#forgive the boring arse title

[blistering-typhoons]

Still, he thinks, casting a look about the room. He might have slept better for having Holmes here with him.

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 2: Réponses Et Plus De Questions

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): threat, swearing

Word Count: 6.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, wasteland, baby by john1513 on AO3, Not of Us by ShesAKillerQueen98 on AO3, How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: Okay I took a bit of a hiatus from writing literally anything for about five months so sorry about that but I’m back now!! That’s the main thing. Also, I’ve left high school now which is very exciting! That does mean I’ll have so much more time to write and I’m definitely going to try and use this summer to establish some kind of routine for writing so that when I start college, I won’t get too overwhelmed with both my studies and with updating my fics. That’s the plan anyway so don’t hold me to that lmao. With any luck, now I’ve actually said that it’ll have to happen. (I wrote that part of this note back in May when it was the start of the summer. It is currently September and I’m just about to finally publish this chapter and I assure you, I am cringing at my own optimism.) Sorry this took so long to post. This chapter has been in the works since May (yes, I know I’m terrible) but I actually got a lot more writing done in that time that what you just see in this chapter. All will be revealed soon. I just promise that I have been productive. Once you’ve read this chapter, you have my blessing to translate the title of this fic. Hopefully it will make sense.

I just wanted to point out something about the playlist I linked in the previous chapter. I am well aware that there are some rather problematic people in it, namely Sia. I want you all to know that I don’t support her in any way (I don’t like her at all I think she’s a complete ableist twat). Her songs are only on there because of how well they fit with the story (a lot of this will become clearer as the story goes on).

I also wanted to point out that I know that if angels do exist, then their true forms probably wouldn’t look anything like humans. I’m well aware of that, I’m not an idiot, I don’t know if any of you remember when people started googling ‘angel true form’ and some people got scared lmao. The point is, we’ve all seen the pictures. But for the purpose of this story, and honestly just to make it easier for me to describe what the characters are doing, we’re going to have to pretend that they did look like humans. Can I claim creative license with this one? Maybe it got lost in translation because there is probably no way someone could describe how an angel truly looks in any human language? I don’t know, just roll with it.I know that this chapter had so much exposition and explanation in it but I can promise you two things. One, there is still much to be revealed. Two, I promise this isn’t just bad writing on my part. Just trust that I needed to put this all in this early on.

And how is everyone doing after the season 2 announcement? I mean, at the time of writing this specific part of my notes, it only got announced about an hour ago lmao. I’m very fucking excited, oh my god. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I found out I can’t lie. Catch me trying to finish this before it comes out in case things occur which means I have to change things in this story. I can’t be arsed for that. Oh well. Hopefully it’ll read like those Sherlock fics that people wrote in between series 2 and series 3 if that doesn’t happen.

Taglist: @briarrose26​

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Hermit (upright) + Five of Wands (upright)

Conflict. Reflection. Resurfacing memories.

************

Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

We know who our enemies are. We know.

– Richard Siken (Detail of the Fire)

************

“Fuck.”

The angel and demon exchanged glances of what could only be described as thinly veiled panic, while the woman in front of them just looked annoyed at the most.

“They couldn’t wait five minutes, could they?” she muttered, pinching at the bridge of her nose in frustration before standing up again, “Look, just stay down here, I’m gonna go sort this out. With any luck they won’t have actually realised you’re here too.”

“Wait, how do you know they’re here for you?” Crowley asked, suddenly curious as to what business Eloise might have with Heaven.

“Just a gut feeling,” she said before making her way to the spiral staircase behind them, muttering to herself, “If they were here for you, I feel like they would have at least used the front door.”

The other two waited until she’d run upstairs before exchanging a quick glance, an unspoken word, and following her up.

Meanwhile, Eloise was hovering outside a room at the end of the corridor which she could only assume was the bedroom. She was strangely hesitant, not out of fear of them, simply out of fear of the unknown. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in that room for millennia, and something told her that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. She took a deep breath, even though she technically didn’t need it, letting a wave of faux confidence wash over her, and stepped inside. Don’t crumble now. You’ve come too far to crumble now.

“Ah, Mariel, long time no see,” Gabriel smiled coldly, brushing the dust off his white suit. Flanked by two other angels, he stood in the wreckage of the bedroom without even acknowledging the damage they must have caused when they crashed in. Beside him were Beelzebub and Hastur, who both looked as though they had been dragged kicking and screaming to come here. Beelzebub in particular kept shooting metaphorical daggers at Gabriel, who remained perfectly oblivious. The entire ceiling had caved in from the impact of their crash, the setting sun painting the doorway where Eloise stood in a pale gold and casting a dark shadow over the others.

She’d grimaced at the use of her old name; it was too unfamiliar, too ancient. Mariel was the name of a long-dead version of herself. Once upon a time, she’d embraced it, but that was once upon a time. Once upon a time long gone.

“Almost like I’ve been avoiding you on purpose,” she muttered, leaning against the doorway as she stared intrusively at each person in the room, observing, assessing. She silently revelled in the blatant discomfort in each of their faces.

“No need to be so rude,” Gabriel said, doing anything to avoid her eyes, his previous confident façade now shattered.

Eloise stared at him in disbelief, “What exactly were you expecting? A fucking welcome party? I haven’t seen any of you in over six thousand years and you just crash through the roof of my house, unannounced and uninvited, so yeah, forgive me for being a little irritated.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. She’d barely been in Aziraphale’s bookshop for fifteen minutes and she was already pretending she owned it.

She watched smugly as he squirmed under her gaze, desperately looking to the others to say something in response. A moment or two passed before Beelzebub’s head suddenly snapped up in confusion, “Are you alone?”

Shit. She’d hoped that they wouldn’t have noticed the presence of the two who were definitely not downstairs like she’d asked. She swallowed, trying not to let any kind of emotion show on her face, trying not to give the game up that quickly, “Yeah, I live on my own.” She watched the whole group of them squint in concentration, trying to sense any other beings in the house. She sighed, changing the subject before they could comment on it any further, “Look, what do you want? I don’t have all day so if you could make it quick then that would be much appreciated.”

Gabriel looked back at her, his suave exterior unfortunately making a return, “Hey, we just wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doing-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she snapped. She pushed herself off from the doorway, stalking towards the others, “You have had six thousand years to ‘check up on me’, don’t pretend you’ve only started to care now.”

She was met with only silence as Gabriel and Beelzebub glanced at each other awkwardly, looking very much like chastised children. Suddenly the latter groaned and cried, “You can’t just leave Hell!”

“Oh, here we go,” Eloise muttered, rolling her eyes, bored already.

“You can’t! You Fell from Heaven, so you go to Hell, there isn’t a third option!”

“Well, apparently there is,” she shrugged.

“No there isn’t!” they argued, face screwed up like a petulant child.

“Then what do you call this then?” she asked, unfolding her wings for the second time that day. She studied their reactions closely, scrutinising coal-black eyes piercing through their very souls. She was searching for any hint of shock, of recognition, of anything that could clue her in as to what was going on in their heads at that moment. All she could find, however, was pure, unadulterated confusion. Which was annoying when her wings were supposed to be an answer to their unasked questions.

Gabriel stumbled over his words, “Good Lord, how did you even-”

Eloise cut him off curtly, no longer having the patience to listen to his incoherent mumbles. She instead turned to Beelzebub who at least had the decency to look a little more composed, “That would be what you could sense then. I’ve got both Heaven and Hell in me, that’s a lot of energy to pick up on.” She stared right through them, daring them to say anything else.

“Must be,” they replied slowly, though they didn’t look at all convinced.

Gabriel held up a hand, his eyes darting about as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, “No hold on, how did you even manage that?”

“I left Hell,” Eloise said simply, “Why should I have black wings? I’m not some demon who ran away from everything. I left. Permanently. I looked Hell in the eye and walked away. You know what? Fuck it, I looked Satan in the eyes and walked away.”

“You what?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, you heard me. You have a problem with me leaving Hell then go on! Take that up with the bloody devil,” she said, staring them down, daring them to retaliate. She smirked when she was met with pure, uncomfortable silence, “Except you won’t, will you? Because you don’t actually give two fucks about me. Just like I said, if you did then you would have chased me up a long time ago. Quite frankly, I think you must have been glad to have me out of your hair,” she sighed, half sad, half amused when they couldn’t even meet her eye. She paused for a moment, wondering how far she could push this, before asking, “You know what I think is really going on here? I think the pair of you are feeling a bit bruised after the absolute shitshow that was Armageddon last year, which, by the way, fucking hilarious. I think your egos are feeling a little sore after a literal child stopped you from ending the world, so you’re thinking ‘hmm, what would be an easy win so that we don’t feel like total shit? Oh yeah, what about that demon who ran away all that time ago? That should be easy to sort out.’. Well, love to disappoint, but you’re not getting me that easily, especially when not a single one of us actually wants me back, and Sandalphon, take one more step further I swear I will dropkick you back to Heaven,” she snapped, glaring at the angel who had been menacingly inching closer while she had been talking. He reluctantly stepped back alongside Gabriel, looking a little more than miffed that his plan hadn’t worked out. “You really want me back? Get your bosses to talk to me because I don’t actually see why it’s any of your business. No middle men. Just God, Satan and me. I’ll see what they have to say about all this. Questions?” she asked, tone snapping from one extreme to another, almost as if she had just been possessed.

Gabriel stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish, “You can’t just boss us around like that.”

“What? Like how you bossed us around all those years?” she replied without missing a beat, real rage, real danger seeping into her voice now, “I think we’re done here.”

“But-”

“I said, I think we’re done here,” she said, leaving no room for arguments. She gestured to the sorry excuse for a room around them, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Why can’t you do it? You can miracle things too,” Gabriel said, desperate for any kind of leverage over Eloise.

“You’re right, I could, but I didn’t make this mess, and I personally believe that you should face the consequences of your actions, Gabriel,” she said pointedly, watching as he visibly gulped. In a matter of seconds, the room was restored to its original state and Eloise was left alone in the room, no indicators that she was ever with any other people remaining.

She sighed and all but collapsed into a chair that may or may not have existed a few moments ago, confident façade shattered completely. She breathed heavily in exhaustion, as if she’d just run a marathon; she supposed she had just run a mental one. Her emotions were bugging her to no end. It was strange. She wasn’t scared, per se. There was very little that Gabriel or Beelzebub could do to her that would frighten her anymore. She tried her best to compose herself, writing off the tsunami inside her mind as just plain old adrenaline, before calling out, “You can come in now. I know you guys are outside, it’s okay, you can come in.”

Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the room, one looking considerably more sheepish than the other. Aziraphale perched awkwardly on the freshly reconstructed bed, “We’re sorry–”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, we’re not.”

Eloise and Crowley exchanged a glance, amused looks on both of their faces while Aziraphale simply looked distressed. Eloise turned back to him and smiled sympathetically, “I told you, it’s fine. I would have done the same,” she admitted, looking away before collecting herself once again, “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Crowley muttered as he took a seat beside Aziraphale, although it was a very loose definition of ‘taking a seat’.

Aziraphale glared at him while Eloise just sighed and reluctantly said, “I think it might be better if I just show you.”

Crowley cocked his head in confusion, “Show us what?”

She brought her chair closer to the edge of the bed and put out her hands, “Take my hands. Brace yourselves.”

Mariel was standing before a crowd of angels, dozens upon dozens of disgusted faces staring right at her. She couldn’t quite remember getting there. She had been in the pitch-dark holding cell and the next thing she knew, she was here. Blinding white light surrounded them, harshly illuminating her vulnerabilities before all of Heaven. She tried her best to keep her chin up even though she absolutely hated the fact that they could see the bruises from when she had been arrested that were now blooming on her face. She frowned as she noticed the lack of measures preventing her from escaping. All that was keeping her there was Gabriel’s presence at her side, cold violet eyes pointedly ignoring her. He really was an arrogant bastard for assuming that she wouldn’t even try to make a run for it. Just because he was right this one time, it didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have come prepared. Mariel sighed and looked up at the angels staring down at her. Michael was sat higher than everyone in the centre of the crowd, face void of all emotion as she said, “The Principality Mariel. You’re on trial today for betraying the will of the Almighty, rebelling against all that is good and light in the universe...”

Mariel blocked the rest of her pretentious speech out as she droned on about all the awful things she’d supposedly done to deserve this. It was all lies anyway. She knew the real reason she was here. There were a few things that stood out to her despite it all, things that nearly made her laugh. She’d known that they’d needed to conjure up some reasons for condemning her, but this was just ridiculous. Gabriel really had gone to extraordinary yet desperate lengths to slander her in her final moments in this Someone-forsaken place. She was surprised that the angels gathered to watch her downfall believed a word of this. She tried her best not to resent them, though. It wasn’t like they had anything better to believe in. Especially considering the amused smirk that had crept its way onto her face.

She returns to reality just in time to hear Michael ask, “What do you have to say to defend yourself?”

“I’ve done nothing I need to defend,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself than it already is,” Gabriel muttered dangerously from where he stood beside her.

Mariel turned to look at him in disbelief. “How the fuck could this get any worse, Gabriel?” she hissed, fury flaring up in her eyes.

He just looked back at her condescendingly, “Do you really need me to answer that?”

She pointedly refused to reply, turning back to face Michael, determined to ignore him.

The next part goes past in a blur for Mariel. Michael speaks again, though she doesn’t listen. Then suddenly there are shouts of anger, screams of rage, coming from the gathered crowd. They spit with venom as they hurl insults at her. She doesn’t hear a word. It’s as though her head is under water, completely submerged in the stone cold anger that seeps through her body, and suddenly Mariel is drowning in the realisation that this is really happening, oh God this is really happening.

Why? Why is this happening to me? You listening, God? Look me in the eye and tell me why this is happening.

She doesn’t get an answer, and though she wasn’t expecting one, it still hurts. Because she knows that she’ll never get an answer from Her again now.

Eventually she feels a tug on her arm from where Gabriel has been standing, dragging her away from the crowd and out her of current state of mind. She could feel her senses coming back to her as she stumbled backwards, but everything was crashing down on her too quickly, too harshly. She did her best to shove the rising panic as deep down insider her as she could. There was no way she would let anyone here see her in that state. She couldn’t let them think they’d won.

She didn’t even realise she had reached the edge of the ground she was standing on, the edge of Heaven itself, Gabriel no longer grabbing her arm. She nearly found herself peering over the edge, but stopped herself before she could lean too far. It may have helped her in the past but now was not the time to give in to her curiosity. And she didn’t trust Gabriel to not push her the moment he had the chance. She turned her head to glare fiercely at him, piercing holes in his very soul. She could slowly feel her anxiety being replaced by cool rage as she found herself saying, “Any institution that tries to silence anyone who opposes them is inherently corrupt.” She stared knowingly at his discomfort as he forced himself to face her. He knew what she meant by that. He knew.

He took a second to compose himself before practically scoffing in her face, “Don’t preach at me.”

Mariel cocked her head as she studied him. She watched as his eyes subconsciously flicked back to the crowd, to the other Archangels. He blatantly wanted nothing more than to re-join his fellow angels, the only beings who understood why he was doing what he was doing, or were at least supposed to understand anyway. Somehow she doubted they were all as cold-hearted and self-absorbed as the angel in front of her. She considered him for a moment before saying simply, “Your quest for power will kill you in the end.”

He furrowed his brows in somewhat amused confusion, “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s the truth,” she blinked at him before leaning in and murmuring in his ear, “It will be your downfall.”

“The only one who’s going to Fall around here is you,” he said dangerously. Mariel leaned back and watched the lethal glimmer in his eye wither and die under the intensity of her gaze.

She just smiled. “We’ll see.” She let herself look at him for a moment longer before blinking away the tears and cautiously taking a small step backwards. She could feel where the ground ended beneath her feet and was sure not to step any further. She took one last look of the place she once called home, embracing how it felt for the last time though she knew she wouldn’t miss it.

She closed her eyes for a moment and fell back.

Mariel was Falling. That bit she knew, but much more than that? Everything was happening too fast for her to notice. And yet, it was as if she was existing in slow-motion. She worried for a moment that this was, in fact, her fate; doomed to remain in a perpetual state of limbo, of Falling, for all eternity. The only thing telling her otherwise was the view of Heaven above her, which she realised only too late was slowly shrinking into nothing. Mariel found herself reaching her own arms out, grasping for Heaven. They were opposite ends of a magnet being roughly pulled away from each other by an invisible force.

You hear that God? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And don’t you dare tell me it’s all part of your plan because right now, the only thing I want is to be back where I should be and I can’t even have that.

She pulled herself out of her mind and back into reality; she’d have plenty of time in Hell to yell at a God who’d never listen, let alone answer. She only just started to register her surroundings, the fact that she was actually Falling, who knows how far and for how long, tumbling through the air at an unimaginable speed, plummeting towards a place that could be anything from seconds to hours away. The deafening wind that screamed in her ears, drowning out the screams which may have been coming from her mouth or her mind, who was she to say? Air whipped around her body, icier and more painful than any words that could ever be uttered by the angels above her. It wasn’t until she could no longer see any hint of Heaven on the horizon that she started to feel the tears finally fall, trickling down her face and floating slightly due to the force of the Fall.

Then suddenly it came. She felt it in the very tips of her wings first, a strange tingling sensation, as though hundreds and then thousands of pins were skirting the edges of her corporeal being. It spread over the rest of her wings, and then her body, at a faster pace than she could keep track of until her whole being felt as though it was burning. The pain grew, and it grew, and it grew, and she didn’t think she could physically take any more pain when she looked up in horror at her own freshly blackened wings. Her beautiful, holy wings which had once been the softest, purest white, were now stained with evil and ash. For the first time since she started Falling, however long ago that might have been, she let out a choked sob that racked through her whole body and through the ever-changing air around her. Nobody heard her cries. Nobody heard her screams as the searing pain in her chest grew stronger. She couldn’t even begin to work out whether it was physical or emotional but it was there and it burned a hole, a gaping wound, through her soul, leaving a scar fated to never heal and to forever haunt her-

Eloise was crying. She’d tried so hard to prevent the steady streams that were now running down her cheeks, but that was a memory that she’d never wanted to relive. She looked upwards for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions and her breathing, before peeling her hands away from the two sat in front of her. She roughly wiped the tears from her face, and suddenly the only thing telling you she had been crying were the bloodshot eyes that Crowley tried to ignore as he said bluntly, “I’m still confused.”

“Crowley, give her a minute,” Aziraphale chastised him, furrowing his brows at the demon before he turned back to Eloise with kind eyes and a kinder heart, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She nodded without much hesitation, “I’m fine, it’s okay.” She certainly wasn’t fine, nor was it okay, but the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with her feelings in front of two people she was trying her best not to scare off. She looked back at Crowley, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

He looked at her in understanding, for if anyone knew her thought process in that moment, it was him. “Right, so you Fell and became a demon. Then what?”

“Well, you know what Hell’s like,” she started, looking pointedly at Crowley. She waited for him to nod before continuing, “Not my scene at all. I just point-blank refused to do anything they asked of me. Naturally they didn’t like that much. Eventually I was called in to see Satan about it. I remember thinking, ‘well, that’s that then. Terrible knowing you all.’, because I didn’t think I was going to survive that. Turns out he was just annoyed that I was being a bloody nuisance to everyone else, but he was too amused to really do anything about it, so he basically just told me to piss off. Leave Hell, don’t come back, and I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone or that you’re even alive. Not exactly a deal I could refuse, so I left, came to Earth, been here ever since. I think everyone just assumed he’d killed me,” she shrugged as if she hadn’t just destroyed the whole idea of eternal damnation with just a few sentences. She smiled to herself as they gaped at her for a moment, though she doubted they realised they were doing it.

Crowley somehow managed to gather his senses quick enough to hold up a hand and say, “Wait, but when you were talking to Gabriel and Beelzebub and that lot, you said they had six thousand years to check up on you. Why would you say that if they thought you were dead?” He narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn’t altogether quite sure why he seemed to be so keen on finding any gaps in her story, but he needed to be able to trust that she was telling the truth. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Yes, and they didn’t exactly seem surprised to see you alive.”

Eloise grinned. You two are gonna be fun, I can tell. “You’re both very observant, I have to give you credit for that.” She paused in thought for a second before starting carefully, “You see, the trouble with me is that I’m not really one for keeping a low profile. I’m too noisy, so to speak, and I don’t even realise it most of the time. This demon I hadn’t exactly been the nicest to back in Hell saw me in Babylon, gosh, it must have been eighteen thirty something BC? Anyways, he ratted me out to Beelzebub who must have told Gabriel all about it. I had about a decade of this bloody demon trying to discorporate me just to see if it would force me to go back to Hell, then one day he just stopped, and I never saw him again. Beelzebub probably told him to piss off.”

They were both quiet again for a little while. Eloise didn’t even think to say anything. It might be a rare occasion, but she did know when to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. She could see the cogs turning in their heads as if it was projected in the air above them. Eventually Crowley murmured, “I didn’t even know you could do that, you know, leave.”

She shook her head with a strange kind of sympathy that came from recognising an experience you had far too long ago, “Neither did I. It stills shocks me sometimes if I think about it too much.”

A few seconds passed before Crowley cleared his throat abruptly and said, “They called you Mariel. I thought you said your name was Eloise.”

She hesitated before answering. She knew exactly what he was doing, she’d been doing it for the whole of their conversation thus far, but just because she tended to bury her emotions, it didn’t mean that she liked it when others did it. She decided to ignore the hypocrisy of that thought, how ironic, she thought to herself, and instead explained, “It is. Mariel was my angel name. You know how it is,” she looked pointedly at Crowley again, hoping that Aziraphale would be able to put the pieces together. She didn’t actually know how much he knew about what it was like to Fall and become a demon.

“Oh, so is Eloise your demon name?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“No,” she said curtly, instantly feeling guilty when she saw the hurt that flashed over Aziraphale’s face. She grimaced and explained in a gentler tone, “I chose it for myself when I came to Earth. Hell tried to change my name after I Fell but I just refused.” She studied him for a second, watching his eyes dart about, before saying, “You want to ask something, I can tell. What is it?”

