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tailorvizsla · 4 years

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[Disclaimer: I was absolutely fucking wasted when I wrote this. I’ve cleaned up all the typos I could find, but “Drunk Tailor’s Thots” and the meme stay. Enjoy.]

Title: cracks in his armor Pairing: Daddy x Reader, your tongue x his hammer (and other places), your back x his work table lmaoooo [Sadet (OC) x f!Reader] Word Count: too many (~3k ish?) Rating: absolute filth like NC-21 or something like I’d probably throw myself off a cliff if anyone saw this shit irl Warnings: no use of a condom because tailor is a hoe like that just pretend it’s okay, the ol’ in an out, you lick his hammer, stuff, plot what plot this is straight up porn, inappropriate use of a hammer, he is big meat mando we are hiding all 7+ inches of tiingilar-fed Mandalorian sausage in various holes, we’re climbing the Matterhorn and sliding all the way down to base camp coochie first, we are fucking Sadet like it’s the Dicklympics and we’re going for gold in every category Author’s Notes: just pure unadulterated thirst because who doesn’t want to get bent over and absolutely destroyed by a dude with nice shoulders and a huge dick also we’re licking his hammer BUT pretend it’s CLEAN I ain’t got time to write in him cleaning it off, it’s clean, I promise.

[I feel like I need to apologize to @magsgotswags for what I’ve done to her boy, but...that would be a huge fucking lie and I am not a liar. That being said...I’ll hose him off, put his hammer through the autoclave, and make sure he eats a well-balanced meal before I send him back. 🤣]

📚 My Master List 📚

You’re not sure how this even started but here you are, bent forward over Sadet’s work table with your pants down around your thighs and his cock buried in you to the hilt. He’s got one hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the soft, buttery wood underneath you. The other hand holds your wrists behind your back as he fucks into you, his fingers like iron bands as they dig into the delicate bones in your wrists.

Sadet isn’t big into emotions, but you know for a fact there are at least two things he loves in life – his craft and his big beautiful beskar hammer. Hazily, you wonder if it was the fact that you had cornered him to ask what his line of work entailed that caught his laser-like attention and got you into this situation. A sharp thrust forces a half-sob from your throat as his cock finds the end of you, as if he can sense your distraction from the lesson at hand. He has this thing where he likes to lecture you and test you on what you’ve retained later. It’s not fair – you both know it – but you’re whimpering so much right now you can’t even protest his treatment of you.

Even if you could, you wouldn’t. As emotionally constipated as he is, this is still the best cock you’ve had in your life and you’ve made some headway with getting him to open up a bit. You are not fucking this up. Licking your lips, you let your eyes drift shut as he continues his merciless pace, hips smacking wetly into your ass. You’re virtually helpless to do anything but take his cock. Just the way you like it.

“ – utilizes seven basic techniques [1],” he’s saying, and you feel him look down at you as he squeezes his fingers around your wrists. “Can you name four of them and tell me what each one accomplishes?”

You manage to uncross your eyes as you open them.

“D-drawing,” you gasp out. “Len-lengthens th-the metal.”

“You like length, don’t you,” he murmurs. “Continue.”

A whine pours out of your mouth as he changes his angle just a bit, pressing his cock right into that sweet spot, the one that has you squirming and throbbing.

“B…bending…”

“Mm-hmm,” he responds. “Bent, just like you right now, hmm?”

“…heat,” you manage to get out. “Allows it to b-bend. Ductile. Malleable.”

“Just like the heat of my hands makes your legs spread wide open,” he murmurs. “Bend apart like red hot steel. You feel like it on the inside, too.”

Squirming, you let out a pathetic little mewl as he slows his pace, letting you feel every inch as he draws out until his cock threatens to fall out of you entirely.

“Come on, two more,” he says. “You can do it, little one.”

You wrack your mind, trying to remember what he had been saying earlier. The wretched man stops moving entirely, letting you feel every little twitch of his cock inside you. At least now, the only thing distracting you is the heavy weight of his hands on your body.

“Welding,” you blurt out. “Welding.”

He resumes thrusting slowly, the pressure around your wrists lightening ever so slightly. You don’t need to be prompted to explain it to him.

“Welding…joins two metals,” you stutter. “The same, sometimes dif-different metals.”

“I like joining,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a thrust that forces a noise between a grunt and a scream from between your lips. “Look at us, two different types of metal here. I’d say you were copper. Soft…conductive. All it takes is one little spark and you glow for me. Takes a lot to shatter you…but I think I can make it happen.”

You bite down on your lower lip. He’s broken you before, brought you to the edge until you sobbed for him, begged him for release, promised him the world just to let you finish. He’s a generous lover but when he focuses on the task at hand – whether finishing beskar’gam at the Forge or while fucking you to the brink of tears – there’s very little that will redirect his attention from his work.

“One more,” he coaxes. “You can do it.”

Your brain sputters to a halt. No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember the rest of them.

“Can’t remember?” he asks softly, voice faintly mocking. “I’m disappointed you weren’t paying attention.”

He releases your wrists and pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. Effortlessly, he lifts you up, maneuvering you onto your back in the center of the table. Before you can react he grabs either side of the front of your pants and pulls, neatly ripping the fabric apart. Fuck, yet one more thing you’ll need to worry about later. Sadet lets out a dark noise of delight at the sight of your well-fucked cunt, glistening wet and swollen.

“Hands under you,” he orders, and you slide your hands under your lower back, pinning yourself into place. If you obey, there is a chance he will take mercy on you, let you come and forgive you for not paying attention to his lesson. As his fingers dig into your thighs, you know there isn’t a chance he is going to let you off that easy. It was futile to hope otherwise.

“Blacksmithing utilizes seven basic techniques,” he starts. “You got a few of them. Drawing, bending, welding. There’s punching, which is used to create a decorative pattern or to add a hole.”

His fingers trail up your thighs as he holds your legs wide apart.

“Speaking of adding holes…I haven’t fucked your ass yet, have I?” he murmurs. You’re not able to hide your grimace and Sadet laughs at you. “If you’re ever in the mood, I’ll happily wreck your ass the same way I wreck your cunt, little one…now where was I?”

He pauses deliberately, reaching up. The man yanks your shirt open, sending buttons flying in every direction. Your bra follows but you don’t dare protest – he’ll just offer to buy another one for you. There is something about literally ripping the kute off you that turns him into an animal.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “You weren’t paying attention during my lesson. How to punish you…”

You whine and squirm, knowing what’s coming next. With one hand, he places his hammer on the table, all smooth beskar from the head all the way down to the metal shaft. Sadet lifts it and aims the handle right into your cunt, sliding it in slowly. It’s thick and cold and he only uses it on you when you’ve really pissed him off. You deserve it though – he’s given this lecture at least a dozen times, you should know the seven steps. It’s your own fault at this point.

He keeps a tight grip around the shaft to keep it from sliding too far in and hurting you. He’s fond of making you cry but not that way – he doesn’t want to hurt you, he only wants you to cry from pleasure. When you finally relax down onto the surface of the table, he starts to rock it in and out slowly. When you reach up and squeeze his forearm with your fingers, he knows he can use a little more force, and you return your hand under your back.

“There’s upsetting, which thickens metal on one dimension through shortening on another,” he says. “Then there’s also upsetting, which is what your refusal to pay attention does to me.” He sighs exaggeratedly. “You’re a mess in armor, but...a tolerable mess.”

You whine, pussy clenching around the ice cold intrusion inside you, heart racing at the sight of the smooth dark visor floating out of reach above you.

“Can you remember the last one?” he asks, his voice almost taunting. “You can do it.”

“F…finish…finishing,” you pant out, and he tilts his helmet down at you in a Mandalorian smile.

“Good girl,” he rumbles at you. “I may let you finish, little one, if you keep being good for me.”

He turns his attention to his hammer, watching the beskar disappears inside you, only to reappear moments later, wet and drenched in your slick. He stays there until the metal is warm from your cunt before he pulls it out. Lifting the edge of his helmet up, he brings the metal to his lips and the tip of his tongue darts out, lapping up a bit of your mess. You shudder in response.

“Warm, sweet. Soft. Tastes good,” he says. “Tastes like you.”

He gently places the hammer down onto your torso, the heavy head on your belly and the smooth metal shaft pointing toward your face. Without waiting you open your mouth and close your eyes, stretching your lips around the smooth metal handle. It’s a bit awkward like this, bobbing your head while you clean the long streaks of slick off the beskar, but he loves it in a way he can’t really explain.

Once he’s satisfied, he pulls the shaft out of your mouth with a wet pop. Then he deftly turns it around, holding the head just above your lips. Locking eyes with the horizontal bar of his visor, you let your tongue dart out, tracing along the gleaming metal surface. His other hand tightens at your waist.

“I have something else for your mouth, if you’d like,” he murmurs.

You nod once at him, and he offers his hand, pulling you up into a sitting position. Sadet helps you down and you lower yourself onto your knees as you take in the sight of his marvelous cock: thick, long, uncut, and curving slightly up and to the left. Parting your lips, you bob your head, taking him a little further each time. He doesn’t move as you take him in until he brushes up against the back of your throat.

One hand rises to cup his balls – heavy and covered in a fine thatch of curling hair – while the other rests on his thigh to brace yourself. Peeking up at him from under your lashes, you let him sit in your mouth, tasting yourself and the faint bitterness of his cum. Sadet rolls his hips, giving you a few moments to settle in before setting a brisk pace. His fingers dig into your scalp as he tugs on your hair, guiding you on his length, not speaking a word as he simply watches his cock disappear into your mouth.

You sort of give up on controlling the pace then and go slack in his grip, yielding to him entirely. Your jaw starts to ache rapidly, but you keep your eyes on his visor, knowing that your glazed over eyes drive him wild. You can taste hints of bitterness as his precum spreads across your tongue, his pace growing faster and rougher as he chases completion inside your hot, wet mouth. His other hand curls around the back of your head and you know he is getting close to the edge.

“Wanna hear you gag,” he whispers, and you squeeze his thigh it’s okay you tell him with your hand.

Your jaw burns now but you don’t want to tap out, you don’t want to stop, not while he’s so close. Your cunt clenches around nothing, painfully empty after his cock and hammer, aching desperately for him to finish inside you and coat your insides with his seed. As he hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit, and he groans in response. Tears stream down your cheeks as he continues. You can hear the harsh pants from his modulator and thank the gods you think to yourself – you’re not sure how much more your mouth can take right now.

Sadet pulls his cock free and strokes himself to completion on your face. Thick ropey splatters of cum coat your skin and fill your mouth, spilling down onto your breasts as he groans, a growling noise from deep in his chest. He holds you there, his body hunched forward as he pulses the last few drops onto your chest.

With his index finger, he wipes up a bit of cum clinging to the head of his cock. He tilts your head back and wipes It onto your lower lip. You dart your tongue out to lick up the mess, listening as his breath hitches. When he lets go of your hair, you sink onto the ground, body aching and trembling from exhaustion. As goosebumps prickle across your arms, you realize you’re also trembling from how cool it is over here in this corner. He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

“Stay there,” he says quietly and you nod.

You’re not sure you’d be able to move even if you wanted to right now. As Sadet goes to the hook on the wall, you use the remains of your shirt to wipe the mess of your face. He takes down his luxuriously soft fur cape. Instead of wrapping it around you, he spreads it onto the ground next to the Forge and returns to your side. As you get to your feet, he wraps a calloused hand around your elbow and helps you up, guiding you over to his cape. Along the way, you shed the remains of your top and bra.

Sadet joins you on the cape, taking his helmet off last, and setting it down on the floor next to you. Dry heat pours out of the exchange vents, sending another prickle across your skin as he settles between your thighs. His eyes drift shut and you know he’s stopping to enjoy the heat. During the summer, he always pauses when taking that first step outdoors, taking just a moment to tilt his face toward the sun to bask in the harsh light. He opens his eyes and you smile up at him, squeezing your knees around his hips as he settles across your body.

He guides himself inside, pushing in with short, gentle thrusts, sliding in until your bodies meet. Meeting your eyes, he starts a slow, deep pace, hitting every single one of the needy spots inside you that scream for friction. As you trail your hands up his arms and shoulders, fingers cataloguing the knots in his muscles, you sigh with pleasure. You luxuriate in the deliciously soft fur underneath you and the sweat-slick glide of his body above yours, his weight heavy and comforting at the same time. He takes it slow, trying to be considerate of you, considering everything he’s done to you in the past half-hour.

Digging your nails into his back, you feel the thick corded muscle jumping under your fingers, sighing with pleasure. You can’t hold back your inhalation when his lips – soft and slightly chapped – meet your collar bone as he kisses you for the first time. He starts to pull away but you wrap your arms around his neck, pleading with him silently to keep going. And he does, pressing one light kiss to your shoulder after another, trailing his way to your neck. When he bites down, you moan wantonly, cunt and legs tightening around him. Your reaction seems to encourage him and he keeps going, each kiss sending a dizzying arc of pure lightning shooting through your entire body.

By the time he makes it to your jaw, you’re shaking, on the verge of coming, your head swimming dizzyingly from the sheer pleasure of his lips against your skin. His next kiss lands right next to your lips and you desperately want to turn your head to meet his lips but you know it’s not his thing so you let him decide what happens next. He hovers for just a moment as you watch him with half-closed eyes, your pupils surely blown wide open from arousal, and he leans in, his breath fanning across your cheeks.

That’s enough to send you right over the edge and as your back arches, Sadet kisses you on the lips, swallowing your cry of pleasure. He thrusts a few more times, tongue tracing the seam of your lips before you remember to kiss him back. Your hand curls around the back of his head and pulls him in close as you deepen it, mouths open and his tongue hesitant against yours. He thrusts shallowly a few times before drawing to a halt, his lips never leaving yours as he continues the kiss.

He draws back after several more toe-curling kisses and you unlace your legs from around his waist, dropping your feet onto his calves. When he hisses and jerks forward, thrusting his half-hard cock into you, you give him an apologetic grin and remove your feet to the cape underneath your entwined bodies. When the two of you have regained your faculties, he pulls out, and sits back on his heels as you rest your hands on your belly.

He tilts his head slightly as he offers his hand. Once again, he pulls you up. You take in your ruined garments with a wry look on your face.

“I’m going to have to go back to my room in your clothes again,” you quip at him.

“Who said anything about you leaving?” he asks.

Your mouth drops open in a little ‘o’ of surprise, your eyes jumping up to meet his. After all this how can he still want more? He laughs at you as he picks up his helmet and hammer.

“I haven’t gotten to test your knowledge of different fuel sources yet,” he explains. “We have all night, sweet girl. There’s plenty of time for me to breed you.”

With that he marches you toward his sumptuous bedroom.

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[1] Traditional blacksmithing has seven basic techniques used, but can be divided into four rough categories: forging, welding, heat-treating, and finishing.

__________________________________________________________

Data:

Tailor: would 100% let Sadet smash

Kalni:

Figure 1: Meme showing the subject’s thoughts on Sadet the Armorer from the Samaki Tribe. The strong language in this image – “In conclusion, I’m a slut for Sadet” – indicates the subject is willing and able to permit Smashing to occur.

Maggie: Yes

Kata: Yes

Izzy: Yes

Conclusions:

To come to an accurate conclusion, the experiment would need a bigger sample size. However, based on preliminary results, it can be concluded that Sadet is 100% Smashable.

Bibliography:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blacksmith#Smithing_process

The “You Enabled This” Tag List:

@hdlynn @magsgotswags @thecautiousengineer @maybege @nelba

#star wars #the mandalorian #tailor writes #while fucking wasted #romance #oc: sadet #sadet is magsgotswags's OC #my sample size is perfectly fine #my conclusions are perfectly unbiased #this is a scientific study #no beta we die the same way bo-katan did on the inside when din djarin got the darksaber #we were simping for sadet in 2020 #simping for sadet in 2021 #inappropriate use of a hammer #for a mandalorian armorer this is probably considered sacrilege idk

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shamansantics · 5 years

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Some People Be Shitting on My Girl Ariel

And I am here to tell you why saying shit like "Ariel left her family for d*ck whereas Moana did it to save her village" is not on.

Ariel from the very start of the movie is shown to have a profound fascination with the human world. Her passion for anthropology is such that she befriended the only bird who'd come near her and avidly listens to him to collect every tidbit of information about humans that she can get.

In the famed song "Part of that World" she sings about how she longs to "ask them my questions and get some answers", which goes to show that she often feels ignored and tossed aside when she expressed curiosity. Her interests don't matter. Her concerns are invalid. (There's a lot of proof of this in the prequel where we see her dad completely ignore her when she tries to make a point about music and how Atlantea should have it.)

She also sings about wanting to be somewhere where "they don't reprimand their daughters", showing once again that she feels scorned and diminished. Powerless.

She doesn't sing about wanting to go to balls and meet dudes to thirst on. She sings about wanting to explore a new world, discover a new culture and - hopefully - better her own fate by going to a place she, although knowing little about it - feels and hopes is more progressive than her world in certain key areas, namely the respect given to young women.

Lo and behold, she sees a mortal man and is infatuated. Saves him. Sings to him. Bonds with him in the throes of danger. This is the first time she is close to the object of her passion - a real live human - and he is fascinating and male and pretty damn fine.

We don't know how much contact Ariel has with merman, but her best friend is a literal fish, her chaperone is a crab and like... do we see Ariel interact with any mermen? Or her sisters? Never. This isn't conclusive evidence but considering how tight a leash Triton tries to keep her on, I honestly wouldn't be shocked if she just plain wasn't allowed to talk to guys - tailed or legged - that were even remotely sexually compatible with her ever. So yeah.

