#olivia; my lovely girl with a pretty soul like herself. could never get enough from you.

[onlyfemmefatale]

To those cozy evenings. @inyourheartifoundahome @magicinher-eyes

Katie

[ugly-anastasia]

f*cking perfect: a georgette playlist ( @perfectisgeorgette)

the lucky one by taylor swift

bardot by raffaella

be sweet by japanese breakfast

fit n full by samia

oh no! by marina

at least i'm pretty by henriette

pretty hurts by beyonce

pretty isn't pretty by olivia rodrigo

what was i made for? by billie eilish

f**kin perfect by p!nk

thoughts below the cut!

the lucky one by taylor swift

Another name goes up in lights Like diamonds in the sky

Georgette is at the top of her game, but she's also still really young, and I thought this song was a fun way to start the playlist because it's all about the life cycle of an it girl from when you first hit the scene to when you decide to retire from the public eye. Yeah, they'll tell her now she's the lucky one, but will she change her mind about that?

2. bardot by raffaella

Welcome to the show, I promise I'm enough Nothing's better than a pretty girl singin' songs about love Put me on a stage, bend your neck to look up A glorified queen is one you just can't touch

This song is about performing! I think it's perfect for Georgette's pageant queen background and her fear of people looking deeper and seeing beyond her perfection. I think the song also taps into this obsession with femininity and gender roles that was super widespread in the 50s but also continues to this day in certain circles— and in the mainstream culture tbh.

3. be sweet by japanese breakfast

Be sweet to me, baby I wanna believe in you, I wanna believe (be sweet)

A nod to Georgette's love life! Perfection is so important to her and I imagine she expects the same from anyone in her orbit. She really wants a partner who will live up to her expectations, but I can see her giving second chances if a person goes above and beyond to make it up to her.

4. fit n full by samia

Only getting hotter as I sweat I have never really been upset Just hollow and amazing All I want is to be like my dad All I want's to give you what I had I'm generous and vacant

This song never gets old for me lol. It's a satire about how beauty standards get repackaged as "wellness" and "fitness" and how it all just gets tied up in the same crazy expectations women have placed on them, especially in the public eye. And how impossible it is to be everything that everyone wants you to be, and the hollowness behind all of that. Which I think would speak to Georgette!

5. oh no! by marina

One track mind, one track heart If I fail, I'll fall apart Maybe it is all a test 'Cause I feel like I'm the worst So I always act like I'm the best

These songs are getting more into the dark side of "perfection" and how the expectations Georgette puts on herself could destroy her if she isn't careful. This entire album is pretty relevant tbh to any story about fame and glamor and the dark side of all of that, but I think this song in particular.

6. at least i'm pretty by henriette

And it's a clean cut Down the line It's a hard life when it's mine Drove around this whole city At least my mom thinks I'm pretty But you want nothing to do with me At least I'm pretty

Into the trio of songs that have the word "pretty" in the title! Yes I thought it would be funny to put them all next to each other. This song is about getting dumped and basically clinging to one thing to try to comfort yourself but deep down you know it isn't really what you need to hear. I think if Georgette ever had her heart broken this would be really fitting.

7. pretty hurts by beyonce

Pretty hurts, we shine the light on whatever's worst Perfection is a disease of a nation, pretty hurts, pretty hurts Pretty hurts, we shine the light on whatever's worst We try to fix something but you can't fix what you can't see It's the soul that needs a surgery

I looove this song. I think this song is really the playlist in a nutshell tbh so like what is there to say about it but I will try. I think it's fun to contrast the big anthemic sound of this song with the previous one, and it's also a bit of a preview to the last song on the playlist. I also love the spoken word at the beginning, and the references to pageants. What a banger.

8. pretty isn't pretty by olivia rodrigo

When pretty isn't pretty enough, what do you do? And everybody's keepin' it up, so you think it's you I could change up my body and change up my face I could try every lipstick in every shade But I'd always feel the same 'Cause pretty isn't pretty enough anyway

What I like about this song is that it's about beauty standards but it's also about putting all of your self esteem in some external thing is always going to let you down because if you don't like yourself, it will never be enough. Which I think is something we all struggle with, and I can see that maybe being relevant to Georgette who makes beauty and accomplishment such a priority!

9. what was i made for? by billie eilish

When did it end? All the enjoyment I'm sad again, don't tell my boyfriend It's not what he's made for What was I made for?

Jumping off of that last one, I think this song gets at the emptiness of making your goal perfection and then getting there and not feeling fulfilled. And maybe the other people in your life, who are only there because they represent something you thought was important, can't really understand it.

10. f**kin perfect by p!nk

Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood Miss No-Way-It's-All-Good It didn't slow me down Mistaken, always second guessing Underestimated, look, I'm still around

I mean who can say it better than miss glitter in the air herself. I think the "miss" parts of this section can also be kind of about the beauty pageant thing. I hope this is the message Georgette learns eventually! All you have to be perfect is who you are <3

[healersadjust]

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

(I'm mostly curious about Aki but feel free to answer for all of them if you like!)

Thank you so much for the ask @azure-dragonsinger !!!!!!!!!!

This one’s really hard for Aki!!!! All my other ocs are really simple, but I stared at this for a VERY long time before remembering my girl LOVES tradecrafts!

In particular, Aki knows a lot about art. She can’t read or write well, but she wants to document things still. She had hundreds and hundreds of paintings that she keeps almost like a journal! Eventually, she got tired of lugging them around but they were so personal that she couldn’t just leave them out in the open, so she got an apartment to store them all. But she has so, so many by the current patch.

One of the first things she does in her downtime is paint. She paints the faces of people she’s met, the places she’s seen, and she captures emotion just as well as a written work. Some of her most loved and personal paintings, she keeps with her in her bag just so she can remember what she fights for sometimes.

Extra bits! Some more details on her paintings and a snippet of a fic under the cut. It’s pretty rambley, i’m very sorry!

Aki’s earliest painting she still has is one of her family. It was done about a year after the calamity, after her adoptive mother taught her the basics of painting. The quality isn’t great, but all of her family are easily recognizable. Well, would be to anyone who knew them- unfortunately, Aki is the only living soul who could remember them. Anyway! It’s a family portrait with her father on the far left, all four of her sisters, her mother on the right and with Aki peeking out from behind her mother.

The next painting down the line is one of her adoptive mother, her “uncle” and herself! It’s happier than the family portrait, with all three of them close to eachother and smiling.

Next down the line! A portrait of G’raha. She did it after he saw her other two paintings. She didn’t paint during ARR at all until he mentioned them propped up in her tent! She painted him while he slept one night, since she was having a hard time changing to a diurnal schedule. She showed him the next morning, and it’s one of her most prized paintings. It breaks her heart every time she sees it though, but it was the first one she hung up in her apartment.

After that! She became so afraid of forgetting peoples faces that she started to paint everyone she could. I’m not gonna detail every single one, but she has painted almost any character you could think of. She has at least one landscape painting of each area she visits, and occasionally sits in public places to paint the people there. It sounds like a lot, and it is. She has a lot of paintings of her best friend (who belongs to @linkus611) Olivia, multiples of the scions, but. A painful number of her paintings are dedicated to G’raha.

Speaking of. This is becoming very rambley and i’m sorry! But, an important detail. Aki painted a lot, and she saved a lot of them for somebody to give to G’raha one day. She figured someone at Cid’s workshop would have children who could one day give it to him, and it was a long shot… But she wanted G’raha to have a piece of her even when she was gone. The ring wouldn’t be enough- she had to “take him” on her adventures with her. She couldn’t write, so she painted everything instead. He got them when he woke up, he still has them.

Anyway! Her memory of people who have passed starts to fray. G’raha’s face changes a bit every painting, Haurchefant’s hair color is never quite the same, etc etc. And when she looks back on the first paintings she did of them, she always gets so upset seeing the differences. She worries she will forget peoples faces, and seeing how things start to alter in her mind makes her Very sad.

But yes! It’s never story relevant, very very few people even know she paints. But she does!

[shotofire]

Happier

Eren Yeager x Fem!Reader

Based on the song ‘Happier’ by Olivia Rodrigo

Warnings: Heartache, Cursing, Angst

I’m alive, but with thriving writers block <3

I’m most likely going to do more songs off her new album, they’re so good!

~

We broke up a month ago

Your friends are mine

You know I know you’ve moved on

Found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you

Life is truly, and purely, fucked at times. Young girls putting all their heart and soul into a boy who doesn’t feel the same way. It happens time and time again. Things like this can’t be stopped, but it doesn’t stop girls from thinking the boy might be different. Maybe this one will be good, maybe this one is the one. But it seems to never work out that way in the end.

y/n truly believed her love was different. But it was all an illusion. She’d built a home inside her head, one that was perfect and had enough love to supply dozens. Too bad the boy she loved could care less about her. She’d fallen hard for Eren Yeager, and thought he was nothing short of perfect.

Months went by of what seemed like getting closer, but in reality they were just drifting further apart. It’s crazy how much one person can be in love while the other just plays along until their timer runs out. It’s utterly heartbreaking. No one deserves that feeling.

It ended on his terms of course, not hers, and he was off. She still saw him from time to time, it was unavoidable really. He knows the same people she does, it’s the same friend group practically. It didn’t take long at all for the whispering to start and the uncomfortable looks of her friends. It was a matter of time until one slipped up, spilling how Eren had moved on. There was already another girl.

y/n felt as if she’d been punched in the chest.

And I thought my heart was detached

From all the sunlight of our past

But she’s so sweet

She’s so pretty

Does she mean you forgot about me?

At first y/n brushed it aside. She’d spent the past month breaking down her and Eren’s relationship from beginning to end. He didn’t treat her right. Some in the beginning, but that’s what they all do. They try until they’ve become comfortable and it doesn’t matter to them anymore. It seemed to never matter to him.

Then he brought the new girl around. There was no denying she was a pretty girl. As y/n observed this girl it became clear that they are polar opposites. Different color hair, different heights, different interests. Eren wanted someone nothing like y/n, and that hurt her in ways she had never thought possible. He’d completely forgotten about their love, and what used to be.

She wanted to hate him for it but she couldn’t. There was still love buried beneath the hurt.

Oh, I hope you’re happy

But not like how you were with me

I’m selfish, I know

I can’t let you go

So find someone great but don’t find no one better

I hope you’re happy but don’t be happier

To anyone else it was quite obvious that Eren had no true feelings for this girl either. Time will go by, he will get bored, and it won’t mean anything to him. Y/n knew this of course, she knew how heartless he was. His sparkling eyes and boyish smile was all an act she knew way too well. Yet she couldn’t get herself to hate him, or even dislike him.

She disliked what he did to her, and what he’s going to do again and again to other girls with innocent hearts. Yet she still hoped the best for him even after everything he put her through, and what he’s continuing to put her through. Her heart can’t seem to let go of him and who he used to be to her. It’s sad, really.

Y/n knows deep down he’ll never find someone who loved him the way she did. It may sound selfish but it’s the truth. She’s a hopeless romantic who thought she’d found her forever person, so all of her love was spilled out to him on a silver platter. And he gladly dropped it onto the floor, leaving it there for her to pick up.

And she still hasn’t found all the pieces.

Eren may act as if it meant nothing, and maybe majority of it did, but he’ll never shake the feeling inside of him. He ignores it quite well, pushing it into the back of his mind with all the other blocked out memories and feelings. But he’ll never shake it, truly, to where he can’t feel it poking at him.

Y/n was good for him, too good, and he got rid of her. He was happy in a way he hadn’t been happy before. And instead of embracing it he shut off his feelings. It’s crazy how effortlessly he can do it. She knew this as well, it was tangled up with all her other scattering thoughts. He may be happy right now with this new girl, but it will never be the same. He’ll never be happier than he was with y/n.

And do you tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you’ll never mean

Remember when I believed

You meant when you said it first to me

Anger can really get the best of someone. Y/n may still have love for this boy but it doesn’t make her any less mad. To know he’s most likely saying the same words that’ll pull that girl right into his trap. He’ll throw around compliments that’ll make the girls heart flutter and her stomach flip. Too bad it’s all bullshit.

Y/n remembers all the times he called her beautiful, the simple word making her feel as if she’s on top of the world. She wonders if he meant it, even one time.

Her stomach turns in disgust, how could he be doing this again? How could he be breaking down another girl? Who has the heart to do such a thing, yet again?

The reality that everything he said wasn’t true makes her feel so used. So mistreated. She wonders if there were any girls before her who fell for his lover boy act. If there’s another so soon after her… who’s to say there isn’t more? The girl probably has no idea he was even with y/n.

And now i’m pickin’ her apart

Like cuttin’ her down will make you miss my wretched heart

But she’s beautiful

She looks kind

She probably gives you butterflies

At first y/n tried to act as if the girl was the problem. It’s the coping mechanism many try to avoid but it gets the best of people. To her she thought if she saw everything wrong with this new girl, maybe Eren would too. But y/n truly couldn’t find a thing worth getting worked up over.

The girl is kind, and has done nothing but tried to make others around her comfortable with her presence. Eren really knows how to pick them. Find a sweet girl with a big heart then hurt them. It’s become a hobby for him at this point. It’s sad the way some people live their lives.

Y/n hates herself for getting caught up in it. Why did she have to be one of his toys?

She hates the look in his eyes when he talks to the girl. It’s not real. He wants this girl to think he’s interested, that his stomach does flips by just the presence of that girls love. He used to look at y/n just like that, she remembers it all too well. It’s become burned into her memory.

I hope you’re happy

But not like how you were with me

I’m selfish, I know

I can’t let you go

So find someone great but don’t find no one better

Even if she’s able to read him so well, know him inside and out, she still hopes he’ll find happiness. Someone out there can change him. She cried for weeks wishing she was the one, but that’s not how life works.

But deep down she knows that sliver of happiness she made him feel was the best he’d ever had. Possibly the best he could ever get. She knows most of her thoughts about him are selfish, and she’s still holding onto him, but it’s never going to change.

Y/n was the light that he let burn out. She doesn’t want him to get ahold of a light like that ever again. She never wants him to feel the warmth of a love like hers. He may be happy one day, in his own twisted way, but she hopes he’ll realize the same thing she has. He doesn’t deserve true happiness.

I hope you’re happy

I wish you all the best

Really

Say you love her, baby

Just not like you love me

And think of me fondly when your hand’s around her

I hope you’re happy

But don’t be happier

Watching him as he rests a hand on the girls hip or pushes a piece of hair behind her ear is like watching a play unfold. Y/n can’t believe how well he has mastered these movements. As if they’re muscle memory. It crosses her mind that he may really love this girl….

But he moved the same exact way for y/n.

He’d catch a stray hair and tuck it behind her ear, making her eyes sparkle with love. She remembers when he’d cup his hand on her hip, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek. Making her blush and feel all warm and fuzzy. She misses that feeling.

She can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks about her. Even if it’s just for a second. When he kisses this girls cheek, or messes with her hair, or touches her skin, does he think of y/n? She shouldn’t, but she hopes he does. She hopes that her cries haunt him in the back of his mind every time he tries to feel the same as he once did. She wants to be in his head forever.

A constant reminder that in the long run, he’s not going to win.

I hope you’re happy

Just not like how you were with me

I’m selfish, I know

Can’t let you go

So find some great but don’t find no one better

I hope you’re happy but don’t be happier

Tears well up in y/n’s eyes. She wonders how long they’ll last. Will it be longer or shorter than her time lasted. She hopes it’s shorter. She hopes the girl leaves him first, sees through his persona. But she knows that’s a slim chance. He knows what he’s doing, as if he’s read a book on it.

Breaking hearts, his specialty.

The tears only increase, speeding down her red cheeks. Heartbreak can feel like a punch in the stomach. Considering the fact she’s still holding on while he was never doing it in the first place. She should know she deserves better. She deserves love.

Yet she goes day by day replaying the touches Eren and the new girl shared. The smiles. The laughs. The kissing. All right in front of her face, as if she wasn’t there. That’s what hurt the most, the fact he didn’t even really see her. She was a memory to him. Something of the past. How’d he do it so quick?

He has caused her hurt in ways she didn’t think were possible until now. And he was perfectly fine. He ‘loves’ someone else now. He’s touching someone else now. She isn’t his anymore, and he isn’t hers.

All of this, yet y/n still can’t let go.

[onlyfemmefatale]

@magicinher-eyes @brutalcharm @inyourheartifoundahome

[dianaburnwood]

HITMAN 3: First Impressions

This post is full of SPOILERS. Also, it is LONG, so.... yeah. Be prepared lol 

HITMAN 3. Also known as: Diana’s Game. 

Dear GOD I am in love. 

I’m going to do my best to make this coherent. But. I am still freaking out. And I have SO much more to explore!!!! This won’t be very in-depth because I played each map exactly once so far. There’s so much left to see, conversations to overhear, opportunities to exploit - but, I DO have some first impressions, oh hell yes. 

Menu: 

That menu music!!! I was not expecting that at all. It was a mix of choral and classical with previous themes intertwined, and it reminded me of Blood Money. Speaking of Blood Money, this game is Blood Money. 

Dubai: 

Very, very beautiful. Kinda thought Grey made it all about himself lol of course he wanted to say “in your face” to the partners, but it was like 47 was just there to pull the trigger, like he’d not been hurt by them too. But, I really liked it. Trapping them in a room and watching them freak while Grey watched me kill them?? Helloo??? Popping off HARD from the start and I love it.

So - here’s the thing. I don’t get the timing. Diana tells them then that Edwards escaped. Did he escape just before the boys got to Dubai? Or were they unavailable to reach until then? It seems that the message Grey got at the end of HAVEN was after Olivia hacked the HAVEN servers, and then the boys were out of reach so after Diana discovered Edwards was gone, she couldn’t tell them until Dubai? And it was shown to us in a different order to leave us hanging? I dunno. Maybe? It seems weird. 

