#he loves unattainable women it’s easier for him so he doesn’t have to work on himself but let the relationship fall apart
word-scribbless · 3 years
Gibbs x female reader
Warning: Sexual talk but no actual smut.
Summary: Y/N is an FBI profiler who consults with NCIS. Gibbs interigation of Holly Snow, and his remarks about how he may or may not be in the bedroom lead to interesting talks between Y/N and Gibbs.
A Time and a Place.
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Y/N watched the integration of Holly Snow with a small smirk and an undeniable twist of jealousy and something else she didn’t really want to name in her gut. Sure the FBI profiler had had a crush on the agent since she began consulting for NCIS about 5 years ago now. They always flirted, and he was nicer to her than anyone, but he was Gibbs. He was unattainable and she knew she had to just be happy with being flirty friends.
She stood on the other side of the interigation room glass, trying to hide how much his words were affecting her. Tony teased her enough as it was she didn’t need him to her reaction to Gibbs saying there was a ‘time and place’ to be rough fueling the fire. Which is why she waited until after the interrogation, when Gibbs had entered the observation room and tony had left to make her comment.
“Sooo” she said with a smile, watching as Gibbs turned a skeptical eye towards her. He knew that tone. “A time and a place huh?” Referring to Gibbs answer to Snow.
She watched Gibbs roll his eyes and move towards her. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened a little at her words though, and she loved that.
“Yn” he warned, fixing her with the Gibbs glare.
“What? She asked innocently, touching his forearm. He leaned closer to her and warned again.
“Right not the time?” She smiled.
“Or the place.” He whispered teasingly in her ear. So close she could feel his breathe (and his smirk) on her neck. He Loved the shiver it caused in her. They were always playful and flirty but god she wished he’d make a move. She knew though, this was better than nothing. He was rarely this open with anyone.
“Okay okay” she held her hands up and began to walk away. “I’ll get back to work.”
Before she could get too far she felt Gibbs gentle grip on her arms. She turned back to face him and swallowed deeply at the look in his eyes. It was between desire, nerves, and something else she’s too scared to name.
“Tonight my place.” He said in the low gruff Gibbs voice that she loves.
She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked,
“Is that the time and place?” She joked.
“Mhm” he replied with a small smile before brushing some hair behind her ear gently and adding “it’s also a date.”
“A date?” She answered, breathless at his gentle touch and his unexpected request.
He Nodded at her with a smile.
“Okay I’ll be there” she nodded back, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
Before she could move to the door again Gibbs placed a kiss on her forehead and whispered “good”.
Causing her to smile as she reached for the door. “Tonight” she said with a smile.
“Tonight” he confirmed and watched her turn the handle to leave.
Relief washed over him that he finally was able to make a move.
Y/N wasn’t a new guest at Gibb’s house. They often had take out or watched movies. Tonight however, was the first time she was nervous. Those nerves quickly washed away as she laughed, and ate and drank with Gibbs.
Things were slightly different than usual, he sat a little closer, held her hand every once in a while, kissed her cheek. All things she decided, she’d love to get used to.
After dinner, they moved to the couch, Gibbs pulled her under his arm and they settled in to a comfortable silence as an old movie played.
Eventually y/n felt comfortable enough to bring back up their usual banter.
“So are we gonna talk about what you said today?” She smirked looking up at him.
“You really haven’t dropped that?” He chuckled.
“I mean I’ve thought about it, I’m curious.” She said and looked down shyly, realizing what she had just admitted to him.
“Oh yeah?” He smirked, lifting her chin back to look her in the eyes.
“Yeah, you’re sorta hard to figure out. You’re so stoic and strong I could see you liking to be rough but you’re also passionate and caring and careful, especially with me.”
He Huffed a small smile and looked a little shy at her words.
“What you think I don’t notice that you’re different towards me?”
Gibbs Shrugged, but she noticed the small smile didn’t leave his face.
“My favorite part of the day is when you look up from your coffee to check on me, or when you walk me to my car, just to make sure I’m not in the dark alone.” She admits and takes his hand.
He smiled at her and then reverted back to the original topic with a smirk.
“so what’s your assessment doc? Was I telling the truth?”
“I think so” she nodded
“Yeah?” He pressed and watched her nod before speaking again.
“There’s a time and a place. I think if you took me to your bedroom right now you’d be slow, and sweet. You’d still want to be in charge but you’d be careful with me. I think the more comfortable you got with me, the more we, were intimate...”She said and they both laughed softly. “you’d enjoy letting me take charge too. Let me set the pace, let me make you feel good, show you how sexy you are to me.” She said the last part softer, moving one of her hands to his chest. “But that takes trust, love.”
She said and they both looked down a bit shyly.
“Either way, you’d be sure I was take care of. safe but also...” she paused and then softly added “Satisfied, really satisfied.” She looked back up with a small smirk to see Gibbs smirking back at her.
“Am I right?” She asked quietly.
“Mhm” he nodded “you didn’t really mention the rough part too much though” he pushed, enjoying this side of her much more than he’d ever let himself before. They always joked about these things, but this, a real conversation about it? He couldn’t deny it was affecting him, in a very good way.
Y/N smiled and said “I think that’d be easier for you than letting me take charge. I think you’d like to be a little bit rough, make me breathless and clawing at your back, give a hickey or two, let me give you some. but you’d never hurt me, wouldn’t do anything too risky. I don’t think that type of rough would be enjoyable for you, even in a playful way. Which I appreciate.”
Gibbs nodded and replied. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Mhm” he replied causing y/n to raise a questioning eyebrow.
“You’re not the only one that’s thought about it.” He admitted and she could swear she say his face redden just a bit.
“Hmm what do you think I’d be like then?” She asked, readjusting her self so her legs were over his lap and she was facing him more, still tucked under his arm, his other arm now resting over her legs.
“Passionate,” he responded, looking away, almost as if he were imagining it. “you’d lose yourself in me. Throw your head back, move with me, trust me to take over. Trust me to give you pleasure and care for you.” He said softly, his eyes turning that dark color she had seen earlier as he looked back into her eyes.
“I do trust you.” She said taking his face In her hands.
“ I trust you too.” He said, pulling her closer by her wait.
“Yeah?” She whispered and he began to lean in.
“Mhm” he said before connecting their lips. She sighed at the feeling of his lips on hers and melted into him. Opening her lips to allow his tongue entrance. Gibbs began to deepen the kiss even more when Y/N pulled back gently.
His hand that wasn’t on her waist was cupping her cheek and he moved his thumb over it lightly, looking at her in question.
“Gibbs I think you know this, but sex, it it doesn’t come with out feelings for me.”
He nodded “I do know” he said and placed a loving kiss on her head, sensing that she wasn’t finished.
“I- I have feelings for you, feelings I’m not going to express fully because I don’t want to scare you away.” God she knew him too well.
“I’m not scared Y/N.” He assured her.
Sure he’d been terrified of his feelings for her at first. He denied them, wished them away, saw women that would never be her, but the truth was he didn’t want them to go away. He’d do anything for her, to make her happy, safe, loved. He wanted to be the one to deserve her, and he was ready to try to be.
“I know, but I know you, when your heart gets involved you shut down.” She said as she stroked his cheek.
“My hearts been involved for a long time.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss her nose and nuzzle his against her neck.
He knew being affectionate and truthful was the only way to show her he was serious. She hugged him tighter around the middle and asked the question he was waiting for.
“Rule 12?”
“You’re a consultant” he replied against the soft skin of her neck.
“Ahh a loop hole” she laughed softly and pulled back to look at him.
He nodded and lifted his head to look at her.
“I’d transfer” she said looking in his eyes.
He wasn’t expecting that.
“Y/n” he sighed.
“I don’t want to push you, if you don’t feel how I do, but Gibbs I lo- I care about you and I’d transfer if it would mean you giving this a chance.” She blurted.
“Don’t transfer.” He said cupping her cheek.
She nodded and looked down, a bit sadly. Gibbs realized she misunderstood him.
“I understand, but this, the things we talked about... in the bedroom, I can’t do that with out strings.” She said and Gibbs hated how defeated she sounded.
“I’m not asking you to.” He said
She nodded, still looking upset and he realized it was time to be be clear. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the side of her neck, guiding her eyes to his.
“I want this Y/N.” He confessed.
“You do?” She smiled wide as he nodded.
“Yes, I trust you. I know you deserve more than me...”
“N-“ she tried to disagree but he stopped her
“BUT. I know you don’t want anyone else. You deserve everything you want.”
She nodded and kissed him quickly.
“Jethro, I want you.” She whispered against his lips.
“I want you too.” He whispered back.
She kissed him again, slowly before pulling away and moving to straddle him.
“I want this” she said kissing his head, “this” kissing his heart, “and th-“ she began to say and move lower before he stopped her, pulling her back up.
“What?” She breathed out.
“Y/N I love you.” He breathed out quietly, staring into her eyes.
Her breath caught as she tried to speak. “I-“
“I needed you to know before this goes further.” He confessed.
His words caused her to smile and kiss him sweetly before pulling back, cupping his face and responding.
“I love you too jethro.”
“Mm” he hummed as he kissed her lips. “Good.” He said kissing her again. “Proceed.” He said looking toward where she was originally headed.
Y/N giggled along with his laugh and kissed him, repeating her previously intended path.
@diesinspanishbcimhispanic @averyhotchner
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What Kind of Man
Warnings: Period Typical Sexism, Obsession, drug use
AO3  <<<Previous
Chapter 3: Hook, Line and Sinker
Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men had a reputation. It was arguably one of the best boys’ schools in Europe. Producing politicians, poets and playwrights. One could rub shoulders with royals and nobility, all in the same classroom. The boys of Hawthorne also had a reputation. They were known for their intellect and excellent sportsmanship. Yet Hawthorne was mostly famous for the libertine lifestyle their boys lived. Michael Langdon was their poster boy. There was no other man in the world that emulated the libertine life more than he did. Almost every girl in the local village had a story. Hawthorne’s Grand Tour, like its education, was legendary. There was no better way to pursue life’s pleasures than travelling through Europe’s cultural epicentres, all in the guise of the well-rounded education that every respectable young man should have. The boys spent their years at the school looking forward to it, each new year wanting it to be bigger and better than those that came before them. The school’s unofficial motto was ‘work hard, play hard’; and god did those boys play. The expectations for this year were high as Michael Langdon was head boy. He had a reputation, in order to maintain it, he would have to deliver the most grand and exciting tour of all. And deliver he did. Nights in Paris were spent reclined in opium dens. The drug filled haze encouraging rambunctious behaviour. Michael wouldn’t remember the names of the men and women that spent the night in his arms. The days were spent hungover, shopping or in museums. Michael liked to show off his amazing French, wooing the natives of the city. Geneva was spent indulging in chocolate, fondue and absinthe. Some nights Michael had to be carried back to the lodgings, having indulged far too much in the ‘green fairy’ to even keep himself up. He took a liking to the opera singers in Florence, the wine flowed free and so did Michael’s morals. Not a care in the world for what others thought of him, he was here to indulge and indulge he did. Venice was known as the crown jewel of the tour; this was the city that all gentlemen boasted about in conversation. This was going to be the best city and Michael had to impress. //// Michaels roommate in Venice was Gabriel Y/LN, a boy he’d known since they started at Hawthorne, yet knew nothing about outside the school walls; he didn’t care to. As they both started to unpack for the week, Michael noticed a picture frame on Gabriel’s desk. “What’s that on your desk?” asked Michael. “Hmm? Oh this?” Gabriel replied, picking up the picture frame. “It’s a picture of my dear little sister, Y/N.” “why do you carry around a picture of your sister?” Michael laughed; the boys rarely spoke of female relatives. “I bring it with me to remind me to actually do some work, I think she’d be much better suited to a full-time education than me, clever girl really,” laughed Gabriel. Its was even rarer for the boys to speak highly of their female relatives. Michael took the picture and studied the girl. Images of people smiling were rare, so he was surprised to see her soft lips turned up in a smile. Her hair was styled perfectly around her face, adding to the softness of the image. She was different from the girls that he spent his nights with. The image instilled a hunger in him that he could not explain, for now he would be insatiable. She was not as easily obtainable as the women before. The people around Michael would fall at his feet if they had to, but the girl in the picture seemed like a different story, a challenge of sorts. He couldn’t simply walk up to her and whisk her away, he’d have to work for it, pull every possible string he could to even look at her in person. Michael loved a challenge, there was nothing in the world he couldn’t have; as unattainable this girl would seem, he would have her, whether she liked it or not. “I’m sure your sisters spoken for, there must be plenty of suitors in that village of yours,” Michael said, handing the frame back to Gabriel. “you’d think so,” sighed Gabriel. “My father is a picky man and wont just marry her off to anyone. He wants a secure future for her, he thinks the boys in the village can’t provide for her. I agree with him, she’s my only sister and I want her to be well. But she doesn’t help herself either,” explained Gabriel. “what do you mean by that?” “well, a lot of the potential matches think she too well read. She can do all the tasks expected of a young lady. Like her embroidery, its quite well known in the local area. It could rival the artwork in these museums, it’s so complex and beautiful. But she has quite the sharp tongue and well, I guess gentlemen do not want any arguments in the home, or a wife with more common sense than them,” Gabriel finished. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll find someone,” said Michael. This was perfect. A girl that was unspoken for was easier to get a hold of than one that was spoken for. Michael knew exactly what strings he had to pull; use the friendship he had with Gabriel, build a rapport with her father and come across as the perfect match. It would be a long game but one he was willing to play. For the rest of the trip, he looked for women with the same hair colour, or similar features. If he was intoxicated enough, their faces would blur, and he could imagine her in their place. Too busy in all the exciting activities, Gabriel did not notice that the picture of his sister had gone missing. This was a craving like no other, he would do anything he could to satiate himself, even if it was temporary. //// The boys’ return to Hawthorne was a grand affair. It was a party hosted by alumni, to welcome the boys into their ranks. A chance to boast about their trip and secure jobs and positions in the upper echelons of society. Michael didn’t need to worry about job security, he had been a count since he was 16. His father, Count Lucien Langdon, had died before he was born. His uncle Nathaniel ‘Tate’ Langdon had taken over the estate, until his untimely death when Michael was 16, leaving him with everything. Michael did not undermine the importance of the event. As all past Alumni were invited, Gabriel and Y/Ns father would also be there. This was Michaels chance to make an impression and show him that he was better than every other motherfucker in the room. As the boys were being welcomed back by their fathers and uncles, Michael stood in the background for he had no one here to greet him, to welcome him home. Before he could spend too long wallowing, Gabriel called him over. “Father, may I introduce you to Count Michael Langdon, head boy and my dormmate for the past few years,” said Gabriel. Michael extended his hand for a firm handshake, “Pleasure to finally meet you sir, I am Count Michael Langdon, but for tonight I am a close friend of your son.” Michael made eye contact with him and knew he had him. The rest of the evening would be spent drinking, sharing stories and discussing current affairs with Gabriel’s father. “so, Michael,” started Mr. Y/LN, “any siblings?” Michael put his drink down and replied, “no, unfortunately I am an only child. My father passed just before my birth, and my uncle died childless. I am aware that Gabriel has a younger sister.” “ah, so you’ve heard of my Y/N. Yes, she’s not much younger than you, she’s reached a marriable age now and maybe I can find a suitable gentleman tonight. But I won’t bore you with such trivialities, I’m sure you’ve been betrothed since birth.” Michael smiled. ‘Perfect’, he thought to himself. “a common misconception actually, unfortunately I lost my parents before any such arrangement could be made. These days many are not willing to tie their daughters to a young man without a proper guardian,” explained Michael. Mr. Y/LNs eyes widened in shock and curiosity and Michaels grin grew.
