#you may yet get the full painting this was meant to be because I did love the sketch

[stylishanachronism]

Happy new year @perenians ! I hope you like your @secret-st-waidwen-exchange gift! Ahria was very very fun to draw, and it was great learning all about her!

(If you’d like the original, please let me know, I’ll be happy to mail it to you!)

[i4oba]

nct dream as… / fanfiction aus 𓈒✳︎🏡

[take the quiz here to see which one you get!]

✰ MARK — childhood friends to lovers!au

ever since you've basically known your name, mark has been the boy next door. there was the cheeky, red letters of "lee" painted on the mailbox, the windows were adorned with the same coloured curtains, and the same doormat has been sitting in front of their door for ages. you have loved mark ever since you two have met. there wasn't a day where you wouldn't think of him, and there hasn't been a day when you haven't loved him. it was like a vicious circle which you couldn't get out of, because those stupid feelings would destroy the oh so precious friendship of yours, and you cannot let that happen, right? i mean, that's what you've thought for far too long, since this friendship meant more to you, than the fragile feeling of love - you didn't want it to get to the point where you would rather spit on each other, than talk it out. maybe that's why you pushed him away from yourself? maybe you just did that because you weren't too sure of your own peace of mind? no matter what, you knew the decision itself was wrong, only to realize it way too late. damaging the friendship and crying yourself to sleep was all your fault, after all, being way too proud and scared, stupid even; when you came back to the town where you two grew up, the least thing you wanted was to meet mark lee, mainly because you wouldn't have been able to look him in the eyes after all these happened. but you had to, so soon you even got a little surprised. it's been a while since the last time you have been home, your bedroom seemed way too unfamiliar at that point, just like the vhs tape placed directly in the middle of your bed. one which you haven't seen yet. it didn't have a title, the white label completely empty as you picked it up. you were a little bit cautious when placing it in the system, waiting for it to play whatever is on it, not having such large imagination to expect anything. it was a home video montage, full of videos of you and mark: playing together, getting ready for the first day of school, going to the movies, the way you two got engaged in middle school as a joke, and the omnious day of prom... you got teary eyed, with one thing on your mind - you have to go and save whatever's left now. maybe you're not too late.

✰ RENJUN — soulmate!au

life had been pretty much grey and dreary until you found The One. the other half everyone had been so obsessed to find. you were never big on all this stuff, because you were convinced you'd be able to live as a single half for you whole life, and don't need anyone else to feel complete. deep inside you knew that all of this is bullshit, truly, and all that was coming out of you was true bitterness and constantly ongoing unsuccessful confessions, making you believe in your delusions. with every passing second, you had to see people find their other half, while you were left to deal with the grey world you were left in, not as a choice but as fate instead. you felt like a loser, a big zero, who doesn't even deserve a soulmate. you thought you were destined to die alone, maybe compensate with something of brilliance: be a composer or a singer, write or paint something extraordinary, lord knows what, just something of importance! you were looking for yourself in every corner of the world, not for a lover or a fling, not for an other half, fully ignoring the law of attraction. it might have been some reverse psychological trick, effecting it all. and this may have been the reason behind why you had to leave that horribly boring theatre play, sneaking out and bumping into The One, who handed back your accidentally dropped bag, slowly looking into your eyes. he might have worked at the theater as he was wearing a name tag on his elegant shirt - huang renjun, it said. but it doesn't even matter, because his eyes were brown! brown! not grey, brown! everything cleared up. you did find the half - with brown eyes and a smile so bright.

✰ JENO — coffee shop!au

it was pretty much bittersweet to step foot in your favourite café: it was getting dark out there, and although the rain has stopped pouring, you got absolutley soaked to the core along the way there, rain replacing the tears on your face by then. your hair was sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, your body trembling without stopping, as you entered. the bell placed above the entrance was ringing lightly, gathering everyone's attention to you, although there wasn't too much people there except for the baristas, maybe two wandering souls, working on their laptops or reading in a cozy corner. well, maybe if it wasn't for getting dumped literal minutes ago, you wouldn't be here either, but it was still the most reasonable choice compared to going to a club or a ruin bar, gettig incredibly drunk, Plus! a good espresso might be able to clear the fog in your head, which you were in need of during this stupidly stressing period of life. you expected hyuck to greet you by the coffee machine, grinning ear to ear, as he always does when you visit between two lectures, but there was a completely new face behind the counter. it's been a long time since you've last seen a new employee here. his smile was sweet and rather warm, eyes conveying a sense of concern as you took one step closer, rubbing your eyes while getting your purse out of your pocket - you discreetly looked at his name tag, right on his black apron: lee jeno. whatta name... by then, you were way to hopeless to try and guess how the day would go, but life had to surprise you, fate deciding funnily against all odds: next to your cup of coffee, there was a napkin, hiding a telephone number on it, messily written down with a short message as well: "would you go out on a date with me, darling? :)"

✰ HAECHAN — rivals to lovers!au

lee donghyuck's name rushed through the hallways of your music academy just as quietly as a whisper, and you never knew why was it all like that ever since you've stepped foot into the school. you couldn't even hide the way too obvious rolls of your eyes every time you heard it. lee donghyuck was one of the biggest prodigies at the academy, no one could even be considered as a rival for him, this is mainly why he was such a big living legend amongst the students - you couldn't even hide how annoyed this made you, especially because he made sure you knew this ever since you two were little. music played a huge part in both of your lives, and somehow, you two always seemed to be at each other's throat, the first place at being the best always changing between the two of you. you could never get rid of each other either; your dad, always being so positive, once said, on your way to the academy sometime between sophomore and junior year, that the only reason behind this is that you two are equally good at what you're doing. you were pretty much skeptic for the longest of time, and felt as if you were destined to be the forever second next to him. you've had enough of always bumping into walls, since hyuck was the one who could stand at the first place ever so proudly. in kindergarten, in middle school, and even in high school, every. god damn. time. and that infuriating smile was plastered all upon his face even when you two were asked to not perform alone on the annual charity gala of your academy - you two had to perform something phenomenal, putting the childish jarring aside, growing out of the silly phase of hating each other, which was all made up by you, and you only, pushing the poor boy away from you. the boy who had always been so obsessed with you, utterly and completely. he won this time again, isn't it right?

✰ JAEMIN — photographer!au

when jaemin brought up the idea of making the last parts of his portfolio with you (which basically means about you), you were a little bit skeptic at first. you loved jaemin dearly, since he was a really understanding friend, but... you were simply terrified of cameras. you didn't really like the idea of being captured at all, you hated looking back at yourself on pictures taken of you, and you couldn't even think about how high quality his pictures would be with that hyper super machine, focused on all the little flawed details of your face that you absolutely despised. no, you couldn't even bear the idea of this whole project, and you stood by this decision of yours, jaemin waiting patiently the whole time, not pushing it too hard. since he wanted to work with you no matter what, giving up on his plan wouldn't be too typical of him - the fight didn't last long but it was pretty heated, him highlighting so many known things that needed to be said finally: it's childish how you reflect on yourself, and your delusions stop you from way too many things. the way he said straight into your face how beautiful he thinks you are, inside and outside, and that he wants the whole world to know how ethereal you are, made you tear up a little - especially when he said his heart breaks every time you speak so lowly of yourself. he truly thinks you're the modern manifestation of aphrodite, that you are his own venus, the muse of him, someone he can adore... that he's way too in love with you to let go of this, and-; the kiss you gave him was short, yet gave him exact answers. answers to hundreds and thousand of unsaid questions he kept hidden in himself for years and years on end.

✰ CHENLE — blind date!au

you clearly didn’t brace yourself for this whole fiasco proposed by donghyuck himself, foolishly believing his reasonings behind how perfect of a matchmaker he is. of course you knew that what he way saying was partly stupid, plus you were like a seventy percent sure he wasn't even sober when he set up a blind date during that omnious frat party he wasn't invited to. you didn't have to worry or anything, that's just how you were - overly anxious of such things, even if you weren't meeting a psychopath. you were only a bit vary of the awkwardness this whole new experience would bring, both of you rushing home way too soon from the date, trying to forget about it as soon as possible. these misconceptions about how the night would go stayed straight until you stopped in front of the restaurant to wait for your - then late already - date. you were a little nervous he stood you up, and you got yourself into the most beautiful piece of clothing from you wardrobe for nothing, but it was worth it, looking back at it, as zhong chenle arrived and you two simply just... clicked? automatically? not to mention you two decided to leave the place after the hors d'oeuvre, since you both found the place a little too fancy at that moment, going to a simple ice cream parlor instead, taking a walk in the park after, talking about anything and everything that came to mind: family, politics, movies and the most embarrassing memories from your childhood came up too, as you couldn't help but laugh at how chenle dropped his ice cream cone on the ground, while he simultaneously promised you that he wouldn't drop the cone on the next date - and you smiled, so happily.

✰ JISUNG — secret admirer!au

you were head over heels for jisung and his undying love for dancing. but, thinking a bit deeper about it, while writing that foolish, teenager like love letter for him, forced into the role of his secret admirer, there were much more of those things that made you feel head over heels for the boy: he showed you what persistence was, he spent the whole of his youth with you, and he wasn't afraid to spend the rest of his life with you, helping you out anytime you're in need of it, since he couldn't not do that as you "best friend". he couldn't be evil with you, he was never able to leave you and he couldn't even envision a future in which you weren't by his side. but the border he made up between the two of you, was never crossed - you two were friends, not more, not less. you were so torn deep inside, as you were helpless, being in the never ending limbo you would rather push forward, but he kept on tugging it backwards; the idea of writing letters was originally from your mother, who had enough of your obvious agony. she was positive you would write every feeling of yours out, making it easier as time goes by. their number kept growing, however, one letter becoming a dozen soon enough, maybe even more in the meantime, while not writing a name on any of them, referring to yourself only as a mere secret admirer. they suddenly disappeared from the bottom of your drawer one day, though, realizing way too late that the ringing phone in your pocket was in fact park jisung, the picture of him taking up the screen of your mobile - did he know?

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello!! May I ask for more All Your Cracks I’ll Paint Gold? I think I’ve caught all the updates on here but I’m really looking forward to scenes where the Shadowhunters realize that Alexander is with Magnus (could be SFW or NSFW 😏) or more Alexander interactions with Ragnar or even Cat and other Downworlders. So, really, I’m asking for more of AYCIPG. Thank you!

here we go! here is more and this a bit softer, something sweet in their relationship.

hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

all your cracks I'll paint gold

Cat watches as yet another fire message bounces — quite literally — off the wards and turns to ash.

“And this isn’t overkill?” She finds herself asking Ragnor, who takes a huff from his pipe and then blows a green smoke ring at her.

“Magnus’ lad was deruned Cat, I think ignoring all nephilim correspondence is valid.”

“I meant the exploding messages. It can’t be good for the environment or the wards.”

Ragnor just laughs, and they both return to watching where Magnus is currently coaxing a scowling shadowhunter into the water.

Not because Magnus’ Alexander is scared of the water, but because Magnus summoned a plethora of magical wildlife and a few of them got a little too familiar with Magnus’ boy.

Which means that Magnus is now trying to make up for the mistakes of earlier, except Magnus is having too good of a time to be sincerely sorry.

In fact, he keeps bursting into real laughter.  The kind that shakes his body until he’s wild with joy.

Cat takes a long sip of her deliciously cold beer and watches with a small grin.

This is worth taking one of her rare days off, and every moment spent like this, with the people she loves makes her life better.

—-

Magnus can’t help the grin that threatens to take over his face.

Or the fact that despite the world currently being in some sort of peril, he and Ragnor and Catarina and Alexander are frolicking about— he has no regrets.

They’ve more than earned this and better yet, they don’t need to earn this.

The water is cool, the sand warm but not burning and just enough clouds to keep the sun from blinding you.

Magnus tries not to laugh, but he can’t help it and Alexander steps back from where he was slowly getting back into the water.

“Magnus, if the starfish are back just tell me now. If you wait until I’m in the water again, I will not forgive you this time.”