THE CUTSCENE here omg - once again establishing that 47 and Diana are ride or die. “Diana will make it right, she always does” - BABE. BABE. SWEET BOY. His little face when Grey doesn’t trust Diana. OMGGG.

Dartmoor: 

I went the murder mystery route, of course. I figured it was Emma from her conversation with her husband, but I got all the clues after just to be sure. Can’t believe Carlisle just handed 47 the file on Edwards and then went out alone on the balcony like I wasn’t gonna kill her??? Bitch????? do you forget who i am?????? Anyway, the murder mystery was SO much fun, but I can’t wait to infiltrate this manor in other ways. Lots of Beldingford vibes here.

THE CUTSCENE bdsfgafhlsjfah WAHT????? Ok so HOW did Edwards know where they were? And - ok, so it made for an amazing scene, but Grey is a badass. He is a mercenary genius that duped the ICA and brought Providence to its knees. How did he get himself surrounded in the woods by CICADA? But he did, and it was beautiful, and he literally only shot himself to save 47, and the LOOK in 47′s eyes on his balaclava face - I just bfjKSFasad. I can’t believe he died so early tho. I was very sure he’d die somehow, but SO early. WOW. 

Berlin:

fucking hell. Berlin. fuck. fucckkkk. 

I wanna shout out to Mini (not gonna tag you in case you’re avoiding spoilers) but hot damn girl if you’re reading you were BANG ON about 47 wearing Grey’s coat. I really didn’t think it was his. It was. It is such a beautiful way for 47 to express his emotions about this death without actually saying anything. Omg. It was perfection. I’m crying thinking about it.

BERLIN was where this game really upped its... game. Like WOW. 5 targets, and it’s the ICA. Clearly Edwards went to the ICA board at this stage and was like uhhhh so you need to take these ppl out. HOWEVER I am amazed that the ICA is like “oh, ok”. DO you not remember what happened in SOUTH DAKOTA. 

But going after the ICA is a fucking trip and I love it. I love how 47 says each agent’s name to himself. I love how he listens in and the team handler realises it. I love how she pulls the rest of her team out once you get 5. I love that the ICA agents use disguises too!!! This is truly APEX PREDATOR and I love that they named it that. Y’all think you have the balls to go up against 47??? bitch?????

But the fact that you have to find the targets and none of them are marked is so fantastic. I found 6, but I have no idea how many are actually available - but I’m gonna find out!!! The club is HUGE as well, and lots of throwbacks to Contracts, especially with the biker gang. Amazing. Amazing level. I’m so excited to replay it. 

Also they really addressed the elephant in the room with the ICA agents describing 47 as a caucasian male, bald, average height and ppl being like uh that’s every man here, and then he said yeah but he’s got this big tattoo lmao 

Chongqing

ok this is where I started to think this game was my fanfiction. Inside the ICA? Showing off how truly international it is, and high tech. Hidden in plain sight. Ready to dismantle in 12 hours if needed. SO perfect. This lore builds on Absolution and Blood Money ICA lore in wonderful ways. 

Also, I don’t know why the IOI and DK of the logo looked different in the trailer, they must have been just hard to make out. Cos in the game, the ICA logo is the same as all previous games. 

Also, analysts do client vetting? Intrigue. Always assumed that was part of the handlers’ job. I take it all back Diana, you have never done anything wrong in your life, ever 

I killed Royce by firing the ppl she recommended so she’d get trapped in the data core cleaning. I killed Hush (what a name I love it) as his patient. 

Working with Olivia is really fun. I missed Diana, but Olivia brought a whole fresh perspective. I also really like how neither Grey nor Olivia are as good as Diana - they both fucked up while guiding 47 at least once. 

47 saying “...I will leave you to prepare” to Olivia, I yelled fdagsfa

Also I love how 47 decided to expose the ICA exactly like Diana did in Absolution. Those two. One of a kind. My heart. And his desire to protect her. I love that the files showed their start together. Olivia saying “I can see why you...” and then she stopped herself. We all KNOW what she was gonna say. 

AND AND AND AND 

the cutscene - I screamed

“47 has one weakness. Me.” 

I swear to fucking GOD, IO has seen into my soul. I’ve said all along that Diana is 47′s weakness, and he is hers. But to hear it said, aloud, by my girl? WHAT???!!!!!

Mendoza

Ok. OK. OKKKKKK. OK. I can’t even write about this one. This was where I was pretty sure I was hallucinating the entire level. This is my Diana and 47 dreams come true. This is insane. This is EVERYTHING.

So we have OUR MOMENT IN THE SUN. She puts her HAND on HIS HAND and he looks in fucking wonderment at it. ahugarhiewEG;FEJGHEFlejlhsgfes;gjrsgt. I can’t. I can barely get through writing about this. 

Diana - the dress, the Jolie thigh slit, the jewellery, the hair (they finally fixed her fucking hair), SASS. “I have tango fever” omg. 

How do these ppl not have a pic of 47 by now lol 

I followed Diana and Vidal around cos I was entranced by my girl. Diana was fucking amazing each time. So much sass. Little did I know I interrupted them enough times for Vidal to say “ok son let’s talk”. I saw the tango and I was like omg imagine if I could dance with Diana. 

well.

WELL. 

Anyway, got to kill Vidal via her own setup for me, and that was amazing. I wasn’t expecting it at all. I snuck into the house to kill Yates, and overheard him calling Edwards’ voicemail. Also, it is April 2021?? So, yeah. My previous dates were way wrong lol. 

And then, ALL MY DREAMS CAME TRUE. Diana and 47 fucking dancing the tango? I was pissed that I was in a security guard outfit, next time I play he will be in his tuxedo baby. 

Diana’s comments to 47 when he’s in disguise tho, I was freaking. As security “you look like a true professional. I feel so much safer with you gentlemen around” aaahhhh

UH HE FELL TO THE GROUND COS OF POISON fngjfagfljgnsdfa

I am so glad I was right about my baby girl tho. She even told him “you didn’t have a choice” about her parents. Good. I’m so glad I was right about that. But omg it broke my heart to have 47 so, SO, SOOO sure of Diana all along, defending her to Grey and Olivia, knowing, KNOWING that she was on his side, and then, he eventually started to doubt it. 

I was screaming at my screen - this is BLOOD MONEY! SHe is doing what she did in BLOOD MONEY!!!!

But, for a second, 47 wasn’t sure anymore. And Diana played her part well. 

Carpathian Mountains

Ok, what I love most about Contracts was how it gave us an insight into 47′s psyche, and this game upped that tenfold. Him seeing all his targets surround him? Him imagining Diana and the Constant dancing together? Him imagining her say terrible things about him, things he’s thought about himself deep down, always, omg, but he finally snapped out of it. Ironic that thinking about Grey snapped him out of it, when in life Grey had not trusted Diana. But 47 came to the realisation on his own. Diana would never betray him. 

opening that door and finding out you’re on a fucking train?????? I screamed. 

I am a bit disappointed that it turned out Romania wasn’t significant, they just happened to be passing through. But omg the fact that you are “subject 47″ again. I freaked. This is 47′s worst nightmare. 

I love that you have a free pass to kill everyone in this level. I did it in stealth anyway, cos it felt wonderfully tense to sneak through that train. But wow. This is another BIG risk that IO took. The train was straight out of Uncharted, and crafting a silencer for your pistol??? Hello The Last of Us????? But I don’t care. They used those elements super well. 

I think some people will be angry at this game because parts of it (especially the last level) were a departure from how HITMAN and HITMAN 2 worked. But I love it. I love that they took risks to tell the story they wanted to tell, and those risks paid off. 

47′s undying loyalty to Diana, omg. Telling Edwards bye bitch, I’ll never forget who I am again, and Diana thinks you suck. <3<3<3<3<3

ENDING

OH MY GOD. ONE YEAR LATER????? 47 obviously took some time off cos he fucking needed a break. But he’s back, baby. Ending on “it’s good to be back” was wonderful. The game ended where the 2015 trailer for HITMAN started, and I’m crying. He’s ready to continue with Diana, and not because it’s what he was made to do, not because he doesn’t know what else to do, but finally, because he CHOOSES to do that. 

But one year later? What does that mean? Has Diana rebuilt the ICA like in Blood Money, or will she and 47 work together without anyone else? They’ll need the infrastructure that an organisation like the ICA has though. Diana said she would dismantle Providence from the top down once Edwards was gone, but how? Does that mean dismantling what’s left of the ICA? They were one and the same by the end of the game. All that didn’t just disappear. I’m left with so many questions. 

I was disappointed Diana wasn’t in the cabin when 47 got there. And I wonder why she wasn’t. She knew he was coming, but they are clearly still on good terms. Maybe she wasn’t sure what to expect. But does that mean they hadn’t spoken in a year since??? But she didn’t sound surprised to hear him, and he had coordinates that he was following, so I think they arranged to meet. But her phone was in there when he arrived, and she wasn’t. Maybe he was tracking her phone? Did she come back there to him after????? 

BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT 

the game 

ended

with 47

smiling 

And for that I will be forever grateful. 

Ok bye, I need to play it again. RIP work tomorrow lol 

[lost-your-memory]

Hi! For the prompt thing, could you do "Zero fucks given. Next please", supercat? Thank you! Have a nice lockdown :)

Heeey thank you for the prompt and for the lovely words on the previous one! I hope this one will please you as well. After Bhutan, let’s travel to Washington D.C and have some classic Cat Grant, ‘cause we all miss her.I know I was supposed to keep it under the 2K words limit ... Well, this is 3K words but you know ... Oops? ---

Cat is barely ten minutes in when she loses her patience.

There are unorganized piles of documents threatening to spill over her desk, all the lights on her phone are blinking red with missed calls and voicemails and there’s not a single cup of coffee in sight.

“Oh for the love of …” Cat swears under her breath, already striding toward her desk.

The sound of her heels hitting the luxurious wooden floor is enough to induce the beginning of a migraine and, not for the first time, she misses the soft carpeted flooring of her carefully designed CatCo office. She drops her purse on the chair strategically placed in between two massive French doors and fishes out her phone and a glass case before moving to her desk. She turns her laptop on and takes one glance at the still blinking phone display before raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, to try to alleviate the ever growing pain.

She slowly sits in her plush, comfortable chair and takes a deep breath before opening her mouth.

“DYLAN!”

She stares at the door across the room, waiting for her exceptionally incompetent assistant to show up.

She’s seething, clearly not having expected that level of sheer laziness and utter amateurism from the cohort of assistants she’s already gone through since she got here.

She would have thought that her position at the White House, as Olivia’s right hand, meant that she would get the best of the best, la crème de la crème but sadly, she’s been stuck with wannabe politician who could barely handle the phone. It is telling that James Olsen, who once manhandled the phone for her, did better than any of the poor, useless souls that she’s been stuck with and at a time, he’d been an editor in chief and awarded photographer.

The door finally opened and young man with short blond hair and deep blue eyes popped his head through, looking downright terrified.

“You called, Miss Grant?”

Cat notices how the pale blue color of his shirt, perfectly ironed and stretched around his tanned neck, clashes with the crimson red tie. That fashion mistake should be motive enough to fire him, Cat briefly thinks. Only Supergirl was able to pull off that god-awful combination of childish colors.

“Come on in,” Cat gestures for her assistant to approach the desk.

The man pales, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere else in the world, but he eventually closes the door behind him and takes a few steps into the office. His real name isn’t Dylan and Cat knows it but so far, no one had been competent enough to earn the right to be called by their actual name.

“Have a look, Dylan,” Cat distinctly enunciate the wrong name, knowing he won’t say anything about it. She gestures for her desk and asks “What do you see?”

The wrongly named Dylan glances down at the desk and frowns, looking utterly confused. He’s almost shaking, Cat can tell from the way he’s tightly holding his hands together in front of the buttoned jacket of his suit.

“Uh, Miss Grant?” Dylan asks, obviously not understanding the question.

Cat lets out a deep and aggravated sigh. She brings her hand to hoover above the blinking phone display and waits but nothing happens. The look of utter confusion in the man’s eyes only deepens.

“For God’s sake!” Cat sharply stands up and places her palms flat on the surface of her desk, leaning forward to be able to stare right into the man’s eyes. “The phone is exploding with missed calls and voicemails, there are piles and piles of paper stacked on my desk and where the hell is my coffee?”

That seems to finally sparkle something in the man’s eyes, a gleam of recognition. He looks almost relieved and then words spill out of his mouth.

“Oh, if it’s a coffee you want I can …”

Cat pinches the bridge of her nose again, closes her eyes and takes another deep breath.

She raises her other hand to signal for Dylan to stop talking. Thankfully, he’s not that obtuse as to ignore that order, and so she takes a moment to count backward in her head. When she finally reaches zero, she opens her eyes and stares into the terrified blue eyes.

“Pack up your things, you’re fired.”

She slowly sits back in her chair and with a typical flicker of her wrists, she finishes dismissing the new former assistant.

---

“Cat, it’s the tenth assistant you’ve fired,” Olivia sighs, accepting the heavy glass of Scotch her friend is handing her. “You’re only six months in the job and my chief of staff is already threatening to quit.”

Cat chuckles and comes to sit in front of the president, in one of the luxurious and comfortable armchairs that match the couch on which Olivia is settled. She’s got her own glass in her hand, half-full of a honey-ish beverage that gently swirls with every move her wrist makes.

“That’s because Russell doesn’t like me, it has nothing to do with the level of turn-over in my team,” She sarcastically retorts.

“Probably, but you still fired Donovan, who also happens to be the nephew of a senator I was hoping to get endorsed by …” Olivia reproaches before taking a sip of her drink. She hums appreciatively. “Oh, that’s good Scotch.”

“Zero fucks given. Next, please!” Cat retorts with a shrug.

That gets a reproving look from the President of the United States.

“Come on, Olivia. You know I don’t like nepotism and beside, that boy was utterly and desperately useless. He once announced that the French president was on the line for me but when I picked up, I got to talk with the king of Belgium …”

Olivia now looks positively horrified. She shakes her head, lets out another sigh and then decides to chase it all with another sip of Scotch.

For a moment, they stay quiet and enjoy their drink, as well as the soft music that plays in the background, a piece of Vivaldi’s four seasons.

The many high windows along the wall let in the fading light of the late summer day.

The skyline view is far away from the one she had from her penthouse in National City but it’s still decent enough so she can watch as Washington bathes in the golden halo of the late afternoon. On the other side of the sky, it’s already dark enough for a few stars to start twinkling.

“You know you won’t ever find someone as good as her, right?”

Olivia’s words are soft and gentle and when Cat tears her eyes away from the view, she falls into a pair of knowing brown eyes. She hates that her friend can read her so easily, but she doesn’t deny that she’s got a point.

“Oh, I know,” Cat whispers, trying not to be overloaded with memories of Kara. “I’m not trying to.”

“Aren’t you?” Olivia counters, leaning forward to place her glass on the coffee table in front of her.

“I’m not, I promise,” Cat nods, bringing her own drink to her lips and savoring a few sips before adding. “I have impossibly high standards but even I know that finding another Supergirl to be my assistant won’t be possible.”

An amused smiles graces Olivia’s lips at that, and she lets herself fall back against the cushions.

“Ah, so the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak …” Olivia muses, extending her arms on either side of her, along the slope of the couch. “I was wondering …”

Cat scrunches her nose and glares at her friend.

“You know I have cat puns,” Cat grits out, slightly annoyed that the President of the United States would even make one in the first place. “And yes, of course I knew. I’ve known since the very beginning but I figured that one day, she’d tell me herself ... "

“Careful, Cat, you sound bitter,” Olivia arches a brow, her smile still firmly in place.

“That’s because I am. I branded her, you know …” Cat retorts, standing up from her armchair and going to her liquor cabinet to pour herself another glass. “I helped Supergirl be the hero she is today, by giving her a name, a platform and a reputation, by protecting her identity … and she never told me who she really is.”

“That may be so, but she doesn’t owe you anything,” Olivia gently replies and when Cat rises the decanter in her direction, she simply shakes her head no. “Beside … you probably left before she got a chance to tell you.”

Cat replaces the alcohol atop her liquor cabinet and comes back to her previous spot to face her friend.

“I didn’t leave because of her,” Cat states, making the Scotch swirls at the bottom of her heavy crystal glass.

“No?” Olivia throws her a knowing look. “You could have fooled me …”

Cat grits her teeth and looks away to the falling night. More stars are now blinking in the sky, neighboring a shy crescent of moon while Washington slowly blurs into an indistinct shadow.

“You should call her, you know,” Olivia offers, checking the phone she just pulled out of her pocket. Whatever she sees on it has her frown.

“Everything alright?” Cat asks, purposely ignoring her friend’s advice.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Olivia replies, already putting her phone back. “Also, nice try but I know you heard me. You might think you’re not looking for someone like her but I know you, Cat. I’ve known you for a long time and despite the fact we didn’t talk for many years, I can still read you pretty well.”

Olivia stands up and grabs her glass, finishing it bottoms up. She then moves to retrieve her jacket, pulling it on and adjusting it before turning back to face Cat.

“Call her, Cat,” Olivia says, flattening the lapels of her jacket. “Do something, otherwise you’ll live with “what if” and “maybe” and I remember how you hate it. Be a big girl and follow your own advice : in order to survive, we must keep daring …”

“Diving,” Cat corrects, despite the fact she did use the word daring as well.

“I mean, that too but what you do in bed is your business,” Olivia smirks and Cat gasps before laughing out loud.

She didn’t see this coming but then again, Olivia Marsden had always been full of surprises, from the pot brownies she used to cook in college to the fact she was an alien.

