#it's been going for so long it's old enough to drink in some countries

[carnelianwings]

I swear people need to let the old AsuCaga vs AsuMey ship war die already. Between the canonical ring-Haumea stone scene and the (canonical) epilogue card art, plus Athrun's internal monologue during the "obscene delusions" scene in the novelization, and the Escape for Two prequel novella - as an AsuCaga fan, I feel like we won. And it's pretty obvious (to me, at least) that Meyrin's just Athrun's (work) partner for all the spy/covert ops stuff that they do - he's the field agent, she's the voice in his ear piece (and occasional hacker extraordinaire) - and shipper on deck for AsuCaga.

And those extra bonuses for the screening? Those are literally just storyboard line art for a scene from right before the final battle in the movie, because, guess what? Cagalli's still head of state for Orb and she can't exactly just go charging into battle like she did at the Second Battle of Jachin Due (especially since that would kind of ruin the plan Athrun had to get around the whole "Accords can read minds" thing).

So just ... let it go. I'm just going to leave Athrun's internal monologue during the "obscene delusions" scene from volume 2 of the novelization (translation courtesy of ZeonicScanslations) as proof AsuCaga is the intended canonical ship for Athrun:

"Cagalli…" Athrun focused intently on picturing Cagalli. As if clinging to that image. Her spirited golden eyes, her innocent smile that she showed from time to time, the scent of her hair… The supple curves beneath her wet, translucent clothes… The soft sensation of her skin when he embraced her, and the physique beneath… Her strong voice, resolute and clear, urged him to live, to fight with all his might. As he recalled every cherished moment with her, Athrun made a heartfelt vow. To live, to endure—whatever the means, no matter how desperate or unseemly the measures might be. Just as she had once told him.

Because that, right there? That reads like he's deeply in love with Cagalli and has eyes for no one else, not Lacus, not Meer, not Lunamaria, and most definitely not Meyrin. Or Kira for that matter. XD

[maybank5]

𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭

pairing ⤜ yn x jj / yn x rafe cameron

request ⤜ "something where JJ flirts with Topper’s sister, who’s super sweet with everyone and really fun to hang out with, not knowing she’s Rafe’s girl"

a/n ⤜ aww thank you babe for the lovely message and my first ever request!! it kinda took on a life of it's own, and i hope that's alright!!! also i cannot write rafe and jj without rafe being The Bad Guy so i hope you don't mind! i hope it turned out good for you and that you enjoy it a lot! sending hugs and love to you xx

song inspo ⤜ whiskey don't cheat, jay webb

"One whiskey please."

"On the rocks?"

"Excuse me?"

The man behind the bar squints at you, "You sure you're old enough to be here?"

"Of course," you flick your long hair over one shoulder, sit up straighter, hope you blend in well enough. It's just this isn't your usual place, and you know you must stand out like a sore thumb. From the look he's giving you, it's clear you don't belong. You reach into your purse and slap your ID down on the sticky wooden bar counter.

"Mm," he glances at the date, slides it back to you, "Have you ever even had whiskey before, princess?"

You frown, "No. But I'd like one whiskey please. To start."

"To start," his brows shoot up and he lets out a little bemused chuckle, "Alright. One whiskey, coming up. Never did determine if you'd like that on the rocks or not."

"On the rocks," you confirm, "And...can I get a couple maraschino cherries in that."

An amused smile crosses the bartender's face as he turns to prepare your drink. "Sure thing."

You put your elbows up on the bar, twist the gold ring around your thumb, before lowering your arms and crossing your hands in your lap. You feel awkward and out of place. Everyone else here is dressed so casually, and here you sit in your white sundress and heeled sandals. This isn't your usual side of the island, but you needed to get away, find some place to go where Rafe and your brother can't track you down; somewhere where no one will report back to either of them that they saw you throwing drinks back at a bar.

Sometimes it feels like there's no escape. Why you ever got with your brother's best friend is beyond you. The two of them report back to each other and discuss you like you're some sort of specimen. It still makes you queasy knowing that right after your first time, Rafe had texted Topper. Sometimes you just wanted to run away and leave them both in the dust.

So you'd come here, to this side of the island, to The Cut. You'd been here a few times before. You knew a few people that lived on this side. Had met a girl named Kiara at a Beach Clean-Up Weekend awhile ago, and she'd been really sweet. Then there was Sarah Cameron, infamous in the gossip among the Country Club. Rafe's sister who'd left, who'd gotten out. You would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes hearing the ladies gossip about her over their long island iced teas and games of bridge made you jealous. What would that be like...to run away from it all and leave it all behind?

You jolt as a glass is set down in front of you, three maraschino cherries speared with a plastic sword floating on the top.

"Thank you." You take a sip and immediately cough. It tastes like cough syrup and you can't help but wince.

"Need something lighter, princess?"

You look up at the bartender with a scowl. "No," you say, determinedly, "This is fine." And as if to prove something to him, you take another sip. It burns, but you don't cough this time.

"So you wanna tell me what's got a girl like you in a place like this, drinking a drink like that?" The bartender wipes his hands on a rag hanging from his pocket, leans his elbows on the bar in front of you. A little bit too close for comfort. You raise your eyes and get lost in the blueness of his. He's looking at you so intently. Rafe used to look at you like that, once upon a time. Now, you feel like you're barely even a blip on his radar. It makes you squirm to be under someone's attention like that.

"No," you say, "It's none of your business."

"Point taken," he raises his hands in surrender, backs off, and leaves you to your drink.

You felt like an idiot. You'd known you and Rafe weren't exclusive. Still though, you didn't realize that he was out running around sleeping with a bunch of other girls from Figure Eight, right under your nose, until that night. You felt cheap. Like a joke. Like everyone was laughing at a joke behind your back at your expense. And worse...Topper had known and hadn't said anything. Because why would he? When it came to "the boys" you knew you were not even a priority.

You finish off your whiskey, and another bartender comes over. "Another one, miss?" He asks.

"No thank you," you say, feeling already a little floaty from the first, "I think I'm ready for my bill."

"Sure thing." He disappears to the register and you put your forehead against your hand. You always were a lightweight when it came to drinking, and the hardest thing you'd ever had was champagne at New Year's. You pay your tab and head out. You spot the first bartender on his smoke break, sitting up on the wooden patio balcony. Something in your stirs, and before you can stop yourself, you make your way over to him. You jump up on the balcony, sitting on the other side of the column from him.

"Hey," he turns to face you, brows pulled together.

"Just...don't say anything," you say, "I need someone to talk to and if you're willing to listen...well, I guess you're as good as anyone."

A scoff. "You sure do know how to make a guy feel flattered."

"Shut up," you fight back a smile. You are not in the mood to smile tonight. Why is he making you smile? "You wanna know why I was here tonight drinking?"

"If you wanna tell me."

"It's stupid. I don't even know if it can count as cheating if I knew we weren't exclusive. I just...I didn't expect that."

"What happened?" The smoke of his cigarette drifts to you, making you feel floaty again, and you realize it's not tobacco he's smoking. You lean your head back against the wooden pillar.

"I found out my boyfriend has been seeing other girls. And not just seeing them either, but like, sleeping with them. Lots of them. And I know we weren't exclusive, and I probably have no right to be upset by this, but I just...I feel sick. And the worst of it is he's my brother's best friend, and he knew and didn't tell me. Because clearly I'm not the one his loyalty lies with."

"Fuck," he passes you the rolled paper between his finger, "Sounds complicated."

You aren't a big smoker, but you put it to your lips anyway and take a hit.

"Thanks," you say, passing it back to him.

"What are you gonna do?"

"No idea," you say, running a hand through your hair, "Part of me tells me to just break up with him, end it. Walk away and let him just do whatever he wants like he's gonna do anyway."

"And the other part?"

"It's complicated. We've been together for so long. He's all I know."

"Sounds like you need to get to know some new things."

"Probably," you say.

"For what it's worth," he says, taking another hit and passing it back to you, "I think it's bullshit what he's doing to you, and you deserve better than that."

"I've already closed my tab," you say, "You don't need to gun for a tip."

He tosses his head back and laughs, "Damn," he says after a moment, "Your boyfriend really doesn't know what he's missin' out on, does he?"

You blush, bring your thumbnail to your lip to bite.

"You want some unsolicited advice? It's kinda my specialty, bein' a bartender an' all..."

"Sure," you say; what could it hurt. Besides, who else have you got to talk to about this?

"I think you should dump his ass. Kick him to the curb. It's not even about being exclusive, it's about taking your feelings into consideration; about respecting you."

You feel your stomach tighten. "That's exactly how I've been trying to explain my feelings to myself," you say in disbelief, "You just put it perfectly into words! I feel disrespected, like how I feel about it just doesn't matter. To him or to my brother or anyone from that fucking place."

"You know, princess, The Cut isn't a closed club. If you're ever needing to get away from Fig Eight, you know where to go."

"Thank you," you can't help but smile, "That's sweet of you."

"Gettin' called sweet from the girl who can't order a drink without maraschino cherries," he chuckles softly. A familiar rumble pulls you from your thoughts. The black Range Rover has pulled up in front of the bar and you feel sick as you see Rafe slam the door shut and hop out. Topper's behind the wheel.

"Y/N!" Rafe calls. You feel sick as he marches over to the patio.

"Rafe Cameron is your boyfriend?" The bartender raises his brows in disbelief.

You wince. Of course he knows who Rafe is. Rafe has a reputation across the entire island.

"Yes," you admit.

"Good," he says to your surprise, dropping the joint and hopping up from the balcony, cracking his neck, "Rafe and I have history."

"What's that mean?" You ask.

"Maybank!" Rafe hollers as he storms over.

"Look what the tides dragged in. Lost, Cameron?"

"Fuck off, Maybank. I'm here for one reason only and that's to get Y/N. She's the one that's lost here. C'mon, Y/N. You don't belong here. I still can't believe you just took off like that! Thank God for Find My Iphone because Topper and I'd never have been able to track you down. Get in the car, we're going."

"The hell we are," you stand your ground, suddenly feeling brave with "Maybank" standing at your side.

"Pardon?" Rafe raises a brow, "C'mon, Y/N. Let's go."

Topper rolls down the window of the Rover, leans his head out, "C'mon, Y/N. Stop throwin' a tantrum and get in the damn car."

"No," you say, crossing your arms, "I don't have to go anywhere with you, Rafe Cameron. In fact, we're done. As of this moment. You are free, go fuck whoever you want, do whatever you want, but just know that I'm done. This is over."

"This is your doing," he turns on the bartender at your side, "I know you've got into her head somehow, JJ."

"JJ" just shrugs, "Maybe. Or maybe your ex is smart enough to come to her own decisions and that decision is that she's better than whatever it is you've got to offer. Which trust me," JJ raises a brow and smirks, "From what I hear from the ladies, isn't much."

Rafe takes a step forward. So does JJ.

"You don't want to do this," Rafe says.

"Oh, but you see I do. You forget, Cameron. It's you who doesn't want to do this. How many reminders do you need, that every time you cross me, it's you who loses. Runs back to Fig Eight with his tail between his legs."

"Fuck you, Maybank."

"You've got twenty seconds to march back to that Rover and for you and your lap dog to get the fuck out of here."

You stare in shock as Rafe's fist clenches at his side, but he does as JJ's said.

"This isn't over, Maybank," Rafe calls over his shoulder.

"Always a pleasure, Cammy," JJ says, giving a little wave as Rafe climbs back into the Range Rover.

"Whoa," you turn to him.

"Yeah," JJ runs a hand through his hair sheepishly, "Sorry about that. I probably shouldn't have stepped in like that without your signal, I just...I cant stand that guy. Either of them."

"Yeah, me either," you say with a little chuckle, "That was pretty impressive though. How did you do that though? How did you get him to back down like that? Rafe doesn't back down from a fight. Ever."

JJ smirks, "Let's just say it's not our first rodeo. He knows better than to mess with me, or any of my friends."

"And does that include me?" You raise a brow.

A smile crosses his face as he holds out his hand for you to take, "What do you think?"

You join him back inside for the remainder of his shift. Instead of whiskey, he and the other bartender, whom you come to learn is named Pope, keep you spoiled in Shirley Temples. The three of you chat, and as the night carries on, you feel a comfort settle over you that you've never experienced before.

After their shift ends, JJ invites you over to come hang out at their place with some of their friends.

"Yeah," you say, taking the hand he offers you, "Like you said, it's high time I get to know some new things. Introduce me to your world, Maybank."

You spend the night hanging out with him and his friends, Pope, John B, and come to find Sarah Cameron and Kiara are also very good friends with JJ. You spend the night laughing and playing board games with them, drinking PBR (which you realize you can handle much better than whiskey; even if JJ teases you and asks if you're sure you can drink beer without cherries in it).

It's almost three in the morning when Kiara puts some music on the porch speakers. JJ reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you out to the grass to dance with you under the moonlight.

You know tomorrow you're going to have to face the consequences of this night. You're going to have to go home and have a proper conversation with Rafe Cameron. At the end of the day, he's still important to you, and you want to end things the right way. You're going to have to face Topper too, and deal with his comments. And you know the ladies at the Country Club are fixing to have some new gossip to add to their rosters. It's worth it though. It'll all be worth it, for more nights like these, with friends like those, and dancing with a boy like this under the moonlight.

[scariusaquarius]

coachable.

RE6! Leon Kennedy x Assistant! Fem! Reader

Summary: Leon Kennedy has been given an assistant that he didn't ask for at the DSO when he begins to fall behind on paperwork and reports. This assistant, however, doesn't seem too keen to be helping him with his mountains of paperwork. Leon reaches the final straw when she mouths off to him for the last time.

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A/n: Nothing major, just some classic Leon Kennedy smut hehe. also, i kind of just let the words flow. I really like the agent x assistant dynamic, and I know the trope is overdone, but i will NEVER tire of 'tired old boss fucking bratty assistant'. ANYWAY here is a treat <3

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Genre: Romance, Erotica Rated: Explicit Warning: Erotica, Porn w/Plot 18+, Angry/Hate Sex, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Slight Choking, Degradation, Oral Sex (male/female receiving), Use of Whore, Mean! Leon, Spit Play (leon spits in your mouth like once), CUM EATING, Power Play

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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Being a federal agent fighting against bioterrorism was a hard job; especially when it was a job he didn't even want in the first place.

When Leon escaped Raccoon City with Claire and Sherry, he envisioned his life becoming quiet. He'd move out of the city and into the country, away from people, and he could heal and focus on forgetting the horrors of that fateful night back in the 90s.

However, life and people had other plans, and Leon had never truly recovered nor healed properly from the traumas he had faced. When the incident at the White House, Tall Oaks, and Shang-Hai happened and he discovered that Sherry had also been forced to become an agent of the Department of Security Operations, Leon was fed up.

Was he going to continue to keep doing his job in hopes that this fight wasn't for nothing? Absolutely, but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. So, in tandem with his growing resentment, Leon's performance outside of missions began to dwindle.

Leon began to drink more heavily; his reports sitting unfinished on his desk as supervisors and higher-ups seethed, reprimanded, and threatened, because of the unfinished works. Leon had begun shutting his phone off after he left the DSO at the end of the day.

Even Hunnigan was starting to get onto him about his work and his performance, giving him small lectures that had him rolling his eyes and sighing and agreeing half-heartedly before he would walk off and toss the files on his desk to be forgotten for another day.

Finally, the DSO had enough of his slack and had hired an assistant for him to help him with his paperwork, and Leon was not having any of it. Like a personal vendetta, Leon made sure that he let the DSO know that he didn't appreciate being treated like a child who couldn't do his homework by making the assistant's lives a living hell.

Because of his actions, most of the assistants didn't last long. The longest assistant he had at one time was for about two months before they finally broke and left the job.

And then came you.

Leon just couldn't wrap his head around you; couldn't figure out what it was that made you tick and what made you stay for as long as you had. You were a no-nonsense woman like Hunnigan but with a much larger stick up your ass. You were efficient and aggressive, making sure that Leon knew that you weren't going to take his bullshit and get his reports done.

For the most part, Leon had adamantly refused; allowing the papers to stack for a while before you'd take some, complete them, and then come banging on his office door as more files were given to him.

You weren't so hard on him when he would be put onto missions; understanding that the job itself was more important than the papers, but you weren't about to get in trouble nor allow him any lenience since your job was heavily dependent on him.

Leon sat back in his office chair, his blue eyes staring you down from outside of his office as a pen was shaken back and forth between his fingers.

The paperwork in front of him had been long-forgotten; the words beginning to blur together and give him a headache (though it could have also been the whiskey he'd been sipping from that familiar black flask he'd gotten from the Eastern Slav Republic).

Instead, to pass the time, Leon had taken to watching you. He watched the way you stayed hyperfocus, barely giving any attention to anybody who passed by and tried to talk to you.

You were a hard worker; a meticulous being who took pride in her work, and though your bossiness could get under Leon's skin, Leon respected that you took your job seriously unlike a lot of the other office workers and agents within the DSO.

He just couldn't get past your disrespectful mouth.

"Mr. Kennedy, I'm not going to ask you again. Get the reports done, or I'm going to write a complaint to the director. Again."

You were suddenly standing in front of him, the man jolting slightly when you slapped a folder down in front of him. His blue eyes squinted at you slightly as you placed a hand on your hip, giving him a stern glare.

"Aw, you're gonna tell on me? That hurts my feelings, sweetheart."

His tone was sassy, and mocking, and it made the fire in your eyes blaze. Your nostrils flared, and Leon couldn't help but be amused by the effect his words had on you.

"Listen, I was nice enough to do most of it for you. All you have to do is fill in the blank like the child you are, and then the director won't be on either of our asses anymore. I'm not fucking around, agent."

Before he could retort, you spun around on your heel and marched out, swinging his door shut with a loud slam and causing the blinds to fly and crash against the door. A blade from the blinds broke, and Leon's eyebrow twitched.

Yes, you took your job seriously to the point it annoyed Leon, and he had half a mind to give you a piece of it; his muscles taut and trembling with anger. Who the hell did you think you were talking to him like that?

Gritting his teeth, Leon made sure you were watching him before he grabbed the file and promptly swung it into the trash before kicking his feet up on his desk to take a sip of his whiskey.

He took much pleasure in the way your body shot up from your desk and promptly walked to the break room, hips swinging the whole time.

Once the weekend had passed and Leon had come in, he could feel his body immediately dreading the workday when he noticed you were already at his desk and waiting for him.

Leon threw his bag down onto a chair opposite the desk, collapsing into his chair and sipping the coffee you had placed on his desk with a note that said 'fuck you:)' on it discreetly.

"Nice note, but you're not my type. What the hell do you want at 5am in the morning?"

You rolled your eyes at him before crossing your arms, stating.

"I just spent almost all of last night emailing our higher-ups and explaining to them that the reason their reports are late is because you're not being compliant and doing them, and you know who got yelled at?"

Leon stayed quiet, ignoring your presence as he logged onto his laptop, and he had to swing his hands back when you slammed his laptop shut, your eyes wide and lips curled back into a snarl.

"Leon, I'm not fucking around anymore!"

"Who the hell do you think you are, huh?"

Leon shot up from his chair, getting into your face as anger slipped into his hungover veins, his head beginning to hurt from the skyrocket of blood pressure.

"I'm your goddamn assistant! Your assistant, Leon, not the person doing your whole job for you!"

Leon didn't know what had happened. One minute, he was opening his mouth to yell at you, and the next second, he had your face in between his hands and was kissing you like his whole life depended on it.

You seemed to be shocked, unsure of what to do, and Leon couldn't help but growl when your tongue swiveled against his as he dominated your mouth, gripping your neck tightly within his grasp.

"You talk too goddamn much."

He hissed into your mouth before kissing you again, and your hands were yanking on his hair; the pain sending rivers of tingles down his spine as his cock jumped to life within his slacks.

He was just pent-up, his mind told him, this was just about relief and getting you off of his case. This was purely a dance of power and raw lust fueled by the need to be better, to be in control, to be right.

