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#indentured servant!reader
neil-gaiman · 1 year
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Hello, Neil. I did not think I’d ever try your lottery of an Ask box (despite having enjoyed reading your answers for a decade!) but I feel the need to, well, complain. Can this be a complaints box, too?
I ask in all politeness that you be more careful reblogging posts that make controversial statements of fact, because these are all too often wrong. I speak of the one about “It's a lie that the US Pilgrims were fleeing oppression”, which ten seconds on Wikipedia will show you is itself a lie. I know you know fact checking is important! tumblr isn’t a book, but when you have a zillion readers that implies a certain responsibility. Thanks for listening.
…also I love your books and was so happy at how the Sandman show came out and thanks for signing my copy of American Gods back in 2003 and who will play the archdemon Stolas in GO Season 2? ;)
With something like that I'm very happy to reblog contentious statements that make people think, because, as history professors will tell you, it's not as simple as that. I remember my son coming home from school once, aged about twelve, and saying "my teacher says you're a liar". And I said mildly "why?" And he explained it was because I had told him about people being transported to America for years as indentured servants for petty crimes, and he'd been told that wasn't true*, his teacher had explained people came to America seeking religious freedom. And that was the only reason people came here.
Did the Puritans leave Britain because they were being persecuted? Yup. Were they seeking the freedom to persecute others? Absolutely.
Here's a quote from a terrific article from the Smithsonian:
The much-ballyhooed arrival of the Pilgrims and Puritans in New England in the early 1600s was indeed a response to persecution that these religious dissenters had experienced in England. But the Puritan fathers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony did not countenance tolerance of opposing religious views. Their “city upon a hill” was a theocracy that brooked no dissent, religious or political.
Read the rest of it here:
*It is true. I shook my head, then wrote a chapter in American Gods to explain it to future potential history teachers.
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foreficfandom · 2 months
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POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (1/2)
(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader)
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Overlords are common sinners that boast many indentured servants to their name. Some also focus on physical territory. Some, like Alastor, don't bother. After all, radio knows little physical limitations.
Every Overlord had their own method of gaining prowess. Know one knows how Alastor became so dangerous. The strongest of the lords. Possibly stronger than some goetia royalty.
You weren't sure, either, but you had an inkling.
Because unbeknownst to anyone, you weren't some common sinner soul.
You were unique. A being originating far from this Christian realm of Heaven and Hell. You were undying, or a reincarnation, or a demigod. But you kept on the down low, 'cause attention would have meant trouble.
You could feel that Alastor's magic was a dark, bloody thing, nestled deep in his chest and hooked tightly like barbed wire. It tasted like sacrifices. It smelled like ultraviolet. And you knew it was borrowed, almost seeing the leash around his neck out of the corner of your eye.
Through a shared interest in the Hazbin Hotel, you and Alastor became acquaintances. Months later, you were proper friends. You could tell that Alastor valued the kind and pure of heart, even if he also believed them pitiful. Because they reminded him of a pleasant, happier life. A hidden part of him wanted to believe in their hope and love.
He thought you were just another sinner soul, and you didn't give him a reason to know any better. You had a job as part of the hotel staff. Their accountant, or security, or maintenance. Or their head concierge, guest service agent, auditor, what have you. Something vital to the business, but nothing glamorous. Labor has always been your most successful mask.
He was growing to love again. His mortal self might have been more recipient of affections and bonds, but decades living in hell has twisted him, and you could see him despair over the lump in his throat. His defeat at the hands of Adam proved his limits. You felt him writhe for weeks afterwards, and you let him reap what he sowed.
Curious, you sneaked away one evening and drew from your well of power to step through the fabric of time, finding yourself on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to watch a young Alastor drink the blood from a bloody corpse, and spitting it over his shoulder. Some loa watched this bastardized libation from across the crossroads, but what answered was far more malevolent.
Alastor agreed to a very dangerous exchange. He now had hold over magic impressive enough for a mortal, but you knew it to be a relatively bum deal compared to true power. He would hunger constantly for flesh just to feed its energy, which was a cleverly hidden clause to curse him further through devilish consumption. His shadow sprouted antlers and a maw of sharp teeth.
For two decades, Alastor hunted and ate. Always male victims, usually white men, individuals some might damn as monsters themselves - the abusers, the genociders, the murderously entitled. What was once a scared young man grew hollow and fat on the power.
You've seen enough. Stepping through once more, you joined Alastor in cooking an orzo for shrove Tuesday. Sharpening your gaze, you watched his reflection on the shiny metal surface of a pot, and saw the stitches embedded in his face, pulling tight and vicious.
You nonchalantly asked, "How did you become so proficient at the kitchen knife?"
"Well, I was taught that one could eat, or they could eat well," he replied in a sing-song voice. "And practice makes perfect! Hunger is truly the best teacher."
The meat he was pairing was pork, but you knew he's served human flesh for dinner at least once before. You didn't say anything, because they'd grow suspicious at how you could possibly know from just the smell.
Alastor allowed only you to join him in cooking, partly because he favored you so much more, also because you were a right hand at making a meal. You didn't mention that millennia of existence made one a right hand at any skill.
And tonight, he would begin to see it.
Leaving the broth to simmer, you grabbed a small pairing knife and one of the tomatoes. Instead of simply coring and slicing, you inserted 0.013'' of carbon, chromium, and manganese right between where the molecular cells of epidermis ended at the pericarp. In a single momentum of both your knife and the tomato, the skin was perfectly peeled within two rotations.
Alastor wasn't even looking at you. But he froze over the cutting board, rictus smile sharp.
You haven't even used magic yet.
Both the tomato epidermis and its flayed flesh were completely free of any trace of the other, so in one hand, you ignited the skin to transmogrify into a tiny figurine made out of its glycerin wax. In the other, the tomato was sacrificed in a hole of light-bending void for its animal equivalent - the tiny heart of some small animal, possibly a bird or an amphibian, beating calmly as if alive.
Alastor slowly turned his head to watch as a miniature wax replica of himself held the heart in both shaking hands, before doubling over to devour it whole, its relative size and gore very reminiscent of a large, juicy tomato.
A picture perfect snapshot of his fifth or sixth murder while alive. Some world war veteran that still longed for the battlefield and had exercised his frustration upon his mother and younger siblings. The man might have been rotten, but his warrior's blood had burned hot and nourished Alastor's gaping void particularly well.
(NEXT)
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yelenasbraid · 1 year
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𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝒌𝒂𝒛 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒌𝒌𝒆𝒓
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summary — kaz knew you had a childhood best friend, what he didn’t know was that best friend was nikolai lantzov, aka the king of ravka
warnings — fem!heartrender!reader, angst, fluff, slightly ooc kaz because i’m still trying to figure out how to write him
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��𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐃?” jesper’s disbelieving tone caused you to raise an eyebrow.
“what about him?” you asked thoughtfully. you didn’t know that jesper knew of sturmhond and his adventures. you also didn’t plan on any of the crows knowing of your connection to the privateer. thanks to the heist you just completed, that plan was obliterated.
“you know him,” it was kaz that spoke up this time, “you didn’t just know him, he’s your best friend,” the words were laced with venom, sending an unpleasant shiver down your spine. your eyes averted to your boots. why was it such a big deal?
“it’s not that big of a deal-”
“it is a big deal. where do your allegiances lie?” he growled. his question made you blink. you picked up your eyes and stared at him, disbelief and anger at the fact he’d say something like that.
kaz wasn’t stupid. he saw the anger flash across your eyes, but he also saw how his question deeply offended you. he was questioning your loyalty to the crows, one of the things you’ve never wavered in. he saw how close you were with nikolai, he saw how he’d embraced you earlier in their heist, making you laugh and making you smile that beautiful smile. it was something he wished he could do, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t embrace you, he couldn’t make you laugh as hard, and that smile was a rarity. he’d tell himself it was the job, that you concentrated greatly on your assigned task and because of that, you rarely smiled or laughed. he hated it.
“you dare question my loyalties,” you meant it to come off defensive, angry even, but combined with the exhaustion from your previous job, your eyes stung with tears instead. you kept your eye contact with him, despite the temptation to look away. his heartbeat echoed in your ears, the quickness of the beats distracting you for a moment.
kaz fell silent. his words struck a nerve, and usually he wouldn’t care. usually he wanted his words to strike a nerve with someone, it usually meant he was going to get something he wanted. this was different. this was you. the ray of light in the midst of a bleak sky, the comfort of an embrace without the touch of a hand, and the beauty that radiated amongst the ugliness of ketterdam and of him. he was a monster, and didn’t deserve someone like you.
a scoff from your lips drew him out of his thoughts, his eyes flicking back to yours. the others had left the floor now, leaving the now-closed club floor to yourselves. thankfully.
“you should have stayed with him,” kaz spoke. he knew nikolai offered you a place at the palace, even amongst the higher ranking grisha. he never heard your response, but seeing as you were in front of him, he knew you chose not to.
“why?” you scoffed, your arms slapping against your thighs. “why should i have?”
“he’s a king, y/n. anyone would take that offer,” he would. if he was offered luxury, he told himself he’d take it.
“aren’t you a king? the king of the barrel?” you countered. another silence fell among you. you swallowed, watching as kaz processed your words. technically, he was the bastard of the barrel, but he didn’t expect those words to come tumbling out of your mouth, yet they did.
“in a world where there are kings, i chose to stay with the one who saw me at my worst and offered me solace anyways,” the softness returned to your voice, your words continuing to confuse kaz. yes, he’d agreed to pay off your indenture as a grisha servant, but he never viewed that as giving you solace. he needed someone with your abilities, and paying off your indenture was the solution. he didn’t plan on falling for you, his heart pounding whenever you’d come hear him. he didn’t expect to worry about you to the point where he became insufferable, well, more than usual. his falling in love with you made him an insufferable man.
“i didn’t give you solace,”
“it wasn’t the merchant’s mansion, and that’s solace enough for me,” by now you were close, but not touching. kaz felt his heart squeeze in his chest, but his anxiety wasn’t because of the proximity, no, it was because of you.
“i can’t give you what he can,” it was his turn to catch you off guard. you widened your eyes, but knew it took every ounce of his being to confess that to you, even if it was barely above a whisper.
“i don’t want what he can give me,” you assured, your hand reaching out for his. you didn’t quite take it, letting your hand ghost over his gloved one. he felt the warmth from your hand, but didn’t pull away from it. he swallowed and closed the gap between your hands, locking your fingers together. it felt natural, and you were warm. he could feel your fingers over his hands, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, but he couldn’t. holding your hand was the extent of what his body would let him do.
“you were jealous,” you chuckled, your eyes bright with mischief. he let go of your hand, fighting back a smile of his own.
“finish cleaning the bar,” he told her, watching as she stepped away from him to finish her job. he felt the warmth from her hand still sitting in his own, and for the first time in a long time, kaz brekker had a second of peace.
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i surprise myself with how well i write when i’m half asleep. anyways! i’m hoping to write more for our beautiful grishaverse babes so we’ll see how that goes! if i should do a taglist for the grishaverse let me know!
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ataraxiaspainting · 2 months
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Banquet of Massacre.
Yan Geto x F Reader.
Synopsis: The days are blending into each other, and you just want some sort of change. But soon, you realize you have to be far more careful about what you wish for.
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, not SFW implications, takes place five or so years before JJK 0, and violence.
Continuation of Presentiment of Massacre.
Word Count: 800.
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The green obi gently tightening with each passing second stops at your words, but after a chuckle resumes, the slight anger in Geto’s voice is smaller than the width of a hair.
He continues with the loose, wide red sodes. You focus so much on your anxiety, about what the rest of your life will be, that you don’t notice the small golden details of koi on the red sleeves. You don’t even pay attention to the silk that ties your wrists together, a consequence of you attempting to squirm your way out of dinner again. Not that dinner was anything special this evening.
“You know,” His voice rises and falls like the wind. “Perhaps there are some things you shouldn’t say to the only reason you are still alive.”
With that, he pulls, much harder than before, on the ends of the sash, causing you to gasp for air for a moment or two. 
“I could still feed you to one of my curses you know, or all of them at the same time, they would love to get a taste of you.”
At your desperate whines, as you attempt to claw at the ceiling with restrained hands, he lets go, and with his action, your vision blurs no longer.
He spins you around and he licks his lips.
“I-I’m sorry, Master Geto.” You might be uncertain if you mean your apology, but perhaps Geto has the answer.
Just as you are not sure if Geto forgives you, but he knows the answer for sure.
The woman sitting next to both of you on the floor holds a golden hairpin in her ragged, scarred hands. She holds the hairpin just like she held the underlayer, obi string, socks, obi, and sash. She held and currently holds them all so delicately because she did not want to lose her hands. She was your handmaiden, according to Geto, and although the two of you had never exchanged words, you knew her first name was Sookee, but her last name was of no relevance if it even existed. 
Even though she was around your age, Sookee looked much older than she was because of her premature wrinkles and little white hairs sticking out of her bangs, clear signs of all the stress Geto and the rest of the people here put her through. She was an indentured servant of sorts, from what you were told, and she, like you, is often tormented by the people who live here.
You feel bad for her, whenever you hear her screams and cries, whenever she trips and breaks a porcelain teapot and gets beaten for it, or when she is too late to dress you for supper, which always causes Geto to summon a curse that is so ugly and follows her for the rest of the day and makes crude comments toward her.
There was one time that it actually bit her, and after an hour’s worth of begging, Sookee earned the right to bandage herself up.
“Monkey,” The word is bitter on his tongue and lingers in the air for far longer than either Sookee or you would have liked. “Pin.”
Although you sympathize with Sookee, your instinct urges you to prioritize your well-being before her.
“Since you are so ungrateful for the life I have given you, maybe it would be better to make you like Sookee. Would you like that, princess? To be lesser than a pauper?”
You deeply repent for uttering a single word, which emerges from your lips with complete despair. Meanwhile, Geto wears a smile as he delicately places the luxurious golden hairpin, worth more than your two kidneys combined, into your hair. With a dismissive gesture and a piercing look, he sends Sookee away, and she quietly shuts the door behind her.
You don’t stop him from pushing you onto the bed, large enough for at least five people to rest on, because really is there anything you can do? “You’re so pretty. The loveliest one, the only one worthy of what I am about to do.”
