#I like a little feminine touch when I draw him in more masculine clothes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins · 2 years

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SENSES & OTHER ODDLY SPECIFIC HEADCANONS

* 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒

1. What does your muse smell like?

It depends on if she’s in Saint Denis or during her time in the countryside on her search for Dutch and to find information for her story on him. Usually, Eleanor just smells clean? If that makes sense/ She has some small amount of perfume on her, but she tries not to overdo the smell of the perfume so she often picks ones with a light smell. She just finds it professional to have a nice smell and appearance but also to keep it minimal and formal. Her clothes don’t have a distinct smell to them but if you get a close smell to her body, there will be a hint of a floral soap. She often washes down with a floral-smelling soap for self care reasons and she likes the smell of it when she bathes. When out of Saint Denis, she still bathes regularly but she will smell a lot more like horse, sweat, and pine (if she’s staying in any heavily wooded area). It’s definitely not an extreme smell but it’s noticeable and it drives her insane sometimes because she hates drifting from her usual smell and being victim to the elements.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

Eleanor’s hands feel soft for the most part. As a journalist, she obviously doesn’t have to take part in any manual behavior, but as she journeys to the countryside for her story, her skin hardens a little bit. She gets scars here and there, calluses, so her hand isn’t perfectly smooth after a while.

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

Eleanor cannot go on with her day without breakfast, but usually she merges lunch and dinner into one because when she sits down to write (or if she’s out interviewing someone), she forgets about eating and focuses solely on her work. She likes oatmeal, wheat products, she may have toast or some breaded meal. She eats fruits off and on, but usually her dinner has some meat with it. She tries to incorporate all the food groups.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

She does! She has no interest in singing but will hum or lowly sing a tune under her breath when she’s out traveling to pass the time. I think when she’s out looking for Dutch and info for her story, if she really trusts whoever she’s traveling with, she will partake in some songs around the fire. It takes a while for her to ease up to the idea though. She has a very soft and light singing voice.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

Not so much a nervous tick but a bad habit, she will often talk over or interrupt someone when she’s really stressed, angry, or feels really passionate about something. This can sometimes be an annoyance to whoever she’s interviewing but she will ask questions in the middle of when someone’s talking, not realizing she just interrupted them, because she wanted to make sure what they’re saying is clear in her mind.

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

Her fc is G.olshifteh F.arahani! I have some outfits pinned in her pinterest board but I draw a lot of inspo for her from L.ily B.ell’s outfits in H.ell on W.heels and Louise’s outfits (I think? The journalist woman on the same show). She usually dresses very masculine but isn’t opposed to more feminine clothing. She just feels as if a more masculine apparel will gain her more respect but it’s a double edged sword. Yes, some take her more seriously but others will also say she’s “trying to be one of the big boys” so-to-speak and don’t take her seriously.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

Eleanor will occasionally touch someone’s arm while speaking but I don’t think she’s that affectionate. She’s not against a hug once in a while and is more affectionate in a relationship, but generally she isn’t affectionate. Her grandparents that raised her were affectionate, but I don’t think Eleanor feels a need to give affection all of the time? She prefers to do things for people, give gifts, give compliments and remember small tidbits about people to show her love, affection, and friendship.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

Eleanor moves around a lot in her sleep so she isn’t stuck to one position. Usually she sleeps on her belly and then wakes up on her back. She drools a lot in her sleep, too.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

No, she generally is a quiet person and keeps to herself. She doesn’t try to be too loud and doesn’t speak very loud either. You may hear a muffled voice, but it’s not distracting or intrusive. If anything you'll hear more of her footsteps than anything else from her.

TAGGED BY: stole it!

TAGGING: steal it from me!

#( 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔 ; headcanon (( Eleanor ))#( 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 ; main verse (( Eleanor ))#food mention tw

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house-of-playboys · 3 years

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PARK CHANYEOL: Birthday Suit

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐃:

↳ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

↳ғᴏᴏᴅᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴀɴᴀʟ sᴇx

↳ᴇᴅɢᴇᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴘʟᴀʏ

↳ᴏʀɢᴀsᴍ ᴅᴇɴɪᴀʟ

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Chanyeol flitted around your shared apartment, mentally checking and rechecking everything he had planned. Cake - check. Bedroom decorations - done. Your presents? Yup, all on the table, perfectly wrapped (with Suho's help, of course! He couldn't afford his clumsy ass messing up at the last minute. He promises he did everything else on his own though!).

It's extremely hard to avoid biting his lip in anticipation of your arrival, not wanting to mess up his perfectly glossed lips, as he glances at the clock yet again. His pale cheeks flush every once in a while as his mind wanders through the material he's wearing underneath everything, contrasting well with the crisp black suit above.

Channie always thought he was a little too masculine to be the perfect submissive; too outrageously tall, too clumsy unlike his shorter, more feminine, more fragile hyung, Minseok. He always wonders how come you chose him amidst so many different better options like Baekhyun and Jimin and even fellow rapper Yoongi, who seemed to fit the image of a submissive quite well, but then he thinks of how physicality doesn't really matter in the bedroom, it's the way you carry yourself; it's all about aura, all about preferences rather than appearances. After all, you and his Minseok hyung were both great examples of that: Minseok hyung, who was dainty, fragile yet so dominant that there was no doubt about it once you saw his nature in the bedroom. His hyung and even you had reassured him numerous times that it didn't matter, yet he couldn't help but feel insecure sometimes.

He cleared those thoughts from his head. You were right: it didn't matter.

All that mattered, all he wanted was to be good for you. A good boy, just for you. Mommy's sweet little baby boy.

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He wipes his clammy hands as he hears the doorbell chime, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten for you before opening the door. He's... in awe. It's like the breath has been knocked out from his lungs and you're the oxygen to make him breathe again. Does eyes wide, mouth unable to close from how slack his jaw is, he looks at you, standing there in front of him in all your stunning glory.

"Cat got your tongue, Channie?" You smirk slightly. Pastel pink pumps adorn your feet, black pantyhose contrasting them so sinfully. The high collared blossom pink dress shows barely any skin except for your bare arms and yet he's so enamoured, so entranced; he'd always been a captive to your beauty. And like Stockholm Syndrome, you're his salvation, his dream, the one he'd submit so wholly to. He manages to close his mouth, stuttering out a raspy "H-happy Birthday, Mommy." , hastily handing the flowers to you before stepping aside to let you enter.

Your mouth parts in surprise as you take in the effort he put in just for you. Red and white seems to be the theme for today as you drink in the sight of your apartment. When he had sent you to the spa for a day of relaxation, you had immediately picked up on his intentions but seeing all his efforts, the decorations, the somehow perfectly cooked food (probably Kyungsoo's doing) and a pile of gifts to the side (no doubt with Suho's assistance) just felt so special. Even though you knew he would surprise you, experiencing all of it was something entirely else.

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After dinner, and cake!, Yeol sweeps you to the bedroom, seating on the bed as he moves to get something out of the mini fridge. Once again, your bedroom is encased in red and white, rose petals on your bed and on the ground, bed sheets neatly made yet sure to be messy later given you two's liking towards making a mess.

He turns back to you, cheeks as pink as your outfit as he approaches you with a big bowl of chocolate ice-cream; your favourite of course. Your eyes dance with excitement as you understand his motives. "Strip, babyboy."

Handing you the bowl, he shimmies out of his suit, tie long forgotten from when you had your first makeout session of the evening.

Soon, he's half naked and kneeling in front of you, breathlessly asking you if he can keep his pants on for the time being. Quirking an eyebrow, you decide to be lenient, body charged with the curiosity of what's beneath. Curling your fingers around his pale neck, you press your lips against him, pulling him up and onto you as you kiss him, fervently, like a prayer. Flipping him over, you lean his body against the headboard, kissing him once more.

"Safeword, Yeollie?"

"Red."

"Such a good boy."

He preens under the praise as you scoop up the now melty ice-cream; you'd always fantasized about licking it up those abs. Smearing it over his abs, you gauge his reaction; the soft gasp followed by a whimper leaving his swollen lips leaves you even more aroused than before, your eyes darkening as his brows furrow, back already arching as a tiny tremor goes through his body. "Oh, mommy~"

Getting down, you lower yourself towards his abs, eyes locked on him the entire time. You give a tentative kitten lick to his ice-cream-coated abs, reveling in the way his brows knit together, head thrown back, arms wide apart clutching the sheets, his body writhing at your touch. And the best part? The way he moaned out your name: "Mommy! Oh- oh mommy- mommy, more please!" Like it was a mantra, he chanted your name as you laid your tongue flat on his abs, licking up all the melty ice-cream.

Everything is so damn messy, the ice-cream mixed with your saliva sticking to his abs as you pour it over his abs even more, the coolness of the temperature riling him up as much as it did you. And God, is it messy. It's just way too messy and you're loving every single bit of it. You and Loey had never been hygiene freaks in bed (baths were a must in aftercare though!), so it was all good.

Seeing him strain against his dress pants makes you coo. "Aww, is the little baby hard? Oh honey, Mummy will make it better in no time. Let's get this off, shall we?"

His eyes widen slightly, cheeks blushing a deep pink as he squeaks out your name. It's too late though- you've already unzipped his pants in one go, sliding them down from where he kicks them off his legs. He's almost bare now save for one item of clothing, and your eyes are so unwaveringly focused on it that poor Channie gets all nervous and embarrassed, thinking you don't like it.

But your thoughts are so vehemently opposite of what he's thinking, your mouth watering at the sight of those pastel pink panties with a soft floral print right in the middle of them; God, you want to use those panties on him in every him way possible: shoving them in his mouth, pegging him while he's still wearing them, ripping them apart and then fucking him, the possibilities are endless.

"Mommy, Channie's sorry." He pouts, making you snap out of your daze and look up at him incredulously, licking your lips.

"Why on earth are you sorry, sweetie? For making Mommy dripping wet? For making her want you even more? For making her want to claim you in front of everyone?" You crawl up his body to align yourself with his eyes, loving the way his heartbeat speeds up as your voice lowers to a whisper. "For making me want to use these panties over and over again on you in every damn way possible, hmm Loey?"

"Oh. Mommy approves?" His eyes are blown wide in realization.

"Oh honey, Mummy very much approves." You send a bone-chilling smirk his way. "Hands and knees now, babyboy. Present yourself to me. You're gonna be good for Mummy won't you?"

"Yes, yes Mommy!" He's quick to comply, getting into position as he's always done. He looks so breathtakingly beautiful like this, like the most delicate flower you ever saw, bare save for those panties that were dampening now, and fast.

You grope his ass, feeling how firm he is, how soft. No longer able to hold yourself back, you tear off the wrapping paper - or should you call it a ribbon? - of your beautiful present, eliciting a soft gasp from said present. Channie's hell bent on surprising you various ways today, because peeking out his hole is a glass bead. Not even a plug, but goddamn vibrating anal beads, because your darling really wants it tonight.

Chanyeol simply pushes his forehead further into the pillows.

"I was thinking of eating you 'til you're a whining, whimpering mess, but it seems like you've already prepared for that." You raise your eyebrows. "The remote, Yeol-ah?"

He chokes out a raspy "f-first-t draw-drawer", moaning loudly when the vibrations increase suddenly when you retrieve the device. His knuckles are so pale from clutching the sheets, face scrunched up in an expression that screams ecstasy, and you can't help but raise the vibrations even more, intently listening to the rise in his pitch as he tries to keep himself from rutting into the mattress, not wanting to upset you on your special day.

You're so fixated on him that you don't even realize how you've stopped in the middle of the room just to toy with the remote's controls and see him cry out in pleasure, completely enraptured with the way his body trembles, cooing out soft words of encouragement at his whines. It continues on for a while and then you hear him.

"M-m-mommy won't you touch me? I-I- ah! a-ah! I need you to- oh, need you to fuck me. Hard, Mommy." His doe eyes are glossed over with both tears and the familiar haze of subspace as he looks up at you, cheek pressed against the mattress, hips jerking every once in a while, hands clutching the sheets in such desperation that it makes you snap out of your hungry daze, moving forward while stripping bare.

And then you're flipping him over, sliding a condom over his weeping dick, lubing it up. You align him with your equally soaked cunt, and for a moment you simply brush him against you, feeling him throb against your clit (or was it the other way around? You couldn't tell) as you throw your head, brows knitting together as your eyes squeeze shut, ragged breaths escaping your lips. Yeol watches your chest heave and mewls out softly as your folds caress his tip like a warm embrace. It's been too long.

Then you're slamming you're hips down 'til they grind against his own, loud groans being heard from both of you. Your hips rise again as you lean your head down, hair falling in a curtain around your face as you mould your lips together. One hand holds his hips down as you bounce hard on him, the other snaking up his chest, making a pitstop to tease his nipples - and God, does he whine when you do that -, moving up until you curl it around his neck.

He moans uncontrollably against your lips, writhing more and more beneath you, so much that you have to smack your hand against his hip to keep him still. Tears spill down his soft cheeks as you tighten your grip slightly, squeezing rhythmically every time your walls clench around him. And he's so gone that he can't even do more than huff and puff and mumble incoherently. You angle your hips differently in search for that special spot, a strangled groan escaping your mouth when you finally find it, hips rising and lowering even quicker, wanting nothing more than for his tip to rub against it. You're getting closer, and so is he.

"Don't even think of coming before Mommy does, Yeollie." You gasp out, making him whine only to be quietened with a sharp smack to his thigh. You slow down, dragging out both your orgasms, and he sobs in frustration and pleasure. You continue to tease both of you, bouncing slower in deeper, more calculated strokes, a collective shudder passing through you two every time his condom clad tip rubs deliciously against your sweet spot. It's sin, nothing but pure sinful pleasure, and you want to bathe in the afterglow of it. Yeol continues to huff and puff, broken whimpers leaving his mouth, an occasional cry leaving his mouth when you squeeze his throat a little too pleasurably. It's like, like he's given himself up to you: fully, completely, undeniably yours - and nothing else but that.

The thought riles you up, and you ride him harder now, speed gradually increasing to the point where your hips ache and your core throbs. He's crying out in ecstasy as your core clenches around his stiff cock, nails raking down his chest, leaving angry red welts that he would admire all morning tomorrow. "That's it, Yeollie, scream louder, honey. There we go, that's such a good boy, my loveliest baby, Yeollie. You make Mummy feel so good, my darling, so loved."

"Yeollie feels loved too, Mommy!"

Theres goes your heart (if it was even alive at this point, considering how pretty he's been tonight).

"Mummy's gonna- ah, cum now, baby- ah! Such a good boy, aren't you, honey? So good, so good, so precious. And all mine. Mine, and only mine."

You're panting, voice breathless from how perfectly he fits around you, how perfectly he rubs that spot. You reach down to rub your outer folds, breathlessly hissing out his name as you shudder, cumming over his cock.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him, a whimper escaping his mouth. "Mommy, please? Let baby cum, please?"

His watery doe eyes make you soften, cooing at how pliant he is, how obedient and patient. The perfect little boy for you.

"Cum, Yeollie."

You swallow his deep moans with a kiss, teasingly squeezing his throat one last time.

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Aftercare with your babyboy is always so damn soft. Like, it's just so soft, there're no other words to describe it. You clean him up first because, well, baby deserves it. And then after you've cleaned yourself as well, you limp to the kitchen, while reveling in the pain because yes, get some comfort food and cuddle with your lovely boyfriend on the bed. You feed both of you guys because Channie just turns to soft, mushy, light-headed goo after sex and he can only pout and rasp out soft "Mommyyy"s, not that you mind babying your lovely baby; Channie deserves the world, after all.

"Mommy, Channie's sorry for not being there to wish you on your big day." He pouts, yet you're quick to reassure him, heart sinking to see him still apologetic like this.

"Honey, no. You were on tour, and Mommy understands. Besides, Yeollie made Mommy's day so special, you know? Do you know how happy you make me, baby? How happy you made Mommy feel today?"

"...weally?" You coo so hard at that.

"Mhmmm. Loey's my bestest boy ever. Mommy's lovely little babyboy." He beams adorably at that, and your chest swells with happiness and warmth and pride.

Being a male submissive, and especially one who would willingly bottom to a woman doesn't come with acceptance, especially when he's a tall hunk who, according to society, should be a smouldering alpha male. He could have left you, and even now, he has a hard time loving himself for who he is, but you're there, you'll always be there- and it means the world to him.

So you love him, with every fibre of your being, and he reciprocates it with his all, because you two have been through a lot since you first met; you've shared the same rejection, targeted with the same hate, and now you both just don't care nor do you want to care. You just want to love and be loved. And so you do just that, feeding him some fruit, running your hands through his tousled locks, telling him how good he's been, how lucky you are to have him, how much you love him.

And when he smiles, it's like nothing else matters. Just this smile. Just this moment. Just him, just you two, and nothing else. Because he looks so beautiful, so breathtakingly beautiful that you could gaze fondly at him 'til the end of time.

And he's worth it.

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𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒁𝒐𝒆♡

#park chanyeol #chanyeol #pcy #pcy smut #chanyeol one shot #chanyeol oneshot #exo smuts #exo #kpop smuts #kpop smut #kpop one shots #kpop oneshots #requests

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emerald-echeveria-plant · 3 years

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The Bonnet Crew Looks & a few more facts about them

(I wanted to make this because I felt like it and wanted to give y'all a better visual how the crew looks like since I can't draw :3)

Stede Bonnet

Bonnet would look like something horrific. So I went with a Wendigo! I thought about making him look like Flint's species but not anymore because I wanted him to be more scary looking.

The reason being because I like tropes where the character looks horrific but has a heart of gold. ((If this man wasn't good I could guarantee that he'd be the most feared pirate in the eitherium.))

- Bonnet was once apart of the military as a soldier. He served for three years and retired after nearly dying from a bomb exploding next to him.

- He had an ex-wife by the name of Mary Allenby. Their marriage was arranged to them by their parents. Bonnet would never admit it but he LOATHED her. Mary was a spoiled woman who would constantly complain and belittle Bonnet about everything. He just bought them a lovely mansion? It should've been a castle, Mary would say. He'd get her lovely gowns and clothing? She'd say she liked none of them but would wear them to tolerate his incompetence. No matter what, Mary was never satisfied. Bonnet would hide his hatred of her in order to save face. He's very happy now that he's no longer with her.

