#she's a bit irreverant

[cabeswaterdrowned]

Blue’s initial feelings of jealousy or insecurity at what Adam not telling her about his home life being so quickly replaced by concern and feeling for him and how horrifying she finds the idea of him not having a family because hers is so central to her identity …. Yeah… she’s so empathetic at her core which I feel gets lost sometimes when her judgemental streak is over focused on which she is very judgmental and I love that about her but like the minute she makes a decision to put that on hold in a sense she’s so empathetic

[libraryleopard]

Adult Greek myth retelling focused on Penelope in the years during which Odysseus was gone from Ithaca

As Penelope tries to keep the peace between suitors and keep Ithaca from falling into a civil war, events in Mycenae threaten to undo her efforts

Narrated in a very snarky fashion by Hera, queen of the gods

First in a planned trilogy focusing on the women of Greek mythology

[shadowvalkyrie]

There are a lot of things about Taskmaster that feel very... culturally British. That mixture of extreme silliness with occasionally very dark humour for example.

Or the particular tone of affectionate bullying and the way it's (mostly) taken in good humour. (And expected to be taken in good humour, even when it hits a nerve. Something that caused quite a bit of bad blood between the Brits and the Germans in my former workplace, because we generally don't shrug off insults that easily.)

But I think one difference is sort of... simmering under the surface in ways that aren't immediately obvious to international audiences (and makes me wish I was still writing uni papers, because it would be a GOLDMINE), is how much of the humour is based on the British class system.

I mean, the basic premise of "tyrannical taskmaster makes people jump through arbitrary hoops for his favour and then belittles them for doing so" is already something only an audience with a slightly monarchical bend would accept unquestioningly. Add to that the way the Taskmaster/Assistant relationship is set up... Let's just say it fetishises a social dynamic that doesn't exist in quite the same way elsewhere.

Which I think may partially explain why so many people seem to be oblivious to the D/s undertones. -- Of course it's often kink-blindness on the part of non-kinky people, but I strongly suspect it's helped along by the cultural perception of what constitutes an acceptable power differential acting as a buffer to seeing anything off about it. The threshold for when it becomes weird is different.

Now, I think (and since I'm not British, do correct me if I have it wrong!) a key part of what makes the basic premise funny to British audiences (and differently from how it's funny to international ones) is the way cultural expectations of power vs submission are subverted.

Purely based on accent? Alex is the posh one. By miles. And Greg -- very pointedly! -- doesn't do the matching Fauxbridge that most viewers would probably expect from someone presented in a position of authority (or even just a "neutral" BBC accent). It seems bizarre from a foreign point of view, but I've found that this kind of discrepancy immediately and viscerally registers with Brits. (It's uncanny how little it takes, too -- ask your favourite non-TM-aware English person to just listen to the different ways they say "taskmaster" and they will extrapolate things you cannot even imagine.) Instead of just the regional connotation, there are always implications of class and social status to an accent that are absolutely baffling to the unaware.

Add the fact that Greg Davies is from Wales, and a lot of English people have a weird colonial superiority complex towards Welsh people to this day... It's enough to make all these obvious gestures of devoted subservience from Alex very unexpected and therefore funny.

(Also notice how it adds interesting layers to Katherine Ryan buying Greg a fake lordship title? And makes it funnier in a way she may not even have fully been aware of herself, being Canadian? It's delightfully irreverent and pokes fun at the whole system.)

My guess is that this is also why the studio audience's reaction to linguistics-based jokes is always so strong. Lets take the recurring bit about Alex correcting Greg's grammar. To an international audience, the main joke is that Alex is a nerd and cares too much about grammar, with maybe a side of him being a smartarse towards his boss in a potentially ill-advised way. But to a British audience, the level of audacious insubordination implied there? Much stronger. Wildly offensive thing to do. (And a level of arrogance that is extra hilarious coming from someone shown to be sleeping in a dog bed.)

The same mechanism also puts Alex's snide little asides towards contestants with regional or "urban" accents into perspective. Offensive dick move on his part? Oh yes, extremely. But the audience is very much not supposed to be on his side in this. He's being a bigoted little bully, and either the contestants get to humiliate him in retaliation (it's certainly not a coincidence that the Welsh and Irish contestants are generally the ones having the most fun putting him in his place) or Greg calls him out on it in the studio. In a society in which Alex's brand of micro-aggression is still incredibly commonplace and accent discrimination a widely accepted default, it's actually very cathartic to see it openly acknowledged and condemned.

I mean Tumblr obviously loves Alex, because he's cute and funny and we love the Greg/Alex D/s thing (I'm definitely guilty of this as well), but we have to remember that -- in the context of the show's premise -- his character is supposed to be pathetic and ridiculous, so when Greg does the "next to me a man who once told me while drunk that he thinks regional accents are inversely correlated to intelligence" intro thing, we're meant to see it as an asshole opinion that is actually unacceptable to hold and no one in their right mind would openly admit to. So Greg is humiliating Alex by (supposedly) exposing him as someone who would spout that kind of opinion. (Same as the jokes about Alex's misogyny. I see people criticise these jokes all the time, but I think that's because they refuse to understand how the underlying mechanism actually works and take them at face value as the real Alex's actual opinion, rather than something deliberately assigned to his in-show character to make a point about them being terrible.)

[dubiousculturalartifact]

reading The Protector of the Small quartet again for the ????th time (could be as many as the twentieth or more tbh, they're sorta my top comfort reads) and my brain keeps being stuck on Wyldon's character this time around. like he's just FASCINATING. I've rarely read a character who is presented as such a complete fucking asshole who does such a 180 in my estimation in a way that's nuanced and COMPLETELY EARNED, while still staying the same fundamental person at the core, and still being allowed to be flawed. (because oh boy he is flawed) I rank him with Zuko in Top Fantasy Character Redemptions of All Time. I hate him. I love him. some thoughts from this read-through: -he's autistic. like he's just SO very autistic it almost hurts, and half of the reason Kel and him end up eventually understanding and respecting each other so well is exactly for this reason. he's so This Is the Way Things Should Be Done Because The Rules Say So and he is SO rigid and specific but also he EVOLVES and that's a fascinating dichotomy -this is also the SAME reason that Neal and him get along like oil on water, because they are both autistic but Opposite, it's like the personality equivalent of trying to get two hedgehogs to hug -that being said Lord Wyldon RESPECTS Neal in a really bizarre way, or at least understands him? He'd never admit that but that one moment in Lady Knight when he's explaining to Kel about why he picked her for Haven's commander, and he says that he CONSIDERED Neal FOR THE JOB? but said that he thought Neal was 'too fair' and essentially that he would simultaneously care too much and be too irreverent with the refugees, not be objective like Kel would be? again. fascinating. -Owen being Wyldon's squire is such a wild combination of personalities that ALSO should not work at all, because Owen is pure !!!! and Wyldon is like :/, but then my brain was like: oh. Owen is basically a over-excited puppy and Wyldon loves dogs -when Kel rescues Lalasa at the end of Page & passes out, then wakes up to Wyldon and her mum in the room and her mum is arguing with Wyldon about Kel's schedule and stuff. I somehow never really registered before that she FIRST NAMES HIM. She calls him Wyldon, not Lord Wyldon, and is comfortable enough to berate him. do they fucking KNOW EACH OTHER from when they were younger? WHAT IS THE STORY THERE? now I'm remembering when Wyldon got all surprised to hear the story of Illane fighting off the Scanran bandits and saving the sacred swords of the Yamani Islands. hm. interesting. much to consider.

-the bit where Wyldon is like OH SHIT the pages nearly got killed because tradition dictates I don't teach them actual battle strategy and tactics. and I fucking love tradition but I also love pages not being dead, so I guess I better get my shit together on that one.

-or when he QUITS as training master because he's like 'damn toxic masculinity fucked these kids up and I'm kinda partially to blame for that. I gotta get my shit together', and he's like the best thing that came out of being training master was having you as a page. and acknowledges he nearly fucked that up too? -while we're on the subject of 'what went through Wyldon's head' WHEN KEL RAN OFF TO SCANRA AND THEN CAME BACK HAVING BASICALLY WON THE WAR FOR THEM? AND HE WAS SO DISCOMBOBULATED HE ACCIDENTALLY AGREED WITH NEAL? -speaking of the end of Page earlier, i wanna read or possibly write a fic about what went through Wyldon's head when Kel didn't show up to the big examinations, because I think that's SUCH a turning point for his character. Like yes he respected Kel and let her stay before that, but the way he's so clearly kicking himself in the aftermath, going to far as to rope in Duke Turomot, and INVOKE THE GODDESS IN HIS PRAYER FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER.... what happened when he had to give the command to start the examinations without her? Like it really struck me that he must have thought 'oh. she gave up after all' and I think part of him might have been disappointed, and part of him *relieved* because he was still clinging to those old attitudes despite everything. And to find out he was wrong? That she hadn't given up, but had sacrificed everything she had worked for in the finest single demonstration of true chivalry and courage he had probably ever witnessed from a page? like damn. Lord Wyldon of Cavall you funky, fucked up man, I want to study you like a bug

[phoenixyfriend]

Something something Dooku survives the Clone Wars, the Imperial Era, and even a few years past the OT...

And Luke finds him while looking for More Jedi to help him teach.

Chewie recognizes the decrepit old bastard, and there is yelling, but being A Hundred And Nine has mellowed Dooku out in his own dusty hermit hut, on the other side of the galaxy from Ben and Yoda's hermit huts.

All the Jedi ghosts are unhappy with this but Dooku is… not REFORMED, technically, but he's old and tired, even if the Force keeps him a bit more healthy and energized than the average Old Guy, and humans routinely live to pretty unreal old ages in the gffa anyway so really 109 for them is probably like 85 for us.

But yeah. Old mountain hermit (to contrast the desert and the swamp) who's been in hiding from That Dick Sidious since he lost both hands to babyface Vader in 19BBY.

@jebiknights (Sammie) said:

Dooku finds out Luke was also trained by Yoda and is like "oh Yoda finally gave me a younger brother like I always wanted"

Alternately he could probably get Luke to call him Great-Great-Grandfather.

Sammie: Funniest option is he's both which makes Luke even more confused lmao Ghost Obi wan in the background like "stop fucking using non Jedi terms to describe Jedi relationships it doesn't fucking work"

Luke calls him, irreverently, Gramps, but also. Leia definitely recognizes him as a Recent Historic Political Figure, but not until AFTER Luke has already integrated Dooku into his new Jedi school.

"Why did Chewie let him do that?" He thought it was funny. (And/or if you like Chewku, you can make this some sordid exes thing.)

"Why did R2 let him do that?" Best keep evil man in electrical prodding range.

Sammie: Leia comes to the school for her biweekly Jedi lessons and sees the newest teacher was a traitor to the Republic 😭

Best if they can find Quin or Ventress out in the black. Partly because like. Does this make Ventress their step-grandma (Quinlan's on-off something) or their great-great-aunt (Dooku's 4th apprentice)?

Sammie: Both and also Luke's niece. Luke has a migraine by the end of it and Leia is ready to disown herself. Ventress: I didn't realize the Jedi were so incestuous Luke: war flashbacks to before he realized Leia was his sister

Ahsoka in the corner with Spacebucks, five years late "Y'all suck. Hey, Quin."

Sammie: I know you likely didn't bring up Quinlan thinking of QuinObi but now I'm imagining Quinlan declaring himself their grandpa when he meets the twins bc 1) he loves to cause chaos 2) he does/did consider Anakin his kid even if not in neat non Jedi terms and 3) Obi-Wan thought being considered Anakin's father made him sound old, and Quinlan needs to harass him beyond the grave

Dooku must have a cane that the ghosts heckle him about because He Clearly Wants To Be Just Like Yoda.

@lyntergalactic (Lyn) said:

I feel like evil gramps could really bring out Ahsoka's snark once she shows up and that would be highly entertaining Ahsoka is simultaneously his most and least favorite grandchild

She's the most experienced as a Jedi (Ventress went full Sith, not just leaving the Order but following the tenets like Ahsoka, and Quinlan isn't in the lineage), has never Fallen unless you count that thing on Mortis.

Also she WILL bitch Dooku out at this age, and honestly he kind of appreciates the brutal honesty.

Ahsoka: I'm not a Jedi. All the old people: Lies

She brings up the Hondo incident since nobody else is putting in the effort. Anakin and Obi-Wan COULD as ghosts but nooooooo she has to do everything around here.

Sammie: Oh but it sets them off so hard they can barely get the story off from laughing NGL I think the twins did not understand how truly annoying Obi-Wan and Anakin could be together until the Hondo story gets told.

