#same with Roman Empire stuff

[spiritofjustice]

i sometimes look down (insert signature look of superiority screencap here) on military history people (or, rather people who only read military history) because it's very reductionist and feels like people don't see how cool history can be without a bunch of wars. also because it can often be a Kind of guy that i'm not a fan of.

and then i'm becoming a Civil War guy. i became the very thing i swore to destroy

#psy's no punctuation posts #history tag #i mean tbc there's nothing WRONG with liking military history at all i just think WWII guys are kinda boring. sorry #i think the WWII is interesting. of course i do. but idk i like the social/life stuff going on in Nazi Germany more than the war #but i'm not opposed to it. i just think it's very basic #same with Roman Empire stuff #Rome is cool. i like it too. but man it feels a shame when people only care about like One Thing historically

[aemiron-main]

“will’s wizard costume is a reference to-“

no. its because he’s a pinball wizard. there has to be a twist. a pinball wizard’s got such a supple wrist. how do you think he does it? i dont know. what makes him so good? aint got no distractions cant hear no buzzers and bells cant see no lights a flashin plays by sense of smell always gets the replay never seen him fall that deaf dumb and blind kid SURE PLAYS A MEAN PINBALL

(fun fact, will was originally named TOMMY in the early stages of ST. he really is a pinball wizard. the st-tommy parallels are so real. will and henry are both deeply tommy paralleled)

#stranger things #will byers #st vs tommy #st shitposts #st vs tommy is my roman empire i cannot believe they actually pulled from it #i mean i can absolutely believe it because they 100% did but #what are the odds that i go from a fascination with tommy/the who #into analyzing ST #and then the two tie together #it was the same with all of the changeling lore stuff like!!!

[veiledmerchant]

definitely not salty about not being able to watch the new digimon 02 movie at my local cinema and missed out the official merch being sold there together, and it's already hard to find merch of that generation here TuT (this is a lie, i am a bit salty /lh)

i'm wondering if they wanted to re-canonized the og 02 ending based of what they shown in the trailer though, because i remember reading about how the recent movies focusing on the adventure-02 generation doesn't follow that path anymore, but then again i haven't been keeping updates with the series for quite a while so might've missed some other changes

#the third secret thing #im at the phase where all the stuff i loved when i was younger comes back knocking at my door #and other stuff #the other day my roommate restocked our bath soaps #and i got intense nostalgia moment when i was showering #because it was the same soap i used when i was living in a dorm like a decade ago. i havent used it for years because they are quite pricey #november has always been a nostalgia-inducing month for me #shouldve expected this sort of thing to happen now that we are close to it huhu #honestly my roman empire is the digimon crests

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No. 

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes. 

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him? 

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again. 

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is. 

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you. 

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them. 

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?” 

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display. 

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things. 

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on. 

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost. 

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess? 

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men. 

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you. 

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else. 

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...? 

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?” 

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?” 

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild. 

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier. 

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him. 

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move. 

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?” 

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth. 

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes. 

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed. 

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever… 

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable. 

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?” 

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs? 

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes. 

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet. 

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak. 

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine. 

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy. 

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight. 

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine. 

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future. 

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago. 

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world. 

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing. 

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind. 

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them. 

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love. 

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x female reader #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut #könig fluff #könig imagine

[gremlingottoosilly]

Bimbo!reader that's insecure about not being as intelligent as her boyfriend, Konig, constantly tries to learn more and be more helpful but still feels really embarrassed asking things people usually know/asking for help for certain things, feels bad for being a slow learner :(

Awww( Bimbo reader who listens so so so eagerly to Konig's one-sided conversations about wars and history and all of the nerdy stuff - you just can't keep up, even with your cute fluffy notebook and a pen with little rhinestones all around it( you're seriously taking notes on the history of Roman Empire from his perspective and Konig, being a bit of an arrogant asshole that he is, would sometimes even deliberately made up facts or make you eat his opinion like it's the only right one - he lives for that shine in your eyes. How you look at him while he is too busy with admiring your features. He wouldn't protect you from his friends when you're away at first - he was always eager to get a bit of a laugh out of you, even though he knows just how fragile your self-esteem might be. You're a big dummy for him and his friends, and they all love to take some frustration by bullying you - but once your lips curl in a pout and your breath starts to hitch, tears start to collect in your eyes..yeah, well, Konig is not happy. He might like his friend group - but there is only as much they can do while he is simply too busy trying to strangle all of them at the same time. Only he can make his precious girlfriend cry - even if she is an extremely sensitive and stupid creature.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader

[ltbunny]

creepy, pervert, boyfriend Mactavish is my roman empire

(fat reader because I'm feral and soap would little gnaw on your tummy like a chew toy [he loves you], excuse my grammar, English is my first language, I'm just bad at it)

CW: dub con-ish, unsolicited pics, consensual somnophillia,

Definitely sends pictures of you to the group chat cause he's so smug about having you,

Soap🧼

look at my bonnie baby

*attachment photo*

2:43am

its a picture of you sleeping against his chest, cuddled up, the flash of the camera in the dark room catching your back rolls and ass, his hand groping your ass and Johnny's smug grin in the back, somewhat visible but really not the center frame.

He sends another attachment, his mouth on your tits as he grins in the camera again, centre frame with your chest this time, maybe even a little video of him sucking your tits while you stir in your sleep, making little noises that go straight to his dick (and gaz's. he's the only other one up right now. simon and price wake up at 5am, they'll see it later)

He always sends more than he intended, but he can't help it, especially when he knows the boys like the pictures too. You're so soft and pliant when you're asleep, letting him spread your legs with ease, no panties, soap convinced you to let his second favourite girl (debatable) breathe, no panties on at night, same goes for his lil swimmers.