Alexander’s voice is low, sincere and full of intent and yet the way he’s looking warily at the ocean makes Magnus laugh all over again and its a minute before he finally reaches out a hand.

“Alexander, I really do apologize. I didn’t know they’d find nephil blood so... tasty.”

Alexander glowers, the demonic runes that tie him to Magnus dark and gleaming under the overcast sky.

“I didn’t realize you were so happy with other things leaving hickies on me.”

That causes Magnus to pause and his hand drops, especially when Alexander makes no move to take it.

“Darling, I know you’re upset. But those aren’t hickies.”

“Did another creature put its mouth on me and leave marks? Those are hickies. You do it all the time. Even your magic does it!”

Magnus rather regrets that he let the conversation get this far, because he’s now feeling something of a building anger at the thought of it going on like this.

It was one thing when it was merely amusing that a few greedy sea creatures found Alexander’s blood particularly appetizing.

Now, faced with Alexander’s pout and looking over the sluggishly and very small bleeding marks on Alexander’s legs and thighs, Magnus thinks he might have mistakenly found this so humorous.

“They’re not hickies.” Magnus repeats, because destroying the ecosystem of the ocean is not in his schedule.  “They are nibbles, from very curious creatures. Not hickies.” 

Alexander raises his eyebrow in an arch and Magnus decides to cheat.

Magic pulls Alexander into the water and Magnus grabs him, holding him with fingers and magic and he finally has Alexander.

Who has decided that apparently, the way to remain safe is to wrap both his arms and legs around Magnus and cling like a koala to a tree.

“If my nephil blood lures them in, I’m counting on your demon blood to ward them off.” 

Alexander mutters against his ear, but there is laughter in his voice and his muscles are relaxed against Magnus.

A few months ago, Magnus couldn’t have imagined Alexander being this happy and carefree, couldn’t have imagined it for himself either.

But especially not Alexander who had just been deruned.

Moments like these make Magnus wonder if the pain was worth it, to be here and free like this.

He hasn’t asked.

He won’t.

If Alexander wants to share those thoughts then Magnus will wait for him to open up. Just because Magnus is enjoying himself in ways he never thought possible doesn’t mean Alexander feels the price paid is worth it.

Since the price is one that was paid by Alexander alone.

Because Magnus doesn’t think they could be here like this, if Alexander still bore nephilim runes and was devoted to the Institute, sworn the Clave.

Here, Alexander has no guilt at leaving the fighting to others.

Alexander has paid his pound of flesh — more than in fact — and he’s not eager to give even a drop of blood or sweat to the world that tried to kill him.

“I’ll protect you, Alexander.” Magnus promises and then, because he can’t help it.

He pinches Alexander's ass.

Muscles tense delightfully against him and then Alexander is pulling away to give him a dower look.

“Oh, it seems like I missed a crab.” Magnus blinks innocently and then gets a salty, wet kiss that cuts him off before he can spew further bullshit.

“Crab my ass.” Alexander mutters against his lips but Magnus pretends that he can’t hear over the sound of the ocean.

[jezabelle9299]

Moving day S.R x fem! reader

Overture- Reader is moving into a neighborhood where a serial killer is hunting down women living alone, so when the FBI shows up on her doorstep she gets assigned protective custody from one Dr. Spencer Reid

*Includes references to season 1 episode 18 "Someone's watching" but this is season 3 or later

You were finally getting space away from your family, you’d finally saved up enough. You were able to actually buy a small house, as a mortgage payment ended up being cheaper than rent. You may be living it up in a two bedroom now, but you were no heiress. Movers were out of the question, you rented a small moving truck and set out to do a 24 hour moving day. You’d painted, picked up all of your second hand furniture, all of your packed boxes, and changed the locks. You’d just finished moving the first set of boxes inside when a black suv pulled in behind you in the driveway. An older gentleman came out and made a beeline towards you, with a man that looked like he could be his son trailing behind him. 

“My name is Agent Rossi, and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” You’d lived here a minute and a half and federal agents were knocking on your door. Your mother would have a stroke if you told her, so you focused on the younger guy who was about your age instead of letting your mind spiral with the possibilities of why they’re here. 

“Sure, what can I do for you?” Your attention was pulled from the Dr. Reid, who’d yet to speak, when his colleague spoke up again. 

“Can we come in?” The last thing you wanted was strangers in your house, but they had badges so you felt like you couldn’t realistically say no. Plus they could at least help you unload a couple of boxes while they talked. 

“Sure, but everyone needs to grab a box first, I’m on a bit of a tight timeline.” 

“Understood.” They each grabbed a box, and you did a small internal celebration that they grabbed the boxes of books you’d been dreading carrying inside. You grabbed one of the smaller ones, full of clothes instead. Once you arrived you sat down on the arm of your couch, gesturing for them to sit on the two chairs you’d picked up earlier that day. 

“Thank you for getting those, I appreciate it. What can I do for you?”

The younger man spoke up for the first time since he’d been there. “We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us about the neighborhood.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you. Unfortunately the moving boxes aren’t really for decoration. I’ve lived here for less than a day.” 

“We actually think you could be in a unique position to help, because you haven’t lived here long.You would be more acutely aware of the behavior of your neighbors because you aren’t used to it.” 

“Alright, then by all means, ask away.” The younger man asked almost all of the questions, with the older Agent Rossi taking diligent notes in his notepad. He started with questions of your interactions with your neighbors, but then shifted to the crime that brought him there. Someone had been targeting young women who lived alone in the few blocks surrounding your house. 

“Would you be comfortable coming to the station to be put in protective custody?” You’d say yes in a heartbeat if it was any other day. Especially if it meant being in Dr.Reid’s orbit. You weren’t big into dating, yet there was something–compelling about him. But this was quite possibly the busiest day you’d had in the last year. 

“No, I’m sorry but I can’t. I’ve still got boxes to unpack, furniture to put together, I can’t just pick up and leave.” 

“Understood. Give us just one second.” Agent Rossi chimed in, pulling Dr. Reid aside while you checked your phone. Well, mostly staring at the homepage while eavesdropping on their hushed conversation. They were terrible at whispering.

“Why don’t you stay here with her? You can help us over the phone if we need it, and she fits the victimology.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She’s a little bit distracting. Maybe you should stay with her.”

“That’s exactly why you should stay with her, have you seen the way she looks at you? I swear she wouldn’t even notice I was here if I didn’t talk first.”  

The young man eventually relented, although he still seemed a bit pouty about the whole thing. Then Agent Rossi turned his attention back to you, and you pretended not to have been eavesdropping on the whole thing. You couldn’t tell if he was buying it.

“How would you feel about Dr. Reid offering you protective custody here? You could go about your business, Dr. Reid would just keep an eye out for you.” 

“Yeah that’d be fine, if he’s ok with it? It certainly won’t be interesting, you know, unless someone does decide to kill me.” He paled for a second before realizing it was a joke. You nudged him with your elbow, and then he finally let out a shaky exhale. Not really a laugh, but you’ll take it. Agent Rossi just gave you a smile and pat Dr. Reid on the shoulder. 

“You kids have fun.” Then when the door was mostly closed behind him, he opened it back up to say “Not too much fun.” before laughing to himself all the way to the car. You pulled the tape off of one of the boxes before unloading some of your books onto the shelves you put up that morning. 

“So Dr. Reid, what favor did you owe him to get stuck with me? Did you lose a bet or something?” 

“You–uh, you can just call me Spencer, and why would you think I wouldn’t want to be here?” 

“Why would you? I mean, it must be exciting being in the FBI and all, if it were me I wouldn’t want to babysit a fully grown adult.”

“It’s not babysitting, and I’m happy to be here.”

“Well that’s very sweet. But you're about to regret every life choice that’s led you to this point.” His face stiffened with confusion at that before you laughed teasingly. 

“We have to move my mattress out of that truck. Since you’re here, I’d love to get out of dragging it on a tarp outside.” He actually laughed at that, and you were grateful you could get an actual laugh from him with that stupid of a joke. Maybe you had a chance with him after all. 

You’d just managed to get the mattress on the boxspring in your room, barely. You crashed down onto it in celebration and exhaustion. 

“This is the fruit of our labor, and for that I thank you. I think this calls for a drink.” You jumped back up and bounced to the kitchen, with Spencer trailing slowly behind you, still trying to catch his breath. You continued talking to him down through the hallway. “I’m not big into actual drinking so I don’t have any alcohol, but I have water, orange juice, and coffee I think.” 

He breathed a sigh of relief at the fact you’d stop going for a second. Before unloading your mattress you unpacked 3 boxes, and unloaded 6, while he could only struggle to keep up. You even found the energy to make conversation while you did it, and he was panting by the end, attempting to talk and lift. He’d never struggled to talk before. Every once in a while he needed to take a break from helping you to help the team, with them calling for whatever random information he could give, yet he was still lagging behind you with every trip back outside. 

“Coffee sounds amazing.” He figured the coffee maker was already set up, with the energy you had, you'd have to have more than he did. And he had 4 cups this morning. 

“Coming right up!” His relief at your pause in momentum was short lived. You made your way back to the living room and started shifting through boxes again. 

“What are you looking for? I thought you wanted to take a break.” 

“The coffee maker, it’s in one of these boxes, I just can’t remember which one. I mostly use it when I have guests.” You peaked his interest with that, there was no way that you just had all this motivation. It was humanly impossible. 

“Do you usually order yours? Or do you have a preference for energy drinks?”  Then you found the box holding the coffee machine and cut it open, laughing just a little bit to yourself at his interrogation-like line of questioning over something so simple. 

“Neither, I’m just not super into it. All of this annoying is 100% natural.” You plastered a cheesy smile on your face as you turned to him, coffee pot in hand. He just furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“I don’t think you’re annoying, but your relentless energy is interesting.” 

“Well thank you, Spencer. I don’t think I have creamer, but I definitely have sugar, so I hope that’s ok?” 

“Sugar is perfect, thank you again.” 

“Of course, thanks for helping me with that mattress, and you know, the whole bodyguard thing you’ve got going on.” You got down one of the mugs you’d recently put away, before passing it, filled with coffee, along with the sugar to Spencer.

“I’ve got to return that truck as soon as we get everything out of it, but I can pick up some food on the way back? And I’ve got movies in one of these boxes. You’re welcome to pick something, I like everything in there.” He chugged the coffee in his hand before moving with you toward the door. 

“Sorry, but protective custody only works when I’m close to you. So as long as you’re still ok with it, I’ll go with you. Also there’s no way I’m letting you pay for dinner after intruding on your space all day.” 

“Alright, then we’d better get started, the sun’s setting soon, and I hate the idea of driving that thing at night.” He gave a short nod and followed you out. You got the rest of the boxes, returned the truck, and picked up your car from the lot. When you went to pick up dinner Spencer, true to his word, insisted on paying. You sat on the floor and ate off the box your coffee table came in, deciding to put it together another day. When you cleaned up and finished unpacking your boxes of books and dvds you told Spencer he could pick a movie. He chose the one sci-fi flick from your collection, and you were not at all surprised. 

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

You weren’t quite sure when it happened. When you had moved to the couch, when you had offered to share a blanket with Spencer, or when you ended up falling asleep propped against his arm, the energy you had all day finally exhausted. The movie was long since forgotten when his phone rang and he answered in a whisper, not realizing the ringtone had already woken you up. 

“Hey Morgan, what’s up?”

“Hey kid, we found him, so you’re free to go. Unless of course, you’d like to stay.” You could hear the teasing tone in his voice even through the phone.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Oh forget it, Rossi already told everyone. Look, we’re not leaving until tomorrow morning. Just be at the station at 5 to pack up before we go, now go and make me proud.” You assumed he hung up with the way Spencer let out a long sigh before putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“Everything ok?” You mumbled out, alerting Spencer to the fact you were awake and continuing to stay propped against him for your own benefit, before leaning up to stretch and be able to look him in the eye. 

“Everythings fine, we found the person we were looking for, so we’re headed back to Virginia in the morning.” There was an air of sadness to his response, so you thought back on what the other agent said. 