He looked a little startled at being caught out, momentarily glancing at Crowley for support, probably subconsciously, Eloise noted with a smile. “I, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you mentioned Armageddon. Back when you were speaking with, um, well, you know. H-how did you know about that?”

“I might have been there.” The words rushed out of her mouth in a much less casual manner than what she’d been aiming for, coming out in a sort of jumbled heap that took Crowley and Aziraphale a moment to decipher.

Crowley, the poor sod, could only think to lean forward and ask a simple, “You what?”

She jumped to defend herself, wanting to avoid the onslaught of questions if she could, “Not actually at the airbase, but I was in the area. I was living in Tadfield at the time.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, although the hint of a smirk on his face told her it was more in amusement than suspicion, “How did you know it was at the airbase?”

Eloise couldn’t help but chuckle to herself because of course, they’d notice her choice of words, “I knew Adam and his mates. I ran an ice cream shop, would you believe it. He came and told me all about it the day after,” she smiled fondly before suddenly coming alive with excitement, “That’s actually how I found out about you two. That’s why I’m here. Because I thought I was the only one trying to stop the world ending, but apparently I wasn’t. I had to see for myself.”

A moment passed before Aziraphale asked quietly, “You were trying to stop it?”

Eloise, not noticing the newly subdued atmosphere, launched herself into a painfully over-enthusiastic explanation, “Yeah, it was quite clever really, if I do say so myself. I made sure Adam was swapped with the American baby in the hopes that he would have a human enough upbringing to perhaps change things. Seems to have worked,” she shrugged, before finally taking in the two shocked faces that were staring back at her. Her brows furrowed and her face fell as she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You switched the babies?” Crowley asked blankly, although it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Her face screwed up as she tried to work out how best to explain herself. “Well, I say switched, it was more of a ‘made sure the demon dropping the antichrist off went to the wrong delivery room’ kind of thing. Feel sorry for the poor sod who had to deal with that but needs must.”

Crowley blinked at her and said bluntly, “I was the poor sod who had to deal with that.”

Eloise looked at him for a moment as about five different jigsaw pieces finally clicked in her head, before she threw her head back in realisation, “Oh shit, so you were. I knew your name sounded familiar.”

“You bastard, we spent six years raising the wrong child because of you!” he exclaimed, wagging his finger at her and jumping off of the bed at one point before Aziraphale tugged him back down. Eloise didn’t know whether to laugh or run for her life, for the menace in his words was betrayed by the disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” she asked, only just processing what he’d just said, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips at his dramatic antics. She knew not to push it when Aziraphale just lifted a finger and pursed his lips with the look of someone who’d rather never bring up said event again.

“Oh bloody heaven, I can’t believe this,” Crowley shook his head, chuckling to himself. Although part of him resented it, he couldn’t help but look at Eloise differently now as they laughed like little kids together. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so much more like them now, so much more human. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been trying to stop the apocalypse and all the implications that came with the fact. Suddenly he just wanted to know more about her, but he quickly silenced that thought. One thing at a time.

She raised her shoulders with a confused look on her face, giggling as she said, “Sorry? Well, I didn’t know, did I?”

They locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter again at the sheer absurdity of it all, leaving Aziraphale slightly bewildered and more than slightly exasperated at the pair. It took them a few moments to finally calm down but once they did, Crowley sobered his tone of voice as he asked, “Right, back to what happened before we came in. Anything we need to keep an eye out for?”

Though he didn’t say it, Eloise could see the unasked question in his eyes. Are we safe? She smiled softly, “Nah, you two’ll be fine. Basically I told them if they want to talk to me, then they need to get their bosses involved, and somehow I highly doubt God and Satan are gonna pop down for a friendly chat any time soon. Even then, you two should be fine. I don’t think any of that lot clocked on that you were here.”

Crowley nodded in understanding, and it didn’t escape Eloise’s attention how the remaining dregs of tension visibly dissipated from both of their bodies. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other for a moment, the relief palpable from the pair of them. Eloise averted her eyes, giving them the privacy that they didn’t necessarily need but probably did want. She allowed herself a moment to ponder their relationship. They were very in tune with each other, very in sync, that much was obvious. Are they in love? The question sounded ridiculous the moment she thought it. Of course they are, look at them. She’d seen that look time and time again over the millennia. Although when she thought about the way they looked at each other further, that lead to another question. Do they know? The hint of yearning in their eyes was subtle but it was there. No, absolutely not. They’re too comfortable with each other. They’re a unit, that much she could tell. A unit that might not want to be disturbed.

Oh dear.

She looked back up at them hesitantly, unsure of what to say for the first time that evening. Eventually she said, “I’d better go. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

Crowley frowned. Hadn’t she said she’d been travelling for a while? “You got somewhere to stay?”

Eloise paused. She’d definitely not been expecting that response. “Not yet. There is a flat I was going to rent but the people haven’t moved out yet because of the lockdown and it seems rude to miracle them away. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Stay here,” Crowley said almost instantly, then pulled a face of confusion at how quickly he replied, “I mean, only if you want to.”

Eloise blinked at that. Surely, they wouldn’t want her there? What reason could they possibly have to want her there? “Wait, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Crowley just shrugged, “It’s not a problem. What are your options anyway? No hotels are open, and you can’t stay with anyone.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she murmured, still wary for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation; it was his bookshop after all.

He nodded firmly, “Of course. I’ve been told the sofa is remarkably comfy,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, to which she grinned broadly.

A short while and a few miracles later, the sofa downstairs had become a makeshift bed that was significantly larger and softer than it had remembered it being. Eloise was currently settled on it; all it had taken was ten minutes for her to completely crash out. Aziraphale and Crowley had left her in peace with a chuckle, heading up to the bedroom they shared (that wasn’t out of choice, mind you. Simply because there was only one bedroom in the bookshop. No other reason.) One slightly confused item of furniture aside, all seemed to be well in the bookshop.

Upstairs in the bedroom, an angel and a demon were sitting in the same bed. Neither of them had thought to turn off the lights, so they were sat in thick silence in the bedroom. Aziraphale didn’t usually come up to bed, not as used to sleeping as Crowley was, instead opting to read the night away downstairs. However this seemed impolite considering their new guest, so he’d come up with Crowley. And while Crowley was mulling this over he finally stumbled upon why he felt so uneasy.

Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book up with him.

As bizarre a concern as that may seem, Crowley could always trust Aziraphale to bring a book up to bed with him on the rare occasion he came up at night. That was one of the things he lo- liked about him. Liked. He looked at Aziraphale curiously, noting the slight frown on his face as he stared into space. How deep in his head must he have been to forget a book? “You alright, angel?” he asked as softly as he could so as to not startle him.

He looked at Crowley with wide eyes that darted away almost instantly as he started to play with his hands in his lap, “Yes, my dear, I’m fine. I just realised something, is all.”

Crowley cocked his head in interest, “Oh really? What was it?”

He was silent for a little while before saying in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I think I was there when she Fell.”

Crowley felt his eyebrows raise in shock, looking away for a second to try and compose himself. “Right. Well, that’s a thing.”

“Quite.”

He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of what this meant now, “And was she telling the truth? Did all that actually happen?”

“Yes. I remember it perfectly well. Clear as day,” he managed to choke out with a forced smile before going back to his routine fidgeting.

Crowley laid a gentle hand on top of Aziraphale’s, stopping what he was doing and getting him to actually look him in the eye for longer than a second. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am quite well. Don’t fret,” he said, and despite Crowley’s concern, he couldn’t pretend that the smile on Aziraphale’s face wasn’t genuine, however small it may have been.

He reluctantly let it go, changing the subject quickly, “You alright with her staying here? I know it just sort of happened.”

The smile on his face only grew, much to Crowley’s surprise, “It’s alright. After all, wasn’t it you who said we’re on our own side now? I think she’s the first person we’ve met who might understand what that means.”

Crowley tried not to think too much about the fact that Aziraphale had actually listened to him when he’d said that, let alone remembered it, instead opting for a casual, “Yeah, I suppose so. Right, I’m gonna get some sleep. I, um, yeah,” he stammered out awkwardly, cursing his brain for not thinking of literally any other decent response.

Aziraphale simply smiled fondly at him, “Indeed. Goodnight, my dear.”

*************

Hello my love,

At the time of writing this, I do not know what the future holds. For me it’s an uncertain, unstoppable force, and it’s not one I think I can fend off for much longer. I’ve tried, please believe that I’ve tried. I’ve tried for your sake to prevent the inevitable. But it’s coming. I can feel it. It won’t be long now, I don’t think.

If you’re reading this, it means I was right, and I have Fallen. I know you’re probably confused and scared and that there is a biting anger bubbling inside you. I wish I could tell you why this is happening. I wish I could tell you that this is all a huge misunderstanding that will be resolved soon.

I wish I could tell you I love you one more time.

But I can’t. There are many things I can’t do now, and it’ll do me no good to dwell on this any longer than I have to. To survive we must focus on what we can do, and that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.

If I know myself as well as I think I do, there are many things I would have liked to have said to you upon our final farewell, but didn’t because I wanted to make sure you were alright. Don’t feel guilty about this, my love. Think of it as my last debt to you being repaid.

I have a plan. Well, it’s more of an idea, and it might not work. And it’s because of this that I shan’t tell you exactly what it is. It seems cruel to allow you to hope for something that might never come into fruition. But please put your faith in me, and in our love, for we will prevail. One way or another.

I hope that you didn’t wait to read this letter because you were scared of its contents, though I’m sure this isn’t the case. You were always brave. It was always something I loved about you. Your quiet, beautiful, roaring courage in the face of such turmoil and anguish. You always had the courage to be kind and to love with all your being, even when everything was against you. No one would have blamed you if you had turned cold and bitter, and yet you chose not to. I admire you for it every day. My idea, should it work, will require us both to be incredibly brave. But more on that another day. It’s that bravery and that strength that you will need to rely on now. That, and the thought of me. Though I may not physically be with you, but I hope that my love’s own soul is enough.

I won’t sign off this letter, because this is not where our story ends. There is much left to be written. And I need you to remember that each day we are parted. Until the next time, my love.

[rvmmm21]

. unpleasant reminders (1.5) .

small note : i know what you’re thinking. great titling. seriously, why can’t i title to save my arse? like i’d pay someone to title my stuff for me. i didn’t mention anything about currency, so go wild. again, please heed my warnings before reading. and uh... remind me never to write this much dialogue ever again, yeah?

*you do not understand how Elated i am to finally be able to pin half of this onto you guys*

i’ve said this in the tags before, but please don’t use shock-collars. save them for this au, okay?

(also... i... i do write soft stuff too. um, j-just in case you forgot... it’s okay to ask me for soft things. i’ll gladly oblige. rvmmm21 isn’t just a yandere bucket).

[yandere!omega!irene x alpha!wendy]

tw : choking, bondage, violence, noncon, implied use of shock-collar. (a very, VERY toxic relationship).

...

Bae Joohyun doesn’t need to be an alpha.

She’s already in control.

And Seungwan isn’t the only one who knows things. Joohyun does too.

She knows plenty.

But if there’s one thing she knows best, it’s that alphas who love their omegas unconditionally do not bolt at any given chance.

And if there’s anything Joohyun considers worse than an alpha who is unwilling to accept that they belong under her, it’s an alpha who actively does something about it.      

It is rather unfortunate that Joohyun, being an omega, does not possess those useful little pheromones alphas use to either overwhelm or calm. Life would be so much easier if she could just have Seungwan on her knees with a whiff of her scent. But when life presents her a challenge like an unruly alpha... a challenge like Seungwan, Joohyun would rather die than back down. She may have been cautious, hell, she may have even bothered to put on a coat before setting out after her fleeing lover. But it really doesn’t matter, not when Seungwan is as docile and harmless as a baby mouse. 

It’s at times like this where Joohyun really doesn’t think her girlfriend deserves her alpha status, or any of those knee-weakening pheromones. It’d be a surprise in itself if Seungwan was aware she even had them, let alone know when and how to use them.

But that isn’t completely her fault. She’s a young pup. Which means she has a lot to learn.

Luckily for her, Joohyun is nothing, if not a well-meaning trainer.

…

Joohyun is standing over her when she opens her eyes.

Even through the blur, it’s creepy. The way she’s just… observing.

She’s calm. Far too calm for Seungwan’s comfort. Not that there’s anything remotely comforting about being gagged and cuffed to the floor. She wants to kick and scream, because she recognises her surroundings far too quickly.

The basement.

Or as Joohyun insists it is, the ‘Training Room’.

For a few seconds she does nothing but quietly stare at the metal around her wrists, the taste of old rags seeping into her tongue anything but pleasant. Finally, Joohyun sighs, bending over to run her fingers along the knot behind her head as she breaks the silence. “Gag wasn’t necessary, but… I know you hate it. And I did catch you doing something very naughty, so I think it’s only fitting, don’t you?”

She fiddles around with the fabric before dragging it down and tossing the damp cloth to the side. Seungwan’s jaw aches when she flexes it a couple times. Stray tears roll down from the corners of bloodshot eyes as she opens her mouth to form some sort of apology. But as soon as her lips are parted, four fingers shove their way into her mouth, as good as choking her in an attempt to keep her from making another mistake.

“Don’t you dare.”

The tears are welling up and she can’t help herself.

“You ran. Again.” Joohyun’s tone is somewhere between a drawl and a snarl. The smaller girl impulsively jerks forward when fingers thrust themselves deeper down her throat. She coughs, gags and tries to twist away, but Joohyun just follows her, never leaving more than a millimetre of space between them. “How many times this month, alpha?”

“No, no, no…” Seungwan tries to say, but it just comes out as incoherent mumbling around Joohyun fingers, all subdued and useless. And it doesn’t help that her head is still spinning. Holding onto a simple train of thought is proving to be harder than the force Joohyun must have applied to knock her out and drag her back.

When the omega pulls her fingers out with a skin-crawling laugh, Seungwan scrambles to defend herself, pointless as it is.

“I wasn’t trying any – wasn’t running, I–”

A foot embeds itself into her diaphragm and cuts off whatever the end of that sentence was supposed to be. The hot pain concentrated in her chest slowly blossoms down her ribs, stomach, and her head. The impact of her back shoved further into the cement she’s slumped against sends agonising jolts down her spine, and it’s that instinctive wince that reminds her that she truly is at the mercy of her sweet, sweet omega.

The added pressure behind the heel serves to better restrict Seungwan’s breathing.

“Puppy’s learnt to lie now, has she?” Joohyun sounds lethargic, and it’s nearly twice as scary as that look of pure, animalistic rage Seungwan had seen on her face not two seconds ago. “You’d better tell me where you picked this charming little habit up… or you’re not going to like what happens next.”

She sounds unimpressed and bored and it’s terrifying.

“P-please…” It doesn’t cross Seungwan that she’s speaking out of turn, that she’s not answering her omega’s question, that she’s not thinking straight. It’s impossible. She can’t think straight. Not when she’s in such a compromising position. “I-I promise it won’t happen again, please… I don’t want to run, it – it was a m-mistake! I didn’t mean to–”

“I didn’t mean to plan an escape, I didn’t mean to keep running when I was called, I’m so sorry, Hyun, please don’t hurt me, Hyun.” Joohyun taunts her, mimicking the panic in her alpha’s voice with a sickening light-heartedness. “How many times do you think I’ve heard that, hm?” She pauses to chuckle at her own awful reminiscing. “Pretty much the first day we started training. And how many times has it worked?”

She kneels down again and wraps her hand around her alpha’s throat. She squeezes, smile broadening when Seungwan whimpers and chokes out a weak – “… none.”

Joohyun smirks. “None.”

Tiny black dots speckle Seungwan’s vision as the pressure on her throat increases, turning her laboured breathing into ragged pants. It takes everything she has to force herself still, if only to keep from encouraging the irate omega, who’s growling at her now, sounding more like an alpha than she can ever hope to be.

“Don’t make me wait for it, puppy.”

At this point Seungwan’s reactions are more reflexive than genuine. “I love – I love you!” Her words are clogged in her throat, but she forces them out in short, sharp gasps. “I love you! I’m sorry – sorry I tried to run, please, please don’t… please Hyunnie, you’re hurting me, stop please…”

Joohyun just grins and uses one more final burst of strength before she relents, keeping her alpha pinned up by her shoulders as she splutters and wheezes and struggles to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Don’t think you’re getting off scot-free. Seems like I haven’t trained you well enough, puppy. Outbursts like that are very rude, and they will not go unpunished.” She finally lets her go completely to reach for something Seungwan can’t see. It should soothe her, however the lack of pressure on her neck and the lack of a foot in her ribs does little to do so. Quite the contrary. It fires every nerve in her body up, because if Joohyun’s hands aren’t on her now, there’s no telling where they’ll be next.

When Joohyun finally turns around, it’s the familiar little remote she has clasped in her right hand and device in her left that kicks Seungwan’s legs into gear, weak as they are. It makes her forget. She forgets she’s tethered to a U bolt in the floor, forgets that if her omega can singlehandedly retrieve her mid-run, she stands no chance if they’re in the same room.

She forgets her place.

Still, she springs into action, aiming to lunge past her insane girlfriend and head straight for the door. But she never reaches it. As soon as she’s on her feet, Joohyun is straddling her back, knee digging into the base of her spine and forcing her face into the cold cement floor. Seungwan sobs harder, one hand grappling pathetically out in front of her while the other stays pinned under Joohyun’s knee.

“Bad alpha, bad puppy.” The omega patronises as she fumbles around with the contraption she had intended to put on her lover ever so nicely. Of course, Seungwan had to fuck that up too, didn’t she? The battered alpha goes rigid when she feels deceptively soft lips against the nape of her neck, kissing her so lightly and so comfortingly that she almost mistakes it as forgiveness. But that hope is quickly suffocated when she hears the click of a buckle and a lock, when there’s that tightness around her neck.

She suddenly realises that –

“I’m tired of false promises, puppy. If you can’t tell me the truth, then I think it’s better you can’t tell me anything, don’t you?”

– it’s much more painful to swallow in fear when there are two icy iron prongs burrowing themselves firmly into your throat.

[diddlesanddoodles]

DUMPLING ch 42

The dress was a buttercup yellow with white rimmed sleeves that dragged on the floor. Nenani stood very still as Lolly carefully pinned the dress in several places to get the fit just right. Her mother stood to the side, watching with an odd mixture of emotions.

“You look beautiful, Nenani,” she said. But there was something in her eyes that made her look sad.

“The sleeves are so long,” Nenani said, tilting her head to look at Lolly and flapping her arms. “I look like a bird...”

“It’s the fashion right now,” Lolly said with a suppressed grin. “All the ladies at court are wearing them long. You will be turning heads when they see you.”

“Why do I need to be turning heads?” Nenani asked, feeling nervous. After her talk with Jae and Farris about the upcoming dinner, she was beginning to have serious reservations about the whole ordeal.

“Because you’re going to a dance,” her mother told her straight faced. “And it’s better to go wearing the proper shoes.”

Giving her mother a befuddled tilt of the head, Nenani asked, “Huh?”

“This dinner will be our first introduction to the Vhasshalan court in an official capacity,” Oira told her. “It would be better to make a good impression. And clothes are the first thing they will see. Well, aside from us being human that is. People at court have a certain capacity to be shallow and cruel. It was true in Silvaara and it’s true here in Vhasshal. We have to present to them a carefully painted picture so we can’t give them anything that might come back to haunt us later.”

Nenani looked up at Lolly with an anxious look. “I don’t think I want to go...”

“Don’t fret, Nenani,” Lolly told her gently. “All you need to do is stand there and look pretty. His majesty and your mother with handle everything else.”

As Lolly finished the fitting, Nenani could not strike the feeling from her mind that she was not going to enjoy any of it.

…………………………………………………..

It was a little awkward carrying her dagger and the roll of leather, but even as Jae asked for the fifth time if she needed help carrying anything, she assured him she was fine. But as they rounded the edge of the guard barracks and made their way to the smithy, Nenani turned to stared at Jae as he walked beside her, noting the bottle in his hand. When he looked over and saw her staring, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“I thought you were going to get rid of that,” she said, pointing to bottle of whiskey.

“I am,” Jae replied with a dismissive shrug. “I’m givin’ it to Connar. To try and bribe him into making your belt for you. Not that I think he would refuse you. But a little bribery never hurt. Plus, it’s easier to give this away then just dump it.”

“I don’t understand how you could drink that stuff,” Nenani scrunched her nose up and adjusted the roll of leather under her one arm. “It smells terrible.”

“Wasn’t drinking it for the flavor,” Jae assured her. “But a lot of folks swear it’s the best tasting whiskey you can get. Keral’s famous for it.”

“Still smells bad.”

“Funnily enough,” Jae shot back with a smarmy grin. “So does Keral.”

In all her time living in Vhasshal, Nenani had met all the resident humans save for one; Connar. He was a metal and leather worker in the King’s smithy alongside his guardian, Hev. Another name Nenani was familiar with, but had no face to match it with. The metal medallion around her neck, Jae’s neck, and all other humans in the castle were all made by Connar. Ostensibly due their smaller size, the job was much more suited to human hands than a giant’s.  

And as they drew nearer to their destination, the steady beat of metal striking metal became more pronounced and there was a metallic bite to the air itself as though she could smell the forge in the smithy just as she could smell the ovens in the kitchens. But instead of crusty loaves of yeasted breads, the only thing being pulled from the mouth of Hev’s fiery forge were the glowing bars of heated metal.

The smithy was a wide squat structure more reminiscent of a barn than a proper workshop. There was no door, rather the whole front of the building was left open. Tables were strewn with tools and weapons of all kinds and all in varying states of manufacture or repair. There was a barrel off to one side filled to the brim with flat metal blanks in the vague shape of a sword, only waiting to be heated and shaped into their final form and given a hilt. The walls were filled as well with swords and daggers, axes of varying sizes from a small hatchet to an enormous battle ax. And then beneath all of it, Nenani could heard the great breathing bellows of the forge and waves of heat hit her face as they approached.

