#lukis writes stuff

[peachyteabuck]

let it happen (it's gonna feel so good)

↪ summary: now that you're officially kate's again, she puts you to good use.

sequel to the plum tree blossoms even in winter

a commission for someone who wishes to remain anonymous

↪ pairing: kate bishop x reader, yelena belova x reader

↪ words: 10,043

↪ trigger warnings: heavy pet play, implied kidnapping, dehumanization, blowjobs using strap-ons, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, strap-on PIV sex, manipulation, mob au, dark au, mentioned free use, mentioned primal play, use of 'daddy'

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

News of your return travels fast. Gossip does that in this business - all people have is the word of mouth and their reputation. The second one utters a juicy bit of conversation over a line or while on guard, a clique of power-hungry goons are picking it up and spreading it around as far as they can. Kate’s one of the most powerful mobsters in the Northern Hemisphere, visible in ways leaders hadn’t been in the past. Women, certainly not pretty ones, are ever as influential as she’s been.

So, you’re not surprised when every bodyguard, goon, runner, rat, dealer, and saleswoman who walks through the doors of her home or office looks at you with a mix of pity and smugness. The former because they knew what happened to those that betrayed the all-powerful Kate Bishop. The latter because people had been placing bets on how long you’d make it out in the real world, and you’d learned from Carol that very, very few had actually thought you’d last the year.

Honestly, the fact people were gambling on your ability to survive hits you less than you think it should. In truth, you wouldn’t have bet on yourself either. There are no underdogs here; only winners, losers, and those throwing money between them.

You try and remember the positives of being back in Kate’s care. Warm beds, always. Food that tastes good and doesn’t come from a bag. Her large bathtub with massaging jets. Her personal chef. Her caves of heated blankets you can hide in during traditional New York blizzards. Her chilled pool during hot summers. Fleeting memories of your time on the street bring your gratefulness into perspective, choosing to ignore your feelings of inadequacy as people you’ve known for years gawk at you like a newly revealed zoo animal.

It’s not as if all of them are mean – Kate would never allow them to throw things at you, touch you, or even come within a few feet of you without her express and explicit permission. But their heavy gazes, their snickering…it all makes you curl even deeper into yourself as you curl against the large dog bed. Kate has bought a new one, the deep gray contrasted by “Kate’s puppy” embroidered off to one side. Your skin occasionally brushes against it when you’re sleeping, yet another sensory reminder of your place.

Natasha is the first one to really meet with Kate after your newfound arrival, the two of them chatting over drinks and dinner. You get occasional bites of the lobster rolls (one of Natasha’s favorites), but as the meeting leeches deep into the night, you’re too tired to do anything else but keep your form.

She looks you up and down as you remain in position in the corner, your thick collar keeping your head up and face forward. It’s a strain, but one that’s familiar enough to feel…nice. You choose not to lean into the comfort, just letting it warm you from the inside out.  

“The pet’s back, huh?” she asks as she shakes her head and turns back to watch Kate sign checks. Money laundering is a complicated business that requires careful precision and planning. These include cutting real, legitimate checks for fake, bloated amounts. Kate could have one of her assistants do this, but she likes to double-check the numbers – she refuses to be on the other end of such a heinous crime. “She’s prettier than I remembered.”

Kate grunts out a laugh. She’s known Natasha since the two of them were mixing coke with pre-workout…the redhead is allowed to make comments that would get other people shot. Still, Kate doesn’t need Natasha getting too big for her britches…even if those britches are currently skin-tight leggings that flatter her ass tremendously.

“Yeah,” your owner says, not bothering to look back at you. She’s still shaky in her belief you’re back for good this time, and doesn’t want to jinx it by going soft. “They just can’t seem to stay away.”

“Has it really been a year?” Nat careens her own neck to rake her eyes up your form once more. She’s not as into such discipline as Kate is - preferring a little more push and pull with the ones she decides to fuck. Even so, she can’t deny the scene in front of her is hot. Your form is perfect, with your back arrow straight and your gaze unflinching. Not to mention your nipples are hard as diamonds as they’re exposed to the chilled office air, and you shiver every so often when the air conditioning sputters to life.

Kate hmms after a minute or so, shoving the stack of checks into an envelope before pushing them aside. “And about a week. Time flies so fast, doesn’t it?”

It's Natasha’s turn to murmur a response, the both of them watching you now. It takes all your might not to look at them, keeping your eyes trained on one of Kate’s small vintage horse statues she got into collecting a few years back. Most of them were tossed when she moved into her new office after her old club was mysteriously burned to the ground after an undercover cop was found flirting with an escort Kate hires every so often. The insurance money was quite a lot, enough to build her a new office, and buy a whole lot of new decorations.

But that horse statue, somehow, remained unscathed. Depicting a wild stallion running through a river – its eyes wide, mouth open, teeth barred as fish flip uselessly around it, hair tossed from imaginary wind, and light brown coat speckled with dirt – you wonder if she had kept it for any particular reason. The statue, though dynamic, was neither large nor immediately thought-provoking. You also wondered why it was so low on the set of black matte shelves, given its old place had been higher and on an adjacent wall.

“You know what they say,” Kate leans over to graze her knuckles over your cheek. You don’t flinch, instead leaning into her touch. She rewards you with a smile. “Pets always find their way back to what they know.”

Natasha doesn’t disagree but does turn the conversation away from you. She’s not a prude, but watching you get eye-fucked by a mafia boss is not her idea of a fun evening (at least, not now. You’re always more interesting when there’s an audience). She’s certainly not against voyeurism, but in a world where she can touch…she’d always rather be at the center of the action.

“When are you meeting with the Russian?”

Kate takes a sip of her drink. The bourbon is just how she likes it, neat, and she hums in appreciation. She may be a very complicated woman, but she prefers a very simple drink. “Tonight. Said she’d come later into the evening when the club was busiest.”

If this were anyone else, Natasha would say something sarcastic, mocking the person for hiding in the sea of hot, sweaty bodies (not that it would work, Kate’s team of bodyguards are exceptionally well-trained in the art of track and trace.). But they’re not talking about just anyone, and although Natasha isn’t afraid of her…it’s just best not to invite the devil to your dinner table. “Makes sense. You know how they are.”

“Speaking of which,” Kate leans over and unhooks your collar, a sign you can lay down and rest for a little bit. “Don’t want her all worn out before our special guest arrives.”

Natasha says nothing. She’s pushed her luck enough.

“But yes, I’m intimately familiar. When they shave your head after kidnapping you and do it poorly, you tend to remember their cruelty.”

She wrinkles her nose at the memory – including the number of wigs she had to buy once she was safely returned. She was young when it happened, and her hair had long grown out since then, but her skin still remembers the itch of the growing stubble atop her head.

“Anyway, you know what I need from you,” Kate shakes her head to push the experience back deep into the recesses of her mind. “Everyone is hands-on, everyone tracks her. I don’t want a single person entering or exiting this club without us knowing any affiliations.”

It’s not as if Natasha knows the protocol – she was the one who developed it after an unfortunate incident with a Bratva a few years back – but she nods along as if it’s the first time she’s heard it. It’s easier that way.

As she goes to leave, Kate stops her – a wave of emotion cracking through her harsh façade for just a moment, before her steeled brow resets itself into its regular position. “Keep her safe. I can’t lose her again.”

The redhead just nods once, silently, before going back to the security wing with the rest of the team. Even underground, she can faintly hear the deep bass of a particularly rancid EDM remix, but mostly the only noises are the sounds of tactical gear clacking against itself. Loopholes in a military overstock program meant police departments were willing to exchange gear for cash with nonsequential serial numbers, and Natasha was always the first in line when silent auctions went live. It’s what she liked, it’s what she was good at: protecting, watching, strategizing.

She liked Kate trusted her enough to give her as much freedom as she does. That’s where she saw other mobsters fall—egos too big it couldn’t fit inside of them, imploding the whole organization from the inside out in a single generation. Natasha didn’t want to a freelancer anymore—the money was good, but stability had become more important in recent years. Maybe she’d gone soft, maybe she’d just gotten older. Either way, looking at the vast away of screens that covered every inch of the club and its perimeter…she felt truly at home.

Back in Kate’s office, you lay in your dog bed while your owner smokes a cigarette. It’s not something she does frequently—she’s a busy woman, she doesn’t have time to press pause every hour to hunch outside. Plus, she hates smoking with other people. She quit for the reason most people refuse to: the social aspect proved a worse taste in her mouth than the nicotine. Even the e-cigarette people didn’t find themselves outside, instead blowing fruit-smelling air into whatever closed space they felt entitled to.

Whatever, she sighs, putting it out in an ashtray that looks suspiciously similar to your pussy. I’ve got more important things to think about anyway.   

Kate sees the suit first – a muted orange with fantastical patterns woven into the fabric, reminiscent of tapestries she remembers from a museum visit from a job farther down the East Coast. The thread glimmers in the light, a subtle way to signal her importance. Heeled boots thump against the tile as she walks, her loose, bouncy blonde hair framing her face. Unlike most of the people in the club tonight, she’s perfectly relaxed. It’s as if she’s sitting down at a family restaurant she’s been to a million times before, confidence in her step you’re not used to seeing.

“Yelena,” she says, gesturing to the seat where – just last night – Kate fingered you until you squirted all over the floor. She made you clean it, but your face still heats at the thought of her sitting there. “Come, sit. I will have my assistant pour us a drink, if you’d like.”

Assistant. Its double meaning hanging in the air like a dark, ominous cloud.

Yelena looks you up and down, eyes raking over your form as if you were a painting she was attempting to commit to memory. Her eyes seem to see not through you, but all of you – flesh and bone and sinew. You’re not sure what to make of her heavy gaze, the way she stops every few inches for just a moment before continuing. People watch you, stare at you, all the time – some shocked, some less so. She doesn’t look at you the way they do, like a starved animal seeing its keeper dangle fresh carnage outside of its cage. Rather, she’s a fully fed bear, fat and happy as it revels in its hunting ability. She knows she doesn’t need to kill, doesn’t need the destruction or chaos or unspeakable violence; but she can. She very easily can. And that’s all that matters to her, and her prey.

You’re wearing a gag – that part isn’t new (she’s not some sniveling virgin) – but what surprises Yelena ever so slightly is that it’s shaped like a dog bone. Drool pools at the side of your mouth, dripping down your chest and covering you in your own spit. All you can do, though, is look up at her with wide, empty eyes.

That is, until you remember your manners and turn your gaze downward.

“I don’t intend to stay long,” she says. It’s not meant to be sarcastic or clipping. It is what it is. Still, as she looks you over once more, a small smile curls at her lips. “Bishop-“

“Kate, please,” the brunette insists. “We have enough history to be past that formality, don’t we?”

Yelena doesn’t correct herself, continuing to stare at you. Her gaze is so intense you can feel it without looking back, small fires igniting down your spine under it. “I see you found a way to occupy your time since we last spoke.”

You wish you could see her, but all you can do is stare at the floor while the tension in the room builds in the way one expects the crash of a tsunami. Kate keeps much of her time in the Eastern Bloc a secret lost to time, but you’re not that much of an idiot to understand what silence means in these spaces.

Kate gives a tense smile, stepping to give Yelena some space. You’re not sure if the guest is asking for it, or if Kate needs it to cool down. “Sit, please. We’ve got much to discuss.”

It’s hard to track the movements of their feet through sound, but the slight scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor is too distinctive to ignore.

Kate tries to ease them back to the intended conversation, the experienced gears in her mind turning as fast as they can. “As I told Melina, your ports would be an incredibly valuable asset to us, and-“

“What are you offering me?” Her accent is thick, her tone straightforward. It’s one of the things Kate likes most about working with Russians – they don’t dance around the issue, they don’t fuck around, they don’t ask her to read between the lines. They say what they want to say without preamble or metaphor. Life is easier when you know what kind of target you’re shooting at. “You want access to several multibillion-dollar ports for what, the shithole Jersey has to offer?”

Kate narrows her eyes. “Underestimating your enemies seems to be a thing with your people, isn’t it?”

Yelena just laughs. It’s a dry, husky sound, and you do poorly at dampening the flutter in your chest. “Governments are very temporary where I’m from. No sense in vesting yourself in something that can’t touch you in a country so big.”

Both women pause. In the distance (or maybe right next to you), you hear waves crashing ashore—the sound of car alarms and windows breaking and people screaming. It’s here. It’s here and you are stuck in the middle of it.

“What do you want?” Kate remains outwardly calm, combing through her knowledge of the other woman to try and find some middle ground. It’s true – dock access benefits her much more than her Eastern counterpart. But she’s made people agree to a lot more for a lot less.

The woman across from her hmms, but stays silent otherwise. It’s that heavy, weighted silence; the kind that begs for another party to ask a question, lower their offer, barter for less. It’s an anvil that hangs over the both of them, swinging as they work against each other to determine where it will fall.

“Sign this deal, give me access to the ports, and if all goes well I’ll let you stay a week with my puppy over here,” Kate says plainly. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen when you realize what she’s saying, that she’s offering you up as bait for this deal. The bait part isn’t so surprising, you’ve been used as a carrot much more than you’ve been used as a stick. What causes your heart to stop is how sincere she sounds. Kate’s poker face is akin to a brick wall (maybe concrete – a brick wall has too many imperfections to be compared to your owner), but you’ve known her long enough to know how her tone wavers just a little when she’s lying. You hear nothing, no notes skipped or rests added. Just a sincere, long melody that rings throughout the room in a minor key.

It’s not as though Yelena isn’t gorgeous – with her plush lips, soft face, and eyes lined with dusty eyeshadow. She has this relaxed air about her that screams “I know exactly what I’m capable of, and you do, too.” And if your relationship with Kate is any indicator, you’re very attracted to that energy. Still, a pretty unknown is still an unknown…and you’re worried your recently lost seniority with Kate could have devastating consequences.

“I can give you money, drugs, equipment, girls,” Kate tells her. “But you said you willing to come and talk, so I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to-“

“No,” Yelena cuts her off. Fucking bold ass Russians, Kate thinks. You’d think they’d at least let you finish “I want to take the puppy out on a nice dinner, a little…what is it you Americans call it?” She smiles, laughing to herself just a little. “Dine and wine?”

Kate doesn’t correct her.

“Whatever it’s called, I want to do it to the pet. One night, including dinner. That’s what I want in exchange for giving you dock access.”

Kate clenches her jaw just a little. You don’t notice, head perking up at all the attention on you. It’s nice to not be a little toy on a shelf sometimes, everyone staring at you but no one touching. Having merely the focus of one person is a nice change, especially in a restaurant as fancy as you presume Yelena frequents. Perfectly literate in poverty, you can tell this woman and Kate fall in the same tax bracket (if they paid their taxes accurately).

They work out the details on their own, details far above what you’re able to hold in your own brain. All you care about now is what happens next, your body thrumming with excitement. If you’ve gotten the attention of this woman, you’re curious of what others would do for you.

Kate cuts up pieces of the food to feed to you from her own fork, pausing every so often to take a bite of her own. It’s awkward, sitting there just out of view but so exposed, hands bound in front of you as you’re denied the chance to feed yourself.

Sharon blinks, face blank. “Must we do this now, boss?”

Kate just smiles, watching as you eagerly swallow the spoonful of mashed potatoes. Ever since your return, she’d had her chef prepare comfort food she knew you’d missed while you were on the run – macaroni and cheese, pot pie, chicken noodle soup, decadent desserts. Watching pleasure wash over your face with every bite was worth denying you all those months. It’s something Kate’s had to learn intimately; how torturous waiting is. Still, she knows she—and you—are better off with abundance of patience.

“This is the only time I have available to speak on this matter,” she doesn’t look away from you as she speaks, her tone light while her words pointed. “We can either discuss this now, or you can wait in three days when the subject in question is back in position.”

The blonde’s jaw sets, her hands balling into fists under the lip of Kate’s massive oak desk. It’s not like she’s some prude, like that one guard who lasted twenty-four hours before begging to be moved to another post. She just knows that, less than four feet away, you’re clad in only soft panties and a large t-shirt that shows off your hardened nipples, collar jingling with each movement and your hands kept inert. If she had her way, she’d be bending you over and filling your holes with her fingers, laughing as you wept from the pleasure.

She’s not a prude, she’s just really fucking horny and wants to go home so she can watch the most intense porn she can find. Alone. With her vibrator and thruster and noise-canceling headphones and maybe an expensive bottle of Scotch. Or an edible. She doesn’t know, yet – part of the joy for her is sitting with the process and going with whatever sings to her heart the most.

So, Sharon shoves down the memory of your moans, of past promises of letting you loose in Kate’s mansion while Kate’s most trusted within the organization hunt you down like prey. She digs her nails into her palm as a distraction, but all it does is think of them digging into your hips.

“Are you really going to let her do that?”

