#i don't live in the us so my impression is merely that

[moontyger]

I've been meaning to reply to this for awhile and it's largely because I feel like functionally, the person above who said formality in English is dying is right. I have seen people claim that, for example, using honorifics when translating Japanese is bad translation and you can demonstrate the same thing in English. And I have never agreed. "Formal Japanese is like speaking to your boss" is something that I've heard a lot, but I don't really feel there's a huge difference in language in (US American) English. All right, so you don't say "fuck" or "shit" or that something "sucks." But how do you tell the difference between that and someone who simply doesn't use curse words? You can't. (And except for the times when I worked for medical doctors, I've always called my bosses by their first name and it would have stood out as unusual if I didn't.)

Like those 5 examples of formality levels above? So A is something you'll only see in written English. It's the language of things like wedding invitations, which have retained formal customs that are no longer used in other areas. If someone is actually speaking like that, I'm at a Ren Faire; this is not everyday language. No one speaks to their boss like this and if you did, it would stand out as very odd - so much so that you might even be spoken to about it because it would be assumed it was a deliberate affectation and possibly even mocking. (But if you're trying to represent the speech of a character who speaks archaic Japanese, it would work for that, but obviously that is not the same as merely formal.)

B is something you might hear, but it is still a little unusually stiff. It sounds like the person is uncomfortable more than they're being formal, like they're asking someone out on a first date. (Though I guess 'formal' is maybe meant to be 'I am terrified to speak to this person'? But I never got the impression that that's quite right.) People would notice if someone were speaking like this and probably flag it as a sign of nervousness, maybe social awkwardness if they did it all the time.

And E is just... do real people speak like this? (Also it's complicated, because if they do, I also feel like this language is not just informal, it's gendered male and coded as young, so maybe it's just a bad example because it's folded so many things into it beyond formality.)

As an aside: this is part of why I think kids are often still expected to use titles when adults aren't. Socially, the US is more hierarchical with children and expects formalities from them that are not expected of adults.

This leaves C and D as the quotidian examples. D is less formal, granted, but would I say it to my boss? Sure. (OK, I actually wouldn't, but that's because I've never called a meal "a bite" in my life. But "wanna grab lunch" seems fine. It doesn't strike me as inappropriate.) So I guess I feel like yes, technically all these levels of formality exist, but most of them are not actually used any longer, so if you're using them for translating contemporary people speaking, results may be very "real people don't talk like this."

Now maybe part of this is that I live in a very informal area of the country. Maybe in other regions they really are using B to speak to their boss. But it definitely isn't a universal thing such that I would feel it was something that could be said of "modern English" in general. (Also all the examples above as well as my perspective are very white, which is of course also a complication with modern spoken American English: there are real racial distinctions. So to some extent it is a hard language to generalize.)

Edit to Add: I also want to note here that this really has changed pretty quickly. People in the 1950s and 60s were much more formal than they are now and even somewhat more formal in the 1980s. You could definitely extrapolate something about politics and some people wanting more hierarchy (and freaking out about the lack of it) from a panic about the loss of formality in spoken language.

I'm so fascinated by languages with different levels of formality built in because it immediately introduces such complex social dynamics. The social distance between people is palpable when it's built right into the language, in a way it's not really palpable in English.

So for example. I speak Spanish, and i was taught to address everyone formally unless specifically invited otherwise. People explained to me that "usted" was formal, for use with strangers, bosses, and other people you respect or are distant from, while "tú" is used most often between family and good friends.

That's pretty straightforward, but it gets interesting when you see people using "tú" as a form of address for flirting with strangers, or for picking a fight or intimidating someone. In other languages I've sometimes heard people switch to formal address with partners, friends or family to show when they are upset. That's just so interesting! You're indicating social and emotional space and hierarchy just in the words you choose to address the other person as "you"!!

Not to mention the "what form of address should I use for you...?" conversation which, idk how other people feel about it, but to me it always felt awkward as heck, like a DTR but with someone you're only just becoming comfortable with. "You can use tú with me" always felt... Weirdly intimate? Like, i am comfortable around you, i consider you a friend. Like what a vulnerable thing to say to a person. (That's probably also just a function of how i was strictly told to use formal address when i was learning. Maybe others don't feel so weird about it?)

And if you aren't going to have a conversation about it and you're just going to switch, how do you know when? If you switch too soon it might feel overly familiar and pushy but if you don't switch soon enough you might seem cold??? It's so interesting.

Anyway. As an English-speaking American (even if i can speak a bit of Spanish), i feel like i just don't have a sense for social distance and hierarchy, really, simply because there isn't really language for it in my mother tongue. The fact that others can be keenly aware of that all the time just because they have words to describe it blows my mind!

[poetess-trobadour]

"It's a mean world that I've known

Never got no good doin' what I'm told"

My (unpopular) take on zodiac vibes, part 6♍️✨️

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM WICKED *  assorted dialogue from the screenplay, adjust as necessary

it's good to see me, isn't it?

no need to respond. that was rhetorical.

because there has been so much rumor and speculation... innuendo, outuendo... let me set the record straight.

why does wickedness happen?

that's a good question.

like every family, they had their secrets.

one thing led to another, as it so often does.

i'm right here. i always will be.

you want to see something wonderful?

what have you done this time?

now you've made your sister cry.

you see... it couldn't have been easy.

as you can imagine, i have much to attend to.

is it true you were her friend?

you must understand, it was... a long time ago.

remember, it's not goodbye, it's farewell.

they're going to miss me so much.

you know what i believe? strangers are just people i've never met.

what? what are you staring at? do i have something in my teeth?

let's get this over with.

i for one am sorry that you're forced to live with this.

it's my intention to major in sorcery.

perhaps i could help.

offering to help someone you don't know with a skill you don't have. i'm sure everyone's duly impressed.

i could care less what other people think.

i doubt that's true.

i'll miss you.

if anything should happen to her...

you can of course come visit me whenever you want!

how tragically beautiful you are.

i just need to find my room.

this was my chance. my new start.

magic is merely the mind's attempt to wrap itself around the impossible.

i shall tutor you privately.

thank you for covering for me.

how long have you had this talent?

if you can learn to use your powers in the right way...

do you really think this is fair?

i'm just shutting the door.

i saved you some space, by the way.

how did you do it? tell me.

i can keep a secret.

some of us are different.

we cannot escape the past.

the past helps explain our present circumstances.

who is responsible for this?

it's all right. i have no friends.

once you learn to harness your emotions, the sky's the limit.

this is much bigger than just some words on a chalkboard.

is this how you go through life, running amok, nearly trampling anyone in your path?

i guess there's a first time for everything.

were you looking for something? or someone?

i met the rudest person last night.

what do you do for fun around here?

i would do anything for you.

it was nothing. i love helping others.

i'm about to have the happiest night of my life!

i don't follow.

what's in the punch?

i don't feel sorry for you! you're great!

my personal opinion is that you do not have what it takes.

i hope you prove me wrong. i doubt you will.

i can't watch.

it's not like it's your fault.

may i cut in?

that was your very first party?

you tell me a secret.

you really don't have to do that.

i can't wear things like that anyway.

pink goes good with green.

i'm afraid it's out of our hands.

you're not being told the whole story.

somebody's got to do something!

you think i'm really stupid, don't you.

you don't need to be scared of me.

you think i want to be this way?

so i should just keep my mouth shut? is that what you're saying?

you're bleeding.

this is your chance to make good.

i've heard so much about you.

i am changing my name.

don't you cry. you're going to have the wonderfullest time.

something bad is happening to them. they need you.

what did i tell you?

you've known all along... from the moment you met me.

you must trust me.

that's why i need you.

i meant every word about you having a home here.