She's out and about unsupervised, saves a hot dude, spends the night high on adrenaline and feeling like a powerful heroine while in the closest proximity she's ever been to a man who isn't her dad EVER... and the night before she'd seen him singing and dancing and being generally good humoured and not a jerk? She is going to fall hard and fast.

That's not a character flaw, okay. I repeat. FALLING IN LOVE ISN'T A CHARACTER FLAW.

It doesn't make her silly or weak or stupid to fall head over heels for a guy who represents everything she finds inspiring in a very short time. It makes her *sixteen*, her canon age, if I'm not mistaken. Hormones are high, mood is lit, guy is attractive. She's going to be attracted. She is going to love him. Love what he represents. Novelty. Freedom. Joy. Adventure.

Most of all, she's going love what he inspires in her: courage, strength, daring. And yeah, beauty and sexiness too.

He makes her feel more powerful than she's EVER felt before and they haven't even spoken yet! Unsurprisingly, she is going to confuse attraction and a feeling of empowerement with "true love", especially if she's never been told she was powerful before.

Ariel has been told she's pretty and sings well and all she's good for is sitting tight in her shell and combing her hair and performing for concerts.

As someone whose father has told them - and I quote - "the only thing I know that you can do well is sing" (ouch...), it smarts okay. It *hurts* to want more and be reduced to your voice. Unsurprising that Ariel didn't see trading it as a big deal.

By the time she goes to see Ursula, she has *saved a man's life* in the middle of a raging storm while the sea was on *fire*. Her chaperone has betrayed her leading to her father disrespecting her one time too many and then *destroyed* her most valuable possessions to "teach her a lesson". She is in love and angry and empowered. And he expects her to what? Go home and fucking *sing*?

Honestly, if Ursula hadn't asked for her voice, she'd probably have offered it up anyways in exchange for one (1) Atlean salt-and-vinegar chip.

So... keep in mind that this is the mindset of the girl who "gave up her world and family for d*ck".

Her dad's a jerk. Her sisters don't share her interest or understand her. Her best friend is a *fish* and just not able to keep up or truly connect with her the way she wishes he could. She is *lonely*. She is young. She is a girl.

And do you know what girls are taught? They're taught that the only thing that will make them feel more powerful than being in love... is being someone's mom. Ariel is too young to care about motherhood. But she is the perfect age to buy the "true love is the most powerful feeling you will ever experience" bullshit hook, line and sinker.

So if she feels empowered around a man? A good looking man at that? Must mean she's madly in love with him.

And see... this narrative... it isn't just Ariel who has it. She has spent *years* passionate about humanity and its culture only to be dismissed, mocked or forbidden to explore her interests at every turn. Her troves, build over years of exploration, is annihilated in *seconds*. Her father has NO respect whatsoever for her desire to learn about humans.

Ariel's true passion: anthropology of humanity is completely invalidated. No one sees it as something of value in this girl, much less something that might empower her enough to seek out the sea witch and give up her tail and voice to pursue. Least of all her.

And yet, it is. I am willing to bet that if she'd gone home after talking to Flotsam and Jetsam, the idea of seeking out the sea witch would have stayed there and within a decade, she'd have gone anyways.

The thing is... the interest of women and girls aren't taken seriously. They're "childish" and "immature" and "unimportant". The most important thing a woman can do is be in a relationship with a man and then a mother, or so we're told. That's why even accomplished career women are seen as having something fundamentally missing if they're single.

My point is... Ariel didn't abandon her family and home to chase after a guy she hadn't even talked to yet.

She abandoned her family and home to chase after a dream she'd had for years. The guy was a side quest that temporarily obsessed her because hormones and also threat of doom via seawitch... but folks. The sheer *delight* on that girl's face during her carriage ride through town is not the face of a woman whose biggest concern in life is getting married. You know... when her life isn't under threat if she doesn't.

What you should be pissed off about isn't that a sixteen year old dared fall in love with a guy who made her feel powerful, even though she didn't know him. And it's not that said sixteen year old was willing to trade the things OTHER PEOPLE told her were her most valuable assets (family that doesn't value her as a person, home she wants to leave, singing ability that has been used to demean her to a useless pretty thing)...

What you should be pissed off about... is that Triton thought it was okay to destroy the trove his daughter worked years towards. Would have NEVER allowed her to trade her legs and voice to go be human just for the sake of learning and enjoying human culture...

But was *blessing* her decision to do just that when framed under the lense "I'm in love with this dude I've know for less than a week and I'm gonna marry him, unfortunately tail's gotta go to make that happen and I'm never coming home ever."

He would have dragged her back kicking and screaming if she'd asked to leave so she could go pursue her passion. No amount of "proving herself worthy" would have made that an okay thing for her to do. But because it's "true love"... sure. Fine. She can go. He's fulfilled his fatherly duties anyways and made sure she's done the most important thing a daughter can do: marry a rich dude.

The moral of this story is...

A. Stop shitting on women for falling in love. It doesn't make them less worthy or their decisions less legitimate.

B. Stop shitting on women for confusing feeling empowered with falling in love when they're told about how amazing and magical the latter is and don't even know the former is exits, a lot of the time.

C. Start shitting on people for giving more legitimacy to the concept of "true love" as a motivator for making huge life changes than they do to shit like "because this thing interests me and I like it a lot and it makes me feel good when I do it". Start shitting on people for making a woman seeking a sense of fulfillment not worth a happy ending unless there's a romance too.

D. Moana was super selfish for wanting to leave her home to go explore even though she had a good family and her island was happy. And that's *okay*. Women are allowed to want things for themselves. They don't exist to please others and pacify their societies. Good on her for saving her village though.

E. Ariel was super selfish for wanting to leave her home to go explore even though her family was arguably much less awesome than Moana's. And that's *okay*. Good on her for meeting a dude she liked, falling for him and making the relationship last and be, as far as Ariel II shows us, a pretty decent one. WOMEN ARE ALLOWED TO WANT ROMANCE and it doesn't make them frivolous, even if they want it more than the "important" shit they're told they should be interested in instead. (Not that Ariel's main interest was romance, btw)

F. Women are allowed to be happy dammit. Be it via romance or career or hobby or academics or all of the above or *none* or other.

Just let women be happy without putting one down in favour of the other and shitting on them.

Ariel is a *great* movie and Ariel is a badass character and she is smart and extremely competent and *brave* and strong and good and anyone who says otherwise is a superficial coward whose forgotten what it feels like to be 16 and disrespected. In this essay I will...

#this is too long #rant about Disney #the Little Mermaid #ariel rocks #let women be happy #moana rocks too

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lotornomiko · 4 years

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The Ones Left Behind Chapter Four (Not Safe For Work)

At long last, after many years, chapter four of my Catra Adora fanfic is here. Not safe for work, Adora POV, sorry it’s short. You can read the other three exisitng chapters over here at archive of our own (NOT SAFE FOR WORK AND HEED THE WARNING TAGS!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952798/chapters/8862691

My mind is unable to truly rest, so wound up tight with thoughts and suspicions, and even old familiar anxieties where the Horde was concerned. That we have not seen a single sign of even one of their rank, does nothing to soothe, this restless night without end, and plagued with many a doubt and even an insecurity or two. I’m wound up so tight by them, that not even this past eve’s vigorous workout, exhausting though it had proven to be, and on so many levels, could usher me into the escape I so truly needed.

I was running on reserves that were dwindling ever closer to empty, yet pumped high on the anticipation of what the coming days would bring. Since arriving at this port town, at the far eastern edge of the kingdom of Mystacor, my body and my mind have been on high alert. Always waiting, always ready, it was almost a disappointment to not have the Horde appear. I couldn’t trust in this temporary peace though, not when I know the Horde better than anyone else in the Great Rebellion could lay claim to. For almost the entirety of my twenty one years, I have lived, breathed and actively partaken in the Horde way of life. That brutal conquest, the never ending wars, and the millions upon millions hurt, even killed. Tortured for the one thing they had all wanted, the one thing that the Horde itself would never truly be able to abide.

Peace.

The dream of many, that intangible thing, a state of being so against the Horde’s way. Chaos is what they embraced, strife and devastation the likes of which no other warring caste has ever known, or surpassed. Their is the total sum of despair, a nightmare made real, greed, cruelty, and an almost maddening lust for the hurt that they could and did so often inflict, no one had been safe. Not man, not woman, not child. In the vast empire that Hordak and many others like him, had help build for Horde Prime, might has been the only right of it, trillions of the meek trampled, tortured, and otherwise killed, it had been an eat or be eaten kind of lawlessness that didn’t just cater to the wicked, it gave rise to them.

All manner of vile creature is drawn to the Horde. Everything from bullies and thieves, to murderers and rapists, all clawing over everything, even each other, to try and achieve the ultimate award. That of the title of Force Captain. It’s been all manner of scum, and no matter the origin story, they—we, had shared all of one thing in common. That of being the worst of our kind.

I shudder each and every time I think on it, on what it had meant to be a Force Captain. Practically birthed into the life, taken from my true home and family just days into my newborn existence, I couldn’t, wouldn’t make excuses. I didn’t care that I had been drugged, trained, even had my mind tampered with through magic, the blood of many was on my hands. Good and bad both, it hadn’t mattered, my position as Hordak’s adoptive daughter, making me thirst harder and act crueler in an attempt to prove myself worthy. I don’t even know for sure if the pride I had taken in my accomplishments was another part of Shadow Weaver’s manipulations, but the shame and regret I suffer with now is all too real.

It borders on pain, those very real feelings of guilt, and the knowledge that I will never be able to do enough to atone for my sins of the past. I keep on trying though, throwing myself into the rebellion as Adora and She-ra both, Etheria is just the first of the many planets I will need to help set free from the Horde’s evil. It is a forgiveness I won’t be able to give myself otherwise, no matter the truth of my circumstance, the little baby that I had been, finally growing into the woman I am now, and not that hateful witch that I had been groomed to be through magic and manipulation and an overwhelming desire to please.

That desire is an ingrain part of me, that need warping from trying to prove myself to Hordak, to instead the people of the Rebellion and Etheria in particular. That want I have, that urge to please, is as unsettling as it is real, leaving me to wonder just how much of my personality still remains shaped by my experiences as part of the Horde. It’s never easy to confront such a truth, for though there are parts of me that bear little resemblance to the woman I had once been, there are others, habits if you will, that remain the same. That insatiable lust that sends me from partner to partner, and always they are found lacking in some way or another, through no real fault of their own.

They are not enough. No one may ever be enough. It doesn’t matter the gender, or the color of their hair, or how considerate a lover they might be, I am left yearning for the forbidden. For that one thing, that could make a mockery of all I try to accomplish NOW. It’s not the soft, gentle romance, nor is it the outright cruelty of rape, it’s a brand of passion all its own, a lover whose memory won’t let me forget, her existence taunting me with what else might have been real amid Shadow Weaver’s mental maneuvering.

That I hold this obsession still, that those particular memories are still so dear, make a part of me doubt just who I am. What I am. They mock me, whispering words whose accusations make me wonder how much of it had been brainwashing magic and drugs, and how much of that had truly been ME. Just what, who, is the real face of Adora? The Force Captain, or the rebel? Or am I an amalgam of the two? I tell myself I don’t know, but deep down it is a truth that I fear has already been answered.

It haunts me, colors every real choice that I now make. From the war that I struggle to end daily, to the lives that I affect, to even the lover that is currently in my bed, it is all me spiraling about in a tight bid for control. Trying to deny what is the real truth, and the who that I am missing. The woman I had left behind. There’s a guilt there, what she, what Catra, represents, a great many things that I have never wanted to face. That I still don’t, running in the only way that I know how, throwing myself into the art of vigorously arousing the night’s latest conquest.

The tavern wench from earlier, with her hair so dark a blue it is almost black, with sharp boned cheeks and a stubborn set of her lips, in this dim lighting, could almost pass. She doesn’t purr like Catra does, doesn’t curl claws over flesh in a way that borders between pleasure and pain. Her honey isn’t the same, lacking that sweet spice that marks my former lover, as so uniquely her own. She’s everything that the Force Captain isn’t, all kindness and light, and carefully restrained passion. She doesn’t make it hurt in that wild way that feels oh so good, like a whip breaking skin, her cries nothing like the pleasured screams I am longing for.

It makes me angry, makes me try harder to get this woman to drop the reserved act, and go crazy. I bury my face between her thighs, feel the wet proof of her arousal on my tongue, lips and chin, and still she does little more than lay there, muffling her moans, and biting at her lip. I bite, nibble and suck in turn, roll my tongue over and around her engorged clit. I even catch at it with my teeth, giving a tug that nearly arches the tavern wench right up off the bed. If I’m not careful, I will hurt her with my anger, with the frustration that I feel. I battle her body, as much as my mind, tongue laving in bold purposeful strokes, focusing on soothing the sting of my teeth, and the blow to my wounded pride.

It is unfair to compare them, the memory nothing like my reality, and yet I do it all the same. My nails dig into her bottom, any harder and I will draw blood. I tease and torture this woman, not with violence, but with an angry pleasure, every whimper and muffled squeal only fueling my frustration. I can’t get her to outright scream, to do that howling kind of satisfaction that Catra was so good at voicing. It’s not the wild cat in my bed, but some kind of kitten, cute to look at, and tame, but holding none of the feral passion and danger that rutting with a beast would bring.

I want so much more, want to feel nails digging into me, teeth biting at me, hands pulling at my flesh and my hair. I want to bleed, and I want to hurt, that masochistic sadism a euphoric rush like no other. I truly am broken, caught between the desires that my past has well established, and the image I’ve worked so hard to cultivate now, if this wench knew of how hard and how fierce I wanted the sex to go, she’d try to run screaming from this room.

The resentment inside me, I bring her crashing over the edge with not just my tongue, but fingers as well. With the plunge of them deep, curling and then scissoring apart, caressing over soaked flesh that positively gushes over, there’s a sudden touch in my hair, a gentle petting that is also too reminiscent of the woman I had loved and left behind. Catra for all her lustful violence, had had some gentleness to her. Always appreciative of a good fuck, my wild cat had also been one hell of a cuddler. It was the feline in her, fickle one second, attentive and demanding the next, she had loved nothing more than to curl around me and purr while roaming her hands over my curves.

“A...Adora?” That uncertain tone, cause an unsteady blink of my eyes. That shy expression, the awe on her face, is so decidedly what I DON’T want, that I am pulling away, as though hit with a blast of icy cold waters.

“We should get some sleep.” I tell her, already rolling off to the side of her. I can feel the hesitation in her, the uncertain energy even before she asks.

“But what about...”

“I’m fine.” I insist curtly. “Got an early rise in the morning...we should both get some sleep...”

There’s still that hesitation felt, but she makes no other attempt, as though accepting my decision. A certain wild cat would never have settled for anything less, Catra always the type to give to me, as well as take. I hold in my sigh, and insist to my mind, that I am not missing it, missing HER. It’s a lie I tell myself every night, every encounter, trying to deny that there HAD been one good thing, twisted though it had been, about my time with the Horde.

I cast it, her, aside, denying that one part of my past, that had been true.

To Be Continued…

I have been stuck for years on how to get this chapter written...I debated on and off over having Adora get it on with the tavern wench or not...I still feel unsure about the end result. But I wanted to make the effort, especially since there are other scene sin my notes, I was looking forward to writing out someday….

I haven’t seen season five of Netflix yet, cause I just canceled my membership and then like a week later, they announce season five. ARGH! I’ll probably be restarting it for June...or July...I am spoiled on certain aspects of it, cause of I went looking for Utena on you tube, and someone did a comparison scene of Utena and Anthy versus Catra Adora….so yeah, I am spoiled on what happens with them at least, and it’s partly why I got motivated to try and force this chapter out. In celebration of my ship becoming cannon! XD

I also tweaked the existing chapters, in that I tried to fix some little bits here and there, just mainly sentence structure, or word placement. If you follow me in my other fandoms, you’ll already know, I am never happy with my writing, and constantly trying to fix and improve it…

So I went over the first three chapters, though I didn’t think I’d get over my block...and I know this is a short chapter...but I’m trying here...really am. I debated skipping this content, and getting them right to the planet Argo….though that would have felt like cheating, or taking too big a short cut, and I don’t like doing that with my writing either. XD

I have no idea who will be the POV for five. Leaning towards Adora though, and having the representatives from Argo arrive!

It’s also my birthday today! (May 23, 2020)

----Michelle

#she-ra #fanfic #fanfiction #catra #adora #catra x adora #the ones left behind

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snowbellewells · 5 years

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Self Promo Sunday: “Scaling the Walls”

Originally, I started this one before the season four finale actually aired, though the idea and set-up were based on the promos, and I didn’t finish it until that episode had shown. Still, this is more my own idea of how the “Emma being trapped in a tower and needing a rescue” plot could have played out. I revisited it the other day and thought that someone else might also enjoy it on Self-Promo Sunday!

"Scaling the Walls”

By: @snowbellewells

Wave upon wave of pain racks her body, radiating through unendingly, nearly rocking Emma Swan off her feet. The only thing keeping her from falling to the floor in an unconscious heap are the chains binding her hand and foot to the stone wall of her tower prison. Her eyes slam shut, and she tries fruitlessly to press her hands to her brow, only to have the motion arrested halfway through by the shortness of her bonds. It feels as if her head may split in two if she cannot exert some pressure to keep her senses together, but all her efforts are for naught. She is trapped and will remain so, no end to her agony in sight.