Kate doesn’t move a muscle, and, for a split second, her blonde counterpart thinks she’s going to crack. Sharon knows what you mean to her, what your return symbolizes. When you decided to leave, Sharon remembers how angry she was, how often Kate came home with bloody knuckles or a split lip from forcing Nat to spar with her. To have you back and then immediately do something she’s never done before with you—letting someone outside their tight-knit group lay any sort of claim on you…it worries her.

But she’s Kate fucking Bishop, she has no flaws, admits no wrong, displays no weaknesses.

“We need several billion dollars, and all we have to do is let our little pet out into the world for the night,” Kate says with a shrug, looking at you with the same critical eye of an art collector. “Seems like a good deal to me.”

“Plus,” she pets the top of your head as you nuzzle into her knee. “Yelena’s not an idiot. She knows we’ll be watching and if anything happens to my prized pet that she’ll meet the end she was promised by the Red Room.”

Sharon nods just a little, trying to imagine how much a nightmare tracking you, the Russian, and the Russian’s own security will be awhile keeping Kate in the loop. She and her team can get it done (not as if they have a choice), but it'll be the definition of a logistical nightmare.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Kate coos to you. You keen under her words, pressing your face into the side of her knee and rubbing your face against the fabric of her jeans. “Daddy will always keep you safe.”

“Kate,” Sharon can’t tamper down the bile that rises in her throat as she imagines a Kate without you once more. “You’re sure?”

She ignores her, instead forcefully grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to face Sharon. You let out a small yelp, which Kate simply ignores.

"Do you want to be a good girl for me?"

You nod, desperately trying to push the fear to the back of your brain. Needless to say, it doesn’t work – you can feel it oozing down your spinal cord and settling into your stomach. You’ll be good – you’ll do anything to be good…but you worry your clammy hands and shaky breath might give you away.

Kate pulls you back so that you’re facing her, forcing a whimper from your throat.

“Then don’t leave that Russian’s side for a single fucking second, you understand?”

You nod as much as you can, eyes wide with fear. You truly have no plans to run again—you’d spent enough time on the streets to know that even if you somehow got away (which, in and of itself, is about as likely as you jumping off a building and flying), there’s nowhere for you to go. You have nothing to your name, nothing to barter or trade for on the streets. Kate is, in all ways, the devil you know. Better her than what waits beyond her scope.

The woman holding you face smiles—not the kind that comforts you, but the kind that has you bracing for what comes next. “Perfect.” She pushes you away as she lets go, patting your cheek hard enough that you’re sure it qualifies as a slap. “I knew you could do it. Now, Sharon, walk me through the security protocols, please.”

Kate’s bedroom in her mansion is technically categorized as a “master bedroom,” but feels close to its own apartment within the house. It’s bigger—much bigger—than the home you grew up in, certainly larger than anywhere you found to sleep while away from her. She’s got a large vintage wardrobe that’s been fitted with the favorites of her toy collection, a huge bathroom with a tub large enough for three people, and a small kitchenette.

You have your own walk-in closet, too, not that you really use it. On occasion, you’re arm candy to a fancy dinner or meeting, or you need to catch the eye of a target to leave them vulnerable. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of clothes hang, sadly, mostly unused, as you clap (yes, clap, Kate is not one to spare any expense, especially when it comes to you) the lights on.

You wish you had been given some sort of dress code; you’re not really used to dressing yourself. Truthfully, you’re not used to making any decision on your own, and now that everything rests on you… you’re terrified of messing it up.

It takes what feels like hours, but soon you’ve got three options. A vintage satin wrap dress that hugs your figure but gives you room to breathe, a strappy emerald green floor-length gown with a visible slit that parts every time you walk, and a plush pink sun dress that barely hits your knees but whose sleeves and straight neckline give the illusion of modesty.

In the end, paired with black stilettos and diamond jewelry you’re nearly completely sure was stolen from the Met, you choose the wrap dress. You’re not sure what Russian mobsters like, but you think it’s a safe bet that they enjoy plunging necklines, a high, hidden slit, and perfectly winged eyeliner.

(Or, at least you hope so.)

The car Yelena said would come at eight comes right as the clock ticks into the hour, one of Kate’s servants alerting you to its presence as it pulls into the winding driveway. It’s empty, save the driver, who attempts to neither greet you nor converse with you. He opens the door for you and helps you over the curb, certainly, but the car ride there is completely silent.

Wherever you go, someone seems to be right at your side. The driver escorts you into the restaurant, and the hostess walks you to the far back, where Yelena is already sitting at a perfectly set table in a private room.

“Sit,” she says, pouring champagne into shiny fancy glasses. “We have much to discuss.”

You do as you’re told, taking a champagne flute from her. Initially, you’d hope the alcohol would calm your nerves. Now, you’re settling for it warming your skin.

“It’s nice to have you alone, маленький щенок. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your face heats—you know your existence is the elephant in the room in many meetings with Kate, but having people know you when you don’t know them has never gotten less strange. Still, your lightweight nature begins to mask itself as bravery as you down the rest of the bubbly liquid. “Anything in particular?”

Apparently, the champagne, while calming your nerves, also dulled your inhibitions.

Yelena, to her credit, just laughs. Like her voice, it’s deep and raspy and goes straight to your center.

“Just that you are a very, very good girl who would do anything for her beloved owner.”

Her energy is electric, enigmatic. This must be what Eve felt like in the garden, with the snake swirling around her in its impossible size. Truthfully, you’d bite into anything Yelena asked you to, if she did it in the same way she asked the waiter for a booth in the corner or how she requested a more “balanced” selection of wine from the sommelier. She even lets you order for yourself, something Kate has never let you do.

It’s interesting to see the differences between the two of them.

As you watch Yelena cut a thin bite of bloodied steak, though, you realize how similar they really are. Yelena, like a knife with an intricately carved handle, and Kate, like a baseball bat with blood in its grooves, may not be mirror images of each other. It is easy to imagine, though, the both of them, side by side, waiting for their turn to torture someone who had wronged them in some way. Danger, regardless of its form, settles its heated self into your lower abdomen.

The conversation is light, flirty. It reminds you of a first date, the kind you went on before Kate domesticated you. You feel…warm, the light of her gaze. It’s hazy, too, the way a fire is in the wee hours of the morning. You feel that same sort of flush, that sort of vulnerability that only reveals itself in the hours before the birds start to sing. It feels both like decades and like seconds before you’re splitting a cherry crème brule and Yelena is sliding the waiter her black card. She holds you close to her with her arm around your waist, her thumb drawing small circles even as the directs you into a black car with the same driver as before. The ride is a daze, her hands dancing over your skin in complete silence.

She guides you into your destination—a hotel—in the same manner, the doorman pointedly making an effort to keep you from his eyeline.

The name of the place doesn’t register until you’re stepping into the lobby, a hand on your waist guiding you to an elevator hidden off to the side. Of course – this is the expensive hotel Kate gets rooms in sometimes to house guests she wants to keep an eye on. Yelena booked her own accommodation, and you doubt Kate needs as much retcon on Yelena as she does for a normal client, but what really causes your breath to hitch in your throat is the cost. A week here is more than most people make in a year, and you know she’s staying for two.

“You’ve been here before?” she asks as she hits on the buttons closer to the top row. The penthouses, you recognize.

“A few times,” you answer honestly. “But never for more than a night or two.”

The room Yelena’s staying in looks exactly like yours did all those years back—modern, tastefully decorated, almost too neat. You don’t have much time to look around, though, before Yelena’s got you pushed against one of the walls while presses her lips to yours. She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to—simply bunches your dress in her hands to pull it off you.

It falls to the floor in the same way you think Marie Antoinette’s head did – smoothly, and with silent, eager onlookers watching as it finds its place on the ground.

You expect, or at least hope, there was more fanfare, more witnesses to her destruction. All this dress is getting, as you step out of it and deep into Yelena’s arms, is one woman’s lust. It’s easy to see, though, how anything the Russian does would overpower a crowd of thousands; in the same way her silence screams louder than an army, the way she tugs her bottom lip between her bright teeth says more than anything anyone else could tell you about her.

Her hand rests over your clothed pussy, skimming over the soft skin there. “What a good girl you are.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks and over your chest. You wonder if this is what being burned alive would be like—the light tinging the border of your vision and painful heat quickly turning into pleasure.

“I like them well trained,” she murmurs into your skin. All you can do is grab at her shoulders, holding her close. If Kate said it was okay…

“I’m a busy, busy woman, little puppy,” Yelena peppers small kisses across the base of your throat, her soft, plush lips sending shockwaves through your body. “I don’t have the time to break the brats my…colleagues seem to enjoy so much. But you…you’d do whatever I’d ask you to, wouldn’t you?”

If the room was on fire, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to tell until the roof caved in. Heat licks at your abdomen, sparks flying across your center as you cross your legs in an attempt to dampen the flames. It, needless to say, doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, puppy,” Yelena grins as the hand begins to ghost over your tummy. “No, don’t do that. Don’t hide from pleasure, my darling.”

Your mouth feels drier than a desert as you meet her heavy gaze, her eyes lined with artfully smudged black shadow. She’s stunning, there’s no way around that (not that you want to avoid it); but, truthfully, you’re also not so sure what she sees in you. It’s easy to forget your insecurities, though, when one hand is suddenly moving south and pushing your carefully curated panties to the side.

Her hands remind you of the rest of her—rough, skilled, no-nonsense. She teases you for a moment, ghosting her fingertips over your desperate cunt. You want her, you want her more than a man dying of dehydration craves an endless freshwater ocean. She knows it, too, watches through dark lashes as you pant and chase her lips when she pulls back.

It's only when you begin to whine that she slides her fingers into your dripping pussy, a moan passing her own lips the same as yours. “Oh щенок, you’re wet after just a little kissing, huh? You like it when I touch you there?”

You swallow the frog in your throat, trying to find a way to defend yourself. The choosing you, the conversation in the restaurant, the touches in the car…but your protests die in your chest as her other hand moves to your throat.

“Gotta hold you in place, щенок,” she murmurs. “Can’t have you running away, can I?”

She finds that special spot inside of you easily, like a scent hound to the hideout of a family of foxes. You can hear the beats of horses’ hooves in just under your ribcage, their owners hollering at the chance to hunt properly.

“I-“ You gasp, trying to find purchase against the wall. When the concrete doesn’t make way for your fingers, your find yourself digging them into her suit. “I-“

"Come on, baby, be good for me,” Yelena purrs. It’s sweet, sincere…but you also can’t imagine how fake it’d have to be for you to not feel a trembling in your knees. She could be a snake oil salesman, and you a harlot hypochondriac with money burning a hole in your purse, and you’re sure you would do whatever she asked. “Give me what I want.”

And so, you do – exploding from the inside out like dynamite inside a coal mine. It’s hard for you to keep yourself upright, and you find yourself leaning on Yelena entirely. She catches you, keeps you upright enough so you can catch your breath.

“I know, baby,” Yelena purrs, rubbing her thumb against the fabric of your dress. “I know, it’s okay.”

She holds you to her, gives you a moment to find your proverbial footing as the pleasure settles into the base of your spine, your knees no longer struggling to hold your weight. You pull back, leaning on the wall as her arms cage you in.

“What a pretty girl you are,” she says quietly, as if she’s merely confirming to herself that her assumptions were correct.

Your heart—the stupid, fluttering thing—thumps against your ribs as you reach for her belt.

Yelena lets you do as you please, finding your lips as your hand finds the toy placed just for you. “Mm,” she moves to nip at your neck as you spit on her cock, your hand finding purchase on the carefully molded silicone. “So good, too. I’ve heard a lot of rumors, щенок. It’s good to know so many of them are true.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and chest. You’re not sure what to say, or do. Even if you did, all of your focus is concentrated on releasing what you want from their confines. Yelena doesn’t stop you, but doesn’t help either. All she does is push you to your knees, one hand on the top of your head while the other guides the toy to your lips. You’ve done this thousands of times with Kate, with her own strong hands at the top of your head.

This is different, though, with Yelena. Different in the way swimming in an ocean is different than swimming in a lake; in the same way sexting through text is different than through a phone call. It’s indescribable but perfect, and you can feel yourself dripping as you lick up the length of the shaft.

“Look at me, красивая девушка,” Yelena murmurs, voice low as if to not startle you. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, the corners of your eyes watering as you slowly swallow her cock. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You’d smile if your lips weren’t so thoroughly occupied, the praise hitting you at every angle. The warmth prods at you, urging you on, with the world shrinking until it was only the two of you and no one else. There was nothing, no one, who could break the focus of you on Yelena, and vice versa.

It's easy, with her hands on the top of your head and endless sweet nothings tumbling from her lips, to swallow her down until your nose was pressed against her pubic bone. She’s got a tuft of light brown hair on her lower tummy, a happy trail you’re eager to nuzzle into when you’re not pre-occupied with her cock.

“Gorgeous,” Yelena whispers, seemingly more to herself than to you.

Funny enough, looking up at her, you’re thinking the same thing.

She swipes her thumb over your cheek, following the outline the silicone makes in the muscle. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous, милый.”

Her praise spurs you on, pushes you to force yourself further and further down until you can feel tears forming at the corner of your eyes and your lungs fighting for air. Yelena just watches you, eyes full of awe and one hand at the back of your head, as you pull back and sputter for air before licking up the shaft once more.

“Enough of this,” she says gruffly, suddenly, grabbing you and throwing you over her shoulder before you can so much as squeak. You’re tossed on the bed much in the same fashion, her hands unzipping your dress and tossing your panties aside as Yelena kisses you. She’s rough, passionate, moving you without pretense until she’s on her back, your core hovering over her face. “Now this,” she moves her head enough to kiss as your empty, waiting cunt. “This is what I’ve been looking forward to since I saw you the first time.”

You want to question her—ask her how she knows about you, how she saw you when Kate keeps you under such close supervision. The curiosity dies as she grabs reaches under your legs to grab your hips and seats you atop her, her lips and tongue moving in tandem. It’s hard to keep yourself from rocking against her, and so you don’t. You grind against her tongue, your hands finding hers to help with her balance. You cum easily, quickly, shaking against her as she moans into your pussy. As the pleasure subsides you push yourself away ever so slightly, seating yourself against her chest. Both of you catch your breaths, the shared panting the only sound in the otherwise quiet hotel room.

When you’re finally able to look down, to see her blissed-out face covered in your juices, you’re mesmerized.

Yelena just smiles up at you, eyes half closed. “черт возьми, you’re amazing. Give me a second, and we can do it again.”

The next morning, Yelena drives you herself, waving away the driver who passes her the keys despite his concerned look. She opens the passenger door for you and closes it once you’re fully inside, getting into the driver’s seat after that. As she drives off, silence settles over the two of you. It’s hard to make small talk in your situation, and so you wait for her to say something first.

Luckily, she does.

“You could come with me, you know.”

You don’t meet her gaze, if she’s even looking at you. All you can do is stare out the car window and watch as the world passes by.

“Americans have nothing on us,” Yelena continues. You wonder if she notices your hands balling into fists. “I could keep you safe, if you wanted to run. It’d be very easy to convince my own people to love you the way Kate’s people do.”

The car stops—a red light, hopefully—and her hand caresses your cheek. “Look at me, щенок. Please.”

And so, you do. Apparently, you’re very easily persuaded.

“Not sure if Kate has told you, but you’re quite the talk of the underground.” Heat rises on your cheeks, the horrors of being known pricking at your skin like needles. “Like some kind of cat tossed out the back. Many people were following your path, щенок. Many people were following Kate’s path as well.”

“W-“ you stop for a second as her thumb rubs at your bottom lip, the lip she was nipping not-so-long ago. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean you are a trophy,” she murmurs, eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes to your heaving chest. “You deserve to be treated like one. And I’ve got a special place for you with me, if you want it.”

Yelena lets you look away from her as the light turns green, the world once again shirking its responsibility to be a quality distraction. The car goes too fast for that, and so you are stuck rolling her words over in your brain.

“I can’t,” you say when the club comes into view. “I just can’t.”

The blonde next to you sighs quiet enough that you barely hear it. She nods to the valet—some scrawny kid you’ve seen once or twice. Where your hands rest in your lap, you feel Yelena’s own sliding between your fingers and depositing a simple business card. On it is just a number, the characters a stark black against the thick eggshell paper.

“Maybe one day I’ll see you again, щенок,” she whispers into your ear. “Tell your владелец she can use the docks whenever she’d like.”

You don’t speak Russian, but it’s easy to tell who she’s talking about.

“Thank you,” is all you can say back, eyes wide and waiting. You worry there’s some catch, a bit of rope you forgot to step over that will make you hit the concrete face-first.

But you remain upright, familiar faces ushering you through. It’s still early in the day, which is something you’re grateful for. You don’t need to deal with the prying eyes of patrons on top of the pity from the workers who are mopping the floors and cleaning glasses. You pass a few of Natasha’s lower guards in the narrow, dim hallways—all of them staring at you as though you were a cow being sent to slaughter. They’ll feast on you someday (both of you know it), but you still can’t make yourself do anything but stare at the floor.

