take your money back asshole! Fuck this and fuck you--" a hand grips around your neck. He'll have to show you a thing or two of what comes with selling yourself out, especially to a complete stranger. You've always knew deep down that you'd regret your first, but this was downright terrifying.

This man, he didn't even see you as a person. As a human being. To him, this was all a transaction that was paid for, "What did you think that website was for? It's a human auction. Not just your cunt. Meaning I own your ass for the next few hours," he leans in, pressing his nose against yours, he growls, "Remember your place..."

Robert pulls you up by the hair, throwing you onto the bed. You scramble to get away but he's much stronger. He began to wrestle you. To which you land a slap on his cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. You pause, now too scared to move. He touches the tender skin, it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow. Which just so happens to be an important meeting, "You little bitch..." he grips your jaw until it aches, forcing your mouth to open.

He takes the opportunity to spit inside, covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You felt like you wanted to gag. Finally, after fighting to hold your breath, you swallow. He grins, "See? even if you try to fight me, I always get what I want..."

You, of all people, should know this about him. Instead you try putting up a fight, "I hate you! I hate you! Let me go!" thrashing around. Both of his hands now pressed against your throat. He scolds, "If you want it to hurt I'll make it hurt like nothing else..." he flips you over, pressing his body against your own, making it harder to breathe.

He lets his pants slide down. Tugging off his boxers. He spits a wad into his hand, that should be enough to get comfortable, for him. But for you? Well, he wants it to hurt you. Otherwise, how will you learn? Whores like you deserve to feel pain. That's what you get for teasing him in your photos. He growls into your ear, "Time to try my pussy..."

He yanks down your panties before pressing his leaking tip against your opening. He muffles your cries in his palm. You couldn't hold back the tears. This man is going to break you! As retaliation you tilt your head to the side and bit into his forearm. He grunts from the pain, it only encourages him to carry out your punishment. He thrusts harder, grinding down his hips to reach as deep as he could go.

You sob from the pain, going limp from shock. All you could do was cry into his hand, bracing yourself against the cushioning below. You turned your head to face the mirror, taking a good look at your own sad, pathetic reflection. You were being dominated by a complete stranger. How did it get to this point? When did you become so pathetic? So desperate to the point where you became a whore for hire?

He held you close to his chest. He knows now you're too tired to fight him off. He kept jutting his hips back and fourth, moaning in your ear with a deep grumble. You could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. It repulses you. The only sounds that could be heard in the room were of skin-to-skin slapping, Robert's insults, and your muffled cries.

"Fuck....fuck m'gonna cum..." he grunts. He rubs his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scented perfume. He drags his face across the soft, supple skin. He can tell by the shimmer that you applied an expensive lotion earlier. Of course you wanted him, what woman wouldn't? He's handsome, rich, successful, he's the entire package.

So why were you begging for him not to finish inside? You were just being stubborn, that's all. He'll have to remind you of who's in charge, "I bought this pussy fair and square. If I want to put a baby in it, then bitch, I will," he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, biting until the skin breaks. He doesn't stop thrusting his hips. Plunging his cock deep inside to coat your womb. He moans, furrowing his brows from the feeling of your velvety walls.

"You think you're better than me huh? Old enough to fuck but not old enough to get knocked up, yeah fucking right" he huffs, "You just wanted an excuse to be whore..." His voice becomes hoarse, as the pleasure began to increase, "Fuck...fuck I'll buy you a big house just so I can fuck you in it...hm...yeah you'd like that wouldn't you?" he doesn't stop his vigorous thrusts, "I’ll fuck some babies into you hm? You'd like that? I’ll give you a baby with blue eyes…something to remind you of me…" he flips you over, locking an arm around your neck.

All you could do was whine as you wait for the inevitable. Robert licks a stripe against your ear. He grunts with satisfaction, "Want you to remember this for the rest of your life....every time you think about your first time, you'll be thinking of me...." he fastens his pace. All you could do was stare back at your reflection. A tear trickles down your cheek. You couldn't help but agree. It was true, this moment would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Robert knows it. That's what gives him such an ego boost. He felt like he was on top of the fucking world. He growls in your ear, "Remember this, I.Fucking.Own.You." before unloading his spunk deep inside. He muffles a moan in the crook of your neck, bowing his head down to feel the bliss of it all. Fuck, he never came so much in his life. Was it the adrenaline or the pussy? He doesn't care. All he knows is that it's money well spent.

He slowly begins to pull out, hissing from the pleasure your pussy gave. He moans at the sight of his shaft dipped in a crimson tint, "Fuck me...if that isn't a sight for sore eyes..." he's made sure to mark his territory. He flips you over, you're too scared to even look at him.

He slides his hand from your stomach to your pelvis, "Hold on...I want to see it.." giving your lower abdomen a light push, forcing the rest of his seed out. It's mixed with a string of red. His lids are hooded, there's a twitch to his features. He grins, "Fuck...guess you weren't lying about me being your first..." he chuckles, "And here I thought you were just another lying whore..." playing with your emotions.

Robert lifts himself from the bed. He retrieves his belt on the floor, tying your wrists to the bed post. He doesn't want to risk you running away from him. Not while he still had a few hours left. He fixes himself in the mirror, coming his hair back to how it was before. Making sure that there wasn't a single strand out of place. He admires himself in the mirror. He felt like a fucking champ. Like nothing in the world could stop him, and so far there hasn't been.

Robert knew this was a good idea the moment he saw your profile online. He'd been tracking you down for quite some time, it's been a while. His obsession growing with each message sent. He had to own you. Mind, body, and soul. It was a good idea to install the hidden camera in the hotel. He could only stare at you from his office, viewing you changing into the set he'd purchased, admiring yourself in the mirror. He had to wait another agonizing hour before work was finished.

He notices the way you'd tried being presentable, all for him. How you would constantly check your phone just to see what his orders were. Submissive, compliant, needy. So fucking needy. That little pussy of yours needed his cock to break it in. He doesn't want it to end, he tosses a few bills onto the mattress, you don't even flinch. Your mind had already escaped.