A strangled scream rises from her throat, pouring past her lips out the window into the trackless woods surrounding her cell and reverberating off its walls. She feels her heart wrenching and shattering as this psychotically unrecognizable version of Snow White plunges her hand once more into Emma's chest and grasps, squeezing and trying to pull out her own daughter's heart. The fact that this is her mother, made bloodthirsty and malicious by some wretched curse, only makes the torture worse, as the face whose kindness Emma has always treasured grins wickedly and Snow throws back her head with an evil laugh. "Oh darling! If you think you will ever defeat me, you're living in a dream world. You as the uprising’s pathetic hope?!? Their promised Savior?" The words are hissed right in Emma's face as the clawed fingers squeeze her pounding organ tighter and jerk at it again, "It’s almost laughable. I am the Queen, and you will rot in this tower, unless you relinquish your lovely heart, and your magic, and submit to my control."

Emma is practically trembling with pain and exertion, sweat running down her forehead and stinging in her eyes, fists clenched at the effort it takes merely to retain awareness through this newest onslaught, petrified by what might happen to her if she slips away. She bites almost through her lower lip, trying not to scream or cry anymore – knowing it only brings this twisted version of Snow pleasure. She has also long since ceased trying to remind her mother of the truth, as it also brought only pain at previous attempts. It hardly bears mentioning that her magic is either not working or no longer accessible to her. She is certain that this Snow won't take that for an answer. Still, can't the other woman see that if Emma had control of her powers she wouldn't stay here at their mercy? Tears fall from Emma's eyes silently at the cruel, unknowing stare focused on her, but she holds back any sound.

The new Evil Queen twists her hand within Emma's chest, and Emma is sure she must be dying. A howl of agony tears from her throat against her will and echoes in horrible crescendo. The sounds of abject despair and torment go winging out the lone window of the tower to be heard for miles around by those who ignore the cries of a rumored hero supposedly suffering at the Queen's hand.

The heartless slave version of Prince Charming steps forward from where he waits in the shadows, hand outstretched in supplication as he urges his Queen. "Your Majesty!" he pleads fervently. "Stop, please! You'll kill her at this rate and never harness her magic for yourself!"

His dark haired mistress darts a dangerous, crackling, narrow-eyed look over her shoulder at him against the far wall, pausing only an instant before her hand shoots out and throws him against the solid stone, where he falls incapacitated. "Silence!" Snow White orders needlessly as he seems completely stunned into submission.

Her shuttered, emotionless eyes, venomous and sharp as any serpent's, flick back to her prisoner and gleam with cold intent. "You're going nowhere, Princess," she purrs, the title cruel and mocking with the inflection she gives it. "You'll die a prisoner either way. But how much more you suffer before I can gain your heart and your power is entirely up to you. Tell me now how I can accomplish this, and put yourself out of your misery."

Emma trembles helplessly where she stands; her abused, aching muscles stretched beyond endurance but unable to gain relief. She wants to cry out to Snow that she is not this monster; they need to fight together to escape whatever alternate reality Gold and the Author have plunged them into - despite knowing her plea will do no good. Though she senses she will need her magic before all is said and done, though she knows she must hang onto what strength and sanity she has left, Emma thinks that in this awful moment, if she knew how to give up her powers, she would allow the Queen to have them. She doesn't know where Killian or Henry, or any of the other people she has come to know and care about, are – if they have been brought along in this nightmare as well, if they know themselves, or if they have been changed. All she has seen is the inside of these stone walls and these horrific mockeries that should never be called her parents.

However, Snow White seems to take her quiet helplessness as defiance and she shrieks in wild rage. "Have it your way!" she yells. An almost electric pulse of energy erupts from the other woman's palm, and Emma feels it crawling through her veins, burning and scorching unbearably.

Her howls of helpless agony as she quivers in her restraints overlap on each other in desperate, unending climax, until she finally slumps, boneless and insensate in her chains, lost to the world.

~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~

Killian Jones does not know how he got himself roped into such a ridiculous venture. He shakes his head in disbelief once more as he looks behind him to the skinny, bedraggled youth with brown hair flopping in his eyes who follows him through the thick undergrowth at the forest's edge – 'more a fool's errand than a hero's journey' his mind insinuates as he recalls the words of the boy on his heels as he had looked up at Killian with a wide open expression of hope.

What had he been thinking, letting his sense of duty move him to follow this child off his ship, away from the harbor, and on this – what had the lad called it? Operation? Yes, that was it…Operation Swan's Rescue. He had thought himself long past dreams of being a dashing hero and undertaking courageous missions for the good of his people. That was all burned away in the ashes of a Pegasus sail and sunk to the depths with Liam's body long ago, when he was another man. Yet, he has never claimed to be wise or cautious, to do what makes reasonable sense, and he was not able to resist this ragamuffin's precocious grin or the somehow familiar twinkle in his big, trusting eyes, and so here they were, quite possibly chasing a mirage, a dream: a princess in a tower needing a champion to save her.

The lad certainly weaves a compelling tale, Killian thinks to himself as he pushes further into the trees and bracken, keeping well off the beaten path. Of course, he has heard the stories; everyone in this section of the kingdom – where the tower is supposed to reside – has heard of the Savior, the lovely being of hope and light magic, somehow born to the Evil Queen and her favorite plaything, then imprisoned by said mother in fear of her daughter's magical power someday overthrowing her reign of terror. Killian himself had always thought them mere fables – fireside tales to charm and entertain. However, this boy seems so sincere, and so desperate, that he finds himself believing the youth's words.

Beyond that hunch, the sense of trust, his mind cannot help but whisper, 'What if?" If there is truly a Savior, a being of Light and Good, who could restore this land to what it once was, to the beautiful, peaceful kingdom of his youth where he remembers running wild in the fields with Liam chasing him laughingly, where he wove daisy chains to take home to his mother and he could still bask in the love of her pleased, quiet smile. If the Evil Queen's rule can be brought to an end, doesn't he owe it to his people, his country, and Liam's memory, to explore every possibility? Isn't it only good form for one in his post to venture forth and make sure? Not only that, but if such a pure innocent is being held captive, if everyone knows and merely leaves her to such a fate…it twists knots of tension in his gut, not letting his mind rest. A fool he may be. He may be walking directly to his death, but his conscience will let him pursue no other course.

They have come to a stop at a running brook – refilling their canteens, slaking their thirst, catching their breaths – when a wretched wail of agony rings out in the air, silencing the birds and echoing off the trees in harsh, violent waves. Killian's eyes meet the lad Henry's, and they both freeze, horrified by the sound of such suffering. The anguish he hears in that cry lets Killian know for certain he was right to follow this quest. He must stop whatever is being done to this prisoner.

They take off at a run, unheeding of their safety or what they may find. Crashing through thorn bushes and grasping vines, panting with exertion, they both nearly go tumbling headlong to the ground when Killian skids to a sudden halt and Henry plows right into his back.

They have dashed into a deserted clearing, and there before them, rising dark and foreboding into the clouds, stands the tower. The grey stones are cracked and jutting, looking as dark and unwelcoming as must have been intended, and though his eyes search frantically along the base, Killian can see no way in.

Both pirate and youth stand frozen in uncertainty for a long stretch, until abruptly the cries of suffering halt, all goes silent, and Killian finds himself desperately jolted forward. He does not know if this will work, but he simply must take action. The imprisoned woman – according to Henry, their last chance – cannot be dead. They cannot be too late. Grasping at the rugged wall as best he can with his one working hand, he wedges his hook into a crack between stones. With one last glance to make sure his young compatriot is still with him, Killian begins to climb the tower.

~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~888~~~

Awareness trickles back to Emma with the scrabbling, scratching sounds of metal scraping along stone. Blinking her eyes blearily and raising her head from where it had slumped awkwardly on her chest, she vaguely determines that the strange scuffling is coming from just outside her prison's single window.

Emma scrunches her brow in confusion, trying to determine what new threat could be coming for her now. She knows that the tower is high, high enough that no fully sane person would attempt to scale its walls. For the few fleeting instants she has been free of her chains in the years it seems she has been held captive here, she was able to see out over the entire forest, well over the tops of the tallest trees.

Just as she is looking fruitlessly around the barren room for something she can defend herself with against this intruder, a metal hook and strong forearm fling themselves in the window and clutch tightly, soon pulling a messily wind-ruffled head of black hair and a belovedly familiar face over with them. Her pirate, whom she had begun to fear herself lost from forever, practically hauls himself though the opening, flopping onto the stone floor, chest heaving with exertion.

"Killian!" she cries out plaintively, so glad to see him that she doesn't even care how girlish and helpless it might make her sound. "You found me!" She begins to run to him, momentarily forgetting her bonds, until the chains jerk her back.

His head shoots up at the sound of her voice, startled blue eyes meeting her gaze. He looks unsure, as if he doesn't know what to make of her awe-filled greeting. Turning quickly in the next moment to stand and return to the window again, he surprises her once more by reaching out his hand to pull someone else up and into the window after him.

Emma's heart swells at the sight of Henry. Both her son and the man she loves are here at last, safe and sound and come to rescue her. Henry doesn't seem to suffer the same confusion that Killian does. Once the man has stopped brushing him off, asking if he is okay, and lets him go, Henry rushes to her with a joyfully relieved shout of "Mom!" and wraps his arms around her – literally bringing warmth and hope back into her cold, lonely false existence.

"You found me," she repeats, a dazed whisper this time, overwhelmed by the belief and determination her son has shown to get here, and the bravery he has exhibited in climbing a tower guarded by the Evil Queen's men, at the risk of his own life – for her sake. She squeezes him tighter, wishing more than she has in all the rest of her time here to be free of the chains so that she can really take her little boy – well, young man now – fully in her arms.

She can only chuckle and shake her head when he grins at her and says exactly what she should have been expecting, "Did you really doubt we would?"

Emma's gaze flicks to Killian again, where he stands back awkwardly watching the reunion. He scratches the spot behind his ear uncertainly, but then he meets her curious, searching glance. She is frozen when their eyes make contact, breath catching with emotion. Not only is he here helping Henry, but he came to her aid even without remembering who she is or what they mean to each other. She wants so badly for him to hold her, for the sort of passionate kiss they have only recently begun to allow themselves to set everything back to rights.

Surprisingly, as the moment stretches on, Emma can see something come over Killian's face. She holds her breath, hoping against hope that somehow what they have, the connection between them, has survived this reboot of their history and who they are in this fictional reality. As she has suffered here alone, afraid she would never see his face, hear his beautiful, lilting voice, or feel his gentle but inflaming touch again, she had come to realize the truth. She loves him with a depth that scares her. She has for a long time, but could never find the words to say it aloud.

Killian tilts his head to the side, beautiful ocean eyes squinting in concentration as he studies her face, almost seeming to look beneath her skin, into her soul. Taking a tentative step forward, he reaches out, taking her hand in his one, gently rubbing soothing fingers over her skin reddened from the heavy shackle. Reaching out with his hook, he smoothes her wild, tangled hair back from her face and over her shoulder; a familiar, intimate gesture he has made several times, whether he realizes it or not. "I know you, Lass. Do I not?" he finally murmurs, eyes searching hers for an answer.

It is as though he has stolen the very breath from her lungs and the words right off her lips. All Emma can do is stare at him, amazed by his unbelievable, inexplicable faith, and nod in affirmation. She can still see wonder and adoration shining from his face, directed at her, even if he isn't sure why. Can he still somehow see what he means to her in her face? Still feel what they have – or echoes of it – despite everything that has been altered? Emma finds herself willing to hope as never before.

Unfortunately, at that moment they are interrupted by the sound of several pairs of booted feet pounding up the steps to her cell, harsh voices calling about intruders and securing the 'mad princess'. All three of them whirl to stare at the heavy door of Emma's cell in alarm, knowing the pirate and young prince can climb back out, but that they have no way to release her from her chains. She can't escape with them.

"Go!" she urges desperately, trying to spur both Henry and Killian on. She cannot bear to think what may happen to them if they are discovered here trying to free her. The guards are getting closer all the time and her heartbeat is pulsing in her throat at the danger to her two most precious loves. "You can't be found here! Please!"

Henry's eyes show understanding beyond his years as he nods his assent. Clasping her hand tightly for a split second, he vows, "We'll be back for you, Mom," before he moves toward the window, swinging one leg over the ledge and preparing to go.

Killian's face shows no such resignation. His look is desperate, frantic to save her. "What happens to you when we go, Love? I cannot leave you to them!"

"You have to, Killian…for now…I'll be alright." She gives him a brave, if tremulous, smile, needing him to be safe, even if she is not.

"No," he breathes, shaking his head and not moving an inch, even when Emma hears the running footsteps halt and instead the dreadful sound of a key turning in the ancient, rusty lock.

Whirling to face the door as it swings open, Emma prays that somehow Killian will slip out the window after Henry in the nick of time, or that some echo of the magic she possesses in their real world will shield him from their malevolent foes. Of course, as they have been ever since she opened her eyes in this parallel universe, her wishes are ignored, and with cries of attack four of the Queen's armed black guards charge forward.

Killian steps in front of Emma swiftly, easily shielding her in a single movement. He pulls the cutlass from his belt and strikes down the first assailant with deadly grace; the movement a slash as quick and sharp as a jagged finger of lightning. The second opponent meets his hook and falls motionless at their feet.

For several tense moments, Emma's breath is stolen watching the lethal accuracy Killian employs, protecting them both flawlessly and without hesitation. He ducks the third attacker's strike, and the guard overshoots, running past them, stumbling and falling just in time for the pirate to parry a fourth henchman's blow. They engage for only the briefest flurry of sword passes before Killian has bested this one as well and kicked the unconscious man away. He turns sharply, on guard with the knowledge that one last aggressor is still waiting.

Emma wants to call out to warn him, spare him the shocked pain she sees flare in his eyes when he finds his last foe, but she can't – not with the guard's hand gripping her throat, cutting off her air and her voice. She shakes her head at her sailor, knowing he won't protect his own safety but merely lunge forward to save her. She puts out a hand in an effort to wave him back, urging him to think for a moment, fight as smart as he has been, but somehow Killian misconstrues her motion and lets his eyes follow her gesture. Perhaps he thought she was reaching out for him in fear, but he is distracted one second too long.

The guard stabs forward, arm pushing stealthily from under Emma's outstretched one. He catches Killian in the side, under his ribs, and then drags the sword blade across and up, slicing a long path through leather and flesh with sickening depth.

Those fathomless blue eyes snap wide in shock and pain and a gasp flies from his lips as Killian's forward stride draws up short. Having achieved his goal, the final guard releases his grip on Emma and flings her away. Emma registers that she is screaming, crying out for Killian, but he doesn't answer, falling to his knees and bringing his hands up disbelievingly to the blood flowing from his side.

"Let that be a lesson to you before considering future attempts at escape," the guard growls roughly. "I'll leave him with you, to be sure you understand the price of crossing our Queen."

The heavy door slams shut again behind him, and Emma stumbles forward, clanking chains and all, to fall beside her pirate, sobbing out his name and pulling his head into her lap, cradling him protectively the best she can with her limited movement, tears falling from her eyes to his cheeks as she bends her head over him, fearing he is already gone, the wound is so bad. "Please…Killian…I'm so sorry…" she murmurs frantically, brushing his dark hair off his forehead, trying to ease his pain and keep him with her.

It isn't long before she feels smaller hands on her shoulders, pulling her into a hug from behind, trying to offer comfort before crouching next to her and attempting to staunch the blood still pouring from Killian's wound.

"Henry?" she questions blearily, confused.

He shrugs, "I just held onto the outside wall right below the window. Luckily they didn't check for anyone else. When the fighting stopped, I crawled back in."

She shakes her head at his daring, but her eyes quickly fly back to her pirate. To her shock, he is also chuckling at her son, though the sound is rough and choking. "There's a lad," he manages teasingly to Henry, before a horrible wracking cough interrupts and she sees blood at the corners of his mouth when he pulls his hand away afterwards.

Emma's tears still fall and she begins whispering apologies in his ear once more. He only shakes his head, "No, Lass…don't….be sorry. You are worth it. You and Henry….will find… a way out…I'm…glad I was…part of it…" His eyes flutter closed and his chest heaves mightily to keep moving up and down.

"Killian?...No!" she cries out when his eyes fail to reopen.

"Mom!" Henry breaks into her panic, his hand on her upper arm pulling her back to her senses. "Mom, you have to kiss him. True Love's Kiss! It'll save him. It has to!"

It seems so farfetched that she hardly dares to hope, but Emma is out of options and desperate not to have Killian slip away in front of her. Tracing a hand along his jaw, she lets her eyes slide shut and leans even closer to his mouth. Just before she presses her lips to his, she whispers as she did once before, "Killian, come back to me."

A disconcerting pull in her stomach and a spinning feeling makes it seem for a minute as if the world has turned upside down and the floor has dropped from under her. Blinking her eyes to look around once the whirling sensation eases, Emma is stunned to find them back in Storybrooke, sprawled inelegantly on the pavement in the middle of Main Street. Her fingers are somehow miraculously twined with Killian's as he sits up beside her, whole and unharmed from the sword wound still fresh in her memory, and her other arm is wrapped tightly around Henry. The chains and her tower prison are gone, and she gapes like a newborn baby at her surroundings. Killian turns to her, a rakish grin on his face, and she knows both realities are in his mind too. "It would appear you saved me, Swan," he teases lightly, but real affection brims in his eyes.