And however could he resist when you were wearing his cologne?

His nose was buried in your neck, smelling your sweet scent and biting down hard upon your skin, his hands all over your body and ripping and tearing at buttons and seams that were already fragile and frayed. Your nails were digging into his scalp, pulling and tearing and cutting until blood stained the tips of your fingers.

Leon pulled you desperately over his desk and into his lap, your skirt ripping at the sides as your legs wrapped around his waist, and his hands yanked your shirt out from beneath the waistband, his rough hands trailing up the soft skin of your spine.

"Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone, you brat."

"Shut the fuck up, Kennedy."

Your lips were on his, and Leon's hand swung down onto your ass as hard as he could, your body jolting and a shocked cry being swallowed down his throat before he gripped your ass hard through the ruined skirt.

"You don't tell me what to do."

His voice was rough, hoarse, and there was a distant thought of needing a drink to make his voice clear. However, that thought was dissipated when your clothed core rubbed against the bulge desperately pulsing within his pants; his body and mind becoming hooked on you.

He hated you. Leon hated you so much, he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand being here with you like this, but his legs and arms and hands and mouth; gods, they wouldn't stop moving all over you. Leon couldn't stop devouring your skin and cries and biting and teething and gods, he was turning into a monster himself.

Leon picked you up to smack you down onto his desk, your legs spread, and his coffee went flying, spilling all over his desk and running down the sides into the carpet below.

"Jesus, Kennedy, can't even keep your space clean as usual."

You hissed out, and Leon snarled at you, the grip of his hands bruising and unforgiving as teeth and tongues clashed.

"Since you like to use that mouth so much, why don't you use it for something actually useful?"

There was a part of Leon that felt bad through the haze of his anger and lust as he forced you off the desk and onto your knees, but it quickly disappeared when he got a good look at you.

You were pretty, too pretty, while on your knees.

Eyelashes slightly wet from the tears that had gathered in your eyes from the harsh bite he had imprinted into your shoulder, breaths heavy from how much he was kissing you, and your lips were starting to become swollen.

"Open your fucking mouth."

Your lips formed a thin line as you kept them closed, and Leon sighed before grabbing your face and pressing down on your cheeks, hitting pressure points within the jaw to force your mouth open, and Leon hummed.

"You're so much more sufferable when you're on your knees."

Your eyes were dilated; watching his every move with a sneer though you never tried to pull back. In fact, this whole time, you never once pulled away from him.

Did you want him like that? Have you thought about him enough to the point that you, too, craved him? Did you want to put him in his place like he was doing to you? Leon smirked, his mouth filling with drool and saliva, and Leon leaned down and spat right into your mouth.

"Dirty whore. Anybody could walk in and see you, you know. Someone could walk right through that door and see you on your knees. Just what would they say?"

Your throat was undulating as you swallowed his saliva, and you mumbled back; the words jumbled and almost unintelligible with the way he was still holding your mouth open.

"Fuck you."

"You know what, I just might. Get my cock out."

You made a face at him, and he tugged unceremoniously on your face, making you wince slightly when he pressed his bulge against your face.

"You want this or not?"

You pushed away from him, Leon slacking a bit, and you were glaring at him the whole time you unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his slacks, and pushed his briefs down to reveal his throbbing and engorged cock.

Precum was pearling at the tip already, a few veins that wrapped around the shaft pulsing slightly, and the head was a deep red from how hard Leon was. His balls were heavy and full, ready to be emptied into any of your holes, and you had to admit: even his cock was pretty.

Slipping your tongue out, you teasingly swiped at the tip, the salt taste of his precum making your nostrils flare, and Leon's eyes shut just the slightest. Then, you were slipping him into your mouth, and Leon's head fell back; eyes rolling.

How long had it been since he'd been intimate with someone? God, he was rusty. If just your mouth was enough to make his whole body freeze up, how was your pussy going to make him act? Leon needed to get a grip.

But you were sucking him so well, swallowing him down as much as you could as if you were trying to prove something, and Leon's hips stuttered. Your tongue was pressing against his shaft; wiggling and rolling, and Leon couldn't help but to moan languidly.

"Jesus Christ, princess. You must get around, huh?"

You looked offended, sliding off of his cock to berate and scold him, but Leon fucked his cock into your mouth, your eyes widening.

"Nu-uh. I don't want a hear a fucking word come out of your noisy mouth."

He was using you as a fleshlight, fucking his cock into your throat and grunting each time his balls slapped against your chin, and he was certain that his computer chair was going to break from how squeaky it was becoming.

He can just make you order a new one later...or have you use it so you could remember the way he shoved his cock down your throat. The thought made Leon's cock jump, and he was gonna cum if he wasn't careful. Slipping out of your mouth, you coughed slightly, inhaling and gulping deep breaths of air, and Leon pulled you up by your hair and bent you over the desk.

Ripping the remnants of your skirt a part, your panties and pantyhose were on display, a cute little thong with a pink bow in the back greeting him.

"Aw, you like bows, huh? Who would have thought? And look, you're so soaked for me. You like being put in your place, don't ya, sweetheart?"

"For a dog, all you do is bark."

Leon's eyes dilated, a chuckle coming from deep within him as he ripped your pantyhose open and slid your thong to the side.

"Then I'll show you just how hard this dog can bite."

Hanging heavy between his legs, his cock pulsed, ready to spear you open, and Leon guided himself between your wet lips, biting his lip. You were staring at him from over your shoulder, waiting to see what he would do, and Leon leaned forward and grabbed the back of your neck, hissing into your ear.

"Look at me. I want to see your face as I split your pussy open."

Leon hissed slightly through his teeth when he slipped his cock inside of you, and holy fuck, you were heavenly. Your eyes widened, mouth falling agape, and your fingers were clutching onto the edge of his desk as hard as they could.

You were so warm and tight, Leon wasn't sure if it was just because it'd been a while or if you were just made for him, but he was addicted. You were so goddamn wet, he could feel your slick against his pelvis, and Leon couldn't help but to start pounding.

You were biting your lip, trying to keep the moans from spilling out, and Leon couldn't help but to moan and rest his forehead against your shoulder. Quickly, that mean demeanor began to leave him with every thrust into your pussy; desperation for release clinging to him.

He needed this. He needed this relief; to vent out his frustrations in a way that left Leon feeling satisfied. Did he mean to do it this way? Probably not, and definitely not with you, but he had made his bed and he would lie in it.

Leon's hips were pounding into you as hard as they could, your whimpers and whines like music to his ears, and Leon was holding onto you tightly, wrapping his arms around you tightly and grunting.

"Fuck, fuck, you're so goddamn hot....feel so goddamn good."

You were whispering his name, afraid to be heard or seen, and Leon hissed into your ear.

"Say it louder. I want them to hear. I want everyone in the DSO to know that you're my cock-hungry little assistant who just can't help herself."

You squeezed your eyes shut, reaching back to grip at his hip, and you whined out.

"Leon! You're too deep. It...it hurts!"

Leon almost didn't listen to you, the smug feeling in his head clouding his judgement for a moment until he relented. Leon adjusted his position, asking you in a moment of sweetness that had your mind rolling.

"Fuck...fuck...are you alright?"

The kindness and worry that was in his voice made you confused for a moment; almost wondering if it was still Leon that was inside of you, and you nodded, panting as you took a breather.

"Yeah...shit...you're just...too damn big. No wonder you're such a dick."

Leon snorted, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Leon pulled back, hands on your hips, and he began to pound into you again. You gasped from the sensation, forehead on the wood of his desk, and Leon groaned.

"Goddamn, princess, you feel so damn good wrapped around me. Gonna fill you up...or maybe I'll cum on your tits...maybe your ass?"

Leon couldn't make up his mind. You couldn't respond, too enthralled by the feeling of his cock stretching you, and Leon moaned, his brows furrowing up. His cock was throbbing; a knot within his stomach forming, and he was aware that he was going to cum soon.

"Tell me where you want it, sweetheart."

You whined slightly before whispering to him.

"I don't fucking care."

He spanked your ass, making you yelp.

"I asked you a question. Answer me properly."

You bit your lip, and he slapped your other ass cheek, making you hiss and exclaim.

"Fuck, in me!"

"Where, baby girl, be specific."

You whined in frustration, exclaiming loudly.

"Cum in my pussy, goddammit!"

Leon moaned loudly, fucking into you faster and rougher until his thrusts became irregular, and he came deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum. Leon was panting, sweat rolling down his temple and neck, and you were in worse shape than he was.

Poor you, your whole outfit was completely ruined. Your makeup, your demeanor, you were completely wrecked and it was all because of him.

Leon pulled out, and he manhandled you to your back, making your eyes widen.

"What are you doing?"

"Shush."

Leon sat down on his chair, and he leaned down to comfortable start eating you out. Your eyes widened, and Leon moaned at the taste of your fucked-out pussy; his cum mixing with your taste and making his cock jump a bit in his hand.

Your hand was twisting within his hair, pulling, and Leon's tongue flattened against your clit. He suckled on you, suckling his cum out a bit, and you squirmed a bit beneath him.

"Leon..."

Leon opened his eyes to look up at you, and you were watching him with a soft yet embarrassed look on your face. Your bottom lip was bitten between your teeth, your chest heaving with every breath, and Leon moaned softly as he began to jerk his half-hard cock.

You were so goddamn sexy.

Leon closed his eyes again, shoving his tongue as deep into you as he could, moving his freehand up to thumb at your clit. You were moaning softly, head falling back, and Leon suckled on you again, suckling your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue.

"God, you're so good with your mouth. You must get around, huh?"

Sassy jackass, Leon had to think. Leon groaned again, that familiar knot growing, and he could tell that you were getting close as well by the way your legs shook and tightened around his head. You laid back all the way onto his desk, shoving his face deeper and closer to your cunt, and Leon moaned gently.

He gulped noisily, swallowing his saliva and cum and your juices, and Leon looked at you as you moaned loudly, back arching slightly, and his eyes widened slightly when your legs closed around his head tightly, your hips jerking and bucking into his face as you bit your hand to keep your noises from getting too loud.

Leon drank your juices greedily, moaning as he came into his hand, catching as much of his cum as he could, and the two of you panted again. Leon leaned back, teasingly wiping his cum all over your pussy before he looked up at you as you spoke.

"So, you gonna do those reports now?"

Leon didn't know why, but for some reason, he couldn't help but to laugh at your words. Was it the absurdity? The randomness of your question? God only knew. Leon was only aware that you were giggling too, sitting up with a mischievous grin. Leon shrugged, a smirk on his wet lips.

"You got yourself a deal."

"What do you mean?"

Leon licked his fingers, your eyes watching with awe as he smirked at you.

"Every report you want me to do, I get to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

You swallowed slightly, humming as you watched him lick his own cum off of his fingers.

"Every ten reports."

"Five."

You sighed and relented.

"Fine."

Leon smirked before he pulled his briefs and slacks up, buckling his belt and taking in your ripped clothing.

"I think I got a change of clothes in the locker-room at the training facility. Why don't you just sit all pretty for me and wait for me to get back? I'll make sure to lock the door."

You just made a face at him, and Leon gave you a look.

"You want the clothes or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, just...whatever."

You were shy, almost ashamed, but Leon didn't comment on it. The two of you could talk about it more when he got back and sat down and worked on the reports with you. With a new spring to his step, Leon locked the door to his office and watched as DSO agents and office workers alike began to file in. It was gonna be so fun to watch you try to explain why you were wearing his clothes if someone asked.

He'd make sure to tell Hunnigan to ask just so he could watch your face.

God, he loved his job.

END

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[kaibutsushidousha]

Kodaka April Fools tweets 2024

Lying just because it's April Fools' is so dull. Honestly painful to watch. Lying in general doesn't do you any good. In my younger days, I told every lie I could, saying some genuinely insane stuff about being a supreme leader of evil and whatnot, and thanks to that, now that I'm in my thirties, I got famous for all the wrong reasons and can't find a stable job because people think I'm associated with the yakuza... Sigh, I wanna deck my cringe younger self's face. Quit lying for fun while you can.

My classmates aren't doing great either. Thinking you're hot shit during your school days always comes back to bite you... My advice to my past self: slow and steady effort is worth more than any talent. Also, the part of life you spent larping with that silly horse laugh is not going to be one you'll want to remember later. I wish I could make that clear to him. White lies aren't a thing. Talent is never enough. My class is proof of that. Wanna know what my classmates are like now that we're in our thirties?

Akamatsu became a piano teacher. Her player skills capped off in her teens, it seems. But she's not that good at teaching so she's considered kinda mid at her job. And now she's struggling with the father of a student incessantly hitting on her. Tough world to live in.

Toujou opened a housekeeping company but she was too strict with her employees so everyone quit. And now she's doing everything on her own. Sucks to be in your thirties without any successors or employees. She's a prime example of how being so much better than anyone else doesn't do you any good. Well, she's always working for celebrities, so she's doing well financially, but I heard about some major court fight about a missing item under suspicion of theft from one of her clients. That can't be nice.

Yumeno got to her thirties still saying magic is real, so she's past the point of no return. She agrees that's an unhinged way to live, but she's too old to suddenly change gimmicks. Work takes her all over the country, but her gimmick doesn't allow her to publicly drink, so she has to get plastered alone in her hotel room after shows. I wish she could fix her life with real magic.

Harukawa? ...Haven't heard that name in a long time. Now she was a living edgy fantasy. The past tense was because I hadn't heard of her in a long time. I don't know the details, but apparently, she went to some war zone outside of Japan because her first love didn't want to date her. Takes some real edgelord to react to a broken heart like that, but if she's still alive, I have no idea how her thirties are treating her. My personal guess is that she's a mother of many.

Chabashira opened her Aikido school but is having a hard time attracting students. So she had the idea of starting an anti-sexual-harassment campaign that could double as advertisement, but thanks to her cluelessness when it comes to romance, she got canceled for mistakenly tossing men in regular couples. She's still doing the "degenerate males" bit in her thirties. Girl really needs to get on with the times. Rumor goes that she still downs huge packs of tequila bottles with Yumeno every now and then. Really don't think there's any salvaging her reputation.

Shirogane is an office lady still continuing her cosplay hobby on the side. She could be doing well if she knew how to keep her mouth shut but frequently rambles about cosplay history and etiquette, so no one likes having her around. Stay emotionally dependent on a single hobby long enough and your passion starts to close you off to others. That's her problem.

Angie was the most successful in the class! She made big money both on the art and the religion fronts. However, there were some controversies about her devotees selling counterfeits of her paintings at exorbitant prices and one magazine made a huge news coverage of it, which resulted in her catching the police's attention. She's been recently untraceable, with the rumors saying that she'll never be back to Japan.

Oh, and Iruma... Up until some point, she had the best life of all of us. She made big money off of her inventions' patents. So far so good. Things only started going off-rails after she married an ex-stripper. The two started a YouTube channel together. And later, her husband ran in last year's elections and lost big time. They got an awful debt from his election campaign and she had to get into side jobs to pay it off. And her husband? Disappeared. No word from Iruma herself about what happened. Tough world to live in.

No further updates from Kodaka in the past 3 hours, so I assume he went to sleep and will come back to tweet about the 7 remaining boys in the morning.

[cy-cyborg]

Toph Beifong doesn’t hold up as disability representation - Disability in the Media

[ID: A screenshot of Toph, a twelve-year-old girl with black hair in a loose, green and tan short-sleeve shirt and shorts, cheering in an arena. Next to text written in a rough, blocky font: "Disability in Media - Toph Beifong Doesn't hold up as disability representation" /End ID]

Avatar the Last Airbender is one of my all-time favourite TV-shows, and Toph is still easily one of my favourite members of Team Avatar. I was a few years younger than Toph when the show first started airing, and being a disabled kid who was into martial arts, constantly being dismissed by my able-bodied opponents and teachers, meant that I connected very strongly with her right from the get-go.

But upon my last couple of rewatches of the series, I began to come to the realisation that my opinions on Toph as a shining example of good disability representation were... well, pretty heavily influenced by my nostalgia for the show and that many aspects of Toph's character just don't hold up today. Which, honestly is fair, the show is nearly 19 years old (if it were a person in my country, it would be old enough to drink) and I think it's pretty ridiculous to expect every part of every character from an 19 year old show to age well. So today I wanted to talk about the things I think Avatar the original Last Airbender did right with Toph, where I think they missed the mark, and what changes I think would need to be made to Toph to make her work for a modern audience.

So let's start with why I think Toph doesn't really hold up as "good disability representation" today, and the elements of her character that just haven't aged as well.

For me, one of the biggest issues I noticed upon rewatching the show, is how often we are told (often by Toph herself) that she is blind, but how infrequently we are actually shown it's impact on her life beyond her bending or outside of jokey contexts. Outside of her bending, we only ever see her blindness impacting her ability to do things like read or write, otherwise, she functionally has full vision -so far as the audience is informed - with the only exceptions being when she's in the air or water (e.g. on Appa or in the submarines) or in loose soil (e.g. the desert). Having places and circumstances where she doesn't have access to her power that allows her to "see" was a step in the right direction, but I do think it would have been better if her seismic sense wasn't quite as accurate, even in the most ideal of circumstances.

But why? Well, I think Suki explains it really well, long before Toph is even introduced. when Sokka says "I should have seen you as a warrior instead of a girl" Suki stops him and says "I am a warrior, but I'm also a girl". Being a warrior and a woman are both important parts of Suki's character, and only recognising her as one or the other means ignoring a big part of who she is, and the same is true for Toph. Being blind is a big part of toph's character that has informed a lot of her life, but so is being a warrior and bending master. Many people see Toph as a warrior or fighter, but ignore her disability, but both are important. She's disabled, and a warrior, and those things don't cancel each other out, the same way being a warrior doesn't diminish Suki's status as a woman.

When the show was still airing though (and even still today) it was very common to see non-disabled fans of the show exclaiming that they honestly forget that Toph is even blind sometimes, with many people going so far as to say that she's not even disabled (and that this was a good thing). While I do think some of that comes from the fact they weren't used to seeing a disabled character as both disabled and an active participant in these kinds of stories, I do think this mostly happened because of the show's lack of, well, showing the impact of her blindness on her daily life and allowing her earthbending and seismic sense to erase the effects of her disability to some extent. It's much harder to forget a character is blind when it impacts their daily life in ways that are shown to the audience. This doesn't have to be in big, showy ways mind you, showing things subtly but consistently works way better than one "very special episode" type setup.

In the show as it is though, the seismic sense functionally gives Toph a perfect image of her surroundings until it's just not available anymore for *plot reasons*.

[ID: A black and white shot of Toph and how she sees the oponent she's fighting, with shockwaves radiating from him towards her to indicate how she's interpreting the scene. Her foe has jumped into the air and now has his hand dug into the ground of an arena, about to launch rocks towards her. /End ID]

In many ways, her picture of the world is better and clearer than what the non-disabled characters can see, leading to this feeling of her disability being erased. It may have been better though if the seismic sense could give her a general idea of big things in her immediate vicinity but she still missed the finer details, functioning at least a little bit more like a tactile/earthy-vibration version of the limited sight some legally-blind people have in real life. Things like a person's position, movement and overall pose would still be "visible" to her in a general sense, as well as big things in the environment (including things underground, since there are a few plot-points that require that), but smaller things like details about objects and creatures, people's facial expressions or what they're doing with parts of their body that have no direct contact with the ground (like their hands) is less clear. On top of this, she may struggle to detect smaller, lighter objects or creatures that realistically wouldn't cause much of a vibration at all. creatures as small and as light as Momo and Hawky for example might be detectable, but "fuzzy" to her, and anything smaller might make enough of a vibration to tell her it's there when it moves, but not enough for her to be able to tell what specifically it is without some other cue (such as sound). There are a few moments in the show that seem to imply this is what they were initially going for, but it's not really consistent, and is directly contradicted in her debut episode, "the blind bandit" when she explains that she can even "see" something as small as the ants off in the distance.