They are The Worst.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 6

If You Told Me To

Azriel Eris x Reader

Eris has a little chat with Azriel. As Y/N braces herself to face her mate for the first time since leaving him - she calls in reinforcements. Eris calls in one of his own.

A/n: This is the second to last chapter of the series. Chapter 7 will be the final chapter followed by an epilogue. I have been excited to share this chapter as, lyrically, the song it’s titled after is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Part 5 Part 7

Warnings: Language

The Shadowsinger sat chained in a cell beneath the Autumn Keep. Comfortably lit, temperature regulated, nothing egregious. There was a dark, selfish part of Eris that would not have minded a bit of suffering to befall the male, a little seemed fair given the hell he’d put Y/N through. But Eris couldn’t do that to her. Certainly there was a small part of the mating instinct that would have left her in pain to see her mate - a title he didn’t deserve - hurting.

Eris begrudgingly placed a glamour over her scent that clung to his skin like fine perfume, such a waste to cover it with his own autumnal blend. It was not his place to explain or unveil anything regarding the relationship between them, Eris would have to tread carefully in his questioning.

He almost, almost said “fuck the glamour” and let that intoxicating-as-hell summer storm scent of hers fill the air and marched straight to the dungeons in his sweats and a linen tee, let him see exactly what Eris had been up to all morning. The look on the Shadowsinger’s face would have been so damned satisfying.

Alas, he chose to play the part of pompous High Lord, dressing in the most lordly of attire.

“Well, well, well, what brings you to my humble abode, Shadowsinger? You could have just knocked.”

Azriel snarled through his gag, nose flaring. To put it lightly, he looked rough. His once golden skin paled, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes, and multiple large purple bruises littered his skin.

“Ah, right.” Eris cleared his throat, giving the tattered male before him a disapproving stare. With a quick flick of his wrist the gag disappeared.

“Just let me fucking talk to her.” Azriel growled, his shadows darkening the cell.

Eris inspected his cuticles, refusing to drop the air of irreverence he’d intentionally given off. “Who would you like to speak with, Shadowsinger?”

“You fucking know.” He growled, rage limning each word.

“Say her name.” Eris replied cooly. Needing to make a point to himself.

“Y/N.”

And in that moment Eris realized just how far gone he was in his desire for Y/N. It was dangerous, the fiery rage that burned through his chest at the sacrilege of her sacred name falling from his desecrated lips.

Though Eris refrained from any external display of that inferno blazing inside of him, the slight tick in his jaw must have given him away to the awaiting Spymaster.

Azriel pulled and jerked with all of his might against the chains and Eris was well aware of his power, the entire Autumn Court was. Eris had backup measures in place that - even with his contempt toward the male - he did not wish to use.

“Stop pulling on the chains, Azriel.” Eris commanded.

The use of his given name instead of Eris’ typical “Shadowsinger” caught Azriel’s attention and the look alone on the his face could have killed a lesser male as Azriel’s furious gaze met Eris’

“If you fucking hurt her, I will rip you apart limb by limb. I will make it slow-“

Eris cut him off. “Was it those theatrics that won her heart, Shadowsinger? Truly, you bore me.” Eris returned to examining his nails.

“Fuck you.” Azriel growled.

Eris would ask Y/N’s forgiveness later for what he was about to say. At least he’d made an honest effort to keep his feelings for her separate from the situation at hand.

Without missing a beat, the High Lord goaded, “Funny you should say that. Was it not your fucking around that put you in this position in the first place?”

Azriel lost it. Eris couldn’t recall a time in his centuries of living that he’d seen such display of rage. He yanked at the chains with all of his might, his centuries of strength training apparent as the sounds of the rage and the grinding of stone on metal filled the cell. His efforts nearly successful in ripping free from the wall.

“I’ve asked you once to quit pulling, Shadowsinger. You are in here with just cause and will answer as such. You can behave like a civil being or continue the brute act and I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.” With that, fire sparked and was contained within his palm.

Azriel banked slightly at the display and for a moment Eris felt a twinge of remorse as his eyes landed on those scarred hands.

“Spare me your pity, High Lord.” Azriel spat the title with venom.

Eris shook his head, pacing alongside the cell. “Oh but I do pity you, Shadowsinger. Not in the way I hold back my fire given your past circumstances, that is basic decency on my part.”

With a mock bow, he continued,

“What I pity is how you wage such concern over Y/N’s well-being within my palace walls while blatantly disregarding the fact that you are the one who broke her with your own two hands. And now that she has built herself back up shard by fractured shard into something far stronger, even more rare than the shining gem she already was, you appear like a thief in the night. What is your plan, Azriel? Are you here to break her again?

Eris stepped closer to the cell. Flame igniting those amber eyes as he crouched down face to face with the bound Shadowsinger, grounding out in a low, predatory tone. “Because you won’t this time. Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.”

And with that, Eris stood back up, placed his hands in his pockets, that casual irreverence once again masking his features. “And I find diamonds to be quite precious, so I’ll be sure to cherish mine with the tender, loving care that she deserves.”

Azriel seethed, shadows raging violently within the cell. And Eris wasn’t certain but he could have sworn that anger was directed at their master himself.

Eris waited for more violence, for the filth that would spill from his mouth but the Shadowsinger only hung his head low, and to Eris’ surprise, large, salty tears began falling from his face.

Eris said nothing as Azriel sobbed. Why kick the male when he’d already downed himself? So Eris stood and waited. Eventually Azriel looked up again, “Please, just let me talk to her.”

Eris paused, taking stock of the broken male before him.

Just when it appeared to Azriel that he’d deny him, Eris replied. “You are fortunate that your mate is far more benevolent than I, she has agreed to speak with you.”

Azriel let out a large, broken sigh of relief.

Eris only smirked. “But she has conditions.”

—————————

I don’t want to look back on these days, knowing all the things you’d never know if I never said a word and let you go.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N.” Eris spoke softly.

“I do, Eris. What he did, it’s too much. Too far. If you weren’t the ruler that you are, this might have been treated as an act of war.”

Eris shook his head. “You’re right. What he did is not acceptable by any means. But you, you shouldn’t have to deal with this after all you’ve been through.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” She spoke firmly.

He pulled her in closely, resting his chin on her head, those warm arms wrapped tightly around her easing the bitter cold threatening to frost her heart. “He never deserved you.”

Eris knew a mask when he saw one. Knew them far too well. Beneath the strong exterior she was presenting, his brave girl was nervous as hell.

I don't want to steal you away or make you change the things that you believe.

Eris escorted Y/N to a large meeting space by a roaring fire, sitting her at the head of the table, he to her right. One with a lesser sense of hearing might have missed the increase of her heart rate. That mask beginning to slip.

“Look at me, minx.”

Her glassy eyes met his as he reached forward, his hands enveloping hers. “You owe nothing to anyone. Nobody. Not to the Night Court, to my Court, or even to the Summer Court beyond what Tarquin has contracted you to do, and you especially owe nothing to the Shadowsinger.”

Her lip quivered and he spared her the discomfort of replying right away by continuing, “If it is your choice to hear him out, I commend you. You are far more brave and strong than you realize, and the fact that you are giving him your time today is an act of kindness in itself. Do not feel that you are obligated to comfort him or give your forgiveness.”

Eris lightly placed a broad palm on her chest. “What’s in there points true. Follow your heart, little fox. Do not do or say anything for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

Eris gave her the time she needed to collect her thoughts. His thumb brushed soothing strokes over the back of her hand as she composed herself.

Her voice cracked only slightly when she asked, “Is what I’m doing wrong? Are my conditions too harsh?”

Eris took a moment. Her heart racing like the best of a hummingbird’s wings as she awaited his response. He didn’t want to steer her any particular direction. Obviously, he wanted her by his side. Hell, he needed her by his side, she was as essential as water to him at this point. But her happiness and well-being mattered more than his needs.

He didn’t want her to go back to the Night Court as he knew Azriel would try convincing her to do. A selfish part of him begged to take her hand and bow on his knees before her. He was at her will and would serve her for the rest of his days should she only ask. But she needed to make this choice for herself. She was a summer storm, his little fox, who was he to stop her from flowing whatever direction she willed its winds to take her.

So, he wouldn’t ask her to stay or think of him at all during this meeting with her mate. However, he would emphasize what she likely already knew, that he had already fallen in love with her. That he fell in love with her spirit the moment that filthy string of curses fell from her pretty mouth when they met that first day. He wouldn’t pressure her by speaking those words aloud just yet, but he could show her in the best way he knew how given the circumstances, by empowering her.

“Y/N,” he broke the silence. “I meant what I told you. What you are doing today is brave. You are strong. To face a male who has not earned your time or presence in front of his own family to hear out his side of things, or whatever it is he wishes to say - you are so much stronger than you realize. Do not worry about what he or anyone at this table will think or feel. You hear him out and you choose what is right for you. The only person owed anything today is you and what you’re owed is peace. You deserve the world, fox.”

Those shining eyes of hers welled up. He lifted her chin with a long finger, “No tears, little one. You go in there and you take your power back. I will be out there.” He nodded toward a corridor to the eastern wing of the keep. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be waiting for you.”

She placed a delicate hand on Eris’ muscled bicep. “Eris…”

“Yes, fox?”

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

I want to drink from the words you say and be everything you need.

The creak of an oak door captured their attention. A sentry entered the room, his steps echoing throughout. “High Lord, Lady, the guests are arriving.” The sentry looked to Eris, “along with the guest you personally requested.”

Y/N turned toward Eris, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Bring her in.” He replied to the sentry, turning to face Y/N. “I thought you may want someone in your corner for this meeting.”

————-

Camila, Y/N’s sister, burst through the door, all bronze skin, bouncing black curls, and smiles. “Sister!!!” She squealed.

Y/N looked to Eris. Immense gratitude radiating from her lovely face. He nodded toward Camila, gesturing to go to her. The sisters ran to eachother, nearly tackling one another to the floor.

Camila giggled, gasping as she fought to catch her breath. “I saw a red-headed male outside with long hair, gorgeous tan skin, a wicked smile, and-“ she whispered not-so-subtly in her sisters ear “worship worthy thighs, handcrafted by the gods themselves.” She dropped the whisper act, continuing, “Oh my gods, Y/N, and a scar over his eye! Giving him that sexy mysterious look that you only ever read about in smutty novels.”

Eris choked as he realized who she was talking about, capturing the attention of Camila. “If I’d known what you were hiding here, High Lord, I’d have ventured over from the Summer Court much sooner.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Camila, but Lucien lives in the Day Court when he’s not at his apartment in Velaris.”

Camila’s mouth dropped into an “O” as she realized who the male was. “Well, onto the next one then. Who else are you hiding around here for me to fall in love with?”

The laughter was broken when the Oak Door opened again, a sentry announcing the next guests. “the High Lord of the Night Court and his general.”

Darkness suddenly overtook the room, and an instinctual part of Y/N caused her to pale. She’d very rarely seen Rhysand’s darkness so adamant, and it was never a good thing. Cassian kept a straight, stoic face, warrior’s stance on full display. This male, this was the Lord of Bloodshed and not the lovable giant she’d known for decades.

She remained frozen, Camila gasping in horror before deciding that she’d rather stare daggers at the brothers of the male who cheated on her little sister. Rhysand took in the room, paying no mind to Camila’s violent glare. When he realized Azriel was not in the room, his eyes landed on Y/N and the darkness immediately faded away. Rhys’ expression softened as he directed his footsteps toward her, opening his mouth to speak, but it was Cassian who yelled, “Y/N babygirl! Look at you!”

The giant male bound right past Rhys, running to her. Leaving no time for Y/N to brace herself as he whisked her up into a bone crushing hug, spinning her in circles. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. Never leave without saying goodbye again.”

As soon as Cassian said it, he faltered, gently setting her back down with his eyes downcast. “I had no idea, Y/N. We only found out the real reason why you left yesterday.”

Eris gave distance to the trio so she could speak with the males, Camila coming to his side. Eris couldn’t help smirking at the glare she gave to the Night Court’s High Lord and Cassian. He leaned in to her ear, his low voice barely a rumble, “I’d never admit this to them but while they are brutes, they’re not so bad.”

Camila only scoffed, waiving a dismissive hand in his direction.

It was true. Rhysand had given her space to heal but regularly sent check-in’s to the Summer and Autumn Court High Lords to ensure her well-being. Both Tarquin and Eris had to swear not to tell her, but Rhysand had contributed significantly to Y/N’s extremely generous salary as emissary between the courts. She didn’t know what emissary’s typically made so she never thought about it, but it certainly was not the substantial amount that she was being paid.