"What would I do without you, Pirate?" she whispers, holding on tighter and trying to keep the quaver from her voice as she burrows into his embrace. It is long past time he heard the words, and suddenly so simple for her to add in a whisper against his heart, "I love you."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @searchingwardrobes @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @laschatzi @ilovemesomekillianjones @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814

#captain swan ff #self promo sunday #season four finale divergent fic #cs one shot #captain cobra #swan believer #canon divergent

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bladekindeyewear · 5 years

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Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 11 - Candy Page 12

==>

Alright, looks like Jake and Jane had an active night and now Jake’s going to distance himself again.

Yeah you’re pretty afraid of closing this distance with Jane. You REALLY don’t want it, do you?

JANE: Lighten up Jake! The election’s off! The economy is stable! Dirk is probably never going to talk to us ever again! And we just... we finally fucked. Hoo hoo hoo!

Okay seeing that “Hoo hoo hoo!” at the end of the sentence makes it really fucking uncomfortable somehow.

Something catches the corner of his eye, and he swivels his head around to see the Trickster Lollipop on his bedside table.

JANE I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T GOING TO BE SUCH A SCUMBAG THIS TIME AROUND WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO????

far more sets of underwear than the number of people accounted for in the room.

Yeah that sounds about like what might happen with the lollipop thrown in.

Okay at least it was Jake’s idea??? that makes it... ALMOST... better... but not really..??

Oh God, and Jake just does the pushover thing and rolls with it only because he thinks he SHOULD, not because he wants to. Fuck.

==>

Mhmm. There’s always a thick sense that “what would Bro tell me to do” was thick in everything Dave did hanging over him like a shadow. Interesting that here it manifests as that Meta voice he was using in Meat or whatever.

Is Dirk even going to be there, or has he fled entirely?

Gamzee, what the fuck are you doing. Forceful character arc intervention? Is that what you did with Roxy somehow?

...is Gamzee toying with the narrative now that Dirk has fled or something??

...okay there’s some author worship going on or some such?

Dave how do you even know who Pagliacci is.

Okay there’s the Rose bot, and an ominous note. Suicide note? Self-Decapitation note, again? Hm.

==>

Epilogue Three

Okay, that’s some startlingly abrupt pathmaking toward suicide. I was warned that there was a vivid description of the leadup to suicide in Candy somewhere, so I’ll try to talk only lightly about it as I read.

Your legs feel impressively powerful as you begin to climb the staircase

Nice Meat callback at least.

A flip of the cosmic coin has rendered your entire life completely inessential. What could you accomplish in a dead-end existence like this? There are no stakes. No meaningful challenges. No structures or themes—only residual chemical reactions in a dying brain, a physical system’s obligate compulsion to exhaust its own lingering momentum. A cockroach with its head cut off, waiting to die of thirst.

Wow, yeah, you REALLY can’t stand living in a world where you don’t hold some sort of Light-y relevance, can you? So much so that you were willing to steal Light away from the story entirely just to have more to carry with you in the flipside. Is this supposed to sort of embody the comeuppance you didn’t get in the other half, the way you’re offing yourself here? Weird.

Your friends might derive some sense of fulfillment from satisfying the elementary obligations of self-preservation and self-propagation, but there’s nothing here for you. It doesn’t matter anymore.

HOW ABOUT LIVING HAPPY LIVES AND NOT GETTING STUCK IN COMAS YOU ASSHOLE

Seriously, that whole Meat part, the... the four things I really couldn’t stand being left with were Jane’s fate, Jade’s situation, ROSE’s unenviable situation, and Dirk being allowed to escape without consequence. Three of my favorite characters left on doomed paths or basically IN COMAS, constantly having their agency quashed by others or forced away from anything that could have corrected their disastrous path (Jane’s) by Dirk’s meddling. A line being drawn in the sand that clearly stated CANON ENDS HERE, before any of them could wake up or stop FUCKING SUFFERING. Jesus Christ. I just wanted some loose ends tied up by this epilogue, I didn’t need the characters’ POSSIBLE HAPPINESS to be left unresolved with a likely “NO” as the answer??!??? THEY DIDN’T COME ALL THIS WAY AND SACRIFICE AND WIN FOR JUST THAT! DIRK STOLE THE FUCKING ULTIMATE REWARD FROM THEM OUT OF NOWHERE!

*breathes*

FUCK. So, yeah, on to seeing Dirk either die or get stopped by Dave somehow because he still needs him or whatever.

Ew, self-decapitation indeed. You narcissistic fuck.

When you think so little of yourself as a moral character, any act of self-termination will result in a death that is Just.

Huh. So that influences the way the clock judges you, hm?

==>

A damn funeral, huh.

He looks at Roxy, who is staring at the floor, rather beside herself in grief.

Oh thank goodness, a glimpse at her line to Gamz had me thinking she was in weird happy-stuck Candy mode still, that would have fucked this scene a bunch.

...IS Dave really more eloquent than you, though?

Dave’s long speech--

Oh my gosh I just realized during this speech how UTTERLY FUCKED of Andrew people must have thought this Dirk suicide section was if they chose Candy FIRST. Jesus dick.

End of speech. Jane, stop being so remarkably fucking composed. Unless Dirk’s plans and machinations really hurt you as much as you let on when you expressed seemingly-mock excitement that you’d “never hear from him again”.

Fuck you Gamzee.

ROXY: BRAVO!!! DAMN I FEEL LIKE IF I NEVER HEARD ANOTHER WORD THIS GUY EVER SAID THATD BE FINE BECAUSE THAT WAS ALL JUST SO *PERFECT*

Thanks for coming to your senses Roxy, better late than never I guess.

Dave dips down so that their noses are bumping. Karkat’s eyes are so wide it’s amazing they don’t pop out. For a moment, it looks like they’re going to...

John sneezes.

Oh COME ON, John. :(

JOHN: i have no idea why i did that. now i have this whole memory in my head that i could have definitely lived without.

Me after reading the Meat epilogue.

Huh, offering to undo the death. That IS potentially a little bit insensitive, as obvious and necessary a question it is to ask, even if the answer is no.

DAVE: dirk was a complicated guy DAVE: dude obviously had reasons for doing what he did DAVE: if you go back and just rewrite his decision DAVE: thats like denying him his personal autonomy

Exactly.

A courtesy that Dirk, funny enough, wouldn’t have given anyone else. The fucking prick.

--Yep, they’re too far outside of canon for his retcon powers to work anymore. Rose told him on the last day he could.

Roxy what the hell are you doing.

ROXY: we should get hitched

No, you should ANSWER WHY YOU LEFT CALLIOPE HANGING and THEN decide LIKE ADULTS to do whatever you all feel like doing. This isn’t legitimate if you’re HIDING most of the situation in Voidy shadow! If you really DO want this, then do it properly and HONESTLY!!!!

JOHN: you... JOHN: LOVE me?? ROXY: yea john i love you ROXY: wanna marry u and spend the rest of my life with u and pop out a bunch of cute lil buck toothed babies with you JOHN: oh, uh. haha, wow. roxy that’s um. JOHN: that’s a LOT.

Yeah, this isn’t how it should go. WOULD go. Something’s seriously wrong with Roxy right now and I hope John figures out how to bring them to the forefront so they can come to an honest decision.

Just a few weeks ago, Roxy was happy with Calliope, and now she wants to have his babies? John feels like he’s missing something important here, like he went for a bathroom break during the part of the movie where the plot twist happens.

Exactly. And you haven’t even had time to process how you feel about HER again. If something’s off, make it NOT off before you say yes.

Roxy practically attacks John’s mouth, she’s so excited. John shuts his eyes and kisses her back, still giddy and laughing against her lips. She kisses him until they’re both breathless, then pulls back so that she can gaze at him with glittering eyes.

ROXY: omg ROXY: were gonna be SO freakin happy!

Yyyyeah, THAT was ominous. Someone’s definitely fucking with this situation behind the scenes. ...Maybe Roxy’s been hitting the Lollipop too when the camera’s away from her?

==>

Dammit, we skipped to the wedding without resolving ANY of their fucking issues first. This is bad.

--oh my god we skipped to months PAST the wedding too.

JOHN: jane and jake are kinda, um, together now. TEREZI: OH GOD JOHN: and she basically ordered jake to catch the bouquet “or else.” JOHN: i was seriously afraid for him. and then he didn’t even catch it!

Jane. Jane, come the fuck on.

Can’t we get ONE TIMELINE where Jane doesn’t end up terrible???? D:

JOHN: yeah. they’re all dating. JOHN: or rather... jade is dating them both. JOHN: dave and karkat haven’t... exactly figured things out yet. JOHN: and as much as i love jade, i don’t actually think she’s helped matters by putting herself in the middle of it. TEREZI: HMM >:[ TEREZI: SOM3HOW TH4T DO3SNT S33M R1GHT JOHN: i know.

Jade, you can’t force these things!!!

Can’t we get ONE TIMELINE where Jade doesn’t end up unhappy???? D:

JOHN: now i have to pretend to laugh and think it’s funny when she makes jokes about being the next to “tie the knot.” TEREZI: WOW D1D SH3 R34LLY GO FOR TH4T DOUBL3 3NT3NDR3 JOHN: what? TEREZI: WH4T JOHN: what do you mean? TEREZI: N3V3R M1ND

Jegus Christ. Terezi, WHY did you have to go there. I’ve seen enough nsfw RP to know exactly the fuckery you’re alluding to with Jade, NO.

JOHN: things’ll probably work out with those three anyway. things always work out between old friends. JOHN: we’ve all known each other for too long for anything to cause a permanent rift.

Fucking allusions to the Meat section... D:

...okay, babies time. There are babies. Or at least one Roxy pregnancy and that earlier Vriskgrub.

TEREZI: 1T JUST S33MS... K1ND4 F4ST

YES, YES IT DOES.

TEREZI: 1 4LR34DY H34RD 4BOUT HOW J4N3 1S D4T1NG BOTH J4K3 *4ND* G4MZ33 4ND UNFORTUN4T3LY 1 DO B3L13V3 1T

What the FUCK is going on. Who’s manipulating everyone. Gamzee maybe??

TEREZI: H4H4H4 1 HOP3 YOU H4V3NT S33N TH3 P1CTUR3 D4V3 TOOK JOHN: dave has a picture?! JOHN: wait, never mind. i don’t want to know, and i definitely don’t want to see it.

Yeah that’s a cursed image if I ever heard of one

JOHN: so, what did you think, talking to dave and karkat? JOHN: did they seem... happy? TEREZI: NOP3 JOHN: oh my god, i KNOW, right? JOHN: the whole thing is such a mess, it’s hard to be in the same room with them these days. JOHN: i don’t even know the full story because dave won’t talk to me about it anymore, and jade seems to think that everything’s going just fine.

Dammit Jade, you forced your way in too early!!! D:

And why can’t Andrew at least PRETEND to give us a slight, fishing-line-thin possibility that Jade might POSSIBLY have any sort of chance at an endgame workable romance with ANY OF HER GOSH DARN FRIENDS AT ALL???????

>:(

I just want Jade to be happy okay jegus

TEREZI: 4 TRU3 K1SM3S1S 1S JUST 4S MUCH YOUR L1F3 P4RTN3R 4S YOUR M4T3SPR1T 1S

Interesting quadrant talk

TEREZI: TH3 PO1NT OF 4 K1SM3S1S 1S NOT JUST TO M4K3 YOU 4NNOY3D OR 3V3N 4NGRY TEREZI: TH3Y SHOULD PUSH YOU TO B3TT3R YOURS3LF TEREZI: TH3Y SHOULD SH1N3 4 L1GHT ON TH1NGS 4BOUT YOURS3LF YOU WOULD OTH3RW1S3 1GNOR3 OR D3NY

EXACTLY. I’ve been saying that about good black relationships for years. And Jade’s plowing in and fucking things up without really making things ANY better AT ALL for anyone but herself, and only temporarily and in her own head at that. :(

TEREZI: 1F 1 W3R3 3V3R TO DO BL4CKROM 4G41N, 1T WOULD H4V3 TO B3 LOW K3Y

Yeah, really pushing at what happens in Meat and stuff.

I love Terezi’s text-emote faces.

==>

Page 17... Someone told me to watch out for “Candy 18″ without any elaboration or context, so maybe I’ll split the post after this page so I can get to that one fresh? Hm!

My stomach is down to a low anxious simmer, so that’s good compared to before. Maybe reading this whole Candy thing isn’t going to be so bad. I can’t believe I’m not even halfway through.

He’s not sure why he feels the need to hide the fact that he’s talking to her.

Dammit, John.

It should be a beautiful image, but something about it roils John’s gut.

???

Is he catching on to some weird manipulation going on behind the scenes with his own metatextual awareness or?

Yep, Harry Anderson, heh.

He was. What’s bugging him about it is that Roxy didn’t seem to have any suggestions of her own.

YEAH THAT’S A HUGE GODDAMN RED FLAG RIGHT THERE. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO EVERYONE.

...Oh, huh. Now John’s having a bit of panic about how everyone suddenly feels like things are completely resolved with Lord English when they aren’t. And how Rose seems almost HYPNOTIZED into not worrying about it, along with many of the rest of them.

The three gals in the room exchange a series of concerned glances. Do they truly think he’s crazy? Are they hiding something from him? John can feel himself trembling. It’s not possible that he’s remembering this wrong, is it? It can’t be. If he presses his eyes shut, he can still see the lines of the black hole cracking space apart around him. It seemed like such a big deal at the time, and then suddenly it felt like nothing at all. Why?

Are they, though? Do they know they’re in a split timeline of sorts, or...?

You’re the ones not doing okay, he nearly shouts, but then realizes it’s just going to make him sound crazier than he already looks.

Yeah this is all cracking at the seams.

ROXY: oh of course that makes sense

ROXY YOU’RE NOT THIS BRAINLESS WAKE THE FUCK UP

Hm, looks like John’s not as comfortable on the placid planet as he is with someone giving him SOME sort of broader purpose. A lot like Dirk, but LESS FUCKED.

JOHN: i’ve got a beautiful wife who loves me, but it’s not enough. i can’t even talk to her about what we’re going to name our stupid kid without it turning into some weird thing where she just goes along with whatever i want. JOHN: even when all i want is for her to want something different than what i want!!!

It’s like Steven stuck in Rose’s Room with that Connie clone, SU-ways.

Alright, clicking the next button and starting page 18 in the next post.

#Homestuck #Homestuck Epilogue #Upd8 #Homestuck Liveblog #bladekindeyewear #BlastYoBoots

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thesoundofnat · 6 years

Text

A Pretty Mess

Tony/Steve

Summary: Tony is good looking, but is he good looking enough to be with Steve? According to the media (and himself), no. Or so he thinks.

[Read it on AO3]

Words: 2 272

Tony knew he was good looking. Not necessarily because he was vain, but because it had been chanted by everyone around him ever since he turned 18. The media practically went crazy once he was in his 20s, so much so that he almost felt uncomfortable. That was when he decided to start complimenting women on their accomplishments and brains first, looks second.

He was also well aware that Steve was good looking, even when they hadn’t really gotten along. It had pissed him off how someone with such a beautiful face could be so infuriating, but at least it made their first kiss more passionate.

Tony could look at the famous Captain America freely now, eyes roaming over curves and skin; way more skin than the world had ever seen. He wasn’t stupid. He knew people questioned why Steve Rogers was with him, a man who still had it but who was getting older day by day. One day he’d wake up and not a single magazine would be thirsting after him. It didn’t necessarily bother him. He had more to offer the world than his looks, but it stung a little bit to know that certain people thought Steve was too pretty for him.

“It’s all in your head,” Rhodey said when he confided this in him. “No one’s ever commented on your age, Tones.”

Tony snorted. “I know I should be proud that Steve is with me, and I am, trust me, but I sometimes can’t help but wonder why.”

“I think this stems more from your own insecurities than actual facts.”

He never brought it up with Steve. Not fully anyway. Steve would shut down every argument he’d have, and Tony would rather sulk about this in silence than to have Steve know he was sulking. He reckoned their relationship was still too new for Steve to know how messed up he could be.

“Looking good, Captain.”

Those words should’ve left Tony’s mouth, but instead they’d left the mouth of a journalist, her camera in their faces as Steve and Tony tried to make their way from a gala to their car. Steve shot her a shy smile, still unsure of how to act in situations like this. Tony had practically been born under a spotlight, but even he could sometimes feel a bit flustered. Now was not one of those cases.

He shot her an unimpressed look as they reached the car, only looking away to open the door for Steve who kissed him once they were both inside, the dark windows hiding them from the world.

“Thank you,” he said when they pulled away.

“Don’t mention it. You had a good night?”

“It was all right. Would’ve prefered to stay home.”

“Wouldn’t we all.”

The car started moving, but Happy didn’t say a word to them, only rolled up the partition as if he knew Tony needed the privacy. Tony needed to give that man a raise or something.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for accompanying me. Being alone at these things is a bore.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“I can give you more pleasure once we’re home, and hey, you’ll actually have fun.”

Steve shook his head, lips curled in a grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Are you turning down the offer?”

“Well, no.”

“Hah.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t look so smug.”

“I have America’s biggest eye candy on my arm. I have the right to.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I should walk around being smug all the time then.”

“Not that I’m only dating you for your looks- wait, come again?”

“Have you seen yourself?” Steve’s cheeks were tinted a rosy pink, but Tony was too busy trying to understand to relish in the sight. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Not according to the media.” Tony hadn’t meant to say it. He’d wanted to smile shyly and duck his head and have Steve repeat it until he believed it, and then kiss him all the way to the Tower, take a break to walk to the elevator, and then kiss him again until they were in bed, undressed. But his traitor of a mouth didn’t have a filter.