“Seriously though, give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen?” Olivia asks, the malicious gleam in her eyes having been replaced with something far more serious.

Cat doesn’t answer the question and Olivia seems to know that this time, she shouldn’t insist.

“Anyway, I have to go Cat,” Olivia says, already walking toward the entrance door. Cat stands up and follows after her friend to make sure the bodyguards at her door will safely take her back to the car.

“I will see you tomorrow at the office, probably first thing in the morning since Russell asked for a meeting about you going through so many assistants in so little time …”

“Eh, let him barks, it’ll keep him busy while I find someone myself,” Cat chuckles, moving to drop a kiss on her friend’s cheek.

“Call her,” Olivia says again before exiting the loft, the door closing behind her after those last words.

---

“I hear you’re having trouble finding a decent assistant these days …”

Cat smiles around the rim of her glass and looks up to the night sky.

Supergirl’s floating a few inches up, her cape fluttering softly in the quietness of the night and her golden hair flowing freely around her delicate and otherworldly features. The moon at her back gives her silhouette a pale, silver glow that truly makes her look like a goddess from another universe, a mythical creature.

“Good evening, Supergirl,” Cat greets her, raising her glass in a mock-toast. “Care to explain why you conveniently show up on my balcony minutes after I sent a text to my former assistant?”

Supergirl floats down a few inches, half of her body disappearing behind the ledge of Cat’s balcony until their eyes are approximately at the same level. The light that spills out from Cat’s bedroom enlights Kara’s small smile and makes her eyes shine ever so dimly.

“I could spring some lie on you, say that Kara told me that you texted and that it made me want to check on you myself but what would be the point?” Kara asks, her voice soft and quiet but still clear, carrying into the night. “We both know you were never fooled, not even that time you saw Supergirl and Kara Danvers at the same time in your office.”

“To be fair, I never truly understood how you managed such an exploit,” Cat nods and takes another sip of her drink. “Anyway, no you never fooled me. How could you, with the way you were always darting out of the room with the flimsiest excuse, every of those times coincidentally happening whenever Supergirl’s presence was required? It’s like you forgot that I am a journalist, before and above anything else.”

For a moment, Supergirl looks almost outraged, but then she laughs and the sound echoes into the night like a sweet melody.

“That’s fair, I was never good at lying, despite the whole other identity situation …”

“Would you tell me?” Cat asks, searching into Kara’s eyes. “You real identity, I mean …”

Kara looks a little hesitant for a few seconds but then, she flies up and closer.

Her boots softly land on the balcony floor, and she stands up in front of Cat, a hand resting on the symbol on her chest.

“My name is Kara Zor-El,” Kara says, reverence lining her voice.

Cat notices the way Supergirl stands, tall and proud, with her chin up and steel in her jaw. She’s royalty, framed by the stars twinkling behind her golden mane and the moon hanging high above her head.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to finally tell you, but I wanted to protect you, back then.”

Cat doesn’t say anything.

She’s been abducted by the Silver Banshee and Leslie Willis once, so she knows the risk of being tied to Supergirl. She can understand why Kara never told her about her alter-ego. It still stings a little but she understands anyway.

“Why now?” Cat eventually asks, looking up to meet Kara’s eyes.

Kara seems to hesitate for a moment, suddenly looking thoughtful and distant at once.

“Someone very dear to me once told me to put on my big-girl pants and to own up to my power …” Kara eventually whispers. “I think it’s time I finally followed that advice but that’s not all. See … my sister also got good advice from someone dear to her. Someone who told her that life is short, and she should kiss the people she wants to kiss.”

Cat’s heart misses a beat when Kara takes a step forward. The smell of wind and flowers overload her senses, and she almost forgets to breathe, drowning in Kara’s presence.

“That’s … good advice indeed,” Cat whispers, getting lost in the baby blue of Kara’s eyes.

“I thought so,” Kara smiles and then adds “I really, really, really want to kiss you now, Miss Grant.”

Cat can feel her heart go wild in her chest, beating frantically against her rib cage, drumming in her ears and pulsing in her temples. She’s been hoping for this moment for so long she can’t wrap her head around the fact it’s about to happen.

“Then … what are you waiting for, Kara?” Cat whispers, slowly enunciating the right name.

It’s all it takes.

The kiss is mind-blowing, full of all the pent-up frustration they’ve been suffering through for years. It’s deep and a little blunt, with Kara’s playful tongue exploring the inside of Cat’s mouth and hands roaming along the flexed muscles stretched underneath the superhero suit. It lasts and lasts and at some point, Cat eventually feels the need to come back up for some air.

She pulls away, one hand tangled in Kara’s hair and the other clutched around the rim of Kara’s cape. Their breath come out ragged and irregular but Kara’s smile is blinding, full of joy and hope.

“Damn,” Cat whispers, a little dazzled.

“Speechless is a good look on you, Miss Grant,” Kara teases, dropping a kiss at the corner of Cat’s lips.

“Cat. Please, call me Cat,” Cat says, looking up into Kara’s eyes. “Beside, don’t get too smug, it will take a lot more than just a kiss to render me unable to speak.”

“Is that a challenge, Cat?” Kara asks, tilting her head to the side as interest sparkles in her eyes. The way she pronounces Cat’s name sounds like a secret and a promise at once, it makes Cat tingle.

“Only one way to find out,” Cat offers, stepping backward to her bedroom.

She lets a hand slide along Kara’s arm, until it reaches her hand. Their fingers instinctively intertwine and Kara instantly follows, her smile full of wonder and her eyes as bright as the thousand stars shining in the sky behind her.

[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 8: Head Over Feet

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Masterlist

***

Thursday, November 13, 2008

In the heat of the blistering summer just before the start of ninth grade, Y/n had experienced her first kiss. It really isn’t anything she would brag about –– she might say that it doesn’t count at all –– just a measly three seconds of her nervous and shaky lips grazed against the red Gatorade doused mouth of Zachary de Gala during a harmless round of spin the bottle. Not much of that night was memorable, maybe with the exception of the cheesiest pizza she’d ever had the pleasure of stuffing down her throat (but that’s an entirely different love affair to be discussed at a later date). 

Her second kiss...well, it was more of an almost second kiss, one that had been interrupted by a cute little six-year-old with an addiction to Neapolitan cupcakes and a knack for capturing the attention of every soul in the room. From the top to bottom of her smallest nail, that’s how close their lips had been to touching. If her brother had only interrupted them two seconds later, or if she’d been even the slightest bit more audacious with her actions, she’s almost certain that it would’ve happened. She still thinks about it quite often, even though she knows that she probably shouldn’t. After all, past is past. Right? 

But every time Harry’s cheeks would dimple, or his eyes would light up at the mention of particularly historic play by the Green Bay Packers, all she can do is sigh to herself because he really is so darn handsome. She just wishes she could do more with how she feels than keep these thoughts so kept that it’s only a matter of time until she loses her mind. 

Her dad, on the other hand, has no problem talking on and on. The way they intrigue about football and World War 2 (she had no idea that Jeremy was so knowledgeable on anything besides computers and NFL players), an outsider would think they’ve known each other for years. And maybe she shouldn’t be feeling a slight pang of jealousy with how easy the two have gotten on. After all, Jeremy had been ready to shut the door in his face when all Harry had wanted was to apologize to her for that pesky misunderstanding. 

Taking that into consideration, she would have never thought they’d be in this place not even a month later. She’s completely torn about how to act with Harry sitting so close beside her with her parents (and Mason) surrounding them at the dinner table. 

“You know, the Packers are playing on Thanksgiving this year,” Jeremy starts, twirling the seafood linguine around his fork. Y/n pauses just as her own utensil clinks between her teeth, eyes darting to her father as he continues to speak. “If you and your family aren’t doing anything, we would love to have you join us. It would be great to have someone to watch the game with who isn’t under four feet.” 

“Really?” Harry gasps, and the crevices in his cheeks concave once more. 

Y/n chokes down a gulp of water, just barely able to stop herself before she spits all her mouth’s contents onto her mom’s plate across from her. Three pair of eyes land on her –– the fourth and smallest pair staring intently at a noodle as it shrinks away through his lips –– and Harry is the one to lightly pat her on the back until the fit of coughs whimpers down. 

“Are you alright?” his eyebrows lift up in concern. Unable to say anything in return, she simply nods and strokes down on his arm as though to tell her that everything is fine. 

Olivia doubles up in amusement but shields it away with the use of a napkin. As if anything could ever be kept from a mother, it’s a lesson every parent will come to understand once they have kids. “That sounds like a great idea!” she elates, but she remains glued to the image the two teenagers exchanging bashful grins as they recoil touches under her husband’s watchful eye. “What do you think, Mase?” 

Face covered in an abundance of marinara sauce, the little boy perks up and displays his teeth for everyone to see. His mom rolls her eyes, taking a napkin and giving him a good wipe down until only the dried streaks remain. Mason grunts, pouting as he tries to break free of the attack. She turns back to the rest of the table. “Hard to say no to a face like this, huh?”

***

“I knew you were into art and stuff, but wow,” Harry stares in awe at all the sketches and paintings that adorn the walls of her bedroom. From pieces he’s seen her work on during lunch, to new and surprising scenes decorated on canvas, he can feel a part of her in each one. “Hey,” he smiles, stopping to admire one in particular. “You finally finished it.” He’d never say it out loud, but something about it makes him feel nostalgic, brightened. It’s almost like he’d seen this image in a book, or maybe in person if he can only remember when and where. 

He looks over his shoulder, only to find her in a complete daze as she stares ahead without true intent. “Y/n?” No answer. Only the sound of gentle inhales through the nose is what keeps the room from drifting into barren silence. The look on her face is far too serious, like all her energy is being channeled into such deep and unwavering concentration. Slowly making his way towards her, he ducks his head lower, trying to intercept the line of her gaze. 

“Wha-” her eyes blink furiously as she snaps out of her trance. For a moment she almost forgets where she is. She shakes her head as to rid herself of the confusion, suddenly becoming aware of all that’s around her. As she meets Harry’s eyes, her lips turn up ever so delicately. “Did you say something?” 

A cheeky smirk spreads across his face. “Only the plans for my next murder,” and he taps the underside of her chin, then curls his finger along the edge. 

“As long as you don’t make me dig up the grave, I won’t say a thing,” she says with a tilt of the head. They hold the gaze, finding comfort in the silence that falls between them. 

Would right now be the best time to ask her? After all, he’s rehearsed it over a dozen times in front of Maxxie (and Cici when she’s not in one of her moods). There’s just an overwhelming desire that blasts through him like lightning, only this keeps occurring whenever he’s able to hold her or even just be a few inches away. He’s pathetic, he knows that, and maybe half of their grade knows it as well. But he could care less what anyone thinks because he hasn’t felt so content ever in his life. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” he begins, slowly lowering his hand from her face until it’s relaxed in his front pocket. 

She cocks an eyebrow as she falls back to sit on the bed. “And what’s that?” she wonders, crossing her legs under her bottom. He lets out a nervous chuckle as he sits beside her. It feels strange to him, the mattress beneath him is almost too soft under his weight. He bounces a bit, as though to test its form as a possible cloud. To be honest, he’s never really stayed so long in a girl’s room before, let alone make himself comfortable on her bed. 

“So, you know how there’s this...you know, this thing next month,” he blushes, already feeling his nerves begin to startle him. 

“Go on,” she prods, doing her utmost best to hide her eagerness. 

The back of his hand brushes along where her knee touches the side of his thigh like a feather. His mouth quirks to the side as he looks up from his actions.

Her eyes gleam with an innocent curiosity, as she gnaws on her bottom lip. She bops her head in anticipation. “C’mon! Don’t just leave me hanging!” And she nudges playfully pushes on his arm. 

“Well, I just wanted to know if you’d maybe consider–”

“Hey, I just packed your bike in the trunk. Are you ready to go?” 

His eyes squeeze shut as his head drops in mild annoyance. They turn to Jeremy leaning coolly in the doorway, his keys dangling from his pointer finger, legs crossed at the ankles. Harry is almost positive that he’d been listening in the hallway, there’s just no chance that he’d be so unfortunate to get interrupted, now of all times. But he’s also become exceedingly paranoid since spending so much time home alone. 

Y/n looks between Harry and her dad. “Um...” she sounds, “Just tell me tomorrow in Algebra?” 

***

Friday, November 14, 2008

“Do you want to go to the dance with me?” 

“There’s a formal in a few weeks, right? Would you want to go...as my date?”

“I was thinking that it would be pretty cool if we went to formal together. What do you say?”

“If you were planning on going to the dance, maybe you’d want to go with me?”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more than he does right now. It’s bad enough that it started raining halfway on his bike ride to school (and that’s not even mentioning how damn cold it is outside), but he thinks the worst part is being put in an all too familiar position. The last time he’d hesitated with Y/n, she hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him over the course of two weeks. Of course, he has a certain red-headed cheerleader to thank for that, but he won’t mention her name at this time. Except now it’s like every single word to leave his mouth makes him want to knock himself over on the head.

The goal is to be straightforward, but he also wants to make his proposal at least somewhat romantic. That’s what every girl wants, right? To be treated well and make this kind of thing memorable? He’d seen a few of the seniors with posters and large bouquets of flowers for their girlfriends when they’d ask them. Does Y/n expect that kind of gesture? Or would that be too much considering he still hasn’t told her that he likes her beyond the boundaries of simple friendship? 

“Just end me,” he groans, banging his head against his locker door. “Put me out of my misery.” The cool metal will at least soothe his aching head as he comes up with a better way to ask her to the dance. How hard can it be, really? It’s not as though he hasn’t had any experience at all. There have been at least a few times where he’d asked a girl he liked to the mall or ice cream or a middle school dance. Why is this any different? Actually, he knows why, but he refuses to say it out loud in fear that he’ll end up jinxing it all. 

“There you are!” 

“Shh!” he hushes, covering his eyes with his forearm. Now really isn’t the best time, not when he’s desperate to get himself together by second period. “Not too loud, aye? I already have a migraine.” 

Maxxie retreats a few steps back, shifting his weight from side to side. “Okay then...” he says unsurely, digging the toes of his shoes into the freshly waxed floor. “I was just going to ask if you were ready for today? Because the bus is leaving in like twenty minutes so...”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s jaw drops, snapping his head up to look at his friend. “Why am I getting on a bus?” 

“Debate with Bayview? Literally all Mr. G’s been talking about for weeks? Pretty important?” 

Harry rummages through his bag for his planner. “That’s next week, though!” He swears he has it marked on the twenty-first of the month! This just can’t be right! He’s usually so on top of these things because of all the activities he’d been taken on since the start of the year. The competition isn’t meant to happen until the... “You’ve got to be shitting me...” Next time he’ll be sending alerts to his phone. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot! You’re literally the best one on the team! Dude, tell me we’ll win this!” Maxxie begins to panic as he brings his fingers to his mouth and bites anxiously on his nails.

“Chill, will you? It’s not that I’m worried about,” Harry sighs heavily, closing the book harshly and tossing it aimlessly into his bag. 

Maxxie pats his friend on the back. “No luck, I’m guessing?”

“It’s like her family knows when I’m about to do something! First when I wanted to kiss her, then when I was going to ask her to formal,” Harry shakes his head as he shuts his locker. He checks the time on his watch, another heavy sigh puffing out of him. “Hopefully we’ll get back before lunch.”

***

“The U.S. Supreme Court has legalized gay marriage, but the issue is still widely debated across the country. At the center of the debate are what the true definition of marriage is and whether gay couples are permitted the same rights and benefits as married heterosexual couples. Some question whether this is a legal issue or a religious issue.”

Harry stands at the podium that oversees the entire auditorium. So many eyes watching him as though he were a caged creature at the zoo. To his left, he sees his teammates, all signaling him their signs of encouragement. The papers in his hands contain all the factual evidence he’ll need to support his argument, but it doesn’t make the constriction in his chest feel any less prominent. 

*** She hadn’t thought much of it when Harry hadn’t been at their lockers before homeroom, although, she had been a bit tardy this morning since Mason had come down with a sudden case of the sniffles. When he hadn’t shown up to Algebra and then Spanish, she started to worry just a bit –– okay, a lot –– but only because he’s usually quite punctual.

It’s just after eleven, and he’s usually here watching her while she bakes whatever goodie Miss Genevra has challenged her to make, or at least doing some last-minute homework on the bench. Yet, here she is, all to her lonesome self, mixing her cookie batter by hand because all the electric mixers are in use. Her arm feels a bit achy, but it’s a pain she can ignore as she continues to think about where on earth her curly-haired crush might be.

There’s one thing that’s been really bothering her since last night, and that’s all to do with the unsaid question she already has an answer for. Because of course Cici gave her the hint that Harry has been meaning to ask her to the dance. (More like sent her a long and detailed text about how Harry had forced her to pretend that she was her while he practiced how to go about asking her.)

“If he doesn’t grow a pair and just do it, I swear I’ll shave all that beautiful hair off,” she had written in conclusion.

***

Harry studies his notes one last time. “What is the definition of marriage? According to Merriam Webster, it’s the “state of being united as spouses in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law,”” he reads, then looks up, scanning the room with regard for the genuinely intrigued faces. “Nowhere in that sentence does it indicate a specific gender-gender requirement, nor does it exclude any individual of any background. Now imagine this, not being able to fully commit to the person you love because there are some people that say it’s wrong.”

“The United States has claimed to implement equal rights into the everyday routine of its citizens, and that includes gender, race, religion, and sexuality. And yet, how can a country that defines itself by its desire for equality be so willing to stunt that privilege for a certain group?” he pauses momentarily. “We throw the phrase “freedom of speech” around so liberally, it’s a basic right that we as citizens of this country heavily agree on. Yet, when it comes to same-sex marriage, there’s still such a heavy dispute, and conservative bias becomes the dominant factor in its opposition.”