[messiahzzz]

i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Unsurvivable ride - Fernando Alonso x reader

Summary: Old man loves his car, and you, once again, written on a train, author loves old men and old men know

Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of person who loved to boast. Sure, when he was young, he was cocky. Impressing female reporters with his card tricks or the fact that he could crack a walnut with his neck. A line that didn't make it to air was him saying, "So you don't need to worry about sitting on my face, I'm strong, I can take it, see?" right after. And even with "Fernando is faster than you," even with the "villain" comments in drive to survive, he wasn't prideful. He was just honest. You wouldn't see him flaunting his wealth or doing noveau rich stuff. Yacht aside, luxury cars aside. Yes, he had those things but didn't ever mention them or use them as props, the way some of the other drivers did. Fernando Alonso was the king of quiet luxury, old money. But, with every job came its little quirks. And in Nando's was the new car. 

Don't get him wrong he loved the Valkyrie. It was truly a beautiful car. Fast, too. Perfect for him. But having to prep your shared Monaco living room for it was not fun. Fernando loved having pictures of you two around, the framed memories were a must-have. Whether it was in the tax paradise where most F1 drivers lived, in Spain, to even his garage. Everyone was seeing that Fernando was with you. It was almost funny to see new people guess the nature of your relationship. With you being closer in age to your 20s than your thirties, people assumed you were his relative, a cousin, or perhaps a sister. Some even thought you were his daughter. Then he pulled out the vacation pictures of himself, taking down your swimsuit with his teeth. That cleared up the fact that you were his girlfriend. All the pictures were gone for the day. Any magazines or books that didn't seem like they fit him. Your clothes that hung on the hooks, everything. Truth be told, now the living room looked white and sterile and, thus, perfect for a video. Fernando had to film, and it was fun. Driving around the streets of Monaco in this custom beast didn't suit him still. But he had to do it again and again. That was in his contract. 

Despite him having to take it around all the time, you didn't get a chance to ride in it for a long time. Truth is, you avoided it. The two seater was way too fancy for your taste. You couldn't shake the sinking feeling that you'd scratch it just by opening the door or something. So you didn't even come near it. Took public transport or walked. Used the excuse of "I know it's Monaco, and people don't film you as much, but in this, they definitely will.". And that was literally the point. The Aston Martin marketing person called it a mere exposure theory. Show something to people enough, and they will remember it. Then something about the car creating organic word of mouth and this driving sales. Nando thought it was a little ridiculous that all he drove week in and week out was an Aston Martin. Especially after Brazil. 

But duty called. And the word of Lawrence Stroll and co was law. So Nando took the Valkyrie out, again and again. Finally, he managed to get you in it. Seeing you in the Valkyrie did something to him. Maybe it was the triple header. Maybe it was you in a mini dress pressed up against him. With the seat belt between your perfect tits, he was a goner. Lord knows how he made it to the restaurant without slipping his fingers inside of you while driving with his left hand. It was a miracle. The fancy restaurant he had picked out had no vallet. Only an exclusive underground parking. Fernando got out of the car with a plan in mind. By the end of the night, your first ride in the Valkyrie was going to be a memorable one. 

Everything went smoothly. Then it was time to go. Fernando put on an Oscar worthy performance of looking for his car keys. A pat down of his jeans, a scrunched up face, a low swear in Spanish. All the while, they sat snugley in his jacket pocket. 

"I must have left them on the dash. The car, it has this app that lets you do certain functions remotely. Can you look after I've rolled down the window, doll." He asks. Sometimes, he loves how serviceable you are. Others would call you ditzy, but he knew that all you ever wanted was to be a good girl for him. So you didn't question why the Valkyrie's windows could be opened remotely. You assumed it had something to do with its confusing butterfly doors. Fernando rolls it down, and you twist your body inside. At his plea to "really look, make sure the keys aren't somewhere on the floor," your entire upper body is pretzled in. Leaving your ass to stick out. And that's when Nando strikes like a viper. The window moves up. Not enough to hurt you, but it is definitely enough to make you stuck. He unlocks and locks the car again to taunt you, to show you that he wants you there. 

"Can I touch you, pretty girl?" He asks, but you can already feel his fingers near your bare legs. He's flipped up your skirt, completely exposing your underwear. As soon as you say yes, he traces the seams of it, enjoying how you get excited over that. 

"Look at you, already getting wet for me. We'll have to be quick here, princess. Is that okay with you?" He asks, and he's happy when you practically beg for that. Truth is, he can't stand to tease you right now. He needs you like a fish needs water. Fernando wasted no time in taking off your panties and putting two fingers inside of you. He curls them and tries to get them to hit that spot inside of you. When he uses his other hand to rub your clit, you're a goner, clenching against him. But he doesn't stop.

"You got yours, doll. It's time for me to get mine." He says. Fernando's belt clangs on the concrete, his pants pooled against his ankles. He takes his fingers out of you, and you can hear a loud suck as you guess he puts them in his mouth. The same fingers wrap around his shaft as he guides himself inside of you. The position is driving you both crazy. You can feel his deeper than usual, and you can't squirm away from him. You're at his mercy, and he has none. He thrusts inside of you, almost bottoming out and then slides almost all the way out. He squeezes your ass and hips. Watches himself wreck your pretty weeping pussy with his cock. Feels you get tighter against him. Sees you cum and then clench against nothing as he pulls out. Wonders whether his cum might somehow damage the paint as he watches it on your thighs. 

"There goes one incentive to keep driving this thing. Now I'll think of this every time I get in it." Fernando says, to see you squirm and tell him to shut up. Yep, he was gonna make you warm up to the Valkyrie, one way or another. 

[amarynthian-chronicles]

May I have this dance?

Sebastian Solace x Reader

"Surely, you must be joking."

"Quite the contrary."

He fiddled with the old gramophone, making a few final adjustments in order to get it to function properly once more. All the while he was casually holding his cigarette with his third hand, elegantly tapping the ash away when necessary.

Sebastian had amassed an impressive collection of vinyl records, arranging them according to his tastes. He had done so in a similar manner with his books and research files. You loved watching him sort out his inventory.

It was so unusually domestic, the mingling scents of coffee and cigarette smoke, the presence of warm blankets and pillows on the sofa he had hauled from an unspecified location in the vast facility. Undoubtedly from various loungers that the scientists would once find comfort in before the breach in security.

You cleared your throat, trying to get his attention once more.

"Seb, be realistic. We cannot dance together. I don't even know how to"

"I am certain the youth refers to this as a "skill issue" nowadays. Painter had discovered a whole thesaurus of modern slang, heaven help us all."

"I am not even going to comment this. My point still stands. Besides, you do not even have legs."

"What I do have is creative solutions to complex problems. We crush obstacles, do we not? Ah, there we go. Good as new."

He placed the needle on a record.

