#not in an arrogant way just in a ive always been good with english and ive been a writer who writes IN ENGLISH for like 7 years by now

[devotedlystrangewizard]

granted hyperbole is a weird as hell word and i had to google to make sure i wasnt clowning but no. i was right. she mispronounced it. she said it in the dutch way. i was correcting my english teacher. she still told me i have to come back next time

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[yesttoheaven]

AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

[chibimyumi]

Lost in Translation IV

【Lost in Translation I】【Lost in Translation II】【Lost in Translation III】

Chapter 165 has just been released, and it provided the answer to what I had previously been wondering about: “why is Meyrin apparently capable of speaking grammatically correct “English” and even knows rather difficult vocabulary, but speaks in broken “English” nevertheless?”

In Lost in Translation III I explained in detail in what ways Meyrin speaks broken “English” or “Chinglish” in the original Japanese manga. The reason why she speaks this way was probably Yana’s subconscious racism that originally lead her to this decision. But just like she has been trying to undo the mistake of portraying a transgender woman like Grell based on harmful stereotypes, for Meyrin too Yana is trying hard to make up for a past mistake.

When Meyrin had just been employed into the Phantomhive household, she spoke in very crude ways, using the rough and masculine first person pronoun ‘ore’, for example. In this interaction between Sebas and Meyrin, she is clearly genuine in her apology, though her speech leaves much to be desired.

わ、わりい…　スカートってやつが足に纏わりついちまって

W-warii... skirt tte yatsu ga ashi ni matowari tsuichimatte

M-mah bad... this skirt-thing just clings to me darn feet.

For obvious reasons, Sebastian who is meticulous about language propriety cannot let this pass, and points Meyrin’s inadequate language out to her.

“Furthermore, watch your language! We cannot afford to have one who serves an Earl to always speak like a downtown rogue. Did you properly consult the servant’s handbook I handed to you the other day?”

Then Meyrin admits to Sebastian that she had indeed not, for she is illiterate. Upon hearing this Sebastian suggested that she should join Finny in his studies, to which Meyrin replies eagerly.

お、おう、わかった

O-ou, wakatta

Y-yes, got it.

言葉遣い！

Kotobazukai!

Your language!

かっ、かしこまり…ですだ！

Ka, kashikomari... desu da!

Un- understood... it is are!

Japanese Death Trap known as Keigo

In this post I explained the language of Sebastian, namely that he speaks in elaborate ‘keigo’, or ‘formal language’.

Keigo is probably the most difficult thing in the Japanese language, and even adult Japanese native speakers attend class to learn keigo. This formal speech is so difficult because it uses many ‘double verbs’ and other conjugations that normal speech does not. When keigo is used wrongly, the speaker either looks like a complete fool, or worse, an arrogant prick. Hence, speaking keigo is not unlike tightrope walking.

Even when speaking to Meyrin, Sebastian uses keigo. The butler’s mastery of this lingual death trap is probably somewhat intimidating to Meyrin, but she is trying nonetheless. Without even being able to read however, all she probably managed to grasp is how the butler just stacks verbs on top of more verbs.

For example, let us look at Sebastian’s language towards his master.

私も執事として心より応援申し上げます

Watashi mo shitsuji toshite kokoro yori ouen moushiagemasu.

I shall offer my heart-felt support as [your] butler.

In normal speech, ‘ouen shimasu’ (to support) would have been plenty polite, but Sebastian even stacks ‘moushi’ (polite form of ‘to speak’) and ‘agemasu’ (to send upwards) on top. Literally translated ‘this line would be: “I shall speak with respect and send my support upwards from the source that is my heart”. If this sound like a juggle-show of redundancy to you, you are correct. How do you know what verb-conjugation follows which, and how many you can stack without sounding like a fool, but also exactly enough as not to sound incomplete? WELL GOOD LUCK! This is exactly what keigo is; a death trap.

So, to Meyrin who is not educated, let alone in keigo, she might as well just add redundant verbs everywhere!

In the post【Lost in Translation III】I explained how Meyrin’s mistakes mostly boil down to ‘double verbs’ and ‘incorrect conjugation’. But considering how keigo is formed exactly using double, triple, quadruple! verbs, and tricky conjugations, it makes sense why Meyrin speaks like that.

If Sebastian’s “I shall speak with respect and send my support upwards from the source that is my heart,” is so-called ‘correct language’, why would Meyrin’s “[It] is are Yes”, “I am can see very well”, and “un- understood... it is are” not be?

I know this is Yana’s retroactive attempt at fixing an earlier mistake, and the way Meyrin messes up keigo is not exactly how Japanese speakers usually mess it up. BUT! I have to say, I cannot think of a single better way to try explain Meyrin’s “Chinglish quirk” with her ‘double verbs’ and ‘incorrect conjugations’ than Yana just going: “you know the thing with the multiple verbs and damn conjugations? It’s because keigo sucks, okay?”

How is this being translated in the official English version or other languages? Please do share if you wouldn't mind! (*´▽｀*)ノ

[psychemeanscure]

PART 8

“Holy Sh*t. Jang! Did you just--- Urgh! You bastardo.”

A surprised curse blurts out into her mouth definitely, the moment she led her unprepared eyes upon the arrogant Jang Taeyoung who is just confidently came in to the room where she is. Only to receive an exasperating awe which also halts his steps for a second through its closet. Doubting eyes now landed to her. “Did I heard it right?  You just cursed in English? That’s new eh?”

His very random casualty anyhow which she straightly did not entertain. Him who is finally settling a chosen cloth putting it for a bit on the backrest of his dressing table chair. while she in the other hand has to deal with it as usual. He’s only wearing a bathrobe, for Pete’s sake! She can’t still even oblige herself to turn her head to look at him. Waking up in an unfamiliar room was already a bewilderment for her, what more with this loco she is with. She almost seen half of his--- “Aish! Can you please wear something already?!” only answered by a smirk which she obviously unseen.    

“Wait? Are you shy? What a news. So, Sung Eunyoung still knows how to get nervous, huh?”

Thus, she had no choice but to face him with a frowning look, remembering to seek her own confusions. “Tsk. Happy? Where am I anyway? And why am I with this thing?” pertaining to the IV inserted in her wrist certainly, as her gaze wanders to him who’s reaching a first aid kit from a bedside table.

“To detox the drug in you. And for the record, you’re in my penthouse.”

His firm answer indeed while she was shock, undecided between which she must confirm first. “What?” the sensible remark she can only utter then. Eyes still following onto him who’s now setting himself to grab a seat beside her on the bed. “Which of the two did you mean by that? I can’t follow.” Him who’s starting to get a cotton and sanitizer from the kit, which also led for the appearance of her anxiousness that she was now totally agitated settling her eyes between his movement and to her IV, including her unsettled answer as well.

“T-the pent--- I mean the drug. I was drug?!” her stuttering success words somehow, but not long enough to get her nervous the moment he finally holds her forearm that she quickly moves back. “Hey, what are you doing?” her prudent fight indeed, only to be hold back by him. “I’ve been doing this on my own, Sung Eunyoung. Trust me.”