***

Just as she’s just balled up about a tablespoon of dough, her ears perk at the door swinging open behind her. Excitement takes over her, and she swiftly pivots on her heel in anticipation. 

“I’ve been looking for you all day!” she exclaims. It’s then she realizes that she’s made the same mistake she’d committed once before. She frowns, expression faltering as quickly as her shoulders. “Oh...” she hums, trying her best to hide her disappointment. “Hi, Jasper.”

The older boy smiles at her, placing his book bag on an abandoned bench before making his way towards her. 

“Why do I always feel like you’re always expecting someone else?” he teases, then snags a finger’s worth of cookie dough from the rim of the bowl. “Is this peanut butter?” he asks, face twitching just the smallest bit. 

“Yeah,” she replies, ignoring the first part of his spiel, gently placing another ball on the tray. Her goal is to make all her cookies as identical as possible, which means she had weighed each spoonful beforehand. “These are my brother’s favorite.” She just knows that Mason will gobble all these up when she brings them home at the end of the day.

Jasper slowly nods, bracing both hands on the surface as he leans forward. “I see,” he shrugs. “I’m more of an oatmeal raisin guy, myself.” 

She has to stop herself from grimacing, considering how Mason absolutely refuses anything with raisins in it. Once Jeremy had accidentally put a few in his oatmeal, and her baby brother had cried for ten minutes straight. Sometimes she can get away with putting a few in her carrot cake, but otherwise he’ll absolutely have a conniption. 

***

“The idea of a “normal” marriage only existing between a male and female has become flawed and out-dated. Marriage isn’t the same as it was a century ago, even fifty years ago. We as a society have evolved to become more and more accepting of the changes within ourselves and our peers. The American Psychological Association has continually shown its support for homosexuality and same sex marriage. It is to their belief that same sex marriage is perfectly natural, as opposed to the unnatural light that those in opposition to these rights choose to cast.”

***

“Anyway,” Jasper starts again, and he adjusts his tie around his neck and pulls his beanie down over the tops of his ears. “I actually stopped by to ask you something.” He inches closer until their arms are just barely touching. 

“What’s that?” 

***

“The debate of same-sex marriage stems from the words stated in the Bible. However, we must be reminded about the maintained separation between church and state. We have the right to practice our religion, but that does not extend to dictate how others choose to live their lives. It is the reason why such a demarcation exists. Who is one to tell another what is right from wrong? What is natural and unnatural? Love for another, whether that be between family members, friends, or lovers, is a force beyond the dictation of any religious belief. We are the so-called ‘melting pot,’ we take pride in the diversity that surrounds us, and we accept our neighbors for who and what they are. What doesn’t and what should never have variation, however, are the basic rights that each individual is entitled to.”

*** Her hand is suddenly encased by his much bigger one, and she inspects it with furrowed eyebrows before looking up. Only now does she notice the rose as it sticks out of his back pocket. 

“Y/n Y/l/n,” he announces, and all the other students in the kitchen stop what they’re doing to stare at them. He reaches for the rose and holds it in front of her. “Will you go to the winter formal with me?”

***

Harry steps off the stage, feeling much at ease. The looks on the judges faces as he was reciting the final lines of his argument looked very promising, and Mr. G had congratulated him as soon as he’d rejoined the others.

“Never doubted you for a second!” Maxxie cheers.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry chuckles. He glances down at his watch and smiles. “I think we’ll make it back in time.”

***

[mvrcutios]

— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as  M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel,  i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues,  platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

           ➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter)  for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

   ➺ for he  is the devil in every detail                

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the  devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of  what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + )  The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + )  It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

                          ➺    A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no?  Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will.  I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

                                                     -Xandre

[onlyfemmefatale]

Let's get drunk and have some fun. x)

@inyourheartifoundahome

[bbrandy2002]

The Breakfast Club

Chapter 9:

Don't You Forget About Me.

Summary: The group has an epiphany. Who really put them together and why? Constantine ensures one member of the group won't be a problem anymore.

One more chapter!!!

The Royal Romance AU

Warning: These characters have potty mouths, read at your own peril. They also belong to Pixelberry.

Henry David Thoreux is quoted as saying, 'Not until we are lost do we find ourselves'. How can five people with differing life experiences, walk into a room as wounded, forgotten souls, and together, discover who they are. If ever the fates aligned, it happened on that particular Saturday. _

Life sometimes gives us what we need... Through hardships we find growth

Saturday 4:00 PM Old Palace Library

Sitting on the floor of the old library, an 18 year old with a cold heart and distaste for the crown. His father gunned down years ago by an assasin's bullet and a mother who left he and his sister, to return to the States. A war was waged in him years ago and bitterness won. All he knew now was trouble, booze and anger. He is the commoner.

Sitting to his left is the stunning Duchess of Lythikos. Nearly 18 herself, she has been raised by the King since she was a child. Her parents, traitors to the crown, died atempting to overthrow the monarchy. Contantine has always treated her like an enemy and took every opportunity to degrade her. The only constant in her life was a prince, whom she loves, but, he has never returned her affections in a manner she wants. She has built an impermiable wall of defense around herself for protection, that includes degrading others for self-preservation. She is known as the bitch to many.

Next to her, a young 17 year old from Ramsford with a heart of gold and the life of any party. On the outside, he is funny, outgoing and, perhaps, too kind for his own good. On the inside, he grieves the losses in his life, both in body and spirit. His inabilty to live up to the Beaumont expectations, weighs on him heavily. He sees himself as a failure.

Also, the new Crown Prince of Cordonia. He will be 18 tomorrow and at that time will become bethrothed to his brother's former fiancee, though, his heart now belongs to another. He has wished death would find him so many times recently that he tried and failed to make it a reality. The burdens that he was left with when his brother abdicated, is too much to bear. His father has caused irreparable hurt, physically and emotionally, that fear, now courses through his veins like wildfire. There are no disappointments allowed when you're The Heir.

Next to him, a perky, 17 year old girl, saved from the streets. She has big dreams of moving to New York and making it big. She is held back by a dangerous, family life that included more abuse than many should withstand. Is a girl with her background, naive enough to believe she can save her new dream from being robbed of his? After all, its said that trash breeds trash.

"Why is everyone sitting on the floor?", a seemingly gleeful and renewed Liam asked as he joined them.

A weary eyed Drake rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, "Trust me...its a long story".

Riley leaned over and playfully tugged at Drake's foot, "You seem somewhat calmer than you did earlier, what happened?".

Maxwell couldn't help himself as he grinned, "Let's just say....well....we got totally fucked up."

Liam and Riley looked between the three, all appearing quite relaxed, still eating on the last remnants of sandwiches and fruit the maid brought them an hour ago.

Olivia, now recovered from her earlier high, couldn't help but notice a change in Liam. Knowing he was with Riley the past four hours left a sour taste in her mouth.

"So Riley", Olivia began, "Maxwell tells us he found you on the streets...will you be returning to your park bench tonight or do you think fucking Liam once is enough for another free night at the palace".

"Olivia!", Liam, quickly shot up, dumbfounded by her callousness.

Olivia looked at him with shock, "What? Hmm, Liam...she's obviously looking for a meal ticket and you are falling right into her grubby little hands".

"You're such a bitch!" A furious Riley yelled back, both fists gripped tightly together.

"Damn straight", she sniped.

Drake laid back on the floor with his hands cupped behind his head, "You just can't stop yourself can you Olivia?"

She raised an eyebrow and straightened her posture, "Who asked you...like your opinion matters anyway".

The air became thick with tension and poisonous words. Olivia was hurting and holding on for dear life. The only person who ever seemed to give a damn about her was slipping away fast.

A normally flippant Maxwell, tried to find a balance, an understanding of what was taking place. "Olivia, why do you berate everyone? Riley's never done anything to you".

Her beady, green eyes readily placed a target directly on him, "Like I care what some moron like you thinks. When you have to deal with the bullshit I go through everyday, then by all means judge away, until then, fucking mind your own business".

Maxwell jumped up and stood with a demeanor that suggested Olivia found his breaking point. With a raised voice and a face painted as red as her hair, "The bullshit you deal with? Your bullshit?...What about my bullshit? What about Drake and Liam and Riley's bullshit? Are you so fucking closed off and hardened, that you don't see we're all dealing with nothing but bullshit?...I have two dead parents, just like you,  and a brother who has a stick so far up his ass...", his voice started to break as he rubbed a stinging tear from his eye, "...just...quit acting like its only you".

Riley stood up and gave Maxwell a comforting embrace, while Drake continued to lay back, eyes closed, struggling with his own thoughts.

Liam noted Olivia's composure, she was tense and hollow, but, her eyes spoke volumes. She was fighting herself, the walls were crumbling and she was trying with all of her might to keep them standing. If there was ever a time to get into her heart, it was now.

Liam raised his knees and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin down.  "We're supposed to write an essay about who we think we are....well, who are we? I sure as hell don't know who I am anymore...looking around at each of you and hearing Maxwell's words, tells me no one else does either".

Riley and Maxwell sat back down with the group, everyone except Drake pondering Liam's words in their minds, but, no one speaking.

Liam raised his head again and lowered his legs, crossing them in front of him. "Okay, I'll go first then....I'm suffocating, I'm losing my mind, at the end of a short rope. I hate my father, my life...who I have to be", he stopped for a second to prepare himself for what followed, "I wanted to die last night, even tried swallowing pills".

He grabs everyone's attention, including Olivia who saw him this morning, at the mention of the prince trying to commit suicide. "Yeah... I wanted it all to end...I just needed, peace".

Drake sits up, claps his hands mockingly and glares at Liam, "Boo..fucking.. hoo..must be real hard to have the entire damn country bowing at your ever present whim...so spare me the sob stories your majesty".

Olivia raises her hand back and slaps Drake across the face, screaming, "You weren't there this morning....you don't know what happens to him, to me... every day is a nightmare where the King dictates who we are or else."

Drake rubs the stinging on his reddened cheeks, seething, "Yeah, you’re right, I wasn't there, I was stuck in a damn basement apartment alone because my father died protecting your sorry, rich ass's and my mother lost her mind because of it"

Dead air filled the room.

"Sounds like your dad was a hero Drake...my real dad bailed before I was even born", Riley mused.

"Yeah Drake, at least your dad didn't die on a friggin boat with a cocaine stained nose, partying his ass off, while your mother was at home dying....it sucks I know, but, of the five of us, your dad was... pretty awesome", Maxwell said with a sympathetic smile.

A hero_? _That word caused a flood of emotions that ran straight to his yielded heart. He was breaking down too, especially when he caught a glimpse of Liam, a member of the royal family, nodding in agreement, showing genuine appreciation for Jackson Walker.

He ran a hand through his hair and held onto it with a tight grip. He tried to hold the moisture that formed like pools in his flustered, brown eyes, but, they poured out anyway. Even Olivia looked at him, envious of the legacy Jackson left for Drake and his sister to be proud of. No one else in the room could say the same of their fathers.

Drake covered his eyes and sniffled loudly, his lips quivering uncontrollably, "I miss my dad", he wailed out.

Maxwell and Riley quickly went to him, rubbing and patting him on the back. Liam crawled over to Drake, holding his head to his chest.

Liam looked at him while Drake tried to stifle his sobs. "Drake, I'd like to personally thank, on behalf of myself and the crown, the son of the man who saved me and my families life".

Drake had held his feelings in for so long, it felt surprisingly gratifying to finally release them. He thought to himself-_Fucking Bastien was right. _He lifted himself up, with everyone except Olivia following his lead. He wiped his wet face on the inside of shirt, "It's all I ever wanted, just someone to appreciate him...to care about what he did". Liam then pulled him into a hug, "I do Drake, I really do", as he clapped his back.

Drake returned a half smile, looking away for moment before turning to face Liam again, "You're already ten times the King your father is.".

Drake inhaled deeply and asked for a minute alone. He walked down the stairs and sat on the bottom step attempting to make sense of everything that just happened.

Olivia, remained still, then grabbed her purse and followed him. She sat down next to him, but, he didn't acknowledge her presence. She reached inside her purse and took  Drake's hand. He watched as she slowly dropped his fathers pocket watch into his palm.

Stunned, he stared at her in disbelief, "how did you...?"

She looked off in the distance, sighing, before meeting his bewildered look, "A courier dropped it off yesterday. It was found in an alley and had the Royal crest on it. Constantine didn't know who it belonged to and tossed it aside, but, I did....I took it and was going to use it against you".

He looked at the watch, clutching it with both hands as if his life depended on, "That's a real fucked up thing to do, even for you".

She swallowed hard, "Yeah...it is...I'm sorry".

Drake quirked his brows, "Did I really just get the Duchess of Lythikos to apologize to a poor commoner like me?".

She smiled and playfully swiped at his arm, "Yes, but, don't expect any more". She then leaned over, speaking in a low voice, "Can I tell you something?".

Drake squinted his eyes, skeptical, "What?"

Olivia looked around, "I actually had a lot of fun with you today, even when you were an asshole....banter aside, I can't say I've ever been on a drug run, climbed in an air duct, fallen through the ceiling and then got very....very stoned", she chortled.

He chuckled back, "Yeah, I never expected to do any of those things, especially with you".

"Walker?", she asked, "am I anything besides a bitch...I mean, who do I say I am?".

He thought for a moment before cracking a smile at her, "You're still a bitch....but, like a bad ass, take no prisoners kind, but, you're also one tough girl...you have to deal with a lot of Constantine's shit...that take's guts.".

She stood up, absorbing his words, "I was told as little girl...If you can breathe, you can stand and if you can stand, you can fight....So, I will just keep on fighting", she smiled, ruffled his hair and walked back upstairs.

Drake shook his head in disbelief, "unbelieveable", he said to himself as his enemy just became a friend. He followed her back up.

Liam came up behind Olivia and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheek. He knew what she had just done for Drake and was proud of her. He asked her to apologize to Riley, in which she hesitated. "She's the one Livvie", he told her. The words stung, but, she was also glad to see him happy for once..

Olivia apologized and she and Riley sat together talking about make up and different hairstyles Riley could try. She told her she was returning to Lythikos soon and if she ever needed anything to let her know.

Drake and Maxwell caught Liam up on why there was a hole in the ceiling. They each would reminisce about their childhood adventures together. Every now and then, Liam would peak over at Riley, just to see her.

The group made their way down the steps and gathered around Liam, sitting at a table, preparing to write the letter. He looked up at them, "So, who do we say we are?".

Maxwell slumped over on the table, "It's been a long day, I just wanna be Maxwell."

They each looked at one another and knew what they wanted.

"I'm just Riley".

"I guess, I'm just Olivia".

"Drake"

Liam penned it down to the letter, "and I just want to be Liam".

Olivia watched as Riley and Liam sat together, canoodling, as she described it. Drake came up behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders, tugging them. She looked at him with a sad face. "Come on, you can sit with me and Maxwell", he said as he pulled her over to another table.

Some time had passed when the door opened and Bastien walked in. They were all surprised to learn that this whole thing was not actually Constantine's doing, but, he and Regina's. The kids were falling apart and they thought they could use time together, helping one another, in a way an adult couldn't.  Apparently, their plan worked.

"Real fucking sneaky Bas", Drake said as he pulled him into hug, "does this mean I don't have seven weekends of guard duty with the ass clown you sent in here to watch us?"

"We'll see", he chuckled.

Everyone made their way out of the library, with Liam stopping Riley in the hallway. "Hey you".

"Hey you", she replied while pulling him to her.

"I have to go speak with my father, but, I'll meet you at the garden maze in twenty minutes, okay?"

She stood on her tipped toes and kissed him, "Don't you forget about me", she teased.

They parted ways and she made it to the palace entrance. She was met by two officers and a guard, looking specifically for her.

The officer approached her, "Riley Brooks?"

She wanted to lie, but, they obviously knew it was her. She let a shaky response, "yes".

The officer grabbed her and placed her under arrest, "we received word from His Majesty that you are a runaway who snuck into the palace".

Riley tried to explain to them that she was invited by Maxwell and that the Prince knows her, however, it fell on deaf ears.

Constantine met them at the door, with a scour look. He walked up to her, glared at her for what seemed to be hours for Riley, then smacked her in the face. "Don't you ever think about coming back here again.... or you will be sorry."

He motioned for the officers to take her away.

She cried out, "please dont send me back, he'll kill me....please....Liam!!!".

***Let me know if you want removed from the tag list.

@timothygorgeous @lovemychoices @gnatbrain @burnsoslow @choiceslife @stopforamoment @thisperfectmemory @kingliam2019 @moneyfordiamonds @pedudley @emceesynonymroll @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @dcbbw @ao719 @ladyakwardness

[thcrnson]

𝑶𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ   ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ   ᴡ ʜ ᴏ   ᴀ ʟ ᴡ ᴀ ʏ s   ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ᴇ s   ɪ ɴ   s ᴡ ɪ ɴ ɢ ɪ ɴ ɢ

hey, did i just see olivia howell walking around the block ? oh ! yes ! the last time i saw her, i heard she wanted to be called liv. i hear they are a bartender. people around town say they are so adamant && loyal sometimes i wonder how they can be recalcitrant && brash. ( leather jackets, flannels tied around the waist, wavy dark brown hair, infinite indecision )

A brief character sheet can be found here on my muse page.

