#a study in scarlet women

[thebrightpreciousthings]

RECENT READS: “A Study in Scarlet Women" by Sherry Thomas

“Miss Holmes smiled. She had dimples. Of course she did—the Good Lord went to ridiculous lengths to make sure that one of the finest minds in existence was housed in a body least likely to be suspected of it.”

[readatrix]

"Remind yourself that you're far more likely to undercharge than overcharge, my dear, because you don't yet understand your value, and you've never been taught to demand your full worth." ~Sherry Thomas, A Study in Scarlet Women.

[red-revival]

I got multiple saves planned to romance the doc under various circumstances with various traits entirely because thats the most efficient way to learn abt a character in this game and the closest I can get to studying her under a microscope

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

alright I have to say it--s3e3 of Miss Scarlet and the Duke was one of my favourite episodes so far. bringing in another character to play off Eliza and fill the position William would usually have in the narrative was really fun, because instead of once again sticking us in the endless cycle of their snark and tension, we actually got to see Eliza learning more about a new person and reacting accordingly. and also, I find Mr. Nash a genuinely fun character to watch, and I love the development of his... slightly-antagonistic-yet-hopeful semi-partnership semi-competition with Eliza?? I'm intrigued by his backstory and motivations now, too, and how they tie into why he's so captivated by Eliza. he sees something of a mirror in her, I think, but at the same time, she pushes him towards growth--both out of competition, to be better than her, and out of motivation, because she expects him to be better than he is and that makes him want to change.

anyway! I expected to be a bit disappointed at the absence of the Duke, but I actually enjoyed this chance for an entirely different dynamic. and I think a lot more character development for everyone can happen with those two separated, too. especially at this specific point in the series. (if I'm being fully honest, part of me wishes there would be more episodes with them separated, so they can have a chance to truly grow on their own. I think that would have a lot more benefit for them as individuals and on their relationship together than constantly being around one another and doing the equivalent of raking their nails across each other's freshly-scabbed-over wounds every. single. day. does)

[blackhillverse]

added wanda for no reason but to make my exam notes cuter 🫦

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; 1.1k, fem reader. lowkey dedicated to the loml @ofmermaidstories even tho there's e2l undertones.

thinking about being a princess forced into a political marriage. your father is ailing and with no sons in his lineage, your country risks dissolution and open war if you do not marry.

already several of the more prominent families are forming factions; those with eligible sons are desperately trying to engineer opportunities for themselves, those without are amassing foot soldiers and weapons.

you cannot stand any of the pompous, greedy, egocentric princelings put forth by the noble families; men who care nothing for the country or its people, men with no thought for policy or justice—men who would gorge themselves on wine and women as the country crumbled at their feet.

even with a husband, there is no guarantee against a coup, not unless your husband is formidable enough to suppress one.

there is only one man you can stomach the thought of assuming the throne, one man with a head for strategy, a sense of duty, and a reputation strong enough to suppress the growing threat of political discord.

you find general bakugou katsuki in his quarters in the small hours of the morning, unable to sleep for your nerves.

"princess," he rasps, opening the door in nothing but his breeches. your face burns as you're confronted with the sight of a man's naked chest, miles of bare skin, golden in the glow of the torch lights.

"general," you say, resolutely raising your eyes to his face. there is no time to dance around the issue. "i need you to marry me."

bakugou's blonde hair is bed-rumpled, his manner sleep-soft, though his gaze is sharp. he watches you for a long moment before answering.

"'s an awful unromantic proposal," he says, an eyebrow raising.

despite his honorability, he's always had a way of grating on your nerves, and he knows it. you can't stop the reflexive scowl that paints your mouth, nor the irritability that seeps into your tone.

"i am being serious," you say, crossing your arms.

bakugou's eyes follow the movement. you are suddenly all too aware that you've marched through the castle halls in nothing but your night rail, too overcome with the thought of what must be done to pay the appropriate attention to your wardrobe.

"what, you lookin' to consummate it now?" he asks, gaze almost burning through the thin cotton of your shift.

your ears go hot. "can you stop being the most obnoxious man on earth for one moment."

bakugou leans an arm against his open door, bicep flexing with the movement. you try valiantly not to notice the way the shadows pool in the divots of his muscle, the way his trousers sit against the plane of his toned stomach.

"if you want me to say yes, you're gonna need to be a little nicer, princess," he says, mouth flicking into an awful little smirk.

"general—bakugou," you hiss. "do you want to watch the country you've spent years defending dissolve into nothing at the hands of these narcissistic, coddled fools?"

"rich words for a princess," bakugou says, his voice nearly a growl in the dim.

you are aware that you are sheltered as a royal. you are aware you are soft and naive. but you are educated, you are strong-willed, and you care. you may not be a son to your father, but you know you know have studied harder than any man on your father's court. you want to do your best for this country.

"do not mock me," you command.

bakugou's scarlet gaze trails over you, hot and liquid in the flickering torchlight.

"no? then what d'you want me to do to you?" he asks.

you fight down the furious flush of humiliation. "i want you," you repeat through gritted teeth, "to marry me."

bakugou's golden eyelashes dip as his gaze slides back over your crossed arms, then lower, all the way down to your bare toes. you feel horribly vulnerable under his scrutiny, even more knowing you are already at his mercy.

"you're serious," he rasps, eyes cutting back to yours.

"unfortunately," you grit out.

that draws another flicker of a smirk out of him. "and y'came running down here at midnight in your little nightdress because you were too scared you'd chicken out, is that it?"

that is absolutely it, and you hate that he knows it.

"will you marry me or not?" you demand, even your nose feeling hot now. "i don't know what my nightdress has to do with the question!"

"your nightdress is gonna have a lot to do with it if i say yes, angel," bakugou says.

you hate him. maybe it's better to just let the country fall to ruin, let some jumped up coalition of families amass power and overwhelm bakugou and his soldiers. with any luck maybe they will stab him.

you'll have to come up with another plan.

"fine," you hiss, turning on your heel. "message received."

but a hot hand closes on your arm before you can take another step, yanking you back to him. you stumble, barely catching yourself before bashing your nose into his chest.

"you know what you're asking for?" bakugou demands, leaning in to look into your face. "you know this wouldn't be easy."

"i know," you say begrudgingly. "but you are the country's best option—my best option. none of the men put forth are acceptable."

"don't like pretty boys, princess?" bakugou asks.

"you're plenty pretty," you bite out before you can think. horror overwhelms you when bakugou's smirk grows wider, a sharp white knife in the dark.

"think i'm pretty huh?" he says, his tone gloating.

"i think that you are awful and maybe i'd rather take my chances with a coup," you growl, trying to pry your arm from his grip.

but bakugou's hold tightens for a moment, and he leans down, close enough that his breath ghosts over the collar of your night rail.

"then if you're sure this is what you want, princess, you can have it," bakugou says. his thumb smoothes over the skin of your arm for just a moment, soft and feather light before he lets you go.

you step out of his reach, skin tingling, face flaming. there's no reason to delay, then. "fine, we're agreed. i'll see you in the morning. we'll announce it then."

you spin on your heel, bakugou's grunt of acceptance following you as turn back down the hall.

"see you in the morning, angel," he drawls, suddenly all agreement.

he may be the general between the two of you, but you know when it's time for a strategic retreat. you ignore his response and flee—your ears burning all the way to your chambers.

[comatosebunny09]

untitled | sylus

warning(s): female anatomy described, reader has hair, grinding, teasing, blue balls of the female kind, reader has a potty mouth, bit of praise, voice kink, mentions of choking, pet names now playing: how does it feel - d’angelo | these arms - luke james

He doesn’t mean to. But it’s hard not to notice when you’re perusing through your socials with the volume at max capacity—TikTok, was it?

You browse through various memes, music, and cat videos, occasionally stopping to show Sylus something silly.

Your head is cradled in his lap in his study atop his settee. He reads a book, idly petting your hair. Rainfall patterns the rooftop of his mansion. Your shadows dance off the walls as the flames of his fireplace flicker and crackle.

The perfect setup for two lovers wishing to escape the world’s scrutiny.

One video in particular seems to capture your interest. Piques Sylus’, too, causing him to glance over his book.

You’re eerily quiet as a male podcaster prattles on with one of his female guests. Something about submission, survival mode, strong, independent women. Typical modern-day topics.

Sylus peers down at you with a quirked brow when you shift, his lips canting into a smirk. Notices how you stiffen when the discussion slides into praise. And he doesn’t miss how a quiet smile rounds your lips as the podcaster drops his tone a few octaves. His guest, too, is taken by its silken glide as he showers her with compliments.

The video concludes, and you press your phone to your bosom, ingesting what you just watched. Bite back a giddy little squeal, blood rushing to your face. You opt for a dreamy exhale to assuage your nerves, and if Sylus weren’t curious before, he is undoubtedly invested now.

“What was that about?” Sylus asks, his humored voice steeping into dangerous territory. He knows what his timbre does to you. Catches sight of your thighs clenching and hears your pulse quickening the slightest bit in your neck.

“Nothin’ important,” you lie with a dismissive waggle of your hand, going back to nauseatingly scrolling through videos.

“Kitten,” he croons, setting the book down beside him. You lower your phone back to your chest. He angles himself over you until he’s all you see, scarlet eyes smoldering and narrowing with mirth. “What have I told you about lying?”

You scoff, feigning innocence. “I’m not lyin’. Legit was just watchin’ somethin’ stupid. That’s all.”

He hums thoughtfully. Low and throaty, the vibrations of his voice playing down your spine like a xylophone. “So, it isn’t an issue if I talk to you like this, then?”

His voice tempers, a croaky, barely audible noise that sets your body alight with tingles, and he playfully taps your nose with pursed lips and lowered lids. The world ebbs and flows as you’re hyper-focused on your boyfriend.

“Not at all,” you husk around a dry swallow, absently angling yourself into his touch.

Your lips part with the effort to breathe. He drags a dexterous finger down the pucker of them, paying considerable attention to the plush bed of your bottom lip. It tickles—the way he gently outlines it—before his index eases toward the lump in your throat.

You swallow thickly, a sensation akin to pill bugs skittering across your skin coursing throughout as his digits teasingly wind around your neck, thumb tugging at your lip. Your mouth grows dry, and though he doesn’t squeeze, the prospect of him choking you has you squeezing your thighs together to ward off the pleasant pulsing between them.

You didn’t think it possible, but the potency of his smirk grows tenfold. And a laugh roils in his chest, smoky like the fire dancing on the hearthstone.

You find yourself slowly falling below the murky depths of his spell, sucking in a sticky breath when he smooths the backs of his fingers between your collarbones, over your sternum. All the while, he hasn’t released you from his gaze, thoroughly transfixed by the expressions and cute noises you make whilst he teases you.

“Good girls don’t lie, kitten,” he softly admonishes. The color of his tone makes your nipples knot beneath your shirt. You burn hot, your phone thumping on the floor.

“Not lyin’,” you insist on an exhale, gripping the lush cushions of the settee.

You most certainly do not shiver when his hand, wide and coaxing, eases past your navel to knead the inner flesh of one thigh. And he wordlessly encourages your legs to hinge open, the meat of your thigh dimpling between his fingers whilst he massages it.

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t miss how you arch your back and wind your hips, chasing the heat of his hand. Trying to lure it into more desirable places, the heated smell of your sex pervading his senses.

He’s intentional when he withdraws his hand, fingers grazing the space where clothed outer labia meets thigh. And you tremble, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth against a moan.

Sylus takes up his book again, seemingly ignoring your plight. You whine petulantly, your brows drawn downward on the outer corners. You abruptly sit up, snatching the book from him and tossing it over your shoulder. Flooding Sylus’ visage with your pout. And he snickers with an amorous edge to his voice, grabbing hold of your wrists as you perch your hands on his quads.

“What,” he rasps, smoothing your baby hairs from your forehead. Searches through the smolder of your gaze as you pitch yourself forward until your breaths intermingle, and the heady scent he carries overhauls your senses.

“You know what the fuck you’re doin’.”

Sylus shrugs naively, canting his head to the side. He then gathers your jaw into his palm, eyes glazing over you with such reverence. He studies your mouth before brushing your lips with his, teasing the possibility of a kiss.

“I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart.”

By now, you’ve straddled his lap, your arms draped over virile shoulders. And he doesn’t contest you, instead cupping the globes of your ass to tug you closer until your breasts push against the sculpted planes of his chest.

“Don’t be a shithead, Sylus,” you murmur, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You nuzzle his nose with yours, shying away when he dips in for a kiss. “You know exactly what I want.”

He smiles something sinful at your cheekiness. Firmly grips your ass, coaxing you to grind against his girth, steadily pulsing beneath his slacks. You bite your lip, eyes rolling back, breathing hot and ragged.

“Enlighten me, kitten,” Sylus’ voice purls into your ear. He sucks your lobe into his mouth, releasing it only after nibbling it with his teeth.

“Sylus,” you sigh, caught up in the haze of his voice. In the heavy grind of your pelvises together. In how your swelling clit delightfully acquaints itself with the rough stitch of your jeans each time he drags your pussy over his dick.

You burrow your face into the hollow of his shoulder, letting him guide you over his lap, blood enlivening your face. He feels so fucking good, and you might just cum from the pressure alone.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” He noses the cartilage of your ear, groaning low and hoarse when your pussy grazes his swollen cockhead. “Tell me what you want.”

Gods, he’s going to make you say it. But you’ve long since passed the threshold of sobriety, too drunk off the mood and the way his fingers dig into your flesh to keep you notched up against him.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, all sticky and wanton. He ups the tempo, and you cling to the collar of his shirt. Take to suckling on his carotid, eliciting a pretty, bitten-off sound from his lungs, and a sparkling sensation brews between your legs.

“Talk to me, baby,” he coddles, setting a pace that’s maddeningly slow and rough and fucking hell.

“Fuck, Sylus, just…” You swallow your resolve, your eyes glossing with a film of tears. “Fucking fuck me already, you asshole.” You hate to beg. But he likes to play these games with you, driving you to the brink of insanity until you’re docile and pliant.

He huffs out a laugh. And to your dismay, Sylus tempers the pace, slowing the roll of your hips to a crawl. You release a frustrated whine, peeling back to ingest him with wild, incredulous eyes.

“Is that how we ask for things, sweetheart?” He quirks a brow, panning in to nip your bottom lip. He reels back when you try to bite him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Well, I would like to,” he hums, dragging sweltering lips down the angle of your jaw, the column of your throat. “But someone’s being incredibly difficult.”

You roll your eyes, puffing out your cheeks. Your haughtiness is short-lived when he bucks against you in warning, drawing the sluttiest little sound from betwixt your lips. And your pussy pulses, spurring you deeper into insanity.

“Please, Sy?”

He exhales, all hot and open-mouthed against the crook of your shoulder before licking it. Kissing it. Sucking on it. “Hmm? Please, what?”

“Please fuck me,” you relent, halfway between a sob and a laugh.

Sylus groans his approval. Sucks on your neck, the lewd noises filling the quieted space of his study. “That’s my girl,” he lauds, angling himself to tempt you into a soul-siphoning kiss.

He doesn’t break the seal of your mouths as he suddenly stands, your legs tightly wound about his waist.

You giggle between the sticky grind of your lips as he effortlessly walks you from his study—one hand cupping your ass—towards his bedroom, where he intends to show you just how good of a girl you truly are.

[julienbakerstreet]

I’ll never get over what an iconic choice it was to make A Scandal In Bohemia the first Sherlock Holmes short story. A Study In Scarlet and The Sign of The Four had already made Holmes a popular character, but he didn’t truly explode in popularity and become the cultural phenomenon we know and love today until after he started appearing in short stories in The Strand. And for the very first story, Doyle chose to write about a woman outsmarting Holmes. Holmes being a misogynist, underestimating a woman, and learning from it.

It’s such a contrast to the two previous books. In A Study In Scarlet, the only woman who is relevant to the mystery (Lucy Ferrier) serves as motivation for the killer. In the flashback passage, she’s depicted in relation to the men in her life. In The Sign of the Four, Mary Morstan takes a more active role in the mystery, seeking out Holmes and accompanying him and Watson through much of the investigation. She’s a woman who works to support herself and Holmes even praises her intelligence. Yet so much of her relevance to the story (beyond being the daughter of a man involved in a mystery) is Watson’s feelings for her. Additionally, she fits so neatly into the damsel in distress archetype that Doyle references it in-text:

“It is a romance!” cried Mrs. Forrester. “An injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.” "And two knight-errants to the rescue," added Miss Morstan.

Irene Adler is different. She’s an opera singer at a time when female performers were stigmatized as scandalous. She supports herself independently. She’s described as a “spinster” and an “adventuress” (used as another word for mistress). She had an affair with a King and then goes on to marry a man for no plot reason other than she wants to. She’s familiar with male costume and uses it to “take advantage of the freedom which it gives”— freedom which Victorian women were not normally afforded. She’s a contralto with a deeper voice (it’s worth noting that the most common operatic contralto roles are female villains and women playing men). In sum, she has a lot of traits that would read as unconventional to a Victorian audience. Unlike Mary Morstan and Lucy Ferrier, she doesn’t really embody the ideals of a chaste, refined, and benevolent Victorian woman.

The King of Bohemia describes her as jealous and out to ruin him, but it’s revealed that she isn’t interested in him and only keeps the photo to protect herself from him. Holmes is fascinated by her in a way that a lot of readers construe as romantic, but the text explicitly tells us that his interest in her is platonic. She earns Holmes’s respect and admiration as an equal. While she’s presented as an antagonist when the King of Bohemia first describes her, Holmes ultimately views her as a sympathetic person and the King as a rich asshole trying to control her.

Doyle could have easily written the story so that once Holmes switches his sympathies, he helps Irene and her husband get away from the King. It would have been a better look for Holmes not to get outfoxed by a woman and act (as he does in other stories) as a valiant gentleman always willing to assist a woman being mistreated. But instead, Doyle chose to show Holmes as a flawed character who lets his prejudices cloud his judgment and is beaten at his own game by a woman in his very first Holmes short story.

Furthermore, Irene comes out on top using her intellect, rather than falling into the trope of a woman using seduction to beat a man. She’s also better than Holmes at disguise- something he is very skilled at and prides himself on. The story literally ends with Watson writing “The best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late.” I find it very interesting that the story starts off with Watson saying how emotions would cloud Holmes’ judgment as a reasoner and ends by showing us how his biases hurt his ability to reason.

Irene exhibits dramatically more agency than Lucy or Mary. She drives the mystery rather than being an element of it. One of the reasons female Sherlockians have historically been inclined to identify with Irene Adler is because while male readers get to identify and project onto Sherlock Holmes, female readers gravitated towards the idea of a woman besting Holmes (in part because of his misogyny), earning his respect as an equal, and making Holmes stop being quite so misogynistic.

One of my adaptation pet peeves with Irene Adler is when “the woman” is used as a negative epithet. In A Scandal In Bohemia, Watson specifically says that it is an honorable title that Holmes uses with respect. Although she’s frequently adapted as a villain/antihero, as James Edward Holroyd wrote, “One may fairly claim that the only dubious and questionable aspect of the adventure was the conduct of the three men principally concerned!”

The overarching theme of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes is righting social injustices. Of the twelve stories in The Adventures, six of them deal with women in varying degrees of trouble because of men who have power over them (SCAN, IDEN, TWIS, SPEC, NOBL, COPP). Three deal with Holmes clearing people of false allegations (BOSC, BLUE, BERY). Many cases also deal with the theme of rich men acting entitled and getting comeuppance (SCAN, REDH, NOBL; and to a lesser extent TWIS, and SPEC). A Scandal in Bohemia combines these themes. Irene is falsely accused of being jealous and trying to ruin the king. The king has used his resources to harass her repeatedly:

“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid."

The King of Bohemia is presented as rude, arrogant, and entitled, with Holmes flat-out telling him that Irene Adler is on a higher level than him, despite being of a lower social standing.

A Scandal in Bohemia is also unconventional in the fact that it’s not really a traditional mystery where Holmes is hired to help solve a crime. It was an odd choice for Doyle to reintroduce his detective to readers in this story on so many levels, and I think that’s why it tends to be one of the most popular Holmes stories. It shows Holmes as human and flawed, a man who can recognize his blindspots and grow from them. But of course, the enduring popularity of SCAN is primarily due to Irene Adler herself. Sherlockian spaces have traditionally been male-dominated, with the Baker Street Irregulars only allowing women to join in 1991, 100 years after the publication of SCAN. Although Irene only made one appearance in canon, she captured the hearts and imaginations of so many Holmes fans, and gave female fans assurance that they have an equal claim to everything that Holmes embodies.

[prickly-paprikash]

Something cool about Blue Eye Samurai is how sex is juxtaposed with the end-goals.

I really love how our three protagonists are all obsessed. And that obsession defines them, torments them, and are subsequently reborn through their obsessions.

Mizu, of course, is obsessed with the concept of revenge. It's not even about getting even or getting justice as some might use to justify the bloody road taken—it is simply about seeking satisfaction for Mizu. She cuts a bloody swathe across Japan because of what the Four White Devils did to her mother and herself. She does not concern herself with the ramifications of her wrath but merely charges forward, leaving behind a trail of viscera and gore behind her.

Like I said before, her vengeance and obsession with satisfaction is not painted by the show as wrong. It is how she allows it to affect others along the path. It's why the episode with Madame Kaji is so enlightening; Mizu should not tackle this quest as a vengeful revenant; an onryō. She has let the world define her as a monstrosity and so she embraced it, when Swordfather and Madame Kaji knew what the correct path was to satiate her need for vengeance. Treat her sword as the Artisan's tool it truly is. Treat her body the way an Artist would treat their canvas.

Madame Kaji and Swordfather are both outcasts, for being a woman and a blind man. Yet they found strength in their exclusion, becoming single-minded in their fields of art. Because sex is art and swordsmithing is art. It's what makes Mizu's body writing scene so fucking good.

Artistic vision becomes stagnant when one pulls from only one source. They become rigid and unbending when Mizu, like her namesake, must be fluid. She has shown fluidity in her use of her gender and her morals, but cannot apply that same flexibility towards her goal. Throughout season one, she was becoming an uninspired artist, merely painting the world in hues of scarlet. In a world that forces Women to be either Wives or Whores, Mizu chose to be a Warrior—but a warrior fights for a cause, whether it be just or otherwise. A soldier fights in an army. Mizu is neither of these things. She is an Artist first and foremost, and her medium is Death. Sex, something Mizu was at first hesitant before her failed marriage, and something she actively avoided afterwards, is what gives her a new perspective. Like an Illustrator studying life to better draw their intended worlds, taking inspiration from wherever one can find it.

Taigen and Akemi are also equally affected by the artistry of sex, as befitting of Mizu's fellow protagonists.

Akemi is quite obviously Mizu's narrative foil. Mizu chases after revenge like a bloodhound whereas Akemi longs for freedom like a bird in a cage. Both are fierce women who are unsatisfied with their lot in life, with their sex and gender being used against them in their lives. Literally, the episode "The Tale of the Ronin and the Bride" is a fucking triple entendre:

Mizu is the Ronin as well as the Bride.

The play showcases the tale of the Ronin and the Bride.

It is also Mizu as the Ronin and Akemi as the Bride.

And when Mizu finds her center as she melts down her blade and engages in body writing, this scene of enlightenment is juxtaposed with Akemi laying with her new husband Takayoshi. Both, in this moment, are taking control of their lives through sex. They are both taking control of their futures through the ways Madame Kaji taught them. Mizu and Akemi are both rebels against this oppressive society, and are both talented artists with their body. Whether that be sex, politicking, or ass-kicking.

Taigen, like the two women before, finds freedom through it but in a more subtle manner.

Where Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils, both using sex as a form of art and escape, Taigen finds liberation through his awakening.

Like the closeted bisexual man he is, he begins his journey of self-realization when he first encounters Mizu at the Dojo.

Every single battle these two have is purposefully rife with sexual tension. All his life, Taigen has been taught that a man must live with honor. That he must take control of his life and his identity, or he will have failed and that he is better off dead than to live with such shame.

Taigen is just as much a victim of the Patriarchal society around him. Mizu rails against it violently. Akemi seeks to run away from it all. And Taigen, with the privilege given to him by his manhood, chooses to become a perpetrator, enabling the vicious wheel of society to keep moving forward.

His obsession with honor leads him to hunting down and even protecting Mizu. Mizu is no doubt the better warrior, but even she knows she owes so much to Taigen. The blockhead not only did everything to protect her in the valley, but also sealed his lips shut even under the duress of torture. His obsession with honor becomes an obsession with Mizu.

His regrets over tormenting her over her looks and ethnicity as a child. His shame in having lost so decisively in his own dojo. Taigen was a man born with nothing and climbed up to the top with every advantage he could muster, and suddenly it's all ripped away by this one vengeful spirit passing by.

Taigen learns to surrender control around Mizu. He begins to discover his own sexuality and purpose around Mizu, redefining what honor really means to him now that he, as a man, has a budding attraction towards the man who beat him.

Mizu's Vengeance. Akemi's Freedom. Taigen's Honor. In all three, Sex becomes a catalyst in redefining what each of these concepts truly mean to them all. It's not just sex of course, but it is undeniable how the writers keep juxtaposing sexual acts and thoughts with massive character moments.

It changes how Mizu chases after her Vengeance. It recontextualizes how Akemi can be Free. It showcases the absurdity of the Honor forced upon Taigen.

It's so fucking refreshing seeing Sex not used as fanservice or shoe-horned in just to further a stale, poorly written cis-heterosexual romance; but used as a plot point that cannot be ignored. An impetus that fuels the narrative.

Moving forward, I'm curious as to how sex will be used.

The next few ideas aren't as sound or organized because I'm neither Asexual nor Genderfluid, so please if anyone reads this who understands it better, feel free to point it out.

I think it'd be cool if Mizu met the inverse of Madame Kaji. A person who is apathetic to sex. Sure, Swordfather has shades of this, but I'm tired of the person with disabilities also being on the Asexual spectrum. And I'm not saying that Ace or Graysexual people with disabilities don't exist! But they always tend to be written as having some form of disability (Varys from ASOIAF) or a Robot.

Just as artists need a variety of sources to pull inspiration from, I hope in the next seasons we get to see different perspectives on sex and gender. In London, it feels like Mizu finding the other half of herself, and with that having a better way of tackling her own identity. Whether it be gender, sex, combat, etc.

Basically what this inane rambling amounts to is that Blue Eye Samurai tackles sex and violence and revenge and obsession in ways that most media has yet to truly do. So that was pretty cool.

[angelshadowsinger]

Supposed to Be Together {part 1}

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.2k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: angst, smut 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: drinking, Az being dumb & in denial, drunk sex, unprotected sex 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 . 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘊𝘖𝘛𝘈𝘙 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 & 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘵 100% 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘢𝘢𝘴’ 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘕𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘢'𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 (𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳)

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ꜱɪᴘʜᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

The view from the House of Wind never failed to leave you breathless. 

Velaris twinkled brightly below, city lights reflecting off the Sidra as the warm summer wind tickling at your exposed skin. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, only a thin trail of scarlet bleeding into the indigo of the Night Court sky. Above, stars already blinked and glimmered, a crescent moon hung proudly above. 

The strong, swift beat of wings neared, and suddenly Mor and Nesta appeared above the wall of the balcony, each snug against Cassian’s absurdly broad chest. The two women were already donning their evening attire, jewels sparkling both their decolletages, looking near reminiscent of the stars that you had just been studying. 

Mor set sight on you immediately, skipping out of the war general’s grasp and pouncing on you. Her hair was curled in pretty waves and her lips painted a bright red that complimented the fiery orange dress snug on her hips. “Hello my sweetest,” she greeted, almost planting a kiss on you but you swerved back with a stifled laugh, pointing to her lips. She laughed, sending an air-kiss your way instead.

“Hi Mor. You look beautiful as always,” you said honestly. You’d known the female for quite some time now and it was only once you’d seen her looking worse for wear– the night she had tried to conquer a foreign green alcohol that burned your nose with but a tentative sniff. 

Turning to the other blonde, you did not fail to notice the slight flush in her cheeks as her eyes flitted away from Cassian’s, clearly amused by something her mate had communicated to her. It was only fair, given that the event that had the Inner Circle going out for the evening was their anniversary after all. The Illyrian gave you a friendly wave and shouted hello, which you returned. 

A navy dress hugged his mate’s figure and a long slit ran up her toned leg, gold jewelry spindling around her wrists and pointed ears. “Nesta, the lady of the night,” you acknowledged, “You look incredible.”

She gave a small smile at your appraisal. “Thank you, Y/N. You look nice, too.” 

It wasn’t the most amazing compliment, but you’d take it. Especially seeing as it had come from Nesta, the viper. She had calmed down since mating her male years ago, but the nickname still stuck, and you didn’t doubt that her bite could still be just as wounding as it once was. 

It was then that Mor’s fingers trailed down your forearm, sending a shiver through you and making you turn to look at her. Her gaze was currently running over the ensemble you were sporting, shining with approval at the deep violet gown that delicately draped off your shoulders and the pink sapphire necklace that followed the dip into your exposed cleavage. “Mmm, mmm. Drunk me is going to have a hard time resisting such a snack later. You know I get the drunchies,” she said, a hint of mischief in her tawny orbs. Then adding in a lower voice, “And I doubt I’ll be the only one having a hard time controlling themselves…”

She coughed as your elbow immediately jabbed her ribs. Mor was the only one that you had actually told about your relation to the mysterious spymaster of the Inner Circle. 

Ever since your apprenticeship with the renowned healer Madja had started, the higher-ups of the Night Court who so often required her services had taken keen interest in you. All of them were much friendlier than you had expected– almost more of a surprise to you than the carefree, blossoming city of Velaris. You were not of the Night Court lands, but now they felt like home to you. 

The Morrigan was the fastest friend you made, her honest nature pacifying the wariness that clung to you upon your arrival. Rhysand had attempted to befriend you first, but the sheer promise of power rippling off of him had you shrinking at the sight of him, so he allowed his friends to win you over first. Cassian was crucial in showing you that the High Lord was no threat to you, his chipper outlook wearing down the half-hearted walls you had built around yourself. Feyre also helped, who you grew closer with when you were sent to shadow her pregnancy check-ups with Madja. Many hours filled with warm vulnerability melted your frosty facade, and you bonded over the knowledge that you both had scars from your trauma, even if that acknowledgement was unspoken between the pair of you. She had even offered you a permanent position in the city, if you so desired it after your learnings with the sage healer were at a close. Once you were comfortable with her, Rhysand made your good list– if he was her mate, and if he treated her so lovingly, then surely he was not to be feared after all. Amren was… still a bit scary to you, but she was never malicious or meaning ill-will. Just unsettling. 

Last was Azriel. 

He was not present when you first arrived, and remained away during the first week of the Inner Circle’s efforts to woo you. But when he did finally arrive… you nearly swooned at first sight of him; the most handsome male you had ever laid eyes upon. It only got better when he opened his mouth, and his gentle, kind welcome pushed you off the cliff- falling, you began falling for him then. After that, he continued to treat you with such respect, and quiet thoughtfulness, that before you knew it, he was the one you began choosing to spend your free time with. One on one, he was still just as sweet, but he also showed you that he could tease, and jest, and he could be downright hilarious when he wanted to be.

It was only two weeks ago that your newest discovery had occurred. 

You had been walking through the gardens with him, a common occurrence for the two of you when he was home and off-duty, when he had flown up to the top of your favorite magnolia tree, and plucked the fattest, most beautiful blossom from the highest branch. He landed gracefully in front of you, leaning down and wordlessly offering it to you, a soft smile gracing his lips, eyes warm, and maybe even the tiniest bit of pink tinging his cheeks. It was then that the bond snapped into place. 

For you, anyway.

While you had nearly fallen on your ass in shock, disbelief– elation– he merely caught you and looked at you with concern. You hadn’t been able to form words to explain what had just happened to you, wide eyes taking in the male before you– the strong, observant, mild-mannered protector of the court– your male. Your male, with Illyrian tight leathers flush against his firm body, scarred hands holding you so softly, yet you knew his grip would never falter if he believed you not well enough to stand on your own. He would take care of you, he would treat you so well, he would…. He would, once he knew of the bond. Once the bond presented it to himself, then you’d see. Because, there was no way you were going to tell him what had just happened to you, not really. Not when he had become your closest friend, and all your hopes and dreams were suddenly pinned to him. That was just too much to put on him, not then… So you waited. Told yourself you would tell him soon, just not yet… And suddenly two weeks had gone by, and you still had yet to breach the subject.

Mor looked at you with a gentler gaze, sensing your frayed emotions and swiftly connecting the dots. Obviously you were conflicted on the subject, and she chose to dismiss it instead of prying. “Sorry,” she apologized, whispering almost. “First drink on me, okay?” 

Immediately you shut out the thoughts of your bond, nodding and putting a smile on. “It’s okay. But I will definitely take you up on that.” You winked at her and she grinned, taking your arm and leading you from the balcony into the common area.

Cassian and Nesta had already meandered inside, now standing by the grand table in the center of the space. The sconces were lit, the glimmer of magic filling the warm space and inviting you inside further. A fire crackled in the hearth, the scent of a meat-pie that must have been dinner lingering in the air, laden with foreign spices that made your nose tingle. 

“Glad you ladies could join us,” Cassian said, brows high as he gestured to the tray in the middle of the dining table. There were five shot glasses there, two empty already. The other three were filled to the brim with a clear liquid which you could only guess would surely taste terrible on your sober tongue. Beside it, a crystal container filled with more, ready for refills. 

You glanced around as Mor strode forth, unnerved. Nesta had an uncharacteristically amused smile on her pretty lips, her face relaxed as she took a sip from the half-empty glass she held. Amren was nowhere to be seen, and Rhys and Feyre were absent as well– nothing uncommon these days since they did have a small child after all, and another on the way. 

But it was always him, the subdued spymaster who now rose from his seat beside the hearth, who you were hoping to see. Azriel looked especially mouth-watering tonight, his dark hair freshly cut and kissing the tops of his ears, dark navy shirt tight across his firm chest, tattoos peeking from the collar and the sleeves rolled halfway up his strong forearms. You tried to look away, feeling like you had become engulfed by the flames licking the iron gate at the edge of the hearth as his hazel eyes raked up and down, and then back up your visage. 

The only clue to his approval was a slight twitch of the long, sleek wings behind him, and that could’ve meant anything. Though you had thought you looked good, so obviously he had to like the sight… right?

He walked toward you and smiled just a little, head bowing slightly. His shadows slowly curled toward you in greeting as well, a dark train behind him. “Hello Y/N,” he stated, then nodding to Mor. “Mor.” Deft fingers latched onto one of the remaining shots and he threw it back with ease, not even wincing as the alcohol was instantly drained. 

Cassian eyed him with some sort of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher before it was gone. Then he was refilling his and Azriel’s cup. “And what are you two waiting for, then?” He barked, amusement abundant in his strong voice. 

Mor and your eyes met, she rolled hers to the heavens, and then shrugged, grabbing her shot as well. You sighed, wondering why these ancient relics always had to go straight for the liquor, not even a chaser present for your poor taste buds. This night would surely be anything but dull.

⸻

There had been multiple rounds of shots before your small party of five left the House of Wind, and though the two men had definitely had more, you, Mor, and Nesta had all sufficiently been toasty as you made your way through the threshold of the bar. 

Rita’s was, once again, the place to be on a weekend evening in Velaris. 

Mor was already flirting with the bartender within two minutes of entry, getting that drink she had promised you as you wandered through the throng of partiers, toward the elevated side of the venue where the reserved tables stood. Rhys had long ago reserved a table for his Inner Circle on any given day of the week, and the bouncer nodded at the four of you as you made your way to it. Azriel kept a subtle arm out, ghosting behind your waist as club-goers pressed just a bit too close for his liking. 

Cassian slid into a wide stool on the other side of the booth first, allowing you and Nesta to take the booth. Azriel contemplated fitting into the booth, but ultimately chose to sit beside his brother in favor of not crushing his wings. Just as the usual containers of various juices and little water bottles appeared in the center of the table, Mor slid into the booth beside you and shoved a top-heavy glass into your hand. She gave a taller, wider glass filled with a sparkling dark red concoction to Nesta who thanked her, keeping the other glass of fizzy yellow to herself.

“None for us?” Cassian hit the table, the ice in the bucket rattling. 

Azriel frowned, waving a hand over the space before him and summoning more shot glasses, another pitcher of liquor appearing adjacent to it. Nimble hands made quick work of the shots, passing one to his brother before that striking gaze met yours and he clinked his glass against the one in your hand. He sent it back, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his sharp jaw pronounced in the flashing colored lights of the club. 

It didn’t take long for you to start feeling borderline drunk. Whatever was in the swirling purple cocktail Mor had handed you was packing a punch– either that or the four shots you downed before the flight over here were settling in. You drained the rest of your glass. A drop escaped the corner of your lip and ran down your chin, splattering onto the soft swell of your breast, a torrid hazel gaze following the movement with scrutiny. Catching the look, your body moved on its own volition, and you stood abruptly, the tops of your thighs skimming the edge of the table.

All eyes shot to you as you proclaimed, “So who wants to dance?”

You couldn't manage to look at Azriel again, so you turned to Mor instead, who was looking up at you with nothing but pure amusement. But it was actually Nesta, on your other side, who piped up that she would love to. If your decree had been a surprise, Nesta’s was the shock of the century. But you wouldn’t let it go to waste, and Mor was on the same page as you, the three of you hurrying off to find a spot on the dancefloor. 

The club-goers parted as they welcomed you– parting for the three beautiful women entering the center of the room as the bass blasted and upbeat melodies thrummed through your bones. You swore you could feel its return, his hot gaze slinking all around your body, but you forced him out of your mind, not wanting to dampen your mood with the premise of your upcoming responsibilities nor your potential delusions. The shadowsinger could have absolutely anyone he wanted in Velaris– actually, it had been hinted he had already had quite a few in the city, though he’d looked outright deadly at the mention of that from his brothers’ lips. So why were you fated for him? There was surely some other person who could better suit him. The notion irked you and you let out a snarl that turned more into a war-cry for your dancing. 

Mor was flipping her hair and moving her arms around herself sensually beside you. Nesta had actually gone so far as to throw her hips into circles right before yours, almost grinding onto your lap. You took it upon yourself to sway and let your fingers run through your hair, showing off your smooth skin and letting your head fall back as you felt the music call to you. 

It was quite a show the three of you were putting on, song after song your trio swirled and traded places with each other, staving off any males who attempted approach.

Cassian was not disturbed by the number of lustful gazes his mate was collecting, eyes gleaming with pride and possession as he studied Nesta’s body from afar. But Azriel was quietly fuming beside him, his shadows screeching with fury as a fae male eventually managed to reach your side, sliding a hand around your waist. His gaze was daggers on the suitor, who seemed unphased by the brooding Illyrian in the distance. Nesta moved over to Mor then, observantly giving him space to slide into when you didn’t immediately reject him. 

Without taking his glare off the male, Azriel messily poured another shot for himself, threw it back, and then immediately filled another. Finally his brother’s attention snuck over to him, warily monitoring as the shadowsinger tossed back yet another drink. He eyed the shadows, which were bunching and flicking with displeasure around the perimeter of him, then warned, “Az, maybe you should slow down.”

Azriel grimaced, ice cold as he watched you press a palm to the male’s chest, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. “Why ever should I, brother? Does your mating not call for celebration?” His grip was so tight he nearly shattered the glass, but then your suitor’s eyes widened comically, and he scampered away into the crowd, leaving you alone. He felt like he could breathe again, and he sat back slightly, ruffling his wings as if shaking off the tension that saddled them just moments ago. 

Cassian watched his brother, noted the gaze that was zeroed in on you, on your every move. He had an inkling for a while before now, but it was hard for him to watch Azriel pretend like he didn’t want to be anything more with you when you looked at him the same way. Before he could impart any words of advice, you were slinking up to the table, glazed eyes magnetized on the spymaster. Cassian wondered if you even knew he was sitting there as well.

“Az, will you dance with me?” you asked, hands behind your back, it made your curves look absolutely irresistible in that violet number. 

Cassian was shocked, sure his mouth had fallen on the floor, interest piqued. This was one of the best anniversary presents he ever could’ve asked for, second only to Nesta’s gown strewn on the floor of their room in just a few hours. On one hand, his brother never danced. Maybe only a handful of times had he witnessed such a sight, and that had only been bits and pieces, from nights he barely remembered. On the other, he was sure that you had an absolute hold on the spymaster– if you so much as batted your eyelashes and asked for him to fetch the stars for you, he certainly would.

He had to reign in his scream of glee when Azriel responded, “Of course.” 

Even drunk, the shadowsinger was adept. He weaved through the crowd, following you and pointedly ignoring the lingering glances of the crowd, glances that wandered from your elegant radiance onto him– at the powerful aura and ominous shadows rolling off his broad shoulders, his stunning face, or the daunting wings that loomed behind him. 

When you found a spot with ample space, your hips started moving on their own accord, and Azriel’s followed suit. Not touching, the two of you filled the space and watched each other, eyes wandering around each other’s bodies unabashedly. Azriel couldn’t help but puff his chest up at the desire that swirled in your glossy orbs, the approval shining from you as you took in the way his body moved before you, his cool cedar scent luring you closer. The alcohol that coursed in his blood allowed him to be bold, and he carefully placed a hand at the bottom of your spine, pulling you into him. The action was welcomed and he tried not to be too excited about your proximity, how the sweet smell of you twirled into his nose and made his brain become a puddle around his feet. 

He had never been so close to you– not like this– and never with his guard so low, nearing absent. Never had the marred skin of his palms held your hips, the curve of your ass brushed his thigh, never had you given him that sultry gaze beneath kohl-coated lashes, never had he been so damn hard in a public space like this. 

“You look so beautiful tonight.” It slipped out of him like he was possessed, unaware the words had even left him along with the husky whisper of your name. 

But that made you smile at him, near bashful at his compliment, your heart slamming in your chest, begging, aching for more of his praise. 

It was as if he could hear what your body so desperately desired, for Azriel then murmured, “You are beautiful every night. Every day… agonizingly so.” 

His grasp on you was gentle, and suddenly it was all you could feel– he was all you could feel, the music and the crowd blurring around you. He was looking at you with such intensity that your body was singing, your lips parted but no words able to leave you. All you wanted to do in that moment was bridge the gap between his mouth and yours. It took all the willpower in your being to stop yourself from doing so, your mate’s gaze piercing you to the dancefloor while the two of you stood still, just looking at each other. 

“Thank you, Azriel.”

Those meager words were all you could get out, too paralyzed to come up with anything better. Honestly, you were surprised you even said anything at all, for fear of confessing your love and your bond right here to him and everyone in the room, drunk and breathless in the middle of Rita’s. 

Azriel seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in at the sound of his name on your tongue, blinking and grip loosening on you. His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink before his shadows came to cover him, and he coughed awkwardly. “I, um…” he mumbled, stepping back from you and the obvious shock painted on your face, “I’ll get us some more drinks.”

Just like that, he was gone, and the crowd surrounding you seemed to come back into your awareness. You noticed the gazes of Cassian and Nesta settled on you from across the room then, one of befuddlement and the other displeasure. But you didn’t even have a second for the mortification to wash over you, as Mor materialized before you instantly, grabbing your hand and leading you deeper in the crowd. She gave you an inquisitive look once the pair of you had found shelter behind the masses, but didn’t push it, noting the confusion that settled your features even as your body moved to the rhythm once more. 

⸻

For the next hour or so, you danced with Mor, and Nesta and Cassian came to join you at some point as well. The Illyrian looked like he wanted to say something to you, but was rendered unable both from the noise of the club and also his mate who had positioned herself between you two. You knew Azriel was stationed at the table, but couldn’t bring yourself to look over at him, even though you were becoming thirstier by the minute and knew he had a drink awaiting you. At some point Mor had wandered back over to the bartender, now with her full rack resting atop the bar and in deep, seemingly-seductive conversation by the way she was looking at them. And even if the couple beside you were well-intentioned, you refused to burden them with your loneliness, finally wishing them congratulations on their anniversary and excusing yourself.

The shadowsinger sat up slightly as you came closer, the evidence of his drinking overt; two crystal carafes stood empty beside a third that was half-full, tiny pools glistening on the tabletop where they missed his glass. 

“Is that for me?” you asked as you slid into the seat opposite of him, nodding to the bright cocktail that stood alone at the booth side of the table.

He nodded in return, fingertip tracing the edge of his tiny cup, silky hair slightly disheveled and his eyes not quite as critical as usual. You thanked him quietly, taking a sip before a modest smile bloomed on your lips in unspoken appreciation at the familiar flavor of your favorite drink. The club was slightly spinning by the time the glass was drained, a drunken giggle escaping you at the light feeling that filled you. 

Azriel smiled at you, your eyes closed and slowly swaying like grass in sweet summer wind. He did not regret his admission on the dancefloor, for it had been the truth. He just wished he was brave enough to tell you that without taking twenty shots– or however many he’d had– he’d stopped counting after twelve. Even though he was not at all sober himself, he could sense that it was time to get you home. It wasn’t unusual for him to bring you back to the House of Wind; night outings like this usually did end up the two of you as everyone else paired off. Yet for some reason, it felt different tonight. He couldn’t wait to scoop you in his arms and zip through the sky. 

“Would you like to go home?” he said, watching amusedly when you opened your eyes and sent him a dazzling grin. 

You agreed, “You always read my mind, Az.” 

The tall male led you out to the front of Rita’s, catching his brother���s eye and nodding in farewell. A few other drunkards sat on the curb and passed something smoky between them, their low cackles echoing down the otherwise-quiet stone alleyway. The cool crisp smell of the night air washed over the pair of you, the stars still dangling high in the indigo sky. You inhaled deeply, Azriel doing the same as he walked you into the center of the street, wings growing and stretching. You watched as those wings shook the sleep from themselves, swelling the street with silky shadows as they unfurled, as if he had been keeping those at bay just as much. It was a gorgeous sight as he unfastened the top button of his shirt, another ring of tattoos peeking out at the middle of his chest. You could stare at him for ages. 

Azriel reached out for you, his wings flapping a couple times to warm up. His gaze was bright, as if the incident inside hadn’t even occurred. But you were eager to feel his touch on you once more, so you skipped over to him instantly, practically jumping in his arms. You’d once worried that you were too heavy to do such things, but after flying with the Illyrian so many times now, you knew you were nowhere near his carrying capacity. He was absurdly strong, just like his brothers– seven siphons adorning his body and channeling the brunt of his power. For him, bringing you to the House of Wind was probably akin to the amount of energy you’d expend skipping a small rock across a placid stream, the whole ordeal over in three seconds.

Little did you know he planned to take the scenic route, if not just to feel you clutching onto him for a few moments longer.

The ground sucked out from underneath you as he sprang up into the night, and you stifled the excitable scream that always tried to escape. He only laughed as he found his place in the sky, the powerful beat of his wings seamlessly blending with the low moan of the wind. Once you had a better grip on him, and his arms secured around you tighter, you adjusted and laughed too– excitement coursing through you. It was such a rare sight, seeing the reticent shadowsinger smile at you unrestrained like that, carefree. All you could do was mirror him before he dove the two of you into the night. 

Stars whipped past as he danced through the skies; black, fuschia, violet, and navy all swirling together above you. His shadows tickled at you gently, leaving a cool wake where they touched. Cerulean and cyan gleamed from the siphons on the backs of the hands that clutched onto you, and you catapulted forward suddenly. All you could do was latch onto the hard muscles that secured you as Azriel took you for a roller coaster ride. 

He dove and looped and held onto you, relishing the feeling of your skin touching his, the smell of your hair that whipped around him– the feeling of you gripping him so hard– hard enough that maybe it would be enough for him to leave you alone once you arrived at the house instead of pressing you up into the balcony pillars and pleasuring you until you passed out, like he so deeply wanted to do. 

The joyride could only go on for so long before it had to end; the two of you were still considerably drunk and only able to handle a few loop-de-loops on the journey. Azriel had managed to sneak in an extra minute or two of air-time, not wanting to risk your suspicion nor take advantage of you. The liquor was beginning to really hit him at full effect now, stumbling a bit as he landed on your balcony. It was only two extra steps, nothing major. But Azriel always flew with such precision that you knew you weren’t the only one feeling the alcohol.

Now that you were looking at him again, you found yourself mesmerized by his ethereal beauty. Long lashes pointed down to you as he continued to hold you, despite him now standing firmly in the middle of your balcony. Hazel eyes flicked over your face and he smiled just a little for you. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you never really could– but he definitely had a great many thoughts flickering behind his gentle gaze. 

You peeped as your back touched something, and you realized he had walked over to the chaise-lounge perched under the bow of your balcony– trying to set you down. You looked back at the chair and then at him. Dark brows knitted beneath his tousled hair as he loosened his grip, but you remained clinging to him. 

Azriel murmured your name when he tried to deposit you there and you refused, again. 

“Can you…” you whispered, reluctant to leave his embrace. It felt so good to have him touching you, and your inhibitions were at an all time low as your mate held you so dearly, his eyes filled with concern. “Can you put me on my bed, Az?” 

The Illyrian blinked, wings ruffling before quickly tucking in. He pulled you up again and carried you inside your room, princess-style. It was how he always held you during flight, but somehow when his feet were on the ground it felt completely different… not quite as innocent. 

Your room was lit with beams of moonlight pouring through the arched windows and sheer curtains, yet the male’s shadows flicked over the tips of the candles by your bed and they lit as he willed them to. It was spacious enough inside that your medicinal books and tomes spread out all over the area, along with your trinkets and clothes. The strong smell of you clung to the walls, the sofa, the bed. He had never been this deep into your room for this long before, and he was sure the alcohol wasn’t the only substance he was drunk on. 

You savored the sight of him while he wandered toward your bed. You allowed yourself to dream of the day your male would know just what you were to him, and imagined he was about to ravage you instead of dump you and leave you in your big bed all alone. Your hips moved slightly against his front, and you closed your eyes in embarrassment as heat began to rush in between your legs. It wasn’t really wrong of you to be turned on by your mate, especially after drinking so much and dancing with him the way you had. But the bond was still your secret, and you didn’t know if Azriel even felt anything slightly like how you felt for him; if he had any inkling that you were made to be together. 

You chanced one more look at him as he set you atop the soft duvet, fluffy pillows plush against your back. His inky hair fell between his eyes as he leaned forward and laid you down fully, sitting on the very edge of the bed and turning to draw the blanket at your feet up and over you before he left. His back muscles rippled through his shirt, pumped after flying for just a few minutes. Another tattoo teased you from the side of his neck, and at the muscled sight of him, you wondered if he knew that he was the sexiest male to ever exist. 

He turned to you, leaving the fuzzy throw halfway up your exposed legs, a dark blush staining his cheeks as he looked at you incredulously. You blinked at him, not comprehending that you had just said that last thought aloud. He looked so incredibly flustered that it only took you a moment to realize your mistake, a hand slapping over your mouth as if that would somehow make him unhear your profession.

“I– I meant,” you gasped as you sat up on your elbows, breasts bouncing and sitting heavily on your chest at the sudden movement. Azriel glanced down at the action, the emotion wiping off his face and instantly an interested mask of cool was in its place. “I…” you stopped breathing as he leaned closer to you, his breath fanning your neck and his shadows curling around your ankles. 

Azriel’s eyes were searing into you, burning the shape of your body into the covers you laid upon. The alcohol was giving him too much confidence, your praise soaking his bones with white-hot desire as he appraised your figure that was pressed between his hard body and the soft mattress. “Is that really what you think of me?” he inquired, the words tight, restrained. Are you sure, his eyes seemed to ask.

“Yes,” you answered immediately, the word rushing out of you before you could think to lie. Maybe that was how the victims of his spymaster tactics felt, too, under the scrutiny in his never-ending hazel gaze. But you couldn’t think about that now– couldn’t think about anyone else, because then Azriel was kissing you. 

He crawled over you, caging your body under his large frame as his lips conquered yours. You were in too much shock, and too much bliss to refuse– moaning as his tongue wandered into your mouth, a rough hand gripping your waist as the other gripped onto the bend of your headboard, hard. 

This was wrong.

Both of you knew it, deep down, but neither wanted to stop, and neither of you cared now. Your bodies were strung out, needing to be connected so terribly after spending so much time together with not so much as a single kiss. Now that you had had just a tiny taste of it, you couldn't control yourself any more. And Azriel wanted you, the evidence of it pressing into you through his pants and your dress. 

On the same page, he groaned as he sat up, pulling you with him and his hands squeezing the plush of your thighs, shoving your dress up over your hips. You frantically unbuttoned his top, and he ripped the cloth off of him in impatience, cupping your ass and lifting you in one arm as he got rid of his pants with his free hand. You slipped forward so that your hips slotted over his, your slick panties rubbing against the thick, exposed length of him. The both of you gasped at the contact, and he quickly unzipped your gown and threw it over your shoulders into the darkness of your room. 

Your tits spilled out against his broad, inked chest and he growled, hips bucking against yours and sliding his hard cock against your core. Your head tossed back and his mouth was instantly claiming the skin of your neck, licking there and teeth sinking in just hard enough for you to cry out. The liquor only made everything more intense, your skin exploding wherever he touched, kissed, sucked. 

“Please Az,” you pleaded, desperate for more of him. He kissed you again, laying you back onto the pillows once more before he sunk down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Your body writhed in his arms, pleasure shooting through you. His other hand wandered up the inside of your thigh, trailing closer to where you needed him. 

He let out a delectable sound when the heel of his palm pushed into your clit through your panties, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass cheeks. He snarled as your wetness soaked his hand, your body ready for him to take you and claim you as his. Before you could beg again, his fingers slipped under the lace and he ripped the garment into shreds, exposing your dripping pussy to his greedy stare. All you could do was moan and arch your back, nipples stiff and body flushed, bare before your male. 

Azriel dragged you to the bottom of the mattress, then sinking to his knees before you. He spread you before his face, inspecting the most intimate part of you that glistened just for him. The way he was looking at you made a new wave of embarrassment wash over you, but before you could complain, he was leaning into you.

“So perfect,” he said sincerely, not seeming to care as he took a deep breath of your arousal, eyes filled with a wicked glint. Tattooed arms slithered up under your thighs and scarred hands cupped your hips as his tongue roved over your pussy. 

You were moaning unashamedly as he licked at you, kissing your clit and closing his eyes to savor the taste of you, recording each spot that had you crying out and giving them extra attention. Your body was shaking in his grasp, and you keened when his rough fingertips prodded your sopping hole. They slipped in, thrusting a few times before you were cumming, squirming and eyes rolling back. Those fingers retreated and rubbed the fresh slick along your slit, ensuring everything was nice and wet.

He stood then, cock tall and thick at the dip of the V between his hips. You tried to sit up to get a better look at it, eyes widening at the size of him and then realizing his wings had spread out behind him. Maybe that thing they said about wingspan was true after all.

“Come here,” he ordered and you shuffled down to the edge of the bed to meet him. 

You got onto your hands and knees before him, and he raised a brow as he watched your hand wrap around him. His hips thrust forward and he sucked in a breath as you took him into your mouth. He was too big to fit all the way so you went down as far as you could, tongue caressing behind your lips as you pushed him in and out of your throat. Once enough saliva had gathered in your mouth you spat into your hands and twirled them around the base of him, ample length for them to jerk over. Syncing the churn of your hands with your mouth, Azriel began panting, hands tucking your hair back so he could watch your pretty lips slide over him. He only allowed you a minute before he tore you off of him, refusing to finish without feeling the heaven your sweet cunt had promised him as he tasted it earlier. 

Desire pulsed through you as he tossed you onto your back and grasped your ankles, pulling you down so your core rested at the end of the bed, just inches away from his cock. He grabbed himself at the base, pointing the tip onto your hole and sliding the underside of it up and down your slit. Your body was tensing, twitching and trying to pull him inside you, where he was meant to be. “Az… Azriel I need you,” you sobbed, delirious. 

Azriel complied with your wishes, pushing the tip of himself inside your wet pussy before gently thrusting in. Each measured swing of his hips buried him deeper inside of you and you were thrust into another dimension as he hit those sacred, secret spots deep within you. You began clawing at his back as your legs folded on either side of him, submissive to the onslaught of pleasure he was showering you in. You couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he pumped into you, your walls hugging tight around him, begging he never leave, trying to convince him to stay here forever. He was moaning into your clavicle, wings fluttering as he fucked you deep, sweat beginning to dribble down the black designs carved into his firm torso. 

You couldn’t stop calling his name out, panting in his ear as your core took the shape of him. He was shuddering in pleasure, one hand cupping both your tits together and the other coming to curl around your back, hand supporting the back of your neck, pressing you closer to him. His tongue wrestled with yours again, thrusts becoming deeper, harder. Inked hips slapped against yours, the sound of your skin smacking mingling with both your ragged moans. You were close again, the passion in his gaze and his body’s pure intent surging with every thrust. 

Suddenly his shadows joined, slithering onto the bed around you and securing your limbs to the blankets. They flicked over every inch of your skin, tasting you, as if committing the sight and the feel of you to memory. They swirled over your hips, the promise of pleasure whispering in your ears as they crawled toward your nipples and your clit. You cried when they stimulated you, Azriel’s gaze bright as he watched them ravish you, just as he’d always imagined. They intensified everything, and it only took a few more pumps of his throbbing cock inside of you to make you unravel. Your cunt squeezed him ruthlessly, crying as your orgasm surged through your body. 

Azriel took in the sight of you, riding the ecstasy he had provided you with, and his own release came closer. He kept pushing into your slippery core, deep and hard now as his body begged him to finish inside you, for him to fill you up with his seed. He toed over the cusp of his climax, pressing his lips to yours as he uttered, “I love you,” and shot his load as deep as he could into you. His wings flapped a few times as he came, taut body shaking with euphoria.

Your heart swelled at his confession and you smiled, reaching for him to join you on the bed. He took you into his arms, holding you tightly against himself as he picked you up. His shadows brought forth a small, soft cloth and he held it underneath you as he pulled out of you, his essence dribbling out. You whimpered at the sensation, not wanting him to leave you just yet. But he set you back against the pillows once more, tucking your naked form under the covers and joining you there. He scooped your back into his chest, taking a deep breath of your scent from behind your ear. His wings hung off the side of your mattress slightly, his shadows forming a ring around the bed to guard your resting figures. 

He fell asleep quickly, the scarred fingers trailing along your forearm falling slack as his breaths deepened. You savored every second you could, fighting your exhaustion until you had no strength left and peaceful slumber took hold of you. 

“I love you too, Az…”

⸻

The chirp of sparrows on the balcony awoke you the next morning. Your head was pounding, your mouth parched and eyes bleary. Sun shone brightly into your room from the open curtains at the balcony, and you groaned, wondering if your magic could shoot the damn birds just so they’d shut up. Your stomach did not feel good either, an acidic burn at the bottom of your throat. You shifted, a hand coming to press at your forehead. Only you couldn’t– your arm was tucked under something warm and heavy. 

Your eyes flew open. 

Beside you was your mate, his naked chest on display as he laid asleep in your bed. His mouth was open just a crack, and his silky black hair was messy, his arm secure around you. Your heart shot into your mouth and you almost threw up in astonishment. You had spent the night together? 

Oh god. 

You had spent the night together.

Heat blazed your cheeks as you recalled last night’s events, recognizing the dull ache between your legs. Light bruises littered your curves, fingers wandering over a particularly tender spot in the dip between your neck and shoulder. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and it took you a moment to realize his shadows had come to say good morning to you, caressing your skin. 

You glanced over at him, but he was still asleep. It was only once a shadow trailed off your arm onto his neck and up to his ear that he opened his eyes, gaze meeting yours instantly. 

You pulled the sheet up over your cleavage a little better, wondering if there was any decency left for you to hide from him. “Good morning,” you blurted out, not sure what to say.

Azriel sat up swiftly, groaning as a hand flew to his forehead and he cradled it, obviously hungover just as you were. His wings stretched behind him and he dragged his palms down his face, swearing quietly.

You tried to calm down, your heart beating faster as the moment neared. You would have to talk about it now, right? Now that you had mated, didn’t he feel the bond in place? You didn’t remember what exactly had transpired last night, but surely he had to have discovered your bond. How could he fuck you and not have it snap into place for him?

“How do you feel?” you asked, watchful as you gripped the sheets with clammy hands. 

The shadowsinger sighed, one of his shadows running up his palm and over his shoulders. “Like shit, to be honest,” he replied, and you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your eyes. He looked at you then, eyes dropping to your chest and then the sheet you were holding, then to his own body. He picked up the sheet and looked at his lap, eyes going wide as he glanced over at you again. “Y/N, we…” 

You nodded slowly, watching his every move to figure out what he was feeling exactly.

Pink dusted his high cheekbones, gaze becoming apologetic. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he started.

Suddenly your headache didn’t hurt so bad, and the nausea in your stomach heightened. “Why are you sorry?” You whispered, begging for him to be joking. He couldn't still not know… 

Azriel frowned at your emotional gaze. “I… I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” he continued, and it felt like he had just stabbed your heart. “I never should have touched you last night. We were drunk, it wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” 

Rejection. 

It was excruciating, as if Truth-Teller was carving your insides out. 

“I see.” Your words were hollow now, but you couldn’t stop the words from falling from your lips. “Do you regret it?” You hated that it had slipped out, because you knew his reply would only hurt you even more. 

The shadows around your hips dragged at you, crying as they were pulled away from you, their master slipping from the sheets, pulling on his pants. Azriel couldn’t look at you, avoiding your gaze as he fumbled around for his shirt. 

“Did you mean it?” You asked quietly, so quiet Azriel almost didn’t hear it. You didn’t know if he knew what you were referring to, if he knew you were asking him if he loved you. 

It didn’t matter, because he chose not to reply, slipping out of your door and leaving you to drown in melancholy. You had your answer.

𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 8𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘙𝘌. 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 & 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥~ 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨!!^^

next part

[undertheorangetree]

To Be Alone With You

Summary- Osferth becomes infatuated with a healer from the continent.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Osferth's got a big old crush. Like he’s down bad. Blood. Minor injuries. Shoddy knowledge of 10th century healing. Blasphemy. Admittedly more plot than porn. Cunnilingus. Masturbation. P in V sex. Against a wall in a church no less.

Author's Note- The fact that Osferth canonically fucks and is good at it to the point where women fight over him lives in my mind rent free. Anyway read the rest on ao3 link is belowww

dividers by me lmao

Osferth likes to think that he's different now. Or at least, that he has changed since first joining Uhtred. He's grown further into himself- his confidence, his ability to be a warrior, that he himself has changed as a whole. He's stronger now and though he still values his faith, it does not feel so all consuming, an anchor around his throat forever reminding him of his bastardry. He is proud of the man he has become, of the one that he continues to grow into, and it feels right that, over time, he has changed for the better.

But he seems to forget all that the moment he lays eyes on her.

She had arrived with a traveling priest from the continent, one who had come with the intention of spreading the word of God to the infamously heretical ealdorman. And though she traveled with a priest and his retinue, she wore no habit. Her hair was loose, catching the waning rays of the sun and he felt his heart stutter in his chest when he caught the colour of it shining in the light. She had caught his eye then, as their little ship docked, and smiled at him so brightly he felt himself fall back into the boy he once was, the cursed baby monk.

Though Uhtred had wanted to throw the whole group out at the first sign of a sermon, he agreed to give them a night in the inn out of respect for how long they had been traveling- after they had paid a small fee, of course- and Osferth had managed to catch her in the tavern later that night.

The words had caught in his throat the moment he tried to speak, but Finan had been with him and it had been easy for him to ask if they could join her and begin a conversation. He had nursed his mug of ale while they spoke, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of her further, and joined Finan in highlighting all that Coccham had to offer. Finan had quickly become drunk, but they had found a joint amusement in that and he had revelled in every smile she cast his way. They learned that she was the priest's healer, having studied in Frankia before deciding to join the priest in order to see what the world had to offer. She told them of her travels to Burgundy, Provence, and the Northern Byzantine Empire, regailing them with stories Osferth could only dream about. Uhtred had joined them midway through the conversation, allowing Osferth the opportunity to join her on her bench, their arms brushing against each other.

By the time morning came, the priest had gone and she had stayed on as their healer. Uhtred offered her a cottage and the promise to retrieve everything she could possibly need. He had grinned at Osferth the moment she turned her back on them, raising his eyebrows playfully, and he had felt his face begin to burn from how obvious his immediate infatuation must have been.

At first, he simply admired her from afar. Though he is proud of all the progress he has made to become the man he is now, that all seems to melt away when he is around her. More often than not, he stumbles over his words when he tries to speak to her, face burning scarlet and heart beating faster in his chest. It is clear that the others know of his infatuation, as they do everything in their power to facilitate some kind of interaction between them. Inviting him over when they are speaking to her, offering her his assistance whenever she needs it. Finan had gone so far as to shove him in her direction whenever he felt like causing trouble, though thank God he had only stumbled into her once. She had done little more than laugh then but he had avoided her for two days out of sheer humiliation.

It is safer to simply keep his distance. Though he enjoys talking to her- more than enjoys it, if he is honest with himself- he does little more than embarrass himself when he tries. He wants more, he wants everything, but for now he will settle for admiration. Distance.

It seems kinder. To both himself and her.

He can see her now, walking back to her cottage with a basket full of herbs and flowers she must have picked nearby the river. There is a woman walking with her, one he doesn't know well enough to know her name, but they are laughing as if they are close friends. The other woman reaches out to rest a hand on her arm and he watches longingly as she raises her own to clutch at the other woman's fingers. He cannot hear what they're saying over the echoing clack of the wooden swords the boys are using to practice- a sparring match he is admittedly supposed to be monitoring- but she has a pull on him he can't quite explain and he can’t bring himself to look away.

It comes with consequences.

Read the rest here

[readatrix]

“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” ― Jorge Luis Borges

[revolu]

I'm dropping (a bit old) john laurens yap here. Please correct anything you must + provide the source.

and we know very limited about John but whatever !!

Laurens was described by Hamilton to have honey blonde hair when clean. His hair was generally said to be light brown/blonde. As seen on portraits, he had soft features, blue eyes, and a big nose. He was described to be very handsome, and IMO I agree!! We don't know exactly how tall he was, but he was most likely over 6 feet. One day before Laurens' 15th birthday, his father wrote to James Grant; ''my Little Jack, now as big as I am...'' (Jack being John's nickname). We don't know Henry Laurens' height, but if he was as tall as Henry at 15, he certainly grew to be taller. In 1778, Henry wrote to John ''A Taylor has cut off as much of your Scarlet as will make he says a Wascoat for 6 feet 3 inches...'' which suggests that John could have been 6'3. It's not clear what exactly Henry means in the letter but as said, John was probably over 6 feet. Laurens was one of the strongest abolitionists of the time despite coming from one of the bigger slave plantations and growing up where slavery was normal. John could speak English, French, Italian, Greek, Spanish and Latin. We know that he was fluent in English and French but we don't know about his fluency in the other languages.

Laurens got Martha Manning pregnant and ended up marrying her out of pity (supposedly to protect her reputation too and to keep illegitimacy of their child.) He wrote to his uncle ''...Pity has obliged me to marry...'', When Laurens left for war, he left his pregnant wife in another country. When John was chosen by congress to be a special minister to France and had him travel there, Martha traveled with their daughter to reconnect with him upon hearing about his arrival in France. But John supposedly made no effort whatsoever to visit them; he completed his mission and went back to America. Martha later died during the trip and their daughter, Frances, was sent to live with her aunt.

John Laurens is believed to have been gay... The man didn't seem to express any attraction towards women, though I think his sexist beliefs played a role in this, as well as his lack of effort to humble his wife. His letters to Alexander Hamilton, and Francis Kinloch also suggest he had an eye for men... ESPECIALLY Kinloch's and his correspondence.

Henry Laurens wrote ''Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nanny's''. But it's important to note that he was a teenager at that time and not every teen develops those feelings at the same time. But I would imagine that since he was as tall as his father at 15, he was early in puberty... Romantic/sexual feelings usually come with puberty, but what do we know? Anyways. John expressed a lot of sexist opinions, even towards his own sisters, which can be read in letters. Most men were sexist, but John seemed to be more ''strict'' on the subject... This definitely plays a part in his supposed ''homosexuality''.

John hid the fact that he had a wife and child from Hamilton for nearly two years. Why? The reason is unknown. It's only up to debate. My guess is that he just wanted to try to ''forget'' them in some way, seeing as he literally left them... Why would you bring up that you have a family that you abandoned? But maybe it was because he never found the right time to tell him, or was it to get a better chance with Hamilton? We will never know, sadly. But what we DO know, is that Laurens referred to his wife as ''dear girl'', and Hamilton, and supposedly ONLY Hamilton, as ''Dear boy''. We know for a fact that Hamilton was close to Laurens and was special to him, but why did he call his wife that? Out of pity? He didn't necessarily show any real attraction towards her... But whatever the reason is, it's kinda cute.

We know that Henry Laurens was emotionally manipulative of John, which is like read in letters... So there is no denying that, really. BUT John was close to his father, attachment issues tsk, tsk tsk... But jokes aside, when John told his father that he wasn't super interested in becoming a lawyer or merchant like his father wanted, Henry wrote this to his brother; ''if he enters upon the plan of Life which he Seemed to pant for when he wrote the 5th. July, I Shall give him up for lost & he will very Soon reproach himSelf for his want of Duty & affection towards me, for abandoning his Brothers & Sisters, for disregarding the Council of his Uncle, & for his deficiency of common understanding, in making Such a choice_ if these reflections prevail not over him, nothing will_ he must have his own way & I must be content with the remembrance, that I had a Son.'' Basically, Henry said he would disown John if he pursued his interests in medicine. So, John ended up becoming a lawyer/statesman to please his father. There are more examples of John trying to please his father, but let's not take that now... HOWEVER, after John had died, Henry wrote of him in response to John Adams' letter; ''Thank God I had a Son who dared to die in defence of his Country'' ... We get a lot of mixed signals from Henry... Though I do believe he loved him, at least somewhat.., even if he was controlling/manipulative. Henry wasn't too nice to his other children either, but since this is about John I'm not gonna talk about that.

John's brother James died at the age of 9-10 (1765-1775)

James, or Jemmy, was supposedly scaling the outside of their house and tried to jump to the landing outside of John’s window but fell. He received life threatening injuries and cracked his skull. The doctors had figured that the injuries were too severe to save him and John described it to his uncle four days later; "At some Intervals he had his senses, so far as to be able to answer single Questions, to beckon to me, and to form his Lips to kiss me, but for the most part he was delirious, and frequently unable to articulate. Puking, Convulsions never very violent, and latterly so gentle as scarcely to be perceived, or deserve the Name, ensued, and Nature yielded."

Since John was supposed to watch over James during this time, John felt guilty and as if it was his fault. James' death was very difficult for John, and it weighed heavily on him.

Henry did little to alleviate those feelings of guilt, which suggests that he either didn't care enough, or that a part of him also blamed John. (I am not saying he 100% did, but it would not be surprising if he so did, considering how he treated John.)

He could also have been in too much grief to console John... Which, as said, would not be too surprising considering his treatment of John. But nevertheless, he did not do much to help John and John's guilt.

TW: mentions of suicide.

It is highly speculated that John was suicidal. We have a couple of written exchanges where John discusses suicide with friends and family. In February 1774, John wrote to Henry Laurens about two men who had attempted suicide. We don't have the whole letter, but here is a part of Henry's response; ''...But, my Dear Son, I trust that your opinion on that Question is So firm, that you are armed with Such irrefragable proofs of the Impiety as well as Cowardice of Self Murther, as puts you out of danger of being made a Convert to Error...'' (Not gonna put all of it). Another time, when John was a prisoner of war and didn't handle imprisonment well, Hamilton wrote to John ''For your own sake, for my sake, for the public sake, I shall pray for the success of the attempt (of being exchanged) you mention; that you may have it in your power to act with us. But if you should be disappointed, bear it like a man; have recourse, neither to the dagger, nor to the poisoned bowl, nor to the rope.'' It is clear that Hamilton (and Henry, despite how he treated John) were worried about John's thoughts of suicide. John's last letter to Hamilton was probably one of the, if not the, most emotional. He wrote ''Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.'' John died about a month later. On the day of his death, John and his men surprised a troop of British soldiers that outnumbered them. Instead of retreating, John chose to immediately attack. He did not really actively end his own life, though it seems as if it was planned or that he was trying. Which is just sad. Also, it's not sure that Hamilton's last letter to Laurens ever got to him before he died. (In that letter he tells John to quit his sword and come to congress with Hamilton)

I don't know what else to add actually but here you have it!! This is as accurate as I can get it, especially cause it's like mostly based on letters... Uhm. But yay!

[vase-of-lilies]

A Hard Week

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!Reader (F)

❀ Stress, MD/LG themes, slight coercion but good coercion, baby talk, little reader, slight psychotic break but just a breakdown, crying, cuddling, poly relationship

❀ Request: A fic where reader is having a really bad week and just breaks down one day because she’s so anxious and stressed. Wanda and Nat see this and takes the time out to help her get little and let her relax. 

❀ A/N: Request sent in by @fragilepuppi! Thank you for your kind words, and I am thinking about moving the toy lion, the scarlet witch and the tiny wardrobe to Tumblr again! But thank you for the super kind words and thank you for reblogging and being so interactive with my stories:) Gif by me:)

Finals week. The dreaded week in college where professors become serious, strict, and pushy. The week where they don’t care about your mental health, only your grades. You, an overachiever is their most vulnerable target for pushiness. If they say to redo it, you don’t ask why, you find what you did wrong on your own and fix it yourself. Feeling like an inconvenience if you ask for help. 

It was taking a toll on you, and Wanda and Nat could tell. You would shut yourself in your room for hours on end, studying and taking notes like a machine. But you aren’t a machine, you needed to eat, drink, shower, and sleep. And you did none of that. You pushed your own needs away to keep your head in the game to get a good final grade. It was your last year after all, before you got your degree!

Every hour, Wanda or Natasha would come in with a new glass of water and some snacks wanting to make sure that you were getting what you need. But to their disappointment they found a full plate and a half drunken cup of water, the ice fully melted and condensed onto the outside of the cup. As your music blasted into your headphones, they could only do so much. They would give you a kiss, and watch you for a few minutes before closing your door and waiting for the next hour to arrive. 

“Im really worried about her, she is pushing herself to the limit and we haven’t seen our little girl in a while.” Wanda says to Nat as they cuddle on the couch. They were so worried about you, and only wanted to see you happy and not stressed. Natasha agrees, sighing as she holds Wanda to her chest. 

“I know hon, I just want to scoop her up and hold her until she falls asleep. There are more empty coffee cups in her trash than empty water bottles. This week is killing her.” 

Wanda sighed into her girlfriends shirt and Watched the slideshow of pictures that filled the TV screen when it turned off. The pictures of you three made her smile. Your eyes were bright and full of emotion, not tired and emotionless. Your smile was genuine, not a simple acknowledgment of Wanda or Nat when they come into your room. 

“I hate how much she loves to work. She works too hard, and I don’t know how to help her. I know this week is important to her, but even with the coffee she still looks exhausted. I want our little girl back.” Natasha nods and kisses Wandas forehead, and thinks of a plan to help you take a break. 

What the women were not expecting was you to come out of your room. Tears were pooled in your eyes and you looked so tired. They sat up a little bit and looked at each other, knowing that they need to bring their little out of her shell. “Hi Angel, its good to see you out of your room.” Wanda says, reaching out her hands to you. 

As you see them happy to see you, the dam breaks and you let out a small sob as tears fall down your cheeks. Wanda gently pulls you to sit in between her and Nat and she rubs your back to comfort you. 

“Oh angel, shh, its ok, your mommies are here.” Wanda whispers, looking to Nat with the look. She reaches into the drawer next to the couch and brings out your teddy bear pacifier. She doesn’t push it on you just yet, wanting you to come out when you felt ready. 

“Doll, can you tell us what’s wrong?” Natasha asks you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I- I just can’t t-t-take it anymore. Mr. Jordan j-just wants to see me suffer. He doesn’t want m-me to succeed.” Your tears fall onto your shirt, and you clench your fists in your lap. “He told me to redo a paper four times, and I still can’t tell what’s wrong with it. I ran it th-through grammar check after grammar check and he just throws it in his digital trash bin like its a line scribbled by a 2 year old. I- I want to quit school, Im so done!” 

Wanda looks down at you with sad eyes, and says “Its alright Angel, can you tell mommy what you need?” She tries to coax you into your little space, knowing you need it more than they do. Natasha lays you back on the couch and cups your cheek. “You can trust us, doll. Can you talk to your mommies so we can help?” 

Their voices become a little higher, the type of tone they talk to you with when you go into your little space. You subconsciously took note of this, and the little voice inside your head whispers for you to let go. You curl in on yourself as you let your little space take over. 

“Wanna cuddle... M-maybe baf?” Your pronunciation is a little wonky, now that you are falling into your little space by the second. Nat smiles and shows you your paci. Your eyes light up and you happily open your mouth as she puts the binkie to your lips. Wanda smiles and kisses your forehead as you lay against her, Natasha pulling you both into her lap on the big couch. 

“Such a good little doll, your mommies got you, you’ll be ok.” Natasha whispers, running her fingers through your tangled hair, being careful not to pull too hard on getting the knots out. Wanda gently tickles your arm to relax you, and your eyes become heavy. 

“Seepy, so seepy…” You whisper passed the pacifier in your mouth, and Natasha looks down at you. “Sleep little doll, we’ve got you, and you’re in a safe place. Not even mean Mr. Jordan can get you here.” She smiles at your little giggle, knowing that your professor is your biggest enemy when you are little. 

As the two women calm you down and wipe your tears, Wanda uses her telepathic powers to start the bathtub from the couch. Your ears perk at the sound of the running water, but you fall back asleep in her arms. “We’ll get you in the bath when you wake up, doll. Ok?” You nod in your sleep, sniffling every now and then but finally able to calm down in your mommies arms. 

It was just what you needed in the hardest and most stressful week of your college life. Relaxing in your girlfriend's arms in a mental place that makes you feel safe. You are so grateful for them, and couldn’t thank them enough. Well, maybe when you are back in your big space you could find a way to thank them. For now, you are happy and getting better, just as your mommies wanted to help you. 

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Sukuna, funny, "You seem really thirsty, have you considered drinking water?"🌶️please🫶

Oh man, idk why but I really struggled with this one! I think it's cause I always get in my head and worry that you guys won't vibe with my comedy?? I don't know. BUT in the end, I'm happy with the result!

Now Presenting...

Starring: Ryomen Sukuna, and a reader that just wants to know peace

Sukuna leaned back in the natural hot springs, closing his eyes and letting the warm water relax his sore muscles. He hated it here. The hot water made the oppressive, muggy summer air even more suffocating, and the open nature of the hot springs left him vulnerable to attack. But supposedly, emphasis on supposedly, the water had a healing property. It was supposed to mend his wounds, give him more energy, a longer life, amazing head, or some shit like that. This water was supposed to be God's gift to man according to the village's religious radicals, but so far the only thing it was giving Sukuna was heat stroke. 

"Oh, I'm sorry My Lord, I didn't think you'd be here," a familiar voice said. Sukuna slowly opened his eyes and let a grin slip. Before him stood his favorite concubine. Maybe this spring could do good on one of its promises after all. "May I join you?" You asked.

"You may." Ryomen said, his eyes burning into you as you dropped your robe. Sukuna had seen your naked form countless times before, and every time excited him more than the last. You were beautiful, more breathtaking than any mere mortal had any right to be. And you were all his. Who wouldn't be excited about that? He watched your every movement like a hawk: the way you slowly lowered yourself into the water, how your chest puffed out when you went to stretch your shoulders, and the glimmer in your eye when you caught him staring. 

"Enjoying the show?" You asked. 

"Isn't that joke a little over done?" He asked back, tilting his head like a lost puppy. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

"Ok, fine then, be like that. I just won't banter with you anymore" you shrugged, playfully sticking your tongue out at him 

"You should put that tongue back in your mouth before I give you something to do with it." Sukuna warned, raising an eyebrow to prove the point. 

"I can't tell if that's a threat or an invention to be honest," you confessed, throwing his expression back at him. He shrugged in return. 

"I'm waiting to find out which one it is myself." He admitted

"Well keep waiting." You scoffed, "I'm here to get clean, not harassed by a pervert."

"Why not do both?" 

"Because I get enough of the latter at the temple I live at. The lord of the place is obsessed with me," you faux bragged, "every time he sees me he has to put his hands on me in some way, or his cock inside me."

"He sounds like a great guy." Sukuna grinned, "he has great taste in women, I bet he's smart too. And handsome and-"

"Deeply annoying." You cut him off before he could get too full of himself. "He's an arrogant bastard with zero control of his temper. Honestly, I'm shocked he hasn't killed me yet." To be fair, Sukuna was shocked he hadn't killed you yet too. He'd thought about it, countless times. Hell, he was thinking about it right now. But, something about you was too endearing to him for him to actually go through with the act.

“With a mouth like that, I’m shocked too. You must be a phenomenal lay.” In theory, that was Sukuna dolling out one of his rare compliments, though, the tone of voice had the edge of an insult to it. Not being really sure how to respond, you focused on your original goal: bathing and relaxing. You cupped your hands under the water, bringing it up and letting it flow over your head and limbs. You could feel scarlet eyes studying your body as you did so, watching the way spring trickled down the curves of your body. You looked over at the king of curses, and was positive that this is what a mouse felt like once an owl decided it was for dinner.

“You look thirsty!” You said, trying to take your nerve back, “Have you considered drinking any water?”

“No actually, I haven’t.” Sukuna said, swimming over to you. He brushed a lock of your wet hair behind your ear, sending cool shivers down your spine, “It’s a good idea though.”

“Thanks, I thought of it all by myself.” you beamed. He couldn’t help but smirk back as he took your hips in his hands, pulling you closer to him.

“Did you now?” he hummed, “Well in that case, I have to try it.” He picked you up under the water and rested you on his hips, prompting you to wrap your legs around him. You already weighed next to nothing to him, but thanks to the water you might as well have been made of air. His lips found your collar bone. He ran his tongue up your neck, lapping up the water that was dripping down it.

Which…was quite frankly unsanitary as hell, and definitely not recommended. But I mean, He was a curse so, what did he have to fear from doing that? Dying? Hardly. And besides, the little sounds you made as he left his mark on you made it worth it. You felt his teeth dig into you, right where your jaw met your neck, and felt the subsequent bruise bloom there. You tangled your fingers into his fluffy pink hair, tugging softly as you happily accepted his affections. He moved the two of you to the edge of the water, and laid you down on the bank, spreading your legs nice and pretty for him.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve been alone, “ Sukuna noted, placing a villainously gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“I mean, we're technically not alone now,” You reminded him, never having been one to hold your tongue, “Anyone could walk up on us at any moment.”

“Good.” Sukuna chuckled, “I hope they do.” Before you could say anything smart, Ryomen ran his tongue along your slit and to your clit, sucking sharply at the bundle of nerves. You yelped in response, both hands finding his hair again as pleasure coursed through you. His mouth sent electric ripples of pleasure through you, turning you into putty in his hands. 

“Fu-fuck me..” You muttered softly, only for annoyance to fill you as he removed his head from in between your thighs. 

“Really, that fast?” He asked, attempting to move up your body. Key word, attempting as you very quickly pushed him back down.

“Oh no, you’re not done down there yet.”

“But you said-!”

“Get to work!” you demanded. Ryomen rolled his eyes, trying to hide his chuckle as he resettled in between your legs. Any other woman would have been slaughtered for such disrespect, but you knew you were special; and you had no intention of using that power for good. Ryomen worked quicker this time, licking his initials into your clit while two of his long fingers slipped inside you, quickly finding your g-spot. Molten heat pooled in your stomach with every movement from him, building up into an inferno of bliss and desire. 

“Fuck Ryo-!” You tried to warn him, but pleasure overtook you before you could, a volcano erupting inside of you spreading hellfire and ecstasy through every corner of your body. Your legs clamped down around Ryomens head, locking him in place. Not that he was complaining, he gladly ate you out though your climax, feeling the way your thighs trembled around his temples. You gushed into his mouth, filling his senses with nothing but you. Yea, he couldn't really breath super well, but that was fine with him. Really, what better way to die than in between the legs of a beautiful woman?

Before he could make peace with whatever higher power he was about to meet though, your legs went limp. Jagged breaths raked through your body, leaving you shaking like a leaf. You looked adorable like that, vulnerable and dazed from pleasure. He pulled you back into the water with him, bracing you on his hips. 

“Feel good, slut?” He asked, already positioning you over his cock. 

“So good..” You muttered, bracing yourself for what you knew was next, “You did a good job, like eight outta ten.”

“Well, you- wait, only eight?!” He was so genuinely offended by the number you had to laugh at him.

“That’s what I said,” You shrugged, “You’ve done better.”

“I’ll show you better,” He growled, lowering you into his thick cock. Your body tensed at the feeling, and the tight sound you let out was a little more than embarrassing. “Let's go for a perfect score this time.” He chuckled. You dug your nails deep into his shoulders as he nestled himself inside of you, stretching you to your very brink. No matter how many times you took Sukuna, it always felt like the first, and it always made you feel dizzy with pleasure. 

“You feel so fucking good,” He groaned, bucking his hips up into you, perfectly stroking your g-spot, “It’s almost like you were made to be my cocksleeve.” he set a punishing pace, using the water to help bounce you on him. It reawakened your previously fried nerves, making you feel alive with electricity. A coil started to quickly form in your stomach, your overly sensitive body treating every tingle it felt like an explosion. You moaned out his name. Or at least you were pretty sure you did. Honestly, your senses were kinda hazy right now, the only thing that felt real was the cock absolutely punishing your insides.

“You were a lot of talk before slut, what happened?” Sukuna mocked, “What happened? Nothing left to say.”

“Fuck you.” You moaned out.

“You are.” Sukuna noted. He could feel his own climax coming on fast. You were warm, and the way your cunt pulled him in made him feel feral. He had to do something quick, because he’d be damned if he came before you did. You screamed as you felt a warm tongue lap at your clit, the new stimulation sending you into overdrive. You looked down into the clear water to see he opened another mouth. It was an obscene display. 

“Enjoying the show?” Sukuna laughed. You growled as you bit down on his neck, which only added fuel to his fire. 

“You're gonna have to bite harder than that to leave a mark Y/n.” he said, punctuated with a particularly rough thrust. It sent you overboard, spiraling head first into bliss. Your head felt like it was filled with cotton and your blood felt like it was made of smoke. You felt light as wave after wave of euphoria overtook you, pulling you under the sea of endorphins.

Sukuna wasn’t far behind. The clenching of your cunt coupled with the way your teeth sank into him brought him over, cumming deep inside of you. He fucked you through both of your highs, drawing your pleasure out for every seconds he could. In the aftermath he leaned against the bank of the spring, holding you close to his chest while you regained the strength to walk back to the temple. 

“So how was that?” Suluna asked, running his claws through your hair. You laughed a bit and nodded.

“Nine out of ten.”

“Nine?!”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Wandavision (The Scarlet Witch Saga, Part I)

Summary: (Y/N) meets with S.W.O.R.D.’s Director Hayward in an attempt to reclaim Vision’s remains for burial but after Wanda makes an unexpected and hostile appearance at their headquarters, both women uncover far more than they’d originally bargained for…

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long between stories, but I've been taking care of my mother post-hip replacement surgery and I haven't had very much free time to write. However, I found the time to finish this little angst-filled one-shot up, so yay! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Wandavision Part I of The Scarlet Witch Saga November 2023 S.W.O.R.D. Headquarters, Florida (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“I’m sorry, Mrs. (Y/L/N), but Director Hayward’s itinerary is completely booked-”

“And yet, I was assured over the phone by his secretary that he would finally be available to meet with me today at eleven o’clock, which is…” (Y/N) made a show of pulling back the sleeve of her blouse to look at her watch. “Right now. I don’t appreciate being given the runaround, so I suggest that you give his office another buzz before I come back with a few Avengers; believe me, they won’t be as friendly and accommodating as I am.”

The security guard gulped, snatching up his phone’s handset and hastily punching in the extension to Director Hayward’s office as (Y/N) leaned against his desk and looked up at the towering screens that lined the lobby’s walls. News footage from all across the world played one after the other, each of them depicting families being reunited and celebrations taking place in the wake of the Battle of Earth, and a wistful smile tugged on the corner of her lip. Although it had been nearly three weeks since they’d completed their Time Heist and Bruce utilized the Infinity Stones to bring the Vanished back, she still couldn’t quite believe that they’d done it; Carina, Sam, Bucky and every other friend and teammate they’d lost that traumatic day five years ago in Wakanda was back. But as the news footage changed to coverage of Tony and Natasha’s deaths and all the memorial services being held across the world in their honor, (Y/N)’s smile fell and she quickly averted her gaze from the screens.

In the wake of Tony and Natasha’s deaths, it had fallen to (Y/N) to pay a visit to S.W.O.R.D.’s headquarters in Florida to retrieve Vision’s body and arrange for his burial. Fury had pulled several strings before departing for space and finally managed to uncover where the android’s body was being held, even going so far as to discover that there were several proposed plans floating around the organization to study his remains for the development of high-tech weapons. Since her fellow Avengers were busy helping to re-stabilize Earth and countless other planets across the galaxy and Steve was at home with Carina – and, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Steve Rogers was presumed dead after the Battle of Earth – (Y/N) volunteered to represent the Avengers in a meeting with Director Tyler Hayward to discuss the return of the fallen Avenger’s body. Now, why do I get the feeling that S.W.O.R.D. isn’t just going to hand over Vis out of the goodness of their hearts, she thought to herself with a frustrated sigh, mindful of the half-healed cut across her stomach (an aggravating physical memento from her brief clash with Thanos) as she straightened her posture and looked out at the bustling lobby.

“Oh shit…” (Y/N) swore under her breath as she spotted none other than Wanda Maximoff striding towards the security guard’s desk; the younger woman’s expression was nothing short of incensed, with her green eyes blazing and her lips pressed into the thinnest of lines, but her expression subtly softened when her gaze landed on (Y/N). With the memory of Wanda’s near-defeat of the Mad Titan still fresh in her mind, she pushed herself off the desk and stepped forward to deescalate the situation before it began. “Wanda, I tried to call but all I got was your voicemail-”

“I was tracking down a lead when you called, and I came down here the moment I listened to your message,” The younger woman interrupted, and she looked around the busy lobby with an air of suspicion. “So, this Director Hayward has agreed to meet with you?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yes, but now that I’m here, they’re trying to tell me that I was never penciled in and that his schedule’s fully booked for today.”

Wanda’s eyes briefly glowed scarlet as her lip curled up and without another word, she brushed past (Y/N) and stormed up to the security guard’s desk. “I know you have him.”

“I-I’m sorry, but like I already told Mrs. (Y/L/N)-”

“Please…” She trailed off when she spotted the nearest armed guards tighten their grips on their weapons and while (Y/N) cautiously moved to stand beside her, she took a steadying breath and forced herself to calmly continued. “Please. When I came back, he was gone. His body…” Her voice shook with barely-restrained emotion and her fingers anxiously tugged on the cuff of her jacket’s sleeve. “And I know he’s here. He deserves a funeral, at least. I deserve it.”

The security guard’s growing discomfort was alleviated by the ringing of his desk phone; with a barely-perceptible sigh of relief, he snatched up the receiver and listened to the speaker on the other end of the line. “Yes, sir. Yeah, she’s still here.” Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) watched Wanda stare intently at the security camera affixed to the wall behind the desk and a shiver ran down her spine; I’ve got a bad feeling about all this, she thought to herself, her fingers anxiously twisting her wedding ring around and around her finger. “Are you sure? O-Of course…” The security guard’s forehead was beaded with sweat as he set the receiver down and looked back up at (Y/N). “Through the doors, down the hall. Two lefts and a right.” Wanda pushed herself off the desk and started towards the guarded double doors off to the side, forcing (Y/N) to flash him a fleeting smile of thanks and hurry after her. “One moment, I have to buzz you in.”

“I got it, thanks!” Wanda’s voice dripped with sarcasm and before anyone could react, she lobbed a ball of scarlet-hued energy towards the locked double doors that forced them open, the walls shuddering as they slammed against them; ignoring the stares of dozens of security personnel, armed guards and employees and the uncomfortable tugging on her stitches, (Y/N) quickened her pace and fell into step with the younger woman. “You disapprove of my methods, don’t you?”

(Y/N) hummed thoughtfully and followed it up with a half-hearted shrug. “Well, they did try to waste my time back there, time that I’d much rather spend with my husband and newly-returned daughter, so I can’t say that I entirely disapprove. But Wanda…” They turned left and continued walking down the hall. “We’ve got to play this carefully. Do you know what S.W.O.R.D. stands for?”

“Honestly, I don’t care,” Wanda snapped, but quickly grew contrite when she caught sight of (Y/N)’s arched brow. “Sorry. What does it stand for?”

“Sentient Weapon Observation and Response Division. A few years ago, they redirected most of their resources to studying and developing robotics, nanotechnology and A.I.; they essentially stopped studying and began to both design and build their own weaponry.” They turned another corner and (Y/N) carefully weighed her words before continuing. “My point is that this organization might’ve once been dedicated to defending Earth from extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional threats, but they’ve evolved into quite a formidable agency and one that won’t easily bow to external pressure. We’re Avengers and we just saved the world, but that doesn’t mean that things can’t and won’t go south if we burst into this asshat’s office and start making demands.”

Pursing her lips, Wanda ruminated on her statement and as they turned right into an empty hallway, she shook her head in disbelief. “So, you’re suggesting diplomacy for the organization that’s withholding my lover’s corpse from me?”

(Y/N)’s hand reached out to clasp Wanda’s forearm and she succeeded in halting their momentum for a moment; she looked around for any signs of security cameras or employees before lowering her voice and answering, “I’m suggesting self-preservation, Wanda; you know better than anybody how quickly these organizations can turn on someone the moment their interests stop aligning with theirs.” A lump of emotion formed in her throat and just as she’d done for nearly three weeks, she blinked away her tears and forced herself to smile. “Nat’ll come back from wherever she is and personally kick my ass if I let you end up in the Raft again.”

The younger woman’s green eyes softened, and the air hung heavy around them as they both thought about their fallen friend. “She would, wouldn’t she?” Taking a deep breath, she gently pried (Y/N)’s fingers away from her arm and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “Self-preservation it is.”

They shared a look of understanding before continuing down the hallway and approaching a metal-plated door near its end; the engraved plaque on the wall beside it read ‘Level 101: Director’ and as they came to a stop, the electronic keycard reader below it blinked green and the lock clicked open. (Y/N) straightened her posture and opened the door, stepping into an impressive office and immediately fixing her gaze upon the salt-and-pepper haired man getting up from his desk to greet them. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Wanda Maximoff. It’s an honor to meet you both, truly.” (Y/N) reluctantly shook Director Hayward’s outstretched hand as he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’d like to offer you my condolences, Mrs. (Y/L/N); your husband was a personal hero of mine, and his loss is a profound tragedy.”

It took a moment for (Y/N) to remember the lie that Nick Fury had helped to propagate and spread from the shadows for the past several weeks: that Steve Rogers was reported missing in action in the wake of the Battle of Earth and was presumed to have died while fighting Thanos. It was the lie they’d crafted together after he’d returned from his final mission de-serumed and steadfast in his desire to retire from the mantle he’d carried for decades in favor of a quiet life with (Y/N) and Carina, but it was a challenging one to maintain when she knew that he was safe at their home in Brooklyn with their daughter. Rearranging her features into a sorrowful expression with the ease of a trained spy, (Y/N) offered the older man a tight smile and nodded. “Thank you, Director.”

“Who are you?” Wanda demanded, her tone sharp and borderline accusatory as she took a step forward and pointedly refused to shake the director’s hand.

Director Hayward took her hostility in stride, lowering his hand and giving her a polite smile. “Director Tyler Hayward. I understand you’re both here to see the Vision – to recover the body, that is – is that right?”

“Well, I’m his next of kin,” She replied and gestured towards (Y/N). “And she’s here acting as the official representative of the Avengers in this matter.”

“I understand. I’d like to show you both something.”

The alarm bells had already begun to go off in (Y/N)’s head, but there was something about his statement and the glint in his eyes that immediately gave her pause. “And then you’ll give him to us?”

Instead of answering, Director Hayward crossed the room and opened a glass door for them to enter. “Please, just come with me.”

(Y/N) and Wanda exchanged a distrustful look before stepping through the doorway and into what appeared to be an observation room comprised of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a set of armchairs. The buzzing and whirring of power tools nearby quickly drew (Y/N)’s attention, prompting her to walk up to the wall of glass and look down; the scene below reminded her of a mechanic’s garage, with four floodlights illuminating a handful of S.W.O.R.D. personnel dressed in protective gear, who were working to dismantle five separate sections of machinery as armed agents stood guard. The machinery’s unusual shade of maroon and uniquely-shaped panels of silver instantly drew her suspicion, and it only took her a moment to come to the sickening realization that what they were viewing was Vision’s unceremoniously dismembered corpse.

“Oh my God…” (Y/N) covered her mouth and stared down at the grisly scene below in horror, her stomach churning at the desecration of her friend’s body and her heart sinking when she caught a glimpse of Wanda’s confusion in the reflection of the glass as she took a step closer.

“What is this? Why are you showing us this?”

(Y/N) glanced over her shoulder to see a visibly puzzled Director Hayward’s head tilt to the side as he slowly answered, “Because you asked to see it.”

Tears prickled in (Y/N)’s eyes while Wanda looked back down into the laboratory; the color slowly drained from the younger woman’s face and her lip trembled with emotion when one of the S.W.O.R.D. scientists moved and revealed the decapitated head of her lover. A quiet sob escaped her and her hands came up to press against the glass, seemingly unable to tear her eyes away from the synthezoid’s corpse. “Stop…stop…stop it!” She whirled around to face the director. “What are you doing to him?”

“We’re dismantling the most sophisticated, sentient weapon ever made.”

Wanda’s eyes filled with tears as she insistently shook her head. “But Vision’s not a weapon. You can’t do this!”

Unfazed by her emotional reaction, Director Hayward’s lips pursed together in an obvious attempt to appear sympathetic. “In fact, it is our legal and ethical obligation.”

“You know, I could’ve sworn that Vision was created using stolen vibranium from Wakanda, not America.” A surge of white-hot indignation filled (Y/N) as she faced the director and crossed her arms over her chest. “But what the hell do I know? I was only there the day that Ultron bought that vibranium off of Ulysses Klaue in Johannesburg.”

“The Vision signed the Sokovia Accords in 2016. With it, he established his personhood and shortly thereafter took the necessary steps to becoming a naturalized citizen of the United States of America.”

“Seriously, that’s what you’re going with?! You know as well as I do that the Sokovia Accords are currently in the process of being repealed, and all I have to do is call up the King of Wakanda to-”

“I just wanna bury him,” Wanda forcefully interrupted their escalating face off. “That’s all I want.”

Director Hayward’s hazel-colored eyes narrowed as he studied Wanda’s grief-stricken features. “Are you sure?”

A look of incredulity flashed in Wanda’s eyes and while (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in befuddlement, the younger woman recoiled away from the director. “Excuse me?”

“What exactly are you getting at, Director?” (Y/N) demanded.

“Not everyone has the kind of power that could bring their soulmate back online, Mrs. (Y/L/N).” There was a strange cadence in the older man’s voice that quickly put her on edge; seemingly realizing the strangeness of his statement, Director Hayward rearranged his features into a more apologetic expression. “Forgive me. Back to life.”

Wanda shook her head. “No, I-I can’t do that. It’s…that’s not why I’m here.”

“Okay. But I cannot allow you two to take three-billion dollars’ worth of vibranium just to put it in the ground.” While the younger woman turned back around to look down into the bustling laboratory below, (Y/N) paced the floor and shook her head in incredulity. “So, the best I can do is let you say goodbye to him here.”

Wanda’s hands moved to rest against the window as she softly replied, “He’s all that I have.”

“Well, that’s just it, Wanda. He isn’t yours.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to denounce the director’s callous words, but several things caught her attention all at the same time: the look of almost eager anticipation on Director Hayward’s face, the reflection of Wanda’s grief-stricken expression in the glass and the scarlet-hued energy beginning to emanate from the palms of her hands. With only a split-second advantage, (Y/N) spun away from the windows and shielded her head with her arms just as the glass shattered in a deafening explosion; the S.W.O.R.D. agents screamed and ran for cover as they were pelted with fragmented glass, and she could hear the armed guards collectively ready their weapons. (Y/N) lowered her arms in time to watch Wanda wave her glowing crimson hands and descend into the laboratory, seemingly transfixed by the remains of her deceased lover and unaware of the semi-automatic guns pointed directly at her.

“Wanda, no!” (Y/N) hurried over to the very edge of the floor and, ignoring the surge of fear in her stomach that came from her long-standing fear of heights, leaned forward for a closer vantage point.

“Fall back,” Director Hayward ordered, and the guards exchanged cautious glances with one another. “It’s fine. Let her see for herself.”

After a tense moment, the armed guards reluctantly lowered their weapons and steered clear as Wanda slowly approached the table containing Vision’s severed and lifeless head. Watching the younger woman hesitantly stretch her hand out and hover her glowing palm over the crater in her lover’s forehead, (Y/N)’s heart clenched in sympathy and she found herself once again cursing Thanos; although the Mad Titan was dead and gone, with his quest to destroy the universe successfully thwarted and the Infinity Stones returned to their rightful places, the overwhelming pain he’d caused them all would remain, and none would suffer under the weight of their grief more than Wanda Maximoff. By the time she’d reached her mid-twenties, Wanda had already lost her parents, her brother, her country, her mentor and her lover and while the rest of the Avengers could turn to their loved ones for support, she was entirely alone. It’s not fair, (Y/N) thought to herself as she watched the younger woman leave Vision’s side and walk through one of the laboratory’s emergency exits, she’s lost so much already and now she’s being denied the one thing that could possibly give her closure.

“I truly am sorry for your loss, Mrs. (Y/L/N), but seeing as he was a fully sentient synthezoid, I believe that the Vision would not only understand but fully support our good work here.”

The director’s words caused (Y/N)’s jaw to clench in anger and her carefully crafted control over her emotions to finally slip; whirling around to face him, she stood tall and unflinchingly stared him down, her fury only growing the longer she studied the artificial sympathy written across his face. “His name was Vision, just Vision, and you don’t know a damn thing about him. You’re a cruel, egotistical, half-baked warmonger who’d love nothing more than to bring that body down there back online to use as a weapon against anyone S.W.O.R.D. deems a threat.” She snorted in derision as the older man pursed his lips in irritation. “You’re no better than S.H.I E.L.D., Director, and you know as well as I do what’ll happen to your little chop shop down there when the Avengers find out what you’re up to.”

“What Avengers? A third of your group of circus freaks are off-world and a third are dead, leaving a half a dozen powerless and mentally-unstable vigilantes to burden us with their problems,” Director Hayward shot back, and the carefully-constructed façade he’d worn since they’d burst into his office finally fell away to reveal a snide smirk. “So I suggest that you stick to writing books and let the adults take over the protection of this planet.”

(Y/N) took a calculated step forward and stared unflinchingly into the director’s eyes for a moment before finally speaking, her tone calm and collected in contrast to his clear vindictiveness. “Believe it or not, I know what my limits are; after all, what can a best-selling historical-fiction novelist do besides make a few phone calls and write a scathing op-ed in a prestigious newspaper?” A humorless smile curved her lips upwards. “But you’re wrong about us ‘circus freaks,’ Director. Not only does Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes possess the highest security clearance that this country has to offer and is tasked with investigating those that the executive branch of our government suspects of breaking both national and international laws, the King of Wakanda has made it his personal mission to ensure that not an ounce of vibranium leaves his country’s sovereign borders; I’m sure that both men will be interested to learn all about your so-called legal and ethical obligation to horde stolen vibranium and how to attempted to goad a mourning Avenger into weaponizing it for you.”

Director Hayward visibly paled but still managed an incredulous scoff. “Is that a threat, Mrs. (Y/L/N)?”

“No, it’s a promise.” (Y/N) strode past the fuming director and through the observation room’s doorway, the shattered glass crunching beneath her high heels as she walked towards the office’s closed door; she grasped the door’s handle but paused, glancing over her shoulder to give Director Hayward one final glare. “Good luck, Director. You’re going to need it.”

Opening the door with more force than necessary, (Y/N) exited the director’s office and stormed down the hallways until she located the lobby, ignoring the security guard’s feeble farewell as she blinked away her tears of frustration and hurried to the front doors. She emerged out into the bright Floridian sun and was forced to shield her face with her hand in order to scan the packed parking lot for Wanda; spotting a burgundy Buick turning out onto the street and catching sight of the driver’s bold scarlet-hued hair, her heart sank into her stomach and she mentally kicked herself for not being quicker. Now she can add my name to the lengthy list of people who’ve failed Wanda Maximoff, (Y/N) thought as her shoulders dropped in dejection. While she pulled her cell phone out of her purse and texted Stephen Strange’s number, she tried not to linger on the memory of her friend’s heartbroken expression and the pain that had filled her green eyes while she grappled with the agony of losing Vision for a second time.

(Y/N): All finished here, eagerly anticipating a portal to get me the hell out of this godforsaken state S. Strange/The Wizard: Sounds like it went about as well as I’d anticipated… (Y/N): Oh, you have no idea ☹

A sparking orange portal appeared beside (Y/N) and whirled itself open to reveal her living room. Ignoring the handful of S.W.O.R.D. employees that were gawking from inside the building’s headquarters, she stepped through the portal and breathed a sigh of relief when the portal closed itself behind her, leaving her standing in her unruly but blessedly private home. They’d accepted Nick Fury’s offer of living in a temporary safehouse while they healed from their traumatic ordeals and acclimated themselves to civilian life, which meant that for the past week, their home was steadily piling high with taped-up moving boxes while they waited for Fury to finish making the final necessary arrangements for their new house; they’d still maintain ownership of their Brooklyn home, of course, but for the next several months, the (Y/L/N)-Rogers family would be calling the peaceful town of Rockport, Maine their home.

“We’re in here, sunshine,” Steve’s voice emanated from the kitchen. After tossing her purse onto the nearest armchair and kicking off her high heels, (Y/N) padded into the kitchen but froze halfway through the doorway at the unusual sight that she was met with; her husband was perched on a stool at the kitchen island with the sleeve of his shirt rolled up, his nose wrinkled in displeasure as a floating syringe punctured the skin of his small bicep, and Stephen Strange, dressed in full Master of the Mystic Arts regalia, was carefully manipulating the hovering syringe with magic as his blue-green eyes narrowed in concentration. “Bruce dropped off my last round of vaccinations; today’s Tdap, Varicella, MMR and an annual flu shot, so I’m feeling particularly pin-cushioney.”

“Well, I think you’ve been a very brave pin cushion, sweetheart.” With a sympathetic smile, (Y/N) crossed the room to where Steve was seated and kissed his cheek. “And all of your Band-Aids are very cute.”

Steve huffed in exaggerated dissatisfaction and Stephen’s lip curled up into his signature smirk; the sorcerer willed the empty syringe away and magically applied another Paw Patrol Band-Aid onto the former super-soldier’s bicep. “Just think, Rogers, in two weeks you’ll finally be able to be around your daughter without wearing a surgical mask, and your de-serumed life will officially begin.”

“Definitely something to look forward to,” Steve conceded, biting back a wince as he wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s waist and looked at her expectantly. “How’d your meeting with Director Hayward go?” She grimaced at his question and his expression fell. “That bad, huh?”

(Y/N) shrugged half-heartedly. “Wanda at least showed up but after seeing S.W.O.R.D.’s work firsthand, I wish she hadn’t come at all.”

While she recalled their contentious meeting with Director Hayward, she looked between both men and was struck by their differing reactions to her story; Steve was rightfully enraged on Wanda’s behalf for being denied a sliver of closure and beyond livid when he learned of the organization’s plans for the remains of his former teammate, but Stephen was primarily focused on Director Hayward’s comments regarding Wanda’s powers and the young woman’s momentary loss of control. (Y/N) arched a brow at the sorcerer’s piqued interest but didn’t address it, drawing the conclusion that as a Master of the Mystic Arts, he was naturally curious about powerful beings and their unique skill sets. They were both disgusted by the director’s callous behavior towards her after Wanda departed, with Steve’s jaw clenching tight and Stephen’s eyes narrowing as she spoke, and they both nodded in approval at her biting response to his cold-heartedness.

“I’ll give T’Challa and Rhodey a call to let them know what Hayward’s up to, but I’m afraid that that’s all I can really do.” (Y/N) let out a defeated sigh and twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “Fury made it clear that we can’t afford to draw any unusual attention to ourselves for the time being.”

Steve looked down at the marble countertop as guilt filled his azure eyes. “Because of me.”

“Steve…” Cupping his cheek, she gently coaxed him to look over at her and offered him a small smile of understanding. “After a lifetime spent prioritizing others, you finally chose to prioritize yourself and that shouldn’t make you feel an ounce of guilt. We may not be able to help Wanda ourselves, but we can pass along some very valuable information to the people who will.”

While the former super-soldier returned her smile with one of his own and gave her a chaste kiss, the sorcerer shrugged and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “All I can say is that it’s a real shame this can’t all be solved with a sling-ring, a portal and a little bit of grand theft.”

A soft whimpering began to emanate from the baby monitor resting atop the microwave, drawing (Y/N) and Steve’s immediate attention. “It must be time for Cari’s bottle; I’ll go get her while you start prepping it?” She hummed in agreement, turning to retrieve a clean bottle and a container of formula from the cabinet while Steve approached Stephen with his hand outstretched. “Thank you again for all your help today, Doc.”

“It’s nothing, really. In fact, I should be the one thanking you.” Stephen shook Steve’s hand and chuckled. “I don’t exactly get many opportunities to put my medical degrees to good use, so thanks for that.” After grabbing the baby monitor and donning a fresh surgical mask, Steve left the kitchen and Stephen turned his attention to (Y/N). “I wouldn’t worry too much about Wanda, (Y/N). I’ll keep an eye on her, check in from time to time and make sure she’s doing all right.”

(Y/N) screwed the cap back onto the full bottle and shook it as she studied the older man standing before her, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his reasoning than selflessness. “You’re concerned about her powers.”

“…I’m more so intrigued by her powers; after all, reckless experimentation with an Infinity Stone somehow imbued her with enough power to nearly kill Thanos and made her one of the most formidable beings on this planet.” Stephen’s quaking fingers withdrew his sling-ring from his pocket and slipped it on with a half-smile. “As the Master of the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, it’s my responsibility to keep a list of every powerful or supernatural person in my general vicinity and after what you’ve just told me, Wanda Maximoff’s shot to the very top of it.”

Biting her lip, (Y/N) watched as the sorcerer waved his hand and created a sparking orange portal that opened into the sanctum’s foyer, contemplating his words before countering them. “I understand. Just don’t…don’t forget that even with all that power, she’s still just a person, Stephen. Promise me?”

“I won’t,” Stephen solemnly vowed, taking a step into the sanctum and turning to give her a small wave. “See you around, (Y/N).”

She smiled and waved back while he closed the portal and in an instant, she was left alone in her kitchen with her daughter’s bottle of formula clutched in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she worked to ground herself and avoid replaying the memories of Wanda’s losses and heartbreaks in her mind, but her effort was for naught; she recalled Clint carrying Pietro Maximoff’s body onto the helicarrier after evacuating Novi Grad, Wanda huddled in the corner of a tiny prison cell with a collar fastened around her neck, Vision using his last words to reassure his distraught lover as she used her powers to destroy him, the anguished cry that echoed throughout the Wakandan clearing when Thanos used the Time Stone to bring Vision back and rip the Mind Stone out of the android’s forehead, the emptiness that remained in Wanda’s eyes throughout Tony and Natasha’s funerals…

“Everything okay out there, baby?”

Shaken out of her memories, (Y/N) wiped away her tears and took another breath before calling back, “I was just seeing Stephen out; I’ll be right there!”

While she made her way through the house to their daughter’s nursery and beamed down at the cooing infant as she took her into her arms and sat down in the room’s rocking chair to feed her her bottle, (Y/N) took solace in the feeling of Steve’s arm draping around her shoulders and the adoration that illuminated Carina’s face. It isn’t fair, she thought again to herself as she absentmindedly hummed the Sokovian lullaby that had been taught to her by Wanda years before, it isn’t fair that we’ve gotten our happily ever after and Wanda’s all alone. With all she’d seen and done throughout the years, it would be foolish not to believe that there wasn’t some sort of higher power out there, so as she was surrounded by her beloved husband and daughter, (Y/N) sent a silent but earnest wish to that power that while she healed from her past traumas, Wanda Maximoff would finally find her own lasting happiness.

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

A/N: All I want is for Wanda to be happy, but I guess the universe continues to have other plans for her :/ Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin' In Book VI: "Endgame" Masterlist

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