#drawing Neve was a DELIGHT

[lunafeatherart]

I'm gonna wife her up so bad you guys

Feat. Naz, who will likely be my first Rook 😌

[infernal-lamb]

Searching your eyes for the saint is an act of futility

something that's just been on my mind recently!

[mosswiind]

Neve and Manfred snap their heads around to see Emmrich walking into her office.

Emmrich: What are you doing?

Manfred: PAR! CHEE! ZEE!

Neve: Parcheesi.

Emmrich, exasperated: Why?

Manfred, waving a game piece around: WHY NOT!

Neve, gesturing with a game piece: Yeah! Why not?

Emmrich: ...Manfred, are you at least doing well?

Manfred: WIN!

Neve: He's awful, but no one else will play.

Emmrich: I can't believe this.

Neve: Come on, let Fred have some fun.

Emmrich: I just...I wish you'd taught him something like chess.

Manfred: TRIED. DON'T LIKE IT.

Neve: You heard the man.

Emmrich, hands on his temples: Just...fine. Send him back to me after this round, we have work to do.

Manfred: PAR! CHEE! ZEE!

[Manfred stands up and knocks the board over]

[reverieparacosm]

Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: small injury

Chapter 2: The Hidden Canvas

(part 1 here)

Summary: Hwei stumbles upon your secret art place, finding art books that showcase artwork resembling his own. This discovery leads him to realize that you have been studying his work. Simultaneously, you come across Hwei's secret art pieces, exposing a remarkable and dark talent within him. As the sun sets, a conversation between you and Hwei unfolds, initially filled with concern but escalating into an argument.

The hot golden sand shifts beneath Hwei's feet as he treks through the ruins, brushing aside low hanging vines and crumbling walls. Sweat gathers on his brow in the afternoon heat, but he presses on, driven by a singular goal - to find you.

The ruins, once a grand testament to opulence and extravagance, now stand as a faded testament to the passage of time. Ornate carvings adorn the crumbling walls, their intricate details fade and wear, barely recognizable. Delicate plasterwork, once a showcase of artistic prowess, hangs in tatters, revealing the skeleton of the structure beneath.

Hwei steps further into the ruin, his footsteps echo through the desolate halls, a melancholic symphony of solitude. The remnants of what were once grand chambers and lavish salons now lie in ruins, their faded grandeur whispering tales of a time long past.

The ceilings, once adorned with elaborate frescoes, lose their luster, their colors mute and fade with the passage of time.

Chipped and cracked mirrors, remnants of a once luxurious vanity, reflect a distorted image of Hwei as he passes by.

Nature begins to reclaim the space, with tendrils of ivy and moss intertwining with the remnants of the architecture. Vines snake their way through broken windows, casting intricate shadows on the worn marble floors below. It is as if the ruin itself becomes a living canvas, merging the beauty of nature with the faded splendor of human creation.

Hwei knows that you have a secret place, a sanctuary where you pour your heart and soul into your drawings. He believes that he will find you there, lost in the depths of your artistic expression. He can barely wait to show you his latest art idea.

Over the past months, the two of you have formed a close bond through sharing your works in progress, debating techniques late into the night by the light of the moons. You understand each other in a way few others can.

Yet as Hwei picks his way deeper into the ruins, he finds no signs of life. Only your discarded paintings from past sessions remain - landscapes, portraits, glimpses into vibrant imagined worlds. Your attention to detail astounds him, as it always does.

In the corner of the room, Hwei stands, his gaze fixated on the artwork studies and meticulous notes spread out before him.

The atmosphere is filled with a sense of abandonment, as if time has forgotten this place. The room is dimly lit, with shards of sunlight piercing through cracks in the worn-out wooden shutters, casting golden rays upon the dusty air. The air itself carries a musty scent, a reminder of the forgotten years.

As Hwei examines the studies, his eyes sparkle with delight. You have taken the time to study his art, to delve deep into the intricacies of his creations. He feels a surge of gratitude and validation, knowing that his work has resonated with another soul. It is a rare and cherished feeling, as if he has found a kindred spirit in the realm of art.

With gentle fingers, Hwei picks up a notebook filled with meticulous sketches and annotations. The pages are worn and aged, evidence of the countless hours spent in thoughtful contemplation. Each stroke and line captures the essence of his art, the emotions, and stories he seeks to convey.

Hwei's eyes wander across the room, and his gaze falls upon a stack of sketchbooks tucked away in a dusty corner.

With anticipation, he reaches out and pulls one of them towards him. These are the studies of his artworks that he has never shown to his temple masters, the hidden pieces that represent his unfiltered desires and untamed creativity.

As he flips through the pages, Hwei's heart sinks. Each sketch holds a glimpse into a world of imagination that he has kept locked away.

These are the art pieces that are deemed too unconventional, too unrestrained for the watchful eyes of his masters.

Hwei's eyes flicker across the room, drawn to a glimmering display of well-crafted jewelry nestled amongst the art and sketches. With cautious curiosity, he approaches the collection, his fingers trembling with anticipation and intrigue. Each piece is a testament to the skill and dedication of its creator, someone who pours their heart and soul into the art of jewelry-making.

As Hwei lifts a delicate necklace, he marvels at the intricate design and the meticulous attention to detail. The craftsmanship is exquisite, capturing the essence of nature's beauty in every shimmering gem and carefully wrought silver. He can feel the passion and dedication that goes into creating each piece, a resonance that echoes his own artistic journey.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, you cautiously enter Hwei's room, your heart racing with a mix of curiosity and worry. You also have been searching for him.

Upon adjusting to the gloomy atmosphere, your eyes are immediately drawn to a large canvas placed against the wall.

The artwork before you is a revelation, a powerful testament to Hwei's talent. It is unlike anything you have seen before, an embodiment of surrealism that both fascinates and unnerves you.

The canvas depicts a haunting forest, its trees swathed in shades of black and grey that seem to devour the light around them. The atmosphere is heavy with an eerie stillness, and the clouds overhead are painted in dark blues and purples, casting a sense of foreboding. It is as if the darkness itself has taken physical form within the artwork.

Your gaze follows the brushstrokes that reveal a glimpse of sunlight penetrating the dense foliage. But even the rays of light are tinged with darkness, painted in shades of orange and red, as if symbolizing a raging inner fire. The contrast between the somber trees and the fiery light creates a chilling atmosphere, as if the very essence of Hwei's inner turmoil has been captured on the canvas.

To your surprise and shock, hidden among the twisted branches and shadows are barely visible demon-like creatures. Their distorted forms and malevolent presence send a shiver down your spine.

The details are so vivid, yet subtly hidden, as if they are meant to be discovered only by those who dare to venture deeper into the artwork's eerie depths.

The demon-like creatures, once mere brushstrokes on the canvas, begin to stir. Their twisted forms contort and writhe, as if they are breaking free from the confines of the artwork. Your eyes widen in horror as their eyes, glowing with an otherworldly light, fixate on you.

Panic sets in as you realize they are no longer confined to the world of art; they are now tangible.

The first demon, with elongated limbs and a hunched posture, scuttles towards you on all fours. Its cracked, pale skin is stretched taut across its skeletal frame, revealing sinewy muscles that writhe beneath. Its face, contorted into a grimace, holds eyes that burn like fiery coals, casting an eerie glow upon its surroundings. Jagged teeth, sharp as razors, jut out from its deformed mouth, dripping with a viscous, black ichor.

Another demon, with a grotesquely elongated neck and a face that resembles a twisted visage of anguish, floats eerily above the ground. Its elongated limbs end in razor-sharp claws that scrape against the floor, leaving deep gouges in their wake. Its translucent, ethereal form seems to flicker and distort, as if it is constantly shifting between dimensions. Hollow, empty eyes peer out from sunken sockets, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Suddenly, one of the demons lunges forward, its grotesque hand wrapping around your trembling arm with a vice-like grip. The sensation is horrifyingly real, as if their malevolence has transcended the boundaries of paint and canvas. Despair and terror grip your soul as you struggle against the demon's relentless pull.

With a surge of adrenaline, you summon every ounce of strength within you and manage to wrench your arm free from the demon's clutches. The sensation of liberation is accompanied by a surge of relief, but the horror is far from over. Without looking back, you sprint away from the painting, each step echoing in the room.

Glancing over your shoulder in anticipation of the pursuing demons, an eerie sight greets your eyes.

The painting remains motionless, as if frozen in time. The demons, once animated and menacing, are now still, their malevolence trapped within the confines of the artwork.

You stand there, your heart pounding, trying to comprehend Hwei's artistic expression. You have never known him to delve so deeply into the macabre or to conjure such haunting imagery. It is a revelation, a glimpse into a side of him you had never imagined existed.

In that moment, you understand that Hwei possesses a talent that reaches far beyond what you had previously believed. His ability to capture the darkness and transform it into art is both unsettling and mesmerizing.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As you venture back to your secret art place, a secluded haven where you can immerse yourself in your creative process, you are taken aback by an unexpected sight. There, standing amidst the vibrant artworks and sketches that adorn the walls, is none other than Hwei himself.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize that Hwei has stumbled upon your collection of art studies, meticulously crafted to capture, and understand the essence of his creations. You never intend for anyone, especially not the artist himself, to discover your private exploration of his art.

Hwei examines the sketches with curiosity and intrigue. It is as if he can see the depth of your admiration and the effort you have put into unraveling the secrets of his work. The vulnerability of having your hidden passion exposed makes you feel exposed in turn.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Hwei's voice carries a hint of surprise and gratitude.

"You honor me by studying my art," he says, his tone tinged with disbelief. "But I must confess that I do not believe I deserve such admiration."

You pause for a moment, taking in his words before responding. "Hwei, your art is nothing short of extraordinary," you reply, your voice filled with sincerity. "The way you bring your visions to life, with vibrant colors and captivating imagery, it is truly remarkable. You have a gift, and it deserves all the admiration it receives."

"I appreciate your kind words," he murmurs softly. "But sometimes, I cannot help but feel that my art falls short of the beauty I envision in my mind."

Hwei turns around, his eyes scanning the walls of your secret room, filled with artworks and inspirations.

He poses a question that lingers in the air, "Don't you feel lonely living in your own little world?"

A smile graces your lips. "Don't you feel powerless living in other people's worlds?" you reply softly.

His brow furrows in curiosity, and you continue. "Art, in all its diverse expressions, holds a captivating allure for us as human beings. We are instinctively drawn to music, poems, quotes, writing, and visual art because, at our core, we yearn for companionship. We possess an intrinsic desire to escape the clutches of solitude. We seek solace in the knowledge that we are not drifting into the depths of madness alone, but that there are others who comprehend the intricate nuances of our emotions. The profound connection that art fosters satiates our hunger for assurance, affirming that our thoughts and emotions are shared by kindred spirits."

"Hwei, I stumbled upon your secret artwork in your room, and I must say, it's truly beautiful. The way you bring your artistic visions to life is awe-inspiring. But... I can't ignore the sense of unease that it evokes in me. There's something dangerous hidden within your art, something that makes me worry about you."

Caught off guard by the expectation that you would understand and appreciate his creations without reservations, Hwei's expression hardens as he listens to your words. His voice carries a hint of anger as he responds, "You are supposed to understand, to appreciate the depths of my art. It's not just about beauty; it's about expressing the complexity of emotions and experiences. Can't you see the power and meaning behind it?"

The conversation quickly escalates into a heated argument, with your emotions colliding like waves in a stormy sea.

Hwei's frustration and disappointment fuel his words, while your concerns and fear make your voice tremble. Your once harmonious exchange of ideas turns into a clash of conflicting perspectives.

In the heat of the moment, Hwei's control over his paint magic falters. Unintentionally, a surge of colorful energy bursts forth from him, colliding with you. The impact sends you stumbling backward, pain radiating through your body.

Hwei's eyes widen in horror as he realizes what he has done. "No! I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he stammers, rushing to your side. His anger quickly transforms into guilt and remorse, his hands trembling.

Through gritted teeth, you manage to speak, your voice strained with both pain and disappointment. "Your art is undeniably captivating, but there's a darkness within it that I can't ignore. I wanted to understand, to support you, but I never expected it to lead to this. We need to find a way to control your power before it causes harm to others."

Burdened by guilt, Hwei feels the weight of the pain he has unintentionally caused, prompting a surge of remorse. Overwhelmed by the situation, he harbors an intense desire to distance himself, believing it best to leave you and prevent any further harm.

But before he can voice his thoughts, you look into his eyes, your voice filled with determination and an unwavering love. "Hwei, I want you. All of you," you say, your words cutting through his guilt. "Your flaws, your mistakes, your imperfections. I want you, and only you."

He kisses you. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. He needs that breath you are holding.

He knows he has no right to touch you, to crave you like air, but he does both. And when he puts his mouth on yours, he recognizes the taste of you, as if you have been made just for him.

With a gentle yet firm touch, Hwei's hand found its way to your cheek, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your skin. The touch ignited a spark within you, sending waves of electricity coursing through your body. The softness of his touch contrasted with the fervor building between you, intensifying the desire that burned within.

With a whisper against your lips he says, “I never used to let people come too close. But then there was you, that came in and settled in the depths of my soul.”

Feeling the magnetic pull between you, you close the remaining distance, your lips meet in a passionate and hungry kiss. The world around you fades away as your mouths move in perfect harmony, exploring each other with fervent desire. The taste of Hwei, sweet and intoxicating, consumes your senses, leaving you craving more.

With his hand still cupping your cheek, Hwei tightens his grip, drawing you closer and intensifying the intimacy of the moment. His other hand finds its way to the small of your back, drawing you tightly against his body. The sensation of his warmth against your skin sends shivers of ecstasy cascading through you, igniting a fire that burns with an insatiable hunger.

"My biggest fear," Hwei whispers, "is that eventually, you will see me the same way I see myself."

You bury your face in his shoulder as he holds you. All that you could think is that you need him. You need his arms around you, need him to hold you and whisper that you would find a way to be together.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

While walking back to the Koyehn temple after your argument, a soft silence envelops the air. The tension between you slowly dissipates, and without saying a word, your hands find each other, intertwining gently. The moonlight casts a gentle glow upon both of you.

In that moment, you turn to Hwei, your voice laced with vulnerability. "I am scared of the love I have for you," you confess, your words carrying the weight of truth. "Because I know it will ruin me. And I also know that I will let it."

As you find yourself gazing up at the vast expanse of the night sky, the twinkling stars above serve as a gentle reminder of the intricate dance of love that unfolds within the human heart. The eternal beacons of light, scattered across the celestial canvas, evoke a sense of both awe and contemplation.

