#and they do NOT paint her as this simpering adoring person

[skiitter]

Sometimes I feel crazy when people say that Lav should be a beacon of understanding and forgiveness for Solas at all times. Girl what???? She CHALLENGED him at every turn. Fought him on his wackass hatred of the Dalish, fought him in Trespasser no matter the disposition/choice, fought him when he gave that weak reason for leaving her. She constantly has him on his toes because she does not defer to him when she disagrees with him. Solas is SO single minded (something something he’s a spirit) and his POV is very narrow and Lav is out here like “No bitch!!! Open your fucking eyes babe!!!” She’s not a yes-man. She loves him of course but love is NOT an unequivocal acceptance of someone. She challenges him to be the best version of himself. That’s why she was so good at convincing him thus him leaving her behind. Because she sees through his bullshit attempts to justify things and loves him enough to make him pick the better path. ITS WHY SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABLE TO CONVINCE HIM IN THE END. Because SHE knows who Solas is better than anyone alive and that is an impossibly intimate and vulnerable thing.

[one-winged-dreams]

Outside

ship: kiss of a beast (sol the ultraviolet x azul the cerulean) source: Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus word count: 1718

Sol can't seem to comprehend what the world will be like as he prepares to enter or perhaps re-enter it for the first time. But Azul is more than happy to paint a proverbial picture for him.

ty bee for the prompt askjdg

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @camellias-and-coriander @rebel-wolf13 @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitoslittlebird @goldenworldsabound @edencantstopfallininlove @sosoftandsweet @dorothys-wife

It was a sobering thought, or at least it SHOULD have been. This would be the first time leaving Deepground since…

Sol puzzled a moment. If he had ever been outside, he didn't remember it. For his age, a very large chunk of his memory was missing. A blank slate until he had come to this place, lost in the sundering of his psyche amongst the countless ever-shifting shards.

But that was all going to change… Soon. Not quite yet, he wouldn't be leaving until after Shelke reported back with her analysis. Then it would be his turn if the results were favorable. But along with Shelke, the other person leaving would be…

"You look eager. So ready to carry out your orders from Weiss, are you? Or perhaps you want to see what it's like out there."

Sol was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Azul approaching until he was standing right next to him. He recoiled for a moment, his foggy mind having to process his presence in a singular instant. It was almost painful, like an icepick to the brain, but the shards shifted into something more favorable. Adoration.

"A-Azul!" he spoke a beat too late to have been a properly appropriate response, not noticing the smirk it earned him.

The Cerulean huffed in amusement, looking towards the only exit from Deepground to the surface. Sol had been standing on a building top far enough as to not be in the way, but close enough that it was clear how eager he was.

"Do you remember what it's like out there? Or have you never known? Hm. I'm sure it doesn't matter," Azul echoed Sol's earlier notions, the latter going silent. Giving the Ultraviolet a sidelong glance, Azul's smirk returned. "It's quite the mess up there. Very different than when I last saw it."

Sol visibly reacted, his head turning over and up to blink incredulously at him, though it went unnoticed under his helmet. "You… You've been outside? Before the Restrictors?"

Turning to meet the Ultraviolet's gaze, Azul regarded him for a moment before laughing boisterously, loudly enough for Sol to jump in bewildered surprise.

"Sol," Azul accented his name in a tone of near mockery, "How many years have you been down here? I doubt you remember, but I was hardly born here."

The only response was a silent stare from Sol before the Ultraviolet turned his gaze to the side, seemingly embarrassed. Azul's cruel mercy materialized in the form of his large hand on top of Sol's head, patting the much smaller Tsviet a few times. He didn't need to see Sol's face when his gaze returned upward to know that he was flustered and star-struck. Only adding to the moment of affectionate torment, Azul hummed, still directing that smirk downward.

"If you're so inclined, I may be persuaded to tell you about it. What it is, what it used to be, whatever you desire."

Sol simpered, though, again, it remained unseen. His excitement was palpable, however, and Azul already knew that HE knew how this went.

"D-Do you want me to…?"

Azul's response was a mere nod of confirmation, and that was all the Ultraviolet needed to proceed. Lifting his hands to his head, he pulled his helmet off without care, the fear of the Restrictors a near-forgotten memory now. Azul took a moment to, in a sense, admire those features he was so fond of. The large, sad, black and violet eyes adorned by long lashes, the pretty pink lips usually turned downward now slightly parted in wonder, and the long dark locks of hair that were always surprisingly beautiful despite always being sequestered by that helmet. He painted quite the picture of someone with such delicate beauty that it was a wonder even to Azul sometimes that he was an aberrant killing machine.

The Cerulean realized that his expression may have been something akin to fond with little bite, and so he quickly adjusted back to a smirk. Not without reaching forward to stroke that pretty hair, however. The blush and widening of the eyes it rewarded him with was far too enticing.

"Very good, Sol. I suppose I'll humor you after all," Azul's smirk widened, and he could practically see the results of Sol's heart fluttering. His attention turned thoughtfully towards the exit again. "I'm sure you can conjure the image of an average cityscape in your mind. Can't you?"

As Azul turned to him, the Ultraviolet paused, and Azul was grateful to be able to see the look of contemplation on that pretty face. Sol usually looked confused, like he was in a constant post-head-trauma daze. It was one of his particularly charming features, one that did indeed remind Azul of his fondness for him. And truthfully, the Cerulean was also eager to see which facet he would have the pleasure of witnessing this time.

Ultimately, he was rewarded with one of those foggy smiles, the ones that made it plain that deeper thoughts were something of a struggle, but feelings? Absolutely the essence of his state of mind.

"I can, yes. I'm not sure why, but… I know," Sol confirmed with a nod.

It was almost too precious for Azul to stand, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but the feelings of fondness were almost violent. So he bared his teeth in a grin, choosing to use them for an expression rather than actively sinking them into something. Or someone.

"At least we're on the same page in that regard. Your memories are undoubtedly based on the concept of Midgar. Or what it USED to look like, rather."

As Sol tilted his head and batted those pretty lashes, Azul flexed his fists. Oh, he was pushing it now. He took a moment to consider if he particularly liked it when the Ultraviolet depended on him for information, but only until he responded.

"A city built on Shinra's whim, and what a great city it was. From the most bustling business district, down to the lowly slums, and it was all powered by the Lifestream. Naturally, as a beacon of utter irony, they erected their obscenely tall headquarters right in the center." He let out a 'Hah!' before continuing. "After all, arrogance is always a repeatitive theme portrayed in what humanity builds with their own hands."

Sol was clearly paying very close attention, practically, quite literally, leaning into the conversation. Azul offered an antagonizing fond smirk before his expression turned thoughtful.

"Hm. All of that, and now it's in ruins. They've brought it upon themselves, the ones who created us. The ones who depended on them. All that hubris came crashing down, and now the city is a ruined ghost of its former self," he huffed before smirking again. "Perfectly fitting, if you ask me."

Sol's eyes had widened further the longer the Cerulean spoke. "Ruins? That's…" A hand raised itself to his head, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Because… Of that." He paused and then looked back up. "Right?"

Again, Azul laughed loud enough to startle the other Tsviet. "Yes, Sol. Becuase of THAT. Your memory is serving you quite well this time. I may even have to commend you, later."

Azul reveled in the way Sol's entire body seemed to bristle and crackle with mako, doe-eyes going wide in time to the reddening of his face.

But ultimately, he proceeded with no acknowledgment.

"Even destroyed, the rubble stirs with life. There are still those that cling to the places they once lived, needlessly mourning," he paused to express his amusement to Sol, "No one readily embraces change. Endings are hard to stomach."

It was plain to see the cogs in Sol's head turning as he tried to think of what to say to that. "But… Weiss is going to end even that, right? The end all?" His head turned to look at the massive door once more. "I… Hope I get to see it before it all goes away."

Once more, a hearty laugh was pulled from Azul, who then found himself unable to restrain himself from lifting Sol's chin with the side of his finger.

"Yes, Sol. You've been very good, haven't you? Certainly functioning at a useful capacity, at least." Azul took a moment to hum as his eyes scanned the flustered features of the Ultraviolet, taking great pleasure in doing so. "When your turn comes, I trust that you won't disappoint us. I personally look forward to seeing how you adapt."

The Cerulean now pulled away, but not without giving Sol's chin an affectionate bump with his knuckle. The Ultraviolet nearly tripped over himself in response, clutching the helmet that had almost fallen from his grasp. He stammered wordlessly, clearly at a loss for a comprehensible response. Azul's returning smirk was an acceptable enough expression of farewell, at least in his opinion. But just as quickly as he turned his back on the smaller Tsviet…

"I'll- I'll do it, Azul! I want… I want to be useful. For Weiss. And…"

Looking over his shoulder, Azul did not meet Sol's gaze, as it was currently cast downward, seemingly on the helmet in his hands. His expression was that of genuine contemplation, and for once there was no smug expression or response. This only lasted so long before a singular 'HAH!' rang through the distance between them, forcing Sol to lift his head with wide-eyed bewilderment.

"We'll see about that, Sol. It would truly be a shame if you didn't come back to entertain me more, wouldn't it?" Azul had already turned again, missing the perplexed and not unflustered blinking on that pretty face.

Sol didn't know how long he stood there holding onto his helmet as he stood frozen until the Cerulean had departed out of sight. It was only until he felt his mind begin to ready itself to shift into something he wasn't sure he could predict that he decided to re-adorn himself with his helmet. In time with a deep breath rang out the alarms that signified the door would open soon, allowing more troops, and Azul and Shelke, presumably, to pass through into the outside world. His gaze lingered, unsure if it were out of longing, apprehension, or anything in between.

[obsessionsposts]

*+:｡𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 ｡+* = 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮

Pairing: Yandere William Afton X Detective!Fem!Reader

Yandere type :Sadistic,Possessive,Delusional

Archetype: Sociopathic serial killer.

Warnings: Dark themes, Children deaths, Implied Child abuse, Major Character death, Gore, Non-con, Age Gap, Murders, Unhealthy relationship, Supernatural stuff, Angst, Dehumanization, tortures, Manipulation, Suicide, Depression, Delusional / unhinged serial killer,Unethical experimentation,spoliers for the novels so beware.

Recommend song to listen to: Sister location-Menu theme.

Notes: All Characters belongs to Scott Cawthon(Apart from yourselves,ofc). Second, Ima follow the novels so there might be spoilers and I will alter some of it.

Taglist: @storybookstalker , @fandomtrashgoddess, who wants to be tagged hit me up. ^_^

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𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓻' 𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓕𝓪𝔃𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓭. 𝓐 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝔂 𝓪 𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼, 𝓾𝓷𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓴𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭. 𝓨𝓮𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓭 -𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓯 𝓲𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮.

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July 13th, 2033.

Once, a place of joy for children to gather and celebrate their happiest day. Now, it's an antithesis of what it used to stand for.

It became an attraction, a horror attraction, for the brave to dwell in. If they're lucky enough to survive the night, they may uncover the secrets which tarnished the restaurant.

The walls were decorated by cracks resembling spider webs, and dust covering its exteriors. The checkered floor were shabby with dirt and grime. Some rooms, held what's left over of the beloved mascots of the past.

However, there is one room sealed from the public eyes. That's the safe room, where a lone chartreuse rabbit is hunched against a grey wall.

...

...

...

"̷͔͂A̷͚̓ẖ̶̔h̴͙̓h̶͌͜h̴͖̔h̵̳̄h̴͉͗,̸͕͒ ̴̩͝d̵̛̤a̵̺͋m̷͉̈́n̴̺̑ ̵͓̀ţ̸̒h̵̓ͅo̸̓ͅs̸̱̚ë̶͖́ ̴̟̀k̶̨͘i̵̝͊d̸͚͝s̸̢̿.̵̪̋ ̴͚̀T̶̀͜h̸͖̚ê̴͇y̷͙͂ ̶̨̉ṯ̴̾h̴̭͌ȉ̴͚n̶̯͝k̶̩̓ ̸̺͊I̸̖̒ ̴̤͗a̸̭͐m̵͔͘ ̷̬͊ṱ̸̓o̷̺͛ ̴̫͝b̴̘̐l̸̜͑a̸̩͊m̷͎̾e̶̼͘,̷͙̄ ̵͈͒w̴̗͗ḧ̸̟e̴̤͋n̸̼͛ ̷̢̆ť̶̫ḫ̵́e̷̳͛i̵̱̇r̴͖̀ ̵̭͆ń̶̠a̵̮͊i̶̱͗v̵̤̾e̷̛͉t̸͎͠e̵̱̓ ̴̘̆a̸̜̚n̶̢̅d̸͙̈ ̸͈̃i̷̲̚d̴̜́ì̵̤o̵͉̐č̷̖y̷̯͘ ̷̤̐b̴͓̐ř̴̗o̴͍̿u̷̝͌g̶̢͑h̶̜͘t̵͓̂ ̸͕͂t̸̯͝h̷̟̿è̷̮m̵̖͒ ̸̪̈́t̵̗͝h̶̯̐e̵̞̿i̴͉͂ṛ̴̋ ̶͉́d̷̘̀ë̴́ͅm̷̹̈ǐ̸̖s̶̗̑e̶̮̽.̷̼͐ ̶̫̚H̶̛͙a̴̰̒h̷̰͝a̷̢͑h̸̫͗a̷͈͆h̷͇̏a̶͎̎,̷͙̓ ̴̭̄b̷̝̎u̸̳͛t̴̪̅ ̶̘̊Ĭ̶ͅ ̷̥̓m̶̳̈ụ̷̏s̴̥̀t̸͈́ ̴̥̊ǎ̵͈d̴͓͠m̶͚̌i̸͎̅ṱ̷̈́ ̸̫̊s̷̳̀é̴͚e̶̹͋ȋ̵͇ǹ̵̠g̴̗͊ ̷̠̎ṱ̶̅h̴̯̒e̴̻͠m̸̡̕ ̵̯̃ĉ̵̞r̸̥̾y̸̟̏ï̵͇n̷̛̻ğ̷̤ ̶͚͑f̷͎̍o̴̧͛r̷̫͐ ̵̪̓h̶͔̀ę̶̓l̵̗̈́p̶͖̉ ̶̥̽a̸̞̋ǹ̶̻d̸͚́ ̸̖̃d̸̺̈́r̵͇͌o̴͎̔w̶̬̒n̶̩͆i̸̤̎n̵̰̊ğ̵̩ ̶̩̇i̴͖͂n̵̫̎ ̶̈́ͅt̷͖͘h̵̝̿e̷̜̎ȋ̵̝ṙ̴̺ ��͎̋ṕ̴͈ǫ̸̔o̸̥̍l̷̠̏ ̷͍̒ō̷̝f̸̲̌ ̸̨̆b̶̦̍ĺ̸̟ȏ̵̬ȏ̷̝d̶̻̐ ̸͉͆i̸̭͂s̶̠͠ ̸̻̃a̷̞͆m̷̳̈́u̴̳̎s̶͚̆i̵̳͛n̷̪̊g̵͎̋.̸͙̈́"̴̢̆ , the decaying rabbit cackled as he remembered how he was killed by his petty victims, especially by that golden bear.

"̴́̄͜"̵̫̃N̵̟͂o̵̫̔͝ń̷͖e̸͔͚̐̅t̶̤̽̓h̸̪͝é̵͇̎l̷͚̩̀e̵̡̝͘s̸̡͊͋s̶̰̈,̶̲̎͝ ̶͚̓͌t̴͍͋h̶͎͂̾a̵̡̛t̴̮̊ ̴̛͎d̸͙͉͝͝ő̵̰̲̍e̶͇̞͠ś̸̳̫n̶͍̖̓'̸̝̇̀t̴̺̐ ̴̛̲̗̕m̴̬̼͘a̴̤̍ť̶̫t̸̯̣̍̓ḙ̷͚̚ȓ̷̠̲̾ ̴̫͙͠ń̷͈̬̄ỏ̸̜̒ẃ̸̢̢.̵͇͒̉ ̶̨͘W̴͋͑͜h̵̜̪͐̓a̵̡̜͒t̸̞͔͑ ̴̳̍́m̴͔̊a̷͖̋ṯ̸̅t̴̬̉ė̵͎̳r̵̀͜s̸̻̉̓ ̵̞̄į̸̆s̶̨̭̈́ ̵͔̑̿ț̴̛̏h̸̠̖̆a̶͈̎̇t̷̘̓ ̸̭̅Ì̷̗͠ ̴̭̇̏w̶̝͗i̸̜̹̇̍l̸̺̼̿l̷̤̓̂ ̴̞̥̈̉g̸͓͑͜ȋ̴̮̫̎v̶͔͋͝e̶̥̒ ̶̘̐ÿ̸͈́ơ̴̪͈̔u̸̗͗̾ ̵̧̋a̶̙̰͒̓ ̴̺̣̇̐ẃ̷̞͜a̴̺̓r̵̨̤̒̆m̸̭̍ ̵̪̻̿w̶̖̟͆͌ȇ̸̺l̵̖͛c̷̭̩̾o̵̝̕m̷̫̣̒e̸͖͈͋,̴̤̪͒ ̶̞́̉M̴͙̔͗i̴̩̓̆c̸̳̆h̸̠͠ḛ̶͆a̸͍͇̍l̶͓̮͂.̵͚́͝ ̶͕̀A̸̝͑ș̷̱͝ ̴̣̫̇͠f̸̘͘ͅo̵̧̙͌̐r̴̨̀ ̵́͊͜y̸̟̓͘ò̵̪̓ȗ̵̟̻,̴̛̞̍ ̶̩̀m̵̝͛ỹ̷̖̗͆ ̵̰͂̿d̸̛̦̪e̴͚͙̓a̵̛̲̥ŕ̶̯̘ ̷̡͇̑(̶͍̐͆Y̵̧͝/̸̗͚͌̈́n̴̰̆)̸̙͠ ̴̩͈͝i̶̮̻͠s̴̡̙̉͠ ̶͚̋t̵̩̚ẖ̴̨̔ä̶͉́t̸͍̱̐̾ ̵̼͔̇̓d̷̞͕͌e̵̠̲̎̅a̸̛̲t̶͖͇̔͛h̷̛͔̙̆ ̶͎̇̀w̵̫̑ö̸̡́̔n̴̟̕'̵͎̈t̶̢̂ ̵̱͔͒̉h̸͙̜̽͝ọ̵̈́͝l̴̩̤̆d̸̬͛͜ ̴̮̄̉m̷̞̥̀ë̷̟ ̶̼͋̈ͅb̴̟͓͌ạ̸̓c̷͕̒k̷̪̙̈ ̷̺̂f̷̥̱͆r̵̪̹͘͠o̷̢͂m̸͇̋͒ ̴̨̼͠t̵̰͍̊a̵̗̓̿k̴͓̻͐͠î̵͍̑n̴̳̚ͅg̵̱̾̅ ̸̹͔̋y̴̗̚o̴̦̅̐û̷̹ ̵͉͔̈a̷̠͌g̷͉̞̒̀a̷̛̠̒ị̵̉̚n̴̯̦̈́.̶͉̆͂", Springtrap rasped and gurgled as blood began to seep in his alveolis. The spring locks attached to his golden suit began to convulse, thus crushing his entrails even more; Painting the ground with his blood.

"A well-deserved fate for a demon that leeches on the suffering of the innocent.", A whisper was heard as the beast screams, while it was impaled and crushed by metal rods.

The only thing that distracts him from that excruciating agony of being springtrapped, is the sweet memory of his intractable pet.

He recalls the first time he met her, an intriguing detective who was paying a visit to his subservient co-owner.

He remembers her with clarity, as she walked past those brown gateways to greet her friend with a heartening embrace. He was envious of the relationship Henry shared with her. Irked, the blonde had the thing he desired more so than his own wife as he progressively 'watched' her.

However, Afton sadistically simpered at the thought of stealing another cherished person from him. Just like how he took poor little Charlie out of the picture.

William-at that time- was vigilant enough not to reveal his surprise to Det.(L/n). A sinister grin covered his visage, as he isolated her and began to disclose his secret to her. Only to see her pretty little countenance, twists into an enticing expression of fear and a lovely tint of determination.

Oh, how did he miss seeing the fear reside in her enrapturing pupils?

And, how much did he adore the mind games between him and her? Quite an intimate activity they both share, in his perspective.

But nothing surpasses the time, when he tormented her in the safe room at the first location. Her tears cascaded from her face, as he burrowed himself deep inside her moreish core.

As life goes, nothing good ever last. That nuisance he called Charlie and her bandwagon kept on chasing him. Until, they cornered him and he became the thing he and Henry created.