You are trapped here, forever bound by him. The door is guarded by a terrifying curse that ensures your confinement, although Geto's power makes it unnecessary. You find yourself in this place, adorned in the kimono he compelled you to wear, lying in his bed, with the makeup Sookee was forced to apply on you. And here you are, hearing his whispered words of affection as he lies upon you.
“Since you are so ungrateful for what you already have, I will give you more and more, my love, until you regret ever wishing for a life outside of this one.”
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that---one---kid · 4 months
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The cold snow
Coriolanus x Reader
AN: Sorry it kinda progressed really fast and I should’ve wrote him getting gradually more obsessive, but I’ll write another like that. Do yall think reader should relate more to teens nowadays though? Should I put her hitting a vuse in the next fic?
Smut, non-con, dub-con, arranged marriage, dark!Coriolanus, baby trapping, mentions of murder, threatening, reference to domestic violence, drugging, loss of virginity
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Not once did you feel love for a man. Not once did you plan on getting married. And not once did you ever consider marrying a man from the capital, they were all the epitome of stuck-up, heartless and cruel bastards dressed up to hide it with a thick veil of elegance, but, alas, when did things you wanted ever go your way. You hide a scowl as the man you had heard far too much stood in front of you next to your father. “..and I'm sure she’s looking forward to the dress!” Your father laughed. “I’m quite sure my cousin is just as excited to help with the design.” The snow-haired boy- no, monster, said, turning to face you, his cold blue eyes look unnerving in the dim light of your dining room. You wondered if he had that same look in his eyes as he came up with ways to monetize innocent deaths. You give a forced smile, directed towards your soon-to-be husband. “I can’t wait to see what she comes up with!” Your voice sounds more strained than intended. Your father's hand lands heavy on your shoulder and he gives you a squeeze before speaking. “Coriolanus, it’s been an absolute pleasure as always, but I hate to keep you too late. University I’m sure is tiring enough and you’ll have Y/N to talk your ear off soon enough.” You shift your shoulder and shake his hand off. Your father gives you a look and Coriolanus smiles before taking your hand and raising it to his lips, bowing slightly he kisses your hand softly, the feeling of his lips on your skin makes a chill run up your spine. “Right again Mr. L/N, but I do look forward to having someone else to talk to aside from Gran’mam and Tigris and Y/N is a wonderful conversationalist.” Your father makes his way to the front door alongside Coriolanus while you snake away as they’re too preoccupied with a conversation of politics and wedding arrangements. You quietly make your way upstairs, narrowly missing a maid in your hurry to slip out of your dress and into a bath, washing the filth you felt from that monster touching you off of your skin. You weren’t naive to Coriolanus Snow. Despite a year his junior plenty of people had talked of the tenth games, of Coriolanus’s ideas, and even reminiscing on it made your blood boil even more so the fact that your father would not only condone his actions but praise them. He talked nonstop of Coriolanus’s genius and innovative brain, paired with an influential name is precisely why he was so eager to offer you up as a bride for this up-and-coming president. A soft knock on your bedroom door alerts you. “I’m in the bath!” You yell. Hearing a soft creek, footsteps slowly follow. “Hello?” You yell, a brunette female avox holding a silk robe enters your bathroom. You shift to cover yourself, despite having servants since childhood you never did get used to their lack of speech and dead stare. If your tongue got cut out you wouldn’t have much light in your eyes either, you suppose. “Thanks, just leave it on the counter.” The silent woman robotically moves towards the counter and places it down before leaving, swift footsteps and a quiet door closing signaling it was time for you to get you. Quickly standing and pulling the drain, the cool air on your skin gives you goosebumps. Slipping on the robe, there's another knock on your bedroom door. “Yeah, just one minute…” You pause, trying to recall the avox’s name, but drawing a blank.
Had even you dehumanized these indentured servants so much that you never learned their names? “Y/N?” Your head perks up from the thought. “Uh, you can come in, Mother, I just got out of the bath.” The door closes and you make yourself decent before walking out into your bedroom. Your mother sits at the edge of your bed, her thin frame barely sinking into the plush sheets. Your mother, although barely giving out any more than the bare minimum of maternal comfort, had always been a confidant for you. Rarely speaking unless spoken to, dressed to your father's liking, and eating the rations for a mouse on your father's request, you had always had a soft spot for her. You knew from a young age you wanted nothing to do with men, and never wanted to be trapped in a marriage like your mother was, loveless and cold it was no wonder you were an only child. She motions for you to sit next to her. “Grab your brush and let's talk.” Grabbing your brush off the vanity beside you, you walk over and stiffly sit next to your mother, handing her your brush. She grabs a lock of your hair and begins working her way through the tangles. This goes on for a few minutes before she breaks the silence. “I know you’re not happy about the marriage.” You roll your eyes and let out a huff. “Forgive me for not wanting to marry the malicious Mr. Snow, I know I’m sooo lucky to get a shot with someone who can make such a spectacle of child murder.” The sarcasm that made you bite your tongue around your father was let loose around your mother  She brushes out a knot with more force than she should, making you let out a wince. Sighing she continues on to another section of hair. “No need to be smart.” She puts down the brush and turns you towards her. Her pale, perfectly curated mask of makeup cracks up close. Her tired eyes and creases from many nights of poor sleep cannot be hidden, no matter how much concealer and powders are applied. “I was much more naive than you are when I married your father. I had the stories and the glory days of the capitol, but I was wrong. I know we haven’t set the best example of marriage for you, but please take this away if nothing else.” Your mother looks at you with a stern and pleading gaze. “You need to submit yourself to this fate.” Her voice is desperate and you can only give her a deadpan stare, “I’m not like you, mother, I have no interest in-” A stinging pain floods your senses, your cheek beginning to get hot accompanied by what you're sure is a brilliant red handprint. Your mother composes herself, fumbling with her hands in her lap, a blank stare adorns her tired face. “Unless you want to feel that and much worse from a hand much heavier than mine, I suggest you heed my advice.” Quickly and quietly, your mother stands up and walks to the door while you sit still in a somewhat shocked state from the normally docile woman's slap. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, I don't want you to go through what I did.” And with that she leaves, leaving you to recover and slip into a nightgown before lying in bed, a futile attempt to make sleep come quicker as your head swims through questions, realizations and your inevitable fate of entrapment.
A week comes and goes, you fill your time with work from the academy, struggling to get through dinners and talks with your father about marriage and the upcoming wedding. Your mother, to her credit, uncharacteristically changes the subject from time to time, giving you few and far-between sympathetic glances. You're grateful for that, at least. “I have business to attend to in District Two for a while, your mother and I will be away for at least a week, maybe more.” Your father says in between bites of sirloin. “Will Arthur be coming around?” Arthur was your uncle, a distant relative your father would like to forget, but it was the one fight he lost to your mother, her absolute refusal for him to isolate her completely from her eldest brother was what a majority of their fights were about in your childhood. Despite that, Arthur always made things more lively, less constrictive, and was the rare times you saw your father intimidated. Your father pauses before speaking again. “He is not, I see it fitting that Coriolanus comes and stays with you while we are away. He will escort you to school and come with his driver to pick you up after his university classes.” You clench your fork, and anger and something akin to nervousness twists in your stomach. Steadying your mind before speaking, you look to your mother who sips her wine, refusing to look at you. “Does that not seem improper, Father. I mean we aren’t to be wed for two more months. What image would that look like?” You try finding any loop, using the family image as leverage wasn’t ideal, but it was a last-ditch effort. “Since when have you cared about your public image? It sets a strong front up for the two of you. I want you to be seen with him as a young respectful woman from a strong house, someone the people can see as the first lady of Panem and I trust you will do as told.” There’s emphasis at the end of his words, more like a threat. Your mother clears her throat before excusing herself to the restroom. The rest of the dinner was sat in tense silence.
A knock at the door causes you to shoot your head up from your book in the living room.  Your parents had left early in the morning and it was now early afternoon, you tried easing the building nerves in your stomach by reading non-stop since before the sun was up, with time put aside to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect because despite hating you fiance and dreading his arrival, some small part of you still wanted to be desired by him.  You set down your book before whispering yelling at the avox passing by. You could see a small glimpse of Coriolanus waiting at the door from the window, but the tree would make it hard for him to see you. As childish as it sounded you asked the avox to wait until she heard your bedroom door from upstairs to close before letting coriolanus in. Like a child caught sneaking down stairs to get a glimpse of Santa, you ran quickly and quietly upstairs, praying silently that Coriolanus didn’t look through the windows next to the door only to see you scampering upstairs to hide in your bedroom. As quickly as you could you make it to your bedroom and slam the door just loud enough so that it could be heard downstairs. From there you crawl into your bed and under the covers of your bed, but instead of hiding from the monsters under the bed like when you were a child, you’re hiding from the monster downstairs, the one who comes to strip you of what little freedom you had left. Hearing the stairs creak makes the dull anxiety turn into panic as the creaking disappears, meaning they’ve now made it to the second floor, meaning they, who you were hoping weren't Coriolanus, were most likely heading for your door. Thinking quickly, you feign sleep, hoping that the oldest trick in the book will work on whoever came to disturb you.  A knock on the door makes you flinch, but still you lay as silently as possible, trying to control and calm your breathing. The door knob turns and the door is pushed open ever so slightly. A heavy footstep echoes through your quiet room followed by a closing door.
Glass against glass is heard before being placed by your bedside followed by a weight on the bed and hot breath tickling your ear. “Sleeping at noon? Come on now, Y/N, I’m not an idiot.” Coriolanus’s voice comes out smooth like honey, but cold like the harsh whip of winter air when you first step outside. You turn over, bleary eyed and fake yawning. “What are you doing in my bedroom uninvited?” Your voice is meant to be accusatory and confident but comes out meek and wavering. Coriolanus backs up, his perfectly slicked back hair doesn't falter even when he brushes it back, a smirk that spells nothing but no-good unnerves you. “I’m your fiance, I think we’re past courting formalities, Y/N, plus, I’ve brought you tea.” Smiling Coriolanus gestures to the white porcelain cup. “Thank you, Coriol-” “Call me Corio, please, the formalities and all are far behind us.” You smile, picking up the tea cup and taking a sip out of it to try and fill the awkward silence that weighs heavy in the room. The bitter taste catches you off guard, scowling as you take another sip, trying to gauge what kind of tea it is. “Corio, what is this, it's such a..strange flavor?” Smiling Corio pushes the cup up to your lips again. “It gets better with taste, and old recipe Grand’mam taught me.” Downing it as fast as possible as to not offend his Grna’mam’s tea you feel yourself get light headed as the world gets blurry. “Corio, what is this..” You trail off, your words are slurred and speaking feels like a chore. Your senses are so numbed that you don’t think twice when Corio gently pushes you back against the feather pillows. “Don’t you think it’s funny that we are engaged and haven't so much as kissed yet?”
 Even through your haze you can see the way the blonde is looking at you. His eyes are hungry, like a predator eyeing up its prey. “I’ve been thinking about you like this for a long time, Y/N, by my side, taming you and your defiance.” Coriolanus slips off his shoes and begins unbuttoning his shirt as he climbs on top of you. “I’ve been eyeing you up for awhile, Y/N, before the arrangements, at the academy, the way you look in your uniform, the way you think outside of the box..” Slowly he begins shedding his shirt, his hands snaking their way up your thigh, hiking up your skirt. “And I see the way the other men in the capital look at you, young, beautiful, rich, pure as snow…you’re a very desirable girl.” He’s made his way to the top of your skirt, slowly pulling it down, leaving you in your top and lacey panties. Now shirtless, Coriolanus begins working at undoing his own pants, leaving him in nothing but boxers on top of you. You try moving your legs but they give up after a few tries. It takes all of your energy to fight to stay awake,your heads not spinning anymore, but even if you could move, Coriolanus would easily overpower you. “S-stop.” You muster out weakly, trying and failing to push him off you, your weak arms are pinned to your side quickly by his own. “I don’t like the thought of another man but your husband taking you, and I intend to fulfill my role as your husband before you retaliate.”
Using one hand, Coriolanus unbuttons your shirt, button by button you feel your cheeks heat up and a growing arousal in your panties throws you off. You had never been touched like this by anyone other than your own hands in the dead of night before. Coriolanus swears under his breath as he exposes the rest of you, eyes wandering back down to your panties. “I’ve known about you far longer than you have of me, Y/N. I’m ready to have a loving marriage w​​ith you, but you just need to accept me.” He trails off as he unclasps your bra, rambling more about how he couldn’t wait and all the long dinners with you were driving him mad. Now fully exposed and more out of it than ever you feel his hands cup your breast. His erection pressing hard against your stomach as he leans down for a desperate kiss. He’s rough, trying to take in as much of you as possible.. Panting, his hot breaths send shivers down your spine, you feel your own wetness as you feebly rub your thighs together, weakly and with as much force as you can you push on his shoulders so he is sitting up straddling you. You tell yourself it’s to get him off of you, but in reality if so he’ll give attention to the rest of your body and not just your now abused lips. Coriolanus has the eyes of a madman as he quickly sheds his boxers and pulls down your panties. Using his thumb to tease your clit, you jolt slightly. Feeling foreign hands on you was a strange yet pleasurable experience. “Corio..” your soft moan of his name made him all the more possessive of you. He wanted to only ever hear you say his name in such a way, and he wanted to hear more of it. Taking out his hard cock, he lined it up with your entrance.  Coriolanus leaned back down, kissing you much more softly as he pushed into your virgin cunt. You moan into the kiss as you feel his cock pushing into you. “God, you’re so tight, you were made for me.” He moaned, head spinning Coriolanus wasn’t sure when, but he was holding your hips down as he fucked you, the way your breast bounced and your hair fell in your face as you moaned his name in breathy gasps made his head spin. “Corio-ah, fuck, Coriolanus..” Your meek voice just made him want to fuck you harder, to draw out more symphonies of his name, to make it known to not just you, but the world that you were Y/N Snow, and nobody except him could take you this way.  In between moaning your assailant's name and begging for more, you had a few moments of clarity, where you knew this was wrong but your body betrayed you. Moving on instinct you lift your legs towards your chest, begging to take the blondes’ cock deeper into you. In Coriolanus’s mind, you were begging for him to make you his, for him to not just claim you in name, but claim a life, a life that both of you created. Slamming your hips against his own Corio could feel himself coming undone, letting out breathy moans of your name you felt his hot cum spilling inside of you, begging for your own release which soon followed. Coriolanus fell on top of you, feebly keeping himself stable above you before rolling over to look at you. Rosy cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat cover you as your hair curls and frames your face in an almost angelic way. You were exhausted, trying to think but coming up blank, the drug affect starting to weigh on you, you allow yourself to block out the blonde lying next to you and let your heavy eyes close, drifting off to an inviting deep sleep while Corio stares at you, content with himself and that you’ll never be able to leave him now, especially with the child he and you would have, tying you to him forever.