- A bit of NSFW but Bonnet never slept with his ex-wife. He found her so unlikeable that he couldn't even bang her.

- His ship is called the "Revenge"

- Bonnet was always confused about his sexuality. He had an attraction for men ever since he was a teenager but ignored his feelings because his parents had pretty negative views towards anyone that wasn't straight. Now that he's out of their grip, he's thought about exploring himself but doesn't know how to.

Ironbeard

Of course we're sticking with the original design because the original is ✨flawless ✨

Islay Lee

Islay is a heloderma which in other words is a gila monster.

They're adorable and fiesty little creatures:33 like Islay herself.

Leonid Gorbachev

Leonid is an ursid who's more buff than he is thicc in comparison to the rest of his species. He has a burn mark on his face from an unknown incident. His left hand is replaced with a mechanical one also from an unknown incident that he refuses to share.

Unfortunately I can't find an image so here's Ricardo.

Jayda & Jayden Solace

The first thing that came to my mind when picturing these two was those twins from the shinning xD which is actually one of the inspirations for them!

The solace twins look very similar. So similar in fact, its like someone was looking at their own reflection in a mirror. Sometimes it's hard to tell them apart until you realize one of them is a boy. They have hazel brown hair briaded into a fishtail, teal blue colored eyes, and often wear the same clothing.

- whenever the twins make a prediction, they're very metaphorical and symbolic when it comes to telling the future. They never just say "oh theres gonna be trouble ahead for us." And more like "The crows are flying around us like vultures on an animal carcass. Their getting closer and we must prepare for the pecking." Crows can represent bad luck.

- not a fact but I like to think that the twins see the future because of Davy Jones meddling with them. He's like "lol tell one of that they're gonna slip on a banana peel but be subtle about it"

- their favorite thing to do is stare at each other for long periods of times.

Fleance Bal

Honestly idk how he'd look. All I know is, Fleance would have puffy pink hair tied into a ponytail. His robotic body looks like a combination of feminine and masculine parts. Like broad hips and broad shoulders. Maybe his whole body is also pink?

Cletus Callaway

You know the typical ginger haired, green eyed southern man that will stab you if you insult his sweet tea. He's also heavily built since he's worked on a farm for almost his whole life.

Octavia Oshima

Octavia is a blue ringed octopus and if you known anything about them is that they're highly poisonous.

- Octavia is often discriminated against because of her poisonous genes.

- She'd often wear gloves to make sure she didn't leave anything she touched infected.

- she likes to conduct experiments in order to find more cures for diseases and sicknesses. She even uses a few of the other crewmates to be apart of her experiments.

- Octavia wrote in journals about her adventures and the crewmates on board. She filled up at least eleven journals with her writings.

Noëmie Von Marrietta

Noëmie is a canid and from the treasure planet lore, female canids look like cats. Noëmie is a dark grey fluffy canid. She's much smaller in comparison to the rest of the crewmates. She's the exact same height as Baozhai which should tell you that they're short.

- Noëmie enjoys singing when no one's around. Unfortunately because of her talent at singing beautifully, the others would sneakily listen to her.

Archie Mulligan

A cute and cuddly little red panda for the mischievous Archie Mulligan❤️❤️

I originally wanted to go with a raccoon but went with a red panda instead.

Archie uses his cuteness to steal from people.

((Sometimes I like to call red pandas - fancy raccoons xD))

#oc insert #looks #description

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obeysword · 3 years

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personality traits / quirks

i’ve been thinking of this a lot bc unlike some of the other IT members, yu doesn’t really have nervous tells. which i guess makes sense when you’re a silent protag in a jrpg, but everyone should naturally have one or two. so i think when yu gets anxious & worked up, he clenches his fists. he will clench his teeth. grip at his clothes or his arms to steady himself & ground himself with reality. pain is a good way to offer focus or to feel the weight of something around you, like you’re clinging to a lifeline before tipping over the edge. they’re silent acts & not things that draw much focus or attention like scratching the back of your neck, looking away when flustered. when yu gets flustered, he’ll shake his head or even smile a little - depending on the type of attitude presented toward him. when he’s worked up, he can still keep his face mostly neutral & impassive, basically giving the impression that he’s fine & his words can remain steady. his eyes are often very clear or glazed when masking. sometimes he has slips, but prompted he’ll change the meaning of what he was implying & make you think, yeah you just misunderstood.

it is so hard to see through this guy. even when nanako was confirmed dead in the hospital, the only time he allowed himself to break & show how utterly upset he was about everything was when yosuke came back after the others walked away. he totally must have cried in nanako’s room with dojima, but when he exits out into the hallway it’s only the IT group that has tears in their eyes or running down their cheeks. narukami breaks down & cries on yosuke. asking him ‘did i make the right choice...letting namatame go like that?’ he’s a silent crier, clearly still trying to hold everything together when everything inside of him is beyond broken. the fact he only trusts yosuke to see him this way, clings onto him, really speaks volumes & parallels back to when yosuke cries on him in their confidant. & in good consciousness, i can’t see yosuke leaving narukami alone at the hospital while dojima was probably heavily sedated after trying to attempt murder on namatame also. narukami is not fine. dojima is not fine. the group comes back the next morning to check on him & go over the case again, they’ve all had a change of clothes except for narukami, which implies he didn’t go home or change.

he feels beyond empty inside. like all the light has been removed from his world, but then his light shows up again & assures him that it’s not over yet. yosuke is always shown to pull narukami out of the darkness, even when he’s dropping & falling in on himself after nanako’s death.

i still think he goes through spades where he can’t sleep well at night. he has to start stealing dojima’s booze just to sleep & still wakes up sweating from nightmares of adachi, namatame, or ame-no-sagiri. i don’t think narukami likes drinking & i really don’t think he acts like how he did in the animation where he takes on being an intense player sort of dude. but the fall out is bad for him. i think he has times where he doesn’t have an appetite & has to be encouraged to eat during this time too.

on another note with personality traits:

i think a lot of the beauty is destiny ending credits too. how oddly feminine narukami’s pose is during them? i’ve only really seen female characters / women taking this pose with their arms folded over their chests. men rarely ever are shown taking this pose.

& when the arcana shatters, the pose is still feminine & vulnerable in ways that you don’t see his character often being.

idk this is just a mental point i think about whenever i see the credits or listen to the song. his character is portrayed differently than many main protags in other animes, esp for the time-frame when the p4 series came out. i love this little touch because i think it shows how he’s someone who doesn’t have toxic masculinity in his nature. he’s rose above traditional norms set for japanese men & japan in general is very traditional culturally. you can see how naoto struggles to be accepted in a male driven society, & this is played again in p5 with sae telling makoto how challenging her job is due to the fact she’s a woman. kanji struggles to acknowledge his feminine side because people frown on how “girly” he acts. he’s not accepted by men or women & he feels there’s something wrong with him. narukami never felt there was something wrong with his friends. kanji’s knitting is cute! he should be proud to be so talented.

i can honestly say, narukami would make an ideal traditional housewife but he would be really bored with it too lol. but he is so comfortable with his manhood & sexuality unlike the characters who struggle to accept it. chie wishes she was as feminine as yukiko & gets embarrassed about her tomboy nature. kanji makes peace with his feminine side & realizes how wrong he was about what his dad meant. naoto is a harder one to place, because i think she still has struggles with defining which gender she identifies as & is more or less gender fluid / nonbinary - at least that’s how i see her, agree to disagree. & yosuke is shown to have a lot of toxic masculinity & struggles with accepting his sexuality to where he comes off as aggressively heterosexual to make up for the fact he’s interested in men.

narukami is so interesting because he’s always liked himself. he’s a person who genuinely likes himself for who he is & that is so refreshing to find. he has his flaws, but he accepts them & grows from them.

#▼ OOC △#▼ HEADCANON △#this is a 2 in 1 gfjldk;#but anyway a lot of thoughts here #long post tw #probably should have made a readmore but meh #or maybe made 2 posts but i think they tie back to the same stuff as above about him in second half

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aimee-maroux · 4 years

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Taken by Greek Gods: Zeus does Kallisto is a retelling of the myth of Kallisto. She was a virgin nymph in the retinue of Artemis who was desired by Zeus. I chose the comedic version of the myth in which Zeus assumes the shape of his daughter Artemis to have sex with her beloved.

If you love Greek mythology and enjoy genderswap erotica, this is the book for you!

Preview

Zeus wandered the forest of Arkadia, changing his shape into that of his daughter as he went. His broad, manly shoulders turned into the feminine build of Artemis. His hips widened and his waist curved. Voluptuous breasts plumped out of his muscular pectorals. His face lost its masculinity and assumed the gentle form of Artemis’ countenance. His clothes morphed into the short chiton his daughter wore to go hunting in the woods. The transformation was perfect.

Soon, he spotted Kallisto on the hunt for a young deer. He sneaked closer, pleased at how light his steps were in this female form, until he almost sat beside her. Then, he took an arrow from the quiver his daughter always carried with her and tickled the girl with the feathered shaft.

The huntress, startled, immediately had her bow set on him, but lowered it when she recognised who she thought to be her mistress.

“Artemis! You spooked me, my love! And now the deer is gone.”

“Don’t you worry about that deer, love. There is a more pressing matter at hand.”

Kallisto looked at him with such loving eyes he had not seen since he married Hera all those centuries ago. Or maybe Leto had looked upon him with love? Or Maia? It was one of them, for sure. He took her delicate hands, fingers unwomanly rough from the drawing of the bow, in his and led the beautiful girl deep into the forest. On a clearing, he undressed and showed to the girl his daughter’s womanly charms. To his great delight, Kallisto did away with her girlish chiton as well, standing before him in all her beauty. He pulled her fast to his full breasts and gave a fiery kiss to the virgin maiden. One hand held the girl close, the other explored her body, her delicious curves, her smooth, feminine skin, her soft hair, long and bound. Zeus' loins lusted for her, but if he went too quickly to the point, the maiden might suspect something. So he started rubbing her supple breasts, not as full as his daughter’s, but nice and firm and with small, stiff rosy buds. His caress elicited a gasp from the unchaste maiden and he licked down her delicate neck towards her bosoms, sucking on the little teats as if they were already full and heavy with milk.

“Oh, Artemis!” The girl exclaimed and Zeus felt his daughter’s body get even wetter between the thighs. How he had desired this woman, now ingenuous and at his fingertips. He smiled to himself, but Kallisto mistook it as a smile meant for her.

“Oh, Artemis, you are so beautiful when you smile for me!” She pulled the god’s head up with both hands and placed a kiss on his lips, followed by an eager tongue. She acted not like a virgin, but like an experienced lover, how she massaged his tongue and sucked on lips and soft flesh. Zeus picked her up, a lot harder in this body, but he still retained his divine strength. He bedded the girl on the soft mossy ground without breaking their kiss. The taste of her roused all his desires. Only with difficulty he restrained himself. The delicious white thighs, the perky breasts, the little cunt – in this moment, all of it was perfection made flesh. He smelled her arousal and his kisses became hungrier and more ferocious, his hands striving lower. His fingers played with the folds of her little cunt, getting drenched in her juices.

“Ah!” she moaned, her body responding to the purposeful touches.

Zeus left her mouth and went lower, engulfing her teats once again, sucking on them and twisting the little buds between his thumb and index finger. Her breasts were so young and soft, a dream come true. Zeus often lost interest in a maiden once he had taken her virginity and made her a mother, but some managed to keep his attention well into the pregnancy. Kallisto squirmed at his touches. He knew his daughter was not squeamish, she would use a rough hand on her lover as she did on other things as well. He licked and used his teeth to please her teats and make them even more erect than they were now. Kallisto moaned, more loudly this time.

“Ahhhhh… Artemis, you spoil me…”

“You deserve to be spoilt some of the times, sweet Kallisto. Now, let me see you little cunt. It’s dripping for me, I can tell. Show it to me.”

Kallisto giggled and spread her legs, lifting her tantalising arse to present her even more tantalising vulva. Zeus loved a sweet cunt more than was good for him. But he just couldn’t resist. He teased her swollen folds with a gentle hand and watched the girl writhing and squirming, making the delicious noises of lovemaking. He squatted between her legs and changed his genitals back into his male form. His cock was dripping and so hard, he could have split rocks with it. He touched her entrance, ready to push in.

“What are you doing?” Kallisto propped herself up, stealing curious glances towards her lover. “This is new!”

“It’s an olisbos.” Zeus lied. “It will give you unknown pleasure.”

“Artemis, I…”

“Shhhh. Let me guide you…”

Zeus does Kallisto is available on Amazon and on Smashwords.

Check out the other parts of the “Taken by the Greek Gods” series here!

#Zeus #Kallisto #Artemis #Aimée Maroux Story #Aimée Maroux Book #Aimée Maroux #Greek Mythology #Greek Mythology Fic #Greek Mythology Retelling #preview #book preview

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starkerhowlter · 4 years

Text

Daddy Stark’s Surprise

Ship: starker Rating: Explicit Contains: DD/LB, Feminization, biting, Consensual Power play, light Choking, slut-naming, namecalling, degradation, begging, praise-kink, Mirror Sex, Daddy Kink, dom/sub... probably more. Words: 2953 Summary: What Should Peter do to make this Valentine's Day better and different than others? How can he make this one unique?

Read it on AO3

A/N: Oh, my Gods! I'm posting my first smut fic.... By far, this is not my first smut fic I have ever written. Instead, this is the first time I have posted it!!! Woohoo!!! I hope you love it as much as I do! Also, this is sort of a companion fic to this fic, but it can be read alone!

Thank you so so soooooo much to my beta, @plueschpop! Be sure to go and give her ALL the love for her help in bringing this fic to life.

Peter looks at the outfit laying on the bed, excitedly. He checks his phone again, waiting for the text from Tony that says he's home. Instead, he gets a notification from J.A.R.V.I.S. that Tony wants to see him in the living area.

"There he is!" Peter smiles at the man, waiting to see what's in store. "Happy Valentine's day, princess."

Peter's face brightens when he sees the Spider-bear holding a bouquet of roses on the couch. He picks the stuffed toy up and hugs it to his chest, and then hugs Tony, "Thank you, Tony, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!" The billionaire laughs and kisses his boyfriend's forehead,

"I'm not done with you yet, Peter. I have some other surprises for you."

The boy tilts his head, curiously, innocently. "What do you mean?"

"I have a few other surprises for you tonight, baby." Tony purrs, "Starting with this." He pulls a box out of his jacket pocket, slipping it into the 21-year-old's hands.

"Wha--" Peter opens the box, accidentally dropping the lid in surprise, "How did you--"

Tony smiles as the boy removes the necklace from the box, and looks at the charm. The little heart gem, brown like his eyes, sits with a tiny golden crown over it. The heart around the little gem meets at the crown reads "Peter" on one side and "Tony" on the other. It's perfect. He smiles as he shows Nat, Wanda, and Carol. All three coo and giggle with him. Thor wraps an arm around Tony's shoulders, commenting on how the gift was a magnificent choice.

Peter drops the necklace into Tony's hand, smiling shyly. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing, I just want you to help me put it on." Peter smiles and turns around.

Tony smiles at the boy's face and places the charm just beneath his collar bone and connects the clasp behind his head. The boy shivers at the feeling of his nails brushing his spine, and squeaks at the kiss pressed to the base of his head.

"I'm gonna go see what Bucky's doing up there..." He murmurs, "Meet you upstairs soon, princess?"

"U-Uhm... No!" His voice cracks, as it does when he panics, "I'll come and get you!"

Tony laughs, somewhere deep in his throat, and releases the boy, "Alright..." he draws out the 'i' sound, and then walks in the opposite direction of the team and his young boyfriend.

___

Once inside of their shared apartment, Peter looks at the lingerie he has laying on the bed. It all feels like too much, but he knows that his daddy will love it. The idea that Tony may tear the boyshorts sends tingles up his spine. With a deep breath, Peter begins stripping. First his T-shirt, then his jeans, and then his boxers. Carefully, he folds his clothes and places them in the hamper. "Mr Stark is going to love this."

He starts with the Miniskirt-boyshorts combo. Carefully sliding the lacey material up his thighs, making sure everything is covered enough to be teasing. Next, he rolls the little white fishnets up his legs, settling the band at his midthigh. It looks perfect. The bralette comes next. Tony hasn't ever seen him in one before, but he had tested the theory with photos from lingerie magazines left around their house. He always makes sure to leave them open on the men in the outfits, being sure that there is an emphasis on which one Peter likes. He has also varied the choices. From more masculine picks, like boxers and a tight tee, to more feminine picks like the outfit he's wearing now. Peter always notices that Tony lingers more when they're feminine selections than he does when they are masculine.

Silently, he hopes that Tony wouldn't realize the fact that the outfit doesn't fit right. His thighs have grown since he started working out for Spiderman. His hips have widened naturally, causing the rest of his body to change shape too. Clearly, this piece was meant for a female user, but he vows to keep it on, no matter the fact that the band at the base of the bralette touches his abs slightly higher than it does on the model. He will be okay. "Tony's gonna love it," he tells his reflection, making sure everything is perfect.

"Hey, Fri?" "Yes, Peter?"

"Can you turn on the reference photos I had you save earlier?"

"Sure, Peter." She lights up his mirror with all of the files that Peter had saved. Every photo of the pink eyeshadows, brown eyeliners and lipglosses lay against the mirror. He sighs, trying to mimic the photos of the models and coverboys. He fusses over it until his eyes look perfect. Pink eyeshadow, a little brown eyeliner and just enough lipgloss to make his lips look soft. Before leaving the room, he grabs a sheer black robe.

"Do I look too feminine?" he asks his reflection before walking out of the apartment. It was risky, sure. He could get caught, he could get kicked out, a lot of things could happen...

----

"Sir, everything is ready for you~" Peter calls, leaning against the wall, thin fingers playing with his new necklace.

Upon noticing that Bucky is sitting there as well, he yelps and wraps the black robe around his midriff, "Oh, sorry, Mr Barnes, sir! I didn't realize you were here!"