Just to be answered by her hesitating groan, still. “Are you sure? Can’t you at least call a doctor instead?” thus a frustrating sigh went into him totally. “Seriously, woman? Who do you think settled this dammit Intravenous, and the hell who shot you a tranquilizer during your influence, huh?”

“You shot me a what?!” obviously another surprise for her. “You heard it. So, are we settled then?” only proceeded by her surrendering hum. “Good. Tss. You stubborn volatile.” His last statement then, before cautiously performing the removal of the IV. Not when he heard a whimper from her though who’s actually avoiding her eyes from her wrist. Reason for his little laugh as well. “You’re afraid after all. Is it blood or needle?”  holding her temper not to explode. “Shut up. Just finish what you are doing will you?”

Only to hear another laugh from him. Somehow take the courage to look at him though, as she only notices the usual brushed up hair of him is on a hair down bangs for a while. ‘He looks good.’ As what her thoughts says otherwise. Later landed to the glimpse of his tattoos especially by the lower part of his neck. ‘se---‘

“I might melt anytime soon, Sung Eunyoung… You don’t have too fluster me, I already know I’m erotic.”

Before she could piece her second thought obviously, he already concluded it right. That she had to only clear her throat and avoid his gaze instead. Before deciding to dodge it by another reopening topic. “Uh. Hm. Right, tell me how did I got influenced then. What drug was it?” only to be answered by his hidden smirk as he welcomes to give her details.

“Ecstasy. So basically, the filthy Spanish dimwit poured a powder type in your drink and you carelessly bite it. The end.”

As if his tale-like story telling that he already expected the disbelief reaction to her who only manage to glance by her reflection through the window glass, out of frustration.  

“Jesus. It literally slipped on my mind. He probably did it when I was focused to the gift h--- wait? Speaking of, where was i---“

“Burned.”

Somehow satisfied from what he did. “Ah. Okay.” That she just casually answered without objection. But to him was a bit unexpected. “I actually thought you’ll disagree. But after learning from you today, well I like it though. Good to know.” And with the last touch from the cotton and plaster tape on her wrist. He’s finally finished. “I did something crazy, aren’t I?”

Just to receive a sly smirking smile from him, as he even tilting his head for teases. “Want to go on details as well?” understanding his remark perhaps that her hair should be disheveled. Promptly realizing the white shirt and checkered pajama on her that surely his. As she was now fuming mad with the man beside her. “You take advantage of me?!”  

Fully her accusations indeed after hastily throwing a pillow to his face. “Great. What a word for a thank you.” As he helplessly reached the thrown pillow somehow and putting it back on the bed. “Listen, woman. I honestly did not. Well fine, almost. And upon mine you were wearing, I called assistance. Now, does it answer your madness then?”

Crossing his arms as he gave the straight explanations to her. Only to see the doubting look on her, still. Cause by his aggravating sigh. “Do I now have to call for CCTV personnel?” scoffing in the end as she just chose to believe his words. Thus, he stands up after closing the first aid kit and place it back where it belonged.

“Anyhow. I had to go somewhere for a bit. I already called room service for your breakfast, though. You’ll just have to open the door for them. Unless you’re in a diet…” thus his quick reflexes of changing his clothes began that she had to curse him again as she just decided to went out of his bedroom first instead. Than implanting malicious images she never wished to see anyway. Loud banging of the door definitely, proceeding with her series of curses. “Urgh! This maldito bastardo, really.” Only to be answered by a laughter from him once more.

As she went nowhere to his living room couch. Frowning eyes still focused to the cursed room she went out. “Tss. This bastardo really get on my nerves. Aish.” Her last call of complains finally, before chooses to just wander her eyes to the features of his penthouse somehow. For it was also her first time to be inside it. Truly it is, for she always refused his invites. The hell will she dared too. Thus, she starts to stand up from the couch, roaming herself to each corner of his living room with the crossing of her arms, as if a critique meticulously rules on every aspect of it. From the structure of its walls, design of selected artworks, to the bookshelves, until a pit stop to his window glass. Giving the answers of her opinions. “Hm. Not bad.”

“Of course! Why would it be?”

Just to hear the boasting remark of the owner who seems good to go, after buttoning a last button from his coat sleeves. Too late to regret her compliments. “So a Jang Taeyoung knows to read somehow, huh?” her motioning to the pile of books in a way. “Uh. That? Nah. Just for display purposes. You don’t have to fall in love. Are you?”

That she had to rolled her eyes with his nonsense schemes. “Just go, please.” The dullness of her words certainly. “Wow. I was not informed that my penthouse has a new owner, eh?” thus, his sarcasm came in. “Big word, as if you’re not doing it well with my apartment.”

Satisfied by the raising of his arms of surrendering. “Fine, I lost. Jeez you, woman. You really have your way of words I can’t seem to defeat.” As he starts to push the up icon of his private elevator, with a freehand in its pockets. “Bye! I shall return. Don’t worry, I won’t take long. Be good to my penthouse. Alright, Love?”

As much as she hurries to protest by his last word, she’s too late anyway for the doors of the elevator already closed with the sly winking man inside it. That she only walks back with a frustrating shaking head. Not long enough after remembering her little disappointment a while ago, unconsciously turning her head to the closed elevator again.

“He looks better with a hair down, tho--- Aish! Am I really thinking about that? Urgh.”

Her reproaches to herself definitely, after shaking her head again as she chooses to continue exploring his penthouse anyway while waiting for the room service to arrive. Later on take a minute before it finally came, that she can even decipher the discerning eyes of the service crew as if implying something she surely know. “If you’re done, you’re good to go.” A superiority coldness from her words indeed, just enough to scare an already nervous crew, which she did not fail to give an intimidating look the moment it went out.

“Mierda! So, I had to suffer for misjudgment now? Great. Just great.”

Her last complains definitely, before settling to the food served for her. And when she’s in the middle of biting the last variant of fruits, a small opening from somewhere caught her attention that she even takes its saucer and fork with her as she steps into it. Just to be astonished upon learning what’s through it.

A better view of the mesmerizing sky and busy streets of the city. That she wished she could see during the night. Capturing every futuristic structures. Not when her eyes landed to its indoor pool situated on the center though. That she intuitively frowns with the thoughts of him bringing different b*tches for his satisfaction. Thus, without any second thoughts, she swiftly avoids her gaze to it, not liking to feed her thoughts with much scandalous one. Thankful for her eyes to find a much intriguing view. As she decides to put off the saucer and fork on to a wooden deck chair just beside her. Walking her steps towards a wall to later take off the satin cloth covered on it.

A pastel portrait of Jang Taeyoung that is too good to be one. For she almost considered it a photo. Clasping her hands to her back as she somehow studied the intricate wave of lines of it that she began to get curious of its texture and was about to touch it.

“Loving your view?”

Only to be cut by the devil who’s obviously just came back from his agenda. That she had to turn her back to the portrait and unwillingly face the latter who had just use her fork to pick a fruit from her saucer on the wooden deck chair. “Not really.” Chooses to slip her disapproval by his actions, instead, and just better entertain his questions. “Why?” his itching question while she tends to point to her back, again.

“Well, did this man tell you how I’ve been discriminated by a service crew as if I’m one of your bicha, huh? Cabrón?”