History.

tw: derogatory language, drug addiction and overdose, mentions of abuse, mention of abortion, miscarriage, and death

If there was ever a life doomed from the start, set on a path of anguish before she even opened her eyes to greet the world. It would be Olivia Howell. It was a rather typical story of a strung out high school drop out addicted to every variety of narcotics you can think of getting pregnant after whoring herself out for her next hit. It hadn’t matter to her nineteen year old biological mother that she should be taking care of herself for her child she was carrying her, seeing as she didn’t let go of any of her vices it was no surprised that a particularly bad spell caused complications in the pregnancy as well as put her own life at risk. Olivia was born six weeks premature with a hole in her heart, severely malnourished, she had to be cut out of her mother who was coding not long after being brought to the hospital.

Her mother died the day she was born, the hospital tried contacting whomever they could for her but it was no use, she’d had no one to care for her, and so no one to give a damn about the baby girl she’d brought into the world be left alone. So when she was healthy enough she became a ward of the state, actually finding a home pretty quickly. The parents she knew for the first few years of her life did perhaps love her, but it was never meant to be. Her misfortune wasn’t going to leave her anytime soon. When her adoptive mother passed when Olivia was just six years old her adoptive father spiraled, unable to take care of himself much less a little girl. She was at the states mercy once again, and became a child of the system from then on. Being jostled from home to home until she would turn eighteen.

The constant instability in her life and her early development was plenty to turn Olivia into a very angry young girl, and that never quite went away. She never had things normal, never had the best of influences around her, and she always stuck out. She got into heaps of trouble in her teens, even had a short stent in juvie at sixteen. Maybe she could’ve risen above her circumstances, it happened to plenty of kids just like her but not everyone’s life was destined for as much anguish as hers. From the age of ten on there wasn’t a single home she was placed in, in which she was safe. Sometimes it was shitty parents, or insufferable foster siblings, there were too many horrible things. and as she grew out of the system she did her best to forget about them all. Though they never did leave her entirely, never allowed her to sleep soundly at night, to become trusting of anyone no matter how genuine and wholesome they may have seemed.

The angry girl became an angry woman, things were tough for her and she made a lot of bad choices, hurt people by her words as well as by her actions. And as one pious woman once told her, her lack of faith and repentance would be damning for her soul. As broken as she was she could never last in a relationship no matter how good, sure there were faults in some of the men and few women she attempted to date, but even when there was none she found reason to wreak things herself, breaking plenty of hearts in the process of her own healing. Finally at twenty-three things seemed to be headed in a better direction. She managed to get her associate and began working as a law assistant while she tried to figure out where to go from there.

The job was finally one that allowed her to be independent and take care of herself like she hadn’t been able to before. she actually enjoyed her work and felt appreciated for her efforts. Her boss was great, though he expected good work he never hesitated to acknowledge her either, and he was quite easy on the eyes and charming in way none of the guys her own age had ever been. Not a few months into the job he had her all kinds of twisted, the flirtation was well on it’s way to becoming a full blown affair, despite the fact that he had recently married his girlfriend of five years.

It was tumultuous and she was completely wrapped up in him, like she hadn’t been by anyone else before, unable to see his manipulations and dishonesty. He made lofty promises that he never kept, and always pulled her back in with grand gestures when she tried to put any distance between them. When she got pregnant a year into their relationship he convinced her to get an abortion, and framed it in a way that made feel as if it was something she herself wanted. Things only began to get worse from there as she’d become dependent of his affections. Everything came to a boiling point a few short weeks before her death. His wife had learned about the affair a few short months prior and confronted them both, she’d made him leave her and end things with Olivia completely as a condition to allowing him to a second chance as she was pregnant. At this point he had Olivia convinced he was on the verge of getting a divorce and hated his wife. However, not only did that not happen she witnessed first hand just how much he didn’t hate her, how he begged and pleaded with her, how happy he was to have learned about the child she was carrying.

Once again left with nothing, the woman spiraled completely drowning out her sorrows in spirits, loosing her apartment, defaulting on her bills everything going to shit around her. When thanksgiving had rolled around she started her morning with tequila spending her day stalking her ex on social media becoming more and more enraged and heartbroken as he posted about his picture perfect day with his beautiful wife. She should not have gotten into a car that day, she was far to inebriated. She should not have shown up to their home to confront him, but she did and she exploded. Doing everything from yelling and sobbing to attacking him. And as she’d done that the other woman had tried to get in the way and Olivia had shoved her aside causing her to fall down a flight of stairs. As she lay there in pain and screaming about the baby, Olivia felt terrified and ashamed of what she’d done so she left. Speeding away still very much intoxicated and balling her eyes out as well at that point. It was a close call with a suburbian that she had swerve into a ditch to avoid that finally made her stop. Crying her eyes out until she sobered. When she finally got back on the road and the gravity of that night along with the state of her life hit her. And she didn’t stop, she kept going no clear direction as to where just knowing she needed to get far away from her current demons.

The Present.

Following that night, two months ago Olivia landed up in Multiville, if asked she couldn’t entirely tell you why it was this small town that she decided to stop in, to start over if that’s what you want to call it, mostly she was just tired. Going through the motions she got herself a job bartending at the local dive bar after going door to door to find out who might be hiring, she lived in her car for a week or two before she got a lead on someone looking for a roommate for their small mainstreet flat. Things have been okay, uninteresting she has no idea what she’s actually doing, if this where she’s staying, though she might as well since she doesn’t exact have anywhere else to go

Wanted Connections.

Someone who takes an interest in her, and wants to be friends despite her standoffish behaviour.

One or two one night stands she’s had since coming to time. 

Her flatmate

Those are a few off the top of my head, but i’m down for pretty much anything!

[cherryrpg]

welcome to riverside, olivia price !

OUT OF CHARACTER.

name - Aly age - 23 timezone - EST pronouns - she/her

IN CHARACTER.

character desired - Olivia Price character faceclaim - Victoria Pedretti, Lili Reinhart, Benedetta Gargari character birthday // zodiac sign  - December 1st, Sagittarius extracurriculars // hobbies - Prom Committee, Theater Tech, Cheer Squad // Painting, Dance Lessons, Sketching, People watching, Wandering around, Bothering anyone who will listen position on cheer squad: Secondary base

WRITING SAMPLE.

It was too grown up for her. If anyone were to walk into her Father’s too-big kitchen at that moment, that would probably be their response to the seventeen-year-old with a glass of red wine in her hand. But it was many a summer that Olivia had spent in France with her mother; drinking a glass of wine with dinner since she was nearly twelve years old. Much to her Father’s dismay, she made no plans of stopping that tradition any time soon… Even if she had upgraded from just a glass to just half the bottle in the last couple of years. It was different in Atlanta, where everyone around her was always popping champagne for brunch, lunch, and dinner; pretending to be more mature than they really were for the sake of appearances.  And besides, it wasn’t as if her father was going to notice the missing alcohol, anyway. It wasn’t very often he noticed anything about her at all, really. Choosing instead to focus his energy on just how big of a disappointment she thought Luke to be.

It was one of the things she thought she loved about Riverside, andbesides the hoops her brother was always jumping through at the urging of their father, it was nearly perfect. Sure, she had been free to do as she pleased in Atlanta - as long as her mother approved - but in the little town she was hardly expected to answer to anybody. Her father was always busy (either with work, or with Luke), her teachers loved her (for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on), and she hadn’t found herself wanting to get into any actual trouble since she first arrived…not when she knew that familiar faces were lurking around every corner. It was strange how grounded it all made her feel; like the chaos that had been building up in her chest for the last seventeen years of her life was finally dissipating.

She had always considered herself a city girl - convinced that the flash of the lights and the parties were the only reasons to go on some nights - but with every day she spent in the little town, she found the city, any city, being the last place she wanted to be. No, Olivia wouldn’t trade sneaking glasses of wine in her father’s farmhouse style kitchen for anything now. She was a Riverside girl, and she was planning on staying that way for as long she could stand it.

————————————————————————————————

It was the crunch of leaves behind her that tipped Olivia off to her visitor; ears flushing an embarrassed shade of pink as she was caught red handed and bloodied by the barn door she had been not-so-subtly trying to break through. The cheerleader just spun around in her spot, skirt fluttering around her thighs with the sudden movement, as she caught the stranger right back. Her bloodstained fingertips - stupid, old wood - hidden behind her back while she spoke. “I’ll admit that I probably shouldn’t be out here.” In fact, she knew it was the last place she should be; seemingly abandoned or not, property was property, and it usually belonged to someone.

But the barn had practically been calling her name since she had first laid eyes on it, and she could only imagine the secrets that the inside of it held… Even if what was inside only seemed to be a dusty old tractor and a couple two-by-fours. That hardly mattered to Olivia though, because once she decided that something was beautiful, it was beautiful, and she had to uncover it’s secrets at all costs. “I mean, it’s a weird situation, right? Teenage girl, abandoned barn… What the hell am I doing out here, even? But I’d like to point out the fact that your lurking around in the woods puts you, at least, like – three points ahead of me on the creep scale. So, what do you say? Your creep move cancels out my creep move? We call it even?“

ABOUT THE CHARACTER.

The Louvre - Lorde

We Will Become Silhouettes - The Shins

Pretty Baby - Blondie

“I’m screaming at the top of my lungs pretending the echoes belong to someone… Someone I used to know.” - The Postal Service

headcanons :

Olivia has a hard time listening to her parents, her teachers, her elders, the police, and… any type of authority figure, really. She’s been highly independent since day one, with a mother and father like hers, she had to be to survive, and it’s all resulted in the most headstrong teenager in existence. She does what she wants to do, and only what she wants to do, and since escaping Atlanta and her mother’s near constant guilt trips… The fact has never been truer. Olivia knows that she’s all she needs to survive - well, herself, and her parents money.

Her brother is the only exception to the the walls that she builds around herself. She would sell her soul to keep Luke safe, and always gets herself into trouble if it means keeping him out of it. Olivia is protective because she knows that at the end of the day, Luke is the only person she really has in the world. She’s not close to her mother, and she knows neither of them are very close to their father. While she has no idea how Luke really feels about her fierce protective nature, she isn’t sure she could tone it down if she wanted to.

Olivia thrived in Atlanta. She was the perfect socialite, and she had only found herself resenting the shallow lifestyle a few times throughout her life; who could possibly resent getting everything they ever wanted? But the Riverside lifestyle has grown on her in a way that she had never been expecting. For the first time in her life she doesn’t have to worry about the way she looks, or who’s going to see her, or what she can and can’t eat to fit in whatever dress for wherever her mother was dragging her next.

For the first time in her whole life, she didn’t need to look in the mirror at every opportunity. She didn’t feel afraid of making friends. She wasn’t worried about anyone stabbing her in the back or using her as their step-up in society.

personality :

Olivia is highly independent, and it’s always led to her skirting through life as a lone wolf. Sure, she had her ‘friends’ back in Atlanta, but she knew she could never truly count on the girls she had grown up with. Olivia has trust issues - she’s skeptical of nearly everyone - but something about the small relationships she’s forged in Riverside have changed her in a way. Olivia is more open to talking than ever; she actually goes out just to be around people rather than to get champagne drunk on a dance floor.  Her lonesome streak might never be shaken, though.

Sometimes she prefers watching people from afar, even those she calls friends. She prefers an empty building to the company of even Luke sometimes. Abandoned places - quiet spaces - are Olivia’s safe place, and if someone is lucky enough to be invited into one of them, they can probably consider themselves a part of her inner circle.

Liv completely expected to hate every part of joining the Cheerleading squad, but after a few weeks of getting her ass handed to her with workouts and routines, she quickly found herself changing her tune. It was a challenge that had made her feel more alive - more like a teenager - than anything she had ever done in Atlanta. Maybe it was all stereotypes from the dumb movies she had seen over the course of her childhood, but the girls on the squad were nothing like she had expected them to be either. Call it a soft spot, but she was certainly willing to go the extra mile for the girls on the squad… even if it seemed completely out of the ordinary for her.

ANYTHING ELSE.

I think Olivia probably mostly goes by Liv! But I love weird nicknames, so call her Picasso, or Monet, or even Weirdo  - whatever you want! - because I think it would be fun!

[not-a-space-alien]

Into the Unknown, Part 17:  Feast (Triumvirate)

Prologue | Dramatis Personae | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

Series masterpost

On AO3

Crowley straightened Aziraphale’s horrible tartan bow tie, which he hadn’t been able to convince him to change.

“If you’re going to wear that thing, you could at least put it on right,” said Crowley.

“Ah, I hadn’t noticed,” said Aziraphale.  “Thank you, dear.”

Crowley finished knotting his own tie, pulling it through for a full Windsor knot.  “Do you think everyone is coming?  From what I hear, the guest list is pretty extensive.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” said Aziraphale.  He gave him a kiss on the forehead.  “I trust Noah’s judgement, though.  He’s grown up to be quite wise.  Oh, you do look like splendid in that suit.”

Crowley did up his cuff links.  They were shaped like tiny angel wings, courtesy of Beth.  “This?  I wear this suit all the time.”

“I know, but oh…” Aziraphale breathed.

“Angel, what—”

He was cut off as Aziraphale dipped him into a kiss.  Crowley smiled all the way to his ears, so happy he could almost cry.

“I’m sorry we never got to have our proper engagement party,” said Crowley. He clasped their hands together so their rings touched.  “I’m sure everyone can probably guess it’s going to happen, but I’m glad everyone will be there to see us get married.”

Aziraphale rubbed his back.  “Even Gabriel and Kabata and them?”

Crowley leaned his head into Aziraphale’s shoulder.  “…Having them there is strangely validating, in a way.”

Aziraphale patted him.  “Let’s go, then.  It’s almost time.”

They had agreed to carpool with Beth and Maltha beforehand, so Crowley started the Bentley and drove to the location where Maltha specified, which turned out to be a posh apartment complex Beth certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford on her own.

The two were waiting out front on the sidewalk.  Maltha was in a tight, sequined black dress with opera gloves, looking like she could decapitate someone with her heels.  Beth had on a tuxedo she seemed quite fond of despite that it evidently did not fit her very well.

“I’ll drive,” said Beth excitedly as they exited the Bentley.

“No,” said Crowley and Maltha simultaneously.

“Come on, you two’ve been through a lot!” said Beth.  “Just sit back and relax.  We’ll take my car.”

Despite Crowley’s protests that driving did relax him, Beth was insistent on chauffeuring.  Maltha gave in eventually, which convinced Crowley it wasn’t worth fighting about any longer.

“Oh, geez, sorry,” said Beth, clambering into the driver’s seat of her beat up sedan.  “I forgot there was all that garbage in the back seat.”

Aziraphale respectfully stood to the side as Beth shoveled fast-food bags and discarded tissues out of the car.  Crowley’s eyes watered at the eventuality of riding in such an atrocious, rusty, neglected vehicle.  If cars had souls, Beth’s would be crying out for deliverance.

While Beth had her back turned, Crowley murmured reassurances to the Bentley that it wouldn’t end up like that.

“There we go,” said Beth, pushing the seat forward to give them more room.

The car ride over was bearable.  But Crowley was communicating with Aziraphale telepathically the entire time, complaining about Beth’s car.

Maltha broke in, I can hear you, you know.

Crowley froze.  Can Beth?

Maltha snorted.  “What’s up?” Beth asked.

“Nothing, dear,” Maltha said, while simultaneously thinking at Crowley, If you can teach a human telepathy, let me know how you did it.

They arrived at Adam’s house, which was a quiet little cottage with a yard big enough for Dog to run around in.  The mutt in question ran out to greet them enthusiastically as Beth cranked the parking brake.

“Good boy!” said Aziraphale, patting Dog’s head, mostly to try and get him to jump on someone else instead.  Dog went absolutely ballistic, unable to decide who to lick and tail whirring like a helicopter blade.

Adam hobbled out onto the porch.  “Come on in!” he shouted.  “It’s in the living room!”

They stepped in to see a portal leading directly to the ninth layer of Hell hovering in Adam’s living room.

“Arranged just for the occasion,” said Adam proudly.

Dagon and Beelezebub stood on either side of the entrance.  Now here was someone Crowley hadn’t faced down yet: Dagon had been the one to hand him over to Satan for torture, and Crowley hadn’t interacted with him at all since then.

He swallowed nervously as Dagon’s amphibian eyes swiveled towards him, blinking out-of-synch.  From beside him, Beelzebub buzzed, “Welcome.”

Dagon dipped his head.  “Hell is honoured by your presence.”

Maltha exchanged the superficial pleasantries before leading Beth in. Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand.

Dagon made eye contact.  “Hell is honoured by your presence, Mr Crowley.”

Crowley’s cheeks became flush as he entered Hell, and not because of the heat. “Did you hear—”

“Dagon?”

Crowley’s eyes sparkled.  That was the last person he could think of in this universe that had hated him, won over. The last flicker of anxiety died in his chest.

“Who cares what Dagon thinks, though?” said Maltha, strolling forward.

“See you down there!” Adam yelled after them.

Aziraphale waved a hand.  Crowley was still reeling, chest warm.

Botis met them at the entrance to Hell’s feast Hall.  The doors were propped open, and Crowley couldn’t help but notice the Hall seemed a lot bigger than it had before.

“So good to see you, sirs!” Botis cried, throwing his arms around Aziraphale and Crowley.

Aziraphale patted his arms.  “Yes, yes, good to see you, Botis.”

“How was the other world?” said Botis excitedly.  “I heard it was like a mirror universe.”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Aziraphale.

“Was I there?”

Crowley looked into Botis’s hopeful face.  “…No, actually, you weren’t there at all, Botis.”

Botis pouted.  “Drat.”

They went into the Hall to see that it had been rearranged to look like a fancy dining room, with many tables and an open bar, rather than a single long table.  And at the far end, at the head of the hall, there was a beautiful archway with red and cream-coloured flowers lacing its length.  It filled both Aziraphale and Crowley with a fuzzy feeling in their chests, guessing what it was for.

“Suppose we should find our assigned seats,” said Crowley, noting there were name cards set out.

“You’re near the front,” said Botis, preening.

