#one of those things where it’s not a self portrait but also is it?

[soleilceirinen]

The Portrait | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Thomas Shelby is your History professor at the university. One day he wants to meet you at his office and it scares you a bit. Definitely, you are not expecting to see what's waiting for you there. Modern AU.

Warnings: nothing.

A/N: this is short and maybe makes no sense but I just wanted to write something after not writing anything in months. Also, it's inspired by a real teacher I had, who kept a huge self portrait in his university office. It was horrible and funny at the same time.

Sorry for the English, it isn't my first language. There are probably a lot of mistakes but I don't feel like proofreading it more. Thanks for reading it!

Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

In the three years that you had been studying at the university, you had never been in professor Shelby’s office. Not even once. But there were rumours, each of them crazier than the next one. They said that one of the walls was covered by a bookshelf which actually was a secret door to access professor Solomon’s office, who some people believed were his secret lover. But that was nothing compared to other things you had heard, such as not going alone to his office if you were a young woman, just in case. 

Of course, you didn’t believe any of this. Unfortunately, you had learned the hard way that sometimes people were mean and they would talk shit about others just out of jealousy, or self discontent. Some people had very sad and empty lifes. 

It didn’t make sense to you because Thomas Shelby never messed with anyone. The man taught his classes and left, unlike other teachers who tried really hard to be friends with their students, he knew where to set the limits. He was serious and a good professor, one of the best you had ever had. 

His lectures were focused on the first half of 20th Century History. Sometimes, Thomas would talk about World War I in a way that made you feel like he had been there, as if he were telling you all his memories. 

-

On Monday you got an email from him. Your heart skipped a beat, he wanted to meet you at his office. The message was brief and concise, it just said that he wanted to talk to you, along with the appointment’s date. Now you were a nervous wreck. What did he want to talk about with you? You couldn’t know, maybe your last essay was so horrible that he wanted to say it to your face and see your reaction.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to push away all those thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal and you were creating a mountain out of a grain of sand. Besides, it made no sense to dwell on the suffering if you didn’t even know the reason why he wanted to meet.

-

It had been five minutes since you arrived at Mr. Shelby’s office. The only problem was that you couldn’t find the strength to knock on the closed door. You just wanted to put off the moment as long as possible.

"You can do it. Tommy doesn't bite, you know?"

The sudden presence of someone behind you made you turn around in surprise. You thought you were alone in the empty hallway but clearly you were wrong because Mr. Solomons was standing next to you, seemingly amused. After all, his office was the one next to Thomas's. 

He was your professor too, although his lectures didn’t captivate you as much as those of Mr. Shelby. It wasn’t because they weren’t interesting, he specialised on Jewish History and cultural heritage, but the way he rambled was certainly disconcerting. Some days after leaving his class you weren’t even able to determine what he had been talking about since  he liked to spill ideas that in theory had some kind of connection with each other.

“I know, thanks for the encouragement,” you replied quietly. He placed one of his large hands on your shoulder and gave you a friendly squeeze before walking past you, as he headed towards his own office. 

-

Mr. Shelby's deep voice invited you in from the other side of the door. You entered slowly, fixing your gaze on the floor. He waited, sitting on the other side of the desk as he watched you with interest. 

“How are you, Y/N?”

The answer died in your throat the moment you gathered enough courage to look up in order to meet his blue eyes. Mr. Shelby stared at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised. You covered your mouth with your hand, the last thing you wanted to do now was bursting into laughter but you couldn’t take your eyes away from the painting.

Right behind him, almost covering the whole surfice of the wall, hung a huge portrait. It wasn’t a photograph, it looked like an oil painting on canvas. In it appeared Mr. Shelby, who was wearing the kind of clothes that men would probably wear back in the 1920’s, standing next to a majestic white horse. Slowly, your eyes moved from the painting to the man in front of you. 

Who in his right mind has a painting like that in their university office? It was the tackiest thing you had seen in a long time. Definitely, not what you were expecting to find there. 

“Y/N?”

Mr. Shelby's soft voice brought you back to reality. To the here and now. "Yes, good. And you?"

"Not bad. You'll wonder why I summoned you today," he said, as he rummaged through the piles of papers and books that littered his desk. You made a small noise of confirmation, so he continued speaking. "I really liked your last essay about the role of women in society during World War I. Have you ever been to France?"

You tilted your head to the side, for a moment nothing made sense. What did one thing have to do with the other? You kept looking at the portrait, as if the answer was painted somewhere there. "France?" 

At your bewildered face, Mr. Shelby laughed softly. It sounded as if he were letting out a gust of air. His eyes shined gently, he seemed to be in a good mood. “Yes, the country. The university’s History department has been offered a student exchange with a French university. It’s only a week but in five days you can do many things. I was talking to Mr. Solomons and we agreed that you are one of our most promising students, it might be interesting for you to go.”

"Really? I don't know what to say..." you mumbled, your cheeks turning red and warm. You wanted to cry, or laugh, or both. "I've never been to France, I don't even speak French."

Mr. Shelby found what he was looking for. He placed a form in front of you and pointed his finger at it. "Think about it. If you decide to go, fill this out and bring it to me in a couple of days. It's a great opportunity," he added.

Nodding, you took the form and put it carefully between your notes so it wouldn’t get all wrinkled. “Thank you so much for considering me,” you finally said, truly grateful. 

You looked one last time at the painted version of Thomas. His cold eyes returned an icy stare from above, with an almost cruel expression. He seemed so distant, like someone who no longer has anything to lose. It made you wonder, in the first place, the history behind the painting. Did he commission it? Why? Anyway, he could have hung it at his house, not there. 

Before stepping out of the office, you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. What you weren’t expecting was Thomas returning the smile back at you, but he did and for a brief moment, his face lit up. That face couldn’t be further away from the hard features of his painted version. 

As you walked down the hallway you shook your head. So many nerves for nothing. It also infuriated you a little bit to think about all the shit people said about him behind his back, all rumours, since nobody ever mentioned the painting. 

However, you had something clear. Despite the bad reputation that preceded him, you kind of liked Thomas Shelby. He had the most incredible pair of blue eyes and the worst taste when it came to decoration, but nobody is perfect.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #modern!tommy shelby #peaky blinders au #professor!tommy shelby #tommy shelby one shot #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby x you #peaky blinder fanfic #reader insert

[thebaffledcaptain]

Doodled another fifer from my beloved 22nd regiment—not a direct study this time, but heavily inspired by a (very tired) picture of myself at camp…

#one of those things where it’s not a self portrait but also is it? #we all look the same in uniform anyway #just felt like drawing more little soldier boys (when do I not) #actually quite happy with this though considering i tried the completely new technique of no reference no basic shapes no nothing #amrev #american revolution #revolutionary war #revwar #redcoat #historical art #british military #18th century #the captain draws #historical reenactment #god save the cheshire regiment #history #redcoatposting #awi

[hattersarts]

Hii I saw your bertie and jeeves portraits and I was wondering how you made your colors not look "blocky" or patchy even if you layer/use opaque paint? I guess, how do you know what transition colors to use? Sorry, I'm self taught and still learning! Thanks in advance and I love your art 💕

Ah You're lucky i actually have the progress shots of one of those heads. The only real thing i do is have "Average colour" selected on my colour picker tool so after i lay down all the rough blocks i can just select between them and start to create the faux gradient

you can also see how i still add colours throughout the process like the red to bertie's cheek but after a point it just becomes refinement. i try not to use small brushes to shape the gradients until im close to the end which is where most of the "blending" happens.