[ID: A shot of Aang, a twelve-year-old bald boy with an arrow tattoo on his head, dressed in a yellow and orange outfit, standing with Toph at night. In the foreground is an anthill will a trail of ants, which Aang is looking for. /End ID]

With an adjustment like what I'm suggesting though, she still serves her narrative purpose of teaching Aang the importance of being able to wait and listen - possibly even more so, as her needing to wait and collect more information in order to get a clearer image before striking, would back-up what Bumi tells Aang that he needs in an earth bending master. It would also still help to illustrate the connectedness of the world, a theme Toph continues to embody heavily in The Legend of Korra, while still showing the ways her disability impacts her more frequently.

When I talked about the "super-crip" trope a while back, I mentioned that one way to avoid the more harmful elements of the trope (where the character's disability is erased by their powers) is to use the ability in question more like a mobility or disability aid than a straight-up cure. The power should help them, but shouldn't make their disability redundant. People are creative and we would find ways to use a superpower or magic to help with our disabilities if it were available in real life, but what's the point of including a disabled character if you're just going to functionally erase their disability? For a character like Toph, I think this is the kind of approach that should be taken with her. Her seismic sense still helps her, but it's not a perfect replacement. (Ironically, I did use Toph as a "good" example of that trope, but I do think after this last rewatch, for the reasons I'm discussing here, I might have to backtrack that a bit).

I considered giving an alternative approach here, to keep the sensitivity of toph's seismic sense as it is in the show as is, but giving it draw-backs such as making her susceptible to sensory overload similar to what autistic people experience. However, while replacing one disability with another can work for some characters and stories, I don't think it's the best adjustment to make for Toph or any blind character, largely thanks to this also being a trope. The "blind (or d/Deaf) person who's other senses become super-human to make up for it" trope is very common in fantasy, sci-fi as well as older martial arts films, and while I'm not really the best person to cover it, I do know that members of both the blind and deaf communities have expressed a lot of frustration with it. Toph already falls into this trope quite a bit, and any suggestions I could make would have just dialled that element up to 11, and fixing one problem with another is never a good idea.

Another thing that actually did bug me for a while, even before my most recent rewatch of the show, is how Toph is treated on the rare occasions she does point out something won't working for her. There are a number of times where Toph advocates for herself and points out that something The Gaang is doing isn't accessible to her or sets a boundary to do with her disability, and she's either left behind, her concerns are brushed off or she's ignored entirely. The three most noticeable examples of this are in the Episodes "The Ember Island Players," "The Library," and Toph and Katara's segment of "Tales of Ba Sing Se."

In the Ember Island Players, Toph complains that the seats they have for the play are too high up and too far away, and she's unable to "see" what's happening on stage. Her friends don't really take any notice of her though except for Katara who tells her not to worry, "I'll tell your feet what's happening."

[ID: A shot of Katara, a fourteen-year-old girl with long brown hair and blue eyes, sitting with Toph, who is sitting with her arms crossed, annoying in a theatre seat. Both Toph and Katara are wearing red and gold, fire-themed outfits. Katara is looking at something off-screen. /End ID]

My problem here is that this particular kind of situation is something that is familiar to a lot of disabled people. Even the least independent disabled people I know get annoyed when their access needs or requests for accommodations, even among friends, are ignored and their pushback is brushed off with "don't worry, I'll just help you!" It's one of the first things that many disabled people tell non-disabled folks wishing to be better allies to us: you offering help instead of actually accommodating us isn't a good thing. We don't want to rely on others if we can avoid it, because honestly, non-disabled people often aren't very good at actually helping or in this case, relaying information to us without training and more often than not, it just results in us being left out. I find it very hard to believe a character as independent as Toph would accept that without any protest, especially considering that is pretty much exactly what ends up happening (even if the show didn't really acknowledge it). Katara never actually conveys anything about the play to Toph, except when she's attempting to throw Toph's words back in her face when she asks for clarification about the actor playing her - which ends up backfiring on her.

[ID: A shot from the same location as before, this time Toph has a huge smile on her face and is leaning on the balcony excitedly while Katara is leaning towards her, annoyed by her reaction. /End ID]

While it would have been better if Toph was actually listened to, it would have been…fine? if a justification was given for why they had to sit there (e.g. to avoid being recognised), if Katara had actually described the play for her. This wouldn't have been ideal, but it would have been better at least. In real life, many movies, TV shows (including this show's sequel series, The Legend of Korra) and other forms of visual media have an Audio Description track that does exactly that. If they weren't going to move for Toph to be able to see better, having Katara describe the play could have introduced kids to the fact this is an option. but instead it's brushed off, and I'll admit, it left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth, even back in 2006.

The Library is a bit more forgivable in my opinion, since Toph is still new to the group, but in this episode, she states that she doesn't want to go inside the spirit library because she isn't able to read and therefor there wouldn't be anything for her to do. However, it still would have been nice to see her friends consider this at all before they actually arrived. They could have (and should have) still gone, but some acknowledgement that they at least thought about the inclusion of their disabled friend would have been nice.

[ID: A shot of Aang, Katara, Sokka and another man are talking while looking down at a map on the table. Meanwhile, Toph is sitting on the other side of the table, completely disinterested as she sips from a large ice cup with her feet up on another chair. /End ID]

Alternatively, I do feel like Wan Shi Tong, a self-proclaimed all-knowing-spirit or his assistants would have been able to point her in the direction of something to interest her, since he does imply books aren't the only form of knowledge he collects.

The reason I mention this though is two-fold. In real life, disabled people are very often left out of "fun" group activities, whether that be in formal settings or in casual ones, like hanging out with friends. If the episode had been framed as "the Gaang learns about the library and decides to track it down," I might have been less critical, but it's specifically framed as something that at least starts out as a kind of break for the team where they all take turns picking out fun things to do so they can rest, and Toph's access needs not being considered at all until they're already there hits a bit close to home, especially since they just end up leaving her outside. Secondly, there's also a stereotype that disabled people (and especially blind people) don't belong in academia and places of learning, such as in this case, libraries. This stereotype is about as old as the concept of organised institutions of learning, and definitely isn't unique to AtLA, but the assumption is often that disabled people wouldn't be interested in more formal methods of learning, so it's not worth accommodating us. With blind people in particular, when I've seen this in media, the premise is often "well I can't read anyway so why bother?" which Toph definitely falls into here with no push-back against the trope.

[ID: A close up of Toph and the rest of the group, Katara, Sokka and Aang standing in a desert. Toph shrugs, looking bored, while the others looks confused and surprised with the exception of Katara, who looks mildly annoyed, standing with her hands on her hips. /End ID]

It does make sense that she would have been resistant to going in, and I'm not saying this episode should have turned Toph into a bookwork akin to Wings of Fire's Starflight (another blind character) or anything. But there was a chance in this episode to push back against some of these assumptions, and I think it's a shame they missed it. How cool would it have been if Toph had mentioned not feeling welcomed in more formal learning spaces because of her disability, which was just reinforced by the way her old earthbending instructor and her parents treated her. She decides to go inside the library anyway as "backup" in case something goes wrong, grumbling about it the whole way down. Wan She Tong starts his introduction mostly the same way, saying humans aren't welcome and Toph makes a snarky comment about it. Wan She Tong, equally offended that this human thinks he, the all-knowing-spirit, wouldn't have considered something, shoots back with an annoyed comment about humans being so self-centred. He explains that spirits come in all shapes and sizes, and not all of them have eyes, but they can still access his library. She's not the first sightless being in his study, and he-who-knows-ten-thousand-things knows this too. Once everyone is permitted entry, one of the knowledge seekers shows her to a series of slates about a lost earthbending form that she can actually read (or at least, "see" the pictures on) because it's carved. Or instead of a slate, it's a series of statues outlining the form, similar to what Aang and Zuko find in the episode "The Firebending Masters". Perhaps this form is something that helps her develop metal bending later on, and lays the groundwork for Toph becoming interested in teaching in the comics.

And finally, Toph and Katara's segment of Tales of Ba Sing Se. Katara convinces Toph to go get a makeover with her as part of a girl's day. Overall, this segment of the episode is pretty nice, and I liked that they showed that a person's gender expression (in this case, being a tom-boy) doesn't mean they can't like things outside of what we usually associate with that. Tom-boys can like girly things on occasion, and vice-versa, and I think this is an example of an episode that would seem a bit ham-fisted today, but honestly, was needed in 2006. However, there's a throw away joke where Toph says "as long as they don't touch my feet," and it immediately cuts to show spa workers filing down the calluses on her feet in a way so painful several staff are required to hold her down.

[ID: An image of Toph in a bath robe being held down in a chair by two spa workers while a third scrubs at her feet so hard that she is sweating. Meanwhile Toph is fighting against the two holding her down and has a facial expression like she is in a great deal of pain. /End ID]

this might be a minor thing in the grand scheme of the show, but it's still another example of Toph's boundaries about her disability and her access needs being disrespected by her friends, which the show just doesn't acknowledge it at all. People ignoring Toph's wishes about a part of her body she depends on in a much more direct way that others do is played off like a joke in a montage of otherwise enjoyable and goofy activities and this is a very, very common experience in disability circles.

There are a number of other, much more minor issues that show up with Toph as well, such as the fact she's the only one of the main cast who never has an on-screen (or on-page) relationship. not in the original show, not in any of the comics and not in The Legend of Korra. Again, it's not a big issue on it's own, especially because in AtLA, she's young enough where it's possible that she was just not interested yet, and she does have kids in The Legend of Korra where she mentions a relationship with a man named Kanto (Lin's father). So it is implied she does have some form of relationship eventually, but the issue is that it's never shown on screen or on the page. This feeds into a wider pattern in media of disabled characters being the only ones in their respective cast not given on-screen romantic relationships in stories, and so I still think it's worth pointing out, especially since the creators have had a lot of opportunities to correct that by now.

Toph is also portrayed, pretty much undeniably, as the best earthbener in a way that, at times, comes across almost like the creators felt like they need to compensate for her being on the team "despite" her being blind. This trope is one that I think Toph, at least partially, helped to popularise with the current generation of story tellers: The Disabled Savant. In this trope, disabled characters aren't really given the same room for growth as other characters; they aren't permitted to be average or still learning, they start good and get better. If they do progress, they often become the best, which is the case for Toph. To be fair, everyone in the The Gaang is the best at their respective skill by the end of the first series, which is why I say this is a minor point. She dose, however, have the least amount of on-screen growth in skill out of the whole team. Katara starts out barely able to lift any water at all, let alone actually bend it. Sokka is skilled with weapons from the start but does get his butt handed to him a number of times by others with more experience than him whom he learns from throughout his story arc. Zuko spends most of the early-to-middle of the show having things "blow up in his face" (to use his own words) and being belittled by his family of prodigies. While Aang is an airbending and, to a lesser extent, waterbending prodigy, he fails at pretty much everything else for a while before he starts to find his confidence - especially earth and firebending, not to mention the entire situation with locking himself out of the Avatar state. Toph is the only one who doesn't seem to fail or struggle all that much from a combat perspective. She does grow and improve in her bending (she invents metal bending after all) but she never has any moments where she really messes up or even struggles in combat all that much compared to the others.

All of these points and criticisms I've mentioned are not necessarily big in and of themselves, but when looked at together, they build up to create some issues with how Toph is depicted and how the people around her treat her disability

So that's it then? Toph is bad disability rep and Avatar should be "cancelled"?

God no. Like I said at the start, I still adore Toph and Avatar as a whole, but the show is a year away from being two decades old, it's bound to have some elements that don't hold up and I think it's worthwhile discussing them, specifically because I love the show and it's characters. Despite all the negativity I've brought up, I do think there are a lot of things AtLA did well with Toph too.

I've mentioned a few times that we rarely see how Toph's blindness impacts her life outside of her bending and combat abilities, and there's a reason I made that specification. Unsurprisingly, if you know much about the show's development, the ways in which Toph’s blindness and seismic sense impacts her bending and fighting style is one area where the show really does shine, and I still think that is worth a mention. The various types of bending are based on different styles of martial arts, specifically, different types of Kung Fu. Most earthbending in the show takes heavy inspiration specifically from Hung Ga, but Toph is different. Her bending heavily references Southern Praying Mantis Kung Fu, something unique to her within this world.

The reason for this (outside of simply wanting her to be visually distinct) was because the show’s creators made sure to consider what limitations Toph might have and what parts of the more common earthbending styles wouldn't work for her. Since her connection to the earth was critical in order for her seismic sense to work, they decided on a style that would keep her feet on the ground more, prioritised strong stances with minimal jumping and put more focus on attacking with her upper body. While not an intentional choice, the style they went with for Toph, according to the show's head martial arts consultant, Sifu Kisu, was supposedly developed by a blind woman in real life, at least according to legend. The creators also made further adjustments to the style with the help of martial arts consultants and just watching Toph fight is evident that a lot of love and care was put into the decisions made on that front.

I also appreciate that Toph's disability wasn't off-limits to joke about.

[ID: A picture of Toph waving her hand in front of her face with an exaggerated smile to remind the others she's blind. /End ID]

As I already mentioned, they didn't land 100% of the time, but lot of shows are afraid to use disability as a source of jokes, which would have felt weird and out of place in a show like Avatar. I see this hesitance in real-life too; people get extremely uncomfortable when I joke about my own disabilities and I've heard several people and even disabled comedians talk about the same observation. My last video on Tik Tok that got outside my usual audience was a joke about my prosthetic leg, and every single stictch and duet I received was people saying some variation of "I'm such a bad person for laughing!" "I'm going to hell!" or just straight up asking if they're aloud to laugh. If I didn't want you to laugh, I wouldn't have posted the joke! But joking about disability does make it more approachable. Despite how often Toph and the others made blind jokes though, outside of the one instance I mentioned earlier, they never felt mean-spirited or like they were punching down. Even when a very sleep-deprived Katara was intentionally trying to be.

I think it's also worth keeping in mind the context of the media landscape when Avatar The Last Airbender was airing. Today, characters like Toph are very common, so much so there's a whole trope about them (super-crips) but at the time, having a character with a major disability be a main character in an action-orientated kids show like Avatar was really rare. She wasn't the first of course, but a lot of the time, if they were included, they were almost certainly sad and depressed, wishing for a cure or they were designated to the roles of "Guy in the chair" (which is a character, usually a tech person, who helps from the background), inspiration, scary villain fake-out (or other variations of "creepy" character) or the actual villain. Having a character that was not only comfortable in her skin as a disabled person, who didn't want or need to be "fixed" or "cured" to be directly involved in the story, and who's main obstacle (at least in season 2) were how the people around her treated her, was pretty ground-breaking at the time (pun not intended) and went against the most prevalent stereotypes of it's day.

And I really want to emphasise that. For many Millennials and older Gen Zers, myself included, Toph was the first character that didn't tell us we were broken and needed to be fixed in order to be part of the group (even if they slipped up with that messaging occasionally). Prior to seeing Avatar, I honestly thought there was something deeply wrong with me for being happy with my life (a reminder, I was 10 years old when this show first started airing), because every other disabled person in the media only ever talked about how much worse their life was because of their disability, how much they hated it and how much they hated themselves. Many outright said that they wished they had died rather than become like me. Toph wasn't the first to go against those tropes, but she was the first example of a disabled character who wasn't like that many people my age saw. Did she do it perfectly? Hell no, but personally, back then, I was happy to have a character who maybe over-corrected and took things a bit too far than another sad character talking about how lives like mine weren't worth living.

I also deeply appreciated that Toph did struggle with her independence, at least initially, and where to draw the line with accepting help. Because of how much she'd been coddled and overprotected as a little kid, she saw any attempt at people being helpful and working as a team as them trying to baby her. It was very on the nose, but I liked that the show gave her an episode just dedicated to realising that it's ok to accept help. Again, this is a bit of a story telling trope today, but having the disabled character realise that it's ok to accept help, and to do it without talking down to them or saying that them wanting independence was bad, was a refreshing change compared to what was around at the time.

[ID: a zoomed out image of Toph, standing before her parents with Aang, Katara and Sokka standing behind her. /End ID]

While I think the show's creators could have benefited from consulting with disabled people and specifically blind people the same way they brought in consultants for the martial arts featured in the show, it's very clear to me that the intention behind Toph's character was good, and that actual effort was put in to make sure they depicted her well, even if some of it was a bit misplaced. It's also worth noting that the groundwork for a lot of my suggestions is already in place, they just didn't follow it all the way through. Overall, I'd say Toph was good for her time, and she's what was needed in the 2000's, even if she doesn't hold up as well today. I also think it speaks to how far we've come in terms of disability representation. When I first started engaging with the online fandom directly, almost no one, even other disabled people, argued that Toph wasn't good representation, because honestly, the bar was on the floor and we were just happy to have something different. But now there are options, and the standards are higher, and that's so, so good. It means that people, even in the media, are starting to listen and be more thoughtful about their depictions of disability than we were in 2006.

And finally, I want to really quickly mention The Netflix adaptation of Avatar. A few people have asked me now what I think they should do with Toph when they get to her, and what my predictions about the show are. I'm not going to talk about my predictions here, because this post is already way too long and that's not what this is about, but I don't think the suggestions I made today would necessarily work in this particular remake, primarily because of the tonal differences. Some adjustments definitely could, such the other characters doing a better job at listening to Toph when she points out inaccessibility and them actually considering her in the first place, but others might be harder to balance. The original show could get quite dark and serious at times, but it was primarily a light-hearted adventure story for kids. From what I've seen of the live action remake though, they're more heavily leaning into those serious elements - for better or for worse, and as such, trying to tone Toph down in the specific ways I mentioned might not balance out as well as it would in the original show. At the very least, the specifics would need to be different. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what approach they should take, that's not really the point of this post, but I did want to quickly address it to avoid confusion. My suggestions today were specifically on how to approach the cartoon version of Toph for a modern audience, and were not meant to be read as suggestions on how her live-action counterpart should be depicted.

[cute-sucker]

now you knew that rafe was trouble, that wasn't the issue.

 yet you liked the way he always seemed to know what you wanted. the bag you had been looking at for ages? yours. the cute puppy you always had wanted? yours. did you want that small top in every colour of the shade of pink? yours. 

you liked the way he treated you. as if you were his little bunny, and you acted the part, coming to his office for his lunch, his heavy hand on your mini-skirt, and his hot breath fanning over your shoulder. you would beam at him, and he would smile smugly at you. people would sometimes look over to see you, a cute girl in his domineering stance.  

this was the dream life. he got what he wanted, a nice life with a nice girl. you were wife material, no you were dream girl material. you didn't care that he was a bit mean, or that he would get in your face sometimes. no, he was your dream man. 

after all, everything that he did was for you. the last time you had gotten in trouble with him, which ended up in a scuffle at a bar when a guy looked at you for too long. rafe hadn't asked you to change your outfits - some guys would have, after all, you were wearing a skimpy dress that bunched up at your thighs, and boosted your chest - no, rafe had simply told him to fuck off and to get some manners.

then he had told you to go to the car so he would deal with it. he had come back with blood splattered on his white shirt and a bruised hand. you had felt so bad for him, slowly reaching to hold his hand. sometimes he would brush you off at times like this, but instead, he let out a harsh breath, and let you hold his hand. 

when the two of you reached your house, he had parked the truck to a stop, his steely blue eyes searching yours. his hands cupped your chin, and you felt your heart skip a beat, as you desperately gazed into his eyes "y'know 'm doing this for you? being proactive. being your man. it's what you deserve," 

that had scared you, but you willed yourself to be stronger and nodded eagerly. it was what you deserved. 

as a kook, a trust fund baby, you knew you were going to get handed off to some man, some ravenous man that would take your body as your worth. when your father had told you that rafe cameron was going to be that fine man- you had cried for weeks on end before your blind date. 

your friends had told you he was a hottie, sure but one with a cruel facade. he blew past girls like a chain-smoker would to a pack of cigs. he had that frat boy feeling, and he was older. not too old, but enough for you to feel like a kid compared him. and now here the two of you were, tethering on the line of being engaged and you were scared? sometimes you would stand by the edge of the country club's pool to watch him laugh and scour the area for girls. you would always hide before his eyes reached yours.

but now you couldn't reject him. 

so, you forgot about that time. blocked it out. instead, you decided to throw a party with your girls, stems of cherries in your mouth, and a sweet facade laid out for you. your girls were linda and marry anne. you were the hostess, handing out the drinks, and trying to make sure everyone was happy.

finally, when things calmed down, you found yourself lying by the pool while mary anne recounted her story with the pool boy. the sun felt nice on your skin, as you felt yourself relax. 

marry anne giggled, nails sparking in the light, her bikini top itty bitty as she shimmered closer, "i don't know what to think of him. he's so innocent. nothing like the men we have to cater to. i liked it." then she blushed, "what! stop, don't give me that look."  

linda bit the straw of her drink, and shook her head, "you know what, i don't think the men are a drag, i mean c'mon you know she," linda murmured out dainty finger point at you, "she's had her fair share of men. and now rafe! how nice," she swooned fixing her blond curls.  

it was here that the two of them traded a look. a look that was unwelcome.  

you felt your eyebrows furrow, as you wiggled out of your position, and gave both of them a confused look, "what about him?" 

suddenly things went dead silent, as linda let out a sharp giggle, almost uncomfortable. you felt the hairs on your arm stick up, "guys! what about him?" now you were demanding, as marry anne gave you a pointed look, as linda continued to shake out her hair. 