Music. Soft jazz, soothing yet playful, unpredictable in its rhythm, improvising, moving from whimsical and exciting tunes to the more melancholic melodies. In many ways, it conveyed Sebastian's own soul perfectly.

He offered his clawed hand, grinning and waiting for you to inevitably accept his offer. Reluctantly, you accepted.

His tail began to tap in a certain rhythm against the floor, as if setting the tempo you should follow along with the music. Confused, you saw his other two arms approach you, all three serving as if they were makeshift dance partners.

Before you knew it, he was making you move and sway as if you were a combination of a puppet on a string and a music box ballerina. He made you twirl, glide, turn, almost hypnotic.

At a certain point, he snapped his fingers, and suddenly the room was completely dark, save for the lone light of his esca.

"See? You do not need to know where to go or what to do, you are only to follow as I say. Trust me and you will never have to worry about anything ever again."

"Seb, I am tired."

"I am sure we can get a few more pirouettes out of you, pet."

"Well, at least I am getting free cardio training here."

You took deep breaths as your puppet master played with you, demanding yet gentle, firm yet rewarding you with tenderness when it was due. As you were about to collapse, he caught you, pulling you into his lap.

Soft kisses were placed on your head, cheeks and lips.

His body began to sway, akin to the ocean waves, his arms cradling you.

Sebastian was truly like the ocean itself, simultaneously a cooling haven that embraced you in your feverish nightmares and a cold unyielding tomb that one could not escape from. A devil is merely a fallen angel, after all.

You whispered, closing your eyes.

"What will become of us, Seb? We are playing in this illusion, knowing that all of this is ludicrous."

"We live on stolen time. Our old lives are forfeit and we can only move onward. We take, we scavenge, we defy probability itself."

"What are we to each other?"

He combed his fingers through your hair.

"Fleeting hope. The same type that a ghost feels in a house with new tenants, desperately wishing to be seen and heard once more. Even for a final time."

Hot tears ran down your cheeks.

"Hope is such a cruel thing, Seb."

He kissed each tear away, savouring your sorrow.

"We lie in the Abyss. This location defies physics itself, it rebels against every possible known law of water mechanics. So shall we. Doomed to fail, given to death, we shall rise once more, wearing the Reaper's cloak as our own."

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral (female receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

READ THE SEQUEL: FEEL

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

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[lefaystrent]

Distractions

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: all-star cast of platonicness

Summary: The light sides are in a sad state of affairs. The dark sides are pretty good at offering distractions.

-------------------------------------------------------

Logan sits on the living room couch, head in his hands, slumped in defeat. Despair. Failure.

He's slightly jostled by someone else sitting on the couch.

"Aliens aren't real," comes Virgil's voice, definitive and assumedly directed at Logan.

Logan lifts his head enough to check. His glasses have made a mighty impression into his forehead but he doesn't move to adjust them. Virgil is very nearly glaring at him.

"Virgil, you yourself have created power point demonstrations centered around the validity of aliens. Since when has your opinion changed?"

"Since now. Fight me, nerd."

Logan leans back a little to properly look at Virgil. He could be mistaken for fuming, the way his jaw is set and the fire burning in his eyes. But no, he is merely adamant to rile Logan up. To what end though?

"Are you...challenging me to a debate?"

Virgil gives a sharp-toothed, satisfied grin. He is willing to play devil's advocate for a good cause.

***

"Hey, wanna dance?"

Roman windmills his arm in the direction of the sultry voice that whispered in his ear. The faint smell of garlic wifts in his nostrils, followed by a gleeful chuckle.

"Remus!! Get out of my room!"

Remus rolls back on his heels. He folds his arms behind his back and looks into the air, a thoughtful hum on his lips.

"Hmmm, how about no?"

"Leave! Out you pest!"

"Make me!"

"You would force the hand of your own brother?" Roman says far too seriously, and Remus gives him an unimpressed stare. "...yeah, you're right, this is very on brand for you. I don't know why I'm acting surprised."

Remus shrugs and throws his hands up in the air. "Alright, if you're done bothering me–"

"You're the one who came in my room!"

"I've got better things to do than listen to you whine, Prince Poopy Pants."

Remus goes to stride out the door. Roman watches him, arms crosses and fingers tapping impatiently on his elbow, haughty expression that says he's one push away from snapping.

Remus pauses at the door.

Roman doesn't have time to anticipate.

Remus snatches up one of Roman's Pop figures off his bookshelf and flees the scene. Roman exits stage right in pursuit, screaming.

***

"You can't stay in bed all day."

"Watch me," Patton says, a pout in his voice. He's buried under blankets with only his hair sticking out at the top.

Janus clicks his tongue and scratches at Patton's scalp. It's less effective with gloves on, but Patton allows the contact.

"Or do, I certainly won't judge you," Janus says flippantly.

Patton whines into the mattress, "That implies that someone is judging me."

"I didn't say that. Did I say that?"

"Janus!" Exasperrated, Patton tosses down his blankets enough to reveal his rumpled onsie and impressive bedhead. He stops when he sees what sits on the bedside table that wasn't there before.

"You never came down for breakfast this morning," Janus explains. "Not that I care or anything. There were just so many pancakes leftover that it would be a shame for them to go to waste."

Patton eyes the tray and the stack of syrupy pancakes. His lip wobbles a little. "You brought me breakfast in bed?"

"Don't get used to it."

Patton finds the will to smile and tucks into breakfast. It tastes freshly made and sweet.

[reticent-writer]

Blood demon art: Plants P1, P2, P3, P4, P5, P6(current)

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"Ow, oooow." You whined as you rolled on your back clutching the arm. You healed almost instantly but unfortunately you don't get hurt often and don't have a tolerance for pain.

"There you are Y/n. What's seems to be the matter." He carefully picked you up and examined you.

"My arm and leg were broken. Its fine now."

Setting you on his hip he went to check on the others. The train was a complete mess. Passengers were crawling out from the reck confused as to what just happened.

The boar man and yellow guy helped the injured.

there's another demon, far off into the wood but coming fast. You could sense it.

Hanafuda was on his back barely breathing.

"You've mastered total concentration constant, that's quite impressive."

As Rengoku helped Hanafuda the demon came closer and closer. He was now close enough to be recognized.

"AKAZA!" You jumped out of Kyojuro's arms just as he sensed him too.

Rengoku pushed you behind him. Akaza went after Hanafuda, but Rengoku stopped him by slicing his arm. Behind Rengoku you were closing Hanafuda's wounds.

You knew someone was going to die now that he showed up.

"why would you go after a wounded person first over me."

"I thought he would get in the way of our little chit-chat is all."

"What is it that you would like to discuss. While this is our first-time meeting, I already dislike you." Rengoku said with a straight face. You would've laughed if not for the current situation.

"Is that right? Well, I dislike weak human beings. The mere sight of them makes my skin crawl."

"If that is the case, I do not believe that we will ever get along."

"Be that as it may let me make you an offer. Why don't you become a demon as well."

"No thanks." Rengoku said, straight forward as always.

"I can tell just by looking at you that you're strong. A Hashira Huh. So that's who's been looking after Y/n all this time. Your fighting spirit has been tempered like quality steel. Your name?"

"I'm the flame hashira, Kyujuro Rengoku."