Robert leans in, caging your body with his arms, "Why don't I keep you as my little plaything, hm?" he knows you've recently graduated. But what use was a degree compared to what he could give? What greater reward than being his pretty little housewife? You might as well put those looks to use. He plants a kiss against your lips, humming in satisfaction, "Need a good girl to balance me out..." he begins to rant, "And if you ever think of leaving me, I'll send a video of us fucking to your parents,"

But the thing is, you never told him who your parents were. It was then when the pieces began to fall into place. How could you be so stupid? His username was R-Morrow.

This was no other than the owner of Fischer Morrow, the man responsible for your landing parents in deep debt. Of course they trusted him, because he's your childhood friend. You lift yourself up and face him. Your voice in disbelief when you question the identity of the strange man, now with a tearful look, "R-Robbie?" you whisper. He pauses for a moment, head turning to the side as he looks your way, "Did you miss me?"

"...Why? I-I don't understand..." you began hyperventilating. This wasn't happening. Your childhood friend had taken your virginity. At one point, he was your entire world. He approaches you, no longer a lanky young boy but a man. He cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. He sighs, "Don't you remember the promise we made? To find each other?" his eyes bore into yours, "I could only dream of it, but now?" he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him, "Now you're finally mine..."

[rupeenotruby]

@isasan347 made a post about Fable doing her ssbu stuff in front of Legend and I thought the idea was quite humorous and so I made a comic!

I chose to go with her lightning kick because her three main special moves are just the great fairy spells for OOT which would then belong to Time and her down b isn't very iconic since it is a more recent addition. Lightning kick has been there since the beginning and is the first thing I think of when I think of Zelda in ssb.

I started working on this comic a few weeks ago but had to put it on hold because of my finals. But now they are over and I have finished this! There is a lot I dislike about this comic (namely the dialogue, I didn't really script this out like I should)(If you have a better final punchline you are welcome to edit the panels with it (2nd to last), I changed it so many times and am still not the biggest fan of it). But there is also a lot I like! I actually finished it for one! Yipppe! I'm still figuring out how to draw everyone and wouf! It was a challenge (shoutout to four though he's a real one). I'm probably going to study their clothes a bit more before making another comic though. I'm also still figuring out how to write all these guys so they might be ooc, sorry about that too. Also here's the rough draft if you want to see it(if you zoom in you can see the original ending (maybe)):

Anyways, if you have read this far, I have a favor to ask: You see it has been a while since I have made a comic for human consumption, and I would like some feedback. Is the text big enough? Do you understand what is happening? Anything really bothering you about it? Anything you really like? Etc. Etc. I am open to constructive criticism.

I will take this time to complain about Zelda's horrible heeled-sandal-boots. They are evil and awful and horrible and every other negative thing you can think of. That is all.

[taylormarieee]

~Were supposed to hate each other right?~ Carl Grimes

Request: Would you do a Carl x Reader, where Carl and Reader dislike each other a lot and then gets lost together on a scavenging trip, so they finally have to spend the night in an abandoned hotel or something similar and to unwillingly share a bed and it ends up with them having sex? can you add that the mood of the two of them the next morning is very strange and embarrassed and they don't know how to deal with each other now?

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: PiV sex, Shy Carl, Shy Reader, Awkwardness, Teasing, lots of cuss words, reader and Carl don't like each other, dry humping, needy Carl, needy reader.

You and Carl didn't like each other at all! It was not a new thing to the group.

Ever since they stepped foot in Alexandria, you just found him so stuck up because he knew all about killing walkers and surviving.

Well let's not forget how you were out in the wild too, trying to survive and not get bit just like them.

The only difference is you had no group. So you hated when he acted like he knew better and was so much smarter then you in survival skills.

You two were both out on a run instructed by Rick and Carol for you too to get along.

You rolled your eyes but didn't complain, Carl on the other hand...

"This is such bullshit! Why do I have to drive in a god damn car with this annoying ass brat?!" He complains.

"Watch your mouth!" Rick yells at his son.

"Seriously dad?" He asks.

"I am very serious. I don't know what it is with you two but lemme get this straigh through your stubborn teenage heads. You two will go on this run, find supplies, and get along. I don't give a damn if you guys fake to like each other." Rick yells.

"People can't stand to work with you two because all you guys constantly do is bicker. Carol's tired of it, i'm tired of it, hell Daryl's tired of it! So shut your mouths and go!" Rick continues irritated before walking off.

"Damn, I've never seen him that angry." You say. You look at Carl and he speaks.

"Well at least we both agree on something." he says before walking off to go find a car.

You follow behind him and you both get in the car. Rosita opens the gate and Carl speeds off.

You each brought a bag off supplies and food just incase you get stranded.

You both silently sit in the car not speaking to one another. You constantly glance at Carl.

"What?" He asks rolling his eyes. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to respond.

"What do you mean? I'm not doing anything." You respond already annoyed.

"You keep looking at me, do you think I'm pretty or something? Stop staring." He says keeping his eyes on the road.

Your face gets hot as you look down at your fingers. You quickly shut down the smile slowly starting to appear on your face.

"Ew! What!? No, I hate you remember. You're ugly anyways." You respond staring out the window.

You feel the car shaking. You think it's just the gravel until the car completely stops moving. It slowly comes to a stop in front of a hotel.

"Damn it! The car ran out of gas. I guess this is where will be staying for a little while. A herd is coming up anyways. Quick let's get inside. Maybe we can find something." Carl says.

You both grab your stuff and quickly but quietly sneak into the hotel before the herd sees you.

You guys find a room on the first floor and get settled. You notice that the room only has one bed.

"Carl, this room only has one bed." You state. He looks around and groans.

"Well you take this and i'll take the room next door then." He responds.

"All the keys are gone except this one. This key was left in the door. You can't open the rest." You respond, "Plus we have to stick together incase anything bad happens. We are sharing a bed wether you like it or not." You say.