They passed under the shadow of the smithy’s interior and Nenani scanned the walls as they pushed inwards. So much metal and weaponry and leather. It reminded her of the first time she was taken into the kitchens where she saw all the knives and cleavers therein, but even that paled in comparison to the sheer number of blades hanging from the walls and laying atop tables.  

“It’s pretty nice coming here in the winter,” Jae told her. “Stays nice and warm. But the summer is just brutal.”

Nenani paused to look over at a mace casually leaning against the leg of the table, marveling at the idea that anyone could pick up something so lumbering and heavy. It looked like it would be a challenge even for a giant.

Beside her, Jae slipped the bottle of whiskey under his arm and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HELLOOOOO!”

From further into the space came a response. “Hello?”

Jae turned to her and grinned before yelling back, “Hello!”

A pause and then a confused sounding, “Hello who?”

“Hello you.”

“Hello me?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause and an amused response came back. “...Jae? Is that ye?”

The young man laughed and called back, “Yeah, its me.”

There was a series of clanks and the sound of something shuffling around the dirt floor before a giant head peaked out from behind a wall near the back of the room. He had a round pleasant face and a dark, short cut beard with streaks of grey. His long black hair had been pulled into a long queue and it swung out from behind him when he poked his head out. Large brown eyes stared at them and then there was a flash of white teeth. “Well so ye are!”

The rest of the giant’s body followed his head from around the wall and he walked with long legged strides over to the pair of humans. A dark leather apron covered him from his chest down to his shins with the tawny fabric of his sleeves rolled up over thick burly arms. Despite considering herself very well accustomed to giants by this point, Nenani could not quell the sudden nervous bubble that form inside her as he bore down on them. He was more broad shouldered than either Farris or Bart and perhaps even taller. He towered over them for only a moment before he dropped down to one knee, leaning forward even more to be closer to their level. His face and arms were deeply tanned and there was a faint dusting of metal shavings stuck to his face and beard.

“Been a while since yev been down this way,” he said to Jae with an easy smile. “Was startin’ to think ye didn’t like us no more.”

“Nah, nothing like that. Things have just been kind of...hectic?”

The giant threw his head back with a loud short bark of a laugh. “So I heard. Some nutter tried to kill ye? Threw ye off the roof was it? Must be goin’ up in the world if someone found ye important enough to try and assassinate, lad. I’d congratulate ye, but it sounds like it’s more a pain in the arse than anythin’.”

“Nah, no such luck. I was just collateral,” Jae replied, gesturing with his thumb to Nenani. “He was after this one. Hev, this is Nenani.”

The giant’s thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ah! So yer Farris’s lil’ squeaker? Ah, well, I suppose yer a Princess too, eh? Please excuse the state of me, yer grace. Always get a bit manky in the shop.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Don’t call me ‘princess’ or ‘your grace’ and I’ll forget everything else,” Nenani replied with a small smile.

“Oh?” Hev asked and then looked to Jae in confusion.

“She hates the titles,” he explained. “Best to just drop them.”

“Ah, well. I’ll try to do that, but forgive me if I slip once or twice. I don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Is Connar about?” Jae asked, holding the bottle up with a grin. “We got a commission for him.”

Hev dipped his head and huffed in amusement before lifting up again with a nod. “Oh, sure. He’s just nappin’ over near the rag pile. Cold weather makes his leg ache, so he likes to build himself a lil’ nest over there. I’ll get ‘im fer ye.”

Hev pushed himself back onto his feet and after a few quick stride of his long legs, disappeared back behind the wall. His voice could be heard clearly enough. “Connar, ye up? Come on then, wake up. Oi! Ye lazy bum. Put yer shirt back on. How can ye be complainin’ about the cold when he ye haven’t even got yer damn shirt on? Now get dressed and try to pretend yer civilized fer all of a few minutes, eh? Ye got company.”

There was a fainter groan and then a curse. “Huh? Wait...Really?”

“Yeah, Farris’s ward’s is here t’see yer sorry arse. Y’know...the Princess?”

“The...Princess? Wait. What?! Ah, shit!”

Hev gave a loud laugh.

“Where’s my shirt? Hev, where’s my shirt?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, I put it there and now it’s gone!”

“I didn’t steal yer grimy little shirt. What’d I even use it fer?”

“I dunno. Hide it for a laugh?”

“Ah, not this time.”

“Dammit...I know I had it...”

“...ye check yer pants?”

“What?”

“I said did ye check yer pants?”

“...wha…? Why would I check my pants for my shirt?”

“Because it’s tucked into yer arse, ye fuckin’ dolt.”

“What? Oh! Hey! There it is!”

There was a pause and the Hev said in a contemplative tone, “Sometimes I wonder how ye ever managed to miss seein’ that trap. And sometimes, like now, I don’t wonder quite as much.”

“...fuck you, Hev.”

“Love ye too, lad,” Hev replied cheekily and then shouted back at Nenani and Jae. “OK, yer grace. He’s decent enough. Oh, sorry. Already forgot about the title thing. I mean...yeah, yer good to come on back.”

Nenani shot Jae a look of confused amusement and he just grinned back. Rounding the wall that Hev had disappeared behind, the floor dropped two steps and opened into a large round room with a cone shaped ceiling that ended in a sharp point. Flat openings near the pitch of the roof were opened to the outside, letting smoke and heat escape. The farthest wall from the entrance was dominated by a round bricked forge that, to Nenani’s eye, looked very much like one of Quinn’s ovens, only much much larger. Around the lip of the forge were long black metal poles. Some were nestled into the glowing coals or leaning against the forge itself. Off to the left side was a large bellows, sitting on the ground and positioned perfectly for a giant to step upon it with their foot to breath air into the fire. Next to that sat a giant black anvil with on large hammer resting upon it.

To the right of the forge was an open barrel of water and just beyond that was a large pile of rags, all colored black from soot and dirt and it was there that Hev stood, looking down at a human as they adjusted their shirt and quickly tried to force their messy mop of hair into something presentable.

When Nenani and Jae hoped the last step and down onto the dirt floor, Hev looked up at them and flash a grin. “Ye might need to forgive the state of this one’s dress as well. I’d say he’s just feelin’ under the weather, but...he never really looks any better than this.”

“Shut it you.”

Nenani found herself slightly taken aback when she finally laid eyes on Connar. She had expected an older man by the way everyone spoke of him, but he was surprisingly young. Older than Jae, but perhaps more Riley’s age. Perhaps even a bit older, but only just.

Connar was a lean, dark haired young man with thin gray eyes and his face was marked with faint white lines across his tanned skin. Old scars. His hands were similarly marked, but the most prominent feature of his person was the distinct absence of his left leg. In it’s place was a carved wooden replacement. From his left knee down, his leg was gone and he stood instead with a false one peaking out from the folded fabric of his gray trousers. However, instead of a plain round peg as Nenani had seen before on some sailors, Connar’s fake leg was carved as though to mimic the real leg he had lost. It had even been oiled and polished and he wore a shoe as well to match the one on his right foot.  

He must have seen her staring at it, because when she looked up to meet his eye, he wore a knowing expression. “Lost it to a snap trap a couple years back,” he explained. “Some fucker was pouching on the King’s land while I happened to be trespassing through it and snap! No more leg.”

Her eyes widened in horror at the prospect. “That’s terrible!”

“Oh it was,” Hev agree vehemently. “Lil’ fella almost bled out in my arms.”

“But you’re not here to listen to my sob story,” Connar said, waving a hand and looking down at the roll of leather under Nenani’s arms. “Have a project for me, your grace?”

Hev bent down and tapped Connar on the head.

“Ow!”

“She doesn’t like titles.”

“Fine! You just needed to say. Ugh, that hurt!”

“Ah, I didn’t get ye that bad.”

“Says you,” Connar shot back, rubbing his head and wincing. He shook off the pain and annoyance and turned his attention back to Nenani and Jae. “So, what’ve you got for me, your-not-grace?”

“Nonna gave me this,” she said, holding out the dagger. “And I was wondering if you could make me a belt for it.”

Connar reached out and took the dagger, pulling it from its sheath and inspected the blade. Holding it to the light, he turned his eyes to Nenani. “You’re Thorn?”

“On my father’s side. Yeah.”

His eyes drifted down to the amulet around her neck. “And what about that?”

“It’s a fire opal,” she explained. “It helps keep my magic from spilling out all at once so I don’t die.”

Above them, Hev grunted, his eyed wide. “That can happen?”

“Yep,” Jae answered for her. “Almost did.”

“Well, that would be bad,” Connar replied. His eyes lingered on the metal chain. “Might want to swap that chain though. The links are far too thin to be holding up something that heavy. It’s gonna bust loose if you’re not careful.”

Connar slipped the dagger back into its sheath and then inspected the leather work of it. He hummed appreciatively. “They’re well made. The metal is very good. The blade needs sharpening, but I don’t think they really sharpen these. They’re ceremonial if I’m remembering right. Can’t have little kids stabbing each other, I suppose.”

He handed it back to Nenani, but as she tried to reclaim the dagger, the roll of leather fell from her arms. Connar picked it up and let it unroll. Holding it up, he whistled. “This would do well for a nice belt. But, is that all you’re wanting? Just a belt? There’s a lot more material here.”

She shrugged. “What else could you do with it?”

Connar gave her a devilish grin. “Oh, so many things. Tell you what. If can trust me enough, go on and leave me this here leather and come back to see me in...oh, about two days? I’ll have something for you.”

She nodded and smiled. “Okay.”

Jae stepped up and held out the bottle to him. “Here. Something to sweeten the pot.”

Connar’s eyes lite up. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” Jae replied. “Promised Farris I’d keep away from it. So I’m back sucking lime flower leaves.”

Connar quickly rolled the leather back up and slipped it under his arm before eagerly grabbing up the bottle. “Well, that’s your loss,” he said and then looked back to Nenani. “Let me revise my previous statement. Come back in three days and I’ll have something you’ll absolutely love. And I’ll see about getting a better chain for your amulet too.”

“Thank you!” she said excitedly.

Conna held up the bottle. “No, thank you.”

………………………..

Despite the cold weather, the repairs on the west wing were coming along at an astonishing pace. All the broken roof tiles had been pulled off and the masonry underneath taken apart, stone by stone, and finally the fire damaged wood beams. Large new timbers had been delivered and installed to replace them and the masons were now laying back the foundation stones with fresh mortar. But as the giants worked, their craftsmanship was not the focus of Nenani and Jae’s fascination.

“How would it even have gotten there?”

“It must be part of the original structure. Like the tunnels.”

“You’re saying that the humans who built those tunnels would have also been the ones to build that?”

“Well, who else would have?”

“There’s no way!”

“They must have, though. Unless ancient Vhasshalans did.”

“It’s huge!”

“What? You don’t think humans can build big things? Have you ever seen castle Nethwyn? Well...I guess you haven’t. But’s it’s freaking huge too. The great hall was big enough to fit a hundred people and thirty giants comfortably. At least that’s what I always heard.”

From the vantage point of a high gable, Jae and Nenani stared down into the open wound of the west wing’s roof and at an enormous stone head that rose up from within the thick walls. It was nearly as tall as a giant and three times as wide. The damage done by the dragon’s attack had revealed it when work began on the repairs and more astonishing was that there seemed to be more the further down they went. The back of its head faced into the corridor and was the majority of what was visible while its face, still obscured by the outer stone wall, looked out into the valley.  

“I thought Warren was just having a laugh when he said they found a giant head in the wall,” Jae said. “Or that maybe I just understood what he was telling me. Yaesha had given me some potent tonics.”

“Do you think there’s more of them?” Nenani asked.

“Maybe,” he said lightly. “But seeing how dug in that one it, it might take another dragon attack for the others to be dug out.”

Nenani made a face. “I wonder if he’s gonna have them wall it back up.”

“Don’t know. Seems a pity to cover it back up again.”

“Yeah.”

A short silence fell between them.

“So,” Jae said, breaking the quite, and tilting his head to peer at her curiously. “You ready for your official debut at court?”

“No,” she replied, her eyes watching one of the workmen slather a trowel with mortar and place a vaguely square shaped stone into place and giving it a rapid tap with the butt of his trowel before turning back to his bucket and beginning the process again with the next stone. “But I’ll be there. I’m just gonna do what Lolly said and just...sit there and look pretty. I guess. The dress is pretty heavy so that might be all I can do anyway. Are you going?”

He sighed. “Warren asked me if I would come and I tried to make an excuse, but Rosanna answered for me. So I’m going. And she’s already picked out my clothes for me and everything. And I swear she’s deliberately choosing the doublets that are just constricting enough for me not to be able to have any free movement. It’s like what I imagine wearing a corset’s like.”

Nenani laughed. “She knows you better than you give her credit for.”

“I mean...it’s nice not having to look over my shoulder all the time, but really. She’s starting to act like she’s my mom. Just this morning for example! When I went to talk to Warren, she didn’t like how I combed my hair and then did it for me. And Warren had the biggest shit-eating grin. It’s been years since I’ve had the urge to hit him, but ugh...got really close then. Could have done with that arm of yours. Wouldn’t thrown my damn shoe at him.”

“Yale must be right, then,” Nenani giggled. “Maybe she’s practicing being a mommy on you.”

Jae glared at her with an unimpressed look.

“So, speaking of the dinner,” Nenani said, steering the conversation away from the subject of the Queen. “Do have any pointers for me? On what I should and shouldn’t do?”

“Oh sure,” Jae replied. “A warning: a lot of courtiers might try to mess with you.”

“Mess with me?” Nenani frowned. “How?”

“Nothing too bad. And I don’t think Eldherst will bother you. I’m gonna bet he’ll be pestering Warren about the armory again. I just mean a lot of the Lords in power now were there during the war and some still harbor...ill feelings towards humans. Though not overtly. They’re a lot more...subtle about it. One or two of the older ones just saw me as Warren’s pet when I first came. One of them even asked me once wear my leash was and why I wasn’t on it. Should’ve told Warren about it, but I was still a kid and just wanted to leave. But I told Keral the next day. Supposedly he crushed up a dried red dragon pepper and slipped it into the Lord’s snuff box.”

With a look of horror, Nenani put her hand to her nose. Her mind supplying the mental image of someone snorting even just a small bit of regular pepper sounded horribly painful. But her horror turned into giggles and Jae grinned with her.

“For you though, the one I’d look out for most is Lord Calem. Tallish guy. Always wears this hideous yellow coat and wears too much cologne. You’ll be able to smell him long before you see him.”

“Why? Does he not like humans?”

“No. Opposite in fact. He is...very friendly.”

She looked at him askance. “How...is that a bad thing?”

It was Jae’s turn to make a face. “He’s a well meaning, but totally condescending idiot with no sense of personal space. And when he drinks, he gets all...cuddly. Especially with humans. I’ll tolerate Kol’s nonsense to a point. He’s my friend. But not Colem. He’s one of the main reasons I stopped going to those things.”

“What?” she laughed.

“Yep. He’ll want to pet you. Like...a pet. Like a dog. After two glasses of wine, he’ll get all up in your face and try to pet on you,” Jae said with a grin and then shrugged. “And since you’re small and cute, better watch out.”

She blinked at Jae’s choice of words, feeling her face flush.

“What?” he asked, looking at her.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly.

“...serious. You all right? I mean, the guy’s annoying, but he’s no Thrist.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“...you just...well...you called me cute.”

“Uh huh..?” He drawled, squinting at her and she felt the heat in her face increase and she turned away from him to try and hide it. He leaned into her field of vision, a single eyebrow raised. “You feeling okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

“Because you’re red.”

“I’m fine.”

“Like...beet red.”

“I said I’m fine!”

He smirked at her suddenly. “Oh.”

“Shut up,” she snapped and rose to her feet, turning to the open window behind them and hoping down onto the table below.

Jae leaned over to peer at her. “But I didn’t say anything...”

She glared at him. “I said shut up!”

With a smug grin so reminiscent of Keral that she felt the very real urge to punch him, he said, “You...you don’t fancy me do you?”

“No!” Her fingers sparked as she slammed the window shut and then pulled the latch down for good measure.

“Hey!” Jae got to his feet and pushed at the window. “Open up! Geez, Nenani, I was just joking!”

Nenani pretended she couldn’t hear him as she carefully climbed down the table leg, too angry and mortified to feel any pride in having gotten down off of a table all on her own.

“Nenani! Come one!”

“There are other windows!” she called back as she rounded the corner to find the tunnel door.

....................................

BONUS ART: Oh look! It’s ol’ Hev. 

[johannepetereric]

In this AU, I must say that the use of feminine titles like “ma’am” or “Miss(us)” instead of “matriarch” are unacceptable should Aichi be nonbinary. However, in rare occasions, they will let it slide. There is a chance of punishment. 

Such as the case with Reversed Naoki, which I am currently drafting.

 Naoki is extremely sus and something’s up, so Aichi will forgive him this time. Please keep this in mind for future reference. Also, I’m going to create A LOT of OC cards (doesn’t matter right now whether or not they’re named) since the Angel Feather deck, passed down through millenia in the Sendou Family,  is made up entirely on OCs. I have a lot of OP Angel Feather units written down in a draft (around 50, maybe? The Sendou Clan made and gathered over 2000 units throughout the generations). Keep this in mind. Also, I randomly decided rn that any Reversed players will be homophobes, transphobia, queerphobes, etc. cuz EBIL MWAHAHAHA!  

The only reason that Misaki WON’T boot out Naoki is because he is already locked in battle with her bestie; and she believes in them. 

Aichi is using Psyqualia in this match because Aichi will be using Cure Cupid (the main Angel Feather for the clan), as I had Naoki request, and they need all the help they can get. Naoki is obviously possessed by something, and using Psyqualia with a deck that has conscious, magical units in it as if this is a Magical Girl show (*ahem* IF *AHEM*) is a surefire way to win. 

Both Naoki and Toshiki (Kaichi start dating this season (as I may or may not have repeatedly said) cuz Aichi is 16 and thus old enough to be considered an adult in the Sendou Family (This is also the legal age on Cray as well (in his AU), which is why it’s ok to copulate and take over the family at so young an age even though Aichi is a minor by Earth standards). So Aichi is Matriarch, even if underdeveloped, and Toshiki-senpai feels more secure in being with this person.) agree that the use of Psyqualia sounds counterintuitive (I decided just after writing “counterproductive” that, although I love the word “counterproductive”, I think whatever “counterintuitive” means is a better word for this than “counterproductive”) to the themes of Aichi and the situation. However, it cannot be helped as the units immediately start acting on their own, so Aichi must use Psyqualia to keep control and calm them down--to predict the outcomes and to adjust strategy.

Misaki counters this by noticing that, by the look on Aichi’s face, the assortment of Angel Feathers looks randomized. “I wouldn’t be surprised if almost every unit in there had some skill, even if it would be completely useless here. Whatever units they had came to their aid, so first-come-first serve. Aichi is stuck with this arrangement until they can get home and fix it to be more concrete and fluid. They might need to shuffle the deck at least several times. It’s happened before.”

Indeed. In this AU, Aichi trains the Cardfight Club with Cure Cupid--and kicks their arses raw with it. Aichi is intense, raw, and unbeatable--at least with this section of the cast. Aichi is making his/their clan(s) proud, and he/they is/are fulfilling the title, honor, and pride of Sendou Matriarch quite well with such proficient and natural use. Even if the cards move themselves to the top of the deck as they see fit. Aichi just rolls with it. Also, I plan to extend to beach arc to be its whole seperate original work--too much changed, at least in plot. Looks like a romance-anime beach episode than a shounen-anime beach episode. Here, Mrs. Sendou is out-of-town and she entrusts Cure Cupid to her son (Aichi is a he for the beach training camp). Aichi...SO MANY shenanigans. Aichi does not really use Royal Paladins here, if at all (SIKE! Just there because it’s even sus-er if Aichi DOESN’T bring that deck along). It’s just rocking the Angel Feathers, being a smug a**hole to Emi, and being seductive (and Kamui x Emi advancement). 

...While giving in and posting some of the original content for the AU as a Collection on ao3 (I didn’t write “f**k it, I can’t take it anymore, I’m uploading these onto here” yet tho I want(ed) to), I realized that I already mentioned Cure Cupid as a character. So those who read the early updates of the blog (well, the original works, anyway) must be aware that Matriarch AU and Cure Cupid AU already exists.

So here’s the update I started before I posted what I did about the beach arc, and I just finished it rn because school starts in 50 minutes (first day back from Winter Break) and I’m bored and it’s itching in my brain to continue writing chappies.

[vermiculus-incipiens]

VI Quote of the Week:

Narcissa hummed in response, still thinking of the fresh scent of roses and gardenias.  Specifically of Lucius’ hand, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, placing a flower there.  “Now you’re really in bloom,” he’d said, half joking.  At the time, she’d just blushed, hoping that their chaperones hadn’t seen.  They’d been quite young then, still innocent, so unaware of all that could possibly occur in the near future.                                                                         -- forever-toujourspur, No Title

Admin Picks of the Week:

Marlene did her best not to look too much like an excited puppy eager to be petted for its good behaviour. Sure, after the horrible attack-accident, she corrected herself immediately- she felt like she owed Mr. Moody the very best of her potential, especially because he had considered her worthy both of forgiveness and of keeping her damn job. But the idea was not to suddenly come off as an arse-licker. That was not her style, and she suspected Alastor Moody would not have patience for such people either.                                            -- cherrybomb-witch, Another One Bites the Dust

They couldn’t all be boring, otherwise people wouldn’t bother. They’re all whispering. Planning the next attack. One of these days, he’d have to find a way in. He’d have to pass off as someone else, maybe a distant cousin from a far land or one of them. The latter choice would be much more difficult, but likely more fruitful. Though perhaps he wasn’t the right person for the job, seeing as his knowledge of high society had a few large holes.                                                              -- head-auror-moody, Owl and Mouse

He pulled her closer against his chest and started to rock them back and forth, slowly, gently, in the rhythm of their hearts. She felt like a tiny, precious, porcelain doll rather than a fearsome hit witch and it was such a terrifying feeling. It was too real, too close to home. ‘I’m so sorry, Marls.’ He said over and over again as if those words could mean anything and have any value.                                                                 -- on-borrxwed-time, There For You

[skriak]

Resistance: Fall of Man GAME REVIEW (PlayStation 3)

For better or worse, Sony has a history of trying new things. The PS2 in particular had such an overwhelming market dominance during the 6th console generation that Sony had all kinds of weird franchises going. Some of them never went anywhere, but others survived to fight the next console war. Ratchet and Clank was one of the success stories, from the now-famous Insomniac (recent developers of the PS4 Spider-Man game), and after a few instalments of action platforming they decided to mix things up.