"okay. well i think he's kinda of a dick? like remember that shit he pulled on in new years?"

you shook your head, sighing, "i thought you guys got over that." 

"he got mad at you trying to kiss a guy for new years! he was practically having sex with that disgusting girl down by the bay." linda blurted out, eyes bugging out of her head. you found your arms wrapped around your waist, feeling defensive. 

"well, i was kinda promised to him? y'know. i shouldn't have tried to kiss that anyway," you murmured out softly. at this linda let out a laugh, to which marry anne silenced her. 

"listen honey, i think you should be careful. promised or not. you have freedoms, and rights as a girl," marry anne continued, with a raised eyebrow, "and me for one- i would not be able to handle a man like that-oh-"

a hand snaked behind ur shoulder, and you turned around to face the person a beam on your face. "hey!" you giggled out before realising rafe was there. he was wearing that white shirt that made you go crazy for him, and while you wondered why he was there; he had a strange look on his face.

"mary anne, linda, nice to see ya guys. taking care of my girl? i bet you are." rafe muttered, turning back to look at you. you were practically ready to jump into his arms, a clear pout on your face. it was almost as if he knew that you needed him. 

you sighed, and leaned into him, before whispering something into his ear. "don't wanna be here anymore." 

at this, you saw rafe's eyes flash with anger, before grinning that snarky smile you knew so well. all of a sudden you were straddled on his lap, like a little girl as you played with his rings. he was inspecting lina and mary anne with a look of predators. "so, what are you guys talking about?" 

linda quickly blurted out, "nothing! nothing at all. y'know what, i think anne and i should go. gotta an appointment at 5." mary anne looked close to rolling her eyes, but nodded before getting into more discussion. their smiles looked fake, as they gave you a quick wave, and ran as quick as their heels could take them.

you found yourself lying in rafe's lap, completely tired. he was brushing out the baby hairs out of your face, before softly dropping a kiss on your forehead. you exhaled, wiggling closer to him. he was never like this. so full of love to share. 

"gonna make you mine, all right?" he whispered in your ear, before nipping at your jaw, "gonna give you my kids, a house full of them, and some better friends, bun. you're the sweetest." 

and just like that any thought of leaving him was gone. 

[frogs-crackcorner]

An Angel All My Own P-1

Simon Riley x reader

Cw: fluff, out of character moments, my ADHD really shines through, reader likes older men

Captain John Price has been a family friend for as long as you can remember. He was always a kind man. Ready to chase you around the garden when you were little or throw you into the pool as you got a bit older. He was practically your uncle and fun one at that. He was always coming over to your parents house for weekend dinners and birthday parties. So it only seemed fair to invite him to your house warming party.

You had finally saved up enough money for a modest home in the country. It was on a rather large piece of land, mostly forested with a big clearing around the house. It was a little unnerving at night so you were glad that you weren't too far away from town, only about 15 minutes or so. The house only has three bedrooms but that was plenty for you since you were living alone. It was a cute little house with a spacious kitchen and a wrap around porch. You had started renovations the day you got the keys. You painted the walls, polished the floors, and swept out the fireplace. You took down the old lights and added some rugs. You planned on turning into the perfect cottage.

With your house nearly done, you wanted to invite some friends and family over for a house warming party. You ran into Price as he was leaving your parents and invited him to come too.

"That's fantastic, lass. I don't suppose you mind if I bring my team along? We're shipping out that evening and will be together anyways," he grins.

"Of course not, the more the merrier. It was nice seeing you, John," you chirp back.

"You too, lass. And hey? I'm proud of you." He tips head to you before strolling off to his car.

------------------------------<>------------------------------

The day of the party soon arrived and you were a bit of a mess. You had spent the morning baking cookies and getting things set up. You had set up chairs outside near the fire pit. Fairy lights were strung around the porch. A table with toppings, chips, and drinks was set up near the grill and you had all the burgers prepped. Now all the was missing was the guests.

To your surprise, Price was the first to arrive. You were just setting the cookies on the table when you saw his truck coming down the long driveway. You walked over to greet them as he was parking the truck. John stepped out and gave you a quick hug. "Good to see you, lass. The house looks lovely," he greets. A young man comes around the truck, his skin gold in the light of the sunset. "This is Sargent Garrick," Price says, clapping him on the back, "we just call him Gaz tho."

You hear more car doors slamming and two more men step out of the truck. "And these two muppets are Sargent Mactavish and Ghost," Price introduced. You look over to see a smiling Scotsman and what you can only assume is a mountain in tactical gear. "Mactavish, ma'am. Pleased to meet you. Just call me Soap," the Scot drawled through his thick accent.

"What was that?" Gaz exclaimed.

"Price said I 'ad to 'ave good behavior with the little lass," Soap shouted back. Gaz started to laugh. "And that's your best?," he chuckled, "Sorry bout him. He's used to being a flirt so he's off his game. Nice to meet you, I'm Gaz." He gave you a dazzling smile, shaking your hand. You could feel your cheeks start to heat up.

"Nice to meet you too. All of you," you said shyly. Price shot Gaz a pointed look and Gaz let go of your hand. It appears they had been given strict orders not to flirt with you. It was a little disappointing. They were gorgeous men and didn't seem much older than you. Well, two of them were gorgeous. You weren't entirely sure about the third. He had on a baseball cap and a black surgical mask. Deep brown eyes stared back at you, a little sunken in with dark circles around them. They seemed to pierce your very soul. You drop your gaze and turn back to the other men.

"Well you guys are the first ones here. Feel free to make yourselves at home. I've got everything set up on the side of the house. There are snacks and drinks if you'd like. I just need to grab a few more things from the kitchen," you say, leading them up to the house.

"Let us help," Price offers, "then you can give us a tour of the place."

"Do you guys want a tour?"

"Of course, bonnie. Want to see all the work you've done," Soap chimes in.

You open the front door and let them all inside. "Okay, well, this is the living room. I restored the wood floors, upstairs and downstairs. I took out the overhead lights and added wall lamps instead. Most of the decorations I found at a vintage market and I made the rest."

"Here in the kitchen, I redid the tile. The old tile was chipping for some reason. I took out the old white sink and installed this copper one. Oh, I completely redid the porch. A lot of the old wood was rotting. You can see the string lights I added," you say, pointing out the kitchen window. As you do, you notice two more cars coming down the driveway.

"The guest and master bedroom are upstairs. The office and bathroom are just down the hall to the right. I would show you the rest but more guests are arriving and I still have a few things to get done," you finish, picking up a bowl of salad from the counter.

"What can I do? Have you started up the grill?" Price asks.

"Not yet. Would you mind doing it?," you reply.

"Not at all. Gaz! Mactavish! Help the little lady take the rest of the food out," he calls, his voice commanding.

Soap and Gaz turn from their spot in the conjoining dining room.

"Right Captain. What would you like me to take?," Gaz asks.

"If you wouldn't mind taking the burgers and ribs out. And Soap if you could grab the napkins right there," you directed. "Oh I forgot about the ice." You begin shifting the items in your hands around to be able to grab the ice. Suddenly, wordlessly, Ghost is taking the bowl of salad from you and following the others out the kitchen door. His giant frame seemed out of place in your quaint home. His large black silhouette a stark contrast to the usual green and gold of the kitchen.

Although he was mountainous and rather intimidating, there seemed to be something else in his eyes. He almost looked lost. Sort of sad. He was calculating but not callous. He seemed to be on edge, not because he was inherently violent but because he was forced to be. You supposed it was all too common in their line of work. No one has ever told you details of what John Price and his team did for work but you knew they were military. You weren't a child anymore, you knew the horrors of this world. You couldnt even imagine the things these men must have seen.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and went to greet the rest of the guests. Price has fired up the grill and was putting burgers on. The smell of smoke and summer grass hung heavy in the air. Guests milled around and chatted, several of them congratulating you on your new home. Your mother gave you a hug and told you how proud she was.

The night moved on without a hitch and soon most of the guests had gone home. You began throwing away the used cups and paper plates. "I got the grill all cleaned up for you lass," Price says, dusting off his hands.

"Thank you, you really didn't have to," you remarked.

"I know but it was the least I could do. We've got to get going, we have a plane to catch. Come on boys! Let's pack it out," he shouts.

"That's right! You're leaving. Hold on. Stay here," you urge, rushing into the house. You return with a brown box tied with twine. "Here. Thought you guys might want some treats for the trip," you offer. He takes the box from you.

"Thank you, lass. Though I don't expect these to last long, those muppets will have them eaten in the blink of an eye," Price smiles. Just then, Soap came running up.

"What's in the box then?," he asks.

"Nothing you can have right now. Get in the truck," Price chides. He's such a dad, you think to yourself. Soap slumps dramatically before giving you a cheeky grin.

"Lovely to meet you, bonnie. Hope to see you again soon," he smiles, kissing the top of your hand before jogging off to the truck. Price scowls at him as he disappears. Gaz and Ghost join you and price on the front lawn.

"Goodbye, love. It was wonderful to meet you," Gaz purred.

"You as well, Garrick," you tease. He gives you a quick wink before heading to the truck as well. Ghost goes to follow him before stopping and turning back to you. "Thank you," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble.

"Of course. You're welcome here anytime," you stutter.

As you watched them pile in and drive away, you had no idea how literally Ghost would take that offer.

(Let me know how you feel about the first part and any ideas you have, I'd love to hear your feedback)

[obsessive-valentine]

I know that yandere farmer is mostly tech free but how would he feel about darling asking for a radio or something like that to listen to music from

Maybe then dancing together to old country love songs

I’m loving this idea so much lol, like mentioned before he’d definitely dance with reader and he has a radio or two that he uses regularly. If darling like specific music he’d go out and get a record player or something like that where he can buy specific albums and artists for reader. But he personally has a soft spot for oldies and definitely country music, any that the radio is playing is fine for him to whistle along to as he works or drinks his coffee. Since that last similar ask I’ve thought of more similar scenarios like this and got to add to it. Have this short scenario, thank you for the inspo ❤️

TW: darling definitely has Stockholm syndrome, mentions of being kidnapped, fluff otherwise.

...

You stir in your sleep half conscious as you feel the bed shift and the pillow under your head deflate a bit from the withdrawal of his arm. You’re to tired like most mornings to acknowledge him as he quietly tiptoes around the room gathering his clothes and leaving the room, carefully shutting the door behind him after giving your sleeping self one more glance.

He goes about his usual routine quietly then finally lacing his boots and grabbing his old but trusty portable radio, taking it with him out on the farm. That how you usually find him, when you stir awake you can almost instantly tell just where he’s about. You can hear the country music playing but not loud. So he’s not near the house but also no as far as being up on the fields.

It’s already late morning you gather as you pull the curtain open, the suns out and it looks calm. You decide to go outside to enjoy the calming warm breeze, you’ve nothing that interesting to do in here anyways.

...

You make it onto the porch and are greeted by some of the dogs, you struggle to move past them without giving them all a head pat first. You make your way down the porch steps and onto the grass, you scan the fields where the music is coming from and doesn’t take long to make eye contact with the owner of the land.

He stands leaning against one of his old trucks that holds the hay bails he’s distributing, you realise he’s been watching you loving on the dogs, waiting for you to look his way. He gives you a wave and toothy grin, though you can just about see it since he’s way up on the field, he’ll intentionally hold eye contact with you every now and then -you think it’s his way of letting you know he’s watching you.

You’re about to wave back and make you’re way to the barn like you usually do, but stop yourself and decide to go and talk to him. Maybe you missed him a bit, he was to tired last night to make much conversation with.

“did you sleep okay?” He helps you climb over the short fence in between you both, and steadies you with his hands on your waist as you set your feet on the ground. “Yes...” you took a moment to pat the dirt off that you collected by climbing the fence “I’d sleep better if you didn’t get up at an ungodly hour every morning” you joked bringing your attention back to the man still holding your waist.

“Well, I need to keep on top of things around here. A stitch in time saves nine -ya’ know” he retorted in a similar joking tone before getting a bit more serious “M’sorry love, here I am thinking I was being quiet enough -sneaking around the house in the early hours” he starts swaying to the music in the background, bringing you along with him.

“I’ll be quieter than a mouse next time” he jokes again in a hushed voice, making you laugh a bit. He turns to the truck to twist the old radio dial, turning the music up, the cows watch on curiously waiting for the hay still sitting in bails on the back of the truck.

“They can wait, they’re spoiled cattle who can learn some patience” then without another word he takes waist once again and begins a rather badly formed slow dance. Right there in the middle of a field surrounded by curious cows, beautiful mountains and trees, a fresh breeze and devoted kidnapper lover.

The music continues to buzz on hitting some static now and then due to the age of the device. He’d hum along to some familiar choruses and pick up the pace into a jive like dance depending on the song playing. You both did this for a while, talking about mundane things ‘whats your thinking for dinner tonight?’ ‘How’s that painting coming along?’.

So domestic and pure, for a while there’s no complexity or inner battles about your situation. It’s just you and him sharing a fresh space with calming music and untainted emotions. Maybe if this is what life is now, you could learn to love it, to want to live your life on this quiet farm and have a committed domestic relationship.

Moments like this give him hope, that you won’t always resent him or have to fear him to stay put. Moments like this he discovers he’s okay with letting down that toxic masculinity a bit, and being soft and uncharacteristically fulfilled. He’d never thought he’d be dancing to the radio instead of working but here he is.

Moments like this does he realise his main drive of fulfilment isn’t working hard and being all powerful, but rather pleasing you and having you want him just a fraction of how he wants you.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 14 - Proposal

John came trudging down the stairs, hair scruffy, face contorted from the light which instantly hurt his sorry head. He was getting too old to go out late at night and drink like that.

Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair, reading. “How are you feeling, John?”

“A bit rough. Sorry about that,” John moaned in reply. He walked over and flopped into his comfortable chair opposite. 

“Not your fault,” Sherlock replied, not even looking up from his book. “I may have moved too quickly.”

John sat staring at his friend. Did he mean the drinks or something else? It was an odd turn of phrase to use. Last night had been peculiar to say the least. John hadn’t consumed so much beer in a short space of time in… well he couldn’t think how long it had been. Certainly never on an empty stomach, in any case, and he was incredibly embarrassed with his behaviour. Had he… sniffed Sherlock’s coat? He’d definitely said something stupid, or a few things, although the memory of it was very foggy. The combination of being found in his underwear and then getting drunk on a few beers and… god they danced? They bloody danced. What kind of a messed up night was that? He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to gain some semblance of sanity, to wake up a bit and then finally looked at Sherlock properly.

He was fully dressed. He looked showered and dressed, in fact. One of his nice black suits and a crisp white shirt, just open enough to show off his collar bones and suddenly John’s eyes couldn’t look anywhere else and it startled him. He blinked a few times, taking in his flatmate. His hair looked particularly good and he just looked healthy and relaxed in general. Refreshed even.

“You look very put together,” he heard himself say, before he could stop the words tumbling out.

Sherlock closed his book and placed it on his lap, sitting a little straighter.

“I have a proposal, John. For you.”

“A what?!” John nearly swallowed his own tongue. His eyes had blown wide and he was very confused.

“There’s a new case. My brother wants me to look into something and I’d like you to come with me.” Sherlock was watching John carefully.

John let out a heavy sigh of relief. God, he needed coffee. His brain wasn’t alert enough yet to wade through Sherlock’s cryptic ways. The word proposal had most definitely terrified him instantly. “Another one? We only just had a break,” John said as he sighed heavily. 

“What’s that expression? When it rains it pours?” Sherlock offered with a smirk.

“Right. Why do you look nervous then? You never look nervous when there’s a case on,” John asked, eyeing him suspiciously. When Sherlock didn’t respond, John continued on. “I usually come with you. Don’t I? Why is this one any different?”

“It’s in Belgium,” he said carefully. 

“Belgium?!” John was surprised. They rarely travelled outside the country. 

“Yes. An old friend of Mycroft’s had a theft from his estate in Brussels and asked for me to come. I have a suspicion it’s not as interesting as they’ve led me to believe but they booked us a first class train fare themselves so I thought a couple of days in Brussels wouldn’t be so terrible.”

“And you want me to come - even though you’ve already surmised it’s not worth your time?” John’s senses tingled. Something wasn’t right. 

“Well, I’d be lost without my blogger,” he teased. “Might as well pass the time with company.”

“I see.” John didn’t really see. This was all highly irregular. “What’s Mycroft holding over you then?”

Sherlock gasped, a dramatic overreaction to John’s words with an open mouthed gape.

“I can’t see why you would give this the time of day otherwise,” John added in explanation.

“Boredom is a cruel mistress, John. All my poorest decisions have come about thanks to boredom. We have no other cases waiting. I thought it might be… fun?” He tried the word out and then frowned.

“Fun?” John looked confused by that word passing Sherlock’s lips too.

Sherlock stood up, lifting the book from his lap and taking it over to return it to his shelves. Even John knew it was a diversionary tactic. Sherlock never said the wrong thing. He was very deliberate in his communications - be they kind or biting. He always meant it. Fun, was a word John had never heard as justification for Sherlock Holmes doing anything. And Sherlock knew it too. John felt responsible for the slightly awkward mood between them, so he tried to think of a way to reassure his friend. They were supposed to be moving on from yesterday.

“What time do we leave?” he asked.

Sherlock turned from the bookshelf, looking grateful for the redirect.

“Eleven.”

“Right then,” John said, slapping the arms of his chair before standing up. “Coffee is going to be required and a shower.”

Sherlock looked a bit uncertain. “Are you… really okay with this?”

“The game is on, Sherlock Holmes. And I follow where you go,” he said brightly, straightening his shoulders. “I’ll go up and throw a few things together and have a shower. If you make me a strong coffee and some toast? So we aren’t late?” John suggested.

Sherlock smiled ever so slightly. “Those terms are acceptable.”

“Good. I’ll meet you in the kitchen shortly,” he said with a nod and took himself back up to his room. He had an overnight bag for just these types of occasions in the top of his cupboard. It was common for them to head to the far north or the south just for a day or two. John had a standard few outfits he threw in for such occasions, he was predictable like that. Boring, John. You’re boring. Sherlock hates predictable. Maybe you should throw in a curve ball? Something new. He looked through his wardrobe and smiled, adding something different to the mix. He added a pair of nice shoes too. He even had a toiletries bag set up with what he needed already waiting in his cupboard so he grabbed that as well and he threw his coat on top of it all.