#tutorial #its-a-me-mimi

[epiicaricacy-arts]

oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

#my art #fanart #genshin impact #genshin fanart #lyney #genshin lyney #lyney fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr #artists of tumblr

[nysrage]

College Daze, Connie Springer.

college days were hard. you hadn’t quite found your footing around campus, not making any friends, and often times too homesick to even get out of bed. being the quiet introvert didn’t help with any functions going on campus either. but nonetheless, it was that college daze. days were especially hard when you were hours away from everything you knew, your town, family, one friend, and boyfriend. all the things that made your heart so full.

the only thing keeping you sane were the phone calls you’d share with them. parents giving you encouraging words to keep you going and motivated. your friend who remind you of the vision you had for yourself when you felt low enough to quit and come home. Connie, who’d stay up with you on those long night where you’d study for upcoming exams, and fill that lonely hole with warmth during those overnight calls. It’d been months since you been face to face with any of them and you couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness clouding your heart.

that was until there’d been a knock at your front door, pulling you not only from your thoughts but also your bed. annoyed that your roommate most likely left her keycard in her room for the umpteenth time since you’ve settled on campus. “ girl you’ve got to learn to—” swinging the door open to be met with your boyfriend, “surprise mamí” flashy smile on display as he engulfed you into his arms. “connie?” you mind barely processing all of this until you were burying your face into his neck. opening up to that safe, warm, and familiar scent that you’d missed for so long, taking in as much of it as you could not knowing how long it’d last. “c’mon lemme see that pretty face.” pushing those soft natural coils out of your face, taking you all in. “how… when did you even find the time..?”

“like i told you princesa..” connie smiled, giving you a small peck in the cheek. “i’d be outside your dorm for you one of these days.” you giggled, quickly wiping away any tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “you know i can’t be away from you too long.” nuzzling your face into that warm hand of his that rested against your cheek. basking in that feeling of home and happiness.

the next few days were spent on some much needed catching up, quality time, and acts of service. showing connie around campus and enjoying a few parties, along with a nice stress free day at the salon. connie paying for all those self care needs that you’d neglected in the past few months, getting you back to that bubbly personality he’d grown to love. those beautiful smiles returning back to your face. the next day was spent in sweetheart circle in the center of campus, full of beautiful land that was perfect for a picnic. which connie made sure to pack all of your favorite fruits, wraps, and drinks into your basket. Along with three small canvases to draw whatever your heart desires.

the gentle breeze, warm sun on your skin, and connie’s arm wrapped around your waist made everything feel so much better. like this journey isn’t as lonely as it seemed, not when the people surrounding you did everything in their power to keep you happy along the way. It’d been the most you smiled since the first week of school and you didn’t think it’d fade anytime soon. the two of you sharing your paintings when you were done, connie’s canvas colored with doodles of you and him beneath the sun. while your gave a more realistic and detailed portrait, one your sure he’d be hanging up somewhere in his room to keep your close to him. A third canvas of your painted hands on either side, and the date that the two of you became official in between.

ending the day with a walk around the trail, a known legend at your university for couples that visit sweetheart circle. “you know legend says, if you walk sweetheart circle the right way three times.. you’ll be married.” connie chuckled, “oh yeah?” playfully biting down on his lip. “right or wrong, you’ll end up as mrs. springer regardless” pulling you close his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “we work too hard at this relationship for us not to work.” his words were sweet and sincere, eyes never leaving yours as he spoke. your body whirling around in front of him to stop his tracks, taking his strong hands in yours. “i’m really glad you surprised me for the weekend baby.” a bright smile of your face as you looked up at the towering form of your boyfriend. his smile just as wide as yours, placing a delicate kiss on your intertwined hands. “I know this big city was a lot for you and you really needed some piece of home..” shrugging his shoulders as he looked out at this distant fountain. “so i thought i’d bring home to you.”

squeezing his hand as his eyes met yours, those golden brown orbs holding so many emotions. “I love you..” his reaction to your words always the same, small curve in his lips along with that brightening of his eyes.

“i love you more princesa.”

#nys works.ᐟ ᥫ᭡ #aot fluff #aot connie fluff #aot connie #connie fluff #aot connie springer #aot connie x black reader #aot connie x black!reader #connie springer #connie x black y/n #connie springer x black reader #connie x black!reader #connie x black reader #connie x you #connie springer fluff

[another-lost-mc]

Hellooooo first time requesting on your blog!

So for a long time I've wondered what it would be like if NB Satan & OG Satan were to meet & converse with each other. How would they react to each other? What questions would they ask? How would they respond? Etc. I was wondering how you would imagine this interaction would work?

Also, is it okay if I claim 🦄 anon?

A/N: Ooh that's such a neat idea. You know those “talk to your past/future self" tropes? I almost see OG Satan leading NB Satan through the present timeline version of House of Lamentation. It gives him a glimpse of what life will be like later, how things will change and what will still be the same. I kept this mostly wholesome because NB has enough angst potential without me adding to it. lol

SATAN x gn!Reader, 0.5k words, SFW.

Content: implied established relationship with gn!Reader.

The house itself is obviously a bit different. It’s older but also newer in some ways—updates and renovations over time, that sort of thing. It’s endured years of the siblings living there and all that entails. Their home is obviously loved and well-cared for, despite the little dents in the wall from their squabbles and the occasional scorched marks from some accidental fires. Those lingering remnants of the past each tell a story, and OG Satan offers to share them all.

I think NB Satan is just confused by everything he sees. There are portraits of himself on the walls, and there's lots of family photos where OG Satan looks so happy. OG Satan talks about his brothers while they walk slowly through the halls together. His voice is laced with fondness, especially even when he talks about Lucifer. He reminisces about pranks he attempted with Belphie that Lucifer managed to thwart somehow, but there’s no real bite in his tone. He can look back fondly on those memories and cherish them all, the good and the bad.

By the time they get to his bedroom, NB Satan has no idea what to think. He explores the familiar space but notices all the subtle differences: there are a lot of human world literature and movies strewn about, and he notices a jar of cat treats near the door so it's easy to grab a handful before going out to feed the strays. This bedroom feels less like a prison of his own making because it's comfortable and uniquely him and surprisingly warm.

OG Satan just kind of watches his other self with something like amusement, and NB Satan gets fed up feeling like the punchline to someone's idea of a joke.

"I don't get it. We're the same, aren't we? So why aren't you—how are you not—?"

"How am I not what?"

"How are you not angry all the time? Why are you so happy? Especially talking about him."

"Oh, I'm angry," OG Satan says, picking up a framed photo from his bedside table. He runs his fingers over the glass as he looks at the picture in his hands. "You know what it feels like, how it festers deep inside us. We're always looking for reasons to let our rage loose on the world so everyone else hurts as much as we do. But we both had to learn that there's more to life than that, didn't we?"

OG Satan hands him the photo, and NB Satan takes the frame carefully. It's a a photo of him and his family at a beach somewhere, and right there in the middle with their arms wrapped around his waist is—

"Our attendant?" he asks, eyes lingering on a familiar smile before reluctantly handing the photo back.

OG Satan nods. "If anything, you're the lucky one," he says, returning the picture to its proper place beside his bed. "I had to wait a lot longer to meet them than you did. I was lost just as you were, but then they came here and—well, I have a feeling you know how the rest of that story goes," he says, clearing his throat as a pink blush dusts his cheeks.

For the first time since they met, it feels like they finally understand each other. "...Yeah, I think I do."