Hook, line and sinker. //// This was easier than Michael thought. I didn’t take many more meetings for Gabriel’s father to suggest Michael and Y/Ns union. Michael would be the knight in shining armour that would ensure a secure future for the young lady. Her brother was overjoyed that a man that he considered a dear friend would marry his sister. The union also opened up business opportunities for the Y/LN family, with the Langdon name backing them up in any future venture, they’d be mad to refuse. He hadn’t met her yet. She was always busy with some other engagement when he was in the area. She never really left the village. He had met her friend in London, making sure to leave a good enough impression that would get back to her. He had caught one glimpse of her, six moths before the wedding; Michael had gone to hand deliver the white fabric for the wedding dress. She had passed by him in the village square, chatting away with some friends, not even sparing him a glance. He inhaled as she walked past; she smelled of honey and jasmine, sweet and intoxicating. That one look was all it took for the fire to ignite in Michaels belly. He thought of her that night, as he used his hands to satisfy himself, wishing they were hers. //// The weather was perfect on the day of his wedding. Storms and clouds were what Michael enjoyed. He did not enjoy churches, but it was a small concession to make in the grand scheme of things. He watched as the doors opened, he felt the hesitation from the veiled figure that was drifting towards him. She still hadn’t looked at him when she reached the alter; did she not know that men and women would kill to even get a glimpse of him? He lifted her veil, her eyes finally drifting up to his. He heard her breath hitch and watched her eyes widen. That was the reaction he was hoping for. He finally took her in, her face illuminated by a sliver of sunlight that had broken through the clouds. The picture he had stolen did her no justice, no camera or artist could capture when he saw. He was just as captivated as she was with him, albeit with a little more control. Her hands were soft and warm as he removed her glove to place the ring; he had dreamed of these hands for 18 months, resisting the urge to kiss her palms and fingertips in front of the whole village. The ceremony ended with a customary kiss; the feel of her soft lips sparked thoughts that would make the angels in the stained glass turn away in disgust.
He had her and he was not going to let go.
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@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Eleven
Asexual and aromantic. 
Those were the words Five found for himself when he looked up his “symptoms” on the internet. The scientific terms for someone who didn’t have any desire for sexual interaction, or romantic entanglements. And while it didn’t feel exactly like it fit him (Five liked to jerk off as much as the next 17 year old guy, he just didn’t find anyone sexually attractive), it was closer than he’d ever been before. 
And Five liked titles. He liked being able to put things in neat little boxes. The world was massive, and confusing, and full of shitty people who would manipulate you and use you under the guise of caring about you. If you knew your place and you knew what to look out for, you could keep it from happening.
The best thing you could do was look after yourself. As long as you didn’t rely on anyone, they couldn’t hurt you. It was a lesson hard learned.
That’s why Five turned in his completed, signed and notarized emancipation forms the day he turned sixteen. Relying on his dad was like dropping through a sheet of ice and hoping you’d come out the other side as an acorn. You couldn’t change the fundamentals, be it time and space or a person’s nature. They were who they were, and no amount of bellyaching was going to change that.
Hell, if it wasn’t for seeing Sir Reginald’s name on his completed form that got mailed back to him, Five wouldn’t even have been sure that the old man knew he was gone. But it was there, stamped, because the old man signed too many forms to do it by hand, and it felt like a burden lifted and a new one hung around his neck in equal measure. 
For a reactive, petulant teenager who wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged, it had been a swift kick in the ass to actually be acknowledged. Wasn’t that just karma rearing her ugly head?
That day, five days after the papers were filed, was the last day that Adrian Christopher Hargreeves ever existed outside of legal documents. That was the day he decided that his name was Five. Not for any real reason, there was nothing monumental or thoughtful behind the choice. It had been the first thing to come to mind and Five let it be his choice, fueled by spite. 
He was no heir apparent to an aeronautical empire. He was just another number.
Living in a hostel wasn’t ideal, but it was better than trying to pay for a hotel every night, or deal with landlords who didn’t want a teenager on their lease. It gave him a shower to use every night without having to go to a gym and a safe place to keep his things, as long as he didn’t leave anything expensive lying around in plain sight. His laptop came with him wherever he went, always in his backpack. Just in case.
Sometimes, he thinks about asking Peter and Eddie if he can crash on their couch. He knows they’d say yes if he did. But as accommodating as they were, there were always limits to people’s kindness, and Five didn’t work his ass off to get out of being beholden to one man’s whims so he could find himself at the mercy of another.
(Peter isn’t like Sir Reginald. He actually listens when Five talks. But he won’t take the risk, not when things were going so good for him.)
Head Chef. 
That was another title, another little box. But where the other ones were titles and boxes that Five could wrap his hands around and declare with a decision, this one was one that was going to take some work. 
Five spent days mooching off of the wifi at the hotel near the beach, moving from bench to bench so they wouldn’t ask him to leave. It was how he figured out exactly what he was going to need to get from sixteen year old with no experience to head chef. And it was going to be a long, hard road.
Getting the job at Tony’s place seemed like the best way to start down that road. A Michelin star restaurant on his resume would look good when he applied for culinary school. But what Five didn’t account for was how much he’d hate the damn job. If he had to shuck another oyster again, it would be too soon. 
Why anyone would eat those things was beyond him. They were disgusting. And if you needed a slimy mussel to get your dick hard, then maybe you needed to see a doctor, not spend hard earned money sucking down disgusting sea creatures.
And no matter how much he told himself to suck it up and power through, Five spent most of his time miserable for those few months he worked at Tony’s restaurant. To the point that he’d even started considering giving up on it altogether. What was the point of going to culinary school if he was going to hate it? What was the point of all his hard work if it wasn’t going to make him happy?
The whole point of this endeavor was to not end up like his father. If Five was going to go home every night miserable, he would have kept the money and the business. At least then he would have been miserable on silk sheets. Or miserable driving a Maserati. 
That’s when Peter stepped in. With his idiot grin and his unending well of optimism and bottomless pit of a stomach. He was the one to tell Five that he should follow his dreams. That there were plenty of chefs out there who didn’t have degrees but still made some of the best food on the planet. 
‘I think there’s a fryer in the back of the bar’ sounded like the best escape plan that Five had ever heard. Not that he was going to tell Peter Parker that. He’d bite off his own tongue before he told Peter just how much he needed him. (How much he loved him. Like family.)
So head chef became owner in Five’s head, all the plans he’d built around himself shifting to accommodate. Now the focus was on making money, saving up what he could, learning what would make people go out of their way to try. 
Shifting a title and a box in his head turned out to be easier than Five thought it was going to be. And in a way, he should be glad that he figured it out with head chef because Eleanor Crain walked into his life and blew up two other boxes that Five was content with. 
Asexual and aromantic no more. Nell was beautiful in a brushed clean kind of way. Like she’d never worn make up in her life. Five knew women went for that look, that they carefully cultivated the kind of make up that made them look like they weren’t wearing any at all. But Nell’s face wasn’t like that. It was simple, and clean, and beautiful. 
She had a laugh that was light and bright and effervescent, a smile that lit up a room. She was the kind of girl that Five would have been convinced was an unattainable creation of the media if he hadn’t met her for himself. 
But he did, and now he was in too deep, right off of the diving board and into the deep end. Because now all of his decisions had a Nell Crain shaped question mark at the end. Would she still like him if he did this? That had given him pause a time or two.
Of course, it didn’t stop him from decking a drunk in an alley behind the bar, but he took the time to think about it and that was a whole new kettle of fish for him. (Sometimes, Five got so angry that he couldn’t breathe. He never wanted Nell to see that. And if it took back alley bar brawls to keep it away from the surface and from her, then so be it.)
It even started affecting his cooking. 
Not in a bad way, not exactly. But for the first time in his admittedly short but stellar cooking career, Five found himself thinking about what someone else wanted. About what she would think of each item, whether she would savor it on her tongue or pretend and smile her way through something she had to choke down. 
He learns about her life in between small tasting plates of chicken wings and mozzarella sticks. She tells him about her father giving up on her and her brother and Five says fuck him with a vitriol that makes Nell laugh. 
She tells him about her mother, dead when she was six years old. Nell pushes a mozzarella stick around in a puddle of marinara when she does, making abstract designs. Nell says she doesn’t remember her mother, and Five admits the same. It’s not the kind of bonding that anyone wants to do, but it’s knotted between them all the same. 
Five doesn’t know how it happens, but he tells her about Sir Reginald. About emancipation. He dances around the part about living in a hostel, because he doesn’t know if he can turn down kindness from her. 
By the time they make it through the bar’s short menu, she’s given him sweet but solid advice on all of it. (Better than Peter, who licked the plate when Five first made parmesan and garlic chicken wings.) Five has notes written down in a small notebook he keeps in the breast pocket of his apron, and he fully intends to adjust and adapt his recipes. 
But he can’t stop thinking about Nell. About how nothing he made really sparked any joy in her. And he wanted that. Hell, he could be honest with himself, he needed that. He needed her approval, and it was a big, bright red flag flapping in the wind, but Five was too far gone to do anything about it. 
Which is how he ends up in the bar’s kitchen on a Sunday morning, tossing his third sandwich in a frustrated heap. But the fourth, oh the fourth is a thing of beauty, just the right amount of crisp on the edges and golden brown all over, the cheese starting to seep out of the sides of the sandwich. It was purely aesthetic, but it was perfect. 
He brings the bowl and the plate out of the kitchen and up to where Nell sits, the lone body at the bar. Peter and Eddie wouldn’t come downstairs for hours. This was the closest to privacy that Five had these days. (He wasn’t stupid, he knew they slept in on Sundays for this very reason. Eddie Brock the lapsed Catholic had started going to Mass at night on Sundays.)
“Grilled cheese and tomato bisque for the lady.” Grudgingly, the bisque was Tony’s recipe. But it was a damn good one, and Five wasn’t going to spit in the wind. Just because it wasn’t his idea didn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea. 
Nell laughs, but the sound falls away to something more appreciative as she breaks the two triangles of the sandwich apart, watching the golden cheese stretch between the two halves. It’s only when she bites down on the edge of the sandwich, the crisp bread crackling that Five realizes he’s holding his breath. 
And it’s released in a whoosh of laughter when Nell fans her mouth. “It’s good! Really good. Really hot, but really good!” 
Being in love was not a box or a title that Five had expected to ever have. But now that he found himself in that box, he wasn’t in a hurry to get out. And there was maybe a few more box’s and titles he’d like to get his hands on now that he knew about it. 
Nell Crain’s boyfriend would be a good one to start with. 
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sapphos-darlings · 4 years
Tips for the women out there who wish they were more GNC but are afraid to live the dream:
Giving up the feminine routines that exhaust you and which you don’t want to carry on with essentially only stings once. Let’s talk about shaving: few of us enjoy shaving. The feel of smooth skin can be enjoyable, but I’ve rarely met a woman who thinks it’s worth the effort it takes to stay smooth and hairless every day of your lives. Face it: this is not the natural state of your body, and the expectation that you meet this unnatural and frankly pedophilic standard is ridiculous. But you can’t just drop it, can you? People will stare at your hairy legs. You can’t go out with your legs exposed anymore if you stop shaving them. And even if you cover your legs, people will notice your arm hair. You might be WOC, and your hair is not only judged for being there in the first place, but being there so obviously, and you’re not only going against the current as a woman but as someone whose worth is already questioned in our society even when you do everything they ask of you. You’re already told that you’re never quite good enough, and more than just your own reputation hangs on you. Doesn’t it? The truth is, the vast majority of the people you pass by in this life will not care about you, hairy or otherwise. And the people who do are either not worth your time to begin with, for example the men who demand that you bow to their desires, or they need to mind their own business and cannot dictate how you exist in your own body, such as your friends, coworkers or other women in your family. Maybe you can’t shut them out, but you can resist, you can and you should question them. How are you bad for being how you were meant to be as a human being? What material, spiritual benefit does a beauty routine and the constant outside eye on yourself to judge whether you’re performing properly bring you, as opposed to all the other things you could be focusing on instead? They might call you ugly or say that you’re letting yourself go. This is social conditioning talking, and is not the truth of it. Your body was made to be a certain way - letting yourself exist as you naturally are is neither ugly nor lazy. It’s not a crime. In fact, demanding that someone alters herself for aesthetics every single day of her life is a horrible thing to ask of somebody: you are essentially told that you’re not good enough as a person, only as an object. Your worth is not tied to how desirable you are to the male gaze. Especially as a wlw, the best thing you can do for yourself is reject the male desire and the male standards such as hairlessness and the expensive, often painful, beauty routines. Re-evaluate everything you do for your looks, figure out which things you’re really doing for yourself, why you’re doing them, and how they help you - if they do - in your everyday life. Choose convenience and comfort and real confidence over the safety of conforming. Your womanhood and your personhood are not dependent on how well you perform the role of a sex object, a decoration. You are human.