A twist of an irony, he presumes. At this point, Springtrap didn't care. Nor, was he ever capable of doing so to begin with.

The two regrets he had in his mind is never killing that damned pest he called his son, and letting his pet escape. A shame, really! He had a gift to give her, a gift that he worked day and night on to make it ideal.

However, a ring called from far away.

It appears to be, there is a curious guest.

One, so foolish to come here just to die uncovering the ghosts of the past. Or, for a silly monetary gain. He is unconcerned about the reasoning, as long as he is able to suffice his insatiable thirst of blood. He can feel it, the urge to coil his rusted hands around the night guard and crush their puny skull into bloody mesh.

"T̵̡͕̏̄ȟ̶̰̯̓o̸̹͑s̵̹͚̈́e̸͔̅̚ ̴̪̎ć̵̪̬u̸͔̦̓r̶̯͈͘s��̠͛́e̸͈͆̕d̷̮̉̕ ̷̼̟͌͐c̸̡̪͆̅h̸̎ͅį̴̍̐l̷̞̙̈̔d̴̨̝̎r̵̯̂͠ĕ̴̪̝̀ņ̵̃ ̶̙̀́t̵̗́̉h̶̢͇͂i̵̢͕̅͒n̵̞̗̾͑k̸͇̈̌ ̷̞̃͝Í̶͚'̷͕̓̕m̴̯͈͆͘ ̸͈̀d̸͔̔ȇ̵̹̽͜ḁ̸̡̒̓d̵̟̈́,̶̜̞̈́̄ ̸̝̳͆͛b̶̞͙̚ư̵͕̣̇ẗ̷̜́̕ ̵̩̠́̂ṱ̸̩̈́ĥ̷̯ę̶͖̆y̸̛̙̏ͅ'̷̜̒ͅr̸͖͂ê̷̯̖̈́ ̵̲͛ ̵̩̄̌i̵͚̦̔g̷͕̓n̷̜͖̉̊ỏ̸̲͘ṟ̷͓̓̄a̶̰̚n̵͓̝͗̚t̶̨̀͛ ̵̯̀ť̸̖̹͗o̶̼͚͛ ̶͚̉t̵̻͝h̷̭̳́̑e̵͕̬͒ ̶̭͘f̵̺̓ả̷͜c̵̭͗͘ţ̸́ ̴͉̫͊͑Į̵̈́͗ ̵̣̋̏ạ̴̔l̴͖̉̎w̵̜͌ä̴̲́ý̸͙̞s̸̙̆̀ ̷̓ͅç̶̥͛ó̷̳m̸̥͐̏ḙ̷͍̆ ̴͖̔͘b̸̨͍̀͠a̷̛̱̞c̷̗͒k̴͔̀.̷̳͖͝ ̵͉̂F̸̱́̂͜o̷̧̘̅̾r̴͓͔̔͝ ̷̮̓n̸̖͌̓ó̷͔̑ẃ̵̱̀ͅ,̵͉͚̊ ̶͍̚͝I̵̪̪̔ ̷̖̎w̵͕̠̃̿i̵̯͝l̴̪͌l̸̜̄ ̶̣̆̍l̶̫̀͝è̴̮̭a̴̰̎v̷̨̟̒e̴̟̥̍ ̴̜͈̓̏ả̸̤ ̶̘̈́m̶̙̱͌́e̸͈̒̈m̸̢̄̈́ȍ̷̡ï̸̥͈r̷̢̮̔ ̸̨͆t̶͕̞̏o̸͆̎͜ ̴̳̤́ȓ̵̗͐ḛ̵͌͂m̷̬͗͛i̵̗̒n̴̗̓̋ď̵̠̉ͅ ̷̨͔͝t̸̛̞h̵͚͠ë̷̟́m̴͖͋͆ ̴̜̖̂̌o̴̼̣͘f̸̥̔ ̴͓͍̈́̈́t̵̥̀ͅh̴̻̀͗ė̸̝͉͒ȉ̷̺̠r̴̼̀ ̷̯̔̾Ŏ̸̞̙'̷͓̱̚l̴̺̘̈́̓ ̶̯͗̈́f̴̩̏̽r̵̢̆ǐ̶͖ë̷̬͍́͘n̵͊̎ͅd̶̞̦͒.̴͎͝ ̵̨̢́̈́Ä̸̡̱f̸̙̌̌t̵̻̆̇͜ę̶͍͑r̵͎̮̒w̷̻͎͐a̸̹̓́r̷̛͉̖d̷̪͑ŝ̴̜̭͒,̵͇̬́ ̸̜͒͂Ì̶ͅ ̶̻͑̿ŵ̷̩͕i̵͖̫͑l̷͔̠̃l̵̜͋̄ ̷̝̔s̵͚̱̄e̸̩͌ẽ̴̘̎ḱ̶̞ ̵̦̣͒y̶̲̓͊o̵̫̲͂u̵̥̽̑ ̷̟́m̷̟̆̍ỷ̸̯̀͜ ̴͎̯̓̓ḻ̷̳̏ȕ̵̧͔͗v̶̡̄ ̵̗̉̆a̸͉̺͌͊n̴̫͝d̶̮͎̍ ̵͓̓̽y̷̼̚̚ò̴̹͍ù̵̗͜ ̶̫̓̈́ẃ̶̼̌í̵̯̄l̴͈͋̅l̶͍̼̒ ̶̢̈́w̸̫̑o̷̧͒͝r̷̙̻͐s̶̼̖͑̀h̷̚͜ḯ̵̜p̶͔̫̆ ̸͇̾͘m̶̰͕̏e̴̙̒ ̶͎̎͂a̵̟̐̀s̶̞̲̋ ̷͖͎̓͝Î̵͕̣͑ ̷̙̤͑̚d̵̨̍̀e̵̪͎͌̈́ĺ̴̜̆i̷͉͝v̴̞̻́̕e̴̝͓̅͆ṛ̴̾ ̸̢̏͌y̵͑̓͜ô̵̳̙u̷͇͛̇͜r̸̩̲͝ ̷̔̂͜g̶͎̙̒͗i̸͙̽͆f̵͉͆̓t̶̜̕", With an eternal grin carved into his face, he begins his hunt for his prey. Stomping through the halls, with bloodlust coursing through his wires and vessels.

A/n: Viola! Finished with the prologue. By writing this story, I don't and never will condone the actions of William afton. This is dark (based on the warnings), so reader discretion is advised. Otherwise, buckle up.

[originofjaehyun]

Interlude: No More Drama | Part 3 | Boom

Interlude: No More Drama Masterlist

Word count: 3,178

Warnings: None except for mentions of cigarette I guess

Part 3 | Boom

“It was rather good baby, the day you were standing there again like a picture.”

Prev • Next

Jaehyun’s used to girls flocking around him.

He never meant to boast about his look, but it would be a lie if he told people that he's not confident with it. His pale skin, combined with the defined jaw, decorated with a pair of brown eyes that could penetrate with just a look, he is chiseled to perfection. 

There are many times where he would go to clubs, either with a friend or with his clients, just to have the rest of the night pretending he’s having a good time when he’s not. He is sick with the same pattern, girls trying to steal his attention, trying their best to seducing them. He has witnessed more than a handful of women that wore something that could barely hold their breasts. 

Jaehyun hated these types of girls. But he would hold them just for the sake of temporary satisfactions. What is wrong with hookups, as long as both parties gave their consent? They would feel like they owned Jaehyun the next morning, texted him even when they were already back at their respective homes. But Jaehyun would never respond, seeking nothing more but just a one night stand.

Not until he saw you.

He was sitting right across you, so he had a full picture of how you look that night. You were pretending, just like him. He saw a glimpse of him in you. When you made eye contact with him, he thought you would be another girl that he would bring home for the night, expecting you to send back another flirtatious peek just like how other girls would. But no, he was just another indifferent person for you. You’re back, talking with your best friend and letting out the most genuine smile of the night.

Curious.

He thought as he continued to observe you. In the end, he saw his opportunity to find you, as you walked towards the balcony for a smoke. The moment Jaehyun’s lips touch yours, he feels like a bolt runs through his vines. His heart beats faster as the kiss becomes more intense. Your kisses feel like the first spring for Jaehyun.

Jaehyun woke up with the absence of your presence. So she left, he thought to himself. This is nothing new to Jeong Jaehyun. Every time he had those casual sex, there are times where his partner would just storm outside without even bothered to say goodbye. He’s used to it.

It’s a shame, he thought there’s something different... from you.

It just makes sense for him to flinch when you suddenly opened the door with two glasses of water on both hands.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” You said to him, apologetically. Worried that you’ve woken him up from his slumber because of the ruckus you’ve made.

You put the glasses on the side table, “I thought you’ll wake up feeling thirsty after… Uhm, last night.” You gulped, feeling slightly embarrassed as you remembered how he devoured you just a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry for barging your apartment, but you look so content in your sleep that I don’t want to wake you up. I promise I didn’t steal anything.”

Me, content? 

This is something new to Jaehyun. This is the first time he sleeps longer than his partner. Even when they left without trying to not wake him up, he would pretend that he’s still asleep, just for the sake of being polite.

He stared at you, scanning how you look, before letting out a soft hoarse simper.

“There’s nothing much in my place anyway, but I’m guessing you’ve taken a liking on my shirt?”

You blushed, “Well, I technically passed out last night, and you refused to let me go after the fourth round.”

“We left our clothing in the hallway, so I just grab whatever is lying here. I hope you don’t mind, here’s yours.” You passed the already-folded shirt and trousers to him. “Uhm, your boxer is in the middle. I left your coat at the coat hanger.”

He blinks repeatedly, without replying to your statement. Realizing he might still be collecting himself after being woken up, abruptly, you continued your speech.

“I’ll be gone before long. I hope you’re ok with me changing here, I don’t know where your bathroom is and I’ve been barging long enough.”

You’ve sensed that his gaze has become softer, eyes gleaming.

“Don’t change yet.” He finally talked to you. “Can you come here instead?”

He stretched out his arms, adorably asking for your presence. He pressed both of his lips together, acting spoiled and forcing the dimples to come out. After last night, he actually asked, rather than commanding. You let out a small chuckle, before falling on top of him, cuddling with each other.

You took a moment to enjoy the silence between you. The room only filled with the sound of your breathing, harmonizing with each other. He casually caressed your hair, tightening his hugs while making sure you’re still comfortable in between his arms. This man could be gentle too, so you thought, after seeing him being so beastly last night. He placed a kiss on your temple, then playfully snuffling himself onto your hair.

“I should get going.” You stopped him from tickling you further.

“As much as I enjoy this and it’s Saturday morning, I think I’m overstaying my welcome.”

“Who said so? I can do this all day.” He put his head on the crook of your neck, continued to act spoiled. “At least stay for breakfast? I can cook for you.”

“You’re good looking, smell nice, extremely experienced in bed and now you can cook? God seems a bit unfair when he created you, huh?” You scoffed at his statement, making him burst in laughter.

“But really, I have to turn down the offer. My best friend will start hunting for me if she knows I’m at a stranger’s house. But thank you for your kindness.”

You raise yourself up, ready to change back to the attire you wore last night. He then limped himself back to the bed, staring at the ceiling as you changed. 

“Can I see you again?” He’s now sitting down again, watching as you continued to wear your pants.

You zipped your trousers.

“Oh Jaehyun,” You walked towards him, picking up the phone you left at his side table. “You’re a charmer, you’d find plenty of women like me.”

You plant a kiss on his forehead, before striding your way to his apartment door.

–

“Do you have everything ready?”

You rolled your eyes before replying to the owner of the sweet voice. “Joy, this is the fifth time you’ve asked me and yes, I have everything.”

She sighed, “Well, it’s only natural for us to be nervous, right? After all, we are going to meet a representative from NCT Corp., big bucks, y’know?” She rubs her thumb with her index and middle fingers, acting like there’s a dollar bill in between. 

“Well, my dear friend, you’re in luck cause the creative director is coming with you. Besides, ever heard a rumor that our clients would prepare a signed document beforehand if they knew I’m coming?” You said while shrugging your shoulders.

“Fucking show off.” Joy rolled her eyes.

“Language, miss.”

She then clings your arm, acting spoiled – in case you would ask her to go home early; which is not a good sign. 

Both of you then proceed to enter the car, provided by the company that’s ready to drive you to the potential client’s office, NCT Corp., located at the heart of Seoul. It is a commercial property services firm, the biggest in South Korea. It has managed billions of square feet in property and facilities management and has done over thousands of leasing transactions. No wonder Joy breaks to sweat when she’s told that she’s going to be in this project with you when the client is in such caliber.

That’s not the case for you. You love the challenge and you love the thrill, when you’re faced with something that needs more than just a simple multiplication, your brain starts to work in wonders and you love that feeling. You love being in control of your job and you take pride in every work you’ve done.

You aligned at the lobby. It’s very modern and chic, but you know that the marbles that they used to decorate the floor would cost a fortune.

“Hi, how can I help you today?” The lady at the receptionist greeted you with a wide grin.

“Hi, I’m here to meet Mr. Seo? We’re scheduled to have a meeting at three.”

“OK Miss, may I have your ID card?”

You swiftly took your wallet and gave her your ID card.

“It’s [Y/N] [Y/L/N], from The Paper Plane.”

She then scans your ID card and flips open the ever-thick notes, filled with the black ink marking the company’s busy schedule. She stopped at one of the lines, before handing over two guest cards.

“Ms. [Y/N], we’ve confirmed your appointment today with Mr. Seo. All you need to do is to tap the card on the entry, and press the number 27 at the elevator.” She continues and pointing the direction of her right, showing you which way to go.

You grab both of the guest cards, handing one of the cards to Joy, “Thank you very much!”

She nods, “You’re welcome, I’ll inform Mr. Seo immediately that you’ve arrived. Have a good day!”

You’re trying your best not to let out a loud gasp when you reach the 10th floor. While the lobby downstairs was leaning towards the grandiose side, the current floor opts for a more humbled tone. The space was designed with a monochrome palette with wooden accents. The pillars were painted in black, but what impressed you the most was the wide panoramic window, showing off the breathtaking view the employees got to see every single day. You are then greeted with another person, this time a young man with curly brown hair, skin washed in a healthy tan. His eyes flicker at the sight of you.

“Are you Ms. [Y/L/N]?” He asked you and you nod.

“Great, I’m Donghyuck and I’m Mr. Seo’s current assistant. Please, follow me.” He said quickly, refusing to waste any more second. 

“Nice office, by the way.” Joy jumped into the conversation. 

Donghyuck chuckled, while he continued to lead his way, “Our Mr. Seo hated it when we’re constrained in the same view every day, thus the wide window.”

“You’d be surprised by how many times he forced us to brainstorm with him near the window. There’s a reason why I have my tan on, despite not taking any vacations.” He put his hand next to his mouth, being extra careful not to be caught by his boss talking about him. Both of you just laugh at his remark, making sure you stopped before Donghyuck knocks the door in front of you.

“Mr. Seo?” Donghyuck asked the person in question, being replied with a muted ‘yes’.

“The people from The Paper Plane are here.”

“Oh, please come in!”

Donghyuck enters the room, leaving the door open so that you ladies can enter after him. You didn’t make him wait for long, as you stride your way in. You’re then faced with a very tall man, a handsome chap. His eyes were the color of the earthy brown, glistening like an old copper penny. He greets you with a smile, showing you a dimple that is located on one of his cheekbones. 

“Hi, I’m [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine. I’m Johnny Seo, Chief Marketing Officer for NCT Corp.” He said as he shook your hand, letting you smell his fragrance, noting the spicy and woody scent.

“I hope finding your way here was not difficult?” He continues as he made a gesture to let you and Joy sit on the couch at his office. 

“Not at all, Mr. Seo. There was a slight traffic jam at the corner of the street, probably because today is Friday. Otherwise, there’s no way we could miss such a beautiful office.”

A gum smile appears from his face, “Please, just call me Johnny. I might have the chief branded as my title, but I believe I’m too young for people to call me Mr. Seo all the time.”

“But you are an exception, Donghyuck, let’s try to make us look professional in front of these ladies, okay bud?” He then jokingly glared at the younger boy, causing him to hold his laughter. Both you and Joy are quick to realize that the person in front of you is definitely friendly, and kind for loosening up the atmosphere. He probably noticed how nervous Joy was.

“So, let’s get started, shall we? I booked my calendar for this, but surely I’m a busy person!”

You softly giggle, “Right, that is why I got you covered.” A brow raised from Johnny’s face, impressed with the amount of reference you brought with you.

–

“And that, finally concludes everything!”

A joyful squeal came from Joy’s mouth – no pun intended. You didn’t realize the sun was already set when you wrapped up your meeting.

“I know from the beginning I was right for choosing The Paper Plane.” Johnny smiles, followed by him stretching out his shoulder due to hours long of conversing with you. “Your portfolio impresses me, [Y/N], I’m looking forward to our project.”

You helped Joy, cleaning up the papers from the coffee table where you guys were pouring out your ideas. 

“Shit, it’s already this late?!”

“Hush, Joy!” You shrieked in panic, eyes wide open as a warning for Joy who just tragically cursed in front of their client. Thankfully Johnny signed the deal already. If not, there goes your hard work.

Johnny, as kind as he is, just laughs at it, “Please don’t mind me, it’s over our working hours anyway, so we’re allowed to be our personal self again.” He said as if he knows that you’re scared of offending him. “Regardless, is there anything wrong, Joy?”

It’s only because he is Johnny Seo and the charisma that he has that he could easily be casual with someone who just jammed hours-long meetings with him. Joy, glad that she ended up didn’t fuck this meeting, quickly grabbed her phone and texting someone before replying to Johnny. “I’m meeting my girlfriends tonight. We’ve planned this dinner since God-knows-when.”

“Wait, you got an appointment? And here I thought we always eat somewhere after our meetings! It’s our tradition, no?” You whined at the last minute change-of-plan, clearly unhappy with the sudden news.

Joy gasps as her eyes widens, “Oh no! I’m sorry I forgot to tell you!” She said as her eyes continue to move frantically, concerned because you would usually eat dinner with her and now the probability of you having your dinner alone is almost absolute.

Just when you’re about to say you’re going to order a delivery or something, Johnny cuts you off, “If you don’t mind, [Y/N], I’m meeting a friend tonight. You can join me for dinner if you want.”

“Oh, please don’t take it the wrong way,” worried that you might start to have a weird judgment about him. “The person in question is my long-time best friend. We’ve known each other for years and we’re constantly in touch. So a night without my friend whining and complaining about life would actually be a good idea.” 

You then look to Joy’s direction, telepathically asking for her advice. Her face said that you should go with it, but you’re still doubting.

“I’m sure my friend will like you,” he continues. “Also, I think your portfolio, combined with your personality will impress ‘em.”

“Well, uhm,”

It’s not that you hate meeting a new person, you’re just not sure how you could be comfortable by having dinner with a – if you dare to say so; a client that could secure your income for the rest of the quarter. Even so, the addition of his friend that you don’t even know what kind of high profile that person has tripled your worry.

“My treat?” Johnny looks at you, shoulders are now both ups, making it his last straw for you to come with him.

You finally laughed, “Oh dear, you surely know how to win someone’s heart.”

Johnny smirked from ear to ear, “Well, I trained for years. It’s only right for me to be able to do so.”

–

“You’re not treating me at Wolfgang’s.”

You stopped your step after you saw the restaurant sign. Wolfgang’s Steakhouse is a steakhouse that originally came from Park Avenue in Manhattan. Ever since it opened its chain restaurant in Seoul, it has been packed with celebrities and other VVIPs. You’re not the type of person who would be stingy with how you spend your money on food but definitely would think twice if you’re going to splurge that much money over a single meal.

Johnny then turned his way to you, before then a waiter opened the door for him.

“Well, consider it as a token of my apology for taking your time during the meeting, and for taking our time before making it for dinner. Besides, me and my friend are regulars at this restaurant. It’s always our go-to if we want to have a good meal. The steak’s awesome, the wine’s great, and the people here are relatively more, I would say, conservative in comparison to other places? So I can actually hear my partner talking, not some random gibberish from others.”

You just felt like you’re underdressed for Wolfgang’s. Not to the point where you’re ready to scoot your ass on a street-food stall at Myeong-dong (those are awesome, by the way), you’re glad that you still dressed properly to meet this client of yours. But you wished you’ve worn something fancier if you were to know your future patronage is going to treat you for an expensive meal.