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #satan x reader #obey me x reader #jes: 🦄 anon #x reader #gn!reader

[feelbokkie]

Things SKZ does when you're pregnant

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: just cute things skz would do while you are pregnant

pairing: bf!skz x reader with a uterus

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,021 (unedited)

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

방 찬 (Bang Chan)

Plays Music for Your Bump

he bought one of those headphone sets that you can use to put on baby bumps the second he found out they existed

it's basically a Channie's room (rip Channie's room)

he's prescreening all the songs beforehand though

got to make sure they're baby appropriate

plays a few skz songs

red lights and drive are hard passes

plays a wide variety of music

he's trying to create a musical genius at this point

with his genes, it's very much possible that this might happen

takes the baby's suggestions every seriously

"The baby kicked," "They must really love this song," "Or they hate it," "...Hey, if you like the song, kick. If you hate the song, stay still!" "Chan, don't confuse the child." "Hey, maybe they're a dancer like their uncles."

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho)

Making All of the Food You're Craving

yes, even the bat shit insane ones like pickles and peanut butter

he knows that it's 50% his fault that you're hungry and want specific things and that you're doing 100% of the work so the least he could do was make you what you and the parasite baby want to eat

the first time he did it, you were talking to yourself about something you were craving, not thinking he was paying attention

you were debating if you should order it or go out and buy some and take it home

he immediately went into the kitchen and made it without a second thought once he realized that you were probably craving it because of the baby

he came back some time later and just placed the food in your lap

you legit cried

blame the hormones

one time you asked him directly make you something and he jokingly said no

you cried again and he felt so bad that he made it and got your favorite dessert

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin)

Lifts Your Bump

definitely feels guilty and responsible for you being in this situation

i mean he partly is to blame but you were there too

so he will constantly just come up behind you and lift up your bump to get your back a break

and he'll stay there for a while

and if you two go to the beach for whatever reason, the first thing he's doing is digging a bump shaped hole so you can lay on your stomach comfortably

buys that bump comfort tape and helps you tape your stomach to give you some relief throughout the day while he's out working

did research to make sure he was doing it safely of course, he doesn't want to hurt you or the baby

helps you do some exercises and stretches to ease your pain too

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin)

Paints You and Your Bump

the second he found out that you were pregnant, he got several ideas of things to paint on your stomach

started earlier than he probably should have

but when you started getting bigger and more self-conscious, he decided to paint a portrait of you and your bump

and he makes you look like some sort of angel or divine being

you almost don't believe that he painted you

hangs it where he knows you'll see it often

greatly boosts your confidence

will also play on it constantly

"how are my muses doing today?"

also paints a mural in the baby's room in his free time because he can

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung)

Tells Your Bump Stories

more specifically, he's giving the baby a detailed play-by-play of whatever show he's currently watching

you bought one of those mics you can attach to your stomach so you could talk to the baby and it is almost always in his hands

"...and their dad is kind of an asshole--you don't have to worry about that, your dad is cool as fuck" "Jisung, language," "if we normalize swearing when they're young, we won't have to worry about them having the mouth of a sailor like Felix. I read it in a book" "...I don't think they mean while the baby is still in the womb,"

reads them them manga too

if he's watching tv and you're sitting next to him, he's pulling out the mic and narrating everything that's on the screen

will sing every once in a while, have to prepare the baby for the rest of their life now so they're not shocked once they're born

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok)

Massages and Foot Rubs

he massages you and gives you foot rubs anyway, especially if you ask for them

but when you told him you were pregnant, one of the first things he did was research how to safely massage you

secretly practiced on the boys so he wouldn't hurt you or the baby until he was confident enough to massage you

still was nervous to actually massage you

rubs your feet more often than the rest of you because it's safer

once you're towards the end of your pregnancy and increasingly uncomfortable from all the added weight you're carrying, he gets over his fears and massages you to give you some relief

Will cuddle you after too while resting his head on your bump

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min)

Talking and Singing to Your Bump

this man has been talking to his baby the second he learned that their ears are fully developed

and he's talking to them like a normal person, not baby talk

full conversations too

he'll come home for a long day of work and come tell both of you about his day

often comes and lays his head on your bump and sings to it

just little songs mostly

also sang songs in his JYP voice because why not

whenever you express discomfort, he is lecturing the poor unborn child

"Seungmin, they're not even born yet." "Y/n, please, I am having a private conversation." "Sorry, my bad."

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In)

Weekly Progress Shots with Your Bump

mostly, he's having fun taking pictures of how much you're growing each month

every week without fail he is pulling out the camera and harassing you to take the picture

will style you and get props so you can have fun with it

one of the more common props is whatever food item the baby is the same size as

makes a video with all of the pictures and finishes it with the last photo of you holding the baby where the bump was

he's already planning the baby's month photoshoots

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Permanent Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@berryblog @jaydebow @junebug032 @boiohboii @heistheavatar @lieslab @rainbae-anon @k-cock @hamburgers101 @mrswolfiechan @soulboundauthor @weird-bookworm @thisisnotjacinta @seungmyynie @halesandy @kpopsstuffs @honeydew93 @dandycharmer @stay278 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @babrieeee @brain-empty-only-draken @tenmii @tattywood @blueforte @jihanlovic @felixglow @alyszaen @nuronhe @soonyoungblr @hello-2-u-from-me @jinnixxn @phtogravi

#feelbokkie writes #stray kids #skz #chan #bangchan #bang chan #lee know #minho #lee minho #changbin #seo changbin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #han #jisung #han jisung #felix #yongbok #lee felix #lee yongbok #lee felix yongbok #seungmin #kim seungmin #i.n #jeongin #yang jeongin #x reader #skz headcanon #stray kids headcanon

[late-to-the-party-81]

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired. 

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here. 

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you. 

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled. 

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her. 

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left. 

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately.  He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey. 

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him. 

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought. 

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you. 

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you. 

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand. 

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers. 

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you. 

On your face. 

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over. 

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you. 

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum. 

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered. 

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings. 

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer. 

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.” 

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?” 

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued. 

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @mrs-illyrian-baby, @wheezy-stucky, @km-ffluv

#Bucky x Reader #Historical AU #historical romance #Bucky Barnes x you #buckybarnesbingo2023 #Bucky barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes angst #Bucky barnes smut

[sibelin]

I don't want people to reblog that AI art post so I'll put my addition here:

One thing that will always make me cringe with those AI imitations of middle to late 19th century art is how the intelligence will always try to match ALL the women figures with the current 21th century beauty standards. Now, of course, I wouldn't be complaining if these kind of images weren't plaguing the "classical art" or "oil painting" tags. But since they are, I will show you what 19th century painting of women really looks like. And yeah, I know, some paintings match with current beauty standards but it's still more complicated than that. "Classic" painting is not all about representing pretty ladies. Otherwise historians of art would be bored.

Okay, if it's a "classic" painting, let's go with neoclassicism which is basically a return to the classic inspirations from antiquity and a return to simplicity after years of the wild Baroque and Rococo of the 18th century. Want to see portraits of women in that time?

(Left : Detail of Portrait de madame de Verninac by Jacques-Louis David, 1979. Right : Portrait de Madame Duvaucey, 1809, Jean-Dominique Ingres).

So far, notice how these two women don't look at all like the women in those fake AI paintings. They are portraits of real women, thus real models. But even when they were painting gods, 19th century painters HAD models! Not only that, they were also inspired by antiquity, which wasn't really doing realism either, they had their own ideals like, to cite one exemple, the really straight noses you always see in greek statues. Well, that's also in neoclassical paintings! Look:

(Detail of La Mélancolie by Constance Marie Charpentier, 1801)

On the other side, you've got two strong opponents (and logical responding movements) to this return to classical culture : Romantism and Realism. Once again, look at the diversity :

(Left: Details of Les foins by Jules Bastien-Lepage, 1877. Right: Jeune orpheline au cimetière, Eugène Delacroix, 1824.)