Now, you’ve done something that seems radical: maybe you stopped shaving, or you shaved your entire head. Maybe you wore something you wanted to instead of something that makes you look beautiful. You expect repercussions. They might come, and they might sting hard the first few times, but you’ll learn quickly that you do not die. There are no cosmic consequences for unshaved legs or a makeupless face, or for cropped hair, or for wearing a pair of comfortable shoes that don’t make your feet ache and sting. God herself will not descend from the skies and smite you for your disobedience. The world is, in fact, quite silent - and you may feel more comfortable in your own skin already, even if you face consequences. After all, words are just words, but what you feel and how you carry yourself are your material reality, your whole perspective to this world. This is your point of view. You’ve made it more comfortable for you. You’ve made the vessel for all that you experience here better for yourself. Who else matters? Or maybe you’re actually just itchy, because regrowing your hair might irritate your skin for a while, much like breaking it open with microcuts with the razor would. The ends of your body hair are sharp, and the stubble doesn’t bend with your body. It’s like a thousand needles digging into your skin. Use lotion or oil on it - body safe, of course, especially if we’re talking about the genital area - or take a bath every now and then to soften the hairs, but remember not to dry your skin needlessly. The itchiness will go away with time. You may notice you smell less, too. Battling against your body odours gets easier with more fluff here and there to regulate your skin’s bacteria. The rewards aren’t instant, but they’re there... other than for the relief you’ll feel for not having to wake up early or spend time you’d rather be watching Netflix by performing a routine that demands your obedience every single day, or else. That one comes for free and it comes the second you decide to desist. Else what, you’ve asked it. And nothing happened. You’ll get less comments about your changes over time. People are very resistant to change and nonconformity scares them; stepping out of line will always make others nervous around you. But they’ll learn, as you do, that what you’ve done is in fact quite harmless. Your body will feel more comfortable. Your confidence will grow once you realise that you are good the way you are, and that the world will not collapse around you if you stop adhering to rules written for somebody else’s pleasure.
But surely, no one will love a woman who’s not beautiful - and you can’t be beautiful without makeup, without long and well-maintained hair, without manicured nails, heels and a thin body. Right? Look around you. Look at real women, women who haven’t been rendered mere Barbie lookalikes by the powers of Photoshop and extensive cosmetic surgery. She’s fat, and she still has a boyfriend. She’s got bags under her eyes, she’s got wrinkles, and she’s engaged to marry her wife-to-be this coming June. It’s like those around her don’t care she’s “let herself go”. And she’s muscular, mannish, everything you were taught was wrong or unattainable for women - and she’s adored by women all over the internet. People share her pictures with that emoji with the heart eyes, all over. “I want to be like her.” “I wish I was that brave.” Maybe you said the same thing when you saw her before, before you did what you’ve done now, before you decided to become like her. Who’s in the wrong here? These women who have committed the cardinal sins of breaking against the laws of objectification, or maybe the laws themselves, this expectation that you change yourself to be desired? Desired by who? Who is this invisible spectator in your life you so desperately wish to please? Do you love him? Does he love you? Do you want him? Question him; change him to her. What does she want from you? When I ask the trapped girl within me what she wants, she answers “freedom”. To be herself, to do what she wants, to wear what she wants, to be comfortable and safe. She wants to be seen for the human person she is, to be respected for what she can do, not for a plastic body detached from our mammalian reality of stretchmarks, curves, wrinkles, layers of fat and the little fur that keeps her clean and dry and regulates her temperature. So your mother or your sister or the man you work with told you that you look sick today, or that people will feel ashamed by you because you’ve let your leg hair get out of control. Ask them why does it matter - who is the audience for your performance? Maybe they reply: “it’s basic hygiene.” If it’s basic hygiene, why is it only expected from women?
You can prioritize your comfort and your needs over this commercialized idea of “beauty”. There is no wrong way to be a woman. Love your body. Wear what you want. Perform for yourself only. If someone won’t love you for what you don’t provide, find someone whose love is worth your time and not dependent on your performance in a full-time reality show. Someone will love you for who you are, because you are a human being in a human body, and anyone who demands you to be something else is out of their mind. The cardinal sins of womanhood and attractiveness are a lie imposed onto you to sell you products and beat you down every day so that you won’t question whether the pain and shame you endure is justified or realistic. Fat women, thin women, women of colour, hairy women, petite women, “masculine” women, “feminine” women, non-conforming women are all women, we’re all proper women, we’re all good enough, and we were all made to be jiggly, we were made to be fuzzy, we were made to be rough around the edges, to have smells, to have desires, to mature and show the signs of our maturity. There is nothing wrong with the way nature created you.
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misterspectacular · 4 years
From Eden - Good Omens Music Video
So this song is about someone who's in love with another who is unattainable. It's honestly a very sad song about pining and longing and suits Crowley because that's exactly what he's dealing with in the series.
I wanted to first break down the song and explain it as it was intended (at least as far as I see it) before I get to explaining why it fits Crowley and Aziraphale and why I used certain scenes with the lyrics. I’m going to use “him” and “her” just to make it easier to understand, but I don’t think it necessarily had to be about a man and a woman.
Babe There's something tragic about you Something so magic about you Don't you agree?
(Basically this guy is in love with someone, who's both tragic and beautiful.)
Babe There's something lonesome about you Something so wholesome about you Get closer to me
(This guy sees how lonely she is, he's lonely too. He sees what a wholesome person she is, is drawn to it, and wants her to get closer to him, wants to get closer to her. Wants to be in her company, etc)
No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony
(I feel this is him asking her not to do these things, but she does, and he wishes she wouldn't)
No 'who cares', no vacant stares
(Same as above)
no time for me
(And then the last bit takes a turn and it's where he comes out and says that she has no time for him and he's obviously sad about this)
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
(He can relate to her, sees himself in her, from a time before)
Idealism sits in prison
(Idealism: the practice of forming or pursuing ideals, especially unrealistically. Basically saying that he fantasizes about being with her, and maybe she does too, but they can't act on it. So it sits in prison)
chivalry fell on its sword
(Chivalry: courteous behavior, especially that of a man toward women. Basically this guy is thoughtful and attentive and considerate toward her, but it does nothing for him anyway. It fell on its sword - bit him in the arse, so to speak)
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
(this part isn't made entirely clear right away, but we later find out in the song that this guy and the woman he loves are having an affair. I feel this is what he was referring to when he said the innocence dies screaming, because she is being unfaithful to her other man. And he is familiar with this loss of innocence, maybe because he's cheating too, or there could be some other reason - perhaps he just feels that he is generally a sinful person)
I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
(He sees himself as sinful and wrong. He slithered to her from Eden, just to sit outside her door, just to waiting for her to love him)
Babe, there's something wretched about this
(the affair, cheating)
Something so precious about this
(he loves her all the same, she's beautiful to him)
Oh what a sin
(self explanatory)
To the strand a picnic plan for you and me
(to the strand, I saw that as meaning it's a strand from the rope that's in hand, which is mentioned below. Basically they have a plan to go on a picnic and it's adding to the strands of this rope)
A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree
(Basically, the other man knowing she's cheating on him with this guy. What would happen if he did know, which in a literal sense would be hanging himself, but could also be metaphorical for just being distraught)
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door
(same as above)
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door
(same as above)
So now that I explained what the song was intended to mean, I can take it and explain how it fits with Crowley and his relationship with Aziraphale.
Babe - “Didn't you have a flaming sword?" There's something tragic about you - "I gave it away", "You WHAT?" "I gave it away!" Something so magic about you - *Crowley staring in awe* Don't you agree? - "I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing", "Oh, you're an angel, I don't think you can do the wrong thing", "Oh thank you, it's been bothering me"
(For this part, I wanted to show how Aziraphale is indeed a bit tragic. He's so worried about doing the wrong thing, he's quite pitiful. And despite all this, he DOES do the things Heaven doesn't want of him, and Crowley loves that part of Aziraphale. I feel because he's able to relate to it, and he sees that Aziraphale is not your regular angel, that he's different, like him. Doesn't really fit it.)
Babe There's something lonesome about you - *comes into Globe Theater, Aziraphale smiles* Something so wholesome about you - *smiles at Crowley for the Hamlet miracle* Get closer to me - *Crowley coming closer (wall of Eden)*
(Aziraphale is lonely, I think it's clear that Crowley is the one who excites him, his one true partner through the centuries. He's always very happy to see him when he comes around. I used the smile he makes at the Globe Theater because you can see so very clearly how pleased he is to see Crowley, and it's for no reason other than that he enjoys his company. Crowley’s not there to save him or anything, he’s just THERE, according to Aziraphale. Aziraphale also has this wholesomeness to him - I mean obviously, he's an angel. And the way he smiles at Crowley is nothing but wholesome. He lights up entirely.)
No tired sighs - *that sigh during the globe theater scene* no rolling eyes - "oh, good lord" no irony - "get thee behind me foul fiend"
(Irony is basically when someone says one thing but means the opposite, which is exactly what Aziraphale did when he told Crowley to "get behind him" and referred to him as a "foul fiend". Just after, he then tells him "after you!")
No 'who cares' - "heaven will win, it’s going to be rather lovely"
(When Aziraphale acts like he doesn't care about the end of the world which would ultimately be the end of he and Crowley's relationship because they'd be separated, both going back to their sides, Heaven and Hell)
no vacant stares - staring ahead
(on bench, won’t look at Crowley)
no time for me - *leaving (during knight scene), Crowley upset*
(Aziraphale rejecting his offer of the arrangement, turning and leaving)
Honey, you're familiar
(Aziraphale is familiar to Crowley, he's what he is, just the opposite. They're in the same position just on opposing sides. I felt showing their wings would be good way to emphasize that.)
like my mirror years ago - Standing on wall of eden
(This is obvious. Crowley used to be an angel, years ago. I also threw in David Tennant as King Richard because he looks like an angel there and somewhat similar to Crowley, I thought it'd be fun to do a cross-fade with that)
Idealism sits in prison - "I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go"
(Crowley wants to take Aziraphale somewhere, to spend time together, but Aziraphale won't allow it.)
chivalry fell on its sword - "you go too fast for me, Crowley"
(Despite his offering to drop him off, being chivalrous, Aziraphale only declines.)
Innocence died screaming - "I’ll be damned"
(I thought this scene was perfect. Aziraphale's fallen for Crowley, quite some time ago. And you can see how excited he is about the two of them being Godfathers. And not only did he just give in to Crowley's plan, to stop Armageddon, which is against what Heaven wants, but he comes out and says "I'll be damned" which works nicely with the lyrics.)
honey, ask me I should know - "not so bad once you get used to it", Aziraphale's loses smile.
(Crowley's already fallen)
I slithered here from Eden - *slithering*
just to sit outside your door - *Aziraphale won't agree with Crowley. Zoom out, them on wall of Eden*
(Not only is he literally slithering to Aziraphale from Eden, being the serpent who tempted Eve, but this is also metaphorical. Aziraphale won't agree with Crowley, he won't let him in, so to speak. He is rejecting Crowley in so many ways, and so Crowley is forced to either wait or just deal with the fact that Aziraphale won't give in. Just to wait outside his door, perhaps you could even say this "door" is Aziraphale's "walls". Fitting that we see the wall of Eden in this case.)
Babe there's something wretched about this - "It's over"
(Instead of using the "cheating" idea for this part, I used the whole, Aziraphale refusing to give in, idea. And breaking up with Crowley. That really was wretched.)
Something so precious about this - *blowing away stain, Aziraphale smiles*
(Self explanatory)
Oh what a sin - *watches after Aziraphale*
(Crowley's always sinning, but I was thinking more of Aziraphale during this scene, because he's the one that's not supposed to, but he is. He's in love with a demon, there's nothing more sinful, according to Heaven.)
To the strand a picnic plan for you and me - "one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic, dine at the Ritz"
(Literal. Couldn't be more perfect. You know a song's right for the pairing when there are lyrics and scenes that fit together like this.)
A rope in hand - Aziraphale handing over holy water
for your other man to hang from a tree - Gabriel looking at proof of their meet up
(Heaven is basically what Aziraphale is cheating on with Crowley. It's always stood for that in the series, subtextually. So of course I showed Aziraphale handing over the Holy Water that he stole from Heaven, and Gabriel finding out Aziraphale and Crowley have been meeting up and have a thing.)
Honey, you're familiar - going to heaven/hell through escalators
(Again, shows that they are the same, as is common with all opposites. It's how yin and yang works. Two sides of the same coin. A coin, but different sides of that coin. Opposites are never really different, they're actually exactly the same, just one's on THIS side and one's on THAT side.)
like my mirror years ago - "You were an angel once", "that was a long time ago"
(This song is literally perfect for them)
Idealism sits in prison - "we're hereditary enemies!"