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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months
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live to rise masterlist (complete)
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live to rise series - complete
gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader
summary: The Last of the Mandalorians have fallen; their Mand'alor captured. Stripped of his armor, his weapons, his people. Din rises to fight another day, grasping onto the hope that his son still lives.
No fighter has won their freedom from the Empire's arena before. With the help of a servant girl, can he hope to break free?
dividers by @saradika-graphics
also on ao3
series completed on March 15, 2024.
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warnings: dark, captivity, forced proximity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, prisoner of war, indentured servitude, fight to the death, au where the empire wins, discussions of genocide, discussions of war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, gore, brutality, torture, mand'alor!Din Djarin, major character deaths (not Din), many minor character deaths, tattooed!Din, bleeding heart!reader, Din has hearing loss, eventual smut, reader (eventually) has the nickname kar'talyc but he just calls you girl for a while lol, hurt/comfort, angst by the bucket, slow burn, no y/n
Please heed the warnings. There will be major & minor character deaths in almost every chapter. This is not a happy story, but I hope you find it worthwhile anyway.
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spotify playlist
I: they'll find you, burn you
II. morning will come soon
III. won't give them that satisfaction
IV. where the light won't find you
V. a place that we once knew
VI. leave the lost
VII. not worth my soul
VIII. ashes of another life
completed March 15, 2024.
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flowerbetweenfangs · 27 days
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Caged
(This is a longer one and will be put under read more. CW: There is slavery, but the reader is looking to free/dismantle the system in their own way)
You came across the caged people in the middle of the day. There were no code words or secret passages to get to the displays. It was like any other booth at the bazaar.
Most of the cages were filled with beastmen. Unlike the creatures who roamed the forest, they would walk on two legs. Some could even speak.
Lionmen, Tigerladies, Avian Sapiens, "Not Deer", Chimera, and even a few Phoenixes all stared at you as you walked. Some grabbed the bars and strained their faces to look at you. A small flicker of danced across your eyes. Maybe a spark of hope that they would be freed.
"How long has this been going on?" You asked your companion.
"What do you mean?"
"The slaves?"
"Ah. Well, my dear blue blood..." Their voice trailed off as they stared at the cages. "Surely you heard about the market for this? They're not slaves..." They wiggled their fingers, brows furrowed as they attempted to come up with an explanation. "Merely.... Indentured servants."
"Why not put an offer up on the boards in town?" You raised a skeptical brow and ventured closer to the cages.
A walking stick slapped your chest. The impact smarted. Wincing, you stepped away to rub the sore spot.
"You shouldn't question this so much." Your companion hissed next to your ear.
"How much are the contracts?" You asked. There wasn't much left in your purse, but surely you could at least free one.
"Sorry?"
"We offer a wide variety of specimens and creatures." A well dressed figure stepped out from behind one of the cages. He ran a walking stick of his own across the bars, causing many who had come forward to retreat and whimper.
"We've broken them in ahead of time," His smile made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "So they should already be obedient."
"Broken in?" Your brows raised more. So they had beaten or tortured these creatures into compliance?
"Don't worry, little Blue Blood." The man bowed. "We would not want a client to be harmed by the merchandise. If one does harm you or run away, we will send in our own parties to capture and return them, and give you a new one."
Your companion must have seen your scheming expression. The waling stick slammed down on the top of your foot and a quick throat clear was all the warning they could offer while being discreet.
Your eyes went to the Lionman again. They'd shorn his mane. Nicks and a few notches in his ear and surrounding fur showed how gentle they'd been. Dried blood and dirt clung to his body.
Your stomach churned at the fetid stench and sight. The sign declaring his price seemed insultingly low for another life. But considering how much the sellers had damaged the "merchandise", perhaps that was why.
You put down the coins.
The merchant slid over papers. The sloppily applied seal at the bottom hinted at their legitimacy, or lack thereof. Clenching your jaw, your eyes flicked to the top of the page. The spot next to "Name" was blank.
"He's your property, so you get to call him what you want."
"I'll... Think about it."
***
When you arrived home, the newcomer's nose wrinkled, sniffing his new environment.
Setting the papers down, you waved over one of the notaries, who came over with blank pieces of papers and writing tools. While you could read and write, the palace preferred the people they paid to be the ones who crossed the Ts and dotted the Is, along with minding the Ps and Qs.
"What is your name?" You asked the creature once your companion left to the servants' quarters. Laughter and cheers erupted shortly after.
The sudden noise had the Lionman's eyes wide, what little fur he had standing on end.
"They're always off by the seventeenth mark." You explained.
His eyes remained focused on the door. A chalice fell over as his thrashing tail struck it. As red wine sloshed across the table, the notary screeched, trying to save the paper.
Fabric tore and in a golden blur, the Lionman's fist slammed down on the table in front of you.
A filthy rag was clutched in his hand. And he was wearing less clothing than before.
"Forgive me." His hand trembled as he attempted to wipe up he rest of the wine.
"It's okay." You tried to keep your tone gentle as your heart became a battering ram against your chest. He'd moved so fast. Tore off his clothes, just to keep some wine off yours.
"And what is the name of my savior?" You tried again, now that you had his attention.
"I... Do not have one."
You inhaled sharply. Perhaps releasing him back into the wild wasn't the best option, just yet.
"Well... I paid a gold piece for you. You have golden fur. And you clearly are showing you will be worth every piece." You looked to the notary.
"What's another word for gold?"
"Well, an old word for gold piece was "Aureus."" The notary explained as they spread the papers across the tables.
You turned back to the Lionman.
"Is that acceptable?"
He dropped to one knee, arm across his abdomen.
"Of course, Master."
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cambion-companion · 4 months
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Mhm mhm what about a fic where reader becomes an indentured servant to Raphael. Reader has no idea he's anything more than a rich and rather theatrical (human) Duke?
What if the reader slowly begins to experience odd happenings and slowly they realize not everything is as it seems.
Huh. Yeah there are a LOT of different ways I could go with this.
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milksuu · 1 year
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'Maid' in Heaven | Hiccup x Reader | Part 6
Pairings: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x fem!servant!reader
Chapter Content/Warnings: minor angst and fluff
Summary: After a hostile raid from The Hairy Hooligan Tribe, you were captured and forced into indentured servitude at a young age. Luckily, the God’s had blessed you to be the household thrall of the Haddock family; to serve your kind young Lord, Hiccup ‘Horrendous’ Haddock III. Oh Thor, what to do?
an: thank you for waiting! unfortunately, due to linking my ao3 on my master post, tumblr has hid all the linked parts before this + my masterlist (sad face). please click on the 'maid in heaven' tag for previous chapters, or view the pinned masterlist post on my blog. again, thank you to anyone whose taken the time to read, comment, like, and reblog! they make me so happy and motivated. any love is much appreciated.
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There was a great discussion had within the Haddock residence later that evening. Supper was served at the single table, near to the crackling fire, and blazing with conversation about various topics. The first one attended to was the matter related to the unmissed trial of your questionable innocence. From the guilt that hung like a grey cloud above your head, Stoick sought to investigate the actual truth of the matter.
Hiccup spoke on your behalf. There were some truths, possible half-truths, and perhaps a frilly white lie in between. Whether Stoick believed the lipped wit of his son or not made no difference. The Chief’s admonishing response showed a mind already made. And the folk lesson long prevailed: it paid very little to argue with stone.
“I can’t have any more mishaps, regardless of whose fault,” Stoick said with a fistful of torn meat. “Our people are on edge, and for well enough reasons. And I’m not about to let one loose sheep, or another, cause further unrest. Do you both understand?” 
From your standing spot at the end of the table, a cinch of fault tightened your waistline. You bobbed your head and, with fingers coiled around the handle of a water pitcher, mouthed the word with a strained breath. Your attention crossed the table, catching your young Lord’s pinched features of rebellious reluctance. When your gaze met, you angled a chin and spoke through batted lashes for him to oblige. The request sent his eyes rolling backwards. Luckily, you didn’t need to pray for his life. To your relief, his father was too preoccupied with his plate to notice.
“Understood,” he said, and took a reproachful sip of his drink. You assumed he’d done so to keep him from taking back the word. 
“Good,” Stoick said with a satisfied grumble. “Tomorrow you’ll join me to pay a visit to the farmsteads. We’ll be needing a count of all the livestock and expected yield of crops before Winter. Consider the numbers for rationing. Always best to prepare for the worst.”
“Sure, doomsday prepping sounds like fun,” he said with a lop-sided pin of his lips. “But I was thinking, after we’re done counting with our fingers and toes, you’d talk with me and Gobber. We have some ideas to export new saddles.”
Stoick nodded and spoke in a tone of allowance rather than agreement. “Time will be made tomorrow, then.” 
The table quieted to small-talk, clinking tableware, and requests for another pour from your pitcher. When Stoick finished, he wiped his mouth clean with his fingers, and announced his retirement for the night. When the mass of his form disappeared beyond the aching stairs, you fetched yourself to attend the mess.
“Let me help you,” he said, taking a few hurried bites and tossing the cooked tail end of his fish to Toothless. He barely swallowed when he stood. “I just finished.”
“Although I’m grateful for your offer, I must decline you,” you said and seized his plate before he could. “You’ve done enough for me today, Lord Haddock. I’m sure the least I can do in return is my own job.” 
“I don’t think there should be a limit for helping anyone,” he said rationally, “unless you think I’m wrong?” 
“I think you’ll end up causing more trouble for yourself,” you punctuated your words with the lift of your nose. “Make no mistake. The road to Hel is paved with good-intentions. I don’t wish for you to end up there, of all people.”
He chuckled with a shake of his head. “Does that mean I’ll be in trouble with you?” 
“Not me.” You wiggled a finger in front of your nose. “But your father—no, worse yet—an entire village. I'm afraid your father's right. The scorn of a single man is enough to give courage to his like-minded neighbors.”
“If anything else happens, I’ll take care of it,” he said indulgently.
“That is exactly my point. I don’t want for something else to happen, and for you to have to do anything about it. You’ve worked too hard for your good reputation to be ruined. How could I ever sleep at night, knowing I should be the reason to have it questioned?”
“You like to worry more about my reputation than I do. At the end of the day, I just do what I think is right. Even if that means upsetting a few people who probably don't agree with me. Besides,” he fought to dismiss the quarrel with a boyish grin. “I’ve heard Hel has nice warm weather all year round. Wouldn’t mind paying a visit sometime. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be Chief there instead.”
“There you go again with your jests,” you muttered, digging your nails into the dish. “Ignoring every bit of my concerns for you. But what does what I think matter? I suppose it doesn’t. I’m only a servant, after all. Nothing about me deserves a second thought of consideration.”
“Come on, it’s not like that,” his eyes softened, cupping your tense hands.
The agonizing brush of his touch loosened your hold on the clay dish. It collided with the wood below, breaking into unmendable parts at your feet. You paled, bending to clean up your recklessness. Your Lord motioned to join and you thrusted a curt hand to stop him. “Don’t—” you choked on the shame. “Please, my Lord. This… this is all I have. If you respect me at all, then you’ll let me do it myself.”
“I’m sorry.” With pained regard, he placed a single broken chip in your palm and rose to take his leave. “I won’t bother you anymore.” 
He swept up the stairs, beckoning Toothless to follow. When the door of his bedchamber closed, you shut your eyes against a wave of remorse. Gods, you wished it would drown you. Perhaps then, the regret would no longer be tangible. You drew in a quivered breath, wishing to pick up more than the shattered fragments of a mere plate.
When morning came, you stood beside yourself, looking solemnly at the same dress and apron spread out on your cot. The same dull white smock, same plain brown kirtle, and the same serviceable apron. Stiff and ugly, you thought. All these same things punctuated how perfectly unpleasant you were on the inside. The display of your behavior the prior evening brought a taste of black licorice, which not even lye soap could rinse from your mouth. For your Lord’s sake, it would’ve served him to cut out your tongue with one of the sharper pieces of platter.
Even if deserved, there was never a sliver of imagination to conjure this—his kindness made no room for unbearable thoughts. 
  ⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
When the morning chores were completed without a word and, without complaint, you set off to the docks. With your new piece in tow, you trailed down the trodden path to a landscape filled with thatched roofs, until the hill steeped with long fisherman houses laden with crates of tackle and bait. 
“My, my, little miss! Seems fate and fortune have brought us to trade once again.” Johann raised his hands to indulge the sky, descending the boat ramp. “I take it you’re faring well, even after yesterday’s dire tribulations. Oh, you should have been there to witness it—Master Hiccup was positively vexed when he landed on my ship and requested for my immediate aid. Why, I had never seen him in such a state! Made me believe ‘twas a matter of life and death. Thank the stars it was not the latter of the two.”
This information did you no favors. It further troubled your features, tense and painted with dismal lines of fault. When strings of thankfulness for his help sprang from your lips, they resonated more as apologies. “I’m sorry—truly, I am. I hate to be more trouble than I’m worth.”
“Now, now, my dear. Let’s not sit idle in the past and wallow in it like a cold bath,” he dismissed it, beckoning you closer with his hands. “Let’s get on with business, shall we?”
“Of course.” You swallowed the hot lump in your throat, extending your tapestry.
“Absolutely remarkable,” Johann yammered on when he took the fabric. He twiddled with the coins in his hands before giving them to you. “This reminds me! Oh, you must listen to this. Whilst journeying from one trading dock to another, I came upon the most curious and wealthy buyer. So enraptured by your work, they were compelled for me to have a good word with you. They have offered quite an exuberant amount of coin for a commissioned piece, should you accept.”
“May I ask who this person is?” 
“The buyer has chosen to remain anonymous for the time being. I’m a respectable tradesman, and not inclined to give out customer details should it be personally requested of me not to do so. I assure you, I have a keen eye for scoundrels. This buyer is anything but.”