Realism is pretty self-explanatory. The painters were going back to show normal people, farmers and workers. They weren't here to make them beautiful or to conform to beauty standards but to show the world as it is. Result was a lot of controversies, notably with Courbet and Les baigneuses, a representation of a strong woman in an unflatering pose and dirt on her feet that shook the beauty standards so dear to the academic ideals of his times. Check it out if you're interested, there's plenty of articles about it. And romanticism? Once again very diverse. Just look at pre-romantism, with Goya, who loooved representing fucked up little scenes. Or with Delacroix, here with one of his most famous portrait (Jeune orpheline au cimetière) probably because of the expression, the pose, everything that makes that girl look alive, real, unique.

But wait.... You've already seen classical paintings were the ladies looked like all the ladies nowadays, right? Maybe you've seen those very pretty pre raphaelites paintings with those women that look kinda like Florence Welch. Maybe you've seen academic art, the most palatable of 19th century style when it comes to beauty norms. And it's true, it could be similar to these prompted AI classical babes, except once again, it's not. Because once again, they had models, and models were different from paintings to paintings. And this is this systematic same face vibes that makes AI so boring. Because even when real historical art comes close to that, it is always way way way more rich and full of surprises.

(left : The North-West Passage by John Everett Millais, 1878. Middle: Detail of Contemplation by John William Godward, 1922. Right: Detail of La Naissance de Vénus by William Bouguereau, 1879)

Then, you have all these art styles that AI weirdly stays away from : those where the style and process is so strong, so much more important than the subject, that it would be hard to copy without noticing the difference. It could be impressionism, it could be symbolism or better, it could be the avant-garde artists that announces then blends into the wild, colorful and tortured art of the first half of the 20th century.

(Left: Le chemin de fer by Edouard Manet, 1973. Middle: I lock my door upon myself by Fernand Khnopff, 1891, Right: Jane Avril by Henri de Toulouse Lautrec, 1892)

Conclusion/ TLDR : If fake historical AI art becomes more realistic every day, it will never be as rich and diverse as the real deal because it will always be used to appease an algorithm for people who just want to see pretty images that catters to them and never challenge their views. When it comes to beauty norm, this could be dangerous and make people believe that these was always how women looked like. That all girls were born with removed buccal fat and symmetrical faces, even in old paintings. I don't know, it may be nothing, but it may be something. Thank you for those who read all that and I hope see many cool paintings in museums :)

Addition: This is of course a very european centric vision of art but it's what the AI will take inspiration from anyway. For the same reasons, these paintings are very white but I was also trying to avoid the icky orientalist representations that were so trendy in the 19th century. Note that there is an even better diversity in paintings when you open your eyes to non-european centric art.

(If I see a terf reblogging this, i'm blocking on sight)

#history of art #art #classical art #paintings #anti AI #ai #long post

[tvgirlzz]

Gwen Stacy x fem!reader

notes: did not proofread this but enjoy 😣 also the only story I’ve really written was an English assignment on a book so feel free to give critiques if you have any 😋👍

“Sit still, Gwen!” You laughed as she moved uncomfortably.

Gwen had snuck into your window and while you were trying to decide what you wanted to make your art project on. Your teacher said it ‘had to be something close to you and not a random thing you traced from the internet.’ It was unbelievable the amount of times someone in your class used a dog they never met before for their project. Being the amazing girlfriend you are, you decided to make your project on her.

Which brings you to now, watching Gwen squirm uncontrollably on your bed.

“How long is this gonna take Y/N? I don’t think I can feel my butt anymore.” She complained, shifting around.

“Not long, I swear! Only a few more minutes.” Your brush delicately strokes, the light watercolors slightly dripping down the canvas. Painting beautiful pastel colors such as blue for her eyes, yellow to match her blonde hair, and topping it off with a pink and purple background.

Making sure to miss no detail, you picked up a small tipped brush. Carefully painting the small dots of her freckles, to the small, visible veins on her hands.

“Are you done yet? Lemme see!” She stood up, picking at the canvas in front of you.

“No! Sit down!” You lightly pushed her back down, moving her hands so she could pose again.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise. You can see the finished product once my teacher grades it.”

Setting the brush down, your eyes scanned all over the canvas. Sighing, you bit your lip nervously. This was good, right? You knew your art teacher was a hard critic but very easy on the grading. So why were you nervous?

“What’s wrong, babe?” Gwen furrowed her eyebrows as she tried to read your facial expression. She stood up and walked behind you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and laying her head on top of yours.

“If it makes you feel any better, I love it.” She knew you didn’t want her to see it yet, but she couldn’t help it. Your art was one of her favorite things about you. How different and unique it was.

“You weren’t supposed to see it yet..” You whispered in a downhearted tone.

She kissed the top of your head and hugged her tighter. “I know, but I can’t help myself. Your art is so beautiful.” Gwen was trying to cheer you up since she knew how much pressure you put on yourself to make these projects perfect.

“And your muse is pretty hot, don’t you think?” She smirked and poked your cheek.

Letting out a chuckle, you let your lips curve into a small smile. “Yeah, she is. The prettiest muse ever.” You move your head to look up at her.

She smiled back at her and gave you a sweet peck on the lips. “Don’t worry about this, okay? You’re the best artist ever and probably better than everyone in your class. I’ve seen some of those works and damn- it’s awful.”

“Maybe we’ve seen different works because everyone in my class is advanced.”

She gasped. “You call Ned’s self portrait advanced?!”

“That’s different, he’s just really bad at art.” You stood up from your stool, let Gwen’s arm slide off of you. Picking up the canvas, you move it to your desk where it can hopefully dry. Then, you felt Gwen grab your waist as she turned you around to look at her.

“I love you, alright? And if you don’t get a good grade on this, just know that I still think you’re the best artist in the world.” She placed one hand on your hip and the other resting on your cheek, stroking it lovingly with her thumb.

“I love you too.” You replied in a soft tone. She smiled at you and leaned down to give you a kiss.

Pulling away, she moved her hand down into your pants pocket. “Now come on, I want to lay down together and binge a show. That’s why I came here.”

“Alright, you can pick.” You handed her your tv remote and crawled into your bed. She hopped in after you and laid her head down on your chest, letting you run your fingers through her hair.

As you and Gwen spent the rest of the night watching 90’s television shows, your art project slowly dried on your desk. Leaving bright, colorful watercolor marks as Gwen’s painted face stood still on the canvas.

She was really the prettiest muse you could ever have.

{ written by @loversrockxx please don’t steal 🙏🏽 }

#✧˚ · . fics #gwen stacy x reader #spider gwen #ghost spider #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #gwen stacy spiderverse #marvel #gwen stacy x fem!reader

[taki-yaki]

Prompt idea based on Drizzt Do'Urden’s story, where his love interest and all his adventure buddies pass away but years later are reincarnated with their memories intact because the gods needed them to reunite with Drizzt to save the world again. So what if years later Astarion is alone (maybe Lae'zel is still alive since no one ages in the Astral Sea) but Tav and the rest reincarnate to adventure with him again. And just like Drizzt in this life Astarion and Tav have a longer life together and have a kid.

This gives me some angst vibes, but it makes for some good writing. I would see him becoming a bounty hunter of sorts after Tav passed, also in the epilogue, it seems that Withers does hint at him having the ability to just call the group whenever the world falls into danger again.

