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vivmaek · 3 months

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POETRY FOR YOUR MOON SIGN

✰ my masterlist poems written by someone who has the same moon sign as you <3

☾PISCES☽

Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream Within a Dream

“Take this kiss upon the brow! / And, in parting from you now, / Thus much let me avow – / You are not wrong, who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”

June Jordan, You Came with Shells

“You came with shells. And left them: / shells. / They lay beautiful on the table. / Now they lie on my desk / peculiar / extraordinary under 60 watts.”

Toni Morrison, It Comes Unadorned

“it comes / Unadorned / Like a phrase / Strong enough to cast a spell; / It comes / Unbidden, / Like the turn of sun through hills / Or stars in wheels of song. / The jeweled feet of women dance the earth. / Arousing it to spring. / Shoulders broad as a road bend to share the weight of years. / Profiles breach the distance and lean / Toward an ordinary kiss. / Bliss. / it comes naked into the world like a charm.”

☾AQUARIUS☽

W.B Yeats, A Coat

“I made my song a coat / Covered with embroideries / Out of old mythologies / From heel to throat; / But the fools caught it, / Wore it in the world’s eyes / As though they’d wrought it. / Song, let them take it / For there’s more enterprise / In walking naked.”

W.B Yeats, The Lover Tells of the Roses in His Heart

“All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, / The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, / The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, / Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. / The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, / With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold / For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.”

Louisa May Alcott, The Lay of a Golden Goose

“Oh! Be not rash,” her father said, / A mild Socratic bird; / Her mother begged her not to stray / With many a warning word. / But little goosey was perverse / And eagerly did cry, / “I’ve got a lovely pair of wings, / Of course I Ought to fly.”

☾CAPRICORN☽

John Milton, Sonnet 19

“When I consider how my light is spent, / Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide / Lodged with me useless, through my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker,”

Jala al-Din Rumi, The Guest House

“This being human is a guest house. / Every morning a new arrival. / A joy, a depression, a meanness, / some momentary awareness comes / As an unexpected visitor. / Welcome and entertain them all! / Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, / who violently sweep your house / empty of its furniture, / still treat each guest honorably. / He may be clearing you out / for some new delight. / The dark thought, the shame, the malice, / meet them at the door laughing, / and invite them in. / Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent / as a guide from beyond.”

Gwendolyn Brooks, a song in the front yard

“I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. / I want a peek at the back / Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed / grows. / A girl gets sick of a rose.”

☾SAGITTARIUS☽

Lewis Carroll, A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

“In a Wonderland they lie, / Dreaming as the days go by, / Dreaming as the summers die: / Ever drifting down the stream – / Lingering in the golden gleam – / Life, what it is but a dream?”

Dante Alighieri, From “Inferno”

“It’s the pain / of the people down there that empties my / face. / It’s pity / that you’ve mistaken for fear. / And it’s the long way / that pushes us now. / Let’s go.”

Victor Hugo, Tomorrow, At Dawn

“Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens, / I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me. / I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain. / I can no longer remain far from you. / I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, / Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noise / Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed, / Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as night.”

☾SCORPIO☽

Sarojini Naid, Autumn Song

“Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, / The sunset hangs on a cloud; / A golden storm of glittering sheaves, / Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, / The wild wind blows in a cloud. / Hark to a voice that is calling / To my heart in the voice of the wind: / My heart is weary and sad and alone, / For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, / And why should I stay behind?”

Shel Silverstein, Dreadful

“Someone ate the baby. / It’s absolutely clear / Someone ate the baby / ‘Cause the baby isn’t here. / We’ll give away her toys and clothes. / We’ll never have to wipe her nose. / Dad says, “That’s the way it goes.” / Someone ate the baby.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Aftermath

“When the summer fields are mown, / When the birds are fledged and flown, / And the dry leaves strew the path; / With the falling of the snow, / With the cawing of the crow, / Once again the fields we mow / And gather in the aftermath.”

☾LIBRA☽

Maya Angelou, Caged Bird

“A free bird leaps / on the back of the wind / and floats downstream / till the current ends / and dips his wing / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky.”

Emily Dickinson, Good Morning – Midnight

“Good Morning – Midnight – / I’m coming Home – / Day – got tired of Me – / How could I – of Him? / Sunshine was a sweet place – / I liked to stay – / But Morn – didn’t want me – now – / So – Goodnight – Day!”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My Heart and I

“You see we’re tired, my heart and I. / We dealt with books, we trusted men, / And in our own blood drenched the pen, / As is such colours could not fly. / We walked too straight for fortune’s end, / We loved too true to keep a friend ; / At last we’re tired, my heart and I.”

☾VIRGO☽

Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays

“Sundays too my father got up early / and put his clothes on in the blueback cold, / then with cracked hands that ached / from labor in the weekday weather made / banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. / I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking / When the rooms were warm, he’d call, / and slowly I would rise and dress, / fearing the chronic angers of that house, / Speaking indifferently to him , / who had driven out the cold / and polished my good shoes well. / What did I know, what did I know / of love's austere and lonely offices?”

Jack Kerouac, How to Meditate

“Thinking’s just like not thinking- / So I don't have to think / any / more”

William Faulkner, Study

“Muted dreams for them / for me / Bitter science. Exams are near / And my thoughts uncontrollably / Wander, and I cannot hear / The voice telling me that work I must, / For everything will be the same when I’m dead / A thousand years. I wish I were a bust / All head.”

☾LEO☽

Walt Whitman, I sing the Body Electric

“I sing the body electric, / The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,”

Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, / By each let this be heard, / Some do it with a bitter look, / Some with a flattering word, / The coward does it with a kiss, / The brave men with a sword!”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Friendship

“A ruddy drop of manly blood / The surging sea outweighs, / The world uncertain comes and goes; / The lover rooted stays. / I fancied he was fled, – / And, after many a year, / Glowed unexhausted kindliness, / Like daily sunrise there. / My careful heart was free again, / O friend, my bosom said, / Through thee alone the sky is arched, / Through thee the rose is red; / All things through thee take nobler form, / And look beyond the earth, / The mill-round of our fate appears / A sun-path in thy worth. / Me too thy nobleness had taught / To master my despair; / The fountains of my hidden life / Are through thy friendship fair.”

☾CANCER☽

Shakespear, Sonnet 147

“My love is as a fever, longing still / For that which longer nurseth the disease, / Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,”

Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night

“I have been one acquainted with the night. / I have walked out in rain – and back in rain. / I have outwalked the furthest city light. / I have looked down the saddest city lane. / I have passed by the watchman on his beat / And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. / I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet / When far away an interrupted cry / Came over houses from another street, / But not to call me back or say good-bye; / And further still at an unearthly height, / One luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. / I have been one acquainted with the night.”

William Blake, Auguries of innocence

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a wild flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour”

☾GEMINI☽

Rudyard Kipling, Blue Roses

“Half the world I wandered through, / Seeking where such flowers grew. / Half the world unto my quest / Answered me with laugh and jest. / Home I came at wintertide, / But my silly love had died / Seeking with her latest breath / Roses from the arms of Death.”

John Keats, To Sleep

“Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords / Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; / Turn the key deftly into the oiled wards, / And seal the hushed Casket of my soul.”

Lord Tennyson, The Eagle

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, / Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. / The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; / He watches from his mountain walls, / And like thunderbolt he falls.”

☾TAURUS☽

John Donne, Air and Angels

“Twice or thrice had I lov’d thee, / Before I knew thy face or name; / So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame / Angels affects us oft, and worshipp’d be;”

Audre Lorde, Recreation

“my body / writes into your flesh / the poem / you make of me. / Touching you I catch midnight / as moon fires set in my throat / I love you flesh into blossom / I made you / and take you made / into me.”

Margaret Walker, Lineage

“My grandmothers were strong. / They followed plows and bent to toil. / They moved through fields sowing seed. / They touched earth and grain grew. / They were full of sturdiness and singing. / My grandmothers were strong. / My grandmothers are full of memories / Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay / With veins rolling roughly over quick hands / They have many clean words to say. / My grandmothers were strong. / Why am I not as they?”

☾ARIES☽

E.E Cummings, Love is more thicker than forget

“love is more thicker than forget / more thinner than recall / more seldom than a wave is wet / more frequent than to fail”

Mark Twain, Genius

“But above all things, / to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse / and then rush off and get booming drunk, / is the surest of all the different signs / of genius.”

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships that Pass in the Night

“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; / I look far out into the pregnant night, / Where I can hear a solemn booming gun / And I catch the gleaming of a random light, / That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.”

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writingoddess1125 · 8 months

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Theater Brat pt. 3 🎭

Buggy x FemReader

Some more Angst then Fluff but still fun!

You felt like your head was pounding, groaning softly as you felt yourself come to. Was it the alcohol from the party in Tangerine town?.. but you don't remeber drinking that much?.. It wasn't until the image of Buggy's eyes on you that evening that everything came to and you snapped your eyes open finally.

It was almost pitch black but with a single spotlight on the ground about 10 ft from you, yourself seated on what could only be described as a wooden red throne. Sitting up you see you're dresses in a far too expensive gown, very similar to one from your favorite musicals but dyed a sky blue color as well as jewelry hanging down from your ears, neck and wrist. Even a ring placed on your hand which was gold with a sapphire in the center.

A sense of panic hit your chest as you tried to sit up- far too quickly as the ache in your head returned. Making you sit back down on the chair.

"Sorry, those Muggy Balls can cause drowsiness and headaches.. I thought I gave you the smallest one I had but- seems it was still too strong" You heard a all too familiar voice say, turning to see Buggy standing just to the side of the throne. Leaned against it as he used one of his knives to clean under his nails-

"B-Buggy what the hell? I agreed to go with you- why did you?"

"To make it easier, it's harder to sneak a person put instead of just kidnapping them while unconscious. Way quieter" He said with a crooked grin, Leaning back up and walking around the throne like chair. Looking you over like a predator who had finally caught their prey.

"And the costume?.." You questioned, swallowing thickly as you saw his eyes linger over your form.

"Just a gift, for your care of me while with the Strawhats" He said with a smile. His hands playing with your hair as he stepped to your left and sighed contently at the sight of you.

"Bring it here!" He yelled at some shadows in the corner, before a grand desk was brought out and set infront of you by two of his crewmates. The finest of pens, pencils, paints and paper also set upfront of you, as well as a bowl of fine sweets you had once expressed enjoying and even popcorn.

You couldn't help but feel both flattered and a little scared how much he had thought this threw. Your favorite snacks, your favorite drinks, he had truly listened to it all and you hadn't even realized it.

"I have prepared my best show yet, and as promised. No 'Gore' or anything to scare you Doll' He said teasingly, which surprisingly drew a chuckle from you.

"I hope you enjoy, and I do want to see what you can draw up for me" He said with a wink as he stepped back from you and into the waiting spotlight.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls here to witness the greatest show of all! Buggy' Circus of Delight!" He announced, the lights coming on all around you as flocks of different acts came out in at first a symphony of chaos. Before they organized in a perfect rehearsed fashion.

Act after act was done perfectly, from the dancing Lion, to Buggy's juggling act which even included his own head that made you laugh st your seams. Musical numbers of your favorite songs, Acrobatics, Contortionist and everything under the sun.

By the end of it you were Grinning ear to ear and applauding the group.

"That was absolutely wonderful! You all are very talented and lovely, I'm impressed" You praised, which earned received smiled from the crew. Buggy walked over to you and leaned against the chair again to see what you had made, Grinning widely at the drawing you had conjured up.

"Perfect-" He muttered, You looking up at him to see his eyes on you and not your painting. Blushing a bit as you smiled.

"I'm glad you like it Buggy! I wanted the highlight the diversity and talent of your show" You said, cheerfully, however you were surprised when Buggy detached his hand and gently grabbed yours. Looking to see you had removed the bracelets and ring-

"You took them off?" He questioned, raising a brow at said jewelry on the desk.

"Oh I didn't want to get ink on them or scratch the paper" You admitted with a calm shrug. He frowned slightly.

"If they were damaged or you don't like them I'd get you new ones" He said with a shrug, Acting like the jewelry wasn't that important or hard to find.

"(Y/N) I promise I'll give you anything you wish for. Nothing is too expensive for you" He said, his eyes glowing with that same emotion as before- one you didn't know until now... obsession.

"There is no need for that, I promise. Besides Buggy this stuff is lovely but far too expensive for me. This could cost most people a fortune and I have never worn expensive things" You emphasized, but saw Buggy smile and pick back up the ring and slide it back on your finger. Giving your hand a gentle squueze.

He waved over his crew members who brought his throne over- you realizing he must have had a second throne for you either brought up or made as his own was sat next to you, his hand still holding over yours. As if also rehearsed a large meal was brought out and set on open spots of the desk. You noticed how much this seemed to be planned- the show, dress, jewelry even the lunch and snacks gifted to you... it was perfectly planned.

"Say what did you think of the juggling?-" Buggy said quickly, pulling your mind from yout questioning thoughts like he could read you so openly.

You and Buggy talked for a while, eating lunch together and tlaughing. Buggy expressing delight in the artistic rendering that you had made and even flexing his arm to show that he was way buffer then most, laughing you to break out in giggles which he clearly enjoyed

"This has been delightful Buggy, But I must get back to my crew" You said with a happy sigh having enjoyed the day greatly despite the scary start, not catching the darkened look that grazed Buggy's eyes.

"Alright, But it has been a long journey and show for you. How about you take a bath and rest a little? I have a room you can use" He said with a kind smile, which seemed off in a way. However you nodded non the less.

After the very nice bath and having a few snacks you laid in the massive bed. Dressed in the nice pajamas that one of the crew members dropped off for you.

You looked around, noticing something you hadn't noticed before. The gold looking bolts on your window so it couldn't be opened, how secure this room was and separated it was from the crew quarters. Paired with something that immediately caught you eyes- painted directly above your head was a blue bird- around its closed wings golden lines wrapped around it..