Resistance is a first-person shooter and easily one of the better-known PS3 launch titles, though it has to be said that the PS3 had a notoriously shaky early life. Truth be told, MotorStorm is the only other launch game I remember with any clarity. So Resistance had a bit of a reputation boost by virtue of not having a lot of competition, but that doesn't mean it's bad. I've seen reviews that call it either a killer app or a massive disappointment. In reality, I think it's somewhere in the middle.

Far and away what stands out most is the setting. Resistance takes place in an alternate 1950s where the Russian Revolution never happened because the Tunguska Event of 1908 turned out to be carrying some kind of horrific virus. Russia went into lockdown for many years without anyone else knowing why, only for an army of mutated former Russians to suddenly swarm over the walls and overrun Europe and Asia. Being islands, Britain and Ireland hold out for a while until the monsters dig their own Eurostar tunnel. You play an exceptionally boring American soldier who's flown into York (the old one) without adequate briefing just as the invasion gets underway.

I really like this kind of alternate history setup, as evidenced by my covetous love for Wolfenstein: The New Order, and Resistance takes its wacky concept very seriously. England is a surprisingly uncommon setting for a game as well, especially outside of London, and it's cool to see a war-ravaged depiction of places like Manchester and Nottingham. This is the kind of game that might be overly reliant on text logs to flesh out its world, but I was always genuinely excited to find out details like America's militant isolationism (what else is new?) or the sad story of a squad hunted by unknown assailants. The Chimera are the real stars, especially since the human characters are pretty disposable, and throughout the story they become increasingly well-entrenched until it's clear that Britain has fallen and the Chimera have the home team advantage.

So the tone is as far removed from Ratchet and Clank's cartoon antics as it could possibly be, but the gameplay still bears some resemblance under all the grey and brown. Insomniac are famous for their crazy weaponry and even Resistance's starter carbine has a grenade launcher. All the guns have a secondary fire that helps give them a distinct place in your arsenal, rather than being fairly interchangeable like the rifles in Killzone, and Insomniac didn't miss the opportunity for weird alien guns. The Bullseye is inaccurate but the secondary fire marks a target which your shots will then home in on. The Auger can shoot through walls and the secondary drops a shield for you to hide behind. Even better, you can carry all the guns at once (which is something Resistance 2 sadly fucked up), so at any time you can bring up the selection wheel as the situation demands.

The Chimera are notoriously bullet-spongey, unfortunately. In particular they have this one animation where they *start* to fall over before standing up again, which is pretty infuriating. Death can come very swiftly on the harder modes, despite the health system which regenerates up to each quarter of the bar, so I personally didn't feel any shame playing on easy mode just to compensate for the more annoying design quirks. Until you know the levels it's quite common for a hybrid to sneak up and pepper your arse with lasers.

Still, at least the game runs well. It actually runs noticably smoother than Resistance 3, since a lot of later seventh-gen games sacrifice frame rate for graphics. Resistance 1 isn't much of a looker these days but it holds up better than something like Killzone 2 because it doesn't feel as if the PS3 is about to catch fire.

Unfortunately, some of that performance is probably due to the mid-game slump; halfway through the level design starts to rely on underground corridors without even a pretence of exploration. This is one of the main symptoms of Resistance's launchgameitus. It doesn't help that the story loses a lot of steam at the same time. But then there are some vehicle segments which almost have the opposite problem, particularly when you're driving around a lovingly-rendered but fairly empty Cheddar Gorge. This middle third is when I'd probably have gotten flustered with the occasional cheap death if I hadn't played on easy mode. Still, things definitely pick up when the military decide to make a final push into London (it's always fucking London) so they can attack the Death Star's thermal exhaust port.

Resistance is your classic launch title: a middle-of-the-road game which seemed better when everyone had a limited selection of choices and no money after paying Sony's extortionate price for a big black sandwich toaster. I probably wouldn't have been so forgiving if I hadn't played it in that context, but I can forgive a game for a lot if it tries something interesting. While the sequels upped the scale and tightened up the gameplay, the original Resistance has an atmosphere of mystery that was never quite matched. The Chimera are a threatening and unnerving presence, especially when we learn details like how those big metal bits in their backs are cooling equipment that keeps their hyperactive metabolisms from burning out. The contrast of mid-1900s quaintness with high-tech alien technology is also really effective, and despite being a completely stock protagonist I did feel a bit of Nathan Hale's awe and trepidation when standing in the shadow of an snow-covered London crawling with mutant abominations.

Resistance is series that never quite lived up to its full potential. Still, getting murdered by alien sharpshooters on the underground is still more pleasant than actually commuting in London.

(3/5)

Availability: Resistance 1 and 2 only seem to be playable on PS3, but physical copies are extremely cheap so don't be suckered into paying a tenner for the digital version. Otherwise you can get Resistance 3 on the PS4 store, either as a single purchase or as part of PlayStation Now. The latter service only lets you stream it, as opposed to downloading, but it's perfectly playable so long as you have good internet. I actually like Playstation Now quite a lot because the service got a big price cut (since Microsoft's Game Pass was kicking its arse) and you can download a hundred or so games, but the rest are stream-only. It'd be nice to get some modern ports but it doesn't seem likely unless the franchise makes a comeback.

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: dhr_advent (part 3)

dhr_advent 2018:

Shooting Star by Musyc - G, one-shot - Accidentally locked on a balcony. In winter. In Scotland. Sometimes you don't need to see the shooting star to get your wish.

Unlikely by Colubrina - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger doesn't believe the results of her Divination project. After all, how likely would it be that Draco Malfoy is her one true love? But then, years later, she goes to a Christmas wedding and what is unlikely may well be what is true.

Rocking Your Stockings by xxDustNight88 - M, one-shot - A festive miscommunication leads to an unforgettable Christmas Eve celebration for Draco and Hermione.

Recipe for Disaster by ravenclaw_sass - M, one-shot - For two years Draco has managed to avoid it, but this year Hermione is not taking no for an answer: they are celebrating Christmas at The Burrow.

Naughty or Nice by xxcelientje - M, one-shot - Hermione decides to give Draco a Christmas suprise. ''Have you been naughty or nice this year Mister Malfoy?’ Hermione whispered before she let her teeth scrape against the skin of his ear.''

Granger's Brandied Fruit Cake by naarna - G, one-shot - Baking a fruit cake for Christmas is a Granger tradition, but why did Hermione have to turn their kitchen into a mess?

Fairy Lights by gracediamondsfear - T, one-shot - Hermione and Draco have been selected as the "face" of the new Marriage Law...the first and most publicized wedding to show how wonderful it is. Their romance is slow growing, but Draco has a Christmas surprise he's been planning for months.

Cookie Cutter by MykEsprit - T, one-shot - Scorpius is kidnapped from his bedroom. Draco and Hermione follow a trail of crumbs—literally—to rescue their son. Written for the D/Hr Advent 2018.

Naughty or Nice by goldensnitch18 - M, one-shot - Hermione doesn't want to attend the Ministry Party this year, but Draco just might find a way to make it worth it. Prompt: Naughty or Nice

Passion Pie by scarlettcat - M, one-shot - Ron and Hermione were having a perfectly ordinary life together until the twins decided to take up baking for the holidays.

New Traditions by articcat621 - T, one-shot - Draco spends Christmas Eve with the Granger family for the first time.

A Trial of Senses by MrsRen - E, one-shot - Like so many others, Hermione finds herself in Hogwarts once more to repeat her last year. It's not going like she planned. Not with her breakup with Ron Weasley, not with giving up the title of Head Girl since she believes her time as passed, and especially not when she is trapped with Draco Malfoy in the middle of a record setting blizzard.  

Deck the Halls by Kittenshift17 - T, one-shot - Sometimes all you need is a little bit of holiday cheer. And a good snog.

The Invitation Denegation by LightofEvolution - T, one-shot - Draco is responsible for the organisation of the Ministry's Christmas party, and he desperately wants Hermione Granger to attend. But Hermione doesn't want to come. How far will Draco go to convince her? And will he be successful?

The 'Ring' in Purring by LaBelladoneX - T, one-shot - AU - Another year has passed for our favourite couple and Draco has a rather important question to ask Hermione this Christmas. But things don't always go according to plan, right? He's been keeping a fairly large secret all to himself but doesn't know how to tell her. How will she react?

Priceless by Kyonomiko - T, one-shot - Draco has enough to concern himself in his 8th year without Hermione Granger's Muggle Culture-of-the-Week nonsense. Unfortunately, she's far too tenacious to let him slip away unnoticed.

Standard of Care by Misdemeanor1331 - T, one-shot - St. Mungo’s doesn’t play politics. They expect their Healers to deliver a high standard of care to every patient, regardless of past associations. But when Hermione discovers that Draco is her assigned Healer, she doubts that St. Mungo’s had ever considered a past association as fraught as theirs.

It's in the Bags by RavieSnake - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger stopped home on Christmas Eve on her way to the Ministry gala only to find an intruder on her doorstep. Realizing the man was Draco Malfoy was rather a shock. Learning his reason for being there was an even bigger one.

Ribbons Down Her Back by LovesBitca8 - T, one-shot - The unintentional annual seduction of Draco Malfoy through a series of ribbons and bows - or - Christmas Fluff with a dash of Secret Santa.

A Matter of Practicality by olivieblake - T, one-shot - Returning to Hogwarts to take their N.E.W.T.s hasn’t exactly been fruitful, seeing as Hermione’s relationship has disintegrated and Draco’s family and fortune have both been dismantled by Ministry decree. At least they’ll be alone for the holidays, which is precisely what they both want. Or is it?

Ice by SenLinYu - T, one-shot - Hermione works in Gringotts’ Records Department when Draco Malfoy comes on staff as a curse-breaker. His icy presence drags up memories she’s desperate to move on from and forget. She tries to ignore him, but every time she sees him, she feels chilled to the bone.

A Yuletide Melody by In_Dreams - T, one-shot - Following years of heartbreak and struggle, Hermione has lost sight of the things that were once important to her. It will take some visitors - and a certain blond - to remind her what matters most at Christmas.

Exhaustively Considered by la_rubinita - G, one-shot - In which Hermione has an announcement, and Draco tries his best to respond appropriately.

Smuggling Hope by mhcalamas - M, one-shot - Draco Malfoy has been sentenced to one year in Azkaban. He grows listless and lonely and believes himself to be forgotten. Until he receives a surprise visitor.

dhr_advent 2019:

Dragon Whiskers by sarena - M, one-shot - "Do you think this is my notion of how I'd like to spend winter solstice? Maybe even Christmas week? I'm as delighted as you are!"

Christmas Collaboration by Musyc - G, one-shot - Draco has no idea what to get Hermione for Christmas without spending money. Rose and Scorpius have ideas.

All I Want for Christmas by In_Dreams - T, one-shot - After drawing Hermione's name in the Ministry Secret Santa, it only took Draco a year to get her gift right, on Christmas Eve.

Wishes from Ashes by niffizzle - T, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is alone. He didn't return to Hogwarts, he has no interest in his old friends, and he is incapable of seeing either of his parents. As the holidays approach, any hope for a happy Christmas seems long lost. Little does he know, he isn't the only one struggling this holiday season.

Phoenix Longings by LightofEvolution - T, one-shot - Fate has it that there is only one phoenix ornament left. But where will it be on Christmas? With Hermione, within the Great Hall of Hogwarts? Or with Draco, sparkling from the branches of the tree in Malfoy Manor?

Of Oranges and Stockings by Frumpologist - T, one-shot - Hermione worries that her muggleborn Christmas traditions will always come second to Draco’s pureblood Christmas traditions

You're A Mean One, Mr Malfoy by Darkrivertempest - T, one-shot - Lucius Malfoy thinks it is high time that Draco Malfoy be married and carry on the Malfoy name.Too bad Lucius dislikes Draco's choice.

Father Christmas by MotherofBulls - M, one-shot - Being the spoiled man-child that he is, Draco Malfoy thought he could have it all for Christmas: a girlfriend he was head over heels for, a holiday in his childhood winter home in the North Pole, and a dignified family affair with the aforementioned girlfriend and his mother. Never did he imagine Narcissa would have her own ideas. This Christmas, Draco will be forced to confront the last glimmers of his childhood and accept a new father figure into his life.

brandy, apricot, and spice by LovesBitca8 - T, one-shot - There’s a Christmas pudding in his cupboard. It was made by warm hands with strong fingers, kneading into the mix and chopping quickly as she had in Potions. It was made before. And now, he supposes, it is after.

The Unwrapping of Draco Malfoy by LaBelladoneX - M, one-shot - One night haunted them... forbidding two lost souls from moving on with their lives. She should never have left; he should never have let her go. When the opportunity comes to address their past mistakes, will they take it? Written for D/Hr Advent 2019.

Ornamental by Ally147 - T, one-shot - There’s a bauble beneath the low lounge opposite her, resting against the far wall.

Frozen by MykEsprit - T, one-shot - Being Draco Malfoy's bodyguard was a boring occupation--until one Christmas Day, when chaos was unleashed. Written for the D/Hr Advent 2019.

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu - T, one-shot - Hermione is determined to give meaningful Christmas gifts to everyone in her Ministry department. Everyone. Even that anti-social arse Malfoy.

Headaches and Lazy Mornings by naarna - G, one-shot - Lazy mornings with her little family are the best...

A Christmas Surprise by articcat621 - T, one-shot - Draco has another surprise in store for Hermione.

Seven Days of Christmas by LadyKenz347 - M, one-shot - After a one night stand after the Ministry Christmas Party, Hermione avoids Draco Malfoy at all costs.

Wrapped in White by Kyonomiko - T, one-shot - The Holiday season feels heavy at Hogwarts in the aftermath of war. Hermione doesn't expect many gifts from the remnants of her Eighth-year class. And so, a small, white package on Christmas Eve leaves her intrigued, curious who might have sent it.

A Midwinter Night's Dream by Colubrina - T, one-shot - A holiday party at work goes astray when a sip of eggnog sends both Hermione and Draco into an enchanted wood. To escape, they'll have to forgive the past.

(Not So) Fake Dating by MrsRen - M, one-shot - After claiming she'll be bringing a date to Christmas at the Burrow, Hermione finds herself in a bind considering there is no boyfriend. Until Draco insists that he can fill the role. Faking a relationship can't be that hard, can it? After all, they've already got the tension down.

Merry Mark, Ministry Narc by Misdemeanor1331 - T, one-shot - To foster feelings of warmth and goodwill, overzealous Administrative Assistant Carol introduces the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to the newest Christmas craze: Elf on the Shelf. However, not everyone is equally enamored with their new office mate.A Dramione sequel to my 2016 Advent fic, Caroled.

Run the Gauntlet by olivieblake - T, one-shot - When the Ministry of Magic announces a renaissance faire to benefit families affected by the war, everyone agrees it's probably a stupid idea—except for Draco, who has amends to make, and Hermione, who has an ex to avoid. Seeing as artisans and performers don't interact, they're convinced it won't be a problem. Much to their joint dismay, fate intervenes to prove them wrong.

Fa La La Ad Infinitem by eilonwy - T, one-shot - A very enterprising band of house-elves is on a mission.

Sweater Season by scarlettcat - M, one-shot - Tis the season for ugly Christmas sweaters and mating Veela. 

dhr_advent 2020:

Sugar Flurries, Candy Storms by mightbewriting - M, one-shot - Draco steps closer. He offers her a single, appraising glance up and down. “You’re Hermione Granger. I suspect you can do anything if you really want it done.”“Stop almost-complimenting me, Malfoy.”His smile grows, white teeth nearly as bright as his hair as he reaches out and flips a curl over her shoulder. He shifts, leaning once more against the nearby column.“Trust me, Granger, you’ll know if I’m complimenting you.”

Whispering Pines by floorcoaster - T, one-shot - The Winter Solstice is a day full of promise for both Draco and Hermione.

Good Luck Kisses by Musyc - T, 8 chapters - A good luck kiss for a Quidditch captain - it's ridiculous. It can't actually work. But it does. Every time.

Queen of Lonely Hearts by raven_maiden - E, one-shot - “You’re an arrogant prick."“I know.” “You harass me constantly.” “I prefer ‘tease.’” “You have no right to touch me.” “Probably not.” Hermione seized what was left of her self-control and ripped free, stumbling backward. “What is this.” Malfoy simply tilted his head. “What do you think?” ** Hermione Granger has a brilliant idea for the office Christmas Party this year. Her coworker, Draco Malfoy, begs to disagree.

Après Ski by scullymurphy - M, 3 chapters - Ginny's let a ski chalet in Switzerland for a pre-Christmas weekend with friends. It's beautiful, cozy and festive, but there aren't enough beds, which means Hermione and Draco will (reluctantly) have to share. And then, of course, they get snowed in...

The Nutcracker Pas de Deux by HeyJude19 - M, one-shot - It began as a way for Hermione to remember her parents, to honour a part of her childhood. But now every Christmas season, Draco Malfoy finds a way into her holiday tradition of attending a performance of The Nutcracker.

The Legacy of Fred Weasley by Kyonomiko - T, one-shot - Fred loved a good party. And Christmas. And suprises. George intends to see his brother's last Weasley product realized...

A Stake of Holly Through His Heart by LovesBitca8 - E, one-shot - The one thing Draco Malfoy hated more than Christmas was snow. Snow had a habit of ruining your plans, causing delays, and generally making you damp. But this Christmas Day blesses him with his third and fourth least favorite things as well: crying girls and Hermione Granger. || 13 GOING ON 30 AU x A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Where the Love-light Gleams by monsterleadmehome - E, one-shot - When Hermione and Draco move in together just before the holiday season, everything seems like it's finally coming together. Then Hermione notices her boyfriend and her cat are at odds. When Crookshanks completely destroys Draco's elaborate Christmas display, will she be able to salvage the holiday cheer? And why does is seem like Draco is hiding something from her?

Les Pèlerins by PacificRimbaud  - M, one-shot - Les pèlerins: pilgrims; travelers on a journey to a holy place.Hermione Granger refused to believe in fate. She’d had enough of destiny and prophecies to last a lifetime. But try as she may, she felt, sometimes, that an invisible golden thread stretched out and away from her.  All she could do was follow it.

The Causative Agent by Misdemeanor1331 - T, 5 chapters - The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been poisoned, Hermione Granger has been spared, and Draco Malfoy is the only person who can help. Aurors don’t typically partner with Healers, but this case is far from routine, and their combined expertise is exactly what’s needed to determine the causative agent and catch the attempted killer.

An Inconvenient Flutter by niffizzle - T, one-shot - With Christmas just one week away, Hermione heads to Hogsmeade to complete her holiday shopping. She doesn’t expect to run into Malfoy along the way. Now, there will be one more person joining them for Christmas dinner.

Wassailing to the Wand-Wood Trees by Aneiria - E, one-shot - The fifth anniversary is the wood anniversary, and after five wonderful years of marriage, Hermione and Draco celebrate their anniversary in the usual way: a solstice wassail with their closest friends and family.This year is particularly special, however, and with the help of a few old friends this anniversary and Christmas will be one neither of them will ever forget.

Hazy by In_Dreams - M, one-shot - When Draco Malfoy's court-ordered mind therapy fell into Hermione's hands, she didn't know what to think. Two Christmases later, she knows better. Written for the 2020 D/Hr Advent.

The Joy of Noisy Toys by naarna - T, one-shot - Scorpius got a new toy from Uncle Harry for Christmas. It is noisy. And he loves it...

Traditions by LadyKenz347 - G, one-shot - Draco is endlessly confused by Hermione's Christmas traditions. Until something gives and he realizes exactly why she's gone absolutely mental about Christmas.

Snow Fall by senlinyu - M, one-shot - The first holidays married should be perfect. If only it weren't for all those pesky social obligations that are almost impossible to get out of.“We have to go very slowly,” she says, fighting to keep her voice even and biting back a moan. “To stay warm—”Her voice breaks off in a gasp as he caresses her just the way he knows she likes it.She pulls his hand away and pushes him down until she’s on top. “You can’t just grope me indiscriminately,” she says with mock severity. “ I have to show you how it’s done. There’s a specific technique to all this.”He narrows his silver eyes as he stares up at her, pale skin and hair gilded with firelight. “Yes. This appears to be extremely scientific.”

This fest is ongoing.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 68

Title & Song: What Kind Of Man

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 9400+

Summary:   Alfie breaks a promise to Genevieve, causing their worst fight yet. When she threatens real repercussions against him, he finds himself being the one doing the begging for the first time. Her need for control turns into a good old fashioned hate fuck. They find themselves a new way to solve their arguments and a new understanding of boundaries in their relationship.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit Sexual Content. Strong Dom/Sub roles and reversals.Bondage.Blindfold and rope Sub Alfie with a touch of Dom. Dom Gen with a touch of Sub. Fluff, Angst. Arguing/Fighting, yelling, forceful physical restraint and shoving while fighting. Emotional manipulation. They’re both unstable.But I love them and their flaws.

**Chapter song is What Kind Of Man by Florence + The Machine.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

Alfie had made some questionable decisions in his day. He was aware of this. But now those decisions involved you. Some you knew about, others you didn't, and on this day one that you did not know about, and for good reason, was going to cause a fight that would bring him to his knees.

He sat in his office, eyes miles away, fingers picking through his beard as his mind raced.

"You ain't 'eard from 'em?" he asks Ollie for the third time this hour.

"No, sir, they're set to call your office phone anyway."