You said it was okay....right?

Yeah.

He can use you when you're sleeping, as long as he doesn't yowl like an animal and fuck you awake every night, once in a while is fine, he gets it, he's loud and he wants his pretty girl to have her beauty sleep but its been like 4 days and his cock is hard. Four days is long enough.

He looms over you and strokes his hard cock over your pussy, breathing heavy, his eyes never leaving your soft peaceful face, cooing nasty words with a soft voice.

And.... maybe the sleeping arrangements are fine, but the pictures aren't really... discussed... but that's just for him and the boys. You'll never find it anyway. What you don't know can't hurt you. The group chat could have confidential information! That's what he told you. He lets you go through whatever you want on his phone, nothing to hide, no girls, no cheating, expect his little hen. He says the gc, 'one-four-one', could have sensitive work stuff in it, and obviously, you trust him. You never peer or peak in the group chat. (Not like it has any top secret messages anyway. Why would anyone send confidential information in a whatsapp group chat? Silly girl, he muses, at least this way she won't see anything in the group chat..)

"Fuck, mo luaidh, ye so fucking sexy for me, even when all ye doing is breathing, it's like ye wan' me to cum all over that pretty pussy, your tits are going up and down, doll, fuck you want me to suck em again that bad?"

He grins manically to himself, leaning down and sucking your nipple again, groaning, stroking his cock faster, wanting to cum all over that pussy, it's been a while since you've shaved and he loves it, makes the cum stick better. He leads the tip down to your clit, shuddering at the warmth on his tip, rubbing it along the clit.

Cums right there, on your pussy and outside too, some splattering up to your soft tummy, he grins and snaps another pic.

Soap🧼

Call me Picasso cause i just made some art

*attachment photo*

3:08am

Gaz🧢

Fucking beaut

Get it pumped as the Scottish say

3:09am

He grins at Gaz's text and throws the phone off to the side. He ain't done yet.

(Price and Ghost have Samsing you can't convince me otherwise, soap probably has a fucking Huawei but let's just settle with iPhone for now, Gaz has an iPhone and a burner phone)

(You wake up sticky, covered in dried and some globs of cum and with a weird, salty taste in your mouth, you groan and roll your eyes)

#creepy boyfriend soap #i havent written anything in like 2 years #my love #i would do proper grammar and spell checks and spag #but cba #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Subtle-tea (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary/Prompt: “You’re only semi-lucid and are sort of reaching for my face, and for various reasons I shouldn’t kiss YOUR face but your hand is right here and I still need to convey affection.”  AKA. You and Benedict drink too much of Colin’s special tea and it spurs you to act upon previously hidden feelings. 

AN: Benedict is the bee’s knees, just a silly lil art guy. I got inspired and I’ve got two more Benedict fics coming out rip. But it’s just so difficult to write for Bridgerton cus you can’t write any gay stuff without it being tragic and/or a secret. Oh well, don’t expect me to write much more female reader content of my own volition/not inspired by my friends.

Content warnings: Reader uses she/her, use of Y/N and L/N, is referred to as “wife” 

Masterlist // AO3 

You had no idea what on Earth was in that tea. But you would have to ask later, because currently you felt as light as a feather and giddy as a giggle, laying on the sofa in the art studio as Benedict was launching himself between two walls, orating about his great desires to create. By far, you were experiencing the greatest emotions on the whim of your artistic associate.

“There’s just so many colours that we are privy to, and we take every single shade for granted!” He declared, his arms wide open to the heavens.

You pointed at him in an accusing manner, “Have you seen purple recently? It’s glorious! No wonder it was the colour of status in the Roman Empire, I too would want it all for myself and my friends.”

“How selfish you are, Miss L/N,” Benedict scolded, “Surely everyone should be given the chance to wear such a colour.”

His anger faded fast. As endearing as it was, it was nothing compared to that grin of his. So naturally you decided to make him smile even more with a ridiculous notion that just jumped into your woozy mind. 

“Do you know what would happen if my mother knew where I was?” You said in a loud whisper. 

Benedict pouted and nodded, riddled with pantomime guilt as he leant over, “You. Me. In a room. Alone.”

“Unchaperoned,” You said then gasped, your hands clapping against your cheeks in shock, “I would be ruined!”

Benedict mimicked your appal by dropping to his knees before you, “We would have to marry to save your reputation!”

“Imagine me, your wife!” You threw your head back as you flashed your bare left hand to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an inhibition screamed at you to stop lingering so openly on something your sober self was set on not happening

But your heart grew gleeful as Benedict grasped your hand gently. 

“I shall imagine it!” He declared and lowered his lips, and planted a loud kiss upon your knuckle - right where the engagement and wedding bands would sit. You lowered your chin just in time to see this with your own eyes before Benedict met your gaze again, still beaming with roguish delight, “Oh what a beautiful imagining it is.”

Your legs curled up beneath you on the couch, and you fell over in hysterical giggling. You clasped your hand to your chest and cradled it like a newborn. As you lay sprawled out, Benedict popped into your field of view with his hands either side of your head, tactfully avoiding your hair. 

“Your laugh is like music! As your husband, it would be my purpose to make you sing at least once a day.”

“Then kiss me again, you silly man!” You squealed, offering your hand once more. 