Only to accused the innocent portrait indeed. Leaving him in awe somehow. “See? That’s the result of your everyday refusal with my invites. They could have been familiar to you by now if you at least agree just once.” That she only gives in a rejecting snort. “No thanks still, Mr. Jang.”

“Oh, come on. Again?”

“Since I can tell how many b*tches you already brought and claim with this dirty pool of yours. And you still expect me to come?”

Pouting with the thought truly, as he even gazed his eyes to the thing. “Well I can’t argue with that, though. Do you want me to move out, then?” that confusions crept her. “Eh? And what does it have to do with me? Do what you want, why need my permission, Loco. You have money enough to waste.”

That the only thing he could do is snap in the air. “Right. What am I expecting even? Tss. Here, at least.” That’s where she noticed two paper bags in his hands as he offers one to her. Somehow understood her questioning gaze onto it that he seemed oblige to answer in some way. “Your cloth from yesterday. I handed it to the laundry last night. In case you want to retrieve it?”

Just a reason for her sudden irritation in a way. “Trash that. I can only remember what the coño kid did to me. Urgh.” Thus a satisfying smirk paved his way. “I knew it. A new one it is.” Him, swapping it with the other one then, as she seems contented by his guts. “Thank you.” Accepting the offer indeed by means of her starting walking ahead of him to finally change. Remembering something she almost forgot to ask. “Right. By any chance. Did you manage to---“    

“Don’t worry. We already solved the mess, Ms. Sung.”

Cut by her words obviously, but somehow relieve by his answer. “Good. I thought I---“

“Almost forgot to remind you as well that the next time you wear revealing clothes, don’t expect me to be a good boy. Understand, hm? Love?”

Had to gasp an unexpected certainly, for she did not expect his sudden move, hugging her from behind as soon as she went out of the changing room. In means of feeling his rubbing thumb on the navel part of her body. Worst when he leans to kiss the back of her earlobe, that she had to grip to his hold for a while as support to her unravel stance and close her eyes like it’s the best sensation she ever had, to later silently curse herself with the thought. If this is the aftermath of her influence, then screwed up! She really hated it totally. By means she had to fight it in any way. With a gritting teeth and stern look, she succeeded surely.

“Get your hold out of me before you meet your destiny behind bars, Jang Taeyo---“

“Want to take revenge with the dimwit somehow? I can be a help though.”

The supposed to be frustration from cutting her words only replaced by a tempting welcome from the offer he suggested. “How?” too late to regret her move of turning her head to face him, as she forgot they were still close to each other.  Opposite to how he desirably stares to her lips. Meeting his sly expression again. “Now, you’re all ears.” His only remark before miraculously just let go of her without urging for teases like he always do. Except for the smirk, maybe. Thank God still, as the thought of punishing someone excites her for no reason.

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 2: SOdden (or Sod ‘Em depending on your persuasion)

(Dont know how long I’ll be able to keep these puns up)

Catherine, like this woman, does not really fit into this era. But while this woman seems dropdead cool and at least looks the part, Catherine just...

To all those of you keen enough to have come back for another segment of ‘what hasn’t already been said: TSP’, as opposed to have just been scrolling when you see this - welcome back! (Scrollers you too <3)

To anyone who’s seeing this for the first time: what this is a list of observations, jokes, reactions and criticism which occur to me upon a rewatch. I wait every week until Saturday to do this so that I have had my fill of scrolling through the tag and aggregating what has already been said. I tried doing a whole spoof (here where I gave up 10% in) but tbh a) I don’t know the history well enough b) it’s more time consuming than I thought and c) this series is just not as funny or as crazy as TWQ, so it’s untenable. Having said that: This is not a hatepost. I’m not hatewatching this series and nitpicking on purpose but expressing my honest views and trying to find the good in it as well as the bad.

Without further ado...

First Scenes:

The baby cloth lifting into the ceiling of the chapel had nice ‘myth of the demon countess of Anjou (ancestress of the Plantagenets)’ vibes. I am 100% that was unintentional. I get this impression by the cringiness of the baby’s screams (what’s up with those sound effects? It sounded like a zipper).

Henry gives me such softboi vibes? It’s pleasing to me because it’s making me attracted to him as a viewer, but no good in convincing me this is Henry VIII.

I think Catherine’s exposition about how she feels is pretty ok actually, it’s fitting that she would feel anger.

CHARLES’ FATHER IS NOT MAXIMILIAN, IT’S PHILIP (or rather it was). ~~ A quick wiki search guyz, a quick wiki search. Ughh

Again with the whole everyone acting like Catherine is Queen. Can they cut it out? Also while we’re at it, what was Catherine’s attendance in councils even like?

The music was nice

Post Child announcement phase:

Oof I hate to say it but I lowkey wanted de la Pole back in this mother. Mainly because it would mean more Margaret Pole and by this point I am scared her storyline will fade in prominence now that there’s no longer a Yorkist subplot (showhorned as it was, it was the crowning glory of last season tied with Arthur x Catherine).

More x Maggie Pole and all of it over Seneca and learning :’). I already know this will be the best part of the episode.

‘We certainly know stoicism in our family’ ~ I guess she’s referring to Reggie? Because our boi Clarence was no poster boy for stoicism. Though could she be making an ironic reference to her father~?

Edmund de la Pole Debacle:

Well this convo at least passed the bechdel test.

Maggie and Edmund’s interactions here are touching. I know this plotline was rushed but I think it was just right to bring us back here for 5 min as a mournful throwback to the bygone era to which Maggie Pope belongs to and now continues to do so alone. It is emotionless and you can just feel how the York cause was hanging on by a tired old threat by that point.

Maggie Pole is becoming matronly now and I like this transition.

What bothers me about a lot of fans of Margaret Pole is that what they don’t realise is that she wasn’t all like ‘I want nothing to do with my family I’ll stay low and obscure’. While far more cautious than the likes of her ancestors, she did engage in land disputes with Henry VIII and was an outspoken supporter of Catherine and Catholic. Having her be a woman woth dubious loyalties towards the Tudors is accurate.

Scotland with Meg and Jammes:

LMFAO it’s like they read my mind when I spoke of how much I laughed when Meg was like ‘Alexander Steward you pig!1!!’ last episode.

Nice reference to Aulde Alliance

I like James.

Henry and Catherine on the balcony:

Was she commander of the forces? Was Howard appointed that? Regent she was, ok.

Charlotte Hope’s new hairstyles really suit her!

‘Will you please stop cursing’ agahsjdk ahah

No offence to women (of which I am one) but this comparison between childbirth and war is just... wrong. I know Starz think they are being smart but childbirth is far less impressive than winning or surviving a battle - comparing the two diminishes the bravery of soldiers. YET ,having said that, childbirth is necessary for our society whereas war is almost always futile and by comparing them, it wrongly represents violence as something inherently as natural to us as birth and continuing of civilisation. overall not a smart, respectful or accurate parrallel to make.

Meg and prep for invasion + Catherine in her weird armour:

So Margaret dreams that her husband is dead and bloody in her bed. Ughh show you neeed to get more creative. But I did like the whole ‘dreams are how our ancestors talk to us’ line from Angus Douglas.