"It's okay, Peter. Also, remember how I told you to call me Bucky?" Bucky smiles, trying hard to look away.

"Right, sorry" Peter smiles at Tony's laugh, waiting for him to reason with him.

After what feels like forever Tony rises, patting Bucky's knee, "Right, I've gotta go take care of... that... Ahem... Don't stay up here pouting for too long, okay?" Bucky shrugs, causing Peter to smile sympathetically at him. He turns though when Tony begins heading towards him.

'Finally,' Peter thinks as Tony presses his thin body to the wall.

The inventor kisses him, "Did you see how hard of a time you were giving Barnes? He couldn't take his eyes off you. For a reason." Peter blushes, his cheeks dark pink as he hides his face in Tony's neck. "Aww, baby's shy~"

"Shush!!" He tries to sink inside the sheer material wrapped around his body. "Can we... Can we go upstairs, please?"

Tony laughs darkly, "Why, worried he'll hear your pretty noises, princess?" No matter how much Tony expected it, the nod Peter replies with catches him off guard, "What if he wants to?"

"Will you two go away!" Bucky laughs.

Tony laughs, chasing the young scientist down the hall, "Go. Go Go!" In the elevator, Tony nearly dies laughing, pushing the button repeatedly. "I swear, both of our lives flashed before my eyes right then."

"Oh yeah?" Peter smirks, "Are you scared, sir?"

"Of what? Do you think I'm scared of Barnes? No. Not anymore. I have no reason to be. He's dating one of my best friends!" Tony smiles sliding his arm around the younger's waist before leading him out of the elevator and into their apartment.

The moment that Peter's back hits the closed door, he knows the answer to his earlier suspicions. Tony won't stop staring at him, as though trying to decide just how he wants to take the boy apart. "So," Peter finally breaks the silence, "I'm guessing you like your surprise?"

Tony laughs breathlessly, "What gave you that impression?"

"Oh, I don't know, could it be the fact that you are looking at me like you want to eat me? Maybe the way you can't stop eye-fucking me? Or maybe it's the fact that you're --" Peter grabs Tony through his skinny jeans, "hard for me right now, Mr Stark." The younger takes his glossy bottom lip between his teeth, chewing the side seductively. "Fuck..." He whispers, hoping the other doesn't catch it. Tony's cock always felt so good in his hand. Heavy, hard, perfect.

"What was that, Petey?" He presses the spiderboy's body harder against the door, causing his grip to release, and his head to fall back. "I forget how fucking needy you get for me. So wanton just from touching my hardon through my jeans? That's a new level of easy." Peter shivers, a fruitless attempt at getting some sort of friction.

"Daddy..." He whines, trying to get his attention, but failing.

"You know, I could tell you were nervous to show me this, Princess. Were you worried I wouldn't like it?" He runs his hand down the young scientist's chest, teasing his nipples through the thin bralette, "Worried that I would think you look bad?" His hand continues its journey downwards, to the band of the micromini, "Were you worried that I would cast you out?" Peter nods silently, feeling called out. "Well, I wouldn't dream of it, Peter. You look amazing! I can't get past how delectable you look right now. This skirt looks perfect on you."

"Show me?" Peter asks, offhandedly. At that moment, Tony has never been more thankful for the wall of mirrors in their room. The inventor takes Peter's hand, pulling him down the hallway. "Where are we going?"

"You asked me to show you, baby." He replies when they enter the bedroom. "And I plan to stick to my word." Tony intertwines their fingers, pressing his hand to the back of Peter's. He takes his now open palms and places them on the mirror's glass surface. Afterwards, he taps the toe of his shoe against Peter's ankle softly, causing him to spread his feet. Streaks-be-damned, because nothing looks better than Peter does right now. The young Queens boy looks amazing, head down, hands spread on the mirror, and legs far enough apart that it causes him to stick his ass out to keep his balance, the small charm that marks Tony's ownership dangles between himself and his reflection. "Now, little spider," Tony growls in his ear, "look at yourself."

Peter raises his head and catches sight of their reflection. The whimper that tears from his throat sounds wrecked, needy. "W-woah." His flushed cheeks tint pink as his chest rises and falls, clearly turned on. Peter casts his glance down to his microskirt and catches sight of the precum already smearing across his lower stomach.

"Look how fucking needy you are, baby. Already desperate for my hands on your body?"

"Yes, Mr Stark."

"Where would you like them?" He asks, "Here?" Tony places his hands on the boy's waist as he begins kissing his neck from behind, licking the chain lightly.

"Yes, Mr Stark," Peter repeats, knowing what it does to the other man. He doesn't know when, but his eyes slip shut. About the same time, his breathing speeds up, causing his heart to pound.

"A-a-ah, Peter. I want you to keep eye contact with yourself. Watch your face as I take you apart."

"Okay, Daddy."

"Such a good boy, aren't you?" Tony asks as he sinks his teeth into the side of Peter's neck, leaving a perfectly angry ring of teeth divots behind. A shiver wracks Peter's body. "Oh, you liked that? You like when daddy sinks his teeth into your neck, marking you as his?" The boy nods, pushing his ass back into Tony's crotch. "Fuck, Peter, don't."

"Don't what, sir?" Peter feigns innocence, "Do this?" he presses back again, grinding his ass harder. "Does that turn you on?" his voice sounds mocking, as though he's trying to feel bad for him, but it's more fun to laugh, "Pity, you look so pretty like that."

"Where's that confidence coming from, Peter?" Tony asks as his fingers trace over the younger's throat, touching the bite mark he'd previously made. His other hand continues its venture down Peter's body, pressing in some places and scratching in others. At his mid-thigh, Tony stops. "These are the best part of this whole look, baby boy." He snaps the band of the fishnets against Peter's thigh, causing him to gasp.

"Mr Stark, please!" He begs, pressing again, trying to get the dom to crack. "I just need you to... Please!" His voice cracks as he begs, the comments coming out ragged.

"God, Princess, I haven't even gotten you undressed and you're already whimpering for me. May I take this off, baby?" He asks, snapping the back band of the bralette. Peter squeaks, arching towards the mirror, nodding. Tony smiles, satisfied with the response, "Off." With the single statement, Peter's scrambling to get the fabric off of his body. "Skirt too." Peter follows orders, stripping in front of the mirror, maintaining eye contact with Tony's reflection. "Fuck, baby. We may have to do the mirror thing another day."

"What's wrong, daddy? Struggling to keep your cool just because your baby stripped?" Peter smirks, grinding back. Tony's nails drag across his abdomen, leaving thin red tracks in their place. "Please, daddy."

"Please. Please what?" Tony struggles out, "What do you want? Wanna show off for me? Or do you want daddy to get you off while you watch yourself? Hm? Because after we do that, I plan to fucking rail you into the bed," He growls.

"All of it, please daddy! Whatever you want, just wanna cum for you!" He whines, all of his snarkiness melting away. "Please, I wanna be good for you! Please, please, please!"

"How's this?" Tony walks the two backwards, before sinking to the floor. "C'mon, little boy, sit down with me." Peter nods, sitting with his back to Tony's chest, leaning against him. Tony leans back against the bed, sliding his hand back between the other's legs.

"C-can you take your shirt off, daddy?" Peter murmurs, already beyond wrecked.

"What?" He asks, leaning his head over the boy's shoulder.

"C-can you take off your shirt, daddy, please?" He asks again, trying to raise his voice.

Tony chuckles, "Sure, little one." the inventor strips off the AC/DC Tee he'd been working in, smiling at how quickly Peter leans back against him.

"Like feeling you everywhere." He murmurs, nestling back against Tony's scarred chest. Tony smiles, kissing his neck and shoulder. His mechanic's fingers creep along Peter's inner thigh, appreciating how he shivers, how his hips jump when Tony's fingers finally touch his dick. "Pretty baby boy. Look at yourself." Peter picks his head up off of Tony's shoulder, opening his eyes, staring at himself in the mirror just a few meters from them. "God, baby."

Tony slides his hand down the other's shaft, playing with the vein, and the underside of the tip. "Play with my nipples, daddy, please!" Peter begs, arching up when his other hand slides up to pinch at his little pink nubs. The younger whimpers helplessly, watching his cock twitch and his chest wrack with each little shiver. "Please, more!" Tony drops the boy's dick, moving his fingers down past his balls ghosting them just underneath, pressing on his perineum. He gasps, moaning.

"Can you get the lube for me, baby? Out of the drawer right there?" Peter nods wordlessly, reaching up to the drawer, whimpering at the loss of Tony's warmth. "Thank you." He murmurs, taking the bottle. "Come sit back against me, Peter. It's time I give you your rightful attention."

After a bit of scuffling and whining, Peter's got fingers back on his nipple and thighs. "Please, just... I need your fingers, daddy."

"You have them. Just not where you want them. Isn't that right, baby?" Peter nods, trying to move his hips. He attempts to work his hands downwards, hoping that at least one will end up on his hole.

"What's the jerking for, baby? Is there something you want?"

"Y-your fingers."

"Clearly but where?" Tony growls, popping open the lube and squirting some on his fingers.

"Here!" Peter grabs his wrist, dragging his lubed fingers down to his core, trying to get the point across.

"Aw, are you wanting daddy to finger you?"

"Yes, please, Mr Stark!" He begs, trying to push the fingers inside of himself.

"Alright. First things first, this" He grabs Peter's hip and pulls him back against him, "has got to stop. You may be a slut, but you /are not/ a whore. Quit. Fucking. Acting. Like. It." Tony pushes his forefinger into his asshole, causing Peter to melt against him. "What's your safeword, baby?" Tony asks, working the finger in.

"I-it's red." He gasps, pressing down onto Tony's finger, "M-More!" Tony presses a second finger to his hole, pushing it into the fluttering ring carefully. "Such a good boy for me." Peter whimpers at the praise, silently begging for a third finger. Tony grants the wish, pushing a third finger alongside the other two. "I--'m close, sir!" Peter begs, "Please, let me cum!"

"Why should I? You look so good like this."

"Please! I can't wait any longer!" he whimpers, little broken mewls slip from his mouth as precum pools at the head of his cock. "Daddy!" he gasps, trying to plead with Tony's reflection.

"Look at yourself, Baby. Watch daddy's little slut in the mirror. Watch how he falls apart, crying my name. I wanna watch you beg, princess."

"Please, daddy?" He tries, knowing good and well that it's not enough, "I'll be so good for you!"

"More."

"Please, daddy! Please! Please! Please!" Peter whimpers, jutting his hips up into the air, hoping for some sort of release. "Please, Mr Stark, it feels so good!"

"Fuck, Peter," Tony growls, biting at his neck. "Cum for me. But do not break eye contact. "

With a final broken whimper, Peter releases. "Thank you, daddy!" He presses against the man's hands, whining at the overstimulation, "Thank you, daddy."

"Don't thank me yet, princess. Now, it's time for your real present."

#starker #tony x peter #Nika Writes

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raptured-night · 4 years

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Hi! I’m part of the lgbtq+ community and Severus is my favorite HP character and I was wondering (if you have the time and feel obliged) if you could please give me a few examples of how he’s queer? It’s been a few years since I reread the books, and def before I came out, so I’m a little in the dark here lol Thanks!!

First of all, I just wanted to apologize for how long it has taken me to properly respond to your ask. I’ve been dealing with some ongoing health issues that have turned me into something of a moody writer. I’ll get random spurts of energy and inspiration and then hit a wall of absolute writer’s block assisted by a major case of executive dysfunction every single time I try to respond to the multiple asks languishing in my inbox. Fortunately, I found myself involved in a discussion just today that addressed your ask so perfectly that I wanted to share it with you. In the very least, that discussion has also managed to shake off my writer’s block temporarily so that I have found myself in the right head-space to finally be able to give this lovely ask the thought and attention that I feel it deserves.

Although, in regards to the Snape discourse I linked above, I feel that I should warn you in advance that the discussion was prompted by an anti-Snape poster who made a rather ill-thought meme (I know there are many in the Snapedom who would rather just avoid seeing anti-Snape content altogether, so I try to warn when I link people to debates and discussions prompted by anti-posts) but the thoughtful responses that the anti-Snape poster unintentionally generated from members of the Snapedom (particularly by @deathdaydungeon whose critical analyses of Snape and, on occasions, other Harry Potter characters is always so wonderfully nuanced, thought-provoking, and well-considered), are truly excellent and worth reading, in my opinion. Also, as I fall more loosely under the “a” (I’m grey-ace/demisexual) of the lgbtqa+ flag and community I would prefer to start any discussions about Snape as a queer character or as a character with queer coding by highlighting the perspectives of people in the Snapedom who are actually queer before sharing any thoughts of my own.

In addition, I also wanted to share a few other posts where Snape’s queer coding has been discussed by members of the Snapedom in the past (and likely with far more eloquence than I could manage in this response of my own).

Source

Along with an excellent article in Vice by Diana Tourjée, in which a case for Snape being trans is convincingly argued.

Importantly, you’ll notice that while some of these discussions do argue the possibility of Snape being a queer or trans character others may only discuss the way that Snape’s character is queer coded. That is because there is a distinct but subtle difference between: “This character could be queer/lgbtq+” and: “This character has queer/lgbtq+ coding” one which is briefly touched on in the first discussion that I linked you to. However, I would like to elaborate a bit here just what I mean when I refer to Snape as a character with queer coding. As while Rowling has never explicitly stated that she intended to write Snape as lgbtq+ (although there is one interview given by Rowling which could be interpreted as either an unintentional result of trying to symbolically explain Snape’s draw to the dark arts or a vague nod to Snape’s possible bisexuality: "Well, that is Snape's tragedy. ... He wanted Lily and he wanted Mulciber too. He never really understood Lily's aversion; he was so blinded by his attraction to the dark side he thought she would find him impressive if he became a real Death Eater.”) regardless of her intent when she drew upon the existing body of Western literary traditions and tropes for writing antagonists and villains in order to use them as a red-herring for Snape’s character, she also embued his character with some very specific, coded subtext. This is where Death of the Author can be an invaluable tool for literary critics, particularly in branches of literary criticism like queer theory.

Ultimately, even if Rowling did not intend to write Snape as explicitly queer/lgbtq+ the literary tradition she drew upon in order to present him as a foil for Harry Potter and have her readers question whether he was an ally or a villain has led to Snape being queer coded. Specifically, many of the characteristics of Snape’s character design do fall under the trope known as the “queering of the villain.” Particularly, as @deathdaydungeon, @professormcguire, and other members of the Snapedom have illustrated, Snape’s character not only subverts gender roles (e.g. his Patronus presents as female versus male, Snape symbolically assumes the role of “the mother” in the place of both Lily and later Narcissa when he agrees to protect Harry and Draco, his subject of choice is potions and poisons which are traditionally associated more with women and “witches,” while he seemingly rejects in his first introduction the more phallic practice of “foolish wand-waving,” and indeed Snape is characterized as a defensive-fighter versus offensive, in Arthurian mythology he fulfills the role of Lady of the Lake in the way he chooses to deliver the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry, Hermione refers to his hand-writing as “kind of girly,” his association with spiders and spinners also carries feminine symbology, etc.) but is often criticized or humiliated for his seeming lack of masculinity (e.g. Petunia mocking his shirt as looking like “a woman’s blouse,” which incidentally was also slang in the U.K. similar to “dandy” to accuse men of being effeminate, the Marauders refer to Snape as “Snivellus” which suggests Snape is either less masculine because he cries or the insult is a mockery of what could pass for a stereotypical/coded Jewish feature, his nose, Remus Lupin quite literally instructs Neville on how to “force” a Boggart!Snape, who incidentally is very literally stepping out of a closet-like wardrobe, into the clothing of an older woman and I quoted force because that is the exact phrase he uses, James and Sirius flipping Snape upside down to expose him again presents as humiliation in the form of emasculation made worse by the arrival and defense of Lily Evans, etc.).

Overall, the “queering of the villain” is an old trope in literature (although it became more deliberate and prevalent in media during the 1950s-60s); however, in modernity, we still can find it proliferating in many of the Disney villains (e.g. Jafar, Scar, Ursula, etc.), in popular anime and children’s cartoons (e.g. HiM from Powerpuff Girls, James from Pokemon, Frieza, Zarbon, the Ginyu Force, Perfect Cell, basically a good majority of villains from DBZ, Nagato from Fushigi Yuugi, Pegasus from Yu Gi Oh, etc.), and even in modern television series and book adaptations, such as the popular BBC’s Sherlock in the character of Moriarty. Indeed, this article does an excellent job in detailing some of the problematic history of queer coded villains. Although, the most simple summary is that: “Queer-coding is a term used to say that characters were given traits/behaviors to suggest they are not heterosexual/cisgender, without the character being outright confirmed to have a queer identity” (emphasis mine). Notably, TV Tropes also identifies this trope under the classification of the “Sissy Villain” but in queer theory and among queer writers in fandom and academia “queering of the villain” is the common term. This brings me back to Snape and his own queer coding; mainly, because Rowling drew upon Western traditions for presenting a character as a suspected villain she not only wrote Snape as queer (and racially/ethnically) coded but in revealing to the reader that Snape was not, in fact, the villain Harry and the readers were encouraged to believe he was by the narrator she incorporated a long history of problematic traits/tropes into a single character and then proceeded to subvert them by subverting reader-expectation in a way that makes the character of Severus Snape truly fascinating.

We can certainly debate the authorial intent vs. authorial impact where Snape’s character is concerned. Particularly as we could make a case that the polarizing nature of Snape may well be partly the result of many readers struggling against Rowling subverting literary tropes that are so firmly rooted in our Western storytelling traditions that they cannot entirely abandon the idea that this character who all but had the book thrown at him in terms of all the coding that went into establishing him as a likely villain (e.g. similar to Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, Snape is also coded to be associated with darkness/black colors and to represent danger and volatile/unstable moods, while his class status further characterizes him as an outsider or “foreign other,” and not unlike all those villains of our childhood Disney films which affirmed a more black-and-white philosophy of moral abolutism, such as Scar or Jafar, the ambiguity of Snape’s sexuality coupled with his repeated emasculation signals to the reader that this man should be “evil” and maybe even “predatory,” ergo all the “incel” and friendzone/MRA discourse despite nothing in canon truly supporting those arguments; it seems it may merely be Snape’s “queerness” that signals to some readers that he was predatory or even that “If Harry had been a girl” there would be some kind of danger) is not actually our villain after all.

Indeed, the very act of having Snape die (ignoring, for the moment, any potential issues of “Bury Your Gays” in a queer analysis of his death) pleading with Harry to “look at him” as he symbolically seems to weep (the man whom Harry’s hyper-masculine father once bullied and mocked as “Snivellus”) memories for Harry to view (this time with his permission) carries some symbolic weight for any queer theory analysis. Snape, formerly portrayed as unfathomable and “secretive,” dies while pleading to be seen by the son of both his first and closest friend and his school-hood bully (a son that Snape also formerly could never see beyond his projection of James) sharing with Harry insight into who he was via his personal memories. For Harry to later go on to declare Snape “the bravest man he ever knew” carries additional weight, as a queer theory analysis makes it possible for us to interpret that as Harry finally recognizing Snape, not as the “queer coded villain” he and the reader expected but rather as the brave queer coded man who was forced to live a double-life in which “no one would ever know the best of him” and who, in his final moments at least, was finally able to be seen as the complex human-being Rowling always intended him to be.

Rowling humanizing Snape for Harry and the reader and encouraging us to view Snape with empathy opened up the queer coding that she wrote into his character (intentionally or otherwise) in such a way that makes him both a potentially subversive and inspiring character for the lgbtq+ community. Essentially, Snape opens the door for the possibility of reclaiming a tradition of queer coding specific to villains and demonstrating the way those assumptions about queer identity can be subverted. Which is why I was not at all surprised that I was so easily able to find a body of existing discourse surrounding Snape as a queer coded or even as a potentially queer character within the Harry Potter fandom. At least within the Snapedom, there are many lgbtq+ fans of his character that already celebrate the idea of a queer, bi, gay, trans, ace/aro, or queer coded Snape (in fact, as a grey-ace I personally enjoy interpreting Snape through that lens from time-to-time).

Thank you for your ask @pinkyhatespink and once again I apologize for the amount of time it’s taken me to reply. However, I hope that you’ll find this response answered your question and, if not, that some of the articles and posts from other pro-Snape bloggers I linked you to will be able to do so more effectively. Also, as a final note, although many of the scholarly references and books on queer coding and queering of the villain I would have liked to have sourced are typically behind paywalls, I thought I would list the names of just a few here that I personally enjoyed reading in the past and that may be of further interest should you be able to find access to them.

Fathallah, Judith. “Moriarty’s Ghost: Or the Queer Disruption of the BBC’s Sherlock.” Television & New Media, vol. 16, no. 5, 2014, p. 490-500.

Huber, Sandra. “Villains, Ghosts, and Roses, or How to Speak With The Dead.” Open Cultural Studies, vol. 3, no. 1, 2019, p. 15-25.

Mailer, Norman. “The Homosexual Villain.” 1955. Mind of an Outlaw: Selected Essays, edited by Sipiora Phillip, Random House, 2013, pp. 14–20.

Solis, Nicole Eschen. "Murder Most Queer: The Homicidal Homosexual in the American Theater." Queer Studies in Media & Pop Culture, vol. 1, no. 1, 2016, p. 115+.

Tuhkanen, Mikko. “The Essentialist Villain.” Jan. 2019, SBN13: 978-1-4384-6966-9

#severus snape #pro snape #snape discourse #snape meta #snapedom #snape community #queer theory

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j-hawthorn · 3 years

Text

Books and Bubble Baths

Chapter one (read on AO3 - link posted as source)

Closing down the bookshop had an almost meditative feeling. The clock ticked over and Aziraphale turned the key in the ancient metal till. The draw popped out with gentle ping. Unfortunately, there had actually been customers. He methodically counted, then placed the coins and notes in little baggies.

The shop was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. With most of the lights switched off, the shadows deepened pleasantly. He took his time, savouring the feeling of a thousand books sighing and settling on the shelves. Being winter, the sun had set long ago and cool air leaked in through gaps in the old walls. Rain began to patter on windows, turning the street lights outside into mottled, ever shifting shapes.

It hadn’t been a bad day. A young gentleman had come in with a box of unwillingly inherited books. The boy hadn’t a single clue what he had, and while Aziraphale wasn’t going to swindle the poor lad, he certainly hadn’t paid anywhere near what the books were worth. He felt a small pang of guilt at that. But really, he’d saved the them from being dumped in a second-hand shop bin, or from sitting unloved on a shelf collecting dust. It wasn’t his fault the lad didn’t do a lick of research. Now the books could sit on his shelf where he could look at them admiringly.

Aziraphale pulled on his soft cotton gloves, and peeked into the box on his desk. They weren’t in the best condition but nothing a little love couldn’t fix. From the top drawer of the desk, Aziraphale pulled out a metal box. He flicked the latch, and set out his supplies. He rolled a length of cotton on the desk, placing the first book on top. The pages were a little yellowed on the edges and the cover had some odd dark marks, but all and all, not too bad. The angel dabbed a little eucalyptus oil on a soft cloth. He slowly wiped the marks away, happy in his work and breathing in the pleasant scent.

The shop door bell tinkled faintly. Yet the door was locked. The angel didn't look up. His heart, however, did an excited little flip. Aziraphale didn't stop taking the books out of the box even as pale arms snaked down over his shoulders. He smiled to himself, feeling the brush of hair on his cheek and the pleasing weight of Crowley leaning on him.

'Hello, Angel...' the demon purred, yawning softly.

'When you said you were going for a nap, dear boy, I didn't realise you meant for six months,' Aziraphale said, running a gloved finger down the books spine.

Crowley gave a throaty chuckle, 'Was tired.'

'Apparently so -' He shivered, feeling water dripping under his collar, '- If you drip on the books, by golly you'll be sorry! Aren’t you freezing?’ He turned in the embrace, staring directly into his reflection in demon’s sunglasses. His breath fogged the lenses, their noses barely an inch apart. Crowley looked a mess. Their hair was all over the place, clothing rumpled and drenched from the rain. They had the smell of sleep about them, soft yet oddly sour. Crowley slipped away, and the angel felt the absence like a sting.

The demon shrugged one shoulder, ‘S’ not too bad.’ Hand shoved in their jacket pocket they snooped around the shelves, long fingers walking along spines.

Aziraphale felt the distance slowly growing. He took a step forward, ‘You should have a bath and warm up. I could get us some dinner -’ Crowley cocked a brow and he sighed. ‘- Alright, get me some dinner and us some wine.’

‘What about your date there?’ The demon wiggled a finger at the box of books, ‘Looks to me like you had a full evening planned.’

‘They can wait -’

‘- Wouldn’t want to impose-’

‘- I missed you,’ Aziraphale said bluntly.

Crowley was still for a second before rubbing the back of their neck, ‘Gonna order in? I could murder a pork bun.’

‘As you wish, dear.’

Crowley slunk away to Aziraphale’s small flat. The angel listened to their steps fade, then slowly picked up the telephone handset. He waited in the shop for the delivery, hands on his knees. His chest felt tight. He wasn’t mad. Except that he really, really, was. They’d had gaps before, sometimes for decades. But after their little talk/confessions – and even though all they’d done was talk - he hadn’t expected a gap so soon, no matter how small. Their relationship had somehow shifted monumentally, yet also stayed exactly the same. It was just all a bit...new and raw. Which was a very strange feeling when you’ve known someone for thousands of years.

The rain was hammering down now. When the delivery person arrived, Aziraphale performed a minor miracle – the sweet girl would find that against all odds she was warm, dry and the little tip jar on the shop counter was fuller. He trotted up stairs.

His flat was small, but comfortable, and really just there for the look of it. With a thought he set the fire roaring, filling the living space with a wave of warmth. He could hear the flow of water from his ensuite, the door slightly ajar. Steam flowed in thick wisps.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ He asked, popping on the jug.

'Nah, thanks though,’ Crowley called. They then gave a happy hiss followed by splashing water. From the sound of it, the demon had forgone their human body, the odd sloshing from the tub signifying that a very large serpent was now coiling in the heat. Aziraphale imagined their little snout poking out of the water and chuckled to himself. He went about setting the table, making himself a cup of tea. The world grew quiet once more. Aziraphale nursed his drink, listening to the rain and the occasional serpentine sigh.

He got to thinking how a few years ago, after some Hellish job, Crowley had come over, sat on the tile floor of Aziraphale's ensuite and taken scissors to their long red hair. They didn't need to cut it, with barely a thought the demon could change their appearance any which-way, but Aziraphale suspected it was the physicality of the act Crowley wanted. It was a rough job. The angel watched, and poured them both a glass of wine. He hadn’t offered to help. He’d simply waited, sipping his drink and leaned on the door frame.

Without turning Crowley had thrust the scissors at him. Taking the hint, the angel silently ran his fingers through the demon's hair, evening out the cut to something resembling tidy. Then they drank, yelled and joked about something inane, and never spoke of it.

But Aziraphale had found himself thinking about it these past months alone. His mind would drift to the feeling of his fingers running though their hair, or how they had leaned back against his legs, head falling forward, long legs bent awkwardly in front of them. How exposed the back of their neck had been and how he had found himself letting his fingers brush along the skin there, feeling the shift of bone under skin. Feeling how very real this creature was. And just how honoured he’d felt being allowed to be the one to touch them when they were vulnerable.

Aziraphale brought his curled forefinger to his lips and sighed. He’d felt far too alone these last few months, and -

‘I dreamt about you, you know,’ Crowley called from the bath.

The angel's stomach tightened, knocking from his thoughts. He looked up, staring at the door. 'Did you really?' He couldn't keep the excitement from his voice, a little hitch of breath.

'Yeah – wish it was dirtier though,' The demon snickered from the bath. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. The same old game. A cheeky comment here, a touch of skin there, but nothing would ever come of it. He’d wanted to kiss them that night, half a year ago. Fear held him back and now in its stead was regret. He ran his fingertip over the whorl in the tables grain, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. He was given blessed distraction with the worrying sound of cabinets opening and shutting.

'Oh ho ho, thought you could hide it from me, eh Angel?' Crowley began splashing again.

Aziraphale groaned, 'You always make such a mess! I wouldn't have to hide it if you had any semblance of self control.'

'I like the bubbles!' Crowley hissed.

'Keep them in the tub this time!'

Crowley laughed, unabashed and delightful. The sound was beautiful, and the angel couldn’t help but smile. Make a mess, he thought, it doesn’t matter. Just keep laughing.

'Angel?’ They called. ‘Do you ever get bored of these little human bodies?'

'I suppose so, dear, why?'

'I'm gonna have a switch up – I miss having tits.'

'Do you have to be so vulgar?'

They laughed again. Then the ugly sucking sound of the tub draining filled the flat. Crowley sidled barefoot into the main room, long legs bare. They had changed their body in subtle ways from masculine to a more feminine androgyny. The demon was wearing one of Aziraphale's cardigans, the plush (and expensive) garment swamping their thin body. A short black skirt hit them half way up the thigh, peeking out of the bottom of the jumper. They rolled the sleeves, giving the angel a crooked smile.

Aziraphale watched them snatch up the pork bun, container and all, and sit in front of the fire. Their dark red hair clung in wet whorls around their forehead and down their back. This was all very...domestic. And comfortable. He ate his food in silence, while the demon curled in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance. The light reflected in their glasses. Crowley held the container in both hands, sighing softly, but not eating. Aziraphale knew it was something they did very rarely, like him with sleep, and he wondered if in all honesty Crowley only did it because he did.

The food wasn’t great. It wasn’t bad, he didn’t regret his choice of dumplings, but take out was never his favourite – it got too cold too fast and always smelled better than it tasted.

Aziraphale brought a bottle of wine and two glasses over to his armchair by the fire. He poured, and ignored the uncomfortably organic sound of Crowley lowering one half of their bottom jaw, then the other, gulping the bun down in one go – container along with it.

‘You’re going to give yourself a stomach ache,’ He tutted, crossing his legs.

Crowley wrinkled their nose, eyeing him over the rim of their wineglass, ‘Never have, never will.’ They smirked, curling their legs under themself.

The two of them fell back into old patterns of loose laughter, and loose limbs. Soon the pair were onto their second bottle of wine, the flat hot and the world forgotten.

The top button of Crowley's cardigan was undone and the soft wool slumped down, revealing one pale, bony shoulder. The demon was talking, hands waving in the air, but Aziraphale wasn't listening. He watched as a bead of water from their still damp hair trailed down their neck, and along their prominent collarbone. He peeled his eyes away, focusing now on the flush of his companion's cheeks, the way the colour met the tips of their ears. And how as they smiled, giggling at their own joke, he wasn't upset at their absence. How could he be, when this beautiful creature, who once built entire galaxies now sat with their arm draped over his knee and snorted when they laughed?

'Uh, hello?' Crowley waved a hand in front of his eyes. 'Are you fucking ignoring me?' The demon huffed, head cocked to one side, 'Rude. And here I was pouring my weaselly little heart out, laying prostrate at your feet, dear Angel, and you weren't even bloody paying attention!'

Aziraphale flushed red, 'Oh I am sorry, dear boy, I was...distracted.'

'Oh well, that's fine then,' they scoffed, throwing their hands up. 'I'm not going to repeat myself, so I hope it was worth it-'

'-You are,' He said softly.

Crowley paused, a loose lock of hair falling over their face, 'What? No. Really? No... Piss off, Angel.'

Aziraphale chuckled. He leaned forward and gently tucked their hair behind their ear. Even through the sunglasses he could feel the fire-hot touch of their eyes on his skin. They'd stopped breathing as soon as he touched them. What an intense, flighty thing they were. Like a coiled spring. He could almost hear their internal scolding of ‘don’t go too fast, don’t go too fast...’ He could read it in their body language, as if they could curl this human body like a snake about to strike.

He removed their glasses with reverential care. The demon averted their gaze, their eyes a fraction too big for their face. Aziraphale feared he would always be in awe of how hot Crowley burned inside, and just how much he wanted to feel that heat.

‘Why haven’t you done a miracle and dried your hair?’ He asked, folding his arms on his knees.

‘Dunno. Just letting it do it’s own thing, I guess...’

‘May I, dear? I could give it a brush, if you like?’

‘Oh,’ Crowley fussed at the cardigan, forked tongue appearing briefly to touch the corner of their mouth. They smiled softly.

‘Indulge me?’

‘Don’t I always...’ They whispered in a breath. Crowley turned, pressing their back against his legs. The words hung in the air, and Aziraphale wondered if he was even supposed to have heard them.

He ran his fingers through their hair, a hairbrush appearing on his lap. With each gentle run of his hand, their hair dried, settling in waves. Soft. Their hair was always so soft and easily tangled. Crowley slumped against his leg, cheek pressed to his knee. They had looped an arm around his lower leg.

'There,' He whispered, giving their shoulders a squeeze. 'Now you're perfect.'

Crowley tilted their head back to look at him, their neck contorting in such a manner that if they'd been human would mean instant death. Aziraphale bit back a grimace, 'Oh, uh, darling...?'

The demon's head snapped back round, 'Right...bones.' They snorted, scrambling to their feet. Swaying a little, Crowley looped a lock of hair around their finger, ‘Nice job. Very femme -’

‘- I should have kissed you,’ Aziraphale said with a sigh.

‘- What? When?’ Crowley asked softly, wrinkling their nose.

Aziraphale stood, moving to take a step, ‘On your last visit. I wanted to, but – Oh!’ He tripped, shoes tied together.

Crowley caught him. They grinned, pointed teeth on display, ‘So you’ve fallen for me, then?’

The angel stared up at them, eyes wide. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ He yelled, batting at their shoulder. Crowley hooted with laughter, head thrown back. Aziraphale grabbed a cushion off the armchair, lobbing it at the hysterical demon. They’d doubled over, arms wrapped around their middle. With a quick motion of his hand Aziraphale whisked away the offending footwear, throwing his arms up, ‘Goodness gracious! You absolute nightmare.’

‘Oh nooo,’ Crowley cooed, sidling over to him. They touched his arm, making him turn to face them, ‘I sorry, Angel.’ Large yellow eyes blinked innocently, and the demon pouted, head cocked to one side. Aziraphale looked away, huffing dramatically. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying desperately not to laugh.

Crowley ran their fingers along his shoulders, feeling the wool tweed of his waistcoat. They fiddled with the collar of his button up, and Aziraphale bit his lip. They were standing so close. He could smell his soap on them, hear their breathing. His heart pounded in his chest. A cold hand touched his cheek.

Aziraphale looked up into those strange yellow eyes, and felt the world shift. Nothing else mattered right now, there was nothing in the world that meant more to him than this, was as real.

‘Gosh, but you are a beautiful thing,’ He whispered.

Crowley rolled their exquisite eyes, ‘You’ve already caught me, you know. You don’t have to keep flattering me.’

‘Yes. I do,’ Aziraphale, said softly. Then he smirked, feeling a little thrill, ‘Wait...I’ve caught you, have I?’ He placed his hands on Crowley’s waist.

Crowley clicked their tongue with a curled lip, lowering their hands to his chest, cheeks flushing red. They sucked in a sharp breath. The angel wrapped his arms around them, holding them against his body. They locked eyes. Then Aziraphale placed a gentle hand on their cheek, and closed the space between them.

#good omens #good omens fic #goodomens fanfic #fanfic #ao3 #crowleyxaziraphale #nonbinary crowley #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

Note

Hey Clyde! Love your reviews on RWBY. My question is about Ozpin. If he survived fighting Cinder, would the events of volume 4-6 still happen? I believe the only reason team RWBYJNR treated Ozpin that way was because he was with Oscar who basically looked like a kid to them. However, if he was still in his adult body, would they have been more respectful?

Hi, anon! Thank you! I’m actually super glad you asked this. I’ve touched on how Oscar’s age and looks have impacted how others perceive Ozpin a bit in other asks, but haven’t had the chance to compose a substantial meta about it. I will attempt to fix that here!