In the presence of those luminous specks, you can't help but ponder the origins of our existence. A whisper of wonder escapes your lips as you wonder if, in some cosmic design, humanity might trace its roots back to the stars themselves. The concept of being made from stardust resonates deeply within you, igniting a spark of connection to the vastness of the universe.

However, as you reach the temple's entrance, a figure stands in the shadows, patiently waiting. There is something unsettling about his presence, a feeling that sends a shiver down your spine.

You should have listened to your feeling.

[cyclesprefectpress]

hey hoo how's everybody doing. personally, not my best couple of months on record! and regrettably the first thing i drop when i get stressed is. text messages and social media accounts. which is ok but i've been delinquent on the online business management front and i feel i've been quiet here which i am sorry about because i do like talking about printing.

anyway i've got a bunch of WIP stuff piled up that I'm trying to get to! and some new projects i'd really like to finish this month. and i've also been doing a lot of long press feeds & many hours drawing on the light table and you know what this qualifies me to do. rate things on netflix (but ONLY if you aren't watching the screen):

dangerous lies: perfect non-watching watch experience. boy is it dumb but i always knew what was going on and also what was about to happen. the only thing i couldn't resist ogling was their fucking apartment which was SO big and tidily furnished when they're supposed to be barely making it financially. insane. 9/10

hypnotic: unfortunately this one is fun & good & doesn't waste your time with bad dialogue & i kept wanting to look up and pay attention to Kate Siegel's beautiful face which loses it points by this metric. 6/10

the boy next door: can you tell yet that i'm eternally searching for an erotic thriller that will stack up to Fatal Attraction. and failing. the problem is none of em have glenn close in em. this one sucks nuts 4/10

you get me: this is not what the erotic thriller is FOR. i want full adults torpedoing their own households and careers. teens making horny stupid decisions is just tuesday and the soundtrack is quite bad. 3/10

the nest: definitely not for not-watching. nobody is explaining themselves clearly for the audience or each other. it's also not at all scary, which was a surprise, but that's on me for having a one-note watching history and forgetting that dramas exist. 0/10, i sat down and watched it for real a day later and liked it quite a bit

deadly illusions: it's no Chloe but it is some very fun, greasy diner food of a movie. 8/10

the deliverance: hmmmmmmmm………………many people have more important opinions than me on this subject. i'll just say i was having a pretty nice time with some of the performances UNTIL i learned at the end that it was also about real people. so was the original Exorcist, distantly, and the distance sure does fucking help. 2/10

wild things: honestly a little hard to track what's happening without watching, because it's actually good & fun & there's like. real environmental details and mystery clues. good gravy it's crazy how hot Neve Campbell is all the time forever. 5/10, i was compelled to look up from my work table a lot

five star chef: completely bizarre conspicuous consumption experience. it's actually kind of nice not looking at the screen because i think the fullness of the view would make it way more uncomfortable. 7/10

selling sunset: unfortunately an extremely good non-watching show. now in a group i advocate for looking at the despicable houses together and tearing the decor to pieces, but as long as you're alone it is once again an improvement not to actually see the dollars and energy being dunked in the garbage and set on fire all over the curséd county of San Diego. glance up once every 10 minutes to see what they're wearing and you're gucci. 8/10

the perfect couple: a little challenging to follow at first if you're mostly identifying people by voices, but fun! nicole kidman is a delight; idk Eve Hewson from anything else but her character is made of uncooked spaghetti. as a person without Private Island Money i must protest for us, we're not generally this boring about it. 7/10

evil: netflix has been pestering me to watch this show for so long. they were right. it's bad & it scratches the monster of the week itch & the speed with which it simply, linguistically equates psychopath=literally possessed by demons is absolutely wild. i am currently stymied by the episode where they visit a monastery that's taken a vow of silence but someday i'll look up a summary and get past it. 6/10

culinary class wars (dubbed): i hadn't tried reality tv dubbing before and you know what, it's fine!! it does the job. there's absolutely no localization to make the jokes work in english or anything but that's a-ok. i really like the structure of this competition for some reason, and if the very annoying Class Warfare trappings make you uncomfortable like they did for me, be assured, they drop off pretty steeply after the first round and the actual participating chefs are perfectly respectful to each other. 10/10

[esseastri]

For the curious, my Rook list:

Revira Thorne, mage, elf, romanced Davrin. She was a lightspeed story-mode run that Lisa and I did together so we could avoid spoiling each other, and we both accidentally fell in love with her.

2. Tetalya Mercar, mage, human, romanced Lucanis. Her playthrough is actually finished, as she was supposed to be my personal Canon, but. I love her, but I should have gone with my gut and not done Shadow Dragon first... I just didn't really connect (note her wearing all the Crow apparel... sigh).

3. Vida de Riva, mage, elf, romancing Lucanis. I just finished Weisshaupt with her, and she is rapidly becoming Canon, as she should have been because let's be real, my canon was always going to be a Crow. I am predictable. I, um. Am obsessed with her. To an embarrassing degree.

4. Thova "Laidir" Durwindor, rogue, dwarf, gonna smooch Harding. She's not actually a Lord of Fortune, her faction is Inquisition Agent, it's complicated because I love making shit up for backstories. She is my self-indulgent delight.

5. Renan "Aldwir" Devarin, mage, elf, romancing Bellara, possibly. Also deeply Not Canon. Just entirely Not Canon. She's an Inquisitor, but like hell is anyone else tracking down Solas while she still draws breath, so now she's Rook.

6. Dovari Thorne, rogue, dwarf, is romancing Harding. She's on the big city Choice because I have no self-control, a LOT of Feelings about both Dwarves and Wardens in this game, and a deep need to get her to Weisshaupt.

7. Descence Laidir, mage, qunari, will eventually romance Taash. This pic does not properly show off how teal they are. They're not even out of the tutorial yet, but I am OBSESSED with their design.

8. Sabina Ingellvar, mage, human, gonna kiss Emmrich. She was never meant to exist. I blame ek johnston and my sister. Help me.

9. Serasio de Riva, warrior, human, will either romance Neve for the city Choice drama (betrayer of his home! for LOVE!) OR he will kiss Bellara as originally planned because she deserves some romantic nerd to come sweep her off her feet. I have no idea which way it'll go, but I do know: Boy Pretty.

10. Evithali Aldwir, mage, elf, will romance Davrin and then send him on the distraction team because she's for the Nightmare Difficulty run and the Nightmare Runs always have Terrible Decisions in them. I will be remaking her on the PS5 when I've got a free slot though, no way I'm doing nightmare on PC, so this might not be her final form. We shall see. But she is Last on the list, gotta do all my easy and normal plays first!

[pseudolife-archived1]

SAS Sergeant Gary ‘Roach’ Sanderson is not drunk. He is, however, tipsy. Three or four or maybe five mystery cocktails - courtesy of Soap’s mischievous grins - in to a rare weekend of Task 141 rest, and he was easily buzzing. 'Tongue’ loose, and hand signs getting sloppy, but no less coherent. Tales of bootcamp hijinks falling easily from them - even if Gaz was still squinting and barely hanging on, and Ghost’s translations were getting downright untruthful at best. 

Despite this, Gary is having a good��time. Face mask pulled down to his chin and grin so wide his face was hurting. Knee bumping against Ghost’s thigh as the older man nurses a drink that’s mostly melted - a drink he’d never touched to begin with. Laughter mixed with huffs and low wheezes as Soap takes over and starts telling stories of his own - stories that include Gaz much to the other man’s chagrin and everyone else’s damned delight.

“- An’ he wa’ seein’ tha’ lassie at th’time, Che - Sha -”

“Sherrie.”

“Aye, Sherrie -”

The rest of the story, truthfully, is a fucking blur, Soap’s accent thicker than tar and his frequent laughs making it no easier - but Roach gets the gist of it and laughs along anyway. Bumping his knee into Ghost’s thigh as he sighs like a man suffering in his ultimate torment, like Roach can’t see amusement lighting up his dark and deadpan gaze. And then - silence. Blissful silence, he imagines, for the people around them. Their table easily having been the loudest in the little pub - probably the whole of the damn village if the glances were anything to look at. 

It’s a comfortable one, at least. The silence. Broken by spare chuckles and the clinking of ice in glasses. Roach’s gaze and attention wandering as he finds a circle of condensation left on the worn table, and begins to idly draw in it. 

“Y’know, we neve’ did hear an’thin’ ‘boot yo’r history, Roachy. Got an’ stories ‘bout crazy lassies - or lads?”

It’s like an injection of ice-cold sobriety, straight into his veins, and Gary blinks in muted shock, and then slowly looks up. Hands slowly sliding back to his edge of the table as he realizes that he’s the focus of attention suddenly - everyone’s attention. Baby blues and two sets of dark eyes - one of which has too much intensity. The neon light to the right of Ghost reflecting red in his eyes, in blond lashes, making Roach’s palms suddenly sweat, and his throat close up faster than - something fast. 

He wasn’t feeling too witty at the moment.

‘Nothing to tell.’ The signs come to him easy, natural as speaking was for everyone else. Carefully put together - more carefully than they had been before, during his recounting of his youthful foolishness. ‘Didn’t date much - and when I did, they were nice girls - no crazy shit. Small town drama here and there - once dated a sister of a good friend, but it wasn’t that big of a deal, even when he caught us in their fishin’ boat.’ Gaz whistles, long and low. Gary grins in response. ‘Got a black eye for that, probably deserved it. Almost got engaged to her, had a ring and everything but, well, you know how it is - no one likes waiting forever.’

It’s sobering, his explanation. Silence stretches for a moment, and then Gaz laughs, loud. Drunk and gleeful and a little ashamed as he confesses that once, he had also bedded a good friend’s sibling. After a moment, Soap laughs too - but his gaze never leaves Roach, a furrow in his brow that the other sergeant has never seen before. 

Roach folds his arms on the table, and lays his head on them. Listening to Gaz and Soap joke about the consequences of sticking your dick where it doesn’t belong.

Ghost is staring at him, and Gary stares back, admiring the red shine to his dark eyes.

for @pseudodead for putting up with my manic moods <3

[acrossthedrift]

My Antivan Crow, Orelia de Riva.

I spent more hours than I care to admit before I made her. Veilguard's CC is very mind boggling, and trying to make a male human was giving me a headache.

So I looked through the presets, found one I liked, made a few adjustments and here we are. Orelia. If I could draw there'd already be pieces of her in a classic, three-piece style suit with Neve on her arm.

I'm around 10 hours into Veilguard and it has been absolutely wonderful. I'll definitely be back to make a couple more characters to romance Harding and Bellara.

Have to talk about a lore reveal under the cut, so spoilers for Act One up to Lucanis' recruitment.

Firstly, the fact I couldn't hug Bellara during her first mission was an absolute crime. Bioware, why? She needed it when she talked about her brother.

Secondly, and what I made the read-more for: I CAN'T BELIEVE SOLAS MADE THE BLACK CITY?????

I know Bioware of Old purposefully left the Black City and the Maker vague because they didn't want to delve into it, but this... reveal? Retcon? Revcon? Delightful. Loved it.

My Maker theory was that it was essentially the first ever Human to wield, but if Solas made the Black City then that makes him-

No. Let's not dive into that can of worms just yet.

I'm already itching to make my next characters. I'm leaning towards Dwarf/Human Shadow Dragon for Harding and Elf Veil Jumper for Bellara.

[nelapanela94]

Hello! Today I'm dropping this new drabble following this fic.

Levi knows he's messed up for good with reader and is afraid to reach out and apologize because he believes he doesn't deserve it. The three had moved in together and fallen into their routine; however, Vi notices the frictions in the relationship between Levi and Reader, and somehow a tinge of guilt creeps through her. Hurt and not fully aware of what happened between her parents, one late night, she confronts Levi and listens to him as he unravels the mesh of feelings and thoughts that's been haunting him. Maybe, it is the kick on the butt he needs to move on.

Thank you to the beautiful San @notgoodforlife for feeding my angst soul and giving me great ideas for this one. I owe you!!

The windows are firmly bolted, standing against the squalling snowflakes, the mild rattling entwines with the distant rustling of naked trees swishing outside. The crackling flames of the hearth lick the living room, spewing fire chips that swirl and vanish in the air. Ten bells chime dull from the tower that watches the whole town.

“What flavor would you like for your birthday cake?” Violet’s voice scratches the silence as she scoops out the pinpricking marshmallows from the froth and shoves them into her mouth, letting the sugar melt and sink down her throat. She hums in delight, licking the spoon.

Levi from across the table watches her, a spiraling thread of steam oozes from his mug. He cracks a snort, and hops on the time machine that takes him to the day you asked him the same question. Wistfully, he recreates the scene. It was one of those queries that took him aback. Picking a flavor for a cake? He'd never thought about that. He’d never had a cake for his birthday, in fact.

So, he’ll dust off the same answer this time.

“Let it be a surprise. I know you have good options in mind.”

“It’s your birthday, you choose.” She insists.

“Vanilla, with pomegranate filling.”

“You’re lucky that’s mom best recipe.”

“What a coincidence is my favorite.” He smirks. his finger pads perch around the rim of his cup and bring it to his mouth. His breath casts waves on the surface as his lips clamp in the ceramic. The warmth rolls down his throat, contrasting against the iron cold of the room, and slams like a heat wave in his stomach. The cup clatters against the saucer.

A piece of bread wicks hot chocolate, and Violet waits, years of experience had taught her how long she should leave her bread soaking, so it gets that soggy texture without breaking and sinking to the bottom; the dregs are not yummy. She tows it to her mouth and cups a hand under her chin so the drops don’t splash on the table, and nabs. She repeats the same process until there’s only crumbs of bread skittered on the plate. Her eyes drift to her father whose cheeks are gilded by the candle glow. He’s there and he isn’t at the same time. His eyes are riveted on the wall across the living room where the light doesn’t skim, his chin roosting on the heel of his hand, his fingertips rapping on his cheek. The flicking glow from the guttering candle intensifies the dark circles under his eyes and spreads its warm yellow highlights over his cheekbones and eyelids and the creases on his forehead.

Something blemishes his thoughts. Like a drop of ink between the lines that bothers the eye, a subtle distraction you can’t stand, and you try to wipe off with your thumb; however, the more you rub, the more letters the smudge gobbles up.

Violet knows something pricks Dad’s conscience. It’s been three months since she’s moved in with mom and dad, and even though they’ve tried hard to make up for the time she was snatched from them, she can read the hints they left behind.

The way he retrieves his hand when he tries to reach out. He wants mom close, he longs for her, he wants to touch her and caress her hair, but when he's near to bridge the gap, he stops and holds his breath, closes his hand into a fist and draws it back.

They never kiss, they never hold hands, they don’t sleep in the same bed—dad barely sleeps—they don’t snuggle in the sofa before the hearth on a cold day. No sneaky glances or sneaky touches, no ‘how was your day?’.