“I know you probably have to get back, but it’s late and you’re welcome to stay here if you like.”

“I really couldn’t, it’s not only an imposition, but really inappropriate. There’s this concept called transference, essentially it’s where you project affectionate feelings onto people who are helping you, or hold some position of authority. I can’t possibly take advantage like that.” He shuffled to get up from your couch, straightening his clothes and grabbing his things to put them in his leather bag. 

“If you don’t want to, that's totally fine, but I wasn’t in danger. It was realistically babysitting more than anything, no one came after me, and nothing bad happened. Also, no offense, but I don’t really think of you or your friend from earlier as ‘Authority’. You’re like my age, and it’s not like you’re cops or anything. You’re federal agents, which is cool and all, but I’m not a murderer, so it’s not like I’m intimidated by you. I like you, but I’m not intimidated by your authority.” He couldn’t quite form a response, and his thoughts were swimming with the fact that he’d been assigned protective custody by himself twice and he ended up in this situation twice. I mean what are the odds. You were nothing like Lila though, with her he felt nervous all the time, but it was so easy spending the day with you. 

“You like me?” He was genuinely shocked, and you feigned exasperation, with an over dramatic eye roll, and a cheesy smile. 

“Yes I like you. It wasn’t exactly an accident that I fell asleep on you, and continued to stay there after your ringtone woke me up.” He allowed himself a shocked smile, he wanted to keep his emotions neutral so as not to pressure you, but he couldn’t contain this. 

“Could I maybe get a response? I’m feeling a bit vulnerable here.”

“Sorry— yes of course I like you. I mean, have you seen you? You’re quite possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’ll stay if you’ll still have me, but I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“What a gentleman–” Just as you were about to tell him that sleeping on the couch was a terrible idea with his height, his phone rang again. 

“Reid.”

“Hey Spence, there’s a problem. We aren’t getting that break after all, and we need to get going now. We’ll brief you on the plane, but we need to go. Now.” 

“Alright, I’ll be there soon. Thanks JJ.” He looked at you reluctantly after he hung up. 

“I have to go, but I really want to see you again. Would–Would that be ok?” 

“Of course it would Spencer, I’m just a phone call away.” You pulled out one of the post-its you were using to label boxes and scribbled your number on it. 

“Also at the very least, you know where I live.” You laughed, and he did more of a shaky sigh while shaking his head at you. You opened the door for him, and said your goodbyes, wishing him good luck on whatever it was he was about to do. 

You didn’t need to wait by the phone long, with him calling you to set up your first date that evening. It was a short drive from Quantico to your house, so he was hopeful about his new relationship. He just hoped this would be the last time you needed protection. He’d be there, and he just hoped that was enough for now. 

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 14)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2945 words)

tw: afab reader, infantilization, butchered Spanish,

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 15

You're in Cyprus's car, munching on one of the many treats he bought you from the farmers market. It distracted you from how Cyprus would sensually knead your thigh as he drove.

The car is full of fresh vegetables and fruits that he bought, so he could make tastier meals for you and him. In his styrofoam cooler, rest slabs of butchered meat and numerous ice packs to keep them from spoiling, as the ride home is quite far.

He was talking about an anecdote, in an attempt to prompt you to open up to him. But his tactic has been failing for the past half hour, all you did was nod and eat.

Cyprus pursed his lips as he glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. You have exhausted his conversational topics and he has a whole arsenal of them. You're driving him insane! What does it take for you to talk to him about yourself? He failed to consider that you may not have a lot to say in the first place because he truly believed that you are complex and more than your internet addiction. He wants to know your thoughts, more about your likes and dislikes, your beliefs, family, friends... anything!

Then, he had an idea.

"We're not going home just yet."

You looked at him and asked what he meant by that. He merely smirked and stayed silent.

-

Cyprus didn't drive back to his apartment or yours like you expected. You knew it was close to his home, since you and he passed by this place to get there.

He pulled up to a dilapidated building, no doubt another apartment complex but older and dingier. The wall paint was chipping off, and windows were shrouded with overgrown trees and moss. Cars were haphazardly parked around the complex without regulation or visible parking lines.

He pulled on his handbrake and switched his engine off. You're still staring out the window, wondering where he took you.

"Baby." You turned around, to have him cup your cheek and gently pull your lower eyelid down with a thumb. You initially struggled against him but relaxed when you realized he meant no harm and wouldn't let go until he got what he wanted. Which was to examine your eyes.

He hummed, staring intensely at you. Making you blush at how attractive he appears to you now, you would be caught dead before admitting that to him. But you didn't have to, he knows what you're thinking and is fully aware of how he presents himself.

Cyprus checked the time on his wristwatch. He finally lets go of you and reaches for his center console, where he has tucked your medicated eyedrops away.

You complained, telling him that you could apply your own antibiotics. He merely clicked his tongue in annoyance and rolled his eyes as he uncapped the bottle. "Look up."

You didn't have to do anything, Cyprus was the one who tilted your head upwards while pulling a lower eyelid down. Sighing, you let him administer the drops in your eyes. It felt humiliating, yet secretly, you felt somewhat comforted to know someone was out there remembering these little details of you. If it wasn't for him, the thought of your medication would have completely slipped your mind.

You blinked hard, letting the liquid sting your eyes momentarily. You could hear the rustling of the pharmacy's paper bag as he kept your medicine away. He had also pulled a sheet out of his tissue box. "Stop that!" Cyprus hissed, pulling your hands away from your face as you instinctually went on to rub your eyes.

You grumbled, letting Cyprus coddle you; gently wiping the excess drops using the tissue and carefully picking the crust out from the corners of your eyes. You remained still for the entirety of this, allowing Cyprus to do whatever he pleases. Luckily, he's acting with the best intentions in mind.

"There, done." He crumpled the sheet of tissue and shoved it into his pocket to dispose of it later. Cyprus then kissed you on the forehead. "Good girl." Whispered praises and chuckling.

You didn't respond, but instead stormed out of his car and slammed the door shut behind you. Cyprus got out shortly after, he took out the styrofoam cooler from his trunk and a couple bags of fresh vegetables before locking his car using his key fob.

"Come on, let's meet tu suegra." He gestured for you to follow him to a dim stairwell, where the only source of lighting was the outdoors. Cyprus started ascending the steps with the bags in hand.

The cogs started turning in your head, you may or may not understand what he just said, but all hints are suggesting that you're now at his mother's place. You also noted how his American accent suddenly changed into a completely different one when saying those two words. However, looking back, he tends to roll his "R"s.

You tailed behind Cyprus, climbing the bare, concrete stairs with suspect hand railings. It's dusty and cobweb-ridden, but at least it's functional.

You and he eventually reached an open-air corridor, grateful for the sunlight shining the path for you.

"Here." He handed you a bag and knocked on the door. It seems like the plaque fell off, you could see the screw holes, but you have no idea what number unit this is. The other doors don't seem kind enough to give you hints either.

You held the bag of vegetables in your arms as you watched Cyprus knock again, trying to get the attention of whoever was residing behind it.

Silence blanketed over him as you were made to wait for any further developments. You opened your mouth to say something, but your ear perked up at the sound of the door unlatching and unlocking. An unpleasant creak of the hinges, and then a surprised gasp reached your ears.

"Mi-" The voice, aged and feminine, stopped midway. You peered over the bag to see a woman in her fifties, her grey roots are showing as it seems she hasn't refreshed her black dye in a while. Like Cyprus, she too, wore glasses and had the same beautiful set of grey eyes. Her eyebrows were thin, charmingly drawn on and her lips were in a deep shade of red, but they were pulled downwards into a frown as she eyed you cautiously. Even taking a few steps back into her room, hiding behind the door.

"Mamá, tranquila." There was a sense of urgency in his voice as if he was trying to prevent a catastrophe from happening. But immediately after, he purred at you. "Ella es muy dulce." He gave you a sweet peck on the crown of your head. Cyprus rested an arm around your waist and brought you closer to his side.

Upon seeing her son's calmness and hearing his assurance, you saw the tension on her shoulders leave. But she's not convinced enough to fully come out of her hiding place. She stared at you unblinkingly, observing what you might do next. At this point, you felt embarrassed, feeling like a filthy, feral stray under her intense gaze.

You gave her an awkward, crooked smile and wave. Unsure if she could understand you if you spoke English. You also had half a mind to act insane, scaring his mother off so she would disprove your forced relationship with him. You assumed that the bag that Cyprus gave you earlier was meant to be for his mother, so you presented it to her. Which made her look amused with her focus darting between her son and you.

"Say 'Buenos Tardes, señora.'" You felt his breath on your ear as he whispered.

You did just that, butchering the pronunciation a bit but it's not too bad. Just enough for his mother to understand and be impressed by. You wonder if her standards for her son's partners are as low as Cyprus's.

"Buenos Tardes, Buenos Tardes. ¿Es eso para mí?" She gestured towards the bag in your extended arms.

"Sí, mama. Es un regalo por tú, Mi vida quería dar una buena primera impresión." He spoke up for you, affectionately stroking your hair as she took the bag off your hands. "Ella no sabía qué regalarte. Entonces sugerí comprar algunas verduras."

"¿Mi vida?" She appeared astonished at the apparent pet name he used for you. "Eso es nuevo. Ella debe ser muy especial para ti."

He laughed and nodded. "Sí, claro." Cyprus put the cooler down and went on to hug his mother as a delayed greeting. It was brief, they let each other go and brought their attention back to you.

Feeling the peer pressure crushing your bones, you mirrored what they did and hesitantly went in for an awkward hug. But it seems like she has warmed up to the idea of you, her arms wrapped around you comfortably.

"Entre, por favor." She stepped aside and opened her door wider. You assume that she's telling you and Cyprus to come in. You were about to step foot into her residence, but your boyfriend grabbed you by the arm before you could get any further.

"Take your shoes off, baby." He instructed as he took his own shoes off. You look at his mother and see that she's barefoot, there is a shoe rack inside that holds a few pairs of shoes and you assume that is where you're meant to put yours. So, you removed your footwear like how Cyprus told you to and it earned a nod of approval from his mother.

He picked your shoes up for you and coaxed you inside. You were about to whine that you could have done that yourself, but it's probably not worth the trouble. The quicker you finish this, the quicker you can leave.

You took a look around at her humble abode. It's not as bad as the outside, quite homely with the oddly luxurious items making their appearance here and there. But it is to be expected, as you remember how Cyprus described his mother as someone who prioritized looking expensive over her children's welfare. You were eyeing the leather massage chair in front of the flatscreen TV, wishing that you owned one.

"Good girl." He praised, kissing you on the temple. Cyprus then went on to put the two pairs of shoes on the rack. His mother is in the process of unloading the styrofoam cooler, bringing the meats to the kitchenette nearby; putting them away in the fridge.

"¿Quieres algo de tomar? ¿Té? ¿Cafe?" She asked, directing her gaze mainly to you.

"Una taza de té por ella, Mama. Ella no podrá dormir esta noche si toma café ahora." He took off his leather jacket and hung it on a coat stand nearby. The woman cocked her eyebrows at how much her son cared for you, it's something new and refreshing. She nodded and prepared three mugs on the counter.

You wish that you could have a say in your choice of drinks.

"¿Y tú, Mijo?" She filled the electric kettle up with tap water.

"No hay necesidad. Compartiré una taza con ella." He ended the line of conversation and turned towards you, cupping the sides of your face in his large, warm hands.

"You're doing so well." He crooned, gently squeezing your cheeks affectionately. "My mom likes you..." Cyprus nuzzled his nose against yours, feeling the cold frame of his glasses brush against your skin. "You make me so fucking happy, princess."

You tried to push him away, telling him that his mother was right there.

"Okay, and?" Your eyes quickly dart in her direction, seeing that she's still busy preparing two cups of tea.

You said that it's embarrassing and probably disrespectful to his mother. No one wants to see their son getting all sappy with someone else!

"She's fine." He brushed you off and pulled you into a hug, swaying you side to side. You felt judged when his mother glanced at you and a smirk, a damn smirk so reminiscent of her son's, began curling at the corners of her lips. So you firmly pushed him away, that did the trick but it was as if you gave him a soft nudge.