Then, he grabbed something comfortable to wear for the train and brought himself down to the bathroom. As he passed the kitchen, Sherlock was happily sorting the toast and coffee, and he was humming away to himself. Humming? John was struck by it. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Sherlock hum before. Occasionally when he was playing his violin, or writing music as he played, making adjustments. But humming for the sake of humming - while doing other tasks? Never. Despite all of the mess of yesterday, Sherlock was in good spirits. John wished he could let things go that easily, and just enjoy each day as a fresh, new start. He had never been good at that.

He showered quickly, and dressed, eager to get to the coffee, but also to get out to Sherlock which surprised him. It felt like something had shifted last night, and John wasn’t even sure what that might be, but he was eager to be close to him, to hear about the case, to tease out more information from his flatmate.

When he finally came out, Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table. He had actually scrambled some eggs as well and had a whole pot of the fancy filtered coffee brewed in the middle of the table. He was reading the newspaper, the pages sprawled across half the table, and was nibbling on a piece of toast, seemingly oblivious to John’s arrival.

“Wow. Eggs as well. And… you’re eating?” he asked, looking surprised. 

“Occasionally I’ve been known to,” he quipped without registering John at all, continuing to read, or at least pretending to read.

John sat down and poured himself a coffee. “Well, in any case, thank you. I certainly need this and I didn’t have the energy.”

“My pleasure. I’m not always the difficult flatmate,” he commented.

John stopped with his mug halfway to his mouth and put it down again. “Sherlock.” He tilted his head in disapproval. “I don’t think that.”

Sherlock still remained focused on the paper so John reached out and put his hand on the paper, flattening it to the table and leaning forward to catch his eye. “I don’t think that,” he repeated. Sherlock maintained his gaze for a moment before returning his piece of toast to the plate and grabbing his knife and fork to eat, busying himself so he didn’t have to make a fuss. 

John watched him for a moment before grabbing his own cutlery. “I know I don’t say it. But… living here… with you, Sherlock. It’s the greatest privilege. Getting to be your offsider on the cases, having a… a friend in my life I can rely on. It’s… well, it means a great deal more to me than I probably have the words to explain to you. At least, to do it justice,” he admitted. “I should tell you more often and I regret the things I said last night. You’re my friend. You’re my best friend. And you’re not difficult.” He paused, letting the words settle in the air between them. Sherlock had paused his cutlery and was staring at his plate, unmoving. The words had caught him by surprise and even John hadn’t expected them to come out.

“I had no idea I could be so poetic with a hangover,” he finally joked, to break the tension.

Sherlock, scoffed and continued to focus on his eggs in silence. After a few more minutes eating silently he finally looked up at John. “Thank you,” he said, surprising John. He also looked up and they held each other’s attention for a moment.

“Not a problem,” John said. “We don’t need fanfares, Sherlock. We just are. We’re Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.” He smiled and Sherlock’s face changed to an odd expression that John couldn’t read all of a sudden. He opened his mouth to say something and then reverted back to eating. 

John watched him a bit longer, in case the thought came back, but he didn’t come back to it, so they remained in silence for a time. 

Eventually, Sherlock, obviously feeling like it was the time for meaningful conversation, looked up at John. ��Why do you…” He hesitated and grabbed his coffee, to sip at it nervously. “Last night. The man on the street that bothered you… Why do you always engage with that nonsense?”

“Why don’t you?” John asked, watching Sherlock closely.

“They don’t know us. They know nothing about us. What they think of us matters not to me, John. The only opinions I care about, are yours and… Well, that’s pretty much it, actually. Perhaps Mrs Hudson, depending on the moment. My parents, obviously, but they often misunderstand me, as does my brother. So long as I keep your good opinion, I can carry on with most things,” Sherlock said simply. As if that should be obvious. As if saying it meant nothing.

“Well,” John sighed in disbelief. “I feel the same.”

“Exactly. So what point is there arguing with some stranger who knows nothing about what I’ve been through in my life, or you in yours, or what we go through collectively together in our work and our day to day lives? You always have to correct people. Even people close to us, who know perfectly well we aren’t a couple and are only teasing. You never miss a moment correcting them, though. Don’t you think it only draw attention to the very thing you are trying to push away.”

John’s brow furrowed. “It bothers you? That I correct people, when they’re wrong?” John asked. “You love to correct people, Sherlock. I didn’t realise it would bother you.”

Sherlock stood to collect up their plates. “I just wondered why you felt the need. That’s all.”

“Well, because, it isn’t true. I’m not your boyfriend. We’re not… you know… it’s just incorrect information.” John was slightly put out that he was justifying something which made sense in his own head. “You’re a public figure.”

“And?” Sherlock asked.

“And, they should get their information right,” John said with a self-satisfied nod, finishing his coffee.

“You have an issue, John. With homosexuals,” Sherlock stated, placing the dishes in the sink and keeping his back to John, so he could say what he wanted to say.

“No, I don’t.” John was offended by the statement, and he sat up straighter, his hackles up immediately.

“I think you do. Between all of that correcting, and all the anger you seem to have over this last case,” he commented.

“What do you mean?” John was suddenly very perturbed by this line of conversation. Sherlock turned around at the sink. “You’ve been having feelings, opinions about this victim - the fact that he married a man. It bothered you. Why?”

John stood up, to bring his mug over, and to get rid of the nervous energy now coursing through him from Sherlock’s questions. “I… It’s just…”

“When we met,” Sherlock jumped in to say, “and you grilled me about my person circumstances—“

“Would we call that a grilling? When you didn’t answer anything properly?”

“I certainly would. You had a lot of questions for a first day together.”

“You were being awfully mysterious.”

“I don’t like to share.”

“And I have trust issues. I’m sure your brother passed on his reports. I need to know things.”

“But why was my… sexual proclivities… relevant to your living arrangement?”

“I just wanted to know if… you know, you would be coming and going with partners, or if… I don’t know really. I was making conversation, just curious?” he offered.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And at the time you said it was all okay. That everything was fine. But what if I had said I was… gay? What if I had confirmed that for you?”

John shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Well, then I’d have known. And…”

“And you… never actually reciprocated. You didn’t tell me anything about yourself,” Sherlock pointed out.

“It’s only reciprocating if you provide an answer too, isn’t it?”

“John.” Sherlock warned him. He wasn’t letting this go. And John was being deliberately stubborn.

“Well you said so yourself. I’m not gay. I spend a lot of time telling people I’m not gay.”

“You really do. What’s that thing Queen Gertrude says in Hamlet: methinks the lady doth protest too much?”

“You think I’m gay?” John scoffed, slightly horrified.

“No. I’m just… asking,” Sherlock said gently. “Just as you tried to.”

John frowned and looked at his watch nervously. “I don’t really see why this is so important right now.”

“I’m just… making conversation with my flatmate, as were you. There’s nothing strange about that, is there? Or so you say. You’re a very closed book, John.”

John sighed and leaned back against the counter now as well, rubbing a hand over his face. He kept a safe distance from Sherlock, but felt very acutely that his flatmate was trying to gleen information, and perhaps repair some of the mess of the day before. “Look, I just don’t… feel comfortable. With any of it, okay?” he finally admitted. “I come from a catholic upbringing, and I had two very conservative parents who tortured my sister into running away because she brought a girl home one day and mum caught them kissing. It was like they had found out she murdered a bloody priest. Honest to god. And back then… you know, things weren’t as free and open as they are now. I just learned to keep my business to myself. Am I gay? No. That is accurate. It doesn’t describe me. When I say that, it is accurate,” John sighed. He already felt a blush rising up his neck as the words were coming out of him. “But have I been with men? Yes, casually. I don’t believe anyone is just so black and white are they? There’s grey areas for most people. The Kinsey scale and all that? I have some grey areas, okay? But I don’t like to talk about it. And it’s nobody’s business but my own. I choose not to make it public. And now, living with you, apparently people can’t handle two grown men living together without it being sexual. It irritates the hell out of me. I don’t want you thinking at any moment I’m planning to jump you. You’re my friend and I don’t want anything to ruin that. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had a proper friend. So yes, I’m jumpy about it. I don’t want you thinking it’s true.” He sighed and paced the kitchen floor to get rid of the adrenaline after all that confessing. “And as for the married man? The dead married man?” He stopped pacing to look at Sherlock. “I suppose, I’m a bit… jealous.”

“Jealous?” Sherlock was genuinely surprised by that answer.

“Yes. He just… did that. He wanted to marry a woman so he did and then he decided to also marry a man and so he did. And it was legal - aside from the whole polygamy part, but in essence he was allowed to marry that man. And growing up, that wasn’t even an option.” “John, homosexuality has been legal since the 1960s here,” Sherlock said calmly.

“But marriage, Sherlock, marriage hasn’t been, until so recently. It’s something I just decided was not happening and it made me angry that not only was he allowed to do it, but he flaunted it by also marrying three woman and just ruining all of their lives. It’s infuriating. Think of all the men who had been desperate to marry and haven’t been able to.” John’s voice wavered. “One of my very good friends from my time in Afghanistan lost his partner before marriage was decriminalised and it… still enrages me.”

“Oh. John, I had… I had no idea. I’m sorry. I most definitely misunderstood your thoughts on this.” Sherlock seemed genuine. “You were so uncomfortable in the club. Last night. I thought….”

“What? You mean, seeing my very best friend, who has never explicitly explained to me where he falls on that line, took me to a gay club and for all intents and purposes flirted with a very young barman, in front of me, and then behaved in a very confusing manner all round. You’re wondering why I was a bit uncomfortable?”

Sherlock sighed. “Perhaps I could have handled that better.”

“Sherlock, I’m proud to be your friend. I should be so lucky to be able to date someone like you, if I ever felt comfortable enough to do so in public. You’re the most fantastic human I know.” He turned to look at Sherlock, square on. “Those emotions, those issues you’re picking up on? They aren’t about you. They aren’t about me discriminating about you. They are wholly about my upbringing and my issues with my own identity. I’m not ready to be all public and confident - whether it’s real or imagined.” John reached out and touched Sherlock’s arm. “You’re my best friend. The very best.”

Sherlock gave a half smile and looked at his feet uncomfortably. “Thank you. For telling me all of that.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been upsetting you, by keeping it to myself. It wasn’t my intention. Some days I’m just trying to get from start to finish and I don’t think about it, but other days it’s an all consuming mess in my head.”

“You still seeing your therapist?” Sherlock asked gently.

“I am.”

“Good.”

“Are we… okay?” John asked, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable. 

“Yes. Of course.” Sherlock gave him a reassuring nod. They stood together awkwardly in silence for a moment, though.

“Shall I… call for a cab?” John suggested.

“Please,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Half an hour? I’ll just clean these dishes up and grab my things.”

“Okay.” John left the kitchen and grabbed his phone, walking up to collect his bag. He sat on the bed and let out a huge long sigh. God, that was a mess. What was that about?

Sherlock, meanwhile, stood in the kitchen, staring at the floor for the longest time. This just got far messier than I had even predicted.

——-

The two of them sat in the cab in complete silence. The awkward moments between them apparently a new and uncomfortable part of their friendship which John was not thrilled about. This time, John didn’t try to make conversation. And Sherlock didn’t have anything to utter either. John’s mind was working overtime though. All of the thoughts that had bothered him all week, in his own head, in his own stupid brain… and now Sherlock had called out most of them. Out loud. In the bloody kitchen over breakfast clean up, no less. Things John never wanted to say aloud. In a way, he felt better that he had said them. Maybe Sherlock could understand him better. For what purpose, he had no idea. He couldn’t understand how it would help, but Sherlock had seemed slightly relieved? Or at least less annoyed.

“Got the tickets?” John asked suddenly, out of habit. He was annoyed that he had been the one to break the standoff. Probably too late to check anyway, if Sherlock had forgotten them. But Sherlock never forgot them. He never forgot anything. That bloody mind palace. One of the very reasons John kept some of his opinions and thoughts to himself - certainly the more personal ones. No matter, now Sherlock could lock some nice personal new information into that mind palace to bring up later at a time that would embarrass John appropriately, for sure.

“Mmmm,” was all Sherlock replied to him with.

John nodded and went back to observing the scenery.

When they arrived at the station, Sherlock paid the cab and jumped out without a word, already starting his big strides towards St Pancras. John, as usual, had to leg it around the back of the cab and jog up the steps to keep up. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t shout. He just followed. John always followed Sherlock, wherever the detective led. And therein lay the danger.

—— 

Sorry these have been a bit late the last couple of days! I’m still making it before the end of the day at my end - just!!! I’m impressed with myself that I am still going. Thank you everyone for the lovely comments - it spurs me on to write the next chapter for you all!! 

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear 

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @little-owls-things @daltongraham 

@sillygirlsmindpalace @oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn 

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @marta-bee @melodious-me

[ethereal-blossom]

Deep dive on Victor and his possible past + curse

This man is as attractive as he is mysterious and the curiosity is killing me, so I just need to let out some thoughts.

** I'm going to be referencing some translations and posts so I'll link them and their OP's (I'm too afraid to tag hehe but they deserve all the love and appreciation🩷)

Be aware of JP and EN spoilers

First, what are some things we know and are safe to assume when it comes to Victor? He's the co-founder of Crown and the Queen's Aide. I think it's safe to assume Victor is the oldest in Crown; Harrison calls him an old goat, he acts like a mom, and I believe in the Valentine event the dynamic between Harry and Victor was labeled child-parent. Through this detailed post that @/kurishiri made we can guess that Victor is 30/32+ years, which I have to subjectively note is very hot. William was 14 when he was invited to the castle where he met Victor, meaning that Victor has been associated with the castle for at least 14 years. Was he already the Queen's Aide back then? High-likely, yes.

But how long exactly has Victor been the Queen's Aide? And how did he become one in the first place? One thing that stands out to me is this dialogue in Victor's Wicked Little Secret event:

For context, Victor is sharing why he started doing magic tricks. He explains it's traced back to the queen and how she does them as a reminder of how difficult but precious it is to get someone to smile.

Of course, it can be that Victor simply didn't go with the queen to the slums that day or that she told him about it, but I like to think about the possibility he didn't know the queen at this point but knew about it anyways because he was a kid in the slums. It might explain why he doesn't necessarily pay attention to status and why he treats people such as the villagers and Kate as his equals despite being the most powerful man in the country. Does he stay humble due to perhaps having experienced the lack of power, money, and status to a severe degree? And is the Victorian slums the reason why he suffered enough pain for a lifetime?

@/Reccyls translated an event in which the suitors are meant to win over Kate's heart by having her give the suitor a heart-shaped necklace. Jude, Roger, and Alfons are being very proactive while Elbert, William, and Victor are drinking tea. The nobles team points out there's no rush because it's the end of the day that matters. Victor agrees but then suggests they're also probably laid back because they are rich. It might be nothing but if you ask me, that's pretty self-aware and honest for a rich person. Not every rich person will realize having money does influence you, and not everybody loves to point out the frowned upon behavior that comes along with money, especially when it applies to yourself. So, it's a very small thing to say and I might be reading too much into it, but I think the people who know the affect of money better than anyone are the people who weren't born first class.

Victor continues to point out what makes William and Elbert rich, but right when he wants to talk about himself he cuts himself off (🖕/affectionately) . It confuses me because sir, you are the Queen's Aide. Why is it a mystery that you're rich? Elbert asks if Victor comes from nobility but we never get a yes or no answer to that. So is there still a chance he might have been born in a rich family? Yeah, but I'm not a strong believer of it. Victor is known to cook and sew, and I don't remember where or when but I believe he said somewhere that if he can do it himself he won't let the maids do it. Does that sound like the skills and the mindset of a man born in nobility during the Victorian age? Not to me, so here comes my next thought: what if queen Victoria has taken young Victor under her wing?

I don't know how it would necessarily end up like this, though. But I was thinking: it didn't go unnoticed by us that Victor and Victoria's names are scarily similar to each other (it's like yeah whatever we're a bit like Sherlock ourselves yknow💅). What if his name was quite literally inspired by the Queen's name in the story itself? Maybe Victor chose it or Victoria gave it to him.

Because @/shatcey recently made a post pointing out that William said "the man who calls himself Victor." I heavily agree with her that the phrasing is suspicious, mostly because of Victor as a character.

If he is from the slums then perhaps he's an orphan who doesn't know his actual name, or maybe he took up another name? If Victor is not his actual name, it might explain why we don't have a last name in the first place. Also, @/otomefiend translated the Black Wedding event when it came out in JP. While the official English translation uses "business smile" to describe Victor wearing a smile to bury his dark comment, I like her translation saying "Victor, the Queen's Aide' expression" much better. I genuinely could go into depth about this but I sadly digress. It makes me think back on the summary reccyls did for the first christmas event wherein Victor was wondering if he should give a "Victor-like" response.

Naturally, it can also mean he just has different persona's connected to his masks as this is a reoccurring theme and topic in his content. Victor said in the Between Villains' epilogue (translated by otomefiend) that he wants to be seen as the gentle Queen's Aide by Kate, so after showing a bit of his darker side it's natural he goes back to his gentle side that still implies distance to ease Kate. However, that doesn't make any of his masks a lie or someone he is not. Important disclaimer to put out there because this doesn't have to be proof that Victor isn't who he says he is. The phrasing just reminded me of this.

So, it wouldn't be a deep dive if I didn't talk about the theory that Victor might be the queen. Harrison has pointed out twice that Victor lies a lot. I think it'd be so funny if Harry is going to be like "stay away from Kate you old goat >:(" in Victor's route and then William is going to be the complete opposite like "listen to your desires and get a room already :)"

I think we might have seen the queen once, but it's canon that people have cosplayed her so who says it doesn't happen all the time? Victor only has to say the Queen's safety is in danger and then someone will fill in. I think it's safe to assume Cybird is making us doubt whether the queen is alive on purpose and what does that say about the mystery? You don't create mystery when there's nothing to reveal.

In Wrapped in Wicked Romance, something broke from the Queen's tea set only for Victor to reveal that, surprise, it's his own set! During the first anniversary epilogue (talked about by shatcey here) Kate gets told the queen is waiting for her in Victor's office and surprise, it's Victor! Or how in Between Two Villains it's mentioned how Victoria doesn't seem human because of the dedication she has as queen but then the doubt of humanity is a theme in Victor's events as well. Or how in Harrison's route Jude is reading the morning's newspaper and it mentions a criminal situation and surprise, Victor shows up from behind and says the queen ordered a mission related to it... almost like he overheard the news and decided on the spot it had to be dealt with.

To be honest, I don't know what to think when it comes to the queen. If she's actually dead, I think she might have died from an illness and then the veil + private persona might have been crafted to make it easier to look like she's alive (a bit like this one thing in Ikemen Prince). Why she should give the impression of being alive? I don't know, there's a high chance I am reaching. Maybe the queen is very healthy and happily living her introverted life.

Going back to another translation by reccyls, here Victor ends on the note that even if he has feelings for Kate he can't offer anything as "I belong to her majesty/ Victor belongs to Victoria." Ignore that you can call me the wicked witch of the west with how green of envy I turned, but this stood out to me a lot.

I think it shows an incredible amount of dedication and loyalty, and I read it in two ways. If Victor was saved by Victoria, it might be that he feels like he owes her himself, or perhaps a deal/promise was made? But, in a way, I also read it as Victor belonging to England. His loyalty towards queen Victoria is loyalty towards the safety and well-being of England, a land he's passionate about keeping safe.

The relationship between Victor and Victoria is lowkey fascinating to me because if she's still alive, they have been together for so many years. Victor always talks so positively about her so even though we barely interacted with her, I became to really like and admire ikevil!Victoria. Victor is also the only one who we know speaks with the queen directly. For the tea set mentioned earlier, Victor said he replaced them with his own because he is known to break them when he and the queen are drinking tea. Victor braids the queen's hair and helps her with fashion. William even said in this event translated by @/judesmoonbeauty that the queen knows everything about Victor.