“What do you mean?” Steve was frowning at him, and Tony was reminded once again why he’d wanted to keep this to himself. Damned was the man who made Steve Rogers anything other than happy, Tony included.

He opened his mouth, every single word he wanted to say dying at the tip of his tongue. He closed it, looked away. He suddenly wished Happy would put on some music or something.

“Well,” he started, fully aware of how easy it would be to laugh this off. Tell Steve the media was crazy about him and that it made Tony proud (which it did). But the bitter tone in his voice had been way too audible. He couldn’t escape this now.

“They love you, you know,” he said. “For good reason, of course, but what they say about you used to be what they said about me, once. When I was younger.”

Steve didn’t reply. Only tilted his head in a silent request for him to continue.

“I’m not jealous of your success. Hell, if the world got together and started praising you like a god I’d be right there in the front line, praising you with them. But…”

“But?”

“I guess it makes me wonder why you’re with me. When you’re literally a masterpiece. S’all.”

Steve looked angry now. Tony had expected it, but it was still shocking to see that glare be directed at him so fiercely.

He looked away, but Steve’s hand on his chin forced him to turn back.

“You- who put these things into your head?”

Tony smiled. A sad smile. “No one ever needs to put stuff like that into my head.”

“Tony-”

“Steve, I- it’s not your fault. It’s all me.”

“Stop it. You do know I’m absolutely crazy about you, right?” Tony didn’t reply, so Steve placed both hands on his cheeks, fingertips in his hair. “There’s not a day where I don’t wonder how I got so lucky.”

“Ditto,” Tony said, his voice embarrassingly shaky. He cleared his throat. “Whenever people call you good looking I want to scream it ten times louder. Maybe I’m jealous that they have the courage to say it so loudly and publicly.”

“You don’t have to tell the world, you know. Telling me is enough.” Tony knew he didn’t just mean it in relations to his appearance.

He closed the gap, letting his lips capture Steve’s. Forgetting the world, for just a moment.

“We’re here, boss,” Happy said - loudly - from the front seat just as the car stopped. Fucking buzzkill.

That night, Steve refused to stop reminding him of how good he was. How handsome and smart and funny and charismatic. Yes, Steve really did use the word charismatic. Of course he did.

Tony laughed it off at first. “Stop it. We don’t have to get fixated on this.”

“Yes, we do,” was all Steve replied, his nose brushing against Tony’s collarbone. “We really, really do.”

After that, Tony got shy. It was ridiculous, but it was the truth. The more Steve touched him, kissed him, and told him how beautiful he was, the warmer his blush grew. Steve grinned, but was kind enough to not comment on it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you smile,” he said, and Tony covered his face and said smile with a hand. “Hey, hey, no, look at me. To hide like that would be a crime.”

“Mm, and what would be my punishment, Captain?” That would probably be more effective if Tony wasn’t a bright red mess.

“I might have to tie you up,” Steve said, and wow okay apparently Tony could go redder.

Once Steve allowed Tony to pin him, the compliments never once stopping, Tony started laughing, unsure of how to take them. Steve mock scolded him for not taking him seriously, but the night got very giggly after that.

“Seriously, though,” Steve said much later when the world was getting brighter. “Do you still question me being with you?”

“I guess not,” Tony said, squirming beneath the covers.

“Because I’ve never been more certain of something in my entire life.”

If Tony was a crier he would’ve wept then and there.

“You’re pretty.”

Steve looked up, catching Tony’s eye. “Thank you?”

Tony let out a laugh. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I just- you said it weirdly.”

“I’m trying to remind myself that I can say it whenever I want and as many times as I want.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“Like you overdid it last night?”

Steve grinned sheepishly. “I don’t regret it.”

“I didn’t say you should.” Tony took a sip of his coffee. “You’re damn lucky this sacred thing exists though.”

“You’re the one who didn’t tell me you had a meeting.”

“You think I remember all my meetings? My life is just an ongoing surprise party, only the party parts are alarms and phone calls asking me where I am.”

“Sounds fun.”

Tony grunted, checking his watch. “All right, beautiful, I’m off. Wait, that made it sound like you’re the wife I leave behind.”

“Well, it’s not too far off.”

“Ha ha. See you later.”

They kissed. Tony took one last sip of his coffee, and left, but not before Steve called him beautiful back. They were kind of gross, but he liked it.

It became normal for them to call each other pet names after that, mostly in private, but it slipped out from time to time. Seeing their fellow teammates’ reactions made it pretty worth it.

“Did you just call him pretty?” Clint asked incredulously. “Oh geez, and here I thought I’d have to deal with walking in on the two of you making out, but it turns out you’re gonna rub your love in my face instead.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s just a pet name.”

“Does he call you pretty back?”

“I call him beautiful,” Tony said, smirking to himself when Clint snorted.

“Gross. I’m out of here.”

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Barton.”

“Fuck right off, Stark.”

Natasha merely sent them knowing looks when it happened in front of her, and Bruce and Thor didn’t say a word, though Thor looked pretty pleased about the whole thing, which was sort of endearing.

They never did it in front of Rhodey, but Tony kept him in the loop and told him about it anyway.

“I told you it was all in your head,” he said.

“It’s not, though. The media still thinks he’s too pretty for me.”

“The media isn’t Steve, and Steve’s opinion carries more, don’t you think?”

Maybe so, but Tony still had a voice in the back of his mind that he couldn’t shut up no matter how hard he tried. It was more annoying than affecting, but it was there, and sometimes, when he was already feeling low, it messed him up.

“Do you think it bothers someone so much that we’re dating that they have a plan to take me out?” Tony asked one night, the two of them curled up on the couch in the lounge, no other Avengers around.

Steve snorted. “I’d like to see them try. Besides, I’m sure there are people who are thinking the opposite.”

“They love us?”

“That too, but I meant that they want to take me out of the picture.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Tony.”

“Oh, no, you’re using that voice again.” The one he only used when Tony was being self-deprecating.

“Can you blame me? How many times do I have to tell you that you’re gorgeous?”

“Two more times.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Again.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“All right, I think I got it.”

Steve shifted a bit in order to see him better, a smile playing on his lips. “You sure? Because I can keep going.”

“I think you convinced me you find me attractive like a week ago.”

“Ah, and yet you’ve let me keep up the reminders.”

“Reminders don’t hurt.”

“That’s true.”

“Wait, hold on.” Tony fished his phone out of his pocket, swiping to the camera smoothly and turning it on video mode. “Hey, Rogers,” he said, aiming it at him. Steve had that confused half-smile thing going on and Tony wouldn’t be able to keep in his next words even if he tried. “You’re beautiful, did you know?”

He laughed then, all embarrassed giggles and scrunched up face. It really was as if they had an audience right now. “So are you.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over how absolutely stunning you are.”

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, Tony Stark.”

Tony turned the video off quickly, exhaling loudly. “Geez, way to make me flustered on camera.”

“Why did you film that?”

“Because you’re cute when you get put on the spot like that. And because if I can tell that in a video I can tell that to the world.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone, Tony.”

“I know. But I’d like to. Every single time someone else tells you I long to scream it louder.” He shook his head. “Wait, I think I’ve already told you that.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s the truth.”

“We don’t have to scream it to the world, you know. I know the media makes you feel a bit insecure, but it was never about them.” Steve cupped his cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb. “It’s only about us.”

Maybe Tony’s insecurities couldn’t get cured that easily, but he had to admit he hung onto Steve’s every word.

#stony #superhusbands #superhusbands fic #stevetony #stony fic #avengers fic #mine #nat writes #a pretty mess

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we-were-legends · 6 years

Text

“Champion’s dawn”

Chapter 6 - “Eventually, it all ends”

Previous chapter | Next chapter

He will never find a wife. Of that he was sure. Oropher could easily admit the beauty of elleths in Menegroth – there was something captivating in each of them, either a smile or clever mind. It came with ease to admire their shapes and grace and it was always a pleasure to share a conversation with a beautiful maiden, who was most often wiser than the great elders of Menegroth. But his attraction was to something neither of those elleths could give him.

Oropher rested on a bed with his head on a pillow recalling the last moments of his pleasure. He breathed out deeply, enjoying his comfort after being roughly held not long ago in a bedsheets – Alagos pinned his lower back to the bed forcing him up, with second hand he gripped great tuft of his grey hair and pulled back unveiling neck for his kisses. Alagos's body weighted perfectly upon him and a lone memory of their ecstasy and skin sliding on skin in steady rythm send pleasant shivers all over him.

This time, Oropher felt like giving himself to another and they matched perfectly for Alagos wished to have him in turn. From the very beginning their kisses were passionate and forceful, they pressed at each other with fervor and moans and mewling left their mouths only coaxing the other to further action. Their thirst quickly took better of them, their desire only growing when they removed their clothes and threw them aside to hungrily look over the body of the other and running hands over the firm muscles, bringing themselves closer and pleasuring their lover, with every touch forcing a blissful sight.

Oropher rised himself delicately and turned to Alagos, who was half-lying next to him and leaning on a bedrest. He was playing with the endings of Oropher's grey hair, which was a wonder to him itself for he never saw this colour in any other elf. When Oropher was cought under starlight the silver shades appeared, the colour ever present in the royal family, but darkish grey made him unforgetabble. None other of his family had a shade even close to his.

Oropher observed his friend for a bit until Alagos noticed he was being watched and he smiled delicately. He leaned down and cought Oropher's lips for yet another kiss which was gladly returned. Despite their harsh nature, they still loved each other in some way and being for long centuries in such relation they felt no shame in their presence and they enjoyed small pleasures and kisses given when they could afford them. The kiss was too tender for their taste and ended quickly, but before Alagos pulled away he licked Oropher's lips, ever predatory and demanding. Oropher half-smiled and easily noticed red marks on Alagos's arms and back, knowing that his own skin was bitten just the same. Soon all of it will be easily hidden under uniforms, only for them to know and remember and smile each time when they saw red markings upon their bodies until they fade.

Alagos was fierce in his passion and it was everything Oropher needed from him. There were no words of love between them, only demands and claims, Alagos even dared to mock him when he could and then as usual it ended in pure lust. They never feared to hold each other roughly, demand from the other to use more strength and forcing moans and blissful cries from themselves, shouting their pleasure and bringing the other closer to feel and taste him all over.

Oropher watched Alagos leaning back on the rest and he lied himself back on the huge pillow. He was sure his own hair were as disheveled as Alagos's dark brown tresses and he was sure he will spend quite longer time to get them to previous order. Most likely he will tie them in loose braid to get it over with.

'Do you know I am courting someone?' Alagos said then looking at him with clever hazel eyes.

Oropher brough himself from his musings and focused on what his friend said. He watched him for a bit with shining green eyes thinking of his answer.

'And still, you came to me? You are pathetic.'

Alagos laughed softly at his words. Oropher had no idea that Alagos even thought about getting in longstanding relationship. It was not like Alagos to bind himself in such way and Oropher was not sure if he meant to truly bond himself with the other or in the end it will prove to be only a fading desire. If anything Oropher felt no jelousy as he himself from time to time submitted to strong caprices and desires that were less wise than they should be. Being with such relationship with Alagos they felt no anger nor envy when they saw each other with someone else. They were more curious with who and why they decided to spent the night. Just as now Oropher was curious of Alagos's choice concerning the one he courted and he wondered if this was an ellon or an elleth for he knew Alagos found liking in beauty and he was easily attracted to elves of any kind.

'I only met her before few times. It pledged us to nothing.'

'Get yourself together, Alagos. You should be with her rather than hassle me.' Oropher said as he made himself more comfortable lying his head on a pillow and he breathed deeply, clearly pleased at his comfort.

This time Alagos chose a maiden to court, which has not surprised Oropher. He wondered if an elleth was of any high station for he knew the High Nobles of Doriath rarely saw fit and allowed their daughters to bind with a soldier, even an officer. Both Oropher and Arvellon should feel honoured - even if they were soldiers, the esteemed Nobles of Doriath would be more than pleased to have their daughters bond with the Princes of the Realm. For Arvellon it was convenient, but for Oropher more than wearisome.

'Tell me about her.' Oropher said closing his eyes. It was more than saddening that so many elves were denied their love, just for the sake of greed and blind need to mean something in the great court of Menegroth. Oropher could understand if they did that on their own will, after all everyone was free to live the life they wanted, but knowing that great part of the young elves were forced to give up love for the sake of family station was more than disheartening.

'I don't suppose you know her, she is an elleth of House Brasson, the daughter of Lord Raevon.' Alagos said and then smiled at the lone image of his maiden 'Her name is Lalveth. Oh my friend, wherever she walks the fire lights brighter and her smile dims starlight.'

'Alagos, you poetic bastard.' Oropher mocked him and smiled, clearly sensing his friend's dreamy mood.

'Shut up!' Alagos nudged him 'I'm doing my best! And I care for this to work out.'

'Good for you. And I know Lalveth. She will be wonderful match for you. Just don't screw it up'

Actually, Oropher knew Lalveth quite well. She was a member of one of the four most respected and esteemed Houses in Doriath. House Brasson, with Lord Raevon as their Head, were acknowledged councillors and artists. Lord Fanor, brother of Lord Brasson and Lalveth's uncle, was a close friend to Oropher's father and he was esteemed councillor to Elu Thingol, just as Erthor. Lalveth herself was gifted painter and not once Oropher heard elves puffing over her work though he never had a pleasure to see any of it.

The second was House Talagan, accomplished forgers and weaponsmiths, who were praised for their work. Many comissioned their armor and weapons in ther forges including the royal family - even the Mountain Grass was made by Talagan himself in their forges, Oropher's twin swords were forged by this House and even one of Oropher's armors was made by them as well - Erthor commissioned it when Oropher became a general. The steel of which the armor was made was fused together with melted black onyxes making the armor shadowy in colour with natural glim and the staggering effect could be seen each time Oropher wore it. Erthor never betrayed to anyone how much the armor had costed him.

The third was House Laegon who troubled themselves only with counsels and debates and those who felt more need to be of any use became scribes. Few on them were a members of the Great Court, but to opinion of many it would have been better if they stayed away from politics. They were prideful beyond measure and supported pure blooded marriages holding to the caste system, that truth be told existed only in their minds. Nelledir was once a member of this House, but he was disherited when he decided to join the army and Oropher never asked Nelledir about this. House Laegon was once in close friendship with the fourth House and together they were considered to be a great strength in Doriath. But now House Laegon was alone on this field.

House Silevon was the fourth of the Great Houses of Menegroth. They were high and mighty, sharing blood only with those who were deserving in their eyes. Iveril, daughter of Silevon who was born at Cuivienen, was said to be like everlasting blossom and although many tried she graced only one ellon with the sight of her honey coloured eyes that matched her chestnut hair. Oropher was nothing like his mother in appearance taking more after Erthor. Iveril was said to be lost during the Great March and Erthor never spoke much about her. The the members of her House slowly crumbled until none of them was left on this side of the shore.

If Alagos was telling the truth and not playing around than Oropher truly feared his friend to have a broken heart. Lord Raevon will most likely grimace at the lone thought about having his daughter bond with rough warrior. Oropher wondered if Lalveth will love Alagos this much to defy her father and for the sake of his friend, Oropher hoped she won't dissapont him.

Maybe he will ask his father about it. And if not, then maybe Celeborn or Galathil will tell him more of Lord Raevon - after all they were much stronger presence in the court that he will ever be. Although, Oropher's station was one of the highest in Menegroth, it was the King and the Council beneath him, who held the power in Menegroth and dosposed the army. And Celeborn and Galathil were both perceived as the high councillors - if only they wished they could issue an order to Oropher and he would be obliged to perform it.

Then a though raced through his mind dimming all else and a grim expression crossed his mind and he forced his eyes to open.

'Reports for Mablung.'

'What?' Alagos asked focusing from his daydreaming.

'I need to finish them.' Oropher said 'Lasbelin is almost over.'

'Everybody knows you don't make your reports on time.' Alagos shrugged his arms 'Why make it any different?'

'Because I don't need slating from Mablug in my life. He is angry enough that Beleg hasn't show up on time in Menegroth.' he sighted and rised himself to sit. He combed his fingers through tangled grey hair 'Let's go refresh ourselves.'

They went across the bedroom to the place separated with light curtain. There was a cave stream on the other side of it, which flow all the way through Menegroth falling even deeper into the earth in a great waterfall in a roar heard through all of the city. Each apartment had it's own access to the stream and, of course, the privacy was provided as well.

Without hesistancy Oropher stepped into the water and immediately sinked fully to soak his hair. The water was pleasantly cool and refreshed him at once. He watched Alagos going into his steps and within a while he emerged from the water, his dark brown hair were almost black, but light hazel eyes still shone brightly.

Oropher tried to put his hair in order, but having enough of this he smiled with sudden warm and approached Alagos cupping his cheek in hand.

'Don't come to me anymore, Alagos. Make sure you and Lalveth will bond in the future. I count on you'

Alagos cought hand resting on his cheek with his own. This moment needed to come, sooner or later. Oropher and Alagos were not meant for each other and they knew it. They never felt the charming love driving them to make ther happy nor they felt the somber loneliness when they were apart. They were great friends and nothing more, and this is what they will remain.

Alagos looked into his eyes and there was weird expression on his face that Oropher was not used to.

'I know...but can you believe I am scared? I fear her denial, while deep in my heart I start to bielieve she is my only one.' he shook his head as if from the very beginnig he sensed his failure. 'I fear her family will keep us apart.'