Re: Meg in her beret... Why is Meg dressed like me going to the London shops in October? Digging the aesthetic but not sure about the accuracy.

Rich of Catherine to bring up Edmund.

Why is Ursula Pole crying??? What is all this to her really?

Did Howard just call the guard... sonny?? Is this some WW2 crossover?

Catherine - James and the tent parlay:

Did Catherine just insult Meg’s intelligence??

Also lmao I’m going to miss James.

Re: Howard saying ‘I’m not going to get insulted by a man wearing a dress’ .. UMMM Starz, you do know that just thirty years ago men were prancing about in dresses and leggings (essentially). From around the middle of the 14th century to the beggining of 16th century (if not earlier), Englishmen were also essentially prancing about in ‘skirts’.

Am I getting a weird cooperation-partnership vibe between Meg and James?

The Battle:

Charlotte Hope looks so good with the helmet, she’d really suit an english hood! Such a shame they won’t give her one!

Ewwww he’s eating mud, why?

Just standard battle scene. They are all the same to me no matter which movie.

Aftermath:

Jesus, I find the whole Meg crying over James IV so heartfelt ‘you arrogant bastard’ for some reason just came out so full of emotion. Can someone please explain why the hell I ship them more than Henry x Catherine?? Like how ??

Awwww Linna is sooooo adorable ughhh. Also this whole Catherine going into armour among all the women crooning over the children gives this adorable sense of Catherine boyish and bloodying herself out to protect their peace, idk. All I have to say is that these series is less eager to pitt women against each other than the previous. I think that’s a step forwards.

Also, good to see Catherine being modest about her victory so Henry can save face. Finally starting to seem like the real Catherine.

‘Go on you dog’ arghh ahah he sounds like some public school rugby lad egging his mate on.

Re: Wolsey cock-blocker; the real Catherine would know it was uncatholic to have sex when you were pregnant. Also Catherine is not technically speaking in confinement if she’s wandering about.

It’s nice to see Catherine sticking up for Howard, she at least learned to respect him during the battle.

I foresee Oviedo having enough of this Christian stuff and wanting to return to the berber domains (I suppose Spain is out of the question)

Knighting Ceremony:

Apparently Margaret Pole herself was made Countess of Salisbury during this same ceremony... right? @houseofclarence

Also Maggie Pole being like: “being a rebel is in my blood, or so they tell me”... gahhh what’s with these shows and the Clarence erasure? Can’t they make one bloody reference to her dad or grandad Warwick? Ugh. Especially with lines like this. Actually? You know what? Ignore my previous comment about the stoic remark and it being an ironic reference to Clarence. I put such subtlety above this show’s writers.

Catherine has a habit of going to the coldest places possible to lose her children...

Haha @ Henry asking Bessie Blount (of all people) where Catherine is.

Conclusion:

6/10

What I’m happiest about is that Flodden got dealt with in one episode because warrior xena Catherine is not what interests me most about this show. Having said that, it was a true shame that James IV died because his were some of the best scenes. This whole show is starting to feel so historical fantasy-ish because the aesthetics are so confused. Granted it’s still pretty (not eyesore like Reign) but it doesn’t penetrate.

I am as always invested in the Poles (and More) but am also starting to get attached to Princess Mary whose actress exudes plenty of charm. This show remains confused with its feminist message because while it shows women being proactive there is so much emphasis on babies that what remains with the mind after watching is this womanish birthdrama, as opposed to a show about struggles which affect both genders.

You might tut at me and say I’m being ridiculous and that it is historically accurate to put so much emphasis on women’s babies and I say that’s swell. I would happily watch a show where that element is strong (most pre 1995 historical dramas are like that with traditionally feminine characters and I gulp them up like sustenance), but if a show promises feminism and women-men being partners I want it to deliver that properly. As I said in my previous post, why do we keep trying to make women engage in acts like war as if such an abhorrent act is the only way to take them seriously? I await the day where cunning, rationality and cool-headedness will be the traits portrayed as feminist ones.

There is nothing else to really comment on... the only potentially deeper message in this is the gender discourse. I am unsure about the accuracy so I can’t speak of the historical value of the interpretation. But what I will say is that though I remain excited for each new episode... I’m just not as invested as I was in TWQ (rewatch every year dont @ me) or TWP despite their many flaws. Some characters pull me in eg Maggie Pole (Carmichael is a bae), Thomas More etc but not the whole cast like TWQ. Anyway... would be interesting to see if anything happens with Lina and Oviedo tommorow as their storyline is conspicuously slow.

[miumiu-chan]

Miyase Go STORY 1 Chapter 10-4

Subbed video: STORY-1 10-4

-Rulong’s Apartment-

[RULONG]: “Ohh, it’s about ready to drink.”

[RULONG]: “The fragrance is also good. Here, go ahead and have some.”

[REI]: “............”

[RULONG]: “Hm~m, Little Flower, you refused the water earlier too.”

[RULONG]: “If you stubbornly don’t take anything in, you’ll need an IV later?”

[REI]: “......Why aren’t you having some as well?”

There was only one cup. It could be poisoned.

[RULONG]: “There’s no poison in it, so don’t worry. I still don’t completely know what drugs are effective against Little Flower.”

[RULONG]: “And showing hospitality with tea is the manners of “Licorice”.”

[REI]: “Licorice......?”

[RULONG]: “It’s kanzō*.” (T/N: the Japanese word for licorice, because he says Licorice in English.)

I knew what it was. It was a plant often used in herbal medicine.

[RULONG]: “The leaves we used for the shag flavor earlier are also licorice.”

[REI]: “Shag......?”

[RULONG]: “The hand-rolled cigarette.”

That smell that was different from the aroma of the craft tea, I remembered it.

At the same time, remembering Miyase-san's coldness, I felt suffocated.

[RULONG]: “That shag is also made by my family.”

[RULONG]: “The previous generation who was also the founder was a really great merchant, you see.”

[RULONG]: “It was the first licorice-flavored shag ever invented, and that’s why it became the organization name.”

[RULONG]: “——so, since you’ve heard that much already, why not drink?”

[RULONG]: “Because from the point that you trust me and take the tea into your mouth, Little Flower will be semi-family.”

[REI]: “Semi-family......?”

[RULONG]: “Those that you can talk more about with than with other people, yeah?”

The temptation in the sweet scent was strong.

This person properly saw through my regret and inferiority.

For the DCD, my current self was nothing but a burden.

At the very least, I wanted to collect information.

[REI]: “......-, I will drink it now.”

[RULONG]: “Go ahe~ad ♪”

I didn’t really get the taste of the craft tea that was in my mouth.

I just felt the temperature on my tongue and swallowed mechanically.

[RULONG]: “Congrats. With this, Little Flower and I are no longer complete strangers.”

[RULONG]: “Do you want to ask anything?”

Rather than considering the intention of the induction, I chose the option to openly question him.

[REI]: “What do you intend to do with the flower drugs from now on?”

[RULONG]: “Ah, that? I can't answer that. Sorry.”

[RULONG]: “The only things I can tell you are personal things.”

[REI]: (Personal......)

[REI]: “......That Miyase-san is trying to crush the Kujo Family with you”

[REI]: “......Does he hold a grudge because of his mother’s suicide?”