She brought the two mugs to the dining table, Cyprus lead you to the chairs and sat down on one of it. However, before you could park yourself onto a chair, Cyprus pulled you into his lap and kept you imprisoned there. His arms tangling around your form tightly, making it impossible to escape his hold without making a scene. So you let out a resigned sigh and sunk into him.

"Cuidado, hace calor." Said his mother as she picked her own cup up, blew on it, and allowed the steam to waft around her face. She used the metal spoon to mix the milk and sugar in the beverage.

"Lo sé, mamá." He picked the other cup up and blew on it. You were wondering if she had forgotten to make you a cup, or if Cyprus told her not to for some reason. It's such a shame, you were looking forward to it-

"Say aah." You were presented with a spoonful of cooled tea. And immediately, your face turned red as a tomato. Really? This level of humiliation in front of his own mother? You opened your mouth to say something unsavory, but Cyprus took the chance to feed you the drink.

It was delicious, no doubt. Enough to shut you up and seek more, but the cup was occupied by Cyprus; he was taking a sip out of it and probably burning his tongue with how hot the tea was.

This whole performance earned some laughter from his mother. You tried your best to hide your face from her, but in the end, Cyprus handed you the entire cup to drink. It's at an appropriate temperature for you to drink.

"Que niña tan Consentido, ¿Te gusta mimarla, Mijo?" You heard clinks coming from her spoon hitting the ceramic walls of her cup as she stirred.

"Sí. Muchisimo." Cyprus watched you with adoration as you drank sipped on the beverage.

Eventually, the mother-son duo started chatting in Spanish. You don't know if they're talking about you, or just catching up. You think it's most likely the latter because you've been with Cyprus 24/7 for a few months now. He has not visited his mother once, this is the first time in a while, you assume.

You're not stupid, though. There was a good chunk of the conversation where it's just talking about you, based on the glances she would give you and the mention of your name, and what you assume are Spanish pet names.

Either way, you felt ashamed. You felt inferior and belittled. You wish you could just go home and hide under the covers. But your home isn't even your home anymore, it's Cyprus's.

You decided to look around once more and drink in your surroundings, noting the lack of picture frames or any indication that his mother has children or a husband. There is a distinct detergent smell, nothing like you've ever smelt before and it's lovely. Cyprus washes his clothes with something similar, but the aroma isn't identical.

Cyprus picked the cup up and took a sip for himself. His eyes were trained on your bored face.

"Doll." He caught your attention and his mother's. Cyprus brought a thumb to your lower eyelid and tenderly tugged it down to check on your pink eye.

His mother seemingly asked him about what he was doing, to which Cyprus explained to her your situation. He then brought his attention back to you.

"Do you want to head home?" He asked.

You were about to say yes, but his mother's innocently wide eyes stared at you with a tinge of sadness.

"My mom is really enjoying having you here." He explained what that look potentially meant. "But if you're tired, we're going home. We can visit her another time."

She's enjoying you here? She's barely talking to you! And that language barrier is not making it any easier. You think that his mother is sad that her son is leaving so soon.

You told him that you could head back home by yourself, you know the way back and he should spend more time with his mother while he still can. Cyprus narrowed his eyes at you. "No way in hell am I letting you go alone."

You said you're fine. It's just a few blocks away.

"We're leaving." He lifted you off his lap. "Gracias por el té, mamá." Cyprus rose up to his full height, towering over you and his mother.

"I have extra pillows and blankets if you want to take a nap." You whipped your head towards the woman at lightspeeds, she could speak English fluently all this time?!

You looked back at Cyprus, he was crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for your response. He isn't shocked, annoyed, or amazed at this sudden switch, he's simply indifferent.

You turned back to his mother and asked why she didn't speak English from the beginning.

"I'll tell you if you stay for dinner." She smiled, speaking in a moderately heavy accent. Now you know where Cyprus gets his blackmailing traits from.

You looked back at Cyprus. He merely shrugged.

"Your call, Mi cielo." You asked him what that term meant.

"I'll also tell you that if you stay for dinner." Beamed his mother.

Cyprus smirked and chuckled, but didn't say anything else.

[mishaapocalypsse]

hiii 💕 may i request Soldier Boy x (fem) reader? like she's really insecure about her appearance, being a bit chubby but without the "curvy" stereotype and she can't help but compare herself to Crimson Countess and can't believe that a man like him would even turn to look at her.

pd. Congratulations on getting engaged! ♡

|| Waiting For A Girl Like You||

Pairings: Soldier Boy x Chubby! Reader

Warnings: None, except some adult language, and sexual themes.

More under the line!

PS: Not engaged anymore...long story short...not the person for me. Anyway, enjoy this after two years lol.

You didn’t wear red.

Not because you didn’t like it—hell, you loved it. It was bold, confident, striking. But it reminded you too much of her. Crimson Countess. With that hourglass silhouette, those legs for miles, that cleavage like a goddamn billboard. She was the kind of woman comic books were built around, a living pin-up.

You? You couldn’t even look in the mirror without that tightness in your chest. The softness of your arms, the slight roll of your belly when you sat down, the way jeans always cut into your waist even if they fit in the legs—it all just felt wrong. Like you were the before photo in an ad that had never aired.

And yet… somehow, Soldier Boy looked at you.

Sometimes.

And God, did that make it worse.

It started with glances.

Quick, casual, meaningless. You’d tell yourself that. Had to. Because the second you believed they meant anything more, your mind would immediately summon her. What he used to have. What he wanted back.

What you could never be.

He’d crash on your couch when he wasn’t laying low in some safe house, mumble about how the others were all assholes, flick his Zippo and pretend not to notice the way your voice dipped when you answered his questions. You tried to hide it—your affection. Your awe. Your hunger.

It was embarrassing. You knew better. He was Soldier Boy.

And you? You were just… the chubby girl who blended into the crowd. Not curvy in the glamorized way. Just soft. Plain. The one who made herself small in pictures and avoided full-body mirrors.

But tonight, something shifted.

He was drunk. Or high. Or both. Slouched on your couch, boots kicked off, green eyes fixed on the TV but unfocused. His flannel hung open over a stained white tee, his dog tags glinting dully against his chest. You padded into the living room barefoot, arms crossed over your oversized shirt.

“You ever heard of pants?” he drawled, voice rough like sandpaper dipped in honey.

You flinched. Then looked down. Just a long tee and bare thighs. Chubby ones.

“I’m at home,” you muttered, tugging the hem down. “Didn’t know I needed to dress up for company.”

He turned his head toward you. Really looked at you.

And it was a problem.

His gaze lingered on your legs, then back up to your face—lazy, appraising. But not cruel. Not mocking. It made you burn.

“I like it,” he said. Simple. Grunted it out like a truth too obvious to need repeating.

You blinked.

“Don’t mess with me,” you whispered, almost too soft to hear.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

You stared at him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you said, heart thudding. “I’m not Crimson Countess. I know what I look like.”

His expression darkened. He sat forward, arms on his knees, cigarette ash dusting the carpet.

“Don’t say that name around me.”

You flinched again, but this time from his tone. Like it hurt him. Like it stabbed.

“She was... the perfect kind of beautiful,” you mumbled anyway. “Not like me. You know that.”

There was a silence that felt like walking a tightrope in a storm. Then:

“The hell I do.”

You looked at him, startled.

Soldier Boy stood, slow and deliberate, towering over you now. That flannel, that stubble, that barely restrained violence. You took a step back instinctively.

“I knew a woman who wore red like it was war paint,” he said, eyes cold. “Who kissed like a lie and smiled like a blade. Who turned on me the second I wasn’t useful anymore.”

His voice dropped, rough with memory.

“She was never soft with me. Not once.”

You swallowed. Your hands trembled.

“I’m not useful,” you murmured, meaning I’m not pretty. “I’m not—why would someone like you even look at someone like me?”

He stared at you for a long, weighted moment.

Then he closed the space.

“Because you’re real,” he said, biting off each word. “Because you don’t flinch when I lose it. Because you make eggs without acting like I’m a fucking monster. Because your laugh sounds like something I didn’t think existed anymore.”

His voice cracked. Just a little.

“And yeah, because you’re pretty. You’re fucking gorgeous. And if you ever say otherwise again, I swear to God—”

Your breath hitched.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“That I’m pretty.”

It came out small. Desperate.

His face softened. Just barely. The tension bled from his shoulders, and he touched your cheek like he didn’t trust his hand not to ruin you.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it hurt to admit. Like he didn’t know how to say it right. “Not in some picture-perfect, pin-up bullshit way. In a way that makes me feel like maybe I’m not dead inside.”

You made a small, broken sound.

His thumb traced your cheekbone. Rough fingertip, tender pressure.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” he muttered. “But when I’m with you, I don’t wanna blow shit up. I just… wanna stay. Eat breakfast. Watch dumb TV.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled. You hated that. But his hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you in.

“I see you,” he said, voice low. “Every inch. Every curve. Every soft part you hate. I see it. And I want it all.”

You melted.

And when he kissed you—gruff and clumsy and starved—it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real. Heavy with scars, trembling with need.

You weren’t Crimson Countess.

You were something he had chosen.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you let yourself believe it.

[dotthings]

Some tea from Richard Speight, Jr. about filming Cas’s testament scene has surfaced from DLC6. [x]

nothing cut from script to screen but they added things, such as Cas having to paint the sigil on the door and leaving the bloody hand print on Dean’s shoulder [my note: wbk about the additions during filming. There's still the matter of the spanish dub because the latam dubbing team felt a verbal I love you from Dean, made sense. And a few other lingering questions that have not actually been resolved and we may never know, but I'll go along. If Rich is happy with what was filmed and got to screen in the US, I'm glad. I love 15.18 either way. Rich's comments also goes to show how collaborative making tv is and how fluid the process can be.]

Rich said the scene wasn’t intended to be about Dean’s reciprocation, it was to give Cas his moment to speak his truth, to speak his love for Dean, and Cas didn’t expect an answer back, he just wanted to be heard, wanting Dean to know. [my note: makes sense to me, and it’s what I’ve thought about Cas pov. Cas pov not being the same as audience pov and what the story might need next and what Dean’s needs are. But for that scene, Cas feels complete. It also very much means the emotional story from Dean's side is not resolved. Dean wasn't given his chance yet, by creative design, perhaps because the only way they could get this greenlit at all is if it was only Cas who got to speak. We'll see what happens next.]

Rich saying because they did many takes of the scene with Dean’s emotional reactions, there are shots where Dean is crying more, or crying less. Editing put together different angles from different takes. [my note: the irony that naysayers are already trying to weaponize this to shut down the idea that anything got cut when per Rich himself, the facts on the ground are that the full range of Jensen’s acting for Dean’s response got reduced. No shade on Rich. But let's not erase or deny what was going on with Jensen's acting and how Jensen gave 110% and what wound up on screen was about 80% of whatever work Jensen did. Dean wept more than we saw, even before Dean was on the dungeon floor sobbing. Jensen’s performance as it stands is beautiful and powerful and full of emotion. It has taken an inordinate amount of hate and erasure, which is 100% cynical concern trolling to deny Dean’s feelings for Cas. More shots of Dean crying openly wouldn’t stop it, there’s no excuse for those responses. What’s there is loud enough. Only the most willfully cynical gaze could deny the love and anguish Dean showed.]

Rich said the parallel for John and Mary’s confession in TW 1x07 to 15x18 is a “coincidence” yet went on to talk about the trope of confessing love in a life or death situation and cited Leia and Han Solo among others [my note: it was also used again by an ep Rich recently directed in another piece of media I won’t say so I don’t spoil it. Also I’m laughing about how it seems he answered this. Total coincidence!! And spn 15.18 is like TW 1x07 is like Han and Leia and love confessions in dire situations is a common (romantic) trope. Pls, if anybody is taking away from this some kind of shutdown on creative recognition of the Destiel implications of it all, I don’t even want to know, I’ve had my fill of poor comprehension skills, poor critical thinking, and poor media literacy, oh my god]

Rich saying he was glad Cas’s words meant a lot to queer fans and that he feels it was important and a “bold” move that Bobo and Misha fought for. <3

So that's confirmation from director now, to add to writer intention, both actors, and an EP who greenlight Bobo's pitch for Cas’s testament as romantic. That is canon. That is a lock.