Oropher admitted it was not like Alagos to say such words, though he could not deny there was a truth in them. Lord Raegon won't bless their love and will do anything to keep them apart. Now, he could easily believe for Alagos to be truly in love and the question was if Lalveth loved him just the same. Oropher took away dark wet hair from Alagos's face and watched him with softness that didn't fit him.

'Fear nothing, Alagos.' he said 'If you love each other than your hapiness is within reach. No one would dare to stand between the two of you.'

'You truly believe that?' Alagos said with slight disbelieve 'You are a Prince, you are free to bond with anyone. But I am a soldier with a blood of a Green Elf.'

'You are an elf, Alagos, as is she. There are no casts between you and you are free to love whoever you want.' Oropher said with usual confidence. His father always hammered into his head that his royal blood does not make him better than others. They were made royals, because they were chosen to lead their people and authority and lordhip was given to them freely. Nonetheless, he smiled foxily to Alagos 'Trust me, my friend, that I have my ways to make Lord Raegon more thoughtful of his convictions.'

'Intimidating him won't get me closer with Lalveth and you know it.'

Alagos will have hard time in conviencing a person such as Lord Raegon to be worthy of his daughter. If anything, right now he was already on lost position. Oropher won't interfere in this, though he will say a word or two to make Alagos's chances grow.

'If I would want to intimidate him, I would have sent Celeborn to speak with him.' Oropher said and smiled 'Worry not, it will be only few words in right ears.'

With this Oropher left Alagos to grab wooly towels that were nearby as always. He given one to Alagos and the other he left to himself and they both wrapped their hair to make it dry faster. They enjoyed peaceful surrounding, in silence leaning on a stream's edge and only flowing water was heard around. For a bit he mused about Lalveth and Alagos, until his mind recalled all the memories he had about his mother. Truth be told, Oropher didn't remember her. He was too small when she dissapeared. From what he know his parents loved each other and their marriage was not arranged. Iveril the Fair was everything her House ever carved for - graceful, beatiful beyond measure, strong of spirit and clever in mind. Erthor spoke of her with kindness, but Oropher was no fool - his mother was of House Silevon and this came with specific way of thinking, even wrong way of thinking as many said. Each time Iveril was mentioned, Galadhon was silent and though he never spoke a wrong word about Iveril, Oropher knew his uncle's silence was meaningful.

Peaceful sounds of flowing water soon made Oropher lost himself to images of rivers and swift streams of the forest of Brethil and all the fished travelling upstream. He remembered the lake far to the south of Region forest were black swans graced the travelers with their sight. Somewhere away a pair of white-tailed eagles called loudly and the sound of them reached far through the water. Among the trees a great wolves lurked around with eyes shining cleverly and their fur was rised on their necks in a threat. The earth quivered under the pressure of the sounds and steps. Trees looked around anxiously and a mist rised all of sudden closing the way out.

'Don't get too comfy.' Alagos said forcing Oropher from his reverie. He didn't even realized he started to drowse off.

Oropher chuckled quietly and followed Alagos who was already out of the stream. They entered the bedroom and Oropher reached out to the closet for his fresh uniform. Alagos though of it as well as he took with himself his own fresh robes. They quickly clothed themselves and were on their way out. Alagos was scheduled to check on his regiment and Oropher had his own duties to perform. Taranir mentioned that they needed to speak and Oropher could expect him to come any time. Before they left Oropher's apartment each of them grabbed a fresh red apple to snack on their way to the fields.

'Do you think anyone heard us?' Alagos asked more with curiosity than care and he bite sweet fruit he had in hand. Oropher shrugged his arms at his question.

'I doubt it. As you know, my family rarely retire in their apartments.'

Oropher never hidden with his preferences, but he didn't show off with them either. With Alagos they always met up in his apartment and from time to time, Oropher brought to his room someone else as well. There were no fools in his family and Oropher was sure they knew his liking of male elves. If some didn't know, then they suspected and there were some who openly denied it, persuading even Oropher about who he appeared to be.

Oropher walked out from his apartment after Alagos and closed the door, but when Alagos nudged him he turned to see what his friend wanted.

Edwethon passed by them and dissaproval was so visible on his face it could have been as well written on his forehead. He glanced at them from the tip of his eye, while Alagos non too graciously chewed a piece of apple and could not greet the Lord before him.

'Greetings, uncle.' Oropher said calmy with neutral voice. His welcome was not answered, but Oropher waited for none.

He bid Alagos to follow him and they walked in different direction than Edwethon to the other way out of the royal apartments. Only when they were far enough Alagos let himself to snort and Oropher followed.

'Have fun at next family dinner!' Alagos said embracing him with arm in friendly gesture.

'Maybe I will take you with me as my partner? One last time, before you will bond with Lalveth.'

They kept walking down the corridor, joking from time to time and then bringing up matters of more concern. Their merry humor was interrupted when fast footsteps were heard on the nearby corridor and briefly they noticed Saida, who almost run through it, but when she noticed them she immediately rushed over to them.

'I've been looking everywhere for you!' she called and they became serious seeing her concern.

'What is it?'

'There was a sudden order to muster the soldiers.' she said 'The King wishes to see his army.'

Oropher and Alagos glanced at each other before they looked back at Saida.

'Alagos go help Taranir. Saida ready the archers with Faron.' he said turning back to his apartment 'Get everyone in their armour. And make sure the horses are representable!'

Oropher dissapeared again in his room not bothering to close the door. He detached the sword he used every day and reached for the one above the fireplace. It was the Mountain Grass – the sword of Galadhon which he was given to him by his uncle the day he became one of the Generals of Doriath's army. The handle was embellished with green topazes and verges of steel was transparent and flashed with diamonds. For a short while he admired the weapon as he always did when he took it in hand and then he sheeted the sword and attached it to his belt. He walked into his bedroom to the closet in the corner where his armor awaited him. It was quite modest for as the cavalier he could not wear a heavy one. Nontheless, it was made of hard steel and protected him from any attacks.

Why the King ordered to muster the army? This has not happened since centuries and it was never so sudden – Mablung always informed them when King Elu wished to see his soldiers in full force.

Oropher wondered if this had something to do with the meeting between the King and his father, since the matter was said to be of great importance. But nothing could lead to such conclusions as even the latest council meeting have not concerned the army.

Oropher shook his head preparing himself further. The army presentation will take place at the Golden Plaza located just before the Throne Room. He was sure that by now the soldiers were slowly gathered there by their officers and put into representative arrays. He trusted Taranir had everything under control and he hoped to have none complications in preparations.

Oropher was ready. He buttoned up his second pauldron and arranged his belt more comfortaby. He stormed out of his room with fast pace going to the stables were his soldiers waited for him.

#oropher #celeborn #galathil #amdir #sindar #doriath #house of elmo #we were legends #champion's dawn #elu thingol #elwe #melian

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bmsjposts · 3 years

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John 19, New King James Version The Soldiers Mock Jesus 19 So then Pilate took Jesus and scourged Him. 2 And the soldiers twisted a crown of thorns and put it on His head, and they put on Him a purple robe. 3 [a]Then they said, “Hail, King of the Jews!” And they struck Him with their hands. 4 Pilate then went out again, and said to them, “Behold, I am bringing Him out to you, that you may know that I find no fault in Him.” Pilate’s Decision 5 Then Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. And Pilate said to them, “Behold the Man!” 6 Therefore, when the chief priests and officers saw Him, they cried out, saying, “Crucify Him, crucify Him!” Pilate said to them, “You take Him and crucify Him, for I find no fault in Him.” 7 The Jews answered him, “We have a law, and according to [b]our law He ought to die, because He made Himself the Son of God.” 8 Therefore, when Pilate heard that saying, he was the more afraid, 9 and went again into the Praetorium, and said to Jesus, “Where are You from?” But Jesus gave him no answer. 10 Then Pilate said to Him, “Are You not speaking to me? Do You not know that I have [c]power to crucify You, and power to release You?” 11 Jesus answered, “You could have no power at all against Me unless it had been given you from above. Therefore the one who delivered Me to you has the greater sin.” 12 From then on Pilate sought to release Him, but the Jews cried out, saying, “If you let this Man go, you are not Caesar’s friend. Whoever makes himself a king speaks against Caesar.” 13 When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he brought Jesus out and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called The Pavement, but in Hebrew, Gabbatha. 14 Now it was the Preparation Day of the Passover, and about the sixth hour. And he said to the Jews, “Behold your King!” 15 But they cried out, “Away with Him, away with Him! Crucify Him!” Pilate said to them, “Shall I crucify your King?” The chief priests answered, “We have no king but Caesar!” 16 Then he delivered Him to them to be crucified. Then they took Jesus [d]and led Him away. The King on a Cross 17 And He, bearing His cross, went out to a place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha, 18 where they crucified Him, and two others with Him, one on either side, and Jesus in the center. 19 Now Pilate wrote a title and put it on the cross. And the writing was: JESUS OF NAZARETH, THE KING OF THE JEWS. 20 Then many of the Jews read this title, for the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. 21 Therefore the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews,’ but, ‘He said, “I am the King of the Jews.” ’ ” 22 Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written.” 23 Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took His garments and made four parts, to each soldier a part, and also the tunic. Now the tunic was without seam, woven from the top in one piece. 24 They said therefore among themselves, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it, whose it shall be,” that the Scripture might be fulfilled which says: “They divided My garments among them, And for My clothing they cast lots.” Therefore the soldiers did these things. Behold Your Mother 25 Now there stood by the cross of Jesus His mother, and His mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26 When Jesus therefore saw His mother, and the disciple whom He loved standing by, He said to His mother, “Woman, behold your son!” 27 Then He said to the disciple, “Behold your mother!” And from that hour that disciple took her to his own home. It Is Finished 28 After this, Jesus, [e]knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the Scripture might be fulfilled, said, “I thirst!” 29 Now a vessel full of sour wine was sitting there; and they filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on hyssop, and put it to His mouth. 30 So when Jesus had received the sour wine, He said, “It is finished!” And bowing His head, He gave up His spirit. Jesus’ Side Is Pierced 31 Therefore, because it was the Preparation Day, that the bodies should not remain on the cross on the Sabbath (for that Sabbath was a high day), the Jews asked Pilate that their legs might be broken, and that they might be taken away. 32 Then the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first and of the other who was crucified with Him. 33 But when they came to Jesus and saw that He was already dead, they did not break His legs. 34 But one of the soldiers pierced His side with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out. 35 And he who has seen has testified, and his testimony is true; and he knows that he is telling the truth, so that you may believe. 36 For these things were done that the Scripture should be fulfilled, “Not one of His bones shall be broken.” 37 And again another Scripture says, “They shall look on Him whom they pierced.” Jesus Buried in Joseph’s Tomb 38 After this, Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus; and Pilate gave him permission. So he came and took the body of Jesus. 39 And Nicodemus, who at first came to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds. 40 Then they took the body of Jesus, and bound it in strips of linen with the spices, as the custom of the Jews is to bury. 41 Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid. 42 So there they laid Jesus, because of the Jews’ Preparation Day, for the tomb was nearby.

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bills-bible-basics · 8 months

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OF NO REPUTATION -- KJV (King James Version) Bible Verse List Visit https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/ to see more. "He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not." Isaiah 53:3, KJV "And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews!" Matthew 27:29, KJV "And the Pharisees also, who were covetous, heard all these things: and they derided him." Luke 16:14, KJV "Then he took unto him the twelve, and said unto them, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of man shall be accomplished. For he shall be delivered unto the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and spitefully entreated, and spitted on:" Luke 18:31-32, KJV "And the people stood beholding. And the rulers also with them derided him, saying, He saved others; let him save himself, if he be Christ, the chosen of God." Luke 23:35, KJV "But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men:" Philippians 2:7, KJV "Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also." John 15:20, KJV "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter." Romans 8:35-36, KJV "We are fools for Christs sake, but ye are wise in Christ; we are weak, but ye are strong; ye are honourable, but we are despised. Even unto this present hour we both hunger, and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwellingplace; And labour, working with our own hands: being reviled, we bless; being persecuted, we suffer it: Being defamed, we intreat: we are made as the filth of the world, and are the offscouring of all things unto this day." 1 Corinthians 4:10-13, KJV "Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." 2 Timothy 3:12, KJV If you would like more info regarding the origin of these KJV Bible verse lists, go to https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/. Thank-you! https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/of-no-reputation-kjv-king-james-version-bible-verse-list/?feed_id=126686&OF%20NO%20REPUTATION%20--%20KJV%20%28King%20James%20Version%29%20Bible%20Verse%20List

#All_Posts #Bible_Verse_Lists #bible #bible_study #bill_kochman #bills_bible_basics #king_james_version #kjv #list #of_no_reputation #scripture #scriptures #topical #verse #verses

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becoming-bianca-blog · 5 years

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“I” before “We”

Module 2 introduced me to some of the famous and infamous names in Psychology including Erikson and Freud. With evolving and contrasting views and theories on identity and development, I could only conclude that identity is dynamic and unique to the person which is why it is so difficult to explain or understand in less theoretical terms. Nonetheless, each has taught me something about myself and about those around me.

In Freud’s psychodynamic perspective, he emphasizes the three structures of personality: id, ego, and superego and occurrence of development in sequential psychosexual stages. With the impetus of all his writing supporting psychoanalysis, all these simply reveal that we are motivated by hidden and unconscious thoughts, feelings, and behaviours. This was the most memorable and relevant learning to me, aside from the obvious fascination or more accurately disturbance to his ideas on infantile sexuality and the Oedipus complex. This idea of the unconscious leaking out elsewhere when repressed was hauntingly but also accurately portrayed in “Ghosts in the Nursery” which used two case studies to prove that the occurrence of repression of emotion and identification only continues the cycle of childhood trauma and abuse. One of these defense mechanisms, repression, was so accurate that it seemed to be mocking me. I even found myself muttering “lol, me” in class. As someone who has never had an “id” personality, my conflicts tend to be between the ego and the superego. Obeying my perfectionist personality, the superego always seems to win out. Again, I am no stranger to the defense mechanism of repression, and I have used it to the point where I have harmed my own mental health. Enter my intrapsychic conflict: asking for help. With my ego telling me that it is okay to be humble and accept that I cannot carry the burden of pain and past traumas alone and my superego telling me I have to conform to the notion of perfection I have where I have to hide pain and not burden others with it, I always seem to repress any negative emotion I have. I’ve done this since I was a little kid, never telling my parents about a bully in school, how I felt when my my mom had a miscarriage, and even recently when I have intrusions about the day I found out my boyfriend took his own life. When it comes to the latter, I admit that sometimes I still have to push these thoughts to the dark just so I can function normally in school and smile. Freudian psychology begged me to look deep and see that I was identifying with my parents who never talked to me about pain or problems even though they could never shield it from me. I saw that I was trapped in a cycle of silence and “you’ll get over it eventually.” All of this pain that I have been uncovering and releasing in therapy has been a relief and made me understand a lot about myself, the most clear being that I’m a “tagasalo” and have this need to fix everyone before I can even feel anything for myself. Looking at the person I am now, although such can be considered as a facet of kindness, this approach to life and problems has harmed me and come to the point where I have hurt others. Recognizing this cycle, I want to be able to say “it ends with me” because I now know how important it is to not let it get to the point where your mind festers and the black dog resides. Reminding myself that it is ok to feel and that something will blossom out of my vulnerability, I vow to go easy on myself first and then other people too as they are also hurting and healing from traumas that they keep in the dark and disguise with defense mechanisms.

Erikson’s psychosocial perspective, on the other hand, stresses the ego and the eight stages of development where there is a crisis that must be resolved in order to learn a new trait. Here, I could not help but be in awe of the accuracy of how Erikson described the stage I believe myself to be in which is the identity vs role confusion/fidelty stage. He completely understands the thirst, the incessant questions, the strong opinions, the sparks of inspiration, and the noisy confusion that teenage life is married with. I am currently testing the worldviews and causes that I have previously identified with and introjected and selecting which is a best fit for me to create a version of myself that is “based on but more than or different from the sum of these individual parts.” I think the latter is a beautiful metaphor, almost suggesting that we are like a painting or sculpture touched by many but ultimately portraying a unique picture with previous and clumsy markings covered by new ones. I’m the type of person who likes to have a plan for everything, but with all that has happened I am finding that my plan went off track and that is okay because I am still finding myself. It is okay that I ended up in a different college than I expected because of the circumstance and it is okay if I am still feeling out. It’s okay if I don’t end up finishing this course and taking Psychology instead, and it’s okay if I try out a completely different path. I feel like I’ve always been in such a rush to grow up and have always put myself down for falling short and staying in this period of not knowing what I want yet. I know now that I should look at this period with grace and excitement as it will prepare me and bring me closer to the version of “I” that is prepared to shift to a “we”. After this stage is intimacy vs love/isolation where Erikson defined intimacy as the ability to fuse identities with someone without fearing the loss of a part of ourselves. I’ll always remember this. I honestly wish I had been told this before entering a relationship in high school but now I know that I am not yet ready for the type relationship I always wanted. Lastly, to supplement Erikson’s theory James Marcia provided Four Statuses of Identity. Of course, consistent with the psychosocial stage that I am in, I am currently in a psychological moratorium. I am currently testing different views, perspectives, ideas, and identities without making commitments and as I said previously, this status is ok and can delay my progression into succeeding stages because the “I” that emerges will be one that I am proud of and worthy to care for and be a part of a collective “we”.