"A golden cage..." You whispered, dread filling your soul as you looked around. The expensive clothes laid in the cherry wood draws, the massive sleigh bed that was filled with the finest of of pillows and silk blankets. All the art supplies and trinkets you could ask for.. This was your cage- He wasn't going to let you out.

Rushing to the door you try the handle, feeling the door not give way and the handle not budge. Locked.. from the outside. Rapidly you started to pull at the handle, feeling tears well in your eyes as the realization fully set in.

"Oh Gods..." You gasped out, fear running through your body as you stood back. Realizing what was happening to you- A prisoner of Buggy, his own personal friend that he would never let go of-

You started to bag against the door and cry out for release but your please were ignored. Instead silence only following you- As fear crept into your system you sat at the stool near the window looking out at the sky and crying silently.

It was a few hours before you heard the sound of the door being unlocked. Watching as Buggy stepped in with a large tray of food and drinks that was clearly ment to be shared, a smile on his lips.

"I see you're settling in well- a few of my Freaks mentioned you had started to bang on the door and rattle the nob.." He said, his gaze hardening a bit while his voice stayed jovial. Watching you as you stood up from the easel and a painting you had started after crying.

"Buggy why are you keeping me here? This isn't what we agreed to! You said I could go"

"Did I?-" He said with a amused smile. You couldn't tell if this was a punishment for his imprisonment or a reward for your presence, Clearly it was as clouded to you as it was to him- He simply smiled seeing the confusion and fear in your eyes and brushed it off. Instead walking to the record player in the room and putting on one of the records, slow music began to bleed through the horn and filled the room with song.

"You're my person (Y/N) I can't let you go that easily"

Stepping forward towards your shaking form he gently wrapped one hand around your waist and another holding your hand. Guiding you to follow him in a gentle sway-

"I promise, I'll make you happy. Happier then anyone else-" He said calmly, his hand holding your tightly as the two of you swayed to the music. A few tears running down your cheek and felt his lips kiss them away slowly. Smiling against your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes as the music began to come to a end.

"and I'll kill anyone who dares try to get in my way"

#x reader #one peice x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x reader #one peice live action #one piece

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

Madhubala (Mughal-e-Azam, Barsaat Ki Raat, Mr. & Mrs. '55)—The Venus of India; heart-throb of all who saw her; responsible for the sexual awakening of every single desi lesbian I know (including me!) And my god, she is breathtakingly beautiful. Look at the subtle grace with which she moves, and that smile - the kind of radiant smile that can make you laugh with sheer delight, or cry because of its hidden pain. Those wild curls! That Cupid's bow! The way she tilts back her head and smiles at you with mischief dancing in her eyes! She has a way of looking at the camera that makes you feel she's sharing a private joke just with you; it's something about that quizzical twist of the lips and eyebrows. As an actress, she is inimitable; she seems to effortlessly inhabit roles ranging from a heart-broken courtesan to a laughter-loving socialite. Fun fact : she's had quite the fan following in Greece! Stelios Kazantidis even wrote a song as a tribute to her.

Olivia de Havilland (Adventures of Robin Hood, Gone With the Wind, The Heiress)— The woman who took on the Studio System at the height of their power and Won! A double Oscar winner! Is magnetic and beautiful in everything she's in and gave us all the juicy scandal with her sibling rivalry with Joan Fontaine! Before the Oscar Slap was the Oscar sister snub! Also everything she wears in Robin Hood she makes beautiful even a purple green and orange monstrosity how does she do it! Anyway this scene is one of my old Hollywood favourites

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Madhubala:

An icon of Bollywood, who was well known for her beauty and has continued to inspire performances and songs into the 21st century. She was at times described as "the number one beauty of the Indian screen" and "the biggest star in the world".

SHE IS EVERYTHING AHHH. JUST LOOK AT HER SMILE-

She's been nicknamed the Marilyn Monroe of India and was one of the highest paid actresses in the Hindi film industry (the term Bollywood did not exist yet) during the 1950s. Also an extremely talented dancer and singer

SHE'S JUST SO STUNNING, like seeing her eyes IMMEDIATELY CAPTIVATES YOU, THE DANCING, THE BEAUTY!!!!!!!!! She worked in Bollywood for over 20 years and passed away at a sad early age of 36, BUT THE IMPACT SHE HAD WAS UNMATCHED!!!!!

That sassy sideways glance she does always has me WEAK AT THE KNEES. And when she's making silly faces at the camera to mimic someone ahhhh my gay little heart <3

Olivia de Havilland:

She is just perfection. She has a smile that is looks like it is barely holding back, and yet so reserved as well.

Broke the contract system and won freedoms for actors (the de Havilland Law is still in effect I believe). 2 time Oscar winner. Beautiful and smart

She legally challenged the movie studios' unfair contracts and won, setting a precedent for other actors to be treated more fairly. This was at great cost to her financially and essentially getting her blacklisted for years but the resulting judicial opinion is still known as the De Havilland Law and has won her a great deal of praise and admiration.

Her performance in The Heiress is one of my all-time favorites, she’s so good at making melodrama feel real and grounded without sacrificing any of the passion/drama.

Serenely beautiful, she struck a balance between crowd-pleasing fluff and prestigious drama. Famously at odds with her equally successful sister Joan Fontaine, she was too much of a lady to ever say anything public. Successfully sued Ryan Murphy for portraying her as a saucy gossip in Feud.

the period costume + eye patch combo in That Lady is just an absolute serve

She has the most adorable and cherubic face and voice

#olivia de havilland #madhubala #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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shadesoflsk · 3 months

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Hiiii!!!! I have an idea! Imagine like getting married to leon/going through the whole process of wedding shopping etc with him. Also do you think he would cry at a wedding? I love your works sm you're so talented I hope you have a great day/night! 💗

leon kennedy x gn reader

Anon... You don't know how much I enjoy thinking about Leon getting married and all those sappy things. It's like you read my mind. And thank you so much ueueue. I'm glad you like my works. <3

I feel like Leon would act really calm and collected in front of you. Even cracking some jokes about not having anything planned out for the wedding. But Dear God that is far from the truth.

But first, let’s talk about everything before the whole preparation. Leon would definitely struggle to get the right ring size for you. Acting smooth? Not in his dictionary. At first, he’d try it when both of you are ‘sleeping.’ He once read someone could get the exact size by wrapping a string around his partner’s finger.

He tried.

It was unsuccessful.

You either shifted in your sleep or he couldn’t get the right angle to wrap the thin string.

Ultimately, he just asked you to try some rings, just for funsies… Of course.

Now, after the exhausting task of buying the ring and actually asking you to marry him, he'd be delighted to start organizing the wedding.

At first, he'd try to brush it off by saying that both of you should go with the flow, not to stress over the wedding. But his old-ass would discover Pinterest and a new world was presented for him. His favorite late-night activity would be searching for wedding ideas and he takes his job very seriously.

Glasses and all, he’d hold his cell phone so close to his face for you not to notice him. Poor guy doesn’t know that you can see through the reflection of them. Usually, he’d leave all the decorations to you, even when you two decided to move in together since he lacks creativity. But a wedding involves two people, and that day is just as special for him as it is for you.

Eventually, he understands he doesn’t need to feel bashful. All of his life has been surrounded by destruction and violence, he may as well indulge in the domesticity and the tranquility of finally settling down with someone he loves.

Leon is a foodie, so his favorite appointments are the ones in which both of you have to try the dishes you want to serve at your wedding. Growing up, he didn’t get to eat home meals, and even when he first started the Police Academy most of his meals consisted of takeouts or food he’d prepare himself. So the mere task of devouring those plates for the sake of the wedding was a great excuse.

He wouldn’t wear a suit and you wouldn’t force him either. However, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t put some effort into how he looks. Part of the wedding planning included a visit to his most trusted barber! He’d definitely shave to look clean in the pictures, but his hair would remain the same.

Leon talks to you and shares his thoughts about the wedding reception. Flashy and showy types of settings aren’t his thing so he suggests going for a beach wedding. The suggestion soon turns into persuasion. He’d show you videos of people getting married on the beautiful Caribbean beaches, or some perfect attires for the beach.

“Oh, it seems that my phone is spying on me or something.” He glances a subtle look at you to see if you’re listening to him. By the tone of his voice, you already know what he is implying.

“Why is that?” And when you finally look at him, you see how his smiles get wider. Of course he got you.

“Because… YouTube won’t stop showing me beach wedding videos. How crazy it is, right?”

So, Leon’s pleas are heard and you decide to go for it. Although, something you both agree on is the fact that it needs to be private, just friends and family.

And yes, he definitely cries at the wedding. One thing he kept from his religious past is the vows, he promises you a future in which he is going to be next to you no matter what. So, in the middle of his speech, his voice would crack, a tiny bit. Clearing his throat he acts like nothing happened but everyone could notice how emotional he is.

Overall, Leon would be delighted to take this next step with you. The last thing he expected in his life was to find love in this messed-up world. And don’t get me started on how Leon would be as a husband because that man is husband material through and through! I’d write a whole essay just for him.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy drabble #— ࣪ ⊹ 💌 ruby's askbox

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honeyhenry · 1 year

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Apple Pie and You and I (And a Baby!)

The Seresins finding out about baby was the most highly voted option after the first part and so I'm delighted to share this as a new instalment! Warnings; pregnancy. part 1

As a proud and loving husband, Jake Seresin had been head instigator of every family planning conversation you can remember, often piping up with "C'mon darlin', let me put a baby in ya, hm?" when he was loving on you. Whether he was kissing you playfully in the kitchen or caring for and caressing you in the bedroom, he'd meant every word, every time. The absence of birth control and 3 months of pure Seresin talent and dedication had led to a handful of positive tests and many joyful tears as you'd told him the good news.

"Jake" you'd whispered softly, his eyebrows furrowing in concern while he'd watched the tears track your cheeks, seeping into the fibres of his tight black t-shirt. "Jake, honey, we're having a baby. We did it." His stature had slackened, mouth opening as if to speak, omitting nothing but the breath that had been knocked out of him entirely at the news. All too soon though, he's holding you close and those green eyes you so adore hold so many promises before he even utters a word.

"Oh honey...a baby? Really?" You can remember the shine in his eyes and the dimpled grin that smothered his face. "One of our own that's gonna look like you - oh honey I adore you." Before you could even speak again, he'd followed up with a quick "and you" while tenderly rubbing the pad of his thumb over your stomach.

Reacting to the news was never going to be the issue for Jake. The issue was that he was too darn proud to keep the news quiet until you hit the 12 week mark. You're pretty certain the local gas station workers, his mechanic, and half the staff at your local coffee place know of Baby Seresin. All anyone would need to see to figure out the source of his happiness is the inside of his locker - the reminders for why he does his job. There, he cherishes an older photograph of you both on a date, one of you on honeymoon, and now plastered to the inside of the metal container is a shiny square monochromatic picture of a blob. The best, most advanced little blob in the whole world, if you asked him.

Being at the family ranch for a couple of weeks had proven to be challenging, each passing day finding Jake growing more and more impatient in having to wait to tell his family the news. The Seresins were close - so emphatically empathetic to each others' circumstances and emotions that you both knew they'd all be thrilled for you both and beg you to stay longer, ask a million questions, and volunteer for babysitting duties immediately.

So on the morning commencing that glorious twelfth week, as the sun rose up over the Seresin ranch, you were not surprised in the slightest to find Jake already awake and rubbing your belly, gazing at you as if you hung the moon and stars in the sky. "Today's the day, Mama" he'd grinned, like a child on Christmas day, "Mom's gonna cry, I just know it. She'll say 'Oh Jacob, oh my Jacob a father himself! And maybe this'll be the first Seresin girl in this generation too!'" he stated, toning his voice higher than usual, making you giggle. A sound he would never tire of hearing.

"Well, we just want them healthy. There's always the next one," you tease as he shuffles back up the bed to you, leaning over you on one arm before working his typical charm with a cocked eyebrow; "Honey I’d give you ten little Seresins if that’s what you wanted. All you gotta do is ask." In response, you spend a couple more hours in bed, making plans in between some soft, whispered loving in his creaky childhood bed.

By lunchtime you'd both managed to dress and get ready for the day. Being a bright and warm Saturday, preparations were already underway for the big family lunch set out each weekend. Kids scrambling around the table, older cousins placing cutlery out in a clatter, Aunts passing water cups and sparkling ciders around while most of the Uncles cheer over the football game before it’s turned off to enjoy the "precious family time" as Grammie calls it. Everyone knows it's in their best interest to respect Grammie's wishes.

Dinner is served and no one questions your sobriety since many others opt for a water on the hot May afternoon. Grammie and Momma have been cooking a delicious home-grown and home-made pot pie that Jake remembers eating as a child himself around the very same table he sits at now with you. Soon, his own child will sit and eat this pot pie with clumsy hands and a smile that he truly hopes matches yours. With a squeeze of your hand, he signals to you he's ready tell the world your exciting news.

Clearing his throat, Jake stands, his broad shoulders allowing him to be easily noticed as people continue to chew but turn to face the handsome aviator. "First of all, I gotta say...it is so good to be back in the country, we are so at home here and we love y'all so much." You watch as his sisters smile, his Momma hanging on his words as if she could predict their importance. " Anyways...I see many people around the table, all that have a little bit of that good old Seresin spirit in them. Well, we have some news." The room is silent - the younger ones adore their Uncle Jake and hang on his every word, or are too busy eating to make a sound. "My beautiful wife here has a little Seresin spirit growin right inside her. Our own slice of heaven, due t'arrive a’couple weeks before Christmas."

As expected, the entire room erupts. Momma Seresin is the first to make her way to you, pulling you in for a hug as his sisters follow suit, squealing and bubbling over with excitement. In amongst the beautiful chaos, you see how Jake's Dad and other family members shake his hand in congratulations, smothering him in hugs when given the chance.

"Be gentle with her please, ladies. Precious cargo." You hear your husband's voice, dripping like honey with sheer pride and elation as they continue to fuss over you. Over the million questions and tight squeezes you feel, you know that to be surrounded by such love and care is a true blessing - there is an entire army supporting your growing family, and Jake is leading the charge.