Astarion x Reincarnated Tav Headcanons

Many years have passed since your death, regrettably leaving Astarion all alone for him to travel across the realm of Faerun. Although in his years of living as an immortal vampire spawn, his past self would never be phased by such a thing, just seeing death as another way of time passing swiftly. 

Most of his former companions have passed on, except for Lae’zel who still wandered the astral plane, in which she never aged after centuries. The two sometimes meet up to talk with each other, but moments such as those are rare. 

But after everything he went through with the mind flayers, with you especially, this felt different, as if he was missing a part of his heart.

Now left all by himself to wander across the planes of Faerun, with the ring of the sun walker you gifted him all those years back, a final parting gift from you allowing him to walk in the sun once again. He even keeps a small locket wrapped around his neck, with a portrait drawn by Oskar Fevras, capturing every aspect of your face that could be contained on such a small canvas.

There are more dhampirs across the sword’s coast than before, thanks in part to the over 7000 vampire spawn who were released and went to live their lives in the Underdark, which makes it slightly easier to blend in with the locals in certain areas. Especially as a bounty hunter, travelling across the planes in search of any beast and bandits to slay, either for some quick cash or a meal. 

Although most residents from outside of the city have forgotten about the heroes who saved Baldur’s Gate and in turn the whole of Faerun from the threat netherbrain and the grand design as a whole, he’d still try to tell tales of your exploits to those at local taverns in hopes that your tale isn’t forgotten.

During these travels, he sometimes helps out with fledgling adventures, mainly in part to not become sloppy, some of these adventures are dhampirs who were raised in the Underdark, whom he gains a weird sense of kinship with.

He lectures the dhampirs about the tricks he’s learnt as a vampire spawn, encouraging them to not see their vampiric heritage as a burden, but more of a blessing in disguise.

Sometimes, whilst travelling with the young dhampirs, he ponders over what he could have had with you if you were here.

Some nights, he would reflect on that moment in the depths of palace dungeons, if rejecting the ascension ritual was the right choice. But he quickly reconsiders it after seeing others throughout his travels who were consumed by the unbridled power that pacts made with fiends from the hells had offered. Twisting what once was a desire to protect their beloved from harm into a lovesick obsession, wishing to keep them chained together for eternity for better or worse. 

Even if he had the means to become a true vampire, the gift of immortality would have been impossible to bestow upon you since your body was irrefutably damaged during your death. Despite the damage done, he would travel to his old grave in the city, leaving your favourite flowers atop his grave, in hopes that whatever remains of your soul, would find your way back to a suited resting place.

One night, after returning from a difficult hunt, he notices a letter addressed to him, written in a familiar fragile hand, simply instructing him to return to the city of Baldur’s Gate to meet in the Elf Song tavern.

Upon his arrival at Elf Song, he recognised a familiar face that he hadn’t seen in a few years, now spouting a few more wrinkles upon her face than before, Lae’zel who was seated at a lone table in the centre of the tavern.

“Tsk, took you long enough Astarion or has your travels across the lands also twisted your sense of time judging by that tail you’ve grown on the back of your head?” she teased.

Briefly reminding the vampire of his curly-haired ponytail that he decided to keep over a decade or two ago.

“Hmph, travelling across Faerun has given me more experience than ever before, all that time up in the stars has seemed to give you a new set of wrinkles since we last met, but I pull them off better than you darling” he’d quip back.

The sound of clattering bones approaching them soon interrupts their conversation. Speak to the two of the return of the dead three yet again, wishing to plunge the world into chaos once again.

“And you expect just the two of us to take all three of them.”

Even the once stubborn Lae’zel agreed with Astarion, nodding silently towards Withers.

“As I would expect, though I invest a portion of power in those who have challenged the gods long ago who are prepared for battle once more.”

His frail arm directs them towards the doors of the tavern. A sight that he hadn’t seen in years, his friends all alive and well, nearly thought that this was a simple hallucination of his mind or a case of some bad blood he drunk the night before.

A loud voice pulls him from his thoughts as a heavy hand clasps over his shoulder, “Fangs! I didn’t recognise you there for a second, gods it feels amazing to be back with the gang again.” Karlach, looking the same way she did during her tadpole adventures, with one or two fewer scars, lets out a quiet hum of approval before standing up from his chair brushing through the crowd for any sign of you.

After a few minutes of looking around in silence, everyone he knew was there, alive and well, with perhaps one or two visual differences, but no notice of you. He gets up to leave, coming up with some half-heart excuse.

Approaching his old grave in the city, flowers that were placed since he last visited now wilted. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that the crusty old skeleton could bring you back alive, staring at the stone in silence before a soft voice interrupts him.

“Excuse me.”

Probably another flower seller here to pester him, replying in a harsh tone, 

“Leave me alone, I’m not interested right now.”

Until he hears the voice speak once more in a quizzical tone “Astarion?”.

A voice he thought he had all but forgotten, turning around to see you alive in the flesh.

Even when the darkness swallowed Astarion, during your absence, you still kept his promise to find him again, as you always do. Perhaps it was the flowers that guided you back to him or your memories of him, but regardless you apologise for making him wait for so long.

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds just staring at you softly, before walking towards you and embracing tightly, softly whispering “If it was for you, it was worth the wait.”

When you both embark upon your new adventure, he always sticks close to you holding your hand as tight as he can, even during the nights, holding your chest close to his ear, just to hear your heart beating in its rhythmic pattern, just to have the peace of mind that you won’t slip out of his grasp, disappearing once again. He tells you the tales of his travels and misadventures along the way, even about the current vampire and dhampir culture within some cities.

After the defeat of the dead three yet again, the gods, under Withers approval, decided to gift you and your comrades with a longer life span, partly in thanks and mostly as a just-in-case cause.

After the dust had settled, the two of you decided to purchase a home using the funds that Astarion had saved from his adventures as a bounty hunter. Enjoying the domestic lifestyle together.

One night he approaches you, sheepishly asking if you would be interested in having a third person in your relationship.

“What so like a child?”

“Only if you want to that is”

“After the tales you’ve told me of caring for the dhampirs I wouldn’t mind, even if it’s our own or another.”

He would spoil the child rotten of course, in his own way. But in the end, he’s relieved to finally find peace again with you by his side.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion headcanons

[louroth]

Hello hello everybody! It is time for another months progress, and I am so excited to share with you, all the things I have gotten my grimy little gremlin hands on. First off, what we are all here for; writing. I have been on fire, to be honest! Last month I churned through the last of the first batch of erotica stories (there's 6 (!!!) of them on my patreon already) and set them up for publishing along with two more unseen ones- I'm still going over the logistics of where to publish for the best revenue (I know this sounds boring, but I have to make an income somehow, and hopefully find another audience as a smut writer on other platforms 💀 I love writing it so why not!), and I am making headway, learning the ins and outs of self publishing. On patreon, there are also two Q&A's that are written in a bit more fictional manner, in character: a more fun way than just writing answers straight up and down. I have enjoyed those so much! There's a bunch of other stuff I haven't even mentioned- honestly, I have to say, I'm really proud of my output on Patreon even though I have been really anxious about writing full time. It's going great! I have to thank my new friends and support-network on discord; you make this all worth it. I cannot express how fun it is to shoot the shit with you in vc, gaming together, or seeing your shenanigans in gen or your in depth theories (thanks for the brainworms!) or memes or staring longingly at the fanfic channel or drooling over your art (ouro related or not) or... Gah. You are just amazing people, and I will waste no opportunity in saying so. Thank you forever and ever and ever an-

When it comes to OUROBOROS, I am happy to announce that the next chapter is damn near done! I was halted because of the discovery that dashingdon is no longer supported by it's creator, and have been working on the twine version ever since, earlier than I expected- it's tough work, but I am so excited to make this an actual game made entirely by myself, and not submitting to a company that quite frankly leaves a bitter aftertaste. It is taking long to make because I want to make it mobile compatible from the start, which there isn't a lot of resources for. But I'm doing my best! The plan is that I will be posting the next chapter for Patreons in the coming month, and then treat you to a full twine release here on tumblr. I haven't made any rewrites when porting the twine build, but I would like to do that too... so we will see; this plan is not set in stone. I will just have to see how it evolves over the next month. Yes, beta-readers is still on the schedule, just holding off a little while while I wrap my head around this new coding landscape.