Lastly, I will talk about what I have discovered upon self-reflecting beyond the looking glass self and dramaturgy. First, it was difficult and confusing to accept that we do play different roles in our lives. The very notion of such scared me into thinking that I, someone who is very much rooted on the looking glass self and seeks validation from others, could lose myself upon being so invested in a role that I play to simply please others. Nonetheless, I trusted in the affirmation that I made to myself before starting college which is that I have a strong sense of self and others who cannot see the truth, with the ugly, about myself do not deserve that part of me. With that, I think I have set out manageable performances that I take on in life. First is that of a student and a classmate, where I have to be focused, reliable, and studious. Second is that of a daughter and a friend, someone funny, strong, compassionate and now, sad and mopey (wow, they must think I’m a handful). My friends and family are the people who i can be unapologetically me around and knowing that i have people within my reach who accept me for who I am relieves the constant strain to seek validation and praise from everybody else. I resolve to take note of things that I was able to accomplish with pride because it is time that I recognize how I have dealt with the pain and honestly done the impossible while mourning a loss and feeling like I have lost a great part of myself given his permanent physical absence.

Inserting this low-budget meme because my blockmates think I’m masungit HAHAHAHA:

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lafaiette · 7 years

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The Art of Creation

Inspired by this post by @killbioware, I wrote a short scene with Solas and Scarlet teaching each other their own art and being two adorable dorks ( ´ ▽ ` )

Watching Solas paint is a wonderful experience.

He has to hurry, because the colors of the fresco dry up fast, but he also has to be careful and precise, because he won’t be able to fix any mistake later.

Still, despite that, he asked her multiple times to join him and Scarlet always refused because she was too scared of ruining his work.

“You won’t ruin it.” he would always reply, chuckling and kissing her, squeezing her right hand – always her right one, because he fears the left one – and tapping color on her nose.

“I will! I have no idea how to paint a fresco and I’m not that good at drawing.” she would remind him, before admiring the beautiful forms on the walls. “I can only make simple shapes on my embroideries.”

“I could teach you. Maybe not on these walls, but on others.”

He repeats this last offer today, too, and Scarlet blushes, thinks about it – she imagines Solas’ hands guiding hers, his warm presence behind her, his laughter and chuckles in her ear, his lips on her nape, the beautiful scenes they could paint together.

“Alright.” she accepts, grinning happily, and he beams at her, before hurrying to take out a medium slab of polished stone hidden under his desk. She realizes he was hoping she would say yes, sooner or later.

He teaches her the terms and words of this delicate art. He shows her the different brushes and their different sizes, the correct way to hold them, the different ways to mix colors and create new hues.

They are sitting on the couch of the rotunda, in a calm hour where the guests are taking short naps and the agents are busy with whatever task Leliana gave them. Nobody will bother them for a long while and they have all the time to play with the colors, share playful kisses, and laugh.

Scarlet underestimated her drawing skills: she possesses them, although she is still sure they are more suitable for embroidery works, but Solas helps her turn her visions into something good for the slab of stone, too, and their two different styles mix together.

He presses kisses on her cheeks when she is proud of the result and he hugs her tighter when she gets worried and doubts her talent, prompting her to continue with reassuring words and praises.

And he guides her hands, yes, but she sees how hesitant and gentle his touch is when his fingers brush against her left one, her cursed and blessed hand.

His eyes don’t even linger on it, but she sees the sad and regretful shadow in them, and she briefly interrupts their lesson to see what’s wrong. His melancholy is not as strong as it was before the start of their relationship and she is so happy for that, because it means she is helping him feel better, but it still comes back once in a while and it seems the Anchor is one of the causes.

“Solas, I’m fine. It isn’t hurting me at all today.”

It’s true, the Mark hasn’t been bothering her like it did at Haven for quite some time now; sometimes its mysterious elven magic gets triggered at night and it flares up, filling her – their – quarters with that eerie, green glow.

But Solas is always there for her, ready to help her and soothe the pain, and that’s when the sorrow in his eyes gets worse.

“I’m not worried about today.” he replies with a sad smile and she thinks he’s referring to the future nights, to the possibility of seeing the Mark flare up again tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

She sees the fear in his eyes, but doesn’t understand that it’s caused by the certainty of what the future holds for her – fame and success and even greater accomplishments, yes, but also the dangers that these things bring and the inevitable refusal of the Anchor for her flesh.

“Oh, vhenan.” she says, smiling at him, in that sweet, reassuring way that always makes his heart sing and his wish to tell her everything grow. “It will be alright. I think my body has finally gotten used to it.”

“Yes.” He smiles, too, a wet, frail thing that makes Scarlet worry even more and he curses himself for that. He fears he ruined their day, their blissful moment of peace, but she reassures him again and this time he does take her left hand, shielding it in his tender paws, not to protect the Anchor, but to protect her instead.

Then he kisses her, a long, deep kiss that leaves her breathless, and she giggles, hiding her blush against the soft texture of his clean sweater. But he raises her head, a gentle caress on her cheek, and he swallows her giggles and kisses her blush, carrying them deep into his heart to be cherished forever, his own mouth smiling happily.

The colors they spread on the slab of polished stone are almost dry and they will have to stop for today. But the figures on it are already taking form and Scarlet can already recognize the outline of the aravels of her clan and the hearth the children would steal bites of simmering food from.

Solas lies it flat on the wooden timbers placed at the other side of the room and casts a protective spell on it, so that nothing and nobody will ruin it. Then he goes back to the papers and documents he has to finish writing, all waiting patiently for him on his desk, and Scarlet punctually joins him, sitting on his lap, her sewing kit back in her hands.

That’s one of the ways they spend their quiet moments together and even if she knows there is a rather big pile of letters she should read on her desk, too, she would rather spend the entire day on Solas’ legs, watching him write, kissing his cheek, receiving his kisses in return, and creating her beloved embroideries on one of her shirts or one of the sweaters she sewed for Solas.

He noticed the elegant movements of her hands and the graceful grip of her fingers on the needle before, but today he finally gathers the courage to ask more, letting his curiosity and thirst for learning run wild and that tints her cheeks pink again because she is flattered and happy.

“Are the embroideries you sew Dalish, vhenan?”

“Yes, most of them. My mother taught them to me.” she answers, twisting the colored thread around one of her fingers with incredible agility. Solas watches it mesmerized. He has seen memories of people sewing in the Fade and he has learned how to repair his own stuff after a year spent in the wilderness of this less magic world, but he is nowhere as good as Scarlet.

He can only fix holes and repair tears, and even then he isn’t that good, too used to a time when magic could fix almost anything and enchant clothes with a merely whispered spell. But Scarlet is great at this and she can create, not also repair. She can decorate and give more life to simple, bland shirts and hide messages of love into her sweaters for him.

She is filling the petals of a small, delicate flower near the collar of the shirt, a petite, elegant thing that will surely catch the eyes of the less snobbish Orlesian noblewomen in visit. She touches the colored threads with a fingertip, makes sure they are tight enough, then proceeds, quick and precise like he is when he’s painting frescoes on the walls.

She has many little cuts and scars on her hands and fingers, but none of them are caused by the needle; he knows this because she told him so, one day, proud and timid at the same time. He would have known it even if she hadn’t told him anything, though, because it’s clear as day that the needle follows all her instructions and her mind and hands know exactly what to do and how to do it.

He thinks with rage and hatred of the scorn and mockery that such a beautiful talent would have caused in ancient Arlathan; pompous nobles, not so different from the Orlesians, scoffing at the direct use of hands instead of magic, confused stares and disgusted sneers, doubts about her talent for magic.

He can even imagine Falon’Din’s cruel jokes and Andruil’s rage, her accuses of Scarlet mocking the great Sylaise by using her art without magic, by refusing the use of her spells and teachings.

He presses his lips on her cheek, grateful for the fact that she never met them, that she will never meet them.

“You’ve grown quiet again.” she chuckles, patting his thigh, and he nuzzles her neck, eliciting another giggle that warms his heart.

“Would you teach me, vhenan?” he asks and she turns to him at that, wide-eyed, two fingers still holding the needle midair, right before it was about to plunge into the soft cloth.

“I am intrigued by the way you do it.” he explains, nodding at her work. His smile turns sheepish, but also proud, proud of her. “I am not very good at sewing myself, but this looks beautiful and fascinating and I’d like to try.”

Her mouth hangs open for another second, then she beams at him and almost bounces on his lap before kissing him and showing him the flower she’s completing.

“We can start with this one! It’s very simple.”

And this time, she guides his hands and protects his fingers from the needle; she shows him the correct way to hold it and the shirt, the Dalish techniques and embroideries her mother taught her; she explains how to create the illusion of different shades to give more depth to the embroideries, how to tie and knot the thread at the end.

He does everything she says and follows her example, asks questions, laughs with her when he makes a silly mistake and apologizes when he fears he’s ruining her work.

Finally, after more than an hour or so, the little flower is complete and they look at it with joy. It’s the fruit of their hard work together, something created by their hands just like the small fresco lying on the wooden timbers is, and he wonders if he will be able to sew something for her in the future.

He cradles her face in his hands and looks at her with a warm smile and warm, loving eyes, for so long that she smiles, blushes, and looks down at her lap, fidgeting.

“Ma vhenan.” he calls softly and when she raises her face to look at him, she thinks he looks beautiful and he thinks the same of her and they are so lost into each other, so busy smiling like two dorks, that they don’t hear Dorian enter the rotunda.

“Maker, aren’t you two the most endearing sight in this world?”

Scarlet chokes on a yell, while Solas lets out an undignified gasp and turns to the intruder with eyes of fire and a scary scowl that doesn’t scare Dorian at all. If anything, he just smirks smugly at him, before looking at his best friend with a softened, sweet smile and amused, kind eyes.

“I believe Josephine is looking for you, my friend. A merchant from Tevinter is here to speak with you and my presence is requested as well.”

“I’m… I’m coming right away!”

“Good! I’ll keep Josephine and the merchant busy a little more to give you time to… calm yourself.”

Scarlet groans, blushing hard, and the Altus leaves the room with a booming, velvet-like laugh.

“I must go.” she mumbles, collecting her sewing kit and shirt. “Uh… I need to put these away somewhere.”

Solas takes them from her hands, carefully folds the shirt, and then places it all on his desk, smiling at her.

“I will wait for you here. Your kit and shirt will be safe with me.”

“Thank you!”

She kisses him again and he holds her in his arms, sends her all the warmth and love he has in his heart through his embrace, and she feels them, returning them with another kiss.

“I hope it won’t take too long, but if it does, go to our quarters.” She fixes the collar of his sweater, looking up at him with golden eyes speckled with love. “We could eat dinner there today. Alone. In complete privacy. With some candles.”

He laughs and pulls her back for another kiss. She smells like paint and parchment, but if he presses his nose just right beneath her ear, he can smell the faint traces left of her perfume, the same ones that linger on his skin and clothes after a day spent in her arms and proximity.

“That is a marvelous idea. I will warn the cooks and servants to bring our food there, then.”

She leaves his lap, straightens her pants and shirt, leans down to press another kiss on his lips, then begrudgingly exits the room, turning back to wave at him with a huge smile before opening and closing the door.

One hour later, while he is neck deep into his researches and documents, a courier comes with a letter from her, written during the meeting with the merchant, meeting that doesn’t seem will end anytime soon.

After thanking the messenger, Solas opens the folded note and a smile blooms on his face: Scarlet drew a cute depiction of herself blowing him a great number of kisses and she used red ink to color the many hearts on the page.

He chuckles, caresses the little Scarlet’s cheeks with a finger, then folds the page again and slips it under his sweater, pressed between the soft woolen cloth and the leather straps he wears underneath it.

There is a small box in their room, where he keeps all the notes, messages, and letters they send each other through the day and that’s where this cute, new message will go soon, its ink safe from fading, the paper safe from Sera’s curious and sticky hands.

He goes back to his room, looking forward to the blissful hours that await him and Scarlet, and his heart is finally at peace, at least for the time being.

The wolf whines joyfully, waiting impatiently to hold his mate in his tender, gentle paws, and dreams of a time when he will be able to do that for all eternity.

#dragon age #da:i #solas #scarlet lavellan #solavellan #lafaiette's fic #I AM ON A ROLL #i wanted to add more scenes but i thought this worked better alone #i am all for solas being sweet and loving with lavellan #it's a pity we didn't get more romance scenes with him or the chance to kiss him whenever we wanted ;_;#DAMN YOU TIME RESTRAINTS #solas and scarlet being adorable and fluffy and domestic together GIVES ME LIFE #more to come #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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loveactualharry · 6 years

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝑔

Hello lovely people! Here is Chapter 3 from my Larry fanfic, The Rose and The Bleeding Stag. Please, let me know what you think, comment, like and reblog if you think it’s a good one. It is my first writing so I’m pretty excited about this.

Check out Ch2 or Ch4 as well! You can also read the story on Wattpad: https://my.w.tt/W4hzXseWNT

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𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝑔 - Chapter 3: New Dawn

New Dawn

In the weeks that followed the assembly, I did not let my body rest, nor my mind, not even for a second. I felt a flicker in me, something that pushed me on and on and on, like a thread tied to the ropes of my soul, that someone, who knows who, and who knows in what place in the world, wielded with care and mastery, attracting me towards myself as if I was a puppet hanging from wires. Yet, I never felt the need to detach myself from that force that constantly kept alive inside of me the thirst for knowledge. I wanted to, and I knew I could find that something I had been promised by some God, who was being more than benevolent towards me. Therefore, I was firmly convinced of the success of that expedition, although I realized the dangers I was going to face, or should I say we were going to face. Yes, because Njall and Zygvarr had kept on being my firm point in that crazy idea, encouraging me, supporting me, helping me. We were had been awake night and day, we had designed every detail of each ship, and, with some help, the whole thing was taking shape. I had gathered the necessary provisions for the voyage, but still only a few men had joined us, too few to be able to consider that small group a true Viking horde suitable to pillage any city. Of course, no one would have had problems if it had been small villages of peasants, women and children. But I felt that there was more than just this, and I could not be unprepared when the moment would come. Therefore, we spent the weeks moving through the various clans, the various families around our area, proposing our cause, trying to find allies, men who were brave enough to try everything for everything. By the end of the month, we had gathered enough men to be able to pull up a modest armed troop.

The work had been long and exhausting, but when the last ship was completed, a bike of pride wrapped my chest, and I remained contemplating it for a long time, turning around it several times. It was dawning, and we had been working really hard all night. My hands were red for the cold, as well as my cheeks, and my legs were tired, my eyes heavy and my face dug out of tiredness accumulated in previous weeks. I decided to simply let myself go on the ground, where the gentle soil of my homeland was always ready to welcome me, and I closed my eyes. I knew the hardest chapter of that adventure was yet to come. I prayed to Thor in silence, I prayed that he would give me strength, that he would make me skilful and strong enough to accomplish that task for which I had been chosen.

The cold wind of the North lashed on my face, and a peace enveloped the surrounding nature...if it was not for the words of Njall, who brought me back to reality, I would have stayed there to sleep, to rest and hope to find again, in my dreams , something of that place, and some more detail about that magical flower. For days now, it had become the main thought filling my days. The colour was of a bright red, similar to the blood flowing from the veins of men, and its scent... I could have sworn I could feel it, and yet I didn't even know it.

"Tonight, is the great night, Louis! Aren't you excited? "

"Somewhat, Njall, but I will be more when tomorrow we will sail towards something more than the usual bay of Swedish peasants and fishermen." I chuckled, giving him an accomplice glance, he reciprocated, smiling in turn with Zygvarr. He was always very silent, but at the right moment he always knew what to say.

"And have you thought about how will disembarking on a new coast feel? With new lands, new people... new women. " The mischievous smile on his face said it all: it had always been a great attraction for every woman in the neighbourhood, was she a slave or a princess. Not that I could complain, but Zygvarr knew how behave with women, much more than I did. All this brought back to my memory the fact that none of us three had yet taken a wife, although my father had decided to put forward various proposals in my place. The truth was that, however, I could not find anything interesting in women in that place, and at the time, my mind travelled elsewhere: I did not intend to root there, build up a family and remain rotting for the rest of my days.

"New women, but none of them is good enough to persuade our Louis to take her as a bride, are they?" Njall practically read my thoughts, and we both burst out laughing.

"Who said anything about marriage?" Zygvarr turned to us, smiling, as he used to do, with his tongue between his teeth, and then look elsewhere.

I turned, noticing the sun getting higher and higher on us, bathing with its faint rays the sandy shores, the trees, the houses... I would have missed that place, it was my home, and I would not have denied it. But I felt I had a new path opening right in front of me.

I stood up and quickly lifting the soil from the leather bream that I wore, I murmured "come on, we have to prepare for tonight."

That evening, everything happened according to the rules of rituals, all according to tradition, all according to the will of Thor, Odin and every divine entity to whom a propitiatory sacrifice was offered. There still were people mocking on us and mumbling some mock remarks: "As if Thorr wasted his power with such a foolish idea!" or "the only one who will lead this expedition is Loki, I tell you, and he will sink those damn ships!". I did not answer, though the blood was boiling in my veins, but I would have avenged myself and proved them wrong in my own way.

The blood of the slaughtered animals still bathed my hands, which I washed in the water of the stream, icy and gushing as always. After that evening, everything was complete, the circle of preparations had been concluded, and perhaps, Thor had accepted my cause, accepting my sacrifices and allowing me to have good fortune in my new adventure. I did not know what to expect, but I had spent a lot of time thinking, and there I was, as every evening, sitting on the bank of the river, contemplating for the last few moments that place for twenty-one summers and twenty-one winters I had called home. I turned my gaze to the stars. The sky was clear on that summer evening and I found myself with the heart of a child, hoping that my mother was part of those stars and could see me.