Kate shows no emotion as you step into the office, her face expertly wiped of emotion. Natasha, standing guard at the door, seems relieved. She and her guardswomen have always been a sort of Greek chorus, their reactions slipping through the cracks in their facades every so often. It makes their earlier expressions far more sinister.

“Go lay down, puppy,” Kate says without looking at you. “Daddy’s got some work to finish.”

You do as you’re told, taking your shoes off before sliding onto the dog bed. As soon as your skin hits the fabric you can tell it’s been cleaned – the blanket on top of it, too. It’s still warm from the dryer, smelling distinctly of the lavender dryer sheets she buys in bulk. The bed at the hotel was too big, uncomfortable in its never-ending borders. This feels closer to home, and you lose consciousness to the sound of Kate’s keyboard clicking and opera music playing softly from her desktop.

Hours later, you lift your head when you hear her desk light being turned off, the familiar click a moment of respite from the harrowing silence of the office.

She smiles – a small smile, but a smile nonetheless – when she sees you perk up.

Home? You ask silently, looking at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Home, she tells you through a silent nod.

You tamper your excitement enough to follow her calmly, her arm wrapped possessively around your waist as you exit. The club hums with the pre-opening anticipation, and your own eagerness mixes with the electricity in the air.

The ride home is silent, Kate looking more at her phone than you. She does, though, keep one hand on your thigh, and for that, you are ecstatic.

Once home, Kate grabs one of the collars and leash sets that hang inside a custom end table, a bowl of car keys on top hiding its true function. You drop to your knees without further prompting. It’s hard to fight the moan that bubbles at the familiar clicking sound, and so you don’t.

It makes your owner smile, and you preen under the attention. The hand not holding the leash cups your jaw as you, too, grin with her.

“Such a good puppy,” Kate purrs, looking you over for signs Yelena had failed Kate’s commands.

“If I see a single mark on her, I will kill you,” she’d simply said.

The Russian just laughed. “Going to be hard, Катя. How about just the neck?

Kate hmms, thinking about it. She certainly doesn’t need Yelena to pull out of this deal for something as simple as a few hickeys. “Fine. Anything below the collarbone is fair game.”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby.”

You do not heed her warning—you don’t need to. You’ve known Kate long enough to know exactly what you’re getting into.

“Come on, pup,” she says, standing up straighter as begins to walk towards her personal wing of her house. Just as she trained you, you stand and follow right behind her, eyes focused on the floor. You miss crawling, but know Kate likes to keep your favorites for when she’s really rewarding you. When you’ve proved you deserve it.

As you follow her, you pass a room that’s hidden from view - the door closed to warn the eyes from unwanted, unexpected visitors. Inside rests the larger pieces from Kate’s sexual collection - the full cage, the St. Andrew’s Cross, the coffee table with rivets made for rope. All custom-made to her specifications (and your body measurements).

It surprises you, just a little, when she doesn’t lead you directly to there. Kate has always preferred grand gestures to smaller ones, and that preference doesn’t end when she steps into the bedroom. Once, after receiving news a rival of hers was finally killed by another, second rival, she tied you to the bed and edged you for six hours. She set a timer and everything, telling you it was “an hour for each bullet in his skull.”

You swallow your shock, following her diligently throughout her large mansion. You like Kate’s predictability – even when it’s paired with brutality. This change…you’re almost worried, even as excited and the last thrums of your previous orgasms rush through your blood.

It all melts away, though, when you feel Kate come up behind you, kissing at your neck. She pushes you towards the bedroom—the shared bedroom—the one with the bed you’re rarely allowed to sleep in. This is her version of affection, her language of love. She would never say it, never out loud, but it still makes your heart flutter.

“Good puppy,” she moans as she pushes you against the doorframe, kissing you fiercely. “Such a good fucking puppy for Daddy.”

One of her hands snakes between you, cupping your heated mound. It’s still sore from last night, but that certainly has never stopped her before.

“You’re so beautiful, too,” she murmurs breathlessly. “My gorgeous ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”

The beating in your heart travels south, Kate’s hands roaming over your hips and ass and thighs as she kisses you breathless. It’s easy for her to push your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. Kate laughs, staring at where your very expensive panties were no longer present. “She took ‘em, huh?”

You swallow, not sure what to say. In truth, you hadn’t even thought to look for them—Kate usually makes you go without.

She just laughs, going back to caressing your ass. “Can’t even blame her, I would’ve done the same thing if I had the chance.” She moans as her fingers sink into you. They’re not too deep, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate the stretch. “Fucked a lot of good pussy when you left me, but not a single one matches up to this cunt right here.”

You yelp as she slaps your clit, moans replacing the sharp sound as she circles it slowly. It’s easy to love her when she’s the one taking the pain away, even if she’s the one who caused it in the first place.

Without panties, her fingers slide in easily – your wetness already pooling under you. Your pussy is sore, but it only adds to the pleasure that spreads in your abdomen. It’s the kind of soreness you can feel everywhere—your shoulders, your thighs, your stomach, your arms. It feels good to be a well-loved toy, you think. It feels good to be used, to be useful.

“So wet already?” Kate purrs, a humiliating laugh tinging her words. “I bet I could get my dick now and I’d be able to fuck you exactly how I want to.”

You moan—you can’t help it—biting at your bottom lip.

“You want me to fuck you, puppy?” she asks, smiling as you nod feverishly. “Good girl. Strip, then go wait for me on the bed. Hands and knees, puppy.”

You scramble to take your clothes off and find your place as soon as she lets you go, almost tripping over your own feet in your frenzied desire to follow her orders. The bed, luckily, has already been made, providing you with a wide landscape in which to stake your claim.

Kate appears behind you, it seems, seconds later. The elaborate strap she’s chosen is gorgeous—all woven leather and silver hardware. She has a plethora of harnesses at varying levels of similar and dissimilar to the one she’s wearing, certainly, but after she wore it when she made you squirt for the first time…this one had remained her favorite.

You shiver, just a little, when you feel her hands running over your hips. Kate guides you, silently, closer to her. The silicone brushes against your bare core ever so lightly, sending another wave of desire through you.

“So wet,” she murmurs, her fingers everywhere except exactly where you want them. You’re about to whine, to cry, to beg, to do something to convince how desperately you want her, but before you can even open your mouth, you can feel the head of the toy slip inside of you.

“Oh,” you moan, barely fighting the urge to collapse into the bed, to let her use you like a toy. You know, though, that she likes to be the one to choose your position—if she wanted you with your face pressed into the sheets, she’s put you there with a hand between your shoulders. “Oh, please.”

“You’ve been a good little girl,” Kate muses. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the slew of pleads desperate to spill from your lips. “And well-behaved puppies deserve rewards, I suppose.”

You don’t have time to breath before she’s slamming into you, the toy fully sheathed as Kate pins you to the bed.

“Tell me who you belong to,” she hisses, the strap stretching your cunt. Unlike Yelena’s, this one is smooth, ridgeless, with a bulbous head that ends in a cone shape. It hits that spot inside of you with the kind of delicious pain Kate is so well known for—your cries interrupting her commands. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t speak—you simply can’t. Your fingers grasp at the silk bedsheets, desperately wishing you had claws so you could hook them into the $15,000 fabric and tear them into shreds. Like a werewolf stuck in the middle of its transformation, the rabidness racing in your blood feels too much for your mortal flesh to bear.

And yet, Kate pushes.

“Say it,” she growls, barring her teeth as she thrusts into you.

“I-I,” There’s no way, no way you’ll be able to choke those words out, choke any words out – everything you want to say is lodged in your throat, stuck there like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. You thrash in the same way, knowing your fate but fighting against it anyway. What was that guy’s name? Sisyphus? He had it easy, rolling that boulder up that hill. At least he wasn’t getting his cock teased while it happened.

Or maybe he was…you couldn’t remember much of your early college English classes as a fire raged inside of you.

“It belongs- oh!,” you moan as Kate bottoms out, the leather of her harness pressing against the inside of your thighs. “It belongs to you.”

“That’s fucking right,” she moans, deep in her chest, as she fucks into you with purpose. “You’re mine, all fucking mine and no one else’s.”

Your cries punctuate her proclamations, hiccups and moans layered over her words.

“I don’t care how many other people touch you,” Kate tells you, ignoring you as your howls of pleasure. “I don’t care if every fucking night you’re at the center of some orgy. You’re mine. Not Natasha’s, or Maria’s, or even fucking Carol-“

You’re wailing now, sure the soundproof walls have disintegrated and are thin as paper—pieces of which flap against your sound waves. Kate, in her unwavering desire to ruin you for eternity, keeps going.

“And certainly not some goddamn Russian who doesn’t know when to stop fucking pushing.”

“N-no!” All you can do is wail, clutching to her so hard you’re sure there will be red marks down her back come morning. Kate won’t mind, though. She also likes a bit of pain to remind her of her own mortality.

“Good fucking puppy,” she whispers, panting into your ear. “Took a stray dog in from the street, gave it a collar. Look at it now, huh?” You can hear the smile on her lips—the kind hunters have when their prey whimpers below them. Kate could set a thousand traps, catch you a thousand times, and she’d still have that delicious grin plastered over her face. It makes you feel small, vulnerable, like a rabbit caught in a snare. You love it.

 “Such a good fucking mutt,” she moans. “Good fucking mutt who takes my cock so well.”

It’s easy to come, then, already sensitive and desperate and so deeply happy to be back with he woman you love the most.

“Yes, puppy,” she moans. “Give it to me.”

And so, you do, over and over again. Kate continues fucking you, even as you begin to shake from the overstimulation. The world shrinks to just the two of you, Kate panting in your ear and you swimming in pleasure. There is no one, there isn’t a need for anyone, to exist outside of you and her.

You’re not sure when it ends. Like an ocean in high tide, you can only wait for her to recede and grant you peace under her thick duvets. She wipes you down with warm, fluffy towels with Puppy embroidered onto them, cleaning your slick and the dried lube from your center and inner thighs. When you gasp at the feeling of the cloth against your sensitive skin, to which Kate just coos and peppers kisses against your sweaty temple.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “Go to sleep. I know you’re tired.”

Always the best at following directions, you allow unconsciousness to overtake you.

You wake up hours later, the darkness outside giving you no clues to the time. Your whole body is the kind of sore you haven’t experienced in years, the kind that reminds you of when your college roommate freshman year convinced you to run a 5K with her.

Kate sits beside you on the bed, reading some hardcover book about something or other. She likes older books, the boring kind you’d expect a dad to be reading in an old armchair.

It’s easier to deal with her when she’s satiated; when a deal’s gone well, or her product sold for more than she expected. She’s got a quicker step, and holds one hand in her pants’ front pocket as she smirks.

You’re not always the first thing she concerns herself with after her days go perfectly. She wants to brag—to soak in the euphoria of hard work done well with the people who benefit the most from her dealmaking.

But now, as she pushes sweaty hair from your face and smiles softly…it feels good. It feels right.

“How are you feeling, puppy?”

You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your vision. “M good, I think.”

Kate hmms. “Need anything?”

It’s only then you realize how dry your mouth is. “Water, maybe?”

She grabs it for you without question, reaching into the mini fridge hidden inside a less garish nightstand. She waits, patiently, until you’ve downed the whole bottle, before she speaks again.

“Now,” you can hear how out of breath Kate is, as though her restraint in not asking immediately after you’d woken up had driven her to the brink of madness. “Tell me everything she told you. I want every. Last. Detail. And I’ll reward you in ways you can’t currently comprehend.”

You’re not sure what to say at first, the fear of triggering Kate’s possessiveness is always a looming threat. What does she want to know? That you sat on her face? That she likes red wine? That her Russian accent thickens when she’s fucking?

Kate grabs your chin and forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes narrowed in determination. “Don’t think, puppy. Just tell me everything that happened in the order it happened. This sort of arrangement could change some things, could make you a much more important asset.”

You blink, still unsure. Kate’s eyes, though, don’t move from yours.

“Come on, puppy,” she leans down to kiss your forehead. “Tell Daddy what happened, and I can make you a very happy pup.”

#yelena belova x reader #kate bishop x reader #yelena belova x kate bishop x reader #lukis does commissions #lukis writes stuff #kate bishop/reader

[conduiitz]

Oooh alternate wardrobe pls! Post-apocalyptic AU anyone? 👀 👀 (You can just post a page of your comic, too 😘)

Did you say post-apocalyptic AU that's turned into a comic about superpowers, swords, friendship and survival? Sure thing! :D

#I swear this is all i wanna do but my mind is thinking about smth else #have the line up atleast #this is SOME of the characters i have in my mind :PPP #yes that's Lukie as well #dont worry i have a permission #I need a tag for this as well and also a name for it #and some inspiration to actally sit down and think #i have a sketchbook im writing in when i come up w ideas for it #ITS GONNA HAPPEN I ALSO WANNA READ THIS!! #if you look close you can figure out a bit about them if you know my way of thinking :P #anyway thanks for the ask!! #ask game #OC stuff #Shattered Comique

[aliensunflower-fics]

My Recommended Fic List

So, I got this ask awhile ago, and since I have been re-reading a bunch of my old favorite fics as a way to cheer up after work I figured why not. This list will be long... and varied but mostly its older fics cuz idk there my favs. Now lets go:

Fashion Upgrade - By @soap-lady : Straight up one of my favorite fics ever, its fun, its creative, it never fails to make me laugh when I need something warm and wholesome after a bad day. Also go check out the rest of her stuff there's so much good okay like shes just a writing queen. Shes on AO3 I don't want to spoil you on her other stuff just GO experience it for yourself.

Ode To Decoy pt 1 / 2 / 3 - By @a-marlene-s : Ive always liked this short sweet little fic about Lila getting caught. Its Lila + class salt though so avoid if that's not your flavor.

EVERYTHING - By @unmaskedagain : They have salt, they have sugar, they have funny, they have crossovers. Like honestly they are a just a great writer with so much variety so go check out the masterlist I linked and I guarantee there will be something there you like.

@ravennm84 Is a writer on the saltier side but they have a wonderful selection of weird wacky tales from the salty but oh so well written Damning Evidence that sees Lila get caught in the best way to the 3 part Horror inspired Serafina other great fics from them include Marinettes Family Court Circus pt 1 / 2 and Of Moldy Bread and Cockroaches / Be Kind to Servers honestly its worth giving there blog a look.

@mochinek0 Is another writer with several beloved fics. They write a lot of Maribat and we love them for it. Ones to check out would be Blind Date / Bruce vs Gabriel just go check out there tag list of daminette for more.

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette - By @lady-literature : This is a wonderful idea and a wonderful little fic and I just... I just like it okay. Sadly I haven't read a lot of there other stuff... But I might after finishing this list considering how much I enjoy this one.

@nobodyfamousposts I love a LOT of there fics. They are one of the best when it comes to striking that sweet spot of calling out the show for some of its garbage while not getting so salty that you cant have fun lighthearted goodness. I have been looking for a masterlist of there work but cant find one so just go stalk there tags. I do recommend there Chloe's Lament Series 1 / 2 exploring how certain 'wishes' would backfire. Guardian Assistant Kevin is also a good one Miracle Queen Aftermath pt 1 / 2 / The 8 parter Burn the Witch series / The Wisdom Teeth Reveal / Kagami Vs The Wall of Faces / Resigning With Grace & Spite / I tried to give a lot of links cuz they have a lot of stuff

Kill Them With Kindness - By @luki-fanfic : Well written, good salt without going overboard. Just good vibes. I havent stalked there other stuff but if its anything like this fic its probably excellent quality.

Stephen Vladislav pt 1 / 2 - By @stormiclown : Adrien centered salt on the idea of finally giving Adrien his own proper rival. I like the idea of Adrien having a rival because its usually Marinette and this was just the right length to get those creative ideas flowing. Also just well written what more can you ask for.

Power Trip - By @storygirl000 : This was the first fic that made me go... Wait would it be more fun if Lila was actually competent? And that set me on the path to writing my own fics where Lila is more villainous and more capable. Its short, well written. Good.

Your Wish is My Command - By DemiGoddess28 on AO3 : A great 11 chapter fic looking into Lila's life if she were to win and get a miraculous wish. Its got sugary goodness for our protagonists and the class and salt for our dearest friend Lila.

LadyBugOut AU - By Miraculous-Content on AO3 : A 50 chapter fic made up of snippets and ideas. I found it really inspiring in many ways. I also love how it redeems Marinettes classmates showing how and why they were tricked but holding them accountable anyway its just... Good.

Juleka vs The Forces of the Universe - By goldenlaurelleaves on AO3 : For those of us not yet ready to accept the death of luka/mari we have this wonderful fic showing Juleka being the biggest wingman as she helps these idiots find there way together.

ChaoticNeutral on AO3 has there own Chloe's Lament fic as well as a Gabriel's Lament fic for people who need sweet salty of those two characters.

BroadwayCutie16 was Inspired by the person above and DemiGoddesses your wish is my command fic to write Lila's Lament fic going over Lilas failed wish. Honestly I always love these fics because there just so interesting and the way wishes can be taken and twisted is always a fascinating idea to me.