Once Cassian was finished fawning over his “favorite little ass-kicker” Rhys stepped forward.

“Y/N” he said. Eyes roaming up and down her body. She was more filled in and fit than she had been when he last saw her, the radiance had returned to her skin, the light in her eyes shone bright as the stars of Velaris. Gods, he’d forgotten the way his brother’s mate rivaled even the most vibrant of summer sunsets.

She held her chin high, meeting her former High Lord’s violet gaze. Rhys pulled her close and she melted into his arms. Not just her former High Lord but her friend. She knew this. And the warmth of his strong arms embracing her reminded her of exactly that.

That stinging rejection of Azriel’s betrayal had somewhat tainted her view of the Inner Circle’s love for her. They had accepted her into their little family immediately when she and Azriel mated and she thought they’d dismiss her just as quickly when she left.

His breaking of what they had did not change that the inner circle cared for her. Rhys held her close for nearly a minute, burying his face into the top of her head, whispering how sorry he was for not realizing just how awry things had gone with Azriel and Elain. She felt guilty for leaving them.

“Don’t you for one moment regret this, Y/N. You will always have a place in my home but there are bigger things in this world for you.” He nodded toward Eris briefly with a cheeky expression that felt a lot like understanding, approval even.

She swatted at him. “Get out of my head, busybody.”

“It was written all over your face, darling.” He shrugged.

Cassian cut in. “We wanted to come in first to assess the situation. Everyone else is in the entry hall. Are you sure about this, Y/N? You don’t have to see him if you’re not ready.”

Darkness flared around Rhys again as he nodded in agreement.

She stepped to Eris’ side with renewed confidence. “I’m ready.”

Eris commanded his sentries. “Go ahead and bring them in.”

Resisting the urge to press a parting kiss to her forehead, he gave a reassuring brush of his hand against hers and began to step away.

She grabbed his wrist. “Please, stay.”

Her pleading eyes spoke what she couldn’t “I can’t do this without you.”

So, he stayed by her side as they waited for the impending shit show to unfold.

I could be so good at loving you, but only if you told me to.

————————————————-

Tags: @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

Once upon a time, there was a Good Omens fanfiction reader, who swore they didn't like AUs.

They read all the discussions about the 'classics', the 'must reads' and shrugged.

"But it's not canon", they muttered to themself. "They're not human. How on Earth can anyone write these stories about them when they're not actually bloody human? It’s not right."

And then, dear reader, they were persuaded to read just one AU. They were still an angel and a demon, just in a slightly different universe. And then...then they tried a human AU. And then...then they were hooked. Obsessed, one might say.

That reader, dear reader, was me. Of course. Obviously. Well, duh. And I would like to share the obsession in the form of some recommendations.

I have the wonderful @shadesofecclescakes to thank for MANY of these absolute beauties, she is absolutely the QUEEN of recommendations (and medicinal gifs).

So, now, in no particular order, some Highly Recommended AUs:

Or Be Nice by charlottemadison Rated E - A is a bookseller, C is a drummer, they are BOTH petty bitches. They're newly neighbours. C has a CAT and I'm there for it, he also has migraines and I hard relate. It's bitchy and the pranks were DIVINE. It was also deliciously spicy. The loveliness is that the author really captured the flawed nature of humans but also how it can be overcome. Same author as What We Make of It (what was Shotgun Wedding - an absolute GO AU CLASSIC and one of the best things I've ever read)

Not a Mounted Dildo but a Fuck Machine by NaroMoreau & summerofspock Rated E - So very, very E. This one was just filthy. So wonderfully filthy. The authors would like to tell you there was no plot to their porn, but there really was. A meets a girl online, because A is straight. He really is. Honest. But then, oops, lockdown happens. But, it's a good thing, really. For his best homeboy C is there, to help this poor virgin 'learn the ropes' for when lockdown is over and he goes on his first date...with the girl he's so very much into...coz, no homo, yo...;)

The Whole Damned World Seemed Upside Down by WyvernQuill Rated M - An AU in the way that it's still angel/demon but after Crowley makes a wish for things to be 'different', the universe obliges...and he's dumped into a reality which is very, very different to what he knew. He learns some truths and there's a whole lot of drama. Beautifully written with a wonderful plot and great drama. Excellently described and would make for great TV. (Oh, and Death in the new reality is really squeamish - it's brilliant.)

Telling Tall Tales by Siobhans_World Rated E - A sweet pretend relationship fic, where A pretends to be Maggie's boyfriend to help her pass as straight for her family. But he then meets her cousin, C, who he then inevitably (ineffably?) falls for. Miscommunication, angst, fluff, gay panic, it's got everything.

Flawless by @mrghostrat & @chernozemm Rated E - I've decided only to include one fic by each author and boyyy was it hard for ghostrat! But Flawless was, well, flawless. For such a relatively short story, it kept us guessing until the end. The characters were all beautifully written - the flaws (ha.) were DEEP and CRACKED but so fucking perfectly sculpted and presented. It was incredibly real and believable. Extremely maturely written and satisfying. AND THE ART!!!

How To Pull An Angel: A Bunnings DIY Guide by NascentSurrender Rated M - When I first saw the title, I thought it was going to be a silly, irreverent, comedy romp. But it was actually a funny, well written story that will stick in my mind always. Firstly, C watches Bluey - which is now CANON for me. Secondly, having lived in Aus as a child, I've got a soft spot for the country anyway, and I've barely ever seen it come up, so this was lovely. There were some wonderfully humorous bits, but also tender and beautiful moments that I adored.

Montreal Confidential by Maggie_Honeybite Rated E - I learned about Montreal (and Canada & their baked goods), classical music and mafia stuff in this fic. A is a widower. C plays the cello. His cello's name is Bentley. This is one of the only age-gap, mild D/s fics I've actually gotten into. There's fluff AND drama. CW for non-con (not A/C)

Under the Summer Stars by @pannotbread Rated E - an amazing astrophysics/astroecology/astrobiology fic that has pining, slow burn and Only One Telescope (yes, really, and it's everything you'd imagine). It's got beautifully written (erotic) imagery and So Much Science that's been written accessibly but still with amazing detail. It's poetry. It's hot. It's gorgeous. CW for internalised homophobia and self hatred. *Not completed yet*

Oddity by @tsyvia48 Rated E - A museum fic! About David Bowie! A is in charge of collections, C is an actor hired by (highly incompetent) Gabriel to guest curate a new Bowie exhibit. Miscommunication ensues for delicious tension. There's bitchiness, there's a bit of light angst, there's a lotta love. *Not Completed Yet* Poetry Carved In Flesh by @fellandcrow Rated E - I'm obsessed by tattoos. Hence, I am obsessed by this story. I'm planning a(n enormous) GO tattoo once GO3 is out, and this fic has actually helped me with my ideas. London-based A stalks lovingly follows Edinburgh-based tattoo artist C online. They build up a rapport. Well, C likes A. A is SMITTEN with C. C encourages A to get tattoos. Which he does. C designs a tattoo especially for A, the fic has currently left off at the point where C is in London and going to tattoo A. *Not Completed Yet*

There Is A Light & It Never Goes Out by @phoen1xr0se Rated M - A escapes from a disappointing, chaotic life to a remote island for five months to do research on puffins. There he meets lighthouse keeper C. Who also ran away, 20 odd years ago. There is a chaotic, found family on the island, but it is small, and it is lovely. This fic is written with love and passion and the imagery is so beautiful. The author has actually gone to do Actual. Physical. Research. on puffins. So how is THAT for dedication? Cannot wait until it resumes. *Not Completed Yet*

Ok, because I am Bad At Tumblr, I've not tagged the majority of authors, if you are on here - please let me know if you're here and I'll edit!

I should probably add in the following, I suppose. I'm writing an AU.

Free by, well, me. Imposterssyndrome (yes I know it's Imposter Syndrome, but that one already existed) Rated E - A runs a bookshop, C has an unfortunate past as a runaway ex-addict. They meet in an acute mental health ward after both having had a mental health crisis. Eventually A invites C to move in, and they navigate sharing a space, and their lives together. The story starts heavy, and is an emotional roller coaster, but there are moments of fluff and smut mixed in. There is a happy ending, I promise. It's a passion project, heavily researched and has a LOT of lived experience in it. I've gotten to know some amazing people through it who have messaged me and shared their experiences and I'm so glad I wrote it. *Not Completed Yet*

Last thing to say - once I finish Free, I will be teaming up with @shadesofecclescakes to write another human AU which is VERY much in her wheelhouse and I CANNOT FUCKING WAIT. I just know you're all going to LOVE it. The only thing that will make it even better is ART, so we're still on the hunt for someone.

**Last-last thing to say. I’ve missed off a few Biggies. There are some super popular AUs, mostly written around 2019. Most people will have read them. I’ve tried to focus on the perhaps lesser-known & WIP ones. Although I know many people don’t read WIPs, hopefully you’ll (book)mark them for future!**

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 42

part 1 | part 41 | ao3

cw: irreverent religious imagery, general fucknastiness, minors look away (informal D/s dynamics, fingering, cum play, take me to church)

—

“Ohhhhh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuckohfuckoh—”

Eddie yanks his hips up higher. He’s got him hoisted up in bridge pose: weight up on his shoulders, cock aimed at his own mouth and threatening to blow, legs squeezing Eddie’s hips as Eddie pulls him apart. One hand spears three slick fingers inside him while the other delivers pleasure and penance, stroking him off so sweetly one second then striking tender flesh the next, and hysterically Steve thinks of the girl he lost his virginity to; how she kept making all these breathy, whiny cries in the back seat of his car — so big so full oh fuck Steve oh my god. Steve had always assumed she was embellishing a bit for his benefit, y’know? Like

Reality: Ribbed for His Pleasure.

But now Eddie crooks his fingers up while his free hand slaps down mean and sharp on the top of Steve’s thigh, and Steve fucking shouts. Apologizes to Mallory in his mind and lets out a hideous noise, all pitchy and strangled, his throat full of spit, his eyes filled with tears.

Eddie digs his nails into the skin he just slapped. “You wanted this,” he reminds him with a gorgeous, rasping grunt. Feral, filthy noises that shouldn't sound so beautiful but echo through Steve's mind like a pipe organ in a stone chapel.

Eddie twists his buried fingers; makes Steve's whole body clench. “Said you could take it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve pants, head rocking against the floor with the force of Eddie’s thrusts. Fucking him without fucking him; hips working in tandem with his fingers, pretty pink dick smearing precum on Steve’s thigh.

“Say it,” Eddie commands.

“I can take it.”

“Yeah, you can.” He drapes himself over Steve, bucking against him still, fingers moving faster, breaths speeding up. "My pretty baby," he coos with his mouth hovering inches away. "Can take anything I give you."

Steve licks his lips and wishes, grotesquely, that he had numbers on his wrist. Wants to bend the universe's will so he can stay in this moment forever.

He settles for chasing Eddie's lips with a wet kiss, straining his neck to wriggle his tongue past smiling teeth. "I can take it," he confesses against the slick drag of Eddie's mouth. Repeats the mantra, call and response like he's in church.

Eddie's hand recites the homily, jerking faster, willing release, and he pulls back to aim Steve's aching dick toward his mouth; gives him a serious look. One last chance to bow out.

"Even this?" he asks, readying Steve to pour communion down his own throat.

Steve sticks out his tongue. Looks up at Eddie with wide, reverent eyes — this Hellfire boy with demons inked into his chest — and he thinks this is the closest he's ever felt to God. Something about this feels sacred. Ritualistic renewal; rebirth and covenant.

He nods feverishly.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie groans, and he crooks his fingers in again and squeezes his other hand harder at the base of Steve’s cock. He’s leaking all over him, twitching and flexing as he thrusts; getting Steve all messy and wet between his legs. Steve wants to be fucked so badly he might cry; wants to feel it for real, the head of Eddie’s cock popping past the ring of quivering muscle.

He’s about to ask for it, beg for it — balls drawn tight against his body, tears streaming from his eyes — but then Eddie chants “Open wider, Stevie; you can do it, baby, come on” and Steve baptizes himself, spilling hot over chest and chin, reborn under the guidance of Eddie’s holy, healing hands.

—

part 43

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Burnt Pancakes

Little snippets of fluff series of Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio and Nicky. I don't know what to name this series, and it's gonna be just one shot each time. Also, if you have any idea of a fluffy family moment, let me know!

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio + Nicky

Word: 4.5k-ish

The first rays of sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. The warmth of the morning light stirred you from sleep, and you groaned softly, burying your face deeper into the pillow. The bed was luxuriously comfortable, and the scent of lavender lingered faintly on the sheets—Agatha’s doing, of course. She always insisted on things smelling just right.