Other than that, I have been working on the set aesthetic for ouro, which has been really hard, a lot harder than I expected. You all know I am no wizard when it comes to graphic design, but I want to at least develop a set palette and imagery and portraits that is cohesive to the story. The work is ongoing, and I don't have much to say about it- even though it is taking a lot of my brain power. I'm hoping I can come to some kind of set and in depth conclusion that I am happy with before the twine release, because I want the game to feel like a treat to open up and play; a world to get lost in.

That's it! If you want to see weekly and more in depth dev-logs, you know where to go. I hope you have an amazing day or night, and we will see each other soon. xx

#OUROBOROS #ouroboros-if #interactive fiction #twine wip #progress report #dev log #I am SO sorry I haven't been around a lot to answer asks- there is so much work to be done and only so little of me to go around whuhuhuhu #send help lmfao. tuck me into your pocket. keep me safe!!!! I have no idea how people manage all this. But I promise and cross my heart I a #Doing My Best™ #other things not mentioned: I have been going through The Stress with my doagy who injured her leg but today we finally took a full hike t #together- she really scared me with how much pain she was in but we made it through 😭 I cannot thank my patreon supporters enough because #your support is making me breathe easy about the upcoming vet bill. why are blood samples so expensive. wah #yeees yees im bursting with butterflies and rainbow emotions. but truly- I can't thank you enough #Onwards! We keep moving!I am so excited for all this-damn all the stress and the insecurities-I am Doing It!!! It is Happening! Wahoo!

[basiatlu]

On Theft in Art

First: thank you to the anon here and the other many people who brought this to my attention! I know you did it out of support of me and I love you for it.

I was ready to keep it private as I didn’t want anything negative to come up and be associated with my art. But as I was asked across different platforms concerning the art in question I realized it really bummed me out. I’m here to have a good time in the fandom and create with you all. We have a good thing here in the community and I didn’t want any smoke with another artist - a mutual even.

So to help me feel a little better about it I want to turn this into an opportunity to teach others on the differences between Reference, Inspiration, Reinterpretation, and Theft

Reference: (usually) a visual source of information in order to better understand something. Example here is of my reference board and the art I am currently working on.

My favorite example of a professional using reference photos is by Hirohiko Araki (creator and artist of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure), who uses fashion editorials and photoshoots ALL the time it’s awesome - tysm @yumiaiyuma for showing me this goldmine

Study and Inspiration: here is a great example from the wonderful Stephanie Pepper. Notice the caption stating these are studies, the movie it is from, and I will even go on to say that this artist is influenced or inspired by the prolific works of J. C. Leyendecker (but what’s key is that Stephanie Pepper has developed and practiced to the point of deviating from his work and become a style of art completely her own - and she’s so recognizable in my opinion!)

Personal Example for Inspiration:

An Example of Reinterpretation: note - Both these classical artists whose works are being recycled are dead and no longer missing out on potential work and income. Where stealing ideas and art from current artists hurts them financially and mentally and emotionally. Howl as The Fallen Angel by _mimimaru on Instagram is an interpretation of a 1847 painting by Alexandre Cabanel and is now considered public domain // the Mickey Mouse self portrait was by Charles Boyer and is a parody of the famous illustration by Norman Rockwell and was commissioned by Walt Disney, himself.

Now here’s the part that is concerning to several people, myself included.

Recently, an artist found the reference I used, and decided to draw Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Regulus staring at Sirius getting supposedly punished by Walburga Black off screen.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a matter of tracing or claiming my image as their own. I do not mind at all if myself and another artist end up using the same reference. It happens all the time. Referencing and studying is not stealing. Reinterpretation is great for meme art challenges and paying respect to old classics. Even being inspired and doing one’s own version of another artist’s idea is totally cool, especially if you tag and/or shoutout the artist that inspired you.

I genuinely love and appreciate everyone who has brought this to my attention and who has been supportive and defensive of me with this. That reaction means more to me than anything else in this whole ordeal, if I’m being honest. So thank you all so much, with all my heart.

In closing: Do I hope this is all one gigantic coincidence? Absolutely. It’s one of those very uncool things that hurts my heart as an artist. I just want everyone to enjoy art and inspire each other so we can all grow. I do not want any malice to come from this either. I just wanted to inform everyone that I am aware of this, and give some of my thoughts on it. I also wanted to use this as a way to educate everyone on artistic process and why these things might happen sometimes.

Edit: me and the artist have chatted and we see it as a silly coincidence ♡ and honestly I'm happy and so relieved with that. But I think a lot of this info is still good to be mindful of in a creative community where we circulate ideas and content regularly.

#shushbosh #ugly business sorry #I’m happy to talk with anyone on this of course #art thoughts

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Songs to Listen to While Descending into Madness

Hey, remember when I found Ian's perfect theme song for Sunshine in Hell? Well, I found one that fits Joseph's descent into madness and embracing the personality of Jack. Maybe I should make a playlist specifically for Sunshine in Hell sometime...

Not only does it have this manic energy that switches to disturbing and somber, a lot of the lyrics really give me the vibe of the suffering Joseph went through as he tore away at his very identity to become someone and something else.

When did I become afraid of the dark? Are my eyeballs just yet to adjust to seeing the light? The room I'm in is still the same, the shadows have not rearranged it No, the only thing that's changed is how I see at night I fumble for the switch and strap on infrareds and wish For sunshine when the morning's somewhere else But I can't change what time it is or dilate my irises Only what I look at, and I'm looking at myself I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night Well, who else could I be when I can hardly see? I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night I'm no one if I'm nowhere in between When did I become afraid of the dark? Was it when I left the cave and swore I'd never go back? If we can't see each other, then there's no more use for hiding I've decided I'll abide it; why deny the color black? I'm not a flower, not a solar-powered calculator Damn my eyes for seeing what's not there I'll trade in vision for a practiced intuition 'Til my fears come to fruition, I'm not scared I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night Well, who else could I be when I can hardly see? I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night I'm no one if I'm nowhere in between The future must know where you've been The past predicts the state you're in The present did and will not last Is, isn't, was, have, hasn't, has All that I ask is, keep those empty frames If nobody's in them, then no one is to blame For your self-portraits, sign another name Well, who should I be then, if I'll never be the same? I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night Who else could I be, when I can't fucking see? I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night I'm nowhere now, here's no one now to be And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I'll stay awake tonight

It really gives me vibes of the animatic Sauce made where Jack antagonizes Joseph, particularly that high energy of Jack strutting around, being cheerfully scary and threatening. It also reminds me this classic picture of a cheerful Jack and a traumatized dead(?) Joseph.

It even has a sketch updated version you can check out here!

Credit as always goes to the awesome Sauce for their awesome art, characters, and stories. They and the rest of the crew of SnaccPop Studios are a wealth of endless inspiration. Consider joining their patreon, won't you? Just remember - don't repost anything privately posted there!