For the unmindful, Levi stares vacantly through the darkness, but for the keen eye, like Violet’s, Levi is drilling through the guilt conveyed on the lighter spot on the wall. It was filled up and smoothed down, but it will never blend with the rest of the paint. He looks calm, unwavering, but his clenched fist resting on the table is holding up the remorse. Sometimes you block a thing that hurts. You pretend it isn’t there, but the whole time you know it is. It’s like a piece of metal stuck in your throat. It bothers you, but you’ve gotten used to it. He’s been pretending for so long the corners of the chunk have begun to scrape raw.

Happiness was so fragile, too fragile that if you were careless, you could smash it down and blight it.

How do you fix a broken heart? He wonders and rummages through for an answer. You can’t. A broken heart is like a shattered vase. You can glue the pieces back together, but it will never work the same way. Water will seep out through the little gaps.

Caught in the waves of his thoughts and feelings, he doesn’t feel those shiny steel gray orbs boring through him.

There’s a chasm between each member of this family, and each day the earth quakes and splinters a little bit more. All the things they never say to each other, all the things she can’t dredge from the bottom of her memories that keep them apart. Pretending is not healthy. Bottling up is carcinogenic, those tucked up feelings twist into a tumor that never stops growing and eventually metastasizes, rotting your insides. And when you scan yourself, it is too late.

But how can you convince someone to open up when he’s spent a great part of his life pretending?

Dad thinks mom’s is afraid of him, that she’ll never forgive him for whatever he’s done, that he doesn’t deserve to be near her, to touch her. He misreads her silence and skips the hints: mom craves for him.

Then, why doesn’t mom take the first step? Violet doesn’t have an answer yet. When she asked you, you replied that you’d already done your part.

But what does it exactly mean?

She wants to ask, yet she’s afraid to pick up at the scab and make the wound bleed again.

Guilt churns inside her as cuts of the last three months flash before her eyes. She tilts the mug a bit and stares at the naked chocolaty foam. Maybe it’s too much sugar for the night. She still thinks that you and Levi endure the martyrdom of walking barefoot on the shards of your relationship because of her. Because of her, her parents suffer, because of her they stick together even if they repel each other. That’s what she used to think when she first stepped into the house and sensed the heaviness suspended between those walls, a shivering fog. It didn’t feel like the home she longed for years. In fact, she had taken glimpses of your staggering relationship when she signed in for the Survey Corps. You didn’t need to be too observant to grasp the ice shavings belch from every glance you and Levi exchanged instead of the sparks that burst in the air when lovers’ eyes stumble.

As she walked into her new room, fresh lavender tickled her nostrils. She craned her head over her shoulder and forced a smile, holding back her tears. A family of teddy bears watched her from the shelf, a white cravat cinched around papa bear neck, the other two had white bows pinned in one side of their heads. Then, she caught her stunned reflection on the vanity mirror and sucked in her bewilderment before dropping her ragged slinging sack on the pale blue duvet, two downy pillows matched in color. She didn’t own too much, a few color-faded dresses, worn-out shirts, and a pair of high waisted pant she fixed for her figure. When you spent two years moving from foster home to foster home it is convenient not to put too much weight on your shoulders. The mattress sagged under her knees as she shifted to the window, it was soft unlike her bed in the barracks, and drew the curtains open. People sauntered on the street from one end to the other. She glanced around and a blush crept across her cheeks when she spotted the boy offloading sacks of flour from the wagon, a little girl with curls like his fed apples to the horse. Then her eyes drifted back to the boy and shut the windows before he caught her gawking.  

“If you don’t like it, we can rearrange it.” You said, fiddling with your necklace, and she turned around on her knees.

“You kidding? I love it.”  She heaped of the bed, scooted to the closet, and flapped it open. “I don’t remember what is like to have my own room.”

A rack full of puffed sleeve dresses, some high-neck, others buttoned-front. Her hands pampered with the different textures: silk, linen, cotton, chiffon; marveled with the colors and hand-painted flower patterns. An astonished ‘no way’ wriggled on her lips. “They are all yours.” The closet doors thudded close, and she looked your way.

“This is too much. I… thank you.” She sniffed and blinked away her tears. “Where is…uh…dad?” She glanced away, scratching an itch on her nape.

Leaning against the door frame, you crossed your legs at your ankles, and your sad eyes wrinkled in a smile. You shrugged. “I guess he’s got a lot of work to do.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Come here.” You opened your arms, and she pounced on you in an embrace. Gulping sobs raked through her as you stroked her hair. Your tear-soaked t-shirt–that once belonged to Levi–stuck to your shoulder. “You still like cheese and strawberries?” You asked in a velvety tone.

She nods and wipes her dampened face with her sleeve. “With tons of honey.”

You were right, a stack of paper was waiting for Levi’s right slanted signature. Although that day, paperwork was the least of his worries. Levi battled against himself, staring blankly at the bottom drawer of his desk. His face was sheen in sweat, his heart jackhammered in his chest. He drew in a long, shuddering breath and a healthy color roamed back to his knuckles, yet his fingers were still anchored to the armrest. He gulps.

Five years.

Five years ago, he locked it there and never dared look at it. He couldn’t let go, yet he couldn’t face it. It was too painful. It was all she’d left behind. A remnant that she was real. That she existed. He hoped that moths hadn’t feast on it.

A click wrung out at the twist of the key, the drawer creaked, and he pulled it out by the long ears.

“Long time no see, Mr. Whiskers.” He quipped, bringing it to his nose, and sniffed, the faint smell of roses, peonies and jasmine, the scent that lingered in her clothes he holds up against his palate as the bouquet of fine wine. He thumbed away his tears at the reminiscent of those lost years. “It’s time to get you back to your owner.”

Its flabby body plumped back to life. Levi pulled the thread that trussed the wound on its belly and sheared it with his teeth. He washed it, dredging all the grime and scrubbing off the stains, wrung it, and by the ears, he hung it on the clothesline to let the sun do its part.

The slice of sun that cut through his window tilted with the clangs that proclaim every hour, the light stretching on the floor and over his shoulders, casting his elongated silhouette on the burnished mahogany surface. When four struck, three knocks rapped on his door. You came in, a pensive smile curved on your lips. “I’m going home, Levi. I’m taking Violet.”

His eyes drifted to you; the quill vacillated on his forefinger.

You clear your throat. “Do I make dinner for three?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“See you then.” You nibbled on your lip, tapping a palm on your thigh. The knob twisted halfway when his voice strained from his desk. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” You replied, gazing down, with a pursed smile. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

Recklessly, his foot was drumming on the floor as he crushed the urge to get up and take you in an embrace. Yeah. Bullshit, you were not ok. Your skin had lost that glow, the dark circles under your eyes had deepened, you’d lost weight, and your smile, shit, that smile he himself turned off. Why couldn’t he squeeze those words out? Each time he tried to say, ‘I’m sorry’, bright red charcoal incinerated his throat.

The door close behind you.

Sighing, he pressed his hands on his eyes, a crimson smear. Leather screeched under him as he shifted straight on the seat and tilted his head back, closing his eyes, silky locks slithered through his fingers.

After six bells, Levi put the quill on the holder and stretched his arms over his head, his spine cracked, relieving the pressure.

He closed the windows, latched the bolt, wriggled off his jacket and left it on the backrest of his seat. One more glance over his shoulder, and he stepped out and locked the door. Levi headed the laundry drying yard, grabbed the lemongrass smelling rabbit and put it inside a leather bag. Crossed the mainyard to the stables and spurred his horse toward home. Orange stripes severed the amethyst sky.

“Mr. Whiskers!!!” Violet slapped a hand over her mouth and looked at Levi. She was trembling, tears soaked her lower lash line. He wasn’t sure how she’d take it, but when her fumbling arms tightened around him, all the tension oozed out from him.

*

Violet’s pink tipped fingers peek out from the hem of her taupe brown sweater and curl around the steamy mug. She brings it to her mouth and blows off the foam before taking a sip. A soft moan seeps from her at the fondling sweetness stretching in her mouth.

Her hair, shiny onyx waves that she spent forty minutes brushing, drips out from under the wool cap that you had woven for her in your first knitting class.

The flowery cup thuds on the table, and she wipes off her thin frothy mustache with the tongue.

“Dad.” The word still tickles in her mouth.

“Uh?” Levi’s eyes land on her as he pours his second serving of black tea.

“You and mom…” she dithers, sucking on her lip, averting her eyes. “Don’t you love each other anymore?"

Frozen, Levi stares back at Violet with bulged out eyes as the string of translucent reddish-brown plunges into his mug.  The hot liquid spills over the table, and when he finally scoops the bullet out, he sets the teapot back on the potholder, cursing under his breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Her voice teeters with panic as she dodges out of her seat and hustles to the kitchen to fetch a cleaning rag.

In seconds, she’s back to the dining table. She lifts papa’s mug and wipes the wood while he stills chews the question. Her hand fumbles, but a puzzled Levi doesn’t notice.

Maybe her approach tilted to the harsh side.

The tea-soaked cloth hangs from the rim of the sink; drops unzip from the ragged threads, converging into a long cord that dive into the drain. Plink. Plink. Plink. A vague noise that disturbs their silence.

Again, they are clustered at the table, afraid to meet each other’s eyes. Both gaze down at the good grain. Levi sees a giant fingertip; Violet reads a map that locates a treasure, mindlessly running a finger along the rim of her mug.

“I fucked up real bad.” Levi mutters, more for himself than for Violet. Those words sound strange aloud. “That day… we thought we’d lost you” he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I was a total dick, I said the shittiest things, I…” He swallows the tears. “I never apologized.”

Puzzled gray eyes jerk to him. “Why?”

The last drop of tea swirls at the bottom. “Don’t know where to start.”

“Dad!” Violet frowned, refraining from slamming a hand on the table. “How can you ruin your marriage out of cowardice?”

“Your mother and I are not married.” He snorts.

“But–“

He raises his left hand and splays it in the air. “We got these at the market on sale.”

“Mom wants you.”

“And I want her.”

“It doesn’t seem to.”

“Don't meddle in adult things.”

“I will if those two adults concern me.” She nudges. “You’re acting like kids.”

“Oi!”

“Oi! Oi! Oi!” She mirrors him.

His eyebrows plunge. “Go to bed.”

“Only if you do.”

“Tch.” He wishes she were the little girl who played tea parties with him. He reels back and folds his arms over his chest.  

“Tell me your story. I want to know.”

Levi sighs in defeat and fetches a new candle, the glow of the worn out one is dimming in a pool of molten wax. Levi lights the fresh one up with the dying flame and sticks it on the holder. Meanwhile, Violet grabs the empty teapot and, wrapped up in a thick blanket, she toddles to the hearth, the fieriness stinging her eyes. She rucks up her face and leans warily, tipping the kettle from the crane by the idleback to fill Levi’s fine china piece. Then, with the pit stoker, she lifts the lid of the large three-leg pot and takes a glimpse. The water hasn’t boiled yet.

Levi steeps the tea as she ducks back in her chair.

“Do you know what your mother’s favorite food is?”

“Chitterlings,” she sticks her tongue out in a gag. “But why is it relevant?”

“Shut up and listen.”

She nods attentively.

Three hours later, the candled has consumed in two thirds. Levi fiddles with his ring, chewing the inside of his cheek, waiting for Violet to condemn him. He deserves it, anyway.

Take her to a date. It’s everything she says before taking her leave.  Don’t sleep on it before it’s too late.

She trudges back and presses a peck on his cheek. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” His voice trails. She clutches the duvet on her chest, dragging a tail that sweeps the floor. Levi rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He gobbles down the last swig and goes to his room. Your room. Cocooned in layers you lie on your side, rebel locks of hair it’s all he can see of you. Levi flings the blankets and burrows in, one hand tucked under his pillow.

“Levi…” A weak moan. Teeth chattering. You stir, flipping onto the other side to face him and tug down the covers, enough to peek out. Flustered face, harsh breaths, droopy eyes. “is that you?”

Levi alerts, frowning, and reaches out a hand to your forehead. His eyes snap wide at the incalescence; you’ve been burning in fever.

“Fuck!” Levi kicks his sheets off and rushes to the living room to get the boiling water. He warms the tub and whisks the surface with his hand, checking the temperature. Then, back in the room, he crouches at your side, beginning to peel the layers. The shivers intensify. “Don’t. It’s freezing.” You squeeze your eyes and hiss.

“I know, I know.” He whispers softly, sweeping off your hair clogged on the sweat of your forehead. “But I need to bring down your temperature.”

“But–“

His hands slip under your body, and he scoops you up swiftly. “I’m not leaving you.”

In the bathroom, he strips you down. His delicate fingers feel like ice claws on your skin as he slips the gown over your head, your ribcage poke through your skin. his hands saunter down, anchoring at your hips where his thumbs caressed the beautiful pattern of waves that stretch over your tummy. Seeking warmth, you drape your arms around him, teetering against his frame. His fingers slide under the hem of your panties, pulling down your underwear. You wish he was undressing you in another setting. How bad you missed his hands on your flesh.

“Join me.” You purr in his ear, pleading.

His clothes pile on the floor too, and patiently, he helps you swing your legs over the rim. Then he steps in too.

Your back melts against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder; his knees snoop out of the surface.

“Thanks.” You find his hand under the water and thread it with yours. “I missed us like this.”

“Close your eyes.” He croons, ladling water in his palm, and smothering it on your face.

“You know I love you.”

“I love you too.” His hand squeezes yours. “I hope you’re not raving, cause I fucking love you.”

“My sweet boy.” You wriggle, and strew a hand over his chest, your forehead molds to the curve of his neck. “Can we stay like this until the sun comes out?”

“I don’t want my ass to look like a raising.”

“We can be raisings together.”

“Levi… look at me.” You trace a heart on his cheek, then swaddle him in your palm. “Look at me.” The candle beam slivers across his face, his eyes glint in the tears he’s holding up. “Cry if you need to, Levi. It’s ok.” You soothe him. where do you get all that strength? He should be the one heartening you not otherwise. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He spools out through gulping sobs, his nose prodding your cheek.

A brawny arm winds around you. “I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For so long, I was a selfish jerk to you.” You cling to him; his hand fondles your tickling skin. “The grief blinded me… and, shit, all those things I said… you were grieving too. You lost your mother and… and I didn’t let you mourn properly, and…” His voice cracks like dry leather.

You say nothing for a while, only your heavy breathing is dank in the bathroom. The soft wintry whisper.

“I forgive you Levi. I do.” You smile. "I needed to hear it."

The gnarls of trepidation ease off. He breathes and feels his lungs exhaling for the first time in years. He has almost forgotten what it felt like to touch you. To be forgiven even just this much. That unfamiliar saltiness engulfs his mouth; he sniffles, but doesn’t wipe off his tears. He lets them run.