You stretched lazily, a contented smile curling on your lips as your mind wandered back to the night before. Even now, in the soft light of morning, the memory felt so vivid it was almost tangible—like it was unfolding all over again. Agatha’s low, velvety laughter still resonated in your ears, the perfect counterpoint to Rio’s mischievous snickers. The two of them had been a magnetic force, one commanding and sharp, the other playful and cunning, and you’d been caught deliciously in the middle.

Agatha, as always, had carried herself with a sense of authority, her teasing laced with a deliberate edge that sent shivers down your spine. Her fingers—steady, confident—had left a trail of heat wherever they touched, her gaze a smouldering thing that seemed to burn right through you. Yet, as commanding as she was, there had been fleeting moments of softness in her eyes, a tenderness that only revealed itself when she thought no one was paying attention.

And then there was Rio—wild, irreverent, and utterly unpredictable. Her laugh had been the soundtrack to the night, light and lilting but never without a wicked edge. She had darted in and out of the game like a fox, quick and clever, always one step ahead. You could still picture how she’d sprawled out on the bed, looking every bit like the queen of her little kingdom. “Careful, Agatha,” she’d purred at one point, a devilish grin tugging at her lips. “You’re hogging all the fun, and I’ve got a few tricks of my own.”

The way she’d leaned forward, her eyes dancing with mischief, had made your pulse quicken. She’d caught you off guard more than once—her hand brushing yours under the guise of a casual touch, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured something that left you blushing furiously. “Relax,” she’d teased, her tone playful yet laced with just enough heat to keep you guessing. “You’ll enjoy this a lot more if you let me do my thing.”

And, oh, had she done her thing. Rio had a way of making everything feel like a game, a thrilling dance where the rules changed on her whim. She’d nudged Agatha out of her carefully curated control, making her laugh—a genuine, surprised laugh—when Rio pulled some cheeky stunt like when she’d stolen Agatha’s glass of wine, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before handing it back with a wink. “Sharing is caring,” she’d said, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

Yet, for all her antics, there had been a subtle kind of care beneath Rio’s mischief, an unspoken understanding that left you feeling seen and safe, even as she pushed boundaries with her playful jabs and daring gestures. At one point, she’d tugged you to your feet, twirling you in an impromptu dance that left you laughing so hard your sides ached. “See?” she’d said, grinning up at you. “I’m not all trouble.”

The interplay between the three of you had been electric—Agatha’s sharp wit, Rio’s boundless energy, and your own giddy exhilaration all feeding into a perfect storm of chaos and chemistry.

Agatha and Rio—so different, yet so perfectly balanced—had turned the night into something unforgettable. You closed your eyes and let yourself relive it all, every laugh, every touch, every glance that lingered just a second too long. The thought brought a blush to your cheeks, warmth spreading through you as you replayed the memory. It wasn’t just the passion—though there had been plenty of that—it was the way the three of you clicked so effortlessly. The love, the teasing, the connection. The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you pressed your face into the pillow to hide your grin, even though no one was watching.

You were quietly grateful for Agatha’s meticulous nature as your thoughts lingered. She had insisted on soundproofing the master bedroom with magic before you started—‘fun time’ as Rio put it.

Nicky’s room was across the hall, a good distance from the master bedroom, and you couldn’t imagine the mortification if he had woken up to hear what his mothers had been up to. Instead, he’d been able to sleep soundly, blissfully unaware of the chaos behind your closed door.

Just as you let out a contented sigh, a sharp bang broke the serene morning silence, making you jolt upright. You didn’t even need to see it to know exactly what happened. “Rio,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes.

Sure enough, the sound of footsteps followed, heavy and unapologetic. Rio was the only person who could make closing a door sound like a declaration of war. You and Agatha had nagged her countless times about being careful when closing doors, especially in front of their son, but her half-hearted promises to “try” never amounted to much.

“Of course,” you mumbled, shaking your head with a small smile. Why would she change now?

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stretched, your muscles pleasantly sore from the night before. The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded toward the door, but instead of heading downstairs immediately, you turned toward Nicky’s room across the hall. The soundproofing may have kept him asleep through the night, but you always made a point to check on him in the mornings.

Pushing the door open gently, you peeked inside. The soft morning light filtered through his curtains, illuminating the room warmly. Nicky was still curled under his blanket, clutching his favourite stuffed animal—a well-loved fox missing a bit of fur on one ear. His dark curls framed his peaceful face, and the soft rise and fall of his chest was enough to make your heart swell.

You stepped inside quietly, crouching beside his bed and brushing a stray curl from his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, a small sigh escaping his lips as he burrowed deeper into the blanket. Smiling, you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his head.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” you whispered, tucking the blanket around him a little more snugly before standing.

Satisfied that he was still blissfully unaware of the chaos that awaited downstairs, you headed for the door. Somewhere in the house, Rio was probably getting into trouble, and you could already imagine Agatha’s sharp voice scolding her for whatever mischief she was causing.

With a smirk and a shake of your head, you tightened your robe and headed downstairs. If nothing else, mornings in this house were never boring.

You shuffled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, warm and inviting. Agatha was already seated at the table, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her usual air of perfection was slightly dishevelled this morning—her curls loosely tumbling over her shoulders, her sharp blue eyes soft with the remnants of sleep.

She was wearing a simple, baggy grey t-shirt that fell just long enough to cover her bottom, and you couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing shorts. It was a rare sight; catching her in something so casual made you pause for a moment, a lazy smile tugging at your lips.

“Good morning, doll,” Agatha said, her tone smooth but tinged with amusement as she caught your gaze lingering. She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her coffee. “Like what you see?”

You cleared your throat, grabbing a mug for yourself. “Morning,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nice shirt.”

Agatha smirked. “Nice try.”

You busied yourself pouring coffee, trying not to let her fluster you too much first thing in the morning. “So, what’s for breakfast?” you asked casually, leaning against the counter as you sipped your coffee.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “I was going to ask you that. What do you want?”

You paused, considering her question. “Pancakes,” you decided, nodding to yourself. “I’ll make pancakes.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw Agatha’s expression faltered ever so slightly, her blue eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as if bracing herself for disaster. She quickly masked it with a tight smile, but you’d already caught the hint of panic.

“Pancakes?” she repeated, her voice overly calm. “That’s… ambitious.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Agatha replied smoothly, waving her hand. But the look in her eyes told you everything. She hadn’t forgotten the infamous pasta incident—a night of charred pots, ruined sauce, and a lingering smell of burnt... everything.

“Okay, I see what’s happening here,” you said, narrowing your eyes at her. “You think I’m going to mess this up. Again.”

“Did I say that?” Agatha asked innocently, though the corner of her mouth twitched as she fought back a teasing smile.

“You didn’t have to say it. I can see it.” You pointed toward her face. “That’s the face of a woman who doesn’t trust me in her kitchen.”

“Can you blame me, doll?” Agatha teased, setting her coffee down. “Last time you ‘cooked,’ we had to replace an entire pot.”

“That was one time!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “And pasta is harder than it looks.”

“It really isn’t,” Agatha deadpanned, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you with barely concealed amusement.

“Well, today’s my redemption arc,” you said, puffing out your chest dramatically. “You’ll see. I’ll make the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, clearly unconvinced but entertained, nonetheless. “I can’t wait,” she said, her voice dripping with mock encouragement.

“Even Nicky doesn’t trust your cooking,” she added, her lips twitching as she fought back a wider grin. “Remember when he refused to eat your ‘special’ cheese noodles because it smelled funny?”

“That was a bad box of noodles!” you protested, pointing at her accusingly. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“Of course, it wasn’t, doll,” Agatha said, her tone saccharine with mock understanding. “But our poor boy has a sensitive palate now. Mummy scarred him for life.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He ate that pudding you made last week, and it was basically a bowl of sugar.”

“That’s because I know how to bribe him properly,” she quipped, sipping her coffee. “You should take notes.”

You turned toward the pantry with renewed determination, grabbing the needed ingredients. Behind you, Agatha sipped her coffee, her amused gaze following your every move.

As you started assembling the ingredients, you couldn’t help but drift your thoughts to Nicky. He was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the playful bickering happening in the kitchen. You smiled to yourself, picturing his messy curls and the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed. Maybe he wouldn’t trust your cooking skills, but you’d make pancakes so good they’d change his mind—or so you hoped.

This time, you’d prove Agatha wrong—or at least, you’d try not to burn the house down.

With a newfound sense of determination, you began your pancake mission. Ingredients were gathered, a mixing bowl was placed centre stage, and the whisk held firmly in your grip like a sword of culinary redemption. You attacked the batter with gusto, whisking it furiously as though you could whisk away any lingering memories of the Great Pasta Incident.

Agatha, perched elegantly at the kitchen table, looked as though she were preparing to judge a cooking competition. Her sharp blue eyes followed your every move, and her coffee cup was held with the poise of a queen observing her kingdom.

“Doll,” she began, her tone laced with amusement, “you’re supposed to whisk the batter, not bludgeon it into submission.”

“It’s a technique,” you said defensively, glaring at her over your shoulder. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her lips curling into a smirk. “And when will I get to taste these so-called revolutionary pancakes?”

You returned to the counter with renewed focus, determined to ignore her snide remarks. The first pancake hit the pan with a satisfying sizzle, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Things were going smoothly—for now.

That is, until the pancake started to burn.

The distinct smell of something charred filled the air. Agatha’s nose wrinkled delicately, and she leaned back in her chair with a pointed glance at the pan. “I think your revolutionary pancake is revolting,” she quipped.

“It’s fine!” you insisted, frantically flipping the pancake. The sight of its darkened, crispy surface made you wince. Okay, maybe it wasn’t fine.

Just then, the back door swung open, slamming shut with a familiar bang. You didn’t even flinch—you already knew who it was.

Rio strolled in, her hair slightly tousled and a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. She had twigs clinging to her shirt, and dirt smudged on her hands, and the air of someone who had definitely been up to no good. “What’s burning?” she asked casually, sniffing the air as she leaned against the counter.

“Nothing!” you snapped, cheeks flushing as you tried to salvage the now-definitely-burned pancake.

“Smells like ‘nothing’ is on fire,” Rio replied, peering over your shoulder with a grin. And she strolled over, leaning on the counter to peer into the bowl of batter. She raised a single eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. “This?” she asked, motioning to the bowl. “This looks like cement.”

Agatha nearly choked on her coffee, her laughter spilling out in a musical and maddening way. “I was trying to be supportive,” she said between chuckles, waving her hand toward Rio. “But thank you for your honesty.”

“Oh, great,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you tried to pour a second pancake. “Two critics. Just what I needed.”

Rio grinned, her dark eyes gleaming mischievously. “Well, if you can’t take the heat—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, pointing the spatula at her like a weapon.

“—stay out of the kitchen,” Rio finished with a wink.

Agatha clapped her hands together, clearly delighted by the exchange. “Oh, I’m keeping you around in the kitchen with F/N, Rio.”

“You don’t get a vote on that,” you snapped, pointing the spatula at her this time.

Rio snorted, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. “I think she does, actually.”

You turned back to the burned pancakes with a groan but decided to put another batch in the pan. Determined, you poured more batter, hoping this one might redeem the previous attempts. As the new pancake started to cook, a faint, familiar smell of burning filled the air again. You winced.

Rio smirked at the charred pancake, leaning forward slightly as she raised an eyebrow. “You call that a pancake?”

Before you could respond, Agatha took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, savouring the moment. When she caught Rio’s eye, she made an exaggerated face of mock disgust, sticking out her tongue and pretending to gag.

Rio stifled a laugh, her shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth as she mimicked Agatha’s expression behind your back. You turned slightly, catching only the tail end of their exchange.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Rio said innocently, though her smirk gave her away. She reached for a red apple from the counter, biting into it with a loud crunch as she leaned back to enjoy the unfolding chaos.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you muttered, grabbing another ladle of batter and pouring it into the pan with perhaps a bit too much force.

“I am on your side,” Rio replied, teasing but light. “I’m just… objectively observing.”

Agatha chimed in, her voice dripping with faux sympathy as she rested her chin on her hand. “And how’s that working out for you, doll?”

You ignored them, your focus fixed firmly on the task at hand. This time, the pancake came out slightly less burnt—an almost passable golden brown with just a touch of overdone edges. As you flipped it onto the plate with a sigh of relief, Rio glanced at Agatha and sneaked a sarcastic thumbs up, mouthing the word ‘yummy’.

Agatha snorted quietly, her laughter muffled behind her coffee cup.