"I am Akaza as you may already know. Kyojuro, despite being a Hashira your strength is not enough because your merely human is destined to grow old and eventually die. Become a demon Kyojuro, doing so will allow you to better yourself for a hundred maybe two hundred years." Akaza waisted his breath trying to persuade the purest human you've ever met.

"Both growing old and passing away, these are things that make being human beautiful. Those may seem like weaknesses to you, but our lives are all the more precious and honorable because of them. You see true strength does not refer to the physical body. This boy is not weak, don't insult him. Let me be clear, the two of us will never see eye to eye no matter what twisted reason you give. I will not yield."

To Akaza his speech meant nothing but to you, it opened your eyes even wider. You already knew that the human was fighting for their lives against the demons but the conversation between Akaza and Rengoku showed you the big difference between demons and humans.

Demons don't die unless they are killed, Humans die regardless, and yet they still fight to preserve whatever life they have.

Your father was once Human, is he scared to die? Is this why he's been trying so hard to find the blue spider lily. Your father may be a demon, but he is afraid of death just like a human.

"I see. Technique development: Destructive death compass needle." Akaza got into his signature fighting stance. "I guess I'll just have to kill you then."

-----

They both were so fast, you couldn't keep up with it. From the looks of it neither could Hanafuda.

'oh right hanafuda' His wound wasn't fully closed yet he was still trying to move.

"You shouldn't move yet." You warned him, he didn't listen.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"But you're not!"

He tried to get up again as the boar head was ready to fight too.

"Stay there!" Rengoku scared all three of you. "You can't reopen that wound of yours it'll kill you. Let Y/n heal you." Even midbattle he is looking after others.

"Y/n healing a human. What have you done to them, they never cared before." Akaza's attacks were relentless you wanted to go and help but what could you do.

You've never been in a fight before and you don't take pain well. You could only watch as you healed hanafuda.

You couldn't bare to watch it anymore, even when the battlefield grew quite.

"I will see my duty fulfilled. No matter what it takes no body will die here." Rengoku was tired and you could tell, that was it.

Smoke clouded your vision as Hanafuda shielded you.

The smoke started to clear and Rengoku could be seen with a pained expression.

"Ren-" Akaza punched him straight through the stomach. "No." You muttered.

Even with all his injuries he still tried to cut off Akaza's head.

Hanafuda acted quicker than you, running to grab his sword.

"What should I do?"

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*this action will have consequences*

Tag list: @american-idiot21, @unhappy-filling, @lenasvoid, @abbylouamanda

[ddejavvu]

omg I BEG of u to write a fic about the thing anon mentioned about dbf obi-wan 😭 /nf maybe reader is like anakin's age and her master is yoda.

i also think it would be really interesting if reader tends to be quite similar to her master yoda where she's usually calm and collected and zen and all that, but just cant keep her head clear when obi-wan's around NFNAJFJSKDB i'm already blushing just thinking about it!!! i just know you'd write this beautifully!!! /gen

Brewing and serving a perfect pot of tea is something inescapable as Grandmaster Yoda's padawan. You'd been trained in proper steeping rituals before you were ever trained in lightsaber combat, and you take a bit of pride in your craft even though it's a skill most might consider less-than-impressive in the overall catalogue of a Jedi's skills.

All of that is why you should not have dropped the teapot you'd been carrying upon seeing your master's houseguest, but Master Kenobi catches it with wide eyes and a steady hand. The teapot hovers mere inches above the ground, giving you a measly two seconds to gather your composure before a twitch of Master Kenobi's hand lifts it back up onto the tray you're miraculously still carrying.

You have very un-Jedi-like feelings towards Master Kenobi. You'd never thought much of him- nor anyone for quite some time, but you'd travelled outside of the temple, spent time on other planets, socialized with hundreds of different people in the galaxy, and the auburn-haired man in front of you has recently topped the charts of people you would be attracted to, if you weren't a Jedi forbidden from attachment.

"Sorry." You stammer, heart hammering in your chest from a mix of adrenaline and something else you refuse to name, "I- I lost my balance."

Your master snorts from his place on his tea cushion, a tiny thing at the head of the coffee table where you set the tea tray, "Uncoordinated, you are today, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." You agree miserably, pouring tea for Masters Yoda and Kenobi before pouring your own cup. You want to come up with an excuse, overtiredness or a troubling class assignment on your mind, but there's nothing your master won't see through.

"It's quite alright, dear." Master Kenobi places a hand over your own where you set the teapot down, and your eyes dart towards his own. Your trained Jedi composure allows for you to keep your face in a neutral expression, but there's very little hiding the slight shake to your hands as you reach for the sugar.

"Anakin has a habit of spreading his mechanical projects over our carpets like we live in a junkyard. I know that they're there," The bearded Jedi master smiles, "And every morning I still step sure-footedly out of my bedroom expecting not to be impaled through the foot with a jagged wire. Jedi agility cannot completely remove natural clumsiness."

"Remove clumsiness for me, it did." Your master huffs, squeezing the sap out of some deadly looking berries and into his teacup, "A better Jedi I am, than you two."

"You tripped over your own walking stick yesterday," You point your spoon accusatorily at him, and you nearly lose your conviction when it draws a warm chuckle from Master Kenobi's throat.

"Hmmph. Disrespectful, you are." Yoda gripes, but you see through his stern facade, "Sleep outside tonight, you will."

"Master!' You shriek, nearly choking on both your laughter and your tea, "That's not fair!"

"Don't worry, dear." Master Kenobi stretches his leg out beneath the coffee table to rest against your own, "You're welcome to stay the night in my quarters if your Master kicks you to the curb." He winks, "Anakin is gone on his first solo mission, so the two of us will have plenty of room."

You know the whole thing is one big joke, and you also know that Master Kenobi's offer is nothing but platonic. But still, the invitation, the assurance that you'll be alone with plenty of room- room for what? - you're barely able to nudge his leg back teasingly and glare half-heartedly at your master.

"I'm reporting you to the Council." You decide, but your threats come out weaker than intended due to the continued press of Master Kenobi's leg against your own beneath the table, "You may be the Grandmaster, but the neglect of a padawan is serious business."

"Two nights," Master Yoda snickers, "Two nights, you will sleep outside."

You let out an exasperated groan, but the last of your composure slips away upon meeting Master Kenobi's kind gaze, his eyes twinkling with gorgeous mirth, "You can stay with me for as long as you'd like."

[angel-princess-anna]

Tributes to Maggie from the Downton Cast and Crew (Part 2):

Part 1

Hugh Bonneville (in addition to his previous comment):

Elizabeth McGovern:

Joanne Froggatt: "Today we lost a true legend. It’s hard to find the words to pay tribute to the iconic Dame Maggie Smith. I shared a screen with her on very few occasions but was fortunate enough to be in her company on many. She truly was a trailblazer, with the sharpest wit, the greatest talent, the naughtiest sense of humour, she was a force to be reckoned with. She had a charisma that you felt would live for ever (in many ways it will) and underneath all of that a huge heart. Thank you Maggie, for always being supportive and kind to me, for putting many a smile on my face with that sharp wit that no one could match, and for showing the rest of us just how it’s done.