But since you’re here and your stomach is clearly not on your side if you want to leave the place, you unconsciously follow behind Johnny’s tall figure, and even if you consider yourself not that petite, Johnny would still be able to hide your stature.

“My friend’s already here.” He said while looking at his phone. “He said he’s seated in our usual spot… Oh, there he is!” His eyes wide-opened at the sight of his friend.

So does yours.

“Jaehyun, buddy! Sorry I got caught in traffic!”

It’s been over a month since the night you left his apartment. He didn’t see you at first, no thanks to Johnny’s tall figure, but once he saw your face, his face perks up, you could’ve sworn you didn’t see his invisible tail wagging.

But whatever that has happened, you find yourself smiling without even realizing it, at the sight of him.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was a bit too... slow in pace in comparison to the first two ones? At least this is how I envisioned Boom to be, just simply sweet. It was also hard to put the lyric into the chapter I literally squeezed my creative juice for this lols also im sorry the words are getting longer and longer by each chapter

[ty-talks-comics]

The Boys Season 1 Review and Comparison

This was so cathartic.

In an age where we’re inundated with superhero media on all fronts with their bright colors, cheery jokes and positive outlooks, it’s easy to slowly become sick of it, feel the “superhero fatigue” as it were. Where Marvel ruins some stories with far too many jokes (looking at you Thor: Ragnarok) and DC is far too dreary and serious for its own good with a lack of levity, where can one turn to for a GOOD happy medium?

Well, in comes Seth Rogan and Evan Gold, the brilliant minds behind the amazing adaptation of Preacher with yet another brutal and slightly more cynical series. The Boys absolutely stuns not only by being a genuinely compelling series, but also by being one of the few adaptations that improves on the original medium in a few aspects.

Story

The story centers around Hughie Campbell and the titular Boys as they work to expose the horrific deeds of The Seven, a collective of the world's greatest superheroes, and the company that sponsors them, Vought American.

In this world, superheroes are everywhere. They're on breakfast cereals, TV shows, movies, pretty much every piece of media and entertainment imaginable while also protecting America from crime. Sounds familiar, huh? The kicker here is that, much like every asshole celebrity that lets the fame and fortune go to their heads, these heroes are massive cunts. They take performance enhancing drugs, routinely cause accidents that hurt or kill people, sexually harass people left and right and just lie to their adoring public like they’re children.

Unlike the books, however, The Boys team isn’t the well oiled machine that’s been taking down and blackmailing superheroes for years and the first four episodes are spent introducing the different team members.This is likely due to wanting to give people time to care about them individually and the limited number of episodes in the season. This definitely works in also retooling the characters themselves for TV since they may not have seventy-two issues of character development ahead of them

For the most part, the show follows the initial story beats of the comics with a few select differences before splintering off in an entirely new direction. Hughie’s girlfriend still gets blown apart by A-Train, he denies Vought America’s hush money which draws the attention of Billy Butcher and Starlight joins the Seven after the “death” of the hero Lamplighter. 

This also means that there's less time to focus on smaller plotlines and teams that are referenced to in passing dialogue like the Teenage Kix, a pastiche on the Teen Titans, or Payback, the number two group of superheroes to The Seven. While seeing the team take these guys down on the small screen would have been fun, I like the idea of keeping the plot focused on just the core group of antagonists. This way, we don’t have to slog through three or four seasons of small fry and get the big bads in the last few.

After the first half, fans of the comic may start to feel a little bit of the familiar, but then things start to take a drastic turn when Billy's pride and the rest of the teams sloppiness gets them all burned and branded wanted criminals. This never happens in the books because The Boys are funded and protected by the CIA, but here they’re just another group of concerned citizens that are completely in over their heads, adding to the tension and keeping everyone guessing as to what will happen for the rest of the season and in Season 2.

Themes

The original series was written during the latter years of the Bush Administration. Tensions were high and America was still embroiled in the Iraq War. The president was a simpering fool and companies were fucking people over left and right in the name of patriotism. Reality TV and the awful personalities on our screens were on nearly every channel and all of this only fueled the anger that is Garth Ennis’ pen and Darick Robertson’s pencils. It was a product of its time and it was perfect.

We’re now in the Information Age where superheroes and social media are the only things that matter in everyone’s mind, where women’s empowerment is stronger than ever and our leaders speak bombastically with shit eating grins full of lies. Rogen and Goldberg have kept the series modern and take everything to task.

Media. Marvel and DC are everywhere nowadays with some indie companies managing to scrape up their own part of the pie. The Boys makes fun of the seemingly endless cycle of sequels and the goody-two-shoes images of America’s favorite heroes. Everything is carefully managed and curated by a media team, similar to how Disney micromanages even the smallest details of their properties to make everything so sickeningly squeaky clean. 

Not only do the heroes stop crime, but they star in their own movies about themselves as well, some have sponsorships for shoes and have to compete with each other for everything. Almost everything is done for the cameras, even intimate moments whenever Vought can find a way to make it work. The heroes are never too far from the spotlight even when they want to be and oftentimes their acts can go viral without them knowing.

Sexual Assault. In the comics, Starlight is sexually assaulted by Homelander, Black Noir and A-Train in a gross scene to establish that there’s nothing good in that world. It was good for its time in its own dark way, but today there are absolutely consequences to such things as there should have been back then. In the show, Starlight is assaulted by The Deep, her childhood crush, alone. 

It’s dark and makes use of the imbalance of power as The Deep threatens to have her kicked off of the team. Soon after, Starlight comes forward with what happens to her, not allowing herself to let what happened stand and unlike in the books, The Deep gets his comeuppance. Though this also unfortunately leading to him getting assaulted as well. It’s powerful and allows for Starlight to move what could have been an image of weakness, though Vought uses this to their advantage as well, painting her a feminist icon. Best for business right?

Politics. While not everything has to be an allegory for Trump, it’s hard to say that Homelander isn’t just that. He’s what the president thinks he is, a strong, blonde haired man that the entire country loves. Homelander has the people eating out of the palm of his hands and he’s only feeding them shit. He hates the common man and will just as easily let many die if it can somehow serve his interests. He’s not above a little sexual harassment himself and he is just an evil bastard.

There’s also a subplot of military application of superheroes that I feel mirrors the discussion on the use of drones in war. Drones are absolutely deadly and have caused the deaths of hundreds, even innocents when things have gone really wrong. Even President Obama was criticized for how reckless and dangerous their use could be. The world could only imagine the hell that would rain down if superheroes were allowed to duke it out over national security.

Characters

The Boys as a comic series was an unrepentantly cynical take on the superhero genre in an established universe of heroes. The creator, Garth Ennis, didn’t grow up with many superheroes and actually felt disrespected by a few of them, like Captain America. He brought on the amazing Darick Robertson and other artists to realize this horrid world of drugs, hardcore sex and brutal violence. Many of the stories are fun and hilarious, but with the unfortunate feeling of a lot of them feeling one note due to the one dimensional nature of a lot of the “heroes” and the ever escalating level of black humor to the point of being cartoonish.

Our main character cast is absolutely fantastic. Jack Quiad’s Hughie is much like his comic counterpart, aside from being like six feet tall and not Scottish. He’s surprisingly smart with a lot of awkwardness about him. He has a good heart and doesn’t see ALL superheroes as being evil, but does have a slight sense of justice that wants to see The Seven and Vought taken down. 

Karl Urban’s Butcher was the absolute perfect casting choice. He’s got that wry British wit, the fury to capture Butcher’s rage against supes and can play a manipulator like nobody's business. His character arc is one of the few regressions that I can actually appreciate for how it's done, especially as things become more fucked because of him and how he chooses to blame everyone else.

Everyone else is a slight bit of an improvement over the comics versions. The Frenchman, played by Tomer Capon, is similar to his comics counterpart, but we’re given reason to care about him and The Female. In the comics, Frenchie and the Female knew each other prior, but I don’t think it’s ever revealed how they met or became close. In the show Frenchie frees The Female, played by Karen Fukuhara, from thugs that had been keeping her prisoner and he slowly gains her trust over the course of the next few episodes after her introduction. We see their friendship grow, learn a little bit of her backstory and get a better understanding of what she wants versus just following Frenchie around and being terrifyingly adorable.

Annie January aka Starlight, played by Erin Moriarty, is probably the second best change in character in the series. She starts out as a bright eyed, bushy tailed hero looking to do good, but after being sexually assaulted on her first day in The Seven, decides that it will never happen again. In the comics, Annie stays around in The Seven and takes the abuse for a little while before speaking out and fighting back against the rest of them. What makes things even better, not only does she challenge her uber Christian beliefs during an event sponsored by Vought, but she does so while also getting Vought to force her abuser into giving a public apology at the mere thought of her causing their stock prices to crash.

Consequently, Mother’s Milk, portrayed by Laz Alonso, one of the most layered characters in the comics isn’t made better, but the more ridiculous aspects of is character have been toned down. We don’t hear of his disabled mother and his addiction to her breast milk that fuels his own superpowers, nor is his wife a crack addict that makes pornos with their daughter. He’s simply a reliable member of the team that loves his wife and will give Butcher the truth when he’s acting like an asshole.

The series actually brings a lot of grey to most of these characters. A-Train never once shows remorse for his actions in the books, but in the show he's painted as kind of sympathetic, while still being seen as a monster for what he does and the reasons behind them. The Deep could go either way after his actions with a redemption arc or a full turn to villain, but is shown to be knowingly aware of how little regard there is for him. He calls himself a "diversity hire" and acknowledges his own ineptitude, but he's still an absolutely terrible person.

Queen Maeve may be one of my favorite changes that manages to be even more sympathetic than her already pretty great comic counterpart. She, much like Starlight, did want to change the world, but she let the apathy and jaded nature of the job take her over. She's an alcoholic that sees a bit of herself in Starlight. The change comes in how she reacts to what I think might be Homelander's most heinous act in the show. She shows far more remorse and guilt over what happens than she does in the comic, showing us a side of her makes you want to root for her and to see her get better.

The best character… dear Lord, is Homelander, played by Anthony Starr. Homelander is a bastard. The worst thing imaginable because of his sheer strength and power. He’s a sociopath with all of the powers of Superman and none of the goodness. In the comics he’s simply just another asshole. 

He’s the most powerful of the Seven and absolutely revels in the hedonistic lifestyle that he’s accustomed to while also hating being under the rule of Vought. In the show, he’s shown as being supportive to Vought, especially it’s current Senior VP of Hero Management, Madelyn Stillwell. He has something of a mommy fetish as shown with his interactions with her and later in the series actually expresses emotions over learning of his own tragedies, but instead of trying to change for the better, he doubles down on his hatred and anger to become an even bigger monster than before. 

In the comic he just wants all of the superheroes to conquer the world, but here, he just wants to hurt everyone who hurts him. He plays games like a child, threatening and revealing secrets to toy with people before absolutely breaking them. He's horrible in a very personal way and his sneering smile only makes him so much more hateable. He knows there isn't a damn thing you can do to stop him and he revels in that fact, I love it.

Pacing and Direction

Coming in at an hour for each episode, the first two to three can feel a bit slow. Getting all of the story elements to sit just right can take time, especially as new things are introduced every few minutes. This slow burn approach easily helps to build the tension before things get really crazy by episode four. By that point, the story is unfolding at a perfect rhythm, the team is mostly together, they’ve made their plans of action and it’s all so smooth.

Thankfully each episode is directed by different people to avoid each feeling so similar. The common humor and tone is kept the same, but some episodes are very hopeful almost before being met with one that absolutely makes you hate certain characters and the actions that they take. In particular, the episode where Hughie and Butcher visit a group therapy session and Butcher flies off into a rage about the weakness of the attendees as they basically lick the balls of the heroes that have maimed them was amazing. The director pulls so much emotion out of that scene and continues on as the episode moves along in a far more dramatic fashion than some of the others.

Some others lean heavier on the debauchery such as the episode where Hughie and Butcher venture into a superhero sex club and watch as these guys do some pretty amazing feats with their abilities in some really gross ways. There’s a good balance of levity and drama that makes neither feel too overwhelming.

Overall

With a great cast, impeccable acting and an unpredictability that I actually enjoyed, The Boys absolutely blew me away. I was wholly prepared to rip it apart if I felt like it didn’t do the story justice, but Rogen and Goldberg are fans and knew what we all wanted. It’s unabashedly a comic book show, but still has enough to it that people who have never heard of the series will be floored by how much they can find to enjoy.

It’s for the nihilistic and jaded comic book fan. It’s for the casual watcher who’s gotten enough of Marvel’s colorful displays of happiness and it’s absolutely for the happy person who just wants to have some fun with what they watch. 

I thoroughly enjoyed this season of The Boys. So much so that I’m aching with anticipation to re-read the comic series in preparation for Season Two. It’s unlikely that it’ll follow the plot much, if at all after the ending, but with Stormfront (as a woman) being announced as the new Hero joining the Seven in the next season, I’m excited as to who else they might pull. This first season absolutely earns a high recommendation from me.

[vannahfanfics]

For your Love Languages Event, my request is Gifts for Kurotsuchi and Kankuro, and thank you!

Wooo! Tasteful rarepair, I love it! I thought this would be a fun way to explore Kankuro’s awkward side; he really did end up being such an adorable dork XD

Next to Nothing

Kankuro’s eyebrows were furrowed as he peered around the hallway corner, and nervous sweat beaded on his temple before rolling down the side of his face. He tugged at the neck of his hooded shirt, the stifling desert heat wafting inside the building suddenly unbearable. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, but the lump lodged there simply didn’t go away. He watched with a mixture of anxiety and appreciation while Gaara conversed amicably with the soon-to-be Tsuchikage, Kurotsuchi. 

To say that Kankuro had a crush on the girl was... an understatement, really. In the days of meetings and diplomacy following the Great Ninja War, the Kage and their bodyguards were shuffled from one village to the next ironing out peace plans and tying up loose ends. So, needless to say, he’d gotten to know the Kages’ right-hand personnel quite well, Kurotsuchi included. He was impressed with her confidence and charmed by her audacious personality, and as a result, he was nursing quite a simpering affection for the young woman. 

He had really been quite content to just not do anything about it because, well, he did have a reputation to uphold. He really didn’t want to be known as a sap head-over-heels for a girl. Unfortunately, his elder sister had eyes sharper than a hawk. She’d cornered him after one meeting and basically told him to get his ass in gear, or she’d do the confessing for him. Kankuro had no doubt that she would, and he doubted that would win him any points with Kurotsuchi-- so here he was, fawning over her in the shadows and trying to muster up his courage to say more than ten words to her. 

This is such a pain in the ass, he thought with a small scowl. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Kurotsuchi to know he liked her, it was just... He knew next to nothing about girls! His sister was as brash and unfeminine as they came, and Gaara probably knew even less about women than he did! Honestly, Kankuro knew that words really didn’t do him justice, so, he went with what he knew best... He made Kurotsuchi a little puppet because girls liked cute things, right? 

“Thank you, Kazekage. I’ll be seeing you again soon,” came her pleasant voice, making Kankuro straighten like a rod. He could hear her shoes clicking down the hall as she approached. What should he do? She wouldn’t appreciate him watching her around the corner, that was creepy! But he didn’t want to scare her by jumping out. While his mind panicked, his body made the decision for him, rounding the corner while she was still in the middle of the hall. 

“Oh. Hello, Kankuro,” she said when he appeared, eyes widening in surprise. Kankuro offered her a shy smile, hiding his token of affection behind his back while trying to seem nonchalant. He was glad he used waterproof face paint, else he would have sweated it all off already. “I just finished up with Lord Gaara, if you’re on your way to see him.” 

“Ahehe, actually, it was you I wanted to see,” he said, using one hand to scratch at the side of his face. Kurotsuchi’s eyes only got wider, totally perplexed by his behavior. It send the anxiety swirling within him skyrocketing; his face slowly began to heat up, and he got fidgety. “I, um... I’ve been meaning... Oh, just, here-- take this!” he cried, thrusting the little puppet out to her. Kurotsuchi gasped as he all but threw it in her hands before he turned around so she wouldn’t see him blushing. 

“Is this... for me...?” After he nodded without turning around, he could hear her messing with the little joints and the strings. Did she like it? Did she think he was weird? Unable to help himself, he peered over his shoulder to see her... smiling.

“It’s cute,” she chuckled softly while slowly playing with one of the arms. “Thank you.” Her gratitude bolstered his confidence a little, allowing him to smile back. “Is this your way of asking me out, by the way?” she then added with a cheeky sneer, and that momentary wisp of confidence vanished like smoke. 

“Um... Yeah, kinda?” he managed, face turning fiery again. She chuckled again, then held the puppet up to her chest. 

“All right, then. You can pick me up at my hotel at seven,” she declared, and next thing he knew, she was rounding the corner. Kankuro just sat there while his brain short-circuited, trying to process what happened. Eventually he did, and he smiled at his success. 

He knew next to nothing about girls, but... apparently he knew enough. 

Enjoy this drabble? Feel free to find more on my Table of Contents!

[crvelsovls]

—

ophelia tate has been walking around town. hazelgrove is familiar of the thirty-one year old hunter. she is aware of the supernatural residents in town. the people of hazelgrove can agree that the librarian can be vehement yet still be reticent. let’s just hope things in town can settle down. + delicate fingers adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across peach-tinted lips and a slender form shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue. 

s’up buttercups ?? ‘tis me again, here with my second gal ; ophelia. she’s my clever lil huntress who’s loosely based on various past muses of mine. she’s a lot more... innocent that delphine but she’s still quite fiery and sarcastic dkjsdsh anyways, i’ll save you all from my pointless babbles but as usual, pls flick that lil grey heart n i’ll shimmy my irish butt into your ims for plots !! : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. ophelia penelope tate.

nicknames. o, phe, & effie.

current age. thirty-one.

birthday. january thirty-first.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

species. human.

nationality. british.

religion. raised a catholic but no longer practices.

birthplace. london, england.

current residence. hazelgrove, me.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. demiromantic.

education. english literature degree.

occupation. librarian at hazelgrove public library.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. natalie tate. †

birth father. alexander tate. †

full blood siblings. astrid tate. †

maternal grandmother. katherine reynolds.

maternal grandfather. marcus reynolds. †

paternal grandmother. anika tate.

paternal grandfather. edward tate. †

maternal aunts. odette reynolds.

maternal uncles. none.

paternal aunts. sophia tate.

paternal uncles. duncan tate. †

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, french, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, & caustic.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, & poised.

strengths. etiquette, bold, rational, practical, original, perceptive, direct, & sociable.

weaknesses. dramatic, impulsive, quick-tempered, insensitive, impatient, risk-prone, unstructured, misses the bigger picture, & defiant.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, hand-to-hand combat, perception, persuasiveness, good judgment, & able to use initiative.

talents. retaining information, memory recall, knife throwing, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. blonde.

height. five feet, four inches.

weight. 52 kg.

build. she is of quite a petite stature, and slender with mild curves.

scars. a long, silvery one running along half her spine.

tattoos. n/a.

piercings. earlobes.

glasses. yes, but usually wears contacts.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. aquarius.

element. air.

house. ravenclaw.

myers briggs type. estp-t.

alignment. neutral good.

enneagram. type seven.

temperament. sanguine

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the orphic.

past mental disorders. post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, & suicidal tendencies.

current mental disorders. undiagnosed.

addictions. nicotine.

vices. wrath, envy, & pride.

virtues. temperance, charity, & diligence.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. left.

accent. mostly english with a mild twang of notable american.

blood type. b negative.

vehicle. bottle green 2015 volkswagen beetle.