Before the third pancake could meet a similar fate, Rio stepped in with her usual grace, whisking the pan off the burner smoothly. “Careful there,” she said, glancing at you with mock seriousness. “I thought you said you had this under control.”

“I do!” you protested, though the sad, slightly charred pancake sitting in the middle of the pan betrayed you. “Mostly.”

Agatha sighed theatrically and rose gracefully from her chair, her curls bouncing slightly as she moved toward you. “Alright, doll,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperated affection. “Let me show you how it’s done.” She took the spatula from your hand, her fingers brushing yours. “Step aside.”

You watched as she flipped the pancake with practised ease, her movements precise and annoyingly perfect. The golden pancake landed on the plate like a taunt, its flawless surface mocking your earlier attempts.

“Okay, fine,” you huffed grudgingly, crossing your arms. “You win.”

Rio leaned against the counter, arms crossed and her grin smug. “Was there ever a doubt?”

“Plenty of doubt,” you shot back, grabbing your coffee cup to console yourself. “I just let her win because I’m nice like that.”

“Sure, doll,” Agatha said, smirking over her shoulder as she reached for more batter. Her tone was teasing, but the softness in her smile as she glanced back at you made your heart swell. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Rio sidled up beside you, nudging your shoulder with hers. “At least you tried,” she said warmly, her teasing softened by genuine affection.

“Thanks,” you replied dryly. “I feel so supported.”

By the time breakfast was finally ready, the kitchen was filled with laughter and the mouthwatering smell of fresh pancakes. Agatha plated the stack with the precision of someone who clearly had mastered the art while Rio snagged a pancake directly from the pile, earning a mock glare from both of you.

By the time the pancakes were ready—thanks mostly to Agatha’s intervention and Rio’s sharp eye—the kitchen smelled divine. A tall stack of golden, fluffy pancakes sat in the centre of the table, accompanied by a small jug of maple syrup, fresh fruit, and a dish of butter. The chaos of earlier was replaced by a cosy sense of accomplishment. Well, mostly.

Nicky appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sleepy eyes and clutching his favourite stuffed fox. His dark curls were mussed from sleep, and he yawned loudly as he padded into the room. “Mummy, is breakfast ready?” he asked, his voice still groggy.

You smiled, ruffling his hair as he climbed into his seat at the table. “Yes, sweetheart. Pancakes, just for you.”

“Mama!” Nicky called Rio brightly as he saw her, who was already pouring him a small glass of orange juice. “Did you help?”

Rio grinned, sliding the glass toward him. “Of course I did, kiddo. Someone had to make sure Mummy didn’t burn the house down.”

You shot her a mock glare. “Really, Rio? That’s the story we’re going with?”

Nicky giggled, his wide eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mummy’s cooking’s bad.”

Your jaw dropped in mock offence, and you huffed dramatically, placing your hands on your hips. “Excuse me, young man. I am standing right here.”

Agatha chuckled softly as she took her seat at the table. “You’d better watch out, doll,” she said, smirking as she helped herself to a pancake. “He’s not wrong.”

Nicky turned to Agatha with a sweet smile. “Mumma, did you make the pancakes?”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing her moment of triumph. “I may have stepped in to help,” she said smoothly, slicing a piece of her pancake.

“You saved breakfast!” Nicky said with pure, four-year-old sincerity, making Rio burst out laughing.

You sighed, slumping into your chair. “This is a conspiracy,” you muttered, reaching for the syrup. “A family-wide betrayal.”

Rio leaned over to nudge you playfully with her shoulder. “Aw, don’t pout, Mummy. Your pancakes just needed a little… guidance.”

“A lot of guidance,” Agatha chimed in, earning a glare from you that only made her laugh harder.

Nicky, oblivious to the teasing dynamic, happily devoured his pancake, syrup smeared across his cheek. “Mummy, these are yummy now!” he declared, flashing you a bright smile.

“See?” you said, holding up your hands triumphantly. “Even Nicky thinks they’re good—now.”

“Mama and Mumma fixed them,” Nicky added innocently, making Rio chuckle and Agatha smirk into her coffee.

“Traitor,” you muttered, though your heart warmed at his happy grin.

The table soon settled into an easy rhythm. Nicky happily chattered about his plans for the day, his stuffed animal perched beside his plate as though it were joining the meal. Rio listened attentively, her dark eyes twinkling as she occasionally added playful comments that made him giggle. Agatha, ever the composed one, cut small pieces of pancake for Nicky, her calm demeanour hiding the soft affection in her gaze.

You watched them all, a small smile tugging at your lips. For all the teasing, for all the chaos, this was your family—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect at the same time.

As the meal wrapped up, Nicky climbed into your lap, his sticky hands clutching your shirt as he rested his head on your shoulder. “Mummy, can we have pancakes again tomorrow?” he asked adorably, his voice muffled against you.

“Maybe,” you replied, kissing his curly head. “If I’m feeling brave.”

Rio snorted, earning a swat on the arm from you, and Agatha simply shook her head, muttering something about getting back up before letting you near the stove again.

As the sunlight poured through the windows, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet, profound happiness settle over you. This was home—complete with burnt pancakes, endless teasing, and the people you loved most in the world.

The kitchen was finally calm after the earlier chaos, though the faint smell of burnt batter still lingered in the air. Despite the rocky start, breakfast had been served, eaten, and thoroughly enjoyed. The perfectly golden pancakes on everyone’s plates had been, in the end, Agatha’s doing.

You leaned back in your chair, sipping your coffee and watching Nicky as he happily finished the last bites of his pancake. The sticky syrup smeared across his cheeks, paired with his radiant grin, was almost enough to make you forget the earlier mishaps.

Agatha, sitting across from you, was the picture of smug satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she cradled her coffee mug. “So,” she began, her tone dripping with feigned politeness, “how would you rate your contribution to breakfast today, doll?”

You shot her a mock glare, clutching your coffee defensively. “I got us started. If it weren’t for me, there’d be no batter to burn.”

Rio snorted from her spot, lounging casually in her chair. “That’s one way to spin it.”

“Thank you for your support, Mama,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes at her.

“Mama’s funny,” Nicky piped up, giggling as he pointed at Rio. His small hands were still sticky from breakfast, though his stuffed fox seemed to have escaped the syrupy carnage.

Rio gave him an exaggerated wink. “I aim to please, kid.”

Nicky beamed and turned his wide eyes toward Agatha. “Mumma made the pancakes because Mummy burned them,” he said innocently, his voice lilting with glee at his perfect observation.

Agatha nearly choked on her coffee, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh. “He knows everything,” she said, smirking at you over the rim of her mug.

“Traitor,” you muttered, reaching over to ruffle Nicky’s curls. He laughed and pressed his fox to his chest, clearly unbothered by your mock offence.

“You should be proud,” Rio teased, standing and stretching lazily. “It takes a special kind of talent to set off a smoke alarm with batter.”

“That didn’t happen!” you protested, narrowing your eyes at her. “The smoke detector is fine.”

“For now,” Agatha quipped, her tone dry but affectionate. She stood and began gathering the empty plates, her movements effortlessly graceful. “Alright, doll, I think it’s fair to say breakfast was a team effort—though the team carried you.”

“Rude,” you replied, though you couldn’t help but grin. Watching her move about the kitchen, so perfectly composed, even in a baggy t-shirt, you felt that familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

Nicky hopped down from his chair, grabbing your hand with his sticky little fingers. “Mummy, can we go outside now?” he asked, his wide eyes sparkling with excitement.

“In a little bit, sweetheart,” you said, brushing a sticky curl off his forehead. “First, let’s clean up the kitchen.”

Nicky immediately shook his head, his curls bouncing as he declared, “I can’t, Mummy. I’m too little!”

Rio chuckled from the sink, where she was rinsing a plate. “Convenient,” she muttered with a smirk, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

You leaned down and lightly tapped Nicky’s nose, earning a giggle. “You still need to be cleaned up first, sticky boy,” you teased.

Before Nicky could wriggle away or protest further, Agatha’s calm, steady voice cut in. Standing beside Rio with a plate in hand, she glanced back at you. Her sharp features softened as her eyes met yours. “Don’t worry, doll,” she said gently. “We’ve got it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, scooping Nicky into your arms as he squealed with laughter. “What would I do without you?” you asked, your voice full of affection.

“Burn down the house,” Agatha replied with a smirk, earning a laugh from Rio.

“Probably true,” Rio added, her grin widening. “I mean, someone’s got to keep the syrup monster under control.”

As the three of you worked together—well, mostly Agatha and Rio, since Nicky was still “too little”—the sticky chaos seemed to fade into the background. Nicky’s laughter bubbled up as he chattered about imaginary pancake adventures, his little hands flapping excitedly. Rio’s boisterous laugh echoed in the room, punctuated by Agatha’s sharp wit and quiet chuckles.

By the time the kitchen was tidier, the air felt lighter, filled with warmth and the lingering hum of shared moments. It wasn’t perfect—there were still smudges of syrup here and there, and Nicky had managed to sneak another sticky handprint onto your sleeve—but it didn’t matter.

The kitchen, chaotic and messy yet filled with laughter and love, was a perfect reflection of your family.

[harocat]

Esther Yu is delightful and she is so, so funny.

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy (lol) is a great script so far. It’s funny, a bit irreverent, and extremely genre savvy. The demons and monsters are creative, with strong special effects. And the costumes are beautiful??

And great aesthetics/costumes/wigs are something you expect from Stellar of course, but I do think this one has the most distinct visual look since LBFAD.

Also at this point there are major 🌈 vibes between the FL and SFL. The second ML is just kind of there, but I think as of right now, that’s the joke. Because he’s the lead male in the novel, and Ling Miao Miao is pretty clear in that her was unimpressed with him when she read it.

I love how Ling Miao Miao criticizes the second female lead that only exists to cause problems, miscommunications, etc. (usually because she’s in love with the ML) trope. Because queen you are right, it IS stupid. The plot with her father is also sweet and touching.

The eight bit opening and endings? The little animations on screen? The gorgeous animation for when she’s introducing the plot of the novel. It’s all so good.

Definitely the most original drama right now, and it genuinely feels like everyone had a great time making it.

[skygemspeaks]

okay let's do this again, for the last time this season, and what a way to end it!

i like that nami got to be included in the walk to arlong park, it was really nice!

the banter between zoro and sanji is already quite funny. i like that sanji is just earnestly trying to be part of the crew, but zoro's being a little bit bitchy because he feels like his place as the first mate is being threatened. later on in the episode when sanji starts calling out his move names, and zoro makes fun of him for it...how much do you wanna bet that the reason zoro starts calling out his attack names because his thought process is like "oh no, the shitty cook is also calling out his attack names what if luffy starts liking him better than me because i don't do it?"

as someone with dental trauma, seeing arlong's teeth fall out one by one was horrifying, thank you very much. it was well done

the fights in this arc were well choreographed, and i'm actually really happy that they all finished by around halfway through the episode because then we got a good amount of time to wrap everything up

it was really sweet when nami went running up to tackle usopp and zoro in a hug. i did feel a bit bad for sanji, but ehh it's understandable. she's been sailing with usopp and zoro for a while now! those are her boys!!!! and she didn't think she'd ever be able to sail with them again! she barely even knows sanji at this point

the scene after the tower comes crashing down and the straw hats are all waiting to see if luffy made it is great. nami looks like her whole world is ending again, because first she lost her mother, and now she might have lost her captain. and then everyone's relief when they see luffy come out is palpable! sanji doesn't even try to hide his relief! he's become so emotionally invested in this crew already and he's known them for just a few days

sanji's smugness when zoro comes back for seconds was cute, and i love their banter afterwards!

koby and helmeppo standing up to garp when they disagree with his orders was a good scene, and i liked their conversation about it afterwards at the end of the episode. each marine's personal code of justice is a big theme in the anime, and i like that they establish it here, and that it's what impresses garp enough to make him want to train them personally

we finally got the luffy vs garp confrontation! it was a good way to see just how small luffy is in the grand scheme of things, that he wasn't able to hurt garp at all. when luffy starts laughing and garp drops him and starts laughing as well, it was a good tension break. i really really wish that we got at least one grandpa hug before garp left...i know it never happened in the manga, but i crave that grandfatherly affection for luffy. but i know neither of these two idiots are like that. ace better fucking hug luffy at least once next season i s2g.

when nami is talking to bellemere's grave, and nojiko shows up wearing bellemere's shirt.....🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

the final conversation with luffy and koby was adorable! i loved the hug! also, i really like that koby was the first one to show luffy his bounty. a great way of coming full circle to the beginning of the season when he's standing next to luffy, looking at the notice board in shells town and luffy asks where his face is

the scenes where people see luffy's bounty!!!! makino grinning in pride!! kaya already looking healthier without kuro's poison! Zeff posting luffy's poster on the employee of the month board!!!!!!!! alvida and buggy meeting!!!! (if they make alvida lose weight or recast her next season i'm gonna kill someone)

helmeppo finally admitted that koby was his friend!!!! their little fistbump!! i've really come to like koby over the course of this season, and it's been great seeing his character arc

the mihawk and shanks conversation was great! shanks making jokes about his missing arm was hilarious, i love how irreverent he is

the redhair pirates are all SO proud when they see luffy's poster!!! and shanks' big, goofy, proud grin when as he stares at the poster just made my heart melt.

merry finally gets to fly the straw hat jolly roger again, i'm so happy for her!! luffy's absolute uncontainable joy at the sight of it, like he can't believe his eyes, was absolutely perfect!

the cast-off ceremony was fantastic! i really like the effect they did where their younger selves spoke in the voices of their older selves.

i could be wrong, but i think i heard we are in that last scene as they sailed off? which, amazing!

FUCK YEAH THAT LAST SHOT OF SMOKER!!! i can't wait to see more of him next season!!!

[mycadences]

Edit: HOFAS spoilers ahead! Tread carefully!

Azriel has had two bonus chapters so far -- and what did they share in common?

HOFAS bonus chapter: "And with each mile onward, she could hear Azriel humming softly to himself. The rolling, wild melody of "Stone Mother" flowed off his lips, and she could have sworn even the shadows danced at the sound."

ACOSF bonus chapter: "Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer."

Still don't see it? Then let me ask you:

Who is Gwyn?

"Across the hushed, cavernous space, it was easy to hear Gwyn’s soft singing as she flitted from table to table..."

"Gwyn turned from the desk where Nesta had found the priestess singing softly to herself..."

"Gwyn’s voice soared like a bird through the cavern as she started the third song with a solo..."

Yes, she is a priestess-Valkyrie who sings.

And now, who is Azriel?

"Do you sing?"

He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but... "Why do you ask?"

"They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?"

"I am a shadowsinger -- it's not a title that someone just made up."

She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?"

Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes."

He's a shadowsinger... who also sings (a bit of a "duh" moment but pardon me, it's meant to be dramatic lol).

With how intense the ship wars are, and based on SJM's interview lives, I'll say she has a strong inkling that readers would be analyzing HOFAS -- in particular the bonus chapter centering on Azriel -- for clues on the next ACOTAR couple

Notice that she chose, yes she CHOSE, to highlight Azriel singing when we all know how music is Gwyn/Gwynriel's thing.

Gwyn is literally associated with music/singing the way Nesta is with dancing, Feyre is with painting and Elain is with flowers.

And I don't see any flowers in this bonus chapter.

What I do see, however, is Azriel sharing the same hobby as Gwyn, something that was purposely emphasized in this scene, and with SJM having said that she looks at compatibility for her couples... Well, I'm feeling pretty hopeful. More than hopeful, actually.

(Also kindly remember that Gwyn is a Carynthian (one of the only two females in history), which makes her Azriel's equal.)

Another thing of interest is that both Az's bonus chapters referenced his mate, but that's a juicy tidbit for another day.

And that's what you missed on Glee! ;)

[mizgnomer]

From 2014 to 2024 - David Tennant and Arabella Weir (Part Two)

See also: Part One: From 1994 to 2014

David on Arabella (from The Times, January 2002):

I was terribly green, and to me she seemed so laid back and au fait with the whole thing of being on a film set. She has a very forceful personality and for a wee skinny bloke from Bathgate it was, "Oh my word, who's this?" I was scared of her, but it's all front - once you get past that you find she's as just insecure and nervous as everybody else - but she does have a very urbane and witty exterior. On set there's lots of sitting about, so you get to know people easily, and her irreverent sense of humour appealed to me. She was good fun. I'd decided to move to London, Arabella needed a lodger, so I moved in for what was going to be a short time and ended up staying for five years. There's more than 10 years between us, but that never seems to have affected our relationship. When I moved down I was a young 22, and Arabella used to shock me with the things she would say, but she finds it harder to shock me now. She probably corrupted me, but I probably needed corrupting a little bit.

Cheers to their 30+ year friendship! Link to: [ The Times article from 2002 ] ...and thanks to Georgia's Instagram for some of the photos

[hoelandah]

Hey so, observation. Feel free to correct me. All the main white women are sexually/romantically connected to Homelander be it willingly or unwillingly.

Madelyn Stillwell: former lover/abuser

Queen Maeve: former girlfriend

Starlight: unwilling arm candy

Firecracker: wants that genetically engineered hog/is a predator

Becca Butcher: assault victim

Stormfront: former lover

There's only one white woman that isn't connected to him in this way and I'm so so so sorry, I'm sure the actress is lovely but let's not kid ourselves, men would call Ashley Barrett "Butter Face." In fact he specifically told her once that his raging erection at one time "wasn't for her" and it wasn't a lie. Like damn.

The women of color, however...

Sister Sage: as far I know they're just allies

Victoria Neuman: pragmatic allies

Kimiko: I don't even think they know each other???

Like, I may just be insane, but considering Kripke's weird relationship with female characters and WOC characters, I doubt it. I'm not even saying it's purposeful I'm just saying the pattern is there.

And yeah yeah "he's racist that's how it goes." Though I argue he'll fuck anything that makes him feel loved. He didn't even like Stormfront at first. Her being a Nazi wasn't all that appealing to him, it was just, idk, like knowing she liked pistachio ice cream or something. In fact he found her fervor a bit weird, he just wants love and affection that he can call his own. He's racist but he's not committed to the bit like she was. He's following a script.

And not all these women reciprocated his advances, he assaulted them or forced himself upon them. Which once again, sure lines up with him as a character, but it also is proof that this so-called "gritty real irreverent television" is nothing but a series of assaults with a plot around it.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Story request

Reader is a maid to Donna, she is very much good at her job that's why Donna let's her stay. Little did Donna know is that Reader has mind of a psychopath and she is clearly very obsessed with Donna, she always looks at her from afar without Donna knowing and whenever she cleans her clothes she sniffing it to try and smell Donna's scent. Donna doesn't know because reader acts innocent all the time. Reader loves how timid and shy Donna is and is thinking some nasty stuff she would do to her in bed. One time reader couldn't take it anymore so she put Donna in her bed. Donna is afraid in what's happening. Reader then does all the nasty stuff she is thinking. Donna is not supposed to love it bit she does. Reader is very dominant, she does everything to please her lady. Their love making lasted for an hour, Donna is clearly exhausted but satisfied. Reader seeing Donna satisfied is very proud of what she had done. Reader then confess her feelings to her. Donna told her to stay with her forever. Reader kisses her deeply and they slept.

Note: Can you make it very naughty(only if it's okay with you)? Also their love making lasted for probation 7 hours(if you're uncomfortable about this it's okay). Not gn Donna

Smut plsss

Yess!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Losing my mind

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem Maid! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, dark themes, dark reader, Reader's POV

Word count: 6,897

Summary: I don't know if I'm in love, or obsessed...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“Okay, you can stay...”

Those words still resonate in my head when I'm alone, when I think about what I'm doing here, why I was granted the privilege of having you so close to me.

Well, like everything in life, it was a coincidence. I was never a model villager, one who followed the rules of the benevolent Black Gods. I was always one step ahead of that stuff. Mother Miranda, the Lords, the village... Everything was nothing but the universe that surrounded my disturbed mind.

Rebellious, irreverent and problematic, that's how my family defined me. That doesn't matter at all anymore. Despite saying that I had no talent, saying that I would end up being one of the many concubines of the lady of the castle, that never happened.

As a cold and calculating person, I managed to ensure that none of those fates people talked about for me were true. None of their predictions came true because I, always determined to be right, to get those ideas out of their heads, specialized in a job just as boring, but with other objectives.

I was always clear that I was not a piece of meat for someone to use as they pleased, if anyone had to use someone, it would be me, even if it seemed crazy in a place like that. My face is innocent, my mind is not.

Perhaps that physical superficiality granted me the privilege of having a much better job than the rest of those who called themselves my friends. Castle concubine? Never.

Maid? Maybe, that didn't sound so bad, but not just any maid.

I liked risks, always putting myself on the edge of the abyss, risking everything recklessly, and that's what I did when I entered the forest, walking towards an almost forbidden place, the Beneviento Estate.

Showing up like that, without warning, claiming my right to work for one of the bosses was crazy, but I don't regret it.

Donna Beneviento, the youngest of the Lords, the most disturbed, the strangest, the loneliest. No one had ever seen her face. No one had been close to her without feeling the slightest terror. Of course, I've already said it. I was never like the others.

The smile graced my face when her dark figure appeared in the doorway. I was surprised I wasn't afraid. I didn't tremble when she appeared. Again, I came, I watched, and I conquered.

Despite the reluctance the lady in black had with me, despite telling me over and over again she didn't want a maid, in the end, she accepted. Insistence? No, not at all. She could strike me down with just a wave of her hands. Loneliness? It could be. Curiosity? Then we would have something in common.

Sometimes I think that I had very high confidence in everything I did, or maybe I tried harder to maintain that curious job. At first it could well have been like that, at first.

Cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry, making tea... A boring job in a not so boring place. I definitely liked that job. I felt exactly how I wanted, alone, or almost.

The appearances of the lady in black were few, her words nonexistent. She only spoke through that sinister doll, never with her own voice. Dry orders, absurd rules and infrequent thanks, that was all my communication with her, at least the first few weeks.

But just when I thought my life could become normal, the opposite happened. Suddenly I saw myself going up to my room slowly, with my gaze riveted on that portrait, a portrait of the lady in black, with her face uncovered, with her beauty exposed to me.

I was never made of stone. I never denied my attraction to women, especially dangerous women, but that beauty... That went much further than other times. It could be the mystery, that small feeling of intrigue of not knowing how that beauty had been spoiled, of not knowing what was behind that black veil.

Curiosity little by little became obsession, the worst of my sins, the worst of my flaws.

“Here is your tea, my lady,” I said kindly, while the lady in black was studying a book on her desk.

My words bounced off the walls, as if the mansion itself was longing to retain them, as if it had been longing to hear a human being speak for too many years.

She, as usual, shook her head in gratitude. It could have been just another day, another empty interaction, but my hands were already trembling in her presence and my mind had been imagining her for days, near me at night, very close to me.

“Do you need anything else, my lady?” I asked politely, trying to sound like always, like the innocent girl I pretended to be. She turned her head towards me, puzzled by this strange behavior. Maybe it was too obvious, maybe not.

“N-No...” She murmured hoarsely, almost silently, making me freeze on the wooden floor.

That mysterious, whispering, melodic voice, reached my ears to disturb me even more. It was the first time I had listened to it and I knew, to my dismay, I didn't want to stop doing it. But no, I couldn't let my obsession be seen, I couldn't stop being the innocent maid, her innocent maid.

“Okay, I'll leave then,” I said, lowering my head as a sign of respect, the respect she deserved. I turned around, ready to find a corner of the house to clean, a place where I could let myself be carried away by my thoughts, where I could think about that voice, her voice.

“Wait,” the soft, hoarse sound of that voice interrupted my walk and I had to take a deep breath to not get nervous, or rather, to not seem nervous. I composed myself in less than a second and turned around slowly, with that kind look that I knew how to fake that well.

“Do you want anything else from me, my lady?” I asked, slurring my words, feeling the blush creeping up my cheeks.

Maybe I hadn't chosen my words well but no one could blame me, not after hearing that beautiful voice. No, surely my disturbed mind caused me to misinterpret my own words.

“Come,” she ordered me, gesturing with her hand for me to come closer again. I nodded slowly and obeyed immediately, having complete control of my emotions, putting on that innocent maid face.

I got close enough for her perfume to enter my body again, like the few times I managed to get close enough for that to be possible.

Lavender, a beautiful flower, beautiful like her. I could get lost in a lavender field. I wanted to do it, just to live with her smell attached to my body, so my brain wouldn't forget it, so I could feel her close to me. I was rambling again, I had to stop it.

The lady sighed, as if she herself were confused, as if she didn't know what to say. I shouldn't be surprised. She had never spoken to me directly.

“Is the tea not to your liking, my lady?” I asked again, with a look of concern. I wish it had been like that, I wish I could have gotten so close again.

“The tea is fine, (Y/N),” she replied after clearing her throat and shaking her head. “I would like to ask you a question.”

A question. How curious. Since I arrived, Lady Beneviento, Donna, didn't want anything to do with me. She knew my name because I told her. She didn't show the slightest interest. That was something that tormented me, until that moment.