There's so many lyrics that make me think of Jack's broken mind and the effects of hell had on him. I have to really break it down to show all the different feelings/images that it conjures up, since there is so much here virtually every line.

"When did I become afraid of the dark?" When you were trapped in hell, Joseph. His loneliness was bad while he was alive, but his death made it so, so, so much worse. He's terrified of being alone and forgotten. He can't stand the cold numbness only broken up by pain. It's a night he can never sleep through or wake up from.

"The room I'm in is still the same, the shadows have not rearranged it. No, the only thing that's changed is how I see at night." It didn't get better. Nothing changed in that hell. It just repeated his death and the delusions of his decaying mind. The only thing that changed was himself into someone else, someone who could better handle the madness.

"I fumble for the switch and strap on infrareds and wish, For sunshine when the morning's somewhere else." Joseph struggles desperately somehow, someway to find some sort of light, some hope in hell. Unfortunately, his sunshine Mary is somewhere else, reborn as Alice. All he can do is wish for a miracle.

His sunshine was always like a miracle to him. She found him twice. He prays she'll find him again.

"But I can't change what time it is or dilate my irises, Only what I look at, and I'm looking at myself." Joseph can't change his circumstances. He can't feel anything but cold and pain, no matter how much he struggles. He's helpless.

The only thing Joseph can do is relive his death and look inward into an ever growing abyss that stares back at him. That abyss, that hell is changing him because he can't do anything but stare inward.

Joseph only has himself in this hell, and the longer he stares at himself, the more he hates what he sees.

"I am not the sunshine, I am not the moon at night." Joseph isn't as good as his sunshine was, in his opinion. He's not even as good as a fraction of her, like the sunlight is reflected on the moon. He doesn't even have a glimmer of her light either.

"I'm no one if I'm nowhere in between." In a way, he is nowhere, trapped between life and death. Joseph/Jack was erased. He became no one.

"When did I become afraid of the dark? Was it when I left the cave and swore I'd never go back?" Jack swore never to go back into the tape, never to be Joseph ever again. He's terrified of being alone, and he refuses to ever be alone and forgotten ever again.

"I've decided I'll abide it; why deny the color black?" Joseph gives into his darker impulses, his madness, his yandere side. He'll do anything to be free of this hell, to have his sunshine back.

Even if that means staining his soul irreparably with sin by torturing and killing others to do it.

He'll be damned to hell either way. He knows that from experience.

"Damn my eyes for seeing what's not there." When someone is put through sensory deprivation, they hallucinate, make up alternate personas, and the like. Jack himself was confused at first when the tape was played, asking if MC/Alice really was real, that he wasn't just dreaming.

How many times did Jack imagine someone was really there to save him, only to be disappointed by a cruel reality that he was still trapped in hell?

"I'll trade in vision for a practiced intuition. 'Til my fears come to fruition, I'm not scared." These lines sum up the whole Jack persona. He'll bury himself in that cheerful façade in order to deny his own fears that he'll be trapped in hell forever. He'll lose himself in a dream of his own making since he can never sleep again.

The only way to avoid being scared of an eternity in hell is denial, denial, denial.

"Well, who else could I be when I can hardly see?" He's Jack. He can't see himself as Joseph anymore. His mind can't handle it. He's blinded himself to his real identity by burying memories of anything else.

"The future must know where you've been." This feels like the video tape. The few traces left of what happened in the incident of 1984.

"The past predicts the state you're in." All the mistakes Joseph made and the few things that made him happy with himself are the reasons why he became Jack.

"The present did and will not last." Time is cruel, constantly marching forward and erasing the past. Jack lost everything so many times. He lost his identity, his dreams, his sunshine, and his life. Everything was lost so easily... how can he not dread losing it all again?

"All that I ask is, keep those empty frames." If nothing else, Jack is desperate to be remembered. Even if the person in the picture isn't himself anymore, he's desperate for at least some trace of him is remembered, even if it's this caricature of the character he played.

"If nobody's in them, then no one is to blame." A reference to LambsWork Productions covering up the part they played in Jack's death or the scandal the 1984 incident created. They can't have their reputation ruined if no one remembers the SunnyTime Crew Show after all.

"For your self-portraits, sign another name." This makes me think of all the autographs Joseph had to sign as "Sunny Day Jack." The character had his face, his voice... but it was a different name. He couldn't break character, because the character was what people loved. It's another reason why he's Jack now instead of Joseph.

"Well, who should I be then, if I'll never be the same?" Joseph Cullman is missing. [Redacted] Haberdae is dead and erased. He can't go back to being either. Who should he be? What name or persona should he use that will give him peace?

"Who else could I be, when I can't fucking see?" What is left for him but to be Sunny Day Jack? He has nothing else but that persona in this hell.

"I'm nowhere now, here's no one now to be." This line sums up Jack's state in the tape. He's nowhere, and he doesn't know how to be himself anymore. He is nothing... so he'll be the character he played.

He doesn't know how to be Joseph anymore because he can no longer see the good qualities he had as Joseph. Everything good was attributed to Jack in his mind, even his sunshine's love.

"I will be my sunshine, I will be my moon at night." He will be Sunny Day Jack. He will be his own hope, his sunshine. Losing himself to this alternate persona was the only thing he had to cling to in that cold and lonely hell. He clung to it like a piece of driftwood until the splinters dug into his hands and made him bleed madness.

"And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares?" Now this shift makes me think of after Jack is freed and the lingering trauma from being in the tape. It's fitting because it comes after a drastic shift in the song to something somber, slowly building into something almost... hopeful?

His dream of being saved came true... but the nightmare of that hell still haunts him.

What if he goes back?

Jack could, just as easily, be sent away if Alice doesn't want him there. He needs to make sure that never happens.

Can Jack really dare to cling to this hope that he's been given, that this actually is reality?

Was he really saved, or is this just another delusion?

So even though Jack finally can sleep, he's finally safe... his fears still haunt him. He can't truly rest until he's sure, absolutely sure, that he won't lose his sunshine ever again. It's the hope he's desperate to hold onto.

"I'll stay awake tonight." The hell of the tape robbed Jack of his ability to sleep, both in the past and in the present. His trauma and mental scars run deep.

No doubt there were many nights where Jack just laid in bed and watched Alice sleep. He focused on her warmth, her steady breathing. Her heartbeat, her soft skin, her smell...

Alice is real. This sunshine is real. Jack knows that. He knows that deep down in his soul, but...

What if?

Just one minute longer. One second more to reassure himself.

This beautiful person Jack holds close in his arms is his salvation. Alice chose to save him. She promised to never forget him. She promised him forever.

Jack feared that the tape would be his forever.

So even though he's tired, Jack just needs a little bit more, just that extra moment more to drink in Alice with all of his senses so that he can truly believe that she delivered him from damnation.

Joseph is dead. The good parts of him, the light and hope he found in himself as that redacted identity are gone from even his memory. Jack is the only one there now.

Alice is the only sunshine Jack can see now, and he'll do whatever it takes to make sure he never loses that light, his hope, his love ever again.

Of course, during these moments of insecurity, Alice would stir, just a little, and cling to Jack tighter. Sometimes she even murmurs his name softly. She can feel that he needs her love through their connected souls.

The thoughts and feelings flow both ways. Sometimes Alice can pick up what Jack is thinking too, especially when his soul cries out to be seen, heard, felt, and loved.

Even though Jack didn't say a word, Alice heard his thoughts, his deepest need, and answered in a sleepy mumble, "Don't worry... I've got you. 'm not going anywhere..."