“It sounds like a gracious opportunity,” you trailed off, fiddling with the scant coins in your apron pocket. With someone of your luck, or rather misfortune, certain things were too good to be true. “May I think it over?”
“By all means,” Johann said. “We’ll remain in touch. I shall send a letter by mail tomorrow and eagerly wait for your response.”
A response would have to wait. Your mind wandered to the more pressing matters of keeping yourself in your young master’s good graces. How could you think of anything else when your conscience pricked at you insistently? There was only one remedy for this, and it was a whimsied gesture from childhood—surely, he would remember the meaning.
Picking up your feet, you scampered upward from the spindly dirt paths to pebbled roads. With allowance in hand, you passed through the open market, pinching your way to purchase the sweetest apple from a cart. You paid no mind to a flock of young women whispering curiously about you. The business of gossip would exist whether or not you gave credit to it. There wasn’t a need to give the webs spinning from their mouths any attention. You imagined being a curious fly was very tiresome. 
You came up to the Blacksmith, clanking with sounds of clashing metal, and pluming with smoke from the forge. From the open stall window, you rapped against the wood. When nothing but hammer to iron responded, you insisted with more egregious thumping. “Get outta the way, Grump!” A guttural curse or two struck the air. After a stumbling moment, Gobber’s rotund frame hobbled to view.
“Quit ye’r knockin’, I’ll be right there.” Gobber poked his eyebrows up at your small face peeking through the window. He cleared the indignation from his throat. “Sorry, lass. Didn’t expect ye’w of all people to stop by. What can I do for ya’h?” 
With a woeful face, you placed the apple on the counter. 
“The ol’ apology apple, eh?” He said with a scratch of his furrowed brow. “Can’t say I understand it myself, but the two of ye’w always had a way of managing. I’ll be sure ta’h give it to the lad when I see ‘em.” 
“Thank you ever so much.” You dipped your chin, turning to take leave.
“Hiccup’ll forgive ya’h,” he called out with sympathy. “Always does.”
Hope fluttered your heart, and you thanked the man twice over. 
Whisking back to the Haddock Residence, you took out your nerves in the form of extra sweeping and dusting. You did so until you were choking on the splinters raised from the floorboards. With your habit of carrying on with meaningless distractions, you hadn’t noticed the afternoon light spilling from the open window. You lamented on the time and hurried to simmer a pot of stew over the kindling hearth. 
A wind danced inside, grazing the back of your neck. A delicate reminder to shut the window before the cool of night waltzed in unannounced. 
You turned and spotted a sheen of red gleaming by sunset hue on the sill. When you went to greet it, you picked up the plump portion of a half eaten apple. You pressed a smile to the remaining flesh of it. Taking your own bite, you sighed against the burst of sweetness. The taste of licorice no longer soured your lips.
You leaned into the cheerful air, enriched with slopes of green and spiced with a dusky glow.  And as if the breeze could carry words, you spoke:
“I’m glad we’re still friends.” 
Reconciliation was a word you hadn’t thought of tasting so sweet.
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starysky1289 · 3 months
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PLEaSE ANSWER MY REQUEST I’m begging…….
can I request a toxic stepsis Vanessa taking you in because Steve kicked you out and she’s supper in your business like having cameras everywhere in her apartment making you sleep with her in her bed smut ect….. please I’ve sent in a lot I know but I’m begging 🥲🥲🥲
Toxic!Stepsis!Vanessa X Reader. Kicked out.
TW: toxic relationship, dubcon, noncon.
“ I’m done with you! Get your shit and get out of my house! “
“ It’s not your house! It’s my mother’s! You have no say here!! “
You and William had been in a yelling match for a hour, and he finally broke. Your mother stayed out of it, she dint have any say on what he did
“ If you’re not out by tonight then I’ll drag you out of here. Now go! “
You couldn’t argue, you simply turned and ran up to your room. You were raged, but scared overall. Where would you go? You didn’t have any friends to spend a night at, and not enough money for a motel room, no family was close enough to go. As you folded up clothes you knew you only had one person to go to. Her.
You called Vanessa, putting her on speaker as you continued packing.
“ hello? “
“ h-hey..Vanessa…I need some help? “
You could hear her sighing, and hear a blinker go off. She must be driving.
“ what happened now y/n. I’m not made of money. “
“ William…d-dad kicked me out. I just need a place to stay till I can g-get a steady job. Will you please come pick me up..? “
Vanessa clicked her tounge, hearing her blinker go off again. She went silent for a bit, before she answered.
“ I’m comming Y/n. But don’t think that I’m just gonna do this without any form of payment. We’ll talk better when I get you. I’ll be there in 10. Love youuu “
“ yeah yeah..i love you too. “
You sighed, you knew she’d tell you that you’d have to beg a job, and pay rent or something. Maybe she’d make you be like an indentured servant to her. Whatever it was, it was a place to sleep.
*~*
Vanessa has got you, her dad was less than pleased, but she somehow got him to calm down. You had two backpacks of clothes and your stuff in the back. The ride was silent, you were scared to break the silence, you didn’t want her to yell.
“ living with me is a privilege. I own this apartment, I own the whole building, people pay me rent. “
“ arnt you a cop? Why do you need all this money?? “
“ because keeping the building in shape costs a lot. Not like you know anything about his to spend money. Now. When you live with me, you’ll obey my rules, and the tenets rules “
You groaned, but don’t argue with her. You couldn’t risk getting tossed out onto the street now.
“ I’m giving you a week to atleast get an interview down. And when you do have a job you’ll be paying a slight rent. Cause I’m sure you’ll be eating all my food and using my bathroom “
“..fine alright..anything else? “
“ yes. My room is laced with cameras, so if you think you can get away with anything you won’t be. If I find out you break anything I’m charging you for it. “
You stifle your groan again, simply just looking out your window. You had finally pulled up to the building, it was a big place, you had visited once before for a dinner. It was fancier on the window than out, she really was fixing it up.
“ oh, and last rule. You’ll be sleeping with me in my bed. All set? Let’s go in. “
You shot up out of your seat, rearing your head towards her. She was already out and heading inside. You quickly got out and grabbed your bags, following her inside.
“ what do you mean I’m sleeping with you?? “
“ I never said that. I said your sleep with me in my bed “
“ that’s the same fucking thing!! “
She didn’t answer you, and you followed her upstaires to the top level. She opened her door for you, and you waltzed in. The place was massive. With beautiful white walls and blue decor everywhere.
“ it’s the penthouse of the building. All the other rooms are about half this size. Who knows, maybe you’ll hold a job long enough to live in a open apartment “
“ it’s beautiful Vanessa….where can I put my stuff? “
“ I have a spare closet in my room I only use for clothes. You can put your bags in there. I’m starting dinner soon, you can help me out. Last thing sweetheart.“
You looked back over at her, as she fixed your hair by running her fingers through it.
“ when your here, your My property. I like to own my things, so when your under my roof, your mine. Am I understood? “
“ yes maam… “
“ good. When your done come help me cook.
You rolled your eyes slightly, and headed into the bedroom. It was certainly large enough for both of you, the bed was practically half the size of the room. You opened the closet, putting your bags in it, digging through one to find a small plush you had brought. It was a little ginger tabby cat, you carried it out and placed it in the empty bedside table.
You headed into the kitchen, watching Vanessa dig through the fridge. You akwardly waited for some form of instructions, you’d never really cooked with your mom, she always insisted on doing the cooking for you.
“ peel potatoes, there on the counter. And for fucks sake please don’t cut your finger off. Knifes are in the second draw near me “
You nodded, quickly shuffling to the draw. You pulled out a simple knife. You grabbed a potato , very gently rinsing it off, before carefully peeling the skin. Your movements were quick but cautious, as you moved onto the next potato.
“ mmm, not bad princess. Keep this up and maybe I’ll pay you too cook. “
“ nessy please…don’t call me that, we’re sisters. “
Vanessa came up behind you, gently grinding against your rear. You didn’t stop her, you hated to admit how good it felt.
“ Step, Sisters dear. Mm…god I could take a bite out of you…”
You moaned slightly, pushing back against Vanessa. She chuckled, walking back to her work. You finish up with your potatoes and sighed. Living with her would be great, just great.
*~*
“ Y/N did you really bring a stuffed animal? Out of everything you could bring you bring a toy? “
“ it reminds me of home. “
“ pathetic. “
You laid on your side of the bed, holding the cat close to you. Vanessa walked in from the bathroom, she was wearing a tight set of navy blue silk pajamas.
“ look at that, you still look like a cop even when you sleep. “
“ shut it. “
Vanessa laid besides you, spooning your back. Her arms were tightly wrapped around your waist as she nuzzled against you.
“ you need more cuddles princess? To get rid of that attitude~ “
“ leave me alone. “
Vanessa let out a ‘ Hmpf ‘ before rolling over. You snuggled into your plush, letting yourself drift asleep.
*~*
Vanessa’s fingers was burried into cunt, everything felt warm and fuzzy as you thrusted yourself against her hands.
“ n-nessy…nessy m-more…”
Vanessa mouth moved, but not a single word came out. You blinked slightly, trying to make out her face, before feeling yourself being shook awake.
“ dreaming about something sweeteheart? “
“ A-ah! Vanessa! What the hell!!
You finally gained knowledge of what happened, you had dreamed about her, another wet dream about you stepsister. You groaned, laying head down into the pillow.
“ you sounded like you where having fun. ‘ more Vanessa~ I need more~ ‘ I must of been fucking you good huh~? “
“ fuck off! I hate having those dreams. “
You felt her scoot closer to you. You groaned, and sat up, looking at her. Her blue eyes glared into yours, and she was wearing that smirk you hated.
“ you’ve had more dreams like that? “
“ y-yeah..”
“ dreams where i finger you? And what..do you wake up…disappointed~? “
You squeezed your plush, glancing around the room. Youd do anything to just disappear from here right now.
“ y-yeah….i-i never get long enough into them to cum…”
“ poor girl…left so denied by your own body..”
You felt her hand move up your leg and onto your thigh, the only thing keeping her out was a thin pair of sleep shorts.
“ t-then I can never make myself cum afterwards…”
“ oh darling…well..I’m right here now. Do you…want me to help you~? “
“…….p..please do…”
Vanessa gave a light chuckle, before pressing her hand against your clothed pussy. You blushed, and pulled her against you slightly, kissing her gently, almost trying to encourage her to do more.
“ mm yeah..you wanna be my bitch y/n? You want your big stepsis to ruin your pretty holes~ “
“ y-yes…yes I want to be touched…I-i wanna be fucked by my big sister. P-please nessy…”
She kissed you back almost aggressively, dragging her hands down your waist, pulling down your shorts to reveal your pink lace panties. You moaned into her kiss, trying to get her in you faster.
“ gentle baby. You’ll get what you deserve soon dear. If I just made you cum quickly it wouldn’t be any fun. Lay back…I wanna have some fun too~ “
You laid back in the bed, letting Vanessa pull up your shirt to let your gentle breast hang out. She gently kissed each one of them before stripping off her own pants and panties, and positioned herself above your face.
“ you gonna be a good girl and eat me out? “
“ yes Vanessa…I-I’ll be a good girl…”
She smirked, slowly lowering herself onto your mouth. You hesitated to taste her, but her eyes practically controlled you. You began to let your tongue drag across her folds, trying to fuck her with your tounge. She would jump herself on your face, letting out moans and whimpering everytime her clit rubbed against your nose.
“ y-yeah my pretty little sister eating m-me out like it’s all s-she can do…”
You gripped her thighs to keep her close, yours eyes rolled back from her taste alone. Vanessa leaned back, holding herself up by grabbing your thighs for support.
“ fucking w-whore…that’s what you are…m-makeking me..act like this, making me want you…making me cum…I-i…oh just keep going y/n~! “
, she was trying to keep up the authoritative act, you knew it, but your mouth was just too good, you’d make her melt whenever you pressed your tounge against her clit. Her humps would speed up, and her grip on your legs would wobble, before she let out one final cry, collapsing backwards into your legs.
“ o-oh…oh fuck…your…you did such a..such a good job I…”
“ h-hehe…nessy…I-is it my turn to cum now..? “
She smirked, slowly sitting up and sitting besides you. You knew she was planning something, and you knew it wouldn’t be nice.
“ I’m a-awfully tired from that orgism baby…but..you can ride my fingers while I watch~ “
“ but y-you said you’d make me-! “
“ I said I would help you cum, not do it for you….if you want a Orgsim that bad you can ride my fingers…”
You let out a whine, before nodding. She laid out her right hand, keeping three fingers upright for you. You blushed, and slowly slid yourself onto them, crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure.
“ s-so much Vanessa….s’to much…”
“ take it. “
You didn’t respond, you only met yourself slowly bounce on her fingers, moaning out in a ruined pleasure. You wanted to cry out for her to just take you and fuck you stupid, but you knew it your pushed it she’d stop.
“ look at you…you know exactly how to behave too. What are you, Y/N. When your under my roof what are you to me. “
“ y-your…your property m-maam…”
“ and why are you my property baby. “
“ b-because you l-like to own things…a-and if I’m u-under your roof t-then you own me…”
She pulled your down and kissed your deeply, fucking you quicker with her fingers. She wouldn’t let you go at your own pace, she controled you now, thrusting her fingers into your gentle holes until your broke out into a ruined son of pleasure, you finaly had earned that orgism, before falling backwards into the comfort of the bed.
“ My pretty little toy~ “
She missed your again, pulling out of you and fixed you to lay under the blankets. She handed you your stuffed cat, and you immediately snuggled into her, one hand around her waist
“ my pretty little sister…I love you~ “
“ I-i….i love you too sis..”
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leorawright · 11 months
Note
ayo open requests? 😳
would you be up for writing some dad hcs for reaper? especially for different skins, like do you think pumpkin or shiver would behave differently from the original variant? 🤔
no worries if this doesnt catch your attention! 🐀
Hmmm I'll try!
Dad Reaper headcannons
He's not completely soft for you but he's definitely less gruff
Sssssssuper protective of you
Almost never let's you be around anyone in Talon expect maybe on some days he'll let you stay with Widowmaker while he's doing something
Moira is never ever allowed near you
Ever
Tries his best to give you the attention you need but between you and Talon, he struggles
But if he has free time and you want to watch a Disney movie well then that's what he's gonna be doing
Pumpkin Reader
Soooo
He's like Mercy's indentured servant in the Halloween lore right?