"I know you've always been afraid when I walked away from home... I know you've always tried to keep my stormy, insolent, difficult, rebellious character at bay. But I'm doing it for you too, mother. Because you know who I am, and for you to understand how empty this place looks for me, without you. I need a new reason to call a place "home". If you love me, you'll help me find her. "

And I was not wrong.

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mst3kproject · 7 years

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519: Outlaw

I don't want to talk about the Gor books. I don't think I need to talk about them – there's plenty to mock in Outlaw without going into its source material. Anyway, if I were going to talk about them I'd have to read them, and everything I've ever heard about them tells me that I definitely don't want to do that. They sound like a Fifty Shades of Grey for basement-dwelling misogynist nerd stereotypes.

A couple of assholes named Watney (no relation to the guy who got left behind on Mars) and Cabot (no relation to the author of The Princess Diaries) are on their way to a bar when they are forced to make a detour into another dimension. Fortunately, this is a sequel: Cabot has been here before and so rather than dying of thirst in the desert, they find their way to the cardboard city of Coroba. There, the two become embroiled in a plot by Queen Lara to murder her husband and seize power. She imprisons Watney and the rightful heir, Princess Talena, and sends a bounty hunter to capture the escaped Cabot. After much pointless wandering around, the conspiracy is revealed. The bounty hunter kills Lara, Cabot marries Talena and becomes king, Watney is sent back to Earth, and Zeno the High Priest does basically nothing despite being played by the only cast member anybody in the audience has ever heard of.

Quick Note: the 'desert snake' that appears in one shot appears to be a Burmese python, a semi-aquatic species that lives in the rainforests of southeast Asia. They could not have gotten that more wrong if they'd tried.

Besides that stunning failure of herpetology, the thing about this movie that most sticks in my mind is the kissing. Cabot and Talena share several kisses. They're supposed to be epic and passionate, but there's something weirdly mechanical about them, like we're watching exaggerated stop-motion animation of a kiss. It's as if neither Urbano Barberini nor Rebecca Feratti have any actual experience of kissing, and are trying to kiss based on having read an anatomical study of the muscles involved. Gross.

After that, the second thing I remember about the movie is how incredibly fake everything in it looks. Cabot's flashback tells us that Gor is a harsh world, and it breeds harsh people – this is supposed to be a gritty, raw, half-savage place, where the aristocracy wallow in decadence while the common folk toil in the mud, and where death is always a just a hair away. The sets and costumes are admittedly elaborate, and there is at least some unity of design (unlike, say, Deathstalker and the Warriors from Hell, where they just used whatever they could find in the prop warehouse), but everything looks like it was made in a high school art class. King Marlenus' crowns appear to be made of cardboard and hot glue, spray-painted gold. Talena and the 'Leather Women' look like they're wearing bondage gear from Spencer's Gifts, while the dancers are in 'sexy genie' Hallowe'en costumes. The entire city of Coroba is built out of plywood, except for the parts that are built from styrofoam (hence why the slaves are being worked to death in the styrofoam mines). That stupid 'lizard woman' face painted on the wall looks like the work of a twelve-year-old who has just learned how to grid out facial proportions.

The biggest problem with Outlaw, however, is one that only becomes obvious after a little thought. Having pondered the film's story for a while, trying to figure out why it seems so pointless, I eventually realized – it's because Cabot, our ostensible hero, never does anything.

Well, that's not quite true. He does a couple of things, but nothing he does ever matters. He beats up some sand Nazis when they first arrive on Gor, but that has absolutely no connection with the rest of the plot. He gets himself and Watney to Coroba, where he is conveniently present to be framed when Lara murders her husband. Afterwards he flees into the desert where he and his sidekick Hup get lost and wander in circles for a while. They find a group of slavers chasing people in the middle of nowhere for some reason, and stage a jailbreak which frees exactly one slave. Then they're caught by the bounty hunter and taken back to Coroba, where both Lara and Zeno try to bargain for Cabot's loyalty and fail. The villains lose not because of him, but because they turn on each other. The whole movie could have happened just fine even if Cabot never bothered to show up.

It's not like there weren't opportunities for him to do something. Cabot could have gotten the slaves in the desert camp to rise up against their captors, and then rallied them into an army to storm Coroba. He didn't do that. He could have snuck back into the city to free Talena and get the support of the people to put her on the throne. He didn't do that either. He could have pretended to join forces with Zeno against Lara, or Lara against Zeno, or just killed Lara when she tried to seduce him. Didn't do that. He could have led a revolt in the styrofoam mines after the cave-in sowed discontent with the regime. Didn't do that either. Cabot seems to spend the whole movie waiting around for a chance to do something heroic, but every time one arrives he lets it pass by.

What about any of the other 'good' characters? An old wizard called the Elder was the one who brought Cabot and Watney to Gor, in the hopes that they would accomplish something. He gets stabbed by Lara before he can tell them what. Talena spends most of the movie in a dungeon. She maims a couple of dominatrices but that's about it for her. Hup follows Cabot around, complaining about how hot, hungry, and lost they are. Watney, too, rots in jail, out of sight and out of mind, for ninety percent of the film – then at the final showdown, he announces to the public that Lara murdered King Marlenus. This is what brings about the end of the movie, as the bounty hunter kills her with a spear and Cabot and Talena are able to become King and Queen. That's right, folks – the only ‘hero’ character in the movie who does anything directly to overthrow Lara is fucking Watney.

Watney deserves some kind of award for being probably the most hateable single character ever to appear on MST3K – and that's saying something. His competition includes such nails-on-chalkboard specimens as various Gamera kids, the peeping soldiers from Attack of the The Eye Creatures, and Mitchell, but Watney blows them all away. He's a sexist pig, a whiny asshole, and a fucking idiot combined. Lara promises to make him a king and he seriously expects her to follow through on it, even still shouting threats at the guards who drag him away. Yet at the end, when he, Cabot, Hup, and Talena are all about the be executed, he's the only person who responds proactively. The movie would have ended the same way without Cabot, but not without Watney. I guess that makes him the hero. What a horrible thought.

So much for the good guys. How about the villains? Zeno mixes potions and has passive-aggressive arguments with Lara, but she gets fed up and kills him before he can really take any action against her. Lara herself is a cartoon character – she's evil, and that's one hundred percent of her personality and motivation. There is exactly one line in the movie that hints at a backstory for her. She claims that she had to learn the hard way that power is all that matters. This suggests that she may have been a slave herself before rising to her current position, and if it had been explored a little this could have made something interesting out of her. Historical parrallels could be drawn to Anne Boleyn or Irene Sarantapechaina, a former concubine using royal authority to punish those she feels have abused her.

But nobody else in this movie has more than one dimension, so why should she? She seems interested in nothing but power for its own sake. The reponsibilities that come with wielding it are entirely immaterial to her – she just wants to tell people what to do and then watch as they are forced to do it regardless of whether it actually makes any sense. In fact, a number of the things she does, such as ordering the slaves to be locked in during the cave-in at the styrofoam mine, seem to have no purpose beyond exercising this total authority. It's as if she wants to be surrounded by people who despise her, while she enjoys the fact that they can't do anything about her. Imagine if she had a twitter account.

Then there's the most nonsensical character of all, the bounty hunter. I think his name is Horst. Lara hires him to bring Cabot and Hup back, he does so, she pays him, and he leaves. It seems like his role in the story is done, but then he turns up again at the finale to kill Lara for no reason other than Watney said so. I was sure this scene had to be otherwise motivated. MST3K must've cut the bit where we find out she cheated him out of money or something – but no, apparently he just decided that it was time for the movie to end. Maybe he's the hero.

The movie, however, treats Cabot as the hero throughout, so I suppose Cabot is the person it wants us to emulate. What does that mean? I guess it means that when evil appears to have triumphed, all we need to do is keep our heads down and wait it out. We can put up with other people doing terrible things as long as we don't explicitly support them, and occasionally make some small show of loyalty to good, and sooner or later somebody else will topple the evil for you. White-Liberal-est movie ever.

See what I meant? There's heaps to complain about in Outlaw, and I didn't have to mention the books once.

#mst3k #reviews #outlaw #80s

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

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Congratulations Esha you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Selina Sapworthy!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Esha -- the thought and life you bring to your characters continuously blows me away and I was so happy to see your application in our inbox and that you were returning to our lovely rp! I loved Selina before, but your application -- straight from the reason why you chose to take her up again reminded me of all the reasons you were the one meant to be writing her. You understand her character and her motivations and her wants and needs to such an astounding degree -- and it’s so beautiful to read your writing. I’m so excited to see everything you’ve got planned for her and to watch her grow in this roleplay! Welcome back!

application beneath the cut

OOC INFORMATION

INTRODUCTION

esha, she/her, utc +5:30. i turn 18 on friday!

ACTIVITY

summer’s here !!i have work for which i’m always unavailable for at least 4 hours every day, but thanks to my messed up time zone it doesn’t coincide with the more popular timezones. i’d give myself a solid 6/10.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

i was here before!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?:

i’d consider myself a healthy mix between hermione granger, percy weasley, and tom riddle, as crazy as that sounds.

ANYTHING ELSE?

nothing!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

selina sapworthy

FACE CLAIM

emeraude toubia

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

never, in my 4+ years of rping, have i ever played a muggleborn non-death eater gryffindor who is on a moral precipice. that’s where i see selina - right on the edge. her situation is one that is extremely unique, in my opinion.

the aversio is a group that was formed to fight the death eaters with their own weapons - they don’t hold back, like the order, but they fight for equal rights and for the eradication of bigotry, unlike the death eaters. selina joined them because she has 7 years of anger bottled up in her - her desire to prove herself academically conflicted between wanted to prove herself worthy as a witch and her thirst for knowledge in general. had the racism and bigotry against muggle-borns not existed, perhaps selina could have been a ravenclaw with her intelligence and wit. her placement in gryffindor is detrimental to her alliance with the aversio - she fights for what she believes in, whether it be her status as a witch, or the fact that arithmancy is simply a tool for divination, so no, not taking divination because its an “imprecise” subject as quite misleading and most untrue.

however, knowledge is power. selina knows that her intelligence is what makes her valuable to the war effort - she is an accomplished witch with enough magical power to wield morally dubious spells without hesitation. at times, she helps aversio members strategise upcoming plans, attack plans, et cetera.

but the morality that she imbibes as a daughter of two muggles - her father, a diplomat representing the united kingdom, and her mother, a human rights worker, has been compromised in the aversio. there are times when before and during a battle she sees nothing but her ultimate goal and the means to achieve it (no matter how bloody or destructive) but after all she sees is the blood on her hands as a result of a civil war that cannot be fathomed by muggles. she lives in two worlds, and by joining the aversio, she has effectively chosen between them. the guilt claws its way through her mind every day, but she does what she must because it’s the right thing to do.

currently, she works as a herbologist, writing her book on herbology and divination simultaneously. however, for almost 4 years starting at 18, she worked for the international quidditch team - however, not as a player, but as a strategist. her quick logic and intelligence made her well-suited for the part, and the encouragement from her father to join an international group instead of a national one helped her decision. however, due to her status as a strategist, she was barely in the country. while the death eaters were on the rise, where there were simple stirrings, she was unaware of the ongoings. it wasn’t until there was a season break when she was 22 that she returned to an atmosphere of conflict and mistrust. that’s when she quit her previous job and joined aversio - while the safety of working with an international team appealed to her selfish, cynical side, the morality and righteousness of fighting against oppression and bigotry prevailed.

i imagine she’s a fast talking girl. she has so many thoughts rushing through her brain and only so much time to vocalise it.

selina is such a uniquely fascinating character, and i wanted to explore a character with moral conflict instead of my usuals, which are characters that are a little more black&white.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

ships: selina x chemistry. it’s cliché, but it works best. although, i do think her romantic relationships would have to stem from a friendship. romance for her is something she doesn’t have much time for in this war, but she’s never been one to say no to something that occurs naturally. it scares her to think that she would have to actively worry about somebody else as well as herself, and she would hate to have someone worry over her, especially with her dedication to aversio. sexuality: hetero(romantic & sexual). unlike romance, sex is something there is still time for, in selina’s mind. it’s a temporary release, something that can be done quick and then forgotten about, no strings attached. gender & pronouns: female, she/her/hers.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

[x] aesthetic

[x] pinterest board

[x] mock blog

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Oooh. Fun. Well, it’d have to be something revolutionary, wouldn’t it ? I can’t have something trivial with my name attached to it. Perhaps a potion ? I like the idea of inventing a potion. It’s intellectual, and something people wouldn’t have to rely on their magical prowess to make. I can see myself inventing a healing potion, but there are an awful lot of those. Maybe not. Ooh ! I got it. A shrinking potion ? I know there’s a shrinking spell of some sort, but a potion is more handy. You can make multiple batches and don’t need to have a counter-spell because it just wears off over time. Perhaps 30 minutes. I like the sound of that.”

You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Well. That’s tough - not particularly, I mean I know exactly what object I’d take (an invisibility cloak, that is, it would be wildly useful and extremely stealthy), but a person. That’s tough. Well. I think I’d take my dad - he’s a great fellow and it’d be fun to let him look around and see beyond coyotes and kangaroos. I’m taking the invisibility cloak for a reason, aren’t I?”

What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Those that make me choose between what I think is right and what I think is fair. Sometimes those two never really line up, especially when you have a person in front of you who is guilty of bigotry and lies and murder, but you can’t help but think that perhaps not killing them would serve your purpose better. Wait- that sounded a little too morbid. A better example would probably be something relating to a lighter subject, but in these times, I think we could do with war talk.”

What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m… cowardly. Or weak, or a hypocrite. Yes. Hypocrite. Because I fight for what is right, and what my values are. I’d hate for anybody to think I’m being cowardly or hypocritical by doing so. When you think through everything as much as I do, it’s rather tough to accept… criticism.”

WRITING SAMPLE

Tiny Selina with her short black hair and hopeful eyes grinned mischievously and lay flat on the swing, her stomach against the cold metal, feeling the air smack her face every time it swung. Her friend, Bert, was pushing it every time it swung back to him, his young face scrunched up in concentration, making sure to put in force at the right time to make sure the swing would catch enough momentum to go higher. She loved the rush of the moment, the thrill she felt from doing something a tad bit dangerous. Her book was left forgotten on the bench to their left, a page near the beginning neatly dog-eared and pressed flat against the hard cover.

Despite his concentration, there was only so much power an 8-year-old’s arms could have, and so Bert accidentally pushed the swing while it was still moving towards him, disturbing its momentum. It stuttered, went forward, and launched Selina straight into the air. A high-pitched scream left her throat, attracting the attention of other kids and parents as they watched the tiny girl launch into the air and begin accelerating down just as soon.

Selina shut her eyes. They were shut for 10 seconds as she braced for impact, dreaded the scars on her face and hands she would get. Oh, no, what if she injured her eyes? She wouldn’t be able to READ.

The impact never came.

14.

The air flowing through her hair stayed as a constant throughout her life, except this time she was flying herself across the sky on a raggedy old broom.

Her parents may be rich muggles, but they truly didn’t understand the importance of a good broom for Quidditch. So she was left with Hogwarts’ old ones, one that poked and pinched in odd places. But Selina was happy - she may have her nose in a book most of the time, but she was a normal witch with friends and an interest for the Wizarding sport that could only be rivalled by those who were also on the Gryffindor House team.

The Hufflepuff Beaters had clearly been practicing ( she told them, she told their captain that Hufflepuff was working really hard this time, they’d changed up their strategy and coming up with things like that 5 minutes before a game was impossible, even for her ), and the amount of times she had to weave her way around them and their chasers and the bludgers that seemed to be quite obsessed with her was frankly getting on her nerves.

The quaffle was in her hand, and she was whizzing her way towards the opposite side, towards the ‘Puff keeper who was too lanky to be buff and yet was the quickest boy she’d ever played against. He seemed to favour his left side, so she flew as though she was aiming for the left hoop. Usually, faking in 'Puff matches worked superbly well, but the team was new and the keeper was newer - she wasn’t too sure about what to expect.

Just as she was about to swerve and aim for the right, a bludger came at her from nowhere and hit her straight in the gut and the next couple of seconds were filled with blinding pain followed by nothingness.

The next morning, the healer told her that it would be best if she just stayed away from Quidditch for, oh, maybe 6 months to a year to a lifetime.

23.

She hadn’t known that she was returning to war. She hadn’t known that she was going to join a group that understood the desperation for revenge, for justice, for her rights. Their rights. She didn’t know she was giving up her life to become a soldier, and yet it felt like the right decision. If things worked out, she’d have a long life to fulfil her career aspirations. If not, at least she’d have fought for what she believed in.

That’s how she thought of herself. A soldier. Every time they raided, every time they found a Death Eater, or a trace of one, or a way to force their hand in a move they didn’t care for, she felt mechanical. There was emotion - they always was. Usually, when it happened, there was satisfaction. It felt right - all those years of being mocked and teased and being called a mudblood had ignited a fire in her that never died out. That never would die out.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like if she’d just continued with the International Quidditch Team. She could have continued travelling the world, strategizing, stayed ignorant about the war brewing in her home country. But she wasn’t the kind of person to do that - she was righteous, and brave, and just. At least she hoped to be.

Selina faced the Boggart in front of her with a strong brow and a stable wand.

"Riddikulus.“

She turned it from an arm with the word “Mudblood” engraved into it a hand that skipped around everywhere, jumping upon a table and tap dancing till the frown on her face turned into the smallest of smiles.

#hp rp #lsrpg #first wizarding war rp #hp roleplay #harry potter rpg #accepted app

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