Rest in peace Dame Maggie, my thoughts are with your beautiful family. 🖤"

Lily James:

Tom Cullen: "I remember a very specific part of the conversation Maggie and I were having when this photo was taken. Maggie had been doing a big and challenging scene where she is reunited with her old flame played by Rade Serbedzija. I was stood at the back, out of frame and able to observe these incredible actors at their work. But for whatever reason Maggie felt like she wasn’t getting the scene right. Maggie took the smallest moment, came back and next take, simply, effortlessly, delivered a masterclass. She was extraordinary. The director called “cut” and we moved on. I was spellbound. During our conversation at the window, I asked Maggie what she did in order for her to so swiftly and precisely produce such an elevated performance. I remember her looking me in the eye and saying “Oh darling! I was just holding in a fart!”. I remember us both bursting out laughing. I really wished that she had been just holding in a fart but of course that wasn’t the real truth, the real truth was that she worked tirelessly her entire career to make that scene look easy.

I only worked with her for a short while, but I feel so blessed to have had that experience. She was tough, demanded the best but making Maggie laugh felt like winning the lottery.

My heart goes out to her family, friends, her Downton family and all those she touched with her sharp, agile and acerbic brilliance.

We lost an absolute giant today 💔"

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Lesley Nicol: "It's a very close group of people so we're all devastated to think she's not around any more.' [...] "I'd never worked with someone of that calibre, and I thought, I don't know what I'll say to her, it will be really tricky, God she'll probably be really grand. She was not looking for anyone to be scared of her, or in awe of her, she just wanted to be in the gang [...] she was in with the crowd, and just very happy to be part of it all."

Jeremy Swift: "An honour to serve you Maggie."

Lady Carnarvon: "I never saw her on set with a little script, she knew it before she got here [to Highclere]. She worked so hard, to get up at silly o' clock... and to wear corsets for hours on end." [Highclere Castle's post]

Harriet Walter: "She was a true comedian, but also I've seen her playing some incredibly heartfelt, deep, sad roles, which is the huge range of an actress like her. If she was merely funny or merely tragic, she wouldn't quite have made that sort of impression."

Anna Mary Scott Robbins: "I C O N 🤍 Oh Maggie you will be missed 💔"

(special thanks to @lovelikewildness for helping to compile)

[snapeaddict]

A teacher's trick

For @mmad-lover <3

"I must say, I was quite surprised. The level of precision was that of a third-year; and it was brewed by an average student at best, Miss Ladislaw. Clearly, the discussion we had two weeks ago made a lasting impression. The girl has potential, and it pains me to admit it as I usually have a keen nose for those students with probable skills - I shall keep a close eye on her."

Minerva smirked slightly, although her expression also had something of that motherly fondness one finds in older people's faces as they listen to naive statements from their younger counterparts. That particular smile did not last long, however. She knew Severus would not appreciate what he would qualify as a "patronising attitude" - or what was it that he had said last time? - "ageist condescension". She had not taken it well; then Albus had looked at her with the very same expression, and told her she should know better than to lecture someone who was no longer a student. His amused eyes above the half-moon glasses, the slightly raised eyebrows... yes, Severus might have had a point after all. He was 24 already...

"And what is it that you told Miss Ladislaw two weeks ago?" she asked, her tone as neutral as could be.  

The Potions Master slightly shrugged his shoulders.  

"Merely that I thought she could achieve a satisfactory grade if she applied herself, and that her needing to work harder than some of her classmates for the same results should not hinder her from trying."

Minerva smiled again, then immediately took a sip from her teacup to hide it, pursing her lips.  

"Well, it makes perfect sense." She couldn't help herself.

Severus raised an eyebrow.  

"You told the girl you believed she could do well. You might as well have given that kind of student a bottle of Felix Felicis - it yields the same results."

"We are talking about a student who successfully brewed a Wiggenweld potion, not a Draught of Living Death."

"You understand my meaning."

Severus sighed, although he bowed his head slightly.

"We cannot go about telling every student such things hoping it will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I would not have said it to half of them. If I had, it would not have been more than a white lie. All I can do is make sure they pass - I am no miracle worker."

"Oh, I don't know. It seems to be exactly what those new educative methods are about... you know, from the last board meeting. I thought..." She stared at him, then looked away, lowering her eyes. "I thought I could certainly incorporate some of them into my teaching. Be a bit more mindful. I am rather old-school, I'm afraid."

Severus kept looking at her. Then he simply replied, well after she had averted her gaze:

"We cannot be parents, Professor."

Minerva wondered if his momentary defeated expression had more to do with the immensity of the task at hand - to work at Hogwarts, one had better not gauge the assignment too closely - or with his own mixed feelings towards teaching. She thought it a little paradoxical how unforgiving he was with regard to academics, while he would go out of his way to try and fix things he could never fix, like broken homes and intra-student hierarchy. He was, it had to be said, an unforgiving teacher and a surprisingly supportive Head of House; Albus would certainly provide a satisfactory analysis for such behaviour, although a little too Lacanian to her liking.  

She poured him another cup of tea, which he accepted with a slightly embarrassed nod of the head. The friendliness between them was new and ever fragile. In its present state, it was a succession of extended hands quickly taken away when glares of suspicion, or the occasional snide remark, emerged again.

But she was trying, truly. This evening, she had originally planned, was to further their mutually beneficial relationship.

"You should not be so reluctant to make use of that Pygmalion effect, you know, Severus. It did yield great results with you."

He stared at her, looking genuinely surprised.  

"With me?" he repeated, the intonation quite unlike him.  

"If you recall, you were not very fond of Transfiguration as a boy."

"I shall make no comment on the subject."

His voice was rather cold.  

"You need not justify yourself", Minerva replied gently. This time, she held his gaze. "I know you had your reasons, all of them justified."

You did not feel safe, she wanted to add, but she said nothing. As usual, another thought rushed to complete the former - does that justify anything?  

She knew he would never claim that it did; although they had never brushed the subject, Albus had made no indication that the boy made any connection at all between the bullying, and his joining You-Know-Who. No, it was her; she made a connection. She saw a pattern, some kind of single path he was made to follow, perhaps a personal failure. It was in her nature to self-scrutinise when and only when she formed a bound - empathy enabled introspection as readily as dislike blinded her to any conclusions she might have previously drawn.

She was startled when he spoke:

"Not all of them, no."

She looked at him confusedly.  

"I beg your pardon?"  

"Not all my reasons for disliking Transfiguration were sound", Severus elaborated, smirking slightly.

She stared at him for a second. It was as if he had guessed...?  

"It was too much like muggle magic", he continued, purposely ignoring her expression. "Put a poor rabbit in a black hat; it is transformed into a dove. The coin disappears and reappears. You pull out metres of tissue from the magician's pocket. It seemed to me this was all that this was - magic tricks."

This time, Minerva was fully shaken out of her daze. She looked frankly scandalised.

"Magic tricks!" she repeated, her right hand on her heart. "Tricks!"  

Severus seemed to enjoy her half-genuine, half-theatrical display of indignation. He continued, sipping his tea with exaggerated nonchalance:

"I thought it horrendously inelegant. Turning animals into glassware while we brewed potions the colour of the starry sky... While we learnt to bottle things without essence... "

"I beg your pardon, no matter how you put it, it still is soup you are making down there", she cut sharply.

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes. "Now, Professor, you do not want me as your enemy", he said slowly, putting down his cup in the middle of the English porcelain before him.  