We've almost reached the end but the last thing I want to talk about is Victor's birthday event translated by @/archiveikemen. Victor murders a bunch of criminals with what I assume is his curse or something in that direction. He commands them to succumb to his wickedness and the people essentially kill themselves with a peaceful expression. William makes a comment about it, saying these men look as if almost possessed by a God. Victor thinks to himself it's like saying "Her Majesty The Queen" was no God, and then he says humans can never be God. To be honest, I'm slightly confused because I feel like this can mean different things. When Will makes his comment he's speaking about the peaceful faces, so I don't think he's talking about how the criminals were unhealthily worshipping the queen but I assume he's talking about Victor's ability.

One of the reasons why I think it's a curse is because of this post Shatcey made. One of the screenshots translates to Victor saying he doesn't want Kate to end up lying at his feet with a happy face. It sounds an awful lot like what happened to the criminals in the event. Victor worrying about Kate's fate like that makes me believe it might has something to do with the fate of his possible curse. Think about it: Kate essentially gets dragged in every cursed fate of the suitors and if Victor is another cursed individual, it's high-likely his curse is related to death.

There must be something special going on, though. Is Victor's curse like any other but kept a mystery because something about Victor's identity should stay a mystery? Or is there actually something special about his curse or whatever ability he has? Because his birthday event convinced me he's not an ordinary human. However, something special must be going on for this to be a mystery.

Funny story but for a while I thought that if Victor is cursed it might be Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Sometimes you can see Easter eggs of the suitor's curses back in the outfit designs so when I looked at Victor's outfit, I saw he has scrubs on his jacket (reminding me of fish) and something that looks like knots/ropes (reminding me of sailboats), plus the deep blue and black aesthetic still reminds me of the dark sea. There is also a part in the christmas event where Victor thinks to himself he has sacrificed his human soul to death in order to get what he has now, and who has a song about doing business with poor unfortunate souls?

In this flashback translated by reccyls, I think we are witnessing the moment he's sacrificing his soul. He has a choice that'll impact him as a person greatly and I feel like it's safe to assume he's close to dying, so it'd make sense if this part of his life triggered a curse related to death. Also, his flashback says "the path of becoming the dust of history" which is another reason why I think Victor might have come from the slums, or at least not nobility. It sounds like Victor himself thought he had left no footprint on the world, which actually aligns with his character if you read the translation of Will saying Victoria knows Victor better than anyone till the end.

But I got sidetracked a lot. I think the comment Victor made about the queen in his birthday event is another micro-hint. I sometimes feel like I'm reaching like a clown trying to figure out if Victor isn't keeping up the idea the queen is still alive. It almost feels like having a gaslighting lover; am I picking up clues or am I picking up clowns makeup? Wouldn't it actually be a possibility for Harry to help Kate unreveal the mystery that is Victor? Because while they're not the most interactive dynamic, I feel like Harrison will at least have a little role in Victor's route. As I mentioned before, Harrison pointed out twice that Victor lies a lot: one time in his own route and the second time in the Christmas event. He goes a step further in the latter one, saying that if Kate takes the first step towards Victor's darkness, he'll open her eyes to the truth. Plus, Harrison already had his "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth" moment in his route so I think it makes sense for the Sherlock lover who is a walking lie detector to play a role in the most mysterious suitor who is a walking liar's route.

The actual last thing I want to talk about (guess I'm a liar like Victor) I notice that in events wherein Victor and Kate are together, they declare their love in an interesting way. Since death seems to be a huge part of Victor that possibly is connected to a curse, the two put focus on loving each other even after death. I'm curious if this is part of Victor's possible fate or if this is just a romantic way of thinking that fits Victor's theme. Either way, I think it's perfect to end on this note.

So, I think this is mostly what I wanted to get out. Thank you for having read all the way through and please share any theories you have! And spread love for the people mentioned in this post because I'm eternally grateful for everything they translate and post🩷

[wolfhoundwitch]

A Guide to Graveyard Work

One of the earliest introductions I had to spirit work as a baby witch was graveyard work. In short, this practice involves building relationships with the deceased spirits of a graveyard, by communicating, leaving offerings and being mindful of their space. It is part of a wider practice known as death work, but this focuses specifically on how to enter and respect what is essentially the 'home' of the spirits you are working with. You can further build on your practice from this.

This is a handy guide to the different aspects of the practice, looking into the appropriate offerings and etiquette, written with a lot of love.

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Graveyard Etiquette

There are rules you must follow in graveyards, whether for your personal safety, out of politeness, or following the law of your country. Sometimes these overlap. But sometimes, the rules you hear might be no more than baseless superstition, which there is a lot of concerning graveyards. There are way too many superstitions to list, however -

Some good rules to follow are:

Don't begin this work with the intention of taking from the graveyard or using the spirits in your practice. In the same way you wouldn't take from a stranger, it's important to build a relationship before you ask for things.

Try not to stand on graves where possible, out of respect for the dead but also those mourning them. Sometimes, graveyards are set up so that it is impossible to go anywhere without stepping on something, which is okay so long as you're not intending disrespect. However, do be wary that headstones can fall and the ground can shift.

Some people believe you shouldn't take any photos of the graves. I personally think that if the grave is old enough, it doesn't matter too much. If the grave is modern, it might be inappropriate for those in mourning to see you taking photos.

You can clean up trash, but be mindful of what might be considered trash. Obvious thrown-away food and drink packaging might be appropriate to clean up, but what if someone left a deceased one's favourite food at their grave? Or what if you decide to get rid of a toy or letter left there? Try to avoid cleaning up around the actual graves and focus on cleaning near the gates or in empty areas.

Don't trespass! If the cemetery has set entry times, enter and leave only within those times. Don't jump the fence, and don't enter any areas that are clearly gated or off-limits.

Leave an offering when asking to take something from the cemetery grounds. I don't feel it necessary to leave an offering each time you enter, especially if you plan on visiting often. But, if you want to take something like graveyard dirt or plants growing there, leave an offering for sure. And make sure to ASK. If you feel wrong, it's a no.

If you EVER find anything askew in a graveyard, such as vandalism, theft, or even dug up bones (it happens, I've found them before) PLEASE report it straight to the groundskeeper, associated church, or relevant authorities. It is not your responsibility to attempt to fix these things, or take things for yourself.

Offerings

You can leave offerings at the gate, or on specific graves if you want to work directly with that spirit. You don't always need to leave an offering, but it is a good thing to do when building a relationship and especially when asking to take from the site.

Some good offerings are:

Coins, especially two coins. There is a belief that the two coins are placed on the eyes of the deceased to pay the ferryman taking them over the river Styx. This has been maintained as a tradition.

Flowers. Even better if you look into Victorian flower symbolism for older grave sites and base your offering on this.

Origami. I would often fold multiple tiny cranes and leave them as offerings on individual graves. The best part is they are biodegradable.

I would be wary of leaving any kind of food or drink, as you might attract animals or even cause harm to the ecosystems living there. The same goes for anything made of plastic or that could hurt an animal.

Natural items such as seashells, feathers or stones are great, safe options for offerings.

You could also burn a candle or incense, but remember to stay with them while they burn and make sure they are extinguished when you leave.

Offerings don't have to be physical - you could say a few kind words, sing to them, or even just dedicating time to sit with the dead or talk with them can be an offering in itself.

Protection

I personally don't go into my practice thinking I could get possessed or followed by a demon at any given moment. However, I do think it's important to remember that graveyards can be full of a lot of upset, angry, and occasionally malevolent energies. Even if you don't intend to, these energies can attach to you or be taken home by you and can make you feel off.

Here are some ways you can protect yourself:

Cleanse yourself before and after entering a cemetery, even just by meditating and visualising or by using incense.

Check out my post on shielding techniques, and try to familiarise yourself with the visualisation techniques until you feel comfortable doing them.

Charm an item of clothing, such as a piece of jewellery, as an amulet to ward against negative energies that you can wear.

Find or create a protective sigil or rune that you can draw on something or on yourself.

You can pray to any deities you work with to ask for protection, especially if these deities are associated with death or spirits.

Communication

People who practice death work might communicate with the dead in different ways. They might be clairvoyant, use divination, feel energies or sometimes even just know what the spirits are saying. In any sense, spirit communication is a skill that is very much required in this practice. @koscheys-skull said it best here. You need good communication skills, in the sense that you are still talking to PEOPLE. And you need to go in with good intentions. If you are going in purely with the intention of using the dead for your own benefit, you won't get very far. If you can't talk to and actively listen with some semblance of empathy, you won't get very far. Death work is not an aesthetic, it is not for you to take your emo photos and be disrespectful. it is a serious, difficult and tolling practice that takes a lot of time and refining.

If you have gotten this far, I wish you all the best. It is a difficult but ultimately fulfilling part of spirit work, and if you are ready to dedicate the time and effort to it, you will get a lot out of it.

Thanks for reading! Please visit my tags for more guides, and feel free to reach out with requests for more information. Lots of love.

[alt-vera]

— whiskey girl ⁀➷

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joel miller gives his whiskey girl a gift.

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✿ | joel miller | 1.06k | ❛ whiskey girl - toby keith ❜ | part one

warnings: pre outbreak!joel miller. drinking. allude to sex. age gap.

note: who knows when im gonna post again lol stay tuned for part two tho

❝ just ain’t enough good burn in tequila, she needs somethin’ with a little more edge and a little more pain ❞

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JOEL MILLER LIKED HIS GIRLS LIKE HE LIKED HIS DRINKS.

　Strong, neat, and not cheap enough to make him gag.

　That’s why he liked you: a farmer’s granddaughter majoring in agriculture who worked hard for what she had and knew the value of respecting those around her without being walked over. A little ragged on the edges, but Joel liked ‘em rough.

　Same could be said for you. You liked Joel for the same reasons he fawned over you. He was charming, and assiduous, with enough edge worn into his features to draw you in at the drop of a dime.

　So, when you invited Joel to a local dive bar on an eventless friday night, he sure as hell wasn’t going to say no. It was rare for you both to be free; usually he was working late, or you had classes, or tests, or were helping on the farm.

　He saw your worn mustang parked by the entrance, and spotted you instantaneously as he walked inside. A welcoming aura surrounded you as you chatted with some old men, presumably other farmers who knew you from your last name and came in for a drink after a sweltering day of plowing fields. Your smile gleamed under the warm lights of the bar, and Joel couldn’t help it as his lips curled into a smile just from looking at you.

　“Haven’t been making you wait long, have i?” He drawled as he sauntered up to you, hand making it’s way into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling you closer to him.

　You directed your smile his way before bidding your goodbyes to the old folks. “‘Course not, Miller. You know that if you did, i would’ve given you hell as soon as you set foot in the door.”

　Joel chuckled, running his free hand through his messy hair. “Fair enough, darlin’. You need a drink?”

　“Please,” You replied, and Joel put two fingers in his mouth, throwing a loud whistle at the bartender.

　“Can i get a beer and a, uh,” He glanced over to you for a moment, deep eyes meeting your own, before a smirked danced across his features, “…a whiskey, neat, for my girl, please.”

　You couldn’t help as your cheeks warmed at his words. My girl. You rolled your eyes, turning your face away from him so that he couldn’t see the ruddy heat spreading across your face.

　The two of you didn’t have a label. You drank together, you kissed, you fucked. You’d make dinner for him and his daughter, and he’d take you for drives at sunset down empty country roads, radio blasting through the open heat waves as you yelled gleefully out the windows.

　Still, anyone who looked at you and Joel knew there was something there, even when his hand wasn’t in your back pocket or your fingers were grasping his forearm. You were his girl. And he was your guy. No denomination necessary.

　One whiskey turned to three before you were singing along to the jukebox in the corner of the bar, holding up invisible microphones to random folks who’d join you in your performance. Joel watched, amused, as you twirled around to the twang of the guitar blaring through the speakers. His smile grew as you crept closer to him, pretending to reel him in to dance with you like a fish caught on a worm.

　Little did you know that you already had him from the moment he met you. Hook, line, and sinker.

　His hand found yours as he gave in, not much of a dancer, but eager to spin you around. You let him lead you, swaying to the pace of the music, pulling you closer to him as the tempo continued on.

　He pulled you flush against him. Forgetting the music, forgetting the dancing, forgetting the watching eyes. He kissed you, a passionate catch of the lips that left you craving more, the dull glow of amber above you acting like a spotlight that shone on you and Joel solely.

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　Joel couldn’t help himself as reached a hand up and drew a sloppy happy face on the fogged up windows of your mustang. Your head laid on his bare chest as you both fought to catch your breath, crickets chirping loudly in the farm field, audible even through the barrier of your car.

　You felt him bury his nose in your hair, breathing in the smell of you. Vanilla, and sweet musk, and whiskey. He felt you smile against his pec, eyes stealing a glance up to meet his.

　“I have a present for you,” He spoke suddenly, voice worn and husky.

　“Better than the way you just fucked me?” You joked with a light chuckle, feeling his arm move as he went to fish something out of his jeans that had fell on the floor of your backseat.

　He held the gift in his large hand before opening his palm to you to reveal a small wooden box. His fingers inched it open, and inside was a thin-banded ring with a dainty diamond in the middle.

　You turned dreadfully quiet as you stared at the band, and an anxious prickle crept over Joel’s skin.

　You raised yourself off his chest, turning to look at him. “Joel, if you’re proposing to me before even asking me to be your girlfriend, then i’m going to chuck this out into the field.”

　“What?” He laughed, inching so that he was sitting upright. “No, no, it’s a promise ring,” He said, plucking the jewellery out of the box and grabbing your hand, pushing it delicately onto your ring finger.

　“Ever since Sarah’s mom up and left, datin’ has been hard. I didn’t even wanna look at another woman—“ Joel’s deep eyes met yours, and you felt your heart swell, “—Until i met you.”

　“I don’t want t’distract you from your studies,” He continued, “But you’re my girl, and i want everyone to know it.”

　There it was again. My girl. Your pulse raced as you kissed him eagerly, full of adoration. Joel could still taste the smooth relish of whiskey on your breath.

　You smiled at him euphorically as you pulled away, words leaving your lips before you could even register the weight of them. “I love you, Joel.”

　Joel’s thumb stroked your cheek affectionately, returning your grin. “I love you too, my little whiskey girl.”

[fireya-x]

luna sanguinis // CHAPTER I: nox fatalis

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AO3 Link

John isn't the party type. But a Halloween invitation to a secluded manor and an encounter with the alluring Victoria prove to be a temptation he can’t resist.

[4k words]

cw: blood, violence

nox fatalis

“Oi, cowboy!” A way too enthusiastic voice boomed from his right, and John Price looked up to see Soap approaching. He blinked, almost rubbing his eyes to fully take in the costume his comrade was wearing.

“Soap, are you wearing a bloody skirt ?” another voice beat John to it. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve a cigar. Why did he agree to go to a Halloween party, of all places?

“It’s a kilt, you fuckin’ uncultured dog,” Soap shot back, his Scottish accent thick, turning to face Gaz. “What are you supposed to be? The saddest vampire in town?”

“Dracula,” Gaz flashed his fake plastic dentures with a smirk. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Sorry, the runny eyeliner threw me off. It makes you look miserable, not threatening.” Johnny laughed, then turned to John, giving him a once-over. “Nice costume, cowboy.”

“Gunslinger,” Price corrected, his voice flat.

“What?” Gaz asked, looking confused.

“Not a cowboy,” John repeated.

“Practically the same thing,” a low, raspy voice joined them, and John rolled his eyes.

He turned to see Ghost approaching, clad all in black, his skull balaclava and skeleton gloves the only concession to the holiday. “The dress code was Halloween costume, Simon, in case you missed the cue.”

Ghost gestured to his face. “This has to do. I scared enough kids on the way.”

Price sighed audibly. “I need a fucking drink if I am supposed to survive this. Y’all owe me for dragging me here.”

“Oh come on, it will be fun. Snacks, drinks and maybe some lovely women - what’s not to love?” Gaz clapped a hand on Price’s shoulder, always the optimist.

“Is that a skirt, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice rasped through the chatter of nearby partygoers, catching their attention.

“Fuck all of you,” Soap replied, holding his finger up to point at each of them in turn. Then, turning to Ghost, he added, "At least I put some effort into this."

Ghost just huffed and grabbed an envelope that Gaz held out. “How’d you get invitations anyway?”

Gaz flashed his fake teeth in a dramatic grin. “I know some people who know some people. This is the most prestigious party in the country, you should be grateful.”

“I am so grateful,” Price muttered sarcastically, taking a long drag of his cigar before discarding the butt and grinding it out with his boot. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

They turned toward the imposing front gate of the mansion. It was an old, stately building, quintessentially English, with a rose garden stretching out to either side. Price had expected over-the-top Halloween decorations, but the decor was surprisingly tasteful. Candles flickered in ornate lanterns, eerily realistic skulls were perched on stone pillars, and real ravens perched on the wrought iron fence, their caws echoing through the driveway that circled a towering willow tree. 

He had to admit, there was a certain prestige, a sense of history, that hung about the place. Why he’d agreed to come, he still didn’t know. He would have much preferred mission reports, a good whiskey, and a cigar in the quiet of his office. He was lucky he’d even found this old outfit buried in the back of his closet - leather jacket, fake revolvers, cowboy hat, and boots that were more for show than practicality these days.

The mansion seemed to loom over them, its dark windows like watchful eyes. Soap was openly gawking, while Gaz wore a knowing smirk that suggested he’d been here before. They climbed the short flight of steps leading to the massive oak double doors, flanked by two imposing figures in black suits who were checking invitations.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get to chat with the hostess,” Gaz murmured, handing his envelope to one of the men who barely glanced at it before nodding curtly, granting him entrance. “She’s a bloody smoke show,” he added in a low voice, earning a dramatic eye roll from Price.

John handed his own invitation over, meeting the guard's gaze with his usual intensity. The man’s eyes flicked to the revolvers in Price's holsters. “They’re fake,” Price said, already reaching for them and offering them to the guard for inspection.

To his surprise, the man just grunted and nodded, gesturing for Price to enter. Holstering his weapons, Price stepped inside, following Gaz into the grand foyer. He paused, taking in the opulent surroundings. It was a strange mix of old-world elegance and modern sophistication. Centuries-old tapestries hung alongside abstract art, and antique furniture was arranged with an eye for minimalist design. It felt surprisingly welcoming, despite the sheer size of the place.

After everyone was admitted inside, they all headed straight for the bar, dying to have drinks for the night. Price needed something stronger than the lukewarm champagne being offered on silver trays by circulating waiters.

“Whiskey, neat.” He barked the order to the bartender, a pale, skinny man with nervous eyes, who hurried to pour him a generous measure.

“Never been to one of these fancy dos before, eh?” Gaz asked, leaning against the bar.

“Can’t say I make a habit of it.” Price replied, downing half his whiskey in one long swallow, letting the familiar burn settle in his chest.

“You’d be surprised,” Gaz said with a wink. “There’s more to these high-society types than meets the eye.”

Soap had been quiet, his eyes wide as he took in the entirety of the place. “Aye, and some right mental costumes.” He jerked his head towards a group of guests dressed as mythical creatures, their outfits more resembling something out of a fever dream than a Halloween party.

Ghost, as always the silent observer, was leaning against a pillar, his skull balaclava a stark contrast to the brightly coloured masks and outlandish outfits surrounding him. He watched the crowd with a predator's intensity, his gaze missing nothing.

While his comrades continued chatting about all the costumes, his eyes followed the impressive staircase that separated the main foyer from the second level, until they landed on her . 

She was standing at the top of the grand staircase, her figure framed by the golden glow of the crystal chandelier. Her gown, a deep red that seemed to absorb the light, clung to her curves, accentuating the slimness of her waist and the fullness of her hips. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink, and her skin – so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light – was flawless, spared by the passing of time. She wasn’t wearing a costume, not really, she didn’t need to. She didn’t need the theatrics; she was the spectacle.