Balancing on one arm, and completely unaware that this compromising position was aiding in your dizzy frenzy, Benedict kissed the same spot then turned the palm against his cheek. He held it there as he said:

“Look, it’s like you were sculpted to hold me.”

Euphoria ran riot across your body, your heart beating so fast you thought you would die from delight. 

“And you were carved to be held by me.” From your vantage point, with newly founded confidence, you tried to pull his lips down to yours, but Benedict resisted. 

“We shall not kiss ‘til we are married.”

Eyes wide, you squeezed the back of his neck to keep him close, “Is this a proposal?”

“I do not think we are in the right state of mind to make rational decisions,” and Benedict bumped his nose to yours, causing a little laughter before continuing: “But marrying you is the sanest idea I’ve had all evening.”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict reader fanfic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton oneshot #my writing #r: fem #wc: <1k

[asliceofzosan]

because i woke up today still thinking of zosan's baby girl, here are some stuff about it that are now my roman empire:

none. i repeat NONE OF THESE STRAW HATS know how to hold a baby. sanji figured it out due to dormant maternal instincts alone. and more than half the time he has to yell at everyone to not hold her up by the calf or the ankles ("i'm looking at you luffy please for the love of the all blue do NOT gum gum whip her around like a toy—")

unlike both her dads, ayari is actually being extremely picky with food in the beginning. she hates certain textures and cries like its the end of the world when her baby food isn't heated to the right temperature. funnily enough, one of the few times she ate something she didn't want is if chopper is next to her eating the same thing and telling her its yummy. dw none of the baby food goes to waste. they're all re-used somehow in the week's menu. or zoro just ends up eating it.

ussop made a lil wrap around cloth for ayari so that sanji could cook while carrying her hands free. or zoro could have her strapped onto his back and nap while he does pushups.

robin could be seen reading books to ayari when both zoro and sanji are out cold and exhausted from being first time parents. one or both of them would wake up to find robin telling little ayari histories of the islands they visit, or the countries they've saved. she tones down some of the darker elements until she's old enough to grasp it. ayari grows up with auntie robin's love of wanting to know the world.

nami started doing her makeup with ayari on her lap. she shows all the different little products to her, letting her touch her brushes and everything. nami even "does ayari's makeup" too aka she just tickles her face with the brushes and pretends to put makeup on her so she feels like she's doing it too. when she's a little older, ayari asks sanji to join them and more often than not, sanji is making lunch with a full face of makeup done by ayari.

ayari's teething toy is a little plastic mouth sword. zoro is infinitely happy about it.

in the beginning, sanji tried to take up most of the parental responsibilities up until the point that he got too sick to even stand. he was stressed and exhausted beyond belief, actually pushing zoro away a lot. but when he collapses one day sporting a fever that was highly too reminiscent of when nami was sick after little garden, it scares him enough to finally seek zoro out for help.

and its not like zoro has not Tried to take the load off. its just that sanji was still fighting all his repressed feelings for zoro and this undue pressure hes put on himself to become a better parent than judge ever was to him. that he could raise this child with love and attention and devotion, completely forgetting that hes not the only parent.

zoro and sanji have a heartfelt talk about how the wish that was granted on that island was a blessing beyond belief. that theres a reason ayari looks like both of them. that she takes after both of them.

they both wished for this child in the deepest depths of their hearts. they wanted not just to be together but to have someone that grows up loved by them. cared for by them. not a restart or a replacement for a lost loved one like they first thought it was. but a child who sees them — zoro and sanji — and will one day wish to have a love like theirs.

oh also "luffy" is ayari's first word because zoro and sanji say it so often to stop their captain from doing dangerous shit while he's holding her. in line with that, her second word is "stop" so the first sentence she ever says is "luffy stop!"

the crew are hysterical over it. sanji stares into the void bc he wished for ayari's first word to be "dada"

he settles with the little joy of her fourth word being "marimo"

because her third word was "curly" (something he nearly strangled zoro for)

#niki's fics: she has your eyes #zosan #one piece #sanji #roronoa zoro #oc: roronoa ayari #ussop #nami #nico robin #monkey d luffy

[youspeakshit]

lestappen 2022 moments ~

I wrote this as a reblog to a different post when I saw people saying they barely interacted up until half of 2023. I wanted to share it as its own thing since it really confused me, I actually changed ships in 2022 bc lestappen were all over each other and I fell in love with them.

I'm gonna link some 2022 content so everyone can cheer up together abt the saudi gp podium weirdness, and make heart eyes at their cuteness.

Getting it outta the way first thing, press conference silliness: one two three four. And an extra twitter thread sharing stuff from each gp.

Max interrupting Charles' interview to say hi, and both forgetting about it to have a small chat.

Do I hear hot ass battles on track? And second link has as surprise this gay ass moment bellow.

And here from a different angle bc austria 2022 is everyone's roman empire.

Charles congratulating Max on his win; they also greeted each other from the cars.

The infamous Charles vlog with Max in the us gp: mysteriously hidden and then removed from his channel.

Them touching 166 times for no reason.

Spending too much time together and using the same phrases.

Behind the scenes of monaco gp by Ferrari and Red Bull are a good watch as well!

Charles got Max for the secret santa that year.

British gp had hidden camera silly debriefings, and also my personal favorite... Charles went after Max to vent about Ferrari fucking up his race and Max looked genuinely upset for him. Extra gifset.

This is just a short compilation of a long year fueled by lestappen that I hope ppl enjoy to learn about or revisit. That year they had 8 podiums together, that's 8 cool down rooms podcasts. And 14 qualis shared, plus 14 post-quali press conferences and waist-hugs. Countless sightings of them out and about with their personal debriefing after qualis and races. It sure was kinda awkward at first, they both seemed to wanna make small talk before getting the hang of their dynamic. But they were battling each other A LOT during this season and having so much fun racing together!