"It's been too long." he grumbles, eyes moving to the silent phone on his desk. "She shoulda been outta that meetin' and on her way home by now." he slumps and rests his forearms on his desk.

"Maybe there was more to discuss than Abeille? Or another meeting after she'd added on?" Ollie offers, trying to be helpful.

"You suggestin' I 'ont know how to keep tabs on me own woman?" he glares over to the tall younger man, who now had eyes wide with fear and apologies.

"I wasn't-" he begins his head shaking back and forth when the phone rings.

Alfie doesn't take his eyes off Ollie, a low brow still berating him wordlessly. "'Ello?" he answers.

"Boss... uh... you should be goin' to the missus house as soon as ya can." the stuttered and rushed words of one of the men he'd sent to tail you around town for protection make him stomach tighten.

"Why?" he demands in a flat and authoritative tone.

"She knows about us." he says, catching his breath.

"And how the fuck would she know? What'd you do? What took you so long to fuckin' call?" he commands.

"It went south quickly. Roddy was shot and I had to take him to the hospital." he hesitantly answers.

"Fuckin' shot? What about her?" his eyes go wide with worry, his free hand placed on the top of his desk, body already wanting to dart for the door.

"She's fine. We got in in time to help her out. They had her outnumbered but... she fuckin' gave it to 'em that's for sure."

"What the fuck happened?" he asks forcefully.

"From what I gathered, with her screamin' at us 'n all. The people she's meetin' with saw us tailin' her. We didn't pull up 'til after she was in like you said. But they thought she was tryin' to ambush 'em and they went off on 'er. We heard gunshots and ran in. Then she held us by gunpoint and made us tell her who we were." he says in a fast and panicked way.

"You fuckin' useless wankers." he groans, rubbing between his eyes. "I told you not to fuckin' tell her who you were!" he shouts into the phone.

"She was gonna shoot us sir! She even cut me up a bit to get me to talk!" he says in a high pitched desperate voice.

"I 'ont care." he spits out. "That's what ya fuckin' hazard pay is for ya fuckin' lot 'a bellends." his voices rises and falls, knowing he was going to be met with the same fate now. "You two are back on fuckin' cleanin' duty when you get back 'ere. You understand?"

"Yes sir." he says with a sigh.

"Right. Now I gotta go deal with what you fucked up." he sits the phone done on the receiver like it weighed a ton. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and rises to get his coat.

"That didn't go according to plan I take it?" Ollie asks.

"Ya got anymore daft fuckin' useless questions?!" he shouts in his face, shoving him out of the way to walk through the doorway.

Ollie shuts up and lets Alfie have his space before going back to work.

On the long drive to your place, he's left trying to figure out how to navigate this unfortunate turn of events. You would be furious. He knew that. He also knew he couldn't make you understand the reason he had men follow you in the first place. You were too precious a thing to him to lose. He wasn't going to let you get snatched up in broad daylight or attacked while you shopped at the market if he could help it. The tails had only been a way to keep you protected but he knew you wouldn't see it that way. He couldn't live without you and if he didn't do everything he could to keep you safe he'd never forgive himself.

"He's here." you hear Claire say with a heavy sigh as you're standing in the garden, fuming, thinking of all the things you wanted to scream at Alfie while you ripped him apart. You say nothing and walk briskly past her. "He's in your bedroom!" she calls out, shoulders hung low as she knows whatever is about to happy won't be pretty.

With no hesitation you move your overworked muscles towards your room, throwing your door open and slamming it shut behind you, your dressing gown shifting with your fast and certain movements. He sees your face and prepares for the onslaught coming his way.

"Genevieve I can explain." he begins, hands up in surrender as you stomp towards him like an angry bull.  When you reach out and slap him open handed across his face it catches him off guard. His head stays turned, eyes wide as he processes the hit. He tried to keep his face indifferent but the pain made him want to fire back at you

"I almost DIED because of you!" you scream at him, brow low and hard, face set in a tight, furious expression as your eyes bore into him.

He turns his head, eyes shifting to you first to take you in, seeing scrapes and bruises he didn't expect. He had been told you were fine, and this was not the untouched story he'd been sold. "You should know that would never be my intention, pet." he tries to soothe you with pet names even though he knows it won't work.

"But it was your intention to lie, yes? To have me tracked like a fucking animal without telling me?" you shove him and his legs hit against the end of your bed.

"I wanted to keep ya safe, love, I-" he talks with his hands, punctuating his points.

"That's a load of shit and you know it!" you growl, leaning in closer.

"No it's not, yeah?" his voice finally rises,and your postures straightens, ready to hear what he had to say in terms of defending his stupidity. "I had them follow you to keep an eye on you."

"Because you don't trust me?" you cross your arms as your voice evens out, head tilted at him.

"Course not! I didn't want someone tryin' to snatch ya up or fuckin' trappin' ya in some fake meetin' because 'a ME." he sells the last word heavily.

"But you can lie to me? Funny how that reasoning works with you." you spit out.

"I didn't lie I just didn't tell you." he groans.

You shove him again. "You fucking horse's arse!" you shout. "So full of shit!" you ball up your fists. "Can't even take responsibility for your actions!" you look down your nose at him with digust.

"I am not ya fuckin hell cat!" he shouts back. "Come down off ya fuckin' pedestal and join the rest of us in the fuckin' real world Genny! I did it to keep you safe because there are men out to KILL YOU, RIGHT?! Because of ME! If somethin' happened to you that I coulda stopped, do you think I could live with that?!" he put his hands to his chest in defense of himself, his anger cracking to show the concern that birthed his lies.

"And I almost died TODAY because of YOU. They saw the men trailing me pull up, they asked me who they were and I didn't know BECAUSE OF YOU! They thought I was lying and I had a gun pulled to my fucking HEAD because I was left in the dark. YET AGAIN!" you scream and get in his face and he holds his ground against you.

"I ain't gonna apologize for tryna keep ya safe!" he barks.

"We've had this argument before Alfie. Don't you remember? The one where I threatened to fucking KILL you if you did it again?!" you ask with an eerie calm to your words, his chin dropping in control of his emotions.

"Of course I fuckin' remember! I-" begins with an already exhausted look on his face.

"THEN WHY DID YOU DO IT AGAIN YOU DAFT FUCKING MAN?!" you screech, shoving him. "Why must you continuously prove to me that you can't fucking listen? That you don't actually respect my abilities or my space. Because if you fucking respected me you would LEARN from your mistakes. You PROMISED me that night that you wouldn't pull this shit again and what did I tell you?" your voice is loud and has grown a crowd outside your closed door. Aggie is in tears and Claire's muscles have never been so tense.

He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off.

"I told you not to make me regret my mercy." you snap. "And what have you done, huh?" your voice rises again.

"I'm sorry Genevieve... I-" he leans forward and thinks to reach out to touch you.

"OH NOW THERE'S AN APOLOGY!" you laugh wildly, turning from him with your arms in the air in disbelief of his actions. "I can't believe I fucking trusted you." you shake your head slowly before turning back to him. "Everyone was right about you weren't they? Don't believe a word he fucking says, they told me. And I thought you loved me and I was fucking stupid enough to fall for you and your lies."

"I do love you, Genevieve," he says with downcasted eyes and slumped shoulders. "I do love you, that's why I did it!" he states with an open mouth like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"If you loved me you would've TOLD ME!" your resolve begins to break and your lip trembles before you can turn from him.

"I did it because I can't lose you, do ya not see that?!" his voice rises, giving away his desperation.

"If you were truly worried about losing me you wouldn't have had me tailed without my knowledge. Even putting today's events aside in which YOUR actions almost got me KILLED, your actions are grounds for me to leave you." your voice cracks.

"Genevieve you don't mean-" he shakes his head slowly.

"DO I NOT?!" you scream into his face. He reaches out to touch you and you smack his arms away. "Don't you dare fucking touch me." you growl and his face winces, jaw going tight. "If I killed you it would be too obvious. So the next step down is to leave you isn't it?" you bite out. You don't believe what you're saying, not really, but you want to hurt him as much as he's hurt you.

"Don't talk like that love." he says softly, shaking his head. "I only risked doin' that because if somefing happened to you that I could've prevented I couldn't live with meself." he says, chin down and eyes lifted up to yours, voice cracking as you watch the lump in his throat grow. "I can't lose you. I didn't want you hurt. Today was an absolute fuck up on my behalf, yeah? I never meant to make you think I didn't respect you. I was tryin' to take extra precautions to keep ya safe. It did not work. I'm sorry! You have to see that I love you, Genevieve, and that's why I did it." he leans his face towards you to sell his words to you.

"And your love includes going directly against anything I've ever asked of you?" your voice is raspy, fighting back emotion, hearing the surprising softness of his own in his pain. "Why would I stay with a man who would keep me in the dark? You say you had me trailed to keep me safe but do you not see how it also leaves me to believe you don't trust me?"

"I do trust you, love. I do. That were never a part of it, yeah? It was only for extra protection."

"Then you should have asked me!" your voice high pitched.

"And your stubborn arse would've said no!" he says loudly, his face slack and eyes wide, palms up in exhaustion. "Then I would've bloody gone 'n done it anyway wunnit I?" he shakes his head. "Because as long as you're mine, I will do anyfing and everyfing in my power to keep you safe!"

"So you're telling me that you would ignore my wishes?" you say, your disgust clear on your face.

"I thought it better to ask forgiveness than permission." he admits.

"My capacity for it has its limits. You fooled me once Alfie... you don't fucking get to do it twice." you scold, leaning in towards him.

"I'M SORRY, RIGHT?!" he shouts back, arms out at his sides. "I 'ont know how else to fucking tell you I did it because I fuckin' love you and I can't fuckin' live without you so I YEAH I would go against your wishes because you aren't always right, Genevieve." he barks back.

Your mouth falls open and you glare at him. "Get out." you whisper.

"No." he says defiantly.

"Get the fuck out of my house." you hiss, fists balled and eyes trying to hide your frustration with the situation. You wanted to hurt him, you wanted him to cry and hurt. Not be this controlled man you saw in front of you. You wanted to rip him to pieces. You wanted him to learn his lesson.

"Genevieve no... please..." he says with a heaving chest, moving towards you even though you smack his hands away as they touch you.

"Get out." you begin to cry. He reaches for you, holding you tight by the arms and you whimper. "Stop it Alfie." you continue to try to push him away but in your emotional state you can't fight him off. "You don't love me. You're mad. What sort of man acts like this when he's in love?" you choke out with a face showing your hurt. "You don't love me." you bite out at him.

"I do. I'm as mad as a fuckin' hatter for you, Genny, that's why I do things like this." he says softly, trying to bring the energy down. "I can't even think straight when it comes to you, love, I think of you as mine already, you know 'is." he nods his head to drive his point home. "I know you're hurt and I'm sorry. But I would be a shell of who I am now if I lost you." he says leaning in close to your face, you see in his eyes he means it. "I'll do anyfing, Genevieve, what do you want? What do you need from me because I 'on't fuckin' know." he asks quietly, seeing your face soften but your brow stays hard in defiance.

You swallow hard, taking a deep breath. You didn't want him to be without you as much he didn't want it. You wanted him to pay though. He deserved some sort of punishment for what he'd done. You say nothing and look away from him.

"Please, Gen, I'm sorry. Let me prove it to you, yeah? I'll work to earn your forgiveness." he takes your face into his hands and when you let him he feels a weight off his shoulders. "Let me show you I only react in such a way out of love." he says softly, a kiss to your forehead that your body reacts to. "Let this make us stronger, eh? We were due for a good fight weren't we? Two people like us can't go without blowin' up from time to time can we? You're too passionate to be contained, love 'n I know you're angry but can I do anything now, in this moment, to ease it? Just don't you dare talk about leavin' me." he finishes gently, thumbs rubbing across your cheeks.

You both fall quiet, an air of desperation hangs around you. "You did it because you're afraid of losing me?" you ask of him.

"Terrified." he whispers. "Only thing I'm afraid of." he shakes his head.

You take in a deep inhale. "What would you do if you lost me?" you ask.

"Burn down the whole fuckin' city to get to whoever did it. I'd be the most miserable fuckin' man anyone ever had the unfortunate chance to meet. I'd be left to get swallowed up in my hate cause I'd lost my love, wouldn't I?" you stare into his eyes and you find nothing but honesty there now.

"Do you need me Alfie?" your voice is breathy as you shut your eyes.

"Like air." he whispers.

"And you love me?" he watches over your soft face, your chest rising and falling slower now as you speak.

"Infinitely." he answers.

"And you're mine?" your brow furrows as you ask.

"I am."  You feel the warm feeling wash over you.

"Tell me you're mine. No one else's." you shake your head subtly.

He gives to your wishes without hesitation. "I am yours, my love. There is no one else in my eyes but you."

You open your eyes again and he finds them dark and dilated. You feel a power come over you, hearing a strong man like him give in. You knew what you needed from him now. "Get on your knees." you say in a clear, flat voice.

He narrows his eyes in question, side-eyeing you for a moment.

"I'm going to have you earn your forgiveness," you state slowly. "Get on your knees." you say with more a command to your tone.

He lets your face go, eyes staying locked on yours as he kneels slowly, uncertainty clear in them.

You run your hand through his hair, looking over his handsome face. "Take your coat off." you tell him gently. He follows what you ask. You rake your nails from his scalp to his neck, hands rubbing his shoulders and resting on them. "Apologize."

"I'm sorry." he says quickly.

You move back to his hair, feeling the thick softness and humming. "Do you think I'm weak Alfie?" your voice inflects upward.

"No of course not." he says earnestly.

"But yet you behave as if I am. That would make YOU the weak one wouldn't it? Only weak men try to control their women." you pout. "My Alfie isn't weak." you state harshly.

"It is not weak to admit what I need, love." he says with a deep voice, a subtle shake of his head.

You give him a subtle smile, a gentle pat to the cheek. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, Alfie. I don't think you're going to be happy about it." you purse your lips down at him. "But then again... you might." you shrug.

He takes a deep breath, starting to understand what you were doing. He wasn't sure about it but he was willing to keep his word that he'd do anything. "Do what you want. If it's to keep you I'll take it with a fuckin' smile if ya wish." he gives a confident nod of his chin up towards you.

"That's a good boy." you pat his cheek and run your thumb over his lips. "Not going to get you out of being punished though." you give a sly smile and turn from him to walk to a trunk that sat against a wall next to your armoire. You open the lid and stand and pick your nails as you hum in thought. "What to do... what to do..." you say in a melodic tone.

He watches you with curious eyes, trying to keep his face indifferent.

"Seeing as it's your first time..." you speak to yourself, reaching down to take a soft, woven rope from the trunk and a ribbon of satin. "Hurting you physically isn't what this is about." you say, walking over to him with a swing to your hips, a look of superiority on your face. "Isn't even about sex. Not really." you say with a nod, running your fingers through his hair and turning them into a fist, giving it a firm tug. "Everything in the world is about sex, except sex itself. Sex is about power." you tell him with a cold appearance, pulling his head back. "And you are a powerful man. But you're going to yield to me." you state flatly, leaning down closer to his face, hand yanking on his hair.

"I told ya, I'm yours." he answers. You could never deny that he wasn't a smart man. He could've been the smartest you knew and never short on cleverness.

"You are mine. Now get on this bed." you give a sharp nod, tugging him up by his shirt collar and sitting him down. "You're going to do as I say. You're going to listen." you bite your words at him, smacking his nose like a scolded pup. "You're going to prove to me you can. You're going to give me your power and I'm going to use you and punish you however I please. Do we understand?" you stand up straight as you speak and unbutton his shirt.

"Yes, love." he sighs out.

"No." you give a stern smack to his cheek. "No love, no darling, no pet names. You call me Miss until I tell you otherwise. You haven't earned calling me yours again. I'm not yours again yet." you speak low and concise at him, his eyes blinking rapidly to try to subdue his instincts to talk back. When he goes without speaking for too long you twist on of his nipples and he flinches. "Answer me." you loudly demand.

"Yes Miss." he grunts out, wanting to rub the spot of sudden impact but you're roughly yanking his sleeves off his arms.

"Kick off your shoes." you order, taking his shirt and picking up his jacket, laying it over the back of a chair. "Much better." you exhale out, nails raking down his bare arms. You untie the sash around your waist, letting your dressing gown fall open just slightly. You see his nostrils twitch, his eyes move down your body and you grab him firmly by the chin. "You don't get to watch me do these things to you. This body is mine, not the other way around. You don't get to gaze at this feminine form while you're being punished." you shake his chin and put the satin ribbon across his eyes. "Have you ever been blindfolded Alfie?"

"No Miss." he answers with clear disapproval to his voice.

"That's surprising," you say out loud in reflection. "Has a woman ever tied you up before?" you ask with a sweeter tone.

"No. Never wanted to be put in a vulnerable position." he forces out in a stubborn mumble.

You let out a dark chuckle at his expense. "I supposed you should've behaved and kept it that way then, hmmm? Because you're going to be vulnerable for me." you coo, bending over the bed and encircling his elbows and wrists pulled together with the soft rope. You preferred the harder, rougher rope yourself but you didn't want to leave visible marks on him after the fact. "Have you ever heard of Kinbaku?" you ask while forming the intricate patterns across his forearms.

"No." he says softly.

You bend his pinky back as he's already forgetting the rules.

"Fuckin', MISS, No. Miss." he rushes out.

"He's learning." you say in a patronizing tone. "It's the art of tight binding with rope. It's about the beauty in the art of restraint. I learned from a very knowledgeable woman during my time in Berlin." you explain, knotting his arms together, forcing his chest out and his back straight as he grunted. "This isn't some sailors knot you boys brought home. You won't be getting out this." he hears the threat in your voice. "Go ahead." you say with a humourous lilt and you stand in front of him, hands on your hips, opening your dressing gown to expose your naked body underneath. "Try." you challenge him.

He grunts, jaw tight and shoulders shifting almost falling onto his side in his attempt.

"See? Not going anywhere," you say condescend, bopping his nose. "And what good news for me." you let out a slow, deep laugh, spreading his knees and standing between them, letting your hands roam over his shoulders and down his arms slowly. "Truly a shame you have to have such an appetizing body when you have such a habit of poor behavior." you sigh and pout, fingers dragging down his stomach to the tops of his trousers. "All I want to do is love and fuck you Alfie I don't know why you can't just behave and let me do that without having to do things like this." your voice is whiny and lazy, reaching and twisting his nipples as he flinches and grunts. "Making me deny both of us. Making me take time out of my busy schedule to fucking train you like some dog." you knock his chin with the back of your hand. "And such a stubborn mutt." you scold, a smack to both his cheeks. You change your tone and touch to sweeter, lighter to begin overwhelming him. "But he is so handsome. Except for all that sneaking he's a good pup isn't he?" you run your fingers through his beard.

"I fuckin' try, Miss." he answers gruffly, his frustration evident.

"Try harder." you command, slapping his chest firmly, making him press his lips together. "If you want to keep me you'll try harder." You put your lips to his and speak. "I will not tolerate this machismo shit that you're trying to pull on me. I won't. I don't care if I fucking love you, I'll live without you out of spite. I've built my whole life around spite and don't think you're immune just because I love your stubborn arse." He feels the more heartfelt expression in your voice as you speak closely and harshly to him.

"So you would still love me?" he says softly, you back away, his lips parted just slightly as he waits for an answer.

"I will love you until the day I die, Alfie. But don't think that means you can do what you want and get away with it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss." he whispers.

"You will ask me before doing these things. Even if it means a fight. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Because I would rather you tell me and then do it, over not telling me. It's the transparency I need, Alfie. I won't have secrets that could hurt us kept between us." you lift up his chin to your face. "It's a matter of my safety and yours now. This isn't some young love where the only effects of our lies are hurt feelings. It's life or death now. Like it was today. And we might not be so lucky next time. I know you understand that."

"I do, Miss."

"So can you promise to tell me things, even if they hurt me? Even if I want to hate you? Because if you tell me the truth I will be able to forgive you eventually. Unlike now."

"I will. I promise, yeah? I hate seein' ya upset."

"I do not need coddled Alfie. I've said this before. I am not a child, I am not naive. You tell me the bad. Not only the good. I can take it. I might scream and lash out but wouldn't you prefer that to me leaving you?"

"I'd prefer anyfing to that." he sighs out and you're touched by the soft tone.

"Then let your actions show it. I don't give second chances Alfie, and here I am. My daft, softened heart giving way for you to learn a lesson without forcefully breaking yours."

"Thank you, love -Miss." he winces and waits to be hit but it doesn't come. "I promise to keep in mind you are not a fragile little thing to keep guarded in a box."

"Is that how you truly want me, Alfie? To be a kept little porcelain figurine on your shelf with no personality, no ambitions but to sit and be beautiful?"

"No, I love that you're fuckin' mad." he shakes his head and you see a charming grin come across his face. You slap his face and it stays. He can't see the entertained look on your face.

"Don't push it you hound." he hears the amusement in your voice. "You don't want someone so easily broken do you?" you ask softly, sliding your leg up on the bed next to his.

"I do not." his voice dips low, keeping a grateful softness.

"And neither do I." you hiss, straddling his lap. "But I'm going to try to break you today." you graze your nose against his. "I'm going to tease and hurt you and you're going to do what I say because you want me happy don't you? Wasn't that what all this lying was about? To keep me happy?"

"It was, truly, love. When you're upset I feel like I've failed you somehow."

"Oh you sweet pup." you scratch into his beard. "You're going to make me very happy right now then aren't you? Be a good boy for me and perhaps I'll be good to you. IF you earn it."

"I am, Miss. I want ya to be good to me. I wanna be good to ya." he says earnestly.

"In time." you say happily, glad he can't see the smile on your face. You let your dressing gown fall behind you to the floor and press your bare skin against his chest. His chest rises and falls dramatically as he comprehends what's going on. "Now I want to tease you." you say, lifting your breasts and rubbing your hard nipples against his chest. "You can't touch me with your hands like this. All tied up like a present for me. I know you must hate that." you laugh softly. "Having to imagine what I look like, completely naked and rubbing against you like this." You lift your self and press your breasts to either side of his face and he groans, moving his face to nuzzle against them. You sit down hard on his lap and he groans in pain. "I didn't say you could do that." your voice turns darker again and he swallows loudly. "This is for me, not you." you inform curtly. You rise again, batting him about the face with your breasts, knocking his head from side to side. "You love these big tits of mine don't you Alfie?" you purr.