Cas's testament started out carefully padded into an “open to interpretation” zone. We have watched it be eased out of it and into the open.

I’m pleased it's openly acknowledged for what it is...and what I knew it was when the ep aired. I did expect it would be eventually, and would take some time. I’m glad it's here now.

As always, my appreciation for the work Rich, Bobo, Jensen, Misha did on 15.18 <333

[flower-boi16]

Forgot to add, but Stolas basically guilt tripped him into doing it.

"The one who wants me is my first ever friend..."

Blitz was perfectly willing to just leave Stolas there tied up, but instead gave him pity sex.

Yeah sure...Blitz was the one to make it all about sex. No Stolas....no....that was ALL YOU! The only thing Blitz did was do a little bit of flirting and steal the book, he didn't make it about sex. From beginning to end, that was all you.

People like to defend this kind of shit with "Oh it's intentional because it's meant to show Stolas lacking self-awarness!", which is very funny because 1. You are actively acknoweledging that Stolas' perspective here is invalid and Blitz's is which goes against the whole idea that both sides are suppoused to be in the wrong and 2. The show is not calling this shit out and every time Stolas says something like this (The final scene in Full Moon and the begining of Apology Tour) it's never called out nor is it ever frammed as that, and in Apology Tour specifically it is very obvious that we are specifically suppoused to take Stolas' side here and see Blitz as purely in the wrong.

I also do need to acknowledge that there are people who think that Blitz's feelings are portayed as valid by the narrative. They are not. The final scene in Full Moon and the begining of Apology Tour have Blitz rant about Stolas being a prince and considering that Oops established that this is a bias Blitz has towards Stolas it is very clear that these scenes are intended to be read as Blitz being blinded by his biases against Stolas due to Stolas being a prince, and he's too consumed in his biases to see that Stolas has real feelings for him. That is how these scenes are being frammed and clearly how they are suppoused to be read.

So no, the show doesn't see Blitz's perspective as valid. There is that rant in the begining of AT where Blitzo awkardly spells out his self-hatred keeping him from believing that a prince could possibily love him but the rest of the episode frames Stolas as someone hurt by Blitzo's actions and Blitzo as an asshole who hurts others. So his self-loathing isn't really something that the episode really wants you to sympathize with, only as another reason for why Blitz struggles to see that Stolas loves him.

Blitzo isn't a character that the show wants you sympathize with in this situation; the point of the episode is Blitz realizing that he isn't a good person and he needs to change. That's not a set up for a sympathetic character.

The show is directly outlining people information like this yet people still make bullshit excuses for Viv's writting based on some tweets. Blitz's perspective is never treated as valid by the narrative at all, sure, it acknowledges that Stolas was wrong for making this deal in the first place, but that gets rendered moot because that's not the reason for why Blitz hates Stolas; Blitz hates Stolas because of a bias he had against royals that completely came out of nowhere in season 2 solely so the show could make him purely look like an asshole consumed by his biases.

The narrative doesn't see Stolas SAing Blitz as the reason he hates Stolas, rather it sees Blitz's bias being a reason for that. It doesn't actually look at Blitz's perspective and how Stolas' actions may have affected him, hell it shows that it doesn't even affect him at all!

It's another instance of the show demonizing the people who Stolas has hurt so it could make them look unreasonable and further woobify Stolas. It's made even worse with the implication in Apology Tour of Blitz gaining feelings for Stolas and since Blitz really wanted to fuck Stolas it's not unreasonable to assume that the show may go in the route of "Blitz liked being SA'd by Stolas but he was just too comsumed by his biases to realize it!" because then you are fully painting Blitz as an biased asshole and any argument that the show understands his perspective gets thrown out the window.

Stolas' feelings are treated as valid by the narrative, how hurt he feels that Blitzy doesn't love him, that Blitzy doesn't see that Stolas loves him back, that Blitzy is "making him uncomfortable". Meanwhile, the narrative purely treats Blitz's feelings about Stolas as completely invalid, not using Stolas SAing him as an reason for Blitz hating him but rather him being too comsumed by his own biases.

There's a strong inbalance here that makes the argument that the show wants us to see them both as in the wrong completely fall apart. Blitzo is treated as the problem by the narrative and the fandom, that he's hurting poor Stolas' feelings with how he's treating the bird boy. And here's the thing; Blitzo having this bias came out of nowhere. There as no hint of this in season 1 or the first five episodes of season 2, it was only until Oops where this thing came up. This was never shown to be a character trait Blitz had nor is there even any reason for it, why Blitz has these preconcieved notions about Stolas going in. It's because the writters pulled this out of their ass so they could have an easy way to make Blitzo look like a complete asshole. Nothing more.

It's further accentuated by the show using "tell don't show" in that scene, where we are told that Stolas did all these nice things for Blitz rather than shown, and not to mention these nice things do not line up with Stolas' behavior at all in season 1. It's all just completely and utterly lazy. It's a lazy way to make Blitz in the wrong here. It's a lazy way to absolve Stolas of his behavior again so the narrative could coddle him.

It's a lazy way for the show to pretend this relationship has naunce when it doesn't. Oh, and fans have the fucking gall to say "you don't understand the nuances" when people critisize this shit. Oh, I'm sorry, what naunces? This relationship isn't nuanced in the slightest; it's a victim and abuser relationship where the victim is strawmanned and portayed as wrong and the abuser is coddled and woobifyed. Whether it was intentional or not, that is how the relationship comes across as.

The show needs to see that BOTH perspectives are valid for the "their both in the wrong" thing to even work, but it doesn't. Blitz never gets any slack and Stolas is babyed. That is how this relationship is frammed. You can not ever convince me otherwise.

[liveinfarbe]

Quoting myself pre episode 8 here:

But who knows maybe show runners are gaslighting viewers here and he’ll be killed off just like that next episode Mirdania-style (hoping against hope she survived). But Sam Hazeldine’s interviews sound like he’ll be in it for a bit longer. Good🤞

Whatever you hope they do it’s not going to be innovative, but the road most traveled.

Sam’s interviews sounded like that because he had integrated into the cast so well and would’ve liked to stay.

If you ask me it was a capital mistake. Adar outshone all other characters in season 2. But the course was set. Simon Tolkien apparently intervened to keep him longer. I suppose because he saw his incredible potential. And yet they offed their outstanding original character, carelessly, unsympathetically. It sucked big time because it left most fans struggling emotionally. I did not need that.

I’m venting…

Yeah, it mirrored the first episode, a thematic frame, cool visuals, full circle blah blah - a clichéd way of doing this to establish symmetry and a means to get rid of him fast and visually pleasurable and still make it look oh so meaningful.

There could’ve been another outcome of course. Adar wasn’t alike Sauron, he was not a monster. Adar was superior in heart and mind, a large part of him untainted from dark poison.

He should have had a better end because this show is all about symbolic messages and this one sends a message that he was not deserving, although he had suffered the most of all characters and was truly repenting - he apparently deserved something far worse.

Ironically it wasn’t even an end to Sauron what Adar did to him in the beginning. Sauron was goo for a thousand years then quickly bounced back eating worms and people and is fine now. Adar though looks terminally dead. He’s gone. Can you imagine he resurrects in a cheesy painting like Galadriel? He’s the vaguely queer coded villain, he’ll stay buried (you wish he was buried), it’s the law.

And shouldn’t have Sauron ended him, if it was meant to be symmetrical, shouldn’t there have been a fight?

Shouldn’t there have been a fight with Arondir?

Shouldn’t Galadriel have at least voiced her disapproval of the murder? I’ll give it to her that Adar’s death gave her the wrath to withstand Sauron finally. She fought him with anger in her heart, totally over him, but not over her twin flame Adar.

What happened to Adar was worse than what happened to Sauron. Adar was betrayed of his final hope to get better, betrayed by his children whom he loved and thought loved him back, knowing his aim to prevent enslavement for them has been futile. You can shoehorn a symmetry with Sauron’s situation in the beginning but it substantially isn’t. Adar’s actions always came from a place of love, care and solidarity, of accountability.

It should’ve been Sauron dealing him the final blow, not Glûg. It was never shown why Glûg would suddenly want to murder him brutally and in cold blood. It was just for shock value and done with the intention to show how irredeemable Uruk truly are, even the most humanized ones. As if Adar was delusional about them deserving dignity. Probably the story needs them to be bad again, after all the Third Age hasn’t improved concerning the othering of Orcs. One dilemma less for the show, it seems…

He may be in Valinor now, perhaps, who knows with these writers… The thing is, I don’t care because I won’t see it on screen.

Nothing will come of anything Adar has done and fought for, he is erased from the narrative and I hate it.

It lowers expectations for season 3 and, not gonna lie, I kinda resent the show for doing that.

[valeisaslut]

hi val ! here i present to you a tiny bit of what collide made me feel. (it's really weird. sorry about that, i had to get it out of my chest... )

hum… okay. so this probably sounds super weird and mysterious… (and honestly, i'm not even done with it, and i don't think i ever will. but i was going insane and i had to send it anyway, even if it kinda feels like stabbing myself... sorry)

so, little explanation of what this messy shit means if anyone is curious… the first part would be about each one of us having our own way of perceiving the depth behind the words, metaphors, songs, etc. we all definitely see something, feel it so deeply, share it, even, sometimes. but it remains this unreachable, unexplainable nebula, this roaring sound that we can't fully hear as it cuts right through us. i guess this is what art is, sometimes. things we feel so deeply, and may share a similar view on, and that we still can’t reach, like you can’t approach a scorching sun. something that feels so vivid that it seems to exist, outside of us, on its own. as if the words were peering straight at us, daring us not to look away. digging their nails into our flesh. and that when we reach the last sentence, the rumbling doesn’t stop, the words beg us to come back to them. 

and, still scarred from our last encounter, we do come back. surrender, let them take us away. succumb. hoping we'll get through it all. and then, there’s this strange dance, again, all along, between hurt and love, rage and compassion, void and thunder. 

i guess, in the end, what i was trying to say was that i couldn't say anything. 

making a full circle, from words, to feelings, to words again, may be impossible. 

but i hope you know there’s a boundless universe in my mind that belongs to you. 

-a duckie 🦆

talya.

i don’t even know how to start this because nothing i say will come close to matching what you just gave me. but i’ll try. i’ll try because you trusted me with something that feels carved out of bone and breath and starlight—and i need you to know just how much that means to me.

that poem? it’s not just beautiful. it’s devastatingly alive. it reads like it was grown, not written. like it bloomed out of grief and wonder and ache. i could feel it pulsing—line after line—as if your own heart was beating underneath each word. you talk about the impossibility of expressing what collide makes you feel, and yet, somehow, you did. you did say it. in every space and silence. in every whisper between lines.

that image of trying to hold onto something—something thunderous, burning, celestial—that escapes us every time, god. it’s exactly what this story was always meant to be. not a thing to understand, but something to feel. to stand in front of like a painting or a storm. to weep over. to fall into. to come back to, even when it hurts. and you understood that better than anyone.

your words made me feel seen in a way i didn’t know i needed. they reminded me that art doesn’t have to be complete or perfect or even fully comprehensible to matter. sometimes it’s enough to just feel it crackling in your chest. and sometimes it hurts too much to translate that feeling—but you still try. and that trying is an act of love. of devotion. of surrender.

talya, i’m in awe of your mind. your soul. your courage. the way you exist in the world with such terrifying softness and honesty. you say you couldn’t say anything, but what you gave me is one of the most meaningful things i’ve ever received. i mean that.

and i just… love you. i love you. with the kind of love that sits in silence and still knows everything. with the kind of love that sees you in your entirety and doesn’t flinch.

my soul belongs to you. always has, always will.

and if there’s a boundless universe in your mind that belongs to me.

forever yours, val ♡

[archduchessofnowhere]

“This story is truly historical, whatever may say the clerical and Bourbon newspapers”

It’s always a joy when I find the one book, the one journal article, that points to me where a story likely originated. So you can imagine how I felt whenI finally found the origin of a rumor I’ve been reading for years: that of Queen Marie Sophie of the Two Sicilies alleged affair in Rome.