#WayneAngel - By Tired-Writing-Teach on AO3 : For us Maribat lovers. Its fun and lighthearted with some good gags and some light fluff.

Damian in Paris - By Lilliesandliveries on AO3 : A sweet Maribat series showing what would happen if Damian ran away from home and found himself in Paris and getting therapy.

How a Demon Commissions an Angel - By AlixAnonymous : Damian blackmails Marinette into letting him be her client so he can get his bros the best gifts, they end up becoming penpal buddies.

Mythomania - By LadyEnna_50 on AO3 : Proof that I dont hate Adrien or Mari/Adrien. In this fic Adrien's spine gets titanium plating and he sees just how bad Lila is hurting Marinette and does something about it.

The Contingency - By AbyssalGuardian on AO3 : SALT. Also Tim/Mari but even still I love the way this was written, the style, and some of the ideas just ugh love it. Its not for those who dont like salt so just avoid at your own discretion. Its about a chaotic Marinette done with her life running away to Gotham where she meets her true black cat, and gets her life back on track.

The String That Binds Us - By FaithAndATypeWriter on AO3 : Okay so is there any Mari/Bat fan who hasnt already heard of this one? Who cares its good, its cute, I love it. May the author be blessed with snacks.

The Great IKEA Game - By @batsandbugs : Okay again... I think every Mari/Bat fan has probably heard of this one already because its just that good and that popular. But who cares I am recommending it anyway. Don't read if your allergic to fun I guess.

If this list still doesn't somehow have enough salt for you then try @goggles-mcgee fics here is a link to there Masterlist. They are in a way a professional at salt and angst and they make you want to adopt Marinette and pop her in a blanket fort.

Honestly I could keep going but this list already feels so long for other great recs though I can link you to @jayphoenic who has some great Daminette Fic Recs and some Lila Salt Fic Recs!

Feel free to reblog this and add some links to stuff you would think I or others might like! Also lets just acknowledge how many talented authors the community has like wow.

#its just me #miraculous ladybug #not my fic #fic rec #lila salt #dc x mlb #daminette #kagaminette #adrienette #lukanette #ml salt #adrien salt

[kellshaw]

2023 Writer Year in Review

It’s time for a late 2023 review post where I reflect on life, the universe and my author career. I did one last year which makes a good benchmark. Let’s see how I did!

2023 Goals vs Actual

Finish the next two books in the Revenant Records series

Completed half of this. I got Feral Night out, and I’m working on the third book in the series. Not quite at the stage of getting two to three books out per year. But I’m happy with the book I released—it’s a solid improvement over Final Night (which I still think is a pretty good first author book!) Currently, I’m knee deep in the entrails of book 3. I got ambitious and I’m attempting a puzzle mystery with two POVs which is slowing me down as I work through everything. I also won’t put this up for pre-order until it’s 100 percent finished, which includes proofing covers, backmatter—the works!

Complete twelve issues of the monthly newsletter

Done! I’ve kept the newsletter going. Still writing it in character, as it’s more fun that way. (In character? Check it out!)

Submit original short stories to magazines

This did not happen. I went through my old backlog of shorts and found a sword-and-sorcery-ish story that might be worthy of magazine submission with a bit of polishing.

Write a proper Lukie-focused short as a reader magnet

Done! It’s always good when your giveaway story relates to your in-progress series. You can grab Fiery Night here as a newsletter sign-up bonus.

I would like to do a second, completely free short for a wide release and even have an idea for one. Will do this later, but not prioritize it.

Streamline my automation sequence for the newsletter

This was a bit of admin that I kept putting off, but it’s done now. Need to improve and develop the sequence further.

Engage an artist for some character/concept sketches + learn to draw

I got some done by a talented artist for my newsletter which are fantastic, but I won’t be happy with sketches until I can draw my own characters competently. This year, I did a few simple art courses at my local community college and attended a few live drawing sessions. This year, I’ll keep practicing. I also signed up for an online drawing academy by clicking on a random Facebook ad and going “Hey, that’s not too bad” (I know, I know). Was stymied also by Apple Pencil breaking, and had to revert to the less technical Graphite Pencil.

Social media, book reviews

I continue to be inconsistent with social media. I do this ad hoc posts, but a meh presence on social media. Not good at the funny meme stuff, and my book-a-year schedule means I can’t do too much around launches. I tried many social medias in 2023. I should pick something and be consistent.

2024 Goals

Okay, here we go. In 2024, I’m going to simplify my list. In fact, I had a more complicated list. Start a subscription! Work on the tabletop roleplaying set in the Vestiges of Magic world, do more drawing, and then when I got some strategic advice which was...

Write the next book... No side projects?

And that’s my core goal for next year!

Finish Revenant Records #3 - Fractured Night

Still in progress. At first it was a puzzle mystery and now it’s more about the characters. The premise is like the Shining crossed with a dark faerie tale....

Start the 2024 web serial, do a chapter a month

I completed a web serial last year, which I’m sitting on until I get more material out to launch a series with it. (Having launched a series on the fly, my next series will have a bit more material ready to go before I launch.) This will be in my newsletter and on my website. I’ve got about four chapters done. The premise: a woman seeks the help of a supernatural assassin to avenge her murdered daughter, but the assassin she needs to help her has retired....

#writeblr #urban fantasy #writers of tumblr #indie publishing #author business

[doitinanotherlanguage]

Week 3 | Day 7 | Langblr Reactivation Challenge

🇫🇮 FI: Vikan päivän ohjeistuksessa luki, että kirjoita äidinkielellä tai tavoitekielellä, joten ajattelin, että kirjoitankin tällä kertaa äidinkielellä eli suomeksi. Energiat vähän laski haasteen loppua kohden ja netin ulkopuolinen elämä painoi päälle, joten useampi päivä jäi multa välistä ja kirjoitan tätä viimeisen päivän postausta nyt paljon myöhemmin kuin oli tarkoitus. Halusin kuitenkin joka tapauksessa vetää vähän ajatuksia kokoon nyt lopuksi. Fiilis on hyvä, ja oon iloinen, että ehdin tekemään sen verran postauksia mitä ehdin. Parasta haasteessa oli ehdottomasti se, että löysin monia mulle täysin uusia langblr-tilejä haasteen tägin kautta. Sain myös lisää kipinää kielten opiskeluun ja motivaatio nousi, koska sain opiskeluun tavoitteellisuutta tän haasteen kautta (opiskelen tällä hetkellä kaikkia mun tavoitekieliä itsenäisesti, joten opiskelun tavoitteellistaminen on ajoittain hyvinkin haastavaa...). Sain myös paljon ajatuksia ja intoa jatkoa ajatellen, esim. millaisia langblr-postauksia haluan tästä eteenpäin tehdä. Kiitos @prepolyglot haasteen ideoinnista! 😊 

🇬🇧 EN: The prompts for the last day of this challenge instructed us to write either in our native language or our target language, so I decided to write in my native language (Finnish) for once. My energy levels definitely decreased towards the end of the challenge as real-life stuff complicated things, so I ended up skipping several days and I’m writing this last post way later than I intended to. In any case, I still wanted to sum up my thoughts at the end of the challenge. I feel great, and I’m really happy that I had time to create the posts that I did. The best thing about this challenge was definitely the fact that I found so many new-to-me langblr accounts through the tag for the challenge. The challenge also sparked new motivation in me for learning languages, because I found studying more intentional with an objective in sight (I’m currently studying all of my target languages independently, so I often lose sight of my goals and objectives...). Also, I now have many ideas and a lot of excitement for what I’m planning to do next, e.g. what types of langblr posts I want to continue with moving forwards. Thank you @prepolyglot for coming up with this challenge! 😊

#langblr reactivation challenge

[caroldantops]

3k follower q&a!

hello hello after many other ideas that I didn’t feel up to doing, I’ve decided to celebrate 3,000 followers by doing a q&a! (definitely inspired in part by lukis) 

instead of doing just audio, i’m probably going to have a little speeddraw (probably of some demon!nat art) going in the background too, just for funsies! 

you can ask me about anything! my writing process, my favorite fics i've written/tropes/writers, fic advice, art stuff, any questions you have about my fics, etc.! 

it doesn't even have to be writing related, it can just be any questions you've ever had about me too! other hobbies, casual k!nk talk, favorite music...literally whatever! 

and if you can’t think of what exactly you’d like to ask, this post has some good examples of writing related asks

send in questions here!

you can ask as many questions as you want, and it can all be anonymous! 

i’ll close the form once i officially hit 3,000 (i’ll do a final call for asks once i hit that though!)

#silver's 3k q&a #moots if u reblog this i'll give u a kiss on the cheek

[acrianswashere]

A real Occultist Debunks “Selling Your Soul”

Hot take this was ripped from my Wordpress, and Magick Journal I highly recommend checking out at the links above.

You ever read something so fuking asinine you want to claw your eyes out? Not everybody is Christian. Not every religion is Christianity. not all magick and holy sacred power comes from your Jesus. Selling your soul isn’t real. That’s not how this works beyond your feeble religious understanding. Today we’re going to be debunking Robert Johnson and how he “sold his soul” at the crossroads. Hot take: he didn’t.

For starters who is Robert Johnson? He’s a famous blues singer. He’s infamous for the before statement. Robert Johnson as a person doesn’t matter to much. I’m not really into blues and while I respect it as a genre with a history I could care less. What matters is this myth surrounding him and his music. Lots of people think he “sold his soul” for some kind of skill with the guitar. That, because he pledged himself to Satan he got his ability. Let’s get one thing out of the way. That doesn’t happen.

If you are familiar with this blog (I’m assuming you’re not) you’ll know I do magick. The real kind. Not that harry potter bullshit you see in movies. I am a left handed sorcerer who works frequently with demons. With the dark. Magick some people would consider to be black or inherently evil given the subject matter. Stuff drenched in what you stereo-typically view as the “occult”.

I promise you that the black man at the crossroads ain’t a demon but now we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Point is I do this shit for real. Solomonic tradition and the like. I’ve read my fair share of goetic based texts and fancy golden rimmed grimoires. I know demons well.

So why do I think as someone embedded in this that this is horseshit? Cus it is. When you work with spirits for any long period of time you’ll eventually have to pay them for their work. Nobody does any kind of labor for anyone for free whether you’re a human or a ghost. Spirits can be paid in a lot of ways from them asking you to write a song or throwing a rock in a pond, to giving them cake. Spirits can be paid with tasks or offerings. But your soul is worth nothing to them.

Your soul isn’t worth anything on the astral plane. It’s not something you can pay somebody with. It’s nontransferable. No one wants it and nobody will take it. You can promise your essence in devotion to someone, you can promise service, you can be a sword and a shield sure. But your soul is worth nothing. Nobody cares about it.

When it comes to dealing with the devil the myth arises from actuality. When it comes to demons or even other spirits like fae, you can bargain and barter with them. You can sign contracts with entities where they promise you something in exchange for something else. This something has to be something you can give them. Such as food, incense, art that sort of thing. You can’t really give anyone your soul it doesn’t work that way. 

Spirits do want stuff from you but they don’t want your soul. You can sign contracts with demons but they’re not gona ask for that in return. They may ask for something big but never that. It’s just not of value to them. They may ask for big metaphorical concepts like your divinity, your fame, or your loyalty but not your soul. Anything that’s asks you for your soul, chances are is trying to fuck with your head and only wants to parasitically feed off you. But we’re not gona get into Jellyfish here.

So yeah you can make an agreement with a demon, sign a contract with one also. But your not gona go to hell for it, and your certainly not giving them your soul.

Also Robert Johnson? Wasn’t a left handed guy. He was someone who practiced Hoodoo (not demons) which is a kind of African folk magick that comes from a variety of influences. Dollies are European In origin and while they made their way in some Hoodoo practices and even Voodoo it doesn’t change the fact that they are originally European.

[Barber, Chad. Infernal Conjure Craft. HADEAN PRESS, 2011. 1 vols.]

Hot take: it’s not cultural appropriation to work with dollies in that form. But that’s another misunderstanding and issue for another day.

So I mean reflecting did Robert Johnson do magick? Yes he did. He did Hoodoo. He references Mojo hands and other practices in his music. Those are Hoodoo things. Hoodoo ain’t evil. Just because it’s magick doesn’t make it “of the devil” and in retrospect that’s a super naive way to think of things. Especially given Hoodoo’s blend of cultures and origins which I’m not gona touch here because I am far from and authority on that matter.

 The world doesn’t revolve around Christianity and regardless of whether you practice Christianity or not you can’t really filter it all through that lens if you want a proper perspective. Other religions, other practices exist it doesn't mean its YOUR devil in disguise tempting people to sin via their belief.

[Yronwode, Catherine. “http://www.luckymojo.com/crossroads.html.” Luky Mojo Curio Co,

   www.luckymojo.com/crossroads.html.]

Hell, Christian Magick exists and the miracles Yeshua himself performed were inherently of a divine supernatural presence (you know the big guy). That’s magick whether holy or not. But now we’re detracting.

Point is regarding Robert Johnson, the dude did do magick. He did Hoodoo. That doesn’t mean that he sold his soul. Also the whole crossroads thing? Yeah there is a ritual you can do to achieve a skill set that is known as “that one crossroads ritual everybody talks about whenever the crossroads in magick are even briefly mentioned”. You enter in to an agreement with an entity known as The Black Man by going to the crossroads for a set time frame. Then he then aids you in your attempts to learn whatever the skill you asked for afterwords. 

It’s a Hoodoo ritual and I know so because I’ve done it. (See my magical journal entries night 1 through night 7) Certain pantheons have certain vibes and this one was African in nature. The exact origin or creator of it I can not tell you but it has a vibe that doesn’t scream to me demon. Plus some of my demons don’t get along well with him which wouldn’t of have happened the way it did for me had he been one of them.

We don’t really have any historical evidence that Robert Johnson himself even bothered to do this ritual. You can speculate but it doesn’t change the fact that we simply don’t know and what we do know we can’t pinpoint. We only have second hand sources from other people rather than statements made by the man. Crossroads are just a thing in Hoodoo. They are a thing in a lot of magick and religions. I mean the Greeks had Hekate. who is wonderful and that was/still is her thing. The heathens have Wodin. Crossroad deities are everywhere. They are not regulated to one specific faith or practice alone. Nor should they be.

So him singing a song about the crossroads or rituals related to it means absolutely nothing. Did he wake up good at guitar? It’s possible. Was a ritual involved? Yeah I’ll give you that. Did he sell his soul to do it? No. He didn't. The reason this association is even here in the first place is because of his friend Tommy Johnson. No before you ask they weren’t related. Tommy Johnson did this ritual. He painted it for whatever reason as a satanic thing and marketed himself accordingly. He also did Hoodoo so take that as you will. He wasn’t really as well known even if his guitar playing was better than Roberts. This was later adapted into a published fictional book where the myth of Robert doing it arose in popculture.

So that’s the truth it’s not as exciting as a conspiracy theory drenched in Christianity.  The ritual is real. I talk about it in my oddly titled book “how to sell your soul and other nifty things. A beginners guide to black magick.” which has yet to come out despite it’s misnomer of a title. if you want guides on that ritual I can’t really help you but earlier in this article I linked my journal experience of me doing the ritual which is the only deviation out there from the standard fair you find online. But it’s really best performed at an abandoned location for as long as possible, with information regarding it gathered from places outside the internet. (The internet won’t properly prepare you for this ritual you need to go buy some books).

So yeah you can do Hoodoo and a crossroads ritual to achieve a skill. You can sign pacts with demons. You can use magick to get famous even though we didn’t discuss that here. But you can’t sell your soul. It’s worth nothing. The crossroads ritual has nothing to do with the christian devil and you don’t go to any sort of hell for performing it. It’s possible that Robert didn't even do the ritual though that really is a matter of opinion at this point. Tommy did the ritual. Tommy marketed himself poorly. So maybe before you perpetrate a myth like this do a sting of research and discover that life is way more interesting and elaborate and magick is far more detailed than some industry based conspiracy theory about getting famous and good at shit with no effort.

My name is Acrians Locket. I’m snarky and bitter. My blog is currently aimed at beginners who have an interest in the real versions of this sort of stuff outside of hogwarts ridden movies. I hope you enjoyed and check me out. Chow

-Acrians Locket

Further Reading:

Baby’s first demons:

Best Book For Beginners

Companion to the keys of Solomon

Demon Dictionary

This Youtube Channel [e.a koetting]

This Youtube Channel [Orlee Stewart]

Other magick (not my forte though I’m exploring it right now so forgive the lack of links)

This Youtube Channel [Arziana EverDark]

This Author [Taylor Ellwood]

This Site [More traditional based shit, legit and good]

[I’m not linking any crossroads stuff it’s linked previously if you actually click the hyperlinks I included within my article.]