"I fuckin' do, Miss." he groans, licking his lips.

"What do you like about them?" you keep pressing them to his face, your arms around his head from time to time, smothering him in them and going back to teasing your hard nipples to his bare skin.

"What's not to fuckin' like? Can I be crude, Miss?" he asks.

"You are learning and I am impressed." you chirp. "You may." you give him a good scratch to the chin for his behavior.

"They're fuckin' huge, love. I just wanna fuckin' smother to death in 'em. And the weight of 'em against me is just... I fuckin' think about 'em all the time. Want my mouth on 'em to show you how much I want you. The way they bounce when I fuck you and you ride me... fuck. When you're cold at night and I pull you against me and feel those perfect little brown nipples hard against me. And fuck me, the noises you make when I suck on your tits, love, it makes me so fuckin' hard I can't think 'bout anyfing else." he lets out a long exhale.

"Keep talking like that and you'll be rewarded." you give him a single chaste kiss to the cheek. "You want them in your mouth?"

"Fuck, yes, love." his shoulders slump.

"Open your mouth." and he does as you command. "But DON'T you dare move your lips." you say, placing one of the hard peaks, tracing it around his lips and he pants, shoulder shifting as he wants to touch you. "I bet you wish those big paws of yours were free to pull me into your mouth don't you?" you purr.

"Yes, Miss" he groans.

"Too bad." you state flatly. "Stick out your tongue." you rub your nipple against the warm, wet surface and hum. "I do love it when you suck on these big tits Alfie. It makes me so wet." you whisper, a taunting smile on your face as you watch him try to not struggle against his bindings. You lower your hips down, taking them away from his mouth. "And it makes you hard doesn't it?" you state as you move your hips against his, feeling him growing beneath you.

"It does." he groans, his mouth and tongue stuck out searching for your skin.

"You want me to let that fat cock of yours out to play?" you whisper into his ear, dragging your tongue up the shell of it.

He groans with a clenched jaw. "Yes, Miss."

"So he does like this." you say cheerfully, fingers teasing under his waistband. "But have you earned getting to feel me against you?" you ask rhetorically as you rub him over his trousers.

"Let me." he rasps out.

"You're not in the position to be asking things of me." you scold, giving his hardening cock a slap and he hisses. "Just for that I'm going to tease you more." you announce proudly, making quick work of his trousers and pants and leaving him bare on the bed. "Now look at you. Not even your pants to give you any friction." you deign. "So let's make it worse." you smile, taking the blindfold off of him. "Hello there my blue-eyed dog." you give him a scratch to his chin.

"'Ello..." he slurs out, eyes looking over your naked body cause his cock to stir.

""ello?" you ask, a slap to the underside of his cock and he turns his head and winces.

"Miss. Bloody miss, 'Ello Miss." he grunts out and diverts his eyes.

"Better." you say harshly, taking your breasts again and hitting him in the face with them. His groans move from pained to pleasurable quickly as you make his pillowy lips pucker with the squeezing of his face. "Not perfect but what should I expect from a man?" you patronize and his face shows he doesn't care in the least. You pull away from him, leaning down as if you were going to put your mouth on his cock, but hesitating, letting your hard nipples graze up his thighs, dragging them up on either side of his cock, a brief wobble of your chest to tease before hitching a leg up to drag them up his chest. "Open your mouth again. Don't make me tell you not to move again." you hiss, once again tracing his lips and tongue with the stiff peaks, the contact and the power from his helplessness making you wet. "Such a gorgeous mouth, truly." you coo. "Now suck." you command. He doesn't pause for consideration, eyes closing and mouth enveloping your breast as much as he could, grunting into it, harsh rhythmic sucking, watching the muscles in his neck tense from his enthusiasm.  "What filthy whispers I've heard from them. Unfortunately also what lies." you tsk and pull them away, rising off of his body quickly, leaving him with fluttering lids and an open mouth.

You turn around, looking around the room for inspiration for a moment, you hear a familiar grunt as he wants to bury his face into your peachy arse. "I hear you back there." you smirk. "You like my arse too?" you ask with a cheerful tone, placing your hands on his knees, running yourself up against his balls first then feeling him rest between the valley of your arse.

"Yes, miss." he groans, you feel his thighs shifting beneath you.

"Is there any part of me you don't like?" you laugh, bouncing yourself against him, causing him to pat heavy against you as you did.

"No, miss." he whispers, nose twitching from the contact.

"Right answer." you say, bouncing your cheeks at him with your hands underneath them, before bending over slowly, no longer touching him, letting him get a view of you. He could see the glimpse of soft hair and pink lips between your thighs as you bent, and his cock twitched at the sight, balls tightening with need. "And do you love this cunt?" you ask with a sweet tone, reaching behind you to spread yourself apart in front of him.

"Unggg Yes, love - Miss." he corrects.

"Tell me." you say, running your hands over the swell of your ass and down your thighs.

"I fuckin' love that perfect little cunt of yours, Miss."

"Good boy." you say in reward, moving to a chair that sat not far from the edge of the bed, pulling it closer by bending over and backing towards him, giving him a good view. Out of reach, but close enough to see you, you spin and sit on the edge of the chair. You caress your chest and down your thighs, spreading them, kneading the soft flesh up to your center. Hitching a leg over the arm of the chair, you begin to tease around your lips. "Have you ever seen such a pretty little puss Alfie?" you ask with a smile, fingers now pressing against your slit.

"No Miss." he groans, eyes fixated.

"Such a soft and pink little thing isn't she?" you purr affectionately, looking down at yourself, fingers sliding between your lips, holding them open for him, causing him to groan. "And expert at taking your cock."

"Yes she is Miss" he groans, licking his lips.

"You are so lucky Alfie. To get the privilege to fuck such a well cared for and maintained cunt you know? I keep her tight and soft and wet for you don't I?"

"Yes Miss you do." he whines.

You begin to rub your clit, humming in pleasure, hips starting to shift back and forth. "You want it don't you?"

"Fuck yes I do miss." he pants.

You throw your other leg up, leaning back on full display. "I can tell from that cock of yours." you grin, biting your lip and continuing to rub, closing your eyes and giving him a show, moaning and shifting, rubbing fast then slow and back again. "I'm so wet, Alfie." you moan, opening your eyes to find him standing at attention for you, your give a few firm slaps to your center and he lets out a deep grunt. "You're licking your lips, do you want a taste?" you tease.

"Yes Miss." he nods, eyes not leaving you.

You slide your fingers inside you, a showy moan and throwback of your head. You stand quickly, strutting over to him and sliding your fingers into his mouth. "Taste it." you whisper, letting him suck your fingers, his tongue lapping away at them inside his mouth and let out a content hum of appreciation. "Good boy," you say, putting the wet fingers back between your legs and moaning. "Such a good boy." you rasp, throwing your leg over him again, a strong grab and slap to his hip before you take hold of his cock and slide it against your wet center.

His mouth drops open as he swears, lip twitching at the contact before his eyes swing back up to your face.

"I feel you throbbing for it." you taunt, sliding yourself against him.

"Yes Miss." he wheezes, lips hanging open and wet, eyes looking up at you.

"Look at you, panting for it with those puppy dog eyes." you hold his cheek with your free hand, grazing your nose against him. "Would you like a kiss, pup?" you ask softly.

"Yes, Miss." he nods.

"Such a soft thing." you purr before teasing him again, licks and grazes of your lips against his before giving in after taking in his strung-out face. When you let him kiss you, he moans. A moan into a kiss was something new and you were thrilled by the arrival of the deep noise, it meant your teasing was working. You give into for a bit, kissing back with tongue and teeth as he pushed against you, starving for more contact. Not having his arms free was extremely frustrating and that annoyance was only making his blood pump faster and make him want you more.

You rise off him to stand between his legs, keeping your kiss intact before hiving him a hard, tight tug and he grunts, breaking the kiss. "Too rough?" you ask with a tilt of your head, another hard tug from the base, jerking his hips forward.

"Mmmph."  he answers at first, hesitant to tell you now, fearing he might receive worse. "Yes Miss." he answers sheepishly.

"Oh he doesn't like a rough wank?" you taunt, giving him a few more and watching him wince. "Shame, that." you sigh. "Guess I'll have to be nice to this cock won't I?" you pout. "I'll need it throbbing hard to fuck me right, won't I?" you keep rubbing against him, drawing out a moan. "And I do plan on having you fuck me right, Alfie." you sigh out against his lips. The sound of his name makes him grunt, forgetting the rough grip on him already. "If you can be a good boy."

"I can Miss."

"You want to be a good boy?" you ask, letting him go, a playful pinch to his inner thighs before you turn and bend over again, reaching back to stroke him.

"Yes Miss."

"You want to fuck me?" you tease, rubbing his head against your wet slit.

He groans and shifts "Yes, miss."

"Then come get it." you say, letting him go, hands on your ankles in front of him. "Fuck me if you want to so badly." you say in a harsh, bossy tone.

You feel his legs try to move him in a way to get to you, scooting to the end of the bed but he can't get the leverage without his arms in use.

"Fuck me, Alfie. C'mon." you bounce your ass at him and laugh. "Oh can the poor pup not manage?" you pout, looking back at his red and drawn face. "Poor baby." you laugh, bouncing your ass at him with your hands. You turn back, moving quickly to straddle him, connecting in a kiss he didn't see coming. "You don't get to fuck me unless I let you. This cunt isn't yours, it's mine." you bite his lip. "But this cock." you nod and reach between your legs to wrap around him again. "This cock is mine. It doesn't go anywhere or do anything unless I give it permission. You understand?"

"Yes miss."

"Tell me it's mine." you growl

"It's yours miss." he sighs.

"And you. All of you. Is mine." you growl, rubbing yourself against him, your fingers light against the head of his cock. "Tell me." you demand, grabbing him roughly again.

"I'm yours. it's all yours Miss"

"You are mine. All mine." you coo, your switching of mean to sweet making his brow furrow as he tried to anticipate what you would do next but he didn't know and it made his heart race. "Do you want me to be yours, Alfie?"

"Yes, Miss."

"You want me to stay with you? Always? Do you want to keep this little cunny happy?"

"Yes love, please. Miss, yes."

"Do you need me Alfie?" you taut him with a soft voice.

"Yes, love, I need you. Miss." he rushes out, forgetting himself as he sees your body rising and falling in a serpentine fashion against him.

"Will you be a good boy and behave? Listen to what your misses says? Do as you're told?"

"Yes miss." he groans, voice more desperate.

"Are you going to act like the grown fucking man I know you are? Because that's what I want Solomons. A grown. Fucking. Man." you bite out against him. "I don't need a boy who lies. I want a man to face the consequences of his actions. One that will fuck me proper and love me even harder. Are you that man, darling?"

"Yes, love I am. I'll prove it to you. I love you, Gen and I'm mad about you. Let me show you, love. Let me keep you." his eyes are wide and you see the sincere feelings behind his words.

You lean in to kiss his flushed face. "Desperation for me does look so delicious in your eyes, Alfie." you kiss his cheek. "I won't leave you. You silly beast." you whisper into his ear, nuzzling against his face. "Not today anyway." you huff out a laugh. "Since you said please. And I am absolutely soaked and aching for your cock I suppose it's time to reward you for this good behavior." you run your tongue up the side of his face. "Does a good boy want his misses to fuck him?"

"Yes, fuck, please, Gen. Me balls are fuckin' purple from this, love."

"Does it hurt?" you say condescendingly.

"Yes, it fuckin' does love. I've never needed someone as badly as I do you right now." his voice is raspy and urgent and you give another lick to his lips, a happy groan from you.

"I'll let you inside me. But I'm taking what I need from you first. I'll be fucking you, not the other way around." you tap his nose in punctuation as you slide off him and onto the bed. "Come now. Use those sturdy legs." you instruct, grabbing his arms and hauling him up onto the bed. His wide eyes show his surprise for your strength and you give him a cheeky smile. You even give him pillows to let his arm lay in a less painful way as you push him down and straddle him.

Moving fast,  keeping him on his toes, you slide down onto him, his head falls back and he lets out an open-mouthed moan.

"That's what I want to hear." you purr, slapping your hands down onto his chest and starting a fast pace, bouncing yourself against him, a quick slap of skin, broken with grinding down hard on him, rubbing yourself against him. "Look at me love. Watch me take your cock." you say breathily, leaning back with your hands on his legs and riding him as hard as you could. His eyes are dark and half-lidded, watching himself pump in and out of you. Eyes wandering over your thighs as they slam into him, your tits bouncing and ribs shifting under your skin as your moans grow louder.

"Fuck, Gen I-

"DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING COME!" you shout, leaning forward and slapping him hard across the face. "Don't even fucking think about it. I'm coming all over this cock first. You can't come until I want you to. This cock is MINE." you growl, pounding him as hard as you can, holding his throat firmly. "Fuck me harder and make me come, Alfie. I want us both soaked to our thighs after I'm done with you. Make me come all over that fat cock, you dog."

He grits his teeth and prays, planting his feet as best he could and using his stomach to push back into your assault on his hips.

"That's it. Fuck me Solomons." your growl continues, one hand on his chest now, leaning back and rubbing your clit. "Show me this your cunny. Make it yours. Make me come." you demand, starting to lose the fight against the oncoming orgasm. Your hips falter and your nails dig into his skin making him hiss. Your eyes roll back dramatically heading falling back as you let loud, body folding moans up toward the canopy of the bed. "Good boy. Such a GOOD. FUCKING. BOY." you growl and shout, grinding against him as you snarl, eyes fluttering back open to meet his, yours looking black against your flushed face as they glared down at him. "Now if I untie you will you make me come again? Fuck me like a good boy, hmmm?"

"Yes, fuckin', GAH let me at you love, fuckin' christ." he squirms as you laugh loudly at his desperation.

"There's my man." you lean to bite his lip before swinging your leg off of him and rolling him to his front. "Don't struggle so much, or it'll hurt more." you say, your knowledgeable fingers working against the ropes as quickly as they could. He moans and groans into the bed as the grip loosens, his fingers moving again as you watching the veins pulse underneath his flushed skin. "Come now, on your back, slowly." you say, giving him a rub between the shoulder blades.

"Fuckin' 'ell." he grumbles rolling back over.

"Let them readjust first. Eager." you smirk and rub his shoulders.

"I'm gonna make that bossy little cunny mine as soon as me fuckin' arms work." he groans, a hint of playfulness in his voice at his inability to pounce.

"Good. That's what I want. A man who can take AND give." you whisper, licking your lips and rubbing his forearms. You place his hands on your breasts. "Play with them, it'll help." you wink and giggle, and he grabs them tightly, tighter than you thought he might be able to but you loved the thrill of it. He gives one a slap. "Oh! So rough." you taunt and grin.

"Gonna show you fuckin' rough." he growls, no tease in his voice now, only need. He grabs you and slams you face first into the bed. A hard slap to your arse first, followed by another, then you hear a hungry growl followed by a hard bite to the same area.

"C'mon you big dog, fuck me." you say, getting up on your knees.

Without a word he slaps over your slit, a stinging and not playful hit. He pushes into you, only breathing and wordless noises, he had embraced the beast you'd been calling him and let it out. Having been teased for longer than he ever had before, he needed a fierce release at your expense.

He comes at you hard, your brace against the headboard, hand wrapped around the edge as his nails make tiny rivulets of blood run down your thighs he holds you so tightly. You love this urgency you feel in him, this raw need you wanted to feel. You wanted it to hurt, to be hard and bruising to fuck the anger out of you.

He slaps your arse over and over, red and welting as he grunts and growls, a hard pounding into you. He scratches his way up your back, hand gathering your hair, making a messy fist of it to yank your head back, then pounding into you as he slapped your arse and thighs and held you up by your hair.

"Yes you fucking beast, make this cunny yours, Solomons." you cry out, eyes in the back of your head and your shame nowhere to be seen. "This is why I let you act like a fucking fool. Because you can do this. This is why I let you do this because you give me what I need. You're such a good fucking boy all red and angry, aren't you?" you demand and he pushes you down on the bed, his full weight on you. "Fuck yes, take me like a fucking beast, Alfie, yes." you cry out.

"Such a fuckin' slag for this cock, little Genny." his breath hot and heavy in your ear as he lets out every bit of negative emotion against you. "You aren't fuckin' leavin' me. You can't. You couldn't live without this cock you little fuckin' tart." he slaps your cheek, hand in your hair and pressing your face into the bed. "No one's gonna fuck you betta than me you fuckin' posh little cunt." he bites at you. "You ARE mine. You'll ALWAYS be mine. Do YOU understand?" he shouts and you nod and gasp, your mouth opening and shouting as his words brought on another orgasm. "That's it, pet, fuckin' come around your beasts cock. This what you want yeah? To treat me like an animal then get fucked like one? You filthy girl." he groans and shouts, losing himself as you squeeze around him. "Feels so fuckin good, little one, such a tight cunny for me and so fuckin' wet you little bossy bitch." he slaps your arse again and you squeal, he sees the unfiltered delight across your face. "Fuck me you are fuckin' filthy. You like those crude names, pet?"

"Yes, fucking tell me how bad I am." you moan, drooling out onto the bed.

"My perfect little misses like being called a dirty fuckin' slag? Fuckin' 'ell." he moans, resting his head against your back for a moment to catch his breath.

"I'm your Madonna and your whore, Alfie." you cry out helplessly. "Take this cunt, love, fill me up and make it yours."

"Gonna." he gruffs out, holding you down by your lower back, pounding into you, bringing on another orgasm at the new deep angle. "Again? So fuckin' hungry for it, pet." he scolds, a growing growl in his chest begins, and you're swimming in your own bliss inside your head, convulsing under him and being hit hard and heavy into. "Ah, fuck, Genny. Gonna have me drippin' outta you for fuckin' days with what you caused." he barks through gritted teeth, pushing into you as far as he could, his mouth opening and letting out a loud, wanton moan that caused you to shudder against him. "Fuck me." he pants out, dropping to his elbows first then letting his body rest on top of yours. You feel his heaving against you, and you hum contently, shutting your eyes. "Alright love?" he mumbles out against your sweat-soaked skin.

"Mmm Hmm." you nod. "Perfect." you sigh out. You stay there for a little while, catching your breath, enjoying the warmth of him against you, the weight making you feel safe and secure. His words making you feel satisfied with the punishment you gave and took.

He lifts himself off of you, arms shakey as he rolls to his back, legs limp and hands on his stomach. You move with a soft grunt, although slowly. "Covers, love." you manage out, pulling them down and he grunts and groans, letting you pull them out from under him without grace and cover you both back up.

"Feel like a bath is due now with what filth that was." he lets out a deep, lazy chuckle.

"What beautiful filth it was." you sigh, snuggling against him your happy expression and kitten like mannerism such a shock after what transpired.

"You really okay with what I called you?"

"That was the best hate fuck I've ever had and if we're angry you could call me almost anything and I'd be perfectly accepting of it. I like the pain and the punishment after giving it out. Exhausts me mentally and physically. It's what I need."

"And are you worn out, love?"

"Entirely." you hum.

"So you ain't mad now?"

"Not right now no."

"Have I found a way to keep you from fuckin' killin' 'n leavin' me?" he grins.

"Perhaps." you laugh and kiss his chest. "Just be honest with me. Fuck me right and be sweet afterward and we'll have no problems."

"So if we fight... we'll just have us a good hate fuck and work it out the old fashioned way?" he smirks, eyes shut and hand stroking your hair.

"Yes, sir." you giggle.

"Oh. Almost felt me cock stir on that one." he chuckles. "Can't wait for you to be naughty and have to tie you up and you call me 'at."

"Knowing me it will be sooner than later won't it?" you laugh and look up at him, his face at rest, a soft smile on his face.

"Yes it will my filthy little girl."

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi   @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories   @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes

[douxreviews]

Star Trek: Discovery - ‘The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry’ Review

By Mark Greig

"My ganglia remain unconvinced."

This was probably the weakest episode so far, suffering from a very by the numbers crisis of the week plot and way too many boring scenes with Voq and L'Rell, the dullest Klingons to ever exist.

Every time they popped up on screen I resisted the urge to hit fast forward in the misguided hope that maybe something interesting would happen. It is bad enough that all these scenes are performed in Klingon (made up languages are nice in theory, but cumbersome in practice) and the redesign is not actor friendly in any way (Voq is capable of only one expression and that is of someone struggling with a particularly tricky maths question involving trains leaving stations), but did the writers really have to neglect giving any of them something that even remotely resembles a personality? The sooner they wrap up this Klingon War arc the better, because it is just not grabbing my attention at all. Besides, the far more interesting conflict is the one currently happening on Discovery, the one for the soul of Starfleet itself, fought between the soldier Gabriel Lorca and the explorer Michael Burnham.

On a ship full of battle hardened soldiers and scientists so preoccupied with whether they could, they don't stop to think if they should, Michael, the Fletcher Christian of the 23rd century, is the only one who seems to be the very model of a modern Starfleet officer. She has information vegetable, animal, and mineral, knows the Klingon Emperors, and can quote the fights historical, from Andoria to Cheron, in order categorical. She's very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical, and understands equations, both the simple and quad– I'm sorry, I seem to have slipped into Gilbert and Sullivan. Forgive me, it won't happen again.

As I was saying, Michael is displaying all the virtues of a true Starfleet officer. Unlike Lorca and Commander Cylon, she refused to see the creature from the Glenn as a monster. To her it was not some killing machine to be dissected and turned into a weapon. It was a brand new life form that they should be trying to understand and communicate with. It might not be the Lorca way, but that is the Starfleet way. The tragedy is, though, that by approaching this problem like a true Starfleet officer, with compassion and curiosity, Michael gives Lorca exactly what he wants: a weapon he can use against the Klingons.