"Oh, but I do", Minerva replied in a syrupy tone. She put down her own cup with every bit of nonchalance he had just displayed. "Potions are just large soups. That is, boiling water with things you put inside of it."

"Transfiguration is but a distraction for children at a garden birthday party."

"... While their parents bake the birthday cake by throwing ingredients into a big bowl in the right order, which is what you do, if I am not mistaken."

Severus raised his eyebrows, now looking amused and somewhat surprised. He thought of a few bitting comebacks - some that he would not have shied away from using a few years later - but hesitated for a second. This was, after all, still his former professor...  

"Well, Severus? I am sure you of all people have a witty reply to offer. You are a man of many talents."

This was enough to stimulate a formidable combination of those replies he was pondering upon - something to do with Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, its first principle, the impossibility of conjuring up food, the birthday cake, screaming children, ethical considerations about vanishing said children, and a muffling draught. He was about to speak; then, Minerva's words reached him fully. "You are a man of many talents."

He closed his mouth, smiled slightly, then nodded, all without a word.  

You are a boy of many talents, Severus. Be sure to remember this next class.  

"Pygmalion effect", Minerva said, leaning back in her seat. She clasped her fingers, smiling pensively. "You did so well that next Monday. You transformed that match into such a beautiful flower - truly the most remarkable one I had ever seen. I brought it to Pomona, I remember. She said it looked like a Lotus, Bleeding Heart, and Edelweiss had been bred together; it did not exist. It was a pure product of your imagination."

Severus frowned, although more from concentration than annoyance.  

"I barely remember".  

"You got an O. I cannot tell you how frustrated I was that you only got an E for your O.W.Ls. The only one! Nine 'Outstandings' in all other subjects!"  

Severus gave her an ironic look.  

"I am sorry to have disappointed".  

She rolled her eyes. "Do not put words into my mouth. Look", she added, getting up and circumventing her armchair, "I even took a picture."

She pulled out a drawer from the nearby buffet, then searched through its content for a few seconds, smoothly retrieving a mid-size, cardboard-like paper which she handed to him. Carefully, Severus lowered it down on his knees.

On the top right corner, in green ink, the words "Mr Snape - 1972" were written in the neat, strict handwriting that he had known since his first year, although usually in red. Somewhat clumsily this time - for whatever reason - he turned the paper over. It was, indeed, a picture: that of the flower he vaguely remembered, but now could study plainly, with its long petals and queer tear-shaped extensions right at their extremities. It looked more alien than beautiful, but that was not what his mind was occupied with. Rather, his black eyes scrutinised the background in the picture, clearly that of Minerva's personal desk, which had not changed much since then. His eyes went from the picture to the desk, dimly lit by a few candles at this time of the evening.  

"I wish it could have lasted longer", Minerva said softly, still standing by his side. She had followed his gaze. "It is one of the tragedies of transfiguration - nothing lasts forever."

For a few moments, Severus could not speak. Minerva put a hand on the back of his armchair, looking at him expectantly.

With difficulty, he gathered himself, and finally cleared his throat.  

"I was merely thinking... thinking that if you were to cast a combination of Epoximise and Orchideous spells, and I to brew an Elixir and Revigorating Draught, all of this put to use at regular intervals - it could potentially keep such a flower intact."

Minerva raised her eyebrows, her interest fully sparked. She turned around, searched through the buffet drawer once more, and placed a match in front of him. Her wand was out.

"Brilliant, Severus. What do you say I perform some tricks, and you bring over some soup, so that I can give you another O?

[tagidearte]

"Pongo, the Imp Clown. Some say he used to be a Star, others say that's just his delusional ramblings." -Original Character for a (so far) unnamed Original Story.

I'm still in the early stages of designing him and his "friend" Pinga. However, I decided to share these initial drafts regardless! This way someone other than me can join in on the character design journey! Let's see how much he changes until the final design! Thoughts below.

Concept Log #1 - Pongo

Aka I want to ramble and my friends don't care robot clowns. Really big rambly rant below.

Also no, this is not a d/ca oc. Trust me, making a robot clown/jester is like walking into a laser trap when you've been obsessing over those two for the past three years. The only d/ca inspiration here was making Pongo warm coloured and Pinga cool coloured. If anything, this was more inspired by the Funtimes.

For now, I hate all the outfits. They don't fit his vibe, his personality, his whole persona. He's an imp clown, but he has... Delusions of grandeur. I need to make him more princely, perhaps? I'll attempt that next time. I already have the chibi base, so it'll be relatively quick.

I also want to make his casing... Different. Either paler with pink shadows, or a darker, more solid pink. He's meant to have only warm colours, contrasting with Pinga (you'll see him some other time) who only has cold ones, so no blues or greens... But I must say. Darker pink will probably win. When I painted his face white it looked too much like a Slay Button En/nard. In fact, I added all that eye and lip makeup to make him look less like En/nard.

The coil torso is the most important part. On a final drawing I'll make it have more loops, which should give the impression the thing is stronger and capable of more powerful bounces (which can hurt you if he decides to launch) - but for these concepts I merely half assed it. The star shaped hat with the back cone coming out is my favourite part!

Hope you enjoy his star shaped nipple coverings as much as I did coming up with them! Originally (not pictured here) he was going to have a big star on his chest, to mimic what I see in a lot of jack in a box's boxes. But the nipple coverings were so raunchy and funny, yet still appropriate for younger audiences (in world), that I left them in. Him being a reformed villain (in the media he's built after, inside the world) allows for messing around with the makeup and eccentricity, but we can't go to far - he needs to look PG while being predominantly adult/teen entertainment as an amusement park bot.

For context... Ever since I got into FN4F I've wanted to do something similar - with a location and mascots -, but instead of an USA animal band, I wanted it to be based on a cartoon set in a magical forest (like Noddy from my childhood - with a city of living toys and two imps that lived in the eViL wOoDs-, but funny for all ages rather than so 5 year old centric). Overtime, the thought of sentient robots forced to work - objects that were given a soul, trapped in a synthetic shell that is their body, dependent on humanity and property to it despite technically being alive, easy to manipulate via some changes in code - wormed itself in.

But I never really had the proper setting or characters for it. That, and I have another original story that has plagued my dreams ever since I was 12/13.

Until now.

I won't go into setting details yet. Let me just say Pinga and Pongo are a ping pong pun, because they both bob up and down with coils - Pongo on his torso, which makes him kind of like a jack in a box; and Pinga on his legs, which allows him to jump really high. They are based on cartoon characters that exist in world, from a movies series that ended up with a cartoon too, sort of like disney stuff but... Not disney. The entire mythos of that company's content takes place in one single world/franchise, it just explores different parts of it with each new series/movie/game.

Pongo is an egomaniac, programmed the be flirty to adults, who struggles on the line between property and self. He used to give a lot of trouble to the park, because his AI allowed him to learn new tricks rather quickly... and most weren't really all that safe or appropriate. So, time and time again, he got sent back to fix it. Having his "brain" messed with has made him deeply afraid of not behaving like a machine, which clashes with how self pleasing he is - you just don't realize it at first, because he's programmed to be a flirty little demon with an attitude. It's just that his real attitude is much more... intense.

Let's see if posting this online makes me not put the project aside too quickly lmao.