"Quit whining like a baby." You add with a smug smile on your face.

Carl rolls his eyes and mutters a curse word under his breath. You both get comfortable and turn your body's far away from each other as possible.

During your slumber to feel Carl moving in his sleep. You were about to kick Carl when you hear him whimper.

'Maybe he was having a nightmare', you thought. But then he whimpered your name and you froze.

He turned his body and grabbed you waist pulling you closer to him. That's when you fell it.

The stiff feeling of his cock inside his jeans begging to be released.

He was having a wet dream about you! This is not real, it can't be, you thought.

You tried your hardest not to move but he kept rubbing himself against you.

"C-Carl." You whimper out. He moans again and grinds himself harder against you.

"Carl!" You whisper shout. He stirs awake, realizing how close he is to you. He quickly scoots away just staring at you in the dimly lit room.

You turn to face him with your hand down you pants desperately looking at him.

Carl is breathing heavily waiting for consent to touch you again, to feel you again.

"I need you Carl." Those 4 words were all he needed before his lips crashed on yours.

You moan into him and quickly go to take of his pants. He lifts your shirt up exposing you belly.

You successfully pull his pants down to his feet before lifting of your shirt.

You fondle with the button on your pants as Carl takes off his shirt and drops his pants and boxers on the floor.

You finally manage to take of your pants and discard them with the rest of the clothes on the floor.

Carl and You are both so needy that he doesn't even have time to prepare you for his length. You don't care anyway.

He slowly slides into you, the stinging feeling of your walls being stretched felt painful but good at the same time.

You moan out as he enters you and he groans at the feeling of your walls trapping him inside you.

You leave marks on his back from gripping him so hard. He slightly tugs on your hair unknowingly but you are to fazed out in bliss and ecstasy to notice.

He continues his slow pace until he feels himself about to cum.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum, c-cum with me please." He whines out. You moan as you feel your orgasm approaching.

"Cum inside me Carl, please!" You cry out. He follows your desperate order and releases his seed inside of you.'

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave. Your whole body shakes and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

You ride out your high and you fall limp. Carl's head falls on your shoulder, his body too weak to support his body weight but he tries anyway for the sake of not crushing you.

You both end up falling asleep snuggled up next to each other.

When the morning comes out through the windows. You quickly notice how you and Carl's clothes are on the floor. You quickly get dressed before he wakes up, memories of last night flashing in you mind as you look at the messed up bed.

You hear Carl finally stir awake and you can't even look him in the eye.

You mutter a good morning before walking out of the room with your bag to try and find a new Car.

You finally found a Car after 10 minutes of looking. You drive it back to the hotel to see Carl standing next to the old Car you guys used.

He gets in and it's the quietest car ride back home. You guys don't speak to each other or even look at each other. 'What an awkward moment you', thought.

Taglist: @carlgrimesenthusiast @loveforcarl @carlsdarling

A/N: Thank you @carlsdarling For requesting this and I'm sorry it didn't get posted when I said it would.

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

BLUE- PROLOUGUE

Summary - Y/N Dursley had always been the ideal daughter, doting, loving and obedient. However, she gets a letter saying she's a witch and is invited to attend Hogwarts, her parents are quick to turn on her. All she has after her parents turn on her is her cousin Harry. But, she falls in love slowly with the friend of her cousin's enemy, Theodore Nott.

Word count - 1711

Warnings - Female reader, use of Y/N, Dursley's treatment of Harry, talks of Voldemort

Author's Note - Welcome to BLUE! I've been planning this series for a long time now and I've finally been able to sit down and start writing it! I currently don't know what house to place the reader in so if you want to be part of the decision head over to my poll to vote on her house! It's been a long time since I've last posted a fic but I'm finally back! I'm gonna try my best to stay on top of my updating and keep posting. I do have a lot of requests to fulfill so I'll start working on those as I wait for the poll results! Lots of love to all of you and thank you for your patience!

THERE WILL BE A TAGLIST SO PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

She has always been the ideal daughter and the ideal sister, treating her family with nothing but love and respect. She wished she could say the same for her brother, Dudley. Now Dudley was the most typical spoiled brat there was, he treated his parents like they were made of money and his sister as a servant. When it came to their cousin however, the poor boy was stuck under the stairs, being left out of many things because of who his parents were. Now she didn’t understand what was wrong with the boy, she was close with the boy, he was her best friend and she was his. 

They were close in age which aided in their closeness, her parents disliking her being so close with the boy but not saying anything in fear of upsetting their beloved daughter. The Dursley girl, who had a heart of gold, used any allowance given to her to get new things for her cousin who was stuck under the stairs. She shared whatever she could with him, whether it be food, clothes, books or toys. On her birthdays, she chose to celebrate with Harry, always making sure she included the boy in her special day.

On Harry’s birthdays, she was always the only one to get the boy a present, she would save up her allowance as well as any birthday money to get the boy new clothes, toys, books, games and whatever else she could think of. She never understood the animosity between her parents and her cousin but she never questioned it in fear of being yelled at by them.

It was Dudley’s birthday, he had requested they go to the zoo for the day. It was a nice change of pace, actually doing something everyone enjoyed on the spoiled boy’s birthday. She was squished in the backseat between her brother and her cousin, hating every second of it because Dudley kept trying to pull Harry’s hair and pulled hers on one too many occasions. “Stop pulling my hair! Mum, tell him to stop!” The girl complained to her mother.

“Leave your sister alone, Dudley. This is supposed to be a happy day, not one filled with complaining,” Her mother lightly scolded. The long necked woman’s last comment hurt her daughter but that’s what always happened when she would complain about Dudley.

As Vernon parked the car and the family walked into the zoo, Dudley ran ahead trying to pull his sister along with him. She pulled her arm away from him and stuck by Harry’s side instead. The day at the zoo was rather uneventful until the end of the trip when Dudley somehow got stuck in a snake enclosure and the snake got out. However poor Harry was locked into his ‘room’ under the stairs for a week. She would sneak the boy out at night so he could eat something and actually move around.