MY magickal Blog

MY magickal Youtube

My Magickal Journal

#demonkin #demonology #magick #witchblr #hell #demons #how to sell your soul

[thepersianslipper]

The Persian Slipper Reads The Blog

Hey guys! So sorry for this long delay, but I’ve been a bit busy with boring real life stuff and didn’t have the time to keep up my posting schedule. Hopefully things will get back on track soon. Again, thank you all so much for your responses to my little series!

Let’s wrap up TBB. 

As you can read in my previous post, John posts 4 entries relative to TBB (March 23rd to 28th). This time we’ll look at the last two.

1 - FYI

The case has been solved the previous night and today the boys went back to the bank to collect their paycheck. John is preparing to write up their second case, but first he is giving us a little teaser. 

- “This is me” stock photo of me looking cool, 

- “This is Sherlock” candid photo of Sherlock looking mysterious with the light totally not highlighting his cheeckbones, he’s so handsome.

I can’t remember what was John’s profile picture after ASIP, but I think it was Sherlock’s picture… Can someone remember? 

For the people who joined the fandom a little later, I think it’s important to mention that the blog did change a bit between the episodes. Not only did new posts appear, they would also be edited. Sometimes the features on the right column would change, like John’s profile pic, or the hit counter (present during ASIB), etc.

2 - The Blind Banker

John posts this on the 28th, a day after they collect their payment at the bank.

The post is a more or less straightforward description of the episode, so I won’t go into much detail about it.

The really interesting bit IMO is the last paragraphs of John’s post.

James Bond again... John is coming down from the adrenalin high and is feeling like he’s in a super spy movie. The same super spy movies he and Sherlock had binge watched a few days before. 

Things suddenly take a much darker tone when John admits that he does enjoy this life he and Sherlock chose for themselves - he makes sure to stress that it was a conscious decision for him and for Sherlock.  He is aware that it  a dangerous life, made progressively more dangerous by the fame Sherlock is gaining (hello, TRF?). John fears for Sherlock and for the people that are close to them. Already, he is aware of an impending force looming over Sherlock and his world.

This last paragraph is particularly interesting for me because of John’s choice of words. Not only does he fear for Sherlock and everyone around them, he knows that there are forces, however abstract, determined to bring Sherlock down. It’s very much in line with John’s last scene in TBB. We can see that he is worried, that he is realizing that there is something, someone, watching them.

I can’t quite place the date of this last scene in 221b, can’t make out the date on Sherlock’s newspaper… Is this on the 28th? It would make sense because the timestamps in the comments are relatively early (around 13:00). I assume John wrote up the case after this breakfast scene.

3 - The Comments

There are a few interesting threads in the comments of The Blind Banker. 

a) Harry and John

Harry keeps trying to be involved in John’s life but he keeps holding back.

b) Sherlock and John being domestic

Sherlock is not a great fan of this case post either and makes his opinion known again. Again, the domesticity is so pure it makes my heart cry. Harry is also a fellow shipper.

c) Mrs Hudson and the Internet, part 2

Mrs Hudson is still using Mrs Turner computer. We learn that she does Sherlock’s laundry… Not your housekeeper, huh?

d) A looming threat

I’ll delve into this in detail when I write about the sideblogs, but it’s important to note that Jim from IT has already approached Molly. John’s instinct was right, dark forces are closing in and he is clearly ill at ease.

e) Going to Minsk

Finally, I should mention Barry Berwick, the prisoner that tries to hire Sherlock in the opening of TGG. He contacts Sherlock and whatever he says, it’s enough to convince him to go talk to him in prison in Belarus. I just love it how the cases tie in each other (and how Sherlock bosses everyone around).

4. The Timeline

It’s the end of another episode, so we can add to our timeline:

14th December - John starts writing a blog. He may have returned to the UK recently and started therapy.

29th January - John and Sherlock meet for the first time.

30th January - Sherlock shows Baker Street to John, the rest of the ASIP episode happens on the same day.

7th February - John posts the ASIP case.

23rd March - TBB episode starts, John has a row with the chip-and-pin machine and they find Van Coon’s body. Lukis is killed that night.

24th March - John goes to his job interview, Soo Lin is killed that night.

26th March - John takes Sarah to the Chinese circus, hijinks follow.

27th March (not confirmed)- The case is wrapped and the guys go see Seb at the bank to collect their payment. 

28th March - Last 221B scene in TBB, John writes up the case. Berwick contacts Sherlock. If the 22nd is a Monday (according to Van Coon’s schedule), it makes sense that Sherlock would be holding a copy of The Sunday Times on the 28th.

Thanks for reading! Next post we will start with one of my favorite episodes, TGG!

Previous < (7/?) > Next

@todaywearesoldiers @sherlockedcarmilla @thejohnlockoutlet @fellshish @sarahthecoat @devoursjohnlock @anchored-in-high-tide

#the persian slipper reads the blog #sherlock meta #John's Blog #TBB

[gayrightszuko]

hm i’m trying to plan out my ty luki fic and the thing is i definitely want to write some smut for them so they’re gonna have to be aged up first but i’m gonna have to fuck with the timeline like, a lot.... 

so suki is fifteen when we meet her and we can probably assume ty lee is fourteen, same as azula. it’s a post-canon fic so it’s safe to put them at sixteen and fifteen respectively. that leaves three years before they can get together. but based on some other timeline stuff i want to have happen, i need them to get together way before that.

#charlie.docx #i sure have put myself in a box here...

[constanciapaula]

“Buenos Dias (Whatever dia it is today, I am no longer certain)”

“Life is so magnificent as much as it’s not, it’s as special as it’s collective. + we owe it to our human body to experience as many experiences as possible.” !! 

Ahh how wonderful to hear! It feels so good to recognise growth and see it in the people around you/ me. Hearing this is pushing me to work on and reflect on how I could grow at the moment. I feel whenever I am home with my family, as you know, its usually a strange time in some way or another. The sudden lack of freedom and dealing with family dynamics. But I think I want to work on bringing together the two “parts” that my life feels it has split into. Does this make sense? I want to synchronise my home & uni life, who I am and how I treat people around me during these times. I think this would be an important thing for me to work on for my relationships and myself. 

Ah! Interesting, the observation about how writing something down can completely transform it, this actually reminds me of this youtube clip I became completely obsessed with last year, I would reference it during every project:  

“Neurons from a fetal animal growing in tissue culture.” So its a time-lapse footage of neurons making new connection to other neurons, so in really basic terms, what your thoughts look like. 

I used it mostly in reference to my boundary project also because to me, being able to see the actual physical connections that our brains make, it made it clearer (but also more mysterious somehow?) that so often, feelings and emotions are so inexplicable but so crucial to us as humans. But you writing about writing reminded me of this because writing somehow feels like that sometimes. Or when you’re having a really good conversation with someone  and it feels like mini fireworks in your brain! 

(Boundaries) Yes! So this was where I found my project was going - I did find it difficult though because trying to communicate something like this (spirituality) in a project thats going to be graded/ judged..hmm..interesting but really challenging. Ah I remember now, this is why I like to look at science (video above) to sort of back-up/ explain these abstract ideas. - do you find you do this? I would love to explore these ideas further with you Paula. Although to be honest, we have explored it a lot in the conversations we have, but lets make some real stuff! 

Oooo! Really interesting point about the books and interview - thank you! - I have a thought - maybe this could be in the form of a book or an interview but I would love to do a project/ piece with you where one of us starts and then the object or something (?) is passed to the other then over and over but all the communication comes from the piece itself. Hmm not sure this makes much sense haha. Sort of like we interview each other from across the world but with pre-recorded videos? Remember that voice recording device you got in first year? - that was so fun! Maybe we could just make it our voices and then the collaborative part comes from the imagery? 

Sol Calero and Exoticism’s - Reply, reply 

“but rather integrate as much as we can…I would say want but is that egocentric?.” - Really interesting point, I suppose for me, this further raises the question, to what extent is there choice in art? I guess choice is everything but then does that mean everything involved with choice is egocentric? Surely not? To be honest, I am still exploring ego and what it means. When I next see Luki i’ll ask him about this, he talks about ego a lot. 

Ah ! I am sorry, I started writing but I should have read the whole paragraph first because yes, this is also what I am wondering - although you put it more interestingly. I feel like with this topic - we have really, really zoomed out! Maybe its just a question of the particular topic and whether the “biggest picture” needs to be considered is completely situational. I find myself often saying that everything is completely situational - maybe this is a cop out haha? I am sure there is a lot of philosophy out there on this topic. I find I get scared to explore philosophy sometimes, not sure why though. 

Sorry I have written so much, hope you don’t mind reading, P. I am really enjoying this dialogue. 

P.s. You have quite the formal style of writing, I was going to say it doesn’t sound like you but maybe it does, I am just used to talking about more casual subjects or texting with short cuts etc - do I sound different?

[peachyteabuck]

cross the line (peggy carter x reader)

summary: after you’re officially coronated, your already-atypical relationship with your personal knight becomes something even more scandalous

commissioned by someone who wishes to remain anonymous 

pairing: peggy carter x reader

words: 7649

content warnings: the world’s most historically inaccurate royal au!, knight/personal guard!peggy, queen!reader, murder of a minor character, attempted murder of a main character, violence done onto the main character, virginity taking, strap on use, dubious consent, praise, i made steven grant rogers a misogynist for shits + gigs, protective!peggy, dom!peggy, sub!reader, blowjobs on strapons, manipulation

divider by @firefly-graphics​

This is your dream. This has been your dream since you knew what dreams were. Every moment of your life since the minute you unleashed your first scream was dedicated to primping and priming you until you were molded into the perfect queen.

This is your dream. As a baby, you were sequestered from everyone but the doctor, your parents, your nanny, and the wet nurse to ensure your health. You met the first person outside of that tight circle was introduced to you when you could walk. Even then, they were quarantined before and after.

As a child, you spent hours being quizzed on complex philosophy and mathematics by candlelight until your nanny begged for the tutor to stop. Being up until well before sunrise wasn’t enough: any moment you could be awake should be dedicated to meeting the same standards would-by kings were held to.

As a teenager, the focus turned to your appearance. Reading and writing were joined by a hair and make-up session. You recited factoids and roleplayed conversations with other rulers and aristocrats and constituents while you were shoved into corsets and fitted for dresses.

Your entire life has led up to this day, to this moment.

So why are you here, picking at your cuticles, as you hear your family and allies of the crown celebrating joyously? A new queen was not a frequent occurrence, especially one who reigned without a sudden, unexpected death or drought. None of that had occurred—your mother, aging and desperate for a life of her own, had informed you of her plan to abdicate the throne on the eve of your 16th birthday. It would give you two years until they’d announce, and a few more for everyone in every kingdom to adjust to the news.

You can hear your personal guard come in, the formal armor clinking as she steps. She prefers to go without (something about stealth being the best protection), but given the occasion, tradition requires her to be in full regalia.

“Are you all right, your majesty?”

You bite at your nail, pulling at the dead skin as you attempt to ground yourself. Staring off into the distance, you say nothing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Peggy had been your main guard since you were preteens. You, trying to learn politics and languages and negotiation tactics. Her, learning the ins and outs of palace protection from her mother. She was much scrawnier back then, limbs resembling the branches of a freshly planted oak tree. Peggy had bloomed since then, all muscle and confidence. She had also, over the years, become your closest confidant.

“Princess,” she says, her tone knowing. You can’t see her smirk, but it rests atop her words like moss in a pond. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

A crash, quickly followed by bellows from amused, drunken palace goers, stops you from responding immediately.

“Don’t call me that,” you finally say with a sigh. Might as well start getting used to correcting people now, you think. Though, your tone does not have the kind of royal tone you’d often heard from your mother. “I am now your queen and you will address me as such.”

She smiles softly, nodding just a little. “My apologies, your majesty, you were a princess for a very long time, and so it will take effort to get used to.”

You don’t disagree—it’s still hard to remind yourself to respond to the title when it’s called. You start to speak, wringing your hands every so slightly. “Margaret-“

“Please, your majesty,” she interrupts you, raising one hand to her chest. “You mustn’t. Now that you are queen, I think it’s best to refer to me as Peggy. It’s what my mother called me.”

As you roll the name over your tongue, the sounds feel like a tough cut of meat between your teeth. Still, it seems important to her, and given all she’s done for you over the years, you feel as though you owe her. It’s then, as you run through what it would be like to call for her in front of the rest of the court, that you let yourself smile just a little.

“It’s very improper,” you say quietly, as though someone could hear you admit to entertaining such a thought.

Peggy just grins—big and toothy. You ignore the way your heart swells at the sight. “That it is.”

“And what would the queen mother think?”

“What the old crone doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It’s hard to suppress a laugh in your state, the giggles overwhelming your defenses within seconds. It sometimes feels as though your mother is a lighthouse at the center of the sea, locating ships with horrifying precision. Queen or not, the thought of her knowing you’re deviating from her desires spikes fear in your gut. A terrifying woman, it’s easy to treat her the same way one treats a prison guard.

But then you think of your mother—not the queen, but the little bit of her that exists outside of the demands of royal life. She’d been queen for years when she was your age, your grandmother succumbing during the birth of her youngest brother. Within hours after he entered the world, your uncle became an orphan and your mother became a queen. Their roles overtook them, both of them mourning as they grew into their roles. It was your mother’s job to rule. It was his job to remain as far from the public eye as possible.

“Are you okay, your majesty?”

Peggy places her hand on your shoulder. You can feel her thumb rubbing into the sore muscles there, and you wish she could apply that pressure to every inch of your skin. She allows you to sit with your non-reply, the nice quiet a welcome change from the cacophony of noise. She looks you up and down a few times, noticing the way you wring your hands and how you bite at your bottom lip.

You don’t know it, but she watches you in the same way she did when you were teenagers. She couldn’t stop, watching as you both grew to fit the titles you were expected to live up to as adults.

But she can’t do anything about it—not now. Not until the time is right.

“May I?”

You nod.

She takes the crown from your head, holding it gingerly as she inspects it. You were able to design your own crown given the circumstances. It all had to be kept under a veil of secrecy, of course—the jewelers and blacksmiths were sequestered until everything had finished, and even then were sworn to secrecy for fear of beheading.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You sound more mournful than you intended. It really is beautiful, is the worst part. A half-circle peaking in the middle, pearls topping each peak. At the center, swinging as your knight holds it in her calloused hands, rests a dangling cameo made of ivory and obsidian.

“An orchid?” Peggy asks, that same smirk as before teasing at her lips.

You nod. “It represents love and thoughtfulness. My mother’s favorite.”

Peggy hmms, turning it in her hands again. The gold shimmers in the low candlelight, catching as the fat flames flicker. “It looks like a cunt.”

You just shrug, unable to comment on the likeness. Many of the knights were crude, almost alarmingly so, but the only experience you had with your center had been your monthly bleeding and the occasional anatomy lesson from an exasperated nanny.

“Yours looks prettier, though.”

You blink once, twice; bewildered by her comment. Any witty retort you might have made drowns in the confusion, your brow furrowing and heart racing.

“Wh…what did you just say?”

“I said,” she moves to where you are, her nose brushing against yours from how close you are. “Your pussy is much prettier than any gem you could put in front of me.”

You’re not sure what to say—mouth agape as you attempt to process what she’s said. Though neither of you had addressed whatever it was that crackled between you, neither of you had done much to dampen it, either.

“What would your royal friends think, hm?” Peggy moans, a slight laugh coating her teasing. “I wonder how the rest of the court would react to you defiling the good name of your foremothers.”

She knows what she’s doing—poking and prodding at the sense of duty you’ve shared since you were old enough to understand the importance of longevity to the royal lineage. You’ve spent your entire life dedicated to the well-being of the crown, allowing your family and their most trusted allies to contort you into the perfect royal to lead your kingdom. It’s your purpose, it’s your only skill, it’s your only option.

If your mother had remained queen, she would have picked out some nice man for you to marry. A younger brother perhaps, whose power wouldn’t rival your own but still allowed your kingdom to gain some sort of leverage or asset. Normally these are done in childhood, sometimes they’re signed as soon as the sex is confirmed in the birthing room. You had escaped such a fate, in contrast to your sisters. Escaped only to find yourself in another possible trap.

“Retiring for the night?” Your head shoots up to see your mother’s lady-in-waiting, a much older woman who’d been in the castle since your mother’s teenage years, standing in the doorway. It’s then that you realize that you are tired, and move to rub at the dark circles under your eyes, not unlike the children of various royals whose bedtimes were hours ago. The rush of emotions, the pounding heartbeat, the awareness of your entire body…it feels as though you had been running through a field with reckless abandon and very suddenly met the kingdom’s sturdiest oak tree.

“Yes, I believe so.”

Her face softens, memories of your mother’s coronation rising. The woman has always said you look just like your mother did at your age, something you’ve never been able to fully process. “I understand. The queen requests-“she pauses for just a second before correcting herself. “The queen mother requests to see you before you disappear.”

You smile, nodding in affirmation. Before you can dust off your dress and stand, Peggy offers you her hand for stability. Your refusal dies into a hesitation when you realize a witness remains.