[vagabond-umlaut]

parterre

Lord Nanami is a knight, yes. A very esteemed one at that. But does anyone know he is an impressive gardener too? Well, he is— for he is the one, who caused these many flowers of these many hues to bloom in the landscape of your heart— so much so that you've not the slightest idea on how to manage them all well.

▸ knight!Nanami x lady-in-waiting!Reader; Historical AU; Tons of Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Crushes; Pining [is it mutual, however?]; Jealousy; Misunderstandings; Teasing; Did I already say this is so sweetly fluffy, you might end up with cavities? Oh. Okay. Cool :); Reader is so terribly down bad for Nanami, it's become a matter of mild concern; She is called a harmless little nickname by the princess here; THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN AS A LITTLE CELEBRATORY GIFT TO NANAMI NATION, AFTER THE FEAST THAT JJK 2.12 WAS FOR Y'ALL ;))

▸ Behold, the thesis I mentioned to you last night, Julie my sweetest pie. 🤭🤭🤭 Hope you'll enjoy reading this! 🫶🫶 @nanamikentoseyebags

▸ I don't own the characters or image used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. Enjoy reading! ❤️

Nanami Kento is no simple man. He is one crafted wondrously by the heavens. A veritable evidence, if there ever were any, of the existence of some greater being— powerful enough to make a man such as the knight. Merciful enough to make him live in the same time frame and place as you do.

A wistful sigh falls past your lips as you begrudgingly tear your focus away from the training grounds and direct it to the scalding coffee at hand, though it takes but two mere two seconds before you find your eyes darting to the open window yet again– skimming over the many heads out there– wanting to find only one blond head– heart beating far too many beats when you hear the name of its owner being yelled out once again—

The utterance of your title in court drags you away from your frantic search, to the mildly smiling face of the princess: Sleepy, yes– But a lot more awake than she was five minutes ago. You rush to offer her your greetings, only to stop when she lifts a finger and tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed a pinch.

"That was Kento's name being hollered, wasn't it, Petals?"

You aren't certain which infuriates you more— that the princess used your childhood nickname well into your adulthood– or that she called Knight Nanami by his first name, a privilege he is known to grant to a very select few—

Compelling your face to shift into a smile, you nod. "I'm afraid it was, Your Highness."

"And was it yet another lady cheering for his victory in a match, huh?" she queries, kicking the covers off her feet and landing onto the floor with a loud thud. Wincing lightly, you quickly shake your head 'no'.

"It wasn't, Your Highness. The voice sounded much like Lord Haibara."

A quiet hum comes in response to your observation– soon shadowed over by the off-key singing of rather... indelicate songs, you're certain no one of an upbringing as royal and guarded as your princess should know— before the lyrics pause– all of a sudden– the moment she sits down at the table and looks out the window.

At the ongoing duel between Nanami and Geto, swords clanging and their bare chests shining in the early morn sun.

The very sight making every drop of blood in your vessels to rush to your cheeks, flooding them with colour– whilst your gaze roves with no trace of shame over the well-built physique of the solemn blond– lingering in particular on the toned muscle of his arms and forearms, flexing and extending as his fingers grasp the hilt of the weapon and the muscles in his legs strain against the tight fabric of his slacks, as the knight moves in a spell-binding dance of danger and tact against his opponent.

A huff of a chuckle escapes you when the former lands a solid hit on the latter; no one can match him in his prowess at wielding a sword; making a tendril of pride unfurl in the centre of your chest, only for it to shrivel in the heat of envy the princess' chortle ignites in that very same place.

You make no efforts to stop the words tumbling out your mouth next. Nor the tense frown which nestles into your tinted lips, throwing your face into lines and ridges.

"Is Lord Nanami courting you, Your Highness?"

"What!?!?" Not even an instant elapses before the exclamation leaves your listener. You continue, pretending to be unperturbed by the way innumerable shades of shock and incredulity colour her countenance.

"I mean, you call him by his first name, and he too does the same for you. Besides, the both of you have often been spotted to be strolling in the gardens together, easily chatting and smiling... not to mention the ball held last winter solstice when you two entered the ball, side-by-side— it is not only me who me who wonders so, milady," you add when you notice her back straigthening and she returning the cup to the saucer, "The court is rife with suppositions, on the nature of your relationship with Lord Nanami."

A beat passes in tense silence in response to your expressed musings— before the hush is disrupted by a very grave-sounding query, from the lady across. "What do you look for in a future life partner, Petals?"

"Me?" you ask, index finger pointed at yourself.

The princess gives a nod. "Yes, you, Your Grace."

Your nose wrinkles at such ill-considered usage of such high-ranking titles— nevertheless, you find yourself brushing those concerns away to mull over much more important matters...

A good while passes before you form a reply. Focus zeroing on a tiny coffee stain on your dress, you begin.

"Someone who is calm and collected, stoic and serious. He should be strong too, not just in brawn but in brain and matters of heart as well. He must be strict and disciplined, but must have a gentle, caring side to him too. Won't hurt if he's a traditional romantic, giving me flowers and sweet compliments instead of the terrible comments men say to the ladies these days. And..."

You trail off, losing yourself in your mind, before resuming, in a muted murmur this time, "It might be really nice if he lets me be of those few who can call him by his name– and he becomes comfortable enough, to call me by my name. And accompany me on walks in the garden in the afternoons. And perhaps, even, ask me to the balls where we may wear matching outfits, and present ourselves as a couple before all."

A hand comes to rest over your folded ones. You look up to find a bit too wide smile resting on the princess' lips. She offers your hands an easing squeeze.

Little does she know it does little to ease your turbulent emotions— a feeling which worsens with the observations she voices to you next.

"I was terrified your beautiful mind was tainted by the disease of idle inquisitiveness, as happens to most in this world with age, you know," she hums, standing up and making you sit in her chair, "I'm very glad to conclude, that's not quite the case. However– I cannot say your so lovely mind is disease-free either, my sweet Petals."

Your brows gather together in confusion as you peer at her, eyes in a narrow stare. She continues– smile growing a touch of tenderness.

"Your mind has been afflicted with the awful ailment of lovesickness. And–" she says, putting greater emphasis on her syllables, when you attempt to protest her statement, "it is usually incurable, unless very great feats of bravery are performed by the patient themselves, or in the off-chance, the fates decide to be helpful and the person behind the mess makes the first move— but I must say, Your Grace, you are very lucky to have me as your consulting physician— for I know what will provide you interim relief until either of them happens— want to know what it is?"

You take a moment to consider before returning a slow, unsure nod.

The princess beams. "It's the knowledge of the fact, there's someone who matches every criteria you mentioned, to a T— and that– he has his eyes reserved for none, except one beautiful lady-in-waiting, who stares at the training ground from the windows of the princess' room every single morning— looking as fresh and vibrant as the nickname, the princess insists on calling her."

Your friend pauses for a beat— not that you really notice it over the thrum of your blood in your ears and your heart in your chest— she inquires, "You understood the prescription, didn't you, Petals?"

A high-pitched squeal– so unseemly, so embarrassed, so jubilant– is the only response you manage, retreating into the cushion, hiding the warmth of your face and the stretch of your smile behind your palms.