(Aziraphale continues to reject Crowley)
chivalry fell on its sword - *handing over books* "How long have we been friends?" "Friends? We're not friends!"
(He always does things for Aziraphale. He's not only saved Aziraphale, but he's saved his books as well, and after all of this, all the favors, Aziraphale only denies that they're friends. Chivalry fell on its sword, indeed.)
Innocence died screaming - *Aziraphale in trouble with angels*
(Aziraphale 'cheating' on Heaven with Crowley, is the reason his innocence dies. He's at risk of falling because of his 'affair' with Crowley. This was the theme throughout the series, and in the original script, there was going to be a scene where he's falling for Crowley and there are some neon signs behind him, looking like a halo, that's flickering on and off. As he falls, he FALLS. I love how they did that. Falling in love with Crowley means falling from Heaven.)
honey, ask me I should know - "I didn't mean to fall"
(He's already fallen - could say from Heaven and for Aziraphale, as well)
I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door - waiting outside of bookshop "well that was a thing"
(Couldn't be a better scene, especially considering in the book, it says that Crowley suddenly ‘’felt very alone’’. And he's also literally waiting outside his door, after Aziraphale basically told him to leave. I don't think Crowley had intended to leave, he got out of his car for a reason. I think he'd planned on going inside with Aziraphale up until the angel made clear that he wanted him to go.)
Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago - "we have a lot in common, you and me", "I don't know. We may have started off as angels, but YOU are fallen."
(So perfect. This shows us that Crowley feels he and Aziraphale are similar. Familiar. Like his mirror years ago, both started off as angels. This also shows us that Aziraphale is still rejecting Crowley.)
Idealism sits in prison - "We can go off together!", "we are an angel and a demon!" bandstand scene
(Crowley wants to run away with Aziraphale. That's the idealism. Aziraphale refuses, that's why it sits in prison.)
chivalry fell on it's sword - "We have nothing what so ever in common, I don't even like you!" "You do!"
(Crowley offers to take Aziraphale away with him, only for Aziraphale to say he doesn't even like him.)
Innocence died screaming - Aziraphale watching Crowley after he saved books
(This scene was also meant to be one that signifies Aziraphale's falling. There's a poster based on the scene, where the wings of the burning bird are placed perfectly behind Aziraphale, to make it look like his wings are on fire. AKA he's falling. And then the books are in the middle of them, and Crowley's off to the side. His falling in love with Crowley is his falling from Heaven, same idea.)
honey, ask me I should know - "I only ever asked questions!"
(same as before)
I slithered here from Eden - driving to bookshop
just to hide outside your door - puts on his sunglasses outside of bookshop
(I wanted to kill everyone, so I had Crowley "slithering from Eden" [driving to Aziraphale's burning bookshop], just to "hide outside his door" [put his glasses on, trying to be cool, trying to hide from what he's feeling, outside the bookshop once he's left and thinks Aziraphale is dead. In the book script, it's actually written that he was trying to hide from his feelings and trying to stay cool about the whole thing, in typical Crowley fashion]).
And I ended it with him talking about his being a demon, not meaning to fall, because his being a demon is the main reason why he and Aziraphale couldn't be together in the first place and also why he probably thinks Aziraphale was killed (for meeting up with him in secret, which they wouldn't have had to do if they were both still angels and wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't fallen. I don't think a lot of people realized that the reason Crowley brings up his fall after something bad happens with he and Aziraphale is because he believes that's the REASON for it; his being a demon, his falling. If he were still an angel, it'd not been an issue.
It's not a music video that I felt should end happily, because the song doesn't end happily. It's a sad song. Like I said, it's about wanting someone you can't have.
But it ends just before Aziraphale returns to Crowley, which is really the moment that everything gets better.
When I made this, I had to take some clips and remove the music from them, which ended up distorting the dialogue somewhat, but you can still hear what they're saying for the most part. I also had some scenes that couldn't be edited very well, so I had to leave them, and then I couldn't put the music too low or too high for certain bits. It was tough to get that audio where it is, hopefully it won't be too distracting.
I saw that a few other people made music videos for this song and this pairing but I wanted to have my own shot at it. Enjoy!
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roraruu · 4 years
wip: red
just a lil faye and lukas bonding... a big old wip
Lukas is sent to Ram Village with a mission. The moment he gets there he realizes that it is full of the same nothingness that all other villages in Zofia have. The same decrepit well, sloping hills that crack and brown within this drought, and the drab colours of villager’s outfits, all worn and patched up.
The knight in red is greeted by four villagers—three of the four holding hilts of swords, the last hands itching for a wood axe.
“What should we do?” The one with brown hair says quickly.
“Keep it down Tobe. Act natural.” Another, dressed in green, says with keen determination. The silver haired one beside him holds a thick book, most likely a used tome. There’s a distinct heaviness in the air that lingers. Lukas can feel the hairs on the back of his neck ripple and prick up. A mage, or at least, the makings of one. Lukas thinks.
He offers a thin smile, something to make the villagers feel comfort. He knows the lance on his back is disconcerting. So far south, the poor village had probably not heard of Rigel or the King or the rising war.
So the knight in red would be the bearer of bad tidings. But not before a proper hello and introduction.
“Good afternoon.” He says softly and gently. The mage and the brown and black haired boys rest uneasily against a broken fence. “Would this be Ram Village?” He asks.
“It depends on who’s asking.” The black-haired one says. His hand grazes the hilt of a rusty sword. It’s bad for fighting, but Lukas knows he will use it if need be. “Knights of Zofia aren’t welcome here.”
He notices the last of the crew—a girl with her fingers upon a wood-chopping axe—shift nervously. “I do not serve the country, but instead, her people.” Lukas says. “I am Lukas, with the Deliverance.”
“Never heard of ya.” The brown haired one says. The black haired one shoots him a look and says his name in a warning way.
“I fear it is not the same. I’ve come to beg a boon of Sir Mycen. Would he be here?” He asks soothingly.
“He’s busy at the moment.” Says the girl. Her voice is drags and whines, not quite annoyedly, but more so pulled by something weighing her down.
The black-haired one shoots her a look as he heaves himself off of the broken fence. The other two boys do the same. “You can wait here. Don’t wander though.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Lukas says.
The girl waits for a moment. Lukas moves his hands behind his back, watching as her feet make marks in the dirt. The other three have moved away, closer to the watchtower, keeping a keen gaze on him as they mutter back and forth.
“Why do you need Sir Mycen?”
Her voice is quieter now, but filled with a certain defensiveness that Lukas can understand. “I was sent with intentions to call him to action again.” Lukas says.
The girl’s thin brows furrow, knitting on her forehead. “Like... a ceremony or something?” She asks, muttering that it’s been years since Mycen was honoured.
“Perhaps at the end.” He suggests. “But I do not come with any intent to harm your village.”
“Doesn’t suit noble tastes, huh?” She asks snappily.
Such a sharp tongue for a young girl, he thinks. His lips curve into a smile. “On the contrary, noble tastes would enjoy it, but I am just a backwater noble. I’ve nothing to gain and nothing to give if I made any move on this place.” He says.
“I don’t think my friends would ever let you.” She says. Her eyes trace to the other villagers, two holding their hilts, the other staring with such a focused gaze that Lukas swears he’s throwing daggers. “It would be easier if we knew your name, sir.”
“Lukas.” He repeats softly. “And may I have the lady’s?”
She begins marching back to her friends, most likely ready to give away all she knows. One of her plaits falls over her shoulder as she nods. “Faye.” She says quietly.
Faye, he thinks. A lovely name. He sees the slow movements toward her friends, the quiet hums as she moves towards them eventually accepted into the group. Not long after a green haired boy approaches the group—most likely a friend—and escorts Lukas back to the hovel where Mycen now lives.
The march from Ram is gruelling for the young. Before they’re even out of the village, they’re attacked by rogues and Lukas tries to guide the villagers as best as he can. They’re all rearing to go, except maybe Faye, who sticks more towards the back.
Perhaps she isn’t cut out for fighting. Lukas thinks after a battle against bandits. The other three have proven themselves worthy and he suggests to Alm that they select classes.
“What about Faye?” Alm asks while they march. Lukas isn’t that great of an educator, let alone a marker, but with Alm’s guidance he is able to give solid advice on which paths they should follow.
“I haven’t seen her use her weapon once, so I cannot speak to her.” Lukas says with such thought. It’s true. While he did see her fingers itch for a woodcutter’s axe back in the village, she never once drew her sword to fight.
Alm rubs his chin in thought. “She was always very good with the horses back home. Her uncle ran the village’s vineyard for a while, so she has experience with them.” he says. “I think she mentioned that a relative was a pegasus knight or something...”
“And what about the other paths she could follow? Doe she know white magic?” Lukas says. “A healer will be necessary to survive the coming battles.”
The words sober Alm. His eyes widen as he nods. “Right.” He then calls to Faye who hurries towards him with such vigor. Lukas watches as the dim girl brightens quickly with just a few words from him. She agrees to at least try white magic and she walks with Kliff, taking his tome and reading it over and over.
However, theory and practice are two separate things. She is not gentle in the least, grabbing Tobin’s broken arm with such force that he cries out. And when he tends to Gray’s cuts he asks if she’s a healer or a hell-sent fighter. Half her spells do not work on poor Kliff and she ends up using first aid.
The rest of the group breathes a sigh when they meet a cleric in an old shrine. Faye thankfully is able to awaken her, but after that Faye swears off white magic. The battle in the shrine is enough to prove her worth. Lukas ended up being wrong—the girl is incredibly strong and fast, and knocks down brigands critically before her fellow villagers even have a chance to glimpse her way.
The cleric has a different beauty around her. The cleric’s beauty in devotion and modesty and kindness. After she wakes, thanks to Faye’s quick thinking and bare-bones first aid, Silque sets to work checking old wounds and breaks and correcting them with her staff.
It’s long before Lukas can introduce himself. And even then he begins thinking up names for she. But it’s when she is marching with Faye and the latter breaks off to sullenly walk by herself that they are introduced formally.
Silque is bright and cheerful and sweet, offering a hymn or sermon to every woe and pain. Never a sentence leaves her lips that isn’t graced with Mila’s words. Thus, very quietly in the back of his mind, Lukas calls her Mila’s Messenger.
Sometime later, they rescue Lady Clair from the Southern Outpost and Lukas finally feels a sense of comfort in the motley band of villagers he’d recruited. To the eyes of Clair they are not just a handful of villagers, a soldier and a cleric—they are the Deliverance. And that instils a modicum of hope in Lukas.
Faye is put on night watch. She sits diligently in front of the fire, listening and watching for any strange people or noises. It’s tiresome, but it’s the duty of her path.
Clair—the pegasus knight—had said there were resources left behind after the liberation of the Outpost, one of which was a workhorse. It was quickly given to Faye, with a set of armour and she was told that she would be blessed at the next shrine. Cavaliers are to be strong and diligent knights, to protect those around them. Besides, it keeps her from sitting with the rest of the villagers who moon over Clair’s allure and mystery.
She thinks of how different the women in the Deliverance are. Silque came from an island and prays to Mila before and after every battle and never breathes a word of bad. She is small and kind and seraph-like in appearance with dark eyes and robes of white. She provides little interest to anyone, except maybe Kliff when she uses her black magic. Faye always turns her head when Silque is about to cast her spells—for such a kindhearted and gentle woman, Mila’s magic is gruesome.
The pegasus knight, Clair, is a door to another world that none of the villagers have ever been through. A world of the sublime, the delicate, the plenty. It’s not that Faye doesn’t get along or doesn’t like Clair—on the contrary, she’s interested in the simplicity of village life and even helped Faye calm her steed when they were first united—it’s more like Clair is unattainable. That she is an ideal that Faye could never become. Someone proud, someone strong, someone ever-so-slightly arrogant. It’s the exact same with Silque, who is soft-spoken, devoted to the Goddess who has deserted her people and gives more than she takes. Faye cannot be either woman; she can only be herself in all her meagre glory.
So while Tobin and Gray listen to Clair’s tales of Zofian high society and Kliff watches Silque guide him through basic white magic, Faye tends to the fire. She is content with sitting by the flames, protecting her friends and love with only a lance that she fumbles with. In truth, she doesn’t mind the solitude that much. It gives her time to write to her family and to Mycen, where ever he is. He always said she’d make a remarkable knight, and that she’d outclass the village boys.
It’s fairly quiet tonight, only the hum of insects and night birds fill the air, and the dying cackle of fire. She hears hooting and hollering and her hands wrap around her lance slowly, listening for footsteps closing in on her.
She brings her lance up and then—
“Ah, it’s just the village girl.”
“She has a name, Python!”
Her grasp loosens on the sword. She lowers herself back against the log. She can see Forsyth, Lukas and Python in the darkness. The latter is draped around his fellow knights’ shoulders in a drunken haze. “Apologies miss Faye.” Forsyth says, shuffling Python along. The smell of alcohol radiates off of them, probably at the tavern. “I was just making sure Python got back safely.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She says, lowering the lance against the ground. The three stop. There’s a few hushed words spoken and Forsyth lumbers away with Python.
“Did Clive assign you to night watch all by yourself?” Lukas asks with a furrowed brow.
She nods. “Everyone else was tired from the day’s march.” She’s not entirely sure it’s true. It may be, it may not be.
“Would you like some company?” He asks. “I doubt it feels good to be up all by yourself.”
Faye glances to the archer and soldier that walk away. “What about your friend?” She asks. “He seems drunker than a skunk.”
“He can wait until the morning for a reprimand.” Lukas says.
It’s enough reason for Faye to slide along the log. She rests the lance on her lap, hands curled tightly around the weapon. Her knuckles go white. Faye doesn’t say anything as Lukas sits across from her. The dying fire separates them as they keep watch, hands on their weapons and avoiding each other’s gazes.