[RULONG]: “Before answering, Little Flower has to present the information that you have.”

[REI]: “Miyase-san’s mother was confined by the Kujo Family's predecessor, and suffering from a mental illness chose to die——is what I know.”

[RULONG]: “Anything else?”

[REI]: “In the same year, the Kujo Family predecessor also died......”

[RULONG]: “That's right. Go-chan’s papa, committed suicide after Go-chan's mama.”

[REI]: “H......!”

[RULONG]: “Licorice, you know, doesn’t respect people who waste their own lives.”

[RULONG]: “Life is the biggest consumable, it’s the best product.”

[RULONG]: “That’s why, I’ll give a hint to Little Flower, who is trying hard to collect information without giving up on your attachment to living even in this situation.”

-Kujo House / Living Room-

[KUJO]: “——Go, is now a good time?”

With the news of my mother’s death, abandoning everything except breathing, I answered without looking at Soma-san.

[MIYASE]: “What is it......? Right now, I can’t talk about any decent things.”

[KUJO]: “Father died.”

What idiotic things are you saying, I ridiculed.

[MIYASE]: “The fake funeral is over already, isn’t it?”

[KUJO]: “He’s really dead.”

[MIYASE]: “........................Ha?”

An intense breathlessness hit me, as if my throat was clogged by the incense burner. I felt nauseous.

Unable to stand it, I lifted my face slowly and Soma-san was reflected in my sight.

He was also looking straight at me.

[KUJO]: “He seems to have been put together with Ryoko-san’s coffin.”

[KUJO]: “An excessive use of a drug was detected in the body.”

[KUJO]: “——It was the same illegal drug as Ryoko-san’s.”

The hairs on my whole body stood on end at once, and I tried to strongly hold down the vomit.

I couldn't vomit anything, because even the gastric juice had frozen in my empty organs.

[MIYASE]: “What are you saying……?”

[KUJO]: “Go, I——“

[MIYASE]: “Shut up.”

[KUJO]: “——“

[MIYASE]: “Soma-san......”

[MIYASE]: “...——When you said “I do not hold a grudge against you” to my mom, what did you mean?”

[KUJO]: “............”

[MIYASE]: “I am sure you said that to my mom yesterday.”

[MIYASE]: “I kept on thinking about what it meant.”

[KUJO]: “That was——“

[MIYASE]: “Were they words of sympathy towards a mistress?”

[KUJO]: “It’s not!”

[MIYASE]: “How is it not!”

I grabbed Soma-san's collar and pressed him against the wall with fury.

When I looked at his pained expression at a close distance, I calmed down a little.

[MIYASE]: “......Just now, you said “it’s not”, didn’t you.”

[KUJO]: “............”

[MIYASE]: “Please explain. So that I can understand.”

[KUJO]: “-............”

[MIYASE]: “Explain it! Nii-san*!!” (T/N: Big brother)

My grip tightened up on his collar.

Rather than pressing him, it was as if I was clinging on to him.

I hit his body against the wall. I glared one-sidedly.

Is this sibling interaction?

Because I didn’t know how to do something like depend on my brother.

[KUJO]: “......Go, I think of you as my brother.”

[MIYASE]: “——!”

Pulling away the hand that was touching, I staggered a step back, and distanced another step back.

There was no “explanation”.

This person admitted that he was insulting my mother's existence, while calling me his “brother”.

He went out of his way to say “You are not guilty”, and heavily pressed that blame onto my mother.

[MIYASE]: “You are......the same as Kujo Soichiro. With that arrogance.”

[MIYASE]: “——To the extent that it robs people of their lives.”

[KUJO]: “Nh......”

[MIYASE]: “You are———...er.”

[MIYASE]: “You are not my brother.”

-Rulong’s Apartment-

[REI]: “No way......-, is that really true?”

[RULONG]: “My family’s researcher is a perfectionist.”

[RULONG]: “Researching everything as detailed and obsessively as possible.”

[REI]: “Then......after all, Miyase-san holds a grudge against the Kujo Family because of his mother, and wants to take revenge……”

[RULONG]: “That’s what I thought. Go-chan too.”

You “thought”......?

[REI]: “Does that mean that the current perception is different?”

[RULONG]: “Little Flower should have understood it from the Hanafuda game earlier.”

[RULONG]: “In Go-chan’s case, not just the cards in his hand, even the set couldn’t properly be seen.”

[REI]: “......Even Rulong-san can’t see all of Miyase-san?”

[RULONG]: “I can't give you any more hints.”

[RULONG]: “Because I don’t trust Little Flower completely.”

[RULONG]: “Even if I said we’re family, it’s still semi.”

[REI]: “That there’s hints means that there is an answer after all.”

[RULONG]: “What do you think? I wonder if Little Flower can see through the meaning of the set that Go-chan made.”

[REI]: “If you know anything, please tell me now......!”

[RULONG]: “And what if I said I was involved in the death of Go-chan's mother?”

[REI]: “Eh......-“

[RULONG]: “But, we’re a family. A family*.” (T/N: he usually says family in English but the second one he said in Japanese, kazoku.)

[RULONG]: “And with that, the serious talk is over ♪”

[REI]: “——!”

Suddenly I was hugged tightly by the waist, and my neck was bitten sweetly.

[REI]: “H......! P-Please stop......!”

[RULONG]: “I~ don’t wanna.”

[RULONG]: “This flower tea, in my country you give it to a woman you want to sleep with.”

[RULONG]: “You feel down because of Go-chan’s coldness, right? I’ll comfort you.”

[REI]: “Wai-! Really st——“

[MIYASE]: “You promised not to touch the product.”

[REI]: (Miyase-san......!)

[RULONG]: “Ah, you’re back.”

[MIYASE]: “Rulong, let go.”

[RULONG]: “Why? Go-chan doesn't need Little Flower, right?”

[RULONG]: “A Japanese woman has a clean and good smell from her moist skin, it’s making me feel a special excitement.”

[REI]: “N-No......!”

The appearance of me being embraced by him was seen by Miyase-san.

Although I was desperately struggling, his restraint was skillful as if it wasn’t a big deal to him.

[RULONG]: “Even if you resist, I’ll still do it. It actually makes me burn more.”

[REI]: “!”

[MIYASE]: “............Do as you like.”

[REI]: (No way......!)

He left.

The closed door resonated with a dry sound.

The view of his back that disappeared was on the other side of it.

......This was the first time I saw Miyase-san's back so clearly.

We were always next to each other or talking face-to-face.

Such a person, now was——...

[RULONG]: “Hmm, will it take about 15 seconds?”

[REI]: “Eh......”

The sound that seemed to cancel my confusion was the sound of the door opening and closing fiercely——

[MIYASE]: “Rulong, if you wanted to uselessly stir me up, you’ve succeeded.”

[RULONG]: “A~ha. It hasn’t even been 10 seconds, Go-chan really is the best.”

Miyase-san, who had a smile like it was plastered on, approached me, 

And firmly pulled my arm so that I got up from the reluctant Rulong-san’s knees.

[RULONG]: “You should’ve just done that from the beginning. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Saying it as if he knew it all, he went out of the room.