Lingering kisses trail from the crown of your head along your jawline. A giggle bubbles out, and another and another, weaving in that pretty melody he longed for so long. You try to reel away but he traps you in his unyielding arms, dousing you in kisses overwhelmed with gratitude at having one more day. Spalshes of water. Violet was right. He had been an idiot for letting time dribble away through his fingers.

He tucks your hair behind your ear and coos, “would you go on a date with me?”

[backgroundelf]

Angbang Week: Bonus

Read on Ao3 here

Melkor and Mairon were curled together on Melkor’s bed in Utumno. Melkor’s chest rumbled with a deep purr as he pressed soft kisses to Mairon’s lips. Each gentle touch sent a thrill of delight down his spine. He loved the feeling of the little maia, his little maia, lying beside him.

The hand wrapped around Mairon’s waist moved lower, passing over his soft, pale skin. He found Mairon’s ass and squeezed. Mairon squeaked and looked up at him. Melkor let out a breath of laughter and squeezed again.           

“Hey!” Mairon said, pouting in mock annoyance.

Melkor leaned in and kissed the pout, shifting their positions from on their sides to him leaning over Mairon. He made a few more adjustments, settling in between Mairon’s legs.

“Hey,” Melkor replied. He started kissing down Mairon’s neck, loving the small whimpers he made. He licked and nipped at his throat before biting down at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Mairon keened and writhed beneath him as he sucked, raising a bruise. Several other purple and yellow marks dotted Mairon’s neck like a collar. The marks pleased something deep within Melkor. He knew Mairon could make them vanish in an instant if he so desired, but instead he kept them long after they would have faded. He licked the newest mark before biting down again next to it.

Mairon moaned, his hips moving against Melkor. Melkor kissed the bite and moved up to tease Mairon’s ears. His tongue traced over one delicate point and he nibbled at the outer shell. Mairon squirmed as he sweetly tortured this surprisingly sensitive area. He could feel Mairon’s cock growing hard against his stomach. 

“Please…please!” Mairon begged. His hands came up and buried themselves in Melkor’s hair. Melkor purred louder as his hair was tugged but didn’t let up on the torture.

“Master…” Mairon moaned, rolling his hips. Melkor ground down, rutting against him. He gave Mairon’s ear one last nip before returning to his mouth.

Mairon licked his lower lip, and Melkor opened for him. Mairon deepened the kiss, shyly pressing his tongue into Melkor’s mouth. How different this Marion was from the strong, confident Lieutenant the rest of Melkor’s followers saw. 

Melkor kissed his cheek before moving back down his neck. He pressed a quick kiss to the marks he made earlier, then continued to kiss lower. His mouth found one of the pale pink nubs of Mairon’s nipples. He licked it and blew cool air over it, watching it stiffen and harden in the breeze. Mairon shrieked and tried to squirm away, but Melkor held him. His tongue swirled over it and he lightly bit down, teasing Mairon’s chest with tongue, lips, and teeth.

Mairon’s moans were delightful. He could draw so many wonderful little noises of pleasure from his lover. He loved exploring Mairon’s body, teasing new sounds from him. A lick here would result in a low moan, a nip there a high squeak. So many wonderful sounds, all for him, because of him, because of the pleasure he gave to Mairon.

His lips moved lower and lower, brushing over his stomach. He reached Mairon’s cock and licked it from base to tip.

Mairon squeaked and scrambled out from under him. He huddled against the headboard, pressing into the pillows, trembling.

“Precious?” Melkor asked. He wanted to pull the little maia into his arms and soothe his fears, but worried his touch would be unwelcome.

“What were you doing?” Mairon asked.

“I thought that was obvious?” Melkor said. “You’ve used your mouth on me before. I wanted to share that pleasure with you.”

Mairon shook his head. “No. I…you’re a vala. It’s only right that I serve you in every way I can. But the other way around? It would be degrading for a vala to serve a maia.”

Ice filled Melkor’s veins. “Do you feel degraded when you lie with me?” Was Mairon only in his bed because he felt it was his duty as his lieutenant? 

“No! I’m honored to have your attention, to be so intimate with you. When we’re together, when you’re in me,” Mairon smiled, lost in his bliss, “I have never experienced such ecstasy. But there is a natural order to these things. To change, to switch, to have you beneath me, would violate that order.”

Melkor growled. “When have I ever given a damn about the ‘natural order’ of things? If I cared about the natural order, Eru’s will, whatever you want to call it, I would be standing beside my brother, and you would still be tucked away in one of Aulë’s forges.” He leaned in and kissed Mairon’s head, just above his third eye. “We decide what is right for us,” he whispered.

“And you want to do this? You want to trade roles like this?” Mairon asked.

Melkor nodded. His fingers skimmed over Mairon’s chest. “I enjoy pleasuring you. But I want to do more than simply take you in my mouth,” his hand moved lower, caressing the skin of Mairon’s inner thighs. “I would know what it feels like to have you in me.”

Mairon flushed red. He buried his face in his hands, and Melkor could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. “My Lord, you can’t just say things like that!”

Melkor laughed. “And why not? Shouldn’t we be honest about our desires?” He pulled Marion’s hands away from his face and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “More than I want that, I want you to want it. It’s no great hardship to keep our relations as they are. Though I will mourn not being able to worship your cock properly.”

Mairon let out another squeak at that. Melkor decided to take pity on his poor maia and moved back, giving him some space to think.

“I would not be…opposed to trying new…configurations,” Mairon said after a few moments of silence. “But not now and not all at once. Let us build up to a full reversal.”

“We can go as slow as you’d like,” Melkor said. “And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Mairon nodded. “I…I think I’d like to try what you were doing before.”

“Oh?” Melkor said. He kissed Mairon and tugged him out of his hiding place among the pillows. Mairon settled into a more comfortable position and gave Melkor a shy smile. Melkor moved down his body, kissing and nipping at his still-flushed skill. 

When he reached Mairon’s cock, he paused and looked up. Mairon’s blush deepened, but he nodded all the same. He gave the head a few experimental licks before taking it into his mouth. Mairon gasped and moaned above him as he moved. 

Mairon’s hands clenched the sheets. That wouldn’t do. Without breaking his rhythm, Melkor took one of Mairon’s hands and placed them in his head. Mairon got the hint and buried his fingers in Melkor’s hair. Melkor hummed in pleasure. The vibrations in his mouth traveled down Mairon’s cock. Mairon gasped and his hips rose, choking Melkor. Melkor put a hand on Mairon to hold him down.

Mairon petted his hair in apology. “Sorry.”

Melkor looked up at him and hummed louder, ripping another gasp out of him. Mairon’ breathing was starting to hitch, and Melkor could feel his cock twitch and swell in his mouth. He deepthroated Mairon, swallowing him down to the root. Mairon came with a cry, flooding Melkor’s mouth. He dutifully swallowed the cum and licked him clean. 

“Do you still think I find this degrading?” Melkor asked, his lips brushing against Mairon’s. Mairon didn’t answer, trying to follow his mouth. Melkor indulged him, kissing him deeply, forcing his tongue into Mairon’s mouth, making him taste himself.

“No, my Lord. But perhaps you could prove it again?” Marion said.

Melkor laughed. “Cheeky.” He gave Mairon another kiss and settled in for what would undoubtedly be a long night.

[talkfastromance4]

For Your Eyes Only-- bodyguard!ashton [Chapter 12+Epilogue]

I can’t believe the end has finally come. I first posted this story on December 15, 2019 and was the first chaptered fic I posted (and now completed.) Thank you to those who have read and kept up with this story. It’s very near and dear to my heart. I’m sad that it’s ending but I’m so, so happy with it. Thank you again for loving Ashton and Alouette with me as I made my own fairytale💕💖

Word Count: 4582

Warnings: mild smut near the middle

Masterlist

Chap. 1 || Chap. 2 || Chap. 3 || Chap. 4 || Chap. 5 || Chap. 6 || Chap. 7 || Chap. 8 || Chap. 9 || Chap. 10 || Chap. 11

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright listed below*

• • • •

The palace has been abuzz with excitement and planning once again as Alouette’s coronation is approaching only a few days away. Queen Helene arrived a week ago to go over the plans for the ceremony. Every day has been filled with meetings on final decisions for the flowers, dress fittings and any other last-minute preparations. 

Alouette is eating lunch while reviewing the itinerary of coronation day when there was a soft knock.

“Come in,” she says distantly.

“Is that how you greet your best friend?”

Alouette jumps out of her chair at the sound of Neva’s voice and races to hug her tightly, both squeal in delight at being in each other’s presence again. Neva’s birthday seems so long ago and with everything that happened since then, Alouette couldn’t be happier.

“I didn’t know you were coming today!” Alouette exclaims, still hugging her close. 

“Ashton arranged it,” Neva laughs and draws back so she can inspect her best friend. “How are you mi alondra?” (my lark)

“I’m good,” Alouette nods with a small smile. She drops her hands to Neva’s, squeezing tightly. “A little nervous about the coronation but I promise, I’m okay.”

“Good. Two things, I need to see this ring!” Neva lifts Alouette’s left hand and ogles at the sparkling diamond that fits so perfectly on her finger. “Oh, it’s gorgeous. Ashton did well. And secondly, I need you to tell me everything there is to know about you and Ashton. How did this all start? When was your first kiss? How did he propose? Tell me all.”

Alouette informed Neva of everything that has happened over a whole pot of tea. She first began with her kidnapping and how she had the thought of Ashton that kept her alive. Neva held her hand the whole time she discussed what happened to her. Aside from Ashton, Neva is her closest friend who she tells everything to.

Her favorite parts were telling Neva about the best moments she and Ashton have had.

“I wish I could have been here for you too,” Neva tells her sadly, tears in her eyes. “My manager wouldn’t let me take time off, no matter how many fits I threw.”

“It’s all right, I had Ashton to take care of me,” Alouette smiles, “and besides, you’re here now for one of the most important days of my life. Apart from my wedding.”

They talked for hours until Ashton came in the room stopping their discussion. 

“Hello, Neva,” Ashton smiles standing next to Alouette’s chair.

“Hi security man,” she grins. “Congratulations on the engagement.”

“Thank you,” his smile remains then touches Alouette’s cheek with his fingers to get her attention. Her blue eyes meet his. “It’s time for your dress fitting.”

“Not your wedding dress fitting, right?! I wanted to go shopping with you,” Neva frowns.

“No, it’s for my coronation dress,” Alouette answers with a soft chuckle. “We haven’t even picked a date yet, with what’s going on in preparation lately.”

“Good, because I am going to make sure your bachelorette party is to die for!”

Ashton exhales loudly at her choice of her words.

“You know what I mean,” Neva recovers innocently at Ashton. She smiles and bats her eyes for good measure.

Alouette laughs then takes Ashton’s hand rising from the chair. “I’ll see you later for dinner, Neve.”

“Bye lovebirds!” she calls behind them.

Alouette slips her hand in Ashton’s easily, since their engagement she’s been loving how open they can be with their affections towards each other. The best part is no one looks at them strangely because of it. Ashton gives her hand a gentle squeeze as they reach the staircase to the third floor. 

Her heels and his boots clack on the tile as they ascend, the stairway is quiet and Alouette senses something is on his mind. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, giving his hand a gentle pull. He sighs in response. 

“Are you sure you want me to be a knight?”

Alouette halts on her step and Ashton stops on the one below her, his hazel eyes stare into hers and she can see the doubt in them. 

“Of course, I do. You have all the qualifications, you deserve this honor, Ashton, especially after what you’ve all done for me. Loving me aside,” she adds to lighten the mood, but he still has a crease between his brows. 

“I don’t know a thing about being a royal. What if we’re at an important dinner and I use the wrong fork? I could jeopardize something very import--”

Alouette stops his rambling by grabbing his cheeks and pressing her mouth against his. He responds enthusiastically, his hands grip her waist and she pulls away. Ashton chases her lips for more, but she strokes his cheek with her thumbs. 

“Whatever silverware you use isn’t going to be a problem. You aren’t going to jeopardize anything, and I’ll be by your side the whole time, okay? We’re in this together,” she gives him one more soft peck and they continue their ascent to her dress fitting.

•••••

It’s the morning of her coronation and Alouette is woken in the best way possible. Ashton sprinkles the skin of her shoulder that’s exposed from her baggy night shirt with kisses. He makes a trail from below her ear along the curve of her neck to the tip of her shoulder. It’s the spike of her goosebumps that wakes her, a smile already on her lips.

While Ashton’s lips move back up to her ear, his hand is slipping beneath her night shirt, his skin hot on her belly while his fingers tickle up to her breasts. He kneads her flesh tenderly, but the action elicits a small moan from her lips. A sound that Ashton will always fall in love with as if it were their first time.

Alouette twists around capturing his lips in a feverish kiss. They both make quick work of removing his boxers and her panties, both craving the closeness the other can satisfy. Ashton swipes his middle finger up her slit and she gasps into his mouth. With his finger still teasing her, he works his mouth down her body using his other hand to push up her shirt.

Ashton licks the underside of her breast, loving the soft moans she makes as he continues lower and lower. Alouette spreads her legs open, her body flinching when Ashton presses the pad of his finger against her clit and her moan has increased in volume.

“Shh, my lady,” he hushes dragging his lips over her core. “Can’t have you waking the whole palace.”

“I—ohh!” She moans long and slow when he inserts his finger and kisses her clit.

Ashton is every form of gentle, pulling and curling his finger in and out of her just as her moans are soft in response. He licks at her in a savory manner, his tongue rolling and flicking over her bud. He hums against her when she places her fingers in his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. Her back arches and her toes curl when her body heat rises, and Ashton quickens his actions.

He knows she’s close, so he removes his mouth so he can quiet her moan with a kiss while his fingers continue to work her over. She’s bucking her hips against his palm.

“Please, please,” she whimpers around his mouth. “Need you.”

She fumbles in the drawer of her nightstand for a condom and rips it open hastily while Ashton kisses her neck. She rolls it over him delicately and Ashton removes his finger grabbing hold of himself. He pushes against her entrance before sinking in inch by inch. Alouette drags his mouth back to hers as they both moan in pleasure. Their bodies roll together as he pumps into her with desire, their fingers interlocking and breaths turning ragged.

For a moment, she forgets that she is to be Queen in a few short hours and that every eye will be on her. For this moment, it’s just Alouette and Ashton, two people desperately in love. She sighs his name and he breathes her in as they come together, a true force to be reckoned with.

“I have something for you,” he kisses her cheek after they’ve caught their breath and he slips out of bed. She watches him pull out a box from his trousers that are thrown over the chair at the foot of her bed and he sits next to her again. “Happy coronation day.”