She’s never been one for small talk. Always to the point, always quick. Except maybe with Alm. She’d try to guide him in conversations with flowery words and hopeful tones and flickering glances but he rarely caught on. She doubts she will be different with Lukas, even if he tries to speak.
So instead, she speaks. “I’d like to apologize.”
He peels his gaze from the flames and glances up to her. “Is there one needed?”
“Yes. I was rude when you came into Ram.” She says.
He states at her, the fire making his armour more orange than red. She shudders in the night time chill and summons the cavalier strength in her bones. “I was only doing what I thought best for my village.” She says. “Like Gray said, we don’t like Knights.”
“I do not need nor want your apology.”
She glances up, brow furrowing. She’s ready to give him an earful but he quickly corrects himself. “Had I been in the same situation, I would have acted the same way.” He says. “I did not take any of what you said to heart.”
“Really?” She asks, concerned. He nods.
Then in overwhelming nervousness she bows her head and tightens her fingers around the lance. “Thank you, Lukas.” She says. She doesn’t know why she’s saying it, but she means it, with all her heart. And Lukas only smiles from across the flames, turning his eyes back to his own weapon.
Lukas isn’t a good cook. He’s not at all confident in the kitchen, but doesn’t have the heart to tell Clive or Alm. Instead, he tries his best to make something satisfying for everyone. His mental recipe book is thin though, the steward at home had always prepared foods. Still, like everything he does, he tries his best, and prepares for the worst, which comes in form of a smoking cauldron and horrible stench.
Faye is the one to rescue him. She smells the scalding meat and milk first and comes running into the cook tent. The tent flaps flutter in the wind as she runs through the entrance. Lukas is relieved when he sees her face. “Do you want a hand?” She asks.
He nods, thankful for her speedy response. “I’m afraid I’m out of my realm of comfort.” Lukas says softly. He’s never been able to summon forth panic, not even in the worst of situations.
“What were you trying to make?” She asks, looking at the cauldron on the fire pit.
“Stew.” He says as she looks it over again. Using the edge of her apron—she stills wears her village clothes when they rest, it gives her some respite—she picks up the cauldron and hauls it off the fire.
“Have you cooked before in your life?” She barks. She shakes her head, murmuring a swift apology. “You usually have to cook the meat before.”
“I’ve only made it once prior. The recipe is rusty in my mind.”
“All right. I’m here now.” Faye says. She finds some vegetables from their pantry packs and orders him to chop them while she salvages the stew, searing the meat in a separate pan and using the bones to make stock.
“How long have you been cooking for?” He asks, glancing her way as they cook. In a flash she’d rolled up her sleeves and tied up her hair.
“Since I was little. Some fifteen years.” She says simply. “I hope you don’t mind but I’m using my Nana’s recipe.”
“Not at all. It must be good if you trust it so.” Lukas says.
It earns a thin smile from her as she turns the meat. It squeals in the pan. “She’d surely blush if she were here now.” She says more to herself than to him. He focuses on cutting vegetables and once again, like at the camp fire, they work in silence.
The soup is ready within the half hour. Together, Lukas and Faye set the cauldron onto the hook over the fire. She sets a wooden spoon in the pot. “Stir it every few minutes so it doesn’t stick.” Faye instructs, firm as a school teacher.
“Thank you for saving our supper.” He says. “I appreciate your help.”
Faye nods. “It’s no problem.” She says.
The compliments fall in at supper, everyone praising Lukas’ cooking skills. Even Faye says that he has promise. The bottom of the pot is scraped clean and their bellies are full for once. Silently, as they’re gathering tin dishes and tainted silver forks, Lukas thanks Faye.
The Deliverance is celebrated when they reach Zofia castle. It’s loud and bustling, with wine flowing like the rivers and gold to spare. The castle, a sign of Zofia’s pride and heart, is returned to her people.
Clive encourages everyone to take in this moment, enjoy it and savour it’s every minuscule benefit; but for Lukas, it reminds him too much of the dances and cotillions he wished to flee back home. Instead, he slinks away to the armoury where their weapons have been thrown.
There’s a light in the dim room, illuminating a cavalier’s shadow. He sees an iron lance and then a tin of wax. Her head is bent, her pigtails over her shoulder as she rubs wax into her lance’s tip.
“I didn’t realize someone else was here.” He says quietly. “Good evening, Faye.”
She glances up, quickly stiffening. “Hi Lukas.” She says.
“You’re not upstairs with the others. I would have thought you’d like to explore the castle.” He says. “Or attend the dance at least.”
She shakes her head, turning back to her lance. She rubs the rag down the blade. “I wanted to make sure everyone’s weapons were ready when we march again.” She says. There’s a small pile of shiny, freshly-waxed weapons on a tarp beside her, and a few lances, swords and shields on the ground at her feet. “You never know when we’ll be hit.”
“That’s very diligent of you.” He says. “Would you like a hand?”
“I thought you would like to see the castle again.” She shoots back. “Or attend the dance.”
Lukas smirks thinly. “I wanted to make sure we were ready to march too.” Lowly, he adds. “Besides, I’m not that great a dancer.”
Faye stares at him for a moment. Slowly, she slides along on the brickwork, moving her cleaned pile aside. She hands him a rag and puts the wax between the two of them. They work in silence, the hum of the dance above their heads.
Lukas finds a book, just something from Kliff. It’s a nice distraction in the night when he is with a wrenching and moaning Python; but nothing that he would reach outward after battles. Such time is precious and spent training or resting or helping around their camps
Faye is sewing when he sits down by the fire with his book. First it’s in silence but slowly, she begins to ask questions when she moves through torn sheets and ripped leggings. “What’s the book about?” She asks, not looking up from her stitching.
“Horticulture.” He says. Her dark eyes flicker up in confusion. “Flowers and gardens and the like.”
“Why would you want to read about that?” Faye asks. “There’s flowers everywhere in Zofia.”
“I just wanted something to pass the time.”
Faye’s voice breaks again. “Do you enjoy flowers?” She asks.
He nods. “They’re beautiful. Wildflowers especially.” He says. “Our nobility could never properly cultivate them.”
“We have all sorts in Ram.” She says quietly, like she’s ashamed of her home in front of a nobleman. It’s more emotion than he’d ever received from her before.
He shifts closer to her, resting the leather cover against his knees. Her eyes flicker to the pages. “Do you recognize any?” He asks.
Her fingers slip from underneath the sheet she’s stitching. “Foxglove, Anne’s lace, forget me nots, violets...“ One of her long, dainty fingers trace the page. “Every one is in Ram.”
“Are you a lover of flowers?” He asks.
“I have a garden back home.” She quickly corrects herself with a hard brow. “My parents do. I just water it from time to time.”
And then, surprising him more than the enemy on the field, she turns back to her work. “One day I’ll send you some.” She says, looking out from the side of her eye.
“Or I could visit your village again. And see them myself.”
Her attention goes back to her thread and needle and his eyes return to the page.
Faye’s steed bucks her off. She hits her head and retches into the mud while training with Mathilda. Lukas is there to take her back to the infirmary while Mathilda calms her steed.
“Take her to Silque.” Mathilda orders. He obliges as soon as the words leave her lips.
He holds our his arm to Faye, as though they’re about to dance or walk leisurely around the courtyard of his childhood home. But they are not in Zofia, and she is nothing more than a villager in a knight’s garb. Yet she takes his arm, clutches onto it with a fierce hold and stumbles along.
The entire time the cavalier looks at him with a strange and bewildered gaze. She almost falls into him, and he ends up carrying her back to the medical tent, bridal style. He gains a few eyes but none are scarring as hers. Dazed and dark and staring up at him glassily.
“Lukas,” She says when Silque says it will be a moment. She’s seated on a stool, a basin close in case she retches again.
“Yes Faye?” He’s concerned and tender.
“I understand why everyone says you’re not bad to look at.” She says without a blush. She’s serious, not chittering like a milkmaid or smirking like a noblewoman. She’s confused more than anything. “You’re very handsome.”
He feels a shiver down his spine. Usually there’s be a giggle following, or something to suggest flirting. But it’s stone cold truth. “You’re actually really handsome.” She says louder, more clearer, as if he was hard of hearing.
“Thank you Faye.” He says with a nod. He’s grateful, truly. After all, the girls who’d said that before would giggle and smile and act like children after the words left their lips. But Faye is different. It’s most definitely due to the concussion—not even to Alm had she been this candid—she was demure had the makings of a noble lady, given the time and care and—
He finds himself saying it without thinking. “You’re quite beautiful yourself.” He says softly.
She doesn’t flush, nor cower back. Instead she stares at him with such confusion and exasperation that silences the both of them until Silque gingerly took Faye by the hands and led her behind a veiled curtain to treat her.
When she returns, she’s bright eyed and giddy to get back to the training grounds. Silque has to touch her arm. “Sir Lukas brought you back,” she says in such a calm and motherly tone, as if reminding her like a mother would to a selfish child.
“Oh.” Faye breathes. She offers a polite curtsey—something Mathilda taught her most likely—and a bow of her head. “Thank you Sir Lukas.”
Another shiver trails down his spine. Not at the addition of ‘Sir’ to his name, something to discredit all the gentle goodness he had given Faye. Not even for the curtsey and the nod that sent the fragrance of soft flowers her way. But for the fact that there was no flush on her cheeks or embarrassment from having told him he was handsome, and that he, having thought he was cold and indifferent to adoration, felt heat up the creases of his ears and across his face.
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graybeards · 5 years
The Unspoken Wish, part two
The second of (probably) three parts of this gender-bending story about two buddies taking a vacation to Mexico.
Part 1
I felt strange and small. My soft feet were light on the ground. My heavy breasts unsteadied me until I slowed my steps. I felt weak. I felt vulnerable. I felt naked with my thighs and midriff exposed by the tightness of my two-piece swimsuit, black on the canvas of my milky skin.
Even as I fumed about the bartender’s foolishness, I saw heads turning and eyes lingering as I strolled along. A reluctant smile brought a curve to my full, red lips, and I let my hips begin to sway with every step. This resort full of men who had been my compatriots suddenly looked at me like a potential conquest, and it was electrifying. My skin tingled under their leering gazes.
When I sidled up to a bar, instinctively arching my back and leaning forward, I felt a hand on my lower back before I could even order. I turned my head and saw a man with a firm jaw, big blue eyes, and a full head of wavy gray hair. He had a broad chest and a firm stomach hanging over his bulging blue trunks, all covered in thick silvery fur. I wanted to bury my cheek against his chest and feel the thunderous beats of his drumming heart. His fingers were firm and rough against my smooth skin. His smile was flawless, gleaming white. His baritone voice made my heart race when he said, “You’ve got a brave boyfriend to let you wander alone looking like you do.”
“And what do I look like?” I asked, smirking coyly as he flagged down the bartender and ordered for us.
He slid his hand over to my side, squeezing my petite body against him while he whispered hotly in my ear, “Like a goddess every man here would kill to sink himself into. You should have seen how many men slipped off their wedding rings when you walked by.”
His left hand on the bar, I reached down and ran my gentle fingers over the gold band on his ring finger. I said, “Apparently not you.”
The drinks he’d ordered arrived—a bourbon for him and a mango margarita for me—and he took a healthy gulp before looking back at me with a stern smile. I sipped my margarita and felt it instantly in a way I never had before. The tequila burned in my stomach and made my head spin a little every time I drank. 
He said, “I’m not a coward. I see what I want, and I take it. Women won’t admit it, but they can’t resist a real man with real desires.”
“I’ll admit it,” I whispered in awe of him, imagining it was Ralph saying these things to me. Even as the words left my lips, that deeper, manlier voice of mine in my head subsided even as it wailed that this was all wrong. 
The man let out a growl like a starter pistol and grinned. “I guess you’re not a coward either,” he said as he leaned down and planted his lips on mine, pushing his big tongue inside me and soaking me in the taste of his bourbon and the pheromones of his saliva. His muscled arm encircled my body as he reached it down and slid his fingers under my swimsuit. “Horny little slut needs daddy’s big dick. Doesn’t she?”
His thumb rubbed me and his fingers forced their way inside, searing like hot pokers of pleasure. I moaned around his tongue until he stood back up straight with a grin beside me, sipping his bourbon as he teased my virgin cunt. I trembled in his grasp. His exploring hand was hidden against the bar, but as I looked around us there were many men watching intently with swim trunks bulging in their seats.
“You can’t be a virgin. Can you?” He asked incredulously as he felt around inside me. “You feel like one, but that’s impossible.”
Nodding, I gripped the bar with white knuckles to stifle the moans he was trying to coax from me. He growled, “Good God, no wonder you smell like candy. Such a sweet little bitch.” He grabbed my hand and guided it to his crotch, letting my fingers instinctively close around the enormous tube of flesh uncoiling in his trunks.
I gasped at the warm strength of his manhood, the first I’d ever touched besides my own. I squeezed it at the base, feeling its gargantuan girth against my palm as the man grew and grew. It wasn’t a sad, straining, little hard-on like mine, but a confident and monstrous cock with the easy power to either satisfy or annihilate me. I’d thought myself a man, but this was a real man.
“Do you want daddy to pop your cherry?” He asked earnestly, rubbing his bulbous fingers inside me.
My body screamed yes. I ached for his flesh, but as I went to answer I remembered Ralph. I thought of how his cock would feel in my hand, his lips on my lips, and his body against my body. There was only one man to take my virginity, and it wasn’t this one. Still, I could barely force myself to whisper, “I’m saving myself for—”
“I understand,” the man said with a grin. “A girl like you isn’t still a virgin by accident. But…”
“But?” I prompted.