Personal headcannon and no one can tell me it's wrong, the reason he became her servant is because he wanted a child for himself, a.k.a you
So she granted his wish and conjured you for him
And you are who he cares for most in this world
When Junkenstein's monster is running rampant, he makes sure you're safe every five minutes
Plus, Mercy is basically your mother figure now, sooo
Hope these made sense and were up to standards I just woke up for sleep paralysis so I'm still a little jumpy🫠
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Chapter 2- The Snake Prince of Asgard
You arrive on Asgard, where you are prepared to see your new Master for the first time, unsure of what will come of your first meeting with the unpredictable Prince.
Pairing: Prince Loki x Concubine!Reader
Rating: 18+ ONLY (Minors DNI)
Content Warning: Threat and mentions of assault, eventual smut, indentured servitude and sex slavery, mean people being mean, violence, executions, more warnings likely to come
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The Prince did not meet you at the gate, but you were happy with this breach of etiquette. You would have rather pushed off your inevitable meeting with your new Master for as long as possible. Instead, you were distracted from your woeful situation temporarily by the beautiful architecture of your new home. The golden spires, the towering turrets, the shimmering walls that reflected every light and reflection that dared to come too close left you with your jaw open from inside your carriage. 
“Lovely, isn’t it? You will soon find yourself growing comfortable here,” assured your escort. You chose not to listen. He probably used that line on all the girls. 
Being ‘processed’ by the household of the Royal Family was nearly as invasive and overwhelming as the audition had been. You were, again, forced to strip and stand before strangers (luckily, they were all women this time), who measured every curve of your form and took detailed notes of your coloring, shape, size, and overall posture. 
“We can dress her in jewel tones,” remarked one of the old birds. “Such nice coloring for a simple peasant.”
“Her hair is very thick,” remarked another. “We can work with that, but the Prince did always prefer his girls to have straight hair. Pity.”
“No, please don’t straighten my--”
“”--and we may need to do a little work on her chin,” said a third. “She has an unseemly dimple and a bit of a wattle!” She jested. 
“W…work?” you asked hesitantly. 
“A procedure to reshape your face to be more suitable,” the third woman explained. “Just so you’re perfect for the Prince.”
A what? You thought to yourself, half-frightened and half-disgusted. Do they really mean to cut into my face and mold me like a clay doll? 
“W…would it hurt?” you asked meekly. 
The first woman, the one who seemed to be in charge, looked about ready to laugh. “Oh, of course, dear! It’s excruciating, but only for a week or so.”
The second lady chimed in as she wrapped a bolt of silk around your naked hips. “A shame you aren’t here for breeding, your hips are perfect,” she thought out loud, before joining the rest of the conversation. “You will quickly learn here that beauty is pain, and you cannot have one without the other. Your job here is to be a beautiful ornament. You will never not be in pain here, child.”
You felt your skin go cold at the sinister tone of her voice. 
After you were measured, you were given a hot bath in a tub filled with rose-scented water (with perhaps a little too much oil, as it left beads on your skin). A servant ran a balm through your hair with a comb so fine-toothed that it was a painful struggle just to untangle the many knots you’d acquired living in the countryside of Vanaheim for your entire life.
“You will be presented to His Highness tonight at the banquet, and we will come and get you an hour before in order to dress you,” said the first woman, after you’d been dressed in a simple white robe and led to a small chamber in a gilded-but-dimly-lit section of the palace. On your way, you’d noticed many of the others occupying the harem quarters were also in white, and that all genders, as well as several species, were represented. 
“All of the Royal Family hold their slaves and companions here,” the first woman explained. “It’s more luxurious than the servants’ quarters, for certain. You will be happy here.” 
The woman knocked on the door she’d brought you to, and from within, a small, high-pitched voice called out “come in.”
The door was opened for you. Inside, you saw a large room, two lushly-furnished canopy beds with drawable curtains in opposite corners, a sofa and table in the center,at least two closet doors, and a large window that led out onto a balcony. The floor was carpeted underneath the beds, and hardwood in the center, and the ceilings were easily 20 feet high. The room was brighter than the hallway, and that may have been due to the light, buttercup yellow of the walls. 
It was entirely more than you’d anticipated your prison cell to look like. 
A petite brunette was sitting on the sofa, her eyes red and puffed, as if she’d just been crying. On the table in front of her was an ashtray and the nubbed remains of some smokable stick, the contents of which you couldn’t immediately identify by smell. 
“Hilda, this is Y/N,” said the woman, gently pushing you into the room. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve picked up that habit. Disgusting.”
“Shut it, you old crone,” said the bitter brunette. “I was having a terrible morning until you walked in and made it insufferable.” 
“Hmph,” was all the older woman could muster before turning back to you. “FIve o’clock,” she said. “Please be ready.”
After the old crone left, Hilda looked you up and down, shrugging. “You look like a Westerner,” she said, her accent changing to one that was more familiar to you. This girl had also been a tribute from Vanaheim.
“Borgund,” you answered. 
Hilda nodded. “Capitol City,” she replied. “You’re a country girl.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you’re here,” your new roommate said. “If I had remembered you’d be coming today, I’d have saved you some more Bliss,” she added, indicating the smoldering cigarette in the tray before her.
“What’s that?” you asked, the naivety in your voice amusing Hilda. 
“A drug made from the Lily of Asgard flower, evens your mood,” she answered. “Relaxes you as well. The Royals want to keep us happy so that we don’t tell people about all of the depraved things they enjoy with us, so they supply us with as much as we wish.”
You felt your heart skip a beat and your blood rush to your face. “What sorts of depraved things?”
Hilda looked around the room in thought. “Well, I’m one of Loki’s, so I only know of his interests. But someone who belongs to Thor says that he always summons a servant to watch as he fucks her, and demands that he pleasure himself at the sight. The Allfather likes to watch his women fuck each other with their tongues, and he won’t even always join them…but Frigga will!” 
“Oh, my…” you felt the world begin to swing underneath you. Your aunt had told you about some things during your all-nighter, but she hadn’t mentioned orgies, or other people joining in. You weren’t sure what to think. 
“Look, Y/N, you’re going to have to get used to it, because you’re likely going to have the Snake Prince’s snake in your mouth in about six hours’ time,” Hilda said rudely. “In fact, he may not even wait until the banquet ends before taking you.”
You looked down at your feet, which were shifting around nervously. “What?”
Hilda sighed. “He did it with me, and he’s done it with most of his boys and girls,” she explained. “A lot of the time, he will just lay a new whore down in the middle of the party and fuck them in front of the entire room.”
You bit your lip, feeling your skin begin to shake underneath the flimsy white robe. “Hilda, are you sure there isn’t any more Bliss? I get the feeling I will need some for tonight.”
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Sadly, you were not able to seek out anything to calm your jittery nerves, and before you knew it, the three horrendous women who’d measured your body earlier were back to take you away. Hilda had wished you luck on your way out the door. 
You were put into a violet-hued robe that did little to cover your breasts, and a golden corset, which did EVERYTHING to push them up and together. It was an appalling feeling, having nothing underneath the robe. You were adorned with emerald jewelry, and a diadem, from which hung a white veil that obscured your face until the right moment. You were brought barefoot before the Head of Household, who approved of your appearance, and sprinkled lavender water on your hair. 
All that was on your mind was what Hilda had said to you about the Snake Prince’s predisposition to rape his whores in the middle of a crowded room like some disgusting barbarian. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this, or if Aunt Ing was even correct in assuming you could seduce the bastard who now owned you. 
“This is for Borgund,” you said to yourself. “If I can somehow do this and free my people, it will all be worth it.”
You were put on a pedestal behind a gossamer curtain and instructed to wait until you were presented. For several minutes, you stood there as still as a statue, listening to the sounds of revelers laughing and shouting for more drink, musicians playing horn music from somewhere else in the room, and maids flirting with the partygoers. Every second that ticked by made your nerves pucker exponentially. 
Suddenly, you began to hear calls of, “Norns, Highness, didn’t you get a new girl today?” and “Bring out the whore!” began to intermix with the rest of the noise until it became the dominant topic of conversation, and you knew the time came. 
Aunt Ing had told you to try and look quiet and dignified at your presentation. Loki didn’t seem to be a prince for ostentatious nonsense like hair-flipping and flirting, nor did he have the patience to deal with a sobbing, simpering victim. You stood tall and stone-faced, prepared to meet whatever hell awaited you beyond the curtain. 
Loki must have given the order to draw them in a voice too soft for you to hear, because without warning, the curtains lifted, and the room went silent as their first glance of the Prince’s latest property had to be absorbed. 
The room was filled with red candle light, boisterous and drunken partygoers, and, positioned on a table above the rest, sat the dreaded Snake Prince himself, Loki Odinson. You couldn’t make out many of his features, he stood so far away from you, and you could barely make out a form at all behind the haze of the room itself. 
You could see the figure cross his legs, not even indicating an interest to get to his feet. You expected as much, coming from a barbarian prince. 
There was no introduction, nor direction given to you, so you thought you would begin to descend from your pedestal and walk the clear pathway from your perch to the Prince. However, as soon as you stepped down, several audible gasps filled the room, and you had to fight back the urge to recoil. 
However, you kept going, making what you were hoping was steadfast eye contact with your new owner and you began to approach. 
“What in Norns does she think she’s doing?” “Stuck-up Vanir think they can make their own rules.” “She’s not supposed to do that…”
You ignored the protests and kept walking until you were in the center of the room, when the first drunken reveler grabbed your arm. 
“What do you think you’re doing, little country slut?” he asked, his words slurred. “You aren’t supposed to make the first move!”
“How dare she think she can approach our Prince?” said a companion nearby. 
“We should teach her a lesson!” said another. 
“L..let me go…” you said, with much less authority than you were hoping for. 
A burly dwarf reached for your robe, ripping it as you struggled out of his grip. “She talks!”
“Maybe we should break her in for the Prince! Teach her to respect her betters!” 
You weren’t physically very strong, and you found yourself being consumed by a hot whirl of hellish catcalls and big, scratching hands molesting all part of you as the Asgardians got a firm hold on you. People were grabbing you both on top of and underneath your flimsy silk armor, and you couldn’t so much as twitch against their will. You felt your senses take leave of you as you were thrown to the floor, the big blonde man who’d initiated the attack standing over you while the others gathered around and laughed. 
You screamed as the blonde man began to undo his trousers, and two of the men pinning you to the ground began lifting your hem above your knees, to your hips, exposing all of you to the room for the first time. Some men jeered. Others applauded. Others still accused you of liking being assaulted. You heart raced in distress as you prayed within to Freyja for some kind of salvation from the humiliation and torture that so greeted you to your new home.
Please, Mother Freyja, out of love and honor for your acolyte, protect me now…
Another voice finally joined the room, booming, loud, and full of masculine bravado. 
“I SAID, ENOUGH!!” Gasps filled the room as the rough, hungry crowd parted at last for The Snake Prince, finally descending from on high to observe the situation for himself. 
Oh no, you thought as the Prince slowly commanded the room with his stride. Here he comes to do the deed himself!
The entire room bowed for him as he finally came to your body, lying helpless, still pinned under the two dwarves holding your arms. You looked up to him with pleading eyes and heavy breath. A part of you wanted to give him a more defiant stance, but in the moment, all you cared about was protecting your body from being gangraped by a room of drunken asses. 
You could only muster one word to your new Master. 
“...please?”
The Prince seemed caught off guard for a moment at your brazen lack of etiquette, addressing him without title or greeting, but a plea, already demanding things of your new owner. He thought a moment before reaching out a silent hand, something YOU did not anticipate. You only looked at it, confused and still highly on guard. 
“Go on, girl,” he said quietly. “It won’t bite you.” 
Mumbles from the crowd began to ripple around the room as you hesitated one more moment. Out of fear that you would be further offending the entire nobility of Asgard, you took his hand, which was soft-skinned, gentle, and more graceful than any of the miserable louts’ claws that had just violated you. 
Prince Loki brought you to your feet, his eyes never leaving yours. You were astonished at the kindly gesture, especially coming from a man who was so renowned for being an arrogant beast. 
“Are you...recovered?” he asked, his voice low now, speaking only to you. It was all you could do to nod silently and keep your head high. 
The Snake Prince turned to the rest of the party. “You brutes will all be punished for this inhospitality. The banquet is over.”
Some in the room appeared confused. Others were silently protesting with angry glares. Others were stone-faced, perhaps interested in the event unfolding. 
“I SAID, it's over,” the raven-haired Prince repeated. “Now, off with you, before I have you all whipped, and any protestations will be met with execution.” 
Such an extreme threat sounded a little silly to you, in spite of the serious moment. Yet, a few in the room almost seemed to gasp in fear. One older-looking dwarf had the audacity to step forward. He was one of the two who’d held you down moments ago. “Sire, we’ve done worse before, and in lesser circumstances. She is just another whore--”
“--guards!” The Prince commanded almost too casually. Two stepped forward and shoved their way through the group. “Take him to the death cell. Inform his family. He is to be beheaded at dawn for insubordination against his Prince.” 
“But Sire! Mercy!” cried the dwarf as he was grappled by the sentries. 
“You dared to try and claim MY property,” The Prince explained. “You assaulted MY concubine before I had even touched her flesh for myself. You are a pig, lower than the dirt that stains my riding boots. You will die at dawn, and let this be an example to the rest of you scoundrels not to touch my things.”
The gasps around the room were much louder, and the dwarf immediately sank to his knees in plea for his life.  You looked at Prince Loki with a face full of surprise and fear. Is this really a Prince who would behead a man for speaking up, even in a terrible place such as this?
The Prince saw your stunned look as you watched with an odd amount of pity as the dwarf was dragged away, attempting to protest with cries of “my five sons!” and “my wife!” to no avail. For your part, you were still trying to get your bearings, having been accosted with so much intensity in such a short time. 
“Come with me to my chambers,” said the Prince to you, still stone-faced and authoritative, as if he’d squashed a fly and not sentenced a high ranking official to death on a whim. 
“I…oh…” your words were still failing you. 
Prince Loki took your hand, a kind gesture that brought your shivers down from an intensity of 10 to perhaps a 7. “You must be exhausted, and probably haven’t eaten, I imagine. I will fetch some wine and bread when we get to my apartment.”