▸ masterlist

[throughgoalsandbaskets]

A Demon's Guide to Anthropology 1

It baffles me that I haven't seen any of something like this much, at least on Tumblr, so I'm making a mini 5 part series on Mammon (possibly others if someone wants me to) reacting to different human habits and such!

Please don't rush me on this series, though, I'm very busy with both school and providing for my family and will have irregular posting schedules :(

Part 1: RAIN

Word count: 636

Tags: Mammon's POV, use of 'MC' and they/them pronouns, more focused on Mammon's reaction to humans being able to smell rain, brief cursing and brief blood mention, rushed!!

★ ——— —— —

Humans were weird, it was a bit of common knowledge between the realms.

Michael was an asshole, Diavolo laughs a lot, and humans were strange. It was a fact at this rate, anyone— demon, angel, reaper, witch, or otherwise can tell you that much.

Mammon supposes he shouldn't have forgotten it, and honestly he didn't, in the beginning he just didn't care enough to take much note of it, considering MC was still settling down and that shady sorcerer didn't live under the same roof as him.

It took a week for the first thing to be noticed by him. Four days after the pact with MC was made, with not a cloud in the sky, they both were sat in the living room tying their shoes to head off to R.A.D.

Something important to note, Mammon is certain, is that demons had impressive noses.

Sure, not 'smell you from a thousand miles away' type noses, but sniffing out pheromones, blood, and a person's scent was common. Easy, natural.

Even angels were rather impressive with their noses, and honestly most creatures were. Well, he thought it was most creatures, at least. Humans didn't seem to so easily smell these types of things. Though he hadn't been around humans for far too long, that was something he could easily remember.

"C'mon," MC reminded Mammon, standing up.

"We'll be late unless you hurry up."

"Yeah, yeah, 'm comin'," Mammon merely grumbled in response, rolling his eyes and standing up and following the human out.

They make it to the door, opening it, and Mammon squirming his way past MC to step out first. MC, on the other hand, pauses once they're stepped out, eyes narrowed. Of course, Mammon doesn't notice at first as he begins walking.

"Wait," they say, causing Mammon to groan and turn around, looking at them.

"It's gonna rain soon."

Mammon raises a disbelieving eyebrow, deadpan expression turning to the clear sky, then back to the human he accompanied.

"Uh huh. What makes ya say that?"

MC's eyes narrow further.

"I smell it."

It's quiet for a moment, then another, then another, before Mammon bursts into laughter. The kind that leaves anyone heaving and clutching their stomach, knees bent and tears filling your eyes.

"I'm serious!" MC's voice is a little closer, and Mammon looks up to see them holding an umbrella, enchanted to withstand most kinds of dangerous Devildom weather.

Mammon laughs again when he sees them with the umbrella, reminded of the absurdity of such a situation.

A human smelling the weather? Smelling the rain? He couldn't help the cackling that he devolved into, howling away at the humor of such an outlandish claim.

MC whacked him over the head with the umbrella, and though it didn't hurt, he still jokingly replied with an 'ow' before standing on shaking knees. He glared playfully, and the mortal stuck their tongue out with a glare in response.

Heading to R.A.D., the topic of MC supposedly smelling rain was dropped, the two parting to their separate classes, and Mammon eventually forgetting all about it thanks to being entangled with his brothers, witches demanding debts be paid, and complaints being had about his kleptomania.

When he met up with MC for lunch, he noticed them shooting a knowing glance towards Solomon, the other human exchange student, who also coincidentally had an umbrella. It was bizarre, and the way that the occasional student glanced at them made it clear nobody else understood why the humans needed umbrellas.

Until school ended and many people were burdened with the troubles of rain, both humans having predicted the occurrence.

Mammon couldn't wrap his head around it, but after three more instances of this occurring, made sure not to underestimate the humans and their weather-predicting snouts.

[666writingcafe]

Conspiracy

Simeon

This is wrong. How is any of this deemed acceptable?

Ever since my and Luke's return to the Celestial Realm following the announcement of an indefinite postponement of the opening ceremony for Diavolo's school, these thoughts have been constant in my head.

You see, Father feels like the brothers haven't been punished sufficiently enough for defying Him. It's not enough for them to merely be cast down to the Devildom. In His eyes, they don't deserve the opportunity to live a happy life down there. He'd much prefer to personally torture them for the next millennia or so before casting their souls down in Cocytus for all of eternity.

So, He gave Michael permission to do whatever it takes to get the brothers back up here. Michael decided that the easiest way to convince them to leave the Devildom would be by telling them that we're willing to pardon them for their digressions. And since Michael's presence down there would make the brothers highly suspicious, he's planning on taking on the form of Raphael during his trip. After all, most of the brothers are scared of Raphael, so they'd do anything to avoid his wrath.

And guess whose responsibility is it to make sure that Michael's impression of Raphael is pretty much perfect?

Fucking Raphael. How dare he put this on my plate?

I've been disgusted with myself this entire time. Father is literally having us break one of His commandments for what? Petty revenge? What happened to "love thy neighbor"? Did Lucifer wound His pride so severely that He's forgotten how to act?

And the worst thing about all this is that I am powerless to stop it. As it is, if anyone found out I was questioning His will, I might as well be joining the brothers in Cocytus. I'm already on thin ice as it is due to me keeping vital information about the brothers from Him before and during the war.

And somebody has to take care of Luke. I don't trust the others to keep him from harm's way. They'd exploit his innocence for their own selfish needs, and I won't allow that to happen.

So I've kept my objections to myself. Through Michael's training, through my return to the Devildom to deliver the message to Diavolo about "Raphael's" arrival, and through this stupid meeting in the prince's home office. In His eyes, I'm behaving like the perfect angel, blindly doing what I'm told.

And then I made the mistake of making eye contact with Zephyr. It's only momentary, and yet time seems to slow down to a crawl.

I can't have them disappointed in me. We didn't talk a whole lot during my initial visit, but I know that they have a strong moral compass. They'd reject me if they found out that I kept this from them.

Before I can question my emotions too much, the meeting ends, and the six of us--Michael, Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos, Zephyr, and myself--walk out of the office and make our way down the hallway. Zephyr and I trail behind the others.

I have to move quickly. Before I change my mind and before anyone notices.

There's a nearby door that's slightly ajar. Perfect.

I quickly grab Zephyr and drag them inside the room, making sure to reposition the door back to where it was as to not cause suspicion. The second they make noise, I cover their mouth with my hand. Their eyes widen as I begin listening for returning footsteps.

Thankfully, no one comes to investigate.

"Will you remain quiet if I remove my hand?" I whisper urgently. Zephyr nods their head. Sure enough, they don't begin screaming for help when I let go.

"Good sheep," I murmur, mentally smacking myself when I fully register what left my mouth. Zephyr remains silent. This room is rather small. Did I shove the two of us in a closet?

Oh, this isn't good. I can already feel myself begin heating up, and I'm pretty sure it's not just due to the cramped space we're in.

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to be able to say this once," I quietly tell them. Another nod. "It's a trap. They're not getting pardoned. You have to do everything in your power to convince them to stay here." Zephyr tilts their head and looks contemplatively at me. Are they questioning my intentions?

A moment later, they softly smile at me.

"Don't doubt yourself," they whisper softly. "You're doing the right thing." They gently push the door open again, allowing me to leave the room first.

I needed to hear that.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix