#he had me bewitched mind body and soul etc

[hamletshoeratio]

I dreamed that I was watching a clip from bridgerton where Theo and Eloise got together in part 2 and woke up believing it happened (so much so I started going through the tags, the absolute heartbreak when I realised that I had made it up), and I'm up too early to know whether I'm actually a prophet or if I'm just plain old delusional lmao

[inklore]

you are now legally required to supply me with some harwin smut

bewitching

pairing: harwin strong x princess!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with very little plot, f receiving oral, daddy harwin eats pussy like it’s his last meal, he’s literally in love with reader, mutual pining, marking, reader can ride dragons therefore was written with being a targaryen in mind, insinuated that reader is a virgin, brief mentions of masturbation and dirty talk.

etc: could never say no to you my lovey, i hope this filth serves you well <3 it’s my first time writing in the got world so go easy on me!

“Ser—” the princess’ gasp is barely above that of a whisper, but in the desolate halls the sound echoes off the stone like a melody wrapped in silk, that lands at the heart of his desire and the head of his cock. “Harwin.”

“Do you wish me to stop, princess?”

Gods he prayed not, as his eyes looked down at you. The heavy heave of your chest—of the bare breast he just had in his mouth, tongue swirling, lips wrapped around your nipple.

A brief taste; longing looks from across crowded gatherings and fields, conversations that held more tension than a cast iron, that wicked smile that could bring forth the strongest of men to drop down in front of you—is all it took for a festering wound of affliction to blister deep in Ser Harwin Strong’s bravado.

If you were to push him away, to put an end to this, he’d go without trife. Happily give his princess what she wanted. You were not something to be conquered. To persuade. To overcome. You had become more to the Commander of the City Watch than he should have allowed on good conscience.

The magnetism that drew the two of you together finally coming to a head. Finally letting him press your back to the stone wall and seize his mouth to yours, his palms on your cheeks gentle when he felt the frenzy within his veins to swallow you whole.

To finally show you why he had dark circles rounding his eyes, sleep only finding him when your face was behind his eyelids—waking him in the late hours of the night in a hot sweat and a throbbing cock.

You held the reins of more than just dragons. Over Kings Landing. Over meek men who thought wrongly in thinking they deserved to breathe the same air as you, let alone ask to wed you.

“No,” you sigh. Pushing the heat between your legs along his thigh, the warmth burning through to his skin. Making his throat bob, “don’t stop, please.”

Harwin had no interest in making his princess beg. Plead.

He was here to serve you. To please you. To aid you in your own pleasure. To take honor in you letting him touch, taste, have you in this way like no other has before.

You held the reins over him; his lust, his desire, his affliction to simply be next to you. You had encompassed his mind, body and soul. And even the strongest of men cannot resist the bewitching of such a maiden with beauty and power.

You bring him to his knees like a wielded sword that he’s all too eager and willing to succumb to.

And as he moves down your trembling figure to his knees, pushing up your night dress, pulling your leg over his shoulder—his mouth moving along the inside of your thigh, teeth sinking in, your hips jutting, whimpers leaving your lips; he knows he holds those same reins over you.

That his affliction was yours.

That if he so desired he could have your front pressed to the stone and you’d let him take you with his cock right here. Fucking into your tight heat, palm over your mouth; you would beg then, plead for more.

A need appeased for the both of you.

He’d love nothing more.

A thought for next time. Right now, having you wither against his mouth as he runs a stripe up your wet folds, lips wrapping around that bud that has your fingers wrapping in his curls and tugging—is what his princess needs, what he needs.

The nightly images of you trembling below and against his broad frame, that flashed behind his eyes with his hand around his cock late at night, were mere delusions compared to the look of pleasure you were giving him each time your eyes looked down upon his.

Each time the tip of his tongue swirled around your clit, his grip on your thighs bruising, the deep grunt that vibrates through the halls each time he thinks of the marks he could be leaving on your skin to remember for later—the same mark you have left on his being.

He’d make the marks on your soft skin just as permanent, if you let him. If you allowed him between your legs again.

He would worship at his knees for the whole kingdom to see. Show his honor and devotion in the swipe of his tongue or the thrust of his cock, if it meant being beside you.

Having you. He'd beat down a million men, bloodied and hanging onto their lives the way your fingers are clinging to his shoulder, as your hips pump against his face.

“Ahh,” you gasp as he slips a thick finger in your tight heat. His finger twisting and pumping in time with his mouth against your folds, your clit, no part of your cunt going untouched by his tongue.

He wonders if this was your intention all along, when you slipped from your bed and down the desolate halls so late at night. Were you looking for him? The glint of happiness when you saw him round the corner was enough for him to have his mouth on you within seconds.

There’s a burning need in his gut to pull his mouth from your sex and press it against yours again, to feel those lips that tell the most beautiful tales, that speak his name like a lullaby—to silence you so you’re not caught; a death sentence that does little to put fear in him, but excitement instead.

When Harwin adds another finger it takes the restraint of a strong man not to pull you down onto him, to not plea to be inside those same walls that are gripping his fingers in a vice. Your moans growing louder as he fucks you with them with more vigor.

And when you finally come undone against his mouth, the way you gasp his name like you’re speaking to the Gods themselves, Harwin knows that he’s ours.

“Take me to bed,” his princess breathes against his mouth as he licks into yours, letting you taste your own sweetness.

“Yeah?” His grin is overzealous, hips grinding into your still throbbing heat, his leathers unable to conceal the thickness of his cock. Your eyes going wide at the lengthy drag of it against you, wariness in your eyes. His voice low against your lips, “it’ll fit, trust me princess. I have you. If you’re certain.”

Your nod is slow but sure. A kiss pressed to his wet mouth in certainty.

He will take your virtue and make it his own with the gentlest of licks from his mouth and strokes of his hips.

Never had he imagined himself to be a soft man. A man willing to go slow with the tide when an animalistic necessity of power went along with his given name.

But for his princess, softness is all he held.

There would come a time where heavy thrusts and rough fingers would be dug into your soft skin. But tonight the gentleness that came with savoring the moment is what you both needed.

[mxvladdy]

Hi, I love your writings 💜 and wanted to suggest a prompt, but if it won't hit you or if your requests are closed than feel free to ignore.

What if MC will forget the brother and that they are in relationship (it can be as side effect of some spell /potion etc, but it will last for quite some time, no one knows how long). How brothers will react on that? What they will do to make MC fall in love again, or will they do anything at all? Or they decide that it's the chance to change everything? What if MC won't love them again? I don't know if that can be angsty (I want some angst), or you can do whatever style you find appropriate. Anyway, if you don't feel like doing for 7 brothers you can do only for brothers of your choice (who you feel comfortable to write about, but maybe Lucifer, Mammon and Beel?? ).

Thank you! And have a good day or night!

A/N: 80000 years and a day later I post lol ;.;. Sorry for the wait! I tried something new with this, hope you like :)

So I was going to drop all three at the same time but it turned into 20+ pages of work. So I will post in 3 separate parts since they all turned into beefy boys... Much like their counterparts >:)

Hope you like it!!!

Part One of Three: Lucifer

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

The crackle of energy and the acrid taste of sour magic on his tongue are his only warnings before things went south. He reaches for you, strong arms moving to shield you from the blowback of energy discharging around you both. Lucifer crouches, turning his back to the explosion to cover you from the debris and dust raining down. The rebound of the failed spell washes over him for a moment turning his stomach on impact. A heavy miasma coats the room. It weighs down his wings momentarily before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Once the dust settles, the room fills with light-hearted teasing and jabs at the inept caster. Whatever chastising remark he had stuck to his tongue. When he looks down at you the air seizes his lungs in horror. You were heavy and unresponsive in his arms, eyes closed and face slack. Physically, he could see nothing wrong with you, no hair unkempt or dust on your uniform. He shakes you trying in vain to rouse you.

He doesn’t remember fleeing the room with you clutched tight to his chest nor the shouts of his confused brothers all he could focus on was your limp body cradled in his. You weren’t waking up. None of his magic was working, and you were still sleeping. It was like looking down at his brothers all over again. The feeling of dread, of helplessness, had him staggering. You were like his little Lilith all over again, another failure in his unending life span.

The healer's answers do nothing but anger him. Diavolo’s weak speculations drive him into a frenzy. Wait, they want him to wait. For how long was anyone's guess. They say that you just need rest, the human body is unaccustomed to such stresses. That though your body is weak, a human’s spirit is strong. You’ll recover-he had to trust that you would heal on your own. Trust… he had so little of that left to begin with, but he had he gave to you.

He couldn’t lose you. Couldn’t lose this small flicker of hope you brought into his life, of happiness. He didn’t want to be alone again.

So he waits, a permanent sentinel by your bedside. He sits in silence stuck with his sins. His rough hewn palms cover your small hand to warm your cooling finger tips. He strokes them with callused fingers. He contemplates all the little things he could have done differently while he waits. Hells, what he should have done differently. Spells at the best of times were unruly and dangerous and in the hands of a novice? He shakes his head squeezing your hand. He was so stupid to have let you take that course. Why hadn’t he told that weak pissant of a demon off for trying such an incantation? Or at least to take it outside. Was he that bad of a protector? Of a lover? Deep down he wants to be angry at you. That this somehow was all your fault, with your puny human constitution and defenses. He wants to blame you but the moment passes with a gut-twisting sense of guilt and almost shame.

The days move on unceasingly, the clock on your wall mocking him with every steady tick and turn of the hand. With each moon that passes his simmering anger and wounded pride cools to an ice cold fear in his veins. The healers stopped showing up daily, they were at a loss like the rest of them.

No one would say it, least of all around him, but he heard it travel down the halls like an unwelcome guest. The whispered sympathy, the soft admissions of acceptance. He blocks them out, his world narrowing down to nothing but your icy hand and weak pulse. Your room begins to turn into his. His paperwork fills your desk, while he holds meeting over the phone. One hand clutching his phone to his ear and his other always touching you. No one but him is going to take care of you. He refuses help, turning down Diavolo’s increasing offers and pleas of support.

He turns them down each and every time. He will take care of you.

Yet, no matter how much he tends to you and researches you remain inert.

It’s maddening, he was suffocating under the weight. Finally he tips. One night drunk and desperate in his destroyed room he does the last thing he could think of.

The hardwood of his bedroom is unforgiving under his knees. The cold of it soaks through his pants and the harsh grain digs into his skin. But he doesn’t care, he wasn’t looking for absolution anymore, he was begging for your salvation.

It burns him bowing like this. His pride lashes out, roaring like the untamed beast it was as he dives deep searching within himself to find the tattered remains of his former self. Each second with his eyes closed and head bent was tortuous as his pleas fill the oppressive silence of the room. No matter the discomfort of the moment he can only think of you. No cost was too steep to have you open your eyes again.

Lucifer should have known going back to his father would be a mistake. Nothing was ever simple with them, everything was by their rules and their way. Not even being the once most favored son could fix that. Your eyes open, sure. They are hazy with confusion, but also bright and full of life. You were back.

Papers forgotten Lucifer approaches you like he would a wounded animal. He stares in disbelief for a moment before succumbing to his need to hold you. “Amata-” He breathes out in relief into your neck squeezing you closer to him. Lucifer pulls away when he notices you not embracing him back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. You just took me by surprise is all.” You rub your eyes and smile wearily. “What did I do to deserve such a good morning hug?”

His smile fades, hearts sinking. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember?” Hmmm. You look around you at the clutter of your room. “I- remember being in class, then you over me.” Something must have happened, but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall. He fills you in leaving small blanks hoping to see some recognition in your bewitching eyes. But you sit, nodding along taking his word as gospel truth. “Wow.” You lean back on your pillows. To be asleep for so long, you had so much work to catch up on. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

There was an odd look in his eyes before he nods, rising to his feet. “Of course… for you, anything.” He flees then, choking back a sea of emotions to go fetch a healer to look you over. It was as he expected. You were whole and healthy again, back to your old wonderful self. Except for him. Did you truly remember none of him? Have you really forgotten how he held you at night when you were able to tear him from his works.

How could you forget the words he would whisper to you as you drifted off long after the candles had been snuffled out, the sweat had cooled on your skin, and your limbs loose and tangled with his? Would you ever remember the way he would watch you at school? How he would search for you and watch you with vigilante and hungry eyes. You were not his little lamb anymore. Even after everything he had lost you.

It was what he bargained for with his father it seemed.

He calls a meeting soon after informing his brothers and the Prince of your condition without telling them of his speculations as to why. “We will say nothing.” He speaks standing rigidly while the room erupts with confusion around him.

“Why not tell them?” Beelzebub asked brows drawn low in concern.

“And say what?” Lucifer rubs at his nose pinching the bridge tightly already feeling a dull throbbing growing underneath. “What would it change?” He leaves it at that and retreats to his room. He looks at his dusty chambers and broken furniture from his explosive temper. It is so cold again without you there. This is how it must be. The thought brings a broken whine from his lips. Tt soaks through his leather gloved hand, refusing to be shoved down. He didn’t want to believe he was so forgettable, that something as intimate as his trust and love was so weak in your soul. He had thought surely he had ingrained himself deeper than that. You were in his mind.

He turns to his private libraries that night, looking for any scrap of information he could find. Perhaps the threads of him were there within you, maybe they just needed to be mended. He often forgot how malleable the human mind was, how easily things can just slip from them. Each book on the topic started promisingly enough before piddling off to a dead-end or debunked hypothesis.

He hunts down the student that had fired the spell. If he knew the original purpose of the spell maybe he could recreate the reaction? No, yet another dead end.

He comes to realize one night sitting hunched over on the grimy floor that either your mixed blood had altered the spell's intentions or the fact that since you were not in your original timeline it had changed something deeper within you that none of them had taken into consideration. Or, perhaps-just maybe he truly did make a deal with Father.

Devil below, he hoped that wasn’t true. How ironic it would be that the first time they had heard his pleas to only answer it with more pain and punishment. Either way, he must accept this...eventually.

“You know, if you keep frowning like that it’ll leave permit winkles.” Lucifer ignores his brother, not glancing up from his journals to entertain him. He had recently found more old tomes deep in his studies. “Luci.” Multi-colored nails block his view of his documents.

“Move Asmodeus. I will not ask again.”

Asmo frowns but moves his hand back to his hip. “You need to breathe brother. Take a minute for yourself.” Lucifer snorts dismissively, flipping to the next page. Asmo sighs deeply, his old bones rattling with the heavy gust of air. “You know you won’t find anything in there. We’ve all tried, you know? Read up on fruitless leads and scoured the depths of the catacombs too. Satan’s hands are a mess from rummaging through his books.” He swallows thickly. “Perhaps it is time.”

“Time for what?” Lucifer rises to his impressive height towering over his smaller brethren. “I do not like what you are implying Sakhr.” Asmo flinches, he hates that damn name. He calms the simmering rage underneath his well kept skin. Lucifer was hurting, he lashes out blindly when he is. He always suffers alone.

“I’m not implying anything. We just want-” Lucifer laughs, the hollow sound pulls at the emptiness within Lust’s heart.

“What would you know of my wants?” His ruby eyes lock with Asmo’s. It was a mistake. Lucifer’s presence was imposing at the best of times, but as mad as he was now it was a knee jerk reaction from Asmo to put his guard up. It was a strong defensive mechanism that Asmo took special care not to let slip, but as Lucifer approaches him shoulder hunching and chest puffing up in anger. It took only a moment for his defenses to take over, eyes locking Lucifer saw exactly what he wanted reflected back at him.

He didn’t know what Lucifer saw but he could see the absolute agony etching into his older brother's glassy eyes with each second. Asmo steps back breaking eye contact with a gasp, the trance between them breaking. “I-I’m sorry!” He trembles.

Lucifer says nothing but raises a shaking finger while he collects himself. Finally, he looks up, face impassive once more. He shakes his head and points to the two chairs in front of his desk. A wordless order that Asmo takes. Asmodeus watches Lucifer busy himself with a decanter, broad back turned to him. “You meant no harm,” Lucifer says, voice tight. He turns back with two glasses in hand. “ I-my aggression was unnecessary.” He offers Asmo a glass before sitting back in his throne-like chair with a grunt. They drink in silence.

Asmo swirls the spicy drink around his tongue thinking hard. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He thought he could make things better by offering a shoulder or ear, perhaps tell Lucifer that you were doing well. You didn't seem to notice the hole at the table or in the classroom where Lucifer used to join you and the rest of them to eat or study. They had missed seeing him look so at peace around them. Everything had reverted back to like it was when you first arrived between the two of you, and it was affecting everyone. “Talk to me?” Lucifer blinks.

“And say what?” He peers at his empty glass before grabbing the decanter. “I’m fine? I have meetings piling up and I frankly don’t give a damn anymore. Or the fact that I have yet to cancel the table I had reserved for our anniversary dinner?” His last words waver dangerously before he burns them away with a large gulp of his drink. He sees the look in Asmo’s honey-colored eyes when he looks up. “I don’t need pity.”

Asmodous sniffs, waving away the thought. “Please. We all know better than that. I just want to check on you, and perhaps give you an idea?”

“What idea could you have that I have not thought of?” He asks curiously. Asmo lights up leaning in.