A silent crowd watched in awe as the brutal Snake Prince of Asgard gently led you away from the hall and toward his bedroom, your mind still attempting to catch up with everything that had just transpired around you. 
I’m going to drown here, I just know it…
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@vickie5446 @thedistractedagglomeration @jonquilclegane @lonadane @lokisgoodgirl @just-someone11 @mcufan72 @hypergamer7744 @usagishira @silverfire475 @coleranchdorito @huntress-artemiss @elegantcheesecakecrown @lokixryss @25bohemianmoons @crimson25 @waywardsummoner46 @ladyjames78 @chantsdemarins @sorceresski @ladymischief11 @goblingirlsarah @fictive-sl0th @goldencherriess @marvel-fan24 @trickster-maiden
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fatehbaz · 2 months
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Vidal [...] emphasizes the close relationship that existed between the Louisiana settlement [at New Orleans] and the Caribbean island [Haiti, the colony of Saint-Domingue] during the former’s French colonial period (1718-69). It has become a bit of a popular adage to describe New Orleans as the northernmost port of the Caribbean, but Vidal’s Caribbean New Orleans: Empire, Race, and the Making of a Slave Society demonstrates the substance behind these claims. [...] New Orleans is the missing link, a late-forming city that largely inherited its founding ideas, practices, peoples, plants, and laws from its longer-established imperial neighbors [Spain, France, Britain, the United States]. It thus offers the ideal case study in which to consider how colonies around the Americas developed in conversation with one another [...].
Vidal convincingly argues that New Orleans was a “slave society,” or a settlement in which racialized slavery informed every part of everyday life from its inception, whose physical construction was done alongside the “construction of racial categories” (p. 1).
This is an important shift within Louisiana historiography, which has long stood by [...] [the] argument that early New Orleans offered the semi-unique example of a “slave society” devolving into a “society with slaves.” Abandoned by the French following the spectacular failure of the Compagnie des Indes, the standard story goes, New Orleans became an isolated backwater until the 1770s, struggling to survive and permitting, out of sheer need, less disciplined contact between residents of European, Indigenous, and African birth and descent. [But] Vidal, in contrast, shows that, while Louisiana struggled to create a full-fledged plantation economy during the French era, this did not prevent its capital from organizing itself along the highly stratified lines of the Caribbean islands.
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Furthermore, she argues, because New Orleans did not see many new residents after 1731, free or enslaved, and because it was a smaller settlement, white inhabitants were able to build upon these ideas in a relatively stable environment - focusing much of their energies on surveilling, containing, and disciplining the enslaved and free persons of color (p. 26). [...]
Vidal especially points to the 1729 Natchez attack and ensuing Natchez Wars [against Indigenous peoples] as pivotal moments in the militarization of white New Orleanians [...]. Subsequently, a scrupulous supervision of racial boundaries became the norm for the rest of the French era and fostered “a sense of community among white urbanites” (p. 141).
Chapter 3 takes readers to the streets, levees, and other public spaces of New Orleans, where whites sought to sculpt the privileges of “whiteness” against both residents of African birth and descent as well as one another. Elite men and their wives scuffled over the best seating at church in an effort to recreate France’s ancien régime culture; socially lower soldiers and nonslaveholders, meanwhile, carefully guarded their weaker claims at mastery through street violence that frequently targeted the enslaved and free individuals of color. [...] Beginning with a careful reading of census categories, Vidal traces how distinctions between European settlers [...] were increasingly replaced with those centered exclusively on race by 1763. These efforts were paralleled by segregating practices in other domestic spaces. Close interactions, then, as Vidal forcefully shows, effectively strengthened, rather than weakened, urban racial hierarchies. [...] [Vidal then] follows the ways in which the demographically diverse workforce of the early colony made up of white indentured servants, convicts, and soldiers in addition to enslaved Africans - gave way to associations of difficult and degrading labor limitedly with the enslaved. [...]
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French Louisiana inherited racial categories from the Caribbean but adjusted them to fit local needs, experiencing “not so much a loosening, but a more complex transformation” of its racial regime, largely through violence (p. 371).
Vidal documents how the Superior Council utilized targeted prosecutions and punishments to increasingly “imprint terror and instill obedience” on the enslaved (p. 390). [...] [The book] thus details a society in which racial hierarchies were asserted and supported through both top-down and bottom-up policies and practices, as “no social institution or relationship was left untouched by race” (p. 504).
To this end, Vidal speaks to important conversations by historians of enslaved women in the British Caribbean, including Jennifer Morgan and Marissa Fuentes. These authors have used a similarly wide range of sources [...] [and] archives to underscore the invasive nature of colonial racism. [...] [I]n part [...] Vidal’s [chapters work] to decouple lower Louisiana history from the fur traders of New France [Ontario/Quebec, and the watersheds of the Mississippi/Missouri rivers] and to reattach it to the planters of Saint-Domingue [in Haiti and the Caribbean]. [...] Combing through administrative papers, censuses, laws, parish registers, correspondence, and judicial records from both sides of the Atlantic, readers will get a sense that there is little Cécile Vidal has not seen or considered. [...] Her book will prove essential reading [...] and it hopefully will convince an even wider audience [...] [to engage with] comparative, cis-Atlantic, and transatlantic studies of imperialism, race, and slavery.
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All text above by: Kristin C. Lee. "Review of Vidal, Cécile, Caribbean New Orleans: Empire, Race, and the Making of a Slave Society". H-Atlantic, H-Net Reviews. January 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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thesunshineriptide · 1 year
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Shake it Up
What if you and the dorm leaders were in swapped positions? Now, Azul Ashengrotto is the magicless prefect from another world, while you are the conniving octomer ensnaring people in contracts.
Characters: Azul, Jade, Floyd, You (Reader), mentions of Crowley and Jamil.
Cw// acting out of character (kinda), overblot stuff, indentured servitude, Jade Leech typical behavior, Floyd Leech typical behavior, mentions/implications of injury
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Come winds of the Caspian Sea
- Azul…doesn’t want to be in this world. He’s got a lot to do, he’s helping manage his parents restaurant and he has schoolwork he’s desperately trying to catch up on. And, more importantly, he’s stuck in a world that is definitely not his own and he hates it
- He hates that he’s easily pressured into being a janitor for Crowley within hours of arriving in a dilapidated dorm. He hates how this motherfucker can lord his power so strongly over him and he can do nothing, because there’s no recourse.
- Azul has no Grim to worry about, surprisingly. He does have his braincell duo though, which just makes him want to bang his head against his wall. Yet, he can’t find it in him to turn them away when they show up begging for help with their dorm leader.
- you’re the housewarden of Octavinelle, the one who embodies the pure benevolence of the sea witch herself, an ultra-talented and betentacled beauty that additionally had time out of your day to manage each of your students dutifully, and run a cute little coffee and tea shop that sincerely set the mood that Octavinelle is a relaxing, calming place.
- Well, other than the fact your vice housewarden, Jade Leech, was helping to run a background operation focused on providing the…finer things in life.
- Azul, magicless and lost in a world he didn’t know, decided that steering clear of you and the shady mermen at your beck and call was probably the safest choice for him.
- He’d heard of you and the favors you could grant someone but…he knew better than to accept that something would come for free
- Bullied in his world for being “slow” and “fat”, he’s terrified of being seen as weak or worthless, which means being at the bottom of the food chain makes him insanely nervous
- What else makes him nervous? The fact that your eel mermen seemed to have taken a personal interest in him.
- “Eheheh, you’re like a little octopus yourself! I could just gobble you down, eh Jade?”
- “Fufufu, don’t taunt the poor thing Floyd, you’ll scare him off.”
- Azul. Didn’t want these two around. But he could not stop them from following him. Jade began to escort him from class to class, carrying his books for him and clearly trying to get some sort of information from him, but what it could be was Azul’s best guess
- Floyd took to hovering nearby and scaring off any would-be bullies, deciding rather quickly that Azul was under his protection and he was now the only one allowed to bother him.
- Azul is remarkably good at managing your cafe. Whether it’s because he’d perfected his customer service persona or because he had business tactics memorized from his own world, who knew.
- It was likely, however, to be related to his parents restaurant and his time working there while younger that helped him help you
- When you end up creating a school wide network of servants over the course of a few months, Crowley goes to Azul to get him to deal with it. Azul is, frankly, not interested, but after some blackmail persuasion he finally decides to get involved
- “You know, Azul. With one of my contracts, I could give you some magic. Perhaps not a lot, but enough to help you. You could protect yourself, excel in classes. I could even offer you a spot here in Octavinelle, if you’d like to make a deal.”
- It’s the perfect trap, carefully laid out by yourself and Jade, ready to ensnare him.
- “I…” Azul contemplates it. He can feel the tweels eyes on his back as he stalls, “I want to make a deal.”
- A deal is made, and Azul does indeed get magic. Slight problem though, you control how, when, where, and why he gets to use it. So really, he doesn’t have magic except when you need him to go corner some student who didn’t pay their debt.
- Unsurprisingly, he wants out pretty quick. He’s gonna miss having magic but anything’s better than this
- Remember how in the original timeline, Yuu/MC pulls out a supervillain plot? Yeah Azul does that, except he has no friends which means this dude is completely terrifying that he managed to do it at all.
- He starts with planting rumors about you, using his magic when it should be restricted specifically to spite you, creating connections and climbing the tower, and calling in a few favors from the previous overblot victims (Leona and Riddle) so when you finally catch wind that he’s been backstabbing you, he’s already hiding.
- Ruggie and Leona don’t get involved but the tweels do, taking him out for some ~quality time~ that definitely didn’t make him have three asthma attacks and end up in the nurse’s office for a couple days.
- Genuinely has no idea that anyone is merfolk and nearly shits himself when you overblot after he stole not just his contract, but every other contract he could get his hands on (which was roughly 30-ish, he only has two arms)
- He’s surprisingly good at fighting? Like, yeah he fought the other overblots but he had backup and the tweels aren’t even there, they’re still on their way to help
- Your overblot ends with you both covered in bruises and a whole lot of crying and apologizing. 30 contracts weren’t really a big deal in the grand scheme of things but Azul was being a bitch so I guess fairs fair.
- Oho, remember the Scarabia arc though? Guess who helps out Azul when he’s kidnapped held captive by Jamil?
- Ding ding ding we have a winner it’s you and the tweels (who have adopted Azul as their emotional support human. Floyd has five million nicknames for him but none ever stick because Azul’s Azul.
- Anyway, when he shows up covered in grime and exhausted, with a stolen flying carpet, you ask zero questions and immediately hide him from the Scarabian students following him. They take back the flying carpet and you grill them on what’s going on, since he’s half passed out behind the bar while Floyd pretends he’s not there and Jade’s off getting some basic medical supplies, and eventually they leave.
- It’s pretty quick for you to realize that not only is he in pretty bad shape, but someone’s been messing with his mind because he is CONSTANTLY complaining about hot weather and would not go into Scarabia willingly (you’d know, he straight up refused to follow a contractee in there when he was working for you) so the fact he was there for what, three days straight? Something’s fishy and it isn’t you
- After dutifully nursing your poor, unfortunate soul back to health (in the span of like, two hours he was back to normal, just tired and sore. He ate like he was getting ready to hibernate though which just made everyone else so concerned) he’s finally ready to spill what happened.
- Your plan isn’t really different than OG Azul’s plan. Everyone in this group is on equal intellectual footing and you basically have two Azul’s in terms of scheming. Even if Azul is completely out of it and also can’t remember key details of the last few days for some reason it’s. It’s fine he’s fine.
- Floyd doesn’t trade his UM for a deep voice though. He trades it for not having to do dish duty for the next month. Not an important thing but just so you guys know.
- Most of the Scarabia arch stays the same after that, with the acceptation that Jamil only NOW begins to hate Azul, which was honestly his own dumbass fault for bringing this dude in there.
- Anyway Prefect Azul and Jade end up studying together because despite the fact that he could pull the “you should talk to Y/N” he actually finds himself fond of this little magicless human. He doesn’t even poison him when he has the chance! And Azul appreciates his cooking and his tea skills even if he’s not a huge fan of the mushroom thing.
- Floyd and Azul are…a duo. One with wildly varying magical prowess, the other with a good chunk of brain cells, both with the urge to make things harder for other people for their own amusement. Azul has nothing to lose by not masking so he and Floyd end up getting into mischief quite a bit. OG Azul would not approve.
- Azul also wears clothing more on the comfortable part. He’s working hard all the time, shouldn’t he be able to wear something more comfortable? Also he can’t afford the expensive clothes crowley doesn’t give him nearly enough pocket money-
- Azul is an excellent barista in your cafe and earns bank in tips when he works though. Maybe it’s cause he’s cute maybe it’s because his drinks are good who cares
- Overall, Prefect Azul is a lot more chaotic but just as smart as OG Azul which means he’s just as terrifying. He may not have magic but he does have two eels that adore him and You, his benevolent sometimes-boss-sometimes-enemy-usually-friend to look out for him
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callmearcturus · 8 months
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DVD Commentary KTOWL Chapter Six, The Sex Scene
Pursuant to discussion of Ace People Writing Sex Scenes, I thought I'd do a DVD Commentary for one of my own sex scenes. This is the sex scene in so we don't kill the ones we love, chapter six, "The Black Keys 'Turn Blue' (2014) Side A"
Yes, that is the chapter title.
This is fairly dense scene with a lot of deliberate choices. If I pointed out every single one, we'd be here all day, but I'll point out a lot of things and talk about the things I think about when I write something like this.
[Let me set the scene a bit for people who might not have read so we don't kill the ones we love. This is a full setting AU detached from the canon material. Our principle characters here are Karkat (an alien immigrant who is basically an indentured servant stuck working for a hotel for assassins) and Dave (a human who is, unbeknownst to Karkat, stuck working for the same hotel for the rest of his natural life and cannot hope to escape his contract). 
I am going to explain stuff that might feel very obvious, but this is a learning exercise.]
Wisely keeping his mouth shut and accepting the mercy offered, Karkat followed Dave up into the loft.
There was, as he expected, a bed. It was however dismantled. The mattress was on the floor, shoved flush to the corner. The support structure was against the wall, and Dave had repurposed the wooden slats to hold his music albums. They were spaced and arranged in a way that was pleasing to the eyes, very deliberate.