Alouette sits up and opens the box, gasping when she sees what’s inside. Perched in the center sat a swan pin made completely out of diamonds. She gasps.

“Ashton, it’s beautiful!” her fingers trace over the small diamonds faceted along the slender neck, then she glances up at him, “you need to stop spoiling me with gifts.”

“I’ll be your husband soon, it’s part of my husbandry duties,” he grins, and she pokes his dimple.

“Then I shall spoil you with gifts!” she giggles and falls on top of him.

He holds her fingers to his cheek so he can kiss her palm. “You already spoil me, Alouette,” he says.

His hands then roam over her bare back under the shirt and he feels her scars. He pulls her closer just as there’s a knock on the door.

“Miss Alouette! It is time to get ready!” Rosa calls from the outside of the door.

“Just a minute, Rosa!” Alouette calls and gives Ashton a kiss. “I’ll wear this pin today, thank you, I love it.”

“You’re welcome,” he hums, and they clamber out of bed.

They dress quickly and when Alouette is in her robe, Ashton opens the door. Rosa and Alouette’s other maids’ bustle in with her dress that’s secure in the white bag. No one has seen it except the designer and her ladies. Ashton tries to sneak a peek when a make-up team comes in and hair stylists.

“Calum, Michael and Luke are waiting for you downstairs,” Sydney tells Ashton. She’s always on top of keeping everything in order and on a timely fashion.

“I’ll see you soon,” Alouette smiles at him.

Before he can be shooed out by Sydney, he sneaks a quick kiss to Alouette’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she giggles, he pinches her cheek lightly and leaves the room.

Alouette listens to Sydney rattle off the time slots, where and when to enter the hall and reiterates part of the oath that will be spoken. Alouette listens while keeping her gaze on her eyes in the mirror while her hair and make-up is being done.

Her stylists twist her hair into an elegant chignon so that the Regent’s Crown will fit perfectly atop her head. All her ladies help her into the dress. It’s blush pink in color with lace appliques and a cape that can be added near the back at the center of her lower back. Her jewelry is added last, simple pearl earrings and a diamond necklace.

Rosa places the swan pendant Ashton gifted her with and took her hand, tears in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you, my lady,” Rosa smiles.

“Thank you, Rosa. Thank you for everything,” Alouette squeezes her hands and gives her a tight hug.

“Princess,” Sydney says, “it’s time.”

•••••

Alouette stands outside the large oak doors while the small orchestra in the balcony plays a beautiful ballad and then the doors open and she’s walking gracefully down the aisle. Her guests, Princes and Princesses, Kings and Queens, other dignitaries, friends, family, and some of her people stand on either side of her.

She passes the television crews that are all along the back of the hall. Reporters are writing furiously in their pads; everyone is at apt attention.

Alouette has been trained not to look at their faces, to keep her face forward to where the Archbishop Belisario is standing with the orb and sceptre that she will be holding. She keeps count of her breathing, feeling very aware that all eyes are on her but when she spots Ashton off to the side near the front, and their eyes meet, she instantly relaxes.

Queen Helene is already sitting in her respective throne off to the left, when she catches the eye of her granddaughter, she winks and smiles proudly.

As she walks by the guests, she hears them whisper quietly to one another as she passes because of the back of her dress. One request she had was that the back would be see through, so that her scars would be seen. She wanted to show her people that as Queen, she is fierce and tenacious. She lifts the skirt of her dress when she reaches the four steps and rises carefully to the throne.

Alouette twirls around so she’s facing the congregation and Archbishop Belisario comes to stand next to her just as the music fades away and she takes her seat on the throne. The seat is plush and soft beneath her and the Archbishop speaks his prayer over her.

“Welcome all to the coronation of Princess Alouette. I give thee, the orb of Peace and the sceptre of Longevity,” Archbishop Belisario hands each item to Alouette.

She holds them proudly, the weight is heavy, but she keeps her composure, chin held high.

“Madam, is your Majesty willing to take the Oath?”

“I am willing,” Alouette answers proudly. She keeps her gaze focused on the stained-glass panes near the back of the hall. It’s an array of colors with the center of it being a large tree with plenty of green leaves.

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Chadria, according to the statutes in parliament agreed upon, and the respective laws and customs of the same?”

“I solemnly promise so to do.”

“Will you, in your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all judgments?”

“I solemnly promise so to do.”

The Archbishop removes the crown from Queen Helene who has risen from her chair and he places it atop Alouette’s head. The weight is lighter than that of the orb and sceptre, but she feels the weight, nonetheless. It holds the weight of her power, of her reign over her beautiful country. Alouette stands, wearing it proudly as the ceremony comes to a close.

This is the big moment as she takes her first step forward to declare the last part of her Oath now as Queen. She clears her throat softly and shifts her focus from the stained-glass window to her people.

“The things which I have promised, I will perform and keep. So, help me, God,” she speaks with authority and her voice doesn’t waiver. She takes one step forward.

“Presenting, Her Majesty, Alouette Jolene Iduna; Queen of Chadria,” Archbishop Belisario concludes and the hall erupts in cheers and applause.

Alouette smiles proudly, eyes gazing over the people in front of her, her people. She sneaks a glance to her left where Ashton is clapping proudly as well, a large smile on his face. The Archbishop takes the orb and sceptre from her so she can take her first walk as Queen. Her grandmother approaches next, kisses her cheek and then Alouette descends the stairs once more. The orchestra plays Chadria’s anthem and this time, as she passes, the people bow or curtsy to her and the doors open once more as flashes from cameras announce her exit.

•••••

Three days after Alouette’s coronation is Ashton’s knighting ceremony, her first act as Queen. In those three days she has aided Ashton in the ceremony and has had a white suit made for him to wear. It will be broadcasted just as her coronation was. Guests filled the seats with Luke, Calum and Michael sitting in the pews off to the right, they sat in the same spot for Alouette’s ceremony.

The Herald stands at the podium waiting for the time to start and he clears his throat into the microphone. The room falls silent and Alouette squeezes Ashton’s hand in assurance as the Herald begins. Next to the Herald on plush red velvet pillows are the Knight’s chain, the Sword of Nobility, the white belt of Chivalry, and the sword Ashton will be presented with as his own.

Victor, who is also a knight, stands near the objects with a page boy to help hand off each one as the ceremony commences.

“In days gone by, there have existed many orders of knighthood which recognized the skill and honor of their members. From the knights of the round table to present day, it is in their duty of service and of the noble ideals of chivalry embodied by their Queen, did these orders achieve this highest rank. Members of this Order of Chivalry are mighty warriors, but also were skilled in the arts and have given their time to the benefit of the common weal.

“As such, they have been recognized as Peers of the land. Our Majesty the Queen will now begin the knighthood. The Crown calls forth Ashton Fletcher Irwin to come before the Court and company here today.”

Ashton and Alouette stand, they step forth in front of the podium and Ashton kneels before her, his hands clasped together in front of him. When he looks up at her, she smiles radiantly at him and he can’t help but smile back.

“Ashton Irwin, have you undertaken to accept the accolade of Knighthood that has been offered to you?” she asks, her voice echoes throughout the room.

“I have,” he responds.

The Herald holds the chain above his head to showcase it to the crowd and Victor steps forth.

“This chain has been passed from knight to knight throughout the ages of our kingdom. Let it now pass from knight to knight again,” the Herald says and hands it to Victor who holds it tenderly between his fingers. “Bring forth the great Sword of Nobility.” The Herald is handed the sword from the page boy.

He presents it to Alouette who accepts it delicately in her hands, letting the tip of the sword hang a centimeter above the floor.

“Ashton Irwin,” she begins, eyes on him, “you have been deemed fit for this high estate by your peers and have indicated your willingness to accept this honor from my hand. Do you solemnly swear by all that you hold sacred, true and just, that you will honor and defend the Crown and Kingdom of Chadria?”

“I will.”

“That you will honor, defend, and protect all ladies, and those weaker than yourself?”

“I will.”

“That you will be courteous, honorable and loyal of the Chivalry?”

“I will.”

“That you will be charitable and defend the poor and helpless, that you will be brave and never avoid dangerous paths out of fear?”

“I will.”

Alouette lifts the sword, the tip hanging precariously over his right shoulder. “Then having sworn these solemn oaths, know now that I, Queen Alouette Jolene Iduna of Chadria dub you with this Sword of Nobility and by all that you hold sacred, true, and just . . . Once for honor—” she touches his shoulder with the blade then moves back and forth on each shoulder each time “—Twice for Duty . . . Thrice for Chivalry. . . Arise, Sir Ashton Irwin!”

Alouette hands the sword to the Herald who then hands her a white belt with red jewels encrusted on the buckle as Ashton rises. She holds the belt in front of him.

“Accept this white belt, symbolizing the purity of your honor, the sign of the Order of Chivalry, and of your knightly rank and station,” she says and ties the belt around his waist. Then she is handed the Knight’s chain holding it before Ashton. “Accept from my hands this chain, passed from knight to knight, for each knight is a link in the honor of our Kingdom. It symbolizes your fealty to Crown and Kingdom. Take this chain and swear.”

Ashton grasps the chain in his hands, right below Alouette’s and looks to the Herald who will tell prompt him what to recite. He fixes his gaze to Alouette after the Herald begins speaking.

“This day do I render homage and fealty to my Sovereign Lady, Alouette Queen of Chadria who will, from this day forward, be my Liege Lady. I will remain true in all ways, serving you faithfully. . .” Ashton can’t help this is just as intimate as a wedding ceremony will be when repeating his vows, “this do I swear by my belt and chain and by my honor and by the high ideals which I hold as a Knight of this land. So, say I, Ashton Irwin.”

“I accept your homage, fealty, and pledge to you that from this day forward until the end my reign you are my Liege man that I will honor your order and defend your rights as a Peer. I will protect the trust that you have placed in me, mighty with justice, tempered with mercy,” Alouette speaks then holds up the chain from his fingers. “Accept this chain, which will symbolize your duty and your bond as Liegeman in fealty to the Crown of Chadria. Never forget the burden of this chain.”

She places the chain around his neck and then a sword is pulled from its sheath by the Herald who holds it in front of Ashton. It’s beautiful and sharp with ruby jewels encrusted on the pommel and guard. Ashton’s eyes widen, he was told he’d be getting a sword, but he didn’t think it’d be this exquisite or grand.

“Accept this sword,” Alouette begins again listening to the prompting from the Herald, “which will symbolize your prowess at arms. Remember this: the sword of the Chivalry should be drawn only in defense of the land, or in front of those weaker than yourself. Wear it with care. Wield it with mercy.”

Alouette points to the sword as the Herald presents it to Ashton who takes it in his own hands examining it quickly before Victor places it back in its sheath. Alouette smiles at Ashton and lifts her hands in the air, motioning him to stand. He rises slowly, eyes fixed on her.

“Arise, Sir Ashton, for you are now a knight of Chadria,” she declares, and he faces the crowd.

“For Sir Ashton Irwin,” the Herald declares, “hip, hip!”

“Hooray!”

“Hip, hip!”

“Hooray!”

“Hip, hip!”

“Hooray!”

Ashton is welcomed in glorious applause and Alouette can see how hard he’s trying to keep his composure. His mouth is quivering from trying not to smile and she admires him proudly. He looks magnificent in his white uniform, his silver chain and white belt. She takes his hand in hers and can’t resist to kiss his cheek.

He truly is her knight in shining armor.

•••••

THREE YEARS LATER

Alouette’s dogs are barking as they prance and run joyously on the palace grounds. They’re chasing younger children and trying to capture the bubbles that the small ones are blowing into the spring air. Rosa is setting up the food table with help of the maids in waiting while Ashton and Alouette watch fondly from their bench.

Calum is off to the side with his shades covering his eyes surveying the area while Michael and Luke are playing with the little ones. Other forms of security are around the perimeter of the grounds. After Alouette became Queen there were more candidates wanting to aid in her safety, especially after Ashton was knighted.

He made sure each one that applied would be a good fit, not just with him but with Calum as well since he became head security guard after Ashton left his post. He still made sure to have an oversight of all security details, he’s a man of habit, but he’s been loving his married life with Alouette.

Their wedding happened about a year after her coronation and his knighting ceremony on a beautiful spring day much like this one. Clear blue skies with a cool breeze that felt nice in the warm sun. Ashton cried as he watched her make her way towards him, she looked like an angel.

Everything about her was soft and delicate, her hair pinned loosely around her face with a tiara on her head, lace flowers covered her bodice and the swan necklace he gave her sparkled in the sunlight. Both of their voices quivered as they recited their vows and when he kissed her for the first time? He thought he’d burst from happiness and the love he felt for her.

Their first year of marriage was adventurous. It wasn’t much different from when he’d travel with her before but now, he was her right-hand man, standing the forefront with his Queen and his love. He counseled with her late at night going over new laws or funding’s that needed review. They’re a team, a solid unit, and the people of Chadria even call him ‘Prince Ashton’ on accident but he fits the role perfectly.

There’s a loud squeal to their left that they both have grown accustomed to and could spot from a mile away. Their daughter, Penelope is running towards them in her pretty pink dress. Her dark blond ringlets bouncing behind her until she finally crashes into Ashton’s legs.

“Hello, my love,” he greets her and lifts her into his lap just as Luke comes to a halting stop. He was chasing her and is clearly out of breath.

Penelope cuddles into Ashton and Alouette smiles fondly at her little princess. She’s perfect in every way but especially today since it’s her first birthday.

“Why were you chasing her?” Ashton asks with a smile; Luke is still panting heavily.

“She stole my earpiece,” Luke huffs.

“Penny, did you take something of Luke’s?” Alouette asks her sternly. Penelope turns her head to her mother, a mirror image. She nods against Ashton’s chest and he chuckles, kissing her blond head. “Can mommy have it, please?”

Alouette holds her hand out, palm up. Penelope hesitates but when Ashton nudges her quietly telling her, ‘go on,’ she drops the small earpiece into her mother’s hand.

“Thank you. It’s time for cake, no more stealing little princess,” Alouette scolds but pokes her in the dimple, the same one that is present in her father.

Penelope smiles and the small family rise from the bench and make their way to the table where Rosa is. Alouette hands Luke his small equipment with an apologetic smile. Alouette’s grandmother and Pete are seated in one of the chairs, party hats on their heads. Flowers are scattered about the table and Neva is helping one of the little girls into her seat, the ring on her finger sparkles in the sun.

Alouette smiles at her when Michael comes up behind her, holding onto her waist and whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh. Not too long after the celebrations of the coronation and knighting, Neva and Michael got to talking and now they’re engaged to be married in just a few short months. They’re both Penelope’s godparents.