As you stand, she pulls you to her quick enough to make it look as if you had fallen. “I’ll meet you in your room, your majesty,” she whispers lowly into your ear. Before you can react, she straightens you into a standing position. Louder, she speaks again. “Now come along so we can find your darling mother.”

Lucky for you, no one has become caught in one of her famous conversations that can last for an hour or more.

“He and his guard will be staying for the next week or so,” she grins. It’s that real kind of smile, one that hasn’t graced your mother’s face in a long, long time. It stings, just a little.

You attempt to mirror her face, but you can feel how vacant your eyes look. “That’s wonderful, Mother. I’m glad such a close ally of the family will be our first guests after our coronation.”

The older woman pointedly ignores the flatness of your tone. “He’s wished to speak with you before he leaves.”

Great, you think. Lord Rogers is…an interesting man, certainly. Famously easy to anger and hard-headed, he only seems to care about women and ale. More accurately, he cares about women who are willing to put up with him while he drinks ale. Neither are hobbies of yours and so he has decided you are not worth respecting.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Your hands shake ever slightly as you find your way back to your quarters, the ringing in your ears drowning out the harshness of your steps. You nod to the two guards—Natasha and Valkyrie—who open the hefty door for you. There, sitting in your vanity chair, lies your loyal knight.

You’re unsure of what you should say, and so you say nothing.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known what it is to want,” Peggy says, still seated.

“My reputation would never recover if anyone found out,” is all you can reply. Maybe the thought of your legacy crumbling would knock some sense into her.

The woman across from you just smiles. “That was when you were simply a princess. But you are queen now, so we’re free to do as we wish.”

You step back, watching with wide eyes as she moves to undo her ceremonial armor. Each time the metal pieces hit each other, you flinch at the small clang. The sound of metal reminds you far too much of violence, and you’ve never been one for that.

“Queens still have reputations, Peggy,” your protest is weak…but is a protest, nonetheless. Affairs like this could ruin a royal, send them tumbling into a well of scandal that would threaten the power your family had held for generations. If anyone learned of what was happening, you could be dethroned, excommunicated, possibly even executed. “Big, consequential ones.”

You can feel your mouth dry when she removes her undershirt, revealing her bare chest. Bruises, scars, and scrapes litter the skin, but it only adds to her natural allure.

When all you do is stare, she smiles ever-so-slightly. “Has no one educated you on matters of the flesh, your majesty?”

Part of you wants to deny you understand what she asks—but the rest of you is just confused. Most of the eligible bachelors in your court steered clear of your bath, too terrified of your mother to make any sort of romantic gesture. The allure of bedding a royal was far outweighed by your mother’s ruthless reputation. When a man was found kissing up the neck of your younger sister, one of his hands at the small of her back, he was sent to work at a proxy farm hundreds of miles away, rumored to be herding sheep with just one hand.

No one ever seemed worth the risk of losing them.

She speaks as she removes the cloth pants, your eyes drawn to the slight bulge at the apex of her thighs that the harder armor covered. “It’s an honor to be your first, your majesty.”

As her pants hit the floor, you can feel the air being knocked from your lungs. There, between her legs, rests a sort of…toy. Long, thick, tapering a little before flaring out again.  It looks like what the other ladies of the court had described after their nights of passion with visitors from other kingdoms.

“You’ll take me in your mouth soon, my queen,” she reaches into the bag at her side, producing a small, unlabeled jar that reminds you of the potions witches sometimes sell at the markets held near the castle. She pops the cork, spreading the thick, clear substance over the bulbous head between her legs. You’re not sure what she means, but the heat in your belly spreads along your spine, nonetheless. When her length is fully covered in it, she takes your hand, the scented oils from the morning having soaked beneath the surface, leaving only supple, perfumed skin in its wake.

“Here,” she practically whispers, her voice quiet but filled with what sounds like excitement. “Wrap your hands like this…”

Your knight guides you, her hand over yours as you wrap your fingers around it. It’s a strange feeling, but certainly not unwelcome. You follow her motions, moving up and down and twisting your wrist right before you reach the top. Peggy watches enraptured, her eyes locked on where your hands meet. It’s easy for you to presume she can’t feel what you’re doing, certainly not even witches could combine this material with the flesh of a human. But, with the way your knight’s lips part, the way her breathy moans fill the room…you’re not sure.

Her other hand, once curled into a fist at her side, now cups the back of your head firmly. “Lick the tip, your majesty,” she instructs. At any other time, you’d hesitate, but the lightheadedness that’s come over you silences your protests. Ever so lightly, you lick over where your hand had avoided. Your open mouth gives Peggy the opportunity to buck her hips, pushing the object past your lips. She takes care not to push it too far, merely pressing it onto your tongue so you would become used to the weight.

She’s been waiting for this day since she first saw you, since her mother told her of the duties that were passed down their family line for generations; since she had seen you studying French in the garden in your pink spring dress. She’d loved you for years—decades, even. Though she’d never wish it, if the Goddess took her tomorrow, she’d die a woman fulfilled.  

Peggy grabs at your hair, pulling you until you stand. She takes the position you just had, falling to her knees before burrowing herself under the hem of your skirt. Before you can ask what she’s doing, she unbuckles your shoes and pulls down your chemise. Too stunned to do anything else, you step out of them on instinct.

“Good girl,” Peggy purrs, leaving kisses along your thighs before standing back up. “My perfect girl.”

You lock eyes for a moment, expecting the other to say something, anything. When nothing comes, Peggy locks her lips with yours, leading you backwards until you’re pushed onto the bed. She’s practiced this many times, an old pillow covered in one of your nightgowns folded in half so she could smell your signature perfume as words of praise and promise tumbled from behind her lips. Just as she imagined, she parts your legs to find the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

I was right, she thinks. Much prettier than any crown.

“Oh Godess,” Peggy groans as she finally pushes inside of you. “You cannot imagine how long I’ve waited to do this-“

You moan as she enters you slowly, purposefully. Blood drains from your fingers as you grip the sheets with all you have, Peggy holding your legs open as you adjust to the feeling of her inside of you. She gives you a moment, tracing the calloused pads of her around your nipples, down your quivering stomach, and back up again.

“I-“ you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, or if you’re supposed to say anything at all. “I-“

“Shhh, your majesty, Shh,” she reaches around to cup one hand over your mouth, the rough palm pressed against your lips. “Not all the servants are asleep. I don’t want anyone else to hear you sing for me. Not just yet.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s saying. Each frenzied thought is broken as she pulls back before entering once more. Every time she retreats and leaves you empty and wanting, her pace quickening steadily.

“Wh-what do you-“

Peggy just smiles, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It’s as though she’s watching your thoughts leak from your ears, your head falling onto the covers as pleasure overtakes you. She thought about flipping you over, about grabbing you by your hair and fucking you until you couldn’t walk. But she knew she had to start you off slowly, carefully as to not scare you off. Soon enough, though, she’d be able to fuck you in all the ways she’d fantasized; with her fingers inside you right next to her cock, with her hand around your neck, with her telling you the ways she’d fill you and how beautiful you’d look round with her kin. You were both young, and with your newfound power, had plenty of time to learn what you both liked best.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful queen,” she murmured into your neck. She had also imagined fucking you front of all the other knights in her tight circle of guards, showing the rest of them what they could have if they continued to pledge their loyalty. They’re all just as protective of you as she is already, but with queenhood comes increased threats that require increased vigilance. “I’ll explain in due time.”

It's then that she reaches down, moving to rub small, staccato circles at the most sensitive part of you. It’s a part you’ve explored before, under the thick covers and once everyone had presumed you asleep. That, though, was nothing like this—none of the fireworks, none of the way she grips your thighs to pull you back after each thrust.

This is what you imagine being struck by lightning feels like, the way your skin crackles every time she touches you. The difference, though, is that you’ve never heard of survivors wanting more. You’d never imagined anything feeling as good as this, as though those late-night explorations and giggles shared between princesses could feel so magnificent. Had everyone else felt like this, when they had indulged in matters of the flesh? Why had everyone kept such a thing from you?

“I’m, I’m-“ You’re not sure what’s happening, coil inside of you tightening with every passing second. Every muscle in your body tenses as you silently plea for Peggy for…well, truthfully, you don’t know what you’re pegging for. All you know is that you want it.

“Oh, your majesty,” Peggy smirks as she continues to pound into you, continuing to rub at the apex of your pussy. “Do it, baby, let go for me. Allow me the gratification of seeing you let go.”

You’re not sure what’s supposed to happen until it does, and a white-hot pleasure explodes inside of you. It reminds you of rolling down a hill, or being on horseback while it gallops. This is different, though, a nearly indescribable feeling lighting your skin ablaze. The feeling inches away little by little, your legs beginning to twitch. Peggy slows before pulling away completely, collapsing next to you as the toy prods at your leg.

“I’ll always watch over my queen,” she says as you pant, looking up at the ceiling of your room you had looked as a thousand times before. The mural your mother had painted for you hadn’t changed at all, but you…you were transformed. “No matter what.”

A week or so passes without incident. A week of your entire body on edge, of watching your personal knight as she stood in corners and examines perimeters. It’s a small part of you, but nevertheless, a quiet voice in the back of your brain shamed you in the way you’d imagine your mother would if she found out.

How did it end up like this? You, the most powerful person in your kingdom, bending at the will of your closest guard as though she had the magic to move mountains. A shudder ripples its way through your muscles as you imagine a world where she was blessed with the connection to the Mother Goddess.  She was the only one who could grant the special few the ability to harness the magic found in the soil of your land, and it was a gift to you that she hadn’t given Peggy that power.

“Your majesty,” Peggy says from across the room, her affect flat in the proper way staff are meant to address members of your family. “Lord Steven Rogers is here to see you.”

She steps into the room and to the side, making room for the man and his personal guard. James, if your memory is correct, watches over the interaction with the same stoic silence as Peggy. He’s large, much different than the leaner bodies of the women who make up the castle’s defenses. James fills the doorway, nearly having to duck just a tad. What really scares you is the way he stares, his jaw set and his eyes bearing into you. You make every effort to avoid his gaze as Steve sits down.

“I have something to share with you,” he says with a boyish smile. He slides a small, wooden box across the desk that you make no move to open. “But I’d like for us to be alone. No guards.”

As if he can sense your trepidation, he adds, “Just to put us on even footing.”

“If my security cannot be in the room while this information is shared,” you tremble, ever so slightly, as you push the box back towards him. You hope he doesn’t notice, but something in his keen eyes says there’s very little he doesn’t see. “Then I don’t want to hear it at all. And I certainly wouldn’t want your security here as well.”

“Oh, princess,” his words are tinged with a low, condescending chuckle. It reminds you of your father when he knows he’s bested you at chess—the same stupid, smug look painted across his face; the same infuriating smile playing at the very corners of his lips. As a child, you thought he was at least trying to hide the fact he had such a large competitive advantage, saving your young ego from being crushed too early.

As you stand here, though, a single eyebrow raised and the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep you from lashing out…you understand it is merely a poor attempt to hide the glee of besting a person one views as deeply and utterly inferior.

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as your side as you resist the urge to slap him with the back of your hand. As a royal, your mother had never expressed herself in such a rash manner. You hadn’t even held the crown for a week and were on the brink of putting the entire royal reputation in jeopardy.

What a failure.

“I am queen now and you know it,” you eventually bite out, face red hot with the knowledge you’d taken much too long to respond.

Lord Rogers smiles in the same way you imagine snakes or wolves do when they’ve spotted injured prey. “Let’s have this conversation again when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

You paint a tense smile over your face, attempting to hide your distaste. “Tomorrow it is. I look forward to seeing you then.”

Peggy watches as your lady-in-waiting undoes your corset, her nimble fingers freeing you from its confines. Normally you liked your corsets—they improve your posture so much even your mother doesn’t comment on it—but that and the coronation dress weighed on you in an unfortunately literal way.

“My queen,” she nearly whispers. You expect her tone to be light and airy, and are startled by the more somber tone. “I need to speak with you.”

You blink once, twice. Why not here? Your face says, gesturing towards the lady-in-waiting as subtly as you can. Peggy’s stoicism remains unchanged.

“Give us a moment, Katherine, please,” you tell her, keeping your eye contact.

The dark-haired girl nods once, bidding you goodnight and curtsying before dashing away. She’s odd, that one, but so charming you choose not to comment when she’s around.

When the door shuts behind her, you turn to your knight, nodding just a little to prompt her.

Instead of speaking, though, she remains quiet, an obvious discontent washing over her face. A nagging feeling at the back of your heart wants to go to her, comfort her, bring out all the bad feelings so you can tame them. But you’re a queen, and she’s not a child, so you stay where you are—silent, stoic, painfully waiting for her to open her mouth and tell you what’s wrong.

When she does, though, you wish she hadn’t.

“I don’t like Lord Rogers very much,” is all Peggy says. She looks you dead in the eyes, jaw set. You wait for her to continue—to rant and scream and scowl.

You allow yourself a moment to sigh, the exhale ending in a dry laugh. Peggy narrows her eyes as you do so, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I’m not joking.”

It certainly sounds like it, though. She knows just as well as you how court politics works, how every single person in this castle has every single one of their decisions shrouded in a cloak of constrictive diplomacy. In a country situated at the center of the continent, a smile and a few lines of small talk are sometimes all there is between economic prosperity and absolute devastation.  

Speaking ill of Lord Rogers would effectively be the same as threatening to banish Lord Rogers from your castle. And banishing Lord Rogers would be the same as slitting the throat of his wife in their marriage bed. War? Guaranteed. Your chances of winning? Slim.

“Well, you certainly can’t be serious.” You’re outwardly scoffing now, rolling your eyes, and turning away from her without so much as a half-hearted excuse. There’s nothing in you that wants to fight; who wants to risk it all, fight the status quo, and make a new world from the ashes of the old one. You have never been very rebellious, and that instinct for conflict avoidance will serve you well if you want yourself, and your kingdom, to survive.

You expect your beloved knight to deflect. You expect her to do as you would’ve done: assume someone with loose lips was listening and you’d need to immediately play it off as some kind of nightmare and distance yourself from any ounce of culpability.

She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m serious, your majesty.” Peggy continues to meet your tense gaze, her own eyes free from any regret, or fear, or anything. Strong as a stone, and just as agreeable. Her face remains stoic, her sharp jaw set. “I would never lie to you.”

Red bleeds into the edges of your vision, the vision of your delicate legacy crashing to the floor like an antique teapot, crashing into a million, unfixable pieces and cutting into the bottoms of your soft feet. “Absolutely not,” you growl, your fists clenching in the light fabric of your underdress. “You know why that’s impossible, so certainly you wouldn’t be foolish enough to entertain the idea of saying it out loud.”

She still doesn’t budge. “I can’t lie to you, your majesty.” She repeats. “I have a duty to protect you-“

Now you bark out a laugh, the sharp descending into something darker quickly as you continue. “Protect!?” You reach across your abdomen to hold your sore stomach, glad you were able to get out of your corset before she opened her mouth. It feels like ages later when you’re able to catch your breath, the words still breathy as tears fall down your cheeks. “If anyone heard you, they’d have my head under a blade fast than you can cut the limbs off of any one person. You believing this is some roundabout way to fulfill the oath you took when you were given your sword is such horseshit you should be back shoveling it in stalls.”

You’re ready to continue—to bare your teeth and tear at her skin until she heeds your warning. Fangs—you wish you had fangs—so she’d know how ready you are to tear flesh from bone just to keep her from continuing. So that she’d know you’re also dangerous, and willing to fight if it meant you remained in power.

“Get out of here,” you snarl. “Tell Katherine to come back in. I don’t want to see you until I need escorting to the chancery tomorrow. Do you understand?”

Peggy’s face doesn’t change as she responds before turning and leaving. “Yes, your majesty. I will see you in the morning.”

Neither of you speak, you following just behind her in silence. The blanket of quiet remains as you enter, a servant having already lit the candles that illuminate the room. As you requested, Peggy remains just outside the thick door, only entering when Lord Rogers does.

He seems pleased you’d followed his directions, and it makes your skin crawl. If you had your way, you’d never deal with him at all—outsourcing all communication through a third party. Unfortunately, the Rogers name is powerful in this region, and a queen is nothing without her allies.

“So,” he sits across from you, separated only by your desk. You move to stand near him, eyeing the same box he had yesterday. “I’ve come to talk about the land deeds your mother signed over to me at the very end of her reign.”

Your brow furrows as you reach forward to grab at what he brought with him. Inside are…bones? They’re small but thick, with etchings in an alphabet you do not understand. “What are these?”

He scoffs, as though you should understand what riddle he’s piecing together. You resist the urge to remind him you can speak five languages, and read even more. If there was a language you didn’t recognize, you’d be going to the royal translators…not a man who’s been trying to de-throne your family since the day he could ride a horse. “They’re proof my family has had ownership over the lands I’m asking about since before your family name ever existed. You simply raise both your brows, still looking through the box.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

But you don’t, you really don’t. There’s nothing anyone’s ever told you about Lord Roger’s land deeds besides the fact he has a lot of them.  His family’s been around for as long as yours has and has amassed a similar amount of wealth and power. He controls several important ports, his castle is nearly as large as yours.