Below them was the turntable, spinning a blue and pink vinyl.
[This is my favorite expedient trick to use when describing a space is to give the reader just enough context to build a space in their mind but, unless there is something truly important and relevant about placement, not handing the reader blueprints. 
I recently got into a snag with Punct about Benji's apartment in our AU because they had envisioned something completely different than I had for the space, and it did become plot-relevant. But outside special cases like that, I think less is more. Do just enough description, so that when you stop to do florid, expanded description, the audience notices. And isn't mentally tired by the time you get there.]
Karkat reached out and turned the volume dial down about a third, until the sound wasn't liable to give him a fucking migraine.
"Square," Dave accused, and dropped himself unceremoniously onto his bed.
"Better than prematurely fucking deaf."
Dave cupped a hand around his ear. "Sorry, what?" Dave asked loudly, then snickered. "So I was thinkin'."
[This patter is very naturalistic, the way that— when we talk to people online, we can often maintain multiple threads of conversation. If I send you a paragraph block about what I had for lunch, asking you where you got those shoes, and asking how your day went, that's very difficult to navigate verbally. Something is going to get pinned or dropped in favor of something else.
So I frequently and pointedly have my characters swerve like this, where Dave consciously takes the reins of the convo to prevent lingering on the joke. There is an agenda here, and he wants to keep things moving. 
It is also one of the MANY times in this scene and other sex scenes were its reinforced that Dave is the guy getting fucked but he is completely in control. I think "topping from the bottom" is reductive, so I just like to talk about who is controlling the encounter the most.]
Feeling overdressed, Karkat started taking off his shoes.
"I was thinking this time, you can probably introduce your prehensile dick to my—" He tipped his head to the side with a hum. "You know, I kind of dig 'nook.' Not the worse terminology available by far."
[I've written a lot of trans characters but Dave is my favorite. I don't personally think I am equipped to write a story about The Trans Experience, but I think about gender and about bodies and identity a lot, and I poured a lot of that into specifically Dave and Jake in this story. 
Dave does not dig the terms "cunt" and "pussy" nor any of the more clinical terms nor the more euphemistic options. Like many people, there just doesn't seem to be a good neutral option to his tastes. So meeting an alien with their own term, a term that by the nature of being alien completely lacks humanocentric baggage, finally gives him an out: "nook." He even uses "nook" in his personal narration, it's such a relief to have it.
I just did an Entire Work search, and the only occurrence of "pussy" is Jake using "Pussyfooting" which feels right.
Worth noting: I think Rose would use "cunt" under the right circumstances. Different characters have different levels of comfort with terms, and you shouldn't assume that Dave's take is the author's take, if that makes sense.
But that's a discussion about Close Third Person Perspective for later.]
"Along with 'magic button?'" Karkat asked.
"Eh, I guess 'clit' doesn't sound as stupid as the other one. But I was just trying to help you along, give you some indicative nomenclature, I know trolls are huge on that, and no joke I think it's a cool thing. It's like y'all are constantly havin' a brainfart and forgetting the words for things. Like, damn, what's that thing in my chest, it's a— a chest throbber, right?'
"Pump biscuit," Karkat said.
"Whatever. The fuck was I saying, I had a point." He watched Karkat take off his jacket and fold it, draping it over the edge of the loft. "Tentacle on nook action, let's do that."
"Oh." Karkat liked that idea. A lot. "I thought you didn't want to do that."
[Boom, immediate characterization point. Karkat is turned on by the idea of putting his bulge in Dave's nook, but he immediately sidelines the idea to check on Dave's comfort level. He has already done this before with Dave and thus has pieces of information about what Dave likes and where he's comfortable.
Karkat prioritizes physical comfort in sex and he will communicate shit, even if it taps the breaks on his own progress to getting an orgasm.
ON TOP OF THAT: This is a 252,409 word long epic and I'd estimate at least 200,000 of those words are about how people in this story don't tell the truth. Sometimes because they are lying, sometimes because the truth is painful, sometimes because they're too busy being charming to be upfront, sometimes because their truth is different than someone else's truth.
Act One is a lot about Karkat figuring out that everyone's perspective on the world is Very Different, so he overcommunicates. This is that.]
"That was the first time, now I've gotten a taste of that thang, and I wanna feel it all the way up in me."
Karkat pulled his shirt off over his head. "I feel like I'm missing some… really stupid human-centric cultural context here."
Dave smirked at him. "You kind of are? But… I sorta dig that too. I don't have to explain shit to you or— it's good, it's a bonus in your column, okay?" He sat up, arms hanging over his knees as he watched Karkat undress with absolute focus.
[See, here Dave literally confirms that Karkat is lacking information. Reinforcement of the themes, even in the patter leading up to sex.
Dave is Karkat's closest ally in the Umbra and even he will not give Karkat the full picture.]
Karkat got down to his briefs before realizing he'd just been on autopilot, stripping efficiently. Dave seemed to have no problem with this, taking in the sight and swaying to his music. Reaching over, he picked up another bottle of cider beer and took a big swallow, waggling his eyebrows at Karkat over the bottle.
Leaning down, Karkat stole it and lifted it to his our lips. He was fucking parched, and it was crisp across his tongue.
[Phy! Si! Cal! Ity! Karkat is from a background that makes him point A to point B in his movement, and sometimes he just falls into locomotive routines.
Dave's locomotive routine is to be constantly attuned to his surroundings and reacting to them. When he's working around the Umbra, his entire presentation changes to match the environment. When he's in his loft, he reverberates with the music.
Karkat's recurring motif in the story is being out of synch with the world. Dave is almost agonizingly in-synch with the world.
Also Karkat steals the sip of beer. It's an acceptance of the invitation Dave is giving him.]
"Rude as hell," Dave said, but allowed it nonetheless. "Come on, what happened to my show?"
Glaring at him did nothing, as Dave was immune. Still, Karkat dispensed with the last of his clothes.
The way Dave smiled and ducked his head was worth it. "I'd stick a dollar bill in your belt, but whoops."
[Oh, so, I love the fact that Karkat is canonically Fucking Hot in this story. This fic is written in Extremely Close Perspective Third Person, meaning it's a re-skin of First Person with "he" instead of "I". Karkat only notices things he would, only uses phrases and terms he would. If you read KTOWL, you will notice that his POV sounds different from Dirk's and from Rose's and from Dave's and from Jake's. 
The law of this specific perspective is that the audience should learn things that the character does not. Now there is a lot of Very Serious Examples of that in KTOWL, when you the reader should glean something even if Karkat does not.
But a cute jokey one is the Karkat Is Hot thing. Karkat does not know he's hot except that he has to navigate humans hitting on him all the time.
What I like about this is that you learn Karkat is hot from other people. Here, let's look at the next bit, it's related.]
"I don't get out of bed for a dollar anymore," Karkat groused, and lowered himself down to the mattress, knees landing and bouncing a bit. On a guess, Karkat curled a hand around Dave's bare ankle and dragged him closer, claws going for the snap of his cutoffs.
A flush of pink spread over him in three seconds flat. "Oh, shit, Karkat gettin' hands-on. Someone's learned a thing or two." He settled his arms behind his head. "If you're volunteering, have at."
[So I am very very very Weird about character description in fic. I wildly prefer to have a POV character noticing someone else than to have a POV character describe themselves to the audience.
So Karkat is very specific about the physical attributes he notices about himself. These do not overlap with what other people notice about him. As each person meets Karkat and remarks on him, the audience gets more information about Karkat's actual body, since Karkat doesn't… think about his body as much.
In comparison, Dirk and Dave both think about their own bodies more, but for very different reasons. 
Anyway, this moment shows us that Karkat has some fucking muscles and can easily move people.]
Karkat hadn't realized he was such a contrarian until he met Dave Strider, who said everything like it was a dare. It was impossible not to push back, to respond, even if Karkat knew it was exactly what Dave wanted. Glaring at Dave's flushed, smirking face, he unzipped the shorts and pulled them down, catching the boxers underneath with his claws to haul them off as well. It was worth it for Dave's little gasp.
Karkat was no longer sure his subvocal noises were being drowned out by the music. He could feel a bone-deep satisfaction humming through his bones. Giving into the greedy thing in his thorax, Karkat pushed his hands up under Dave's shirt, claws dragging lightly, palms firm against the soft give of human skin.
[Lets get into sexy stuff. 
I'm very specific about what characters like about sex. I am very ace, so the idea that people Just Like Sex is sort of odd to me. I guess it'd be like someone who enjoys running marathons. Sounds fake, what's the part of that you like?
For Karkat, he hones in species differences between himself and humans. He has a lot of trauma regarding being hunted by his own people and how his destiny was to be culled as a mutant who needed to die. So one of the many manifestations of that trauma is a curiosity and interest in human bodies.
He really really likes that Dave is soft. He hones in on the soft parts of Dave's body, since alternians don't have as many.
When you write a sex scene, I think it'd very powerful to have the POV focus on the points that the character would. This is how, as an ace person, you can lockpick the backdoor to understanding attraction. When you are deep in another person's POV, then you can make their attraction more tangible to you by knowing these anchor points.]
The hitch in Dave's breath only made Karkat want more, now. When he pulled, Dave lifted his arms, bending his head to help Karkat peel the shirt off him, leaving him in nothing but the bold stamp of his armband. The warm flush in Dave's skin deepened and spread down his chest. Karkat touched him there, cupping the softer flesh and squeezing.
"Um!" Dave said in a higher voice than Karkat had ever heard from him.
"What?" Karkat asked, his own voice lowering, his worried tone starting to fragment and hum with the chirring in his thorax. There was no way it wasn't obvious now.
[Even though we're not in Dave's POV, I also heighten the parts of Karkat I know he likes: the sonic.
This is also a tacit reminder to the audience that Karkat super isn't a human. I never want them to forget it, so I will keep his alien oddities present on a regular basis.]
"Nothing!" His ears were red, and he puffed out a breath. "Initiative, I like it. Great job." When Karkat remained still, concerned, he rolled his eyes. "I swear to god I'm fine, you just— surprised me."
"I can slow down—"
Dave dug his knees into Karkat's sides.
[Dave is in control of the scene.]
Fine. Easing in closer, Karkat rubbed his thumbs over the nipples and squeezed more firmly, kneading with his fingers, careful to keep the points of his claws from pressing too hard against soft skin.
["the nipples" makes me laugh every time.]
Dave's mouth opened into a little 'o', his body slumping against the bed, his throat working as he swallowed thickly. "'Kay. God, those are— are pretty sharp, huh?"
"I won't hurt you," Karkat told him.
A sound equidistant between a laugh and a moan answered him. "Good with your hands, Karkat?"
"I mean, you try growing up on a planet where it's real fucking useful to have knives on your hands." He dragged his clawtips down Dave's ribcage, stroking his sides.
"I like 'em." Dave pressed his head back, back arching a bit as he sighed, lazily enjoying being touched.
Karkat crawled further up onto the bed, trying to bite back his smile as Dave eagerly sat up with him. He hesitated, unsure what to do next.
[How do you show a person is aroused? How do you portray desire?
A lot of thinking, mostly. 
I think my sex scenes tend to buck some sequencing tropes (kissing then clothes off then prep then sex then clean up) and its because I think about blocking constantly.
I'm unsure if that's a well known term. I learned it in drama class in high school, when the teacher/director talked about how it's not enough to remember your lines and say them. You have to use body language just as much, and the 'script' of that language is "blocking." It's the direction people physically follow in a scene, where they are going to move and when, what marks they have to hit, etc.
When I have a scene outlined and ready, I think ENDLESSLY about the blocking. I think about it when I'm driving, when I'm on breaks at work, when I'm making dinner. Figuring out how the characters are going to show their intentions with their bodies takes much more time than writing dialogue. At some point in the craft of writing, dialogue became the easiest part. I can do that in minutes.
The rest of the direction is the bulk of the work.
This is why I watch Mission Impossible and scream "UGH, PHYSICALITY" because this is… how I learn. This is how I work that writing muscle, I just…. find someone in a film or whatever who moves in away that catches my attention, who is saying something with their body language, and I study that shit. And I put it here.]
Dave pressed his hand flat against Karkat's thorax, his teeth against his lower lip as the subvocals immediately strengthened, modulating into a drowsy wave of noise. "God, that's so fucking cool. Don't let this go to your head, but that's pretty sexy."
[Dave is in control of the scene.]
He looked up at Karkat through his lashes, smile playful.
Karkat really want to kiss him again.
Instead, Karkat pulled one of Dave's legs to the side, stroking the hairs there. "Dude, not against the grain," Dave laughed, and redirected Karkat's hand to stroke in the right direction.
"Humans are so fucking complicated and touchy," Karkat said.
"And yet you came here for your treat," Dave reminded him. His knees pressed against Karkat's side. "Oh, shit, this song rocks, hang on—"
The guitar got noticeably crunchier, the drum thudding dull and steady. It grabbed Dave's attention, away from Karkat, and heat flared in Karkat's body.
Grabbing Dave's wrists, Karkat pushed, falling with him until he had Dave held flat to the mattress, his grip around warm skin and the cool material of the armband.
Fever got me guilty, just go ahead and kill me, Karkat heard vividly as he braced over Dave, looking at his mouth.
Dave stared up at him for a second, then lifted his head, pressing his lips firmly to Karkat's, and Karkat just fell in. He kissed Dave's mouth open, tongue exploring those strange flat teeth, tasting boozy fruit. Dave's moan vibrated through Karkat's body as he squirmed under Karkat, hips rolling, working to line their bodies up.
[So right before this scene started, Karkat unthinkingly kissed Dave and got chided lightly for it.
Here, he thinks about doing it again, then another 160 words pass before it happens. I told you directly Karkat wants to kiss Dave and then I showed you how it happens.
There's that advice, "Show don't tell" and I think it's… situational. I am of the opinion that you need a balance of both. This is about tempo and expediency. When you just Tell the audience something, it can be impactful like a punch. 
Also, when you stop to Show, the audience will notice more. If you are only doing Show Show Show and never just Telling, I personally find that kind of narrative a little exhausting and I think it lacks snap. 
So, I tell you Karkat wants to kiss Dave, and then I try to paint the moment with details about the taste and the music and the vibration in hopes you'll pay more attention to those.
I want this moment to be their Big First. So it has details that they'll remember. All the way in Act Three, Karkat puts on The Black Keys' Turn Blue, and Dave literally identifies the opening song as "their song."]