“You do seem inclined to get better acquainted with my dick,” he replied, emptying the last of his bourbon down his throat. “Come on.” He pulled his fingers from my cunt and I freed his manhood from my grasp as he grabbed my hand and walked me away from the bar. It was easier to walk with him steadying me. He must have thought I was just drunk. All eyes were on us as we walked off until he guided me off into the privacy of a single-occupancy bathroom, with a slightly sandy shower in the corner.
“I’m Calvin, by the way,” he growled as he lifted me off my feet and pressed me against the door. His firm chest against my tits as he kissed me. He rubbed his enormous bulge against my crotch, lighting me up like a Christmas tree.
I hesitated, letting out a moan as I thought, before replying, “I’m Lily.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he purred before lowering me back to my feet. “Have you ever seen a man’s cock before, Lily?”
Not like this, I hadn’t. “No,” I whispered.
“You’re never going to forget this,” he promised. “Kneel in the shower,” he ordered, watching me as I complied. The damp tile was hard against my soft knees, and Calvin loomed even larger. He nodded and walked to stand over the toilet before he untied his trunks and pulled down the waistband to free a gargantuan floppy cock and a pair of balls as big as my fist. He grabbed his manhood and angled it, staring at me with a grin as he began.
When his stream thundered out and pummeled the toilet water, I let out a gasp. It was like watching a river spill forth from Calvin’s manhood, filling the small room with the roar of his expulsion. He spoke loudly over it, “You look impressed.” I nodded. He tightened with a wince, cutting off the stream, and said, “I could let you feel it.”
I sat in stunned silence as he slowly lumbered over toward me until that half-rigid hose was hanging over me, aimed for my ample chest. He waited a moment for me to protest before he smiled and muttered, “Good girl.” His piss shot out again, bursting like an uncorked bottle of champagne, and battered my tits hard enough to push me back. It splattered all over my face as he drenched my chest before lowering his aim to soak my crotch. 
“Close your eyes,” Calvin commanded. I reverentially stared up at him for a second but did as he said. His piss battered my cheeks and drenched my long hair as it ran down over every inch of me. “God damn,” he marveled, “I fucking love doing that.” As quickly as it began, the man’s stream ended and he stepped forward to offer me his glistening cock head.
The sliver of my remaining masculinity screamed at me to stop, but my dripping red lips parted wide to let Calvin in. He nestled his flaring purple head inside my mouth and let my tongue caress it, soaking up the bitter taste of his urine. Suddenly, he grabbed my head in both hands and held me in place. I felt the relaxing of his shaft against my lips just before a last burst from his bladder flooded into my mouth.
“That’s it, slut,” Calvin grunted, “drink it all and I’ll reward you with a big mouthful of cum.” His stream slowly petered out as he tilted my head back to stop it all from spilling out. I almost wanted to swallow, just to get the taste off my tongue, but the man I used to be couldn’t bear it. I kneeled there, helpless in his hands, as his piss soaked into every inch of my mouth. He slowly pushed his stiffening cock deeper into my mouth until I gagged on him and the pool of piss snuck down my throat. “Doesn’t it feel good to obey?”
I stared up at him and saw my reflection in his cold blue eyes. I felt an immense rush of warm pleasure, only then noticing that my cunt was dripping with excitement. My eyes rolled with ecstasy and Calvin grinned. He released my skull from his grasp and propped his hands on his hips. It felt like instinct when my mouth started working over the man’s gargantuan member, licking it clean until my saliva washed away the bitterness and all I could taste was the pure manliness of this alpha dad.
“You’re a natural,” he observed, politely ignoring the grazing of my teeth and the gagging of my throat when I became overambitious. “It feels good to serve your daddy, doesn’t it?”
I moaned, nodding with his cock buried between my lips, and redoubled my efforts. I lifted my hands from the floor and fondled his balls, big enough that each filled one of my palms. So much of him jutted from my lips, several inches of manhood that I couldn’t swallow no matter how I tried. I needed to feel them inside me.
Calvin leaned his head back and let out a moaning growl when his massive head suddenly popped into my throat, stretching my esophagus around his girth. I eagerly delved forward, watching those unattainable inches disappear between my ruby red lips until I could feel him down where my Adam’s Apple used to be.
I felt the rumbling rush through Calvin’s cock as he grunted and moaned. He pulled his hips back just in time, letting a spurt of cum bigger than I’d ever imagined flood over my tongue, and it was just the first of many. He filled me up until I was overflowing with his seed, struggling to gulp down thick ropes of the milky cum. All the while, he never moved his hands from his hips, never compelled me as I eagerly swallowed.
As the man’s seed dripped down onto my breasts and ran down toward my aching cunt, I wondered if I’d ever been much of a man at all. I began to think this almost felt right. When he was finished with my mouth, Calvin let his floppy dick slip from between my lips and held my face against his muscled thigh. He turned on the shower and let warm water cascade down over the both of us, washing off everything he’d drenched me in as he quietly enjoyed the aftermath of an immense orgasm. 
Calvin ran his fingers through my hair, gently cleaning me, until he finally turned the shower off and lifted me to back to my feet. He grinned down at me and said, “You’re quite the lady, Lily. Let me know if you change your mind about…” as he reached down and caressed my crotch. He planted a peck on my lips and said, “See you around. I bet the Mrs. is wondering where I’ve gotten off to.” And he left me alone in the bathroom with nothing but my own reflection, my new reflection.
Part 3
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kiruuuuu · 5 years
More recruitverse in which Ivan is actually nice! (Rating T, nothing but fluff, ~2.2k words) - written for @nutbrain​ because you inspire, encourage and support all those around you 💙💙
Ivan Ivanovic has been called blind countless times throughout his life, sometimes a variation like deaf or stupid, usually in relation to perceived obliviousness. He’s neither of the three yet sees no trouble in letting others believe he is – after all, their assumptions about him reveal more about their personalities than his.
He learnt early on that some of the facts taught to children in good faith are nothing but propaganda, a desirable yet unattainable outcome, merely a way to try and manipulate them into ‘goodness’. He’s unable to help everyone so he doesn’t, reduces the situations in which he could help to a simple cost and reward deliberation: when he notices Shay (who quite clearly has his heart in the right place even if his head isn’t on straight) hanging around with the wrong people, he doesn’t interfere; when Jojo gets bullied for something over which he has no control, he stays away; when Valenti becomes a regular scapegoat since he wants to fit in so badly he’d rather take the blame, he doesn’t speak up; and when Gian is alienated and called elitist behind his back because he refuses to partake in activities he feels are unfair to others, he ignores it. None of these scenarios were worth his meddling.
But he also got told that others would come to his aid. That humanity is inherently good. And while he remains conflicted on this notion, he must secretly believe it true or else he wouldn’t be fighting for them. Even so, he remembers digging his own grave by allowing everyone around him to share his happiness, the life he was building with her, and in the process undermined his own credibility. Because when he started telling others of her worrying behaviour, they waved it off. She was so nice, wasn’t she? He was lucky to have her, who cared if she wanted to go through his phone? He shouldn’t have anything to hide, right? And if he did, it was his own fault. And so, eventually no help came. Because he’d been happy so far, hadn’t he? He knew what she was like, and he was probably exaggerating anyway. He shouldn’t throw away years of happiness after one off day, everyone has those, she’s been under a lot of stress recently, right? No? Well, there must’ve been a reason and the reason can’t have been anything other than him.
And then Jojo wouldn’t go away, and he brought three others with him. And Gian listened with more compassion than any of Ivan’s friends and family had done. And Shay treated him as if they’d known each other since they were kids. And Valenti, who normally doubted all his achievements and frequently demanded proof, defended him viciously the moment someone outside of their group did it.
Helping anyone became a lot easier with these four idiots as pay-off.
So no, Ivan isn’t blind. He’d even call himself unusually perceptive, though he doesn’t often act on it which, he assumes, is the reason why his awareness gets insulted, and he doesn’t act on it as it oftentimes requires him to go out of his way for someone who generally isn’t worth his time or effort. But sometimes, the opposite is true.
“I got propositioned just now!”, Jojo announces sarcastically proud as soon as he’s breezed into their room, hair still wet from his shower and already wearing clothes fit for sleep.
“Did you reactivate your Grindr account?”, Gian wants to know, being quite aware of the fact that Jojo proclaimed never to use the app ever again, but seeing as it was the third outburst he’s had over it since they’ve known each other, none of them took him seriously. Gian and Valenti only just came back as well from some form of punishment outside, meaning they’re both shivering and dancing on the spot to warm up faster.
Ivan’s arms remember the feel of the Frenchman’s body between them and remind him sharply. He regrets the hug they shared, the entire odd moment really because it leaves him no peace. He thinks back to it at least three times a day and has since tried to stay away from Valenti – and if his presence is unavoidable, then he at least hasn’t touched him again.
“Fuck no, I’d rather rim the devil than go back to that endless void of horny middle-aged creeps.”
“Sounds like you have solid target group at least”, Ivan offers as half-hearted comfort and gets shown a finger in return.
“Tell us, Jojo, who was dumb enough to hit on you while you’re in a mood this rotten?”, Valenti joins their conversation, trying to rub some feeling back into his hands.
“My mood was perfectly fine before that douchenozzle macho fuckboy opened his stupid mouth.”
“Please, your mood has been rotten for days now.”
“That’s not bloody true, why would -”
Wordlessly, they all glance at Shay who’s stretched out on his top bunk, phone in hand and texting away blissfully with a smile on his face. He hasn’t even welcomed Jojo back, let alone acknowledged any of them since he’s started talking to Brittany half an hour ago. By now, even Thatcher must be aware of what’s going on yet the Irishman in their middle remains unsuspecting. He would deserve to be called blind.
“Anyway”, Jojo continues and they all seem relieved at him picking up the thread of the conversation once more, “I ran into Jacob Griffin-Worthington, and as the laws of nature dictate, with a name like Jacob Griffin-Worthington, he had no choice but to be a giant arsehole. So there I was, minding my own business, when Jacob Griffin-Worthington appeared out of nowhere and wanted to know how my love life was going. And I told him it was fantastic, I literally can’t stop sucking dick every free minute I have, so Jacob Griffin-Worthington -”
“I swear, if you say his full name one more time I’m going to tell him you’re crushing on him”, Valenti groans, much to Ivan’s amusement. There’s no love lost between Jacob and any of them.
“- so he who shall not be named suggested I kiss his ass in case my mouth would ever become available again and I said before I voluntarily touch any part of his body, I’d rather -”
Shay produces an odd sound, almost like choking, and this time he notices holding all their attention, looking both flustered and thrilled. “What? It’s nothing. Keep talking.”
“Are you alright?”, Jojo asks, concerned, because as much as he’s pissed off with his best friend for everybody to see, they’re still best friends.
“Yeah, it’s just – Brit just -” He trails off, looks at his phone screen again briefly and cradles it against his chest once more. “No, it’s fine. What were you talking about?”
“Did she send a nude?” Valenti must’ve noticed Shay’s bright red ears.
“Well, not quite, but – almost. She’s so pretty.” Another glance. The red darkens. “Jojo, do you want to see? I’m only showing Jojo, before you ask, everything else would be weird.”
“It’s weird enough showing me”, Jojo murmurs and rolls his eyes, “but alright. Let’s see the goods.”
And while the two stick their heads together to marvel at Shay’s girlfriend at the one end of the room, Valenti and Gian exchange a few exasperated looks at the other. For the moment, Ivan returns to tapping away at his phone, learning all about castling while simultaneously keeping his ears open for fragments of conversations in case anything interesting comes up again.
“Did you not own a scarf?”, Gian addresses Valenti questioningly.
“Ah, curses, you’re right. If it’s gone, Bandit must’ve taken it. I’m telling you, we need to take him down, truce or not, he offered me another brownie the other day and I bet it wasn’t a normal one.”
“Perhaps we could try to endeavour not to instigate trouble for which we suffer the same consequences as Bandit does for his pranks.”
“So what you’re saying is: we shouldn’t get caught again.”
Gian’s deep sigh doesn’t cover up Shay’s quiet ‘you smell nice’ to Jojo and if Ivan wasn’t already busy googling something all of a sudden, he’d attempt to send Jojo some telepathic sympathy.
Getting away from the others isn’t difficult for Ivan, he merely needs to threaten with additional exercise and they drop out, and even on the occasions Valenti doesn’t, he can tire him out easily and then sneak away while the Frenchman is busy trying to breathe. He rarely makes use of this way to distance himself, yet sometimes needs a bit of time alone without having to justify himself and sometimes just so he can browse the shops in town. Wholly being in charge of his own income is a relatively new concept to him and so he makes a few purchases just because he can. He knows Valenti caught a look at some of his animal socks at some point and watching him struggle with himself about whether or not he should bring them up was extremely entertaining.
In this case, he makes a trip to buy something specific and then pretends to go for a late run that same evening, instead seeking out the only operator in Rainbow of whom he’s certain to receive assistance.
“You’re a recruit, no?”, Zofia asks him as soon as he’s gotten her attention.
“Yes. Ivan Ivanovic. I need your help.”
Admitting it to her is daunting. She possesses a strong presence as well as confidence and reminds him of two women in his life, none of whom he’d like to ever meet again. But where they abused their power over him, Zofia listens to his request willingly, asks a few questions and eventually agrees with a kind smile. Most operators neither have the time nor the patience to deal with any of the recruits’ problems, not even necessarily out of malice – Ivan understands it all too well and therefore doesn’t hold it against them, but it means he appreciates what Zofia’s doing even more. She wants to know why he came to her specifically and laughs when he reveals she just seems the right person for the job, like someone who has the skills he requires.
She goes out of her way to teach him, inspects his work readily and even meets with him secretly during the day for more encouragement. He vows to find out more about her interests so he can pay her back accordingly, but for the moment he’s busy with other things.
“Sounds like we’re meeting her tomorrow”, Jojo says over his shoulder as he enters and Ivan makes a conscious effort to arrange his expression into something neutral so he doesn’t give anything away. “Hey, Ivanko, have you heard? Shay wants us to meet his beautiful girlfriend with the differently-sized tits tomorrow.”