Aziraphale and Crowley  found their places at a table near the front, next to the table with the ornate carved chair that probably indicated Noah’s seat.  The other seats at the table were reserved for Beth, Maltha, Mykas, and Angelo.

The dining hall was mostly empty, with a few guests here and there. Oryss and Olivia were among the first to arrive, looking quite beautiful in a sparkly blue dress and a tuxedo, respectively.  They rushed over to Crowley and Aziraphale, chattering about how excited they were and how lovely everything was.

Maltha and Beth took leave to wander around together before the feast, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley alone at their table to watch people trickle in. The rest of the Legion arrived slowly, sprinkled with dukes of Hell Aziraphale had only met a handful of times. Raphael came in, too, escorting Metatron.  Metatron seemed to be doing a little bit better, and had regained most of their gross motor control.  They seemed aware of what was going on around them and making decisions for themselves. They didn’t seem able to speak yet, which was ironic for the Voice of God, but you don’t need to be able to speak to have a good life, so that was all right.

Vincent and Hurit came in, too, with their two daughters, one of whom had a pair of glossy, grey wings on her back.  The human child had a purple bow in her hair, while the Nephilim had a bow on her wings.

That would surely be an interesting sibling rivalry.  Not to mention the pair of newborn twins Vincent and Hurit were holding one each of, who were both sprouting tiny stumps of jet-black wings.

Kabata and Gabriel arrived next, both looking very tired and worse for the wear, not amenable to socialising, but they sat in their assigned corner and watched everyone else without any apparent malice.  The musty smell of marijuana hung over Kabata like a cloud. His eyes were bloodshot, and he began to gnaw on the decorative fruit on the table apparently without realising it was made of foam.

Gabriel eyed Vincent with a certain amount of fear.  Vincent brought the oldest Nephilim child over to Gabriel. This ended up resulting in a shouting match, not between the two angels but between Gabriel and the girl, but eventually ended with Gabriel holding one of the babies and bouncing it on his knee.

Mykas came in during this altercation but mostly ignored it, going straight to his assigned seat with Angelo and asking for some pre-dinner wine.  He watched Gabriel and Kabata’s table with a detached look.

“Have you made peace with Gabriel yet?” said Aziraphale.

Mykas lifted his goblet to his mouth, eyes shining over the rim of the cup. “No.”

“Why don’t you now?”

Mykas put his cup down, smiling wryly.  “I don’t want to.  He has no power over me, I have no reason to be afraid of him, and I don’t want to be friends with him.  And I don’t think there’s anything I can do to make him more miserable than he already is. Once he learns to let go of the way things were, he’ll realise how shitty it was the way he treated me, then he’ll feel awful again.  He’s got a huge mountain in front of him to climb.  I don’t even want to kill him.  He’s just pathetic now.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both nodded.

Mykas turned his gaze away from Gabriel towards Vycra, who was standing against the wall by herself. Her assigned seat, at the table next to Victoria, Oryss, and Olivia, remained empty.  She hadn’t changed out of her armor, but she didn’t look afraid.  More like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“I hope she gets used to it soon,” said Mykas.  “I know what it feels like to suddenly not have to be a warrior all the time, and it’s hard to let it go.”

“Maybe you and she could talk sometime,” said Crowley.

Mykas played with his fork.  “No…I think she’ll have much more to talk about with Victoria.”

Crowley watched Victoria from across the room.  She was talking to Jezebel, but definitely snatching glances at Vycra out of the corner of her eye occasionally.

Crowley felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and Noah leaned in to whisper to him. “I’m taking the next step in reforming Agares tonight.  She’s been confined to the first layer for a while and has been behaving herself, so I’m letting her come to the Feast.  Don’t worry, she’s not dangerous, and I’m keeping an eye on her.”

Crowley nodded.  

“There’s a lot of people here but I promise I’ll keep things under control. You two are absolutely safe and you will have your night, unless you change your mind.”

“We won’t change our mind,” said Aziraphale, patting Noah’s hand.  “This is perfect.”

Noah moved off.  And a few minutes later, Agares very hesitantly edged into the room, eyeing the angels in the room like they were pointing guns at her.  Being near Victoria definitely caused the most alarm for Agares, but after being in her periphery for a few minutes without incident, Agares settled down noticeably.

Lyra came in shortly after, and Agares pounced on her, their previous discussions about magic apparently having already sealed the deal on being real, actual, honest-to-goodness friends, which Agares had never had before.  She finally let Lyra hold the magical artifact she had used to block the tracking spell, and Lyra geeked out over it like it was a shiny new car.

Kabata saw this exchange and approached them with his sword.  They both looked at him with confusion before he held it out to them by the handle and clarified he was trying to show off his own spellwork, not attack them.

Agares and Lyra both erupted into a cloud of excited chatter, bombarding him with questions.

“Stay out of trouble, you three,” called Noah, passing them on the way to his place at the head of the table.  “The trouble trio.  Everyone, thank you for coming!  Please take your seats!  Dinner is about to begin.”

Maltha and Beth came back in just as the food was being served, skittering back to their seats and hastily wiping off the lipstick they had pressed on each other in some rather suggestive places.  Mammon pushed the door closed behind them and trundled over to her seat, smushing herself into her smallest form for politeness’ sake.

Noah clapped his hands, and the room died into silence.  “Let’s take a moment to thank the kitchen before we begin. I trust you have all been enjoying the wine and hors d’ oeuvres.”

Hoofbeats sounded muffled through the door.

Noah grimaced.  “All right. Okay.  Thank you for coming, everyone.  I think I shall need a moment.  Please stay seated and remain calm.”

The doors to the hall swung open again, and a figure on an enormous black horse strode in, hooves striking sparks.

Satan pulled the reigns of his Hellhorse up to stop it ten feet away from the outermost table.  The demons sitting there upturned their chairs with the speed they used to scuttle away.

Hastur slunk in behind him, glowering at the reception.

The room fell dead silent.  All eyes turned to the newcomer.

Satan tossed his head, pushing his flowing blond curls off his shoulder indignantly.  “Well, well, I finally come back down to my home, only to see this.”

Noah stood, opening his arms amicably.  “Welcome, father.”

Satan slid down the side of his horse, removing his riding gear, slipping off his leather gloves and curling them in his fist.  He reached into his coat and withdrew a letter.  “’Welcome, father’?  Really?  I know you’re my spawn, but you have unthinkable audacity.”

“I see you got my invitation,” said Noah, not letting the smile break on his face.  His voice echoed confidently through the dining hall, but everyone could hear the tenseness of his voice, and see the fact that his smile was stretched artificially thin.

Satan snapped the letter open and withdrew a pair of tiny spectacles, reading it daintily.  “I wish to use the Feast Hall and trappings in the ninth layer my father had previously used to strike terror and fear into his subjects for an open banquet.  We wish to usher in a new era of peace, and you, Father, are invited on the condition—”

“You turned the torture chambers into hotels suites,” Hastur grumbled. “Those was my favorite rooms.”

“—That you agree to become part of this new order—”

“You needn’t read further,” Noah said magnanimously.  “I know what I wrote, and I think everyone else can guess.”

Satan trucked on over him.  “Which means accepting that your place is not to rule, but to live in harmony with everyone you had previously terrorised, both angels and demons.”

“Show some respect,” Hastur said.

Satan dropped the letter.  “Where, exactly, do you get off telling me what to do?  My own spawn?  You mean to rule Hell in my place, and treat me as a subject?”

The question hung in the air for a bit.  Then, Adam laughed a deep, hearty laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Satan snarled.

“Your kids have been telling you what to do ever since we existed,” he said. “Just the same as you did to your own father.  What’s wrong with you?”

Satan’s frown darkened as Maltha began to giggle at the next table over. “You’re quite sad, my lord. I actually feel pity for you right now.”  She leaned back in her chair, one foot on the table and tilting the chair up onto two legs, and lifted her wine glass at him.

Satan’s face spasmed with a paroxysm of rage.  “You—”

“Not me,” said Maltha.  “Us, all of us.”

“How long was I away?” said Satan.  “That such impropriety is allowed to stand?  Who was the first to—Who did th—You,” he hissed, focus zeroing in on Crowley.  “This is your fault somehow, you little snake.  The traitor.”

The second he took a single step forward, half the dining hall got their feet with weapons drawn.

Startled, Satan took a step back.  He sneered at them.  “You all—you put lowly demons, traitors, and angels, and nephilim in position of honour in Hell’s banquet hall.  Look at yourselves.”

“Shut up.”

Crowley’s command echoed precariously through the hall, and with such authority all eyes in the room landed on him.

He started forwards.  Aziraphale reached out to pull him back, but Crowley waved him off, weaving through the dining hall towards Satan.

Satan’s face was locked in a toothy scowl.  “You’re lucky any archdemon even deigns to speak to you, lowly imp.  Know your—”

“Shut up!” Crowley screamed, throwing his arms in the air.  “Shut your stupid fucking mouth and stop saying such bloody foul, awful things!”

Crowley came to a stop toe-to-toe with Satan, who looked down his nose at Crowley, a solid two feet below him.  A few people behind him told him to back away, but he didn’t listen.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Hastur growled.

“I’m aware!” Crowley said.  “I’ve been told, and that’s just one of the many things I’m bloody sick of being told!”

He shoved a pointed finger right in Satan’s face, who went cross-eyed to look at it.  “I don’t have a lot of nerve.  I’m just sick and tired of being treated like a slave, like an object, like a piece of cattle to—”

“You don’t deserve the—”

“You treated me like I belonged to you.  Like I only existed for your benefit.”  Tears began to brim over in his eyes.  “Like you owned me and could do whatever you wanted to me, no matter how terrible it was.”

“I did own you,” said Satan. “And I still do.”

“You treat everyone like that!” Crowley exploded.  “Why are you like this?”

Crowley was cut off by Satan slapping him across the face with his leather glove, leaving a bright red mark.  Crowley heard several people gasp and say his name, followed by footsteps approaching him.

“Does a cog complain about being part of a machine?” Satan said.  “No, because that’s it’s place.  Your place is to be my servant.  It is my right to rule over demons however I see fit.”

Crowley cradled his cheek, looking at the floor.  He felt arms around him and saw Botis grabbing his elbow, and Aziraphale coming up from the other side.

“No,” said Crowley, elbowing away the attempts to remove him.  “I’m not afraid of you anymore.”  He stared Satan down.  “You can abuse me and say whatever horrid things you want to me, but it doesn’t change your position.”

“My position?” said Satan.

“You were only the ruler because you bullied everyone into letting you. Now that your support is gone, you have nothing.”

“It is my right.”

“You’re out.  Nobody wants you here anymore.  You’re a relic from a worse time that nobody wants to remember.”

Satan’s gaze swept up to all the hostile faces.  He turned back to Hastur, who quickly averted his gaze.

“Nonsense,” said Satan, though with considerably less confidence now. “I’m the only force with the will to go against Heaven, I’m the only one who stood up to God—”

“You’re just like Him,” Crowley said.

Satan looked like he had been punched in the gut.  “What did you say?”

“No one has ever had the courage to tell you that to your face, have they?” said Crowley, softer now.  “You’ve become just like God.”

“That’s not true,” said Satan, voice now tinged slightly with fear.

“Everything you hated about God is what you’ve become.”

“Shut up,” said Satan.

“You hated Him because he was cruel, and capricious, and unfair, and egotistical, and everyone was scared of Him but you’re worse than He is now.  You tried to take His place, but only succeeded in copying the worst parts of Him.

Satan did not respond.  He looked incredibly angry.  It was the anger of someone who knows in their heart the criticisms are true, and they get angry instead of accepting it.

Hissing with rage, he turned to the demonic court.  “Beelzebub, put him in his place.”

“I’m afraid I must concur with Lord Noah,” Beelzebub buzzed mildly.

“What?” Satan shrieked. “You—  Even you?!  My most loyal supporter?”

Crowley stepped back into the arms of his friends to let the natural consequences of Satan’s actions catch up to him.  He needn’t do anything more.

Beelzebub shrugged.  “He is a better ruler than you are.”

“Come on, Beelzebub,” said Satan savagely.  “Let’s ravage everything, kill, destroy.  No one can stop us.  Why are you kneeling to—”

“That sort of thing is no longer considered appropriate,” Beelzebub said dryly.

Satan clenched his jaw mightily.  “Beelzebub.  Dagon?”

Dagon crossed his arms.

Satan swung towards Dagon.  “Dagon, help me out here.”

Dagon’s throat pouch expanded and contracted, and his eyes sunk into his head and popped out again.  He did not so much as croak.

“Agares,” said Satan.

Agares looked around, panicked, and shook her head frantically.  Next to her, Kabata leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.  “She would trade her loyalty to you for next to nothing.  All I had to do was show her my sword, and she already likes me better than you.”

Agares turned bright red.

Satan scowled.  “Asmodeus?”

Asmodues pretended not to see him.

Looking desperately around the room for any last scrap of support he could get, he eyed up Mammon.  Mammon snorted and stared him down, and he turned away from her without bothering to try.

“This is what happens,” said Crowley.  “When you build your following through fear instead of love.”

LUCIFER, said a voice from behind them.

Satan looked over to see that Time had stood and called out to him.

“T…Time?” said Lucifer.

All the Foundations angels are, generally, pretty impassive, so the wobbly lip Time had was an extraordinary display of emotion.  I’VE MISSED YOU.

Satan’s face became slack and distant.

BUT I’VE MISSED LUCIFER, NOT SATAN.

“No,” whispered Satan.

YOU ARE NOT HIM.  YOU ARE CRUEL AND VIOLENT.

“I am Lucifer!” Satan thundered. “I am.”

YOU HAVE CHANGED.

“I did this for you,” Satan said, and it was his turn to have tears roll down his cheeks.  “And even you reject me?”

Time looked at him sadly.  I NEVER ASKED FOR ALL THIS.  I NEVER ASKED YOU TO BECOME AN ABUSIVE TYRANT.  YOU DID THAT ON YOUR OWN.

Satan reeled back a step.

“Don’t listen to him, sire,” said Hastur.  “Who cares what he thinks?”

“Who cares what Time thinks?” whimpered Satan.  “Time is…He’s…my…”

Satan burst into tears, dropping to his knees, chest heaving in big, ugly sobs. Crowley looked down at him.

“What was I supposed to do,” Satan gasped between shuddering breaths.  “What did you expect me to do when He did what He does?”

“We’ve all been hurt,” said Crowley quietly.  “We’ve all suffered just as much as you have.  It doesn’t mean you can turn around and dish out the same abuse without consequences.”

Satan looked up at him with watery eyes.  “What am I supposed to do?”

Crowley took a deep breath and knelt down to whisper to him.  “It’s not too late for you.  It’s never too late for anyone to make a change.  But they have to want it.”

Satan scrunched his face up, sniffling.

Mykas approached, holding his hand out.  “Brother.”

“M…Michael?” said Satan.

Mykas knelt, leaning in comfortingly, offering his hand.  “Brother.  It’s not too late to try this again.  Can we try this again?”

Satan looked at the proffered hand.

“Back before when we last fought, I said we could fix this by making everything go back to the way it was.  That’ll never happen, because everything has been kind of wrecked, and there’s no way to un-do that.  But the world is softer now.  We can teach you how to be soft by showing you the mercy you were never shown.  All you have to do is leave your old ways behind.”

Satan held out a trembling hand, then withdrew it.  “You cast me out,” he said bitterly.  “Last time you offered me your hand, it only ended in fire.”

Mykas lowered himself to the ground completely, sitting back on his haunches in front of Satan so they were eye-to-eye.  “Brother,” he said, six-thousand years of hurt and softness overflowing on his face.  “Brother, surely you must have realised by now that was Uriel, not me.”

Satan looked down at the floor tiles between his hands.

“I would never do that to you.  I would never give up on anyone I love.”

“I can’t,” said Satan.  “I can’t.  How can I?”

“Don’t be afraid,” said Mykas.  “This new way is different, and it’s unknown—uncharted territory, and that’s scary for all of us.  But I promise you it is so, so much better.  There’s room for you to grow and learn here, instead of everyone being ruled by fear.  So what do you say?”

Satan’s gaze went to Time behind Mykas.

“We can fix this.  It’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.  It’s not too late.”

Satan nodded, then took Mykas’s hand.  Mykas pulled him into a hug, and Satan balled up into Mykas’s chest, weeping.

“I don’t bloody believe this,” Hastur muttered.

Mykas pulled Satan away, off to the corner, stroking his hair.

“Now hold on just a minute!” Hastur cried, in his temper tantrum sparked by being the last one in existence to have a problem with this.

“Let’s talk, Hastur,” said Noah, approaching him with mischievous joy in his eyes.  “Take a seat.”

A chair appeared behind Hastur.  Hastur opened his mouth to tell Noah to fuck off, caught Maltha’s facial expression behind him, remembered certain things, then thought better of it and sat down, grumbling the whole time.

“So what’s your problem?” Noah said, putting his hand under his chin.

Everyone in the hall laughed.  Hastur frowned and provided no answer.

“You’re like…You’re like a mangy old cat that hisses at everyone.”

“’m not a cat,” Hastur said, crossing his arms.

“No, I mean it.  What’s your problem?”

“I can see you laughing at me,” Hastur yelled with a pointed look at Crowley. “You snake!  You little creep!  Watch your back.”

Noah leaned down to block Hastur’s eye contact with Crowley.  “Nope.  Eyes on me.”

Hastur puffed out and said nothing.

“For example, why do you hate Crowley so much?”

“He’s a creep.  Dunt see why everyone else likes him so much.”

“You can tell me,” said Noah.  “You can whisper it to me, and I won’t tell anyone else.”