FYI, it’ll get decently image heavy from here on out.

First, as a general response to the question of whether the events of Volumes 4-6 would have changed if Ozpin had survived: absolutely. If only because Ozpin as a figurehead would have still been around to lead both his inner circle and function as a symbol of strength for the rest of the world. Unless he was completely incapacitated from the fight or something (like in a coma), the expectation is that Ozpin would have begun rebuilding his school. Glynda wouldn’t have been left alone to try and deal with a frozen Wyvern attracting grimm. Ironwood wouldn’t have been left to figure out where to go from here. Qrow wouldn’t have been sent on a mission to return Ozpin’s cane. The whole world (including Atlas) may have been less likely to panic with Ozpin there to provide perspective and support. Lionheart presumably would have been less inclined to betray him, at least so soon and so overtly. An Ozpin who will reincarnate at some unknown point is a future Lionheart problem, and therefore far less intimidating. An Ozpin who still lives and commands his inner circle is way more of a threat and Lionheart would be more likely to get caught. Remember that even Salem was surprised by how quickly Ozpin reincarnated and dove back into the game—all the baddies were banking on more time. So yes, a ton would have changed. The group’s focus is now more along the lines of, “So is Ozpin going to fix things and can we go back to school?” and less, “Ozpin is dead as a door nail and no one is able to fix things for us. Might as well go hunt Cinder ourselves.”

But onto the meat of the ask. Is the group treating Ozpin like they are at least partly because he’s in the body of a kid? That’s also a resounding ‘yes.’ Human beings, including the humans and the faunus that we write in fiction, are incredibly judgmental (for better and for worse) based on how someone else looks. If you’re able to see then you tend to prioritize that information over other aspects of a person. We create markers that we then learn and assume mean something when, much of the time, they don’t. Or, to put it another way, we create stereotypes. We can think about this in terms of gender presentation: a masculine-looking person giving orders is seen as the “boss” whereas a feminine-looking person giving orders is seen as a “bitch.” We can complicate that with race: we’re more likely to view a white woman giving orders as “assertive” when compared to a black man giving orders. That’s “aggressive.” From giving a girl long blonde hair when you want to cue people into the fact that she’s (supposedly) dumb, to making a man skinny when you want him to seem vulnerable, our media is chock-full of those markers, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) encouraging us to read characters in particular ways. There’s a reason that Yang, the go-getter, is blonde whereas Blake, the bookworm, has black hair. There’s a reason that Cardin wasn’t designed as a twig and Jaune is a couple inches shorter than him. There’s even a reason why the sap the group collects is red rather than, say, yellow, orange, blue—literally any other color. Only red sap makes it look like Cardin is covered in blood when he attacks Jaune, thus increasing how much we read him as a threat. The characters’ designs matter.

What does all that have to do with Ozpin? Well, at the start of the series his markers all point to authority and wisdom. He’s a white man, for one. He dresses in a formal suit. There are nods towards his age (a cane, white hair) that tell us, despite his baby face, that he’s someone who has been around a while and thus has a great deal of experience to draw on. He’s also, significantly, tall. Take a look at how his talks with Ruby read visually.

Ruby is incredibly small compared to Ozpin. He towers above her and she’s constantly in a position of looking up to him, mirroring the ways in which she figuratively looks up to him for advice. Her mannerisms are also younger and don’t carry much confidence. Crossing her arms and sulking. Wringing her hands while asking if she’s made a mistake. The way Ruby moves contrasts Ozpin’s own very still, very composed mannerisms. Body language and facial expression is one of the primary ways that we communicate and the slightest change can carry a world of meaning. For example, compare these two shots of Yang from Volume 1 and Volume 6:

On the surface they appear quite similar, but provided there isn’t something impacting how we read these moments (such as some people with autism), we learn that these poses mean two very different things. Two hands on your waist is a relaxed pose; one hand on your waist is an arrogant pose. At least when combined with an angry expression. One arm, the placement of her eyebrows, and suddenly Yang’s attitude towards Ozpin has radically changed. We went from casual respect to defiance, and most viewers wouldn’t need to know anything else about RWBY’s story to read that here. Her body language alone tells the story.

Ozpin’s body language with Ruby then cues the viewer into the fact that he (supposedly) has the answers here, simply by virtue of him exuding a confidence that Ruby doesn’t possess yet. Who do you look to in a bad situation? The person screaming and running around in panic? Or the person who calmly announces that they can help, getting everyone else to calm down by keeping calm themselves? This sort of characterization is partly why the fandom grew suspicious of Ozpin early on. It’s not simply that he (on the surface) is modeled after the shady authority figure trope, but that we’ve learned from real life experience that a person’s ability to keep calm and speak eloquently doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re right. Sounding authoritative is a skill and it’s why the likes of cult leaders and dictators are so dangerous. If you just sound and look like you know what you’re doing, people have a tendency to believe you. And if you’re inclined towards critical thinking, you might be wary of the person whose demeanor is a little too polished.

Even when Ozpin is being playful he maintains a certain level of dignity. His clothes, his physical looks, and the controlled movement of the mug—he’s not jumping around like Nora might—all remind us that Ozpin is the headmaster here and thus, though he’s making silly jokes about popcorn right now, he deserves a certain amount of respect. Even his posture speaks volumes, one arm still tucked behind his back and shoulders ramrod straight. It’s a posture that speaks of training and discipline. There’s a reason that the general (Ironwood) is always animated as standing tall with hands neatly folded and the presumably less dependable drunk (Qrow) is animated with a constantly hunched posture. How Ozpin stands is a quick and easy way to tell the viewer, “This guy is in charge. He’s powerful. He’s wise. You can rely on him.”

All of this changes dramatically once Ozpin is thrown into Oscar’s body. Moving chronologically, it’s significant that the group is not introduced to this new Ozpin as a dignified individual.

This is what we get later. Note the crossed legs, still good posture, even the ‘adult’ way he holds a mug. In contrast, someone younger and more childish in terms of their personality, like Ruby, tends to hold a drink with two hands and chucks it all back in a manner that would never fly at a dinner party.

Rather than a dignified Ozpin knocking at the door, the group first encounters Oscar, someone who, like Volume 1 Ruby, can be incredibly timid and lacks in self-confidence. This isn’t the body language of a leader arriving to provide you with all the answers.

Oscar’s slouched posture, downward gaze, wringing hands, and fearful expression all paint him as the weak one here. Made worse by the fact that he asks to see Ruby and ignites (an entirely understandable) suspicion in the group. Their first interaction is characterized by perceiving him as both a potential threat, but also one they can easily handle. We don’t like that he’s asking about Ruby, but we can take him in a fight no problem.

And yes, this first impression makes a difference. Knowing something about someone on an intellectual level usually doesn’t trump the emotional response we have to the physical markers we’re faced with. As a non-RWBY example, let’s say you were introduced to these two characters.

Ignoring for a moment that we’re comparing a villain and a hero, let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re told—and are provided proof—that each of these characters are morally sound, powerful adults and you should afford them with the respect they deserve. Being told that simply can’t outweigh what we see. Who are you more likely to respect? The woman who looks like a literal child named Baby Doll in a cutesy outfit, or the very old looking man in badass robes, literally named the Ancient One? All the, “But I am an adult” in the world isn’t going to convince people to read, and therefore respond to, Baby Doll in the same way they would the Ancient One.

That’s the situation Ozpin is in now. He’s told the group that he’s Ozpin, he’s managed to prove it, but there’s always going to be a part of Ruby and the gang that doesn’t quite believe it. Not in Jaune’s literal sense of, ‘He could be lying about who he is,’ but just in a more instinctual, ‘He says he’s our headmaster, but all I see is a fourteen year old kid.’ What you see makes it really easy to ignore what you know, particularly when those two things contrast. Those markers Oscar brings to this new version of Ozpin are simply too influential and yes, that opens the door for the group to treat him with far less respect than they would in his adult form. We see it right from the start when, despite having been told that this is also Ozpin, the group coos over him in an overbearing, disrespectful manner.

This continues even after Ozpin has taken control and is doing everything he can (those dignity markers) to regain some level of trust and respect. Even while seated and attempting to command the room as Headmaster Ozpin, Nora nevertheless undermines that with “Cute little boy Ozpin!” She has chosen to emphasize his looks over his status and notably no one listens when he says, “Please don’t call me that.”

Ozpin has, in this moment, literally been labeled as a child. A “boy.” Though we can’t be sure about what age all his hosts were when Ozpin arrived, based on Jinn’s vision it doesn’t look as if reincarnating into teenagers is common. This may even be the first time.

Any of these past reincarnations would have been able to command more authority, simply because they’re adult men not dressed in dirty farm clothes. If this Ozpin had shown up in Haven,

we would have gotten a very different volume. Age matters. How we perceive age matters. We saw this right in RWBY’s second episode wherein Weiss calls Ruby out on attending Beacon.

It’s Ruby’s looks and Ruby’s looks alone that encourage Weiss to come to the conclusion, ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ The same thing has now happened to Ozpin. You look younger than us and are inhabiting a body that physically couldn’t beat us in a fight? You shouldn’t be here. You definitely shouldn’t be giving us orders.

The group had control of Ozpin’s safe house. They were poised to interrogate him for showing up at it unannounced. Now they emphasize Oscar’s age and characteristics over his, which is ironically the only time that they emphasize Oscar’s individuality over Ozpin’s. In short, they’ve created an environment where a part of them truly believes that they’re older and more knowledgeable simply because of how Ozpin now looks, even though technically they know this isn’t true. It’s a new dynamic and with that comes the confidence to treat him like the fourteen year old stranger he “is”. I don’t believe for a moment that Yang would have ignored Ozpin’s direct questions, shot out irrational accusations, and then demanded a promise from him if he still looked the way he did at Beacon. Especially as someone who came to Haven later and therefore missed the initial proof, Yang simply doesn’t read Ozpin as Ozpin. We’ve seen how other characters interact with him from a student-teacher dynamic and it’s far more respectful.

As this shot demonstrates, there’s also that issue of Ozpin’s size. Where as a headmaster Ozpin commanded authority by being taller than almost everyone else around him, Ozpin as Oscar immediately loses authority by being the smallest in the room. As I mentioned with Jaune and Cardin, size is an easy way to emphasize vulnerability. We quite literally couldn’t have gotten this scene if Ozpin was still 6'6" and looking twice Jaune’s age.

In this scene Jaune honestly thinks this might be Ozpin. He’s accusing him of lying again, of claiming to leave when really he’s spying on them, or just pretending to be this kid called ‘Oscar,’ whatever. The point is that Jaune is working under the assumption that he’s interacting with his headmaster, yet that knowledge obviously doesn’t give him pause. Because Ozpin’s new look outweighs everything else Jaune knows about him. He’s angry and now suddenly Ozpin isn’t an intimidating huntsmen capable of defending himself, Ozpin is a teeny-tiny kid with no training. Jaune becomes Cardin through the realization of, “Oh. If I’m bigger and more powerful than this person, I can do whatever I want to them.”

Ozpin’s size is an ongoing reminder that, despite possessing his own skill as well as magic, he’s in a vulnerable position. He needs to stand on the furniture in order to recreate his students literally and figuratively looking up to him, but now it just reads as a joke.

This isn’t the first time RWBY has used size this way. Cordovin is an excellent example of how a small, non-dignified looking person is unable to maintain authority in the way someone with another appearance might. Her white hair just makes her look old rather than wise and her short stature is so extreme that it invites humor. It’s not just that Cordovin is a racist, or that her guards act like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Her appearance immediately gave the group another excuse for why they shouldn’t listen to her. Look at this tiny old woman trying to tell us what to do. Yeah right, lady. We could probably punt you into the sun so step aside.

This is a look that makes guards release prisoners in three seconds flat.

This is a look that encourages laughter and, by extension, a lack of respect.

The extreme camera angle in order to make Cordovin look ‘imposing.’ The fact that she looks like a literal child next to Weiss… none of it encourages the group, or the audience, to take her seriously. Rooster Teeth made a conscious decision when they decided to animate Volume 6′s “bad guy” as an old woman with sagging breasts and an extremely small stature.

The only time when someone that small is re-characterized as authoritative is when they’re standing up against unimaginable odds.

Ignoring that this scene in reality is Ruby refusing to take responsibility for the crimes she is currently committing, what Rooster Teen wants this shot to do is function as an example of extreme heroism. That’s accomplished by taking our second smallest character and situating her in front of a larger-than-life mech. Ruby’s refusal to back down in the face of something so much bigger than her is (again) supposed to be inspiring. She’s standing up to Cordovin’s “bullying” in a way Oscar was unable to do with his own mech: a bigger and more threatening Jaune.

(I really cannot express how awful Volume Six was wow).

All of which brings me to my final point. Namely that, by virtue of his age and size, Ozpin as Oscar will always look ridiculous when attempting to make use of his former markers. Using a cane?

Headmaster Ozpin’s age and height makes it look distinguished. Ozpin at Oscar’s age and height makes it look silly. What’s the fourteen year old doing with a cane nearly as tall as he is? (Acknowledging that this is an ableist assumption. Some fourteen year olds do need canes, but most viewers are going to question this in a way they never would with the white-haired adult). What’s the kid doing with such a fancy looking cane when he’s literally covered in dirt, bandages, rags, and badly mended clothes? That’s a silly contrast.

Headmaster Ozpin fighting? Totally badass. One of the shortest and yet most talked about fights in the show.

Ozpin as Oscar fighting? Still badass… if you’re willing to work for it a bit more. But really, the kid swinging a cane around just will never have the same feel as a grown man who looked like Ozpin did.

Ozpin himself is a dignified person, but anytime he adopts those mannerisms now he looks silly at best, arrogant at worst.

I think his look is largely why so many fans read the snow scene as him talking down to the group. He no more talked down to them here then he did when he conversed with Ruby, or Pyrrha, or the team while heading off to Mountain Glenn. The only difference is that the previous Ozpin commanded all that authority, so his warnings and criticisms held weight. This Ozpin not only doesn’t look the part of an authority figure, half his time is spent being Oscar, someone who defers to and scurries around the rest of the group. So when Ozpin tries to take charge here, everyone is far less willing to listen. People are inclined to read him as arrogant, patronizing, talking down to others, etc. because it looks like a small child giving orders to a more older, more powerful team. Even though it’s not.

It’s the combination of everything above that leads to moments like this. Where Ozpin is smaller, more vulnerable, looks too young, too naive, where the group towers over him for once and hurts him both physically and emotionally because now they can.

Tl;dr: Yeah. Oscar’s looks and Oscar’s personality changed things irrevocably. If Ozpin had still looked like Ozpin the group wouldn’t feel half as entitled to this behavior and gaining their respect—from ‘Please don’t address me like that’ to ‘Please understand why I kept secrets’—would be far, far easier.

#Anonymous #rwby #ozpin #mymetas

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rivetgoth · 4 years

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OC #3 - Giovanni Marcello

Pinterest board 🔮 Tag on OC blog

Sorry for the long delay in these, uh, if y’all have been watching my posts I got sick and had to fight a bunch of hurdles in the super inundated pandemic medical world to even get my medicine and things have just kind of been exhausting, but LUCKILY I think (KNOCK ON WOOD) I’m on the tail end of it now and recovering.

SO here’s Giovanni. He’s a really special OC to me, he’s one of the protagonists of my novel. He means a lot and I’ve spent a LOT of time with him. I realized a while back that if I ever did one of those memes where you combine all of your favorite characters into an OC, Giovanni would be it. He’s really fun and I care a lot about him. I can’t wait to finish my novel and force people to really get to know him.

Giovanni is in his early-mid thirties and he’s gay. He’s the second youngest child and the youngest son in the Marcello family. The Marcellos own this huge corporation in the Fresno megalopolis that sells drugged, often heavily addictive candies to the public. They basically have the monopoly on the pharmaceutical industry even though they didn’t even initially claim any medicinal value, but as Himmel Medicine took over the entire hospital industry and started inflating medicine prices, Marcello Candies became the public’s go-to for over the counter drugs and self-medicating. Giovanni is the product of his father’s second wife, with whom he has one fully biological sister, Vittoria. She’s the other protagonist of my novel.

Giovanni was born to Vittorio and Camila Marcello. During the early years, Vittorio was very much not around, busy running the Marcello Candy Company and letting Camila worry about their infant son. After some time it became clear that there was something “wrong” with Giovanni - this universe probably doesn’t really have a reliable DSM, but it would be something along the lines of autism or ADHD. He was just taking a lot longer with things like talking than most would at his age, stuff like that. Vittorio was furious and suggested that they put him through intensive therapy to sort this out, but Camila reassured him that she would see to it personally that Giovanni was looked after, and he was, until he was about about seven, when she gave birth to his younger sister, Vittoria, and died of complications shortly after.

Now that his mother was gone and Vittorio was left to parent alone, he went through with his initial plan and set Giovanni up with a strict tutor and therapist who was supposed to train Giovanni to comply properly with Vittorio’s expectations for him. Obviously, this didn’t really do much except horribly effect Giovanni’s sense of self and destroy any sort of confidence or certainty in his identity that he may have had otherwise. And, between the therapist, his father, and his older brother Antonio, already a teenager, who often babysat him and was merciless and cruel to him all being men, he also came to really fear men and have a very intense aversion to masculinity in general, which would fuck with him more and more as he grew older and began to develop attraction exclusively to men. By the time he was in his teenage years he was a complete mess with horrid self esteem issues and constant insecurity. Vittorio insisted on him staying inside as often as possible, not wanting him to be seen by the public and ruin the family’s name, and the one person who tried to reach out to him, his half brother Dante, killed himself not long after.

What probably saved Giovanni’s life was becoming invested in makeup. Trapped in trauma and internalized homophobia he didn’t comprehend that his attraction to women was not any sort of romantic or sexual attraction but a sort of draw towards femininity, in part to cope with aforementioned trauma and in part to grapple with his own complex feelings about gender and sexuality he was dealing with. Through makeup he could get in touch with a more effeminate side, a space more comfortable than masculinity, and he could begin to view his own face as a canvas for art instead of something ugly and imperfect. He began to experiment with makeup and get increasingly good at it, and it gave him something to be passionate about for the first time in his life.