Price felt his breath catch in his throat. Time seemed to stop. The noise of the party, the chatter of the guests, the music, all faded away, leaving only the steady thump of his own heart.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Told you she was a smokeshow,” Gaz leaned in, a smug grin on his face.

Price ignored him, his gaze fixated on the woman on the stairs. It was more than just her beauty, though, that alone was enough to stop a man in his tracks. There was something else about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. A power, an intensity, that he’d never encountered before. It was more than just physical attraction; it was a pull, a magnetic force that went straight to his bones.

He cleared his throat. “Who is she?”

“Victoria Di Corvo. The hostess. She owns the place.”

The conversation, though spoken in hushed tones, drifted towards you above the noise of the party. You followed the direction of it, and turned your head to find the source. And that’s when his scent hit you, too – it was like it suddenly called out to you. Primal, spicy, wild, full of strength. Raw and untamed like the deepest, darkest corners of your soul.

You felt a jolt of excitement, a thrill that sent a shiver down your spine. It had been centuries since you'd felt such a powerful pull, such an undeniable connection.

He stood by the bar, tall and broad-shouldered, his black pants and gray leather jacket doing little to conceal the power of his frame. His cowboy hat shadowed his eyes, giving him an air of quiet danger that made your heart skip a beat.

“Never seen her before.” The man’s voice was rough with an undertone of curiosity.

“She’s not the most social one, it is said.” His friend said, with an easy charm, which seemed like a gift that gave him the ability to slip into conversations easily, blending into the crowd.

You raised a hand, a small, elegant gesture that summoned your closest companion and most loyal servant, Beth, to your side. She moved with a grace born of centuries of service, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes, my lady?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

“Spare his friends, tonight,” you instructed, your gaze never leaving Price.

“Do you think –” Beth began, her voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” you cut her off, your voice laced with a hint of weariness. “And I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to assume,” Beth murmured apologetically.

You sighed. “Just make sure his friends are safe. They may live, if he lives. They seem important to him.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Beth bowed her head.

Your gaze returned to Price. He was watching you, his eyes locked on yours. It was as if you could taste him with a single glance, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. His scent was more potent, more exquisite than any of the other humans in the room. Their scents, while intoxicating in their own way, were sweet and naive. His was something else entirely.

Hope, a dangerous, forbidden thing, flickered within you. Was it wrong to have hope? Probably.

But you couldn’t afford to be wrong anymore. The curse that bound you, the curse that made you queen of all creatures, living and dead, was a double-edged sword. It gave you power, immortality, but it came at a terrible price. Your life was tied to the Blood Moon, and each year, it demanded a sacrifice to maintain its power. A sacrifice of blood.

For centuries, you’d endured this burden, keeping the balance between the human and vampire worlds. A balance that prevented chaos, that kept the darkness at bay. But with each passing Blood Moon, the curse grew stronger, the hunger more intense.

The lavish party, the carefully crafted disguise for the brutal ritual to come – it was all a desperate attempt to cling to life, to maintain an equilibrium. One that only you could uphold. You were its core, the nexus point between light and darkness. 

Watching every guest dance, celebrate, feast, and drink, oblivious to their fate, filled you with a melancholy that had become as familiar as your own heartbeat. They didn’t know that, either way, their lives were in your hands. 

If you fell, the world would fall with you.

But if you could find your king, your mate, to rule at your side – your strength would be bound, the need for sacrifice eliminated. But every time you'd sensed a possibility, a flicker of hope in the blood of a human male, he'd failed the test. Each failure, each death, had chipped away at your hope, leaving you weary and vulnerable.

Your gaze remained locked on Price. He was still watching you, his eyes holding yours with a steady intensity that both intrigued and excited you. He smirked and raised his glass to you before taking a sip of his drink. The simple act, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, was strangely sensual. Your fangs ached, calling to the predator within you.

Leaning further over the railing, you smiled back at him, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. You knew you held a certain power over human men. It was one of the many gifts that came with your lineage.

Without breaking eye contact, you turned and walked towards the gardens.

He followed. Of course, he did. You didn’t even have to try. You heard his footsteps, the faint, steady beat of his heart behind you, as you stepped out onto the terrace and leaned against the railing, overlooking the moonlit expanse of the garden.

“Enjoying the party, cowboy?” you asked, your voice low and smooth as velvet.

“Gunslinger, actually, ma’am,” he corrected, his voice a deep rumble.

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued. “And what makes a gunslinger different from a cowboy?” You knew the answer, obviously, being alive during the wild times you spent at countless saloons, but you wanted to hear it from him, anyway.

“A gunslinger is more precise. More deadly. Very skilled with firearms,” he explained. “I like to keep people informed.” His accent intrigued you. And the way he corrected you, it wasn’t meant to be demeaning. Simply informative. It was refreshing.

“Is that just part of the costume, or are you actually skilled with guns?” 

“I’m a Captain in the military. SAS, to be precise. John Price,” he said, stepping closer.

He couldn’t know why he told you the truth. He simply felt compelled to. It was so easy to sway a human’s mind, to make them reveal their secrets. But with him, it felt different. You didn’t even have to try. As if he wanted to tell you, wanted to offer himself to you.

“You’ve never been here before,” you stated. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. You could sense it in the way he moved, the way he looked at everything with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I’m not the party type,” he admitted.

“Yet you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “If you can call sipping a drink and watching ridiculous costumes enjoyment, sure.” You noticed the wrinkles that formed at his eyes when he smiled.

He joined you at the railing, his presence beside you so incredibly livid. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that seemed to echo in your own chest. The scent of him was so intoxicating – cedarwood and tobacco, but beneath that, a primal musk that spoke of strength and untamed desire. It was a scent that resonated deep within you, awakening something ancient and powerful.

Something you hadn’t felt in centuries.

“Are you not enjoying your own party?”

You turned to face him, and the world tilted on its axis.

His eyes, as blue as a winter sky, locked onto yours, and a shock of recognition, as sharp and undeniable as a lightning strike, went through you. This was him. Yours. Your mate.

It was written in the depths of his eyes, in the way his scent wrapped around you like a promise, in the very essence of his being. The one you’d waited centuries for, the one who would complete you, who would make you whole.

He was here.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't tear your gaze away. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time, seeing through the layers of his human facade to the soul that mirrored your own. A soul that had been searching for you, just as you had been searching for it, across lifetimes and continents.

A wave of possessive joy surged through you, so fierce it made your heart ache.

You shook your head. Despite all the feelings and signs the universe seemed to give you, you couldn’t be too sure, he had to prove himself worthy first.

“It’s complicated,” you finally managed to say, your voice husky with emotion.

He frowned slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery you presented. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint sweetness of his breath. His hand brushed yours as he shifted his weight, leaving a trail of elecrictiy on your skin.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and you saw a flash of desire in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own. He leaned in, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his expression clouded with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know why I feel so…” He trailed off, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His hands were fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was fighting it, you realized. Fighting the pull, the connection that he couldn't understand. 

You stepped back from him, breaking the spell that had held you both captive. “So, you’re a skilled fighter?”

“You could probably say that,” he replied, his gaze sharpening. “Why do you ask?”

You’d have to risk it. 678 years and no chance, what could be one more year added to the pile? It would be a shame if your assumptions were wrong yet again, but what did it matter? Humans would die that night either way, it would just be a shame that he would be among them. You’d like to get to know him a little better, his eyes told you more than he could have in a matter of a few seconds. He probably had stories to tell that could keep you entertained for a while. His scent was exciting, a strong mix that you longed to breathe in, to savour. And the way he’d looked at you, the hunger in his eyes – you'd imagine he’d be more than inclined to kiss you. It would indeed be a shame to lose it all, simply because you dared to believe for yet another chance.

But did you have a choice? Not really. It was the cruel irony of the curse – your survival demanded sacrifice. Was it selfish? Incredibly so. But the cost of your demise would be far greater. You had to be selfish, not just for yourself, but for everyone.

You couldn’t tell him the truth. With a subtle gesture, you raised a hand, signalling to your guards who were hidden in the shadows of the garden. They emerged silently, moving with an unnatural grace that hinted at something other than human.

Price, ever alert, noticed their approach immediately. “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You froze, stunned by his reaction. That was his first thought? Not that he was surrounded by creatures , but that he might have said something wrong? You met his gaze, and saw genuine concern in those blue eyes.

The pang of regret was almost unbearable. It had been so long since you’d encountered such genuine concern, such selfless care. 

It had been forever since you felt this honest care for you, this genuine concern for your feelings. It had always been just a quick encounter for their pleasure, for their needs. Nobody had asked about yours, absolutely genuinely so, in decades.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, before taking a step back from the railing, and turned away. It was barely audible in the music filled air, but Price heard it — a hint of regret in that tone sent a chill down his spine, as he tried to rationalize the sudden shift in your demeanour. It didn’t match the heat that had been building between you just moments ago.

If he really was the one, he’d have to survive.

If he really was a fighter, he would.

Or at least that was what you told yourself.

You stepped even further away, putting more distance between you and him. He watched, confused, as he was circled by shadowy figures. They moved with unnatural grace, and their eyes were glowing with a hunger that made him be fully alert in a split second.

“What the hell —?” he muttered, his glass slipping from his grasp and shattering against the stone patio. He didn’t have time to process the situation before they were upon him.

As the guards attacked, a surge of power, raw and untamed, pulsed through your veins. It was his power, his life force, echoing through the bond that was already forming between you. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You looked up at the moon as it began to shift, a slow bleed of crimson spreading across its silver face.

As soon as you had given the silent command with the raise of your hand, the true night had begun.

Inside the mansion, Beth glided through the throngs of guests, a phantom in a sea of revellers. She found Price’s friends – Soap, still boisterous in his kilt, Gaz, charming his way through a group of costumed women, and Ghost, a silent observer at the edge of the crowd – and, with a few carefully chosen words, lured them away. An exclusive after-party, she’d hinted, just for them and their cowboy friend. They followed willingly, oblivious to the darkness gathering outside.

But you had no interest in them as the other creatures began to feast.

Your gaze was fixated on the man in front of you. He had faced many impossible odds, and he noticed quickly that the men surrounding him weren’t ordinary men. 

Moving with the precision of a soldier, his body was a weapon honed by years of training. He didn’t need guns, he fought with his hands that spoke of deadly efficiency, every blow calculated to maximize damage. He was fighting for his life, as was the purpose of this test.

He wasn’t even panicking, just confused, as you saw in his eyes as he took in the situation. It was as if you could read his mind as it went through quick calculations and assessments to analyse threats and exploiting weaknesses.

One of your guards lunged, fangs glinting in the red shimmering moonlight, and John met the attack head-on. He didn’t even flinch from the creature's superhuman strength but used his own weight to his advantage, pivoting on his heel and sending the attacker crashing into the marble ground.

A smile of fascination played on your lips, the sound of the fight was music to your ears, especially the rush of blood in his human flesh. Surviving the attack of one vampire was already a promise more than anyone had withstood before him.

Two more came at him, and he met them equally with a ruthless grace that made your blood sing. He ducked under the blows, his fist connected with a crack against a jaw. He made quick work of the other one, too, using the guard's own momentum to send him over the railing.

With each passing moment, the connection between you intensified. You could feel his pain, his determination, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. And the scent of his blood – oh, it was intoxicating. Like the finest wine and the most potent drug. The spice of it shot through your system like a wildfire, it felt almost too strong, too overwhelming — yet so incredibly intimate and familiar, even though you had never met this man before in your life.

But also, his blood reminded you that he was still just human, after all. Now that it was running free, as he used his last strength to fight against more of your guards, it was mingling with the scent of cigars and the whiskey that he drank, and turned it into an irresistable concoction. The more he fought, the more you realized he was everything you craved, everything you needed — strong, defiant — as if he was singing a siren song to your soul.

With every drop of his blood that spilled onto the moonlit marble, the ground of your home, the connection between you sparked, and you were absolutely, undeniably sure. 

Price staggered, his vision blurring. He’d taken down at least four of them now, but he was wounded, fatigued and dying. His clothes were torn, his cowboy hat long gone, and blood soaked his shirt. And as he felt a sharp sting of pain in his side, he knew he was losing too much blood. That was it. Whatever it was. He came here not really expecting a good time, but dying here, in some English garden of a lavish mansion, surely hadn’t been among the plan. 

Just as he braced himself for the final blow, as he felt hot breath on his neck, a strong commanding voice, your voice, cut through the night.

“Enough!” You shouted, at the attacking guard's side in a flash, your movements a blur, as your hand closed around the guards' throat in a grip that could crush stone. You’d stopped him from biting him at the last second, with a surge of possessive fury that you had never felt before.

“He’s mine.” You hissed, your eyes blazing, and fear shot through the poor young vampire's face. “Nobody has his blood but me .”

The guard whimpered, and you released him with a shove. He scrambled back, taking an exaggerated bow as he did.

“Leave us. Make sure you feed to survive the night.” You commanded the remaining of them, and with sharp bows of their heads, they joined the rest of your court inside the mansion.

Price collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his body screaming in pain. His chest was slowly rising and falling in shallow breaths, but his pulse still beat. You were suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw, running through the blood soaked beard.

He looked at you, and you expected fear in his eyes, but there was nothing of that sort. There was a soft gaze as his eyes found yours, he was staring at you almost admiringly, and you knew.

He really must have felt it too. The connection. The pull.

The strength he displayed against superhuman creatures wasn’t bestowed upon just anyone.

He was it.

He was both your greatest hope and only salvation.

He was your king.

[mymreaderlibrary]

Could always go for some old man yaoi between Price and an older veteran reader so here are some ramblings.

[Old friends, pre relationship, yearning, beard buddies, ramblings/ no coherency].

[Length: 739 words]

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The 141's mission calls for a specialization that they don't meet (at least not well enough to risk failure), but what would you know Price has an old buddy who can help. The thing is he's a veteran who's not all that interested in exiting his retirement especially considering he lost a limb. However he's not one to abandon those in need and with a little convincing he decides to assist, offering his expertise mostly off of the field.

In their downtime y/n and Price get to catch up and spend some time together over drinks. It's been a while since they've seen each other considering how differently they now lead their lives. Y/n is embarrassed to admit he's already getting grey hairs as Price questions his brutally short buzzcut. He never used to cut his hair like that even in his younger years. Price jokes that he's disappointed that y/n is trying to hide his new silver fox look. Y/n says he'll get to see it when it starts growing into his beard. Maybe it's the alcohol but the teasing lingers in both of their minds, feeling more sincere than joking.

Even if they've spent a lot of time apart there's still things they know about each other by heart. Particularly how apprehensive y/n is to being assisted with anything. There's no fragility allowed as he'd rather grin and bare it than accept help, especially with his new(ish) disability. Price doesn't speak on the matter, but he does get frustrated at the other man's stubbornness, a subtle crinkle to his eye as he watches his friend struggle.

Speaking of stubbornness, the 141 get to "enjoy" having two hardheaded older men on the same team. Double the scolding and double the exasperated sighing, somehow it's like being together has combined them into the ultimate grumpy old man. Laswell wouldn't admit it but once their voices start to layer over each other she tunes them out. They're gonna be going in circles for a while and it's near impossible to stop them. It would be almost comedic if it didn't happen all the damn time. ( Worst of all is that most of their arguments are them agreeing on something, but thinking the other misunderstood due to how they phrased their response).

Night times are often nostalgic, neither of them are heavy sleepers so if one wakes up so does the other. They try to get as much sleep in when they can, but if they feel like reminiscing over times long gone then who's to stop them. Stories about Price's younger years in training and y/n's experience with that one damn drill instructor who seemed to hate his guts. Stories about how shitty their first long range shots were and how they could barely even hit the target. Stories about all the times they found themselves in some form of trouble be it on the field or in base. Y/n remembers the time they had to share one shitty cot that they almost punched each other over. Price remembers when they were stuck in a tundra for over a month and were so excited to have a hot shower again they just went at the same time. Neither of them mention how much they actually enjoyed that closeness and how both of them were too cowardly to initiate anything. But they do mention the day they got split up, sent to entirely different countries. Y/n admits to being disappointed he hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye... Price says he's glad they didn't, sometimes goodbye's like those are bad luck.

They take a moment to look at each other, see scars old and new, wrinkles forming in places that used to be so smooth. Price can't help but look at y/n's eyes, seeing that familiar color that never seemed to fade despite all its seen. He thinks back to that warm shower over a decade ago and how they looked then too. The steam that rose from y/n's chest, the subtle brush of skin they shared as they tried to dance around each other. He remembers that expectation of something more that never came.

They squeeze each other's hands, but the moment passes in silence and neither of them move. Eventually they break eye contact and drift back to sleep.

It seems even now they’re still too cowardly.

[plasticfangtastic]

Cozy Corner Domaystic--Prompt: 3. Grocery Shopping, 18. Snow Day, 21. Road trip (sort of)

Charred Steak

A Butchlander fic

Sypnopsis: Butcher is in charge of taking care of Homelander.

Tags: Fluff?, non-canon anything, partially-depowered Homelander, depressive, one-shot, not proof read i die like this.

word count: 1.5k words

This is the forth time he’s heard this song on the radio, one can only tolerate the same country cover before been driven insane but is better than nothing, their car only had an old stereo and he rather not drive in silence with this company, they’ve arrived to their cabin and found it more than just barren, ordered to stay out of sight and hidden until further notice so it was just functional not comfortable but at least it'll do, the snow was piling up and the sun had begun to set-- all Butcher wanted was anything in his stomach and a drink to warm him up, then worry about tomorrow and the road.

Leaving the cargo behind he headed to the nearest town over an hour away, in normal circumstance he wouldn’t dare leave this guy alone but now he can’t go anywhere, he’s bound to the ground like any other sad sod in the world should-- or at least for the most part, but he’s not complaining he himself doesn’t want to do anything, he’s rotting away on his passenger seat or the floor, the most he’s spoken this whole drive to the middle of nowhere America had been to complain about the amount of ads on the radio then over this song.

But Butcher pays him no mind.

This drive is short compared to the last few days, the song just an annoying reminder.

The supermarket is a little small, but he can at least take a breather in aisle dillydalling as he reads the ingredients and cooking instructions, he was no gourmand much less Gordon Ramsey so he would eat anything.

Homelander much the same--he had no taste for food not eating much either, losing weight to a worrisome degree even his bosses had ordered him to feed him, so he stuffed the trolley with a decent variety of things in hopes he liked something, he ignored the ringing on his phones, too exhausted to deal with the rest of the boys after such a long drive, just wanting to get back and eat.

He picks two packs of steaks seeing which was the best deal, he should buy the cheapest chuck knowing Homelander doesn’t deserve anything but dollar store steak but he puts the T-Bone on the trolley nevertheless, he can’t really brush away the image of Homelander’s distraught, how dead he was, after all these days bound together Homelander feel more like a husk dressed and bleached than his archnemesis.

Reading his shopping list he got he milk, the hot cocoa, enough water for a month, he got the bread, butter, canned chili and beans, too many cans that at some point he’s unsure if they will eat it all, toilet paper, frozen vegs and lots of steak, he shouldn’t be buying candies... Homelander seemed to despise anything with fructose unless its coke.

But he still throws a few in there.

Butcher almost wishes the snow buries his car and leaves him stranded if that meant he can stay away from the blond.

But he makes it to the cabin, he looks up and sees no smoke.

He ran as if his life depended on it, his mind only remembers the Homelander of the past, he’s gone and he’s fucked.

The door slams open and he’s taunting the air with his gun but all there is a mess hovering a dwindling flame, wrapped in a blanket and shivering, his foot sticking out and blue.

“You’ll get hypothermia that way… don’t you know how to keep a fire going?”

Homelander doesn’t reply, his eyes yearn to light up but he’s just there immobile on the ground and if his head hadn’t move just a second prior he would had thought it was a corpse. 

