7, 12, 22, 24 for the sunshine girlie herself, miss olympia ☀️
edgy oc ask meme
7. what's one way your oc has changed since you first came up with them?
she's become less of a 'goody-too-shoes' and a more fleshed out person, which i suppose comes with the territory of having an oc for longer. at first i struggled to think of flaws for olympia, but now she has many (her arrogance, her standards, her tendency to judge others); they don't degrade from the fact that she's a good, kind person, but make her feel more real in my head.
12. is your oc self-destructive? in what ways?
no, not at all. she has always been focused on bettering herself and those around her, on spreading hope and kindness; even in her darker periods, she is not the kind of person who tends towards self destruction. she's very stable and grounded like that. even when it comes to her altruism, she would rather find a way to survive and lead others to survive, rather than sacrifice her life away on the chance of it helping.
22. what character alignment would you consider your oc to be?
neutral good, leaning a little towards lawful good.
24. what is an alternative life path your oc might have gone down? how different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?
if she hadn't been in baldur's gate that day, trying in vain to reconcile with oleander, then i think she would've ended up embroiled with the game's plot regardless. she can't stand by as evil persists, after all, and no doubt oleander would've still been at risk regardless.
in a world where she was never chosen by lathander though, i imagine her life would've been quite different. she wouldn't have become a cleric, wouldn't have traveled the realms between monasteries, wouldn't have met gale or any of the others. she would have followed her mother's wishes as heir to the family, and would likely have lived the majority of her life in the feywild, married off to some other high elven noble and forever caught up in elven politics. it wouldn't have necessarily been a bad life, but not fulfilling in the way her current one is. at least her relationship with oleander would've been more positive in this alternative path though, since the rift about her being blessed never would have eventuated.
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Russo-Ukrainian War and Destruction to Places of Worship
As a result of the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine, at least 494 religious buildings, theological institutions, and sacred places were wholly destroyed, damaged, or looted by the Russian military. [emphasis added] [Source: Institute for Religious Freedom]
[Map credit: Institute for Religious Freedom. Image shows the distribution of damaged religious buildings on a map of Ukraine.]
[Map credit: Institute for Religious Freedom. Image shows: a chart showing how many and of which religious affiliation were the places of worship that were damaged. 143 were of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (Moscow affiliated); 94 were Jehovah’s Witnesses’ Kingdom Halls, 75 were Pentecostal churches; 49 were Baptists churches; 34 were of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine; 24 were of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church; 22 were of other evangelist churches; 17 were of the Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church; 12 were Roman Catholic churches, 12 were Jewish synagogues; 8 Muslim mosques, 4 were of the LDS Church (Mormon)].
And yes, you read that right, the Russian soldiers did the most damage to Moscow patriarchate affiliated churches. I wanted to show this but then realized there was an English language version so instead I’ve added the charts and the link to the original article for more information.
Article this post is based on:
Institute for Religious Freedom, Ukraine. “Almost 500 religious sites were destroyed in Ukraine as a result of Russian aggression”. 03.02.2023. https://irf.in.ua/p/105. [Ukrainian version: https://irs.in.ua/p/139]
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It Was Sunday
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader: 18+, light smut
Song: never be like you (sped up) by Flume
Warnings: profanity, brief mentions of unprotected sex, brief mention of oral (female receiving), casual sex, slight brief somnophilia, kinda fluff (I know, who do I think I am), MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Word Count: 855
A/N: I don't really know what this is but it was on my mind today. Super different from my usual shit. Do me a favor and don't read it without listening to this song at the same time: never be like you (sped up version) by Flume. I feel like it would fall very flat without music behind it.
It was Monday when you wore that little black dress with the slit up your right thigh. That was the day you took down three men with ease while looking like a fucking goddess. It wasn’t just Bucky staring, it was every man on the surveillance team, every man in the club, both the guilty and the innocent bystanders. They weren’t transfixed on the violence unfolding in the center of the room, no. They were transfixed on the fatal, yet beautiful creation that was you.
It was Monday night that Bucky told you how reckless you were, how close you came to taking on more than you could handle. Then, he gave you something he knew you could handle, right up against your bedroom door.
It was Tuesday when he found you sparring with a trainer, flirting between lightly thrown punches and half-assed kicks. He focused on counting his reps with the weights rather than counting the number of times he imagined throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you upstairs to remind you who you belong to.
It was Tuesday night when he counted the number of breathless moans and whimpers that fell from your lips every time he thrusted into you.
It was Wednesday when you ran headfirst into danger to save someone out in the field. That was the day Bucky thought he’d lost you, and the all-consuming fear he felt seeing you disappear into that burning building made him wonder if he’d somehow fallen for you.
It was Wednesday night when he stopped by your room to make sure you were okay and then, he scolded you for risking your life like you did. That night, he fucked you so thoroughly that you swore you could still feel him the next morning.
It was Thursday when Bucky told himself he needed to distance from you, just in case he was really catching feelings. He didn’t see you the entire day and it left an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was eating him alive as he sped down the interstate on his bike, trying to replace the high he gets from you with the high of an adrenaline rush.
It was Thursday night when you knocked on his door for a change. He’d avoided you all day and you’d had enough, so you pushed your way into his room as soon as he opened the door. You didn’t question him, maybe because deep down you knew why he was avoiding you. Instead, you kissed him with so much fiery passion that you wouldn’t have been surprised to see his bedsheets go up in flames around the two of you. You put your all into riding his cock that night.
It was Friday when Bucky went out on a solo mission, meant to be playing the part of the famed Winter Soldier. It was late that evening that he returned to the compound with more cuts and bruises than you’d ever seen on him.
It was Friday night that you forced him to sit on the side of your bed while you cleaned him up, carefully dabbing saline-soaked gauze over each wound with the gentlest of touches. Bucky took your orders in silence, pulling his shirt off when you demanded him to, tilting his chin up so you could get a look at the abrasions on his neck. He did whatever you said because it had been so long since he’d had someone care for him like that. That night, he laid in your bed as you pressed your lips to every already-healing bruise littered across his skin.
It was Saturday morning when you found yourself tangled up in the arms of the man you’d been casually sleeping with. That was the first day you felt butterflies dancing around in your stomach at the sensation of his warm body pressed so tightly against yours beneath the sheets.
It was Saturday night when you tried to tell yourself that you could go one night without him. You made plans with friends, stayed out late, and had just enough alcohol to get him out of your mind for a while. When you sauntered up to your bedroom a little past tipsy, your inebriated mind decided to knock on his door instead of unlocking your own. Bucky gave you an amused smirk as he pulled you into his room and helped you change into one of his t-shirts. You slept in his bed that night, wrapped up in his arms, in his sheets, wearing his shirt.
It was Sunday when you woke up on your back, with a skilled and familiar tongue working against your clit. As your fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair and your back arched off of his bed, he imagined how different it might feel if one of your fingers had a ring on it.
It was Sunday when you both realized you’d fallen. You’d fallen far beyond the reach of any rescue, of any chance at getting back to where you started. Somewhere between Monday and Sunday, you fell in love with Bucky Barnes, and he with you.
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