Now it was a couple weeks later, close to Harry’s birthday, she had already gotten him his present which was clothes that actually fit him. Harry was bringing in the post, handing his cousin a letter addressed to her, keeping a letter for himself and handing his uncle the rest of the post. “Harry, give me your letter, they’re gonna take it, we can open them later,” She whispered to her cousin. He handed over his letter and she hid them in the cupboard under the stairs. 

Later on that night, she snuck downstairs and unlocked Harry’s door to find the boy awake, holding their letters in his hand. “You first,” Harry said, putting her letter in her open hand. She let out a breath as she broke the seal and pulled the letter out. 

“Dear Miss Dursley, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of supplies needed for the school year. The term starts on September 1st, we await your owl until July 31st. Sincerely Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress,” She read the letter aloud, “I’m a witch? They’re real?”

Harry left her questions unanswered as he opened his own letter, “My letter says the same. I don’t understand.”

The two of them stayed up the rest of the night, rereading their letters over and over. They stayed awake until the sun rose and Petunia began to walk down the stairs. “What are you doing awake? It’s a Saturday, you usually sleep in,” Her mother questioned.

“Harry and I got the same letter in the post yesterday. It was strange, it was from a school called Hogwarts,” She explained to her mother.

“Vernon! Get up!” The woman shouted to her husband. The fat man came down the stairs at a snail’s pace.

“What is it, Petunia?” The woman ripped the two letters from her daughter’s hand, leaving a large paper cut on her palm as her mother handed the letters over. Her father’s face paled, ripping up the letters.

As the days flew by, the letters flew in by the hundreds, both of them receiving letter after letter until Vernon decided to take them to a remote island to get away from the letters. However, instead, at midnight on Harry’s birthday, a large man had knocked the door down looking for the two. Standing up to the adults and telling them that the two children’s names had been put down since they had been born. The girl was surprised to hear about how her aunt had actually died and about Hogwarts itself. Right then, Hagrid, who had finally introduced himself, brought the two to London.

They had traveled to a place called Diagon Alley, where Hagrid brought the two to the wizards bank to fetch money out of Harry’s vault before starting their shopping spree. They went to all of the shops, the last stop being Ollivanders to get their wands. Harry went first, trying out two other wands before finding his match. It was a little harder for her, trying five wands before she finally found her match. 

Hagrid knocked on the window, holding up a snow owl in a cage and a calico cat in another. They ended their day getting something to eat at the leaky cauldron, Hagrid finally telling Harry how he got his scar, how Voldemort killed his parents and tried to kill him even though he was a baby. That night, neither of them could sleep, staying up all night going through their lists and triple checking they got everything they needed for the first term. The next morning was the day they actually got to see the cryptic school.

Hagrid only gave them their tickets when they got to King Cross Station, telling them to follow their tickets before disappearing. The two cousins tried to find the platform and resorted to asking a guard at the station who was no help at all. That’s when they saw a family of redheads talking about muggles. They looked at each other with a nervous smile before choosing to approach the older woman.

“Excuse me, how do you get…” Harry wasn’t sure how to ask his question but the woman was quick to understand.

“Onto the platform, of course dear. It’s Ron’s first time as well. All you have to do is walk straight at the wall between platforms nine and ten. If you’re a bit nervous, it’s better to do it at a bit of a run,” The woman explained to the two. So together they jogged at the wall as the woman instructed, finding their way to the platform.

“Woah,” Y/N said in awe, taking in her surroundings. 

They were able to find a compartment containing the same boy they met earlier, asking if it was okay if they sat with him. “I’m Ron Weasley,” The boy introduced himself.

“Y/N Dursley and Harry Potter,” Her cousin introduced them both.

“You’re Harry Potter! Do you have the…you know?”

“The scar?” The girl finished his question for him. The redhead nodded and Harry lifted his hair to reveal the lighting bolt scar on his forehead. The three bonded on the train ride to Hogwarts, getting all of the sweets from the trolley and meeting yet another first year by the name of Hermione Granger. She was looking for a boy’s toad before instructing the three to change into their robes. They all did and just as they finished the train had stopped. All of the students had filed out of the train, meeting up with Hagrid who led them to the boats that would take them to the castle.

The view was breathtaking, the only lights coming from the lanterns on the boats and the castle itself. It was like a dream, she had to pinch herself to convince herself she wasn’t actually dreaming. When she winced she deduced that she wasn’t dreaming and this was actually real. Hagrid led them to one of the professors, the same professor who signed their letters. She was leading them up to the Great Hall for the sorting.

“There are four houses, they will be your home for the next few months until summer, they are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin,” The professor explained to the group.

“There's not a witch or wizard from Slytherin that hasn’t gone bad,” Ron whispered to the cousins. 

“So it’s true what they say, Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. Draco, Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott,” A blond boy interrupted from behind them.

Harry and Draco had a quite heated exchange before the lot of them finally followed the older professor into the Great Hall. The sorting ceremony dragged, Harry getting placed into Gryffindor along with Herminone, Ron and the boy who lost his toad, Neville.

“Y/N Dursley,” The professor called. She walked up to the stool on shaky legs before sitting, the hat getting placed onto her head. The hat coming to life spooked her a bit but she was able to relax for a second.

“Hmmm, you’re a tough one to place, you’re intelligent, brave, loyal and clever. Big traits of all four houses, but where to put you? You would do great things in all houses…Ahhh… I got it, better be…”

[undiscovered-horizon]

Who am I to complain? - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[emotional and verbal abuse, unhealthy parent-child relationships]

SUMMARY: When your parents come to visit, Nikolai finally understands why you've never been keen to talk about them. Being the King and your husband, he isn't afraid to defy them.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

"Have you listened to anything I've just said?"