After the previous episode I was wondering how they were going to explain how this new propulsion system doesn't replace warp drive as the most common means of interstellar travel. This episode provided the answer. Without the creature to act as navigator the new drive is pretty much useless. And with only one in their custody Discovery is the only ship with this capability. So if something happens to the creature, and the law of drama dictates that something is definitely going to happen to the creature, that technology will be lost, thrown on the scrap heap along with all the other bits of discarded Federation tech like Excelsior's transwarp drive or that cloaking device that lets you phase through stuff. Boy, that really would've come in handy during the Dominion War.

Notes and Quotes

— Apologies for the lateness of this review. I've been having internet problems all week.

— The Discovery's saucer section spins. Nifty, but how is Lorca supposed to fight a war when half his crew is dizzy?

— Commander Cylon's death was so stupid and pointless it out Tasha Yar'd Tasha Yar's.

— We got to meet Discovery's chief medical officer, Hugh Culber, but there's still no sign of Shazad Latif's character.

— It is difficult to spot on the regular uniforms, but the rank pips are now located on the Starfleet insignia. You can see this more clearly on Culber's medical uniform:

— 'The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry' is the longest Star Trek episode title since 'For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky.'

— Lorca seems to really hate chairs. He has none in his ready room and never once plonks his arse in the captain's chair.

— Okay, so who was the extremely thoughtful crew member that remembered to grab the captain's precious telescope before abandoning the Shenzhou?

Michael: "The phaser will only piss him off." Stamets: "Think of it as a placebo for my skepticism."

Michael: "You judge the creature by its appearance, and one single incident from its past. Nothing in its biology suggests it would attack, except in self-defense. Commander, this creature is an unknown alien. It can only be what it is, not what you want it to be."

Two and a half out of four maths questions involving trains.

[sowk-fic-archive]

SOWK ch.14/35

Summary:

"Final rehearsals create tension in our heroes..."

Chapter 14 : trouvaille

Matthew woke up with the taste of Dominic’s lips still on his. He sat up, dimly aware that he had been moved from sitting against the wall. He looked to the other side of the bed, half expecting Dominic to be lying beside him. It scared him, more than anything, that he felt his mood sour when he realised he was alone. And that it was mid-morning. And that it was audition day. “Putain,” he muttered, clumsily rolling out of bed and dashing towards his wardrobe, avoiding all the broken glass and mess on his floor. He threw on the first shirt he found, along with matching trousers. Grabbing the accompanying jacket and a blue tie, he stumbled over himself trying to get dressed and almost fell head first down the stairs when he reached the landing. Panting, he arrived in the kitchen where he found Calliope and Adora. Looking up from a scrapbook, Calliope raised one eyebrow. “It’s only Thursday, love.” Matthew nodded tightly, but his eyes were focused on Adora, who was avoiding his gaze. “I’ll give you two a few moments, then,” Calliope said softly, leaving the room without a sound. A pregnant pause filled the air. “I like that tie,” Adora muttered eventually, keeping her eyes on her fingers nimbly sticking something down to the blank page before her. Matthew noted that they shook slightly. “It matches your eyes,” she continued with a flickering smile that disappeared as soon as it had touched her lips. “Aleksandr picked it out for me for my birthday,” Matthew replied numbly. He watched her for a moment, before sliding into the seat beside her, close enough to be engulfed by the scent of perfume that surrounded her. Glancing over at the page she had just finished in the scrapbook, his stomach dropped unpleasantly. On it were several pictures of he and Adora, smiling and laughing and holding hands. He turned away, the memory of Dominic’s kiss burning his lips. “Are you... are you looking forward to tomorrow?” Adora asked quietly, beginning to cut out another picture. “The audition, I mean.” “Yes,” Matthew said bluntly. “Of course I am.” He took a deep breath, looking back at the scrapbook. Forcing a smile, he shifted slightly closer to her. “When were these pictures taken?” he asked, breathing only through his mouth to avoid inhaling the scent of bittersweet memories. “I don’t remember them.” “A few weeks ago,” she replied, laying the final picture onto the page. The two were laying in a meadow, Adora grinning towards the sky as Matthew looked at her like she was the only person in the world. They hadn’t even noticed the camera, too caught up in each other. Had it really been such a short time ago, since the only thing in his life had been her? Since his life had been stress-free and planned out completely for the next thirty, forty years? Tears pricked the back of his eyes; he summed himself up, squeezing his eyelids together. “I’m yours,” he blurted out suddenly, as if it was a revelation, as if he was trying to tell himself that it was still true. It was, wasn’t it? Adora blinked once before turning to him with a genuine, relieved smile and pressing her lips to his. “I love you,” she breathed. “I always will.” The guilt rushed over him in a wave, sending a violent shudder through his body. What if she could taste Dominic on his mouth? He should tell her. He should tell her that he was angry, and he... he kissed Dominic. He should just tell her now, and she would forgive him, and they would live happily ever after, because that’s what they were supposed to do. But it wouldn’t work like that. Because when people are angry, when Voix are angry, they don’t kiss glouglous. They hit them, they kill them, they break them when they’re already broken. Because that’s what they were supposed to do. “Nervous?” Adora asked with a laugh, misinterpreting his shudder. “I am too. Paix and Joie may seem sweet, but they terrify me,” she said, as if it was a great and terrible confession, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. “Me too,” Matthew replied with a smile, his shoulders sagging slightly as she moved ever closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she sang quietly, picking up his limp hand and linking their fingers. “We’re going through this together, me and you.” And someone else, Matthew thought, numbly and robotically kissing the top of her head. He decided it was best for all if he kept that tiny, insignificant bit of information to himself.

Dominic woke up with the taste of Matthew’s lips still on his. He looked around the room, sunlight trying to peek through the gap in the curtains but only resulting in highlighting how dusty the place was. Nancy was nowhere to be seen, and somewhere in the back of his head Dom remembered that she’d spent the evening at Ben’s. Glancing at the clock, Dominic noted that he was late for work. He also noted that his mother would be at her own job already, and once again noted that he could taste Matthew on his lips. He allowed himself to imagine. Imagine if, when he rolled over to the other side of the bed that Matthew would be there, blond hair stuck down on one side but his bed hair still looking sexy. Imagine if Matthew grinned at him cheekily before diving under the covers, another’s touch on his eager body. Imagine how far Matthew would be able to take him into his mouth-- Dominic’s eyes flew open as he gulped down a mouthful of air. His left hand quickly found its way to the waistband of his boxers, his cock stirring at the reel of images, memories and wishes playing in his mind. Matthew singing, Matthew smoking, Matthew arching under his touch... He gasped loudly as he began to stroke himself to full hardness, biting his lip as a particularly vivid fantasy came to mind. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Matthew.” The black haired man turned around, his blue eyes sparkling. “What have I done this time, sir?” he asked coyly, voice dripping with want. “On your knees.” Dominic hadn’t indulged himself in too long; the sound of his own moans echoing in the empty room was foreign. He wondered what Matthew would sound like when he was having sex. He would sing, Dominic reckoned. “You know I love it on my knees, sir,” Matthew said, lowering himself onto his knees and elbows and pointing his arse up towards Dominic. The master realised, absentmindedly, that his submissive was actually glowing. “You know what you’ve done,” Dominic growled, gripping Matthew’s hips and penetrating him roughly, thrusting until he was in to the hilt. “Now sing for me, my cassé.” Dom came over his hand with a shout, panting as his orgasm crashed through his body, right down to his toes. Rolling onto his back, he ran his clean hand through his sweaty hair, eyes in the back of his head as he teased out every last drop of come. Lips pressed to a flat line, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, flashes of his fantasy running through his mind as he numbly shuffled into the bathroom, climbing into the shower. For what felt the first time in his life, he was thankful for the icy cold water that sprayed from the nozzle.

Dominic’s journey to work consisted mainly of an early morning sprint - he was almost fifteen minutes late by the time he skidded into his office, tired and panting. Clutching at a stitch in his chest, he flopped down into his seat, rubbing his hand over his damp forehead. He shrugged off his jacket, dragging a pile of papers towards him and reaching for a pen, continuing his list of possible titles for the song; Le Monde had fortunately cancelled their interview with Matthew the day before, as Dominic and Matthew had never really had time to sit down and discuss it, always being interrupted by something. Like the kiss. Sighing, he sat back in his chair and tried to push the tempting thoughts out of his mind. He may have been alone at the moment, but all it took was for someone to open the door and... He didn’t like to think about it. He scribbled down another possible title, shaking his head and crossing it out almost immediately. He followed this routine for almost an hour, barely aware of time crawling along until he glanced up at the clock to see that it was already quarter past ten. He yawned, uncomfortably hot and bored. What he needed, more than anything else right now, was a distraction. That distraction arrived in the form of Matthew, although Dom had to wait quite a while before he turned up. It was almost lunchtime when the Voix hesitantly opened the door, clearing his throat to make himself known. “Good morning,” he said stiffly, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Good morning,” Dominic replied with an equally formal tone. He raised one eyebrow at Matthew’s attire. “Going somewhere nice?” “I, er... I overslept and thought it was tomorrow, but it’s... today,” Matthew said oddly, scratching the back of his neck. He shrugged off the jacket and hung it next to Dominic’s coat on the back of the door. Dominic almost asked what was causing Matthew to act so oddly, but he held his tongue. “Plus, it’s the only thing that survived the apocalypse of my room.” Dominic laughed, watching as Matthew almost smiled. “Whatever will the maid say when she finds it?” he teased, watching Matthew roll up the sleeves of his shirt with hungry eyes. “She won’t say anything, it’s happened before,” the Voix said, a sense of mystery lurking in his words. Dominic shifted on the piano stool. “Do you want to run through the song?” Dominic said, lazily picking out the main melody with the middle finger of his left hand. “Well, yes, but I have a better idea,” Matthew grinned, and Dominic tried his best to deny the tiny somersault his stomach did at that expression. With a wave of his hand, Matthew had Dominic away from the piano and following him down lavish corridors he’d never seen in his life, all furnished in varying shades of white. At an unmarked door, no different from hundreds of others, Matthew stopped. “Here,” Matthew said, pushing the door open. The room was vast and expansive, a far cry from their normal practice room. In the middle of the room was the only darkly furnished piece of furniture in the house: a black grand piano. “I’ve never played a grand piano before,” Dominic said, walking towards it with slow, unsure steps. He cleared his throat when he stood still only a metre away from it. “Sir, if I may...” “Of course you can, Dominic. And please don’t call me sir,” Matthew said, watching Dominic’s confused expression before breaking the contact. It was beginning to worry him to feel just how far Dominic had crawled under his skin. “Actually...” Dominic held his breath, unable to guess what Matthew was thinking. They both looked out of the large bay windows, looking out over the waves crashing against the beach below them. Inside the practice room, however, it was silent. “If I may ask...” Matthew said, leaning against the side of the piano. Dominic’s eyebrows raised. That’s a first. “Why are you Dominic? Not just plain old Dom, or, I don’t know, one of those other low-life glouglou names.” Dominic blinked. “Well, uh...” He paused, scratching at the back of his neck. “Ignoring the not-so-subtle insult there, I don’t actually know why. All I know is that my Dad chose my name, and Mum chose Nancy’s. So I can’t really find out, now,” he said, a sad tone in his voice. “Ah.” Matthew said, looking down at the floor and feeling uncomfortable for once. “I’m sorry, about that.” “It’s fine,” Dominic said. It wasn’t. “Can I have a go on the piano, if I may?” As Matthew nodded, Dominic sat down on the plush velvet seat that spanned the width of the piano, a grin breaking out on his face. The ebony was highly polished, and Matthew watched Dominic’s contorted and polished reflection as a quiet octave filled the room. “You’ve really never played a grand piano before?” Matthew asked, the scales becoming more complex but remaining low and undisturbed. Dominic shook his head, not once losing rhythm. “I never played for pleasure. I learned to play piano because I was taught, you know? I knew that one day it would be my job. I never was treated to such things like this,” he said with a sad smile on his face. His father wouldn’t believe him, now, if he saw his son playing a grand piano. “Consider this a gift, then,” Matthew said, moving to sit next to Dominic on the stool but leaving that vital gap between them. “For all the help you’ve given me over the last few weeks.” Dominic looked over towards Matthew, a dark and brooding depth to his eyes. He blinked and it was gone, and Matthew was left wondering if it had been there at all. “I guess,” Matthew said with a light cough, subtly changing the topic, “that that makes us quite alike, then. How we both are forced to do things we’re good at.” The look they exchanged this time was much more amiable and contemplative, Dominic peacefully smiling to himself as he began to play the chords for the song. “From the top,” Matthew said, breathing in deeply and sitting tall as Dominic began to play the song properly. As soon as Matthew’s mouth opened, Dominic knew he was nervous. He could hear it in the slightest waiver of Matthew’s otherwise perfect voice, he could see it in the way his hands fiddled in his lap or how he screwed his eyes shut to hit the higher notes. One round passed, then another and another until Matthew was pacing the room as he sang and they’d both missed lunch. Time stretched on until Dominic finally put an end to it when Matthew got the same lyric wrong three times in a row. “No, Matthew. You’re not doing it right.” Matthew screamed, banging one hand down onto the top of the table. “I am!” he shouted, Dominic standing his ground. “Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me how to sing?” “I’m not telling, I was suggesting--” “No, you were telling. Putain de merde,” Matthew ground out, pacing the length of the room. Dominic had lost count of how many times they’d practiced the song long ago, and through the big glass windows he could see the sun starting to set over the ocean. In the back of his mind, he also registered the fact that Matthew had just used a glouglou swear. Dominic blinked, rubbing a hand over his face. “Please stop overreacting,” he said calmly. “I’m just trying to--” “Just shut up for one second. Is that so hard?” Matthew snapped by way of reply, hands fisted at his sides. “Try it again. From the top, please, and don’t interrupt.” Dominic had barely touched his fingers to the keys when Matthew had snarled at him again, yelling, “You’re playing it wrong!” “How can you possibly know that?” Dom shouted in reply. “You don’t even know how to play the piano! Singing is all you’re good for!” A sharp silence followed his words, leaving Dominic to regret them without Matthew hissing curses in his ear. Eventually, the Voix turned back to Dominic, eyes wide. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly. “Do you?” “Let’s just try it again, okay?” Dom offered, ignoring the question. “And we can both attempt to calm down.” He played the opening chord once more, risking a glance in Matthew’s direction. He was standing with his head bent forward, hands still curled into fists and cheekbones shadowed heavily against the red light of the setting sun. Swallowing slightly, he continued playing through the chords slowly until Matthew decided to sing. Finally, and to Dominic’s relief, Matthew began to sing, but they could both tell that his heart wasn’t in it. “There’s something wrong,” Matthew said abruptly, turning to face Dominic again and scowling. “There’s something you’re doing, and it’s wrong.” Resisting the urge to shout at him again, Dom thought about it for a moment. “Maybe it’s because I’m playing on a different piano,” he suggested. “The acoustics in this room are different to my office.” “Blame it on the acoustics,” Matthew snapped. “You’ll do anything to avoid it, won’t you?” Dominic let out a long breath, standing up from the piano and striding towards the Voix. “What,” he seethed, “is wrong with you? All you seem to be doing is insulting me and blaming me for things I have no control over. You know it’s not my fault, so why are you trying to suggest that it is?” “I need somebody to blame, and you’ve been conveniently placed right in front of me,” Matthew said coolly. “It can’t be my fault.” “Oh, that’s right. Because you’re perfect, aren’t you? I can’t believe I actually wanted to kiss you.” Matthew sneered, lips curling upwards into a smirk. “Are you honestly saying that you don’t want to kiss me now?” he asked, a teasing tone to his words in a mood change quicker than a heartbeat. “Because that bulge in your trousers says otherwise, doesn’t it?” He was close now, too close, whispering softly in Dominic’s ear and letting his scent hang in the air between them. “I think,” he continued, his tongue clicking, “that you are doing all you possibly can not to kiss me again, right now.” “You’re vile,” Dominic spat, furious. “And you’re hard,” Matthew said, his hands out of Dominic’s sight below their waistlines. He awaited and feared the pressure he knew would follow. “At least one of us can change.” “What did you do this morning, Matthew?” Dominic asked suddenly. “Eat your breakfast? Talk to your darling? Wake up in my office again?” “What are you talking about?” Matthew snapped. “This hasn’t got anything to do with anything.” “Do you want to know what I did this morning?” Dominic breathed, so close to Matthew that their noses were almost touching. “I thought about you, and then I touched myself.” Matthew seemed to freeze, his pupils blown wide and his chest unmoving. “You’re a liar,” he whispered. “That’s not all,” Dominic continued, as if Matthew hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t just touch myself over the image of your body, naked and writhing beneath me...” “Stop it,” Matthew mumbled lowly, his voice thick and eyes dark. “I touched myself thinking of my favourite fantasy. Do you want to know what that is?” Dominic asked, giving Matthew no time to answer. The men were still standing so close that they should be touching, but they weren’t. They could feel each other’s breath on their skin and Dominic could feel something a little more than butterflies settling in his stomach. “I was dominating you. You were a Unique, and you moaning like a whore for me,” he drawled, Matthew tensing up. “The best thing? In effect, you were my cassé.” The words had barely left his mouth when his back collided against the wall, Matthew’s hands on his chest. “How dare you disrespect me like that?!” Matthew yelled, hands grabbing fistfuls of Dominic’s shirt. “You are nothing but a filthy cassé and don’t you ever think differently.” “Mm, say that again,” Dom breathed, head falling back to rest against the wall and exposing his neck. “You have no idea what that does to me.” “Espèce de salaud,” [”bastard”] Matthew hissed, apparently overcome with such anger that he could not even bring himself to speak in English. “Ta gueule! Espèce d’imbécile!” [”Shut up! Complete Idiot”] “All that’s doing is turning me on, Mathieu, et je veux te dépuceler, pétale à pétale.” [”Matthew, and I want to deflower you, petal by petal.”] There was a split second in which nobody spoke - nobody even breathed - and then they were kissing with such ferocity that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. Neither knew who started it; all that they were sure of was that in this single moment, nothing else was important. Their lips broke contact as Dominic flipped them, pushing Matthew up against the wall and grazing his jawline with his teeth. The Voix let out a moan, bringing their lips together once more and feeling a tongue slide into his mouth. Neither of them wanted to stop, but both of them wished they could. Eventually, however, Matthew turned his head away, breaths falling from his open mouth. His hands had loosened their grip on the fabric of Dom’s shirt; the glouglou could have easily broken away and left the room, but he didn’t. He stood exactly where he was, his eyes fixed on the Voix in front of him. Matthew’s eyes suddenly flicked upwards to meet Dominic’s, the look that passed between them one that neither could understand. He dropped his hands to his sides, eyes snapping to the doorway before moving slowly back to Dominic again. “Someone saw us,” Matthew said, and Dominic’s stomach dropped.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Some more?

I STILL HAVE NO TITLE

Trevor rose before the sun, what sun there was.  The sky remained sickly overcast, dingy clouds scudding the horizon and leaving everything blanketed in uneasy silence.

He helped the Speakers harness up the two horses they were able to scavenge from Gresit though Trevor had his doubts they’d even make it the remaining thirty miles to the next city.  He patted the dusty flank of the mare and she sighed, watching him with the roll of a watery, dark eye.

“It’s all right, love,” he murmured, rubbing her muzzle.  She lipped at his hand, breath warm in his palm.  He leaned in and kept his voice low.  “If it comes to it, I’ll see you go quick.”  He gave her another pat and turned away.

He’d lost his cloak in the rubble back in Gresit but the Speakers had given him another, shorter cloak and he fastened it, letting the oilcloth hang heavy at his back.  He’d grown so used to traveling alone and with so little that the bare amount the Speakers owned appeared ostentatious.  In reality, he didn’t believe they’d be troubled on the roads but people were desperate.  Not that they had much to lose; the rickety wagon held the Speakers’ belongings and little else.

He made a face as a familiar presence drew closer.  “It’s daylight; shouldn’t you be in your box?” he asked, gesturing to the sleek, black coffin peeking out from behind sacks and supplies.

Alucard wore gloves and a heavy hood, his face all but hidden.  “I am not as limited as my father.  With the weather like it is, I am doubly protected.”

“Great, just my luck,” Trevor retorted.  He cleared his throat and spat, amused when Alucard side-stepped dramatically.  “Calm down; wasn’t aiming for you.”

Alucard eyed him from beneath his hood.  “Have you no manners?”

Trevor gestured around them as the Speakers began to move.  “What do manners do for you out here?”  To further annoy the vampire, he scratched his groin and belched.  “If I wasted my time walking around with a rod up my arse every minute, I’d never have any fun.”

“Being civilized isn’t a burden,” Alucard muttered though he stayed at Trevor’s shoulder.

“Never said I wasn’t civilized,” Trevor pointed out.  “I just don’t care.”

“Clearly.”

“You could learn something from him, you know,” Sypha’s light voice interrupted.  She smirked at Trevor and nodded toward Alucard.  “Be less of a brute.”  She held out a chunk of bread and meat to Trevor.

Trevor scowled as he snatched it.  “I just woke up; can we save the “Berate Trevor Game” for later when I’ve a full stomach?”  He took a bite of the meat, hiding the shudder at the blast of salt on his tongue.  Christ, I hate trail food.  He chewed and shook his head.  “Manners are wasted in this land.  I’d rather stay alive.”

Sypha’s brow furrowed as she chewed on her own meal.  “Did you give up so much, Trevor?”  Her blue eyes watched him.  “The Belmonts were poorly treated but to have -”

Trevor held up his empty hand, interrupting her.  “Stop.  Enough.  What we were doesn’t matter.  I know what I know and what I can do.  That should suffice.”  He swallowed his mouthful.  “Neither of you should give two shits about how I get there.”

Sypha rolled her eyes and muttered a curse.  “You’re a hopeless bastard,” she snapped before marching over to her grandfather, her hands waving as she likely denigrated Trevor’s ancestors and mythical progeny.

That was fun.  He took another bite of meat and realized Alucard still trudged beside him.  “Well?  Care to weigh in?”