It hits you then, what he’s doing.

Originally both lineages were at war for the last few thousand years, moving borders and people and livestock as their whims changed. They’d both fought to control the kingdom that’s encompassed the land it had for centuries, the deciding factor being one last territory that a woman four or so generations ago had seized during a tense buyout the Rogers lineage had always claimed was faked. That’s the only territory his family had ever asked for, something your mother had spent many nights telling you about. They’d tried everything to get it back, from raids to paying witnesses to give false accounts of the treaty signing. This was another, even cheaper shot at their goal—to overtake what your family had held so dear.

It’s easy to see now that the markings on the bones show tallies of cattle losses in a shorthand developed by farmers, indicating his family would’ve been working the land after the year the agreement had gone into place. This, of course, means absolutely nothing.

You chew your lip as you examine them, building up the courage to speak. “Lord Rogers, I am not sure this indicates anything meaningful. Many families work on land they do not own. This isn’t proof at all your family has any right over the land, or over the kingdom”

As you look closely at the engravings once more, “You stupid little bitch!”

You don’t have time to turn around; to slap him across the face, or find a letter opener to remind him of your years of self-defense training. All you have time to do is cry out as his palm meets your cheek, your screams becoming muffled as he grabs the back of your neck and turns you around so he can pin you against the desk.

“Peggy!” you try to yell, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

“You will give my family what we are owed. I will kill you if I have to.” His words are practically growls, holding you with one hand as he reaches into his coat. As you struggle, he flashes a thin, sharp knife in front of your eyes.

“Please-“ you kick at him, figurines your mother had collected (and you hadn’t yet had the heart to have a servant collect and placed in her quarters) fall to the hard ground. Some shatter immediately, others skidding across the floor. “Please don’t kill me I-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He flips the weapon in his hands, as if he was showing it off. “Now hold still, this doesn’t need to hurt. There are a few spots I can hit that’ll have you bleeding out in seconds. But if you want it to hurt, I can-“

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before he’s thrown off of you, slammed into the nearest wall. You’re partially thrown with him, but Peggy’s arms keep you from traveling the same distance. One of the other guards, Valkyrie, holds him against the wall as Peggy drops to the floor to hold you. Other guards you can’t remember the names for flood in behind her, holding his arms behind his back and dragging him away.

“You’re okay, my queen,” Peggy whispers. “You’re going to be okay.”

She scans you for harm, eyes wide as she checks for broken bones or open wounds. A few spots are tender. One, most notably, at the place the table made contact with your abdomen. Still, nothing that can’t be healed with a few days of rest and (most important) nothing that will leave horrific and long-lasting scars. Katherine comes in soon after, taking you from Peggy and ushering you across the castle and to your bed. She fetches you something to drink and a cool cloth, fluffing your pillows once your heart has slowed enough that exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to question why all of those women were close enough to help in the first place.

Peggy stands behind Katherine, watching as she comforts you.

As your eyelids grow heavy, she moves to pet your hair, leaning down to murmur into your temple. “I’ll be back, my queen.” You don’t hear it, sleep long since having pulled you into its arms. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

She slips out of the room, silently exiting out of your area of the castle before finding a door hidden behind a tapestry depicting a field of poppies, your grandmother’s favorite flowers. The secret paths had been built the same time the castle was, meant to be a way for those that served in the castle to enter the servant’s quarters without disturbing the royals. Fifty or so years ago, though, too many servants were living there, and in an effort to stave rebellion, an addendum to the castle was built. Now, where some had lived, slept, and ate, lay abandoned rooms far from the eyes of royalty.

The staircase is narrow, so narrow she has to hold her sword in front of her. She’s silent as she navigates the maze-like corridor, the path to her destination an easy show of muscle memory. The door, unassuming and identical to the rest of them, opens to a scene she’s been wishing for since she first saw Lord Rogers look you up and down all those years ago.

Five women, two on each side and one immediately behind, flank the man that sits tied to an old chair from the servants’ quarters. It’s been used for these sorts of nights before, as evidenced by the scuffed wood that marks where pieces of leather kept one’s limbs in place. They fight, they always do. For Peggy, it’s part of the fun. No sense in killing something without a desire to live.

She stands as the man sits, his face already bruised and bloody. Split lip, a cut through his right brow. Every time he spits it’s tinged pink. Even though she wishes they had held off until she arrived, Peggy wishes it was redder. Nothing matters more to her than the fact he remains in pain.

“Do you know what the punishment is for laying a hand on Her Majesty?” she asks.

He looks pathetic in the low candlelight, she thinks. He’s over six feet, covered in lean muscle and scars. She can see every pitiful inch of him—she instructed the other royal guards to strip him down when they grabbed him from his plush bed once all the royals had retired for the night. He was surprisingly easy to overpower, according to the message she received from the guards, delivered via a squire who had an affinity for staying up much too late. He was fast and, more importantly, quiet on his feet. Both necessary to avoid being caught. While many of the knights in this kingdom were women, it’s easy to see how his skills would do him well in the profession.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he spits out.

Peggy smirks, small laughs escaping from behind the others’ hands. She takes a moment to allow the others to collect themselves (and to give herself some time to savor the rage that washes over his face as he realizes they’re all laughing at him.

“Well,” she says eventually. “One of us tied to a chair right now, and it isn’t any of us, so…”

He snarls, reminding Peggy of one of the guard dogs that roam the farms around the castle. They look very similar, in a way—strong jaw, barred teeth, a little grimy from their misadventures. Lord Rogers lacks something that would shrink the gap between them. Those dogs, as innocent as they sometimes look, would defend their flock with their lives; she’s seen them ward off mountain lions to protect the sheep they’d grown up with.

Peggy doesn’t think he’d defend anyone other than himself.

Lord Rogers doesn’t know it (and, given his condition, he may never found out), but his personal knight was given an option: either leave, change his name, and abandon the Rogers lineage…or die trying to defend the bloodline he swore to secure.

Needless to say, he chose the latter, and his various body parts are being fed to pigs at the far end of the castle’s main farm. Kamala offered to do that, the young girl eager to be involved but not old enough to secure herself to the heart of the action. Truthfully, Peggy found the entire endeavor useless given they sent his head to Lord Rogers’ wife in an unlabeled box. It should arrive by the end of the month, giving them enough time to do what needs to be done.

“Do you confess?” Natasha asks, her sword secured in her belt. Peggy only enlisted the guards she believed were level-headed enough to follow her lead. Normally, she’s all right with those she relies on going rogue—she trusts them for a reason—but tonight requires a very specific form of precision.

Steven just scoffs. “Confess to what, exactly?”

“We know what happened with the Queen,” Jane says, her tone flat. “We know what you did to her.”

The man laughs the kind of fake, sarcastic laugh Peggy had come to loathe from him. “That bitch had it coming. She’s hiding something from me, just like her cunt m-”

He is interrupted quickly by the back of Peggy’s hand. It throws him off, stunning him

“Confess.” One of them say, calmly.

“Fuck you!” Lord Rogers will scream back. Unfortunately, it seems to have only quieted him for just a moment.

Each denial is met with a similar reaction.

This time, it’s Carol punching him so hard that he starts to spit out blood afterward. The time after that, it’s Monica carving out leg muscles with a farrier’s knife. After that, it’s Wanda flattening his fingers with a hammer. His body, morphing into some monstrous, destroyed thing, is tormented with every broken breath he takes. A slight wheeze tinges each exhale.

Peggy watches him, watches as the women she trusts with your life take him apart piece by piece. At the end of the night, long before the morning rises, he will be mangled to the point of no return before one of them gives him the undue mercy of ending his life. This was the plan, even if she had no desire to watch him receive such an undeserved gift. Originally, she’d wanted to keep him alive for days and show you her handiwork…but a stern conversation with Gamora had ended that conversation. Her magic gave her the kind of sense a brutish knight lacked, Peggy thought.

She steps back, tossing the hefty stick to Carol, who catches it. “Do what you need to do,” she says to no one in particular. “I’ve got what I need.”

Steven tugs at his restraints, the panic in his eyes palpable despite being nearly swollen shut. “You bitch! Let me out of here!”

Peggy just laughs, not bothering to face him as she walks away. The Lord’s pleas silence as she shuts the door behind her, deep screams becoming fainter and fainter as she sneaks down the corridor once more. She retraces her path, fire in her veins making the trip much shorter this time around. Before she knows it, she’s back in bed with you, tracing the indents your pillow’s creases have made on your cheeks.

“Peggy?” you murmur, your tired brow furrowing. Sleep rests heavy on your slurred speech, exhaustion still wracking your bones.

She shushes you, tucking herself under the covers. When you move over to give her unnecessary room, she merely grabs your hips to pull you back. When you return to your original spot still deep in the throws of sleep, Peggy lets a small smile escape from behind her teeth.

“Got a surprise for you when you wake up, baby,” she whispers. “Just go to sleep for now. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel ladies fanfic #peggy carter smut #lukis writes stuff #lukis does commissions

[asspiringidiot]

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? I haven’t really used the others much, so Soundcloud~!

is your room messy or clean? Messy. I call it individual organization.

what colour are your eyes? Blue, although sometimes they seem a really pretty grey 

Do you like your name? why? I can tolerate it. I like the shortened version of it “Sevi” but I feel like being named Seven would have been cooler

what is your relationship status? Dating ~ !

describe your personality in 3 words or less Bubbly, Intuitive, Caring

what colour hair do you have? Dark Brown, Currently Black

what kind of car do you drive? color? I drive a tan-ish volkswagon

where do you shop? The Mall, or our small town Walmart

how would you describe your style? Witchy, Feminine, Dressy

favourite social media account I really like my Tumblr

what size bed do you have? Slightly bigger than twin?

any siblings? One blood sibling, the other three through marriage (which I have disdain for)

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Probably somewhere in Europe, because I like how Europe seems from an American perspective and I’d like to know other ways of life and Art forms

favorite snapchat filter? The fall one with freckles and big spectacles 

favorite makeup brand(s) I don’t really have a specific makeup brand, although I have a very great Wet and Wild liquid eyeliner than I use 24/7

how many times a week do you shower? I try to every other day although its said to be bad for my hair

favorite tv show? Sense8, or Criminal Minds

shoe size? 8 1/2

how tall are you? 5′3

sandals or sneakers? Sneakers, they’re more functional

do you go to the gym? No;;;

describe your dream date Something romantic and special to the both of us, nothing too fancy, just something that feels right and simple

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? I have none, just a credit card

what color socks are you wearing? A variety of the colours

how many pillows do you sleep with? At least 5, and two body pillows

do you have a job? what do you do? I’m a student so far, but an aspiring Artist and Author

how many friends do you have? At least 8, but about three best friends

whats the worst thing you have ever done? Wen’t through a creepypasta stage lol

whats your favorite candle scent? I really like vanilla with most scented things, but if it’s something bubbly or nostaligc I’ll love it all the same

3 favorite boy names Aiden, Seven, and Luki

3 favorite girl names Claire, Sophia, and Seven

favorite actor? Richard Speight Jr

favorite actress? Kirsten Vangsness

who is your celebrity crush? Richard Speight Jr

favourite movie? I really like Happy Feet as embarrasing as it is lol

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? I read a moderate amount, less than I’d like to, but my favourite book so far is Good Omens

money or brains? Well, both would be good, but you can make money with brains, so brains, of course,

do you have a nickname? what is it? My main nick name is Sevi but people also call me Seven or Claire

how many times have you been to the hospital? Well, on emergency trips, probably at least 5 times

top 10 favourite songs 

do you take any medications daily? Yes, actually, I take stuff for ADD and I’m supposed to be taking anxiety meds plus vitamin D but I don’t take those as often as I should

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) Oily, It really fucks my hair up

what is your biggest fear? My biggest fear is probably the Ocean, or Space, or the inevitable

how many kids do you want? Well, I’d rather adopt, which is my mindset as a teenager right now, but if possible I’d love to have maybe two or three

whats your go-to hairstyle? Black haired, short, and bangs

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) Usually, big houses

who is your role model? I don’t know If I have one, probably my friends

what was the last compliment you received? From my boyfriend constantly telling me that I’m cute and perfect 

what was the last text you sent? A D&D group chat

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? I think I was 10, I caught my mom stuffing our stockings before we left to my grandmas

what is your dream car? I’d honestly just like a fully functional car, maybe one that means something to me

opinion on smoking? It’s terrible for your lungs and everyone around you, I’ve lived with relatives that smoked all their lives and I’ve learned the things it’s capable of

do you go to college? Not yet, but I have to get my GPA up soon because I’m fucking up my Junior grades 

what is your dream job? Doing something creative that can give people an imagination beyond comprehension

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Either or, they both have their ups and downs

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? I honestly use those up in the hotel, but if there is any left I will

do you have freckles? Yes

do you smile for pictures? I almost always do

how many pictures do you have on your phone? Probably over 80

have you ever peed in the woods? I really hope I haven’t

do you still watch cartoons? Of course! It’s like Halloween, you’re never too old

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? Either or

Favorite dipping sauce? Ketchup or Honey

what do you wear to bed? Usually very few clothes

have you ever won a spelling bee? Nope

what are your hobbies? Writing, drawing, painting, building things, creating costumes 

Can you draw? I sure hope I can lol

do you play an instrument? I sort of play piano but I haven’t really learned a lot on it

what was the last concert you saw? Probably a school concert, I’ve never seen a band on stage

tea or coffee? Coffee

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Starbucks? I’ve never been to Dunkin Donuts

do you want to get married? I honestly don’t know, once people get married everything gets so weird and is a construct I don’t think is necessary 

What is your crush’s first and last initial? T.K.

are you going to change your last name when you get married? I’m not sure

what colour looks best on you? I think it’s either purple or green

do you miss anyone right now? I’m always missing people

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Open

do you believe in ghosts? Yep

what is your biggest pet peeve? People being ignorant about things while pretending they know everything about it

last person you called`My dad

favourite ice cream flavour? Mint and Blue Moon

regular Oreos or golden Oreos? Regular

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Rainbow

what shirt are you wearing? A Supernatural Tee

what is your phone background? Something Homestuck lol

are you outgoing or shy? Depends on who I’m with

do you like it when people play with your hair? Yeah

do you like your neighbours? I don’t have a reason not to like them

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? When I take a shower tbh

have you ever been high? I’m not sure, tried but I don’t know if I got there

have you ever been drunk? I don’t think I have

the last thing you ate? Can’t remember 

favourite lyrics right now?

summer or winter? Fall

day or night? Night

dark, milk, or white chocolate? Milk

favourite month? February

what is your zodiac sign Leo!

who was the last person you cried in front of? My boyfriend, during a sad movie

[dawmoon]

of first dates and peanut butter cookies

summary: Pidge comes to Nyma and asks for advice for her first date with Luki

a/n: second prompt for @vld-wlw-month!!! this fic doesn’t center around a ship, but rather a friendship. also, the luki that i’m referring to is the unilu girl from the space mall episode, but i believe that the mods for the event are calling her shila, so just wanted to let you guys know that luki and shila are the same person.

reviews and comments always make my day, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated too! anyways, enjoy :D 

ao3 & ffn

Nyma is by no means supposed to be a role model. She knows she’s not the exemplary human being that people should be looking up to, and she’s cool with that. She steals, she lies, she manipulates. It’s for their own benefit; she’s shit at setting an example.

So it’s kind of troubling when Pidge comes to her for advice.

“Not really advice,” says Pidge, pushing her glasses up her nose with one finger. “More like ideas on what to do.”

“So basically advice.” Nyma drawls.

Pidge gives her an impish grin. “Will you help me?”

Nyma doesn’t even give it a second thought. “Not a chance, kid.”

“Oh come on, Nyma!”

“Beat it, kid.” says Nyma, not even bothering to give her a glance.

“I thought you were supposed to be an expert on this sort of stuff!” Pidge bursts out.

This piques Nyma's interest. She looks at her, eyebrow raised. “What makes you say I’m an expert?”

Pidge gestures vaguely with her hands, like that explains everything.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Pidge lets out a frustrated groan. “You’re always flirting with girls. You know what they like. I bet all of your first dates went great.”

Nyma leans down from her seat so she's level with Pidge who is sitting criss cross applesauce on the ground. “Hey, kid, you wanna know a secret?”

She shrugs.

“Just because I have a girlfriend,” says Nyma, “doesn't mean I know how I got one.”

She learns back into her chair, grinning smugly while Pidge rolls her eyes.

“Look kid, I don’t know why you can’t bug Allura or Shay, or hell, even Lance, with your first date with Suki-”

“Luki.” corrects Pidge.

Nyma waves her hand. “Luki. The point is, I’m not really the girl you’d come to for ideas on what to do for a first date with a girl you like.”