The soft words, slurred by a haze of sleep, sent a jolt through Jack, and all the love and gratitude he felt for her washed over him. Even in her dreams she would reach out to him, reassure him that she won't let him go. Even when in moments when his fear made their connection feel so tenuous, so fragile, all it took was a soft squeeze of her delicate hand always holding so gently onto his to quiet his fears.

Alice won't remember what she said in the morning, or anything else she mutters in a half-asleep haze, but she'll always remember Jack. She'll remember this man, no matter what name he uses, no matter what the fractured picture of his sanity looks like now. Their love is forever.

Even if Jack can't find the light in the man he used to be, even if the light of the good parts of Joseph are dead, buried, and forgotten in his mind... Jack can always believe in Alice, his sunshine. As long as he has her, he doesn't have to fear the dark or that he'll be banished back to hell.

Jack has the light of hope. It's in his sunshine Alice, and in the persona he wears. Most of all, it's in their love that lived on even after death.

Fortunately, over time, Alice will help him see that the light was always there even when he went any other name. With her help, he'll be able to finally find true peace and rest his weary soul in the gentle sunshine of their love. He'll finally be able to heal and truly shine in spite of the darkness.

Yeah, I know the song ends on a more somber note, but I'm all about happy endings and fluffy vanilla goodness. I couldn't help but add on a bit of a sweet reprise of sorts, even if not in so many lyrics. Sunshine in Hell is all about these wounded soulmates helping each other heal after all.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

[bestanimatedmovie]

Tumblr's favorite animated movie!

Vote in the other polls! What fans say:

The Book of Life:

It's a day of the dead movie that came out a few years before Coco and crafts a simple yet elegant story about God, love, adventure and facing your family's scorn for the right to be yourself. The protagonist Manolo is by the creator's own admission a sort of self portrait, and Manolo going against his father's dreams of him becoming a bullfighter while Manolo wants to go into music are reflective of the creator's own tension with his father over being an artist. It's a very Mexican film in that Jorge Gutierrez, the director, specifically informed his creative team to not do one of those 'touristy research trips' and to instead ask him or the other Mexican staff members about cultural things. Also it's so fucking beautiful like look at it. There's this part where the Manolo is facing his greatest fear, the epitome of his family legacy staring him down, and for a moment nearly gives in to the pressures of his family name but chooses mercy instead of violence and saves the bull he was pressured to kill. Apologizing to it for all the pain his ancestors put its kind through for the sake of their bloody sport and in his mercy wins a chance at coming back to life.

It's an amazing film, from the beautiful artwork and animation, to the casting, to the overall plot. My favorite scene is probably when La Muerte yells "You misbegotten son of a leprous donkey!"

The Aristocats:

Jazz musician cats.

Great art/animation, great characters, great music, a great story. The kittens! Roquefort the mouse! The romance between Duchess and Thomas O'Malley. She -- an elegant purebred cat -- doesn't care that he's a scruffy stray. He -- after being briefly taken aback -- doesn't care that she already has three kittens who need looking after. The butler Edgar is one of the scariest kinds of villains, because no one knew he was one at first, and even when the cats knew it, he still had the trust of his mistress. Truly someone who deserved to be shipped off in a crate to Timbuktu. And the cats, man, O'Malley's jazz-loving friends. EVERYBODY *dances* EVERYBODY *blows trombone* EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE A CAT! *Goes to town on the piano*

#The Book of Life #The Aristocats #best animated movie #round 1 #tournament poll #tumblr's favorite

[soppybitorag]

The Captain as Man, Mirror, and Medals.....

a 🚨Red Lever🚨 meta on The Captain appearing in a mirror (and a cracked one at that) in the opening credits of Ghosts and what that could mean in the context of s5e5 and beyond :-D

What do mirrors symbolise?

Briefly, they outer vs. inner perception; who we are vs. what we let people see/want people to perceive us as. Mirrors Cannot Lie, and thusly expose our reality. Reflections are often said to be a persons True Soul, an idea across many early civilisations. It wasn't reflected light rays hitting your eyeballs, it was you seeing your Soul.

But also, we are 'mirroring' people when we copy them, appearing unoriginal and inauthentic.

Captain as Portrait and Mirror -

Now, ghosts can't see their reflections or be captured on camera/film. We don't see Captain looking *into* the mirror, just what is shown to us: the outer self/controlled perception. Also, the way he is framed makes it look like a portrait, something signifying power, virtue, and importance.

What we *see* is a middle-aged man of supposed stature, with a collection of earned medals (reflected, they'd be the right way round, which they aren't irl).

A soldier.

A Truth, as Mirrors Can't Lie.

Portraits can be twisted, however, such as The Picture of Dorian Gray. In it, Dorian's portrait grows more grotesque because of his sins and vices, whilst retaining his external beauty over many, many years.

Captain, likewise, is forever going to look the age he died, much like how Dorian is forever the age of when he got the portrait made. (Not saying they're similar in personality or really any deeper than that, just thought it note worthy.)

It'd be remiss to forget that in the opening creds, Robin is next to the mirror, flickering a lamp.

He is litterally shedding light on the mirror, implying a deeper meaning/more to be understood about what's there. There's also the fact that the mirror is cracked (cracked? definitely distorted).

Cracked Mirror Symbolism -

Cracked Mirrors can be seen as a form of deception: if distorted they can warp the image presented (even when we expect the truth from them), making things appear closer than they actually are (a common occurance in fairytales, for example), or taller/bigger/wider/fractured.

Some people believe broken mirrors weaken the spirit of a departed person. Oscar Wilde famously used this belief to mark a characters' death in, you guessed it, Dorian Gray.

It's worth noting that Dorian Gray is also the story that led to Wilde's imprisonment for homosexuality.

Cracked Mirrors are notably bad luck in many cultures, too. Romans believed that Gods observed them through mirrors, so breaking them was severing that connection, thusly having the Gods curse you with bad luck.

Ultimately, cracked mirrors present a fractured sense of self, where the inner and the outer are at odds with one another, or there is discontent in one or the other. Perhaps both.

What does this mean for Captain?

Well, we *see* a man of stature/inportance with war medals. Virtuous.

In actuality, the medals were always forever out of his grasp (making things look closer than they are) as he never left Britain, as much as he maybe would have liked to. He stole the medals to deceive the Veterans by façading (being inauthentic/copying/mirroring) as one of them, but bad luck had him put them on clearly wrong to all but him. If he had a mirror, he could've fixed it.

He was most likely one of the lowest ranking people in that room, in a house he once had control over, but no longer did.

Those actions directly led to his death, where he forever is entrapped with and condemned to wear unearned medals.

Of course, he most likely wanted to be perceived as integral/noble by people, but he just wasn't. He thinks himself a coward, wearing a mask, and forever will be. It's no wonder that in his purgatory/button house afterlife, he elects to seek control over how people see him. He's just The Captain.

some extra things I wanna throw in here

Captain died looking into Havers' eyes. He could probably see his own reflection at his end. But at least it was in the eyes of someone who truly knew him and loved him. For him. Told him as much. Because Mirrors Can't Lie.

Also, one way to rid yourself of the bad luck caused by breaking a mirror is, apparently, touching a tombstone with one of the shards and burying it deep down innthe ground where spirits can't find it, at nighttime.

So here are some completely random images.

#captain #bbc ghosts #red lever #ben willbond #the captain #bbc ghosts the captain #bbc ghosts havers #caphavers #capvers #bbc ghosts s5 #bbc ghosts series 5 #bbc ghosts spoilers #bbc ghosts s5 spoilers #bbc ghosts meta #bbc ghosts analysis