“Fine,” I said, smiling kindly, with my hands in front of my body, playing with each other in a subtle way, thus channeling my nerves, the sensations the lavender perfume sent to my body.

“You don't have to answer, but I would like you to,” Donna whispered, maintaining that mysterious tone, the look that her veil prevented me from seeing, but not intuiting.

“I will be delighted to answer, my lady,” I said, lowering my head again, showing her dominance over me, the superiority that she should have with a maid, with her maid.

She nodded slowly, playing with the tea spoon, pondering what to say, or what to ask. If she didn't know what she wanted to know, why talk to me?

“Why me?” She asked after a few moments of hesitation, making me take a breath and breathe deeply, in an effort to maintain the innocence on my face.

“Excuse me, my lady, but I don't understand you,” I said, curious and confused by that strange question, taking care of even the smallest detail of my voice.

“You are an excellent maid, (Y/N),” she responded, lowering her gaze, removing her invisible eyes from mine. “You cook well, the house is better than ever... Don't get me wrong, I'm delighted with you, you know, being here... But I can't stop thinking about the reasons a girl like you could have to work for me instead of going to the castle.”

Those compliments filtered into my ears, echoing in my mind again and again, almost ignoring the rest of her words. She was delighted with me, but she never showed it, maybe I should have learned to interpret her vague gestures and the Angie doll's words better.

“The castle?” I asked automatically, as if my own mind was giving me a hand so as not to spoil everything, so that my obsessive thoughts would not give me away. Donna nodded slowly again.

“All the girls in the village who want to be maids always go to the castle,” she murmured, pushing aside her veil a to take a sip from her cup of tea. Everything I saw only fueled my dark thoughts more.

Those lips, that pale skin, that woman in the portrait who came to life before my eyes, everything had to be reason enough for my breathing to become heavy. But I couldn't do it, I was her maid, her innocent maid, not the obsessive girl who thought about her every night.

“Well, I'm not like the most of people,” I said amused, with a smile that feigned shyness, that feigned embarrassment because my lady was talking to me. I was always good at pretending, but I didn't know how long I could keep doing it, how long my mask could stay on, having that lavender perfume so close.

“Aren’t you? Why?” Donna asked, curious, gesturing for me to sit in a nearby chair. “Explain yourself.”

I obeyed, sitting in that chair. I was so terribly close to her. Love and obsession are only separated by a very fine line and I didn't even know where that line was, for a long time.

“Well...” I murmured, not knowing exactly what to say, or what she expected me to say. “I never liked doing what others did.”

Donna nodded curiously, tilting her head, as if she were studying my gestures.

“That doesn't answer my question, (Y/N),” she said in a whisper, one that seemed dark, but was surely as innocent as my expression, as my expression was intended to be.

“Well, I...” I said, a bit insecure, trembling involuntarily, seeing myself cornered in my own trap.

“You're nervous,” she interrupted, bringing her body a little closer to mine, as if she had discovered the trembling of my hands, one that I tried to avoid, without success.

“A bit, my lady,” I admitted, much to my regret. It probably wasn't the nervousness she was thinking of, but it could serve as an excuse.

“You’re afraid of me,” the lady in black stated, resting her back on the chair, impatiently tapping her desk with her fingers.

“No, my lady,” I said immediately, removing that idea from her head.

Donna shook her head strangely as if she were thinking my words were a blatant lie. They were not.

“You will be,” she said in a hoarse voice, as if she were trembling, while she brought one of her hands to the black cloth of her face, moving it away so I could look at her.

My eyes widened as I contemplated her beauty, my mouth opened to say something as my memory fixed each of those features in my head. Beautiful, precious, dazzling, those were the words that came to my mind. No, that small defect on her face was not a reason to be scared, but the feelings that began to run through my nervous system were.

But I couldn't stay like that, I had to be innocent, I had to be good, her good maid.

“You're not running away,” she murmured strangely, removing the cloth completely and leaving it on the desk. “Have you been paralyzed?”

I shook my head, realizing this was nothing but a small trap, a test to continue being a maid, her maid. My cold and calculating mind had discovered it on its own and my breathing and trembling relaxed to demonstrate the truthfulness of the words I was going to say.

“Yes, because of her beauty, my lady,” I said with a sweet voice, revealing no other intentions than those of a kind and accommodating maid, although I didn't know if that was really what Donna was hoping to hear.

Her expression changed, as if she had heard something strange.

“Sei una bugiarda...” she whispered, with that darkness that accompanied her gaze. Fortunately, I was prepared for everything, I had been preparing for a conversation with her for too long. “Io sono orribile”

“Non è vero,” I said, bringing out my weapons, demonstrating how valuable I was as a maid.

“You know Italian,” she said, relaxing her expression upon hearing my clumsy and probably terribly mispronounced words.

“A little,” I answered proudly, under her attentive gaze, one that I could already see, one that I could already imagine, that I would no longer be that cold portrait on the stairs. “I learned for you, my lady.”

“For me?” She asked, blinking repeatedly, trying not to get lost in the confusion of your answers, or in your shy look, I didn't know exactly what she could be thinking.

I nodded, with that innocent smile on my face, sighing, indicating that my words were true.

“I like to do my job well, my lady,” I said proudly, to which she finally smiled. She let me see that beautiful smile, one that only appeared in my dreams.

“I've kept you enough, (Y/N), you should get back to your tasks,” Donna said, looking away from me suddenly, frowning, making my smile fade. Just thinking about not smelling that lavender made me sick, but I had to obey, I had to be good, good for her, her good maid.

“Fine, my lady,” I said politely, getting up from the chair and slowly walking away from the desk, repressing the temptation to turn around, to imagine her bright eye was still fixed on my body.

That night was horrible.

Now that I had seen her face, my obsession worsened. And not only had I been lucky enough to contemplate her beauty, but I had been able to have a conversation with her, a real one, a close, although strange, conversation.

As I tossed and turned in bed, I imagined what our future conversations would be like, if they would be about trivial topics, if they would simply be words of gratitude, if I would see that smile again.

My thoughts remained stable, thinking only of innocent acts, of quiet closeness, of simply staying close to that lavender perfume. I knew, I knew that it wouldn't stay that way, I knew what I was like, I knew how damaged my mind was, how that small attraction would lead to the most psychopathic obsession.

For a moment I thought about giving up, about running away from that house so as not to lose my mind anymore, but it seemed impossible. Just as my dreams had predicted, those conversations came, becoming a routine of seemingly empty words, but full of meaning for me.

Love or obsession, what a dichotomy. I didn't know where my limit was, what my real thoughts or feelings for Donna were, I just knew that they were there, that they had been hidden in my subconscious for too long. Love at first sight didn’t exist, but obsession did. So... Was I obsessed? Isn't love an obsession itself?

I should have learned that lesson in time. I should have stopped thinking about Donna at least for a moment and returned to the reality of my world. I was her maid, her good and innocent maid, who hid a demon inside her, a demon that would soon want to come out, and that I had to remain locked up.

But I was always weak to my own desires. My trust with Donna grew so much that I couldn't tell if I was truly serving her or worshiping her. Always keeping my subtle smile, always being the innocent girl she seemed interested in.

Love or loneliness? What was in the feelings of the lady in black? Was it possible that she thought of me in some way? No, it seemed unlikely, not at least in the way my mind strayed from the right path, stopping imagining what her kisses would be like, and starting to think about what her naked body would be like, about the marks that would be on her skin, in those places that my lips wanted to rest on.

The nights became a continuous nightmare, one that I didn't want to leave. My mind imagined places, scenarios in which I got what I wanted, in which our bodies hugged each other naked. I imagined what it would be like to feel her wetness, her arousal as she felt my touch worshiping her skin. I imagined her moans, surely soft and shy, like her. I wondered if she had ever felt that way, if some hateful person had been lucky enough to taste her honey.

Just the fact that this was possible made me burn with rage. No, Donna never had that luck, or that misfortune. She was shy. I was her only human contact, apart from her siblings.

Thinking, recreating in my mind those scenarios in which Donna begged for her release, in which my fingers curled around her body while the sweat covered my back, they were too powerful, so much so that I began to stop dreaming, to act.

Every night my hands traveled over my body, grabbing my clothes as if they were her delicate fingers, as if Donna were the one undressing me. Every night I murmured her name as I pleasured myself, with the image of her in my mind, with her beauty clouding my rational thinking, if there was any left.

Innocent on the outside, sinner on the inside. That was what my conscience was telling me after imagining those events, after imagining what it would be like to have that perfume on my body, what it would be like to scratch her skin while she writhed in pleasure under my gaze.

I was going completely crazy. So much so that I began to notice a lack of inspiration in my nightly binges. Even conversations like the ones we used to have weren't enough anymore. My head memorized each of her words, each of her gestures, but it was no longer enough.

Donna had become a drug for me, and that made my dependence on her grow to the point of spying on her, of looking at her through the crack in the door. Watching how she worked on her dolls, how she handled the porcelain between her fingers, wishing that material would be replaced by my skin.

Like a dangerous stalker, I became her shadow, one that traveled behind her wherever she went. Nothing could stop my obsession, nor my madness. Only her, only Donna could calm my fears, just seeing her act independently, oblivious to the fact that my eyes were watching her, could be a relief for me.

And then, it was time to do the laundry, another problem for me. The lavender perfume was always present in her clothes and I, desperate, obsessed, addicted to it, smelled it in a disturbing way, wishing to never forget that scent, to have it close to me. More nights of self-lust, more thoughts, more lavender, more stalking. That's what I became, sin itself, the complete opposite of what my smile represented.

“No, I couldn't drink any more,” Donna said amused, one night when the fire in the fireplace crackled as if nothing was happening. My innocent look was still on my face as I poured some more liquid into her wine glass.

“Come on, my lady, some more wine won't hurt you. They say it's good for the heart,” I said, kindly, blinking effusively and offering her glass, which she reluctantly took. That late-night talk, adulterated by wine, was the worst thing that could happen to my obsession.

“Is it? Who says that?” She asked, her voice intoxicated by alcohol.

“Me,” I said amused, pointing to myself, bringing my own glass to my lips, but not drinking. I wanted to stay awake, I wanted to see how Donna would behave if she lost a bit, just a bit of her usual shyness.

“You...” She murmured, with a suspicious but childish look at the same time, leaning back on the sofa in an awkward manner, thus revealing her incipient state of intoxication. “You say many things…”

“What things, my lady?” I asked amused, also settling down and raising my eyebrows.

“Lies... You know... Things about me being beautiful, and good...” Donna drawled, finishing her fifth glass of wine in one gulp, making a face of displeasure.

“That’s not a lie, my lady,” I said, maintaining the composure that I was beginning to lack. My gaze became dangerous when I observed her erratic gestures and her nervous laughter, her cheeks flushed with wine.

“Yes, yes, yes... Whatever you say,” she said, nodding comically, looking for the bottle with her hands, something that you prevented, pretending to worry about her.

“I think you have already drunk enough, my lady,” I commented amusedly, moving the bottle out of her reach, making her protest with a moan that I found amusing and exciting... No, I couldn't get carried away. Her condition was my fault.

“My lady, my lady...” She mocked, putting a finger on my chest and pushing me against the sofa. I laughed, surprised, but I let her act on her own. “Why so many my lady?”

“Because you are my lady, and I’m your maid,” I explained in a calm voice, sitting up, studying her state calmly.

“Oh, really? I thought we were friends,” Donna said, with an accusatory tone, completely distorted by intoxication. I remained thoughtful, trying not to react to those words as my body asked me to.

“Well, yes, we are friends, but above all, you’re my lady,” I said, with a calm tone, observing her erratic movements, her shy laugh that shook my nerves again.

Donna looked at me, her eye shining with alcohol, but with a strange expression, approaching little by little, crawling along the sofa until she was very close to me, so close that the delicious aroma of lavender mixed with the wine clouded my senses, again.

“I like that we're friends,” she whispered, too close to my lips, too close to allow me to think with any clarity.

“Me too, my lady,” I said, trying not to look at her tender, half-open lips, trying not to get lost in her closeness, in her intoxicating perfume, adulterated by the wine.

“If you say my lady one more time, I'll fire you,” she said with an amused voice, pushing me again. I remained calm, raising my eyebrows, but not moving.

“What do you want me to call you?” I asked politely, letting her hand travel to mine. Donna had a lost, lowered gaze, looking at everything and seeing nothing. Her warm hand passed through mine, her fingers played with mine. I couldn't think it was a dream, it wasn't.

“Donna,” she whispered, looking at me sharply, with a confused expression, blinking, as if she were about to lose consciousness.