-Rulong’s Apartment / Corridor-

[RULONG]: “Having Little Flower reach Go-chan’s set by herself is my reserved card.”

[RULONG]: “Xiao Go, I won’t lose*.” (T/N: He says this in Chinese. Xiao is like a term of endearment that just means “small” or “young.”)

[freddiesaysalright]

My Man Part VI

A Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is a Broadway actress currently starring in a West End production of Funny Girl. She’s a widow, thanks to the Vietnam War, but it’s a well-kept secret. She also wants everyone to think she doesn’t care for rock music. She met Roger Taylor when he brought his date backstage. They didn’t start off great, but a party at Freddie’s turned them around. Now, they’re friends. After she was attacked by a director, Roger is there for her. Then she gets a surprise visitor with some wise words for her.

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @bohemian-war @kittygirlno @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @rockyroadthepastryarchy @goodoldfashionedloverboyy @jennyggggrrr @discodeacygotmorerhythm @x1975sos @slytherinxval @cyndagoaway @doingalrightt @lovvliies @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing @capsparrowtara @they-call-me-peaches @hyosong @riddikuluslypotter @orchideax  If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V  

Part VI here we go!!!

You spent the next few days at home, recovering. Roger stayed with you all the time, leaving only for band stuff and to shower and change. You thought about telling him he could bring some things over, but you weren’t sure what kind of message that sent.

It was Roger who told you that you absolutely could not go back to work. You agreed only because there wasn’t enough makeup to cover the bruise around your eye. You also couldn’t bear the thought of performing “You Are Woman, I Am Man.” It made your stomach clench to even think about. You gave Gary the excuse that you were ill, and he bought it.

Three days after your assault, you were relaxing with Roger on your couch. You were reading your old copy of Jane Eyre, while he dozed beside you, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders. You’d always loved Jane Eyre. When times were hard, you read her story again. You told yourself that if she could overcome the things she did, you could overcome the trials of your own life.

As you read, you came across a line that struck your heart in a new way: “I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.”

You stopped. Closing the book, you glanced at Roger. He looked at peace as he slept, even with his head back and mouth slightly agape. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and remembered when you first met. He was acting so arrogant and you were so annoyed. Now he was at your side in the most dire situation you’d ever faced. How could this have happened? You, who were so sure you would never love again after losing George, were falling in love with Roger Taylor?

He didn’t even really look the same to you. Before - and perhaps still to others - he was the great Roger Taylor, drummer for Queen and womanizer extraordinaire. Now, he was just Roger, who held you close and punched your agent and slept on a lumpy sofa for you. Roger, who was talented and smart and passionate. Roger, a man you respected. A man you loved.

But what could ever come of it? He was also your best friend. Had his feelings changed? Had they ripened into this exciting and painful extra emotion? You weren’t even sure if you wanted an answer.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Roger shook awake and met your eyes. His sleepy face could have melted all the snow in Siberia. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You wanna get that or should I?” he asked, smirking.

You smiled. “I’ll get it.”

You padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. With a gasp and a cry of delight, you yanked the door open and threw your arms around the visitor.

“Jack!” you cried. “Oh my God!”

He laughed and spun you around. When he put you down, you saw Roger at the door. He looked between you and Jack and frowned.

“Roger,” you said. “This is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is Roger Taylor.”

Roger’s face immediately shifted and he smiled. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand and Jack shook it.

“So it’s true,” he said in almost a whisper.

“What’s true?” you asked.

Jack held up a copy of the issue of In Tune about you and Roger. “You’re doing it with the drummer of Queen!” He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing the top of your head to mess up your hair as much as possible. “I’ve never been so proud of you!”

Roger looked away, grinning like an idiot.

“Get bent!” you laughed, shoving him off. “He’s just a friend.” You felt like you were lying as you said this. “Come inside, will you?”

Jack followed you into the flat, clapping Roger on the shoulder. Roger closed the door behind you. At last, Jack took in your face.

“You look like shit,” he said, playfully.

“Shut up,” you returned, rolling your eyes. “It doesn’t help that you just ruined my perfectly sloppy ponytail.”

“Did you get into another fight?” he asked.

“I’m sorry - another fight?” Roger interjected.

“She had an eventful youth,” Jack said.

Roger raised his eyebrows at you. You ignored him.

“Jack, what are you even doing here?” you wondered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled, but it’s such a long trip.”

“Dear Mother and Father sent me after some of their English connections saw the magazine,” he explained, waving it around again. “I’m supposed to set you straight.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asked.

“It usually means she and I get drunk together and then I lie to our parents about it,” Jack told him. “I was kinda iffy about this one but it was a free trip to London, so I thought - what the hell, I wanna see her show anyway.”

“I haven’t been in the show for a couple days,” you said solemnly. “Bruises look especially bad under stage lights.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” he replied. “Do I have to beat someone up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I once tackled you to the ground and made you eat dirt.”

“So?” he returned. “I was like twelve.”

“I was twelve,” you corrected. “You were seventeen.”

Roger snorted and you looked smugly at your brother.

“You know what, that’s fair,” Jack admitted. “But I do still need to know what happened to you.”

You looked down. “Just a really shitty director.”

“Did he try to casting couch you?” he wondered.

You could only nod. Jack pulled you close. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed you on the head. “I love you so much and if I were as strong as you, I’d tackle that asshole to the ground and make him eat dirt.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you clutched his shirt and chuckled. “You’re an idiot and I love you.”

Roger looked at the pair of you incredulously. “You two are giving me emotional whiplash.”

“Sorry, Roger,” you said.

“Oh, are you on a first name basis?” Jack teased, letting you go.

You looked at him and it hit you all of a sudden that you hadn’t called Roger “Mr. Taylor” since Mark’s attack on you. It just came so naturally now.

“It’s a recent development,” Roger said. “I’ve been begging her to stop with the ‘Mr. Taylor’ but she refused.”

“Some habits are hard to unlearn,” Jack said. “But I’m glad she’s opening up.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up, but stopped when he looked at the clock.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at you. “Rehearsal. I’ll come back after, yeah?”

“Please do,” you replied.

He grabbed his things, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and left with a final wave.

“See ya, Roger,” you called.

“Great to meet you!” Jack added as the door closed softly behind Roger.

Jack whipped around and looked expectantly at you.

“What?” you asked, more defensive than you meant to sound.

“You love him,” he said.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend,” you answered, too quickly.

“You know damn well I meant you’re in love with him,” he said. “Like wanna marry him, fuck his brains out, and have his babies.”

“Jack!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You looked deliberately away from him, biting your lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So why aren’t you with him?”

“There’s a lot that goes into answering that,” you began. “You know me. I over-analyze every part of what I’m feeling until I’m ready to explode.”

“Break it down.”

“I still feel guilty about moving on from George.”

“Okay. And?”

“Roger and I are such good friends, I’m worried if I tell him how I feel, he’ll reject me and I’ll lose him.”

“And?”

“I’m still feeling weird about being touched after being groped by that director.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” you said.

“Liar,” he accused.

Glowering at him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s true.”

“There’s something else.”

You groaned.

“Just tell me!” he insisted.