Hastur, lip quavering, leaned in towards Noah’s proffered ear.  “He killed Ligur,” he said, voice trembling.  “And Ligur was the only one who tolerated me, and nobody cares that he’s dead, and nobody ever cares, and I dunt see why it’s fair that he gets to overthrow the order when I worked hard and made sacrifices to keep myself safe and Ligur safe and, well, it bloody well doesn’t seem fair I had to deal with Satan for six-thousand years only to have everyone else get to take the easy way out—”

Hastur broke off.  People like Hastur did not, generally, cry, but he was currently as close as he could get, which was taking sort of deep, hitching breaths and looking quite upset.

“Is that all?” said Noah.

“Is that all?” Hastur cried.  “I thought you was all about taking people’s emotions seriously?  You think having Ligur taken is no—”

He looked around the piteous faces in the room and realised he had just shouted his secret answer aloud.

Noah gave a tinkling laugh.  “Aww, Hastur.”  He patted his head.  “No, I just mean, that part we can easily fix.”

“What?”

“I can just bring Ligur back to life.  The other stuff you’ll just have to get over.  But having Ligur back should help you with an attitude adjustment, right?”

“You’re yanking my chain,” said Hastur.  “Knock it off.”

“No joking.  I’ve worked with harder people.”

“You can’t be serious,” Hastur said, strained.  “You’d just—bring him back to life?  For me?  Just like that?”  His tone of voice indicated he couldn’t possibly let himself believe it and get his hopes up.

Noah’s eyes sparkled.  “Softer world.”  He turned around.  “Maltha, will you help me with something real quick?  I need to go talk to Death.”

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

NO.

Noah grimaced.  “Now, okay, see, last time I did this, I didn’t realise it would upset you.  So now I’m just giving you a courtesy warning I’m going to do it.”

Death crossed his arms.  SO ESSENTIALLY, YOU DIDN’T COME TO ASK MY PERMISSION?

Noah rubbed the back of his head.  “Er…yeah, pretty much.”

Death glowered as much as anyone without any facial tissue was able to glower.

“You said it doesn’t fray the fabric of reality when I do it!  It’s not like I’m doing what Time did, messing things up.”

Death did not look impressed.

“Sorry.  I know dead people are supposed to stay dead, and all this lately probably has been pretty disrespectful to you.  Promise I won’t do it willy-nilly.  Only when it’s really important.”

AND LIGUR, A LONG-DEAD DEMON NOBODY CARES ABOUT, IS “REALLY IMPORTANT”?

Noah rubbed his hands together, mustering up his diplomacy skills to try and make the best of a bad situation.

Meanwhile, one layer of Hell down, Maltha worked at the helm of the disused Infernal Corporation department, which was in effect much like a disturbing seamstress shop, with flesh instead of fabric.

Hastur stood between two work stations with sewing machines, looking unhappy being here alone with Maltha.  “And Noah wanted you to bring me here because…?”

“King Noah, if you please,” said Maltha, rapidly loading pincushions and pliers onto her work bench. “We’re far less formal about that now, but it would do you good to get into the habit of it.”

Hastur crossed his arms.  “’suppose.”

“I’m only doing this because he asked me to, so you could be a little more grateful.”  Maltha began to thread a needle with a tendon.  “And for your information, he asked me because I was the one who pioneered the corporation project in Heaven before angels or demons went to Earth, and consequently I’m most suited to whip up a corporation quickly while Noah talks to Azrael, so we can get this over with quickly and go back to dinner.”

“Hmph,” said Hastur.

“Now, what colour was his skin?” said Maltha.

“’bout that one,” said Hastur, pointing.

The sewing machine whirred and plinked as Maltha worked.  “So tell me, Hastur,” she said, holding a pin with her mouth.  “Why exactly you’re so egregiously unpleasant.”

Hastur frowned sourly.

“Why do you like torture, for instance?”

“Do you have any idea how hard my job woulda been if I didn’t like torture?” said Hastur.  “You were never expected to torture anyone.”

“Suppose I wasn’t,” said Maltha.

“It’d be impossible to be a demon without being sadistic.”

“Crowley isn’t sadistic, and he is a demon.”

“Yeah and he had an awful time of it, didn’t he.”

Maltha’s hands stopped, and she looked up to make eye contact with him. “Just a fair warning, Hastur.  I blew your head off once, and I’m not afraid to do it again.  We all deal with trauma in different ways, but you don’t have a license to be horrible anymore.”

“Hmph,” said Hastur, who had mostly become horrible in self-defense, and was struggling to process how he was expected to behave in a reality where being horrible would no longer aid him.  He watched Maltha’s hands being to work again.  She had already gotten impressively far.

“He was circumcised,” Hastur said.

Maltha’s hands froze, and she raised an eyebrow at him.  Hastur was basically incapable of being embarrassed, but he was currently experiencing whatever simulacrum of the emotion he could manage.

“All right,” said Maltha, grabbing a pair of scissors.

Hastur stood on tip-toe to peek over the workbench, which was just a little too tall for him.  “How come you do this stuff?  I thought you was all about healing and the like.”

Maltha pulled some locks of hair from a spinning wheel and began to thread them onto the scalp.  “What’s the difference when it comes down to it?  Healing a sword wound is essentially reconstruction.  Not much of a big leap to plain construction.”

“’Suppose.”

“Besides, it wasn’t just me. It was a joint project between me, Gabriel, and Camael, before they became insufferable pricks.”

“Sure,” said Hastur, who felt that trashtalking the archangels was much more familiar and comfortable territory.

“And I think Raphael did a pretty good job of it after I left.  You may have noticed Heaven’s corporation division is much more efficient than Hell’s.”

Hastur flicked idly at a nearby bonsai tree, which was sprouting eyes like olives.  “Suppose you could give him different colour eyes?  I never much cared for em.  Pale white like anything.  Didn’t care for em.”

“Too late,” Maltha said.  “Already picked them out, and they go bad once they’re harvested, don’t want to waste them.

“Hmmph.”

Footsteps accompanied by the jingle of kingly accoutrements sounded outside. “Okay,” said Noah, appearing in the door.  “I talked to Death.”

“He gave you his blessing?” said Maltha.

“Ah, no,” said Noah.  “But we’ll do it anyway.”

Maltha shrugged.  “All right. Let’s make it quick before he decides to do something, then.”

It didn’t take long to finish the body with Noah there, and in a snap he pulled Ligur from the void and pressed him into his new body.

“Ehr?” said Ligur, jerking.  He sat up. “Huh?  Where am I?”

“There you are,” said Noah, flourishing.  “You can have him on the condition that you behave yourself, Hastur.”

Hastur looked at Ligur with a detached look.

“Hastur?” said Ligur.  “Feel like I’ve missed something.  Are we still trying to get Crawley?”

Hastur set his jaw.

“Has the apocalypse already happened?!”

“You idiot,” said Hastur.  “You fat dumb idiot.  I hate your guts.”

Maltha rolled her eyes.  “You two really need to learn how to express affection like adults.”

Ligur scratched his head.  “Did we win, then?”

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

The tone of the banquet gradually went back to the relaxed state it had been before Satan arrived.  Mykas sat with Satan in the corner, talking with him, Satan gradually becoming more and more responsive.  Various demons and angels could be seen occasionally snatching glances over towards him, scarcely able to believe what they were seeing.

Eventually, Mykas got up and led Satan out of the dining hall by the hand, and everyone truly relaxed.  Angelo excused himself and hustled after him.

After about an hour, Noah and Maltha came back with Hastur.  Ligur, in what appeared to be a freshly spun corporation, walked unsteadily behind them.

Noah approached Crowley and Aziraphale’s table.  “Hi, Crowley.”

“Hi.  How’d it go?”

“Pretty good, but we need to talk to you for a second.”

“Dunt see why,” Hastur said, glowering.  “This whole situation is bloody ridiculous.”

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” said Ligur.  “Seems all right to me.”

Hastur glared at him.

“Hastur has something to say to you.”

Hastur stepped forwards and muttered something unintelligible.

“Wrong,” said Noah.

“Maltha tried to make me do this,” said Hastur.  “Don’t see why you think you could.”

“Oh, come on, Hastur,” said Ligur, who seemed to be extremely tired from the ordeal of being dead.  “You always make such a big deal out of everything.”

Hastur clenched his jaw and said to Crowley, “I apologise.”

“For?” Noah prompted.

“For, hm.  For tryin’ to bring you down to Hell during the apocalypse and chasing you through the phone line.  And lying to Maltha and that whole thing.  And grabbin’ you to bring you down to Hell for torture.”

When he did not continue, Noah prompted, “And?”

“And for trying to kill you after that,” said Hastur.  “And for conspirin’ against you, and tryin’ to kill you when you came down to meet Maltha, and…”

He looked like he was struggling to recall the other entries on this enormous list.  “That stuff I said about you right before I died, I guess.”

“And?” said Noah.

“And for ruining your proposal,” said Hastur.  “And choking you.”

He glanced at Noah, checking if all his vile deeds have been crossed off the list.  Noah nodded.

“Okay,” said Crowley.  “Thanks for apologising.  I don’t really like you, but maybe I can forgive you.”

“What?” said Hastur.  “You what?”

“I’ll try to forgive you.”

“Forgive me?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re yanking my chain?”

“No.”

Hastur’s face screwed up in concentration.  Despite his best attempts, he could find nothing to complain about.

“I’m sorry too,” said Ligur.  “For, I dunno.  Being a bully.”

“Thanks for apologising.”

“All right,” said Noah, herding them away from their table.  “I think that’s quite enough.”

Aziraphale watched as Noah led them out of the dining hall, off to who-knows-where.  “Well, that was a pleasant surprise.”

Crowley fiddled with his napkin.  “Maybe now they’ll finally behave themselves.”

“Here’s hoping.”  Noah put one hand on Aziraphale’s back and one on Crowley’s.  Are you two ready then?”

Aziraphale sputtered.  “Let me just finish this glass of wine.”

“We’re ready,” said Crowley.

Noah strode back in and took his seat at the head table, observing the room. Everyone seemed quite relaxed after the disturbance, so he stood and tapped a fork on his wine glass.

“Attention, everyone.”

All eyes turned towards him.

“Thank you all for coming this evening.  I owe a lot to all of you.  But perhaps, most of all, I owe thanks to Aziraphale and Crowley.”

He turned towards them, lifting his wine glass.  “Some of my oldest friends.  They started it all, they were the first to…question.  To truly question, and rebel against an order that had been entrenched for six-thousand years.”

Aziraphale flushed.  

“The world now is peaceful.  Soft. And more forgiving.  We owe it to them.  And with that in mind, there’s something I want to do for them.  That we all can do for them.  Today, we will be witnesses.”

Botis immediately started crying and saying how beautiful it was.

Noah sat and gestured to Crowley, who stood nervously.  He fingered his ring and watched its counterpart on Aziraphale’s hand glow.

“Thank you,” said Crowley.  “It’s an honour.  For the longest time the bottommost layer of Hell was something to be feared, something only meant for suffering and darkness.  Truly, it’s an honour.  I’m so, so proud of the way everyone has worked together to make what we have now. Especially…”

He turned towards Aziraphale, taking his hand.  “Especially my angel.  It hasn’t been easy.  Nothing that lasts six-thousand years or more will be easy.  He’s made mistakes, and so have I, but we’ve both grown so much right alongside this universe as it grew.  He was the first angel to talk to me politely, to treat me as a person—I watched him guard that Eastern Gate and thought, ‘Hey, finally, here’s someone I can talk to….’  All this time later, we stopped the apocalypse.  Twice.  Three times? I don’t know.  Well, we tried to, anyway.”

This was met with a smattering of laughter.

“I don’t know where I would be today without him.  Probably still slithering around the Garden of Eden. And I know at this point it’s little more than ceremonial, but we’re going to make our final declaration that we belong together, that Heaven and Hell can find common ground on Earth, and that…”

“That we love each other,” Aziraphale finished for him.

Crowley nodded.  Everyone around him had wet eyes.  “So Aziraphale and I are getting married.”

Everyone in the room cheered and clapped.  Crowley had thought it might have been a stretch to ask for it, but even Beelzebub and Dagon clapped, even Gabriel, subdued and politely.

“And I’ll be performing the ceremony!” Adam announced, popping up. “I recently got my accreditation online, and I can legally marry people now!”

“Yes, yes,” said Noah, waving him on.  “Brother, please.”

“Watch yourself, or I’ll marry you to someone,” Adam threatened.

He bounced up to the archway, standing in front of it with his notes. Aziraphale and Crowley tenderly took each other’s hands and walked up.  The cheering still hadn’t died down.

They took their places facing each other in front of Adam, eyes brimming with tears, surrounded by people who cared about them, feeling absolutely overwhelmed by the tidal wave of love washing over them.

“We are gathered here today to witness the union of the Principality Aziraphale and AJ Crowley,” said Adam.  ���If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever stuff it.”

The numerous hostile glares directed at fellow audience members indicated if anyone did have any objections, they better not speak now.

“Very well!” said Adam.  “It wouldn’t be accurate to call this union holy, as it’s decidedly un-holy in some ways…But it’s something better.  It’s unifying in a way neither Heaven or Hell can manage.  It’s very human in all the right ways.  Do either of you have something to say?”

“I do,” said Crowley.  He wiped his face on his sleeve, sniffling.  “Sorry.  I’ve got a notecard.”  He withdrew the notecard from his breast pocket, again wiping his eyes to get rid of the stubborn drops clinging to his lashes.

“Aziraphale,” he said.  “This is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing.  I think, for the longest time, you were convinced I couldn’t even feel love.”

Aziraphale put his hand to his face, very red.

“And for a while, I convinced myself I couldn’t, either, because it was easier.  Because I was so utterly alone, that it was least painful to just think it was better this way.  But we’re not alone now, none of us are.  And love is part of my life every day now, and so will marriage be, too.  This is everything I’ve learned about love and marriage, in my 6,000 years on this planet:  nothing.

Only that the world out there is complicated, and there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain, and the only thing that makes it okay, sometimes, is to reach out a hand in the darkness and find another hand to squeeze, and not to be alone.”

Crowley took his angel’s hand.  “It’s not the kisses, or never just the kisses: it’s what they mean.”

Tears started rolling down Aziraphale’s cheeks.  “Somebody’s got your back,” Crowley continued.  “Somebody knows your worst self and somehow doesn’t want to rescue you or send for the army to rescue them.  It’s not two broken halves becoming one.  It’s the light from a distant lighthouse bringing you both safely home…”

“Because home is wherever you are both together,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley nodded.  “So this is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing, like a book without pages or a forest without trees.  Because there are things you cannot know before you experience them.  Because no study can prepare you for the joy or the trials.”

He turned to face Maltha and Beth in the front row, and Oryss and Olivia behind them, clinging to each other and crying, and the faces of their many, many friends and loved ones in attendance.  “Because nobody else’s love is like yours, and it’s a road you can only learn by walking it, a dance you cannot be taught, not even by your Maker, not even by the forces of the universe that try to decide what’s good for you.  It’s a song that did not exist before you began, together, to sing.  And because in the darkness you will reach out a hand, not knowing for certain if someone else is even there.  And your hands will meet, and then neither of you will ever need to be alone again.  And that’s all I know about love.”

Botis sobbed dramatically on Kyleth’s shoulder.  Abraxas double-checked her camera to make sure she had been recording.

“That’s all any of us know about love,” said Aziraphale.  “That’s it’s not some grand, ineffable force none of us can understand.  It’s something we share, something we create together.  Something that makes the world a little better for everyone.  No one can define it for us, and no one can tell us it’s too scary or unknown to seize.  Because sometimes when the world is broken, heading off into the unknown is better than staying in a known, comfortable, broken world.”

“I’m sorry,” said Adam, blowing his nose.  “Sorry.  I’m doing the ceremony.  Right. Online accreditation.  Right.  I now pronounce you—”

Aziraphale and Crowley held hands and looked at him.

“Man and—man.  Husband and—demon.  Angel and demon.  Whatever!”

They leaned in and kissed, to more wild cheers.

A few minutes later, among the re-invigorated energy of the feast, the two of them safely lost and given privacy among the activity and buzz around them, Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hand.  “You know, Crowley, we never talked about a honeymoon.”

“A honeymoon,” said Crowley.  “That’s right, we didn’t.”

“Would you like to have one?”

“Absolutely.”

“Where would you like to go?”

Crowley thought for a moment, watching Maltha pop a champagne bottle at Beth. “I think I’d like to take a road trip. There’s actually still a lot of sights I haven’t seen.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we could do some exploration?”

“Of Earth?”

“Of the stars.  I’ve never been there.”

Aziraphale smiled softly.  “Then off into the unknown we go.”

******

Thank you for reading :)  The wedding speech was adapted from Neil Gaiman’s blog post about marriage, which you can find here

[flickerofcalum]

once bitten, twice shy | part two

part 1 // shoot me a message if you wanna be added to a taglist!

The worst part of it all was, despite the changes, Luke could still see all the parts of Brinley that he’d fallen in love with. The parts of her he was still in love with, if he was being honest with himself. He was more fucked than he’d previously realized.

“It was the craziest thing, bro. One minute she was throwing a drink in my face and the next thing I know, she’s got her hand down my pants and her tongue down my throat. I mean, I’m not complaining, but it was confusing as hell.”

Luke rolled his eyes from where he sat on Michael’s couch, listening to him recount the previous evening’s events to Ashton and Calum, Michael hadn’t stopped talking about hooking up with Olivia since they stumbled into his parents’ home early that morning, but thankfully, he’d mostly been too distracted to really pay close attention to his friend anyway. He was unable to stop thinking about his run-in with Brinley the night before.