I'll end it linking to a twitter thread with some extra bits. Including this photo from when they got f1 married. Or whatever this was.

#lestappen #formula 1 #charles leclerc #max verstappen #formula one #there are many more things you could find but it was 4am and i had to sleep lol #but yeah guys they interacted a FUCKTON #like i was disappointed in 2013 bc ferrari's car never let charles keep up with max #oh and their battles 100% paved the way for the relationship to heal and flourish #f1

[angsthology]

random roo stuff

i do a lot of thinking (slash neg)

people (usually new fans) thinks roo and daisy-mae are dating

in the 2023 intro, roo winks at the camera

as seen in the screenshot roo is usually very active on twitter (not the surprise) and she follows some fans and often interact with them

sometimes people call her and charles (when seen together) sally and mcqueen due to her driving for porsche and charles — well, he is mcqueen. that didnt need further explanation

shes secretly very close with zhou considering they were rookies together

during her karting days her number was 35 idk why just is

she lieks to watch f1 academy races and support her girls

girl has many side quests goin on

shes also very private so when she casually drops something personal people write it down in their notes titled “roolore”

we all know max calls his rocket ship rocky, to which roo also has one of her own. she calls hers: backbiter after the first season that brought her glory

(inspired by luke castellan’s sword, his sword kan k word both humans and monsters, her car can beat rocket ships and tractors alike)

she gets shocked about the same thing more than once (memory of a goldfish this girl i tell u (mecore))

one time at a press conference they just gave her an electric guitar and that was the only topic for the entire half of that press conference

(some people say its their roman empire idk tho 🤷🏻)

she sang stockholm syndrome by 1d at charles’ birthday surprise just cause she thought shes funny (she is)

sometimes when she sees logan she goes “walk my way mr all american”

same with nando when she sees him its like her mouth goes on abbapilot (autopilot but... yknow abba) and full on start singing “there was something in the air that night”

okay yknow what at this point im just gonna tell u she has a song that she associates with every driver

which brings us to this fact: her spotify wrapped every year is always above 100,000 minutes

girlie lives in breathes music people often thinks she should’ve entered the music industry instead of racing

went missing one night and gave her entire team a heart attack until the morning when social media was littered with pictures and videos of her at a pitbull concert that night

she almost died that weekend in the hands of her manager

during RACE WEEKEND TOO

somehow still managed podium in free practice

while everyone likes to joke that lando is a literal child, a 4 year old, roo on the other hand often gets called the grid’s teenager

and by teenager i mean teenage dirtbag. thats what she is. being 23 didnt really stop her from leaving that era

the epitome of the word “worse” not worst but worse.

thats honestly all i got for now but hey u can always knock on my brain through my inbox (im bored and lonely exams are k wording me i need to be entertained like a 5 year old)

taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra there are still some people thatcant be tagged im sorry ☹️☹️

#tine’s roo vs the world

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for calling my friend annoying?

My friend group and I (15NB) all met on twitter, specifically on anitwt for a specific fandom. Won't name it, but it's super popular, anyway, I really like the main character and I make lots of edits of him that I would post on twitter or just rt art of him I like. I made a few oomfs who liked my edits and we soon became friends :]

tho one of our mutual friends has a delusional attachment to the main character, which I don't mind at all, but the problem is that whenever I post my edits, he (16M) ALWAYS comments something along the lines of "Oh 😳", "I didn't know you felt that way about me", "Did you edge to me while making this", "this is my roman empire <3" and other stuff. It was funny the first few times, but it's become very annoying now and I can't stand to see his replies under my edits. I muted him but even then I know he's still saying that since he says the same comments in my tiktok comments too when I post my edits there.

I know he doesn't control the delusion but it's still annoying he keeps talking about the character as if like I'm personally in love with him when i just like the character, i've gotten sick of it. I vented about it on my priv, I did not say any names but I did say "its fucking annoying getting the same annoying comments from the same person as if im in love w them and yknow not the actual fucking character 🥸🥸". It was all on my priv but I'm pretty sure someone saw the tweet and guessed it was him, since it got leaked with him having a screenshot of it (Ive since deleted it).

He called me ableist and told me it's not his fault he's attached to the character and I should be ashamed for calling someone with a DA annoying for what they can't control and insuiating that they are not the character. I made tweet out of anger which is why I made it on priv but I get now I shouldn't have said that. What I had meant is that I find it really annoying when he makes every comment or post of mine about the character to be about him like I'm flirting with him. I know he's the character but like also not??? Idk how to explain and I'm sorry if it was ableist and still ableist of how I'm explaining it, I just don't want every post of mine to be taken as flirts when I just like the character. (im a lesbian anyway so if that helps).

I made a apology on my main, removed my oomfs who didn't want to be oomfs anymore and deactivated my accounts. I still have time to reactivate them but I don't know if its worth it. I still really like the character but idk if I want to do that all again. I'm just thinking about making a new edit account for a new fandom and moving on, but at the very least I just want to know if I was the TA in this

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

julius caesar but i've never watched it

...either the play or the actual man. I am not a time-travelling voyeur. Why does that give Doctor Who vibes? I haven't watched that either.

Anyway, happy Ides of March, tumblr. I am about as enthusiastic about the celebration as Neil Gaiman is, but here we are. Doing what I do worst, making a summary of things I have no authority to summarise... WAHOO LET'S GO. Whatever it is I know about the play:

Caesar was vibing sometime around the '40s. 0040s, not 1940s.

He has a wife named Calpurnia. A maggot wants to be her because and I quote 'no one ever listens to me either'.

She tells him not to go to some kind of coronation or speech or something on the Ides. He's like nah wifey 'sall gucci.

I regret saying that sentence. As did Caesar, because he went and got stabbed in 44. Spoiler alert.

People ship Mark Antony with Caesar but some ship Brutus and Caesar. *youtuber voice* Comment below with your favourite ship.

Don't do it I don't want to know. Anyway, he's also married to Cleopatra, who is killed by snake venom that may not have been snake venom or something.

Idk they were cute. They had a kid that ran away and Asterix and Obelix had to take care of him. Caesarian?

WAIT IS A C-SECTION CALLED A CAESARIAN BECAUSE YOU CUT IT OPEN AND CAESAR WAS STABBED? WHAT?

There is a soothsayer. He tries to soothwarn Caesar.

Caesar does not soothlisten. Caesar is a lil bitch.

On the Ides of March, Caesar goes up to the soothsayer who is lurking on the steps of the maybe-coronation place. He soothsays The Ides of March are come!

The soothsayer soothsighs and soothsays Aye, Caesar, but not gone.

The senators, otherwise known as the soothslayers, have been plotting for a while. Brutus is a very dear friend of Caesar. He thinks Caesar slays.

But the other senators convince him this is what's best for Rome. So he thinks Caesar should be slayed.

So now the soothslayers at the maybe-coronation gather around Caesar and start stabbing him. Et tu, Brute? and all that (though I remember something about that phrase not meaning the same thing as it does in popular context...).

The soothslayers are a bit extra. Like bro. One stab to the heart would have soothsufficed.

Anyway, Caesar is soothslayed like the soothsayer soothsaid.

There is a funeral thing. The People of Rome are cranky.

A maggot once said Moots, maggots, countrymen! and it lives rent-free in my head.

Anyway what Mark Antony actually says is a whole ass speech. FRIENDS, ROMANS, COUNTRYMEN, LEND ME YOUR EARS. I COME TO BURY CAESAR, NOT TO PRAISE HIM! THE EVIL THAT MEN DO LIVES AFTER THEM, THE GOOD IS INTERR'D WITH THEIR BONES (I THINK I HAVEN'T HEARD THE SPEECH IN A WHILE OK) SO LET IT BE WITH CAESAR.

So he gives the soothspeech and everyone is emotional. IF YOU HAVE TEARS, PREPARE TO SHED THEM NOW. Damn bro. It's like playing villain music just as the camera focuses on the villain.

Anyway then there is a lot of chaos and blah blah blah Mark Antony does some stuff Caesar's adoptive son Octavian does some stuff.

There's some bloke named Augustus who may or may not be Octavian (if he was sorry for the deadname Auggy my bad).

Brutus is killed? Or he kills Mark Antony? One of them die.

They were totally not fighting over who was a better lover to Caesar.

Roman Republic gone byebye as I say to Roxie. Roman Empire starts. The end.

Er.

That was a thing. I rather like summarising my homeboy Shakespeare haven't read him in a while and I only read his comedies. Maybe I should do more in honour of the Globe Theatre Maggots.

Happy Ides. Please don't soothslay me. I've been a good Maggot Prince to you, haven't I?

*runs just in soothcase*

#prophetic queue #good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #ides of march #julius ceaser #caesar #hellsite #we should totally just stab caesar #soothsayer #and the soothslayers #now that's a play i wanna see ok #the ides of march #are come #brutus #et tu brute #mark antony #shakespeare #tumblr culture #im getting educated against my will

[dailyadventureprompts]

Due to a unique confluence of dashboard alchemy this March 15th (A Merry Ides to those that celebrate 🗡️🗡️🗡️) I had an interesting thought regarding fallout new vegas:

If you strip away the rhetoric and the goofy football pads, you'll find that the fundamental motivating factor of Caesar's Legion is male insecurity, with everything from how they treat women to their primitivist view of technology drawing from the same fear of immasculization that fuels all "redpill" movements.

(This is to say nothing of the use of roman iconography and the "retvrn" dogwhistle about abandoning modern "decadence" and harkening back to the rigour of an imaginary past)

This casts Caesar as our Andrew Tate figure, a charismatic ideologue who pitches a worldview that promises to impose order on the frightening chaos of reality. His philosophy is a salespitch targeted directly at his listener's insecurities but meant only to benefit him: " you are afraid of being weak. I know what strength is, listen to me. by internalizing my words and spreading my message you will become strong." Of course the difference is that Caesar's empire is built on expansionist violence where Tate's is built on insecure teenagers feeding misogyny into the algorithm for the sake of engagement. Either way it creates a hierarchy that doubles as an information bubble, where position within the hierarchy is determined by who best can adhere to/rebroadcast the leader's message, identical to how an mlm ships product.

This quite fits with a watsonian reading of fallout: the wasteland is a hostile and terrifying place formed in the shadow of an objectively failed 50s (styled) traditionalist patriarchy. Though society may have collapsed, the people who survived inherited that society's rigid view of what a man should be like (strong and driven by the acquisition of material and status) a view largely incomparable with the new environment (starvation, radiation, and mutant dinosaurs will kill you no matter who you are or how much stuff you have). Since institutionalized masculinity had failed, people in the wasteland were forced to look for new paradigms of what masculinity (read: strength) looked like, a void into which Caesar's ultraregresive worldview fit perfectly.

From a doylist perspective however, I'm not sure the writers were really thinking about gender all that much during the rushed development of FNV. Like just about every other aspect of legion society that wasn't cut for time, everything about them seems to be evil for the sake of evil. However If there's one thing you can say about the underbaked concept it was a real hit with social regressives incapable of reading deeper. Unironic pro-legion discussion of Caesar's ideology has been an on ramp to turn insecure nerds into fascists the same way that ideologies like Caesar's have been turning insecure jocks for decades. It's poe's law in action: the developers gestured at fachism but failed to do enough with it to prevent a portion of their player base from becoming radicalized.

#dapper digresses #fallout new vegas #ides of march

[justarandombrit]

Okay well as you may know from looking at my blog for five seconds, I saw the matinee for Starkid Innit. During the interval and after the show I wrote down some notes. I tried to get them in chronological order but my memory is dogshit and I definitely missed some stuff, I hope you appreciate it though.

Outside:

. EVERYONE SUNG GRANGER DANGER

. IT WAS SO GOOD (except for the high note lmao)

. EVERYONE SUNG DAYS OF SUMMER

. EVERYONE A SMALL GROUP OF PEOPLE SUNG GOIN' BACK TO HOGWARTS

Act 1:

. The Nightmare Time sting punched me in the face

. The shout-out to the confused parents

. BRIAN + MEREDITH IN TGWDLM IS EVERYTHING TO ME

. High School Is Killing Me, Literal Monster and Nerdy Prudes Must Die all got mashed together!

. Corey!Richie is my Roman Empire

. Jaime in NPMD….

. Jaime had a different line to PJ’s original in Literal Monster. I couldn't hear half of it but it was different

. JEFF!MAX

. THE AUDIENCE SINGING RICHIE'S PART!!!!!! I'M NOT A LOSERRRRRRR

. TOGETHER!!!!!

. OUR DOORS ARE OPEN

. Jaime singing Sami/Harry ABOUT HER DOG (Nori)

. The audience whipping out the phone cameras

. CLARK SINGING I WAS GAVE ME SUCH INTENSE CHILLS

. Joey finally giving the white, male side characters attention

. Joey changing “I know I'm not a star” to “I know I'm not Clark”

. He pointed the mic at the audience for the “DEFINITELY NOT!”

. Joey mistimed his jump 😔😔

. Genuinely his best performance of Sidekick yet

. Joey making fun of Brian for not getting a big solo

. Brian kept pretending to beat him up, it was brilliant

. Not Over Yet is definitely Brian's song, shut up

. Brian accidentally singing the same verse twice (How does he always mess this song up?!?!?)

. My mum took a photo during the “EVIL PLAAAAANSSSS” bit and it was right when Brian was choking Joey

. “So look alive and don't forget”

“FORGET WHAT?”

. FEAST OR FAMINE

. Rogues Are We still goes so hard

. Rogues Medley without Kick It Up A Notch is weird, but Kick It Up A Notch without Dylan would definitely be weirder

Intermission:

. Ice cream :D

Act 2:

. Starting with We Got Work To Do is so iconic

. THERE'S BEEN A CHANGE IN THE CLIMATE, SOMETHING'S IN THE AIR, WE FEEL THE HEAT, NO NEED TO DEFINE IT, WE DON'T REALLY CARE

. MEREDITH REQUESTED BACK ON TOP!!!!!!!! AND IT WAS SO GOOOOD!!!!!!!

. Joey shouted “Draco, get on the floor!” at Lauren

. ALL THE UNDERRATED SONGS

. I love how it was hyped up like it was going to be Boy Toy, and then just straight up wasn't lmaooo

. Brian finally got the slow, sexy Hideous Creatures (Take that, Nick Lang!)

. Okay I'm trying to remember the order of the underrated songs they did

. Hideous Creatures (Lauren)

. Pays To Be an Animal (Corey) (He didn't sit in the spotlight and someone yelled “TO THE LEFT, COREY”)

. Get In My Mouth (Jeff) (He fully sprawled out on the stage it was hilarious)

. Land of the Dicks (Jaime)

. Hermione Can't Draw (Meredith) (She sung it so well I briefly didn't recognise the song)

. THEY MANAGED TO WORK IN LUPIN / BRIAN CAN'T SING YESSSS

. I genuinely cannot remember what Brian sung

. Gotta Find His Dick (Joey, and eventually everyone)

. The entire “Oh you wanna know where I got my shirt?” bit

. Brian, Jaime and Joey got it from Primark, Meredith got it from “Primed-mrak”, Lauren’s was a family heirloom, Corey got it from Gucci and Jeff got it from America, from Pri-mart (He made the guy on the drums do a baddum tsh)

. COREY SINGING SHOW STOPPIN' NUMBER. OH MY GOD. (The entire crowd joined in, also, Jeff and Jaime as Steve and Stu)

. Everyone cheering so loud when Joey and Lauren came on stage, and them claiming we had no idea what they were going to sing, and it was actually a completely new song (it was Granger Danger obviously)

. And them continuing to claim it was new throughout the song

. As I expected, I almost cried during Not Alone. Also apparently Darren thought it was going to be a big hit??? And just begrudgingly let them use it for A Very Potter Musical

. Super Friends!