BACKGROUND.

trigger(s). mention of exorcism, mentions of murder, & mentions of death. 

born and raised in london, the tate family seemed picture-perfect. though, underneath, the story was very different from how it seemed. while ophelia and her younger sister were showered with love and affection, their parents remained mostly absent albeit for fleeting moments in time. it wasn’t until ophelia grew older that she became more curious about what led her parents astray for weeks at a time. under the illusion that her parents were simply important figures, perhaps lawyers or detectives, a childish ophelia had never considered that their lives had been tainted by a much more corrupt presence. 

eventually, it transpired that her parents were hunters. more specifically, people who hunted down supernatural creatures and put an end to their existence. or, tried, at least. how ophelia stumbled across this fact was by pure chance. her grandfather had been visiting and she had walked into the basement where she witnessed her father and his father attempting to exorcise what she then described as a ‘man with black eyes.’ nowadays, she’d refer to said man and his kind as demonic bastards. 

of course, with their sights elsewhere, the demon managed to free himself only to murder her father and grandfather in the process. if it hadn’t been for her mother, ophelia would have ceased to exist that night also. it was that night that her mother shipped them off to live with their aunt for a while but eventually, after a week or so, her mother returned.

seemingly, everything had been fine until one night when their home was attacked by a pair of vampires. these vampires having been survivors of their mothers attack on their nest, thus they tailed her and laid low until the most opportune moment where they attacked. how ophelia managed to escape that night was anybody’s guess. though the rest of the household hadn’t been so lucky.

having lost her parents, sister and aunt to supernatural creatures, ophelia grew up with a deep rooted hatred for every creature of the night. it had taken her many years to learn of each creature, their weaknesses, strengths and, most importantly, how to kill them. but once she had mastered the art, she set out on a mission to hunt like her parents before her. admittedly, in the beginning, she’d had some near misses, brushing with death many times. but with more hunts under her belt, the better she became.

eventually, ophelia decided to leave london behind in search of the states where she was certain there would be ample supernatural beings endangering the lives of innocents. she moved around for a few years until she settled in hazelgrove where she soon learned that the town harboured an abundance of things that went bump in the night. it was this fact alone that she opted for staying put where she also works as a librarian; constantly researching and reading up on various creatures.

becoming a hunter hadn’t been something that had ever crossed her mind until she’d lost everything. in fact, it had been a path that she should have never stumbled across if it hadn’t been for her witnessing the demon that night. still, nevertheless, it was the road she’d travelled down now and with resentment deep in her bones, there would be no stopping her.

PERSONALITY.

to all who encounter her, ophelia can appear on the surface an extremely reckless and careless woman with a huge tendency to adopt a sardonic tongue during almost all occasions. given her demeanour and attitude, it would be fair to assess that all the blonde is, is a satirical mouthpiece with a permanent simper corroded into the corner of her lips. despite this all, the shell of ophelia does contain much more substance. regardless of her blasé attitude, a passionate, whimsical girl remains deep within the high walls of her persona. it’s almost safe to say that the facade she paints over herself every day is nothing more than a basic ruse; a temporary fixture to aid in slowly but permanently fixing the broken fractions of her mind. it goes without saying that ophelia is constantly shrouded in mystery, concealing her true emotions and feigning any feelings whatsoever. although a sensitive, vulnerable aspect of her persona remains, it seldom prevails against her impulsive, sarcastic, intelligent nature. the problem with being clever is already knowing the things others try so desperately to hide from you. ophelia knows how others view her, she sees how they look at her. everybody assumes she’s too difficult to reason with and believe she’s even tougher to understand. it is this that enables ophelia to flirt with danger, use her words as a weapon and also a bargaining chip. it is this that gives ophelia an overwhelming sense of adrenaline, swimming through her veins and fuelling the fire that lies within the pit of her stomach.

QUICK FACTS.

can drink any man under the table.

smol but fierce.

one of those people who just excels at everything they try their hand at.

has a very high pain tolerance. seriously, it’s kinda freaky.

the only thing she’s truly terrified of is spiders. those eight-legged cretins have her shaking like a leaf.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

was raised a catholic and went to an all-girls catholic school but she no longer practices.

doesn’t drink much as she doesn’t like to be out of control even in the slightest.

she quite likes being a hunter and she does the job very well. attention to detail is key when she’s working.

is a very reckless driver, it’s a surprise she hasn’t been in an accident yet.

looks innocent but really isn’t in every sense of the word.

she’s that bitch that loves reading and has a thing for poetry.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

a bit meddlesome and a troublemaker.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

WANTED PLOTS.

for wanted connections and potential plots, i’m open to just about anything so feel free to hmu for connections or any plots you can think of !! some i’d really love are :

best friend ( pls give my girl a bff she can tell everything to and can party with and just do best pal stuff with like platonic soul mates pls. )

childhood friend ( they maybe drifted apart ? )

an on off relationship ( pretty much like a fwb type situation or casual hookup situation that could develop into feelings or just remain casual. )

a potential love interest ( bonus points if it’s angsty. )

exes / past flings / one night stands.

enemies and rivals.

drinking / party buddies.

and obviously connections with fellow hunters and the supernatural oOoOoOo.

[unbe--weave--able]

Something Absolutely New

Sapphic Sutcliff Week:

Thursday: Motherhood/Death

On Ao3

She was staring again, Grelle Sutciff realised with a start as the cup she was filling began overflowing, staining the tablecloth and causing An to let out an exasperated sigh at her partner in crime’s distraction. Hastily the brunette butler leapt for some napkins, only causing further chaos as she knocked the teacup itself onto its side, spilling its contents over not only the tablecloth but her mistress’ lap. The other woman yelped and glowered accusatorialy at her before promptly being swept away by Sebastian, who shot her a look that was both disdainful and contemptuous at the same time. Grelle shrank back slightly, keeping in line with the character she’d chosen for herself, though inside she was shooting him a far more venomous glare than he could possibly imagine. Demonic bastard. One day she would show him, she’d paint that drop dead gorgeous face of his bright crimson, splatter it with his own dripping blood; wouldn’t that be fun? And such a pretty sight too. She sighed dreamily, watching his retreating figure with unconcealed longing.

A crash to her left snapped the butler out of her daydreaming, gaze settling once more on the object of her distractions. Mey Rin had somehow managed to drop the plates she’d been holding onto so carefully not a few moments ago, the fine china shattering into a thousand pieces as it impacted with the floor. The maid let out a noise of vague distress before dropping to her knees to try to salvage what she could. There was nothing she could do of course, Grelle noted with a sigh, but she gave the younger woman credit for at least attempting it, futile though it was. Grelle did have to wonder if she could even see some of the pieces, the maid’s eyesight was every bit as dreadful as Grelle’s own was after all.

It occurred to her, rather belatedly, that being the only other person in the room, she really ought to help out but something stopped her. The same thing that had had her so intent on Mey Rin for the past few days (and it wasn’t just the fact that she was deeply fond of the maid). No, something was off about the former assassin, though Grelle could not pinpoint exactly what that something was; she was just different. Had been for the past four days Madam Red and herself had been staying at Phantomhive manor.

Granted, Grelle had not seen the maid in quite some time. The last time she’d been here had been going on two months ago. To be more precise, it had been seven weeks and two days, not that Grelle was keeping count of the amount of days that had passed since she’d last been with Mey. That would be ridiculous and childish…

But something had definitely changed in the maid. That was a certainty.

And it wasn’t just a single thing either, Mey was far less coordinated and focused. Not that she’d ever been particularly skilled at the former but normally the assassin turned maid was almost hyper alert to her surroundings, a holdover from her former employment as well as part of the reason she was even allowed to work at the manor in the first place. Her eyesight and focus was one of her most important traits, to Bassy and the Phantomhive brat at least. That she seemed so out of it was a concern by itself.

Anyone else wouldn’t notice anything amiss, Grelle thought to herself, but she’d long since attuned herself to the maid’s every move. The woman was absolutely gorgeous, and had been so obvious and sincere in her affections that obviously Grelle had taken notice. At first she’d considered it quite annoying truthfully, the almost puppylike, simpering affection Mey Rin was giving her a far cry from what she usually found herself craving from anyone she sought to have a romance with. She’d almost dismissed the other red-haired woman as an irritant with no discernable personality who blended in with the other two to the point that they may as well be one infuriating entity. Grelle had never been so glad to be wrong in her assessment of a person. Of all three of them. They may not be the brightest of people, oftentimes too enthusiastic for their own good and sickeningly genuine. But all three of them were truly marvels among humans, they were the only three who knew of her secret and kept it, without judgement or mocking. They simply accepted it. And with their acceptance Grelle had found a new appreciation for them. Mey rin in particular.

Once over her initial impressions, the maid had never ceased to amaze her. How the woman could go from an adorable klutz in oversized glasses to a competent and deadly woman with eyes that could sear the very flesh from her bones, they held so much fire and ice. She near trembled at the thought of them. There was so very much to adore about the petite maid. And Grelle was constantly finding herself discovering new things. She knew every part of Mey Rin just as surely as she knew herself. She had thoroughly explored it after all...several times. This was why it was so odd that she couldn’t pick up on precisely what was different about her maid.

Grelle slumped over the table, cursing herself and searching for the one thing that would make this whole thing make any sort of sense to her before jolting up off of it in disgust, letting out a squeal. She’d not discovered what the difference was, but she had just half lain down on the dmp patch of cold tea staining the table cloth. With a sigh, she stood up, surveilling the damage. Pondering on Mey Rin would have to wait; she needed to go and change her shirt...

As though summoned by the squealing, Sebastian materialised in the doorway, carrying a broom and a dustpan, red-eyed gaze roaming over the scene in front of him, taking in the far-sighted maid, nose practically pressed to the floor picking up slivers of china with her bare hands and dropping them onto her apron (an act which simply made the pieces slide down back onto the floor, creating even more of a mess) and the short-sighted butler, eyebrows drawn to make her look even more worried than usual, a look of utter distress on her face as she stared down in horror at the light brown stain down the front of her formerly white shirt. The demon sighed and both of the figures in the room bowed their heads. Grelle more out of annoyance than any real shame. Of course he would have to walk in to see this. He did have rotten timing.

For now however he did seem to be ignoring her, honing in on poor, love-stricken Mey Rin instead. His deadpan expression seemed to do little to deter the faint blush on Mey’s cheeks, not that Grelle could blame the other in the least. No matter how fond she was of the maid, the other butler was drop dead gorgeous. She would jump him in a heartbeat. Amongst other things… Grelle let out another shriek; her elbow had just landed in the butter dish. The demonic butler’s gaze grew somehow even more exasperated than it had been though he steadfastly ignored her for the time being.

“Perhaps a broom might be useful in such a situation Mey Rin?” He suggested with a delicately arched brow, his expression entirely baffled though he hid it behind his usual mask of long suffering patience. His tone displayed that he thought Mey Rin were an idiot for not thinking to use the tool. But then, it was hardly a change. Grelle noted with a small scowl, Sebastian did tend to view his trio of subordinates entirely incompetent. Though, he did have a point here. Why hadn’t she opted for a broom and dustpan?

The maid blushed furiously, stammering out an apology that Sebastian ignored entirely in favour of casting his narrowed gaze onto the other woman in the room.

“Sutcliff...how is it that even when doing nothing at all, you still manage to turn it into a disaster?” He practically spat out, or at least, Grelle imagined he’d be spitting the words out if he weren’t so dedicated to seeming perfect and in control at all times. “No, don’t answer that.”

Grelle shut her mouth with a click, staring balefully at the dark haired butler, before her eyes wandered back down to the stains on her uniform. How unsightly, she looked like a street urchin now. The uniform was already ugly enough. Now adding stains to it, Grelle practically wanted to cry. Perhaps she ought to. It might make everyone pity her...or she could…

Her eyes darted to the open window, shining with unshed tears. Across from her, Sebastian followed her gaze and let out a sigh moving across to the window and bolting it shut before Grelle could even begin to move. Her lower lip trembled.

“There shall be none of that today Mr Sutcliff.” Grelle frowned internally, though any irritation was soothed by a sympathetic gaze from Mey Rin. “Go and make yourself presentable Sutcliff. It’s unseemly for a butler to be seen in such a state. And you, Mey Rin, go and help him, heaven knows he shall most likely get lost trying to find his own room.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I shall deal with the mess in here. Once you’re done, the two of you can go and help Baldroy, surely between the three of you, you shall manage to not entirely destroy everything you touch?”

Scampering to attention, Mey Rin nodded frantically before running over to Grelle and practically pushing her out of the door, eager to escape the butler’s wrath for the day.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 4

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Let me know if you want on my tag list?? I’ve had a couple people ask to be added. Ongoing Queen fic and such, expect updates weekly, if not more frequently.

Warnings: Drinking, swearing, and some steamy AF cupboard action? Does all of Queen appearing (finally!) in this chapter count as warning-worthy??

Abstract: A child’s game is played, though several people win at games not everyone knew were being played.

You weren’t sure exactly what Roger Taylor was offering, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to turn him down; if it weren’t for the enigmatic, dancing God standing next to the blond God, you might have a hard time resisting the glamorous Roger. Your heart was already spoken for, even if you hadn’t realized it yet. Roger put an arm around Deacy’s waist. He had to admit, Deacy had delectable taste in women. The kind of women that tended to go after his friend, however, weren’t always the kind of woman Deacy was looking for. He wasn’t strictly a one woman a night kinda guy; that wasn’t to say Deacy didn’t like to have his fun or indulge his base desires, rather that he was a bit more choosy than most about the women he invited along for the ride. Roger respected this the most about his friend. And even though he’d never admit it, he admired him even more for his discerning palate and all-encompassing self-control.

They could get whatever they wanted when they wanted it, Roger thought. Perhaps the most chaotic thing about Deacy was his ability to simultaneously flaunt that fact and yet outright deny it; turning away from limitless lechery and immediacy was perhaps the ultimate form of Deacy’s rebellious chaotic energy. He could allure anyone and say no in the same breath. Roger, however, rarely said no, considered seduction his favorite hobby--besides his cars and his drums. He was maybe a cad, but he never took advantage; Roger Taylor always knew where to draw the line, and if that line was the curve of a woman’s body, even better.

He hoped you were capable of dealing with Deacy’s complexities, because from the look in his friend’s eyes, Roger could tell Deacy was falling in such a way he was probably already writing songs about you in his head. He hated the idea of seeing his friend get hurt again. Roger was all fire and every emotion was always plastered on his fine face; if you could read a book, you could interpret his face and his feelings; Deacy felt everything startlingly deeply, and even though he trusted the members of Queen above all, there were times he’d rather run away for weeks than tell them what was wrong. Could you be the exception?

“That depends,” you said, “What kind of game are you playing?” A wry smile had appeared on your face. You were feeling the alcohol a bit more, and felt braver because of it. You looked at Deacy, and had a hard time not thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him in this room full of witnesses. To claim him publicly would be the most fantastic move, you thought. Not to mention a huge turn on for you. You tried to put it in the back of your mind next to your thoughts of pressing him up against a wall and running your hands all the way down his torso.

There was a faraway look in your eyes Deacy couldn’t help but find intriguing and exquisite. That, he thought, was the perfect word to describe you: exquisite.

“I have an idea what you’re playing.” Deacy said, “You and Freddie really can’t help yourselves, and you’ve enlisted Y/N’s friend, and now you’re trying to enlist us to be party to your...foreplay adventure.”

“I would never say ‘foreplay adventure.’” Roger simpered. He licked his lips, and looked at you, “Listen: we’re simple men who play scrabble for fun for fuck’s sake. And what we’re doing now is equally childish, yet a rockin’ blast of a time.”

“Oh yes! Sardines is without qualification a ‘rockin’ blast of a time.’” Jim laughed sardonically.

“Wait--you’re playing reverse hide-and-seek?” You asked somewhat gleefully.

“What of it, love?” Roger asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me get this straight--”

Jim snorted into his cocktail, and the boys smiled at him fondly.

“Let me get this straight,” you repeated shaking your head a Jim, a full-on smile on your face, “You’re adult rock-stars playing sardines?”

“Come now, this is a time-old romantic tradition dating back to the Victorian Era.” Roger explained, rather scholarly, you thought.

“God save the Queens.” Deacy said automatically.

“God save the Queens,” Jim responded. You had the distinct feeling Jim was talking about one Queen in particular, and that this call and response was a typical exchange of the group you had become part of.

Deacy removed himself from Rog’s grip, and offered you his hand. You took it, allowing him to help you up. Standing next to him for the first time, you noticed how tall he was, and were instantly relieved you had the foresight to wear heels tonight. You’d still have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him properly, you guessed.

“Look at it this way,” Deacy pulled you closer to him, staring into your eyes the entire time, “games of proximity are significantly better as adults.”

You smiled at each other knowingly, as if you had been exchanging hidden messages since childhood. It was clear to you now, maybe for the first time tonight, Deacy wanted to get you alone, to experience you by himself, a room all your own. Perhaps, this was the ultimate test for any two people, to survive the tedious one-on-one for the first time. To bypass all the pitfalls and emerge for the better and wanting to know each other better wasn’t always easy or simple. You knew, however, you wanted nothing more than to find out if you were compatible in every sense of the word.

“You’d have to find me, first.” You challenged.

“I could find you in a room full of darkness, you gleam that brightly for me.”

Dumbstruck, you felt that newly familiar sensation of time pausing again. It was such a line, you thought, but there was something about the genuine way he said it, the slight shyness, the undercurrent of embarrassment that showed you he felt flabbergasted saying it, too. Maybe it was audacity of the audience, or the fact you had known each other for hardly an hour, barely knew anything about each other, but whatever it was, it wasn’t just a line for him, because you knew the last thing he wanted was to show bad judgment. Statements, lines like that can seem like a game, something a player would say to get his way, or show the emotional hand of someone who rushes into relationships too quickly. The way he said it, the mixed emotions, however, conveyed what the words couldn’t: he was saying this against his better judgement precisely because he couldn’t help himself. Another paradox, you thought.

“Another paradox,” you whispered.

For Deacy, you had said the magic word. He knew you understood him better in these brief minutes than most had his entire life.      

Roger cleared his throat, “Mates, you’re supposed to be helping me find Lydia. Keep your baseline in your pants.”

“You’re one to talk, Rog.” Jim came around the bar, determined to help in the search. “Pretty sure you’re up for action any day, action any night.”

Roger glared at Jim.

“Right,” Deacy said. “Let’s do this.” You nodded in agreement, and let go of Deacy’s hand.

“Alright, you all know the rules? We all split up and search for Lydia, and when we find her, hide with her until the last one of us comes a long and is declared the loser. Now, keep in mind Bri and Freddie are already playing. I lost track of them, oh, I don’t know, thirty minutes ago? They could be anywhere.”

“I like a challenge.” You said, clapping your hands together.

“Did Freddie start playing before or after the chandelier?” Jim asked Roger.

“...Well, during.” Roger confessed hesitantly.

Jim closed his eyes in gentle frustration, “Thanks for the hint,” he said, and quickly zipped off among the throng of people, deciphering something in Roger’s words only one’s lover could understand.

You lost track of him rather fast, and amused yourself imagining Jim sneaking off into a secret passage like film noir detective.

Deacy wanted to just whisk you away, use this game as an opportunity to get you alone, but he was also competitive and liked to win. He was torn. Part of this game was deception and distraction and knowing your prey. He was contemplating the best tactic when he noticed you had left his side slyly and without sound or word. Surprised, he smiled at your initiative. He took it as a personal challenge, endearing him to your spirit even more than before.

“Hey, hold this for me, mate?” Rog said, handing Deacy a balloon he had fumbled down from over the bar. “Right,” Deacy said holding the string.

That’s when Roger popped the balloon, and made sweet his own ostentatious getaway.

Deacy stood at the bar, quite alone in a room full of people, still holding the string to the popped balloon, “Right.” He repeated.

You were in the room you had most wanted to enter since you arrived at the party. A glorious white grand piano rested in the center of the room. Vast, rich red curtains hung from the bay windows circling the exterior. A spiral staircase was off in the corner of the room, almost hidden, certainly meant to be ignored. What was it like to live in a place where something as inherently fancy as a spiral staircase was commonplace?

The ceiling looked like a renaissance painting, though you were certain some of the angelic figures were, indeed, of cats and not cherubs. You smiled at the adorable yet bizarre tribute to the fine feline kind. Only Freddie, you thought. Unless this was Jim’s dramatic touch? You thought better of it; only a rock-star would do this to their ceiling. You wondered what it would be like to compose rock songs at this piano, in this space, in this townhouse. Down the rabbit hole, indeed, you echoed Jim’s words from earlier. Especially in this room, they rang true. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch the piano without permission, though you longed to sit and play, perhaps to entertain, maybe to show off.

Instead, you checked behind the curtains for Lydia. She wasn’t there, though. You decided to not go back the way you came, but to use the inexplicably curving, tight staircase that led up towards the cat-painted ceiling, and off along towards an indoor balcony. You weren’t sure exactly yet where it led, but couldn’t resist the urge to find out. You ascended the staircase and followed the balcony along into another room. You found yourself on the second floor over a modest library. If a two-story library could be called modest, that is. Large ferns took advantage of the floor to ceiling windows resting between the shelves. You wondered who the gardener was who took painstakingly good care of them.

You wandered between the nooks and crannies, between large and small plants, in dark crevices, and patterned curtains made of kimonos. There was another staircase leading up (how many floors did this place have?) and a doorway leading to a widow's walk, and beyond that only darkness. Shadowy figures were outside the widow’s walk. Maybe one was Lydia and the others?