“Donna...” I repeated, letting my intentions reveal themselves. She wasn't going to notice. I doubted she even knew where she was.

She was too drunk, and I was too in love, or obsessed, or both. Her confused face gave a small smile and her lips came dangerously close to mine, tempting me, making her have to pray to the Gods not to make that mistake, that much-desired mistake.

“I like the way it sounds…” She whispered, just before placing her lips on mine, just before her temptation stopped being so. It hadn't been me, it had been her. She was kissing me. My torment, my relief, my drug and my salvation was kissing me and I couldn't react any other way.

The smell of lavender mixed with the taste of her lips, with that touch of wine that made me regret that she was really acting involuntarily. Her lips were soft, heavenly caresses that mingled with mine, with my experience making up for her lack of it. A first kiss to be ashamed of, endless sensations, food for the thoughts of my disturbed mind.

She grunted, after a few moments that I wanted to be eternal, after some messy and clumsy kisses, but that seemed sincere, they seemed. Donna collapsed onto my chest, being held by my arms. As if those kisses hadn't happened, her body shifted in mine. Donna was drunk. She kissed you because of the wine, not because of her feelings. That phrase my conscience repeated was like a sharp dagger to my heart.

“Do you feel sick?” I asked politely, not mentioning what had just happened. She shook her head with another grunt, getting more comfortable on your chest.

“I'm… Sleepy,” she murmured, yawning, making it clear that none of those kisses were really sincere.

For once in all the time you had been in the mansion, your good side, your side lacking psychopathy, prevailed over the demon. No, you weren't going to take advantage of that opportunity, you couldn't do it. At least you had some humanity left.

“Come, let's go to bed,” I said, helping the lady in black to get up, to which she protested with more childish grunts.

That night I cried.

I cried for those kisses, for that impulsive act that Donna did involuntarily. Those kisses, the taste of her lips, the lavender, everything was so perfect that it seemed unreal, and in part, it was.

My mind had saved my soul from committing an atrocity, but the demon inside me screamed louder than ever. Only I had two options left: run away, or give up.

Neither was acceptable, but a third way appeared again in my thoughts, one that had the same voice as the devil, one that screamed at me to take what I wanted, to stop pretending to be the good girl and take out the light my true personality.

It was afternoon, so the clocks said. Donna had a hard day and I decided to leave her alone for the moment. It was the first time I failed to fulfill my maid duties. My mind schemed, plotting the best way to carry out my desires. The sensations of her kisses, the images my mind had created, all of it broke the last thread of sanity I had left. You should never have kissed me, Donna.

I walked quickly, following my intuition, following the steps I knew I had to take to find her. I grabbed her wrist, fighting not to hear her questions, or her protests. I guided her towards the bedroom, furious, letting myself be carried away by the evil inside me. I couldn't hear Donna, I couldn't tell if she was protesting or quiet. Her body was weak compared to my pulls. It wasn't difficult for me to drag her to the bedroom.

Once there, I closed the door and pushed my lady against the wall, cornering her with my body. Her eyes were scared and her chest was rising and falling quickly. She had no escape, she couldn't escape me anymore.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” She asked with her voice broken by fear, by the change from my innocent look to an evil one, by the vision I had of the demon that had dominated my body.

“I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. You can kill me, fire me if you want, but you couldn't stop me from taking what I want...”  I whispered, getting closer to her lips, dragging the words, which came furiously from my mouth.

“What do you want?” She asked, trembling, cornered. I, (Y/N), a simple villager, had put a Lord on the ropes. Surely songs would be sung about me if I didn't survive.

“I want you,” I said quickly, wasting no time, throwing myself at her soft lips, enjoying them like the night before, knowing that the wine was no longer in them, knowing that both of us could feel everything that was going on.

It could be my imagination, but if you asked me, I could swear that she kissed me back, that her lips tasted mine the same way. It was a shame that my desire was stronger than those sensations.

Quickly, leaving no room for doubt, not allowing Donna to escape my clutches, I roughly lunged for the buttons on her dress, making them disappear under my experienced fingers. She just panted confusedly, not knowing what to do or what to say. She shouldn't want it, she shouldn't like it, but somehow, she did.

Her hands grabbed my face, bringing it closer to hers, pulling it until our lips collided again, more fiercely, without the feeling of not knowing if at some point she was going to get rid of me. She didn't seem to want to do it, but I didn't care, I kept working on her clothes, sinking into her neck, moving my body against hers, covering myself in lavender.

My leg landed between hers, causing her head to tilt back, giving me the room to push that dress of hers away from her skin, to reveal her pale, beautiful, naked torso to me.

I couldn't entertain myself, but still, I did, I stopped to contemplate her unmatched beauty, the softness of her skin as my hands brushed it. She trembled, but she no longer did it out of fear. Her eye was closed and her breathing was rapid, her body moving involuntarily against mine.

My madness was unleashed, but so was my desire, and so was hers. The kisses bounced off the walls, the hands wandered over her body, over my body. Feeling the softness of her touch on my skin made me want more, much more.

“(Y/N)...” Donna murmured, moving away from my wild actions, looking at me with an expression that I couldn't interpret.

Trying to silence the voices in my head, those orders that the demon was giving me, I gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her until she fell on the bed, crawling, as if she wanted to escape from me.

“You don't know how sorry I am...” I said, also climbing onto the bed, grabbing her wrists, putting them on either side of her head so she couldn't move. “But I have to do it…”

“Do it,” Donna said, with a firm, confident look, with her fists clenched and breathing hard.

I wasn't expecting that answer, I was confused, thinking more rationally, thinking that maybe I should stop following the delusions of my mind. But that look, her half-bare chest, her glowing skin, the lavender. Everything made me let her wrists go, just to caress her arms, to climb onto her hips while my lips devoured hers again.

Her hands, now free, traveled along my back, searching for the closure of my maid's dress, which soon gave way, with a growl from my lips, removing that fabric from me, the fabric that separated my body from hers.

Clothes flew across the room and I was about to thank the Gods that I was still alive to see what was in front of me. Her naked chest, her womanly forms that were not of this world and that were now at my mercy. My lips acted before my mind, traveling to her breasts hungrily, devouring, licking her flesh like a beast, like a predator that hunted her prey.

Like a chant I remembered from dreams, Donna moaned as my teeth made contact with her most sensitive spots. Her hands moved erratically over my body while mine had a clear goal.

The bottom of her dress gave way quickly, aided by a gentle movement of her hips.

Suddenly, my lady's shyness returned to her gaze, causing her hands to leave my naked body to cover her shame, that which was still hidden by her underwear. I blinked and took a breath, relaxing my dominant attitude for a moment and removing those hands from my target.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Donna, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” I whispered, very close to her ear while my hands moved hers, moving them to either side of her hips. She looked at me, as if in silent supplication. I didn't know exactly why she was pleading and I didn't want to know.

“(Y/N) I...” She began, interrupted by my hand on her mouth. No, I didn't want to talk. There would be time to talk, to die, to flee… Now was not the time, my body didn't want to stop, neither did hers, shaking her hips against mine, making me close my eyes from the contact.

“Shh, my Donna... I'll take care of you...” I said with a somewhat perverse whisper, but that made the lady nod, closing her eye while my fingers removed the black fabric that covered the last part of her naked body, that obvious humidity I imagined possessing in my dreams.

She didn't protest anymore, she simply moaned when one of my fingers had the courage, or the audacity, to run through the moisture lying between her legs, caressing her superficially while my gaze observed her gestures, the blush of her cheeks.

That made me smile, adding another finger to that lustful way, going deeper, savoring with my fingers the humidity of her folds, each and every one of the sensations she felt with it.

I tried to say something, something to accompany my gestures, something that would help Donna stop shaking, so she would stop fearing what was to come. I smiled again when I realized, when I knew that only I had come this far, that no one else had been able to enjoy that touch, that her body was mine, only mine.

I leaned down to kiss her slowly, while my fingers continued playing between her legs, gently making circles on her clit, causing my lips to vibrate with her moans.

“Wait, please,” Donna said hurriedly, pushing you away from her lips. I looked at her furiously, just when I believed that there were no longer any doubts, that I would be free to do as I pleased.

I didn't say anything, I just waited for her to speak, which she didn't do. She just looked at me with curiosity, with fear.

“I won't hurt you,” I said, thinking that maybe it would be her fear, that her fear of her first time was overshadowing the pleasure. “I promise.”

Donna shook her head, cupping my face in her hands, scratching my cheeks with her nails.

“Be gentle, I’m begging you,” she whispered to me, with her eye closed, with her nails damaging my skin, with the trembling of her body making mine move involuntarily, seeking the contact of my bare hips with her thigh.

“You are my lady, I couldn't be any other way,” I said with a cold, impatient voice, with a disturbed look that made her sigh in fear, letting my hand rest on her chest, pushing her roughly against the mattress. “Lie down and shut up. I promise you that you will enjoy it,” I ordered with the demon inside me guiding my dominant words. She nodded scared and that was more than enough for my hand to return to her wetness, for my fingers to continue gently stimulating her.

“But...” She murmured, squirming involuntarily with pleasure.

“Taci, Donna,” I said with a stern voice, pushing her body back onto the mattress. She looked at me with fear, with real fear, but her face relaxed, stopping looking at me, closing her eye to suppress her shame.

Before having to get more serious, before bringing to light all the desire I had to dominate her, I decided to take the step. I decided to gradually introduce the tips of my fingers into her, into her eager humidity, excited despite her doubts.

Donna grimaced strangely, surprised by the sensation, but not in pain, or so it seemed. Dark thoughts came to my mind again, deducing that just as I suspected, she was a human being with the needs of a human being. Yes, it was obvious that she had enjoyed her own body. It didn't matter if she denied it to me. I knew she did.

That made me moan, lunging at her neck, rubbing filthy on her leg as my fingers did their work at her entrance, sliding in and out of her, making her arms, erratic and trembling, embrace what they could of my body.

There were no more protests, no complaints, no fears. Only moans, only the wet sound of my fingers playing inside of her, running along her walls, enjoying that unique softness, the scratches of her nails on my back.

But, like lavender, that sensation had to be better, I had to feel it more, to taste it until my smell was confused with hers.

Devoting one last look to her expression, which betrayed the immense pleasure she was feeling, I moved down her torso, covering her pale, shiny skin with kisses, making her beauty mine.

The taste of her arousal was overwhelming, as was the movement of her hips when my tongue made contact with her skin. I wanted to drink her, eat her, devour her, possess her, make me her mine. My mouth moved furiously, eagerly, accompanied by her faithful moans, almost exhausted. My fingers didn’t stop moving, harmonizing with my kisses, with the caresses of my mouth on her folds, with those moans that I myself made when I felt all the essence of her covering my body.

Little by little, her body began to move in a different way. Her instincts had taken over, her release was close. Leaving aside my own desire, I focused on making her feel that way, on seeing that expression that I could only imagine, that I could only dream of.

An indiscreet moan, possibly audible throughout the mansion, let me know that the end had come, that her ecstasy was coursing through her body while a firm and curiously mischievous hand kept me in that place, as if she were the one who didn't want me to escape. She wanted me to continue with my kisses, with my caresses.

There was a moment of silence and I closed my eyes, catching my breath. The sight of her body, of her chest rising and falling quickly dispelled my evilness. It wasn't regret, but it was a wish to give her an explanation, for her to know why. I gave her one last kiss on her wetness and climbed up her body, settling next to hers, not daring to look at her face.

“(Y/N)...” The lady sighed, moving my face to meet hers.

“I love you,” I said, with a sad tone, with a regretful tone but at the same time satisfied, proud of having made her feel that pleasure. “I'm sorry, Donna, I'm in love with you.”

“Why are you sorry?” She asked, snuggling into my chest, tired, drowsy from her release.

“Because I made a mistake and you will never be able to forgive me,” I confessed, with eyes full of tears, knowing this was the beginning of my end, although really, my fears were not letting me see the reality of the situation.

“I won't forgive you if you abandon me, (Y/N)” she said, with a pleading eye, looking at me with a different face, one I had never seen before, one... In love?

“Do you mean...?” I asked a bit confused, also tired from passion. She nodded, intertwining our fingers.

“Yes, I love you, (Y/N), I love you and I don't want you to leave, I want you to do more things like this to me, I want you to live with me, not be my maid, I want you to stay with me, forever.”

My lips didn't wait to hear more. They kissed her deeply, showing how happy it made me not to have made that mistake, showing that with her, my sanity would return to my heart.

[buckets-and-trees]

Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language; mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit); use of pet names + no y/n; kidnapping

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

Restore my health with your lovely reblogs, commentary, comments...

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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!