But first, some necessary context. The Bourbons of the Two Sicilies had been deposed in February of 1861, after being under siege in Gaeta, the last bastion of their kingdom, for over three months. The royal family moved to Rome, where king Francesco II assembled a court in exile. His queen, the nineteen-years-old Marie Sophie in Bavaria, gained international stardom for staying in Gaeta during the siege, railing the troops and nursing the wounded. Her bravery earned her the nickname “the heroine of Gaeta” and she became the face of the cause of Bourbon restoration. It didn’t take long, however, until the press started to print stories that painted Marie in a less favorable light: the queen rode alone, smoke and shoot, and seemingly, there was a lot of tension between the royal family.

And then, over a year after the end of the siege, in July of 1862, Marie suddenly left Rome for Bavaria, officially because of health reasons. Yet it was widely speculated in newspapers that the real reason for the ex-queen’s departure was a complete fall out with her husband and her step-mother-in-law. Marie stayed in Munich until October, when she entered into an Ursuline convent in Augsburg, from which she only emerged in January of the next year.

Marie’s stay at the convent gave way to much public speculation. Most importantly, it is from this stay that came the rumor which has followed Marie to this day (and the one that concerns this post): that the real reason for her confinement was that she had become pregnant by her lover, a Belgian papal zouave, and gave birth to an illegitimate daughter.

The authorship of the rumor is often attributed to Marie’s niece, Countess Marie Larisch, as she went into all sorts of details about this alleged affair and illegitimate child in her books. I’ve known this to be false for years now, as you can find mentions of this story in works published years prior to Larisch’s memoirs (like the first biography ever written about Marie, published in 1904). So, if not Larisch, then who started this rumor? It turned out, the most obvious answer was the correct one all along: the rumor was started by pro-Risorgimento Italian newspapers.

I first came across this information in the book Les amours de Napoléon III - Tome II, published anonymously in 1864. The author of the book was Pierre Vésinier, a French journalist who was exiled after Napoleon’s coup d’etát. Unsurprising then that in the preface of the book Vésinier claims that “we will show all these upstarts [of the Second Empire] surpassing in their orgies all the villainous debauchery of the Regency, and all the bigoted lusts of the Parc-au-Cerf” (1864, p. 1).Having only read the part concerning Marie, I can vouch that at least that segment is so malicious it almost becomes funny.

Vésinier very much disliked empress Eugénie, but as “the character and the life of the Montijo” is already known by his readers (remember this is the second volume of his analysis of the morals of Napoleon’s court), he will judge an aspect of Marie’s character instead (ibid, p. 8). Why Marie? Well, Eugénie liked her, which meant there had to be something morally wrong with her, duh. He then proceeds to “translate the correspondence from Rome dated December 5, 1862, published by the newspaper L’Opinione” (ibid). Here is where I did a double take. December of 1862. Meaning, from the time Marie was at the convent! This rumor is as contemporary as it gets. And I was definitely not prepared to read the full version of it (disclaimer: originally these were only three parragraphs, but they were deemed too long and Tumblr didn’t let me publish the posts, therefore I had to divide them in shorter parragraphs):

Your readers may remember that about a year ago, a rumor was circulating that Maria Sophia, ex-Queen of Naples, had shot dead a young lady of her court, out of jealousy, some said; to ensure the secrecy of the intrigues, of which this young lady had unwittingly become aware, others said. The papal government, to stifle the dreadful scandal that had reached the Quirinal, always imposed a forced silence on the courtiers and opposed absolute official denials to the correspondence from Rome addressed to the various organs of the periodical press. However, a sentence of 25 years of hard labor, pronounced recently by the French court-martial against a captain of the papal Zouaves, has made the principal heroes of this bloody adventure known to the public. This officer of the Papal Zouaves had assumed the titles of a Belgian nobleman, his namesake, whose decorations he had usurped, and had succeeded, thanks to his good looks and his pretty manners, in becoming the secret lover of Marie-Sophie. But alas! the unfortunate man has just paid dearly for his good fortune, for he has been sentenced to twenty years of hard labor for the triple crime of forgery, seduction, and adultery; having been the cause of an assassination. I know the full importance of the accusation that I bring here against the ex-Queen of Naples, but I support it with all assurance, because the greater part of the circumstances that I am going to relate to you were proven in the trial of this assassin of the Holy Father, part of the proceedings of which came to the knowledge of the public, by means of secret confidences, which always end up being known, thanks to the indiscretion of the people to whom they are confided. Here are the facts as they happened.

The young Queen of Naples, Marie Sophie, wife of Francesco II, had one morning advised the daughter of General Statella, aged about 22 or 23, her maid of honor, not to enter her bedroom and not to let anyone in, because she was, she said, very tired. As she did not come to breakfast at the usual time, as was her custom, her entire family, who were waiting for her with the greatest impatience, showed the greatest concern for her. Also, her husband, even more worried than all the others, wanted to enter his wife’s room to ask how she was and the reason for the delay in coming to breakfast. It was in vain that Mademoiselle Statella communicated to him Marie Sophie’s express orders, which forbade everyone from entering her room, even the king; the latter, listening only to his impatience, absolutely wanted to force the order and enter his wife’s room. Mlle. Statella, seeing that it was impossible to make Francesco II change his mind, thinking moreover that the queen was in amiable and gallant company, and fearing a great misfortune and an enormous scandal, if the king entered, resolved to violate the order, to save her mistress. She rushed, herself, into the small apartments of Marie Sophie, to warn her of the king’s arrival, but the latter, who was lying with the amiable and kind Zouave, at the sight of her, flew into a great fury, she jumped down from the bed, still in her chemise, seized a dagger, and in her rage, she plunged it several times into the loins of her unfortunate maid of honor, who had fled in vain; the poor girl fell mortally wounded and bathed in her blood.

Marie Sophie rushed, like a fury, onto the corpse of her innocent victim, which she dragged to the foot of her bed, to which she set fire, in the hope of burying in the ruins of the burned palace, the proofs of her dreadful crime and her adulterous loves, and to make people believe that the death of her maid of honor was the result of the disaster that had devoured her apartments; but the fire was extinguished and the body of Mlle. Statella remained as a bloody testimony to Marie Sophie’s crime. It is still unknown today whether the seductive captain was arrested at the time the crime was committed, or whether, taking advantage of the alarm, the disorder and the general confusion, he managed to escape by a secret door or a hidden staircase, but whatever the case, he was placed under the hands of justice.

Since these scenes of violence, fire and murder, the deepest grief, the greatest despair, seized the members of the royal family, the desolation of the queen mother, the profound dejection into which Francesco II fell, the fits of convulsive rage of Marie Sophie are impossible to describe. For more than eight days, the latter did not dare leave the room in the palace to which she was relegated. But in the midst of all these uncertainties and all these anxieties, it was necessary to provide for the burial of the corpse of the unfortunate maid of honor, in order to bury in the tomb, the mystery of this tragic morning, and to ensure the secrecy of the loves and crimes of Marie Sophie.

A doctor was brought to the Quirinal with the greatest precautions, so that he would be willing to make a report stating that the young Statella had died the victim of an accident; but at the sight of the enormous wounds that he saw on the victim’s back, he refused to give the statement that was requested of him to proceed with the burial of the corpse, he did not want to take anything upon himself, without the presence of two agents of the high police; neither the tears of Marie Sophie, nor the prayers of the queen mother, nor the threats of the king moved him, he recommended that nothing be changed in the state of the place, he closed the doors and windows of the room, where the crime had been committed, and he soon returned accompanied by Monsignori Pertini, Pasqualoni and Severi, employees of the high police, it was then noted that Mlle. Statella, only had burned feet and that she was sweating from the stab wounds she had received from behind. Since that fatal day the discord was always increasing in the royal family, the young queen of Naples rightly fearing the disclosure of the infamies, with which she had covered herself, left Rome clandestinely to go and shut herself up in a convent, in Augsburg, but it seems that the cloister, far from calming her violent passions and tempering her indomitable character, excited them even more and she frequently gave herself over to fits of extreme violence or isteric fury, which approached mental alienation, she rolled convulsively on the damp flagstones of her cell, uttering frightening imprecations against her husband and calling with all her wishes for the happy Zouave, who made such a deep impression on her depraved senses.

It is in vain that Pius IX tried and still tries today to restore good harmony between the two august dethroned spouses, he has not yet been able to succeed; this pusillanimous old man has the greatest fear of seeing the bloody drama become public, of which the walls of the Quirinal were the silent witnesses lately. He fears the publicity of all these horrors worthy of Julius II, Alexander VI, Borgia and the long line of monsters, who have donned the Roman purple or Lucrezia Borgia, Pope Joan and Joanna of Naples, of erotic and bloody memory. But the truth demands its rights, inexorable justice awaits the guilty, and despite the cunning precautions, the threats and the anger of the Vatican, the masks must fall, the great day of publicity must reach the perpetrators of these crimes and reveal naked the face and the heart of a certain heroine for whom the wife of Louis Bonaparte professes such profound sympathy, and to whom they have sought to give a chivalrous character. General Statella, father of the victim, who had been given 50,000 Roman écus, under the pretext of compensation, but in reality to buy his silence, died shortly after his unfortunate daughter, no doubt to ensure more certain impunity for the guilty parties who feared her revelations; who knows how many other innocent victims have already been sacrificed to bury the crimes of Marie Sophie in secrecy? But since then, as we have said, the trial of the papal Zouave has brought to light for all the virtues of the august wife of the unfortunate Francesco II. (ibid, p. 8-13)

I think my first reaction to this was “hm what?”.

The article is so smearing that you just can’t take it seriously at all, yet at least a part of it was, because to this day you read about Marie’s “zouave lover”. Sadly I wasn’t able to find the original article Vésinier is quoting (as only a handful of numbers of L’Opinione can be found digitalized in the Internet Archive, and I couldn’t find another digitalization anywhere else), so I can’t confirm how accurately he translated it. But now that I knew what to look for, I could narrow my search.

This led me to find two other Italian newspaper articles regarding the subject. The articles pretty much say the same as the one quoted above with less details, so I won’t translate them, but I’ll link them in case you want to check them out. The first is one from the edition of December 10 of Il Pepe Buono (which claims the letter from Rome is from 3rd, not the 5th), and the second from the edition of December 17 of Lo Cuorpo de Napoles e lo sebetto. I’m sure that if I keep looking I’ll find more, but these confirmed to me that Vésinier was not making up his claims but indeed quoting an Italian newspaper article from 1862.

Now let’s talk about the content of the article itself. The most serious accusation is, with no doubt, the murder of the lady-in-waiting. This is also the least believable accusation, as such a thing would’ve been known — you can’t sweep the murder of a noble lady under the carpet. Not only that, but also the story as told here doesn’t make much sense — so the Statella girl rushed to warn Marie that Francesco was going to her chamber, but apparently the queen still had time to stab her to death, drag her body, and set it on fire before he reached her room? The Quirinal Palace is big but the timeline still sounds ludicrous.

As for the people mentioned in the article: the general was Count Giuseppe Statella, who participated in the defense of the Siege of Gaeta and accompanied the royal family to exile in Rome, where he acted as the king’s master of the court. His wife Laura was first lady-in-waiting of the Dowager Queen Maria Theresa and later of Mathilde, Countess of Trani; his wife’s sister, Maria Francesca, Duchess of San Cesario, was the head lady-in-waiting of Queen Marie Sophie. The Statellas therefore were closely connected to the Bourbons. Count Statella indeed died in 1862, but I couldn’t find much details about it.

Count Giuseppe Statella (middle), his wife Countess Maria Laura (left) and her sister Maria Francesca, Duchess of San Cesario (right). Credits to Nobili Napolitani.

It didn’t take long until a response to l’Opinione appeared in a Bourbon-friendly newspaper. In the edition of December 20 of 1862, the clerical journal Correspondance de Rome, printed in French, published an article denouncing the accusations. I will translate it fully so you can compare how the story was presented here, so forgive me for the repetition:

Slander A journal which was [owned] by M. de Cavour and which is keen to remain worthy of this great man, L’Opinione, inserted in its December 11 number a letter from Rome bearing the date from the 5th. We have too much respect for our readers, for ourselves and also for the French language, to translate this letter with all its repulsive details of cynicism and cowardice. We summarize; the semi-official organ of Turin begins by preparing its public:

“The desire to have news that would make disappear certain gaps in the bloody story that I am going to report to you”, he said, “made me wait until today to write to you… I can guarantee, above all, that this story is truly historical, whatever may say the clerical and Bourbon newspapers which will not fail to cry slander”

Then comes the story:

“A year ago, a quiet rumor circulated in Rome about a young lady of the Court of Bourbon, whom Marie-Sophie had killed with a pistol shot. Today, a judgment of the French military tribunal, pronounced last week, and which condemned to 25 years of forced labor a captain of pontifical Zouaves, has brought before the public the principal heroes of this bloody adventure...”

One can guess what the perversity of l’Opinione will do with this captain. She locks him in the queen’s boudoir, with the queen, and places a maid of honor as sentry at the door. Lunch has been served for a long time. The king grows impatient, he arrives. The maid rushes into the boudoir... and the queen, in a burst of fury, plunges a stiletto into her back. “The young person truly killed by the queen”, says l'Opinione melancholically, “is the daughter of General Statella; she was 22 or 23 years old.” The Zouave takes advantage of the confusion and escapes. The queen thinks of burning the victim. A doctor is called who requests the assistance of the papal police. The latter rushes and draws up the report. The royal couple are forever divided in sentiment. The queen leaves and goes to hide her remorse in the convent of Augsburg. The Pope offers his good offices and wants to restore peace. “Last week, Pius IX had a three-hour meeting with the Bourbon family; for he is greatly afraid that the light of publicity will come to illuminate these bloody scenes that occurred at the Quirinal. But the truth demands its rights, the masks must fall...”

Such is the story, such is the conclusion of the journal of the late M. de Cavour.

Well, in the name of the right to truth, we tear off the masks of the scribes of l’Opinione, of the Monitore Toscano, of the Corriere delle Marche and of the other papers that copy this odious version or give variations of it, and we say to them:

You have lied, you have slandered in the most cruel and most cowardly way. You are reviving the infamous trials of the san-culottes of the 93 against the queen Marie Antoinette. You are the heirs of these monsters with a human face. There is not a man of heart who does not reject you with disgust. Gorged with the spoils of a family allied by blood and treaties to your own king, you insult dignity, virtue, misfortune and impotent glory. But you are as clumsy as your master in deceit, because the very foundations of your story are manifestly false.

Your main hero did not exist, and we can state that no Zouave or officer of the Papal Zouaves was ever tried by any French tribunal or court martial. The French military authorities categorically deny —as we know— your odious slander.

As for the young person, here is what Madame the Countess Statella kindly wrote to us the day before yesterday:

“Sir, the newspapers devoted to the unjustly called cause of Italy published a story full of insults against the queen Marie Sophie and had one of my daughters murdered in the Quirinal. All my daughters live, thank God, to declare with me that this story is in every way false and slanderous. Her Majesty, may God preserve her, is, as a woman and as a queen, worthy of her august husband and the blackness of the enemies of this heroic and unfortunate couple only gives more brilliance to their virtues and their undeserved misfortunes. Receive, I pray you, etc.

Countess Statella Berio.”

In regards to the queen Marie Sophie, although the purity of her life and the elevation of her character cannot be affected, we pray that the new calumnies of the revolution will not increase the ailments for which she seeks solace in solitude. The Piedmontese journalists fear that the first wounds they have inflicted will not heal, and they seek to throw their poisoned arrows over the walls of the Augustinian convent of Augsburg. They feel safe: the heroine of Gaeta, no more than the outraged woman, will not pursue them for calumny before tribunals that condemn only innocence and fidelity. But there is a supreme judge before whom they will one day appear to give an account of the tears they have caused to be shed and the blood they have caused to be spilt.

The king has suffered, he still suffers. History teaches him that rarely a young sovereign has been more exposed to betrayal, slander, and adversity; but his soul is warmed, his spirit rises in the combat. Francesco II knows, moreover, that he has on his side the legitimate protector of justice and law, the supernatural influence of his holy mother, and the love of his people. He can wait for events to unfold.

This article is also very biased — although in favor of the royal family this time. It is really interesting that Countess Satella herself (if we trust the Correspondance at least) denied the rumor, and while it probably did put an end to the murder accusation, it wasn’t enough to quell the infidelity rumors. And again, it’s really a pity that I can’t find the original L’Opinione article, because this counter-article claims the news was published on December 11, while the article on Il Pepe Buono was published on December 10. So they either got the date wrong, or Il Pepe Buono was the first journal to actually break the story.

Writing this post, I felt that I came across something that is beyond my scope: here there is a fascinating case about the role of the press in propaganda, Italian nationalism, rumors, gender and sexuality. The rumor, in all its ludicrousness, had the goal of smearing the reputation of the member of the royal family with the best image abroad: queen Marie Sophie. The “heroine of Gaeta” was the best propaganda the Bourbons had, and therefore the most clear target for attack. L’Opinione is quite graphic, describing Marie in her undergarments in bed with a man that wasn’t her husband. And not any man: a Papal zouave. This story makes the queen an adulterous murderer and the Papal army morally corrupt. The layers are fascinating — especially if we consider that, slander aside, Marie at the time was indeed acting in a way that was considered improper, leaving her husband for months. But pitifully, I don't know enough, nor do I have the resources, to tackle the subject any further than this.

Before finishing this post, there was still one missing piece of information that bothered me: who were Statella’s daughters? Because Geneanet only lists one son to the marriage, and other genealogy websites showed no sons or daughters. One more time, I searched for information about the Statellas, and managed to find one daughter: Filomena, Duchess of Castellaneta. One of her obituaries states she died on August 11 of 1879, and according to another obituary (which explicitly said that her parents were Count Giuseppe Statella and Laura Berio — that’s how I identified her), she had been “stolen from us so prematurely, at the still green age of forty-two, after painful pregnancy and a painful birth, due to uncontrollable bronchitis, as they say!” (1879, Roma Antologia Illustrata). If she was 42 at the time of her death, then in 1862 she must have been around 25. Was she meant to be the daughter murdered in the story? We can’t know. But I did find something else regarding Filomena. She appears in the Annuario della nobiltà italiana, published in 1878, in the section dedicated to her husband’s family. According to the annuary, the only daughter of the marriage, born in 1870, was named Maria-Sofia.

Sources:

Annuario della nobiltà italiana, 1878

Anonymous [Pierre Vésinier] (1864). Les amours de Napoléon III. par l'auteur de La femme de César. Tome II

Correspondance de Rome, December 20 of 1862

La civilttá cattolica, Vol. XII della serie decima

Roma Antologia Illustrata, August 21 of 1879

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey headmage! You know that one question all teachers will get in their life...

Tell us about your first love!

*eager looking eyes*

I wrote this one in a somewhat vague manner aka it's to throw a bone at the "Crowley is Malleus's dad" theorists out there www; it's up to the reader to interpret it as they please; it isn’t meant to refer to one specific character.

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

Crowley regarded you with a careful, uncharacteristically patient look—as if picking apart your soul and the fine layers that sheathed it. You were an open book, so wide-eyed and eager to learn of young, blossoming love.

“Feeling daring today, are we?” he chuckled lowly. “What naughty students I have, sticking their noses where they don't belong."

Crowley swung one leg over the other, crossing them as he reclined into his armchair. "As it happens, I am feeling more generous than usual today, so I will humor your request."

Your ears perked. You arched over his desk, primed to listen intently.

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away... I found myself at a grand palace hosting a ball. Where, you may ask? I cannot say. However, it is only natural for important people in high places, such as myself, to be invited to these sorts of functions.

“Often it is political matters and power struggles at play—dull subjects to children, I'm sure. I happened to take an interest in the cuisine they were serving that evening, and so I made an appearance."

Crowley paused dramatically.

"Little did I know, that was where I would happen upon... Well, surely you understand who I am referring to?"

“Your first love?” you squeaked.

“I noticed them immediately. Call it ‘love at first sight’ if you wish.

“Their presence was far too powerful to be contained within that room. It was a quiet kind of strength, like the roiling of thunder before a storm arrives in full. Oh, but it wasn’t just their aura alone. No, no, they also boasted great beauty, grace, and intelligence!! And yet…”

“And yet…?”

“They were alone.” Crowley spoke the word quietly, as though it were cursed. “… I suppose it happens. People who stand too high in the world are lonely there, frightening off those unworthy to be in their presence. I understood, of course, being in a similar position myself, so I sought to offer my kind hand to console them. It is in my nature as an educator to serve as a bridge between people."

“You made the first move,” you gasped, your cheeks warming. Scandalous.

“I paraded right up and introduced myself! And—can you believe this—they gave me the cold shoulder, then attempted to scare me and shoo me off!! But I certainly didn’t quit. I fetched them punch, I sang them sweet serenades, I cracked jokes of the highest caliber… all so that they would look my way, even to spare a passing glance.”

“So you were a simp.” Somehow, it fit perfectly with your current understanding of Crowley.

He bristled at the casual accusation. "I wouldn't say that--"

"Definitely a simp," you repeated.

"Y-You may think whatever you like, but the fact is that my efforts eventually bore fruit!!" Crowley declared proudly, his chest puffed out. "They gazed at me and remarked that I was ' a strange one'!"

"That doesn't exactly sound like a compliment..."

"Perhaps not," he laughed lightly, "but it was that one comment that served as my foot in the door. Before long, we were chatting like old friends. They smiled--because of me. For me."

His voice warbled, wobbling with sentiment as the painted the scene. You could almost see it now: Crowley, tall, dark, handsome--but bumbling--courting a frigid noble. Breaking their barrier, melting that ice.

Like something out of a fairy tale, you think. A distant royal falling in love with their messenger bird.

"We laughed and talked all evening. We shared food and a dance. We never wanted the clock to strike midnight."

Crowley sighed wistfully, dragging a talon across his desk—as if marking another year apart from his beloved. "They truly were… the apple of my eye, my flower of evil."

"Did they return your feelings, headmaster?" you asked, leaning closer. Completely enraptured by his tale. “Whatever happened to them, anyway…?"

“Ah, now that,” Crowley tutted, wagging a finger, “is a story I shall keep to myself.”

“W-Wait," you protested, slapping a hand on the desk, "you’re really going to leave me off on a cliffhanger like this?! You were just getting to the juiciest part!"

“I believe I’ve already divulged far more than the average student needs to know of a teacher's love life," the headmaster replied. "You may use your imagination to fill in the rest of the gaps! It shouldn't be a challenge, seeing as you are quite familiar with my charm, fufufu."

"Does that mean you did get together after all? Were you actually married this whole time and we never knew? Do you have kids?!" you pressed. Each question became increasingly conspiratorial--but you were 100% serious, 100% committed to the bid.

"I'm afraid not, Prefect! You must make do with what you currently have."

"What I have isn’t enough," you groaned deeply. "Urgh, PLEASE answer me, headmaster...! I need to know, or I'll combust!"

[call-me-casual]

🌩️🌺🩹 for Becca

⛵️🛟 for Peregrine

YIPEEEE

What’s your OC’s favourite Thunderbird/IR vehicle? - oh that’s something she keeps secret from the boys! Because she’s an auxiliary pilot, Becca does have to be trained to operate every ‘bird (though she’ll likely never have the same skill as say Alan and 3, but she can get the job done). Her official response? “Oh they’re all so different and brilliant for their respective tasks!” Her actual favourite to pilot though?