Vittorio, having given up on even wanting Giovanni to be a “functional member of society,” decided it would do less damage to his company’s name if he just kept him pacified, allowing him access to as much of the company’s drugged candy as he desired and giving him odd jobs around the company to give him busy and out of the public’s eye. In his free time he would take care of pet birds (which he adored), get drugged out on candies, and have sex with various women from the company - Something he didn’t even really enjoy except on a physical level and usually just left him feeling guilty and bad about himself and unable to understand what was wrong with him, refusing to even consider or address his attraction to men out of fear. Free time was also spent making his little sister’s life hell - He has a lot of complex feelings towards her, mostly jealousy and anger, feeling like she ruined his life by being born.

As the Marcello Candy Company grows more powerful, questions about the Marcello children would become more and more frequent, and Giovanni would eventually become a source of shame that his father could no longer handle. He (as well as Vittoria, his little sister) would get kicked out of the house and thrown out onto the streets, unofficially disowned with only a small monthly “allowance” to satiate them. At the time that this happens, Giovanni is thirty-four. The vast majority of my novel takes place around these events so I want to keep things from here kinda vague, but I will say that he ends up on the outskirts of Fresno and comes to stay with Angel Steel and Hollywood California in a little house that they’re using to hide out in. Angel becomes one of Giovanni’s primary love interests, although he also has some “interaction” with an assassin named Leatherette too (I’ll do his bio soon… maybe it’s the next one? Hmm). He eventually comes to live out by the beach as a fortune teller, but I don’t want to share too much, though I don’t mind spoiling that he doesn’t straight up die in my book LOL.

Giovanni can be very childish and immature. He overcompensates for his insecurities by being very haughty and bratty. He likes to take petty little shots at his sister but he gets very easily offended when she retaliates. He likes to imagine that he’s something of a romantic. He loves makeup, glitter, and the colors purple and gold. He likes fancy clothing, scarves, flowers, and dangling earrings that he can tap and swing around and rub between his fingers when he gets anxious. One of his bigger struggles is conceptualizing things around him as real and existing with their own thoughts and feelings rather than being stuck inward and only focusing on himself, which only leads down a path that hurts others and makes him incredibly self-destructive as well since he hates himself. One way this manifests is through his pet birds; despite how much he adores them he struggles to take care of them and frequently kills them via neglect, which makes him feel really bad too. You can dwell on foreshadowing here if you’d like, or wait to read my novel and learn more about what happens. :)

Giovanni doesn’t have very good social skills and he gets pretty flustered and nervous easily, but like I said before, he usually copes by acting out which only makes things worse for everyone, including himself. He’s pretty good at embarrassing himself. He eats way too much candy and is almost always high or drunk because he doesn’t really want to think too hard about stuff. He loves art, especially paint and makeup. I think Giovanni feels very bad about things very often but has worked extremely hard to mask it as well as possible by simply rejecting anything that makes him feel at all guilty or uncomfortable, so he has a very fractured sense of self.

#daily OC talk

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dracoyoflam · 4 years

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HDTH Chapter 9: A Night At Hogwarts

Draco wrapped his fingers in her long curls and pulled her back up to his hungry lips. Their tongues were playing over each other as the kiss deepened further and their tongues fought for dominance. They kissed as if each was starving and the other’s lips were the most delicious repast. It was as if they had been waiting forever for this moment and now that it was here all of their patience flew out of the broken window. Hermione could feel Draco’s hand slide up her thigh, slowly pulling her shirt up. Draco dipped his fingers into her waistband and brushed his fingers over the outer seem of her knickers. He moved his lips down her neck, sucking, licking, nibbling – marking her as his with tiny bruises.

Hermione grabbed his silky hair and dragged him back to her mouth. His hand was rubbing up and down on her thigh; she couldn’t help wishing he’d move closer to her desire. Hermione pulled him down on top of her, closing the tiny bit of space that had still been between them. She could now feel his hardness pressed against her hip, and in retaliation for his bites she rolled herself against him. She was glad to hear a small moan escape his lips. Draco shifted position so he was more leaning over her than lying on her; one leg bent up and pressing against her femininity. He could feel her warmth and wetness through the layers of thin fabric, proud that the reaction was due to him, he continued to move his leg back and forth over her sensitive, aroused flesh. Draco could see the fervor in her dark eyes, the little sparks of accidental magic as she succumbed to the passion, her mouth opened to let out little moans and breathy whimpers. It was his turn to moan as she slipped one hand under his waistbands and confidently grasped his length in a firm grip, she stroked him slowly, her palm tracing every inch. Between them, they managed to wriggle him out of his sleep attire, leaving him in his boxers. Hermione’s hand returned to his masculinity, stroking faster and firmer. Draco, arching into her shuttling motion, kissed down her neck, fingering her pajama shirt buttons. He looked up at Hermione, as if asking permission. In an answer to his silent plea, Hermione sat up quickly and undid the buttons, slipping the shirt from her body with an enticing roll of her shoulders. She threw the top on the ground and then grabbed Draco’s face to pull him back into another passionate kiss. Draco settled onto her, aligning himself with the apex of her thighs. He was much taller than her, and had to arch up for his lips to meet hers. He rocked into her body; the silk of his boxers was a torment to himself. Hermione opened her legs to give him more access; he ground himself against her and was welcomed by a much louder moan as he rubbed over her secret places. Hermione bent her legs up and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him down against herself firmly. Draco would have been insane to not love the feeling of her breasts pillowed against his bare chest; and his hard length pressed against her with only three thin layers of fabric as a barrier. Even in his passion-filled mind, he knew that they were moving far too fast. He slowly moved himself away from her body, they both mourned at the loss of contact. Hermione gave him a look of disappointment and pure wrath at being left aroused and unfulfilled; but it was soon replaced by a look of pleasure as Draco pressed a finger onto her little bud of nerves through the clothing. The flush of her cheeks and chest, the parting of ruby-red lips, the gasp of her completion and the tiny lightning bolts flashing in her eyes… it was almost enough to make him climax right there! He’d never seen a woman more beautiful or powerful as she climaxed! He quickly grabbed the last barriers of cloth, and yanked them off so fast that she didn’t even have a moment to respond. His finger was inside her, and a few moments later he added a second finger to increase the pleasure, curling them up to find that little internal bud that was the centre of a woman’s universe… … What he wasn’t prepared for was Hermione placing her hand into his boxer shorts and grabbing his length into her hand. As she squeezed him, she saw him close his eyes and he let out a husky moan. He looked back at her and they stared into each other’s eyes, one moment of storm grey meeting rich brown; they both moved their hands in synch with each other. Hermione could already feel herself tightening as she approached oblivion; she tried to fight it, to hold on as long as she could so they could finish together. She pushed her other hand into his shorts and grabbed his twin globes in her hand and squeezed gently, massaging them carefully. They continued their ministrations, the passion building higher and higher. Draco felt her tighten and ripple around his fingers, and she let her head fall back in pleasure, still pumping her hand around his shaft. He finally let go so that they could reach the end together. Hermione and Draco tumbled over the precipice together, still gently touching each other to draw out each other’s pleasure until there was nothing left to give. When they both stopped and looked back at each other they trembled from what had happened, static electricity filled the air from the accidental magic that had been set free in their passion. Hermione smiled at him and they pulled each other close, drawing up the quilt and holding each other. They laid there in silence for a long while until finally Draco cleared his throat and spoke: “That was really good for a Virgin…” He was cut off by her sitting up quickly, looking angry. “What!?” “Nothing, I just meant that for someone who doesn’t have any experience in this sort of thing, you were really really good. I meant it as a compliment. Why are you getting so angry?” he asked, belatedly realizing that she had her wand pointing at him. Hermione calmed a little realizing that maybe she was over reacting a little, and replaced the wand under her pillow. She bent down closer to him and said, “I’m not a virgin.” She stood up and started walking toward the door. Draco watched as a naked Hermione left the room, her clothing following her with a snap of her fingers; he knew that she did it only to make a point, but the sway of her hips and feminine silhouette distracted him from his apology. -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_ The clean, clear morning light shone through the shattered window, illuminating the decimated common room. Draco opened his eyes and closed them immediately, pain shooting through his head like a blot of white hot lightning. He yelled out in agony, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. Draco looked about him; the light of the new day illuminated the carnage of the common room. The room suddenly shifted from focus, swaying and spinning, the colors changing from red and gold to the deep green and oak of his Father’s study. Draco gasped as an exact double of him appeared in the dark room, kneeling upon the expensive carpet. His Father walked toward him in confident strides, holding a potion out to him. “We depend upon you Draco, you will succeed.” Sneered Lucius, handing Draco the vial. “I’m here, Father! I’m over here!” Draco tried to say, but the double simply bowed his replica blonde head, took the potion and thanked the senior Malfoy. The ‘other Draco’s’ eyes never left the floor. “What’s going on?! What is this?” Draco said as more searing pain drove into his head. He screamed out in pain once more, incapable of doing anything else. The images before him altered again, his Father’s study becoming a dripping, dismal cave; patches of moss and mold clung to the wet cave walls in desperation to survive. The scratching of rodent claws could be heard in the gloom. A dark figure laughed out loud, a harrowing cackle, “Do well Draco, we depend on you.” The image changed again, accompanied by the symphony of malevolent laughter Draco’s eyes were bloodshot, his head felt like it was splitting into a million pieces. The blonde opened his eyes to find himself back in the tattered common room, Hermione was holding his hand tightly and her eyes were filled with tears. “Are you alright, is it over, please answer me. Don’t do that again.” She pressed her hand to his forehead, finding him cold and clammy to the touch. “Hermione, it’s alright. I’m alright.” He croaked, his throat raw from screaming in pain. He closed his eyes, counted to ten in his mind and opened them again, sighing in relief when the image didn’t change into more of the weird visions. ‘Visions, what is that all about?’ He asked himself confused. Draco had an odd expression on his face as he looked back at Hermione. “What is it Draco?” she asked, still concerned. ‘Should I tell her? I don’t even know what it means yet. It’s probably nothing, yeah; maybe I hit my head or something. I’m fine.’ He told himself, seeing things wasn’t a good sign even in the wizarding world ‘Maybe it will all go away.’ “Come on Draco you can tell me if something is wrong.” “I know. It... It’s nothing.” He replied slowly with a dazed look in his eyes. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, really, it’s nothing. Probably hit my head or something in the train and now I’m having side effects. I’m sure I’ll be fine though, just give it a little time.” Hermione looked at him for a moment and rubbed her wet eyes. She wasn’t really sure what to say; she knew he was lying to her, but she didn’t want to upset him by asking more questions. Especially after what he just went through, whatever the Hell that was. “Keep your secrets, Draco… but ‘nothing’ doesn’t have you screaming in agony and thrashing around.” She said quietly before moving away to let him compose himself. A little later… “How do you know where the kitchen is?” Hermione laughed and answered, “Well let’s just say I know an old ‘friend’ of yours.” Draco looked at her suspiciously but blew it off a moment later. The old friend that she was referring to was Dobby the house elf, and the only elf who would come near her after her S. P. E. W. campaign. There was plenty of good food in the pantry; but not an elf in sight. “Draco,” Hermione said as she looked over at him, “I’m sorry about last night when I yelled at you, I didn’t mean it. It’s just that people I really care about are gone and I don’t even know if they’re alright. I think that I over reacted to the whole ‘Virgin’ thing.” She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s just that everyone just assumes that I’m this little innocent know-it-all and I’m really not. It gets annoying sometimes. I mean, so what if I like to read a lot and keep up my grades. That doesn’t mean that it’s all I do.” Draco looked away as he thought to himself about how he wished he were someone that Hermione cared about… even loved. She’d shown him more affection in a few days than most people he knew had shown him in his entire life. Then it hit him. ‘Oh no!’ He thought. He looked over at Hermione who was still looking at him but now with question in her eyes. “I need to go.” He didn’t wait for a response, he practically ran out of the kitchen, only his injured leg holding him back. Draco paced around the room trying hard to concentrate on what was going on. The more he thought about it though, the further and further the answers seemed to be. But he had known the answer just a short while ago when he was standing there in the kitchen with… “Hermione! How long have you been standing there? You surprised me.” “Long enough to know that something is really bothering you. Tell me, please Draco.” Hermione longed for an answer from him. Draco decided to try and explain it to her; maybe saying it aloud would help. Besides, Hermione was dubbed as the smartest witch in an age, she’d worked out how to get past enough of the Dark Lord’s plots – so maybe she could help him work it out. Draco asked her, “Don’t you find any of this weird, why all of this is happening?” Hermione looked quickly at him and started talking without taking on breath, “Well which part are you talking about? The train crash which led to everyone missing but us? Us being attacked while walking through the woods that we’re not supposed to be in? Me almost drowning and you saving me? Us finding Hogwarts attacked with no one left. No dead bodies or survivors? or are you just talking about last night?” She paused in her rant before softening her voice’s tone, but upping the sarcasm, “No Draco, I don’t find any of this weird at all.” Draco looked away for a moment and sighed, ‘this is going to come back to hurt but I’ve got to say it.’ He thought. “Hermione, sure all the bad stuff is weird but it can be explained in the end… It’s all a big scheme probably, of at least that’s my guess – that part isn’t hard to figure out, we both know this already. “I’m talking about the part where it was only ‘us’ on the train, ‘us’ getting attacked while ‘we’ were walking through the forest, me saving you…” He sighed and finished, “And yes… last night. Hermione, we hate each other. Something isn’t right here.” He sighed, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears but she didn’t let them fall just yet. “We just had a change of heart that’s all. Draco, there’s nothing wrong with that. If you’re worried about what people would think because I’m not a pureblood like you then I guess I’m wrong about changed feelings. Yours anyway… my feelings are still for you, weather you want them to be or not.” I don’t understand what you’re trying to say here! She turned away from him and as she walked slowly up to the girls dormitories, she finally let her tears flow with great sadness. ‘I was right’ Draco thought, ‘it hurt.’

#how did this happen #dramione #hdth #hdth9

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maccaillte · 4 years

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@creation-is-chaos

They knew this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this but Corvus was just so addicting.

Seven needed this job badly, after the last fiasco at their previous work their old boss made it so they never get hired again even though Seven never did anything wrong except turn the creep down numerous times and threatened to tell HR. They were wrongfully terminated but didn’t want to go through the hassle and their old boss was still trying to contact them. Seven caught a lucky break being hired to be a personal assistant to someone very high up in Stratford Tower.

The interview was easy, hired on the spot, that tipped Seven off something might not quite be right. They were to be Corvus’ personal assistant, the man was regarded highly but everyone spoke about him as if they were on edge. Seven’s first day, ten minutes before their boss arrived the other office ladies snickered and said ‘Good fucking luck.’

Working for Corvus was horrid, he was a stickler for everything, it really was like selling your soul to the devil as the office joked. Seven tried their damn hardest to get everything perfect but he always found ways to nit pick every little thing. Things only got worse around the office when Seven chopped off all their hair. When they first started they had long wavy hair almost to their mid back, their old boss was strict about them keeping it. They had asked Corvus about the dress code and if he wanted them to keep their long hair, he couldn’t care less.

Everyone at the office started to gossip, one person pointing out how Seven and Corvus looked so similar. Seven and Corvus both ignored the comments and kept working. After surviving working under him for four months its almost as if a sudden shift happened.

Some of the office ladies Seven made friends with said that usually an assistant didn’t last this long, Always quitting and the poor thing never able to find work again since word travels and to give up working at the Stratford tower jut looked bad. Seven prided themselves they stayed this long.

As time went on and Corvus started to see Seven as more an equal that just a gopher to say fetch too they both started to work together on projects. This turned into many late nights together.

One night is when everything changed.

It was just the two of them in Corvus’ office going over a project that was working both of them to the bone. They were just putting in the finishing details tonight. Seven let out a sigh when they were finally done, taking their glasses off and rubbing at their eyes. Looking over at Corvus, his hair was out of it’s gel and the curls started to form from him constantly running his hand through it. Seven thought he looked rather handsome, biting at the end of their glasses as they watched him.

Apparently Corvus noticed them staring and met their eyes, Seven blushed deeply and looked away. Corvus got up from his seat and moved around to where they were sitting, Seven kept looking away.

They won’t admit it but their boss was extremely attractive, they understood why so many women at the office swooned over him but always from a distance. Too many were afraid of getting too close, someone said an old assistant tried to win Corvus favor with sleeping with him and that ended badly for the assistant. Seven even during the weeks they were being run rampant by Corvus they never thought of doing that to ease him up.

But now with him being so close, the two of them slowly bonding in their own little way. With him sitting on the edge of the desk in front of them, staring them down and looking at Seven with this hunger in his eyes.

“If there is anything, anything at all you need me to do before I leave let me know.” Seven spoke up as they started to gather some files, trying to keep cool but a hand reached out and grabbed their arm gently yet firm. Corvus pulled them close, an arm around their waist. Seven’s heart was fluttering fast in their chest they were sure Corvus could feel it with how close they were to him.

Seven doesn’t know who moved first but next thing they realized was their lips on Corvus’ and his hands on their hips.

Seven was oh so desperate for touch, they haven’t been in someone’s hold like this in ages. Desperately kissing Corvus back as his hands paw at their clothes. He pushed the pencil skirt they wore up and was pulling at their black tights, Seven was very flippant in their wardrobe, choosing both masculine and feminine clothes. Corvus asked once about and Seven told him they were androgynous. He left it at that and started using their pronouns, another reason they started to crush on him.

Seven pulled away from the kiss when Corvus wrapped his arms around Seven and turned them so they sat on the desk. It was easier for him to get the rest of their tights off and underwear. Seven reached out and started to unbutton his shirt but pulled on his tie to draw Corvus in for another kiss. Both began unbuttoning their shirts, Corvus pushed Seven away before they could finish his. Seven sat there panting with their underwear gone, shirt unbutton and lips swollen from the kisses. Their chest was smooth and stomach flat, a very masculine appearance but down below they had a vulva. Seven adverted their gaze when Corvus just stood there staring. About to open their mouth and give him an explanation Corvus pulled them in for another kiss as his hand moved to touch their lower lips. Corvus swallowed up their moans as he started to tease them.

Seven cursed to themselves at how good Corvus was, or they were just so touch starve no matter what he did would bring them embarrassedly close to orgasm. Seven didn’t want to cum so soon so they reached out and started to undo Corvus’ belt. He got the idea and pushed his pants and underwear down. Seven didn’t care about looking they just wanted Corvus.

Corvus pulled them in for a kiss, which helped distract them when he entered them. Seven moaned loud behind the kiss and wrapped their arms around his neck and legs around Corvus’ waist. The pace started off steady before Corvus moved faster, getting Seven to moan louder as he ate up those sounds.

It finally hit Seven like a ton of bricks that they were sleeping with their boss.

They were having sex with their boss.

Right here in his office.

It burned at Seven’s cheeks that they let this happened but god damn was Corvus just an even more excellent lover than all the office gossip imagined of him. One of their hands buried in his hair to pull him in for a deep kiss as his thrusts got faster.

Seven didn’t have any time to cry out as Corvus brought them to a satisfying orgasm.

After that night, after Corvus slept with them things changed.

Everyone thought that Corvus finally found a keeper, little did they all know he was having his assistant on the side. Seven had tried and failed after that night to say it was a one time thing. But what kept them from speaking up with the knowledge that they had Corvus is a way nobody else did.

They got to see him in a different light.

Sure what else got Seven so addicted to him was all the little secret touches, a brush to their hand when exchanging files, fingers trailing their arm, a whisper in their ear, a kiss to their neck. Corvus liked to leave marks that Seven had to start wearing scarves or high collar shirts to hide. He also enjoyed knowing he could bend them over his desk any time he wished, Seven would happily do it.

This office romance was becoming addicting and Seven knew deep down they had to stop.

It was just a fling.

To relieve stress.

It will never be something more.

So then why does their heart ache, when those teasing touches seem a little more soft than sensual, or when Corvus makes even Seven believe his flings are with some other girl. Why does their heart flip seeing an actual smile when it’s just the two of?

They should end this before it became more trouble.

Right after they get some anti nausea medicine and figure out if this stomach bug is contagious

#♛┊Verse: The 'Devil's right hand┊#creationischaos #nsfw.#//enjoy a #sudden spur of the moment smut fic #i guess call me the queen with working #with so little to make something work #anyways i'm like in love with all of #Ash's verses and writing so yeah sev belongs to corvus and my ass belongs #to ash but hey i'm not even sorry -shrugs-#♛┊Corvus & Seven: oh can't you see you belong to me┊

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agardenofmonsters · 5 years

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Rhythan | Dragon BF | Fem x Masc | Part 2

Feminine Human Reader x Masculine Dragon Boyfriend You x He/Him PG-13 for Violenccceee and Swearing Revenge Fantasy, Size Difference, Magic-User Fantasy

Special thanks to the anon who asked about this story—kicked my butt into gear! I hope it was worth the wait!! ... You have continued to be plagued by nightmares, even with your new companionship offering the incredible relief of safety and belonging. You see their pervertedly content faces as they bound and gagged you and left you to die. You keep hearing their saccharine lies that burned your flesh like a dagger being slowly dragged down your neck. You relive these wounds every time you close your eyes...wounds more painful than a dragon’s ever could have. The dragon that never did...and never would have. You sit up fast, gasping as if relieved of a sword that had been plunged into your chest. You’re on the floor of the cavern, curled up in one of the fine, thick fabrics that Rhythan provided at the foot of the giant pile of gold. It must be the middle of the night, as no sunlight shines in. All you can hear is the deep, heavy breathing of Rhythan as he sleeps. Following an unexplainable urge, you stand up and begin walking down the tunnel, clutching the sheet like a cape as it drags behind you. You walk silently toward the entrance, your bare feet used to the cold rock of the mountains by this point. The soft bubbling sound of the waterfall greets your ears as you get closer, and you slowly step your way to the edge of the cliff, looking out at the forest. Even from a distance you can find your village; they’ve kept the bonfire going for days...the one that celebrates your death. You stand and stare, frozen and unblinking, at that little light in the distance. Never did something so warm feel so god damn cold. “Are you not cold, little one?” asks a curious voice from behind you. You glance down at the forest below you, acres of silent pines hundreds of thousands of feet down. You don’t look at him, you don’t move. “Look at them,” you start. “So proud and content of themselves for leaving me, using me as a bargaining chip for a game they never had to play...it disgusts me.” You’re silent for a moment, taking a breath to try and control yourself. “But...how can I blame them? Wouldn’t I have done the same thing? And the people, they were lied to...right? And, I shouldn’t bother about the kinds of people who would do something like that but it doesn’t change at all how I feel...and it feels like I’m dissolving in acid.” “Those that lack empathy do not learn from death,” he says. “Even the ones at their own hands.” “They don’t care...” you whisper to yourself. “...they don’t care...” “But who are the ones that sought your pain?” He asks. “Who are the ones that poison your heart?” Your throat cracks: “It sickens me that they even dared to touch me!” The tears pour, and the cape drops from your shoulders. The wind chill is biting, but soon there is a warm sigh of air at your back, and your cape is dropped back over you. You turn around and see Rhythan’s dark form half-hidden in darkness, his glowing green eyes the only salient feature at this time of night. Before, this sight would have frightened you, but now it was the only thing that could comfort you. Even cast in shadows, he exuded dignity. “You are allowed justice,” he says. ”Few are offered the chance...and fewer take it.” You look down contemplatively for a moment, and then look back up at him with conviction: “I want them to fear the power of a vengeful seamstress.” Rhythan chuckles, seemingly impressed: “So it is settled, then. Come, let us rest and tomorrow, we’ll plan.” He scoops you up into his palm gently—you’ve gotten used to the drill—and he takes you back down the tunnel

“I’m sorry you have to deal with an emotional wreck,” “It’s the reason I like you, my dear.” “Th—thanks?” “You have a heart of true, unbridled emotion,” he says. “I have never encountered anything quite like that.” “I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of though,” you admit. “It hardly seems helpful at all.” “Everything has its usefulness,” he simply says. “I’m too tired for your wisdom, Rhythan,” you sigh, lying back in his palm and looking at him upside-down. He snorts hot air at you and you can’t help but laugh. “Ah, I wonder how much magic that sound holds,” he says, you barely catching it as you fall back asleep against the warm scales of his palm. ...... The next time you wake up, you go back to the waterfall with an armful of old books that tell you of different magics. It is now cold enough that the water has frozen over, and you are glad that you took the time to fabricate some new clothes from the textiles in Rhythan’s stash. “But can anyone do this stuff?” you murmur to yourself. “Can I do magic, if I just say these incantations or do these hand motions? I’d rather not have to have a sack full of random items required for these spells...and they’re so old, would they even work? Did they ever work?” After several different attempts of spells of all kinds, you stop and look at all the different tomes set around you, a vein in your temple pinching from stress. Nothing had worked, and the only effect from any spell you had cast was a cramping hand, oh, and the headache in your temple. Rhythan returns from his hunt with a deer and a few more bushes of berries. He steps around the pool to where you are studying behind the waterfall and sets the deer to the side, licking off some of the blood from his jaw. “Had some luck hunting?” you ask him, happy for a break. “Quite,” he says. “And you, my dear?” “I can give myself a headache apparently,” you say with a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t happen to know any magic, would you, Rhythan?” He lays down beside you with a grunt: “I do not believe Draconic magic and Human magic are even compatible...and human spellbooks are often way too small and delicate for me to handle. “What I know about our magic is that its inherent, and different species of dragons are equipped with different magical abilities, but it is not always obvious. I have red scales, so I have heat and fire-related abilities...but depending on my lineage, I could have had different colored scales with the same powers...or the same-colored scales and different powers.” “Hmm,” you hum. “Red suits you.” “I guess I’ll keep it then,” he replies, voice lilting with amusement. You smirk down at the book you are flipping through and then look up at him: “Rhythan, what was your family like? Do dragons have families like humans do?” The pause he takes before answering is subtle, but you can almost feel his mood change, like a gate dropping down to protect a castle. “Rhythan?” “I did not have one,” he says. “So I do not know.” You put a hand on him: “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” Rhythan looks at you with soft eyes: “You did not cause this, little flower.” You give him a small smile before a sound of cracking interrupts the moment. Rhythan puts a hand in front of you as both of you look over at the frozen pool that is growing white cracks that spread out like a ripple of lightning and crawl up the frozen pillar until all the ice shatters, leaving a warm freshwater pool and a flowing waterfall. “Did...it get...warmer? While you were out?” Rhythan drops his hand: “I think that your studying has paid off, young magician.” You stare at him and then back at the pool as he turns to take his kill into the cave, flicking you with his tail. “H-hey!” He turns to look back at you—some of the deer’s limbs poking out of his mouth as he carries it—and gives you a goading expression. What are you gonna do about it?

You start jogging to catch up to him: “Hey! I could turn you into a frog if you’re not careful!” Rhythan glances at you with a raised eyebrow. I’d like to see you try!

...

A couple days of preparation: practicing, testing, sewing, and organizing.

That morning you give a warm smile to Rhythan, pull up the hood on your cloak, and start walking.

Although it was the only time you had made the trip, you knew the way well enough from watching the forest from the mountain. And you had a feeling in your gut that you would be safe.

After everything, that was good enough for you. And really, the walk through the woods was a stabilizing kind of tranquility.

As you step onto the familiar dirt path that leads to your old town, you pull your hood forward even more to shroud your face. The townspeople start to notice the ominous approaching stranger and begin to whisper to themselves, some racing ahead to tell others. You notice all of it, but you hold yourself dignified and do not quicken your pace to satisfy their desire for more.

“Look at the detailing on the cloak...”

“....never seen a design like that before...”

“...far traveler, perhaps? It bothers me to why are they alone...no one travels through thick forest unguarded! The horror!”

“I may not be wealthy, but I know authentic gems when I see one! Must be royalty—!”

“Don’t be foolish, a royal, psh! Coming here? Alone? You must be absolutely—-“

“Shh! She’s right there!”

By the time you reach the town square, the mayor and her son are already waiting outside of their house to confront you, but you stop at the still-burning bonfire in the center of the square instead of paying them any mind.

The mayor’s son takes initiative: “You there! What business do you have stirring the townspeople with your presence? I demand you show your face at once!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely...”

You grasp the edges of your hood and carefully reveal your face to the people that have gathered around—staring directly at the mayor’s son as you do. You watch as it takes him a second to recognize who he is looking at, and his hardened exterior gives way to wide, fearful eyes. Scattered gasps from the villagers reveal their collective shock. Someone shouts your name from behind a wall of people.

“What is the meaning of this! Imposter!” he shouts, making his way toward you and drawing his sword.

“Surprised I’m not dead? I thought you would be, since you tried so hard to kill me...even going as far as to kidnap me and lie to the villagers.”

“Silence!” He shouts, raising his sword. “What sort of trickery!”

“Are you upset that the dragon frightened you so? Were a few sacrifices enough to make you feel like a hero?”

Two bodies drop from the sky and into the clearing: the two guards that had accompanied him on his quest to stop the dragon, untouched besides the many puncture wounds that adorn their armor.

Some of the villagers shriek in panic but one of them shouts above them: “Look! It’s the arm! The one that he lost! Right in the grip of his fellow knight!”

The mayor comes forward, trying to protect her son: “Can’t you see this is a trick! If it weren’t for him we’d all be burnt to ash from that blasted dragon!”

A thunderous roar shakes the world, and Rhythan comes crashing down onto the mayor’s house, reducing it to rubble. People scream in terror, but Rhythan does not make another move.

“Ah, yes, that blasted dragon that kills for fun...” you start, eyeing your companion, who lies down and folds his hands patiently, doing his best to look as harmless as a large fire-breathing thing can. “It’s almost laughable, you were so afraid of a dragon, when you should’ve been afraid of a witch.”

“You…” she spits, pointing a derisive finger at you. “...bring this monster here, and you have the nerve to blame me for protecting MY FUCKING TOWN!?”

“The town was safer when you were not a part of it...the only monster here is you,” you say firmly, feeling the vile words on your tongue.

“Filthy, lying harlot,” the mayor says, pushing herself in front of her son. “You dare think that yourself better than your superiors just because you give up your body as freely as a martyr! You would’ve been lucky to serve as carrion with a body as dry and hollow as yours!”

You glance over at Rhythan, who is tensing up.

“Dry...Hollow...” you whisper, noticing the feeling of your feet on the ground. “Is that it?”

You feel yourself smirk like you just thought of the best insult: “Wow, I’m a little disappointed...that’s all you got?”

“What’re you——“ she starts, only to choke on her words, coughing and hitting her chest as if to pound them out of her. She starts to look a little more old and withered.

“Being tied to a tree with no food or water, left to die, really makes one thirsty...dehydrated, even...” you start, staring at the woman that allowed her son to abuse you. “But I can’t....”

Her lips go dry and cracked.

“Even imagine...”

Her body thins, skin going dry.

“What it would be like...”

The mayor coughs out dust, and her body grows brittle.

“To be...”

She falls to her knees and gasps like a fish out of water.

“As hollow and heartless a person as you...”

She collapses to the ground, a skeleton as dry and barren as a field in the winter.

“You——!“ the son swings his sword at you with a desperate ferocity in his eyes, but his sword does not strike true—for the blade’s metal drips to the ground like warmed butter, and he is left with only a hilt.

“The fuc—“ Rhythan slams him to the ground with a claw, caging him in and then dragging him through the dirt, the son shouting as he does. Rhythan then holds him up, his grasp not easing up in the slightest.

You walk up gently towards the person that tied you up and left you to die, held strong by the dragon he was so afraid of, but not before picking up the remnants of the mayor’s body—which was as light as a dried corn husk—and toss it into the bonfire.

“Y—you...fuckin’ cunt...” he sputters. “You’re nothing!”

“You must be even weaker than I thought then,” you tell him. “If a nothing like me bested someone like you.”

“You...you think they’ll listen to you after all this?” He scoffs. “You’re a dumber bitch than I—ugh!”

Rhythan squeezes a little tighter to shut him up. You walk right up to this asshole’s face, smiling angelically.

“You think I care about this town?” You tell him with a whisper. “You think I care about what the people here think of me now?”

You grab his face: “Y’know, I was upset at first about you leaving me to be a sacrifice against my will, but actually what I hated the most was the fact that you even believed you had the right to touch me...”

You squeeze his face a little tighter, a dark purple rash beginning to spread out from where you grabbed him.

“What’re you…” he coughs. “What’re you doing!”

You release his face, the purple rash giving way to black, crumbling ash that fell from his face like lobs of coal. He screams as the rash spread and his skin and clothes become scorched like an overcooked pastry. Rhythan then throws him onto the bonfire to join his mother, setting the fireplace ablaze with an angry roar, disintegrating everything in that circle to black powder.

You place a hand on Rhythan’s side, telling him that you were ready to go, but instead of holding you in his claws like usual, he sets you onto his back, right between his wings. You look down at the frozen and awe-stuck crowd below you that emits no sound, and say: “I never want to see any of you ever again, understood? Now actually go and make something of yourselves.”

Rhythan takes off without waiting for a response from the villagers, just as you planned...

It wasn’t your town anymore; their everyday matters did not concern you.

Not anymore.

As you are taken above and beyond the clouds, you can’t help but cry out in victory!

“Woohoooo!!! Rhythan!! We did it!!” You shout, putting your hands in the air and feeling the currents play with your fingers. “And I didn’t throw up once!!”

He glances back at you with pride in his eyes: “Do not jinx yourself while you are riding me!”

You laugh, and you laugh without heaviness.

...

You return home—that’s what it was now—and Rhythan glides right through the waterfall while you are on his back, completely soaking you.

“Hey!!” you cry, wiping the water from your eyes.

Rhythan circles his main treasure pile and lands softly on it. You roll right off of him and into the pile of gold coins, your cloak wrapping tightly around you.

“Rhythan! We did it!” you say, sitting up fast.

“It was all you, little magician,” he insists. “It was your bravery that let you complete what you set out to do.”

“I guess, but you helped!”

He snorts hot air at you and lays his head down as if to rest. You clamber up to him and wrap your arms around his neck, waking him.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, though,” you say, eyes filling with tears.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his scales. “Thank you so much.”

His neck moves under you and his head looks down at you with what you can only tell to be regret.

“I wish you did not have to lose your old treasures, little one.”

“My old treasures...have no more value to me,” you promise him. “And, don’t you know I have found a better one?”

“Something amongst these old things?”

“Yes, even amongst thousands of worthless gold coins and cut gemstones and century-old artifacts...” you tease, looking around in the pile for something. “Aha! Here it is...but you can’t laugh!”

You hold up something sleek and silver to show him.

“Hmf...a silver plate? Is that all?”

“You gotta look closer!”

“The object remains the same.”

You angle the plate a bit so his reflection is displayed.

“It’s you, dummy!”

His tail sweeps your legs out from under you and you land on your back on the pile gold coins, still clutching the sterling tray.

A warm laugh beats from Rhythan’s chest: “You have chosen well.”

You sit back up just in time to see his full magnificent wingspan and watch him fly effortlessly up to his alcove to rest. But instead of enjoying the splendor, you notice something that you hadn’t before: a large scar that tears across Rhythan’s left wing.

But you decide to leave that question for another day.

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goth-giraffe · 4 years

Text

Not-so-quick guide to my OCs that I sometimes talk about here! xD So... Echo and Meredith, really. Plus a bonus one! Plus new art! :D

Warning, this is gonna be long so I put it under a cut :)

Anyway, because he’s the one that will definitely be mentioned most here, let’s start with..

Echo~

(I didn’t say anything about the quality of the new art xD)

Echo is my persona/self insert character..... he’s really just an alternate version of me (I like to think he’s my Alola form :3)

And like me he’s lonely so he has imaginary friends to keep him going, his current one being Loki ‘cause my current obsession is Loki

Echo is kinda hard to explain because everything about him fluctuates depending on my mood.. there are different versions of him and he doesn’t exactly have a set story or universe.. (For instance I didn’t create him specifically to hang out with Loki, but when I needed a friend I gave him Loki as an imaginary one)

Anyway! Some basic facts! He’s ace/aro, and agenderfluid (questioning?), with he/him pronouns (they/them is safe too though)

Kinda short, 5′2″ ish

Around my age, 17-20, but the mental age of anywhere from 8-17 ish.... he’s always kind of childish but how extreme varies from moment to moment

He’s AFAB but I usually draw him flat-chested because I use him as a way to combat dysphoria so, should anyone else want to draw him, best to draw him flat-chested

Loves trying on clothes! (Mainly because I like a lot of clothes but pretty much exclusively wear pajamas so... yeah I use my OCs as models)

Quiet, non-verbal in some versions (in which case he’ll write in a notepad to communicate), very shy

Sometimes makes clicking noises to calm himself

Daydreams a lot, also sleeps a lot

Gets upset over dumb things... and he’s scared of everything

Doesn’t really like being touched but sometimes snuggles Loki when he’s upset

He’s probably autistic

Probably also has borderline personality disorder.. but I’m unsure about giving him the disorders I think I have, because I don’t actually have a diagnosis (scared of doctors).. nonetheless, a lot of the symptoms that come with those disorders, he has

Likes to draw and his muse is Loki

Likes bugs, especially butterflies

Collects rocks

Eats goldfish crackers

Has really bad posture

Okay at this point I’m just adding random facts about me which is probably weird idk xD I don’t know what more to say about him soo yeah... this is my weird persona

aand next up-

Meredith~

(I liked how this art turned out tbh and I might repost it on my other blog..)

Meredith is an OC insert specifically for Marvel Cinematic Universe

She’s dating Loki, and you’ll find a lot more about her and Loki at @cuddly-loki! (It’s my blog specifically for them! :D)

Buuuut I do mention her here occasionally because I love her (and there are definitely traces of her from when this blog was cuddly-loki), so I’m including her in this :3

She’s not really into labels but she is kinda gendermeh, I think of her as a nonbinary woman (...or soft butch, but I call her that mostly when Loki happens to swap genders), but she just uses she/her pronouns

Again, meh about labels but she has dated both feminine and masculine people, and she doesn’t really experience physical attraction the same as most people

Kinda goth, dresses mostly in greyscale colours and in kind of goth/punk clothes I guess (also, she prefers androgynous clothes)

Really affectionate with people close to her, close friends and her boyfriend of course :3 (mild PDA does not make her uncomfortable but it sure does irritate Loki)

Quiet, but not shy- she’ll talk to anyone probably but she’d rather watch them until it makes them uncomfortable xD

Once you get past the being weird or goth to creep you out though, she’s very soft and pretty nice (even if still a little dark)

She’s an aspiring musician.. sorta. She plays violin and loves music.. but also has a weird relationship with music, we’ll just leave it at that for now

Works night shift as a bartender

Likes horror movies

Favourite food is pizza

Loves birds

Doesn’t like technology very much

She has a lineup of mental disorders too I’m sure, she’s an ex junkie for one and likes to feel numb to things..

Also has persistent insomnia, either related to her depression or depression meds, who knows

Lives in her apartment with a couple plants and Loki, who is still adjusting to Earth life

Like mentioned above you can find more of Meredith at my blog @cuddly-loki and if you ask questions about her or her and Loki I will probably be very happy :)

Side note: Meredith is not meant to be a self insert but we do have things in common, and I’d probably get along with her. She’s pretty chill and gets along with most people though haha

A little bonus one, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned her here before but just in case

Gwyneth~

(Okay this turned out a little messy but ehh. It was kind of just from memory, I might have still had references for her but I lost them when my jumpdrive quit so meh)

She’s a dead character that I don’t use anymore and won’t be using anymore but on the off chance I’ve mentioned her or do mention her, I’ll go ahead and add her to this as a little bonus

I created her when I first started obsessing over Loki, and she was a self insert I used to selfship romantically with him... it was okay for a brief time but in the end I hated it. It’s hard to explain, kind of personal.. but for one thing, I’m pretty sure I’m aromantic. I love soft romance stuff but I don’t really want to be part of it.

...And that’s why I killed Gwyneth and created Meredith ehehe

I’m gonna talk about her a little anyway, for one, she was an artist/painter

She liked to take pictures of strangers to paint them and I’m pretty sure that’s how she met Loki (AKA the weirdo on the sidewalk in the all black suit)

I honestly don’t remember what her actual income came from, maybe she was on disability, Idk

Anyway she was a mess. Severely depressed. Couldn’t really keep herself together.

She hid behind jokes and sarcasm though, so no one really knew how bad she was (even Loki, for a time)

She would climb trees which annoyed Loki a little bit, turns out trickster gods don’t enjoy having to climb trees just to talk to their girlfriends

Wore a trench coat as kind of a comfort item (because that’s what I did at that time)

Often got lost in daydreams...

Scared of most things...

Yeah you’ll notice she’s a lot like Echo (even the hair- pbbt). I’ve had a lot of self inserts over the years, killed off when my anxiety convinced me I was being cringey or when they didn’t feel like me anymore.. with Gwyneth it was maybe a tiny bit those things but also other stuff, like being aromantic questioning. Creating Echo was a new start for me because it was more of an exploration of where I’m comfy gender-wise... and, unlike most of my other self inserts, I don’t really age him up. But most importantly... he’s very emotionally messy but he doesn’t hide it (or else he doesn’t hide it well) because one of my things is I need to at least pretend that people would still love me if they knew how sad and broken I am. So.. yes, Echo is a sensitive character, he upsets easily and he’s usually pretty sad.. but that’s kind of the point, because he’s still loved.

.....Anyway sorry for going back to Echo. I don’t have a lot more to say about Gwyneth - she’s dead and not coming back - but she was a stepping stone to where I’m currently comfortable so, RIP Gwyneth I suppose :)

On the page I drew them on it’s kinda funny because it looks like Meredith and Echo are very uncomfortable that Gwyneth is there (which was only semi-intentional ehehe)

Echo looks cautiously curious but Meredith looks very awkward like “Oh.. so you’re back...” ..she’s hiding something... And Gwyneth’s like “So... how’s Loki been?” xD

All these characters are obviously kinda similar which is part of why I put them all here (....clearly I have an obsession with blue hair but shhh), also their connections to Loki, haha.... Meredith is definitely the most connected, Echo’s Loki isn’t real and Gwyneth is dead, so... yeah.

Anyway hopefully this was a little helpful. I might make better guides for Meredith and Echo sometime but for now this works. Also, always feel free to ask questions about them!! :)

#I had to keep adding stuff for echo to make up for the fact that I CANNOT stop myself from rambling about meredith xD #oh you wanna hear about echo? LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MEREDITH #pffft #but seeing as how echo will be on this blog a lot more I tried to give him the longest description thing #also I think I'll make a proper profile/reference thing for meredith sometime so I'm not gonna worry about putting this on cuddly-loki #...maybe the meredith drawing though :3 #giraffe rambles #long post #my ocs #echo #meredith #gwyneth

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

Pleasure for Pain

Characters: Tommy Conlon/Reader

Warnings: Mild pain kink. Mild sexual language. Mild sexual content. Mentions of injury. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,331

Summary: You decide to accompany Tommy for the morning jog he’s been hounding you about, but the plan backfires. You’re left in pain, and unable to finish the run, but the way Tommy tends to you is well worth the pain.

Tommy had begged that you finally join him for a morning jog through the hazy, day-breaking streets of the city. He wasn’t currently training for a specific match, but of course keeping his fitness in ample condition was a necessity in the profession of fighting. The May temperature had finally been inclining to the warmth you were fonder of, so you decided firmly you’d oblige your gym-rat husband, and join him for his daily run. He never tried to push the strict diet on you when he was trying to maintain weight, and you were never frowned upon for your very minimal amounts of exercise, so Tommy genuinely only wanted you to come with him solely for the extra quality time it meant with you.

Your kind gesture had so brutally backlashed on you however, and here you were, currently being piggy-backed up the front stoop of your shared, brick townhouse. A mile or so into the mapped-out route Tommy had specially scoped out for you so it would be a safer part of town, your natural-born, clumsy nature reared its ugly head. The toe of your gray sneakers caught a crumbled chunk of concrete on the sidewalk, causing your weak ankle to curl painfully. Thank the Holy Heavens you were able to save yourself from weightlessly tumbling face first into the asphalt, but the throbbing, instant swelling of your foot was enough to have you yelping.

Tommy insisted on carrying you the entire way back toward the direction of home, but you incessantly refused, and flagged down a taxi instead. However flattered you were by the man’s desire to always portray the role of your knight in rusty armor, you knew without question his shoulder couldn’t handle the 125 pound pressure of your weightless body for a distance such as that.

The cabby dropped the two of you off after a literal 3-minute lift to your street, and Tommy paid him with the fee, and a ‘thanks’. You carried you untied shoe, and sweating sock in one hand, and tossed both arms around those bullish, broad shoulders to brace yourself for the jarring up the brick steps.

“I’m gonna head upstairs, babe. You can put me down here. I wanna soak it in some Epsom salt so the swelling will go down.” You winced into the ear of his that was level with my mouth.

You had expected him to gently ease me from his back to the floor, but he instead began his march towards the upstairs bathtub with you strapped to him like a fleshy backpack. You tried earnestly to squirm from the clutch he had around your thighs locked around his lower abdomen, but his vice-like grip was impossible to escape.

“I don’t think so, Y/N. You ain’t puttin’ weight on that ankle for at least 24-hours. So, don’t even try t’ fight me on it, baby. Y’know you won’t win that argument.” Tommy sternly spoke, but you knew whole-heartedly he was only looking out for the woman he loved so fiercely.

He entered the dark doorway of the bathroom, flipping the switch for the light, and the ceiling heat you always turned on whenever you took your nightly bath. Your mate knew you were like a cat to heat source, and always promised one day the two of you would pack up and move away from the stark winters of Pittsburgh.

Tommy turned his back to the vanity, so your bottom was even with the cool countertop by the sink and you sat down, unlatching yourself from around his tattooed upper body. His profile revealed a crooked, toothless smile after you kissed the back of his neck before parting. A silent, admiring gesture of appreciation for taking such good care of you. Tommy never treated you as a lesser, or a helpless little bird by any matter. But, when he vowed to protect you til’ death do you part, the man meant it with every haunting fiber in his body.

He pulled your other shoe from the back of your heel and tossed it into the hallway near the mate you had dropped there, then stepped over to unleash a steaming spout of the water into the wide bathtub. Without explanation he exited, but you knew he was retrieving the jug of medicinal salt from the hall linen closet. What you weren’t expecting, was for him to return missing the dri-fit white tee he was wearing when he’d left your sight just seconds ago.

“Well, get those sweaty clothes off, baby. I don’t know how ya’ expect me t’ give ya’ a hot bath wearin’ those.”

Tommy sprinkled a considerable amount of the lavender scented contents into the filling tub, and turned to see you trying to wiggle from the confines of your running shorts without putting weight on the injured limb. Your tongue was stuck from the corner of your lips in concentration, and he quickly jumped to your side offering the steady space of his broad chest to help keep your balance.

“Tom, I’ve been sweating, and I don’t want you this close after my deodorant has definitely worn off,” you uselessly protested.

Not that you didn’t feel one-million percent secure in your relationship with the devilishly handsome individual, but the two of you were only newly-weds of 7 months, and an official couple of 2 years. You didn’t want to ruin this foolish vision he had that you were flawlessly beautiful in every way just yet.

“Y/N, I think I’ve been on toppa you under much sweatier circumstances. I can handle it.” He winked, then effortlessly swooped you into his cradling arms so he could submerse your naked body in the perfectly heated water.

You shifted your long ponytail into a bun so your hair wouldn’t get wet just yet, and Tommy folded a towel to cover the coolness of the tile tub behind your back. His bulky body was knelt on the plush shower mat covering the floor, and you relaxed back to drink in the way this brooding, masculine male was practically worshipping at your feet. A hum of pleasure rolled from inside your chest as he squeezed the aromatic water from a washcloth over your chest. Tommy’s eyes attentively followed the pathway of the erratic droplets sliding down your breasts and puddling into your navel.

“How’s ‘at, hm? Feel good, Y/N?” Your spouse turned apparently part-time servant cooed, brushing a stray line of hair away from the perspiration collecting on your cheek due the sauna-like bathroom.

The painful shocks from your ankle were shooting up your leg like an electric surge, but you wouldn’t dare hinder the sensual relaxation of this perfect moment. You kept a watchful gaze on Tommy as he leaned to pick up the bottle of soap standing on a shelf in the shower, squeezing a heavy amount into the opened cloth in his thick palm.

“I can do that, silly. Just sit with me until I’m done, and I’ll be perfectly happy, ok?” You shifted to raise, offering he hand over the bodywash.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m the doc, and you’re the patient. I know what’s best, girl.”

He was getting off on this little role play, and who were you to stifle his fun. So, you returned to your original half-laying position and did as you were told. Tommy lathered the contents of his hands, and easily grabbed your arm resting on the tubs side, to begin lightly cleansing your limb. You closed your eyes, relishing in the concoction of the warm water, the velvety bubbling soap, and his firm, calloused hands attending to your entire body. Your nipples grew to a slight point under his touch, and he gave a hearty squeeze to both your breasts as he washed.

“C’mon, gorgeous. Gimme that foot, n’ I promise to go easy,” Tommy coddled, insisting you let him take on your bruising ankle next.

The water sloshed and waved as you lifted your leg from under the water, and Tommy made a foamy path from your hip, down your thigh, then to your foot, holding the weight of your leg for you. He kissed the bone of your ankle with featherlike lips before cautiously washing it. His hair had begun to dampen and drip with heat, so he pushed the strands from his eyes, and you felt an overwhelming tense between your legs.

Your lids had once again closed over your green eyes in shameless enjoyment, so Tommy new he had the element of surprise on his side. The feminine shape of your thick thighs were slightly gaped, allowing him to slide to your opening with little struggle, and you instantly shook from your lax state to find him biting back a smile between his teeth.

“Gotta make sure we get ya’ allllll clean, baby. Can’t leave anythin’ out.” He whispered wantonly as he began tickling the tiny bulb above your entrance.

After turning the bottle of soap upside down into his hand once more, Tommy indeed began washing the half-shaved area at the center of your body. The raw, intimate moment ensuing erased momentarily the hurt from your injury, and you let his motions take you over fully. His strong middle finger entered you as he came closer to kiss your panting lips. He breathed in the hotness of your breath for a brief second before massaging over your tongue with his own. He knew how to make this last, and draw out your release, and he knew exactly how to touch you and send you over the edge in an embarrassing, short number of minutes. Tommy knew your body, as he knew his own. And you could tell by his touch, along with the curling stretch of his finger prodding at that tucked away spot inside you, that it would not be long.

You shook and writhed in the water causing puddles to splash onto the bathroom floor, and no doubt all over Tommy. A mess you were making regretfully for him to have to mop up considering your wounded state, but you couldn’t control your twitching reaction from his intense onslaught. He slid an open palm over the womanly length of your neck as your head tilted in desire, and traced downward to your collarbone, and the peak of your pink, aroused nipples.

“Tommy, more. Please, finish me. I’m so… I can feel it. It’s so close.” The way he could use his bedroom talents to transform you into a begging slag was an enigma you’d yet to solve, and you had no desire to even try.

His veined forearm was no doubt bleeding from your trimmed nails latching onto him, in an attempt to still the contorted flails of your approaching release. But you knew there’d be no complaints on his end, due to the slight kink he had for a little pain here and there when it came to your sexual endeavors together.

“Mmmmm… Baby girl wants to come, does she? I think I got just what she’s lookin’ for then.” The grunts vibrating from his chest, along with you own squeaks of approval filled the room with an X-rated soundtrack that you’d play on repeat in your head when Tommy was gone for a fight that work just wouldn’t let you away for.

When he added his thumb to the attack, you sensed his closing move approaching so you opened your eyes to meet his shadow-blue ones staring back at you, under brows furrowing with passion. Tommy had made it very clear early on that he wanted to look you square in the eyes as he made you come, so he could watch the orgasm pulse through your dilated pupils. And from that conversation on, you had done just that for him. Obliging to his particular desires was the least you could do, considering the plethora of ways he had to satisfy you.

With a wave of warmth raging in your gut, and the growing sensitivity of your clit under the pad of his circling thumb, a scream of his name crawled from the back of your throat. His motions strategically slowed, careful not to deprive you of a single millisecond of orgasmic release, and you lazily gathered your composure.

“How’s ‘at ankle now?” He smiled crudely, dabbing the splashed bath water from his chest with the towel he had waiting by the sink.

“At this very second? I don’t feel a thing.” You moaned with choppy, uneasy breaths.

You were carelessly sailing on such a wave of adrenaline and oxytocin that the lingering sprain of your ankle was wholly absent in that moment. Although you instantly began to dread to commute from the bathroom to the bedroom, knowing the pain would only come rushing back like a mighty hurricane.

“Happy to oblige, baby. Let’s jus’ hope these pain meds do the job as well as I did then.”

He cradled you under the armpits as you lifted from the cooling water and draped the fuzzy bath towel around your shivering shoulders. Your hair had mistakenly gone unwashed in the exchange, but you’d take care of that particular matter later.

Tommy made sure your feet never even touched the ground the remainder of the evening. Settling you back into bed even though it was barely noon-time, he taped an ice-pack to your foot then left your side only to take a shower of his own before joining you for a lazy, Summer Saturday. He elevated your leg to minimalize the swelling, and then wrapped you with a cloth bandage. Thankfully, he was well-equipped to take care of matters as such, due to nursing many of his own ailments caused in the cage. He waited on you hand-and-foot unreservedly, even stuffing his healthy-toned body with some of your favorite ice cream he had treated you to.

“From ‘ere on out, maybe we should keep your workouts in the bedroom, baby. Leave the jogging to me, ay’?”

TAGS: @eap1935

#tommy conlon #tomhardy #tommy conlon fanfic #fanfic #tomhardyfan #tommy riordan #oneshot #tom hardy #original #anrm1 #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardyfanfiction

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