. So sad Jeff’s mic was so quiet for “I WANNA BE A MODERN DANCER”

. THEY SUNG WANNABE BY THE SPICE GIRLS

. The fakeout of everyone leaving stage, then the band coming back on and playing the start of Goin' Back To Hogwarts

. “Darren's not here”

“I'LL DO IT”

. THE AUDIENCE DID THE FIRST PART OF GOIN' BACK TO HOGWARTS ALL BY OURSELVES

. JEFF DID DYLAN'S PART (but he didn't do “All of you to [city name] :( )

. Jeff pointed at various parts of the audience for “Welcome hotties, nerds and tools!” and then whispered “I'm so sorry” immediately after

. Singing (/ shouting) Goin' Back To Hogwarts along with hundreds of other Starkid fans was so exhilarating, I loved it and I almost cried (also I'm gonna be so hoarse tomorrow)

#starkid #starkid innit #it's starkid innit? #team starkid #starkid productions #joey richter #lauren lopez #jaime lyn beatty #brian holden #clark baxtresser #corey dorris #meredith stepien #jeff blim

[tanadrin]

@maaruin

Hinduism is probably a good example for how Roman-Platonist Monotheism would look like without the Jewish origin of Christianity: the theology is monotheist but to an outside observer the rituals look like they are honoring various gods, because polytheist practices have been re-interpreted in a monotheist way. Christianity is unusual not in its monotheist beliefs, but in that it required its followers to stop performing the traditional (polytheist) rituals.

I want to expand on this bc it touches something else McClellan mentions--how being the organized faith of the Empire really changed Christianity, or at least Nicene Christianity. Before it became institutionalized, there was a lot of room in early Christianity for different, contradictory Christologies (like Arianism, which was basically mainstream at one point); it's only with the Council of Nicaea that a compromise form of all these Christologies has to be hammered out (because the institutional church needs dogmatic harmony), and the boundaries of orthodox theology have to be policed--and can be, eventually with the full backing of state power. Before the most you could do was expel members of your church who disagreed with you, maybe refuse association with other churches whose theology differed too much. Once you have state backing you can use that authority to exclude heretics; and, later, once you are the official religion of the Empire, you can have heretics punished by the state.

I think this harsh ideological boundary maintenance really becomes a part of every state-backed church, but of course it's the Roman one that is by far the most powerful and most widespread; and even post-Great Schism and the fall of the western empire, the need for Catholic rulers to be in good with the Pope, and thus to enforce Christian orthodoxy within their territory, has the same boundary-maintenance effect.

McClellan contends that without this forced institutional compromise--which is what the Trinity is; "three persons with one substance" and stuff like "100% divine and 100% human" is not just "a mystery," it's functionally a nonsensical contradiction, and the reason why so many attempts to explain the Trinity fall into heresies like modalism or partialism is because the Trinity is wording-by-committee aimed at producing phraseology that most people at this one ecumenical council could tolerate, even if they didn't like it.

And by "most people" here we mean a very particular kind of educated Greco-Roman elite; a lot of early theology is shaped by what is conceptually acceptable to these guys, steeped in stuff like Neo-Platonism, and maybe doesn't have all that much to do with the peasant religion version of Christianity elsewhere (indeed, get your average theologically-untrained Christian of any era to try to explain something like the Trinity and I guarantee ninety-nine times out of ten they will produce an explanation that is technically a heresy).

All of which is to say I agree; a counterfactual "monotheistic" late-antiquity religion in a world without Christianity, but with the same Greco-Roman influences, would look very much like Hinduism; it would have a big split between, like, the everyday version of the religion and the theologically elucidated elite version of the religion; and I think it's the latter that would resemble Nicene Christianity on a lot of points. But then, folk Christianity often is very different from "orthodox" Nicene Christianity in the world we do inhabit, also.

#the council of nicaea is the one where santa claus went around punching heretics #(supposedly)

[unhelpfulfemme]

More random Captive Prince thoughts, because I feel like being a sadist to all of my mutuals these books are living rent-free in my head right now. These ones are more about the plot and the worldbuilding.

Worldbuilding-wise, I loved the attention to detail, because as far as I could tell all the little details of how a medieval-ish army functions and how you would run it and what you would do with the horses and the supplies and the roads etc. etc. were pretty accurate. I mean, these books are by no means a treatise on warfare (in fact they can be delightfully pulpy, which I liked - I grew up on The Three Musketeers and the Scarlet Pimpernell and similar swashbuckling novels, and I got some of the same feelings here!), but there were details in there that most other authors don't bother to put in or inadvertently fuck up (I love ASOIAF to death but historically accurate it is not), and most of the military stuff seemed plausible enough as well, though again not described in too much detail so you can fill it in with your own assumptions or skim over if it's not something that particularly interests you. And I also loved the architectural details and could imagine everything quite well, but again, as I said previously, this may be because the author spent some time living near where I live so we've seen a lot of the same stuff probably.

Actually when I was first reading it and thinking it was going to be bad I was reading it exclusively for the architectural details lol, I was like yeah, yeah, they're all sucking each other off, but Damen please tell me again how you feel about the tiling?

What I also particularly liked is how the... scale of the conflict I guess? was refreshingly accurate for the "historical period".

The worldbuilding is a mashup of Ancient Greece and medieval France, but what it really felt like to me is a world where the Roman Empire never really consolidated to the extent that it did in our world and Italy went on into the middle ages (because these are decidedly feudal systems) with Cisalpine Gaul having the, well, Gallic culture, while the South had a Greek one. I may be thinking this because I live in Italy and so everything reminds me of Italy, but once I thought of it I couldn't unsee it.

I guess I gotta put in a cut somewhere and now's as good of a time as any?