Nikolai shakes you awake from being lost in thought. You look away from the insanely interesting skirting board you had been staring at for the past ten minutes. He’s watching you with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I…” you hang your voice. At first, you wanted to just apologize and ask him to repeat himself but then a sense of dread sprouts in your abdomen - one you can’t quite put a finger on but it takes over your entire mind. “I'm sorry, Kolya. Please, don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry,” you plead, gradually speaking faster.

“I’m not angry,” he states firmly. “But I am growing concerned for you, love. What’s going on?”

“I just keep thinking about my parents' visit,” you confess while rubbing your forehead. “Ever since the letter arrived, I can hardly think about anything else."

"Yes, I've noticed you have been a bit absent for the past few days. I assumed you were going to talk to me when you're ready. Are you?"

"They're not bad people," you begin in a strange tone that makes Nikolai doubt your words right away, "and they've only done their best to give me a good life. Despite that, they have a tendency to bring out the parts of me I've grown to dislike." 

“Isn’t that what every family does?” he jokes in hopes of easing your visible discomfort. But his good humour is gone the moment you look away with a sombre expression stuck to your features.

Nikolai always considered himself exceptional at self-control but something about your sadness makes him gradually abandon reason. As you forlornly stare into the darkness of your shared bedroom, he’s ready to stick feathers to his clothes and pretend to be a peacock just to make you laugh.

“Love,” he calls out softly. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. “You’re the queen. If you want, we can call their visit off right away.”

“That would be a little rude, no?” you ask in a meek voice.

“It’s a lot more crude to make you cry.”

“I will be alright, really,” you reassure him. That miserable look on your face is slowly creeping away. “It’s just three days. Maybe they’ve changed or they’re a lot better than I remember. I’ll be okay.”

Nikolai is unsure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him but he doesn’t push. Despite not believing your clumsy words of reassurance, he trusts you - he’ll step in only when things really get out of hand.

Nervousness and excitement often feel the same and one might even fool themselves into believing that the mortifying tension in their muscles is actually an impatient thrill. Today, however, you don’t even try playing a little trick on yourself. The more you think about your feelings, the more you’re convinced that it’s not even nervousness but fear. Still, you don’t quite understand why exactly your parents’ visit elicits such awful emotions from you.

The door to the throne room opens and a man in a white and gold livery steps inside. He quickly walks halfway to the dais with the throne. 

The servant bows as deep as he can and clears his throat before loudly announcing: “Presenting her most royal Highness’s, the Queen’s, mother and father.”

Only then do your parents emerge from the hall, walking hesitantly through the spacious throne room. Two guards are following them and your father spares them a confused glance every few steps. But the armed men only usher him to keep walking and not turn his back to the king until allowed to do so.

Feeling fear exploding in your chest, you grip Nikolai’s shoulder even tighter. Sitting on the throne, he has to look up to meet your eyes.

“Calm down, it’s going to be alright,” he says quietly. A reassuring smile curves his lips. “You said it yourself.”

As though he is a Heartrender himself, his words make you relax. You take a deep breath and let go of his shoulder. At that moment, Nikolai stands up to greet your parents as their son-in-law first and only then the king of Ravka.

Right then, your mother quickly runs up the few steps leading to the dais. Her face is red and a deep crease now separates her eyebrows.

“I have to wait to be announced to see my own daughter?” She’s barely containing her outrage. “Nonsense!”

“I’m royalty now, mother,” you explain calmly. Your voice almost doesn’t shake.

“And I’m still your mother, the one that gave birth to you. Do I not get any benefits from that?”

Maybe some people don’t actually change.

“I’m afraid you don’t.”

“Is this gold?!” your father exclaims in shock as his hand reaches for your heavy necklace. “So because of you most of Ravka is starving?”

Too occupied with the jewellery, your parents don’t notice the palace guards stepping forward to arrest them for such an accusation aimed at the queen. Nikolai spares them a meaningful look, waving them off. In his heart, he agrees with them.

“Actually, this is a gift from a businessman in Kerch,” you say quietly. Suddenly, you remember why you’ve never visited them since your wedding.

“Still, don’t you think this is a little distasteful?”

Your mother places her hand on your father’s shoulder. “She’s always been vain, darling,” she reminds him.

You’re not a queen anymore - at least you don’t feel like it. All of the gold, silk and jewels are gone and you’re back to being a scared, little girl with hay stuck in her hair. Tears sting your eyes.

Whatever you do is wrong. All of your efforts are underwhelming. Maybe they’d be happier if you weren’t there.

"You're crying?” your father asks with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Oh, don't be so sensitive, you know we’re only joking!” He’s still holding your necklace in his fingers, admiring the glistening crystals. Standing so close to you, he lowers his voice significantly to appear inconspicuous but Nikolai manages to pick up his calloused words. “Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

As she usually does, your mother brings the attention back to herself. “She can be a bit much at times, so I hope you’re a patient one!”

The guards exchange questioning looks, silently asking one another if they should intervene this time. Most of the time they follow Tolya and Tamar’s steps but they’re left to their own devices on this day as Nikolai ordered the twins to take a day off. Perhaps it’s for the best - they’d surely escalate this already uncomfortable situation but it’s only because they care.

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Nikolai answers, unaffected. Despite his speaking to your mother, he’s looking into your eyes. “I can never get enough of her.”

“For most of her life, I thought she’d never get married!” your mother continues. She’s gripping your arm with much more strength than her appearance suggests. “Men don’t like them independent, stubborn and opinionated.”

Nikolai’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “Three qualities of an excellent Queen.”

Your mother laughs obnoxiously. “Just wait a few years, dear.” She pats his shoulder. The guards look between themselves again. “You’ll be quick to send her off just like we were!”

Both of your parents laugh wholeheartedly while you and Nikolai exchange knowing looks. Now he understands why you have been so uneasy lately. This is going to be the longest three days of his life.

The perplexity continues as your mother suddenly places her hands around your waist, examining your torso in great detail. A sour expression forms on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’ve let yourself go,” she says in a worried tone. Her eyes trail the curve of your physique up until she looks at your face. With a serious glint in her eye, she advises you under her breath: “You can’t get fat and slobby if you want to keep the king.” 

The man who announced your parents appears again but this time he walks all the way to the stairs leading up to the throne, although doesn’t dare climb them. His facial expression borders on emotionless and serious as though he’s more of a marble statue rather than a servant.

“Your most royal Highness.” The man bows deeply. “The room is prepared.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai uses the opportunity to cut the awkward conversation short in a diplomatic way. “Escort our guests to their chamber.” 

“Right away, мой царь.”

When the butler disappears around the corner with your parents apprehensively following him, Nikolai looks at you with a grim expression. 

“Are they usually like this?” he asks, disapproval hiding between his words.

“They’re worse at home,” you answer with a shrug. A lot of terrible feelings and thoughts you were convinced you had left behind are coming back and you’re unsure how to handle that.

“You’ve put up with this kind of disrespect for your whole life?”

“It’s not disrespect, just…” you hang your voice looking for the right expression, “tough love. They don’t mean any harm.”

“Don’t mean any harm?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they are yet to say something nice to you. Neither of them even asked whether you’re doing alright.”

A short, troubled sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers trail the golden embroidery decorating his kaftan. “I’m married to a dashing, handsome king and live in a palace. I think they know I’m doing well.”

His hand gently grabs yours, keeping it against his chest. “As much I like flattery, especially coming from you, you can’t pull wool over my eyes, love. It’s not a matter of knowing but principle. Remember our wedding? The guests kept asking how you’re doing so much, you kept saying you’re perfectly fine before they even got a chance to ask.”

The memory elicits a chuckle from you. Yes, everyone seemed to be preoccupied with making sure you were happy and satisfied. It came to such a point, you yelled at Nikolai’s cousin ‘Yes, I’m fine!’ before she gave you a weird look and asked if you wanted some vodka mixed with your champagne. Truly, the only royal thing about Marina is her ungodly fortune but maybe that’s why you’ve grown to like her a lot - she’s down to earth and easy-going.

Nikolai squeezes your hand in a gentle, reassuring manner. “Just say the word and I will personally throw them out.”

“Kolya!” You gasp at his offer but it quickly turns into laughter. “They’re my parents and your in-laws!”

“They also refuse to show care and respect towards my beloved Queen.”

That mellow, loving look in his eyes nullifies any annoyance you might feel at his stubbornness. You pull your hand out of his grasp and place it on the side of his face. Consciously or not, he slightly leans into your touch. “I appreciate your concern.” Not minding the guards in the room, you’ve grown used to their constant presence, you peck his lips shortly. “But they have just arrived. You’ll warm up to them.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer at first. He only reconnects your lips, kissing you deeper, more desperately. When you feel his hands coming up to your waist, you lean away from him. For a moment, you swear you can see a grimace of dissatisfaction on his face.

“Be decent,” you reprimand him but the wide smile you wear so well rids your words of all seriousness.

“You started this.”

“And I will finish if you play nice.”

Nikolai takes a rather long step back, away from you,  just to make a point. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, an excited grin on his face. “You make an exquisite diplomat, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

The time for dinner came faster than you wanted it to. Anxiety bubbled inside your chest again. Still, you continued trying to soap up your eyes with thoughts that maybe when they sit across the table from a king, they’re going to withdraw their little jabs at you. As they say: Hope is the mother of all fools. And you’re about to learn that.

Nikolai raises his cup with wine. “A toast to our beloved Queen,” he announces in an official tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he spares you an adoring look. “Without her, I’d be a lonely, perplexed king. May we not know the world without her.”

To your horror, your father decides to join him. “May she get a grip and come to her senses.”

The dry wine tastes even more bitter as you take what’s supposed to be a celebratory sip. What if he’s right about you? It’s only the beginning of the evening and you already wish you can miraculously vanish or, worst case scenario, just run away. 

You’re about to take a bite of the roasted pheasant on your plate when your mother looks at you with raised eyebrows. She points her fork between you and the plate. “Should you really be eating all of this?” 

You don’t answer her. Whatever you say will only egg her on. Get a grip, you scold yourself and clench your fist to push fingernails into the sensitive skin of your palm. The pain is distracting, grounding.

 "You know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger,” your mother continues. She always does that - throwing poignancies one after another and seeing what sticks. Now, when she’s literally the mother of the queen, she’s even bolder than before.

“Mother-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She points her knife at you. “All I’m saying is as a wife, especially the queen, you have only one duty and you shouldn’t wait with it. Things will only get more difficult as you age.”

Nikolai gives your mother a bright smile. “Have no worries,” he cuts in. “We’re not waiting.”

You almost drop your fork. Flustering people is definitely one of his strategies but must he really involve your sex life in his word games? Although mortified at his bluntness, you must admit it works - your mother’s face is about the same shade as the roasted tomatoes on her plate. She casts her eyes downwards, poking at the food in front of her.

The air is filled with awkward tension but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind in. In fact, he looks quite proud of himself. You, on the other hand, aren’t as good at putting up a believable front.

“So,” you begin in hopes of easing the atmosphere”, how are things back in…” You hang your voice. You were about to say ‘home’, only to realize that it would be an honest lie. The little town where you grew up hasn’t been home in years. “...Tamboyevka?”

“Oh, you know,” your mother says as she makes a dismissive wave with her hand. “Same old, same old. Cattle and field, nothing interesting to someone of your sort, I presume! There’s never been much use of you anyway.”

Listening to your mother’s condescending words, you push your fingernails further into the skin of your hand to distract yourself from the feeling of shame that continues to grow inside your stomach and pull you down with it. Maybe the marble floor will swallow you whole in the next few minutes and all of this will be over.

Then you feel Nikolai’s warm hand sneak between your palms, breaking up your painful distraction. He leans towards you ever so slightly and whispers:

“I’d much rather you pinch and scratch my hand than hurt yourself.”

You look at his concerned face. Words of reassurance, ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright’, nearly push past your lips when your father chimes in, continuing the conversation.

“But your brother, he bought some land down south,” he announces with excitement.

“More land?” you ask. “Ha barely manages with what he already has.”

The memory of your brother’s tired, grey face flashes before your eyes. Every time you see him, he looks even sicker than before as though he never sleeps or eats, only works in the field. He even collapsed on one July day and your parents kept saying that this is a sign of an honest, hard-working man but you weren’t as quick to call a man throwing up everything he eats ‘healthy’.

“You know how he is, always helping others.” Your mother is beaming with pride as if she’s the one doing the farming. “His crops feed two villages and it’s not nearly enough for him! Said he wanted tomatoes and citruses.”

Then it hits you. It’s not a revelation in any way but rather something you don’t think about too often - most of Ravka doesn’t get fruits in winter, especially the ones growing in warmer climates near the Shu Han border. And you not only can easily get it even when snow covers the grassy fields but you’re essentially fed it. Like that one time, you shared a tangerine with Nikolai while sitting in front of a fire, talking about unimportant things.

Despite your mother sitting right in front of you, her voice echoed in your head as though she’s a phantom haunting your thoughts and not a real person: Selfish. Spoiled. Entitled. Ungrateful. People starve because of you.

You focus on Nikolai’s warm, rough hand that’s still holding your own. The pleasant sensation is gradually grounding you, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment.

“What for?” you ask as casually as you can, not giving in to the spiralling thoughts. It still feels like you’re underwater, desperately gasping for air as your lungs burn. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you break the surface of the vicious tides trying to drown you in panic and shame.

Your mother, on the other hand, appears completely oblivious to your plight. “Some child told him they’d like oranges and he couldn’t say no. He’s wonderful, truly. A living Saint! What a blessing to call him my son. You should take a serious cue from him, young lady.” She waves the tip of her knife in your direction again. “But enough about your brother. What do you do when you’re not wasting time? Lay around and smell nice?”

“Well,” you swallow nervously, already knowing that she won’t be satisfied with your answer, “I meet a lot of people, take correspondence, travel across the country or read if I find the time.”

Nikolai must notice the telling crease of disappointment between your mother’s eyebrows. He joins the conversation under a skilful facade of a proud, boasting husband. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. Our Queen,” he puts strange stress on the title, “has started a scholarship for disadvantaged children, takes the time to teach young girls sewing, foreign languages and arithmetic.”

“That’s quite useless, isn’t it?” your mother looks between you and your father, not acknowledging Nikolai’s presence. She keeps stabbing the roasted pheasant on her plate with a fork as though there’s still life inside the poor poultry. “Shouldn’t you try harder?” she hisses at you. “If you continue being this lazy, the whole kingdom will fall apart! What will our neighbours say then?”

Nikolai suddenly gets up. He’s still holding your hand but you can’t be sure whether he’s doing that on purpose or if it’s just an unconscious reflex. The candlelight from the crystal chandelier cascades off his face, pronouncing the clenched muscles of his jaw - he’s angry and barely holding it in.

“Our meeting at this table is adjourned,” he announces in a firm voice. “This is beyond unacceptable. I have overlooked your transgressions simply because of your affinity to my wife. Still, I am disheartened and disappointed with the way you address your queen in her own home. The guards will escort you back to your chambers.”

You hear your mother and father trying to argue and protest, saying something about you being ‘too proud’ and ‘forgetting your place’ but you’re so dumbfounded you can’t make out the details. The guards lead them out of the dining room through one of the tall pairs of doors. When they close behind them, everything goes silent - the brick walls muffle any turmoil your parents might be causing.

Suddenly, your throat constricts. It’s hard to take a breath. Has it always been so hot in here? The tips of your fingers tingle, blood never reaching them.

He threw them out and you didn’t say anything. If they didn’t hate you before, they surely do now. You’re a disappointment, not their child. They haven’t done anything wrong, after all. You’re no good, useless, ungrateful, dramatic.

Suffocating with panic, you run out of the room through a different pair of doors, across the dining hall from the ones behind which your parents had recently disappeared. You hear Nikolai’s footsteps behind you but they are muffled by the noise of bloodflow ringing in your ears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he calls out in a soft voice. You turn around to look at him. His hand is almost at the height of your shoulder but it momentarily drops as though he just backed out from touching you. “What’s going on?”

For a man as smart as him, that’s a really stupid question.

“Why did you do that, Nikolai?” you snap at him.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. A gasp of disbelief brushes past his lips - he clearly thought the two of you were on the same page. “They were insulting you over and over again. I couldn’t just sit and listen to that.”

Truly, you should have expected that. He’s been adamant about standing up to your parents from the very beginning. Still, you’re angry that he just had to be stubborn and do the one thing you explicitly asked him not to do.

“What happened to laugh at insults? Isn’t that your own advice?”

“It is.” Nikolai finally finds it in himself to place his hands on your shoulders. “But I found myself unable to remain collected when the bitter words were aimed at you.” His palms brush against your dress and the skin of your neck until they’re cradling your face.

“I can,” you state firmly. “You should have let me handle this, I’m used to this.”

You escape his loving grasp and he lets you. Walking forward away from him, you’re not quite sure where exactly you’re heading. ‘Away’ would be a lovely direction but quite impossible when you’re confined to those four walls of marble and gold.

“You shouldn’t be,” Nikolai calls out after you.

Suddenly, you halt. You look at him around your shoulder. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be used to being treated like this,” he says in a defeated tone while walking towards you again. “They just keep putting you down, humiliating you. You’re not even slightly upset about that?”

“Of course, I am but…” you hang your voice, finally questioning your own feelings towards your parents. “It’s unfair for me to be angry with them. Ungrateful. I never went hungry or cold. They gave me medication when I was sick and made sure I went to school. Every year they’d give me something for my birthday. Neither of them has ever raised their hand against me. They’ve done all they could to give me a good life. Who am I to complain?”