“I’m…” you trailed off, unsure how to word it. “I’m afraid that I...I won’t be able to please him...y’know...in that way.”

“Are you serious?” Jack returned.

“Yes!” you cried. “I’ve been with one person ever in my life, and I was married to him. Roger Taylor has been with - I dunno - every woman in London. And you should see the women he takes out, Jack. They’re head-turningly beautiful women.”

“Well, according to this bullshit magazine, he hasn’t been out with anyone since you eloped,” he said.

“We haven’t eloped,” you said.

“Anyway,” he began. “I should tell you that your sexual prowess probably doesn’t matter to him. And you’re every bit as beautiful as any of the girls he’s dated.”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t need to. Remember my first trip home from college? I brought back my roommate and he fell in love with you?”

“What?” you returned.

“God, I was so pissed too because I was convinced he was gay. Then we were up late at night talking, and he said you were so beautiful and all this other crap until he fucking cried.”

You giggled. “I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

“So yeah, you’re pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I do think Roger returns your feelings,” he continued. He held up the picture of you on the magazine. “I mean, look at his face here.”

You did. Roger was laughing as he looked at you in the photo. His arm was around your waist to have you near him. His eyes shone like the moon. Your expression was much the same.

“He looked like that every time he looked at you,” Jack said. “That’s how you look at the love of your life.”

Your face fell at those words.

“I know you feel guilty about George,” he said, not needing an explanation. “I loved him too and I know you risked everything for him. But he loved you so much. He’d never want you to stop living your life on his account.”

“I know,” you said.

“And honestly, I think he’d be damn proud of you for getting Roger Taylor,” he joked.

“I kinda think so too!”

You laughed together and for a moment you felt like you were a teenager again. Joking around with your big brother and the whole world ahead of you. You would never have guessed you would end up where you were.

“And as for the physical stuff after being hurt by that director,” he continued, serious now. “That’s just gonna take time. But I have a feeling that whenever you’re ready, Roger’s gonna be there for you.”

“You got all of that just from the way he looks at me?” you asked.

“It says a lot,” he said with a shrug.

“Thanks, Jack,” you replied. “I’m so glad you’re here to listen to my crazy.”

“What are gay big brothers for?”

When Roger returned that evening, you were nursing a glass of wine. You and Jack had killed a bottle while catching up before he returned to his hotel room. Now, you were back to your book. Roger smiled as he entered your living room.

“Hey,” he said. “Your brother clear off?”

“He went to his hotel room,” you said. “But he’s gonna be here for a week at least. He wants to see me in the show before he goes.”

“Are you ready for that?” he wondered, taking a seat.

You draped your legs across his lap. He gave them a gentle pat with his warm hands.

“I think I will be,” you assured him. “Nothing lifts my spirits like being on stage.”

“I admire your resilience,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment while he toyed with the fluff on your socks. You were suddenly overcome with affection for him. You smiled to yourself, and resumed comfortable silence. Roger did eventually get up to pour himself a glass of wine and then switched on the TV. You loved just existing in the same room with him.

That night, you awoke from a deep sleep from the noises in the living room. Thinking Roger had just left the TV on, you got up and headed out to switch it off. When you emerged from your bedroom, you were horrified to see the noises were coming from Roger. He was moaning, covered in sweat, and thrashing on the couch. You recognized this from the nights when George was home from Vietnam. Roger was having a nightmare. A PTSD nightmare.

You flew to his side, calling his name softly so you wouldn’t startle him. You pressed your hand onto his shoulder, and you felt how clammy his skin was. Gently, you rubbed up and down his arm until his movements slowed. He twitched away from you a few times, and you would back off for a moment before trying again.

“Roger,” you said, a little louder now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. For a split second, he moved away, as if he didn’t recognize you. Clarity swept over him and his hand shot toward you to cling to a bit of your nightgown. His chest heaved with his labored breathing, so you placed your hand over it. You could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

“I’m here, Rog,” you said, cupping his face with your other hand. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He tried to sit up, but you didn’t let him.

“Easy,” you soothed. “Just rest now, my darling.”

His breathing was still shallow, so you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“Can you do this with me, Rog?” you requested. “Come on, deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and followed your lead. You kept a hand on his chest to feel his pulse as you settled him. His grip on your clothing relaxed as well.

“Are you alright?” you asked, when he opened his eyes again.

“Yeah...just a stupid dream,” he muttered.

“It looked pretty serious to me,” you said.

“S’nothing,” he insisted.

You didn’t answer and you shifted your body so that you were laying beside him. Without prompting, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he hooked an arm around your waist. You dragged your nails gently across his back and hummed absentmindedly.

“Sing something for me,” he said.

“What would you like to hear?” you asked.

“Anything,” he told you.

You cleared your throat and began the first song that came to mind.

“Somewhere over rainbow, way up high,” you began.

He pulled his head back and looked so intensely at you, it took your breath away.

“How’d you know?” he wondered.

“What?”

“That’s the song my mum…” he trailed off. “After my dad was...extra rough, I guess. She sang that for us.”

You realized that must have been what he was dreaming. You ached with sympathy.

“You want me to stop?” you offered.

“No,” he said, returning his head to your shoulder. “No, don’t stop.”  

“There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby…”

As you sang, you considered everything you discussed with Jack, and realized he was right. What you and Roger had was special. You cared about one another in a way that was deeper than bones. It was your souls that spoke to each other. The only thing left to know was who was going to act on it first.

If happy little bluebirds fly

Beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can’t I?

[dirtyahs]

What Are We? (Tate Langdon x Reader)

HELLO IM BACK JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY IVE BEEN SO ABSENT LIFE IS KIND OF KICKING MY ASS BUT IM DOING MY BEST!! I LOVE ALL OF U FOR BEING SO KIND AND PATIENT <3

This was requested by my pal @stellaholland i luv u so much bby i hope u enjoy :,)

Word Count: 4,814

Warnings: unprotected sex, teasing (sexual and nonsexual), kinda fluffy at the end! (take that lightly, i dont write fluff well lmfao)

   You stood in front of your closet, continuously searching through the clothes as if something new was going to appear. You pulled a black skater dress off of the hanger and slipped it over your head, looking in your mirror, only half satisfied with the way it looked.    "You're just trying on the same dress in different colors, it's not that hard to pick one." You jumped when you heard a voice behind you, turning around to see none other than Tate. Your family had moved into the house about seven months ago. Both your mother and father were some kind of twisted horror fanatics, so they purchased the house knowing full well you'd be the owners of "Murder House." It was strange to get adjusted to at first, it's like living with ten other people, but only sometimes. Tate made himself visible the most out of everybody.    "How long have you been sitting there? Fuckin' creep." You scoffed, sitting on the edge of your bed to put on a pair of black boots.