Homelander doesn’t move when Butcher fixes the fireplace again, but he will pretend to not have noticed that the man squinted and smiled as the warmth enveloped him, he catchest that odd look in his eyes as he touches him to put that poor foot back inside the quilt.

Butcher does his things, putting things away wishing he would help or talk but all Homelander wants to do is sit by the fire like a cat.

“They said on the radio that the snow storm is only going to get worse… we will be stranded so if you want anything I didn’t get at the shops you better speak up now.”

Homelander says nothing.

“You… whatevah…”

Homelander doesn’t do anything, Butcher can fix their temporary residency for a couple days without protest.

He looks at his watch and realizes that Homelander hasn’t eaten or drank anything for hours, he looks at the man grunting as he forces himself to care for him, picking him up from the ground and finally earning a response from the man, he looks at Butcher wincing at him trying to push him away but while there is strength that doesn’t match those thin arms, he’s still weak.

Dragging him up, the man looks away from him-- he looks more angry than ashamed

“I’m gonna make dinner. Be useful and set the table.”

Homelander stood there as Butcher looks back at him and for some disturbing amount of time Homelander stood frozen, but without making a sound he floats and helps him out, he moves smoothly and quicker than most but not in a manner that seemed natural for him.

“Is that… good enough?” His voice is so dry, it hurts to listen, he nods for putting a table wasn’t rocket science– what are you making?”

Butcher grins surprised to hear the bastard wanting to chit-chat.

“Steak and veggies.” He says bluntly.

“Better than slim jims and whisky…” 

He sounds normal for a second which gets Butcher to turn around, he much rather listen to this version of him instead of the corpse tied to him.

“You got milk but no whisky… Did you forget?”

Butcher eyes light up in horror, the snow so thick outside he knows it probably not a good idea to travel anymore not at this hour.

“You did get slim jims…”

“Is better if I stay sober if am s’ppose to be stuck ‘ere with you until I get my next orders.”

Homelander smile is more somber than Butcher wants to witness-- he can tell he's bullshiting him so his hearing isn't all gone, this situation is dire but he still looks at the disheveled blonde with a bit of anxiety, his suit long gone replaced by dark coloured sweats, missing a sock and a beard that's gone from scratchy to scruffy, Homelander has been docile for the most part, Butcher becoming his nurse bathing him, washing his hair, shaving that god awful beard... he’s been comatose for weeks, waking up and being no different than a vegetable, moved from coast to coast away from Vought and their minions, Butcher has gotten uncomfortably familiar with Homelander, so when he acts alive its great but it annoys him.

It was weird for Homelander to talk or move this much these days-- Butcher almost gotten accustomed to the potato sack, he can't tell if Homelander will act out but Butcher has learned some tricks to keep him tame.

He lowers the flame letting the steak sizzle and crisp and the veggies boil without supervision for a moment, as he maneuvers around Homelander to take a pack of Werther’s candy from the pantry, Homelander watchest him closely as he rips the candy open.

“You've been a good boy. Haven't tried to run in a whole week… thought you deserved a treat”

“Twisted ankles hurt so much more than I expected it… simpler to break them… what’s the point of running if it’ll hurt afterwards... don't get me started on sore knees."

“You won’t run anymore, right?” Butcher teases Homelander, pressing the cream coloured candy in-between his fingers lifting it towards Homelander’s mouth– you’ll be a good sweet boy for daddy and stay right where I tell ya to stay, right?”

“Is not like I can leave you.” He looks out the window– is also snowing quite a bit… we both can’t leave each other either way."

“So you’ll be a good boy and behave?"

“yes, daddy” He says mockingly.

Butcher presses the creamy candy on the blond’s lip his tongue stretching and catching those calloused fingers, Butcher knows he shouldn’t get to know him more, he hates the bastard, but as the man suckles on his fingers, remembering bittersweet memories-- Homelander is so sensitive to the pain, so sensitive to everything else too... he'll do anything not to feel pain but something else.

It was wrong, it was sick but Butcher found it cathartic, more cathartic than the bruise on Homelander’s neck... now a sweet shade of olive, his mouth watered at the thought of being trapped together.

Homelander smiled crushing the candy as Butcher’s fingers escape those sharp toothers, still sharp enough to rip bone clean, he knows well... he got the stiches to remind him.

“I don’t like well-done steak.”

“Youse get what you get.”

“You don’t like well-done either.”

“Fuck.”

The snow piles up, Butcher and Homelander eat in silence, the snow piles up outside, and the two stare at their plates in awkward silence.

Butcher smiles just a tad as the man can only muster a sizzle on the meat.

“See you do like it well-done, luv.”

“Gives it some flavor… you forgot to season it.”

“Butter and salt is enough.”

“Your people colonized the whole world for spices—

“Shut up and eat your steak!”

Homelander smiles, chewing loudly as Butcher wishes he’ll go back to being silent.

[wish-i-were-heather]

TOO SWEET ⤵ NASH HAWTHORNE X READER

ABOUT: 3129 words, no use of y/n

STORY: you meet back up with your childhood best friend, and he gets a bit out of hand.

WARNINGS: drunkess/alcohol? i guess that's it

TAGS: @littlemissmentallyunstable @gretag13 @lanterns-and-daydreams @whatsamongus @alwaysthefangirl @zuzanna-jadw1ga @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @low-caloriesmonsterultra @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @jimcarreyfann42 @maybxlle @xoxo-vee @elysianwayy77 @ravishinglyliving @- this is just everyone who wanted to be tagged for grayson cuz i wasn't sure, pls lmk if u do/don't wanna be tagged for other characters!!

inspired by a post by @jkriordanverse <33

A/N: SORRY THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO POST WHILE I WAS GONE BUT THE QUEUE DIDN'T WORK >:( anyway so like i said i saw that post about drunk nash singing hozier and i was like omg yes. this gets kinda long i could've split it into two but i didn't so here we are

You were no stranger to formal events. Your family wasn’t necessarily rich, but you were well off. Somewhat higher status. So it wasn’t unusual for you to be at events that required you to dress up a bit. Put on a dress, do a bit more makeup, put on your good earrings. 

But this one was different.

It was a big charity event run by one of the biggest family names in the country, but the dress code was less suit and tie, high heels and pearl necklaces. For some reason, they had decided to play into the fact that they were in Texas. A western themed event. And for some reason you decided to go, despite having no experience with that style.

You thought it would be simple enough. Find a cute but not too fancy dress and a simple pair of boots to match. The dress you were able to find in your closet- a white one that fell loosely to just about the length of your knees, square neck, and thin straps. Nothing too revealing nor too elegant. The event, unlike most, was about simplicity. 

It was the boots that you had trouble with. 

You’d never worn a pair of cowboy boots before. Silly, supposing you lived in Texas, but you had just never been part of the crowd that wore that regularly. Because you only planned on wearing them to the event, you just ordered a pair online because it didn’t matter too much to you.

Only when they arrived did you realize that they were a bit too big. Nothing crazy, it wasn’t like wearing five sizes too big, more like half. And that half a size still made a difference. 

You stepped out of your car in front of the venue. It was some sort of ranch that clearly hadn’t been used as a proper ranch in who knew how long. The large barn doors were open, revealing all the partygoers and tables and drinks and lights and everything inside. 

Sure enough, everyone was dressed similar to you. Not too formal. Nothing like you were used to wearing. You felt out of place, even though every other person there looked the same. 

With a sigh, you made your way to the entrance. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect there. The only reason you came was because it was a Hawthorne event. You knew that name; you’d known that name your whole life. Your family had been close with the Hawthornes. You grew up with the four boys. Well, mostly with Nash. You were closer to his age than Grayson, Xander, or Jameson. 

But as you grew older, you drifted apart. Adulting happened, you got busy, and eventually you lost contact with Nash. You still had his number in your phone- well, at least his old one from when you were fifteen. Odds were he probably had a new one, and you weren’t willing to text and find out.

So maybe some part of you deep down was hoping to find him again here. It was probably hopeless. Such a big event, so many people, the chances of finding Nash Hawthorne were quite low. 

Yet here you were. 

You kept walking, making your way through the entrance. You were just on time, not too early or too late, but there were already plenty of people walking around. You didn’t recognize any of them. 

There were sounds of glasses clinking, country music in the background, and countless voices conversing as the evening began to unfold. You walked through the crowd, awkwardly adjusting the strap of your dress.

There was nothing wrong with it, but you couldn’t help but feel self conscious, even when everyone was just as casual.

Suddenly, your foot caught on an uneven plank of wood, the oversized shoe not helping one bit. With a startled yelp, you tripped forward. Instinctively, your arms moved out to catch yourself. But there was no need, because before you could properly fall, strong arms caught you, helping you balance again. 

“Woah there,” a familiar voice chuckled. And as you looked up, you found yourself looking into the amused eyes of Nash Westbrook Hawthorne. 

Your eyes widened when you realized who had caught your fall, your face suddenly heating up for no particular reason. 

“Nash?” You breathed, hardly able to believe it. 

He laughed, his grin widening in return when he recognized you too. “Well I’ll be damned. It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Nash took a step back once you were standing again. “You look great, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you in this type of dress in… well, ever. The boots too, they look like they suit you.” You could tell he was teasing.

“Am I that obvious?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously. “They’re too big, but I figured what harm will it do, right? Oh,” you added. “And, thank you. You look… great, too.” 

Why were you being so awkward? It’s just Nash.

Just Nash.

He laughed again, a deep, warm sound that you remembered well. “Thanks, darlin’. Here, why don’t we go sit down? Catch up somewhere quieter.”

You agreed, and the two of you navigate your way through the crowd of people. He was guiding you subtly, his hand gently resting on the small of your back. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed, like he belonged there.

Which made sense, it was his family’s event. And Nash of all the Hawthornes was the one who was most comfortable in those Western-themed situations. 

Most likely to win a rodeo. 

You and his brothers had voted him that when you were kids. 

Nash led you to a quieter spot in the back, as promised. There were some hay bales set up as makeshift seats. Sure, there were chairs that you could’ve snagged from an empty table, but where was the fun in that? 

“Have a seat,” he told you. “I’ll get us some drinks.” And before you could respond, Nash was off. You watched as he walked away, finding yourself glad that he was turned away so he couldn’t see you staring. 

His hair was about the same length and style from when you were younger- you supposed he found what he liked and stuck to it. But that didn’t matter because he was wearing a cowboy hat. Maybe it was for the occasion, but you knew him, and odds were he was wearing it because that was just what he liked. 

But, of course, it had still been almost ten years. He had most definitely grown. Taller, visibly stronger, and his voice had gotten deeper. 

You weren’t complaining. 

Nash returned, and you were snapped out of your thoughts. “So apparently there’s no alcohol. Avery’s decision, not mine. Hope you like iced tea.”

“Thanks.” You took the cup from him as he sat down beside you, but realized he’d only grabbed one. “Why didn’t you get one for yourself?”

Nash shrugged. “I’m not a fan of tea. Even without sugar or nothing, it’s a bit too sweet.”

“Oh,” you nodded. Then you thought about what he’d said earlier. “So, Avery…?”

“Oh, yeah, you don’t know her, do you? I mean, I’m gonna assume that you’ve seen everything on the news and such, but you’ve never met her.” 

You had definitely been paying attention to any news involving the Hawthornes ever since you stopped talking to him. Maybe paying a little more attention than you wanted to admit. “Is she nice? Good to Jameson?” “Oh yeah,” he nodded. “Very good to Jamie. They’re good for each other.” 

“Good, good.”

Why were you acting so weird?

Just Nash. 

You took a sip of the iced tea, the cold calming your nerves a bit. Nash leaned back on the hay bale, as if picking up on your nervousness and trying to make himself more open. 

“So,” he began. “How has life been? Last I heard you were looking at colleges out of state?” 

You nodded, suddenly feeling more comfortable when you knew what to say. “Yeah. I went up to Massachusetts.” “Really. Did you go to school there?”

“Yeah. Harvard? Have you heard of it?” You joked. “I don’t know, it’s not very well known.”

Nash laughed with you. “Harvard. You’re kidding.”

“What, you jealous?” Already back into your old ways, teasing him.

“No. That’s where Grayson’s going.”

Your eyes widened. “What? That’s crazy. On the off chance I run into him, I’ll tell him you say hi.”

Your conversation continued, wandering from how your lives have been to his thoughts on the whole inheritance drama when it first happened. Then somehow you started talking about the fact that they now had a dog named Tiramisu? 

Oh, Xander named it. 

That made more sense. 

But as the night progressed, you still found yourself being awkward. The conversation would come to a slow point and Nash would be the one to bring something up and start talking again, not you. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to him? Sure, maybe you hadn’t spoken in years now, but he was so easy to talk to that it felt like no time at all.  

“You know,” he mentioned eventually. “I’ve missed this. Missed you, missed us. We should try to get together sometime, while you’re here.”

There was something about the way he said us.

“Yeah, that’d be fun. I’m here for the next week, so we could-”

“After the party?”

His offer caught you off guard. You wanted to spend time with Nash, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to want to get together so soon. You weren’t against it, though.

“Oh yeah, after this works.” You took a sip from the drink to try to look more natural; it looked even more forced. “Where do you want to go?”

Nash grinned. 

“Can you sing?”

A question like that was never good coming from a Hawthorne. 

~~

The rest of the event had gone by quickly. Avery had eventually gone up and said a few words, and afterwards Nash introduced you to her. She was nice, as you thought she’d be. 

You also said hello to Xander and Jameson again, which was fun. Grayson, of course, was still at Harvard. Xander made a pinky promise to you that he’d “make sure Gray finds you on campus or else.”

Then, you and Nash were off.

He’d only told you once you’d left where you were going: a karaoke bar. 

You were not a singer, by any means or definition of the word, but Nash reassured you that it was just the two of you for fun. Neither of you were expected to be professionals, so that gave you some bit of closure and got you a little more excited.

You were sure that there had to be some sort of karaoke room in the Hawthorne House, but that’s not where you went. Nash took the two of you to a karaoke bar. But when you arrived, there was an individual room reserved for you. 

Even if it was taking away from the social bar aspect of the karaoke bar, you appreciated not having to sing poorly in front of strangers.

“So,” Nash began once you were settled in. “Have you got any songs to start with?”

You shrugged. “Do you know any Disney?”

He fully gasped. “Do I know Disney? Do I know Disney? Is my last name Hawthorne? Hell yeah I know Disney!”

Nash hadn’t been lying. Together, you sang a song from practically every Disney movie that existed. And as you sang, you realized you didn’t care what you sounded like. He made it so easy for you to let your guard down and relax and just have fun. 

Nash, on the other hand, you quickly realized he had a voice. Deep and controlled, like he knew what he was doing. The only cracks in his voice were because the note was either too high, or just the result of him drinking.

It was a karaoke bar, after all.

Maybe he was secretly a professional country singer in his free time, it’d been so long since you last spoke to him that you had no idea. 

After finishing Love Is an Open Door from Frozen, you both finally paused to catch your breath after nonstop singing. 

“Y’know,” Nash said, taking a sip from the drink he’d ordered- this time with alcohol. “Hans may have been an ass, but he’s a damn good singer.”

You chuckled. “Says you. You are surprisingly good at this.”

“Surprisingly? Ouch,” he said playfully. 

“Seriously though,” you continued. You both took a seat on the couch. “Do you sing often or is that just… a natural talent?”

Nash shrugged humble. “I don’t know. I will sometimes for fun.”

“What do you usually sing?”

He took a final sip from his drink, setting it back down with a loud clunk. “Let me show you.”

~~

Hozier. 

That’s who Nash liked to sing. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe some sort of country artist, simply because of how he liked to dress and talk. Not Hozier. But, of course, you weren't complaining. Because those songs seemed to match his voice perfectly. And he sounded beautiful.

Nash had spent a good fifteen minutes singing, taking a drink between each song. Which, obviously, as alcohol does, seemed to have an effect on him. His words grew sloppier, attempts at dancing growing more wobbly.

After a dramatic singing of To Be Alone that felt more like a serenade by the way he looked at you during the chorus, you would’ve thought he was done. He looked pretty tired and out of it from the drinks, too. 

But then the next song auto played- Too Sweet, one of Hozier’s newest songs.

Nash Hawthorne, half drunk and easily excitable, practically screamed.

“I love this song!” He cried, running over to where you were seated and pulling you up to stand with him. You laughed and let him take you.

“You know, Nash, I think I’ve really only ever heard this on the radio-”

He cut you off by beginning to sing when the lyrics appeared on screen. You grabbed the second microphone that you’d set aside and followed along as best you could. It was a bit hard for you to focus, though, as Nash stumbled next to you and tried his best to keep both his feet and his voice steady. Though he tried his best, he was failing miserably.

It was hilarious.

“I think I’ll take my whiskey neat,” he sang, or more accurately, shouted. “My coffee black and my bed at three. You’re too sweet for me!”

When the song ended, he finally let himself sit down. He picked up his drink and had another sip, and you then took it from him.

“Hey!” He pouted. “I’m drinkin’ that. You can drink your own drink, don’t drink my drink.” 

How many times could he say ‘drink’ in a sentence?

“What?” You laughed.

“I mean-” hiccup. “I mean don't drink my drink, it’s mine.”

“I’m not drinking it, Nash. I promise,” you said, talking slowly the same way you would to a little kid. “You’ve just had too much. And we took your car, I don’t want to have to drive it for you…”

But it was a little too late for that, wasn’t it?

You took the free water bottle that’d come with the room off the side table and handed it to him instead. “There, drink that.”

Nash took the water and without hesitation opened it and chugged it, successfully spilling water all over himself. You didn’t even bother to clean it up, because he didn’t even bother to care that he was now soaked. 

“Okay,” you said, more to yourself than him. “We should probably get going.”

“One more song?” Nash asked, failing to balance his hat on his head and deciding to throw it across the room when it didn’t stay on.

“Fine. One more song.” 

Imagine your reaction when you recognized the intro to Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

~~

“I’m not five.”

“You sure are acting like it,” you told him. “Sit still and buckle yourself up or I’ll do it for you.”

Nash muttered something under his breath about you not being the boss of him, but he eventually buckled himself up in the passenger seat of his own car, and you got in the front. Nash wasn’t quite completely drunk, but obviously enough to not be himself, because now he was acting like a pouty little kid. 

Yeah, it would probably be best if you drove.

As you pulled out of the parking lot, Nash began typing away on his phone. You didn’t know what he was doing until you heard music begin; he’d bluetooth connected his phone to the car speakers, and was now blasting Take Me to Church. 

He sang along, a sound you assumed usually sounded angelic, but now his voice cracked at pretty much every single note. Things only got better worse when he rolled down the window and sang into the dark of the night. 

You reached over and dialed the volume down, just a bit. When the song ended, you finally took your chance to speak.

“You really like his music, don’t you?”

Nash nodded. “Mhm. He sounds like me.”

You chuckled and let the car fall to silence as you drove him home. 

“I missed you,” Nash suddenly blurted. 

“I missed you too,” you admitted honestly. “You’re a good singer.”

“You’re a good driver.”

“I’m only driving because you got drunk off your ass,” you reminded him, keeping your eyes on the road.

“Thank you for not crashing the car,” he said genuinely, like it was the most serious thank he could give you. “And driving me home.”

You sighed. “You’re welcome, Nash. Try to get some rest when you get home, okay? I’m sure you’ll feel shitty in the morning.”

“I’m gonna start now,” he said, earning another laugh from you. Nash slumped in his seat, and brought his hat down to cover his eyes. “Goodnight, darlin’. Don’t let the… Hozier bite.”

That last statement was so absurd that you couldn’t tell if you were laughing, coughing, or dying in response. 

You caught your breath, though still laughing quietly to yourself at what he’d said. 

“Goodnight Nash.”

You thought back to the times when you were younger, and the two of you would stay up late past when you were supposed to be asleep. Most of the time, the lack of sleep got to you and you’d both say the stupidest things. 

Maybe he wasn’t so different all these years later after all.

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