Neva looks up and smiles at Alouette while they take their place next to where Penelope will be seated in front of her cake. It’s a small one-layer cake with cloying white buttercream frosting and intricate flowers placed all over it. Luke and Calum join behind Ashton and Alouette who are kneeling behind Penelope in her chair.

Once the birthday song has been sung, Penelope digs right into the cake putting the piece she grabbed right in her mouth. Chocolate crumbs fall on her dress, the frosting smears on her nose which causes everyone to laugh. She looks to her left at Ashton’s smiling face then smears her little hand over his mouth.

“Mm, thank you my love,” he chuckles trying to lick off the treat. Penelope giggles then claps her hands, cake flies onto Alouette’s dress.

She laughs it off and looks to Ashton. He’s smiling back through his chocolate smile and grasps her hand in his. He leans over their daughter’s head to give her a sweet frosting kiss.

When cake is finished and Penelope is all cleaned up, she’s sitting on a blanket in Helene’s lap while Pete reads all the little kids a story. Helene brushes through Penelope’s hair gently as they listen to the story of a princess who fell madly in love with one of her royal guards.

“Do you think she knows this is about us?” Alouette asks Ashton. His arms are wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder as they listen to their own story which was a gift from Neva who had a friend that wrote children’s books.

“She will when she’s older,” he nods then interlocks their fingers together over her stomach. “I’ll tell her everyday how I let my guard down for her mother.”

“And I’ll tell her how I showed my heart for your eyes only.”

• • • •

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[thanzag]

a (not!fic) trial

please enjoy my rambling not-a-chapter summation (can we call it a summation if it’s 3k words?) of zagreus’ time in athens and the trial against the furies

fic masterlist here

CW for discussions of past abuse in this chapter, and i’ve got some notes at the end regarding it as well.

it takes zagreus about four more days to make it to athens. he definitely has his first real mortal contact by asking someone for directions, but he’s so amiable that it’s not really a big deal. to the mortal, anyway. he, personally, is thrilled to speak to another person. secretly, he’s starting to think that that delight isn’t going to go away any time soon. long periods of solitude do not suit him, he is discovering. no matter how much time he spent sulking in his rooms at the House, before

but anyway, he makes it to athens. has to stop and get more directions, though this time he is more confident in it. definitely passes the public baths somewhere along the way and yearns to give them a try. baths aren’t really a thing in the underworld! the blood of the river styx just wicks itself off of him every time he’s died, after all, and that’s the closest he ever gets to water.

he does make it to the areopagus, though, sometime after the sun’s highest point in the sky. he’s not sure what he was expecting, but to find Hermes and the person that must be Athena standing there, waiting for him — well. that was never in the cards.

‘cousin, it is good to see you,’ athena says when he approaches, meets him half way. hermes has already flown almost directly into him and wrapped him into an eager hug, which — hermes is just great, zagreus has decided.

‘and it is good to see you, Lady Athena’ he answers, taking a knee in front of her. she laughs, a little, at him.

‘that’s not necessary, zagreus. you are family, not a stranger. don’t forget that,’ and then she’s helping him back to his feet. ‘i got your message from hermes. we can have a trial by this time tomorrow, if it suits you.’

‘oh, i mean — that’s great! if. if it suits you? any time is fine, but as soon as possible would be ideal, i guess —’

hermes bumps his shoulder from his place at zagreus’ side, drawing his attention.

‘if it’s alright with you, boss, i could represent you in the trial. i mean, i think i know more about what you’re going through than any of the others, just by virtue of being down there so much!’

zagreus can’t keep the grateful smile off his face. he doesn’t know what being represented means or requires, but he is so thankful for hermes.

‘i’d really appreciate that, hermes. thank you.’

athena leaves shortly thereafter, citing a need to pull together the jurors for the trial. but not before she clasps him on the shoulder one last time and calls him cousin, again. just another reminder that he is, in fact, family to her. not related, but family.

hermes leaves not long after that, too, because someone has to take a message to the furies to let them know they’re being summoned for the trial. but now, standing alone on the top of this hill, in the (metaphorical) shadow of the acropolis, he does not feel quite so lonely as before.

zagreus ends up finding somewhere to camp out and rest — he doesn’t know enough about mortal customs to even think of asking to stay the night with someone, and i don’t know enough about ancient athens and their customs to know how they would take to a visitor. i’m assuming pretty well? like it’s something in the vein of the christian idea of ‘any stranger could be an angel in disguise’ kind of thing, but. this is not!fic for a reason, i didn’t want to try to look it up. i’ll be honest.

anyway. zagreus, camping out for the night. despite the fact that he’s been roughing it for the last week and a half, a) being on the surface has given him opportunity for the most rest he’s had in months and b) sleeping in nature is GREAT to someone whose previous ideas of nature was, like. tartarus, and asphodel, and elysium. which is to say, not real nature. there’s no animals in the underworld! it’s just not the same.

i think that someone shows up, before the night is out. i’m spitballing, but it’s either hermes coming back, or thanatos making another showing. i’m on the fence. i’m thinking it’s thanatos, because — he promised, and hermes happened to run in to him when he was delivering his message to the furies, anyway.

so than appears, while zagreus is awake this time — he’s laid out on his back, looking at the stars. he’d be reading the codex if the light was better — achilles had a surprising lot to include on the surface world. there’s a part of zagreus that wonders if, maybe, achilles put it in just for him, for when he finally escaped.

but anyway. than appears, standing looming while zagreus is stretched out on his back with his arms beneath his head. he’s a visual picture of calm, though his mind is whirling. the idea of just — letting whatever is going to happen, happen, tomorrow, well. zagreus has never liked having a hands-off approach to his own fate. but athena and hermes are gone, so he’s just internalizing it.

‘what in the world are you doing, zag?’ than asks instead of saying hello, and zagreus turns his eyes from the stars to the god of death, who is in the middle of phasing his scythe into nonexistence.

‘looking at the stars, of course,’ he replies, and despite all his worry, he can’t help but smile. he sits up. ‘it’s good to see you, again,’ he says. makes as if he’s going to stand, but than just holds a hand out to him.

‘well, don’t let me interrupt your stargazing,’ than says, voice dry but with his lips quirking up into a little smile. he takes a seat of his own and, with zagreus watching him, lays out beside him on the ground. ‘how are you liking athens?’ he asks, as if this is a normal situation, and zagreus gives him a strange look before eventually giving up and laying back down. he turns his eyes to the stars again.

‘it’s alright. i mean, it’s beautiful. and the mortals are… interesting. people are so different as shades.’ he sighs. ‘i met with athena, and hermes. there will be a trial tomorrow.’

‘it’s okay to be nervous about it,’ than says, shifting a little on his back. ‘i’ve never seen a trial before, but i’m sure athena would talk you through it if you asked her.’

‘but what if i —’ zagreus huffs out a sigh. he doesn’t really want to talk about this, doesn’t want than to know how insecure he’s feeling about it, but — what other options does he have? he could talk to the thin air, later, but that won’t help him. ‘what if i’m not good enough, and they let the furies drag me back to the underworld?’

‘i can’t imagine that’s going to happen, zag.’ than shifts again, and now they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. ‘you’ve got two olympians on your side, not including any of the ones you’ve yet to meet. they had faith in you to escape, and you have to have faith in them to help keep you out, if it comes to it.’

‘you think it’s that easy?’

‘i didn’t say it was easy. just that you have to.’ than laughs, a little, but it’s something kind. ‘i guess you’re right,’ zagreus agrees after some time, and turns away from the sky to look at than. ‘we talk enough about me, though. how are you?’

‘i don’t think that’s true,’ than says, snorting. it doesn’t make any sense to zagreus, but than carries on anyway. ‘i’m good. busy, because ares’ war doesn’t show any sign of stopping, but these things happen.’ he shrugs. ‘i haven’t been back to the house much, but hypnos did ask me to tell you hello. and achilles says he’s very proud of you.’

something squeezes zagreus’ heart at that, and he rubs at his eyes with the palm of one hand. ‘i’m glad you’re here,’ is what he eventually says, when his eyes are no longer so wet. achilles is proud of him, and than is here.

i think that than (much like zagreus) does not actually know anything about constellations, but they lay there in silence (or mostly silence) for a long time before than announces that he has to go. this time, zagreus is already on board with a ‘proper farewell’, and is hugging than close and tight, for as long as he dares to, as soon as they’re both standing.

than tells him one last time to have faith, and then he’s — gone.

the trial is, of course, an Ordeal.

there are twelve mortal jurors, athena as judge, hermes representing zagreus, and the furies (mostly meg) representing themselves. in what counts as an audience are much of the rest of the pantheon — zeus and poseidon, hephaestus and aphrodite, hera and dionysus. ares is busy with the war, of course. apollo is, naturally, pulling the sun across the sky. artemis is tied up with something that no one can put name to, and the same applies to demeter.

the highlights of the trial, i think, are this —

the furies state that their call to Torment zagreus is because of filial betrayal, which is countered by hermes because of, you know, the verbal and emotional abuse. alecto pipes up and says that that behavior is normal for hades, that he treats everyone that way, and besides, zagreus deserves it, which REALLY wins her points with the jury. (it doesn’t. that’s sarcasm.)

athena asks, as softly and gravely as she has ever spoken, if he could share some of the abusive experience with the jury. hermes starts to rattle off things that just he has seen, in that fast-paced, nearly-tripping-over-his-words way, but zagreus puts a hand on his arm to stop him short.

‘i think it will mean more from me,’ zagreus says, and steps forward to address the jury and the furies and athena and half the pantheon.

zagreus talks about — everything that can come to mind, without really thinking about whether it benefits his case or not, because he’s out of his comfort zone, here.

he mentions the guilt trips that he puts cerberus in the middle of, as if it’s zagreus’ fault that the hound had been left ignored and to his own devices to tear up the house. he mentions the way that, if anything can be made into his fault, it is. he mentions the way that he is never even remotely treated as an equal — always as a child. and he has not been a child for a long time, had once upon a time held responsibilities in the house, but hades never talked to him the way he talked to megaera or thanatos or even hypnos, or achilles. was never once given an ounce of respect or even a begrudging moment of his time that was not laced with ‘why are you bothering me’ attitude. is that truly family? if it is, is that not its own filial betrayal, to treat someone bound to you by blood as if they are the scum upon the bottom of your shoe, for no reason other than existing?

aphrodite sniffles in the audience behind him when he does finally stop talking. meg is watching him, face steely except for her eyes, which are — softer than he’s ever seen them. though maybe that’s just a trick of the light — the sun can do so many things. tisiphone is standing at the back of the fury trio, quiet and watching, but alecto tries to jump in with an invective tirade that has meg putting her hand out to stop her. even the jurors are watching him with strange, pitying expressions.

but he doesn’t want pity. he wants to be free.

the jury goes to deliberate, and zagreus and hermes linger together while they wait. he wants to talk to meg, but of course he can’t talk to meg. she’s on the job, like this, and he doesn’t want that meg. and he doesn’t want to get her in trouble. hermes must see him looking, though, because he gets an elbow to the ribs for it.

‘you and the fury megaera, really?’ he asks. ‘that must make things quite complicated, huh?’

‘something like that,’ zagreus answers, but meg has turned her eyes to him at the sound of her name, and he looks away from her.

the olympians are talking, too, though athena stays separate from all of them, and none of them come down from the clouds zeus had pulled up for them to rest in. it’s a low murmur of voices, of voices that he’s familiar with and some that he doesn’t know, but the pity in their words is audible far beyond how their voices carry. he hates it, but he’s getting what he wants, so — he can’t complain.

the jury returns after some time, and things fall back into place, into silence. the olympians know better than to disrespect athena’s process, here.

the jurors rule in zagreus’ favor. it’s — so simple. it seems too easy. but the furies are told to lay off  his back, and (though zagreus doesn’t know this) they don’t get half the effort to soothe ruffled feathers as they did during orestes’ trial. probably because meg doesn’t push for it — because alecto is going to be pissed one way or the other, and tisiphone doesn’t really care since zagreus himself has not murdered anyone. it’s — unnervingly easy.

alecto leaves immediately, in a rage, and tisiphone makes her own way toward what must be the entrance to the underworld that is nearby. zagreus, through a complicated series of eyebrow movements and head gestures, gets meg to meet him alone.

‘meg, i —’he stops, tongue-tied. she doesn’t look mad, not like alecto, but she’s not happy, either.

‘what, zagreus.’ there’s a strange tone to her voice.

‘meg, i can’t thank you enough for — for helping me like this. i know you never pulled your punches when we fought, but this is… different.’

‘tch. maybe i shouldn’t have.’ as a sentiment, it’s not one he was expecting.

‘what? why! i thought you’d be happy you didn’t have to stand miserable guard in tartarus with your sisters anymore.’

‘you realize we aren’t going to see each other again after this, right, zagreus? it’s not like i’m thanatos, who can just leave the underworld at will to come see you.’ she scoffs in disgust, whether with herself or him he doesn’t know, and crosses her arms.

‘i’m… i’m sorry, meg. you know i had to do this.’

‘i know, i know, you need to find your mother.’ it sounds like she’s brushing him off, but it doesn’t feel like it. no one is ever going to understand his need to find persephone, and he’s starting to realize that. no one else feels adrift like he does.

‘it’s not just about that,  meg. i mean… if someone talked to you — if i talked to you or treated you the way that my father treats me, what would you do?’

‘hmpjh. you wouldn’t live through it.’ she’s at least looking at him again, though, which is a win of its own.

‘right. exactly. and i — may not agree with everyone that called it abuse, but i… i’ve been alone for the most part for the last week and a half, up here, and i’m happier than i’ve ever been. and it’s not because of the fresh air and the sunlight, meg.’

he sighs when she doesn’t say anything, and reaches out to touch her arm, her wrist. that she doesn’t flinch away is its own win. ‘i care about you, meg, and i’m going to miss you. and i’m sorry that you — you’re going to miss me, too.’

she makes defensive noises that amount to ‘as if,’ but she drops her whip to the ground and curls her hand around the wrist of the hand that’s touching her. her fingers are cool and a little rough. her bright-pink lips are a wry smile.

‘you’re really doing this, aren’t you?’ she asks, touching him and looking at him in such a weighted way that it settles, like a warm weight, on his shoulders.

‘i think it’s too late to go back, now, isn’t it?’ he answers, and she laughs. he knows now that her expression before, during the trial, wasn’t a trick of the light. her eyes are damp. so are his.

‘good luck, zagreus,’ she tells him. ‘maybe you’re the god of stubbornness, but i don’t think anyone else will be able to do it if you can’t.’

‘thank you, meg. if you do end up on the surface and ever want to find me —’ she shakes her head, and he thinks a tear might track its way down her face.

‘don’t count on it.’ she squeezes his wrist, once, and then pulls away. ‘i’ve got to go.’

zagreus watches her leave, fluttering up into the sky. when he turns his gaze back to the ground, her whip is still there, coiled on the ground. he picks it up and tucks it into his tunic, and hopes that she won’t be too angry when she realizes she left it.

NOTES so, zag’s descriptions of his experiences in hades’ house come from conversations from the game itself, but i also projected hard onto this scene and a lot of my headcanons everywhere else, too. the same thing goes for zag’s idea of -- that what happened to him doesn’t count as ‘abuse’. it took me years to realize that being afraid when someone passive aggressively folds socks in your direction, or does paperwork in your direction, for zag, is not normal. and i don’t think zagreus reacts to these things with fear -- i don’t think at any point he’s really shown fear of hades, and this is where he and i are different. he’s going to get mad before he gets upset, IMO.

but. anyway. before i accidentally ramble another thousand words in the AN, i just wanted to say that -- not all of my descriptions come from canon, here, but the ones that don’t are from my own, literal experiences.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

(Vol. XXII)

It was a love story from the very beginning.

Worry about you

(6x15/6x17/6x19)

Hi my friends! Today I want to talk with seriousness about one of the most hilarious episodes from season 6. And because it was written by Ben Edlund, there's juicy Destiel elements there. I will talk too about episode 18 and 19, near to the end, because I will take some points from those too.

I want to give thanks to my friend @agusvedder , she made the gifs for this meta! Love ya girl!

Ok, let's start this volume...

Balthazar calling Cas as Cassie

When 6x15 "The French Mistake" starts, Balthazar appears in Bobby's house, moving fast as Cas did in 6x03, appearing and dissapearing the whole time looking for things to use in a spell... In the middle of that loud scene, this dialogue is developed...

BALTHAZAR: Raphael is after us all. You see, he's consolidated his strength. And now he's on the move.

SAM: And where's Cas?

BALTHAZAR: Oh, Cassie? He is deep, deep underground. So, good old Raffy put out a hit list on every last Samaritan who helped our dear Cas – Including both of you. And so much more importantly, me. See, he wants to draw Cas out in the open.

First of all I want to say, each episode written by Edlund, shows us DEAN AND CAS ARE IN LOVE, each one of them. The man knew what he was doing writing their relationship as romantic. So, I would say... This wasn't the exception... Why Balthazar would name Cas as Cassie (Dean's first love?) Balthazar doesn't know that, but we do, the spectators.

Dean exaggeratedly eye fucking Misha/Cas

One of the most hilarious scenes was this one here ...

Dean playing to be Jensen playing to be Dean, and the eye fucking. Delightful, just because Dean knows Cas and him do that thing the whole time. So, he plays his role, but because Dean is an awful actor, that's the result.

Pretty interesting Dean is aware of it... Just saying.

Dean starts to worry about Cas

By the end of the episode, Raphael find the boys and Balthazar, but Cas makes his apparition. But why on Earth the camera just took Dean's facial reaction to what Cas was saying and doing?

That's fear and concern in Dean's face... He is maybe seeing things are not good... And he's worry because CAS doesn't tell him the whole thing...

CASTIEL It was Balthazar's plan. I would have done the same thing.

Castiel is in soldier mode these words made Dean be a little mad at him...

DEAN That's not comforting, Cas.

He would expect something different from his friend, like maybe, some kind of protection, and not be used as bait. So here Dean is feeling a little disappointed.

CASTIEL When will I be able to make you understand? If I lose against Raphael, we all lose. Everything.

Edlund is pointing one of the excuses for Castiel taking this kind of decisions and positions. Castiel needs desperately to win against Raphael, and he's willing to everything to fulfill that mission. Even lie to the Winchesters and work with Crowley.

DEAN Yeah, Cas. We know the stakes. That's about all you've told us!

CASTIEL I'm sorry about all this. I'll explain when I can.

Cas would love to count with them and not lie them, but he's at war.

DEAN Friggin' angels.

Edlund's Dean quote each time an angel surprisingly vanish in front of him 🤣

Jealous!Dean attacks again

In episode 6x17 "My heart will go on"

When Fate is attempting to kill Dean and Sam

In that abbandoned restaurante, i noticed something interesting. Remember I mention the colored codification started in this season? Well... We have another Destiel Coded Colored foreshadow. The burner knobs were colored in BLUE and RED, representing Dean and Cas, but toxic, angry Dean. And the whole place exploded... So... What a big and huge foreshadow for the settlement of the bid Destiel fight and break up in the following episodes, isn't?

But we're here to talk about Jealous! Dean, because we love it.

When Cas saves the boys from that explosion, this was part of the talk...

DEAN So we've pissed fate off personally.

CASTIEL If I know her – and I do – she won't stop until you're dead.

DEAN  Awesome. So what do we do?

CASTIEL Kill her.

SAM Kill fate?

CASTIEL Do you have another suggestion?

SAM No, I'm – I just mean, uh...Can you even do that?

CASTIEL Balthazar has a weapon that will work against her.

DEAN Of course he does. Yeah. Boy, that guy's just got it covered, doesn't he?You need new friends, Cas.

Do you notice the shade of jealousy here?? And then...

The dialogue between Fate and Cas showed us again how desperately was Castiel to win the war. And Balthazar was working for him. We see more about how CAS is getting into the dark side for the biggest purpose.

But even so, they showed us too, he's worry about Sam and Dean safety.

By the end of the episode, we had another dialogue between Castiel and the boys...

And Cas lies to Dean...

And then Dean makes a bad joke, and Cas dissapears again.

DEAN I'll tell you one thing about Cas, he does not appreciate the finer things.

Dean says this because isn't the first time he makes a joke and Cas vanishes. But I wonder if is related to Castiel feeling a little bit offended, and you'll know what I mean in the next point...

Dean mocking CAS, just because he enjoys it

In episode 6x19 "Mommy Dearest" we can see how since this scene happened...

So, Cas feel offended, and Sammy pointed that to Dean. Dean gets a little surprised, but...I'm sure this was very enjoyable for him, because then he'll mock him again.

Also... I want to mark here something... If Cas was able to dissapeard by flying here, I'm sure he may do it. Because... I recall that scene in the car in season 5 (last episode) when Dean mocked him about not having sense of humor, he vanished then. And the we had the Kate Winslet's breast joke, and now this one... So...

We had this one here...

Again mentioning babies, because he knows Cas got mad about that, and he repeats the action. He's enjoying it, for sure.

But we will have a sweet Innocent comment, I just wanted to share...

The thing here is the sexual innuendos in this episode, firs the famous "Cas get out of my ass!" And now this one here, so funny the double meaning... And Dean's gay panic face 🤣🤣🤣😏.

Castiel is worried about Dean

This episode showed us too, Cas in his soldier mode, can see things the boys can't. Like those little kids in that police station.

Castiel and Dean fought because CAS wasn't agreed with them in driving those kids to their home.

CAS: Dean, Dean. Millions of lives are at stakes here, not just two. Stay focused.

Castiel in soldier mode, trying to make Dean to understand the danger in his decision, but it was late, because Sam and Dean saw in those kids themselves.

DEAN: Are you kidding?

CAS: There's a greater purpose here.

Castiel's excuse to do the things he's doing.

DEAN: You know what, I-I'm getting a little sick and tired of the greater purposes, okay? I think what I'd like to do now is save a couple of kids. If you don't mind. We'll catch up. Okay guys, let's go. C'mon. (Dean walks out. Joe, Ryan and Sam follow.)

Cas and Dean are in different pages, Cas is cold minded, first killing Lenore as it was nothing, then torturing the sheriff, and now... Because he's feeling worry about Sam and Dean...

But we know he already fix this sending Crowley.

Another thing is, when Eve attacks Dean, the only one calling his name in despair was CAS...

But when he had to heal him, he took his time, studying Eve's dead body on the ground... He was worried there... Because it supposed that monster should be alive to find Purgatory...

But then Sam reminded him Dean was hurt. So he approached him, and the way he heals him caught my attention, he out his hand on Dean's shoulder... As if he wanted to say something... But he didn't. He just healed him. Maybe with a shade of relief Dean was ok...

Just an addition...NUMBER 25

Ok, the number 25 was mentioned a couple of times in this episode. It was the age of the patient that died and the address in which Eve was.

So... What does this number means? It represents the Argonaut in the arcana. The Argonaut is a Greek hero (it could be Cas) but it also represents in numerology the number 7 that means the inner war to choose the right path and the impulsiveness as a dangerous way to make the wrong decisions... It sound familiar, isn't?

To Conclude

Dean was worried about Castiel because he saw how dangerous was Raphael.

Castiel is between his soldier duty and the love he has for the Winchesters. As we will see in the following metas, he's worried about their safety.

Dean enjoys mocking CAS, that's not news...

Jealous!Dean is delightful too...

Castiel lying to their friends for the biggest purpose, as his excuse. And his impulsiveness and desperation to win a war.

I hope you like this meta, I see you in the next Chronicle. 😘💞

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @koshisekisen @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @angelneedshunter @trickster-archangel @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @xsghn @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant

If you want to be tagged, please let me know.

If you want to read the previous season 6 metas, here the links...

Vol. XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXI

Buenos Aires, July 31st 2019 9:14 PM

[thescarletofarose]

The Consequences of His Actions

Chapter Seven

Adrien took long gulps from the water bottle in his hand, water strickling down the side of his mouth. He pulled away with a satisfied sigh and swiped his hand across his mouth. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Adrien turned and spotted Marinette sitting down on a bench across the park. She looked his way and seeing that she had been spotted, waved. Adrien smiled and returned the greeting. He turned back to his photographer, Vincent, who was inspecting the recently taken pictures. 

“What do you think?” Adrien asked.

Vincent rubbed his chin in thought, nodding as if agreeing with himself. His voice was serious when he responded, “Adrien, these photos are like watching a swan dive into the clear water for the first time on a hot day.”

Adrien scratched the back of his head, his brow scrunched in confusion. “I can never tell if you’re complimenting or critiquing me.”

Vincent spread his arms out wide, punctuating each work with an exaggerated flourish. “Graceful. Beautiful. Refreshing!”

Pink tinted Adrien’s cheeks. “Thank you. Will that be all for today?”

Vincent nodded his head, waving his hand absentmindedly, already invested in the next step of his career. Adrien said goodbye and made his way to Marinette. She was doodling in a journal when he arrived. She had not yet noticed his presence; all of her concentration on the drawing in her hands. Adrien snuck a peek over her shoulder and saw that it was an outfit: a pair pants, a striped shirt, and a beret to complete the look. 

“Another one of your designs?” He softly asked.

Marinette jumped up at the sound of his voice and the book flew from her hands. She juggled it in the air for a couple seconds before successfully catching it. 

“Adrien,” she exclaimed, her face bright red, “s-sorry, I didn’t see you there. All finished with the photoshoot?”

Adrien chuckled and picked up her pencil from the ground. “Yeah. Vincent seems pretty satisfied with the pictures he took today. I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”

“Not at all! I got here only a few minutes before you–” Marinette said, accepting the pencil. Their fingers slightly brushed together. The brief contact reminded both of them why they were there and the conversation from yesterday. Simultaneously, their faces reddened, “before you arrived.”

Marinette bit her lip and ducked her head as Adrien cleared his throat. A boisterous and joy-filled voice filled the air, reaching the ears of the two. Stationed across the park and drawing people from all over was the famous Parisian ice cream cart of Andre Glacier. Adrien glanced at Marinette, a smile spreading over his face. “Marinette, let’s get some ice cream from Andre.”

Marinette had the chance to nod her head before Adrien grabbed her hand and ran to the beloved vendor. They both stopped in front of the cart, and Andre greeted them warmly, his eyes crinkling.

“Marinette and Adrien, are you here to enjoy some of Andre’s ice cream today?” 

“Of course,” Marinette replied. “It’s the best ice cream in all of Paris.”

Andre turned around and immediately began scooping some ice cream, explaining the flavors as he moved. “Blackberry and peppermint, an explosive mix–that’s a fact. But often times, it’s the opposites that attract.”

Adrien accepted the ice cream, immediately taking a small bite. The flavors did indeed contrast, but like Andre said, they exploded with a delicious combination. He licked his lips. “It’s perfect.”

Marinette rubbed her cheek, feeling a familiar burn. They waved goodbye to Andre and walked over to a nearby bench. Adrien offered her the other spoon, and the two began to happily eat away at their desert. 

“Andre’s ice cream is the best,” Adrien said.

“It really is, and they say that it’s magical ice cream.” 

“I’ve heard that too.”

“Do you believe it’s magical?” Marinette asked quietly, scooping another bite.

Adrien looked at Marinette. She was nibbling on her spoon, unaware of his stare, and reclined back on one arm. The wind blew strands of hair into her face, and she unconsciously swiped them behind her ear. She turned for another bite and met Adrien’s gaze. His breath hitched, and a familiar voice sang in the back of his mind: blackberry for her hair and blueberry just like her sky blue stare. Adrien gulped and turned away, muttering, “I think so.”

Adrien suddenly felt the need to change the subject. “So,” he started, clearing his throat, “what’s your favorite color?”

Marinette giggled causing Adrien to quirk his eyebrow in bewilderment. Marinette saw his confusion and shook her head.

“Nothing. The question just caught me off guard.”

Adrien ran a hand threw his hair and jokingly asked, “Is it so strange to want to get to know someone?”

Marinette softly smiled. “Not at all. Pink. Are you a dog or cat person?”

“Cat.” Marinette made a face as she offered him the cone. Adrien chuckled and held up a hand in refusal. Marinette began nibbling on the dry wafer as he asked, “I’m guessing that you’re a dog person?”

“No,” Marinette said, shaking her head. She looked Adrien in the eye and said with complete seriousness, “I’m a hamster person.”

“That wasn’t even an option! If we’re going with favorites, sure, but you asked cat or dog.”

Marinette shrugged. “It can’t be helped.”

Adrien sighed and leaned back. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he asked, “Then can you at least tell me why both are so awful that you can’t even choose one?”

“They aren’t awful.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “Dogs are cute and loving, but I can’t see myself ever having one. Cats…”

Marinette stopped eating. An image of her black cat, crime-fighting partner flashed in her mind. His recent behavior towards her counterpart confused Marinette. Ever since Hawk Moth’s downfall things haven’t been smooth between them. Figuring Chat Noir was stressed about losing the Butterfly Miraculous as well, Marinette had wanted to talk to him about it after the attack from Ananta Haine, but he left before she could try. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt as if Chat Noir was blaming her. For what, she didn’t know. Marinette sighed and set the cone to the side. “Cats, I just don’t understand them.”