As everyone sits back down to digest the news and ask even more questions, Momma pipes up, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, keeping her son close to her at the table. "Oh y’all are gonna be the best parents, my Jacob, a father! My baby havin' a baby of his own!"

Noticing that Grammie has stayed quiet, you watch her view the joyful family interactions with a tearful smile while looking over proudly at Jake. Your eyes are shiny too while your hand moves freely to your stomach, as if reassuring your baby that they truly are so loved already. You're not quite showing yet - much to Jake's dismay - but you have an inkling that those Seresin genes will catch up quickly.

You find Jake's hand, gazing up at him as he answers questions, shining with pride while you're happy to sit and hold your little belly close. "We're gonna come back as much as possible too, really wanna give 'em the same childhood as I had here in Texas..." he looks to you and smiles. "We're just excited to bring a baby into the world that gets to be a part of this family." He swallows thickly and you know he's holding it together as best as he can.

Before his words decide to fail him, one of his cousins taps his bottle of cider and raises it up in the air. "A toast!" he announces; "To a new child, grandchild, great grandchild, cousin, niece or nephew….and to the girl who’s makin a daddy outta Jacob Seresin. The boy done good, we wish y’all all the joy with your bundle. To the newest baby Seresin!"

Everyone raises their glasses in the air, repeating the toast to your littlest love before cheering and drinking together, while Jake swoops in for the sweetest kiss.

#hangman x reader #apayai #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun fic #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #fluff

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anonymouspuzzler · 11 months

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Haha Whoops Uh Oh! (UPDATED 6/11/23)

so this isn't the type of post I normally like to make, but! uh! hey! I just got ambushed by a HUGE tuition bill I wasn't expecting, and I'm out of options to pay it - they've already applied my scholarship and loans, I'm already working multiple jobs that are basically just barely paying for rent + groceries, and I only have enough on my credit card to pay for One of the three payments they're requiring, which only gets me through till July (with, again, no options that get me that amount of money by that time).

further full disclosure, this bill came at like, the worst possible time - they've given me four days to make at minimum the first payment (which, again, I can only do by maxing out my credit card), and on top of juggling multiple jobs I'm also in the middle of two classes, including one which involves upcoming travel (that is already paid for, thank god). Hence, me Scrambling a li'l bit!!

as such, I've set a new goal on my ko-fi!! it is, of course, HUGE, but genuinely any small amount people are able to contribute goes a huge way to giving me SOME way to pay it off. note that 3-coffee doodle requests are still A Thing, commissions are still a thing (if you have one active I'll be getting to them this & next week), and I'll be streaming wherever I can to pull together money that way - wherever it comes, any support is HUGE and I mean that.

UPDATE 6/11/23: I am updating the original post to remove the ko-fi link and yet you fine folks know: HOLY HECK, y'all managed to get my tuition dealt with. words truly cannot express my gratitude for that - I'm so, so, SO humbled and thankful for everyone who came out to get me out of a really rough situation.

in the slightest, smallest attempt to pay forward the kindness i've been shown, I'm gonna try and use this moment to direct y'alls attention to some other folks I know who could use some kindness! hardly comprehensive, in no particular order, just top-of-my-mind type type beat. (note that these are all folks' twitter handles - some of 'em are on tumblr too, but I figure best to direct you to where I know they are 100%!)

@/Pochiyaki is a friend & artist who's been trying to get out of a bad money situation a while, and could definitely use some love!

@/rudeboimonster is similarly a dear friend who's been struggling to find long-term work and housing, anything you got would help.

Or, considering supporting the work of a creative you love! A few I've been loving lately that I'd recommend:

@/cosmignon (Runaway Draikana webcoming, and other comics and illustration work)

@/SynthCharmVA (voicework & writing/show development)

@/Tonya_Song (music - including vocals, piano and composition - plus education and activism work)

@/jaypg_art (character design, visdev, and illustration)

@/littlegoodfrog (Matchmaker and other comics)

@/winonaparadise (Girls With Horns and other comics/illustration work)

@/derekmballard (comics, including the upcoming Cartoonshow graphic novel)

@/_PartyCoffin_ (Welcome Home, and just about every art form you can conceive of)

and of course, if you're not following & supporting my amazing partner @/hollowtones, who helped me through this tough situation in every possible way - well you ought to be!! a delight and talent in every imaginable way, and I'm only a little biased on that.

and above all else... THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!!!

#anonymous puzzler talks #if you are able or willing to signal boost this as well it's deeply appreciated #i love my school but they have a horrible habit of waiting until the last possible moment to tell you that you have to pay for something #and then not giving you any options to finance it #so unless you've been checking the finance portal on your own Multiple Times A Day with no indication of if or when something will change #You Are Just Fucked

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cupcakeinat0r · 5 months

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Broadway Baby ch. 1

Pairing: Miguel O’hara x Fem!reader

Summary: Reader is a broadway performer in Nueva York. You’re a rising star. One morning, during a rehearsal, you stumble upon an unexpected, yet highly welcomed visitor.

Warnings: SFW? This is a plot building chapter, srry <3 Insinuations of masturbation toward end tho!!!

Tags: Sugar Daddy AU, Miguel is a filthy rich single dilf (girl dinner), Age Gap fo sho (20 + 32), reader is a Latina (written by a Latina), Gabriella is his daughter in this one, soft n happy Miguel bc ion do that trauma mess. He only knows happiness and peace in my mind palace<3

Word count: 4.4k

Ch. 2

Nueva York.

The city that never sleeps.

You moved here when you were just 18, with a suitcase and big dreams.

It would’ve been when you were 14, your parents had taken you to the big city to watch a musical on Broadway. It was that faithful night you realized your calling. That moment changed the entire trajectory of your life.

You fell in love with it. The music, the lights, the sets, the performance of it all. It was pure magic. You were entranced from the first note of the overture to the very last bow of the lead player.

There was just one problem: you had the confidence of a chicken nugget.

Since the womb, you’d been a very quiet child, extremely soft spoken when acknowledged, so when you told your parents your dream occupation, they were a bit skeptical. Nonetheless, they were both extremely supportive, especially after that one night when your mom overheard some singing in your shower.

She had been in your room, collecting dirty laundry when she heard a beautiful melody coming from your bathroom. Curious as to what song it was, she pressed the shell of her ear against the door. Still not able to hear the lyrics exactly, she cracked open the door, looking around for a speaker, only to find none. It clicked. It wasn’t some blue-tooth equipped music, but her daughter’s voice. Your voice. You’d been singing the songs from the show they took you to. Her jaw fell open. Never had she heard you produce such beautiful sounds. She made sure not to make her presence known since she knew if she did, you’d surely stop vocalizing out of embarrassment.

You were signed up for voice lessons immediately.

Ever since then, you’d been training, dance and acting classes following shortly after that. It became clear that your talent was a blessing from above after hearing teacher after teacher praising about your prodigious abilities.

4 hard working years later, you decided to spread your wings, kiss mom and dad goodbye, and start your career. A small apartment in Nueva York became home. It was lacking a good AC system and the floors were creaky, but it was an affordable start.

It’s been another 2 years since moving to Nueva York. Each phone call home, your parents are delighted to hear about your accomplishments, happy to hear that you’re in a steady place on your path to stardom. You’ve been in a few shows now, landing supporting roles, featured dancing gigs, and so on… but you’ve yet to land that big lead. Your big break. It’ll come though. Patience.

Raw talent could only get you so far in this business. The only thing that seems to matter nowadays is connections and nepotism. You had to stop cowering in your shell and start networking yourself somehow. It was difficult, being the introvert that you were. If only the persona you embodied on the stage carried over into your every day life. When you’re on stage, you’re a complete different person; almost a character. That’s why you loved doing what you did so much. You felt comfortable on that stage, free to be whoever you wanted to be. It was your sanctuary.

Life in the arts was never safe or secure, and you knew that when you decided to sell your soul to this industry. Despite the endless auditions (rejections) and multiple part-time jobs, you loved your life. You loved being an actress in Nueva York. It gave main-character vibes. You had a part-time job as a waitress downtown during the day, and at night, you’d switch out your apron for a costume that didn’t leave much for imagination. You were currently a featured dancer and supporting character in the city’s most popular musical. You’d remind yourself that many aspiring actors would commit heinous crimes to be in a similar place in their careers as yours. It wasn’t no starring role, but hey, it was something.

Life was good. You were happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just another day, alike all the others on the 2nd year of your 3-year contract in the Musical you were in. It was simple really:

You wake up, do your day time skin care routine, warm-up your voice, brush teeth, put your apron on for the Stardust diner, wait a few tables from 9-5, your house call was at 5:30 so you’d take the train and show up at 5:25, stretched, warmed-up your voice some more, and be ready in the wings by curtain call.

This was the part you looked forward to every day. That minute you stand behind those velvety curtains, heels and exaggerated lashes and all. The sticky residue of the tape that keeps your mic attached to your neck. The sparkles on your body that never seems to come off, even though you shower after every show. The astronomical amount of hairspray that you’d have to brush through when you got home. You loved it all.

When those curtains opened, a new person was born. Ingrained into the crevices of your brain, the muscle memory within your body would perform the dance moves you’ve been repeating for 7 nights in a row for 2 years.

And you’d deliver the same lines you always delivered ( and ate all of them like you always did), and your voice, like an angel. You sang your heart out, the applause fueling your energy and nourishing your soul (and maybe even your ego).

The beauty of live theater is that every show is different. One of the many aspects you loved about it included the audience members; each night, the crowd was different. Today, in particular, there was a young girl in the front row, sitting right in front of where you were dancing. She looked up at you in the same way you looked at those actors all those years ago, with that same awe in her eyes. Noticing her, you flashed her a wink and a smile while performing. You even managed a small wave, which granted an excited expression from her. The little girl, practically bouncing in her seat, then looked up to the large, dark figure sitting next to her, enthusiastically pulling on the black jacket of what seems to be her guardian. “The pretty lady waved at me!” is what her lips read.

This was a normal occurrence for you. You made it a priority to at least engage with some of the youth in the audience if you happened to pass by any. It was for them you performed, after all. It was always so endearing seeing their cute little reactions to the show.

This time was a little more special, though. She reminded you of yourself when you were that age. Down to the tan skin, brown eyes, and dark hair, pulled into a tight ponytail.

You felt this connection to her. It was inexplainable. In one of the dance numbers, you sort of gravitated around that relative area in front of her, interacting with her. You made that girl so happy. This was a night she’d never forget.

With the show coming to a close, you take your final bow for what seems like the millionth time, but it never ceases to feel like the first.

Curtains close, the cast comes together, and you all rejoice in another victorious performance.

You all retreat back to your dressing rooms, hastily wiping off make up, the stripping of fishnets and jazz shoes taking up majority of the already small dressing room.

It wasn’t abnormal for people to come up to you after the show and congratulate you on such a successful portrayal. Sometimes, though, it could be a lot. Sometimes, you just wanted to go home and body slam your twin bed. Not tonight, though. Standing yay high in a line of audience members awaiting autographs was the little girl. When both of your eyes met, your face instantly brightened, hers twice as much. She jumped up and down, again tugging at the towering figure’s jacket, exclaiming, “Look, papa! It’s her! It’s her!”, and you followed the direction of the adorable juvenile voice with a wide smile.

You walked up to her and knelt down to her level, speaking with a voice that could be compared to that of a Disney princess. As you approach the precious young girl, your maternal instincts slowly kick in. You couldn’t help it; you loved engaging with the kids.

“Oh, I remember you! You’re the pretty girl sitting in the front row! Did you enjoy the show?” You ask with a friendly smile. The girl looks at you all starstruck, her cute smile reaching from ear to ear as you tell her you remember her. “H-hi! I loved it! You were really good!” She professes, her dimples adorning her face. “Can I have an autograph?” She asked shyly, presenting the playbill that the ushers hand out to the audience and a pen. Just when you’re about to happily oblige, you see a hand reach down to her shoulder, followed by a low, soft voice,

“That’s not how we ask, mi Vida.”

Your eyes begin a path from the strong hand that rests on the little girl’s shoulder, up a Herculean arm clothed in what looks like black cashmere (it was cold out), next were his broad shoulders, preceding a sharp jaw and the most plump, dark pair of lips you’d ever lay eyes on, across a tanned, sculpted face, until you got to those deep brown, almost crimson eyes. You stared for a little too long, only managing a smile and a soft chuckle, a combo that you’ve practiced in the mirror countless of times in case an agent wanted to make their presence known.

The man looked like a model. Couldn’t have been over his early 30’s, easily standing over 6 feet tall, and from the looks of it, took very good care of his body. He was covered in a black trench coat, more black, yet much more fitted clothing worn under, but you could tell he was hiding massive muscles under it all. You just knew it. The man was freakishly huge, towering over the both of you, making you feel small especially since you were on your knees. His luscious dark hair was slicked back, a hint of greying on the sides, and one strand detached from the rest, falling down his forehead.

“Oh, sorry, papa. May I have an autograph, please?” She corrected herself, holding out the playbill and marker further out. You looked back down at her again, regaining your composure. Taking that she just called him ‘papa’, you assumed he must’ve had a mrs waiting back home, so you clocked this as an admire-from-afar situation. You tried to steal a glance at his hands to see if maybe there was a ring, but he was wearing gloves. Womp Womp. Oh well, whatever, back to the adorable girl in front me, you think.

“Of course you can, beautiful!” You exclaim, accepting the playbill and pen from her. You speak as you write your signature and a short note, “so what’s your name, mama?” (‘Mama’ can be a way of referring to someone younger than you). She looks at you with amazement as you’re focused on writing on the cast list page of the playbill, “My name is Gabriella”, she responds, to which you say, “What a gorgeous name! My name is y/n. How old are you Gabriella?” She seems to be so shocked that you, the coolest person she’s ever seen, wanted to have a conversation with her. “I’m six! I’ll be seven in seven days!” She says proudly. “Oh, such a big girl you are! Happy early birthday! What‘s your favorite thing to do, Gabriella?” You ask her as you finish the note, closing it and letting it sit in your hand as you focus on her now.