Opening the door, you ran into someone leaving.

“Oh, pardon me, will you?” He asked, lightly. He was distracted, maybe on a mission of his own?

You looked up at him, and saw a mop of curly long hair. You recognized, with and in-take of breath, Brian May.

“Oh, wow!” you whispered. “I mean, of course--excuse me, I was just looking for my friend; we’re playing a game.” You explained. You couldn’t believe you were talking to Brian May, about a stupid game, when he was in all actuality quite brilliant.

A look of recognition sprang to life on his ultimately kindly face. The smile made Brain absolutely beautiful. It had to be said, he had better hair than anyone you had ever met, including Lydia. Those luscious brown curls, you wondered, how did he keep them so tame? You must remember to ask for tips. Hair tips from Brian May, you really were losing it.

You took in his red and black Henley and silver blazer. He looked classical, relaxed, you thought. And so very tall. Taller than Deacy. You thought then of Deacy and where he was, if he had won yet, and thought of finding him in a dark corner, and what you would do to him if you did. The possibilities were endless.

“You must be Y/N!” Brian said grinning.

His words shook you from your reverie. This rock-star, who played guitar better than any living person in the world, knew your name.

“I am,” you managed to say. You put your hand out for him to shake. Brian took it happily, and he introduced himself. “I think we’re playing the same game, if I’m not mistaken?”

“We are,” he agreed a little bemusedly.

“We must part ways, then,” you said somewhat sadly; Brian seemed, well there was no other word for it, sweet. Maybe genuine was a better way to put it, you thought? You smiled at him and said, “I hope we have the opportunity to learn more about each other outside the cunning nature of sardines.”

Brain laughed at your remark. He liked a woman with a brain. Being a scientist himself, he valued the simple skills of observation and logic. Also, however, being an artist, he admired beauty. Women were like stars for him, each had their own beauty, their own signature, a little something that made them all different and appealing in a myriad of ways. Gazing at stars, for Brain, was like gazing a women: equal parts dangerous and beguiling. A woman could sear your eyes, tarnish your skin, yet envelope you entirely in light and warmth. This, is the essence of pleasure, Brain thought. And, like every other woman, you were very pleasing.

“I’m sure we will have the chance.” Brain smiled as he left back the way you had come through the library. You, however, continued past the widow’s walk to a doorway at the end of a medieval-looking hallway. You opened the door and walked inside. A guest bedroom in pinks and oranges met your gaze. Light mewing and tired sighs could be heard from the canopied bed. You tiptoed past the bed, not wanting to disturb the cats--seven in all, you counted? A second doorway led to another hallway with six different doors leading all of six different ways.

Dear lord, you thought. Did this place ever end? You wished Brain hadn’t left you alone. You were a stranger in a strange land. Before you could worry too much, one of the doors started opening, and you wished for a place to hide. You had five options, and couldn’t choose one. You found yourself frozen to the spot, a little too curious about who could be coming through the doorway.

Deacy opened the door and saw, much to his surprise and elation, you.

“Y/N?” He said into the darkness.

“Deacy!” You practically sprang into his arms with relief. It felt as if you had already done it a hundred times before. You felt Deacy’s body seize briefly and then instantly relax. He slowly snaked his arms around your waist and up your back. He was very cliche of warmth and you felt duly undeniably safe. He was a shield in the night.

Deacy couldn’t resist any longer. He had been fighting a silent battle all night. The one against his mind and his heart. That old battle, more a foe than a friend; for we are always our own worst enemies, are we not, he thought? And, really, when you got down to it, he was no different than anyone else. Sure, he was famous and wealthy, but some problems you couldn’t charm away, you couldn’t buy off. Some problems all men had to face.

This fight always ended one of two ways: the heart would win or the mind. He could stop himself, maybe, he thought, if he turned tail and retreated now. If he left you here in this dark hallway, he could continue to guard himself, to lock himself away. Seal away vulnerability once and for all, and give up. Or, alternatively, he could let go. He could succumb to every thought, to every wish he had silently expressed since he noticed you entering the party with Lydia.

That’s when Deacy let go.

He moved his hands down your arms to take your hands in his, and he turned to the left, knowingly, and led you into another room you had yet to see.

It was, you thought, a pantry of some kind. Close-quartered, but not too cramped. In here, in the darkness alone, you would have been afraid. But with Deacy it was an adventure, a beginning. Deacy turned around and snapped the door closed by pushing you up against it. He didn’t ask to kiss you, which you liked. You hated it when people asked to kiss you. It was, you thought, their own insecure way of not really knowing if they wanted to kiss you in the first place. If you have to ask to kiss someone, one of you doesn’t want it, and your intuition is giving you a red flag.

Deacy ran his hungry fingers up your waist, past your breasts, up your neck, pulling you into an exigent kiss. His lips pressed against yours with skill and determination. You responded immediately by wrapping your arms around his waist, one reaching up his back into his coiled hair. Softer to the touch than you had expected. Even the texture of his hair excited you; you had it bad. You smiled as the kiss lengthened, parting your lips.

His lips caressed yours, parting in equal measure and excitement. There was a rhythm to his kissing, you thought. Longer ones followed by softer and shorter ones, passion on top of passion, building to breath and repeats of long crescendos. Every peak would push a bit further than before, before de-escalating to a plateau. Each break made you desperately cling to him and him to you. You kept bringing back each kiss, each feel of the hands, each everything was new, nothing done before, each movement a furthering symphony of ecstasy.

Deacy deftly slid his tongue into your mouth, tracing your tongue. He pulls back, ever so briefly, lightly nibbling your bottom lip, and you moan in response. There is music in it notes know not.

That’s when Deacy decides he could happily make you moan forever and be perfectly, permanently in a state of joy. “Moan again, for me?” He asks, punctuating each word with a kiss or a touch, “I’ll make it worth your while…” He’s curious what other sounds you could make together; he wants to find every sound you make and catalog them into a score, a song that can mean only you, that only you can make together.

You manage a sigh, looking into his grey eyes, you pull him into your kiss. Your hands pull him by the waistband of his jeans, fingers digging into the coarse fabric; it is a dirty gesture done every so innocently. You slink your tongue into his mouth this time, moaning all the while. As you lose track of time, you lose track of which hands are yours and which are his, as if you already belonged to each other. He lassos his arms around you, into your hair, holding your face. Your tongues circle each other in a delighted syncopation. You follow and flow with each other’s lips. You feel him getting harder with each kiss, and wonder how on earth he’s containing himself in those tight jeans of his.

He pulls away, moaning. Bodies still up against each other, he knows he wants more. But he also always wants to wait, to savor these moments and delay sex as long as possible; that was, after all, part of the fun for him. But, before he stopped altogether, he had one more parting shot, one final move to impress upon you how much he desired you.

Deacy, placing a hand on your face, and another cradling one of your breasts, leaned down, and licked up from your decolletage, up your neck, all the way to the tip of your chin. He felt you shiver in his grasp.

Gasping, you felt every pore, every slice of skin his tongue touched ablaze with a keen desire. You wanted him, all of him, right there. Instantly, you knew without a doubt you needed him past this moment, past this night, past every night, maybe. It was a ridiculous notion, you had just met, but this ultimate need, this yearning was the most powerful feeling you had ever come across. And you never wanted it to end.

“I am not sure,” you said, “how you expect me to go back out there as wet as I am for you right now.”

The flashing in his eyes was a need you had never seen on another person.

He wasn’t sure if what you said was sexier than what you had done thus far, or even what he figured you would and could do for each other. He almost let go again, almost giving in to your skilled seduction.

“Y/N, if we relent now, if we give into each other now, we will regret it.”

“I could never regret that.”

He smiled lightly, “it will be all the better for waiting,” he kissed you again, flicking his wrist to your hips, and traveling down your inner thighs.

“This,” you moan, as he dexterously searched, pressing his fingers to your clitoris, “doesn’t feel like waiting to me…”

“But it is; I promise,” he said, returning your moan, as you trailed a hand across his mostly perfectly erect penis. There it was again, an intimacy that knows clothes. You’ve never been so entirely turned on while having all your clothes on. Was this the beginnings of true intimacy? Of great compatibility? You weren’t sure yet, and for the first time during all this reasoned he was right: you should bide your time.

You gently removed your hands from him, pulling him towards you still with your kiss. He followed suit, and took his hands off your body. Attached at the lips, this was still the hottest moment of your sexually experienced life. Almost as if rehearsed, you ended your kiss at the same exact time.

You saw him in a different light now. A layer of uncertainty melted away; there were different ways to know people, you figured. After this event, you saw him with more transparency, more confidence. He was a song you were learning, and couldn’t stop humming. You wanted to pour over his score until you had it committed to memory. You wanted to know him note-perfect.

You stared at each other silently. You weren’t sure how long, all notions of sardines forgotten in this cupboard.

That was until someone else joined you with a bang, and a push, new hands on your shoulders, and a closing of a door.

“Deacy, darling, is that you?” The man said; his voice was crisp and undeniably alive. You looked to your left, and saw more than felt that he still had a comforting hand on your shoulder. He was wearing a cape, a crown, white hot-pants, and not much else. You’d recognize that mustache anywhere.

“Fuck me,” you said softly to Freddie Mercury.

Freddie looked you up and down, taking in your green dress, bright eyes, and chic hair. He liked your over-large glasses. There was something sly in your eyes he savored. Freddie flicked his eyes onto Deacy, who made a halfhearted attempt to hide his erection; no fool, Freddie knew what had been going on in here even without that particular hint. He raised a thick eyebrow at Deacy. That eyebrow said everything in one fluid movement.

Deacy knew Freddie would 1) never let him live this down, 2) demand later to know everything that had happened in here while simultaneously regaling him of other sexual encounters that had occurred in this pantry, 3) pry every detail about Y/N out of him, and 4) cheer you on relentlessly. Eyebrows could communicate a lot. At least, Deacy thought, if it had to be anyone who discovered this situation, it was Freddie.

Their connection was deeper than his to the others; Freddie, like him, was shy in his private life. He was deeply secretive, and cherished the times when he could be “normal” as much as the times he was on stage performing for thousands of people. They understood each other instinctively, which made them not only good friends but good collaborators. They were able to write songs together with ease and enjoyment. On stage, Freddie was the only one who made him feel free to dance and embrace the music without an ounce of shame. At times, he even looked forward to the times Freddie would wander over and grind up against him, dancing in their own unique ways to the music they created together. That, Deacy thought, was complete freedom. Freddie, on stage, a magician, the great pretender, brought out the best in everyone, including the band. Freddie was, if nothing else, also surprisingly discreet. Deacy knew he wouldn’t even have to ask for Freddie’s discretion; he’d just have it, like he’d always have Freddie’s friendship.

“Well, to be honest, Deacy dear,” Freddie simpered, “I expected to find Roger and his belle de jour in here, not you and this delicious beauty.”

“Rog is quite fond of cupboards,” Deacy grinned mischievously.

“A queen if i ever saw one,” Freddie sighed.

“Are you referring to Roger or Y/N here?” Deacy questioned straightening his button-down.

“Myself, of course!” Freddie chuckled extending his hand to you. “Y/N L/N,” you said smiling from ear to ear, shaking his hand.

“Freddie Mercury, an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, darling. I’ve heard so much about you, if it isn’t gauche to say so?”

What was tonight, you thought? How many rock-stars knew your name? How many were vying for your attention? And, well, that’s not not mention everything that had transpired in this cupboard with one John Deacon.

“Not at all! As long as what you’ve heard has been favorable--if not, i may have to do something unspeakably devious about it.”

“My husband has a very high opinion of you, actually.”

“Oh! Jim! I just am so taken with him. We’re getting lunch tomorrow.” You excitedly exclaim.

“Indeed! I find myself jealous. How about you, Deacy. Jealous of my dear husband and your...friend?”

“Jealous,” Deacy said with a wry smile, “Doesn’t even begin to touch my feelings, Fred.”

“Freddie?” you asked, remembering the game, one of many, you thought.

“Hmm?”

“Have you seen the others?”

“Oh! Well, to be honest, I was hiding from Jim because of the chandelier incident. Though, that man is the canniest; I’d suspect he and Brain would have found Lydia by now. Technically, I think we aren’t allowed to search for her together…” He sounded like a parent now, catching two children breaking an obvious rule.

You were loath to split away from Deacy again. This, Deacy could read on your face. He took your hand, placing something in it, and said, “Y/N, we will find each other again tonight, I promise.”

He left the pantry, determined to win more than just your heart.

You opened the palm of your hand to find a long string in it.

“What’s that?” Freddie asked.

“A distraction,” you said, looking at the closed door, with an impressed smirk.      

     Tag list: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum        

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 12 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Road to Amarillo

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2913

Summary: On route to Texas hot on the heels of an archangel, the consequences of a kiss and a fateful choice begin to unfold.

A/N: Next week’s chapter will be delayed until Saturday 8/18. Thank you to those of you still reading this little adventure! Your “likes” and feedback are mush appreciated!

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Everything happened so fast.

Flinching from the scald of water running over fingers ruddy with heat, you jab shakily at the faucet and reach up to swipe at the film of soap and steam clouding the mirror above the sink. Stopped at a diner less than a stone’s throw from Amarillo – a kitschy Tex-Mex joint named The Cool Cactus which, when you last laid eyes on it in another world fleeing from the city with your family, stood as an ironically lobular cactus-like heap of rubble with protruding steal rebar for thorns – you understand the ruse has already gone too far. It should have ended at the bunker before it began; Cas would’ve understood then, but now . . . it’s evolved into something you can’t undo without hurting him.

Leaning nearer the smeared glass surface, you peer at the dull reflection therein; the squared edge of porcelain bites painfully at your hips as you angle closer to search the hazy recesses of your face for evidence of the lie. With the heaviness weighing on your soul, it shocks you to find absolute blankness of expression staring back; no visible confession is scrolled in the fine lines etched thereon – no shapes of unspoken words lodge at the angular corners of your mouth waiting for life’s breath to give any indication something is amiss.

Given what’s at stake, the passive calm of your façade – a mask refined over many years of fighting hardship and finagling survival – shocks you. You wonder when you became this person; if, perhaps, you were always so selfish and this is the reason you survived. Time and again, that fickle bitch fate provided you alone another path forward. Alone. Only now, for the first time in a long time, you’re not alone – love of an angel, of all the unlikely beings it could beat out a song for, drums your heart. You dab the pink swell of your trembling lips; the delicate flesh blanches under the pressure. You close your eyes in feeble shield against the waterworks threatening to erupt along with the blissful memory of his kiss.

Knelt at your feet, forgotten feather strewn aside, tears of pain streaming his unshaven cheeks, the spark of something worshipful kindling in a gaze imploring mercy, his vulnerability pulls you in; as soon as the warmth of your lips caress his – the tender kiss barely a brush of breath – any hesitation Cas harbors concerning the revelation of his own emotion dissipates. Latent love unbridled by your advance, he abandons controlled celestial resolve in favor of the reactive desire instinctually driving his vessel.

Dispelling all space separating you, he suspends, it seems, time itself; for a breathless interlude the energy of his grace envelopes you beyond the purely physical in a corporeally transcendent blaze of devotion so luminous it would appear to anyone outside the intimate vantage point that the whole of creation revolves around your magnetically tangled figures – surely no star burns brighter in the universe. Within this light burst of entwined eternity there exists only the wet heat of his mouth ravishing yours, the pulse of your flesh rising beneath his scrabbling fingers, and the cushioned crush of your spine against the wall of wings encasing you unyieldingly in his embrace.

In your heart you know you need to tell him; he needs to hear it from you. Perhaps then . . . you twist the flats of your palms to daub weepy eyes. It’s not your lie, and yet you’re not exactly an unwitting accomplice. Silence makes you complicit; continued silence means you deserve whatever happens next. But part of you wanted this – wants it still even at the real risk of losing a love you never imagined. Crackle of a sob catching in your throat, your bleary focus falls to the mustard yellow plastic plaque mounted above the tap reminding employees to wash their hands before returning to work. The black letters blend as tears cascade over your lashes to splash the sink without a sound. Damn temptation. Damn weakness. Damn the witch.

Cas groans low at the interrupting thud of knuckles rapping on the door.

The sonorous gravel rub of the sound courses through your body to curl your toes.

“You okay in there?” Dean demands through the wood. He jiggles the locked knob.

Releasing the kiss-bruised tract of flesh above your clavicle with a soft suck, the angel nuzzles and scrapes the scruff of his chin along the exposed column of your throat.

You whimper partly in protest over the ill-timed interruption and partly in response to the sting of pleasure delighting sensitive skin.

The hunter knocks again. “Come on Cas. Open up. How long does it take to pull one out? I figure two, three minutes tops given your lack of feathery action these days.”

Giggling, you grab a fistful of Cas’ hair to swivel his lust-blown concentration from where he scatters tiny ticklish kisses into the hollow of your neck to your love-drunk grinning countenance. “I don’t think he’s planning on leaving without that feather,” you simper.

“No,” Cas grumbles and steals a quick peck of pliant lips when you loosen your grip on his locks. “I suppose he’s not.” Sighing in resignation, conflict creasing his crestfallen mouth, he rolls his half-clothed body to one side of the bed. “And he’s right not to – finding Gabriel takes precedence over all else. Even-”

“Pleasure?” You don’t hide your disappointed frown. Sitting up, you fumble for and shrug on the evidently too hastily discarded sweatshirt and smooth your fingers through disheveled hair.

Observing your fidgeting form, it occurs to the angel, in times of war, the regret infused in those certain regrettable actions applies not only to the ones actually undertaken, but also to the ones denied. He reaches for your hand and presses his fingers into your palm to reassure you the adjournment of his affection isn’t on permanent hiatus.

You squeeze his hand in return to let him know you expect him to make up for it at a sooner, rather than later, date; first a rainstorm, then a Winchester – the third time is sure to be the charm. “Do you boys ever get to have any fun?”

“Historically speaking?” Mollified by your discreet acceptance of the delay despite his dissenting vessel visibly begging more tangible terms of satisfaction, Cas swings his legs off the mattress and unsuccessfully tries to tame the bulge of his trousers into submission by buckling his belt. He peers back over his shoulder before standing, sheer solemnity shrouds his expression. “No.”

“Are you-” Shadow shifting beneath the door, Dean’s voice cracks, “is Y/N in there?”

Blues rolling in response to the astonishment lacing the tone of Dean’s deduction, Cas circles to the end of the bed and lifts his damp dress shirt from where it drapes over the corner; he scowls at the limp garment and shakes it out.

“I got this.” You leap to the floor, retrieve the feather, and move to the door. Hand poised over the knob, you spin to flash a suggestive smile at the seraph and wink. “Might as well finish at least one thing I started tonight, eh?” You fling wide the door.

For an awkward few seconds, Dean’s arms undulate like tentacles at your sudden appearance until he decides shoving them in his pockets is the appropriate course of action. “You two, uh, too busy to open the door or something?”

“Or something,” your smile resets into a sardonic half-grin.

Amusement dimpling his mien, Dean totters sideways on one foot to peer beyond you into the dim room where his friend struggles to shove a soggy suit coat over his shoulders.

Clearing your throat, you ask, “You looking for this?” You hold up the coal black-colored plume and rotate the translucent barb between your fingertips as it glints, tip to base, a metallic silvery-grey hue in the hall light.

Dean’s greens divert back to you. He hums in approval. “That kinky winged bastard.”

When he attempts to pluck the shimmering feather from your grasp, you clutch it to your heart and scoldingly narrow your gaze. “I’ll deliver it myself, thanks. Where is she?”

Blaming Rowena is childish. You had a choice; and across the anxiety-filled miles stretching between the bunker and Texas – Cas’ adorable attempts at conversation, the sweet small strokes of his fingers at your knee entreating you to take his hand, the abiding concern for your comfort, happiness, hunger, thirst, tiredness, current state of your bladder, and inquiries as to the source of your uncharacteristic quietude – you realize you chose wrong. Sniffling sharply, the rough intake of salty tears scratches and sears your sinuses. Swallowing, they stir sickeningly with the bile in your stomach.

“Ah child, good evening.” Rowena’s heavy lashes flit upward in elegant profile to eye you and the feather with equal levels of disinterest. “I see you’ve got the final ingredient for our little spell. Must’ve spent some time cavorting with that dashing angel then.”

Regard roving over the assemblage of odd ingredients and an oversized ancient tome sprawled on the surface of the table filling the expanse between you and the witch, you shrug in matched overt indifference. “Yes, I guess I must’ve.”

Rising, she sashays in a fluid choreography of motion around the table to extend her upturned palm toward you. Pursing her crimson mouth, she says knowingly, “Feeling a wee more relaxed, are we?” Eggplant purple painted nails gleam as she waves her fingers beseechingly.

You drop the feather into the lily white palm. “What’s it to you?”

She spins, curt. “Simply a bit of friendly banter, dear. If it’s more to your fancy, you may scurry off and let the boys know I’m nearly ready.” A bird-like cluck passes her lips suggesting that’s that and she tosses the feather in a wide-brimmed wooden bowl to resume consulting the book.

Wondering about the feather’s role in the mix, you dawdle.

Sensing your continued curious presence in spite of a coolness of conduct on both sides, she marks her place in the text with a fine-boned finger and looks up. Suspicions confirmed of your stubborn intent to linger as you prod at the gnarled remnants of a mandrake root, she inhales a bothered breath. “So . . . where’re you from?”

You steady a wobbling vial of unidentified putrid-smelling olive-brown liquid knocked by your sleeve before glancing up, stupefied by the question. “I-I thought they told you – I’m from the other world.”

Gold-dusted lids dart upward to summon patience and nicety from the thin air for the blundering human that is you. She sighs, “Yes, yes, of course you are, but the world’s a big place, isn’t it? Surely you must be from somewhere a sight smaller than a whole planet.”

“Amarillo,” you mumble, not a particular fan of the mundanity of such small talk.

The mishap of her own motherhood rooted within the redemption on her mind, she meditates aloud, “And your family’s there? Your mum?”

“I imagine what’s left of them is there, if the angel’s left anything at all after the bombing.” You should have been with them. “You know, I never even got to say-” you choke up. It’s a fluke you weren’t with them; you got left behind in a medical camp – back when those beacons of hope still existed – with a taped up injured ankle while your family backtracked home after the initial chaos of the apocalypse to see what remained of your lives there and to determine if it was safe. None of you had any way of knowing about the bomb – a last ditch nuclear effort by some unknown person with their finger on a powerful button to destroy angels en masse where they were rumored to be gathered in Houston planning the next massacre of humankind. Turns out the angels weren’t the ones responsible for that particular massacre of millions.

Blenching, Rowena tucks her chin to her chest. A sincerely somber note lilts her voice, “Ach, that’s terrible.”

Hiding your horror from her at the freshened memory, you flee the room without another word to fetch the brothers and Cas.

Lashes fluttering, a contemplative trickle of a smile twitches the witch’s cheek in your absence. “Truly, truly terrible to never have the chance to say goodbye. To have resolution.” Wistful, she swipes a tendril of red hair behind her ear and redoubles her examination of the book.

Shock, fear, and the part of you holding out hope of seeing the family you thought you lost forever kept you quiet when Rowena grandiosely proclaimed upon completion of the spell’s incantation and smoky climax that Gabriel was in one of two locations. “Central City, Colorado and wait . . . possibly, yes, possibly Amarillo, Texas,” she cooed the name of the second city to everyone’s collective surprise, no one more stunned than you. Smiling, she reserved a special twinkle of her eye for you indicating the rest was in your hands. Wink wink.

Sam questioned the precision of a spell so, well, imprecise. Dean declared it to be the best lead in weeks regardless. The brothers could’ve just as easily laid claim to Amarillo, but they didn’t; Dean called dibs on Colorado after Sam’s knotted brow wordlessly warned his brother this was an archangel hunt, not an episode of Gunsmoke. Cas advocated you join him for the road trip to Amarillo if you felt up to it and as long as you agreed to stay out of the fracas when it came to confronting Gabriel. Dazedly, you agreed. The pieces of the puzzle fitted together so perfectly without your meddling it seemed like destiny, and not the angel you deceived by doing nothing, drove you here.

A tray of dishes clatters to the tile outside the bathroom door. Jeers. Laughter. The tinny clinking of cracked glass and clay being swept into a metal dustpan. You push open the door slowly and peek toward the seating area. The angel waits for you in a booth along the UV-tinted row of front windows. Hands folded on the faux-granite tabletop, his gaze swerves outside.

“I said excuse me!” A waitress in a retro cactus-green dress crowds past you in a hurry.

“Sorry,” you mumble. When your eyes alight again on the angel, he’s peering at you with the sparkle of a smile subverting his stoic visage. You dislodge yourself from the door and stride toward him, weakly endeavoring to emulate his delight. He stands – stands! – trench-coated frame oozing chivalrous charm when you approach the booth and slide in the seat across; this heavenly knight in black-winged armor shtick he has going on for your benefit isn’t making what you need to say any easier. “Cas, there’s something I-”

“One double stack of blueberry flapjacks, extra whipped cream, extra blueberries for the lady, and one cup of coffee, black, for you, sir,” the server interrupts, plopping a plate of scrumptious pancakes under your nose. “Can I get you anything else?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Enjoy!” The server smiles and drifts away to check on another customer.

“I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of ordering for you. Dean said women find the gesture romantic. I know it’s only a diner, but-” Cas reaches for your hand across the table, stumbling over his words when you yank it out of reach.

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You state mechanically, sinking further down into your seat to commence poking at the contents of the plate with a fork – sugary blue syrup swirls into the cloudy foam of cream and all you can think about are the pair of gentle blues fixed on you, caring but confused, and how that shade of kindness will change to anger once he knows the truth.

He might be oblivious to some social cues, but your avoidance and disquiet are too obvious to mistake or ignore. He defaults to the assumption he’s at fault. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything. I-” you falter. You didn’t do anything either, which is the problem. “I-”

His cell phone rings; sitting up straighter, he rifles through his pockets to locate the device.

Pain circles and compresses your temples. A wave of dizziness washes over you and tunnels your vision.

“It’s Dean.” Squinting and tapping at the screen, he sends the call to voicemail. “I’ll call him back.” Gaze returning to you, he rushes to his feet to move next to you. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“My head.” You push aside the plate, overwhelmed by nausea and the situation – stress, exhaustion, dehydration, low blood-sugar, it’s a toxic combination.

He flattens a fretful calloused palm to your forehead. “You said the headaches had stopped.”

You swat him away and put a distance of several more inches between you by moving flush to the window. “They did – this, it’s just a regular headache, okay? I get them too . . . just need a couple of Aspirin, not an angel.” You fear if he touches you, he’ll sense the unsaid. You’re not wrong.

He studies you for a moment as you practically cower in the corner of the booth. “You’re afraid.” Unease hardens his aspect. “There’s something you wanted to say to me . . . before the waitress came, before Dean called.” He motions to lay his hand on your leg; on final approach he decides better of it. “Y/N, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of me.”

Next: Ch. 13 - Lost & Found

[lady-therion]

The Ties That Bind [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian likes to play with Nesta’s hair too.

(Post-bonding. Post ACOWAR. NSFW.)

A/N: A little weekend warm up in the Nessian pool—enjoy!

Tagging: @aelin-and-feyre​

***

   Nesta loathed having anyone touch her hair. Even as a child, she refused to let others—her mother, her maids, her governesses—brush or braid it. Their touch felt too close, too personal, and she hated how it always made her feel so...exposed.

   It was why she preferred to style her own hair, much to Nuala and Cerridwen’s disappointment. Even her own sisters knew not to challenge her on this. She had always been very particular about her grooming  and she wouldn’t relinquish her control over it to just anyone.

    Her mate, however, was a different story.

    She had seen the dreamy way Cassian looked at her when she sat at her vanity; how spellbound he was every time she undid her hair. That the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies could be enthralled by something so common, so ordinary...it made her feel strangely giddy. Girlish even. As though his admiration of her was a sparkling wine she would never stop craving.

    He craved her just as much, it seemed.

    She didn’t know exactly when Cassian had developed this particular hobby. But she found it suspect that no matter how long his duties claimed him, he would always arrive home just in time to see her let her hair down.

    Tonight was no exception.

    No sooner had she clasped the handle of her hairbrush than she heard the beat of his wings sweeping over the balcony. This, followed by the sure and steady cadence of his footsteps, sent her heart racing. As did the open-and-shut creak of the double doors that led to their bedroom.

    Gods above, what had he done to her?

    How could she feel such joy, such delight, at something as simple as her lover, her husband, her mate, coming home to her arms?

    “Hello, sweetheart.”

    His voice is low and rough and teasing and it is all she could do to hide her smile as he approached her from behind. Tucking in his wings, he bent to kiss her temple, her cheek, then linger at the crook of her neck. Her eyes shuttered as the faint stubble on his chin grazed her. With him this close, she could breathe in his heady scent. All earth and woodsmoke and something else that was uniquely and undoubtedly him.

    Mine, she thought and sent a tendril of affection through their bond.

   Yours...

    He kissed her again, this time claiming her lips. His teeth and tongue were burning and possessive, as though it had been decades since he’d last seen her, not merely a few hours.

   It was just as she liked.

   “Mmm. Is this new?”

   He plunged his rough and calloused fingers down the V of her light blue nightgown, the lace and satin material a stark contrast against his black leathers.  

   “You ruined the last one.”

    His answering smirk told her he was not the least bit sorry and that he was looking forward to ruining this one as well.

   Not that she would entirely mind it.

   After a short exchange of casual words he kissed her again—softly, sweetly—before leaving to run a bath. Some nights, she would join him. Other nights, she would wait for him in their bed.

   This time, she decided to play a new game once he finished.

   He had just come out of the bath dressed in a soft tunic and loose pants before she sent a firm tug through their bond. Rhys once joked that Nesta liked to keep his general on a tight leash, which she would have rebuffed had Cassian not claimed that he enjoyed being mastered by a strong hand.

   It had taken every ounce of willpower not to blush at his admission.

   He came to her side at once, brimming with rakish curiosity. She was still sitting at her vanity, her hair still bound—a fact he wouldn’t fail to notice.

   “Would you like to help?”

    Her mate’s expression barely changed, but the surge of exhilaration she felt through their bond was unmistakable. Suddenly, her mind was sifting with images, as quick and bright as the shuffling of cards. They were memories of days long past—memories from before they were bonded.

   His memories.

    Nesta, joining them for dinner at the House of Wind, her hair held back with glittering combs, stunning him into a stupor ...

   Nesta, settling into his arms as they flew to the library in Velaris, the scent of her hair distracting him so much he was almost angry...

   Nesta again, bandaging his wrist, a loose curl falling onto her face and oh how his fingers ached to tuck it behind her pointed ear...

   “Stop simpering,” she chided. “It doesn’t become you.”  

   His hazel eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. The kind that always sent a thrill through her body, making her tighten her thighs—and the damn brute knew it.

   “I’m your mate,” he said. “I have the right to honor and adore you however I wish.”

   “Such honeyed words. Do you intend to talk all night?”  

   “That depends.” He leaned down to whisper into the shell of her ear, so much more sensitive than when she was mortal. “Would you like me to use my mouth in other ways? I’d be more than willing to oblige...”

    She rolled her eyes despite his smoldering promise. She knew very well what his sinful mouth could do. Even so, she would not lose her composure so easily.

    “I’m growing bored, my love.”

    “So cruel,” he said, his arrogance undiminished. “Where should I start?”

    “Here.” She reached up into her hair and took out a pin. “Take these out.”  

    “How many are there?”

    “That’s for me to know and you to discover,” she said, setting her jaw in a way that brooked no further questioning.

    Cassian, as a rule, never liked to simply do what she told him to—even when it was clear that it would be to his advantage. No, her mate enjoyed provoking her. He still did, even after all this time. Anything to stir a reaction, to set her blood on fire, to goad her into a verbal (or physical) sparring match which neither of them would win, but both would emerge as the victor.

    Especially when most of their arguments ended in earth-shattering bliss.

    But how antagonizing it all was; that little dance of theirs. How exhausting! But over time she began to realize that the real reason why her beloved general could be so infuriating was because he was terrified. Perhaps even more terrified than she was when it came to acknowledging the feelings between them—their vastness and intensity. Terrified that if he didn’t fight for what he wanted, then he would lose everything. That if he didn’t bait and bicker with her, then she would leave.

    How far they had come since then.

    Little by little, they had both conquered that fear. Diminishing it with concessions and compromises, with acts of trust and moments of truth. Moments like this—where she laid aside her walls for him and him alone.

    Did he know how much that meant? To have him see her the way she truly was? Surely, he knew. Surely, she didn’t have to say it out loud…

   Did she?

   “You’re so quiet,” he said.

    His deft fingers were gentle as they probed for pins, handing her each one as he found them. She placed the pins into a little porcelain bowl—something Feyre had painted for her long ago, in that little house at the edge of the woods. When all she knew was hate and anger and resentment.  

   “I’m just happy,” she said, deciding it was true.

   Cassian returned her small smile with one of his own before moving onto her braid, his scarred brow furrowing as he surveyed the task before him as seriously as any battlefield. Though she hardly expected anything less from the male who watched her do this every night since they began sharing a bed. He unwound the long coil from the crown of her head, careful not to tug or pull. Then held each strand as though they were spun gold before separating them with his fingers.

    She did not fail to hear the way his breath caught as her tresses tumbled down her back.

    There were times, like now, where he would pause to look at her as if he had never seen her before; his face a potent mixture of awe and utter devotion. Nesta was not coy or modest. Men had always found her beautiful. But Cassian made her feel more than beautiful.

    He made her feel cherished.

    Nesta hummed as he took her ran her hairbrush in deep, long, and thorough strokes. Her skin flushed as a tingle bloomed from the back of her neck, then raced down her spine, and from there spread to other unexpected places. And he was only brushing her hair! No wonder he enjoyed it so much when she combed and played with his.

    “Sometimes, I don’t think I deserve this,” he said, softly.

    “Don’t think you deserve...what?” she said.

    He set aside her brush and replaced it once again with his fingers, smoothing down her golden-brown layers before tucking a lock behind her ear.

    “You,” he said, finally. “This. Life.”

    She reached up to grab the hand that settled on her shoulder, turning to look into his eyes. Though they still smoldered with passion, there was an undercurrent of melancholy there. A remnant of pain left over from when he was cast out as a child, unwanted and alone. A child that did not think he was entitled to anything, not even love. It was a wound that had never fully healed no matter how many centuries had passed or how many victories he had won. The root of it so deep and unending that it made her ache inside.

    And that would simply not do.

    She took her hand in hers, then brushed the back of his knuckles with her lips—still red and bruised from the day’s training. Then she kissed them in earnest as if doing so would soothe all of his hurts, inside and out. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes as she trailed more kisses along his wrist, pausing to suck gently at his pulse, which grew more frantic at her ministrations.

    “I thought that once too,” she admitted. “That I didn’t deserve you, or this, or life.” She stopped his ensuing protest with another kiss, this time on the band of his mating ring, its onyx gem matching the one on her own. “But I think...I think you and I were inevitable, Cassian.” As inevitable as a wildfire after a bolt of lightning struck a dry field. “And I think that it’s time we both set aside who deserves what...we found each other. Against all odds, we found each other. ” She caught his fevered gaze, almost pleading with him. “You made me want to stay, Cassian. You made me want to live.”

    From the way he swallowed, it seemed her mate felt the same.

    Then he swept her in his arms as though a spark ignited between them. And perhaps it had. Cassian’s passion was contagious and all-consuming. She surrendered to it every time, just as he surrendered to hers. Every kiss was searing, scorching, scalding...making her body sing for more, more, more.

    Yet it would never be enough. Not even if they lived for another several thousand years.

    He growled low and deep when she bared her throat to him, the gesture undoing him in the most primal of ways. She knew by the glaze in his eyes, the shift in his scent, that he would love nothing more than to dominate and be dominated. Fortunately, Nesta could understand what it meant to want to chase a storm and then stand in the eye of it. And while they had always been of equal footing in bed, the self-doubt that lingered in Cassian’s eyes had convinced Nesta to yield—and yield to him completely.

    So she submitted, baring her her soul to him through their bond like an opponent tossing aside their shield. One by one, her walls came down, until she revealed what lay within—the well of her love for him. Golden and infinite and everlasting.

    Pupils blown and nostrils flared, her mate did not misread her gesture.

    Mine, mine, mine…

    Soon their bond became a fierce ballad of want and desperation. Beginning as a whisper and then building towards a crescendo. Their feral harmony was so complete that Nesta did not know which one of them wanted the other more. Not even as Cassian sank his canines into her neck. Hard enough to bruise, to mark, to claim. Nesta moaned aloud, the soaked heat between her legs yearning for the steel hardness between his.

    He trembled—her loyal and fearsome general—actually trembled when she plunged her fingers into his night-dark hair, clinging to him as he drove his hips into her. Though the layers between them were few, it might as well have been walls of iron.

    The bond roared for skin on skin, flesh on flesh....closer, closer...they had to be much closer.  

    “Turn around,” he said. “Turn around and face the mirror.”

    She spun in his arms, kicking away her stool as she gripped the edge of her vanity.

    Together, they watched their reflections in a haze of lust so palpable that a dagger could have sliced right through it. It was akin to a frenzy. And though they were not newly mated, it was shocking—absolutely, shocking—how much they still desired one another this way.

    No, not just desired.

   Needed.

   They were as vital to one another as their next breath, their next heartbeat.

   So when Cassian indeed ripped the straps of her night gown so that it fell at her hips, she watched him. Watched him with hooded eyes as he reached up to cup her breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers as it peaked into a hard bud of arousal.

   She hissed with pleasure as his other hand felt her slickness. She was wet, practically drenched, and embarrassingly so. But her shame faded the instant his fingers sank into her, opening her, massaging her, curling into her so deliciously that she keened.

   “Keep your eyes open, Nesta,” he said, sucking on the pulse on her throat. “I want you to see what you do to me. I want you to see how pretty you are when you come.”  

    Things had begun to clatter onto the floor: her hair brush, bottles of kohl and rouge, and then somehow, Cassian’s clothing. But Nesta could barely pay attention as Cassian lifted the hem of her gown, kissing and nipping at her collarbone before he slipped inside. And despite his command to keep her eyes open, she could not help fluttering them once—twice—as the hot and hard length of him filled her.

    “Cassian...Cassian…”

    “Yes, yes. Like that, like that,” he crooned, his pace relentless. 

     Nesta had never considered herself a voyeur. But watching them together in the mirror, locked in the most intimate ways, stirred her in ways that she could not even imagine. The carnality of it was so distracting that she almost didn’t notice when Cassian pulled her hair to one side of her neck, plunging his hands into it before grasping the ends as though they were reins. The unbidden thought of being bridled by him in such a way would haunt her dreams for weeks.  

    “Are you there, sweetheart? Are you close?”

    He knew that she was, she just couldn’t give voice to it. It was impossible, she thought. Impossible to feel such swells of pleasure and not simply die from it.

    And there it was...that glorious and radiant peak. Together they raced towards it, tumbling over the edge, moaning together as they came, watching each other as they did so.

    “So good,” he gasped against her throat. “So, so good. Look at you…”

     She could and yet she couldn’t. Nesta hardly recognized herself, or him, as they rode out the waves of such indescribable ecstasy. Eventually, they ebbed and abated. The bond between them collapsing and reforming in relief. A firestorm that reached its fevered pinnacle before quelling itself to a pile of embers.

     Cassian could always be so smug after such blinding intimacy. And she, haughty. But for now they were content to submerge themselves in the moment’s sweet contentment. The both of them liquid and sated and so, so loved.

    “What are you thinking about?” she asked, when she caught him looking at her again. Not as though he wanted to devour her, but rather throw himself at her feet.

    He kissed a freckle on her exposed shoulder. Then another, then another.

   “I’m thinking...that I should brush your hair more often.”

    She grinned as he gathered her close, scooping her up in his arms as they made the short distance to their bed.

   “Maybe if you’re good,” she said as he laid her down, “I’ll even let you braid it.”

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Check out my Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[sleepy-sunlight]

“I can’t live without you!”

Oooo that sounds pretty interesting!! Thank you for sending in the request and have a splendid day!! Enjoy darling!!

*Just a note, it is phrased a little differently but the dialogue is still in the prompt!! If you’d like it changed just let me know

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“How have you been?” He inquired, his gaze staring down at you, a sort of emptiness in the air outside of his home.

It was supposed to be your home as well.

You didn’t counter, the faint whispers of the winter breezes being the only sound he was given in response.

He didn’t quite know what he expected.  

“My family keeps dropping by here,” He remarked, shuffling sheepishly. “I know why they keep visiting. Perhaps one of these days they think they may find me long gone. I would hope at least Mia knows me better than to actually think that.“  He hesitated, his thumbs winding and climbing one another in his fidgeting.  

“Maybe I’m just lying to myself that I won’t,” He folded his lips, scoffing. “I-I don’t mean to worry you love but I… I can’t tell you that the option hasn’t been… tempting.”  

Nothing.

Not a single thing.

He despised it, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of days when you couldn’t seem to stop talking to him, propping yourself in his office to tell each other of your tales and adventures.

“You won’t believe what Sera tried to pull!” You had exclaimed in your giggling, your laughter already sending a warmth blooming inside of him, a smile almost instinctively crawled to his lips.  

“Oh, I won’t, will I?” He chuckled. “Just wait until I tell you a stunt one of the troops tried today.”  

“Think you have a better one then?” Your brows raised curiously, peering over his desk with that usual glint of interest he had come to know better than anything. “Do tell Commander.”  

“Are you sure you can take care of it?”  

“There’s a good chance I won’t but I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”  

He would end up laughing like he never thought he would, his shoulders heaving and mouth aching from how long the corners had simply been turned upwards. Your cheeks would be as red as cherries and a hand clasped over your face embarrassedly while you’d snort.

It had almost appeared odd to see you so… human.

You were no longer as rigid as a statue or as virtuous as Andraste herself but real and living in your flurry of sniggers and breathless in your stories you’d exchange with him.  

You were there and you were as wonderful as any person was able to be.  

Now where were you?

He hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Would you be there to greet me?” He questioned, tipping up his head warily to the sky, cloudy and murky, hinting at rain as they clustered together clumsily.  

You always adored the rain.

Cullen hadn’t cared much for it, rusting armor and blades to no end but you, you’d light up like a firework and cup your palms to ensnare a small pool within your fingertips.  

“What’re you doing that for?” Cullen had inquired, stepping out from his office briefly to grab onto your arm, only stopping once he saw just how delighted you were. Instead, coming to stand beside you, his hair coming to plaster against his forehead as it sunk with the droplets.

“My mother told me that this rainwater is the same as what fell on our ancestors, just a constant, never-ending cycle.” You hummed, staring thoughtfully at your own reflection. “No matter what, it all goes back to the clouds somehow, just to end up here…”  

“Is that why you’re out here?”  

“She used to tell me it was a way to connect with those we lost. It’s the rain that may have fell when Andraste fought or when the Warden took on the Blight. And now it’s the rain that fell when the Inquisition stood against Corypheus.”  

You scrunched up your nose, simpering quietly to yourself, preparing to unravel the hold you had made. “It’s a silly thought isn’t it-”  

You glanced at him to find his palms pressed against one another, collecting the rain that’d collapse against his scarred, battered fingers.  

“I like the idea.”  

You had given a grin softer than silk as you leaned close to him, pressing a fond, everlasting kiss to his lips as you drew your own hands into his own. The overflowing water spilling about the edges of your knuckles and wrists.  

But nothing fell now.  

“I imagine you’d be upset with me if I were to come to you now,” He muttered, snatching himself back into reality, if only shortly.  

He found he didn’t like his reality.

Not now at least.  

“But it wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever had happen in my life,” He darkened, staring down at the small Fereldan coin you had returned to him. “No, I… I’ve already had that battle.”  

“I thought Corypheus was supposed to be the worst thing we would face,” He whispered, tensing. “W-We were supposed to be happy after that.”  

“Why did it all fall apart dear? Do you remember?” He huffed, his broken heart trembling. “I can’t seem to forget.”  

That dreaded sickness.  

Whether it be from your journeys, your anchor, or even the Well of Sorrows he hadn’t a clue.

And neither had anyone else.  

But there was at least one thing everyone had become crystal clear of.

You were deathly ill.  

It wasn’t immediate.

It came in small doses.  

Your exhaustion as you’d collapse beside him in bed, hardly able to mumble more than a slurred ‘I love you’ before you’d become caught in sleep quicker than he could even respond.  

Your fevers and your chills that’d consume you from day to day, one second sweat beading down your forehead, and hands shivering horribly the next. 

But what perhaps had been the worst, was the blood. 

You’d sputter up into coughs, snatching out a cloth to clasp over your mouth as your shoulders would heave, crumbling upon yourself as if attempting to shroud something hidden to everyone aside from you.

And what you were hiding, was blood. 

It sept from your lips like air from your lungs, smeared against the material while you’d try to hide it as best as you could, at the very least, able to scrape by in the beginning with a few meager excuses.

“Oh, it’s just a scar I must have forgotten about!” 

“Must’ve been that wine Varric insisted I try!” 

But that could only hold up for so long. 

You could only hold up for so long. 

Eventually, the color had begun to drain from you, veins pressed against your skin in desperate dottings of red and blue, your feet came to stumble and stagger, dizziness flooding each waking moment, and pains and aches etching its way into every second you may have had to yourself. 

And somehow, you kept insisting you were fine. 

Even as you’d stumbled warily against the war table or throughout Skyhold, you’d wrap an uneasy grip around your stomach and give that ever familiar grin.

“I suppose I should start trying to get more sleep!” You’d amuse, ignoring the dryness in your hoarse words. 

“I hardly think that’s all this is,” Leiliana remarked, her brow furrowing as she’d glance at Josephine suspiciously. 

“Personally, I think we ought to have Mother Giselle look at you,” Your ambassador muttered, giving short glimpses between you and her reports. 

“I’ve tried to tell them that,” Cullen huffed, frowning. “But each time they insist-” 

“I’m fine. There are far more pressing matters to be managed anyhow-”

“No, there aren’t.” 

Cullen slammed a fist onto the war table, his eyes narrowed in his utter frustration. 

“We’re taking you to Mother Giselle and having her examine you.” 

“Cullen I don’t need you to-” 

“I won’t let you continue to excuse yourself when you’re practically wasting away!” 

“Do not treat me like a child,” You scowled, your expression scrunching up in itself. “I can make decisions for myself. This is my decision.” 

He hesitated at your sudden coldness, a small huffing escaping him as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

“You can’t actually believe that’s a good decision, can you?” 

“I am the Inquisitor, I can’t just take a break whenever I please!” You scrambled, dragging as the world around you started to blur. “I… I can’t give…”

You began to fall back, the only thing keeping your body was slamming against the tiled floors being that of your commander, racing about to catch you in his arms. 

And there were no mumbles from you or half-closed, confused eyelids fluttering about as he had come to know. 

Instead, there was nothing.

You were quiet, your eyes rolled back into your skull and body utterly limp in his hold, your own pulse hardly more than a faint ‘thump’. 

Cullen had perhaps never felt so much fear in his life than he had then.

It wasn’t melted with anger or sorrow like what had been so muddled in his past, no, this was pure, unbridled fear that coursed through him like a vicious, unending venom.

That feeling never truly left him.

Not when Mother Giselle had frantically done all she can, only able to give you all a few indecisive murmurs in return, unable to even meet Cullen’s gaze.

Not when you were set back in your bed, Cullen’s refusal to even consider leaving your side apparent when he sat himself down at the side of the bed, his fingers ribboned with yours, delicate and gentle. 

But perhaps, even if only briefly, when you woke it sank back.

“C… Cullen?” You mustered, hardly above a whisper as your eyes peeked from the pillow you had utterly sunk against. “What… what’re you doing here?” 

He had nearly snapped up, gawking at you with a surprise you had never seen upon him, only to shift to a joy that although soft, was bursting at the very seams with adoration. 

“M-Maker’s breath…” He smiled, fighting back the tears he’d never admit he’d had. “Y-You’re awake…!” 

“What do you mean? Of course, I am.” 

“You blacked out,” He corrected. “You’re ill.” 

“What?” You scoffed in disbelief, a hint of knowing already clear in you. “T-That’s impossible there’s no-” 

“Dear, please.” 

You relented, squeezing his palm tenderly. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“For… for everything,” You conceded. “I-I should’ve told you. I should’ve gotten treatment while I was able, like you wanted.” 

“Mother Giselle took care of you it’s-” 

You stared at him, a pain painting your expression. “Darling, it’s been far too long. There’s no way I’ll-” 

“Hush,” He stopped you, low and insistent as he rose to his feet, pressing a doting kiss to your temple despite the tangled mess of hair strewn about you. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it so.” 

“And what if you can’t?” You questioned, tears brimming at the edges of your eyes.

“I will, I promise.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You whimpered, droplets beginning to stain you, only stopped as Cullen wiped them away. “I-I can’t stand the thought of you blaming yourself for this…” 

“I suppose I’ll just have to keep it then won’t I?”

You hadn’t answered. 

But looking back now?

He hated how right you had been.

He loathed it. 

Every part of him that made him, him, yearned to prove you wrong. To see you healthy and happy like you had been. To spend the lives you had planned together without a care in the world of privacy or disasters.

But he couldn’t. 

No matter how many times he’d drench himself in books of healing he could hardly understand, or learn from Giselle of how to treat you as best as he could, it merely slowed the inevitable. 

It simply postponed your death. 

You had died in his very arms, late in the night as he fretted over which herb would help your headaches and sores you reached out to him, smirking weakly. 

“Take a break.” 

“I-I can’t this will help you get better-” 

You softened your tone, already well aware of what he couldn’t stop. 

“Please?” 

And like the lovesick fool he was, he melted. 

“I don’t even think I know what that means anymore,” He snickered, tipping back in his seat. “Between reports and what not, I don’t think I’ve even had a chance to breathe.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

He looked at you, the answer crystal clear in his head.

“I want to hold you.” 

You beamed, bits of warmth blooming on your pale cheeks as you nodded. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“You would?”

“Of course!” 

That had been all he needed. 

Soon enough, you were cradled in his arms, legs entwined beneath the sheets and your head crested in the crook of his neck. His rough and calloused hands, drawing delicately along your spine, lulling you to sleep.

The peace that overwhelmed him then, was indescribable. As though even if only then, in that split second in time, everything would be alright.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed it. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes?” 

He hesitated. 

“Will you be here, when I wake?” 

“I’ll try to be.” 

“And if you aren’t?”

“I’ll always be with you, maybe just not… like this.” 

“How do you mean?” 

You wrapped a trembling grasp around his cheek, curling through the messy curls of blonde adoringly. “Maybe I’ll just have moved to your heart instead, but… no matter what, I’ll still be by your side. You need someone to worry about you after all.” 

“You’re already in my heart, you know that don’t you?” 

You began to drift off, a glow spreading through you as his lips met your palm affectionately, only a few more quiet words purred between you.

“I know, and you’ll forever be in mine,” You purred. “… Even if I’m not here like I used to be.” 

“I don’t want to lose this… I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won’t Cullen,” You assured him. “The Maker himself wouldn’t be able to do such a thing.” 

He laughed roughly, trying to ignore the pit only growing in his stomach. 

“Do you truly believe that?” 

No pause.

Just certainty. 

“I do." 

But it only made the eventual pain worse.

For you had died in the night. 

He could recall humming ‘good mornings’ to you in the pale golden sunlight that streamed through the windows, the world suddenly becoming dark as he realized the lifeless eyes staring back at him.

He had tried to wake you at first, denial flooding him as he insisted you wake, only to stagger back as the agonizing dread smashed into him.

Anger, sadness, bargaining, and confusion all rushed through him each worse than the last, his vision a mirage of blurs as tears fell from his eyes like he’d never thought possible. 

In just a few moments the world had crashed around him once again in his life, the fragile happiness he had shattered and left in shambles alongside his own feeble, ailing heart. 

That had been the worst possible thing. 

He knew that better than anything. 

“You know… as silly as it sounds I’m still not entirely sure I can live without you,” He struggled to come up with his thoughts, staring down at you embarrassedly. “I-I mean I know I can, the sun stills rises every day and the moon in the night but I… I don’t think I’m entirely living. Not in the sense that it should mean.”  

Your burial continued its silence, your favorite flowers that he’d regularly leave before it decorating just about every inch imaginable. 

“Life used to be full of color when you entered it, it felt like how life should be. Bright, warm, and… and marvelous.” 

His shoulders dropped with a heavy breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Now… now it’s cold, grey, and miserable. I-I hadn’t realized how awful it was until you came along and showed me how beautiful it could be.” 

If he could somehow see beyond that world, where two collided, maybe he would’ve seen a spirit of you, healthy and brilliant like those days before, standing beside him behind your home. 

“I’ll wait for my time love,” He declared, the vision of you soothed with a dropping of your shoulders. “I’ll wait for when I’m meant to see you again and then we’ll have that life we always dreamed of. Just… perhaps a bit different I suppose.” 

Your spirit smiled from ear to ear, stretching out to envelop your fingertips with his, strings of light winding about as you did so.

And just for a moment, he felt you, holding your hand in return without a single second of hesitation.

For you were there, just as you said, you by his side, and he by yours.

And neither of you, ever wanted to let go.

[little-writings]

Hiya!!! 🌸 could I request for a story, regarding Jumin x mc and a wedding? Also, would it be possible if all the RFAs members could attend? Cheers!!

oooOOOOOO YES!!!! Yes, I’d love to do this!!! 

Anyhow, thank you and have a wonderful day! Enjoy!!! ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

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“Are you ready for this?” 

Jahee came around you as you stared at yourself in the mirror, a mixture of nervousness and excitement bubbling up inside of you.

“I…I am.” You beamed, giggling sheepishly as she approached you, her eyes widening with awe as she looked to your dress, lace lining the edges with fabric that danced with intricate swirls and beautiful patterns. 

“You look wonderful, you’ll be fine.” 

“With my maid of honor with me?” You turned to her, crinkling your nose amusedly. “Absolutely!” 

She laughed, honored at the reminder, ready to speak before the violins and piano began to play, a sort of signal.

“Time to go.” She grinned lightly. “Do you need a countdown?” 

“A countdown?” 

She shrugged, simpering.

“I don’t really know what else to do,” She murmured. “Haven’t done this sort of thing before.” 

You resigned, letting out a small breath.

“Then I’d love a countdown.” 

She lightened for a moment, nodding before moving just ahead of you with Jumin’s best man, V, the leader of the RFA giving you a polite dip of his head and quiet congratulations. 

“One…two…three…!” 

And the doors opened. 

You felt your chest swell up and butterflies burst into your stomach as the pairs went off one by one, your father approaching you as it came to your turn.

“Not too late to back out sweetheart.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t be upset.” 

You scoffed, a tender expression as you wound an arm with your dad, giving his palm a small, sincere squeeze. 

“There’s nothing else I wanna do more than to do this.” 

He sighed lightly, mimicking a sort of disappointment. 

“Alright then honey, but let me know if you get cold feet while we’re going down the aisle,” He whispered. “I’ll make a distraction.” 

You nudged him playfully, stifling your laughter as he began to lead you down the way, the people drenching the seats waving in their exhilaration.

And at the very end of the line, there was Jumin.

His eyes were shiny, a smile stretching from ear to ear the moment he saw you, warmth and adoration painting his expression.

Your father gave you a chaste kiss to your cheek before moving off, sitting beside your mother, the two of them already nearing tears, hardly helped as your soon-to-be husband enveloped your hands with his own.

“Hello darling,” He greeted fondly, running a delicate thumb over your knuckles. “I…I hope you don’t mind me saying how stunning you look.” 

“You okay?” You asked, seeing the almost speechlessness in his features.

“Yes, I just…I don’t know how someone like me is with someone like you…” He sighed, speaking just above a whisper, words only meant for you. “I’ll never understand how I became so lucky.” 

You hardly listened as the wedding officiant began, his loud and booming voice hardly anything other than muted as you both focused on each other. 

Only when you were called upon was you attention snatched. 

“Now, before the best man provides the rings, would you like to exchange vows?” 

“I would,” Jumin answered, glancing at you, smirking. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to darling.” 

“No, I’d like to!” 

Pink sprinkled his cheeks, eagerness sparked in his gaze. 

“I can’t wait to hear it then.” 

���Then I suppose you ought to go first?” The officiant sniggered. “It’d be awful if we let the metaphor catch up to us, wouldn’t it? ‘Curisoity killed the cat’!” 

Jumin looked to Elizabeth 3rd nervously for a second, comforted as he saw her playing with the stray flower petals dotting the carpet, a pink ribbon decorating her neck.

She had been an excellent flower girl, even if she didn’t really know what she was doing. 

“Um-Alright!” You took in a sharp breath, thinking for a moment as you mentally prepared yourself.

“Well, I…I really hadn’t expected any of this to happen, I had no idea I’d even know half of the people here but, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me-meeting you…it’s made an ‘okay’ world, as close to perfect as it possibly could be,” You confessed, your voice threatening to become brittle. “You did that, and I wake up each day happy to wake up-happy to be a part of this life-because it’s going to be with you. And as long as it’s with you…I don’t think I could be happier.” 

Tears.

He hadn’t even realized, smiling like a gleeful child, laughing as you reached out to wipe them from his cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to cry I swear.” 

“I’m probably not too far behind don’t worry.” 

“Oh please don’t cry I can’t stand the thought.” 

“It’d be for the right reasons,” You reassured him, feeling as he shifted back with a heavy, love-laced heart. “so, go ahead, I’ll be fine.” 

And he did.

“I will never deserve you MC, that’s simply a fact of life but there is not a day that goes by that I do not feel blessed to have you by my side. You helped me grow, and become a person that I can be proud of instead of a coward who hides in his mind, too afraid to even think of breaking down his walls,” He sighed, remembering. “I used to never think I would be truly happy, never actually content with myself.” 

“But then I met you,” He continued, melting. “And for once it felt like I stepped into the sunlight for the first time, and I haven’t left since. And I know as long as you’re with me, I won’t. I’ll only be getting to spend each day with the most beautiful and amazing miracle the world could ever offer, you.” 

It took a lot not to break into a sob.

And you failed.

Horribly. 

You ducked your head in the crook of his neck, muffling your hints of sobs, Jumin weaving his arms around you and embracing you as if he never wanted to let go, your cheeks stained as though engraved by the pull you forced yourself up.

“That’s very touching.” The officiant warmly said. “Now, if the best man will bring the rings?” 

V rounded about to the two of you, thin linings of his eyes behind his glasses as he pulled out the pair of rings, squeezing Jumin’s shoulder as if approving.

“I’m so proud of you, you know,” He murmured. “I hope your life only becomes better as it goes on, we all hope for that don’t we.” 

You pretended not to see the sadness in his gaze for just a split second, reminders of something long gone before he made his way off, the other members of the RFA cheering on the both of you. 

And as you exchanged your rings, the vows followed each promise to cherish and love one another feeling as easy to say as air. 

Yet you knew without a doubt, each day would be spent upholding it.

And you sealed that with the final, devoted words, coming out as easy as breathing.

“I do.” 

“I do.” 

And you couldn’t wait for the future.

For it would be a future spent together.

And in the end, you couldn’t have asked for anything better.

For it was truly a dream come true. 

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hello. I was just wondering, since you are very knowledgeable on Queen Victoria, but is it true that Prince Albert manipulated her (into marrying him, being with him, etc?) Because I saw someone accuse him of doing so in tags of their edit and it just sounded wrong. I thought Victoria had taken interest in him long before his second visit and that she decided to marry him on her own free will.

Hi!  Thanks for the compliment.  Far be it from me to call myself a Victoria expert, but I can say with very little doubt that Prince Albert did not manipulate her into marrying him.  Anyone who says so is probably coming from the perspective of a scorned shipper or someone who just dislikes Albert a lot, and I assume is drawing more from their (flawed) view of fiction than anything to do with reality.  The fact is that even historians who dislike Albert admit that Victoria was very much obsessed with him–romantically and sexually.

Victoria and Albert were, like many royal pairings of the time, somewhat arranged.  They were first cousins; her mother and his father were siblings.  Of course they wanted them to wed–on his end, it was very advantage for Coburg, and on hers it solidified relations between England and her ancestral home, and quite possibly would strengthen the “Coburg faction” at court.  However, Victoria had the advantage of being a sovereign queen at the time of her marriage, which meant that she couldn’t really be forced into marriage.  Furthermore, it seems that by this point in history (at least in England) it was becoming less common to just ship a bride off to meet her man as a young teen with little choice in the matter, and more common to introduce people to each other, see that they at least got on, and move from there.  Obviously, Victoria couldn’t marry just ANYONE, but if there had been a man of suitable rank and political significance around that she preferred, I imagine she wouldn’t have married Albert.  For that matter, the fact that Albert WASN’T the perfect option politically (not a bad one, but not a splendid match that gained England a lot of wealth and power) indicates more that she chose him of her own free will.  It should be noted that when Victoria and Albert’s eldest daughter, Vicky, married she met her husband (who was a good bit older) first as a young girl, then again when she was older.  She got to know him a bit before they married–royal parents were, it seems, beginning to care about their children having decent marriages.  (Albert himself adored Vicky and certainly seemed invested in the idea that her marriage was good, if not a passionate romance, and he’s been the one criticized for pairing his kids off with various political powers across Europe.)

ITV’s Victoria doesn’t get the meeting of Albert and Victoria right–while she wasn’t 100% sold on marrying him after their first meeting, she did find him pleasant and likable.  He was younger too, and more of a “man” by their second meeting, during which she fell head over heels for him and decided that she had to have him.  The Young Victoria errs closer to history on this front.  It wasn’t like it was one meeting, radio silence, and then a second more fateful meeting each other. They kept in touch, kept tabs on each other through word from others, etc.  They were very much aware that their union was desired, but Victoria wasn’t immediately sold on getting married young, and Albert really wasn’t in any position to demand that she move faster.  I think liking was under way well before the second visit, and for Victoria at least, passion took hold on the second.  (And though Albert, by nature, always comes off as colder–he was  young boy with an attractive young woman falling all over him.  The queen of England, at that!  I wouldn’t be surprised if his hormones took over a bit as well.)

Victoria proposed marriage–and from the sound of her diary (which was edited when she was older, but not to such a degree that I think she was hiding a secret forced marriage lol) she was thrilled to do so.  Victoria had the political power here.  Honestly, I’m not gonna pretend that Albert wasn’t in many ways a man of his time–he chafed at being considered the lesser figure after they married, he could be domineering.  But honestly?  Victoria seems to have been pretty into that, and throughout her life seems to have sought out paternalistic male figures, not just romantically but platonically (it’s not just Albert I refer to, but Melbourne and John Brown, and she was known to be quite fond of multiple uncles).  I’m not saying it makes Albert’s paternalistic side okay, but I think it’s ridiculous to imply that Victoria was some secret rebel unfortunately manipulated into marriage.  In her personal life, she often seems to have taken a traditional role.  She liked it when he acted intelligent, liked it when he did things that today we’d consider condescending–because she was a woman of her day and often seemed to think that her husband knew everything.  And it probably helped that he really did it for her sexually, and–Queen Victoria was dickmatized, okay?  I’m not saying she agreed with everything Albert said or never got into fights with him, because they fought a good bit.  But she did tend to “get over” things a 21st century woman probably wouldn’t, because a) she wasn’t a 21st century woman and b) she liked the German sausage and preferred to get it rather than have it withheld.

(And yes, I absolutely believe that Albert would freeze Victoria out when angry.)

With that being said, on a more serious note, Victoria did have more political power, ESPECIALLY before/at the beginning of their marriage.  Significantly more.  Albert wasn’t even a firstborn son–he wouldn’t be inheriting like Ernst did.  He’d be lucky to have Victoria choose him, and if she didn’t, well…  There isn’t much he could do about that.  He wrote her pretty letters and seems to have been rather soulful with her, especially during their second meeting, and I have NO DOUBT that he knew that she was a major catch for him and that influenced his desire to marry her.  But nothing I’ve read sounds like he manipulated her into marriage.  More that he, if anything, simpered his way into marriage.  He put the charm on–which was probably pretty awkward, seeing as he’s not viewed as the most charming person on the planet.  But for an inexperienced girl like Victoria, a handsome prince who probably was a little on the shy side and was a great hunter and knew a lot about a lot of things was DREAMY.  And by the way–part of what appealed to her about Albert speaks even more against the idea of him as a manipulative suitor.  He had so little experience–sure, he’d traveled about and seen cool paintings, but he didn’t have a ton of experience with people and had even less with women.  He was most probably a virgin when he married Victoria.  He’d perhaps been saving himself knowing that she preferred a “pure” husband, but I’d hardly call that manipulative, especially since Albert doesn’t seem like an oversexed person.  (All of his sexual energy likely went towards Victoria only, and I will say that I can get where that would appeal to her–Albert doesn’t seem to have been interested in any other people, male or female, never mind acting on anything outside the marriage.)  If Albert seemed like the perfect husband for Victoria, it would be because he was molded into that perfect husband by people who thought she should marry him–it had little do with any choice on his part, I imagine.  And indeed, once Victoria got to know Albert better, parts of her clashed with him–but other parts seemed to really appreciate his intellect, his ability as a father, and his tendency to take charge.

Obviously, this is just my opinion, but like… Prince Albert was not some suave charmer who manipulated ladies into being with him. Even if he wanted to be that, he seems to–especially at a young age, with so little experience–have been… less than up to task.  Reading his letters to her prior to their marriage, he strikes me less as someone who was even trying to get into a woman’s panties, and more like a boy who is really pretty excited about his First Ever Real Girlfriend (with a side of anxiety about going to a foreign country with like, no money or power and essentially being Victoria’s stud horse).  Albert wasn’t perfect, but while I’m not saying he never manipulated Victoria after they were married (and even then, I don’t think this meant he didn’t love her–I think it meant he was a paternalistic man of the day who GENUINELY thought he knew better and was doing what was best for her most of the time) but I don’t think he manipulated her into marrying him, and I don’t think he manipulated her into being with him, and I don’t think he manipulated her into loving him.  Maybe he’d take advantage of those feelings at times, but he didn’t engineer them into happening and I think there are a lot of reasons why a woman of Victoria’s age would love a man like Albert.  He had a lot of flaws, but whatever was up with his dick aside, he seemed to express genuine affection towards her, made her feel special and pretty (one anecdote has Albert freaking out after a woman they knew died in childbirth and rushing to Victoria, pregnant with their ninth and final child, to express his fear over losing her and the baby), enjoyed the great outdoors with Victoria, was very good with their children, and wanted the best for his adopted country, even if that wasn’t always the Actual Best.

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 12.07.17 lb

plain text version here. 

self confidence goals: ragini 😊😊😊

anika’s hiding and snooping game be hella weak. 🙄🙄🙄

god this baagad billa looks 🔥🔥🔥 in black. i can’t even. meri saansein ruk rahi hai yougaiz. 😧😧😧

LMAO SHIVAAY REFUSING TO TAKE THE HINT HAHAHAHA 😂😂😂

lololol the speed jis se anika prakat hui when ragini touched shivaay. 😆😆😆

“kaadha? what’s kaadha?” “this? this green green item is kaadha! drink this, and your health will be TAN TANA TAN TAN TAN TAARA!”

hahahahahaha shivaay’s faceeeeeeee. 😂😂😂

this family is super big on its weird kaadhas. i’m on team ragini. it looks weird and hell no to drinking it, no matter what you say, billu in black. 😒😒😒

pfffffffffft, these two be eye-fucking riiiiiiiiiight in front of her. kuch toh sharam karo. 😶😶😶

ragini makes valiant second attempt. 😌😌😌

success! 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

lmaoooooooooo if looks could kill, there’d just be scorch marks on the floor where billu previously stood. 🙃🙃🙃

i’m not falling for this tej-jhanvi nonsense again. tej’s a dirty dog who will never sudharofy. he doesn’t deserve to even be on the same continent as jhanvi. 😑😑😑

“kitne dino baad hum normally baat kar rahe hai!”

yeah it’s so sad when someone trying to set you on fire and that puts a damper on civil conversation. 😕😕😕

ugh this simpering conversation is sooooo boringgggggg. im fwdinggggg. 😣😣😣

yup. fully called it. 🙄🙄🙄

WAZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAA QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEN I MISSSED YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU LOOKING FIRE AS EVERRRRRRRR 😍😍😍

... someone tell me where REAL bechaaaari svetlana is though. 😐😐😐

time for regularly scheduled Faraq Fight of the hour. 😊😊😊

baaat ka batangad. kaadha diya, zeher nahi. untwist your boxer briefs, billu. 🙄🙄🙄

he’s getting angsty and mad at her for believing that ragini is his fiancee, when that’s exactly what he wanted in the first place. stupidddddd boy. 😑😑😑

he’s thissss close to blurting out the truth. he’s this close to growling “how could you believe i could be remotely interested in anyone else?” 😌😌😌

oh ho, kabab mein omki. 😒😒😒

...yeh dikhaana tha? iske liye achcha khaasa sexy shivika moment kharaab kiya tha? 😠😠😠

ok rudra is the unfittest gym bunny i have ever seen. 10 crunches take it out of him???? son, i haven’t exercised since 2003, and *i* can do 10 crunches. 😕😕😕

also @ acp anda (as @vishwaspur calls her): who the fuckkkkkkk exercises with hair alll khulaaa and flowing around? 😑😑😑

caaaaasual misogyny time. nice to see that bit of rudra’s personality is constant. 😒😒😒

RETURN OF OLD SENSIBLE, SNARKY OMKARA. *CRYING OF HAPPY* 😭😭😭😭😭😭

pfffft, shivaay and his tarafdaari of baby brother. 😆😆😆

i honestly love how much shivaay babies rudra. it’s fucking adorable. 😚😚😚

ugh svetlana, girlllllllllll, you can honestly do SO MUCH BETTER? it painssssss me to see you waste your hotness on terrible tej. 😫😫😫

i just realised that i want svetlana and jhanvi to get together. like, as a couple. two amazing, beautiful queens. haaaaye. imagine the flawless. 😍😍😍 #jhanLana #makeItHappen

oufffffff, can this scene enddddddddd already? 😑😑😑

oh boy. what plan? will they steal jhanvi’s face next and put her in the freezer dabba? 😟😟😟

sarcasm singh oberoi needs to shut it. 😒😒😒

omkara is me. i am omkara. 🙄🙄🙄🙄

oh god are they going to sabotage his gym equipment? IT COULD KILL HIM, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS! 😧😧😧

of course pedantic singh oberoi has to sit and read the user manual. 😑😑😑

i relate with omki’s frustration level sooooo much rn. 🤦🏽🤦🏽🤦🏽

why are pinky/shakti on the DBO set of OM? 🤔🤔🤔

TAMEEZ AND DISCIPLINE? WHAT IS THIS, GURUKUL OF MOHABBATEIN? 🙄🙄🙄

ooooooop, shaktiji calling pinky out on the reallll issue. 🙊🙊🙊

oh dang. shaant shaktiji is shaaant no more. 😬😬😬

pffffffft, bhains ke aage been kyun baja rahe ho shaktiji? go do some pooja-paath instead. 😕😕😕

but yeah, this is the slow start to the pinky ka redemption track, methinks. she’ll continue with her ragini wala plan for a while, but then she’ll do something that’ll be her “ek kadam” and the family will forgive her and accept her. whatever. i don’t even care anymore. i just need her to stop being so nasty so i can stop hating her. it’s exhausting. 😖😖😖

“ab toh aaj yeh machine rahegi, ya main rahoonga!”

famous last words. 🤐🤐🤐

📰📰📰 tomorrow’s headlines 📰📰📰: oberoi scion (no, not the hot and short rude one. or the one with the hair. the other one.) killed due to stupidity. absolutely no one surprised. we’re amazed he made it this far. 

eeeeeee callback to “haath chod” moment of yore! omkiiiiiii. alavoooooo. *pulls his cheeks* 😘😘😘

i need the mom of a hot guy to throw her son at me, the way pinky is throwing shivaay at ragini. 😌😌😌 #suchSexPositive #muchProgressive #Wow 

ragini’s amazing faces of the day: 

how the fuck is dadi expecting this whole fucking taj mahal sized mansion to be painted IN ONE DAY?????????? 🤔🤔🤔

awwwww bulbul and her adorable baby cheenkein. ��😊😊

pft. what a contrived issue. and these idiots are sooooooo useless. 😒😒😒

literally just some pics of shivika being attractively annoyed/annoying: 

this is suchhhhhhhhhhhhh a stupidddddd “problem”, lord. literally just watching for shivika and om’s hella beautiful faces. 😒😒😒

wow. gale force winds blowing inside the room at romantic scene. amaze. 😐😐😐

so... gender reversed fairy lights scene from IPKKND/DBO then. but with... gym equipment. sure. 🤷🏽🤷🏽🤷🏽

it’s amazing how little fucks i give about these two as a couple. i’m literally more invested in prinkveer. 😕😕😕

OH MY GOD WHY WON’T THIS SCENE ENDDDDDDDDDD????????? FWD FWD FWD FWDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. can’t believe i’m having to sacrifice on bulbul screentime/rikara romance for this BS. 😒😒😒

there. there’s the beginning to pinky’s redemption. she’s going to try and expose him for jhanvi’s sake. but it’s gonna backfire and he’ll expose the truth about shivaay to fuck her over. oyyyy vey. 😬😬😬

these threeeee fucking idiots. don’t they have their own love/sex lives which are in shambles to attend to? khade ho kar vicariously getting kicks from the most thanda “love story” in the history of the world. 😒😒😒

greattttttt. back to square one. 😑😑😑

shivaay: “tum log ladne ke bahaane ko dhoond kyun rahe ho? come on, be nice to her, she helped you out.”

oh my god. OH MY GOD. irony just died a thousand fucking deaths right now. *lays flowers at its grave* 😧😧😧

ragini: comes to talk to shivaay.  shivaay: literally ignores her to turn to anika and randomly ask her what SHE’S up to. 😂😂😂

ohhhhhhhhh shivaaaay. why you even started this whole stupid engagement drama when you don’t even have the mettle to act on it for 10 minutes is beyond me. 🙄🙄🙄

oh nooo, ragini ki choppppp. 😋😋😋

pinky’s gonna do it. she’s gonna blurt it out. 😗😗😗

yuppppppppp. she’s... 

oh no, shaktiji is putting addddchan. and misunderstanding her intentions. 😐😐😐

I FULLY NEED JHANVI TO GONE GIRL TEJ’S ASS. LIKE YESTERDAY. PLEASE GOD. HE DESERVES TO BE STABBED IN THE FACE, THIS LYING SNAKE. 😡😡😡

ok, when someone is going to SUCH lengths to prove their story, it’s shady af. 🙄🙄🙄

yes pinky, please use your tedhaaa dimaag for productive things like these. leave your son alone for like a day, so he can get laid already.  😑😑😑

LMAOOOOOOOO WHY IS ANIKA SO SMUGLYYYYY SWAYING WHILE SHIVAAY LOOKS UNCOMFORTABLE? 😂😂😂😂😂

GENDA CHAAP DANT MANJAN. lolololol. 😆😆😆

produced by same company as chamko detergent??? 😁😁😁

of course he doesn’t know what manjan is. #burgerBachcha 🙄🙄🙄

GOD SHE’S SO STINKING CUTE I CAN’T EVEN. HOW IS IT POSSIBLE FOR ONE PERSON TO BE THIS CUTE? IT SHOULD BE BIOLOGICALLY IMPOSSIBLE! THE LEVELS OF CUTE IN HER BLOOD ARE TOO HIGH!!!!!!!!!!! 😧😧😧😧😧😧😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 

“shivaay, aap na meri baat kabhi nahi samjhenge.” “main toh tumhe hi nahi samajh paaya, anika. tumhaari baaton ko kya samjhunga.”

ooooop. things suddenly serious. though, is he talking still labouring under the misunderstanding, or does he Know™ about what she did? 🤔🤔🤔

“story kahin se kahin bhi pohunch jaaye, lekin yeh dono har do minute kisi na kisi pillar ke peeche hi milenge.” “ya phir RK pose mein!” 

lmaoooooooooo 😂😂😂

anika be like bitch i don’t have time for this passive aggressive emotional garbage. ANIKA OUT!!!!!!!!!! 😒😒😒

lololol om’s shiftyyyyyyyyy look. GODDDDD MAN, WHAT EVEN IS YOUR FACEEEEEEEEE I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU 😍😍😍😍😍😍

hahaha khanna be hardcore shivika shipper from literally day 1. shivaay have dinner with some other ho? NOT ON HIS WATCH! ❌❌❌

pft such contrivedddddddd excuses. and these idiots are falling for it too. 🙄🙄🙄

how nice and convenient that there’s such strategic mood lighting that makes their skin look perfect and glowy. 😌😌😌

THIS ISN’T THE FUCKING STOREROOM. THIS IS THAT... ok idk what to call it, but it’s that random performance hall type space in their house. 😐😐😐 

waaah lighting got even more romantic. and there’s dinner too! 😇😇😇

me: waaay more excited about the food >>> the man. 😊😊😊

ooooooooooh. things getting serious. and angstyyyyyyyyyy. 😌😌😌

lmao what the fuck even is this tent nonsense? WHY WOULD YOU SET UP A TENT IN WHAT LOOKS LIKE A FULL-ON FUCKING STORM? HOW LONG IS OM PLANNING TO STAND THERE HOLDING ON TO THE DAMN THING????????? 😕😕😕

JUST GET IN THERE AND CUDDLE WITH HER, BOO. 🙃🙃🙃😚😚😚��😉😉

[ghil-dirthalen-blog]

For the DA asks: 4, 5, and 6... and all the numbers ending in 4. :D Pls.

I… got halfway through this one… went to switch tabs… and my computer lagged and made me close out of it. I lost it all. 

Makers breath. Ellster, Imma need a hug after this.

What was your first Warden (gender/class/race/personality)?

Female human rogue. She wanted to be active and responsible, to be equal. She could grudgingly see Papa Cousland’s points but when she backed down it was only to find another way around him. Problems with authority, sees something and wants to get it done. You’ll never see moss on her but smiles were kind of rare too, probably why Alistair was so good with her.

What was your first Hawke like (gender/class/temperament)?

Female rogue. (Sensing a pattern?) Hawke baby is so sarcastic and salty as the Dead Sea. Varric floats by on her sarcasm going “Paint me like one of your Orlesian girls.” Sometimes she can’t turn it off. She has a definite underdog soft spot but despite being a rogue she HATES lying. Isabela and Anders are definitely on her shit list, which sucked for Hawke cause Isa was one of her best friends. They sorta worked it out, though Hawke never let her live it down, but we don’t talk about Anders. She hates mages, templars, AND the Chantry. Thinks the sane ones are few and far between but isn’t sure how to help them so long as the corrupted system remains in play. 

First Inquisitor (gender/class/race/personality)?

(boots up DAI to check) Ah, a female human rogue. I don’t have a type at all. Aleese was a sweetheart who had to really rely on her friends to not get overwhelmed. I having a feeling there’s a small part that never really healed after seeing everything she had to and it gives her moments where she’s just so sad. Cassandra, Cullen, and Dorian were her closest friends. (Totally headcanon sleepovers with Dorian where he keeps ragging her fashion sense and a pillow fights ensues). 

And now for the 4s. 

14) Favorite DA:O party combo?

Morrigan, Wynne, Shale. Wreck face while Wynne keeps us all alive. 

24) Favorite main-story quest from DA:I?

The one where Haven falls, to be honest. I love how you have to save everyone and its timed. I love love love the chance to sass Coryphenuts to his face despite the situation. Like… the brass big ones on this Inquisitor, man. 

34) Least favorite character?

Sebastian. Love his voice. He’s also pretty. Can’t effing stand him as a person.

Wait. No.

Bianca. Give me one shot and she’s dead. So dead.

44) One romance you just can’t stand/doesn’t make sense/etc?

Sebastians. Chaste marriage? To that hot Hawke? Who is THAT in love with this trainwreck of a Chantry? *disgusted noise* And oh my Maker, the dialogue is so simpering it’s sickening. (It gives Carver mucho bonus props for me tho when he’s all “Well, whenever it’s over” no faith in Sebastard)

54) Fluffiest headcanon ever?

Whenever Hawke gets tired of Varric paying too much attention to his letters, she’ll overdramatically flop down into his lap and he’ll give her back and head rubs with this little smile cause he knows it makes her doze off and he just adores the content look on her face when she does. Then he’ll use her back as a table to finish his letters and roll over to snuggle once he’s done. (Really… anything Varric and Hawke is so fluffy it makes me tear up and my chest ache.)

64) Favorite achievement?

The achievement for defeating the Arishok. That fight is just the best. It’s so terrible it’s amazing, especially if you’re playing an archer. 

74) Do you take screenshots in any DA games?

I would if I could figure out how. (Halp?)

84) Favorite cosplay(er)?

I don’t know many cosplayers… but I loved my personal Bilbo Baggins cosplay and my friend Erik has gone viral several times over with his Fallout 4 cosplay. He does the guy who tells you about settlements. (Can you tell I know nothing about Fallout?)

94) Have you ever made any DA-themed crafts (clothes, toys, etc)?

Nope. I’m still learning how to get into more artsy things tho cause I wanna start making my own cosplays. I might consider doing some as decent practise tho.