Karkat's bone sheath had been taking its sweet fucking time getting with the program until then. It parted immediately, and his bulge felt up Dave's thighs, rubbing over his nook.
Laying there and making out for a while sounded like a great idea. Karkat carded a hand into Dave's soft hair, holding his head still as he mapped out his mouth and swallowed every little groan. In perfect counterpoint, Dave grabbed Karkat, blunt nails dragging through his hair to find the bed of one of his horns. Stroking the base of it brought a thick, curling pleasure surging up Karkat body.
[Another instance of them honing in on the anchor points of their attraction. Karkat's attraction to softness and being allowed to be gentle, Dave's attraction to Karkat's anatomy and (as a beloved friend once told me) the joy of being aliens to each other.]
Eventually, Dave broke the kiss, lips wet, parted as he breathed. He kissed Karkat's jaw, his cheek, his eyelashes dark against his skin, eyes closed.
He looked so good, it almost burned to stare down at him. It made Karkat's breath catch.
Dave seemed oblivious to Karkat having a fucking moment and knocked his legs into Karkat's sides. "Come on, party hardy, is that guest of honor ready?"
[Dave is in charge of the scene and is currently not at a point where he'll let it get too tender. He is in control.]
Karkat headbutt him gently. "Don't talk about my bulge like that."
"Why not, he's my new best friend," Dave said, snickering. Blinking his eyes open dreamily, he looked down, between their bodies, and wiggled his hips again. "It's like, what's the fuckin' word, autonomous?"
"Mostly." It was currently autonomously grinding loops through the coarse hair, painting translucent red streaks over Dave's skin.
"Well, can you ask Mr. Red Joy Toy to take this bit slow? It's been a while since— actually, fuck, better idea. Flip." Planting a hand on Karkat's shoulder, Dave shoved. Tipping over, Karkat let out an offended noise that Dave completely ignored as he swung himself over, straddling Karkat's hips.
[Dave is in control— you get it. There are constant signifiers.
Also you might note I didn't give a blow by blow on Karkat's bulge coming out. I have compared my sex scenes to other people's and one of my constant notes of concern is, frankly, my overuse of blocking.
I often worry that I am explaining too much, spending too much time making sure the audience is aware of the exact positions of everyone at all times. Which can become exhausting and can kill the tempo/flow. So over the last five years or so, I've made a conscious effort to just drop unnecessary beats and trust the audience to follow along.]
Staring up at him was a little like staring into the sun. "Oh."
"Yeah, I dunno if I got the gams for a full rodeo," Dave said, his hand reaching down to grip Karkat's bulge, "but let's, uh, get it going before we turn tables."
"Whatever you want," Karkat said, because really? Honestly? Yes. He had zero complaints about the situation.
Dave laughed, tucking his hair behind his ear in a way that made Karkat's chest ache. "I don't do this part often, so just…"
[I love this moment of Dave doing a shy motion despite he is, as stated, in control. The royal flush is in his hand, but something about Karkat still makes him a little bashful, just for a moment. 
Also this is a purposeful juxtaposition: it's a cute bashful moment while Dave is straddling his hot alien coworker and working his alien dick. That kind of contrast adds texture and, in my opinion, a verisimilitude to the situation.
Because I've said this 100394823 times but while it is always okay to have a sex scene just for the fun or a sex scene, that's great, I tend to write sex scenes for a purpose. I want my sex scenes to convey something that can't be easily conveyed in another context.
This one here exists (among other reasons) to make it clear that Karkat isn't just a coworker to Dave, that he is getting something unique from Karkat, and it's something he's been lacking in his life for a long time. Which will make it harder for him to pretend this is purely fun and devoid of emotions.]
Putting his hands on Dave's hips, Karkat squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring way.
Dave's smile was so fucking bashful, completely at odds with the way his hand worked Karkat's bulge, long wet strokes that had it curling around his wrist. Karkat groaned, hips lifting despite Dave's weight.
"Oh, huh," Dave said as he was jostled. "Looks like you got the gams. Impressive core muscle strength. Maybe test that out next time, but for now." Using both hands, he coaxed the narrow tip of Karkat's bulge up until it dragged along the slick folds of his nook. He stared down into his lap, focused, keeping a firm grip so Karkat wouldn't accidentally move too fast.
[Dave is in control and is already thinking about another round of sex with Karkat.
Also, I dunno how subtle this is, but Dave is in control in a way that speaks to the fact that the Umbra has him employed as a sex worker basically (its Complicated) and thus he has a lot of experience and instead of just lying back and letting Karkat have fun, he physically directs the action to ensure it goes correctly. He knows how much penetration he can take and at what speed, so he controls that too.]
Bit by bit, Dave loosened his grip, and Karkat sank into Dave's nook, taking gulps of air and digging his fingers into Dave's hips to keep from bulge from thrashing. God, he felt— so lush and wet, similar to working into another troll's nook, but different, more delicate, and without another bulge to tangle with. That was the best part, that nothing stopped Karkat from filling Dave up, his bulge twisting and exploring.
[Sexy advice hopefully but: I tend to focus in on the level of familiarity characters have when they fuck. Here, Karkat is fucking Dave for the second time but first time in his nook, so the narrative focuses on the differences, on what sets Dave apart from anyone else Karkat's fucked.
Later in the story, when it's established that these two fuck very very regularly, the focus shifts to what they've learned about each other. It's an aspect I think is sexy.]
Dave's expression went distant, eyes unfocused, face flushed. He bit his lip as his head lolled to the side, a soft, "Fuck," leaving his mouth as he rose up on his knees, then settled slowly back down. "Okay, okay, yeah…"
Karkat stroked his hips, his back, waiting. "Take your time."
"Don't tell me what to do," Dave said automatically, even as he slowly rocked his hips in a circle, letting Karkat's bulge go carefully. As it buried itself in him, he dug his slick hand into his hair, gripping, holding on. "Oh my god."
Because he was an idiot and his bulge had the reins of his brain, Karkat said, "You look so good."
[I'm not sure if I'm good at writing dirty talk? Like, I have no idea. But I really like writing sex talk.
Well, it's another thing that varies, I think. Sometimes it's fun to have two fucking chatty people who cannot stop talking fuck. It's also fun to have the moment when that all falls away because keeping up the patter is too difficult. And then again, sometimes a silent, intense, wordless fuck is the right choice.
It all depends on who is involved and also what the goal of the scene is. This scene is Dave and Karkat continuing to navigate their dynamic, so they can't shut up. The form fits the function in the story.]
Dave hitched a moan as Karkat stretched as far into him as he could. "I— jesus, Karkat, I—" He patted Karkat's hands on his hips. "Come on, it's time for you to do some work, let's go, babe."
[Dave. Control. Etc.]
Karkat rolled them back over, got his knees braced under him, and fucked into Dave.
Nothing about the situation felt real, and that was strangely what made Karkat feel helpless against it. The bass line that stroked down Karkat's spine as he moved and the way Dave looked at Karkat, hazey and pleasure-soaked, were so completely unbelievable… it didn't matter. There was no reason to hold back.
So he fell into it, tried to get his bulge as far into Dave as he could, kissing him just because he could, and fucked Dave in time with the music just for the way it made Dave start laughing.
Dave managed to sing a loose "Ba da dahm" before he completely lost it, laughing and moaning against Karkat's mouth.
[This is the part of the sex I always have the hardest time with. All the blocking and arranging bodies and banter and themes, that's EASY. But when someone needs to finally get off and come, it's like two to seven paragraphs that are agony to me, lmao.
For this one, I have a lodestone of the music. KTOWL is more than a bit about music, and how music is Dave's primary form of communication, so it makes its way into this moment, and that's the lifeline I need to wrap up the sex.
But if there is anything I think I need to work on in sex scenes, its orgasms themself. How do I make them a better conveyance of character? It's a point to work on.
(Ah, quick note, I phrased that as a question but I am not seeking advice on that. I don't tend to take unsolicited advice on my writing for several reasons. Thanks.)]
If coming here was a mistake, Karkat was so fucking glad he'd made it.
His bulge looped around itself in Dave, and Dave threw his head back with a shout, his legs bending.
Karkat pressed them both flat to the bed and felt how Dave shook with each stroke of his hips. He was so focused on Dave that his orgasm fucking shocked him, just there suddenly, making him thrust furiously into Dave as he just unspooled and flooded him with a heavy pulse of slurry. "Oh, shit," Karkat swore, eyes slamming shut as he tried— but nope, no, he was done for.
[I really like non-synchronized orgasms actually. Not to be gauche but sometimes you're coasting along and are turned on and think you've got a handle on it, and then the orgasm just happens! Whoops!]
"Oh, what, Karkat, hey," Dave whined as Karkat slowed. "Don't you fuckin' dare, I'm so goddamn close." He shoved a hand down between them to rub himself, groaning.
Karkat helped, folding their hands together, still pulsing drowsily in Dave's nook as they jerked him off. He felt Dave come, and thrust weakly into the clench of him, groaning.
His head rest against Dave's shoulder. He nuzzled in. It was so soft. Were all humans this soft? How was someone like Dave so soft under his clothes? It felt like privileged information he'd stumbled into bulge-first.
A hand cupped the back of Karkat's neck. That felt really nice, and he opened his mouth to exhale, layers of vibration coloring the tone into a modulation of subvocal hums.
"Fuckin' agreed," Dave sighed, deep and satisfied. "We are… real good at this. If there were awards for accomplishments in th' tantric arts, competitors would try to take out our kneecaps, we'd be such obvious front runners."
Karkat hummed an agreement to that nonsense.
Fingers gently toyed with Karkat's hair for a moment. It was so soothing. Karkat could sleep. Maybe his bulge would stay tucked up and warm in Dave for longer if he just dozed off.
"Hey, roll over." Dave nudged him.
"No," Karkat said, trying to nuzzle in more.
"Yes," Dave answered, and poked Karkat's sides, right along the grub scars.
With enormous effort and a deep groan of complaint, Karkat lifted himself up and flopped onto his back instead. It wasn't nearly as comfortable, and his bulge tucked up into his sheath again.
[Do I even need to say it?
I mean, it's important. If you read KTOWL, you know why Dave And Control is extremely important.]
Dave sat up, moving wearily. He dragged a hand through his hair. "Holy shit, I'm a mess," he laughed, and moved, legs slipping off the bed. He was shaky as he stood, holding out a hand in case he fell, but still managed to get up and pulled the sheet off the bed. "This is totally ruined." He balled up the sheet and used it to wiped himself off before… just throwing over the side of the loft, letting it fall. "Deal with that fuckin' later," he muttered, and stumbled a few feet away.
[A small note: we have all done the orgasm-then-clean-up thing. Sometimes, the scene has overstayed its welcome so you wanna just breeze over that stuff.
But sometimes, like here, it's an opportunity for a Character Moment, learning about how Dave interacts with his own space and possessions. And it's cute and funny.
I think that covers everything about This Specific Scene. I hope this is at all interesting. I think about this shit a lot.]
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the-canary · 10 months
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high ground [vash the stampede] .08.
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Summary: Snippets of the little moments in between the chaos of traveling with one Humanoid Typhoon. [Vash/Reader]
prompt: procession.
A/N: Practice for the larger series I have in mind and practice on how to write Vash’s character, so this will be on the short end. more on the mc’s background mini-arc.
It starts with a letter. Vash will never understand how the members of the Roessler Mailing Company always managed to find their intended delivery target, but having seen the work she picked up from time to time he understood that they were persistent above all else. He watched from the other end of the diner talk as she talked to the brown-haired man, thanking him before taking the letter and opening it.
She frowns, something he isn’t used to seeing, as her eyes scan the letter over and over again. She lets out a sigh before pocketing it and walking over to where he and Wolfwood are sitting. The Insurance girls had taken a job at a local shop to make extra money, so they wouldn’t be seeing them anytime soon. Since he has known her, she had been making deliveries on and off to the mailing company, but those up to recently had been few and far between. Blue eyes watch her and Wolfwood talking, but he doesn’t seem to catch the gist of what they are really saying.
“And what are you going to do about this?” Wolfwood remarks while dragging a huff of his smoke. She shrugs, as if she has already been defeated and there isn’t much to do about the issue.
“I have to go,” she sighs out,  “I have no other choice.”
“Why do you need to go?” Vash can’t help but ask, as she turns to look at him. It sounds something between whine and something serious that she doesn't know what do say for a moment. She gives him a sardonic smile that makes her look older than she actually might be.
“This isn’t a thing I can say no to,” she pauses, as if choosing the best words to describe the situation, “It is part of my contract that I do deliveries whenever I get called on. It’s just my turn this time around.”
“Couldn’t you just ignore it?”
She laughs before answering, “Ignoring it or leaving it alone isn’t something I can do. They’ll just find me again eventually.”
She stays quiet after that, which Vash has come to understand to mean that she will no longer be speaking about the topic at hand. Wolfwood shares a look with him, but they don’t say anything either and the rest of the night is spent drinking and playing cards with the local townsfolk. She does the same as well, but leaves the bar earlier than either him or Wolfwood do. It isn’t until much later when they are finally heading back on their own that Vash decides to finally ask more about the subject.
“I don’t know the exact details or much about her own situation,” Wolfwood looks up at the moons above them with a somber stare, “But the Roessler Mailing Company is known to use to sorts of couriers to get their mail around this blasted desert from mercenaries to indentured servants. They pick up orphans while they’re young and train them, so they are so indebted to them that they spend the rest of their lives paying for it. Some die while carrying out deliveries and others would rather not live that kind of life anymore, so they disappear…but they’re always found somehow and they have to pay twice the price for doing all that work.”
Vash can’t help but stop walking and frown as Wolfwood turns to look at him: “Like I said, I don’t know her own situation, but I am sure she’s got it figured out. She’s a smart gal.”
“I know, but still…” Vash drifts off, remembering the early days of their friendship and how she moved in and out of his life due to making so many deliveries.
She would make a complaint here and there about having to always meet him and it cost her and though it never seemed to bother her, Vash couldn’t help but wonder if any of that cost her most of her life. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was all that she has known all her life -- following someone’s line and order so that she could live another day.
In the morning, she’ll give them her goodbye for now and it will take Vash a long time to ask her the questions bubbling up from the night before.
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