“Be nice to her”, Valenti warns him as they swarm out and gather a few supplies in preparation of going out again. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t mention her boobs.”
“Or what, Gian’s going to write me a very stern letter? If she’s a bitch, I’m gonna fling shit back at her. Not that Shay would ever be interested in a bitch, but just in case.”
“Well, he’s friends with you”, comes the mumbled answer which startles a chuckle out of Ivan. Valenti shoots him a quick smile before finally taking notice of the object lying on the blanket of his top bunk. “Oh, what is this?”
“The last fucking thread holding my patience together”, Jojo grumbles in response but looks over nonetheless, squints at the fabric Valenti picks up. Rich dark red is cascading over his hands and nearly reaches the floor on both sides, the material soft yet thick wool. “Looks like a scarf.”
“I recently lost mine, but – Ivan, was this here when you came in?”
He’s hesitant to make eye contact in case he gives himself away but needn’t have worried as Valenti’s attention is still focused on the cloth he’s holding. “Yes”, he says simply.
“Huh. Then I have no idea where it came from. You didn’t buy this for me, did you, Jojo?”
“I would’ve gotten you something more stylish and you know it. Maybe in purple.”
“But this is my favourite colour. I think only Gian knows it is, but I don’t think he can knit. It looks hand-made.”
“Yeah, whatever, just put it on and quit whining about the cold. Do we have everything? Ivanko, you want to watch us ruin our complexion by planting face-first in the snow with our improvised sleighs?”
“Always.” He closes the game app and gets up to put his jacket on, trying not to let his satisfaction show upon seeing Valenti wrapping himself in the scarf with a content expression.
“It’s really warm”, he announces and sinks deeper into the several layers, “and it smells good. Forget whoever might’ve lost it, it’s mine now. Let’s go.”
And while the two lead, rekindling the discussion about Shay’s girlfriend, Ivan follows them with a smile.
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presleysmooth · 5 years
Hello! I’ve just recently gotten into ASOUE, and I was wondering if I could get a clear answer from you. Sorry if you’ve answered this before. So there’s 100% without a doubt fact that Olaf finds Violet sexually attractive? A lot of people seem to have differing opinions. I ask because the only thing I have to go off on right now is Olaf’s comments about Violet being ‘pretty,’ and his constant staring at her. Thank you for taking the time to read what I had to say. Take care of yourself!
First of all, welcome to the family! Hopefully you’re loving the books/show as much as they deserve to be loved :)
Now, pardon my essay but I’m gonna try to summarize everything into an overly long answer at the best of my abilities, but it’s not gonna be easy.
It is very true - and very obvious - that Olaf finds Violet attractive.
More than that, as you said, he is SEXUALLY attracted to her, and to the idea of her ( I’ll elaborate on that later ).
I’ll divide it in actions he performs, just to make it easier to read for the both of us. I will also note when there are differences between book Olaf and show Olaf, even if those are few.
Ever since the door swings open, show Olaf stares at Violet when he talks. About anything. You can see it during their house tour, and then later, when Klaus asks how can they purchase anything without money and he blatantly ignores him and throws the little bag of money at Violet, who is carrying a baby and isn’t in the condition of catching it. You can see it after “It’s The Count” is performed, and during dinner.
Speaking of their house tour, notice this : when he shows them the kitchen, he straight up glares in her direction while he says “I expect you to keep everything gleamingly clean”. That’s just one of the many ways he expresses how ( low ) he thinks of her. As a servant, and nothing more.
After they discover that Sunny’s locked in a cage, Olaf goes on a tangent about the metaphor of a stubborn mule : the mule will walk closer to the carrot because it’s food, and further from the stick because it doesn’t want to feel pain. This is obviously referring to Violet, and stubborn is one word he always describes her with ( Notice : In the Reptile Room, when he “greets” the children again ).Now, look at his eyes when he says that the mule will move towards the carrot because “it wants the reward of food” 
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straight to Violet. That’s pretty telling of what she is, in his mind. Food. Figuratively, of course.
Now, take a look at how he stares at her during these three events.
First, after he tried to convince her to marry him, he stares creepily at her lips and kind of checks her out.
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Second, after she speaks to Justice Strauss, he almost looks disgusted by her audacity to talk back.
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Finally, after he thinks she’s now his property, he keeps looking at her intensely and with a snigger plastered on his face, and he doesn’t even bat eyes.
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These all show different emotions he feels towards her, and how they connect to one root point : he does not care for her consent, for her will, for her pleasure. He only wants to marvel AT her, to think he owns her, eitheras a daughter or as a wife ( interchangeable for him, I might add ) :
 “You may not be my wife, but you are still my daughter, and…” ( The Bad Beginning ). I’ll go back on this quote later.
As you noticed, too, he looks at her often. Pretty much in every episode. I don’t need to go down too much on this, it is quite obvious.
This is where Olaf shines, with everyone but especially with Violet.The way he headbutts into her conversations during the books and the way he touches, strokes, gets too close to her is continuous. And she tries to scatter away every time.
During the dinner, when the bald man turns around, looks at her and exclaims “You’re a pretty little one”, Olaf butts into the conversation like a hurricane and scolds her. He acts very smugly and weirdly possessive towards her in the entirety of the series, but it’s particularly noticeable in the first book/first two episodes.
When he tries to convince Justice Strauss to join The Marvelous Marriage play, he keeps poking Violet, patting her hair and her face, under her breast and, when Klaus stands up and says “Justice Strauss, he’s up to something”, hegrabs her by the waist and pulls her closer to him. Creepy.
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Then there’s the iconic “I’ll touch whatever I want” with the hand on the shoulder. He also speaks directly to Klaus, in that instance, almost as if he was daring him, as to say “I’ll snatch your fortune and your sister away from you”.I feel like he feels an inferiority complex towards Klaus but that’s a whole other matter that I won’t dive into.
In the Reptile Room, The Hostile Hospital, The Ersatz Elevator, The Carnivorous Carnival and The Grim Grotto, he leans down to her close enough that she can smell his breath, and says something equally creepy.
Of course, we can only see four of those on screen - for now - and The Hostile Hospital one is shocking. If you’ve seen it, you know he practically kisses her.
In The Hostile Hospital, he’s the one who catches her when they kidnap her, he’s the one to change her into her medical gown ( according to Violet in The Carnivorous Carnival book ) and Violet retrieves her own ribbon out of hispants pockets, in the same book.
In the Bad Beginning, in the books, he touches Violet’s face inappropriately when asking her to star in his play. Actually, when forcing her to star in his play.“Count Olaf reached out one of his spidery hands and stroked Violet on the chin, looking deep in her eyes. ‘You will’ he said 'participate in this theatrical performance.”.
In The Reptile Room, he makes a non subtle threat and caresses her legs with his knife - the most common phallic metaphor there is.In The Hostile Hospital part 2, after calling her Sleeping Beauty ( which gets raped by the Prince in the original tale ), he slowly caresses her forehead and throat.
He’s way too damn close.
You may think all these are nonsense, all small things that really don’t matter but put them together with his words and you’ll find yourself shuddering.
In The Bad Beginning, his whole plot consists of him conconcting a plan to steal their inheritance by marrying his 14 year old adoptive daughter, daughter who he keeps referring to as very pretty, both in the cupcake scene andto Klaus “Why in the world would I want to actually marry your sister?’ Count Olaf asked. 'It is true she is very pretty, but a man like myself can acquire any number of beautiful women.” or, when describing the play, “It is about a manwho is very brave and intelligent, played by me. In the finale, he marries the young, beautiful woman he loved[…]”.
There are a bajillion phrases he speaks out, such as “Build the sets? Oh, Heavens no. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be working backstage” or “You’re such a lovely girl, after the marriage I wouldn’t dispose of you like your brotherand sister”, sentence I have explained in one of my previous asks.
As I said earlier, there’s the ”I’ll touch whatever I want" which heavily implies rape to anyone old enough to understand.There is “You may not be my wife but you are still my daughter, and…” which describes his idea of in loco parentis and his ownership of her, and the fact that he will be free of punishment from the law by doing anything he wantsto her, whether she’s under his control as a child or as a wife.
There is the book-only “Now, if all of you will excuse me, my bride and I need to go home for our wedding night.” which is the equivalent of I’ll touch whatever I want. He’s going home and he’s taking her virginity.
In The Reptile Room, in the show, he grabs her and tells her “I have four tickets with me to Peru. I was going to take you and your siblings because that’s the kind of guardian I am, but I’ll settle for one of you.”. At the end of the episode, his room had only one bed. Pretty self explanatory.
In the Carnivorous Carnival, when the children are hidden in the trunk of his car, he tells his henchpeople that he hopes Violet survived the fire at Heimlich Hospital because “She’s the prettiest”.
In The Grim Grotto, when she tries to stall and wants to tell him where the sugar bowl is, he sneers and says “I’m not going to bargain with an orphan, no matter how pretty she may be.”. Realizing he loses control and gets overpowered by his attraction to her, he attacks her.
Generally, he often addresses her first - or only - in any conversation, and wants to come closer to her more than her siblings.For example, in The Penultimate Peril, when Dewey takes her hand. he orders him to “hand her over” twice. Not her siblings.In The Slippery Slope, he screams “You are dead, you died in the caravan!” only to her.In The Austere Academy, when Nero asks him if the orphans have good enough legs for him, he points at her first.
And so on and on.I could go on forever but this response is already a book.
In regards to what I said about the idea of her turning him on, he never really makes and attempt at doing anything to her ( that is debatable though as I firmly believe he raped her in the Hostile Hospital book, andI have my own thought about it but it is indeed a theory ). He clearly wants to but giving in to his sexual desire towards his enemy would only shift the power between them, and she’s already stronger than him by being unattainable andrejecting him, thing his narcissistic side doesn’t digest at all. He resentes it so much, and you can see the hatred and lust he feels 100% of the time.
This is canonical, there are a thousand posts and excerpts from essays you can find online and I’m so damn tired of people sweeping it under the rug or deeming us creeps because we acknowledge it. Come ON.
Also, if you need a visual representation of Neil’s body language and hard work in showing this, you can watch a video I made a while ago that sums it up. You can turn off the music if it’s too cheesy, but I think it’s a good exampleof how a great actor can make you feel disgusted by small gestures.
And thank you so much for reading this papyrus! Take care yourself!
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becumsh · 5 years
It’s been four and half fucking years, I’m still on about this fucking character in this fucking show.
  Yes, it’s The Musketeers BBC, yes, I’ve been looking at the gifs of Cardinal Richelieu again, yes, yes, yes! aGAIN, I know, what can you do. I can’t escape this hellhole. I also need to stop re-watching my own fanvideos, it’s pathetic.
thoughts under the cut because I realise people don’t need this on their dash. No coherence, no sense, no logic, just random thoughts.
Idk, it’s been FOUR AND HALF YEARS, I still speculate over BBC Richelieu, I still speculate over historical Richelieu, somebody stop me. 
Before I say anything, let me preface. I watched The Musketeers solely for Peter Capaldi. And I stand until this day by the fact, that The Musketeers was filmed solely for Peter Capaldi.
idk what it is. Random thoughts, my view on the character?? idk it’s been so many years, it’s been so many thoughts.
- Dirty monk perv moments still make me cringe, but what can you do. The man dug the ladies irl, and we have to be thankful that we were spared that fucking Anne/Richelieu motif. I just wish there was more of Marie de Medici/Ricelieu moments, what would I give to have Marie de Medici trying to seduce him for old times sake. Also, perv Richeleiu and no Chevrette? Disgrace and waste of resources. But still, perv Richelieu is meh. (with Milady, ughhhh, get out)
I really liked Adele, I never quite grasped the point of her, even though I now understand why they introduced her (because women in this show are expendable and are used to amplify manpain and serve to further male character development). But in a way it, at least for me, makes Richelieu’s character even more complicated (thanks to stellar Peter Capaldi acting and no thanks to writers) because I see what the writers want us to see, but I also see what’s far more complex and interesting. The writers want to show that Richelieu is a pervy minister who’s ruthless and jealous and will kill his mistress for adultery, thus posing him as a villain who has no remorse and no mercy (mercy belongs to God, but you’re a Cardinal, God’s servant, Cardinal, ya know). I see that Richelieu is ruthless and shit, but he killed Adele not because she’s an adultress (partly, yes, because duh), but mostly because he can’t trust her, because she’s a traitor and a spy, who slept with his enemy and probably was passing secrets. He disclosed information about the King (being an immature idiot or whatever), I mean, that could get his head chopped off. I don’t think he thought much about Adele, she was young and stupid, but she was a distraction, a human version of a pet. And boom, she betrays him like all other very rare people. Also you get Aramis, him wanting only unattainable, being a romantic, and an all-rounded wanker, but I honestly don’t care about him.
Also I can’t fucking believe that Adele Bessette was given a surname and Marguerite wasn’t. (YES I WILL BE SALTY ABOUT LADY MARGUERITE ALWAYS, IN EVERY FUCKING POST, EVEN IF SHE’S COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT TO THE SUBJECT, S T I L L S AL T Y)
- Also his relationship with Milady? I absolutely love their deadpan snarky dynamic, but his neglectful manner with her is sad.
I still see that if they were more more open with one another (and Richelieu not being a blind arsehole), they would have this very tenuous understanding of one another, because they are very much alike in some sense. Milady is all about surviving whereas Richelieu’s motives a more selfless. However he does know a lot about surviving even if it’s less backstabbing and crawling around Paris underbelly and more intruiging and avoiding being poisoned or assassinated. They are people who can be at their darkest around each other, and I think it’s such a beautiful and complex dynamic. And also because Milathos is such a blatant parallel to Trevilieu, and I’m a cheap trash for both.