“You’re the Queen,” he drones the word. His hand holds the side of your face again, thumb lovingly brushing your cheek. “People say your name in the same breath as the names of all the Saints. When I don’t know what to do or what decision to make, I always ask myself what you would do. And I’ve never once regretted that. There are important people who have agreed to my invitation only after hearing that you’ll be there too. You change everything. So you get to be angry when someone refuses to see that. I know you can take a few mean words but I don’t want you to.”

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable, intimate silence. Your absent gaze is stuck to the floor as you’re pondering his words. Whenever you’re about to accept that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something good and important, the voice of your mother echoes inside your head: ‘Vain’. But Nikolai wouldn’t lie to you, would he? At least not in those circumstances.

“Can you keep a secret?” he speaks up quietly, bringing your attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you put a wild racoon in my parent’s bedroom,” you joke, surprising yourself at your newly-found humour.

He scrunches his nose. “Alright, can you keep two secrets?” The echo of the empty halls carries your bright laughter. “To be honest, I wanted to marry you the moment you argued with me about stealing that merchant frigate in Kerch.”

“I could tell,” you answer with a slow nod. “You had a really stupid look on your face, all dazed and absent. In fact, you wore the same one on our wedding day.”

Nikolai’s lips turn into a playful smile and he’s about to say something definitely smart and smooth but a servant interrupts him:

“Your most royal highness,” she says nervously as she curtsies, “your mother wishes to see you. She seems thoroughly upset, if I may say so.” Judging by her fearful, wide-open eyes, she must have gotten a taste of your parents' hurt ego.

Anxiety once again floods your mind. Maybe you should go, apologize and pray they won’t go on a tirade about ‘raising you differently’. But then you hear Nikolai inconspicuously but meaningfully clear his throat.

‘You’re the queen’, his voice echoes in your head. A queen doesn’t cower and bow her head, does she?

“Tell her I don’t take visitations tonight,” you order the servant.

“Right away, моя царица.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice. Judging by her already fearful demeanour, she can guess quite well what will happen the moment she relays the information.

Yes, you will have to warn your parents that they actually can’t hurl insults at your servants. It’s going to be challenging, yes, but this newfound confidence is a ferocious beast, driving you to own up to the title of the queen - not in the way your mother and father want you to but in a way that you need to.

“Oh, one more thing.” The girl immediately stops and turns around at the sound of your voice. “Make sure they don’t leave their wing until either of us says so. I don’t want them wandering around my home.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The servant bows again and leaves the two of you in a rushed step. Nikolai waits until she disappears around the corner to let his hand drop to the small of your back. He leans in close, indecently so. “I love it when you get all commanding,” he whispers against your neck.

An airy laugh leaves your lips as he pecks the soft skin behind your ear.

____

мой царь [mo-ee tzar] -> my tsar/king

моя царица [mo-ya tsa-ree-tsa] -> my tsaritsa/queen

[your-absent-father]

Children in writing: my personal pet peeves

Okay, some might know that I work as an elementary school aid, done it on and off since I was 19, so I have the credits lol. Last december I even got my trade school papers for it. I preface this this way bwcause I have worked with shitton of kids, and will in a future. My background also means that I am very quick to notice when people don't interact with kids that much.

Even the savant syndrome kid is still a kid

One thing that annoys the hell out of me is when the 8 year old smart kid character acts like a 32 year old with all the emotional cababilities it entails. Yes, some kids have an higher intelligence, emotional or otherwise, but in the core of them, they are a kid. They get temper tantrums, they are in awe of new discoveries, they love to play in their own way.

For example, the class I'm in now, we have a kid I will call James. James is raised by his grandparents and it shows in everything he does. He is an old soul, always getting striaght As and almost helping the adults in conflicts. James also giggles as I race with him during recess, he sulks like a kid after not getting what he wanted and laughs really hard at fart jokes. He is 8 even if he has an emotional intelligence of an older kid.

Children are sponges, in bad and good

Speaking of James, he is a great example of children being sponges. This 8 year old, he uses terms like "gosh darn it" or "welp, it is what it is", terms I could see his farmer grandpa using. When he is stressed, he poses like a 73 year old looking at a broken tracktor. You can see his grandpa in him clearly.

I want to say it because a lot of people only write like "I am bad because my dad was bad" characters, even though it isn't that simple moat of the time, and children being sponges could be used in so many different ways, and not just bad.

Kids knowing big words doesn't always mean they are smart

This adds into the "kids are sponges" segment. Lot of kids, especially now, pick up different words, some very difficult, but they themselves don't know what they mean. Just today I had to explain what a dictator meant to a kid talking about North Korea. (That is an other thing too I like to add: kids try to explain with their own understandkng of the world what things they don't understand are)

Children's are adults in progress

Thus is a thing that peeves me the most of all, because a lot of people think children are thing entire different entity than adults. I like to explain it in videogame logic, like as a kid you are doing the first levels and progressing trough. You still the same character at the core of it, you just leveled up and got new tricks up your sleeve. Children are humans, they aren't that difficult to comprehend.

kids with disabilities have presonalities

Omg I am such a passionate person towards this, especially because I am specialized in special ed. It annoys me in no end when a special ed kid's presonality is "ehh they are disabled?". Every single special ed kid I have been with have different personalities and likes and dislikes, if they can't show it to you themselves. I don't think I have met two disabled kids (nor adults) with same personalities, even if they have exact same disability.

In the class I am in now, James's best friend is this kid named Jackie. I don't know Jackie's diagnosis but she can't walk straight, and uses multiple walking aids when her legs hurt too bad. She can't talk very well, struggling with her speak. Still, those things weren't the first thing I'd use to describe her. I'd describe her as a dramaqueen, always ready to complain about something, i'd describe her as a sporty, always running after her friends, even if she is much slower than others. I'd describe her as kindhearted, and clingy as she is always ready for a hug. Her disability is n intergal part of her but not everything.

I could complain about this all day. I have worked with kids and adults with disabilities and they have all been do different from each other (like able bodied people). Maybe another post lol.

Okay rant over.

Tldr: Chldren are humans too. Lol