She visibly thinks hard, pursing her lips as she comes up with an answer. “Hmm… I really like to draw. I also like to play outside when I leave school and-and…” she twiddles her fingers as she adds,” -and I love to dance! Me and my papa dance at home a lot! You’re a way better dancer than him!” She giggles, looking up at him with a playful grin. He looks down at her with a loving smile, letting a velvety chuckle slip from his lips, allowing a perfect view of his dreamy smile. You could tell the two shared a beautiful relationship. He looked at her like she was his whole world, his hand caressing the top of her head affectionately. This little girl had this big strong man wrapped around her tiny finger, and you softened at the sight. He was probably an amazing dad… Jesus, who ever is sitting at home waiting for him really has scored the jackpot. Lucky.

“Aw, that sounds like fun! And as for your father, it just takes lots of practice, that’s all, mamita. As a matter of fact, I practiced for six years!” I say, holding out six fingers as I say it. She gasps at this fact about your training, her eyes wide. “Six years?! That’s like, forever!” She says. “Do I have to practice for six years to be good like you?” She inquires, her brows raised, waiting for your educated and professional answer. You carefully think of an answer, knowing anything you say could forever stay with this sweet girl. Words that you feel you would’ve appreciated at her age came to your mind, “Well, Gabriella, that’s hard to say. Time is different for everyone. The best thing to do when you want to follow your dreams is to simply be the best version of yourself. No need to copy anyone else. If you do that, you can absolutely do anything your lil heart desires, okay?” You finish, nodding your head, awaiting her confirmation.

You don’t notice, but her dad is watching the two of you interact, and he simply smiles at the exchange. He could tell you had a way with kids. He studied the way you spoke, the way you smiled at her, both being so genuine. He was entranced by you. He loved how engaging you were. You were truly creating a magical core memory for his daughter, and he was beyond appreciative of that.

Her mother had passed away of cancer when she was only 2, so she never truly got to meet her, or had a maternal figure in her life for that matter, so seeing her interact with this kindhearted actress was nice. Seeing the two of you interact reminded him of how important it was for Gabriella to have a female figure in her life. There was no doubt that you were a drop dead gorgeous woman as well, and by the accent he picked up on, it was evident that you were of Latin descent. You had that natural motherly charm to your essence. He was captivated by your presence on the stage already, but now that he was up close with you, he was beginning to feel like a high school boy with a crush. Stunning? Talented? A Latina? AND Gabriella was crazy about her? It had him thinking for sure.

Gabriella absorbs your words like a sponge, clinging on to every syllable. She smiles at you, breaking out in a fit of precious giggles. “Okay!” And with that, you give her playbill back, as well as her pen.

“Take a picture with her, sweetie.” You hear the mysterious, definitely-not-on-the-market dilf say. Gabriella nods eagerly with a, “ohmigosh, yes!”, and you reply with a warm, “definitely! How would you like to pose? Is this okay for you, mama?” You ask her, your hands hovering over her shoulders as she stands in front of you. You didn’t want to touch her unless she gave you an ‘ok’. Once she nods, you gently place your hands on her shoulders, still kneeling on one knee as you smile for the phone her dad was holding. You lower your face down to be next to hers. In the couple of seconds you sat there frozen for the picture, you could’ve sworn her dad had looked you up and down, his eyes stuck on your butt, but you decide to dismiss it. He might’ve just been making sure you were in the frame, is all.

Let’s be real for a second, the photo wasn’t for the record of Gabriella’s memories more than it was for her father’s own indulgence. He was totally thinking about looking back at this picture later and gush about your looks.

Gabriella turns around and asks one more question. “C-can we hug?” She asks timidly. You visibly melt at the request, “Aw, yes, of course we can, mamita!”, she quickly wraps her tiny little arms around you, and yours around her, “Thank you so much for coming to the show! I’m so happy you enjoyed it!” You say, her face still nuzzled into the softness of your sweater as you caress her tiny ponytail. When she pulls away, she only smiles, looking up at you like you were a fairy princess out of a storybook and a unicorn was gonna pull up and carry you away.

“What do we say, mija?” The beautiful man said.

“Thank you, y/n!” She sweetly adds.

You stand now, smiling down at her with your hand gently lifting her chin,“Remember, mama, you can do anything. Don’t let anyone tell you different, okay?” The cutie patootie nods, her smile still plastered on her face and her now signed playbill held tightly to her chest. “Okay. Have a goodnight, Gabriella,” you stand up straight now, your face only reaching up to the chest of her dad, giving him a warm smile as you try to maintain casual eye contact with the Greek god in front of you. Even now that you’re standing, he still towers over you. Lord have mercy, this man was makin you nervous in all the good ways. Thank God you knew how to act. “Thank you so much for coming to the show!“

The man looked down at you and flashed you a dashing smile in return, his gaze narrow yet soft. He then had the audacity to throw in a wink, opening his mouth to say, “No, no, thank you for a wonderful performance. You were absolutely breathtaking.” His gaze was borderline flirtatious, a blush creeping up on your cheeks, but you had to stay professional. Besides, he was totally married already. This was a simple, friendly compliment, one of hundreds you heard each night.

You look down at the floor for a second, in efforts to cover any blushing, a humble wave of your hand leading your reply, “Aw, I really appreciate that. You’re too kind, Thank you! You two get home safe now, I’d hate for either of you to get a cold!” You say, closing the conversation. You wave at the both of them, Gabriella waving the hardest of the three. Her father, on the other hand, seemed like he was distracted by you, not realizing his daughter was yanking on his coat to leave. The dad quickly snaps back to reality and says goodnight to you, and they make their way into the bustling street.

As you’re about to tend to other autographs, you can’t help but overhear Gabriella talk to her father as they leave. You could’ve sworn Gabriella’s words were, “Papa, were you making googly eyes at y/n?” To which her father replied with a chuckle and, “What? That’s silly, mi vida, now look where you’re going and hold onto my hand, por favor”, he said, brushing off her question. “She’s very pretty.” “Yes, she is, isn’t she?” He admits. That was the last of the conversation you heard. You found yourself smiling, internally celebrating because this fine ass man finds you pretty. Too bad he’s taken…right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After signing a few playbills and posters and bidding a farewell to some other audience members, you made your way back to the little studio apartment you called home, instantly beginning to knock out the second your head hit the pillow.

Before falling asleep, thoughts of the mystery man filled your mind, recollecting that chiseled jaw, those soft lips, muscles begging to break free from his button down dress shirt. His deep silky voice rang in your head, doing the opposite of lulling you to sleep. Your mind starting settling in the gutter, imagining that deep voice saying sweet yet disgusting things in your ear and those large, calloused hands removing your underwear instead of your own dainty hands. You can imagine his huge body just completely enveloping yours on the bed, him on top, and those soft lips planting wet, lazy kisses along your neck and other much more sensitive places. It was creating a heat within your core, your thighs shamefully pressing against each other to help relieve a growing tension that crept up from a single thought of his intense gaze; those eyes that could make your inexperienced self burst within seconds. You liked to think he’d talk you through it, only igniting the fire in between your legs even more.

Am I seriously fantasizing about a man I exchanged like 3 words with right now? You say to yourself. I don’t even know his name.

He was just so goddamn FIONE.

You’ve had your fair share of attractive men in the city. It’s Nueva York. And you worked in the performance industry. You were bound to see a 10/10 or two. But this guy… This man would’ve made you drool had you not had an adorable munchkin there to distract you. This man was a 10000/10. He had you contemplating whether or not you were gonna slip a hand into your panties tonight he was that good looking.

You were a virgin. You had spent half your life devoting it to the arts and your craft, so much so that you never got to the whole dating thing. You almost completely forgot about that part of the thing called ‘social life’. All you knew was practice, eat, workout, repeat. The opportunity definitely has presented itself, but you’ve declined because:

A) You weren’t ready to share yourself with someone. You wanted to focus on your career. Or

B) The man wasn’t up to your standards. You couldn’t be with someone unless you saw a future with them. You never really understood hook up culture. You could care less if other people preferred it, it just wasn’t your style.

So here you were, in bed, a hesitant hand slowly making its way to the now wet spot of your panties. You can’t remember the last time you let loose like this…

Yea, you gave in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you didn’t have your 9-5, however, you were called to perform both the matinee and late night show. You showed up early to the house, stretching and warming up along with the rest of the cast.

Already in your own head space as you meditate in a child’s pose, you start picking up some whispering amongst your costars. You lift your head, opening your eyes to eavesdrop.

“Did you hear about the donation this morning? A whopping $10k. I wonder who was it!” One of them says. Another one notices your attention and includes you in the conversation.

“Y/n, do you know about it?” but you only shrug, this being the first you’ve heard about it.

Another one chimes in, “heard it’s a hella loaded guy from Alchemax… he’s like a CEO or something-“ “Alchemax? As in the Laboratory? What’s a science nerd want with a theater troupe?” “Well doesn’t matter, what matters is we can finally update our sets and costumes, hallelujah.”

Your eyes dart from one cast mate to another as more information and whispers flood the stage.

Another one, who’s currently in a middle split, interjects, “Y’all do realize this means he gets a part of the house, right? He’s basically a producer at this point.”

“I thought it was just a donation-“ “the directors thought so, too, but then I overheard them discussing business plans. He wants in for sure, why? Have no idea. Total eye candy, though.” “Well, it might be good for us to have a businessman on our side-“

“Good morning, everyone!” Everyone looks over to your bright eyed and bushy tailed director. How can someone be this energetic at this waking hour?

“I don’t mean to interrupt your mingling, but I do bring some stellar news. I want to introduce ya’ll to our new patron of the house!” They say, and next to them appears a familiar tall, dark, and handsome figure adorned in a white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and jeans; A man that you remember inappropriately touching yourself to the night before. You inwardly thanked him for blessing you with a better view of the outline of his body: those broad shoulders sloping into the sluttiest waist ever to be found on a man. You had to physically hold back moan from the sight.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Miguel O’Hara.”

You’re gagged. The gorgeous man that thought you were pretty last night was the CEO of Alchemax, and he just became a partner of your theatre. The sudden realization that he’ll be around regularly tied knots in your stomach, but the good kind.

“Now I want you all to make him feel welcomed. He basically just opened his wallet wide open for us, so this show better be flawless.“ your director reprimands, as if y’all aren’t the city’s finest performers already. People around the world came to see you guys.

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on them, the main reason why I donated in the first place was because of the raw talent you have here,” his eyes fell on you when he says this. His voice pierced through the air like a hot knife on butter, his slight accent adding a bit of heat that sent everyone’s heart fluttering. You fought back a blush once again, looking down at the floor due to his powerful gaze. He smiles at your reaction, “It’ll be a pleasure working with all of you. Now, I know it might be strange, seeing that a scientist has just partnered with your house, but please, don’t let my line of work mislead you; I’m a lover of the arts and… all things beautiful.” His eyes once again fall on you for those last few words with that same narrow yet easy gaze. His smirk alone could make you swoon. He had creases that accentuated his brow lines and cheekbones that only added that much more suave to his look. Could be from the surely scowl he constantly held at his work. To the majority, this would just been seen as a sign of aging, but to you, it was hot.

“I look forward to our partnership. Break legs.” And with this he turns and walks away, stealing one last look at you before he’s out of sight. I’d rather you break my back. Your eyes shamelessly follow him, admiring that tight ass in those jeans of his. Dios mio, you think, biting your lip.

You know, for a virgin, you had the mind of a whore.

You couldn’t believe it. Your cast mate next to you could, though, as they shot you a knowing look, to which you nudged them embarrassingly.

“Seems like our hot new patron likes you, y/n.”

“Stop it!” You rebut along with a roll of your eyes, your friend stifling a laugh. You were in denial. You’d be lying if you said you disagreed. The man was definitely eyeing you, and now you were a flustered mess. However, now that he wasn’t wearing gloves, you can confidently say you don’t remember seeing a ring…

bingo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope u wike it <3

Enjoy this appetizer, more to cum<3

Mwah<3

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art · 1 year

Photo

Creator Spotlight: @scottlava

Scott Campbell has illustrated numerous children’s books, including SKULLS!, Sleepy the Goodnight Buddy, and Zombie In Love. He was author/illustrator of the much-loved HUG MACHINE. He enjoyed a long career in video games, where he art directed the critically acclaimed game Psychonauts and Brutal Legend for Double Fine Productions. Great Showdowns is his ongoing online series. Scott’s work has appeared in galleries and publications around the world. You can see more of his work at ScottC.com.

Check out our interview with Scott below!

How did you get your start in art, and more specifically, with Great Showdowns?

I went to art school in San Francisco and have been painting, making comics, and designing video games ever since with Double Fine Productions. The Great Showdowns began at the first Crazy 4 Cult exhibition at Gallery 1988 in Los Angeles back in 2007, an exhibition of artwork inspired by the cult classics of cinema. The first 10 little paintings were intended to be snack-sized pieces for people to easily collect. They began with perhaps the most iconic of wild west showdowns from A Fistful of Dollars with Clint Eastwood. I pulled some of my favorite moments from films like Ghostbusters, Predator, Exorcist, and Planet of the Apes and placed them all in simple little dust-colored squares as if they were in the dirt streets of a wild west town. They began as good versus evil but grew to all kinds of showdowns between people and objects and often moments of great love between people. I started a tumblr for them a few years later, and I have been posting them ever since. We have published three Great Showdown books and have had 3 solo exhibitions along with worldwide scavenger hunts. There are over a thousand of them up on the site by now, and i do not plan on stopping any time soon.

Which 3 famous artists (dead or alive) would you invite to your dinner party?

I would like to gather Jim Henson, Walt Disney, and Richard Scarry together for dinner and chats. They have all created my favorite and most joyful worlds. I think we would have some of the most delightful chats.