The vampire huffed.  “I understand your animosity toward me; though I have explained my own position.  However, I do not understand why you antagonize Sypha and her people.  One would think you allies and companions.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I didn’t care?”  He chewed and swallowed the last of his tasteless meat.  That’s it; I’m grabbing a bloody keg at the next town.  He bolted the bread and scrubbed his hands on his pants.  “They’re too keen to hear the best out of everyone; reality is far from it.”

“And you aim to prove that to them, I suppose?”

“And why not?  Walking around with your head up your arse because you want to think it’s really not that bad, tends to get people hurt or killed.  Sometimes worse.”  He absently touched the coiled whip at his side.  “Even before yesterday, I’ve seen what your sire, and his ilk, have unleashed over the years.”  He turned his head to find golden eyes boring down.  Again his heart thudded fast and wild.  “I, and my family, have done our parts; we have warned and urged caution and we have been ignored.  So forgive me if I don’t want to play nice and mince words.”

He turned back to the train ahead of them.  “The world’s shit right now, vampire; I’m trying to avoid stepping in the worst of it.”  He sneered.  “And if my warnings go unheeded and someone takes a spill, I won’t lose sleep.”

“Bitterness will end you far quicker than any weapon, Trevor Belmont.”

“It’s just Trevor,” he muttered.

“Pardon?”

Trevor sighed.  “That name isn’t well-loved, remember; it’s Trevor.”

“Ah.  Trevor, then.”

He fell silent and after another minute, rolled his eyes and grunted, “So what’s it you prefer?”

“Either.”

“Not helpful.”

Alucard chuckled.  “Alucard, then.  I fear that Adrian may have died with my mother.”

“Bit dramatic.”  He eyed the road they were on.  Scraggly trees and sagging fences.  And not a soul in sight.  

The vampire shrugged, lifting a hand.  “It was a rather dramatic moment.”

Trevor snorted.  “If I’m not mistaken, I think you just made a joke?”

“Possibly.”

Shit, if I’m not careful I might grow to like this bastard.  He kicked down his humor, reminding himself that while Alucard was interested in helping them, he was still a vampire.  His father would likely be horrified, if understanding, of the brief alliance.

This will certainly be interesting, he admitted, dropping his hand to his short sword as their bedraggled train continued on.

[vordemtodgefeit]

Alternate song titles: Wicked

No-One Mourns The Wicked: The green bitch was murdered by a preteen and a bucket

Dear Old Shiz: Stereotypically boring school song

The Wizard and I: The Foreshadowing Song

What Is This Feeling?: The worst college dorm in history

Something Bad: The Foreshadowing Song, pt. 2

Dancing Through Life: The Prince of the Vinkus is an arrogant arse, but hey, he’s hot

Popular: Help my enemy-turned-best-friend is attacking me with lipstick

I’m Not That Girl: Shit like this is why I don't talk to people

One Short Day: A blessed day of fun before disaster strikes

A Sentimental Man: The Foreshadowing Song, pt. 3

Defying Gravity: I actually happen to have a moral compass

Thank Goodness: Okay, so maybe I fucked up a little

Wicked Witch Of The East: I fucked up real bad, but hey, I’ll just blame my sister again

Wonderful: The Wizard is a manipulative bitch

I’m Not That Girl (reprise): Dear Diary, my teen angst bullshit now has a body count

As Long As You’re Mine: We’re both wanted for treason but we’re in love

No Good Deed: I’ve had fucking enough of this bullshit

For Good: Okay, so I indirectly caused the deaths of you, your sister, and your lover, but forgive me?

Finale: You gullible idiots, did you actually think water would melt me?

[dapperfvck-arc]

BASIC.

FULL NAME. John Constantine NICKNAME. officially, Conjob, mostly from his days on the punk scene. On the esoteric side of things he may be referred to “The Laughing Magician” or, more derisively “a petty dabbler”. BIRTHDAY. May 10 (by original Hellblazer canon, he was born in 1953, but I’ve taken it upon myself to adjust his birth year to some time in the early 70s give or take) ETHNIC GROUP.  Caucasian NATIONALITY.  English (with strongly implied deep Russian roots) LANGUAGE.  English, basic grasp of most major European languages, profound fluency in dead/magical/infernal languages SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual af RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Verse/continuity dependent, though this blog is fairly heavily multi-ship. However, it should be noted that on the MCU continuity, John is in an exclusive, committed relationship with Matt Murdock ( @dcviltongued ) CLASS. Middle to lower class. Is very good at getting fast money (scams, gambling, dealing in magic artifacts/antiques of questionable quality and veracity) so may appear to be better off at certain times HOME TOWN / AREA. Liverpool, England, but has been living in London since leaving the family home at 17. CURRENT HOME. Heavily verse/continuity/thread dependent. John is a frequent traveller. PROFESSION. Somewhat verse/continuity dependent. Really it’s just a matter of whether or not he charges for exorcisms or magic rituals. My personal endgame for John is legitimacy. Like becoming a preternatural PI (and sometimes mundane) for hire or whatever. As a general rule though, his profession is con artist. He’s never worked a honest day’s work in his life. The closest he ever got was when he was a “rock star”. He could also be considered a professional gambler, patronizing horse tracks, underground card games, legal casinos, and I imagine can hustle at pool. Scams range from blackmail to using his reputation as an occultist to take advantage of people willing to pay for spell work.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR. Short and usually rather messy. He rocks bedhead pretty aggressively. May be shaved and very short on the sides and styled into a faux to actual mohawk. He’s very blonde despite not getting very much sun as a general.  EYES. Electric blue, often almost fever bright. Deep and captivating, extremely intense straight on. NOSE. difficult to pin down due to the range of styles in which John have been drawn. Usually broad and more or less regular, occasionally somewhat crooked from being broken, though by and large, it’s portrayed as straight. Some artists, such as Moriat and Sean Murphy have drawn it as narrow and somewhat aquiline. I guess, I tend lean toward the former despite my deep love for Murphy’s interpretation of John, simply because I feel like my choice in FC is somewhat based on Tim Bradstreet and Leonardo Manco’s artistic interpretations of John, both of which I honestly adore just as well. FACE. Yet another loooong explanation here, I’m sorry. Artists tend to lean between giving him either a square face, classically handsome appearance (Steve Dillon, John Higgins, Ron Tiner, most of artists that have drawn him in the DC titles he’s appeared in), a broader, more every man appearance (Sean Phillips, Leonardo Manco to some degree, though later proved quite capable of drawing him stunningly handsome, and Tim Bradstreet), however still attractive but somewhat more haggard, stubbled, and/or slightly seedy in appearance, and finally a sharper, more diamond shape to his face featuring high cheekbones, a pointed chin and fine bone structure (Sean Murphy, Marcelo Frusin, and Moriat). Once more, in reference to my face claim for John, I suppose I tend to favour a more classically handsome appearance, simply because I like the idea of him having a pleasant, almost trustworthy face given that he is a con artist and considered an extremely good one (sometimes even the greatest con artist alive but idk whatever), and I feel like looking as dodgy as say, Frusin’s interpretation, I can’t imagine him being as successful as he is, you feel me? That guy looks like he’ll fuck you over for a corn chip. LIPS. Sensuous, faintly lined from his his smoking habit COMPLEXION.  Like any good Englishman that tends to move about by night and quite a bit dressed, John’s very pale. I do think he has a faintly pronounced undertone of pink. This colour will get brighter when he gets drunk, aroused, angry, or the exceedingly rare instance that he’s embarrassed  BLEMISHES. None SCARS. Aside from the scarification, which is better off detailed in the next section, and I ALWAYS FORGET TO MENTION THIS, he definitely has a long scar over one eye from a demon trying to cut it out with a blade. Since many magic rituals call for blood, I head canon that he also has faint scarring on his arms because he doesn’t practice human or animal sacrifice and his own blood instead.

TATTOOS. Arse tattoo of pine tree courtesy of Swamp Thing being a punk bitch, ritual tattoos faded into appearing as scarification. HEIGHT. 5′11 (184.34 cm) WEIGHT: prolly ranges between 150-160lbs (140 at his lightest) BUILD.  Long legs, somewhat of a broad upper torso, can be a bit soft in the middle. In general, he’s rather thin but his musculature is not usually very defined. In other words, no big, sexy pecs or cut abs. If anything he’s more sleek lines and narrow planes. ALLERGIES.  none USUAL HAIR STYLE. Freshly fucked USUAL CLOTHING. Dark suits, usually dark blue or black and trench coat, usually tan, has also been portrayed as black, yellow, or a mossy kinda green. In theory it could be said that these aren’t just differing interpretations from artists but that John owns coats in different colours, styles, and fabrics, but his favourite is the tan, longer style

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR. abandonment, amounting to nothing, not being able to protect those he cares about ASPIRATION. survival, making some kind of mark on this world, a measure of contentment POSITIVE TRAITS. Compassionate and determined, above all. Though not about to admit to it, he's still deeply idealistic. Strangely forgiving. He doesn’t really keep grudges. Loving, considerate, understanding, and rarely judgmental  NEGATIVE TRAITS. Those good things up above? They’re encased in a shell of harsh cynicism and apathy. Depending on his mood or particular part of his life depends on how hard a shell he is to crack. He may also experience depressive periods where he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything and just wants to drink. VICE HABIT.  Chain smokes, drinks, frequency dependent on what’s up in his life, though I do not believe he’s an alcoholic, sorry, because lol look, drinking a lot doesn’t mean you have a dependency. Indulges in drugs infrequently, mostly hallucinogens and weed, though I also tend to head canon that he flirted with a cocaine habit while fronting Mucous Membrane.  FAITH.  It’s complicated GHOSTS? Duh. He sees them plain as any living person AFTERLIFE?  Yeah, but uh, he doesn’t consider them eternal respites. They’re just planes of existence that he can either enter, leave, or pull people out. REINCARNATION? Maybe? ALIENS? I meeeeaannn....technically in DCU he’s acquainted with the concept of aliens and may or may not have fucked Hal Jordan POLITICAL ALIGNMENT. Liberal ECONOMIC PREFERENCE. comfortable  SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION. working class warlock EDUCATION LEVEL.  Predominately self-educated. His frightfully intelligent and has been cited as having genius level intellect. Although I’m not sure I’d go so far as confirm that, I do thing he’s extremely clever and pragmatic. School bored him to tears and he was the type of kid the counselors and teachers say “exceedingly bright but unwilling to apply himself”. He reads voraciously, has an eidetic memory, and isn’t afraid of putting himself in new situations.

FAMILY.

FATHER.  Thomas (dead, murdered by the Family Man) MOTHER.  Mary Anne (died in child birth) SIBLINGS.  Cheryl (murdered by husband, currently residing in Hell), an unnamed twin brother referred to as the Golden Child or Boy, the true heir to the Laughing Magician (stillborn, soul was later absorbed by John in trippy magic ritual, only to be expelled later in life when it was revealed that...uh...he was influencing John’s destiny to be perpetually sabotaged. Hellblazer’s a weird comic, you guys) EXTENDED  FAMILY.  Gemma, his niece. They have a rather stormy relationship. Chas, his best mate. Lovers may also be included in this. NAME MEANING. John: Jehovah has been Gracious/Shown Favour (lmao) Constantine: Constant, steadfast, generally referred to as “The Constant One”

HISTORICAL CONNECTION. Is strongly implied that John’s related, if perhaps distantly, to Constantine the Great.

FAVOURITES.

BOOKS.  Prefers non-fiction MUSIC. Rock music, most notably 70s and 80s era punk rock. Likes the Pogues. Given the stack of evidence that John skirts the edge of the Goth scene cos he likes the aesthetic on women, I have a feeling he’s adopted into his music tastes. The Cure, Smiths, and Cocteau Twins in reference to an 80s mixtape John might make. Which i question the Smiths heavily, but The Cure and Cocteau Twins seems fairly legit. I bet Kit loved the Cocteau Twins. In that same vein of thought, although I tend to think John doesn’t like electronic music, he may have adopted some industrial bands into his preferences but he’s not about to talk about ti any time soon. DEITY.  Whichever one doesn’t hate him HOLIDAY.  doesn’t care MONTH. same SEASON.  Fall PLACE.  London or New York, in the case of sentimentality that he will never be able to get back to, the years when he was bumming around Ireland with Brenden and Kit WEATHER. Overcast SOUND.  He’s a city boy through and through, even if he may get frustrated with society on a whole, so he’s comforted by city sounds more than silence SCENT.  A freshly poured pint, the first cigarette of the day, skin and sex sweat TASTE.  Gin FEEL. He’s a sensualist. Body to body, breathing another person’s breath, his please, another person’s pleasure, his pleasure, all that good stuff. I also feel like he enjoys being drunk or stoned for the sake of having his thoughts dulled to a degree. He’s the sort of man who has lots of thoughts and situational observational input. John is basically perpetually mentally overstimulated and he likes the relief from that in inebriation. ANIMAL.  Fox  NUMBER.  hahaha idea numerology man COLOUR.  warm and neutral tones

EXTRA.

TALENTS. So many. He’s a jack of all trades in a lot of ways. He can pick a lock, displays some artistic talent in that he can draw very intricate magic circles and sigils, if you consider that John wrote Venus of the Hardsell, he’s clearly got some ability to express himself in lyrics and words, i like to think he can play guitar, is apparently good with delicate craftsmanship (he used to help Dani build furniture for her dollhouses. This is canon by the way), suppose you could say he can sort of sing, but that’s debatable, and of course he’s very manipulative and speaks very well, is educated enough to be able to bullshit through various situations. TURN ONS. Total ass man, loves a great ass on a man or woman, dark hair, dark eyes, strong men, he’s a switch, but loves being manhandled and dominated to a degree, by either gender, honestly, danger, open affection, being wanted, loved, and cherished. So many things, honestly. John Constantine is easy. TURN OFFS.   Hardcore kink HOBBIES. Sleep, pub crawls, pretending he’s normal, reading TROPES. Con man with a heart of gold, charming bastard, unrepentant rogue, urban magician, supernatural detective, living legend AESTHETICS. smoke, chalk dust, wind and rain swept streets, London after midnight, narrow, dark alleys, haunted places, rumpled bed sheets, messy hair, dive bars, wicked smiles, deep kisses

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC. Ewan McGregor // comic caps from various issues he’s appeared ALT  FC. Keanu Reeves for my filmverse OLDER  FC. Don’t have one as yet YOUNGER  FC. Ewan McGregor   VOICE  CLAIM.  Jason Stathem

Tagged by: @vamptrampbamf Tagging: lmao fuckin everyone.

[amarynceus]

Thank you all so much for your kind and encouraging words!  My heart was warmed when I read them this morning, it means a lot. ^~^  I really needed that.

Usually I can fight the inner demons on my own; I have considerable practice at it, having had for all my life the common artistic characteristics of not being able to be satisfied with anything I make for more than a moment or two, regularly confusing or conflating this feeling with the feeling of actually disliking the art, having difficulty with self-praise, and constantly overestimating the awesomeness of others’ work in comparison to one’s own.  Sometimes, though, I just get worn down, and temporarily lose the ability to metaphorically pet myself on the head and say, ‘there there, you don’t suck all that much, now get your arse back in the fight!’

Thanks again!  At least today I feel much less reluctance to pick up the stylus than I have felt for a while.  More thoughts on artistic confidence and such below, so apparently the need to write is greater.  Rambles!

Much of what’s been getting me down is a huge failure rate lately (which can’t be easily seen, because I rarely share my abominations), combined with the classic cyclical dance between one’s improving eye and one’s improving hand -- i.e. the fact that our abilities to discern and to create don’t usually increase hand-in-hand.  For example, December for me was a month where, in retrospect, it’s apparent that my critical eye didn’t improve much -- but I was still on an upward trend with the work, so my confidence soared and I was feeling pretty good about myself and my art.  It didn’t hurt that I had just begun to add the ponies to my repertoire; not only are they fun to draw, but I seemed to be picking it up quickly, and they were getting some attention and nice words, which always gives the confidence a boost.

But then, the critical eye became sharper again -- probably when I gave myself a week off from my daily doodle project after the Solstice.  At the same time, what I term my ‘failure rate’ soared -- this is based primarily on how many drawings and sketches are abandoned and worthless on the road to what works.  The critical eye, obviously, is the main factor -- but sometimes the hands just don’t do well at all at their job, and then if the confidence slips just enough, the whole edifice comes crashing down in flames.  The next thing you know, you find yourself having that extra glass of wine and letting slip a soft complaint into the digital aether.  And sometimes it turns out to be exactly the thing you needed to do at that moment, for the reactions can raise a wind for your sails -- but I’ll do my utmost to keep my self-defenestrating comments limited to particular drawings, haha!

There’s another aspect to my personal confidence as an artist, and I think to many artists and their confidence, and that is my relationship with failure.  I’ve had a lot of it; I won’t bore anyone with many of the details, but suffice it to say that I haven’t succeeded at much of anything in my adult life.  There is one important failure, though, that might contain a lesson for anyone still reading at this point; it’s certainly a valuable one for me.  So, since I seem to be in a rare mood of extreme loquacity, I’ll review it in some detail.

Almost 10 years ago, I landed a really great opportunity.  I was in a good place; I had spend several years working hard on my craft, had been online for only a short while but was gaining a respectable amount of attention (a Daily Deviation within a month or two of joining isn’t bad), I was being offered work regularly and having to send out endless emails seeking it much less, and I got this offer to design airships for a game company in Europe -- offsite, part-time, respectable pay, enough to pay the bills if I was super frugal.  I took it, of course -- I was all about the airships back then, even more than now, and to get paid real people money!?! 

Unfortunately, I was now accustomed to the pay from my day job which had recently become full time.  I was inexperienced at living on my own and managed finances poorly, and I also managed poorly at balancing two jobs, for naturally I cut back on the day job, which resulted in conflicts about work duties when I had to take.  Both suffered, I let a minor dispute with my client that wouldn’t even register to me now blow up, and I chose the security of a full-time, banal job over the uncertainty and newness of being a freelancer in a very shaky economy.  It was 100% the wrong decision, and part of me knew at the time, for I began to drink too much, eat poorly, gain weight, hate my job (for I deflected blame onto it) and slip into a depression that would last, intermittently, for the rest of the decade.  I stopped posting art online, almost stopped drawing altogether.  Shit, I even abandoned my email at the time!  I’ve legit forgotten passwords to at least three email accounts over the years, so I just lied about that one.  Not proud, but self-loathing and depression are powerful drugs.

Anyway.  The most important part of the story is the part where I let this failure define me for many, many years -- quite honestly, until less than a year ago.  I tried briefly to resurface in ‘11, begin to get a taste of enthusiasm for my craft again, headed off the developing alcoholism, decided to go back to school to finally get that degree I didn’t have... and got derailed again, both artistically and as a student.  This time it was by a chapter of my life I would title ‘And Then Everyone But My Parents Fucking Died’ -- but that’s not important.  What is, is the fact that I was still defining myself by that colossal failure back in ‘07. Everything was seen through negative lenses; backsliding again with my art under the overwhelming pressure of anxiety and depression (my oldest friends) further reinforced the concept of myself as a perpetual failure.  Two failures to graduate!  Two failures to launch an artistic career!  My self-esteem was virtually non-existent, my skills were atrophied, and hopefully it was my lowest point.

Now, today, I can say that I’ve climbed out of a deep, deep chasm, since that time.  It’s been an incremental process, far more thoroughgoing with regards to my whole approach to thinking than I could ever hope to tackle in even a wordy blog post.  But I can safely say that there’s one huge key, without which none of the rest would work, and I’m sure it’s obvious.

Self-forgiveness.

It’s okay to fail. Everyone does at somepoint.  It’s okay to fail repeatedly.  Many people do.

What’s not okay is to turn failing into failure.  I fucked up, a decade ago.  Unfortunately I combined it with a previous history of failures and let my self-conception become one of a fuck-up.  And only when I finally, truly, stopped reproaching myself for fucking up what should have been the start of a professional career, could I finally return to where I was a decade ago, could I regain some spark of that starry-eyed optimistic twentysomething who was going places.  Not high places, but places with real people money for art, all the time.

That was about.... nine months ago, just before I started my daily drawing project (which also relates to my gigantic issues with FINISHING THINGS which is surely related but not a topic for today).  I’ve had to knock a lot of rust off, re-acquire a ton of basic skills I used to have, and in some ways re-learn almost everything from scratch.  Obviously this is not literally true, a lot of skills were just dusty and dormant, but is absolutely the feeling of the process.  Like going back to student days, though I never had any training in the first place, and all self-aware artists are perpetual students anyway.

So, yeah.  Creatives especially have to remind ourselves that failure is part of the process.  When a big one happens, unless necessity forces you to keep working, it’s a good idea to take a moment, sit back, reflect, analyze, and see what you can learn from it, and not just react.  10 years ago I just reacted, and effectively derailed myself for a decade.  Hasty decisions are far dangerous things than failures.

So get out there and fail, fail big, fail spectacularly, but always pick yourself up, find out what went wrong, and get back in that fight.

And never be afraid to ask for help now and again.  Sometimes it’s just to hard to stand up on your own.  I would never have got back on my feet without the support of my family, and now that I’m making art again the kind words and encouragement of my watchers helps keep me going on those difficult days.  Although ultimately as artists we must have that inner drive to keep making even if nobody looks at it or likes it, we also can’t function in an hermetic environment!  Sometimes all it takes is one nice comment to avert a Very Bad Day Indeed.

Which reminds me, I haven’t been leaving enough nice comments on art for some time.  Too wrapped up in my own selfish concerns! :D  Need to change that.

Hokay, we’re approaching non-sequitur territory, shoaling fast, better wrap this up.  If you’ve read this far and have any thoughts on the topics of artistic confidence and failure that you want to share, I’d be interested to hear them.

--AZ

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I’d also be interested to know if there is a way to respond to comments on post (as opposed to reblogs or asks) -- I’m still a tumblr nub so I can’t figure out how to do that, if indeed I can.  They’re disqus comments so they should be able to be threaded?  I don’t get it. *shrug*