“But you are.” insists Pidge. “You wanna know why I came to you? It's because you remind me of Luki the most. You would know what she would like to do on a first date.’

Nyma simply scoffs. “That girl must be trouble if she reminds you of me.”

“She is.” says Pidge, lips curling up in a small smile. “But that’s beside the point. Will you help me?”

A small twinge of regret springs up in Nyma's  chest when she sees the hopeful glint in Pidge's eyes. “Fine.” she says with a sigh. “But you owe me.”

-o-O-o-

When Rolo and Nyma and the rest of the rebel alliance had teamed up with Team Voltron and started to occupy their same castle, Nyma imagined that they would constantly be plotting, planning, and fighting while living in mutual distrust of each other. It never occurred to her that she would be sprawled out on the floor of the communal area, helping fifteen year old girls plan their first date with a mall kiosk girl.

Pidge is currently munching on something that are called ‘peanut butter cookies’ - something Pidge claims to be the best thing to have ever been invented on Earth. Nyma doubts it, but she doesn't tell Pidge that. Instead, she scrawls out ‘PIDGE’S FIRST DATE’ on top of the paper between the two of them.

She finishes dotting the e and looks to Pidge. “Look good?”

Pidge gives her a look. “I have no idea what that says.”

“Ah right, you’re an alien. Forgot about that.” Nyma clicks her tongue. “Don’t worry, I’ll translate.”

Pidge mutters something under her breath that suspiciously sounds like, ‘You’re the alien.’ but Nyma doesn’t push.

“Okay, you got any ideas, squirt?”

Pidge shrugs and chomps on another cookie, crumbs coating on her chin. “I didn't have much. Maybe something to do with the space mall?”

“Absolutely not!"exclaims Nyma, slamming her hand down on the floor and startling Pidge. “That is a terrible idea!”

“May I ask why?”

“You said you were going with Luki? Girl who scowls all the time when you mention the kiosk? Yeah, she hates her job. She’s not gonna want to go back to the mall for a date.” states Nyma.

Pidge’s look of shock melts into one of smugness. “I told you that you could help me. Now I won’t be taking Luki to the worst date place, thanks to your sage wisdom.”

“The worst date place is actually the trenches of the Skivilkian swamps.” Nyma informs her. “But yes, I suppose I am good at this.”

Pidge props her chin on her knuckles and looks at her with rapt attention. “So if not the mall, where would be the perfect date place?”

Nyma thinks about the question. What would be the perfect date place? Pidge had said that Luki reminded her of Nyma, so she tried imagining herself. “Do you and Luki still like video games?”

She lifts her head and beams. “Oh yeah! She and I have been trying to defeat each other’s high score in Mercu-”

“And as interesting as that sounds,” interrupts Nyma, “I think I just figured out what your perfect date place is.”

This breaks Pidge from her ramble. “What is it?” she demands.

Nyma grins and writes down something on the paper, before tearing a portion and handing it to Pidge.

Pidge stares at the slip of paper. “I haven’t learned to read alien in the last five minutes that we’ve been here.”

Nyma huffs. “Oh, just give that to me. It says the arcade!”

Pidge frowns. “The arcade?”

“The arcade! There’s one in the Levantan Galaxy that has the best simulators and games, plus an excellent food place next door.” Nyma sits up, the satisfaction of a job well done welling in her stomach. “You’re welcome, kid.”

“The arcade.” Pidge considers it and grins. “That does sound pretty neat. I think Luki will likely that.”

“Oh, she’ll love it.” says Nyma. “Trust me.”

Pidge bites into her last cookie, a loud crunch echoing around the room. “So, is that it?”

Nyma gives Pidge a once over, from her hair that’s a mess of knots and curls and her creased clothing. “Not quite yet, kid.

-o-O-o-

If anyone had asked Nyma why she had volunteered to help Pidge get ready in appearances for her first date, she would have denied that she had any such thing. But really? Nyma had seen the spark in Pidge’s eyes when they were planning the itinerary for the date. It had reminded her of how Pidge, brave paladin and defender of the universe, was so young and how Nyma’s own youth was destroyed by Zarkon’s raging war. She didn’t want it to claim another innocent childhood, not when she could do something about it.

“I don’t want to look too glammed up.” rambles Pidge in the chair she’s sitting in. “But maybe a little glam would be nice. But not too much. It maybe I should have the full glam. Nyma, is there even a thing called the full glam?”

An easy laugh escapes from Nyma, surprising her. She quickly covers it up with a quick cough and turns her back on Pidge, pretending to look through the drawer for something.

“Quit rambling, kid.” she calls out.

Pidge takes in a deep breath, hopefully calming her frazzled nerves. “Sorry.” she says. “It’s just that I really want this night to go well. I really do like Luki.”

Nyma twists her head to look at Pidge. Right now, she looks small and vulnerable, curled up in that chair. “Hey,” she says in the calmest voice she can muster. “Luki really likes you too. That’s why she’s going on a date with you tonight. And I don’t think she’ll care about how much glam you are sporting tonight, because she likes you.”

Pidge offers her a small smile. “You give a surprisingly good pep talk, Nyma.”

“I do give good pep talks.” Nyma agrees.

A small silence stretches between the two of them. Pidge offers her a tiny smile. “. . . So, only a little glam?”

She shakes her head to herself. “Sure. A little glam.”

-o-O-o-

Nyma has to admit, she does a good makeover.

Pidge’s hair has been smoothed down a little with a little cute headband Nyma had found in the back of her drawer. She’s wearing a sparkling flowy shirt with some shorts. Nyma pops Pidge’s glasses on her face, rubbing the lenses a little with a cloth.

Pidge flashes her a small smile. “So, how do I look?”

Nyma winks at her. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

#pidgeki #luki #pidge gunderson #unilu girl #nyma #voltron #voltron fic #scribble

[kellshaw]

Thoughts on writing a puzzle mystery novel

I love puzzle mystery stories. Some examples: Agatha Christie's 'And Then There Were None' (the original SAW movie!), and a lot of Japanese mystery fiction such as The Tokyo Zodiac Murders by Soji Shimada, The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji. And a lot of visual novels like Dangan Ronpa, Zero Escape and Somnium Files.

(Let me know if you have any good recs.)

Anyway, my second novel is out for beta reading. It's like waiting for a friend to recover from their coma.

Rather than twiddling my thumbs, I'm working on my third book, and while the first two I'd call urban fantasy thrillers, the third is going to be a puzzle mystery. My approach to this after the cut:

My first two books were written by writing something, revising it, revising it again until I gradually moulded in the story into a shape like clay. I didn't plan or outline to start with. I had a vague idea of the themes, an understanding of the characters and a bunch of stuff about the world. It was like a textual Pinterest board of stuff.

My goal for book three is to dig into Lukie and Tamlyn's friendship. Once high school friends; now there's a twenty-year age gap between them since Lukie returned from the dead as an undead, soul-eating revenant. Tamlyn's been forced into the role of Lukie's guardian—she can only feed at his command. And Tamlyn's got lots of personal issues to deal with that haven't surfaced yet in the previous two books. His best friends were murdered in high school, and during his police career, he's repressed a lot of his emotions and personal stuff. So it's about applying pressure on the pair and see how their friendship endures and survives (or will it? Books can change dramatically through the writing process).

And this will be done through the backdrop of a complex mystery, with the pair staying at a haunted hotel. So the theme of friendship, ex-friendships and how much can a friendship bear will be featured heavily.

How do I plan to do this?

Everyone at the hotel is in a pair. Friends or married couples, of different ages and orientations. These relationships are pressured in someway when the plot event starts.

I will separate Lukie and Tamlyn. There's a time facture at the hotel. Tamlyn's stuck at one end, and Lukie's in the other. The two timelines are connected like in Looper—a change in the past end will influence the future end. Tamlyn's solving a murder mystery in the past, while Lukie is dealing with a ghost haunting the hotel in the future and the two time lines are connected.

How will I organise these not one, but two interconnected mysteries?

I realised early on (after writing 30k words) that I will need to, gasp, write an outline.

I'm currently working on Tamlyn's end of the story. He's stuck in the past, and stuck with five couples in the hotel, which they can't leave. There's a murderer on the loose. Each couple has a series of secrets.

This is where years of running mystery tabletop roleplaying games helps. Following on from the Alexandrian's articles on 'Revelation Lists', I've worked out a series of secrets for each couple. Then I made a list of steps for how the detective character will uncover the clue.

Overly dramatic example for a demonstration: (not actually from the book!)

Robert and Martha Smith, a mysterious married couple.

Dramatic Secrets: Robert and Martha pretend outwardly to be a happily married couple. The truth is more sinister. The couple have murdered the real Martha, and the 'new Martha' is Robert's girlfriend, and is using Martha's identity. ['new Martha' needs to use old Martha's identity papers as she's a foreign spy on the run, in trouble.]

The Detective notices at breakfast in the hotel that Martha doesn't know a simple fact about the jam Robert likes, which implies their relationship is new (and yet their paperwork/documentation says they've been married for twenty years).

Martha also is missing some cultural information that her persona should know. (I read somewhere about Russian infiltrators into the US in the 1960s may have had perfect English, but didn't know pop culture stuff like Mickey Mouse.) Perhaps another guest at the hotel is obsessed by a TV show that someone of Martha's age should know about, and yet she's a bit vague when pressed. The other guest is puzzled that she doesn't know these pop culture facts.

Some shocking event causes Martha to act like an intelligence professional (perhaps the sound of a gunshot makes her duck and roll?) rather than a scared businesswoman.

The Detective pulls on the circumstantial information about Martha together and realizes she's the foreign spy that another character spoke about.

The details will get fleshed out with further outlining/writing. Anyway, once I get a list of five revelation lists for each core clue in the book, then I order them like so

Chapter 3

Couple A, Revelation 1, Clue 1

Couple B, Revelation 2, Clue 2

Then I structure the chapters around that, adding pacing and characterisation as we go through. One problem I have with large-cast mystery novels is I often lose track of the characters if they're not distinct enough, so I'm trying to each character a name that sounds different and a quirk so the reader won't go "Quinn? Who's Quinn again?"

And that's my current approach for writing a mystery. I will let you know how it progresses.

Let me know if you have any good tips.

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writing process #urban fantasy #fantasy #fantasy books #mystery writing

[juskla]

PIDGEKI DISCORD SERVER!

hi, vol-fans! juskla here! n i have a super exciting announcement to make! i am going to be running the FIRST EVER PIDGEKI DISCORD SERVER!!! this is my first time running a discord server, so be patient with me, but i’ll be doing my very best! additionally, i’d like to give a huge thank u to @sainotthepro​ for letting me use their pidgeki art for the server! u rock!

WHAT IS PIDGEKI?

PIDGEKI is a ship between PIDGE (pidge gunderson) and LUKI (unilu kiosk girl) from the netflix original series VOLTRON: LEGENDARY DEFENDER.

ABOUT THE SERVER

"PIDGEKI: the pidge x luki chronicles" is a great way to bring pidge x luki fans together + talk about the ship in a positive space with each other + with me, juskla, the admin of @pidgekiweek​!

INCLUDES

a fun, inclusive, all-ages environment

a welcome channel where you introduce yourself

a general chat channel where we can all talk about whatever

a pidge centric channel

a luki centric channel

a channel for platonic pidgeki interaction

a channel for romantic pidgeki interaction

a pride channel to celebrate gender/sexuality headcanons

a pidgeki week channel to talk about the upcoming ship week event

a 17 and up channel to talk about more mature themes (still sfw)

a general voltron channel if you have other things to share

RULES

respect everyone’s headcanons, ideas, boundaries

sharing ideas is great, but do not force your headcanons/ideas onto others who may have a different headcanon/idea

this is a safe space to share art/writing/theories, which means no stealing/sharing/posting someone else’s stuff without permission from the creator/writer/artist, etc...

if someone asks you a question you are not comfortable answering, you do not have to answer them, especially if it’s not related to pidgeki

i will be playing both admin and moderator, so if you need help with something, you can always just ask me!

i’m not sure how many people i’m going to accept, i guess it depends on how many people want to join!

HOW DO I JOIN?

make sure you are following me - @justklance

reblog this + leave a tag or comment saying that you are applying

FILL OUT THIS FORM!

i am excited to meet u guys! i look forward to getting applications n talking about pidgeki w/ all of u!

-JusKla

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #pidgeki #pidge x luki #luki x pidge #pidge #luki #pidge gunderson #unilu kiosk girl

[chubbywangji]

afeastforchubs -> chubbyshiro

So, I decided to get a new icon and url since I’ve apparently fallen into Voltron Hell. I decided to have it be Shiro because, to the surprise of no one, he’s my new Precious Baby Favorite™.

The rest of the faves club, vaguely in order (and then alphabetized) are:

Allura, Hunk, Keith

Ezor, Lance, Pidge, Shay, Thace, Zethrid

Axca, Coran, Haggar/Honerva, Kolivan, Lotor, Matt, Narti, Ulaz

Kuro (the largely fan-created grimdark!Shiro), Kuron (maybe a clone!Shiro), Nyma, Plaxum, Rolo, Sven

And there’s a ships list underneath the cut, which I totally just copy-pasted from the ships page I have on my main because that was easier than making a new one. The only one that’s not listed is, “If I ever write fic about Lotor’s generals and an OFC, that OFC is totally a self-insert because I want to live in the reality where I get to date four morally questionable alien babes.”

& = non-romantic/sexual relationships.

ψ =  angsty/grimdark only / “i love the thing & completely acknowledge that it is a fucked up train-wreck.”

AGATP’s (definition)

keith (& or /) shiro.

*most* favorite otp’s & otx’s

allura/shay * axca/ezor/narti/zethrid * hunk/keith * hunk/keith/lance * hunk/lance * shiro & owning a dog * thace/ulaz.

favorite otp’s & otx’s

allura, coran & the paladins * allura (& or /) lance * axca/ezor/narti/zethrid + lotor * axca/zethrid * black lion & shiro * ezor/narti * hunk/shay * kuro/shiroψ * kuron/shiro * lotor/shiroψ * matt/shiro * narti/zethrid * shiro/some goddamn rest.

ships i love: tier 1

alfor/coran * allura & coran * allura/hunk/shay * allura & keith * allura (& or /) pidge * allura (& or /) shiro * haggar & lotor * haggar-honerva/zarkon * hunk, lance & pidge * keith & the blade of marmora * keith/lance * keith/lance/shiro * keith/lotor/shiroψ * keith & red * lance & blue * lance/plaxum * lance (& or /) shiro * lotor & zarkon * shiro/ulaz.

ships i love: tier 2

allura/axcaψ * allura & blue * allura & haggarψ * allura/hiraψ * allura (& or /) hunk * allura/zethridψ * axca & lotor * black lion & keith * blaytz/his cute galra husband * coran & hunk * coran & lance * coran & pidge * ezor (& or /) lotor * ezor/zethrid * green lion & pidge * haggar & shiroψ * hunk & pidge * hunk (& or /) shiro * hunk & yellow lion * keith & kolivan * keith/lotorψ * keith/matt/shiro * kolivan/ulaz * keith & thace * kolivan/thace * kolivan/thace/ulaz * lance & pidge * lotor/sendak * lotor/thaceψ * matt & pidge * pidge & shiro * sendak/shiroψ * shiro/thace * shiro/thace/ulaz.

ships i like pretty well

alfor/blaytz * alfor/honerva/zarkonψ * alfor/zarkonψ * allura/ezorψ * allura (& or /) kolivan * allura (& or /) lotorψ * allura/narti * allura/nyma * axca (& or /) keith * antok/kolivan * axca/ezor * haxus/sendak * kolivan/shiro * lance/lotorψ * lance/nyma * lance & red * lance/sven * lotor/throk * luki/pidge * pidge & ryner * plaxum/shay * rolo/shiro.

ships i am casually shipping

allura/florona * allura/luxia * allura/plaxum * akira kogane/shiro [based on the fanon idea that the mirrorverse from 3.04 has a half-altean akira kogane who’s a member of the guns of gamara] * akira/sven * axca & keith * black lion & zarkonψ * coran & keith * coran (& or /) shiro * florona/plaxum * florona/shay * hunk/pidge * hunk/rax * hunk/rolo * keith & pidge * lance/pidge * luxia/plaxum * nyma/rolo * rax/rolo * shiro/sven * slav/sven.

“it’s complicated” ships

allura/keith.

“meh”-tp’s

keith/pidge.

“*HARD* PASS” notp’s

allura/coran * matt/pidge * morvok/any * any parental incest ships * pidge/shiro * prorock/any * shiro/slav * varkon/any * vrepit sal/any * but it’s not a deal-breaker if somebody else ships these things. I don’t like them personally, but if you do, we can still be friends and stuff. I just won’t engage with your stuff about these ships because that’s what you’re supposed to do if you don’t ship a thing.

#blog maintenance #voltron hell #about me #about this blog #in which the owner of this blog is shipper garbage and not even remotely sorry #text posts