What is a medium that you have always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

I love collage, but every time I try it, I get frustrated and just quit. Someday I will get into it when my kids are old enough to really mess around with various mediums. I plan to have boxes of textiles and magazines for them to just annihilate.

What does your work set up look like?

Oh, it’s just a table with an old mug for water and an old plate for my watercolors and not much else. I share a studio with a bunch of very inspiring people who make wonderful things, from fabricated creatures to VR experiences and films. I have probably the simplest little area in the space. I do have an old oak flat file that I love to look at.

Advice you would give to an aspiring creator?

The biggest thing I would push upon everyone would be to not fret about one’s visual style. The style will grow and present itself as you experiment with mediums and expose yourself to various cultural delights. Just have fun and try all kinds of things.

What is one interaction you had from a fan of yours that has stuck with you over the years?

I gave a game design presentation many years back on a game I had art directed at the time called Brutal Legend at a game conference in Leeds. The game followed a roadie to the age of metal in the land of metal, with demons and chrome volcanoes and hot rods growing from the ground, and rivers of happy and cheering fans. After the talk, I spoke with someone whose work I had seen in earlier portfolio reviews at the conference. She was very shy but incredibly talented. She came up to me after the talk feeling pretty emotional and inspired to the point of tears and sobbing. It was probably the most extreme reaction I have ever gotten from someone, and it touched me deep down in my guts. That’s why we make things! To bring on the tears!

From video games, to illustrations, and children's books, you've worked on many projects. What was the most challenging, yet rewarding one?

Video games take an enormous amount of work over a long period of time and rely on the skills and talent of many like-minded people. It is sometimes difficult to corral such an effort, but it is incredibly rewarding to see it all come together to create such epic worlds. That said, though, children’s books are very enjoyable in a cozy way. It’s just me right there working on a world and all the pressure is on me. I cannot rely on all the talented people around me to make it look great.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

I love perusing old fashion and film blogs and artists like Bob Jinx and Neil Sanders and collections like Its Colossal.

Thanks for stopping by, Scott! Be sure to check out the Great Showdowns over at @scottlava!

#creator spotlight #artists on tumblr #scott campbell #great showdowns

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dotieeee · 4 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 4

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 4 Warnings:

Snow being a manipulative and gaslighting creep, shady deals done behind your back, things begin escalating here!!!

Replay Level 3

Ready? Level 4 Start:

The doorbell to your apartment rings just as you’re setting the table for three. You get the door, and true enough, your only guest for tonight waits on the other side, carrying a box wrapped in a scarlet bow on one hand and a large bouquet of red roses on the other.

He hands the flowers to you as you invite him in and take his coat.

“These are lovely, thank you,” you beam at him. You bask in the aroma of the fresh flowers, but Coryo’s nose seems to focus on something different.

“Pasta, and garlic bread? It smells wonderful,” he compliments. He hands you the box, which you assume is cake, and asks, “Where shall I…?”

“I’ll put that in the fridge and put these – ” you gesture at the flowers – “In a vase. Take a seat and I’ll get you a drink. Any preference?”

He gracefully sits on the sofa and, giving you a warm smile, he replies, “Just tea, please.”

You hear the oven ding in the kitchen, followed by a shout from your uncle, who seems to be in his office.

“Plumcake, can you take the garlic bread out of the oven, please?”

“‘Plumcake?’” Coryo asks with a teasing grin. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“It’s just a nickname,” you reply a little more defensively than you mean to. “I’ll get you the tea in a moment.”

“I’ll help,” he says. You try to get him to stay put, but he’s already following you into the kitchen.

He helps with the garlic bread, and as he’s removing the gloves, he says, “Can I call you that?”

To say you’re mortified is an understatement. “Please, no.”

“Why not?” He gives you a wide-eyed innocent look as he accepts his tea. “It makes perfect sense; your name already gives it away.”

But your Uncle Cas chooses that moment to enter the kitchen.

“Sorry about that, plumcake, I – oh.”

“Uncle, this is Coriolanus,” you begin introducing the two. “I know you’ve already met, but I might as well. Coryo, meet my Uncle Cas.”

Your uncle puts on a pleasant smile and greets your guest. “Coriolanus! I’m glad you could join us.”

Coryo’s posture straightens as he extends his hand and addresses him formally. “Mr Innis. Thank you for having me, pleasure’s all mine.”

Uncle Cas shakes his hand and declares, “So, who’s hungry?”

Dinner begins without any hitches, and the conversation in between is lighthearted. Coryo is just as charming as always, and your uncle is just as delightful a host.

“This is delicious, Mr Innis,” Coryo praises, referring to the pasta.

Your uncle, seated at the head of the table, brushes it off with a laugh. “If I cooked that, you’d be on the floor by now, heaving and having seizures. That’s Nellie’s, although I take full credit for the sourdough bread.”

Coryo turns to you from across the table with a grin. “One learns something new every day. Are there any more talents you’re keeping hidden from me?”

“Oh no, this isn’t a talent: it’s survival. Otherwise, my uncle’s cooking would’ve poisoned me,” you shoot your uncle a pointed look, before turning back to your friend. “And I wouldn’t have made it past the age of seven. But I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. I have not had a home-cooked meal in a while since I moved out from Corso I, and it felt a tad too excessive to hire a cook with me being out for most of the day,” Coryo admits.

His moving out is news to you. “Wait. You moved out? Since when? And where?”

“A month ago, to a new building near the University and the Citadel. It’s a wonderful place, I have it all to myself – an albeit late gift from Mr Plinth for my twentieth birthday. But I’m still trying to settle in.”

“Oh, but that’s nice, still!” you say, before biting into a piece of garlic bread. “You get the place to yourself, practice your independence, and all – ”

“Nellie, I know it’s your birthday and you can perfectly take care of yourself, but I’m not buying you an apartment,” your uncle interrupts flatly.

“What, I didn’t say anything!”

The pasta is eventually cleared up, making way to dessert. When you take out the cake from the fridge and out of the box, you gasp audibly.

Coryo bought you your favourite cake flavour: chocolate cherry.

You gape at him and ask, “How did you know?”

But he just flashes a mischievous look at you. “I’ll never tell.”

After all of you get each other’s fill of the cake – the most delicious of its kind you’ve ever had – your uncle volunteers to clear the table so you and your friend can move to the living room to talk. You decide to bring out the only bottle of wine you have in the pantry.

“No maids tonight?” Coryo questions, setting down the bottle on the coffee table and pouring the red liquid halfway through your tall glass.

“We have two in shifts; they alternate each morning. Uncle decided a long time ago to not hire stay-at-home maids, or a cook, so we could both learn a little responsibility.”

“Hmm. And he doesn’t drink?”

You shake your head as you sip. “No. He’s been sober since I can remember.” You put down your glass with pursed lips.

Coryo’s lips are upturned as he observes you through the rim of his glass. “You don’t drink either, from the looks of it.”

You grin dryly in admittance. You watch as he takes another sip before his expression shifts to excitement.

“I have been meaning to give you this all night.” He takes out a tiny, velvet box from inside his waistcoat pocket. “Your birthday gift,” he whispers.

Too stunned to speak, you gulp lightly when you take it.

“Open it,” he urges.

You flip the lid to reveal a plum-coloured, tear-drop-shaped diamond charm attached to what looks like a fine, white gold chain necklace. Your jaw drops at its sheer elegance. Judging by his look, he’s extremely pleased at your reaction.

“See? ‘Plumcake’ is fitting. Or...how about ‘sugarplum?’ That way, only I get to use it.”

His use of pet names even fails to faze you. “Coryo, this is too much...” you begin, but he just shushes you with a finger to your lips.

His eyes are half-lidded, glinting in the dim lighting, his tone hushed as he says, “Turn around so I can put it on you.”

You do as he says, only because that stare of his unnerved you a little.

His fingertips graze your collarbone as he gathers your hair to the side. You feel the weight of the diamond necklace around your neck: cold, heavy, a little stifling, just like his proximity. His hands finish with the clasp of the necklace, but they remain on your shoulders.

You’re overreacting, you tell yourself.

You almost jump as you feel warm breath brush against your earlobe, and his voice, an octave lower, whispers, “Happy birthday, plumcake.”

You get a sudden urge not to turn around.

In an attempt to break the tension, you lightly joke, “Call me that one more time and I’ll put poison in your tea.”

But his lips brush against your hair this time, and he lets out a breathy laugh that tickles the shell of your ear. “For you, sugarplum, I’d drink it in a heartbeat and ask for seconds.”

Goosebumps erupt on your arm as you feel his fingertips ghost over your back when he releases your shoulders.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that better.”

A pause ensues, but all you can hear is your thrumming pulse, accelerating when you hear his next request:

“Turn back around so I can see you wearing it.”

You breathe sharply and steel yourself to comply.

There’s an odd glint in his gaze that chills you, except you’re not sure what it is or why you’re frozen in place with it. The corner of Coryo’s mouth lifts, he strokes your jaw and lifts your chin while a forefinger traces a line on your cheek. Your lower lip trembles every so slightly.

“My pretty little sugarplum.”

He releases you in the blink of an eye, his smile once more broad and friendly, just as your uncle walks into the living room to declare he’s finished cleaning up.

It’s nothing, you assure yourself.

You’re desperate to change the subject, so you ask your friend if he wants to take home some of the leftover pasta which he gratefully accepts.

“That way, I’ll have something you made for breakfast,” he says.

When you hand him the glass container filled with the food, he addresses your uncle, who’s quietly leaning against the kitchen entryway watching the two of you.

“I have to confess: I actually have a bit of an ulterior motive for coming over, Mr Innis.”

“Oh?”

“The Plinths, specifically Mr Plinth, want to invite you and Nellie for dinner this Sunday. I suspect Mr Plinth wants to make a proposal that will benefit his business and yours.”

Your uncle’s expression lights up, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s two days from now. I wonder what it could be about. Any chance he’s elaborated?” he asks.

Coryo just smiles apologetically and responds, “I’m afraid that’s the extent of what I was told. Their new home is just a floor below ours at Corso I, and the dinner is at seven, if you choose to accept.”

Uncle Cas nods thoughtfully. “Alright. Tell Strabo we’ll be there. Should we bring anything?”

“They will take care of everything, Mr Innis, don’t you worry.”

Your friend, thanking you both for dinner and wishing you once more a happy birthday, shakes your uncle’s hand and finally bids farewell for the night.

Relief takes over your form the moment you close the door behind him.

“Nellie.”

You glance at your uncle with tired, heavy eyes. He gives you a concerned once-over.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, placing both his hands on your shoulder. His stare lands on the necklace you’re still wearing, his eyes narrowing at it, before flicking back to yours.

Did he see... anything in the living room before he walked in?

“Yeah,” you say. You immediately regret how unconvinced you sound. “I’m just tired, uncle. Are we really going to the Plinths?”

“Do we have a reason not to?”

You chew on the insides of your cheek, unable to come up with an answer. You doubt he’d believe it if you say, ‘I just don’t feel right about it.’

Uncle Cas observes you with his hands in his pocket, but he lets out a drawn-out exhale. “We’ll go, but we’ll leave when things get uncomfortable, okay? Get some sleep.”

You hadn’t originally planned on enrolling for summer classes, but you figure you need the distraction, and the extra credits can’t hurt.

No matter what you do, however, no matter how much work you take on yourself in your uncle’s private lab, you can’t seem to get your mind off your friend’s peculiar behaviour towards you after dinner. Perhaps it was all just a friendly gesture to him, and he meant nothing by it; you just misread the whole situation. Maybe you could pin it to booze, but as far as you can remember, he had barely finished half a glass then. Whatever it was, it still leaves you perturbed every time you think about it. And what’s worse is you don’t know why you feel that way.

Thankfully, you don’t see a single platinum-blond hair of Coriolanus Snow for the next two days; so far, he’s only had coffee and some of your favourite pastries delivered to the Uni’s private lab. How he found out you’re there, you don’t want to know. After you finish enrolling in the subjects you felt you needed, you bury yourself in your code work, unsure how you’re going to face a lousy two or three hours sitting down with the family of the dead man you love and the friend whose recent actions have increasingly confused and unsettled you.

And then, there’s Ma Plinth. You have not had a chance to even talk to her or ask her how she’s been since Sejanus’s death. She’s still obviously devastated, that much you know. If she ever finds out about your feelings for her son, or that you have not gotten over him after all this time, who knows what she’ll do or say? Who knows what kind of grief could resurface if she starts talking to you about him?

Just that thought alone makes you dread the dinner with the Plinths all the more.

Saturday arrives without much fanfare, but your misgivings increase tenfold.

“Uncle Cas, do I really have to be there?” you grumble as you adjust your black dress and your hair tie for the umpteenth time. “Coriolanus said it’s a business proposal, I might not even be needed.”

You find your uncle in the living room waiting for you with a deadpan smile.

“Welcome to adulthood, plumcake, where half the places you go to are places you don’t even want to be in.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, but he just laughs.

“That’s the spirit.”

You can’t help but pout. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What are you talking about? I’m the epitome of misery.”

You don’t have to walk that far, seeing as the new Plinth home is just directly across, located in the most luxurious of the Corso buildings. You and your uncle are greeted by a jovial Strabo Plinth with Coriolanus in tow looking like his usual charming self. You greet Sir Plinth politely.

“Ah, the Innis princess! My, you’ve grown into a fine, young woman, Prunella Innis,” he praises. He then addresses the young man behind him. “Coriolanus, see to it that Nellie is taken care of, will you?”

With his arms behind his back, he nods with a smile. “Yes sir, I will.”

Satisfied, Plinth senior turns his attention back to your Uncle Cas, saying, “Why don’t we leave the kids to talk, Acacius? I heard of Innis Tech’s recent CapNet acquisition…”

The two older adults walk away in deep conversation about business, leaving you alone with your friend. You try to avoid eye contact with him, but you can’t keep from brushing past him as you cross the foyer.

“You look pretty,” he leans closer to your ear as you walk by. You mutter your thanks, intending to get as far away from him as the Plinth apartment can afford you, only to be blocked by the arm he places in front of you to keep you in place.

“Nellie, is something wrong?”

He sidesteps to fully face you. You cross your arms and stare right at his collar just so you can keep from looking into those blue orbs.

“Did I say or do something to hurt you?”

“No, I – ”

“Then, what is it? Why are you upset?”

You bite your lower lip, unsure what to tell him. What exactly are you upset about?

“It’s nothing,” you whisper.

“There is clearly something that’s making you unhappy. You can tell me what that is.”

“I said it’s nothi – ”

“Nellie, you’re pushing me away again.”

The obvious hurt in his voice makes you look up at him. “I don’t mean to,” you admit. You could never intentionally hurt him.

“Then what is this about? Is this about that night at your place?” He dips his head further when you avert your gaze. With a finger, he lifts your chin, making you observe his reproachful expression. “Whatever I did, whatever I said, I did because I like you. I like your company; I like being around you. I’ve always felt I could be more open to you compared to everyone else. You’re different that way, Nellie. Is it so bad to want to give a person I like a gift on her birthday?”

Of course not. Is it possible that your head got in the way of your friendship again? Feeling sheepish, you begin explaining yourself. “No, I’m sorry, I’m being foolish. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I should be thankful for your gift, Coryo.”

Your friend’s expression softens considerably.

“I’m sorry.”

He kisses your hair gently and flashes you a smile when he pulls away. “All is forgiven, sugarplum. I can never stay upset at you.”

You simply misinterpreted his actions. Right?

Maybe that is what happened. Before you can mull over your feelings, however, Ma Plinth enters the foyer, and with an audible gasp, she makes a beeline towards you. You take a small, backward step between you and your friend, a little embarrassed that you’ve been caught so close to each other by no less than Sejanus’s mother. You think you saw Coryo’s jaw tick at the distance, but Ma encases you in an affectionate embrace and his features are once more genial.

What is it they said about seeing things you’re expecting to see? You’re being unfair to him again.

You hug the mother of the man you loved just as fondly, hoping you can convey everything you want to say to her with just a single touch. She releases you, beaming with pure joy as she lifts your chin with both palms. “My dear Nellie, look at you, you look even prettier than the last time I saw you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You don’t come by anymore.”

You flash her a contrite smile, regretting not keeping in touch with her. Even after all those times, she still greets you the same way. Unable to think of anything else to say, you settle with, “You look well, Ma. Thank you for having us tonight. I’m sorry, I promise I’ll come visit you more.”

She waves a dismissive hand and takes you by the arm.

“Oh, dear, I understand. Coriolanus talks about you all the time, and he’s been relaying how busy you’ve been under your uncle’s tutelage. He’s told me you work in the same position as he does. Acacius must be so proud.”

“Well, I have to admit; Coryo has had significantly more success in the field than I have.”

Your friend glows at your compliment as he steps beside you and Ma. “Don’t sell yourself short, my dear Nellie. I’m sure you’ve made great progress in your own right,” he says as he places his hand on your arm.

You let her lead you away to a lounge where you’re served tea by a maid. Ma leads the conversation, settling for a recipe that she thinks you might like to try. Coryo just observes the entire time, chiming in when necessary. A little while later, another maid announces dinner time, and you follow Ma to the dining room, your friend trailing behind. Plinth senior pulls up the chair to his right for his wife, before taking his seat at the head of the table. Coryo also pulls up the chair beside Ma’s for you and takes the seat directly across from you.

Strabo flashes him a look of pride. “It’s the important women in our lives who have to be served the most.”

You decide to completely ignore this comment and just smile politely.

Dinner is served in several dishes by several maids, with everyone, especially your uncle, praising Ma’s spectacular cooking. Lighthearted conversation ensues about the Plinth and Innis seniors’ work, followed by yours and Coryo’s, which of course veer into the Hunger Games.

Again, you smile politely throughout the conversation, wishing the night is over and you’re back at home swathed in blankets and dozing off.

Eventually, the torture subsides with dessert – a perfectly crafted panna cotta courtesy of Ma – and Strabo formally requests a private audience with your Uncle Cas and takes your friend with him.

You’re left sitting beside Ma on the couch back in the lounge where you had tea earlier.

“Bring me the magazines while you’re at it,” she tells the maid serving you another cup of tea.

The magazines turn out to be a pile of bridal catalogues – Panem’s most stylish wedding gowns and bridesmaids’ collectionsn plus some of the most extravagant, highly in demand wedding plans in high society – an appalling treasure-trove of overpriced matrimonial junk only to be used once and then promptly discarded as soon as the magic is over.

“I have always loved this part,” Ma tells you excitedly as she flips the latest edition magazine open. “Nellie, do tell me what you think of this theme.”

She extends the catalogue for you to see – a lavender and pastel-green-themed set of table decor adorned with fresh lavender flowers, baby’s breath, and other greens.

“It’s pretty, Ma,” you say. It’s true. But why is she showing you this?

She exclaims ‘Ooh!’ at another one she finds – this time, a shade of atrocious pink and alien-puke green – which she shows with just as much gusto. She shows you several more, before declaring – more to herself than to you – that shades of dark red might be the way to go.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, she gets to the bridal gowns section.

Either she’s getting remarried, or she’s officially gone loopy.

“Ma, you seem keen on planning this wedding. Is this for a friend of yours?” you ask her after she shows you the seventh gown.

She waves her hand and says vaguely, “Oh dear, it’s for family. It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but I suppose it’s only a matter of time.”

Eventually, Ma sighs dreamily, relaxing on the couch and sipping her tea. She goes quiet for a few moments before abruptly addressing you, making you almost jump in your seat.

“You know, Nellie, dear, between you and me, I’ve always thought Sejanus had taken a...special liking to you.”

And there it is. The one conversation with her you had been trying avoid.

She senses absolutely nothing of your reluctance to discuss anything to do with her son.

“He would never admit it to me, but I could tell,” she continues. “He would always get nervous about having you over for your school projects. He would suddenly be very nit-picky with the food and he would fuss over the clothes he’s wearing...”

She trails off, her eyes glistening with moisture. You may have lost your first love, but she lost her only son. Your heart squeezes at the thought of her suffering quietly while everyone around her seems to have moved on.

You hold the hands she has folded on her lap and confess.

“I’m so sorry, Ma. I wish I had come by more often after...” You inhale sharply to avoid saying it out loud. “I loved your son, I want you to know that. I love him to this day. I promise I’ll be around more, it’s the least I could do.”

Sejanus would be so disappointed in you for waiting so long to say this to his mother.

She tears up at your words and pulls you in for a hug.

“My dear girl, there is nothing to be sorry for. I knew you were hurting, too. I’m glad my son had you in his life.” She pulls away and lifts your chin, flashing you a wet smile. You shed your own tears, but her warmth is so comforting you can’t help but smile too.

She’s almost as warm as him.

“And now, my other son has you in his life, and for that I’m grateful,” she adds.

What?

You blink twice to make sure you heard correctly.

She goes back to her tea once more as she wipes her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I worry constantly about him, with him moving out and living independently. I suppose there was nothing I could have done; Coriolanus had always been adamant about chasing after his dreams that way. But now that he has you, I can worry less.”

Oh no. She can’t be thinking that you and Coriolanus are together, can she?

“Uh, Ma, there’s – ”

Somewhere in the lush apartment, a door bursts open, indicating the end of the conversation between the men.

“Ah, Nellie! There you are.”

Uncle Cas enters the lounge with a breezy smile. But something’s off, you can tell. You know your uncle well and long enough to figure out that he isn’t in the best mood. He tilts his head imperceptibly at you, indicating his want to leave.

Oh, he’s pissed.

“Thank you for having Nellie and me, Mrs Plinth,” he addresses the Plinth matriarch with a kind smile as you get to your feet. “I’d love to stay a little while longer, but I have early summer classes to attend tomorrow, and Nellie has to help me with the preparations.”

A carefree Plinth senior makes his appearance in the lounge with an unreadable Coriolanus following behind him.

Your friend’s eyes, however, are nothing but enraged.

What the fuck happened in there?

“Strabo, by your leave,” your uncle says with a tip of his head. “Thank you, you three, for a wonderful meal.”

Mr Plinth nods with a wide smile. “You are welcome anytime, Acacius. Again, if you change your mind, we are more than willing to re-discuss our terms.”

“Of course.”

You take your turn thanking Mr and Mrs Plinth and bid your friend a good night. His eyes relax visibly as he returns your farewell.

And just like that, you find yourselves out of their home and back into yours. In one piece, safe and sound.

Uncle Cas plops down onto the living room sofa with a groan of exhaustion.

“That was...eventful,” you say.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he murmurs to himself while he stares at the ceiling.

You take the empty couch next to the sofa.

“You lied to them. You don’t have a summer class, not until Thursday.”

“Eh. They don’t know that.”

You wonder what would make your uncle want to leave like that when the Plinths hosted you so graciously. “Uncle? How’d the business proposal go?”

He sighs, removing his shoes, as he debates within himself. “It went...as well as you’d hope.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion. “And...?”

He gets up with a flat smile and walks off to his bedroom, presumably to deposit his shoes. You follow him, wondering why he’s stalling. You lean against his bedroom doorway with your arms crossed.

“And I ultimately decided that their values don’t align with mine and I declined the proposal,” he says. “Happy? Now go to bed. Whether I have a class or not, those class guides aren’t going to print themselves tomorrow. They may need a certain apprentice of mine to get them printed, sorted, and stapled.”

You ignore the reminder of more work in favour of extracting more information. “Your values don’t align,” you insist. “Which is business talk for ‘we’ve nothing in common that we’re practically enemies, and it will never work out, so I told them to fuck off.’”

He gives you a pointed look as he exits his room. “Language, plumcake. But yes, essentially.”

You follow him to his office, where he turns on his computer and begins typing furiously at a program you’re not familiar with.

“Uncle Cas, did you just make enemies out of the Plinths?”

“Nah, I’m sure they don’t see it that way. On the other hand...” he trails off and doesn’t add anything more, leaving you hanging and all the more confounded.

You finally give up. If he wants to be this secretive about it, fine. “Thanks for an enlightening exchange. Good night, uncle.”

He just hums in acknowledgement. You turn to exit his office, but he calls your name at the last minute.

“Nellie? About Snow...”

Oh no. He, too, can’t be thinking you and your friend are together, can he?

“What about him?”

“You know what, never mind,” he dismisses. “There’s an envelope on my desk at the University lab that I’d like you to bring to Dr Kay tomorrow. At the Citadel.”

Now, this stumps you. Your uncle made you a promise he’d never make you work there. “Why now?”

“Dr Kay needs it. She’s been pestering me about it for days. She wears those ridiculously large pink glasses, she’s not hard to miss.” As if he reads the dread on your face, he adds, “It’s not going to take you long. Bring it to her, and then you can leave, go back to the University, and print those class guides.”

You nod, however reluctantly.

“Nellie? I need you to listen carefully. There’s a reason why I gave you my word never to bring you to the Citadel, despite being my official apprentice. Lingering inside that place can get you in trouble.”

Your uncle’s serious warning stays with you when you finally get to bed, and it’s the first thing you recall when you wake. He’s gone, presumably to his work at the Citadel, so you do as you’re told. You make a quick way of retrieving the typical-looking envelope before you ask the driver to take you to the place you’d never thought you’d ever enter.

The car isn’t allowed beyond the gates, so you approach the Peacekeeper station on foot, where you through retina scanning. They probably would’ve confiscated your bag if you brought it with you. One of them makes a move to take the envelope, but you take a step back.

“Acacius Innis wants me to give this to Dr Kay. I’m assuming it’s top secret,” you defend.

He nods in understanding and beckons you to follow. With your escort, you trudge down a long, empty grey hallway.

There’s a certain special kind of relationship that the Capitol has with Brutalist architecture. Brutalism was designed to be cold, imposing, and utilitarian. It has beauty, you suppose, but the type of beauty that’s distant, almost desolate, and unforgiving.

The elevator takes you deep underground, eventually opening its doors to a bright open space, strewn with long, white tables, and high ceilings covered in what look like glass panels. You exit, turning to the peacekeeper to ask for directions, but the elevator door closes behind you.

Maybe you could’ve asked your uncle for a map in hindsight.

Moving along the path to your right, you get a closer look at the glass panels to discover they’re actually cages.

Cages upon cages, stacked sky-high, containing a slew of creatures, some genetically altered beyond recognition.

Lingering inside that place can get you in trouble.

As your uncle’s words echo in your head, you walk quickly, averting your gaze from the glass cages and doubling your motivation to find this Dr Kay. You meet no other human being as you tread aimlessly, and soon enough it becomes harder and harder to navigate the seemingly endless rows of glass cages without at least peeking at them, or risk going around in circles. Eventually, you find yourself in a section labelled ‘Aviary,’ surrounded by cages filled with nothing but winged creatures of all sizes and shapes, cooing and caw-ing in sickening discordance. You walk several more steps before you hear a voice.

“Fetch the doughnuts.”

Finally, a person!

“Hello?” you call out. You hear someone echo it. You call out again, walking in the direction of the sound. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?”

It echoes again, this time sounding more familiar.

“Excuse me? Excuse me?” The voice repeats. And then it clicks: the voice is familiar because it’s yours, and it’s coming from a cage to your left.

Jabberjays. Of course.

The plumage is unmistakable from the books you’ve read. Sleek black feathers, morphing to bluish-purple at the base of its neck.

Eventually, the others catch on, and in a few seconds, all you can hear is the maddening sound of your own confusion being repeated a hundred-fold. You clutch the envelope close, having a half-mind to just come back later when you hear a pair of heels catching up on you.

“Wait, are you Acacius Innis’s niece?”

You turn around to find yourself face to face with a woman wearing pink glasses too big for her face.

“Dr Kay!” You sigh in relief.

“Come with me over there, it’s much quieter.”

Glad to finally be away from the birds, you’re quick to fall into step with her, only stopping when you reach a table stacked to the edge with documents and envelopes not unlike the one you’re holding.

“Your uncle told me he’d have you bring the papers over?”

You nod and hand it over.

“They’re quite unnerving, huh?” she says with a smile, referring to the jabberjays.

Sheepishly, you laugh. That’s an understatement; they’d make perfect devices for psychological torture. “Yes, a bit. How did you get that many?”

“We had them flown from District 12, actually. It took a joint effort of peacekeepers to gather them.”

This information piques your interest. Coryo was stationed in District 12 as a peacekeeper. Maybe be rounded off a few of them.

“When did they get here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Uh, September four, if I remember correctly,” she says absently as she struggles with opening the envelope. “...because we had to quarantine them from the rest of the birds, one of them died the day after they arrived. It kick-started a vaccination campaign in the entire Genetics department.”

September four. Two days before Sejanus was executed.

A wave of ice-cold realisation hits you.

“The jabberjays...they can record human voices with a remote, right?” you ask, masking your suspicion with curiosity.

“Yes, if they’re on ‘record,’ otherwise they’d mimic pretty much any sound they fancy.”

Determined to seek answers, you press on, carefully choosing your words. “It’s surprising how they still function so well after all those years...”

Dr Kay smiles warmly at you. “You Innises...so naturally inquisitive. Your uncle is the same, you know. We’ve worked on a handful of projects together before...but yes. Some of the peacekeepers even tested them out before they were sent here. You know, I was wondering when your uncle would bring you around, you’re his apprentice, right?”

“Oh, he occupies me with administrative stuff at school.” Your reply becomes automatic, your mind running on overdrive. Like an algorithm being fed with new information to process.

“Yeah, that sounds like your uncle, alright.” She finally succeeds with prying the files out of the envelope, but you’re only vaguely taking this in. “There must be a mistake, these are test papers for Advanced Trigonometry.”

“Huh? I’m sorry, I must’ve grabbed the wrong files...” Your eyes glaze over the papers as you try to calm your inner turmoil.

A peacekeeper ratted Sejanus out.

As soon as you come to a terrifying conclusion, it’s all your mind could run.

“Nellie! There you are, I just knew you’d get lost.”

Your uncle breaks you from your trancelike state. Addressing Dr Kay, he says, “I had the files all along, I totally forgot I wedged them hastily yesterday inside my briefcase.” He hands the female doctor a similar-looking envelope.

“They really should label these...” Dr Kay mutters.

“So sorry, plumcake. Here. For your trouble.”

Uncle Cas digs into his lab pocket and hands you a lollipop.

You have to get your shit together.

You inspect the candy as you take it, noting how it’s melted in its plastic wrapper and has lint sticking all over it.

“Does the Citadel know you’re casually carrying around a level three biohazard in your lab pocket? How long has this thing been in there?” you joke. Dr Kay’s laughter echoes through the glass-cage-laden hall.

“Try it and then let me know. If you get hives after, we’ll chalk it up to science,” he says just as cheekily. “Run along now. I’ll walk you to the upper level, you might get lost again.”

“Good to know she has your sense of humour,” Dr Kay comments lightly.

Your uncle takes you by the shoulder and guides you to the elevator. “You know what, go straight home, Nellie. Take the day off. The class guides can wait until tomorrow.”

Safe with your uncle inside the elevator, you finally had time to piece together in your head the information you had accidentally stumbled upon.

A peacekeeper must’ve recorded Sejanus on a confession using a jabberjay. It’s not a coincidence only one of them died after the birds got to the Citadel. Whoever killed the bird knew who betrayed your friend and ultimately got him killed, and they did it to cover their tracks.

Coriolanus most likely rubbed shoulders with them, too, and he doesn’t even know it.

The elevator takes you to the top floor with a ding. Uncle Cas escorts you to the gates, but before he takes his leave of you, he casually leans closer so only you can hear what he says:

“Whatever you found out in there, plan your next move wisely.”

With a final strange look, he turns away and disappears inside the building.

Another less outlandish idea crosses your mind: maybe your uncle didn’t forget about the file. He planned your trip to the Citadel on purpose.

Did Acacius Innis just lead you to unearth the truth about Sejanus’s death?

You understand why, but the timing...why now?

You decide to take your uncle’s advice and head straight home – your brain possesses too little processing power to run that much information at once. Like a microprocessing chip that’s overheating and about to crash, running a program that’s too big for its capacity.

Once home, you head straight to the kitchen in a trance. You take out a pint of ice cream from the freezer, and without even sitting down, you demolish it in one go as you lean heavily on the counter. You eat so fast, that you barely taste the flavour: brownie ala mode.

A snide voice invades your thoughts – the familiar one that always resurfaces just before you make incorrect assumptions that lead to horrible decisions.

What if it was Coriolanus?

It takes the loud clang of your spoon on the kitchen floor for you to recognise that voice and push it away.

How could you think that of Coriolanus? There you are again, not giving him a chance and judging him without basis. He wouldn’t betray his best friend. He wouldn’t lie to you. He certainly would never kill Sejanus then worm his way into the Plinths in place of their dead son, and still be able to live with himself. It’s impossible. It’s just your mind trying once more to sabotage the only friendship you’ve gained since Sejanus died; something in you that refuses to allow yourself to live a normal fucking life for once.

Coryo isn’t a cold-blooded sociopath.

You barely make it to the bathroom when you begin retching uncontrollably. As you empty your stomach of the entire pint of ice cream you ate, a single thought makes you even sicker to yourself for even thinking of it: What if he did it?

Enter Level 5

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

Any guesses what went on in the meeting with Strabo?? 🤭🤔 lemme knoooow!!!

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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brother-emperors · 4 months

Note

What do you mean when you say that Pompey is a lover in a story of inescapable violence? I am extremely intrigued

the Late Republic is a stage of violence intent on gorging itself on this violence, the structure of the system leaves no other outcome.

Pompey is both someone born into this cycle and someone who is an acting hand of violence. He fashions himself after a military ideal, Alexander the Great, he positions himself as Sulla’s successor in the arena of political spectacle (rising/setting sun), he is Rome’s conquering hand.

He’s also, in Plutarch’s biography, intensely aware of matters of love and romance and does not treat them as an idle and casual affair. It is, in some way, an inherent part of his character. He is the ideal of a husband, even if it conflicts with whatever other ideals he’s supposed to embody, and apparently trades in his role as a general to remain in Rome with his wife.

We are told that Flora the courtesan, when she was now quite old, always took delight in telling about her former intimacy with Pompey, saying that she never left his embraces without bearing the marks of his teeth. Furthermore, Flora would tell how Geminius, one of Pompey's companions, fell in love with her and annoyed her greatly by his attentions; and when she declared that she could not consent to his wishes because of Pompey, Geminius laid the matter before Pompey. Pompey, accordingly, turned her over to Geminius, but never afterwards had any thing at all to do with her himself, although he was thought to be enamoured of her; and she herself did not take this treatment as a mere courtesan would, but was sick for a long time with grief and longing. (…) Moreover, Pompey also treated the wife of Demetrius his freedman (who had the greatest influence with him and left an estate of four thousand talents) with a lack of courtesy and generosity unusual in him, fearing lest men should think him conquered by her beauty, which was irresistible and far-famed. But though he was so extremely cautious in such matters and on his guard, still he could not escape the censures of his enemies on this head, but was accused of illicit relations with married women, to gratify whom, it was said, he neglected and betrayed many public interests.

Plut. Pomp. 2

All this won him admiration and affection; but on the other hand he incurred a corresponding displeasure, because he handed over his provinces and his armies to legates who were his friends, while he himself spent his time with his wife among the pleasure-places of Italy, going from one to another, either because he loved her, or because she loved him so that he could not bear to leave her; for this reason too is given. Indeed, the fondness of the young woman for her husband was notorious, although the mature age of Pompey did not invite such devotion. The reason for it, however, seems to have lain in the chaste restraint of her husband, who knew only his wedded wife, and in the dignity of his manners, which were not severe, but full of grace, and especially attractive to women, as even Flora the courtesan may be allowed to testify.

Plut. Pomp. 53

Nevertheless, the marriage was displeasing to some on account of the disparity in years; for Cornelia's youth made her a fitter match for a son of Pompey. 3 Those, too, who were more critical, considered that Pompey was neglectful of the unhappy condition of the city, which had chosen him as her physician and put herself in his sole charge; whereas he was decking himself with garlands and celebrating nuptials, though he ought to have regarded his very consulship as a calamity, since it would not have been given him in such an illegal manner had his country been prosperous.

Plut. Pomp. 55

The messenger, finding her in this mood, could not bring himself to salute her, but indicated to her the most and greatest of his misfortunes by his tears rather than by his speech, and merely bade her hasten if she had any wish to see Pompey with one ship only, and that not his own. When she heard this, she cast herself upon the ground and lay there a long time bereft of sense and speech. At last, however, and with difficulty, she regained her senses, and perceiving that the occasion was not one for tears and lamentations, she ran out through the city to the sea. Pompey met her and caught her in his arms as she tottered and was falling. "I see thee," she cried, "husband, not by thy fortune, but by mine, reduced to one small vessel, thou who before thy marriage with Cornelia didst sail this sea with five hundred ships. Why hast thou come to see me, and why didst thou not leave to her cruel destiny one who has infected thee also with an evil fortune so great? What a happy woman I had been if I had died before hearing that Publius, whose virgin bride I was, was slain among the Parthians! And how wise if, even after his death, as I essayed to do, I had put an end to my own life! But I was spared, it seems, to bring ruin also upon Pompey the Great."

So spake Cornelia, as we are told, and Pompey answered, saying: "It is true, Cornelia, thou hast known but one fortune to be mine, the better one, and this has perhaps deceived thee too, as well as me, in that it remained with me longer than is customary. But this reverse also we must bear, since we are mortals, and we must still put fortune to the test. For I can have some hope of rising again from this low estate to my former high estate, since I fell from that to this.”

Plut. Pomp. 74-75

I have some vague thought in here about how Pompey was entrusted with Rome’s safety, and that conflicts with his Lover status because you can’t love something more than Rome without Rome deciding to cast you out, and it also prevents him from reclaiming his Soldier role in the ensuing war with Caesar. Doomed by Rome, doomed by Love, doomed by Fortune, etc. but also simply the inevitable cycle of war and violence, the ever turning wheel of Rome.

#ask tag #he’s a weird guy. also a ghost. anyway lovers and soldiers die the same. in a ditch.#if I had to pick between Pompey and Antony I would pick Pompey with zero hesitation

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its-not-a-pen · 9 months

Text

-Biblically accurate Early-Third-Century Warlord (Cao Cao), with Loser Liege Lord (Liu Bei) for scale-

So Cao Cao’s tomb has (allegedly) been found, and apparently he was this tiny little guy (1.55 m), for reference, the average height was about 1.7m. I was so delighted by the news I immediately went and drew this. The stories of xu chu picking him up under one arm are so much more plausible now! I think his victories are even more impressive in hindsight, given that he could’ve been carried off by a hawk at any time.

I decided to show the two of them displaying their greatest strengths:

lui bei was the populist, who was beloved by the poor and downtrodden, despite having very little to show for it for the first 3/4s of his life. Historically, he was both a coarse, hot-tempered con-man who seem to be primarily motivated by fame and frivolity, and a tremendously kindhearted and brave defender of the common people. I’ve drawn him holding out a peach (and allusion to the fictional peach garden oath). he’s wearing straw sandals he made himself, a nod to his humble beginnings, and an incongruously fine robe with the sleeves rolled up, like he’s been working in a field… or preparing for a fight. One fist is tightly clenched and held stiffly by his side, even as he smiles warmly. Just like his namesake, he is both prepared 备and has hidden depths 玄. (I’ve seen the robe tucked into the belt in multiple places, I assume it’s just for ease of motion, but it’s also occurred to me it would be a good “pocket”.)

cao cao is well known for being a brutal and brilliant man, the phrase ‘ speak of cao cao and he shall appear’ is synonymous with the English phase, ‘speak of the devil.” What is less well known is that he was actually a very reasonable and respected leader, who often brought talented men into his fold, regardless of background or previous allegiance. This meritocratic system was one of the reasons for his success. I drew cao cao wearing fine, but understated clothes, with a full set of armour, as he was well known for personally leading his forces on campaigns. With one hand, he points to the ground before him, commanding you to kneel down and swear your allegiance to him. His sword is sheathed, but displayed prominently. He can be very merciful, but only once.

#san guo yan yi #romance of the three kingdoms #liu bei #cao cao

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southern-gothic-comic · 8 months

Text

Page 30

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: (wide establishing shot) A small-town harvest festival. Tents and wooden booths are set up offering seasonal treats, trinkets, sillgoat rides, etc. Children are exclaiming over a pen of fluffy sheep available to pet. Laudna, though delighted by her surroundings, looks down attentively at Imogen, who has withdrawn into herself. Assorted townsfolk are giving them a wide berth or nasty looks, while their thoughts float around her. In the foreground a protesting half-orc child is being led away by her disgruntled family.

Laudna: Ooh, I haven’t been to a Harvest’s Close festival in so long! Do you think they have cider doughnuts? Oh, the sheep! Imogen look at the sheep!

Imogen: I see ‘em!

Half-Orc Father: Let’s go, punkin. We’ll come back tomorrow.

Half-Orc Child: No faiiiir!!

Townsfolk Thoughts: ugh my feet — goddamn witches, can’t even have a nice day out with the family — think I got cheated — what’s that Temult girl doin’ here — peculiar smell, that one — what’s goin’ on, is it them witches? — fluffy!

Laudna: What’s the matter, darling? Is it the crowds? Are their thoughts distressing you?

Imogen: Yeah they . . . don’t seem to want us here.

Panel 2: She looks down at Imogen, noting her discomfort.

Townsfolk Thoughts: That a zombie? weird mind stuff was bad enough now she’s raisin’ the dead?

Laudna: Do you want to leave? We could go elsewhere.

Imogen: No, I’m fine.

Laudna: Are you sure? I could get rid of them all if you wanted. We could have the whole fair to ourselves.

Imogen: No, that’s not necessary . . . (wait, how . . .?)

Laudna: Well, all of these gawkers should be ashamed of themselves. Panel 3: Imogen turns beet-red as Laudna addresses the crowd.

Laudna: Yes, you all heard me! You should be ashamed, every one of you!

Imogen: Laudna. Laudna, no . . .

Laudna: Imogen is the sweetest, cleverest, most talented person in this whole town, and every one of you has your nose too far in the air to notice! Shame on you!

Imogen: Laudna . . .

Laudna: You don’t know how lucky you are to have had such a treasure in your midst all these years!

Townsfolk Thoughts: well I never — the youth these days I declare — what in tarnation — Pelor’s shinin’ britches, what is that?

Panel 4: Imogen is now holding her head, still blushing furiously, but smiling a little in spite of the pain.

Laudna: Oh, I’m sorry. Did that make their thoughts worse?

Imogen: Well . . . they’re mostly thinkin’ about you now.

Laudna: Well, I stand by everything I said. Come on. Let’s try to have a good time today.

Townsfolk Thoughts: that a dead bird on her belt ugh no it’s some kinda rat?? — goodness me gave me a fright I thought that was a dead girl for a minute there — Temult know his girl’s walkin’ around town with a corpse? — how come she’s purple

Panel 5: Laudna sees something off-panel and starts off in the direction of it, dragging Imogen.

Laudna: Oh, look at the fluffy chickens!

Nearby Child: wow, a vampire!

#critical role #critical role fanart #critical role comic #imogen temult #laudna #southerngothic #imodna #imogen x laudna #laudnogen #comics #a long road home #mintywolf

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cassieuncaged · 5 months

Text

Price of Compassion - Part 3

NSFW/MATURE/MDNI/18+

Part 1 | Part 2

Astarion x Reader

Summary: You and a certain roguish vampire give into a night of passion.

TW: explicit sexual content, blood drinking, language.

WC: 2.4K

A/N: I posted chapter three awhile ago and decided to finally cross post. One more chapter filled with angst and fluff coming soon!

The next part will officially be my final reader insert :)

Lithe fingers dip between a tangle of limbs, undoing the clasps of your doublet while his swelling groin ruts against your pubic bone. The friction is the most palpable sexual attention you’ve garnered in what feels like a lifetime.

Not to mention the attention of such a talented lover instead of a fumbling novice. His iciness is a strange sensation, pearlescent skin freezing against the warmth of a flushed chest when a ruffled jerkin is finally yanked open. One elbow is braced beside a clothed shoulder as skillful lips lap at the puckered pin pricks marring your neck while one breast is kneaded beneath restrictive smalls.

Despite his condition, Astarion feels so alive as fangs snag against a tender throat, groaning needily as he basks in your warmth. The barrier of a woven brassiere is pushed aside as a skilled forefinger and thumb tweak a pebbled teat. Mewling hungrily at his ministrations, cold breaths spans across the shell of one ear before that velvety voice is cradling your senses in promising words.

“I wonder what delicious secrets this body of yours is harboring.” One thigh presses against a sharp hip as your leg remains hooked across the small of his back. “Shall we discover together?”

“Please…” you whine, arching upwards as he spreads the front of your doublet completely open. “Ravish my needy form and I’m sure you’ll be delighted in the trove of treasures you seek.”

“Quite the poetic bard considering you’re writhing against my cock like a beast in heat.” He grits, feeling his loins set aflame as you stifle a giggle. You ignite something so foreign in him: pure delight mingled with an insatiable hunger. He wonders if he’s ever felt so unrestrained with a lover before his untimely demise but is unable to patch the memories together. He dismisses the thought before ducking down to take a stiff peak between talented lips. Suckling hungrily, you mewl with delight as his tongue flicks across the tip.

“Bend me on all fours and see exactly how much of a beast I can be,” your fingers desperately thread through silvery curls as a deep laugh rumbles against your chest.

“Oh, you are just a delightful little treat,” Astarion groans before leaning back on his haunches, knees pressed again against your clothed mound. Grinding down, you’re desperate for any friction as muscles desperately clench around nothing. “Greedy little thing too.”

“Fuck me into oblivion and I’ll write the most flattering ballads about our debauchery.” You whine, shrugging the unclasped doublet and brassiere off on the forest floor before working at the laces of velveteen breeches. “I find myself to be a rather generous poet.”

“I’m dying to discover just how generous you can be,” the man practically purrs as his ruffled tunic is swiftly removed and tossed asunder. A desperate moan is torn from your throat as wide eyes hungrily assess a beautifully sculpted body. Muscles twitch beneath warm hands, feeling like molten lava against icy skin. Admiring every dip and ridge, your fingers dance playfully across the waistband of his breeches before softly grazing a clothed cock.

“Very,” you practically sing, melodic voice tinkling through the forest. There’s an intrusive thought, a passing consideration that his intrusion will feel like velvet swaddled ice intruding your womb. Clamoring at the thought, one lace is plucked taut as the string of a fiddle. “My mouth has many talents other than singing bawdy songs.”

“I’d rather like to challenge that declaration,” Astarion delights in how pupils dilate like the moon eclipsing the sun, as he pushes shaking fingers away to undo the ties himself. A strangled cry escapes your throat when a long member is exposed to the night air. Long fingers drift down the length lazily before you’re gracelessly rolling to your belly, crawling until the weeping head bobs in front of your nose. “Be gentle. It’s been…a lifetime.”

You realize he’s quivering, nervous to allow another to be in control of his pleasure. One hand eases leather breeches down thick thighs, caressing tender skin as lust filled eyes flicker upwards to meet a heavily lidded pair.

“May I touch you?” it’s not the words themselves, but rather the kindness emitted that steals the breath from his throat. Something so erotic that straddles the line of pure and loving, something the vampire doesn’t remember from his living years. He wants to be disgusted by such sincerity. Yet all revulsion melts away and is replaced by genuine affection.

How strange.

“You may, pet.” Attempting to rebuild his faltering confidence, a large hand plants firmly at the back of your head. A hot and needy tongue laps at his dripping tip, enjoying the salty chill of his essence. Flicking across his slit teasingly is immediately followed by a stroke against a dusky vein. “Oh, hells.”

“What a lovely cock,” you sigh, before the vicelike grip on the back of your head presses him into the cavernous warmth of your mouth. The cold is strange as he settles deeply with a groan, prickling the back of your throat. You’re unseasoned, attempting to relax tense muscles and breathe out of flared nostrils.

“What was that, darling?” Astarion mocks, hissing his fangs before beginning to thrust languidly. “Appears your mouth is rather full.”

Gagging, you adjust to the heaviness settled on the flat of your tongue, bobbing in time with the tempo set. Saliva gathers at the corners of stretched lips, dribbling down your chin. Larger than you expected, the entirety of his length doesn’t fit as firm fingers wrap around exposed base while you dutifully suck and lave at the rest.

For nearly two centuries of seducing others, he can’t remember when someone so eagerly assisted him in seeking his own pleasure. Teeth grind together as a guttural moan escapes perfect lips, fingers threaded through your hair. Practically toppling over from passion, Astarion watches hungrily as one hand dips between covered thighs.

Rubbing your clothed mound in time with his thrusts relieves the taut pressure mounting between your legs. His pace remains slow yet firm, tip pushing ever so slightly down your throat. Attempting not to gag, blunt teeth gently caress the tender member as your fist squeezes the base. Your cunt clenches as another moan escapes him, needy and shallow.

“Please,” yanking you firmly off his length is surprising though appreciated as tears prickle the corners of bleary eyes, “You are absolutely amazing. But I’m not ready to be spent quite yet.”

“Oh?” an icy palm cradles your chin, gently pulling upwards until you’re settled on your knees, hard nipples scraping against his equally bare chest. One ashen brow quirks delicately, studying the debauched sight before him. Your lips are swollen but not nearly enough…

Mouths crash against each other fervently as a muscular arm latches around the small of your back. Tongues messily lance as the heady taste of expensive brandy flickers against sensitive taste buds, mingling with Astarion’s own saltiness that lingers on your lips. The kiss is wilder than the one earlier, something igniting deep in both of your bellies this time. He doesn’t want to admit how perfect you feel pressed against him, how this feels so natural with you.

For tonight, Astarion is no longer a ghost haunting the husk of a man.

A soft hand palms your breast eagerly, freezing veneer relishing the heat you radiate, like the sun calling to the moon. Then he smirks against your lips, brows pressed together as both pant heavily with no trepidation. The sharp curve of his nose nudges your own as kisses are littered from the corner of your mouth down to the hard plane of your jaw.

“Bite me,” you whine, ready to feel that familiar throb heightens between your thighs. While the subject has never been broached, both know exactly what his nightly feedings do to your body. Astarion feels your pulse quicken, smells the arousal on you like the feral beast you are.

“Such an eager treat,” he chuckles against the crook of your neck before gently pushing you onto your back. Your gaze lingers on his cock, still slick from earlier ministrations as he peels his breeches off completely. Then you’re both working at the laces of your own, awkwardly them down bare legs, “But may I taste something else first?”

“I’m liable to sing your praises if you do that,” It’s a playful warning as spread your thighs as spread obscenely wide.

“I hope you do,” his timbre is deeper, dark with lust as wine red eyes drag across your swollen cunt. “I’d like the entirety of camp hear your cries as you come apart again and again.”

“First you have to touch me.” You jest, allowing your knees to splay against the dewy grass.

“Apparently,” One finger swipes down the length of your slit, before his head is dipping down between spread legs. “I don’t. Considering how wet you are from sucking my cock alone.”

“Stop teasing and-” your words are cut off with an embarrassing sound as soft lips latch against your core. Still retaining the heat from impassioned kisses, he feels like fire against molten flesh as instinct settles in. Lapping at you like a parched man wandering the Anauroch desert, he’s found his oasis. The tip of a skilled tongue circles your clit without directly touching it as you buck against him. Large hands press bare thighs downwards, attempting to keep the wriggling at a minimum before he’s harshly sucking the swollen bud between his lips.

Your own fingers seek purchase in silvery curls, enjoying how the texture tickles your palms. You mewl as that silver tongue suddenly spears a slick hole at a maddening pace. An explosion of stars explode beneath clenched eyelids as pleasure washes over you like a wave, muscles spasming as a chorus of the spawn’s name echoes through the night.

“Minx,” he chides, tearing himself from your cunt before his veins slip into your inner thigh like a blade through sinew. Vampiric venom courses through purpling veins as your head lolls to one side, immersed by a chilling bite as he suckles tender skin. Vision begins to swim again, black beginning to cloud the edges of the night before Astarion pulls away with a pant. “One who tastes sweeter than the finest wine.”

“What exactly tastes so delectable?” you tease before a solid body is slithering up between your legs, pressing a trail of bloody kisses against a quivering mound, a shallow navel, goose pimpled breasts.

“Dare I say both?” Astarion sighs, tongue swiping across one clavicle. “I’ve been with thousands yet I’d travel the across the Faerun twice over to savor something so sweet on my lips again.”

“I thought I was the one supposed to compose poetry.” A sharp nose nuzzles into the hollow of your throat as a talented mouth continues to ghost upwards. Your breathing hitches as his twitching erection prods one thigh.

“You’re not the only one with an affinity for pretty words.” He chides, carefully avoiding your gaze as lips gently glide against each other. Eyelids flutter close as strong arms brace either of your shoulders, chest heaving. There’s a struggle to remain present, to not immediately close his mind off and disappear into its dark recesses. Then your palm flattens against his cheek, pulling his gaze upwards to disarming doe eyes.

Stay with me.

The plea is silent though he can feel the words through the squirming of a tadpole. No one has ever been so cautious with his invisible fragility. You want something more, something that frightens him. Astarion can provide pleasure, a pleasant distraction. How could you ever be anything more than a body to bed?

Then the thoughts fade away as a delicate fingers wind between a tangle of limbs, gently grasping his throbbing cock before swiping the head through dripping folds. His eyes begin to roll back, a snowy ringlet tickling your brow when the bulbous head finally splits you.

“By the gods…” his words are strangled as the he slowly bottoms out. Settled snuggly inside suffocating walls, you spasm uncontrollably as your legs immediately wrap around his hips like creeping vines. You wish to hold him there forever, groaning as an undead heartbeat throbs like a metronome. “You truly were created for my own ruin.”

“I-I…please,” the words are a stammer as lean hips begin to rock slowly before the entire length of him is drawn out and slammed back in with an eager stab. “More…”

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he purrs before kissing his way to the shell of one ear, “You might just get it.”

Words are lost as a maddening pace is struck, slow yet bruising as each slam grinds pelvises together greedily. You’re convinced nothing has felt as delectable as he manages to find every nerve ending and light them each a flame. Feasting on sanguine blood gives the illusion of life as a broad chest houses a foreign heat. It’s intoxicating, even more so the position suddenly shifts. His strength is impressive as you’re effortlessly pulled into his lap.

Arms are knotted around a long neck as large hands settle upon lush hips, vigorously bouncing you atop him. A string of obscenities leaves swelled lips followed by the incessant chanting of his name like you’re worshipping a god. He'd smirk if his hips didn't begin to stutter, cock jerking as you meet each thrust eagerly, hungrily as you roll against him. Feeling yourself unravel from the inside out, your own release beckons when fangs split the healing wound upon your throat once more. Sucking greedily, your body limply falls against a sturdy chest as he finishes with a few bruising thrusts.

Pulling away from a delicious neck, Astarion says nothing as his fingers dig painfully in the skin of your back. Panting breaths are the only sound in the forest other that the rushing water of the river and the chorus of crickets. You grin against the column of his throat as he tucks you beneath a sharp chin.

For a moment, bloody and spent, it feels like you are truly his.

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