“What if we’ve been going about this the wrong way? We’ve been looking at magic to solve this when the answer was in front of us the whole time. Humans aren’t used to magic, so why look to it for the solution?”

“I don’t follow.” Lucifer puts his glass down leaning back in his chair. Was science what he needed to look at? He had tried that, had talked to human doctors and surgeons that owed him “favors”. They were as unhelpful as the rest.

“We are thinking like demons! We have to think like a human, woo them again. You did it once, surely their attraction wasn’t wiped out, just their memories.” Ahh. Lucifer shakes his head. He had thought of that, staring at himself in the mirror. Many nights were filled with the nagging fears of defeat. If his father had a hand in your recovery could he even be allowed to try again? Lucifer looks back at all the things he said those nights kneeling by your side. It was foolish, what even contract he might have accidentally made had too many open ends, too many half wishes, and clauses.

“I’m afraid I have already thought of that my brother.”

“Then why haven’t you tried? Have you given up?” Asmo is met with silence. “Does that mean the rest of us have a chance?” He gets the reaction he was looking for then. Lucifer’s form shutters, a full body twitch as his body blurs around the edges in warning. “Seems to me like you haven’t given up yet. So what is stopping you.”

Lucifer crumbles under his brother’s worried gaze. Perhaps he could divulge his worry, just this once. “I asked father Az.”

Asmo gasps in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief, then dawning realization. “You think They did this?” Lucifer shrugged, running a hand through his disheveled locks. “They wouldn’t-they couldn’t...could they?” None of the brothers knew what their father was up to anymore, nor if They were even still able to track them. It was an ever present cloud of stress over all of them. While they trusted Diavolo and his protection, the nagging fear was never-ending.

“This is perfect!” Asmo claps his hands together. Lucifer stares at him in confusion. Lust’s smile grew toothy and dangerous. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.” His younger brother snorts looking down at his nails. His mind was running a mile a minute. For as organized and crafty as Lucifer is, he sure had his moments.

“Think about it. If Father did meddle then you have to try courting them again. Defying Father is a talent!” Asmo claps his hands in giddy delight. “Wouldn’t it just chafe their linens if you got back together?”

“And what if They didn’t meddle?”

“Then what do you have to lose?” Lucifer laughs. It was breathy and lifeless at the start but grew in intensity as Asmo’s words sunk in. Why was it when he said it it made sense?

“As devious as ever Az.” Lucifer smiles. Yes, he could win you back easily and reclaim his pride all in one fell swoop. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am.” They were troublemakers, the lot of them and it was time for him to prove it once more that he was the worst of them.

He starts the next day dressing down for once in his long life. He wears an outfit you always complement tucked neatly into a pair of dress slacks you bought him after a date gone awry. He smirked, remembering the tight squeeze of your hand on him on the drive home. The friction of your palm on the smooth material...he tipped his dry cleaner extra that night. “Good morning.” He purrs out in greeting taking his seat at the head of the table. The few brothers around the table freeze for a moment, keen eyes darting from him to where you sat still eating as if nothing had changed. Asmodeus shot him a wink.

“Morning.” You chirp back around your spoon. “It’s good to see you back at the table. Finally got a break from work?” The demons hold their collective breath.

“Yes, you can say that I came to a revelation of sorts.” He hums into his mug.

From that point on no matter what corner you turn on Lucifer was there. A pleasant smile on his lips and an offer of aid. “Thank you for the help!” You drop the large stack of books on your desk with a satisfied grunt. “You know- even though our pack is still somewhat new, if you need help with your work I’d be glad to give you a hand too!”

“Would you?” He hides his predatory grin under his hand. “ Some of the matters I have to attend to will require some long, hard work. It may take up some of your nights.” The flush that graces your cheeks and the warm buzz from his pact mark make him giddy.

“I’m willing.”

Slowly he begins to pull you back into his world. He leaves well placed hints of your past together scattered around his workspace. Your favorite Devildom blooms and treats always seem to be around when you come to offer your help in the evening. He slips old pet names into daily conversations as you scribble notes and transcribe letters for him by the soft light of his desk lamp. Pacing himself was never so hard before in his life. Was he finally cracking through? Or were you falling for him again? It was a heady rush to be sure, the mix of anticipation and thrill of such earthly courting made him realize many things he didn’t see the first time around. He learns all over again just what he loved about you.

He had forgotten how patient you were around him and with his siblings. Your keen eye and attention to detail reminded him just why he trusted you. You flitted about him picking up things he missed and settling brotherly disputes without him having to waste his breath. It was almost like things were going back to normal, minus the cold sheets beside him at night. But he sticks to his plan, finding pleasure in simply learning about you all over again.

It came to an end sooner than he had expected.

“Enter.” Lucifer calls from his overflowing desk. It was finals time once again and the damages done to school property were picking up dramatically. He heard your fluttering heartbeat before you even entered his domicile. It picks up as you approach.

“Am I interrupting?

Lucifer looks up from his work, a grin growing on his tired face. “For you, never.” You smile back, coming closer. You held a mug of coffee in your hands. The beast within him wanted to raise its hackles in triumph and howl. His life must be a divine comedy. This night is playing out just like it did nearly a year ago. Did you remember too? Or was this just how it always was meant to be?

“I haven’t seen you in a bit, and got concerned.” You fiddle with the handle of the copper mug. Lucifer nods, it was true. He regrettably had to put his plans with you on hold, he had spent so much time scheming he had let a few things build up. “Asmo told me you were hold up in here working, and I thought you could use a pick me up. He-he helped me make you some coffee.”

Ah. It wasn’t the same as the first time, but it was a matter of time before his sibling started meddling again. He takes the cup from your outstretched hand. “Thank you, this is much appreciated.” You glow under his praise taking a seat by his side.

“Need any help?” You eye the stack of papers with interest. “I’ve gotten pretty good at reading the fine print.”

“Have you now?” He pushes a small stack of papers towards you. “Very well, I would love your company again.” You take the work with a nod eager to spend time with him again. He watches you work, unable to contain his growing smile before looking down at the cup by his side. The tar-black coffee looks back at him. Oh, how he wished to commend his brother and berate him all at once. It is putrid and stomach-churning but he savors it all the same.

“Is it alright?” You pause watching him drink in. You have never seen him so enraptured by a drink before.

“Yes.” It will be.

[brandonkbills]

Ghost concert on Acid

Back in September a friend of mine introduced me to Ghost, showed me some of their more popular songs and music videos and my fancy you could definitely say was tickled. I was instantly drawn to the costumes and the theatricality of them. I’d continue to listen to their more popular songs like Square Hammer, Cirice, Rats, Dance Macabre etc.

He invited me to come see them with him on their Ultimate Tour Named Death in SLC, Utah. I was immediately down. I was so looking forward to this show but had no idea what exactly I was in for.

In the parking lot he offers me some LSD and he was expecting us to just microdose but feeling brave I decide on taking the full tab. Things feel pretty normal as I groove to Twin Temple, the Satanic doo-wop band who’s opening for them. I look over to my friend, he has another tab of LSD on his fingertip and offers it to me. We both take an additional tab, we’re going in balls deep now.

Twin Temple ends their set and the audience waits with anticipation. I start to really feel something as I watch the people in the pit from the seats above; they move around like their own living organism. Suddenly, black out. The audience roars eagerly waiting for the show to begin. They kick it off with Ashes immediately followed by Rats and just rock my dick off immediately but even the instant dick rocking couldn’t prepare me for what was to come. Cardinal Copia is just mesmerizing to watch on stage. It’s immense fun to watch him dance around and sing all so passionately, and his intense sexual charisma is just hypnotic. He’s especially delightful in between songs. He holds the audience in the palm of his hand. Then he ominously utters “We’ll see how well we get to know each other” I now know shit’s gonna get crazy. The Cardinal asks the crowd “Are you all feeling tingly yet?? No? We’ll get you there.” I’ve no idea what that’s about.

I’m now tumbling down deep, dark mental roads during this badass satanic spectacle. The two Ghoul guitarists begin a riff off. A Heavy Metal Ghoul Duel if you will. My mind’s digging far down into my soul as these two masters of their instruments pull out deep rooted interpersonal quandaries from within my psyche. It’s like each guitarist is a little ghoul on my shoulder and each have their turn making their solos a chance to make their case. The Ghouls guide me down this train of thought as the black guitar Ghoul leads to the thoughts “You’ve always been curious of Satanism but that’s not you. You’re really not a Satanist.” I’ve never seriously considered the thought of being a Satanist. The Ghoul with the white guitar brings me to “Oh? And Why’s that? What exactly about it do you not agree with?”. I think to myself “Oh shit”. I don’t disagree with any of their ideas necessarily. Independence from Religion and being the Master of your own reality sound pretty fuckin cool to me. I stand in awe as these two ghouls shred opposite the stage from one another across the checkerboard floor. It’s like a mental chess match and it’s no question that by the end of it the white guitar ghoul was the victor. “I’m just tripping, I’m on drugs.” I think to myself. “Just because the white ghoul won the guitar battle doesn’t mean I’m a Satanist now...but also it doesn’t mean I’m not...I’ll keep an open mind”. The song continues to rock on and they just absolutely dominate the arena. After the song, the audience blows up with applause. I clap. Man, I clap so hard. I clap so hard I can hardly feel my hands and before I know it, I feel this insane vibrational aura around my hands. The Cardinal speaks with certainty “Oh yeah, You’re feeling tingly now”.

Holy fucking shit.

Miasma starts. I’ve never heard this song before but I’m instantly digging it and jamming away and then Papa Nihil appears out of thin air in a cloud of white fog with this epic fucking Saxophone solo. This is easily the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed. A Satanic Pope with sunglasses fuckin blowing everyone away on a Sax like Bill fucking Clinton on late night. What could be cooler?? It’s equal parts mind blowingly ridiculous and hilariously awesome.

Now I’ve been to concerts where during a song I’ve thought to myself “This is fine but I can’t wait for the next song”. This is not one of those concerts. I’m totally enthralled by every single set entry. Every single god damn song’s just incredible. The whole show is an audible and visual feast. There are times I catch myself just gazing into the stained-glass style mural in the back. There’s a faux painted portrait of Papa Nihil in the center of the mural. Spirit starts. Papa Nihil’s forehead breaks into fractals and starts to dance and weave into itself infinitely. I begin to suspect Ghost has tons of fans who trip and it’s just a thing that Ghost is aware of. I don’t know how true this is. Either way the idea is entertaining.

From the Pinnacle to the Pit has me staring at the stage during a guitar solo as I literally feel my fucking face melt off. Meanwhile slowly forming a grin on my face like some crazy demon man just to have a *POP* sudden burst of fireworks into a blackout that slaps that silly fucking grin off my face and my jaw nearly drops to the floor.

I start to notice that some people just are not as into the concert as I am. I’m assuming they are just Mormons and/or other religious folk who showed up unaware of how inherently Satanic Ghost’s music is.

Spöksonat begins, it’s very dark on stage but there are these bright blue/violet shapes beaming out from the darkness and some people around me get headaches and exit. I interpret this as weak-minded religious sheep/mormons whose meek minds can’t handle Ghost’s awesome and enchanting music. They’re too buried in their illusory faith. Again, idk how true this is but I love to believe this. It’s definitely what I believed at the time of the trip.

He is starts. I begin to realize. This is my new faith. I am in awe. The song is composed and performed with such conviction and love, I think to myself “If this is Satanism’s attempt to convert me and this much effort was put in to this to make it this beautiful... I just don’t want to refuse.” The next song begins. Mummy Dust. Which in the Cardinal’s words is “So gosh darn Infernally fucking heavy that it will not only wobble your asses but it will TICKLE YOUR TAAIINNNTS” and tickle my taint it does.

Kiss the Go-Goat is yet another excellent groovy jam but then Dance Macabre comes on right after, ooooh shit buddy I get excited. I start clapping and dancing, I stand up on the stairs, grab the railing and whip my hair around. I dance my god damned heart out and as I dance I see the Cardinal walk to the left side of the stage and he looks right at me, I fucking felt it. He nods approvingly and returns to performing. I finally feel like I fully understand the lyrics as I see this song live. “Just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night”. That’s Tobias Forge not just saying he wants to be with us all night but he wants to enchant and perform for us all night because that is what this brilliant master of his craft was born to do. He has as much fun as the audience does at these shows, if not, more. This song would’ve been a damn fine closer but as stated in the lyrics, he didn’t wanna end like that.

Square Hammer hits and it hits hard. People are losing their minds, myself included. Still riding the energy of that last song, I head bang my soul out of my damn body. Once again, I fully understand the lyrics. “Are you on the Square? Are you on the level? Are you ready to swear right here right now, before the devil?”. I realize absolutely fucking am. When the show ended The Cardinal waved everyone goodbye and you could see how thankful he was for an audience and I’m still not sure if this was the drugs or a special effect (pretty sure it was the drugs) but each band member appeared to have strings like a marionette while waving goodbye and bowed to the audience and the audience appeared to having strings too. It looked like a lighting effect but I still have no idea how that happened, most likely a hallucination. So fucking cool regardless.

I left the arena drenched in sweat, baptized into a new yet familiar world. I don’t see life the same way I did before (but hey, that’s LSD for you). I realized through this trip how badass the symbol for rebellion against tyranny really is. Along with the profound nature of freedom from religion and realizing self divinity; that you the individual possess powers of a god and most importantly, I just had a good fucking time. My first Ghost concert was a religious experience and one hell of bash. They’re easily my favorite band now and I’ve been listening to all their albums on repeat and I can’t wait till I can see them again.

[hisgirlwonder]

Innocence Lost (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Length: 3.8K words Warning: Probably quite a bit (abandonment and betrayal, emotional abuse, manipulation, daddy issues, degradation, anal stuff, use of body fluids, etc) Synopsis: In your father’s eyes, you were his and his alone... until you weren’t; until he’d sold you to the Son of Satan for his own survival. Notes: Just a warning that if you are triggered by issues such as family problems, emotional abuse, abusive men in general, etc, that you probably shouldn’t read this. I wanted to try and make something really horrible since I needed a break from fluff so you’ve been warned. I took inspiration from a couple of movies and I hope you enjoy! If you want to read anything else I’ve written, you can find stuff in my masterlist. (ps. I had to make YN look like Vivien for the sake of my story.)

When you look back on everything, you realise a part of you had always known that your father only cared about himself. It all started when you were nine or ten and recall falling asleep to the sound of your parents screaming at each other. Tears rolled off your face and soaked your pillowcase while you held a hand over each of your ears in an effort to drown out the noise. One day your mother had enough, took off to go and get a pack of cigarettes but she never returned. You spent hours sitting by the front door before and after school waiting for her return – it was like this for almost a year.

A naïve belief had planted itself inside your mind as a child that he did his best to love you which was somewhat true… except it wasn’t really. Loving your child should be unconditional and yet for your father it was the exact opposite; with strict conditions. He only loved you in the moments that he didn’t see her.

The disappearing act of your youth changed him forever. It changed you, too, but this is when he began to figuratively sink himself into and under your skin. Looking at you pained him because you were the spitting image of her when they first met all those years ago; head full of long, luscious, strawberry-blonde locks and piercing blue eyes which bore through a man’s soul and found their way into his heart without even trying. His existence became like a sign at a crossroads – stagnant and unable to move and he couldn’t bear to be without you because she had already left. Your father couldn’t let you leave, too.

The name Michael had been mentioned in passing a long time ago when the two of them first met and went into business; that’s all you’d been told; no surprises if he turned out to be as corrupt as your father. The man who helped bring you into this world seemed wholesome on the surface but beneath it all he was a crook; a man who used manipulation, treachery, sometimes even force, to get what he wanted. His Devilish dealings and misdemeanours probably were the reason why when Michael came along you couldn’t jump into his arms fast enough.

Being as oblivious as you were, you gave excuses for the behaviour and never fought back because you were brainwashed into thinking his actions were warranted. Your mother, after all, gave birth to you and it was only fair for you to take over her role in the household which meant dealing with his venomous tongue.

When this new person appeared in your life, seemingly out of nowhere, he lit up your life like a firework on the fourth of July. He was charming, charismatic, and all the things your mother would have warned you about had she still been around - you imagine she would have told you a man is only as good as the company he keeps. You’d already discovered your father was bad news and you were to learn that Michael was too, despite the pretty face.

**

“Y/N, come here. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

You’re called to come outside and meet the visitor your father has invited over. It’s near impossible to contain the excitement you’re feeling because you’ve never had your own visitors so you run as fast as you can to the door. There’s a man standing on the deck who doesn’t look much older than you standing there and hands down he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen.

A hand presses against your lower back, pushing you closer to this unknown person. Introductions from your father are had and you learn that this aesthetically pleasing person standing before you happens to be Michael. In a display of kindness, you hold out a hand for him to shake but he has other plans – taking that same hand in his and placing a kiss on the back of it. Your attempt to greet him is a failure because your vocal chords seem stuck; held down by nerves at the sight of this gorgeous man. Michael can feel the shyness you’re emanating and continues to hold your hand; only now stroking the palm with a couple of fingers.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. F/N has told me so much about you.”

His voice bewitched you without any effort but your heart-eyes and swooning are cut short by your father interrupting, inviting Michael inside for lemonade. Michael replies with an answer that sounds as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The three of you walk to the kitchen which is fine until daddy dearest makes a comment in your ear when you’re getting the jug of lemonade from the fridge about how Michael is a good man and how he’s going to take care and look after you. You have no idea what he meant nor did you care because, for the first time in your life, a boy had awoken something inside you.  

You sit on the chair closest to Michael after the drinks are poured and are enamoured once again; intoxicated by his presence. Michael proposes a toast, to friendships, meeting you, and for you being as magnificent as described. Your skin began to flush because your father had been the only man allowed to call you that.

**

Two months have passed and what started off innocently enough has transpired into something else. Michael, of course, has nothing to do with it because he hasn’t touched you besides holding your hand or brushing your hair, but your mind works in other ways. Somehow he’s gotten trapped inside your skull and every thought and dream is about him.

One Friday night, your father decides to leave you alone with Michael. You were nervous but unsuspecting of anything, even when your father nods at Michael before he leaves. You would learn in a few weeks from now that this was more of a signal for him to start the plans the two of them had concocted.

With the two of you in the house all alone, it meant that you could give each other undivided attention without any interruption.

Your legs are draped over Michael as you usually would except instead of resting a hand on your kneecap sweetly he’s travelling up one of your thighs from the inside of your kneecap. You’re biting at your lip as he’s half way up your thigh but unfortunately his fingers don’t move any further, instead, he use them to tuck strands of fallen hair back behind your ear. Michael sweetly questions if you wanted to go to your room and play a game and, of course, you couldn’t say yes fast enough because you were ready for anything after feeling just a miniscule amount of affection.

**

You sit on your bed, bouncing legs in anticipation for what happens next. It’s only natural for you to feel this way because up until a few weeks ago you were untouched. The curiousity becomes all too much and you ask, “What game are we going to play?”

Michael takes a seat next to you and holds your restless legs still in an attempt to dispel any anxiety. Once you’ve stopped moving nervously, he cups a cheek in his hand and looks at you in a way that you’d never seen before. To any other woman who had been with a man, they’d know the look; he was holding back the growing hunger inside.

“A special game.”

“I like games,” you admit excitedly. You were a grown woman and yet a child all the same – you’d been stuffed into a box by your father and shielded from most if not all things that would break you out of his grip. In the throes of a mental breakdown, he even unenrolled you out of school and hired a tutor he trusted because he didn’t want someone else poisoning your mind or stealing you. He couldn’t lose another woman that he loved most. Once you’d finished school, there was no need for you to work because of the wealth your father had acclaimed - he forced this upon you and would use it if you ever stepped out of line. ­

“Lay down on the bed for me, will you?” he asks with eyes locked onto yours, fingers stroking at the curve of your jaw. Under his spell, you followed the instruction without a breath of hesitation. Michael slips off his shoes and lays on the bed as well; perched up on one elbow and the other hand strumming along your upper thigh.  

“Is this okay?” Michael questions you, making sure you were comfortable with what was going on. It seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you in any way. You’re nodding but the truth is you wanted to yell out for more; beg for his hands to roam your body and take every last bit of your innocent; burn holes into your flesh from the intense fires of his want.

Then it happens.

“Would it be okay if I touched you in other places? You can say no if you don’t want me to.”

There he goes. Michael lays out the option to quench your thirst and to sate your desires but he also gives you the option to back out. As if you really had a choice.

“Y-y-yes,” you stutter. With no real understanding of how this works, you just agree and allow him to lead the way. He wastes no time getting in between the thick of your thighs and his fingertips dance over the fabric of your underwear; providing weak stimulation. At first, you jump because these aren’t your hands and you’d never felt anything quite like it before but you just went with it. Michael’s smiling at your reaction because he knows soon he’s going to defile you and turn you into his cock-hungry slut all in a matter of moments.

Two of his fingers push the layer of fabric out of the way and he traverses the slit between your legs. Michael playfully teases how wet you are, how ready you are, and you hide behind your hands. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment could only hide for so long because Michael pulls your hands down; he didn’t want you hiding anything back from him. Michael wanted, and needed, to see the way you reacted to him corrupting your body. His long, ring-adorned fingers glazed with slick travel to meet with your swollen bud, teasing it with his tips, and you feel a different kind of heat run through your veins – no longer embarrassed but set alight.

The events that conspired over that afternoon led you to believe magic was deep-rooted within Michael, embedded in his DNA. There was no other way to describe the power he had over you. What started as fingertips stroking at your bud as if your body was braille led to his plump lips devouring you; tongue lapping up the mess from the multiple orgasms he brought upon your body. After the final orgasm from his mouth, you thought that was it but turns out it was only the beginning.

When you gave him the signal, he slid inside gently and you could swear every thrust of his hips brought you closer to Heaven. You sang out in moans and your good girl image was broken when you began cursing. After the two of you had finished and you were catching your breath, the thought hit and you wondered if without your father would you have ever felt this from a man? The answer was probably no.

**

In the weeks that followed after the first time, things with Michael had heated up to the point where it could almost burn you alive. Your father pretended as if he didn’t know that Michael was fucking you in the room next door to his but anybody could have heard the noises that came from your mouth and your bedroom furniture.

For the first time in your life, you become needy for something other than your father's love. In your desire for Michael, practically ripping his clothes off when the two of you were alone. He had cast some kind of spell, turning you into someone you didn’t recognise. You became messy and had a sex drive that skyrocketed to the point where you no longer cared; allowing him to pound you into submission over every surface in your house.

One day Michael begins to touch you differently; with less passion, less care, instead just fucking you and not paying any attention to your body whatsoever. It becomes too much and you demand to know what’s changed. His all so sudden denial and strange behaviour you left you standing there in disbelief, hands on hips like a bratty child. You yell at him as he’s walking away, “You’re a liar and you can’t do this, Michael. You’ve gotten under my skin somehow and made me sick with this disease.”

When he realises he’s got you to the point where he wants you, he spins around on his heels and walks towards you. His eyes pierce into you with intent. “You want to feel something, do you?”

You step closer, pushing him back from his chest. “Yeah, but you have other things to do.”

This was the moment he was waiting for; the one to rip you in two and destroy everything you knew.

One of his hands takes you by surprise, colliding with your cheek and you’re left with a stinging that sliced through the skin because of the strength of the hit. You’re rubbing at your skin to soothe the pain and he taunts you, asking if it was enough. You bit back at his smart mouth and told him that wasn’t the kind of feeling you wanted.

“Maybe I don’t want to give you what you want.”

You were like an addict begging to blow your dealer for one more hit, offering your body up for some kind of satisfaction. “Since when did you ever turn me down?”

The push and the pull between the two of you are almost identical to how your parents would fight and that angers you even more. Michael snaps, pushing you back onto the bed; holding your wrists above your head, slender fingers digging into their hollows. He too has also become triggered; the similarities in your hair and eye colour to his mothers set him off.

“We’re going to do something a little different if that’s how you want to play.”

The way he spoke to you left you expecting hands of his to wrap themselves around your throat like you envisioned your own father doing if you disobeyed him but Michael did the opposite; dropping your wrists and leaving the room for a minute.

**

Michael returns and walks in slow, calculated steps to the end of your bed where you see him attach a pair of the handcuffs to each side of the bed frame. The thought crossed your mind as to where he would have got them but knowing your father, you wouldn’t be surprised if Michael had gone snooping and found them in your father’s drawers. He moves his fingers in a come hither movement and you crawl across the bed to the end but you aren’t close enough for his liking and so he pulls you swiftly to the edge of the bed, only to lock a cuff around each of your wrists.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

You could lie and tell him that it wasn’t but it was written all over your face. He smacks at your face again as hard as before, you wince in pain.

“Since you want to feel something so bad I’m going to make you feel more than just my cock inside you.”

Michael undresses, throwing the clothes on the chair near your bed carelessly before getting behind you. He rips off your clothes – your button up sundress ruined from angry hands, leaving buttons strewn over the bed and some minimally attached to the fabric. He tears the lace underwear from your body and throws the ruined item of clothing to the side.

You’re sweltering from the heat of your own lust but the same can’t be said for Michael - because of your likeness to his mother, he’s neck deep in disgust and power. He brings his aching erection to your slit, rubbing the aperture between your legs before forcing himself past your folds and inside. The thick girth filled your tight cunt in full; the ridges of him hitting the entrance in ways that sent shivers down your spine. Michael takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back as he growls, asking you if you knew what you are – obviously joking and saying you’re needing to get laid isn’t the answer because he yanks you back harder.

“You’re a pathetic bitch,” Michael snarls. The grip he has starts to hurt the roots of your hair. You whimper, unable to come back with anything because you were distracted by the discomfort. Michael doesn’t care and yells at you to look at how pathetic you are in the mirror adjacent to your bed, further adding to the degradation. His eyes are fixed on the sight of his hands hooking around your hips, pulling you into him. The handcuffs dig into your skin but you were enrapt with pleasure.

Michael is gentle only for the first few thrusts before picking the speed up and the repeated collision of hip bones on your ass become almost ferocious. The sounds of enjoyment you were making served as gratification for Michael’s inflated ego. You were so lost in focusing on Michael and how he was fucking you in a way you’d never even dreamed of that your orgasm crept up on you. It all comes to a stop when he feels what you’ve done and he scolds you for it. “You came without my permission, did you? I guess you’re just going to have to pay for it.”

You have no idea what’s going on behind you but can feel him exiting your body – he still needs to cum but he needed to make it count after, in his mind, you betrayed him like his mother did. His sick enjoyment from your humiliation reaches another level when he can see the nectar stringing from your pussy to his shaft while he removes himself. The sight of it all over his cock gives him an idea and so he rubs the tip, now covered in a muculent glaze of your own arousal, against your other hole and slides the head inside. He remains still, leaving you unsuspecting of his intent, but it wasn’t long before he gave you his entire length. Michael had trained your ass with many toys since you began having sex and so when he fully enters you, waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He can only handle about five or six thrusts before he’s sent over the edge, emptying his seed into your ass.

“Look at you, fucked with an ass full of my cum. I bet you like being used like a piece of meat, don’t you?”

Michael pulls the weakening erection out of you and wants to take things even further. In his own twisted punishment, he shoves two fingers in your ass to scoop out some of the viscous fluid and forces them into your mouth to make you gag on the remnants of his perversion.

“I want you to hear exactly what I’m saying and shut the fuck up while I’m doing it. Don’t think you can use your smart mouth right now when I have the advantage here. You know why your father introduced me to you, don’t you? It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart but because he sold you to me for a place in my Outpost.”

You begin to mewl in discomfort as the high begins to wear off. He’s digging his fingertips into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open and making sure you can’t say anything or move at all.

“He let me use you to my own advantage because he knew you look a lot like my mother. You want to know the reason your father and I have bonded so well recently? Because we both have women in our lives who have ruined us. When I said he had to offer me something more than money, he didn’t hesitate in giving me his pure, virgin daughter to destroy. It seems only fair too, don’t you think? Your mother ruined your father and what better way to get her back then to ravage the child she held in her womb. My mother ruined me too. It’s the ultimate betrayal to your God. ”

You’re unable to look anywhere else except straight into the eyes of Michael in the mirror before you. He was devoid of any emotion except hatred; blinded by his own rage of his mother.

"All I ever wanted was love and affection from her, and what did I get? Nothing. She tried to kill me. But now I’ve got you and you’re the next best thing. That sickness you claim to have? You’re not wrong. I have a special kind of power running through my veins which has allowed me to infect you like a parasite; burrowing itself into your organs and attaching it to most vital ones.”

Michael gets up to dress himself then walks around to the front of the bed to undo the cuffs holding you up. You collapse into your bed and rub where the handcuffs had been digging into. He leans on the bed frame, peering down at your still body; laying motionless in a state of shock. “There are a few ways this could play out. I could kill you myself, you could die from the apocalypse, or you can be my slave.”

The reality of his seriousness and your future to come begins to sink in but you don’t move. You lay there on the bed, a ruin of cum, sweat, and fear for what to do. Michael turns around to check himself in the mirror; tidying up his hair, refusing to look at you but he offers his own form of an olive branch, “If you want to play along, your father knows where I am. Otherwise have fun rotting with the rest of the world.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @langdonsdemon @wroteclassicaly @violett124 @moltenskeleton @1-800-bitchcraft @queencocoakimmie // Also adding in: @icylangdon @langdonsrapture

[sadkittyworld]

NS_ Wk 2

Id, Ego and Super-Ego

In the original story, we see the events of the story through Gabriel Utterson’s POV (so far). I don’t think that he is the protagonist of the story even though we see through his eyes.

In chapter 2 we are introduced to 2 new characters, Poole (Jekyll’s Loyal servant) and Dr. Hastie Lanyon (old friend of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Utterson).

Utterson starts to suspect that Hyde is Jekyll’s Gay lover or his illegitimate child. Utterson is haunted by Hyde because he doesn’t know how he looks like.

Utterson’s doubts clear when he finally meets Hyde. Like the other witnesses, he also finds Hyde indescribably loathsome. This feeling is slightly understood when Utterson and Hyde have a conversation.

Utterson visits Jekyll but he’s not home, at this he is relieved.

Utterson looks back at the time when they were young. He states that Jekyll was ‘wild when he was young’: and thinks that Hyde is ‘the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace’ returning to ruin him.

He worries that time is running out for ‘poor Harry Jekyll’.

Utterson thinks of his own past. ‘groping in all corners of memory, lest by chance some Jack in the Box of an old iniquity should leap to light there’ (Stevenson, 1979, p.42)

Stevenson, R.L. (1979) Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Other Stories. London: Penguin Classics. Reprint, 1999.

Iniquity - wrongdoing, misdeed, sin, immoral behaviour.

Utterson is a character who represents the theme of ‘Repression’. He represses his natural instincts.

Utterson becomes obsessed with Hyde as the story progresses.

In most adaptations Hyde is shown as a hideous monstrous creature. In my version Hyde is too pretty to hate. He has almost everyone tied around his finger. The other character’s in the story are bewitched by his appearance, both men and women alike. This situation causes my Hyde to want to punish those men who pursue him. This leads to the killing of Danvers Carew in my story though he will be named differently to the original.

In the original text we are shown Hyde as:

‘a kind of black sneering coolness - frightened too’ (Stevenson, 1979, p.32)

‘He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity’ (Stevenson, 1979, p.34)

‘an odd light footstep’

‘He was small and plainly dressed’

‘extraordinary quickness’

‘he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken voice’  (Stevenson, 1979, pp.38-40).

- pale and dwarfish

We know that Hyde and Jekyll are the same person. In my version They are 2 souls in 1 body. The effect of the drug makes the Hyde character able to shape-shift to anyone at will as long as he can picture the appearance in his mind.

If you look at the story carefully it’s not Hyde who is bad but Jekyll who created Hyde in the first place to do bad and get away with.

‘Henry Jekyll [...] is nobody’s hero... He represents the ‘cry of Victorian man from the depths of his self-imposed underground’ (Saposnik, 1971).

Saposnik, I. (1971) The Anatomy of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in English Literature. 1500-1900. Vol.11 No.4, Nineteenth Century, pp.715-731.

In the final chapter we learn that Jekyll cannot reconcile ‘an impatient gaiety of disposition’* with his ‘imperious desire to carry [his] head high’ (Stevenson, 1979, p.81).

He wants to appear better than everyone else.

* ‘loose’ morals

‘Victorian man was haunted constantly by an inescapable sense of division. As rational and sensual being, as public and private man, as civilised and bestial creature, he found himself necessarily an actor, playing only that part of himself suitable to the occasion’ (Saposnik, 1971).

Though many views and attitudes have changed over the years since the Victorian Era, there are still many rules and restriction, old and new, that make people continue the dual or even multiple lifestyle depending on the situation they are in.

Our societies are built around Social Emotion. The way people of the 19th Century saw emotion was very different to the way we see it today. There were different categories of emotion, e.g. ‘appetites’ relating to ‘base’ desire (such as ‘lust’) and ‘sentiments’ which were seen as voluntary & associated with moral behaviour.

When the word ‘emotion’ was used, it was related to movement, or disturbance, usually of a riotous political nature.

We carry some of this meaning into English today: ‘emotional’ people are seen as ‘out of control’, less rational.

According to Hewitt (2017) language ‘offers the clearest view of how cultural attitudes shape our personal experiences of feeling’.

As Hewitt notes, English is full of words relating to embarrassment, including: Discomfiture Awkwardness Mortification Humility Uneasiness Self-consciousness Shame

They reflect the importance to English culture of ‘propriety, decorum, politeness and respectability’ (Hewitt, 2017). 

‘Emotion is… produced at the intersection between each person and the culture they inhabit’ (Hewitt, 2017).

‘I never saw a circle of such hateful faces.’ (Story of the Door)

In the novella, the Victorian gentlemen and ladies think they have civilised themselves out of feeling ‘base’ emotions. But Enfield & the others want to kill Hyde just because he injured the child.

Wanting to KILL because he INJURED, is too much. It is definitely not right.

It’s like those self-proclaiming righteous people we see on the Internet. They think they are doing the world a favour but they could be hurting the other person they are persecuting through words. This favour you are doing could well end up being a double-edged sword that will comeback to hurt or ruin you.

Sublimation: diverting a ‘base’ sexual or biological urge into something more socially acceptable.

‘Killing being out of the question, we… should make his name stink from one end of London to the other’.

Shaming is a substitute for what they want to do – which is murder Mr. Hyde.

In 1923 Sigmund Freud identified the so called ‘psychic apparatus’ of the mind.

Id - instincts.  (‘Es’): ‘Primitive, unorganised, emotional: “the realm of the illogical”’ (Storr, 1989, p. 60). Governed by the ‘pleasure principle’. Represents the unconscious.

Ego - Reality. (‘ich’) = represents the conscious mind & the ‘reality principle’. Able to defer gratification. ‘Mature’ and ‘reasonable’. ‘Acts as an intermediary between the id and the external world’ (Storr, 1989, p. 62).

Superego - Morality. (‘Uber-ich’): our internalisation of cultural rules (how we ought to behave). Usually works in opposition to the id.

Hyde represents the Id but also display ‘ego’ as he acts in order to prevent his capture. 

Jekyll represents the superego but also displays the ego and and the id, I think because it was his idea to create Hyde which came from his inner desire to do bad without being affected by it’s consequences.

We see Utterson as the character of Superego occasionally showing ego.

Freud was inspired by Dr. Charcot of Paris, who treated women diagnosed with Hysteria using Hypnosis. Freud also started a psychiatric clinic the year Stevenson released his novella in 1886. He started the clinic using Hypnosis but later moved on to a new method he invented with his friend Josef Breuer. This method was a ‘talking cure’ called ‘psychoanalysis’. 

Psychoanalysis aims to bring out the unconscious (i.e. hidden) desires and memories through ‘free association’ and analysis of dreams. This technique seems to be used by the police nowadays to find out about the criminals and understand their reasons for their crime.

Freud theorised that repression of desires (especially as a child) could lead to ‘fixations’ (obsessions) in later life.

‘Free association’ - the totally free, uncensored expression of thoughts and ideas.

If a patient could recall (out loud) the first instance they experienced a troubling symptom... the symptom would then disappear.

Freud’s idea originated from a German writer.

Art is sublimation according to Freud. He believed that artists and writers had a special skill for sublimation. I agree with his theory in many way. I suppose as an artist myself I tend to draw/ sketch or paint etc... to let out my fixations, my parents say that my drawing seem to reflect on how I am feeling. They can’t seem to figure out much when they look at me, but when they look at my work they say that it looks sad, happy, angry, frustrated etc...

Stevenson was definitely obsessed with the ideology of ‘double life’.

R.L.S’ inspiration for Jekyll/Hyde came from the gentleman William ‘Deacon’ Brodie (1741-1788). During the day, Brodie was a cabinetmaker and the town councillor but at night he was a burglar. Brodie frequented the taverns of Edinburgh’s disreputable Fleshmarket Close. He had two mistresses and five illegitimate children to support. Huge crowds came to watch him get hanged for his crime of theft in Edinburgh’s Lawnmarket on 1st October 1788.

Stevenson’s childhood room contained a cabinet designed by Brodie himself.

Stevenson was fascinated by Brodie.

Before his hit novella about Jekyll and Hyde he co-wrote a play about Brodie in 1878.

The fact that Stevenson dreamt this story is even more significant from a Freudian perspective.

In 1888, in A Chapter on Dreams (Linehan, 2003, pp. 87–91) Stevenson wrote about the ‘Brownie’ like spirits (the ‘Little People’) who brought him his stories while he slept.

‘The dream is a fulfilled wish’ (Freud, 1920).

In The Interpretation of Dreams, written in 1899, Freud, described dreams as ‘the royal road to the unconscious’.

Freudian Dream Psychology:

Freud divided dreams into: manifest content (the remembered details of the dream) latent content (true meaning of the dream).

Dream-work:

Freud’s description for the mental processes by which (potentially disturbing and therefore repressed) desires are made acceptable to the conscious mind – by being disguised as (often bizarre) manifest content.

In Dream Psychology (1920) Freud wrote about the curious category of ‘those dreams which have never been dreamed’ – by which he meant dreams in fiction.

‘During the 20th century, psychoanalysis had a major effect upon both art and literature. Freud’s concept of the unconscious, his use of free association, and his rediscovery of the importance of dreams encouraged painters, sculptors, and writers to experiment with… the irrational, to pay serious attention to their inner worlds of dream and day-dream…’ (Storr, 1989, pp. 90–91).

Storr, A. (1989) Freud: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reprint, 2001.

Free association is widely used in creative writing practice.

[cherieofthedragons]

In Which Blackwall Is Not Dalish

A Knight Shop AU fic

I cannot stop playing in this sandbox. Have more Blackwall/Mirevas.

The Knight Shop AU is a modern-ish AU, basically Thedas/modern England, in which there exists a shop where one can hire knights. A knight shop. Hence the name. Typically, knights are hired to do odd jobs, attend social events, act as bodyguards, etc. etc. And many of our favorite Dragon Age characters are knights-for-hire. It’s a giant mishmash world shared by lots of lovely creators and peopled by lots of lovely OCs.

Blackwall is a knight. Mirevas Lavellan is the client he’s besotted with.

Thank you to @aphreal42 for use of her characters Sulevin and Vireth, and for betaing all of this nonsense. 

More Blackwall/Mirevas Knight Shop fun:

In Which Blackwall Doesn’t Think Things Through

In Which Blackwall Somehow Manages Not to Kill His Coworkers

Without further ado...the fic!

This was it. Blackwall parked his lovingly-restored 1971 Charger in the gallery parking lot and tugged on the sleeves of his blazer. He hoped he looked all right. On Cassandra’s advice, he’d worn a dark grey blazer, light grey dress slacks, and a cornflower blue shirt with the top button undone. All right, the shirt color had come from Gal’s friend Dorian, but Blackwall never intended to let the man know he’d taken his advice. The whole thing was a little out of Blackwall’s comfort zone -- he tended towards metal t-shirts, jeans, and boots -- but for Mirevas, it was worth it.

And, of course, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time combing out his beard. He always did that, far more than he wanted anyone to find out, but today -- he’d be on Mirevas’s arm. She was the artist; everyone would notice her. He needed to look as presentable as possible.

Maker, he hoped he wouldn’t embarrass her.

He was as ready as he’d ever be. Blackwall pushed open the car door and stepped out into the cool air.

Mirevas was already there. She was facing away from him, standing on the pavement and talking to someone. She may be turned away, but he’d recognize her ebony hair, tawny skin, and petite frame anywhere.

She took his breath away. Her hair was pulled back in her usual pristine bun, which emphasized her long, elegant, pierced ears. Her forest green blouse was backless, held to her slender body by thin laces. An image he recognized as Dalish was tattooed against the smooth bronze skin of her back, a hunting bow with a leafy branch running through it. Tight black slacks were tucked into knee-high leather boots.

She was, beyond a doubt, the most bewitching woman he’d ever seen.

As if sensing his presence, she turned, and her eyes met his. A glorious smile spread across her face. She spoke quickly to her current companion, who nodded and went into the gallery.

Blackwall’s mouth was dry. He wasn’t sure he could speak. Not trusting his voice, he stepped toward her, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Blackwall.” She ducked her head. “It’s good to see you.”

He reached for her hand, and she gave him her own. “It is an immense pleasure to accompany you, my lady.”

In a moment of courage, he bent his head to kiss her delicate fingers. Her skin was warm against his lips.

Mirevas blushed, and his heart beat faster.

“You’re very...chivalrous. Well, you are a knight. I suppose that’s part of the job description.”

“Perhaps.” Blackwall’s chest swelled at the compliment. Most people saw him as rough, unpolished. With Mirevas, though…

It would be a disgrace to treat Mirevas with anything less than the highest respect.

He released her hand, and she drew it back. Suddenly, something behind him caught her eye, and she froze. “Blackwall.”

Her face was so shocked that for a brief moment, Blackwall wondered if she’d seen a spider. “What is it?”

“That--is that your car?”

“Oh.” Blackwall glanced back over his shoulder at his beloved Charger. “It is, yes.”

Mirevas gaped at him. “And you let me drive my beat-up old Rover last time instead of offering me a ride?”

That stopped Blackwall in his tracks. He’d been so distracted by the visage of the Dalish goddess before him that he hadn’t given a thought to transportation at the time. Which was pretty shocking, actually, given his passion for cars. “I--er--”

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Next time, we are taking that.”

Next time? There would be a next time? He suddenly felt light as a feather -- a very unfamiliar feeling for a man his size.

Mirevas bit her lip and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

Blackwall offered her his arm. “It is my honor.”

---------

Blackwall wasn’t usually such an idiot. At forty years old, he’d known lots of women over the years. But he couldn’t remember ever being so utterly dumbstruck by a lady as he was by Mirevas.

Which was probably why he didn’t realize exactly what he was walking into until he, well, walked into it.

Blackwall was carefully not staring at Mirevas, which was not easy, given how stunning she looked. He was a knight; he had to be courteous and polite. And he would kill himself if he chased off the most incredible woman he’d ever met. That meant not being pervy, which meant not staring. So instead of watching her, he surveyed the gallery they were standing in.

That was when he realized.

The June Gallery. He hadn’t given much thought to the name of the place, too distracted by the idea of seeing Mirevas again. Now he looked across the room at the few people in attendance, taking in their facial tattoos and intricately embroidered clothing, and a vague memory surfaced, something he’d heard years ago, about a Dalish god called June.

This was a Dalish art gallery. It was right there in the name, and he hadn’t realized it.

Well, that was all right. Mirevas was Dalish. He wanted to know more about her, which meant he wanted to know more about her culture. This was a great opportunity for that.

It was just… well. It had been a matter of seconds since they’d stepped through the door, and he was already receiving strange glances. And the gallery hadn’t even opened yet.

Mirevas’s hand tightened on his arm.

It didn’t matter. He was here for Mirevas. He would serve her in any way he could, and everything else was superfluous.

His eyes swept the gallery again, this time seeking out the artwork on the walls. Mirevas had crafted each piece, and each of them held a promise -- to reveal a glimpse into the heart and mind of their creator. Blackwall had been anticipating this opportunity since the day she’d called to hire him. He focused on the nearest painting, eager to see what her hands had wrought.

It was exquisite. The sharp lines, vibrant colors, and distinct shading marked it clearly as the work of a tattoo artist, which appealed to him immediately. A white halla with intricately entwined silver antlers gazed out of the painting at him, set against a field of blue and framed by waving lines of green reminiscent of elegant vines.

Every time Blackwall thought his admiration for Mirevas couldn’t grow any larger, she proved him wrong. Her physical loveliness had been obvious from the moment he laid eyes on her, but within a few hours of knowing her, she’d shown herself to be both deeply intelligent and incredibly kind. As if that weren’t enough, her talent as an artist was incomparable. Well, he’d known it must be -- people paid her to practice her craft on their own bodies -- but seeing her artwork in person…

It overwhelmed him. Blackwall felt incredibly privileged just to look at it.

Mirevas shifted her weight, drawing his attention back to her. One corner of her mouth quirked up, but her eyes remained fixed on the painting before them. “My uncle raises halla.” She glanced up at him, then quickly away. “You could say he inspired this.”

Blackwall was momentarily jealous of the uncle who inspired this extraordinary creation. He wondered what it would be like to stir that kind of feeling in her, to instill such passion in her that she had to express it, that such beauty would come from her hands all because of--

He couldn’t think like that. She was a client. An exceptionally talented, brilliant, gorgeous...client. An old knight like himself -- there was nothing he could offer her. She’d have no kind of life with him.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” Blackwall said, and hoped she didn’t know that it wasn’t really the painting he was talking about.

Mirevas looked back up at him in surprise, and a pleased grin spread across her face. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

“Mirevas!” The voice came from across the room, and they both turned to look. An elf with a clipboard was frowning at her, looking distinctly nervous. “Elanas ma halani, sathan?”

Blackwall had no idea what he’d said, but apparently it wasn’t good, because Mirevas sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand from his arm reluctantly. “The downside of being the guest of honor -- I have to deal with every little wrinkle in the plans. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Blackwall didn’t really want to be alone here, but of course that was ridiculous. So he smiled. “I’ll take this opportunity to look around before the doors open to the public.”

She grinned shyly. “All right, then.”

The elf across the room spoke in Elvish once again, and Mirevas rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m coming!”

With one last look at Blackwall, Mirevas turned and hurried off.

----------

Mirevas’s work focused on nature, Blackwall observed. Soaring trees, delicate flowers, stately animals. And yet there was an edge to her art. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something very rock-and-roll in her portrayal, in her style, that set her paintings apart from any other nature scenes he’d ever seen.

Every piece was magnificent. But the most intriguing, the most arresting pictures, the ones that truly fascinated him, were the ones with “Not for Sale” signs posted beneath them. The ones that could only be renderings of Dalish legends and folklore. In these paintings, every brushstroke was so lovingly executed that he knew instinctively she had poured her soul into them. And despite his best intentions, Blackwall felt a surge of dismay. Because--

--well. If the soul she’d poured into her art was so very elven, what could she possibly think of Blackwall? What need could she ever have for a large, lumbering human?

The revelation of just how ill-suited to her he was made him realize -- he’d still been holding out hope. Hope that this incredible goddess might somehow, someway find something in him to...to…

...care about.

He was a bloody fool.

“Blackwall?”

Mirevas’s voice behind him made him start. He turned to see her smiling up at him.

“Problem solved. And Creators willing, I won’t be interrupted again. The artist is supposed to mingle, after all. Can’t be called away to deal with every missing hang tag that turns up. Or rather, doesn’t turn up.” She rolled her eyes and shot him a grin.

“It would indeed be a shame to deprive the people of your presence.”

She chuckled and looked at the floor. “If I’d known knights were so kind and gallant, I’d have started hiring them years ago.”

Her compliment went straight to his heart. Ah, there was that hope again. Would nothing teach him not to wish for the moon?

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Her voice was quiet, and Blackwall realized that no, nothing would.

----------

Well, it was official. Blackwall did not belong here.

He wasn’t the only human. Others wandered in and out, mostly young hipster couples. But Blackwall was the only one who didn’t leave after about ten minutes, and he was at all times the largest person in the room. He almost wished for Gal to be there, just so he wouldn’t be the only giant among elves -- but no, a pair of large men would most certainly be worse.

And this was bad enough. Blackwall couldn’t miss the odd looks he kept receiving, or the way Mirevas seemed to become increasingly uncomfortable as the night went on. With good reason. Having him at her side could only be disagreeable to the throng of Dalish admirers. No doubt she regretted bringing him here. And the fact that she’d actually spent money on it…

He shouldn’t have let her pay for the job; he should have volunteered to come on his own time. But no, he’d already been committed to being on duty this evening, and more importantly, waiving the fee would make this...a date. And he couldn’t impose his affections on her, not when she’d called seeking a professional service.

Perhaps he should have refused the job altogether. But that wasn’t right, either. She’d wanted him to be here, and it would have been wrong to turn her away. He’d had no valid reason to, either, even if he’d known how awkward it would be. Sorry, don’t want to be around a lot of Dalish people. It was an awful, untrue sentiment. He was honored to be allowed to spend time within her culture. He just hated for his presence to reflect poorly on her.

And of course, he could never have risked her thinking that he was rejecting her. The idea was intolerable. No, he’d done the right thing. He just didn’t know what he could do now to improve matters for Mirevas.

At least he didn’t seem to be chasing people away. Mirevas had, unsurprisingly, been receiving a constant string of admirers all evening. None of them had looked at or acknowledged Blackwall in any way. They spoke to Mirevas mostly in Elvish and ignored the large human hovering next to her.

Blackwall did the only thing he could think of -- he refilled her drink as necessary and otherwise stood by her side.

After another trip to the punch bowl, Blackwall came back to find Mirevas hugging a Dalish man with long black hair. She beamed at him fondly, taking his hands in hers. Blackwall couldn’t stifle the sharp jolt of jealousy in his heart.

She’s not yours to be jealous over, he reminded himself sternly.

The mental admonition did nothing to make him feel better.

Mirevas didn’t seem to notice Blackwall standing there. She chattered happily in Elvish to her Dalish friend, and the man laughed in response. Blackwall watched them, holding a cup of punch in each hand and trying not to feel awkward. Was it rude to stand here looking at them? Should he clear his throat or something?

Mirevas saved him the trouble of deciding by noticing him at that moment. “Blackwall!” She sounded genuinely pleased. “Vireth, I want you to meet my--my friend, Blackwall. He’s a knight.”

Vireth’s eyebrows went up, but he held out his hand. “That’s not a profession I’m familiar with. What exactly does a knight do?”

Mirevas reached out quickly to take one of the cups, freeing Blackwall to accept Vireth’s handshake. As he took the elf’s hand, Blackwall analyzed his words, trying to figure out if there was disapproval in them, and then decided that if there was, it didn’t matter. Not everyone could understand his calling, and not everyone needed to. Those who were most important to him understood.

He hoped Mirevas understood.

“These days?” Blackwall shrugged. “Whatever a client finds useful. Protection detail. Gardening. Car repair.” He glanced at Mirevas. “Ridding a flat of spiders.”

Mirevas shuddered. “It was terrible, Vireth. My new flat was full of the things. You should have seen it. I still can’t believe Blackwall went in there. He’s my hero.”

It was the second time she’d called him that, and his chest filled with pride, just as it had the first time. He’d never get tired of those words. To have earned such praise when he hadn’t even been able to finish the job… it overwhelmed him to think of it.

Vireth’s face was unreadable as he looked at Blackwall. “Dirthas Elvehn?”

Er…

“No, he doesn’t speak Elvish.” Mirevas looked uncomfortable again. “I mean -- I’m sorry, I should ask you. Do you speak Elvish, Blackwall?”

Blackwall shook his head. His cheeks grew hot with embarrassment at his inadequacy, and he wished to the Void that he did speak her language, that he could have that to share with Mirevas. Vireth had that to share with Mirevas.

“Ah,” Vireth said. “I wasn’t sure.”

Mirevas looked up at Blackwall (she was going to hurt her neck doing that; she wouldn’t hurt her neck looking at an elven man). “Vireth is my cousin. He’s a very skilled craftsman.”

…cousin?

Blackwall almost laughed in relief. Cousin. Quickly, he pushed the feeling away. It should be nothing to Blackwall if Mirevas had a boyfriend. Blackwall was just…

...he was just…

What was he, exactly? The knight she’d hired for the evening, of course, but why? It couldn’t be more obvious that he was an ill fit for this event. So what had Mirevas been looking for when she signed that contract? What was he?

Whatever he was, he couldn’t just stand there wondering about it while they stared at him. Blackwall addressed Vireth. “A craftsman. What sort of work do you do?”

“I work with wood. Not purchased or planed, found. Every piece is a fragment of a life. I seek to uncover and enhance the beauty inherent in that life, not to alter its structure by imposing my desires upon it. I also strive to advance in traditional arts, crafting items with purpose as the people have always done, but those remain among our own people.”

“A noble trade.” Blackwall meant it. “I’ve done some woodworking. Not comparable to what you do, of course,” he said quickly at Vireth’s frown, “but there’s something very soothing about working with your hands. I admire what you do.”

Vireth’s frown softened. “What sort of woodworking did you do?”

“Children’s toys, mostly. I made a griffon rocking-horse for a friend’s daughter, once. I was rather proud of that one. But I’m afraid I don’t have the skill for creating genuine art.”

Mirevas gazed at him, and Blackwall thought she looked proud. “Do you still do it?”

“Not for years, I’m afraid.” He wished his answer was different -- they might be more impressed with him.

“So you gave it up to become a knight?” Vireth’s tone was polite, but once again, Blackwall thought he detected a note of disapproval at his chosen profession.

“Woodworking was always more of a hobby for me. Something that let me unwind. I usually gave away what I made. Making a profession of it never seemed realistic, not with my limited skill.”

Mirevas spoke again. “Were you always a knight, then?” Blackwall could have been imagining it, but he thought she sounded intensely interested.

“Only the last ten years.”

“What did you do before?”

The conversation was heading into dangerous territory, but Blackwall wouldn’t lie. “Competitive fencing.”

There was no mistaking the awe on Mirevas’s face, and guilt shot through him. There was nothing to admire in what he’d used to be.

Vireth scrutinized him. “Why change?”

It was too much to go into now, not at this time, not in this setting, so Blackwall gave a partial answer. “It’s...complicated. But I couldn’t have done it forever, and I wanted to be honorable. A knight in shining armor. May sound silly, but we help people at the Knight Shop. Each of us has a code to follow and can’t be asked to violate it. I find it a noble calling.”

Mirevas ducked her head, smiling. Vireth squinted at her. In a stoic sort of way.

“Mirevas, Vireth! An’eth’ara!”

Blackwall turned his head to see a Dalish woman resembling Mirevas approach. Mirevas squealed and jumped forward, throwing her arms around the newcomer. “Sulevin!”

The woman laughed and hugged her back, then spoke in Elvish again.

Mirevas pulled back and gestured to Blackwall. “Sulevin, this is Blackwall. Blackwall, my cousin, Sulevin. Sulevin is Vireth’s sister.”

“Andaran atish’an,” Sulevin said to Blackwall. That seemed to be some kind of greeting; he had picked up on that much over the course of the evening, at least.

So he responded in kind, doing his best not to stumble over the words. “Andaran atish’an.”

Mirevas reached for his hand, wrapping her fingers around it. He closed his hand over hers. The expression on her face -- it made Blackwall’s heart skip a beat. Maker, she undid him without even trying.

He’d almost forgotten where he was until Vireth cleared his throat. “Mirevas, lethallan. Nuvan dirtha ma?”

Mirevas blinked and squinted at her cousin. “Sorry, what?”

“Can I speak with you a moment?”

“Yes.” Mirevas bit her lip and turned to Blackwall. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Blackwall ducked his head in a small bow. “As my lady wishes.”

Vireth gave Blackwall a long look before stepping away with Mirevas on his heels. Blackwall tried not to feel abandoned, but without Mirevas at his side, the feeling that he had no right to be here intensified. He looked at Sulevin to find her watching him carefully, and that did nothing to increase his comfort level.

“Have you had a chance to look around?” she asked him.

Blackwall nodded. “I did. Mirevas...she’s extremely talented.”

“She is. What did you think of the scene with Andruil? The one with the Forgotten Ones, not with Ghilan’nain.”

Erm. Blackwall tried to think of a way to explain that he didn’t know what she was talking about -- without looking like a sodding idiot.

“Did you not see that one? It’s one of my favorites.” Sulevin inclined her head toward a corner of the gallery, and Blackwall followed her over obediently.

The painting was large. He’d seen it already, but the subject matter was a mystery to him. The title was in Elvish, so that was no help, and he hadn’t had time to read the long explanation on the tag. But the painting itself was captivating. In Mirevas’s unmistakeable tattoo style, a beautiful, fierce elvish woman held a spear aloft, wearing an expression so fiery it could melt steel. Menacing shadows with glowing red eyes surrounded her, making Blackwall shiver.

“Andruil is invading the abyss here. Can’t you just feel the fury in her?” Sulevin chuckled. “I almost pity the Forgotten Ones.”

Andruil, abyss, Forgotten Ones. Maker, he wished he had even the slightest idea what that meant. “It’s a very moving piece,” he said simply. “Like there’s a fire in her eyes. I hope I’m never on the receiving end of a look like that.”

Sulevin tilted her head infinitesimally. “Then I’d suggest you never, ever hurt Mirevas.”

Startled, he met her eyes to see them burning dangerously. Not as terrifying as Andruil in Mirevas’s painting, but frightening enough to know that he never wanted to cross Sulevin.

“It’s not like that,” Blackwall murmured. Ah, how he wished it was. “But I give you my word as a knight that I’ll do everything in my power to guard Mirevas from any pain.”

Sulevin nodded slightly, and Blackwall knew she didn’t trust him, but at the same time he thought that perhaps she was...appeased. Somewhat.

Mirevas had been gone for too long. Well. Not that long, but it felt like ages to Blackwall. He glanced across the room, looking for her, and found her standing with her back to him, nodding at Vireth’s words. As if she could sense Blackwall’s eyes on her, she looked back over her shoulder. Their gazes met, Mirevas smiled, and for a moment, he felt that the two of them were sharing an intimate secret.

“I’m not sure this scene is something to applaud.”

Blackwall started. Once again, he’d been so enraptured by Mirevas that he’d lost all sense of his surroundings. A bald elf -- not Dalish, judging by his plain clothing and lack of facial tattoos -- had joined them, and was now examining the beautiful painting critically. It made Blackwall bristle without even knowing what the man meant.

But he wasn’t the only one disturbed by the newcomer’s statement. Sulevin glowered at him, disdain all over her face. “You think you know better than Mirevas how Andruil should be portrayed?”

“It’s a matter of perspective,” the bald elf said smoothly. “This hunt drove Andruil mad, after all.”

“A tragedy. Her passion turned against her.”

The man turned to Blackwall. “Dirthas Elvehn, shemlen? Mar sil?”

Without thinking, Blackwall turned to Sulevin for help. Not that Mirevas’s protective cousin had any reason to come to his aid. But she replied harshly in Elvish, and it felt like a rescue, even if it hadn’t been meant as such. Maker, it made a man feel powerless, being excluded from so much understanding.

But of course, that was his own weakness. The man that Mirevas deserved, the man he wished he could be, would understand her language -- or at least be comfortable enough with her culture not to feel as helpless as Blackwall did right now.

The bald elf shook his head and looked to Blackwall. “The problem with being too close to a legend is that objectivity becomes difficult.” He spoke as if certain that Blackwall would share his opinion, and Blackwall seethed at the man’s rudeness.

“I defer to the lady on this one.” He nodded at Sulevin, who lifted her chin. “I certainly wouldn’t presume to contradict her on her own heritage.”

“I see.” The male elf regarded Blackwall, coldly assessing him. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

“Blackwall.”

“Blackwall. What brings you here, shemlen? Are you elf-blooded?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“An academic interest in elven history, then?”

Blackwall glanced away again, looking for Mirevas, and found her approaching, her brow furrowed in concern.

“No.”

“Hmm.” Solas looked unimpressed. “What does bring you here, then?”

“He’s here because I asked him to be, Solas.” Mirevas stepped up next to Blackwall and put a hand on his arm, then looked to Sulevin. “Is everything all right here?”

Sulevin opened her mouth to speak, but Solas answered first. “A difference of opinion, that’s all.”

“Solas eolas banal o isa av,” Sulevin said, then addressed Blackwall. “It was very nice to meet you. Perhaps we’ll speak later.”

“I would like that.” As awkward as Blackwall may feel, he had a great deal of respect for this woman that he’d only just met, and he believed Mirevas was lucky to have such a cousin.

Sulevin nodded. “Dareth shiral.”

That sounded like goodbye, so Blackwall repeated, “Dareth shiral,” and hoped he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth.

He thought, as Sulevin turned away, that she looked just the tiniest bit pleased.

Solas didn’t acknowledge Sulevin’s departure. He was gazing at Mirevas in a way that Blackwall recognized as, well, enamored was the only word for it.

For the briefest of instants, Blackwall imagined himself punching the man.

“It seems your show is a great success,” Solas said. “I expected nothing less.”

“That’s very kind of you to say. Thank you.”

“I speak only the truth. May I get you a drink?”

Yes, Blackwall definitely wanted to hurt this man.

“No, thank you. But I appreciate the offer.” Mirevas tilted her neck to look up at Blackwall again. “We should probably circulate, don’t you think?”

Before he could answer, she was tugging on his arm, pulling him away. “Dareth shiral, Solas!”

Blackwall didn’t bother to say goodbye. He kept his eyes on Mirevas as she led him to the other side of the room, into a corner with a partition that partially hid them from the eyes of the others.

Exhaling, Mirevas turned to look at him. “I’m sorry. We haven’t had a moment to ourselves.”

She wanted to be alone with him?

“I’m flattered you’d spend any time with me. I enjoy talking with you.”

And he truly did. Lunch with her last week had been a wonderful experience. Mirevas was not only exceptionally clever, she’d proven herself to be a kind and considerate woman with a sweet sense of humor. Everything new he discovered about her only made him fall harder.

She fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist. “There’s something I wanted to say to you--”

A voice speaking Elvish made them both turn. Another patron, it seemed. The person gestured to a painting, the lilt of her voice making it clear she was asking a question.

She probably didn’t notice the brief, miniscule grimace that crossed Mirevas’s face, but Blackwall did.

Well. He should probably get her another drink. All that talking had to be thirsty work.

----------

It seemed like ages -- and yet only minutes -- before the doors to the gallery closed, with not a few paintings marked SOLD on their tags. Gallery staff descended on Mirevas immediately, but she spoke in Elvish, giving what could only be a command, and they walked away, albeit somewhat resentfully.

“Step outside with me?” she asked Blackwall.

“As you wish.” He could never refuse an opportunity to be alone with her.

They walked silently to the door. Blackwall held it open for her, and they stepped out into the night air. As soon as the breeze hit them, Mirevas began to shiver.

Immediately, Blackwall removed his blazer and held it out. She allowed him to help her into it, then faced him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

Blackwall blinked, her words taking him by complete surprise. “For what, my lady?”

She gestured at the space around them. “For--this. For bringing you here. For the way you were treated. I didn’t think -- Creators, it’s all so Dalish, isn’t it?”

He didn’t follow. “That’s not something to be sorry for. You’re rightfully proud of your heritage.”

“But you--” She shook her head.

He didn’t belong. He was an intrusion. Yes, he knew.

“You should have been welcomed. Included. This -- it’s not just about us. Certainly I never intended it to be. It’s an art show, not some sort of private cultural ceremony. I want to foster understanding, create bridges. The way people ignored you, the way they looked at you -- it’s unacceptable. And I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how that feels. No, that’s wrong, I know exactly how it feels. And I should never have put you in that situation.”

She was apologizing...for him not fitting in. It was utterly incongruous. That any of this could be her fault--

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my lady. Your culture is a part of you, and I’m honored that you chose to share this with me. My only wish is that my shortcomings had not inflicted any unpleasantness on you.”

Mirevas looked astonished -- and appalled. “Shortcomings? What shortcomings?”

“I wasn’t able to respond appropriately. I didn’t understand the intricacies of your culture. You deserve better than an escort so culturally inept.”

She looked no less horrified. “You responded beautifully. And I never prepared you. Honestly, anyone who would judge me for bringing a man who is so obviously trying, who treats our culture with respect despite not fully understanding it -- a person who would judge me for that? I don’t want their approval.”

Blackwall had thought her smile was the most beautiful thing in the world. But the fierce strength that filled her eyes now was almost as overpowering.

“The only regard I care about is yours,” he said softly.

Her anger seemed to melt at his words, and she gazed up at him with intense emotion.

Before he could think, he asked the question that had plagued him all evening. “Why did you want me here, my lady?”

She blinked, startled. “I--”

Maker’s breath. He wished he could take back the words. “Forgive me. That was inappropriate. I should not have asked.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I’m glad you did. I--I was so nervous about the show, and you -- well, you were so brave the last time. I felt like--if you were here to support me--I could get through it.”

The admission astounded him. He’d had no idea she was nervous, not with the easy way she’d greeted every admirer. And that she could view him in such a way--that his mere presence could give her strength--

“Besides, I--well, I--” she hesitated “--I just wanted to see you again.”

Her words hit him straight in the heart. She’d wanted to see him. Wanted it enough that she’d risked the censure of her peers to be with him tonight.

She looked away, focusing her gaze out at the parking lot.

Blackwall gathered all his courage.

“May I see you again, my lady?

Mirevas’s head jerked back towards him, her eyes wide. But--not in a good way, he realized. Like a halla caught in headlights.

Fuck. He’d misunderstood. He thought she meant--but she didn’t--

“I’d like that, but--” Maker, she looked uncomfortable “--it’ll be a while before I can afford to hire you again.”

Her smile was nervous, apologetic.

It took him a second to understand what she was saying, and when he did, he was alarmed. Andraste’s arse, could he bugger this any more?

“No,” he said, scrambling for words, “I mean--”

Impulsively, he took her hand, and her lips parted.

“Not as a job. I want to take you out. Dinner. On me.”

She stared at him, mouth agog. Silent.

Maker, his heart was pounding.

“You can ride in my car?” he offered.

Suddenly, Mirevas laughed. “Oh, well, if I get to ride in the car…”

The tension deflated, and Blackwall could breathe again.

“Yes,” she said, smiling that glorious smile. “Even without the car. I’d really, really like to see you again.”

She was so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her. Maker’s breath, he wanted it. But he couldn’t. This was still a job. A professional obligation. And it would not reflect well on the Knight Shop if the knights went around snogging their clients.

Instead, he lifted her hand and kissed her fingers again, never taking his eyes off her lovely face.

The change in her face was unmistakable. Her eyes darkened and her breathing quickened. Blackwall’s pulse sped up in matching desire. He couldn’t kiss her; it wouldn’t be right. But…

...if she kissed him…

Maker, please let her kiss me.

Mirevas withdrew her hand, and her breathing evened out. “Dinner then? Erm--tomorrow?”

She seemed just as impatient as he was to be together again, and a laugh escaped him, not of humour, but of pure joy. “Six o’clock?”

“Perfect.” She beamed. “That’ll be...perfect.”

Perfect, indeed. Blackwall couldn’t agree more.

The Elvish comes from this online translator using the Project Elvhen conlang. Many thanks to the creators of those tools and apologies for any butchering I may have done to their work.

Elanas ma halani, sathan? - Can you help me, please?

Dirthas Elvehn? - Do you speak Elvish?

An’eth’ara! - casual greeting

Andaran atish’an - Welcome to this place of peace, more formal greeting

Mirevas, lethallan. Nuvan dirtha ma? - Mirevas, cousin. May I speak to you?

Dirthas Elvehn, shemlen? Mar sil? - Do you speak Elvish, human? Your thoughts?

Solas eolas banal o isa av - Solas knows nothing about what he speaks of

Dareth shiral - Safe journey

[imagekeepr]

IN MUSIC BANNED

*** VIDEOSS A "A Day in the Life" – The Beatles (1967) ... BBC - suggestive line, "..we’d love to turn you on..” "A Pair of Brown Eyes" - The Pougues ... BBC's Top of the Pops - a music video ban "A Rose and a Baby Ruth" – George Hamilton IV (1956) ... BBC - thought to be advertising, although the candy bar Baby Ruth was not sold in the UK "A Russian Love Song" – The Goons (1957) ... BBC - ridicules the cold war "A Theme from the Threepenny Opera (Mack the Knife)" – Louis Armstrong (1956) ... banned by: NYC radio, BBC - bloodthirsty words *** "A Whiter Shade Of Pale" - Procol Harum (1967) ... Top Of The Pops - the usage of Vietnam War newsreel footage. "A Worried Man" – The Kingston Trio (1959) ... BBC - didn’t like the word “closet” being used for “cupboard”. "A-huggin' and A-chalkin'" – Johnny Mercer (1946) ... BBC /USA - offensive to fat people ** "All For You" - Janet Jackson (2001) ... Singapore - lyrics to 'Would You Mind', were too sexually explicit and not acceptable to their society "Anarchy in the UK" - Sex Pistols (1976) ... BBC - banned following their controversial appearance on the TV news programme, Today. "Annie Had A Baby" - Hank Ballard & The Midnighters (1954) ... banned for radio play by the FCC. overtly sexual lyrics "Annie's Aunt Fannie" - Hank Ballard & The Midnighters (1954) ... banned for radio play by the FCC. overtly sexual lyrics "Angels in the Sky" – The Crew-Cuts (1955) ... BBC - Thought too offensive by the head of religious broadcasting "Answer Me" – Frankie Laine (1953) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting as a "sentimental mockery of Christian prayer" "Armchair Anarchist" - Kingmaker (1992) ... BBC/others - offensive lyrics "Bomb the idiots" and "Viva Dynamite" ** "As Nasty As They Wanna Be" (1989 album) - 2 Live Crew ... USA - Southern District of Florida ruled that the album was legally obscene. B "Baby Got Back" - Sir Mix-A-Lot (1992) ... MTV - briefly banned the outrageous video about women with big butts, and men who like them. "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down" – Bob Dylan (1962) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) - Cher () ... BBC - banned during Gulf War "Baubles, Bangles and Beads" – Kirby Stone Four (1958) ... BBC - "pop" version of classical piece, Alexander Borodin's String Quartet in D "Be Prepared" – Tom Lehrer (1953) ... BBC - sexually suggestive "Beep Beep" – The Playmates (1958) ... BBC - the mention of Cadillac and Nash Rambler considered advertising, also promoted dangerous driving. "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" - The Beatles ... BBC - the phrase "Henry the Horse", contains two common slang terms for heroin. "Big 6, Big 7,Big 8, 10 etc" - Judge Dredd (1972-75) ... BBC - sexual references and swear words. "Big Boys Bickering" - Paul McCartney ... BBC - overtly political message "Bitch" - The Rolling Stones ... many radio stations - sexual content and outrageous title. "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" – Ella Fitzgerald (1958) ... BBC - content where considered objectionable. "Be Chrool To Your Scuel" - Twisted Sister (1985) ... MTV - banned the video for excessive violence and gore "Blurred Lines" - Robin Thicke (2013) ... YouTube - banned the music video featuring nude models. (a new video was shot with clothed models) "Bobby Brown" - Frank Zappa (1979) ... USA - sexually explicit lyrics "Bring The Boys Home" - Freda Payne (1971) ... American Forces Network - fear that it would "give aid and comfort to the enemy" "Body Language" - Queen (1982) ... MTV ... music video blatantly sexy and too racey "Boom Bang-a-Bang" – Lulu (1969) ... BBC - banned during Gulf War "Burn My Candle" – Shirley Bassey (1956) ... BBC - risqué connotations C "(Celebrate) The Day After You" – The Blow Monkeys and Curtis Mayfield (1987) ... Australia, BBC Can't Stand Losing You - The Police (1978) ... BBC - morbid content (teenager who commits suicide) Cardiac Arrest - Madness (1981) ... BBC - lyrical content, "gasping for the hot air, but the chest pain it won't go" etc "Charlie Brown" – The Coasters (1959) ... BBC - the "disgusting, delinquent word" spitball "Come Together" – The Beatles (1970) ... BBC - product placement with the lyrics "He shoot Coca-Cola" "Come Again" – Au Pairs (1981) BBC ... refers to orgasms "Cop Killer" - Body Count (1992) ... USA / New Zealand - vile messages and promoting anti-police sentiment. ”Cortez The Killer” - Neil Young (1975) ... some Spanish speaking countries/stations - criticism of one of their national heroes "Cradle Song (Brahms' Lullaby)" – Frank Sinatra (1944) ... BBC - disrespectful to classical music "Croce di Oro (Cross of Gold)" – Joan Regan (1955) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting as sentimentalisation of religion "Crazy Horses" - The Osmonds (1972) ... South Africa - "horses" is a slang term for heroin there, so it was thought to be referring to drugs. "Crying in the Chapel" – Lee Lawrence (1953) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting because it was "nauseating". "Cuddle Me" – Ted Heath ft Dennis Lotis (1954) ... BBC - lewd and suggestive D "Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover" - Sophie B. Hawkins (1992) ... MTV - rejected the original version of the video on grounds of erotic content. "Danny Boy" – Conway Twitty (1959) ... BBC - Conway Twitty holds the distinction of having recorded the only version of “Danny Boy” to have been banned! "Deep in the Heart of Texas" – Bing Crosby and Woody Herman (1942) ... BBC - too infectious "Devil Woman" - Marty Robbins ... Eire - adulterous theme ** "Devils and Dust" - Bruce Springsteen (2005 album) ... Starbucks, USA - concerns about adult content and his stances on corporate politics "Diggin' My Potatoes" – Lonnie Donegan (1954) ... BBC - lyrics not suitable "Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead" - Judy Garland ... BBC - found it disrespectful when a Facebook campaign and other anti-Thatcher camps tried do make the song a No.1 hit after the sad death of former British prime minister Margaret Thatcher. "Dinner with Drac" – John Zacherle (1958) ... BBC - lyrics considered despicable "Don't Let's Be Beastly to the Germans" – Noël Coward (1943) BBC ... WWII reminder of Germany "Don't Stop (Wiggle Wiggle)" - The Outhere Brothers ... BBC / others - shockingly explicit "Disarm" - Smashing Pumpkins (1994) BBC ... banned the song from appearing on Top of the Pops, because of the lyric "cut that little child". E "Ebeneezer Goode" – The Shamen (1992) ... BBC - drug fuelled song, "Eezer Goode..." in the chorus sounds like E's are good. "Ebony Eyes" – The Everly Brothers (1961) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "Eight Miles High - The Byrds () ... USA - drug connotations in its lyrics. ** "Electric Ladyland" - Jimi Hendrix Experience (1968 album) ... many retail stores - the cover depicted nineteen nude women lounging in front of a black background. "Eve of Destruction" – Barry McGuire (1965) ... BBC - on the restricted list, for its bombast; USA - "it was an aid to the enemy in Vietnam" F "F--k tha Police" - N.W.A (1988) ... USA / other countries - encouraged violence against, and disrespect for, law enforcement officers. "Fairytale of New York" – The Pogues ft Kirsty MacColl (1987) - BBC/UK MTV - banned the words "faggot" and "slut" "Fat Bottomed Girls" - Queen (1978) ... Shops and Stores - the cover featured a nude woman riding a bicycle; the new version was the same image with panties drawn over the woman. "Feel Good Hit Of The Summer" - Queens of the Stone Age (2000) ... many radio stations / Wal-Mart - the lyrics list drugs: nicotine, valium, vicodin, ecstasy, marijuana, alcohol and cocaine "French Kiss" – Lil Louis (1989) ... BBC - too much heavy breathing G "Gimme a Pigfoot (And a Bottle of Beer)" – Bessie Smith (1933) ... BBC - unsuitable content "Girl Don't Come" - Sandie Shaw (1964) ... Because of this song although it reached number 42 on the Billboard Hot 100, Sandy was unable to do US promotion – including a Shindig! appearance scheduled for March – due to the U.S. Federation of TV and Radio Artists refusing her a US work permit "Give Ireland Back to the Irish" – Wings (1972) ... BBC - political, references to Northern Ireland. "Glad to Be Gay" – Tom Robinson Band (1978) ... BBC - refernces to the gay community "Gloomy Sunday" – Billie Holiday (1941) ... BBC - just.. bad taste! "God Bless the Child" – Billie Holiday (1942) ... BBC - unsuitable for broadcast because of its title - prayers in popular music were not allowed. "God Only Knows" - The Beach Boys (1966) ... Some USA radio stations - deemed as blasphamy having a pop song with God in the title. Because of this, it was released as the B-side of "Wouldn't It Be Nice" in the United States. In other countries, "God Only Knows" was the single's A-side. "God Save the Queen" – Sex Pistols (1977) ... BBC - vulgar and offensive Goodbye Earl - Dixie Chicks (1999) ... Some radio stations - stirred controversy for its take on spousal abuse and banned by several male radio programmers. "Great Balls of Fire" - Jerry Lee Lewis () ... Some radio stations - sexual innuendoes "Green Jeans" – The Flee-Rekkers (1960) ... BBC - mutilation of the classics, "distortion of melody, harmony and rhythm" "Greensleeves" – The Beverley Sisters (1956) ... BBC - mutilation of the classics, "distortion of melody, harmony and rhythm" "Guess Things Happen That Way" – Johnny Cash (1958) ... BBC - objected to by head of religious broadcasting "Gypsy Roadhog - Slade (1977) ... BBC - references to drugs H "Hall Of The Mountain King" - Nero & The Gladiators (1961) ... BBC - the banning of pop versions of classical tunes policy. "Have a Whiff on Me" – Mungo Jerry (1971) ... BBC - drug references "Hard Headed Woman" – Elvis Presley (1958) ... BBC - religious theme, BUT it could be played, only with special permission "He" – Al Hibbler/Robert Earl (1955) ... BBC - objected to by the head of religious broadcasting as being solely for commercial gain. "He Bought My Soul At Calvary" - Jo Stafford (1951) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting as a 'misguided' presentation of the Gospel "Hi, Hi, Hi" – Wings (1972) ... BBC - explicit sexual lyrics "High Class Baby" – Cliff Richard and the Drifters (1958) ... BBC - considered to be advertising Cadillac cars "Hold My Hand" – Don Cornell (1954) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting, a girlfriend cannot be compared to the "kingdom of heaven" **"Holy Wood (In The Shadow Of The Valley Of Death)" - Marilyn Manson (2000 album) ... many retail stores - refused to stock the album, the cover art, depicting Manson on a crucifix "Homosapien" - Pete Shelley (1982) ... BBC - banned because of the line "Homo superior in my interior" "Honey Hush" – The Rock and Roll Trio/Johnny Burnette (1956) ... BBC - sexual lyrics and promotes violence. "Honey Love" – Dennis Lotis (1954) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting, lewd and suggestive "Honeycomb" – Jimmie Rodgers (1957) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting "Honky Tonk Angel" - Cliff Richard (1975) ... Cliff found out a "honky tonk angel" was a hooker he withdrew the record. "(How Little It Matters) How Little We Know" – Frank Sinatra (1956) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting, lewd and suggestive "House Of The Rising Sun" - Josh White ... BBC - lyrics about prostitution I "I Am the Walrus" – The Beatles (1967) "I Can't Control Myself" – The Troggs (1966) ... BBC - sexual reference "I Hear the Angels Singing" – Frankie Laine (1954) "I Leaned on a Man" – Connie Francis (1957) "I Want To Be Evil" – Eartha Kitt (1953) ... BBC - title and content where considered objectionable. "I Want You to Be My Baby" – Annie Ross (1956) "I Want Your Sex" - George Michael (1987) ... BBC - banned between the hours of 5:50am-9pm "I Went to Your Wedding" – Spike Jones and His City Slickers (1953) "I'll Be Home for Christmas" – Bing Crosby (1943) "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows" – Perry Como (1949)/Ken Dodd (1963) ... BBC - "pop" version of a classical piece, Frédéric Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu. "I'm Nobody's Baby" – Frankie Howerd (1948) "Imagine" - John Lennon (1971) ... BBC - banned during the Gulf War "In the Air Tonight" – Phil Collins (1981) ... BBC - banned during the Gulf War "In the Beginning" – Frankie Laine (1955) ... BBC - objected to by the head of religious broadcasting "In the Hall of the Mountain King" – Nero and the Gladiators (1961) "Invisible Sun" – The Police (1981) ... BBC - due to the content of the song, violence and turmoil in Northern Ireland "It Is No Secret" – Jo Stafford (1954) "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels" – Kitty Kallen (1962) "It Would Be So Nice" – Pink Floyd (1968) "I've Come of Age" – Billy Storm (1959) J "Jackie" – Scott Walker (1967) ... BBC - refers to "authentic queers" "Je t'aime... moi non plus" – Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg (1969) ... BBC - sexual references "John and Marsha" – Stan Freberg (1950) ... BBC - sexual, too suggestive "Johnny Remember Me" – John Leyton (1961) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "Jungle Fever" – The Chakachas (1972) ***"Justify My Love" - Madonna (1990 video) ... MTV - sexual content . K "Keep Me in Mind" – Lita Roza and Al Timothy (1955) "Killing an Arab" – The Cure (1979) ... BBC - banned during the Gulf War "Kodachrome" – Paul Simon (1973) ... BBC - would not play the trademarked name. L "La Petite Tonkenoise" – Josephine Baker (1930) "Lazy Mary" – Lou Monte (1958) ... BBC - Italian lyric deemed objectionable "Leader of the Pack" – The Shangri-Las (1964) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "Let the People Go" – McGuinness Flint (1972) "Let's Spend the Night Together" – The Rolling Stones (1967) ... BBC - encourages promiscuity "Light a Candle in the Chapel" – Frank Sinatra (1942) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting, the song was "so nauseatingly sentimental that it debased the Christian religion". "Light My Fire" – Jose Feliciano (1968) ... BBC - banned during the Gulf War "Lili Marleen" – Lale Andersen (1939) "Little Star" – The Elegants (1958) ... BBC - objection by head of religious broadcasting to use of God in a pop song. "Louie Louie" - Kingsmen (1957) ... Indiana USA declared it pornographic "Lola" – The Kinks (1970) ... BBC - banned for advertising coca cola, until they changed the lyrics. "Louie Louie" - The Kingsmen (1963) ... USA - FBI investigation supposed obscenity of the lyrics, an investigation that ended without prosecution. "Love for Sale" – Cole Porter (1930) / Ella Fitzgerald (1956) ... BBC - sexual references, prostitution. "Love Is a Word" – Alma Cogan (1965) "Love Is Strange" – Mickey & Sylvia (1956) ... BBC - the line "love is money in the hand" would encourage prostitution "Love to Love You Baby" – Donna Summer (1975) ... BBC - too much heavy breathing, grunts and groans. ** "Lovesexy" - Prince (1988 album) ... Shops around the world - nude photo of Prince on cover "Lovin' Machine" – Wynonie Harris (1951) ... BBC - crude implications associated with a "lovin' machine" "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" – The Beatles (1967) ... BBC - drug refernces M "Mack the Knife" – Bobby Darin (1959) ... banned by: NYC radio, BBC - bloodthirsty words "Made You" – Adam Faith (1960) ... BBC - sexual references "Maggie May" – The Vipers Skiffle Group (1957) ... BBC - song is about a prostitute "Maybellene" – Chuck Berry (1955) "Mighty Mighty Man" – Bobby Darin (1958) "Minnie the Moocher" – Cab Calloway (1931) "Miss Morse" - Pearls Before Swine (1967) ... USA radio - Tom Rapp was singing F-U-C-K in Morse code "Miss You" – Bing Crosby (1942) ... BBC - The War Office felt that it too sentimental and might lower morale at home "Monster Mash" – Bobby "Boris" Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers (1962) ... BBC - it was offensive and in poor taste. "Moonlight Love" – Perry Como (1956) ... BBC - mutilation of the classics, took it’s melody from Debussy "My Christmas Prayer" – Billy Fury (1959) ... BBC - religious grounds. "My Friend" – Eddie Fisher (1954) "My Friend Jack" – The Smoke (1967) "My Generation" - The Who (1965) ... BBC - initially refused to play the song because it might offend people who stutter. "My Little Ukulele" – Joe Brown and The Bruvvers (1963) ... BBC - "too rique" N "Night of the Vampire" – The Moontrekkers (1961) "Ninety-Nine Years (Dead or Alive)" – Guy Mitchell (1961) "Nobody Loves Like an Irishman" – Lonnie Donegan (1958) ... BBC - Line about the Quran deemed to be offensive to Muslims O "(Oh) Pretty Woman" - Van Halen (1982) ... MTV aired the video very sparingly - too racey and distasteful "Old Man Atom" – The Sons of the Pioneers (1950) ... BBC - Controversial topics such as the atom bomb "One Has My Name (The Other Has My Heart)" – Jimmy Wakely (1948) ... BBC - encouraged adultery "Open Your Box" - Yoko Ono Plastic Ono Band (1970) ... BBC - banned because of the line "Open your legs" "Original Prankster" - The Offspring (2000) ... HMV stores - refused to stock the record after the band decided to give the track away as a free download on their official website, prior to it's release. P "Paper Doll" – The Mills Brothers (1943) ... BBC - theme of feminine unfaithfulness. deemed unacceptable during war time. "Peaches" – The Stranglers (1977) ... BBC - too "woman baiting" "Peaceful Street" – Ernest Butcher (1936) **"Permission To Land" - The Darkness (2003 album) ... Wal-Mart - the album sleeve featured a woman's bottom. "Plastic Jesus" - King Earl Boogie Band ... BBC - on grounds of blasphemy. "Please No Squeeza da Banana" – Louis Prima (1963) Q R "Radio Times" – The BBC Dance Orchestra (1935) "Randy Scouse Git" - The Monkees (19--) ... BBC - title was "actually somewhat taboo to the British audience" it was re-released as "Alternate Title" "Reefer Man " - Fats Waller () ... BBC - drug references "Relax" – Frankie Goes to Hollywood (1984) ... BBC - sexual references "Rock You Sinners" – Art Baxter and His Rock 'n' Roll Sinners (1958) "Rockin' Through The Rye" - Bill Haley and His Comets (1956) ... BBC - the song went against traditional British standards and used 50's hip slang. "Rum and Coca-Cola" – The Andrews Sisters (1945) ... BBC - advertising Coca -Cola ”Rumble” - Link Wray (1959) ... USA certain stations - although an instrumental the title was thought too suggestive of teen violence. S "Sad Affair" – Marxman (1993) ... BBC - contains IRA slogan "Saturday Nite at the Duckpond" – The Cougars (1963) ... BBC - "pop" versions of a classical piece "Say a Prayer for the Boys Over There" – Deanna Durbin (1943) "Send Me to the 'lectric Chair" – George Melly (1953) "Shall We Take a Trip" – Northside (1990) "She Had to Go and Lose It at the Astor" – Johnny Messner (1939) "She Was Only a Postmaster's Daughter" – Durium Dance Band (1933) **"Sheryl Crow" - Sheryl Crow (1996 album) ... Wal-Mart - The song "Love Is a Good Thing" contains the lyrics "Watch out sister, watch out brother, watch our children while they kill each other with a gun they bought at Walmart discount stores". "Sincerely" – Liberace (1955) ... BBC - "Sixty Minute Man" – The Dominoes (1951) ... BBC - sexually suggestive "Song of India" – Tommy Dorsey (1938) ... BBC - because it was based on a classical work, Rimsky-Korsakov's Sadko. "So What?" – Anti-Nowhere League (1981) ... BBC - obscene, contains the word fuck countless times, references to drugs, bestiality and STIs. "Soldier" – Harvey Andrews (1972) ... BBC - lest feelings be exacerbated in the nationalist community of Northern Ireland, or the British public be incited to attack innocent Irish people. The Ministry of Defence still advises British soldiers not to sing the song in pubs "Somebody Up There Likes Me" – Perry Como (1956) ... BBC - head of religious broadcasting objection . "Spasticus Autisticus" - Ian Dury (1981) ... BBC - deemed the lyrics offensive "Statue of Liberty" – XTC (1978) ... BBC - the lyrics "In my fantasy I sail beneath your skirt". 'Star Star' - Rolling Stones (1973) ... BBC - it contained the word "Star-fucker" in the chorus a dozen times. "St. Therese of the Roses" – Malcolm Vaughan (1956) ... BBC - head of religious broadcasting felt it was contrary to Catholic and Protestant beliefs "Stranger in Paradise" – The Four Aces (1953) ... BBC - "prohibited from broadcast due to unacceptable performance" disrespectful to the classics. "Street Fighting Man" - Rolling Stones (1968) ... several radio stations in Chicago, IL. - Authorities feared it might incite public disorder. "Such a Night" – Johnnie Ray (1954) ... BBC - lewd and suggestive "Summer Smash" – Denim (1997) ... EMI self-banned - the planned release date was in the same period when Princess Diana died by a car crash. T "Teen Angel" – Mark Dinning (1959) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "Teenage Prayer" – Gale Storm (1955) "Tell Laura I Love Her" – Ray Peterson/Ricky Valance (1960) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "Terry" – Twinkle (1964) ... BBC - death song, too morbid. "The Ballad Of John and Yoko" - The Beatles ... Spain/USA various radio stations - mention of crucifixion offended radio listeners. "The Battle of New Orleans" – Johnny Horton (1959) "The Blue Danube" – Spike Jones and His City Slickers (1945) ... BBC - takes liberties with a serious work of music "The Christening" – Arthur Askey (1943) "The Cover of Rolling Stone" – Dr. Hook & the Medicine Show (1973) "The Deck of Cards" – T. Texas Tyler (1948) "The Devil Is a Woman" – Herb Jeffries (1957) "The Foggy, Foggy, Dew" – Peter Pears (1950) "The Garden of Eden" – Frankie Vaughan (1957) ... BBC - song is "fairly blasphemous" "The Heel" – Eartha Kitt (1955) "The Man with the Golden Arm" – Eddie Calvert (1956) ... BBC - although it's an instrumental, the BBC objected to the sordid nature of the film!! "The Mocking Bird" – The Four Lads (1952) "The Monster Mash" - Bobby (Boris) Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers (1962) ... BBC - too morbid *** "The Next Day" - David Bowie (2013 video) ... Youtube (temporarily) - its graphic content "The Old Dope Peddler" – Tom Lehrer (1953) "The Reefer Song (If You're a Viper)" – Fats Waller (1943) "The Sabre Dance" – Woody Herman (1948) "The Shag (Is Totally Cool)" – Billy Graves (1958) ... BBC - the shag is a dance, but also it is slang for sexual intercourse "The Silver Madonna" – Kirk Stevens (1957) "The Sky" – Petula Clark (1957) "The Story of a Starry Night" – Glenn Miller (1954) ... BBC - distorted representation of the original Tchaikovsky's Sixth Symphony "The Story Of My Life" - Alma Cogan (1958) ... BBC - too morbid, refers to death "The Story of Three Loves" – Ray Martin (1957) "The Test of Time" – Robert Earl (1959) "The Tommy Rot Story" – Morris & Mitch (1957) "The Unbeliever" – Guy Mitchell (1957) "The Voice in My Heart" – Eydie Gormé (1958) "The Winker's Song" - Ivor Biggun (1978) ... BBC - sexual references "They're Coming to Take Me Away Ha-Haaa!" – Napoleon XIV (1966) "Three Stars" – Ruby Wright (1959) "Til the Following Night" – Screaming Lord Sutch (1961) "Till the End of Time" – Perry Como (1945) "Ting Tong Tang" – Ken Platt (1958) "To Keep My Love Alive" – Ella Fitzgerald (1956) "Toll the Bell Easy" – Les Hobeaux (1957) "Too Drunk to Fuck" – Dead Kennedys (1981) "Tribute to Buddy Holly" – Mike Berry and The Outlaws (1961) U ”Unknown Soldier” - The Doors () ... USA - political, the song’s anti-war stance. "Urban Guerrilla" – Hawkwind (1973) V W "Wake Up Little Suzie" - Everley Brothers ... USA certain stations - would influence and corrupt teenagers. "Walk Hand in Hand" – Tony Martin (1956) ... BBC - religous reasons, disrespectful to God. "We Call It Acieeed" – D-Mob (1988) "We Can't Let You Broadcast That" – Norman Long (1932) ... BBC - made fun of the BBC's policies of 'banning' recordings "(We Don't Need This) Fascist Groove Thang" – Heaven 17 (1981) ... BBC - concerns by Radio 1's legal department that it libeled Reagan. "We Have to Be So Careful" – The Beverley Sisters (1953) ... BBC - because it ridiculed BBC policy "We Will All Go Together When We Go" – Tom Lehrer (1959) "Wet Dream" – Max Romeo (1969) ... BBC - due to its lyrics which are of an explicit sexual nature "When I'm Cleaning Windows" – George Formby (1936) ... BBC - Sexual innuendo, too racy, "A disgusting little ditty" "Whoa Buck" – Lonnie Donegan (1959) "With My Little Stick of Blackpool Rock" – George Formby (1937) "With My Little Ukelele in Hand" – George Formby (1933) "Woman Love" – Gene Vincent (1956) ... BBC - lyrics offensive and can't be understood. "Work With Me, Annie" - Hank Ballard & the Midnighters (1954) ... banned for radio play by the FCC. overtly sexual lyrics "Worried Man" - Kingston Trio (1959) ... BBC - didn’t like the word “closet” being used for “cupboard”. X Y "You'll Get Yours" – Frank Sinatra (1956) *** "You're All I Need" - Mötley Crüe (1987 video) ... MTV - because of the level of violence.

[fyeahwonderbat]

I have an idea for a prompt: some of their “firsts” together. First kiss, first date, first I love you, first fight, first baby etc. Thanks xoxo

First Kiss…

If only she didn’t know what his civilian identity is.

That was all Bruce could think about as he watched Diana entertain Mr. Faraday, dancing with their liaison to the UN at yet another government party that all publicized members of the Justice League and benefactors were forced to attend, just so the powers that be could feel as though they had some form of control over the gods and demons and aliens that guarded them from their base in the sky. Scoffing to himself as he threw back yet another drink, the Batman counted the number of times he had saved either a facility that Agent Faraday had been occupying or the two times he had rescued the man himself from certain doom.

And yet he hadn’t asked him to dance.

How incredibly rude.

“Another, sir?” Offered a much more cordial waiter, tray extended, ready to take his empty glass in the very instant that he had lowered it from his lips.

Effortlessly did the persona of Bruce Wayne comfortably fall into place; grinning as if he had ordered a whiskey instead of his ever popular ginger ale, he rambled on in response, “What? Huh? Another… oh, drink! Woo, I think…if I want to be allowed back to one of these things, I better slow it down, right? Hey, you know who might need his glass topped up? That gray-haired geezer dancing with that pretty young thing on the dance floor – hic – right there. See ‘em? Yeah, go get ‘im a whiskey neat or something just as fancy, ha ha.”

The poor young man seemed lost as to what he should say in response to one guest poking fun at another, but given that he had been asked to complete a drink-related task, the waiter nodded his head shakily and hurried off towards the bar. Some of the poise he had shown in his prompt service was diminished when he skated towards the bar tender—

“Bruce,” the elegant, bewitching voice of none other than Diana Prince chilled him, forcing his spine to straighten before he was stunned, “do you have something you’d like to say to me?”

Attempting to play off her sneaky approach, he replied teasingly, “I didn’t take you for the type, Diana.”

“The type of what?” Her voice was challenging. When at first he refused to answer her – refusing to finish his sentence, implying she was the type of simple woman needed a compliment or two to make or break her night – Wonder Woman took no time at all in securing his elbow in her hold and jerked it towards her retreating form; with a pleasant smile plastered on her beautiful face, she dragged the Dark Knight out into the knight, bringing him out onto one of the many balconies that decorated the ballroom that they had previously partying in.

“You know they’ll begin to panic if we leave for too long.” Bruce pointed out.

He barely managed to finish his warning before his toes were nearly stepped on by an unhappy Amazon. “That gray-haired geezer I was dancing with is more than comfortable if I take my inebriated friend out for a breath of fresh air.” Her accusatory gaze was nowhere near as intimidating as she thought it was, but her crossed arms allowed for the night to outline the muscles in her biceps, triceps, providing Bruce with a visual warning if there was ever one to heed.

Clearing his throat, Bruce stood tall when he unintelligently chose to say, “You know we are supposed to keep our civilian identities separate!”

“How can I do that when you continue to chastise and insult King whenever we see him at these parties—”

“I’m sure King can handle going toe to toe with Bruce Wayne.” His tone was just as mocking as it was challenging. Nevertheless, he genuinely hoped that his words were true. After all, this was the man assigned to coordinate the Justice League with the United Nations, to defend them when they were unable to attend meetings or when they were forced to make reckless decisions for the sake of the greater good. The man who believed he could take Wonder Woman’s hand and—

A pair of lips were just as gentle as they were forceful as they came to rest upon his. It was a dusting of a kiss, a mere graze instead of something much more empowering, but soul-searing, it still held the power to be.

Against the skin of his cheek as she slipped away from him, Diana murmured, “But Bruce Wayne won’t be able to handle Diana Prince if she has to come out here and scold him yet again.” Then, she disappeared, rejoining the party as if he had been alone the entire time, as if he had made the conscious decision to step out onto the balcony and had merely fantasized about…

She kissed him.

Diana kissed him.

Bruce fidgeted more than he realized; he fixed his suit in every which way, cleared his throat, rested his palms on the marble railing before him, dropped his head and then looked up to the sky. He stared into the overwhelming brightness of the full moon for quite some time before a chuckle escaped him. Was he not normally being romanced and seduce at these sorts of things? This was such a common occurrence, and yet…

A kiss with Wonder Woman herself? Now that was something that Bruce Wayne could definitely have another of.

First Date…

She was no stranger to what it meant to be ‘wined and dined’. Not only did she find herself entertaining some of the world’s wealthiest people – long before she encountered the Gothamite socialite – but Dionysus, the god of ecstasy in many forms, was a pertinent figure in the history of Ancient Greece.

If anyone knew how to celebrate, it was someone with a rich Greek heritage.

However, Bruce was doing quite well for himself when he carried out a silver platter from the kitchen aboard his yacht, balancing the massive tray in one hand while the other handled an ice bucket stuffed with an expensive-looking bottle of wine.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Bruce sheepishly stated rather than asked, the sea breeze tossing his hair about playfully as he set the table to his liking.

Wrapped up in her shawl, back to the wind, Diana was forced to tuck a few wayward strands of her own behind her ears before answering him. “I’m always in the mood for Alfred’s cooking.”

A stale expression was shown to her, before it was immediately replaced by an overdramatic show of offense taken. “Are you saying that I cannot make a meal for my own date?”

“I’m saying,” Diana couldn’t keep her smile from reaching her voice as she reached forth and picked up her wineglass off the table. “I know what Alfred’s cooking tastes like, so I will know if this is a meal he made.”

Bruce hiked up his Parasuco jeans before taking his seat, a cloth napkin falling over his thigh while he defended himself. “That’s not fair, princess – he taught me everything I know about food.”

“My mother taught me everything she knew about men, and I still developed an opinion of my own.”

That managed to stall Bruce while he focused on opening their chilled bottle of wine. It was a momentary lapse though, before he sniggered in reply, “But your mother was right all along, wasn’t she?”

“You think so?” That answer had surprised the Amazonian, and it showed in both her expression and her tone.

Smoothly did Bruce begin to make his case, “She warned you that we are stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“Led around by our wants and needs, and not by what we know is right?”

“Yes.”

“That we will steal a woman’s girdle if we so desire it?”

“Yes.” That time, her voice was firmer. How dare he bring up her mother’s humiliation in the wake of Heracles’ trials! Had they not been flirting? Was he not trying to woo her, after months of avoiding their intimacy after that kiss she had stolen from him, many moons ago? Perhaps she had misread the so-called romantic date that they were on – whisking her away on his yacht for a feast that he allegedly prepared himself was supposed to impress her, was it not? So how could he—

The wink that followed helped her to realize that he wasn’t talking about that girdle.

Dumbfounded, impressed, and all together amused, Diana held up her wine glass, waiting for it to be filled a tad bit more than what should have been an appropriate amount. As the beautifully reddened liquid filled her crystal-like cup, the Amazon who’s history had been poked at knew that she was much too prideful to let her date win any sort of verbal sparring.

With the desire to see him knocked off of his pedestal within his own mind, Diana informed him, “Well, it is thanks to such warnings that I didn’t wear a girdle tonight.”

The fire that ignited in Bruce’s startled eyes went off simultaneously with a gust of wind rushing across the sea, and it carried her Aphrodite-like laughter across the table to the man who she knew would become the most challenging, utterly amusing lover.

First “I love you”…

“BRUCE!” Diana’s voice sounded pained, like someone had cut up his name on her tongue with glass. Or perhaps with his own batarang, similar to the one that had been plunged into his bare chest by…someone. Any of the villains on the battlefield that had become Rodeo Drive had the capability to use his weapon against him, after Bizzaro had broken his usually impenetrable armour with one destructive punch. The fight had been going on for hours, the relentless number of enemies from all walks of life showing up out of the woodwork and pledging themselves to the mighty Darkseid before it was too late.

Before the monster simply incinerated the planet that human and Metahumans alike called home.

All of the men and women they had been fighting were ruthless, intent on showing their power, and what better way could they prove themselves than by murdering a Justice League member?

The blood that had squirted out of the massive wound on his face had been worrisome; his body was in shock as he fell to the ground slowly, shakily, and the blood flow was sporadic at best as it flew out of his chest. His thoughts were just as chaotic.

‘The people…of this city! Like…Gotham! Alfred… Alfred has my will—Dick, a-and Tim! I lost Jason… who will stop the Joker!? W-Who will protect Gotham!? N-Need the League to… to… D-Diana…’

“D-Dian…a.” Her name flew from his cut lips as if it was the last word he would ever mutter. His body began to lurch forward on bruised and beaten knees, yet he never hit the ground. Who else would be there to catch but the very woman who had been his pillar of strength for so many years? The only person who he wanted with him in those last few moments. Dazed and weak, Bruce tried to look up at her as she flew high into the sky, and his weary mind wondered if it would be her responsibility to take him to Heaven’s Gate for his soul to be judged.