Shadow. It’s Thunderbird Shadow. One is a VERY close second, but those levers are a nightmare to learn. But Shadow has a bike mode and can be used on her and Kayo’s “girl’s trips” revenge missions.

How would your favourite describe your OC? - okay so my favourite is Scott so…

“Oh wow, uh… pretty? My brothers say she looks like a springer spaniel. Acts like one too, and I can’t disagree. Lots of energy and absolutely no qualms about getting her hands dirty.

She’s not like some crazy super model, and I don’t want her to be. She’s perfect the way she is, and I wouldn’t change a thing. What kind of person is she? The kind of person you aren’t scared to be yourself around. She’s so… her that you just can’t help but relax and goof off. Becca’s weird and I love it.”

Is your OC squeamish? Do they have any phobias? How do they deal with these feelings? - Becca’s not squeamish. At all. Growing up with a sheep farmer for a father meant that she was desensitised VERY early on a lot of things. She also had the chance to witness nature a lot and isn’t too bothered by much anymore.

She does have a phobia though! Tokophobia to be exact. It’s not bad enough that she can’t go anywhere near anything pregnant, but it is bad enough that the discussion of anything in any part of the whole process can make her dry heave ((a little self projection never hurt anyone-)). How does she deal with it? Well mostly she just avoids any discussion of such things, and has expressed her feelings about it with Scott, who is quick to shut down any and all “great/grandbabies when??”. If someone outside the family says anything and continues on, he is not afraid to utilise his gift of the Tracy family Eyebrowstm.

Okay, now time for Peregrine!!

What would a fun day out look like to your OC? Where would they go? What would they do? Who would they bring with them? - Well Peregrine is a wild animal, so to her, “a fun day out” is absolutely blitzing through the sky in dark and the cold, with a little sea mist on the side. Mix that with diving into the sea to catch fish, and end the day with a full-scale-scrub-down and warm rock to nap on.

That, or perhaps something a little more competitive. The team have been in talks with archeologists about what may have been a high-speed game involving colourful paint and catching sheep ;)

As for who she would bring? Peregrine may protect and care for everyone at International Rescue, but there’s only one person she’d choose time and time again, and that’s her rider.

Has your OC ever needed rescuing before? If so, what happened? Why did they need saving? - a full scale rescue? Not yet, but a quick catch out of the sky? Several times. Even a Night Fury can find trouble, and more than a few enemies…

[microknifeyuri]

Microphone ii

Favorite thing about her: WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN WITH. Oh my God she's like the best arc developed on season 2 and she is so consistent with everything and so so full of love and so complex and. I really just like the way she's written and how much respect they had for her once she was out on her own terms. Her design is one of my favorite things ever too, it's quite simple but so SO good and shaped, her main color being purple, her abilities, her love for others, how she doesn't want to hurt anybody. I just like everything about her. How she as a person isn't flawless but is still full of love. How even if she has a gokden heart she can still stand up for herself and hold grudges. She's just. So important to me.

Least favorite thing about her: I have a lot to say when the things I don't like about her are her alliance with Taco (not because it's bad for the story, again, Mic's arc is beautifully written, but because Taco sucks and I can feel Mic on a emotional level) AND the what the Fanon did to her. They treated her so SO badly.

Favorite line: "So now, I'm making my first good choice."

brOTP: oj, trophy, nickel, soap, cheesy, fan, tissues- basically almost everyone at the hotel

OTP: microknife, micropick, micro4

nOTP: ... taco...

Random headcanon: Painting became a sort of therapy for her at some point post s2. She used to do it a lot when she was a kid, but now she's just getting back at it. However, she doesn't attend Paintbrush's classes because 1: she can't focus with many people and 2: she's more of painting landscapes or recreating photos. it really helps her with thinking. as well, even if she's somewhat decent at cooking, she's GREAT at baking. definitely one of her hobbies.

Unpopular opinion: SHE'S INSANELY BISEXUAL SHE LIKES MEN AND WOMEN 💥💥💥 but also, she's one of the characters that suffers the worst treatment on the way the fandom treats her, and usually misses the whole point with the toxic friendship he had with Taco.

No, Mic would never forgive Taco. Yes, she meant it when she said the thing about Pickle. Their thing is a really good example of an harmful relationship. As well, Knife and her being best friends instead of siblings is WAY better if you don't want the romance (even IF justin has stated on may 1st of 2023 that they're okay with others shipping them now, on twitter), and Knife's and Mic's arc is just very very underrated and like. Why. They're so important to eachother. Did you know that in A Song For Microphone, On Knife's Edge appears there for a segment? Their arcs are entwined and yet they're just pushed aside.

Also I just really don't like it when people mischaracterize her for ships or only remember she's there for ships.

Song I associate with her: Missing Hell, Hermit The Frog (Marina), HANSEL (Sodikken), Copacabana, Ancient Aliens, and Curses.

My favorite pic of her:

[leviackermanstoes]

Goodbye, my beloved bride.

- Rafayel (love and deepspace) x oc? Sorta

Warnings: sad. Sad. Sad mermaid man stuff. Eternal suffering.

-

I'm not supposed to talk about it.

I promised I wouldn't.

So instead I'm sharing it with this piece of paper in my hand.

When Rafayel left, a deep gash tore my heart into shreds. Agony had clawed at my soul like a caged animal pulling on the bars of it enclosure. That's how I felt watching him leave. Because even though I was there to watch it, I couldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't let me. And despite him knowing I didn't want this. He had left without another word.

Goodbye, my beloved bride.

Goodbye. Goodbye Goodbye.

It wasn't ever really going to be a Goodbye. After all An artists love last forever and when they say goodbye it's to say find me in the next painting you see, look for me in the charcoal smeared on your hands. And so I did. I found Rafayel in every masterpiece I saw. A painting of the ocean. A drawing of a delicate sunflower. The color purple.

Rafayel told me once, that I swayed like a sunflower playing saxophone. I never stopped thinking about it. Everytime someone would say I move too much or I dance strangely, I would think about him and his words and remember his voice.

I miss you so much Raffie. I hope wherever you are in the sea is safe and you are safe. I hope your okay and I hope that the seawater feels like home on your skin. I wish for a moment i could know when you look up at the stars, so that we could look at them again for the last time.

When is the last time going to be the last time?

Why couldn't you have taken me with you? Why did you leave me here to suffer an endless reign of terror that exists within a loop of agony. This endless pain is yet to subside and without you here I fear it may never come to a halt. I did not know you asking me to marry you would lead to eternal suffering in lonesome. Do you still have your ring on?

I must know these things.

I must know if you are happy. I must know if you are at peace. I must know if you still think of me.

I must know.

I just want to tell you that it's all worth it. I hope you know just how much the time we had together meant to me. Your face lit up when we met for the first time. At the pond, the small red fish you held in the net brought out a pink in your cheeks, and your hair was sparkling violet in the summer sun. Your smile was like a shot of pure sunlight straight to the heart.

If I had to tell you one thing. I'd say be safe. Just be happy. Be the best version of yourself no matter how you get there. Take every path you desire so you may reach the life you deserve. And if it is a life away from myself than let it be.

I can only sit by the golden sands and sob at the air as I clutch your paint brush. So worn out and so full of memories. All your line strokes and brushes of blues. All the flicks of gold and wisps of green and white. Each painting you created exists in the bristles. Each single strand is a new masterpiece from your heart.

We are still bonded.

'By the seas and sands, let our fates be held in our hands. In the name of the waves and the tides, let our love be forged forever in time'

I repeated it like a prayer. Like a poem they surgically stitched into my brain. I wanted to scream and cry and tear my hair out and slam chairs against tables and punch holes in the walls. I wanted to tear my lungs out and crush them. I wanted to, no, needed to rip my heart from my body so no person may ever witness it again. Until the day Rafayel returned I would throw my heart into the ocean, to let it it sink and die where my love has gone.

So let this be my plea, o great sea, that when the tides come flooding on the shores of Whitesand Bay that they will bring my beloved back to me. And when they retreat, let them take me.

[shadowmaat]

Fortune's Pawn: a review

I kept seeing the Paradox series (Fortune's Pawn is the first) in my Amazon recs (I get the recs and go elsewhere). I finally decided to snag Book 1 from the library to see if it was any good.

Fortune's Pawn introduces us to Devi Morris, a mercenary whose ambition is even heavier than her custom armor. I was reassured by the fact that the author of the series, Rachel Bach, is a woman. I've seen men try and write badass lady mercenaries before and they tend to, hm, leave a lot to be desired. Spoilers head!

TL;DR: 2/10 stars

It was hard to get into this one at first. Devi is... annoying as hell. Brash, obnoxious, full of herself, and very much a glory hound. The book also starts us off with a post-sex convo between Devi and her soon-to-be-ex fucktoy, which certainly tells us something about the character, but leaves me, as a sex-repulsed ace, kinda resigned.

The story did eventually get better once the action picked up, which was bound to happen since she signed onto a ship with a reputation for always being in trouble.

The action sequences were a bit paint-by-numbers and Devi was naturally the Best and Most Actiony and fighting off impossible odds, but my expectations were low and it was entertaining, which is what I wanted.

There's a standard cast of characters, including the sexy hunk of a chef who is, of course, More Than He Seems™. So is the ship.

I kinda liked the crew of the ship, which includes a somewhat clichèd avian pilot with an attitude and a doctor from a species known primarily for its habit of eating other sentient races.

Devi's attitude, and her supreme selfishness, continued to grate, but I rolled along with it even as she set out to stalk and eventually bag , but again, I was willing to go along with it because the crumbs of the Bigger Story were interesting.

I will say that while I don't particularly enjoy horndog characters, I appreciate them more than the stereotype of a horndog character who actually has to work a bit to bed someone and then wastes a lot of time in denial before realizing This One is Different. It isn't as bad as the "you just haven't had good sex yet" bullshit that surrounds ace characters, but it's a lot more prevalent.

Anyway! I was enjoying the deepening mystery of what Rupert (the chef) was, what the deal with the Captain's daughter was, what the Captain himself was meant to be, and the whole worldship full of alien zombies thing that may have infected her.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to finish the book because Devi did something that was, IMO, unforgivable. So.

Between fighting an invisible monster and fighting a horde of zombie lizardmen, Devi has begun to sus out a few things about her new boytoy. Mainly, that he isn't human. She (and Rupert) have also been read the riot act by the Captain, who orders them to stop fraternizing or she'll be kicked off the ship at the next port.

This is where part of the "I do what I want and damn the consequences" facet of Devi's personality start to become overwhelming. Like, the manufactured obstacle to their relationship is a pretty standard one and I can understand a degree of wanting to ignore it, but A) the Captain is akin to a god in situations like this and B) as Rupert points out, there are very good reasons to stop that Devi isn't aware of and that he's forbidden to discuss.

Devi tells him she knows what he is (kinda), but that just makes him more insistent on staying out of it, with an added side of "never, ever, mention any of this again, ever."

Devi, of course, doesn't give a golly damn, and when Rupert ghosts her, she throws a tantrum. And then she decides to take matters into her own hands and texts everything she can remember about Rupert's alien appearance to her ex fucktoy in the government and see what he thinks.

Rupert, the super secret mystery alien on the super secret government ship that's part of a super secret mission. Rupert TOLD HER to never mention what she saw again. His existence is clearly a secret, and not one that is hers to share. It's a massive, MASSIVE breach of trust and a violation of personal autonomy. It's also, in every likelihood, a state secret of the highest caliber. But she's mad she can't get laid so she decides to spill all the beans.

Yeah, no. As far as "ways to manufacture more drama" go, that's a fucking terrible one. I know Devi is selfish. And arrogant. And selfish. But FFS, that is such a horrific thing to do to someone else that I just can't go on. As much as I want to know how all the bigger pieces fit together and what Devi got infected with from the zombie bite (I assume it was the zombie bite, but it could have been the alien sex), I can't stomach that kind of betrayal for such a petty, selfish reason.

2 out of 10 stars. Interesting plot crumbs were dropped for the series, but the protag is such a colossal asshole it destroys everything.