When he’d decided to come home for Christmas, he’d prepared himself for the worst. He’d known immediately that she wouldn’t want to seem him and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. The two of them had been together for such a long time, had their whole lives planned out with each other, and Luke had selfishly flipped the script on her at the very last minute. He hated himself for it every day.

And god, he had missed her the entire time he’d been gone, but it felt even worse now that he’d laid eyes on her. Brinley had changed so much in their time apart – she was even more gorgeous, which he really hadn’t ever thought would be possible. Though it may have been a little creepy, he’d spent half the night watching her from across the room. He couldn’t stop picturing her long legs in the red dress, the cute way her lips curved up into a smile whenever she’d teased Calum, the delicate blush on her pale cheeks whenever someone gave her a compliment.

The worst part of it all was, despite the changes, Luke could still see all the parts of Brinley that he’d fallen in love with. The parts of her he was still in love with, if he was being honest with himself. He was more fucked than he’d previously realized.

“Earth to Luke,” Ashton’s fingers snapped in front of his face, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you alive in there?”

Luke blinked a few times. “Sorry. I was just…thinking.”

“About Brinley?” Calum questioned bluntly, raising a dark eyebrow at him. Luke had never really been comfortable discussing Brinley with Calum, and since their break up, he’d tried to avoid the topic all together. While the dark-haired man was one of his best friends, he knew that Calum’s history with his ex went back further than Luke’s history with either of them.

Luke chewed on his bottom lip, scratching his fingers along his stubbled jaw nervously. “I just didn’t think that seeing her again was gonna be so hard, you know?” He sighed a bit. “And she wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Well, you did abandon her right before the two of you were supposed to go off to college together, mate. Can you really blame her?” Michael pointed out, barely looking up from his phone. Luke shot him a glare. He didn’t really need a reminder of what he’d done to Brinley. It was already on his mind more than he would ever admit out loud.

Ashton reached over to pinch Michael’s thigh, eliciting a shriek from red-haired boy. “Not helping, Mike.” He looked back at Luke, his eyes soft and pitying. “She probably just needs some time.”

Luke shrugged sadly. At the party, Brinley hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough – the chances of her changing her mind about wanting to speak to him were probably slim. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Brinley was still in love with him. Not only was she beautiful, but she also was incredibly smart, talented, funny, and had the kindest soul out of anyone Luke had ever met. If they hadn’t already, it was only a matter of time before someone else came into her life and swept her off her feet, treated her the way she deserved to be treated. Luke was afraid that he was too late.

“She looked good, though, right? Like…she looks like she’s happy,” Luke said finally. Even if she was never his again, that was all he wanted for her.

He watched as Calum shared a look with Ashton he couldn’t quite read before he reached over to pat Luke’s thigh. “Yeah, man. She’s happy.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The cold air stung his skin as he walked outside, causing him to curse under his breath. When he’d promised his mother he’d come home for the holidays, he’d forgotten how goddamn cold it got there. He didn’t have a lot of warm clothes since he lived in Los Angeles, so he wrapped himself up in one of Jack’s old winter coats. There was a gap between the sleeve and the gloves he was wearing, but it was better than nothing.

Normally, Luke avoided going outside at all costs in the winter, but after being locked up in his childhood bedroom for nearly a week, his mother forced him out of the house with a grocery list. Worst of all, he was without a car, so he had no choice but to make the small trek to the store on foot. It was only about a ten-minute walk, but the frigid weather made it feel like hours.

His cheeks and the tips of his ears were red by the time he arrived at the store. The heat was blasting, something he was grateful for when he walked inside. He grabbed a cart and furrowed his brows as he looked at his mother’s list. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been grocery shopping since he moved to Los Angeles. Most of the time, Ashton took care of that sort of thing or they ate take out. “Milk, egg whites, cereal…” he mumbled to himself underneath his breath as he wandered down the aisles, putting the items in the cart. He was pretty sure he had grabbed the wrong brand of cereal, but it was his mother’s own fault for sending him here.

He stood in front of the milk, thoughtfully looking between all the different types. His mother had been on a health kick lately, so would she want almond milk instead? Was he supposed to buy the store’s off brand version since it was cheaper? Luke had been standing there for far too long whenever he heard his name called out by a sweet little voice.

Brinley turned the corner, an exasperated look on her face as she tried to stop her little sister who was barreling towards Luke. He took in a sharp breath as he saw her. She was only in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, her hair thrown messily on top of her head, but she still looked as beautiful as ever to him. “Mallory, no running! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

The man grinned as he bent down to Mallory’s level, catching her when she launched herself into his arms. Luke had always had a soft spot for the younger girl, partly because she was the spitting image of her sister. He was a little amazed at how much she’d grown since he’d last seen her, a heavier weight against him than he was used to.

“There is no way you’re Mallory,” He said teasingly. “You are far too big to Mallory.”

Mallory rolled her eyes, propping a hand on her hip as she looked at him. “That’s ‘cause I grew up, dummy.”

“Mallory, be polite,” Brinley chastised. She locked eyes with Luke for a moment before she looked away with flushed cheeks.

Luke turned his attention back to the younger girl. “My apologies, Ms. All Grown Up. Who said you could grow up while I was gone, hm?”

His smile only grew as the little girl giggled, revealing her missing tooth. “I can’t help it!” She insisted, gripping Luke’s hand once he stood up.

Looking at Brinley again, he dared to speak. “It’s good to see you. It’s a shame we didn’t get to talk at the party.”

Brinley tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “Oh, well… you know, Olivia kind of loses her mind when Michael’s around. I had to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Right,” Luke said with a nod, looking back down as Mallory started tugging on his sleeve.

“Luke, Luke! I’m in a Christmas play at my school. I play an angel!” She said excitedly.

Luke grinned. “An angel, huh? How fitting,” he teased, smoothing down her hair.

Mallory rose up on her tiptoes to speak to him. “Will you come see it?”

Brinley coughed. “Mal, I’m sure Luke is really busy…”

Although he knew Brinley didn’t really want him around, he hated the idea of disappointing Mallory by saying no. “I’m actually really not that busy,” he blurted out, chewing on his lip again. “I’d love to come, Mallory. If it’s okay with your sister.”

He felt only slightly guilty as Mallory turned towards her older sister with big eyes, a small pout forming on her lips. “Can he come? Pleaseeee?”

The older girl let out a sigh, giving Luke an exasperated look. “I guess so. Can you let me talk to Luke alone for a second?”

Mallory’s smile was wide as she hugged Luke around his legs for a moment. “Bye Lukey!”

“Bye, petal,” Luke said fondly.

He bit his lip as Mallory ran back over to their nearby cart, pulling the doll she’d left inside out. He’d gotten enough lectures from Brinley to know when she was about to chastise him about something, so he prepared himself as he looked at her. “Brin, look…”

“Don’t call me that,” Brinley snapped, holding one finger up to cut his sentence off.  Her gaze felt like it was piercing right through him and he had never felt quite so vulnerable in his life. “I know we’re going to be seeing each other a lot over the next few weeks, but I want to make it clear that I’m not interested in reconciling with you. You can come to her play, and we can be civil when we’re with our friends, but I don’t want anything to do with you other than that?”

At her words, Luke felt his heart jump into his throat. While he didn’t necessarily expect her to jump back into his arms, he at least thought she’d be willing to talk things out. “Can’t you just give me a chance to explain?” He said, a bit more pleadingly than he would’ve liked. “There’s so many things I have to say to you if you’d just give me five minutes.”

Brinley let out a humorless laugh. “If you wanted to explain yourself that bad, you would’ve done it by now. You can’t just show up here after all of this time and expect me to just bend to your will and listen to you.” She insisted. “I just… I just want to forget everything that happened between us. I’m done, I’ve moved on. And I suggest you do the same.”

Luke gaped after her as she stalked back over to Mallory. He’d been on the receiving end Brinley’s anger before, but he had never experienced her being so outwardly harsh. He felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest as he watched her walk away.

As he finished up the rest of his shopping, he felt numb, like he was on autopilot. The wind blew the cold air harshly around him as he walked, but it barely affected him. He’d always known that he’d fucked things up with Brinley, but it was starting to hit him that things between them were messed up beyond repair. The girl he loved wanted nothing to do with him anymore, and it hurt.

So, when Luke got home, he quickly put away the groceries before retiring to his room to deal with his feelings the only way he knew how. He locked his door, grabbed a notebook, and started writing.

[veridium]

OC Interview Meme

I have been tagged by @dickeybbqpit to do this wonderful interview, this time I will be doing it for everyone’s favorite petite, sweet badass, Olivia!

I am tagging @orlesianbard, @wardenofmyheart, and @ladylike-foxes but if you have already done one already I’m sorry! whoops!

This is an UNNOFFICIAL face-claim that I am having stand-in for an image since I do not have access to playing DA:I right now in order to craft her character!

1. What is your name?

Well, that would be Olivia. 

2. What is your real name?

...Olivia? Oh, I’m so silly, you’re probably suggesting my full name. That would be Olivia Berenice Sinclair. 

3. Do you know why you were called that?

My father got to choose my first name, but my mother insisted that ‘Berenice’ be put in somewhere. It’s funny to think I was almost a Berenice, actually! I wonder what my nicknames would be? Hm. Well, my name also means ‘peaceful victory,’ which is a testament to my father’s virtues. If only he knew who he was naming.

4. Are you single or taken?

Oh my goodness, *laughs* how hilarious would it be if I were to tell you I had no sweetheart, if Cassandra heard? She would be so bothered. But, I suppose that means I should say I am happily in love with someone. A certain Seeker who looks very attractive when she’s sparring, and filing reports, and...well, most everything she does. 

5. Have any abilities or powers? Besides the power of persuasion? Oh yes, silly, I am a Mage. I did not develop any particular elemental abilities when I was in the Circle -- I preferred Apothecary and Natural sciences. I can make most anything blow to smithereens, or turn to mush, or chemically break down. That is a hard-won skill, I must say. The construction personnel here are not particularly fond of me, now. 

7. What’s your eye color?

They are a light hazel, though the Seeker insists they are honey-gold. Oh, whoops, *giggles* should I have not said that? Does that complicate her tough persona?

8. How about your hair color?

Blonde, like my father’s. It was very fair when I was small, but gradually it’s turned darker.

9. Have you any family members?

Hm, well, yes. My father passed many years ago, but I imagine my mother is still alive and well -- I would have received a letter dictating the contrary otherwise. She lives on our small estate in the northeastern countryside of Orlais. Then there are my relations on either side of my family tree, though I was never very close with them. My cousin was the only one I had contact with, and she has recently passed. 

10. Oh? What about pets?

Oh, no no, not for me. I could scarcely find the time! I like going for walks out on the trails and watching the wildlife just fine. I don’t need any other tasks to manage. Although, I must say, it would be adorable to have Cassandra be around a puppy, don’t you think?

11. That’s cool I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

Oh, my, well. That would be...hm. Men who think they know more than me because they see I am pretty, and petite, and kind. Most Orlesian food, besides those little chocolate pastries, uh, I can’t remember the name. The Ambassador would know. 

Other than that, I suppose unkind people? I really don’t pick things to dislike in my life, they find me. 

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?

Making explosive substances is always riveting. But, when I’m not hard at work, I enjoy bathing with candles, reading, walking around the fortress...sometimes, I sit by the fire with Varric and he tells me about his writing. Don’t tell Cassandra, but I know what happens in the next book of Swords & Shields.

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

Yes, yes, but is that really a rarity around here? I can’t find a person who is a tried and true pacifist. Also, if you have done the work I’ve done, and made end’s meat like I have had to, you find nonviolence to be an impossibility. 

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

..Technically?

15. What kind of animal are you?

Animal? I could tell you the human speciation term, if that is what you are referring to. But, I am confused as to what you are referring to other than that. 

16. Name your worst habits.

Oh, drats. I’m a terrible workaholic. Really, I could spend overnight hours here in the tower if I get a project that I an enthusiastic about. I am also very silly and clumsy, I’m afraid. If it isn’t precise measurements or recipes, I tend to knock into things or stumble. 

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Plenty of people! My friends, Veronica, Naomi, and Theia, the Inquisitor. They are strong and wonderful souls, and I am so blessed to have them in my life. Cassandra, because she is so brilliant and just...well, just amazing. Vivienne, because she is so endlessly confident in herself. Dorian, because his humor is wonderful and he is terribly intelligent. 

I suppose the better question would be who I don’t admire!

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

Hm. I love people, I do, but...I would be content never knowing the attention of a man ever again. With Cassandra I feel as though that is no longer a concern, but, I would say I prefer women.

19. Do you go to school?

Yes, I was a very attentive scholar. My mother sent me to school in the Capitol when I was of age, and before that I was tutored. I showed great promise in the performing arts, so when I got a bit older my schooling was focused on those talents most of all.

Truth be told, I consider my time in the Circle the most educationally nourishing time of my life. It was where I found something I was passionate about, and now I am here serving the Inquisition with all that I learned. 

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Marriage was one of the first virtues ever instilled in me, so I...hm, I really don’t know if I have an objective taste for it! I think if the conditions were right, and I felt like I wasn’t giving up a life I wanted to lead, it would be something I would consider. 

Children...children, I don’t know. I don’t believe I learned from the right person how to mother, and thus I am not confident motherhood is my fate. There is so much of this world to see, and so much to do, besides be a mother. I could easily spend the rest of my days finding out what all those things are, and not bring a child into this world. 

*Laughter* I just imagined what it would be like to proposition Cassandra about parenthood and just the image of her complexion turning to snow, it’s priceless! I may have to steal that question. 

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

Besides the children that insist I be their best friend, I suppose not. I am a controversial person here, I believe. A former harlot and Circle Mage, who has no ensnared the heart of one of the most faithful Chantry figures who could be the next Divine? That does not exactly make me the world’s favorite person. 

Surely, I don’t see why not, though. I consider myself a splendid person. 

22. What are you most afraid of?

Veronica and Theia when they get into arguments. Naomi and I have to almost threaten freezing them to opposite walls in order to get them to cease. Other than that, I don’t have any real fears.

...Okay, well, my dreams would suggest otherwise, but I am not defined by my trauma as a Mage. I believe fears to be unexplored understandings.

23. What do you usually wear?

I have a couple dresses that are simple and practical, that I wear day-to-day. When I travel, it is typically to the Capitol, so I wear more fitted and formal attire. But, for all other excursions, I prefer a light patented armor I had specifically made for me. It is nimble, flexible, and sturdy -- and I must say, makes my butt end look positively delectable. 

Nothing beats a masterful seamstress. Absolutely nothing!

24. Do you love someone?

Yes, I love many people! Well, alright, I struggled with romantic love for a long time. I had signed myself away to a life of no real romance, and no true love, to protect myself. I felt calloused from my upbringing along with my experiences as a rogue harlot. 

Now, though? Love has been redefined for me, and I intend on exploring its depths for as long as I can. It helps to have someone who inspires such a new direction in your life. 

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

Oh, never! Never, ever, surely. How could you ask such a silly thing? *Giggles.*

Although, on many an occasion, I have stained my dresses in such a way where it looks like I had an accident. Those always make Cassandra chuckle when I come back from the tower. 

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

What fun this has been, I’ve never been interviewed about my life in such a way before!

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class)

Well, being a Mage, I am pretty nomadic in life. But, I was born into a comfortable gentry life with my family, so, I could say I’ve experienced multiple areas of class in my short life. I don’t need wealth, though, as much as I have depended on its proximity. I like a quiet life where I can do what I want to do.

28. How many friends do you have?

Oh, many! Many dear friends in my life, whom I adore. There’s the girls, and then some of the allies in the Inquisition -- have you by chance met Cole? He’s such a dear. Ambassador Montilyet and I have much in common. Vivienne and I have struck a good reporte as well. 

Friends are wonderful, and I am fortunate to have them in this stressful and uncertain time. 

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

Oh! My goodness, you reminded me that tonight there is to be thindleberry pie in the kitchens. I have to bring several spices for it before dusk hits, or else it’ll be terribly bland. 

Pie? Pie is delicious. The crust bottom is the best part. 

30. Favourite drink?

Honeyed tea, just warm enough to make my tongue tingle!

31. What’s your favourite place?

Somewhere in the countryside with pastureland and woodlands. Oh, and anywhere the Seeker is. *giggles*

32. Are you interested in someone?

Yes, of course. I am interested in you, for example. Where did you come from, and why did you search me out of all people?

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

*Giggles* Precisely one-Seeker’s-hand’s worth. 

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Lake, because that would suggest there is lush land around it, and I love valleys and meadows where there are flowers and trees to enjoy. 

35. What’s your type?

Someone honorable, who is passionate about what they do! I cannot be with anyone who is apathetic or uninterested in life’s intricacies. Someone who is kindhearted and has respectable virtues. Someone who loves to be impulsive and silly sometimes! There has to be sweetness to balance out life’s bitterness. 

Oh, and I have to say, if they have dark hair and battle scars, that also melts my lard, if you know what I mean. 

36. Any fetishes?

*Laughs* No! I don’t need them to be creative. 

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

I prefer the term “Persuasive.” But also, I’m afraid I’m far too flexible and nimble to simply remain on a pillow. I have talents, and just because I’m no longer utilizing them to survive, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy partaking in them. 

Plus, it is thrilling to find out what makes someone with an assertive and dominant personality feel more...comfortable. *giggles*

38. Camping or indoors?

Camping, certainly! And with those wonderful fleece blankets that come out of the Hinterlands? Agh, there is nothing more beautifully engrossing. 

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

I mean, no, but I do have a kettle of jasper elixir on the fire and it is temperamental once it gets to a certain temperature. Oh, I should show you what it is when we are done here! It turns water into....well, you’ll see!

40. Now it’s over!

Oh, splendid! Let’s go, I have much to show you!

Thank you again for tagging me!