Instead, he found himself gazing up into her panicked eyes after she had laid him down on a rather smooth surface, somewhere safe, he imagined. “Bruce, I need… I need to get you home.”

“N-No, don’t…here…” He was trying to tell her to stay here, to stand and fight with their League, but if he wasn’t already losing his strength to stay awake, the sight of his blood splattering onto her signature armour surely stole the wind from his sails.

Somehow, she understood him. She always did, Diana did. She understood him in a way that no one else ever had and he had been shown the first glimpse of light in a rather darkened world the day he had spotted her at Luthor’s party.

God, was he grateful to Luthor for something?

He had to be dying.

“Wonder Woman?” An unknown voice sounded as if it charged towards his lover in the same moment when the world began to disappear in blackened blotches from his sight, sounding a great deal like an approaching noise from inside of a funnel. He watched her turn her head and just as quickly turn it back in order to speak to him.

“Bruce, the Green Lanterns are here to help!”

That…should have gotten some sort of reaction from him, but it didn’t.

“They are going to stand and fight with us.”

A light moment of bliss bubbled up inside his otherwise cold chest.

“Bruce? …Bruce, please!”

He wanted to answer her, truly he did, but he did not even possess the strength to ward away the darkness for the first time in his entire life. He was cold, he was weak, he had Diana to watch over him as he went – that was all Bruce needed, in his final moments.

Or so he believed, until Diana graced him with the touch of her forehead to his and whispered a gut-wrenching, “Please…I love—”

The world disappeared before he heard the last of her words, but it gave him peace all the same.

First Fight…

Diana pretended not to notice Bruce when he entered the BatCave, despite it being the place he went to when he wanted to hide away from the world. “What are you doing here?” Long gone was the sincerity in which he once addressed, currently replaced by the hardened tone he used whether they were in a group or on their own.

“I needed to cross-reference something we once looked into for Ares.”

“The League’s database would have the same information.”

“The League didn’t exist when we interviewed Dr. Sandsmark, and I doubt you transferred all of your intel onto the League’s computers.” Usually, Diana could retain her composure with the heavily guarded bat. After all, she had had a year of practice before they had become lovers, and the motivation to spurn him after he broke her heart could produce a rather unique elegance that she had not known she possessed. However, there were moments – always small, always private – where her tone would sound clipped on a word that could be misconstrued as accusatory or simply mean.

Calling his professionalism into question was yet another dagger she’d dig into him, just like that damned batarang that had nearly killed him, the very one that had changed him from the man she had known.

Thinking about the very man who had wronged her nearly distracted her from his approach; Bruce was behind her in a matter of a dozen heavy steps, his voice just as rough. “You have two minutes.”

That got her back up. “Excuse me?” Diana turned and straightened herself as she stared at the man who dared to tell her what to do. “I tell you I am looking for information on the God of War, and you give me a time limit for my search?”

Bruce looked unprepared to hear her opposition to his disagreeable ways. He was dressed in the latest, sturdier model of his Batsuit, which supported his excuse for his rudeness, “I need my computer for a mission of my own.”

Diana knew that her decision on how to respond was paramount in that moment. If she chose to battle it out with Bruce, they could finally discuss the cruelty he had shown her in decimating their romantic relationship the moment he had awakened after she had worried just to see him live through the coma he had fallen into. If she chose to turn away and take her information with her, there was the chance that they would never recover, never move beyond their tense, bearable relationship, enduring the mere shadow of what they once had.

Settling with the fact that she was no longer anything more than a colleague to him…

“You sound like a child, which is appropriate, given your behaviour.”

A startled light went off behind his hooded eyes, but Bruce inhaled such a deep breath, he looked like an animal ready to pounce. “If you don’t like it, then take your information and go.”

“And this is the way we are meant to function from now on? The founding members of the Justice League, who make harsh remarks at one another and refuse to move forward?”

“I am moving forward!” He raised his voice at her as if it would somehow prove he was correct.

Diana wanted to scoff but withheld from doing so. “You are moving inside yourself! You can be brave and face off against any villain who threatens this world, but you are still nothing more than a stubborn man, doing whatever it is you want and ignore the consequences.”

“What consequences!?”

“Me!” The way Diana slapped her chest reverberated throughout her body and sounded as if she had hit the floor. She did not shake or sway, though, merely carried on. “You destroyed what you had with me in order to protect yourself, and you expected me to comply with your wishes willingly.” Hearing the way she spoke of their relationship, it dawned on Diana that she had indeed done just that – allowed him to dictate the rules, and obeyed him without question. She had bowed down to what he wanted and sulked off to nurse her wounds, refusing to fight against the formidable Batman when she had told him once, long ago, that he could never best her…

As if he was reading her mind, Bruce blurted out as a poor excuse for a defence, “But you did.”

“Yes, I did…but know this now, Bruce,” With two heavy stomps of her own, Diana invaded Bruce’s personal space with grace and strength. He would not have tried to back away from her, but her hands found his shoulders regardless. “I will not let you defeat. I will not let you steal something so precious from me without putting up a fight. Remember that.”

Then, she released him and turned back to her work, almost as if she expected him to both acknowledge her threat and forget that it ever happened. Bruce remained still the entire time she completed her search on his computer and when she left, she did not bother to look at his hopefully dumbfounded expression.

Knowing that she had shut him up had been enough of a prize, for now at least.

First Baby…

Bruce heard Diana walking all over the upper level of the house, but he didn’t have the heart to call out to her. The Manor was a noisy place and it surprised him that Alfred hadn’t said anything, made a disgruntled face, or even reached for his cellphone to text Bruce to keep it down. Perhaps he knew it was Diana making all that noise – he always had favoured her.

Still, Bruce would have done the very same thing, if he was in the butler’s shoes.

After another minute or two of frantic searching, he finally heard his princess racing down the main staircase, hunting for something else this time around. When she spied him, he made sure to lift a pointed finger to his lips.

“Bruce—!”

“Shhh,” warned her husband from his casual pose of leaning against the doorframe she found him lurking in. He felt Diana approach him – the warmth of her body targeting him even from the other end of the hallway – and his arm reached out to welcome him into her hold.

“What are you doing, standing here?” Her inquiry was well-warranted, but he refused to answer. All she had to do was look into main floor study, and she would fully understand his pause.

After all, he wasn’t about to disturb his daughter while she was having her lunch.

“There she is.” Diana whispered as she maneuvered herself into his hold until they were perfectly placed in each other’s arms. Bruce dropped his head against her and let silence accompany them momentarily, just so he could hear the strangely adorable sound Penelope made when she sucked on her bottle. Those big brown eyes of hers were staring up at Alfred the entire time she feasted, and in turn, the butler smiled back at her as if she was his own flesh and blood.

“You were looking for her?” Bruce mumbled softly. “I thought you knew Alfred said he’d feed her lunch.”

Diana huffed, “I know that if I can’t find her, she’ll be with her grandfather, but he keeps popping up all over the manor so I can’t find him easily. I think he’s trying to steal her away from us.” It was clearly a joke, but her tone was a tad sulky. If anyone had been a proper parent to their daughter, it was Diana – she was a picture perfect mother in his eyes, and even managed to convince him that he could be a father when there were moments of doubt – and though she would not ever admit it, she still managed to become a tad jealous over Alfred’s honed experience with children.

The breath of fresh hair that was a baby, and a female one at that, was most likely the reason the old man could never stop smiling.

“I don’t think he’d risk it.”

“Because you’d threaten to fire him again?”“Because he knows he can’t hide from you forever.” Bruce chuckled into her bangs as he kissed her forehead.

Diana laughed into his chest and he could have sworn that her joyous giggle commanded the beat of his heart for a few moments. “You mean he can’t go toe to toe with me?”

There it was – the key phrase that had followed them the entirety of their relationship. Whether it was over a hard drive from Luthor or the jealousy he felt for King Faraday or the way she fought to keep them together even when he tried to foolishly tear them apart, it was always a challenge for them. There was always some sort of battle to be fought for them, but they seemed to have found their peace in the house he had lived in when life had been peaceful once.

It was as if he had a snapshot taken of his life as a child, and he found a way to create the dream life that his younger self had given up dreaming for all those years ago.

“No one can go toe to toe with you, Diana.” Bruce dared to admit as he turned her to face him, ready to kiss her with all of the tenderness he had inside of him in that one moment—

Just then, Arthur’s voice ruined the moment as it blared in their ears.

“Aquaman to Batman and Wonder Woman! Attack on the Atlantean Embassy! All Justice League members, do NOT use the transporter inside! I repeat, don’t—”

“Let’s test that theory.” Diana quipped before she stole the kiss Bruce had intended to bestow her with, then headed off to the BatCave in order to suit up.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin despite the warning of chaos he was being called to face, as his gaze swooped inside of the study one last time. Alfred, finally looking up from the precious baby in his arms, nodded to his oldest charge with a promise to look after Penelope while he was ‘busy’.

Penelope Martha Wayne, the daughter he had had with Diana Prince, the child he had to come home to, threw one of her small arms up into the air as he began to step away, as if to wave him off.

The way his heart was swarmed by a newly acquired warmth made Bruce selfishly wonder, when could him and Diana have another?

((A/N: Every couple needs a story like this – all of their firsts! I tried to tie them all together so they don’t feel as chaotic, and I hope it shows~ Yes, that little baby girl is the very baby Diana talked to Alfred about in another ficlet I did on this blog, called Penny! A lot of people seemed to like that one so I made sure to reference that for the First Baby portion. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and feel free to prompt me whenever you’d like! ~ Maiden))

[jameypants1-blog]

jameypants1 Wow I just lost a post spent last few hours on it got into the two Mary's of Christianity representing same woman and how the Mother aspect of you is what keeps me from degeneracy, from running off to child fuck island with the Clinton's or skiing with Kim. As I wrote it realized it was the best piece I've ever written. Went on to explain that being with you is not suffering Evil, you aren't evil just nonjudgmental and intolerant of me being intolerant, that if I'm to beat this beast out of Love for everyone then I won't do it by hating on even them bc that would be hypocrisy and in violation of free will and that you'd break see me broken again and again long as I tried to cheat out of here and I explained that I'm portrayed as a virgin and that virtuous women my nun army of virgin wives were representative of your jealousy which there was also no trading BJ's with anyone loophole around bc the other aspect of Mother is the world's most notorious whore who washed my feet and I hers and who ever after is my wife until death do us part a junk clause bc we're immortal caretakers of our own souls and anyone with a problem with you and I being together with any complaints about smelling you on me must be as afraid and suspicious of women as wsb or the very Devil who made sure that Religion villified and why few Queens enjoyed the stature of Kings bc of the likes of you, Elite of your own, not against them even work for them sing their songs lobby for them keep their secret even though they murder the world who you let be responsible for themselves extend kindness to but feel no obligation to enlighten since anyone really in need of knowing will, let them do their own homework bc freedom is earned not anyone else's responsibility to bestow upon them, your love of the most vulnerable in this sick society close as you'll ever see fit to protect or embolden anyone and that's not Evil it's pretty fair even it's just not how I'm wired and you're cool with that so long as I don't become bff's with every woman bound to fall in love with me should they know me which is why it may sound like all my friends are guys when it's actually women I respect most all the advice daddy ever gave me is don't get queer and stop playing with yourself, which amounts to don't cheat on your wife mind your Mother so he's a big help I guess and all these karma police antipop jambi lambasting bff's of mine implying I do it all for you not love of neighbor can kiss my ass since when is loving your woman more than anyone else a symptom of diminished character? By God you are my other half what makes a human whole hearted and everyone deserved that straight gay whatever but for me you and you me so how we under arrest karma police serving human best interest or perversly jealous twats? I'm leaning strongly toward twats. That wolfman coming out shit Neil wrote even eggs me on to kill you! And plenty of your friends sure love it if you kill me so wtf is up here? Who is suffering Evil? Me for loving my impartial wife who offends the dear leader by loving me the Judas of the book of Lucifer over her Loyalty to keep their secret or me for suffering them their Savior who took away no one's center but made them immortal delivered them from Evil, shine upon the broken benevolent son, yeah Maynard that's my fucking job and that's what I'm do and when the two become one which you damn we'll know we already are what catastrophe is it to win lose or draw keep the band together no matter what and take however many runs as this Hydra upon the bloodied battered face of the Earth as it takes to win or defy NADA and evac flight away from here, no one but those who choose Evil forsaken. She chose me. I'm not Evil. And no Evil would ever choose me. Women take a beating bc of her loyalty and love, blamed as the reason we Original Sinners knowing Good from Evil got a satellite religion shaped around us organized under Law to that us should we make good on that one more round every last executed one of us swore against them. That she escaped execution offensive? I'm sorry jameypants1 she was clever enough to bewitch her way clear of inverted crucifixion or the Lions den, she should have denied me I guess like all of you and ran for the hills instead of sticking thru the bitter reprisal and snatching away my corpse, her dead body not theirs, and doing what she felt she had to to consecrate us beyond the same mortality she suspected same as you fellas running for you abrubtly cut short Judas lives soon as War on us was waged. Daddy didn't run he was kind enough to fuck the whole lot of us though soon as he realized I really was shutting down their house bc that fucking caveman never wants the good old days to end so he left his head way back there and held us, says he invited me in but I was already his son and your brother but it's always been my wife excluded from the group hug bc of jealousy, Kurt sure have loved to stick around trading BJ's but has a job to do drain me instead bc still smells my wife on me, that's pretty fucking far to go, marry a loathsome whore and get murdered maybe but for sure suicided leave me with Live Through This like I did that to any of you, fuck that I nutted out back there in the desert we all did and she wasn't the cause we were all possessed by hate not her we went after them not her she was just following me bc where else she gonna go when her insane husband and his band of anarchists were certain of their Rebellion to overthrown the royal crown of Satan in a truth telling crusade replete with assault upon temples and a pirate campaign encouraging everyday people to rise up against dear Satan and refuse to participate in his sick economy game. She's the one put up with some bullshit, I sure as fuck wouldn't have followed her into a fight I didn't agree with in the first place and sign on to stick with her forever if I didn't Love her more than even myself. And she signed on and not once has betrayed me. Only helpful advice I e er get is for Mother. And that we are the Monsters of this 2nd act is fucking obscene, the shit she's taken off me and over me is undeserved and my kissing all your asses running around afraid of her is all the proof I need of the severity of appreciation was taken out on me by the honorable public servants who gave me my day in the court of their loyal Patriots opinion. I daresay they knocked me absolutely out of my senses for me to be so tangled up in some bullshit and an embarrassment and human wreck when she showed up for me. Let's all stop pointing fingers at each other now and stop calling my girl Hitler ya freaks she's Pure, we're the intolerant ones. Suffering Fools, and me the King. I'm going to follow her now. I conclude she has the exit strategy to get us all out of this mess simply bc she's as sick as we all are of going through this, so sorry Daddy I know you love this game but we're burning down the house and doing something new so let's all stop being tadpoles and get froggy now take the leap of faith that NADA can't keep us from making into space rock adventures sans this fucked up holy war horsepiss what's driven us insane and bipolar. Stefani you want something Sacred from me you got it baby anything you want you got with me, follow you now, bc big dumb Rocky and friends keep getting knocked the fuck out. Mostly me. Mostly out of jealousy. So it's private time. Unless you and I can't trust each other unless my character is lacking unless they're all right about you and I'm too stupid to play with the big kids who wouldn't even be here without us, not saying anyone owes me anything as ever I do all this for free and out of Love and it doesn't inconvenience anyone more than my woman, the best part of me. So let's begin. Tired of repeating myself and let's have our love and loyalty again and not blame any of each other for what happened in the past which is behind us and not to be repeated like the stupid ugly history the elite creeps keep going here, this party's over, let's go 💡 light it up light it up. https://youtu.be/riAkBFKRqz0 Thank you for that daddy. Still cherish day I got that album, chilling with friend of mine, kid from work at BBQ joint, played lot of dice and drank and smoked listening to mostly his children's punk favs no/fx, blink182, etc bc this was pre computer and I didn't have any music bc CDs turned into beer funding. Anyway when I saw this out had him rush me the record store got it and some sex pistols bc punk lover he was had never heard of them, got home and insisted we listen to this first so he get an idea why metal was so cool since shit on the radio all he'd ever heard and by and large found it boring and stupid, hour after hour of blocks of metallic at work between occasional guns n roses or token play of paranoid give anyone the idea metal was mostly shitty I reckon, anyway when this got to chorus he and I exchanged a look that shocked me bc all a sudden he thought I must wanna fuck him. It was unspoken but palpable and within two minutes we were listening to pistols and fuck yeah that rocks really do hear the influence in all that kiddy punk he was into, would have hooked him up bad religion too but I was next best friend for a minute away from hearing br, maybe later gave whole album one listen before returning it for beer and that day was pretty much the end of that friendship, we hardly ever hung out after that bc you made him think I wanted to fuck him, always wanted to thank you for that, really embarrassing! And bullshit. Don't fuck my friends. They're too busy fucking me. Not that I'm unappreciative. I know you were looking out for me.