Adrien instantly picked up on Marinette’s mood change. She seemed to deflate and had a troubled expression. He gingerly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Marinette, are you okay?”

Marinette sat up, realizing she had gotten carried away with her thoughts. Embarrassed, she quickly stammers out, “Y-yeah, I was just… thinking… that yesterday sure was crazy, right?”

“It was definitely eventful.” 

“I’ve never seen Chloe act that way before,” Marinette carried on, relieved that he was going along with the subject change. “She clung to you and begged you to stay friends with her. Do you know why she did that?”

Adrien looked down at his hands. He knew exactly why, and it wasn’t just her. “Kagami too.”

“What?”

Adrien blushed, realizing he had said that out loud. “Er, nothing,” he covered, “I think Lila being akumatized was more of a shock. She appeared to be in a good mood when I left the classroom. Do you know what happened?”

Marinette nervously laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Really? I don’t recall. It all just happened so fast, you know?” 

Marinette bit her lip and looked away. She said softly, “Actually, that’s a lie. I do know because… I’m the reason.”

Marinette paused, waiting for Adrien to express shock or anger. He didn’t say anything, allowing her to collect her thoughts. Adrien knew Lila and Marinette didn’t get along, so he patiently waited for her to continue, knowing that saying anything would just put her on the defense.

“Lila,” Marinette resumed, “like everyone else, knew you’re hurting. However, she seemed to think she could take advantage of that to climb higher in society. Something about your image.”

Adrien stiffened, realizing that Lila had been talking about the same thing as his mother. A ball formed in his stomach as it occurred to him that other people might approach him for the same reason. There were only a few options an influential like his could take, so naturally anyone would take the chance.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of her talking about you like that.”

Adrien blinked. Marinette’s hand were clenched and though she was looking down, he could clearly see the frustration on her face.

“You’re a human being too,” she said. The anger she felt from her conversation with Lila returned, and she could feel tears prick at the corner of her eyes, “and you’re in pain. For someone to want to take advantage of that is just wrong!”

The ball in Adrien’s stomach instantly dissipated as he pulled Marinette into a hug. She squeaked in surprise as his arms wrapped her in a warm embrace. Adrien held her tight, overwhelmed with an emotion he could only describe as appreciation. Her genuine kindness seemed reached into his soul and instantly soothed him, making him forget about all of his problems. Marinette was gentle, honest, and trusting. Being around her left him refreshed and happy. To him, she was a dear friend that he neve wanted to lose. Adrien frowned. No, that wasn’t right. To him, Marinette was– 

“A-adrien?”

Marinette’s timid voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and reality and reason slammed into him. Adrien pushed her back and turned away, unable to look her in the eyes at the moment. His face was hot, and he knew it was at its reddest. 

“S-sorry,” he forced out.

Marinette shook her head, not sure how to respond to the sudden embrace. Her heart was racing and her mind was rejoicing, but her body could only sit there in stunned silence. Adrien glanced back, worried as to why she hadn’t responded. They made eye contact and Marinette blurted out, “I liked it!”

Silence filled the air, and the two became acutely aware of the public around them. A gust of wind blew and kicked up fallen leaves. A child ran holding the string to a kite, screaming in innocent delight. Adrien and Marinette stared at each other, unsure on the best way to proceed. Adrien gulped. “Um, we should–”

“Yes?”

“We should continue.”

Marinette made a strangled noise, and her face turned crimson.

“The questions,” Adrien said quickly, mentally kicking himself. “We should continue the questions.”

Marinette nodded, her mind racing to think of something to ask. Her eyes searched around her, looking for anything that could spur them away from the silence. Her gaze landed on the kid that had run by and traveled up to their parent. 

“Adult,” she said, her brain working to force complete sentences. “What do you want to do after school?”

Adrien took a moment before answering, pondering her question. His cheeks still burned, but they were slowly cooling off as he focused. Finally he admitted, “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Really? Is it you just don’t know yet?”

Adrien shook his head, a frown gradually forming along his brow. “Father always had me in modelling, so I’ve just assumed that’s what I would do.”

Marinette spoke slow, carefully choosing her words, “Now that your father is… no longer able to… keep you in modelling, you now have the opportunity to think about what you want to do for yourself.”

Adrien soaked in her words. She was right. He now had the freedom to pursue a passion. As long as it didn’t hurt his family’s image, his mother shouldn’t disapprove. A bitter taste developed in his mouth. “I guess that’s something to think about now.”

Marinette was suddenly reminded of how fresh everything was as Adrien’s conduct made it easy to forget. If she wasn’t Ladybug, it would be easy to forget that there was a new threat. Despite the news broadcast about Ananta Haine, the civilians seemed to have returned to their everyday lives (whether it was for obliviousness or just out of desire for a moment of security). Marinette bit her lip. Most people anyways. After losing his father, Adrien Agreste has barely shown his emotions towards the situation. He’s remained calm and collected if not slightly more reserved. 

Marinette reached out, her heart clenching at the thought of how much pain he was repressing, but caught herself before she could grab his hand. She clenched her hand. “Adrien?”

“Yes?” Adrien pulled himself from his thoughts and looked at Marinette. Her eyes were big and sorrowful. 

“A-are you okay?” Marinette asked, scared she was overstepping a line. However she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try and reach out to him. “It’s only been three days since… your father was arrested.”

Adrien visibly stiffened but didn’t say anything. Marinette continued, “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. I-it’s okay to grieve or get angry...”

Marinette strailled off as they both thought back to the night of Hawk Moth’s downfall on the rooftop. Chat Noir’s words hung between them like a wall neither aware was there. 

Adrien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.” He glanced over at Marinette. “But when I do, I’ll be sure to come to you.”

They shared a brief smile before Adrien straightened up. “Right,” he said, “I know you want to be a fashion designer, but what are your plans?”

“I guess just hope to impress someone enough with my designs to get a shot,” Marinette said lightly swinging her feet. “I’ve designed for Jagged Stone, but I don’t know if it will be enough. Alya seems to think that I should start a blog advertising my work.”

Adrien nodded, thinking about his own connections. “That would definitely be helpful. My mother is an actress, so she’s worked on sets with different costume designers. I could see if she can give me a name or two, if you want?”

Marinette beamed up at Adrien, and he absentmindedly put his hand to his chest. 

“That would be amazing! If you did that, I would love you forever.” Marinette blushed slightly and threw her hands up. “Not that I don’t already love you. I mean, I don’t love you. What? Why would I love you? That would just be…”

Marinette nervously laughed as she trailed off before clearing her throat. “I would appreciate that.”

“Oh!” Marinette exclaimed, remembering a past event. “I just remembered that my parents once catered for a movie set.”

“Really? That’s pretty cool, Marinette. Do you know which movie?”

“Unfortunately no. I wasn’t able to go since I was busy with school, and I’ve long since forgotten the name.”

“That’s too bad,” Adrien said. “Speaking of your parents. If you don’t mind me asking, how are they doing? Saturdays must be a busy time for them.”

“They’re doing great. Saturdays are always busy, but we handle them pretty well.” Marinette checked her phone. “Though I should probably go. It’s getting close to rush time.”

Adrien frowned as he stood up. Offering her his hand, he said, “I hope taking you away from them on such a busy day isn’t causing them stress. Can I give you a ride home?”

“I would like that,” Marinette gladly accepted. “However, I wouldn’t worry. I usually get mornings or evenings to myself before helping.”

As the two began walking towards the Agreste car, Marinette pondered aloud, “Now that I think about it, my mother did seem really tired. Last night she even broke a coffee mug, so it’s probably best that I return. It’ll be good for her to get a break.”

“Let’s get you home then. “ Adrien opened the door with a small bow. He said with a smile, “After you.”

Marinette giggled and curtsied before hopping in. They rode the short distance to the bakery in enthusiastic conversation and short bouts of giggles.

“I didn’t know you were such a troublemaker when you were young,” Marinette said after catching her breath. “Though if I had a cousin that looked just like me, I would have probably done the same.”

Adrien smiled fondly at the memory. “Telling you the story makes me miss him and the fun we had. I hope he comes to visit again soon.”

The car stopped and Adrien got out to open the door for Marinette. They stood in front of the entrance, neither wanting to really leave. Marinette brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I had a lot of fun today.”

“I did too.”

“I guess I should head inside.” Marinette gave a small wave and turned to leave. 

“Wait.”

Marinette turned back around as Adrien walked up and gently took her hand. It was small and easily fit in his “Thank you,” he started, “for standing by me, talking to me, all of it. I really appreciate what you’ve done. I appreciate you.”

A blush dusted Marinette’s cheeks, and she softly responded, “I’m just glad I could help.”

“I’ll see you around, Marinette.” Adrien squeezed her hand before leaving. Marinette watched until his car was out of sight, cradling her hand against her heart.

The door dinged her arrival. Her father was behind the counter covered in flour, moving back and forth with various pastries. He looked up when she entered and smiled in relief. 

“Marinette,” he said, “I’m so glad you’re back. I need you help. We have many togo orders that need to be completed, and I’m really behind schedule.”

“Of course, papa,” Marinette said, immediately picking up an apron. “Is maman upstairs?”

Tom balanced two trays on one hand as he maneuvered a third from the oven. “Your mother isn’t here.”

Marinette frowned and took one of the trays out of his hands. “Where is she?”

“She said she had an order she needed to fix, but that was before I opened the bakery.”

Tom finally cleared his hands and took a deep breath. He looked at his daughter. His eyes were tired and full of concern. “She should have been back by now.”

Marinette picked up two piping bags and handed one to her father. “Let’s finish this work first, and then we’ll try to call her. I’m sure she’s fine, papa.”

[aion-rsa]

Scream Spoiler-Free Review: Not Our Favorite Scary Movie

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“What’s your favorite scary movie?” an all-too-familiar voice (deployed once again by series stalwart Roger L. Jackson) intones on the phone to Tara Carpenter (Jenna Ortega), who’s cooking up some food in her kitchen when she picks up the ringing landline. But in a twist, Tara doesn’t rattle off “The Shining,” “Halloween,” or even “Stab,” the successful but now aging horror franchise based on the long string of murders in her own town of Woodsboro. No, Tara is a fan of “The Babadook,” “It Follows” and other examples of, she sniffs down the line, “elevated horror.”

A quarter century ago, Wes Craven’s original “Scream” might have been called “elevated horror” for its sly combination of slasher mayhem, genuine suspense and black comedy, not to mention its masterful running commentary on the horror genre and its tropes, delivered by the cast members themselves. And yet even back then, the success of “Scream” led to it being cannibalized into first one sequel, then a trilogy, then a fourth film a decade later, and now a fifth, another 10 years after “Scream 4.”

Much has changed in the horror genre since then, including the arrival of so-called “elevated horror” (which has always actually been there, even back in the day of the first “Scream”), the parallel concepts of reboots and legacy sequels, and the rise of toxic fandom. All these developments are dutifully addressed in “Scream,” the fifth entry in the series and the first not directed by Craven, who passed away in 2015.

Taking over behind the camera are Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett from the filmmaking collective known as Radio Silence, who delivered 2019’s witty and delightfully grisly “Ready or Not.” That film’s light touch would seem to make Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett prime candidates to helm a “Scream” movie, but while they provide a few tweaks and twists on the material, their jump scare-heavy direction of the script by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick is dutiful to the franchise formula to a fault, determined to elicit a few squeals of delight from well-serviced diehard fans but not much from the rest of us.

In one unusual move, the opening scene’s Tara survives her encounter with Ghostface, which draws her estranged older sister Sam (Melissa Barrera) back to town after several years, new boyfriend Richie (Jack Quaid) lovingly in tow and dark family secrets hanging over her head. Of course, all of them — including Tara’s local friends — know the history of Ghostface and the various killers that have inhabited the costume over the course of 25 years, but none of them seem particularly surprised that the Munch-masked murderer is back on the scene; they just need a refresher on the horror movie rules.

That handily comes from good old Dewey Riley (David Arquette), who’s remained in town all these years although his life has changed considerably. Arquette is perhaps the best part of this film, playing a man whose life has taken a turn toward irrelevance and who must admit to himself that he was born to do battle over and over with Ghostface. Arquette is as quirky as ever, but there’s an added poignancy to the role now that makes him a standout.

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Of course, he warns both Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) and Gail Weathers (Courteney Cox), both of whom have left town — and in Gail’s case, left her marriage to Dewey — in the decade since “Scream 4” to stay the hell away. And if the news of their breakup counts as a spoiler, well, that’s the only one you’ll get from this point on, aside from the fact that both Sidney and Gail will eventually show up as well for another confrontation with whoever’s donned the cowl this time.

There is some suspense for a while about who’s doing the Ghostface thing this time out, but those viewers with sharp eyes and ears should be able to figure it out pretty early on. That’s really the big problem with “Scream”: there’s a sense of going through the motions this time out, and even the trying-to-be-smart cultural and genre observations feel more forced than usual.

Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett add the expected heavy gore to the whole thing — this may be the most viciously violent entry in the series — and try to amp up the tension with a constant stream of fake scares, but they run out of ideas early on: there are so many shots of Ghostface either popping up behind a victim or emerging from behind a closing door or cabinet that one begins to wonder if the directors are actually parodying those shopworn moves (to be fair, in at least one scene, which takes place in and around a well-lit, sunny kitchen, that seems to be the case).

Arquette is a welcome presence, as mentioned above, as are Campbell and Weathers, but they’re not nearly as essential to the plot this time as, say, a couple of veteran webslingers who show up in a recently released superhero movie. The rest of the cast features a mix of both lesser known supporting “Scream” characters and new faces, many of which don’t survive, but the newbies in particular don’t make much of a lasting impression once the credits start rolling (and once they start, you can leave — no bonus scenes or table-setters for “Scream 6” attached to the end of this one).

It’s hard to truly dislike the new “Scream.” Even after telling the joke successfully in the 1996 original, Craven, screenwriter Kevin Williamson (and others), and a game rotation of actors managed to keep the sense of fun going through the next three movies, riffing on different aspects of horror, pop culture and celebrity status while still providing a compelling, sometimes scary narrative. There are flashes of that in 2022’s “Scream,” and the directors do manage to balance the film’s multiple tones nicely enough.

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As with recent legacy disappointments like “Halloween Kills” and “The Rise of Skywalker,” however, the movie seems more interested in fan service for its own sake than in truly mocking it as it might have once done. What was once subversive and meta is…still meta, but much more rote. It might have been elevated once, a long time ago, but now if we had to choose between “Scream” and, say, “The Babadook,” we know which one we’ll watch.

Scream opens in theaters this Friday (January 14).

The post Scream Spoiler-Free Review: Not Our Favorite Scary Movie appeared first on Den of Geek.

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