But anyway, back to the scale of the conflict, the actual middle ages were filled with small and mid-sized countries, and petty local conflicts with family members turning onto each other over succession and stuff, and random small territories going back and forth (well, that's just Europe in general, always, TBH), and this is how it all felt like to me. Actual medieval history has a guy who started a rebellion because his brothers threw a pisspot at him and his father did nothing about it and he felt humiliated, and the war was secretly funded by his mother, so the combination of the small scale with a random local conflict that probably literally nobody cares about outside of the region we are in + everything being so intensely driven by interpersonal drama between insane people felt really authentic to me, like the kind of weird historical moment that would get turned into a funny Tumblr post. And of course the royals did a lot more sneaking around than was probably smart, but I can forgive that for the swashbuckling vibes and also because if Cleopatra could sneak into a palace in a carpet these guys can do whatever they want in my book.

Speaking of the petty interpersonal drama, I also liked the emphasis on how in this system personal reputation and the performance of kingship are king. Usually when you have a heavily political story it's much more based on the quid-pro-quo, "rational actor" kind of politics, but medieval politics also had a lot more going on in the cultural sense (and so do modern politics actually but at least pretending to be a "rational actor" IS the modern performance of leadership), and here you had people dealing political blows through meticulous management of their own and others' political reputations, which was fun to see, especially in combination with so many manipulative bastard characters. Like, how Laurent is manipulated into going to the border just because looking like a coward will lose him more political points than he can afford, and Damen's continued wearing of the slave cuff and instistence on not being served by slaves initially deals massive blows to his reputation, because these are cultures that value heroism, of one sort or another.

(And speaking of heroism, the emphasis on the physical activity-related activities that are the centerpiece of noble life in both countries were wonderful, especially since because both Ancient Greece and the European Middle Ages were really into that in their respective ways and it makes the mashup feel really well-done and coherent in how she tied it together.)

What's notable is a lack of any kind of religion, which felt particularly glaring during the whole Kingsmeet thing - in the real world there would likely be a belief in some kinda curse from the Gods or something similar to discourage the drawing of weapons, but since I'm not really religious and tend not to personally care about religion (while ofc recognizing its anthropological importance) I really didn't care and it didn't diminish my enjoyment of the series.

Still, I do have to say that the ending of the last book felt reeeeaally rushed, and that felt really glaring exactly because the rest of the series had such amazing detail work and excellent pacing and very gradual plot development.

I didn't get the part with the doctor and the letter (why didn't he say anything earlier? how would they verify the authenticity of the letter? Did anyone even have the time to READ the thing?) but I'm gonna be honest with you here, I read book 3 under a heavy fever and it was like 2 AM when I got to that part, so I'm not sure that I haven't missed something that makes it make more sense.

BUT even if that part makes sense, I feel like the Regent was dealt with far too quickly. Like in one paragraph he is in control of everything, in the next they've already beheaded him and that's it. I can imagine in my head that a lot of the nobles were probably already sick of him and took little convincing, that they were disapproving both of his meddling in foreign politics and of his likely grave breach of cultural rules via taking an aristo kid as a pet, or that he initially rationally seemed a better choice over Laurent until Laurent proved himself to be more competent and with a more competent ally, or they already had some hints about what happened that the audience didn't and the evidence confirmed what was inconclusive before.

But I feel like in a series that spends so much time detailing the shifting alliances between the characters and the public's opinion on everyone that matters? I really needed to be sold on it a bit more. Like I really needed some discussion over what to do with the Regent, I needed them to keep him in a cell for a while as they decided whether to kill him (and have the leads scared that the Regent will turn them over as Laurent often does to people), I needed them to consider the evidence just a little bit more, I needed some post mortem with the council members where they explain what was happening on their side of the things. It needed to be MUCH longer and more detailed.

Another thing I wondered at was why the Regent was so insistent to paint Laurent's collaborations with the Akielons as a bad thing when he was... also collaborating with the Akielons? Like he is foaming at the mouth calling them barbarians and accusing Laurent of sleeping with the prince-killer but it feels more like setup for Damen's big declaration of love than an actual political strategy because my brother in Christ, you are literally in the Akielon royal palace, in the middle of Akielos to which you ran after your nephew started a rebellion, with the Akielon king sitting next to you as your equal. Why do you think that you can convince your people that YOUR Vere-Akielos alliance is somehow more morally pure than Laurent's? This was also the right moment to pull out all the patricide allegations that seemed to be going around for Damen, but IIRC he didn't use that as much as he could if at all.

Since there were some Akielons in the room as well, I was also wondering WTF was Kastor doing as the Regent was shitting on his country and calling them barbarians and making it like allying with them is a grave transgression? Why was HE allowing this humiliation? It felt like a very unpolitical thing to do from a character whose strength was in his political acumen (obviously meaning the Regent, not Kastor) and the plot just let it slide by.

I feel like a lot of this is due to this being the first time that the story had to fit within the constraints of a traditional book? So it needed a decisive traditional climax and perhaps it was getting too long for a traditional format, or the author got a bit tired of it and wanted to wind it up now that she wasn't getting regular feedback as you do with serialized publishing, or she prioritized emotional impact over plot logic.

I don't know. I still think they're great books, and the conclusion was emotionally satisfying in the sense that the psychological and interpersonal threads were wrapped up impeccably, I just wanted more detail on the political side. It's still grabbed me like nothing else did for a long time, I can take a mid ending, half of my favourite series will never have one at all because the author wrote themselves into a corner and then died lol.

#captive prince #this one's a plot and worldbuilding analysis #I just have so many things to say I'm sorry ._. #they really scratched an itch #RIP to everyone who followed me for anything else (so basically everyone)