And thing is, Richelieu in s1 doesn’t understand Milady at all. She has such a well-crafted persona of seductive murderess that even Richelieu can’t crack her exterior, because inside of it hides a very vulnerable girl who has to claw her way in order to survive (s2 is all about Milady, s3 can choke for ruining her redemption and character development arc). He thinks she’s a murderess and a spy because she likes it, but it’s only her means to survive. (”We’re already in hell; don’t you recognise it?” scene is jsut!!!!)
But I still think that Milady respects Richelieu for at least being selfless on some level, I don’t think Milady is much of a patriot, but still. She might even believe in what Richelieu does. Another interesting thought for another day. If Treville didn’t turn her down, they’d be a dream team (yet again, s3 can fucking choke).
- Richelieu is so fucking lonely.
No, like, really. If you take ONLY BBC!Richelieu, he’s so fucking lonely. It’s not reflected on the show enough, but man. His mistress betrays him, he has to kill her. His pal from the past came only to assasinate him. Marie de Medici comes along and reminds him why he’s indispensable (because without him s2 and 3 happen, lbr). the Anne’s assassination attempt reminds him that he can fuck up and he better be less demented (although how quick he’s to get up from that blunder because the musketeers are fucking idiots is satisfying as hell). And the entire show just pushes and pushes the idea of Richelieu being that lone warrior who fights invisible battles. You cannot see him as a villain (okay, the viewers and ann*mis stans probably can, I can’t) because everything the titular characters fight for, that pride and honour to die for king and country - they have the King and country to die for thanks to Richelieu.
“Everything I did, I did solely for the interest of France”, “I’m also the First Minister of France, in matters of religion I defer to Rome, in all else I’m my country’s servant”, “I alone will face the truth that no one else can stomach” - that line especially gets me because that line wasn’t about Queen’s assassination attempt, it was about everything he’s ever done for France and as always, he only got hate and contempt for it. Porthos was “why do you need more power” and it’s so wrong because Richelieu never needed more power. He’d already made himself indespensable, Anne asking him to look in the eyes of the woman he tried to kill - absolutely fucking pointless, he’d kill her again if necessary. I agree, that was the first and the last empowering moment Anne had ever had on the show, and I fucking adore it, but still. He’s despised by virtually everyone sans Louis who sees him as an emotional crutch and a father figure who will magically solve all of his problems.
s1 was focused on Richelieu becoming less and less accountable for his shit. In ep7 he explicitly stated that ‘No person, no nation, no God will stand in his way’. And his way is to make France the greatest country in Europe.
Before ep7 the only one who could judge Richelieu was God. No Ninon de Larroque, no Fleur, no musketeers (absolutely ludicrous, as if he remotely cares what they think about him). After that, after what Vatican tried to do with him, Richelieu goes ham and just goes ‘Fuck it, fuck it all, fuck my unbalanced account with God. I’m going to Hell anyway, so I just might murder the Queen, because what do I have to fucking lose. Not even God will judge what I do, so screw everyone, I’m gonna fucking do my job, and if you have qualms about it - fuck you.’
(Treville on the other hand, btw, feels VERY accountable and he feels that he deserves Aramis’ and Marsac’s bashing for Savoy, but it’s not a post about Treville)
Cleverer move would be asking a divorce from the Pope (but Richelieu pretty much fucked up his relationship with the Pope in ep7, but that’s another question) like Henri IV did with Marguerite Valois, or frame Anne for adultery (that would be easy-peasy lemon squeasy, she hadn’t shagged Aramis yet, but to forge the evidence would be easier that stealing a lolly from a toddler). But blame BBC, not Richelieu, that’s all I’m saying. 
Everyone wants a prosperous and powerful France, no one wants to get their hands dirty, so Richelieu ends up doing it all and getting the hate for it. And it’s the hypocrisy of the future seasons I find repulsive (don’t even get me fucking started), but even in s1 it’s very fucking sad. No one wants to get their hands dirty, everyone wants to gush about France and maintain their white cloak of innocence. Yet no country was built by good men, because good men don’t have the stomach for things that have to be done.
Anyway. My point, Richelieu is very fucking lonely and he’s doing a very fucking lonely job.
- Honestly if s2 was with Richelieu, the only thing I can think of is trevilieu? Considering it being far darker and more politics-involved (gracefully done or not is another question entirely, s3 can still fucking choke, it does not fucking exist in my universe), there would be far more episodes where Treville and Richelieu are forced to work together and where Treville realises Richelieu’s means to an end. Fucking hell, all of the episodes would have them working together. Louis was kidnapped. That gun powder. The entire Court being held by demented conman obsessed with glasses and astronomy. Spain ambassador. GOD. JUST IMAGINE.
And I’m not saying it JUST because I ship them, it’s because it would be really interesting. Richelieu would probably find an ally in Treville, because he could share at least some of the burden with Treville. Treville would revisit his views on politics and stuff, because if anything, s2 showed that even though you don’t want to get your hands dirty and even though you want to remain clean and innocent and honorable - if you love your country, if you love your King, there’s no other choice BUT to get your hands dirty. Richelieu would probably see Treville’s side of things - murdering people sometimes is necessary, but not all the time.
And because I’ve already said, Peter Capaldi left a Cardinal Richelieu-shaped hole in the show in his wake because the show was focused on Cardinal Richelieu and Peter Capaldi stole the show, basically, *shrug emoji*
- Honestly [2], Duchesse d’Aiguillon would make The Musketeers 1000000 times better. No perv Richelieu, because there would be no Adele (Aramis can find another way to have an establishing moment, the one that doesn’t deem women as expendable and serviceable only to man’s character development). Richelieu wouldn’t be so fucking lonely. There would be leverage on Richelieu because the Duchesse is his Berserk Button, fight me on this. Ninon de Larroque sucks because many ladies had reading salons, no need to be so fucking pretentious about it. But I’ve talked about it already. More Court intrigues. Better show.
I wanted to talk about my view on fanon Richelieu in trevilieu, but the post is so fucking long lmao.
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californiain · 2 years
California apostille
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Check out the lawyer's office very closely. Is it neat and well kept? Is the staff friendly and responsive? If the answer to either of these questions is no, you may not get the type of service that you are expecting. Also, note how the attorney speaks to his staff. Is he respectful? If not, he may not be respectful with you, either.
Checking out the reviews of the lawyers you want to hire, are any called a "bulldog?" If there is any such reference, it is likely that same attitude extends to their clients. You don't want to have to deal with such an individual, so look for someone reputed to be a smart debater instead.
Often times, lawyers can seem like they come from another planet. It can be difficult to express your intentions to them and to understand what they are telling you. If you use the advice mentioned in the article above, you will learn how to better communicate with your lawyer which will make both of your lives much easier.
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ahmedmeski · 3 years
Locating A Good Lawyer To Help You With Your Troubles
So you need some legal representation do you? Dealing with lawyers can be quite the nightmare if you have never done it before. Often times, you may not even understand what they are saying. However, if you use the tips in the following article you can learn how to effectively communicate with your lawyer.  Gmp certification
When it comes to hiring a lawyer, trust is an essential part of the relationship that you want to build. You will want a lawyer that you can feel comfortable with and who seems very capable of handling your case. This may take some time to find, so look carefully!
If a crime is something you've been accused of, the thing you must do is ask a lawyer for help. Do not take it upon yourself to handle the legal proceedings; you may end up in more trouble than before. You are in a serious situation, and you need the assistance of someone with training and experience.
A good tip to keep in mind when thinking about hiring a lawyer is to write down several questions that you wish to ask him or her. You want to find out what their philosophy is and so on, and asking questions will help give you a clear idea about them. Fda free sale certificates
A good tip if you're thinking about hiring a lawyer is to listen to your gut when it comes down to whether or not you're going to hire that person. Your lawyer is going to represent you in court, so if your lawyer seems unscrupulous, it's going to fall back on you.
When looking for a good lawyer, make sure to obtain personal references. Talking to the local community that have experienced issues similar to you. For instance, if you're a victim of sexual harassment, speak with a women's group. Ask them about the lawyers they had and what their experiences were like.
It is important that you stay in contact with your lawyer. Many lawyers get paid and go without client contact for a long time. Make sure you establish a schedule soon so that you can prevent these sorts of problems.
Look for a lawyer that is an expert in your type of case. Many lawyers can handle a wide range of cases, but if you want the best outcome possible, you want a lawyer that deals solely with cases of the same nature as yours. The best lawyer for you will have many cases like yours and knows the law the best.
Try not to make money an issue when you are trying to find the best lawyer for your case. The object is for you to get out of the pickle that you are in, and sometimes this means to shell out a couple of extra dollars to get the desired result. Cfs certificate of free sale
When hiring a lawyer, ask them who exactly will be dealing with your case. Many times it will not be the big name head of the firm, but instead someone below them who has a clearer schedule. If this doesn't appeal to you, choose another law firm for your needs.
Most lawyers will agree to meet with you for free so you can explain your problem and get some useful advice. You should plan on meeting with different lawyers to get several professional opinions and compare fees. Spend a few weeks meeting with different lawyers before you decide to hire one.
When it comes to working with a lawyer, consider your needs before your wants. While you may want an attractive, high profile lawyer who has won for big clients in the past, it's likely unattainable. If you need a lawyer who specializes in real estate, then that is who you choose.
See how prospective lawyers react to your personal requests. The key to a great lawyer is being willing to accomodate the needs and desires of their clients. If you come across a lawyer that is not interested in fulfilling this, then you have been given sufficient warning that you should find someone else to represent you.
When a loved one dies at work, family often is owed compensation. Worker's compensation not only is for a worker, but could apply to their immediate family too. Bring all of your information to a lawyer to get the highest level of clarity.
You really need to understand what you are paying for when you hire a lawyer. These fees can be complicated. You need to make sure you have all these fees in writing up front and that you understand how they are calculated. If you do not, they are required to explain them to you until you do.
When it comes to comparing big firms and little firms, you cannot find any guarantees as the larger, more expensive groups. They're not necessarily better at their job, more experienced, or even more likely to get you a win. Consider the best lawyer, not just the most famous one available.
Check out the lawyer's office very closely. Is it neat and well kept? Is the staff friendly and responsive? If the answer to either of these questions is no, you may not get the type of service that you are expecting. Also, note how the attorney speaks to his staff. Is he respectful? If not, he may not be respectful with you, either.
Checking out the reviews of the lawyers you want to hire, are any called a "bulldog?" If there is any such reference, it is likely that same attitude extends to their clients. You don't want to have to deal with such an individual, so look for someone reputed to be a smart debater instead.
Often times, lawyers can seem like they come from another planet. It can be difficult to express your intentions to them and to understand what they are telling you. If you use the advice mentioned in the article above, you will learn how to better communicate with your lawyer which will make both of your lives much easier.
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joriesilver · 6 years
But like actually why is Cassandra straight.
*starts new Inquisition playthrough*
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*ponders romance options*
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*Flirts with Cassandra for the first time and realizes we can never be more*
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But like. For real, you guys. I am still. So. Sad. 
So while I’m sure I’m like the 8,000th queer person to say something like this because this game is like a million years old...well. YOLO, right?
First: it’s not the same to play as a man. It’s not even the same to download the bi Cassandra mod and play through some oddly animated cut scenes where she constantly refers to you as a man. That narrative puts Cassandra in this place where she’s obsessed with traditional gender roles and fairy tales and being wooed. 
And it’s not that I don’t think Cassandra isn’t allowed to be a romantic. But the set up is there for her queerness. She’s a gender non-conforming badass with a *very* limited romantic history and a strong record of centering women in her life. She grew up in a very structured home, and she ended up with a very serious job in the Chantry from a very young age. There were many things to think about outside of self-discovery.
Context: I didn’t come out to myself as even being attracted women until I was in my early twenties, not in a real way. And the idea that I could be exclusively attracted to women? Unfathomable. And if I *could* be with a man, that seemed like the easier option. 
Because I loved love stories, you know? I loved the idea of courtship, of the Lizzie Bennett/Mr. Darcy love story, where Lizzie doesn’t even know she *likes* Darcy until she realizes she’s head-over-heels in love with him. And I loved the rom-com trope of the woman who pines after some unattainable man in a distant, half-hearted way, until the Perfect Man falls in love with her with zero encouragement, who then persistently pursues her until she wakes up and realized Of Course he was The One all along. These stories are idealized and inevitable, and they don’t hinge on a track record of the heroines having any real interest in the men around them. Not until it’s time to be In Love. And all that’s encouraging for a person whose dominant feelings about her romantic entanglements with men are “why do people even like this?”
For a very, very long time, that’s what I pictured for myself. That one day I would meet an acceptable and persistent man, and then we would make babies and then one day I would tell him that I think Ellen Page is really really pretty and I have a lot of feelings about Kristen Stewart and HAVE YOU SEEN our friend Katie, because whoa. And we’d have a laugh about it. It would be very funny, like Lily’s attraction to Robin on How I Met Your Mother is so very funny. 
It took me all of three dates with women to realize that I never had any business going on dates with men at all. And so the journey from finally putting “bisexual” into my dating profiles quickly became “Oh hey, random stranger. Have you heard the good news? Sometimes two girls kiss, and it’s great. I’m a lesbian, BTW. Super gay.”
And I see that in Cassandra. In her admiration for a female Inquisitor. In her dry flirtations before she shuts her down. In her dedication to her work and her compartmentalization of romance into this thing that lives in silly books and stories. And someone like Cassandra, who is willing to admit when she’s wrong, who fights tirelessly for the greater good, who never puts herself first...she deserves romance arc that is bigger than “haha, isn’t it funny that this lady who can beat you up likes flowers and poetry? LOL. Flowers.”
...All this to say, got any fic recs, people? Because clearly the game isn’t going to give me what I want.
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