"Long enough." He smirked at you, standing up to walk to your desk, flicking through your notebooks.    You saw Tate most often, but frankly, he was the last person you cared to see. He was obnoxious, arrogant, and overall just kind of a douche. You'd come home from school to see him laying in your bed listening to your music. Or you'd wake up in the middle of the night to things falling off of your bookshelf, furniture moving with no one being there. It was always him though. It's like he got off on just screwing with you; so he did. Quite often. Everybody else in the house was decent. Nora was sweet, she just cried a lot. Which was fair given her situation. Chad and Patrick were both okay individually, but when they were together, they were beyond irritating. Just so incredibly passive aggressive - you couldn't imagine being stuck in a house for eternity with someone you wanted to divorce.    You stood up, smoothing out your dress before grabbing your small bag and slinging it over your shoulder. Your parents had decided everyone was going to go out on a nice lunch today.    "Can you get out? I'm leaving." You pushed past him, opening your door and motioning him to walk out. 

"I can never get out, angel." He said, sounding just as conceited as ever, making his way to the door, leaning against the wooden frame. "But I guess I can leave you to your little lunch date with mommy and daddy." He teased you condescendingly. You'd done your best to not let him bother you, but he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

"Thanks for being so kind, Tate." You gave him the sweetest smile you could manage, slamming your bedroom door when the two of you had exited. 

ii.    You'd finally gotten home a few hours later. Your parents were very good at starting conversation with every server you'd ever had. They get talking, and then the server gets talking and it seems to last forever. They do always get some kind of discount or something free for being kind though. Your mom had been a server for a decent part of her life, so she was always extra nice to them.        Telling them you had homework to work on, you made your way upstairs to your room, hearing music coming from behind the door. Just as you suspected, Tate was sprawled out on your bed, hands behind his head, eyes closed. You sighed and walked over to your bed, smacking Tate's side.

   "Can you get the fuck out? I have homework to do." You hissed. You definitely weren't going to do homework though. You'd probably end up reading, or watching YouTube or something - but Tate didn't need to know that part. His eyes opened slowly, and you felt like you couldn't look away. He looked angelic (ironically.) His blond curls spread messily around his head, face peaceful, and most importantly, he wasn't talking, which made him look amazing. Without a word, he moved over to one side of the bed, making room for you on the other.

    "Tate, I mean it, get out. I've got shit to do." You tried to sound strong - however, you weren't very threatening.

"Whatever you've got to do, just do it quietly." He mumbled, eyes closing once again. Looks like you weren't going to be getting him out of your room. With that, you grabbed the book you've been reading and took a seat at your desk chair, kicking your boots off and putting your feet up on the desk. Your dress fell just a bit to reveal part of your upper thigh. Within minutes, you heard quiet snoring coming from the boy in your bed, blankets pulled up to his chin now. How he managed to make himself so comfortable in your room remained a mystery. It was his room first, technically though. You looked up from your book to see him snuggled tightly under the dark purple duvet, lips parted just slightly. 

You couldn't take your eyes off of him - he looked so  peaceful and quite beautiful honestly.     No - what the fuck are you thinking? You thought to yourself. You don't like Tate - you haven't since the day you moved into this house. He was rude and condescending and way too overly confident. He might be nice to look at, but that's all he had going for him. You had to shut those thoughts down immediately. You shook your head and picked your book up again, returning to the chapter you were reading. iii.    "Why are you going to school? Wouldn't you rather stay here with me?" Tate teased, leaning against your door frame, blocking you from leaving. He'd been there since you woke up, but he wasn't going to tell you that part. He'd watched you strip out of your pajamas and slide into your hip hugging denim jeans. He enjoyed seeing you - there was something so erotic to him about just watching you go about your normal routine. Not only was it erotic for him, he just liked to watch you. He was fascinated with the way you'd wing your eyeliner, or paint your lips your favorite pink nude. He liked seeing the way you'd quietly sing to yourself in the morning. Most people that moved into that house were terrified of him and everyone else there. You and your family were so different for him. Tate hadn't felt accepted probably ever in his life. Being accepted, and even admired was such a new feeling for him.     

"No, Tate I wouldn't. I need to go to class today." You huffed, slinging your bag over your shoulder and crossing your arms. He had that stupid smirk stuck to his face. Today, it was hard to tell him no. He did this every few days, and you always pushed past him without a second thought. Today, you kind of wanted to stay home with him. But you couldn't. You'd always done well in school, and it was something you took pride in. So you did what you always did and pushed past him, looking over your shoulder to see him watching you walk away. 

"Your ass looks cute in those jeans!" He called, blowing you a kiss oh-so sweetly. Your heart jumped a bit with his words.    You sat in the cold blue plastic chair, resting your head in the palm of your hand as your English professor babbled on about the assigned reading. The assigned reading that Tate wouldn't let you finish. You were sat in your bed, legs crossed at your ankle trying to finish the chapter. You looked up to see none other than your blond haired nuisance. He was wearing torn up black jeans and Doc Martens. You had the same pair. He crawled over the iron swirls of your bed frame, and laid next to you - uninvited. He tried to talk to you about whatever he could - about your book, about your boots, about himself, about how good he thought you looked in a denim mini skirt. His flirting was always sarcastic. At least it seemed that way. No matter how sarcastic he was though, somehow his words always made your heart flutter. No matter how much you tried to suppress it.    "(Y/N)? Can you tell me what happened to our main character in chapter 7?" Your teacher had her arms crossed over her chest, pulling you from your little fantasy - you just zoned out in class thinking about Tate fucking Langdon? Really?   

"I-well Mrs. Sanchez..." You stammered, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, cheeks turned an almost electric red. How the hell did you get so carried off thinking about a boy you thought you couldn't stand? 

 "Please pay attention, all of this is important." She said, clearly unhappy with you. You were one of her favorite students, but she had almost ridiculously high expectations of you. Oh well, you thought, she'd forget about it tomorrow.    You closed your front door behind you. It was about 3 o'clock. Your mom and dad would be at work for another couple of hours. But you were sure you'd walk upstairs to find Tate curled up in your bed for his afternoon nap, just like you found him there every day. He was a bit predictable sometimes. You trudged up the stairs, desperately needing some alone time. You'd found yourself day dreaming about Tate more than once. You'd see something that reminded you of him, and you'd feel your heart jump in your chest. You'd thought about the little freckle on his nose, and the way he'd touch all his fingers to his thumb when he got a little nervous. You'd thought about the one time you walked into the bathroom to see him shirtless standing looking in the mirror. His jeans were unbuttoned and hung low on his hips. His muscular shoulders stiffened a bit when he saw your reflection.

"I-I..." You stuttered, unable to look away. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here." Your cheeks were beet red, voice audibly shaking.     "That's okay," He turned around and took a few steps towards you. "You can walk in on me like this whenever you want. It seems like you're liking what you see." He growled, his hand moved to rest against wall next to your head.    You sighed and threw your bag to the floor, kicking your shoes off quickly. That memory ignited something in you and you couldn't deny the wetness forming between your thighs. Swiftly, you unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down your legs, crawling into your bed. You hooked your phone up to your speaker, playing your "Steamyyyyy" playlist, as if you'd ever been with more than one person before. You ran one finger down your chest, to your stomach, finally reaching your black panties, one finger rubbing light circles over your clothed clit. You let out a throaty sigh, gradually picking up speed. Your eyes were closed, head thrown back onto the black silk of your pillow case. You pushed the fabric to the side, your fingertip finally making skin to skin contact with the little bundle of nerves held between your soaking folds. Your lips remained parted, letting out desperate little whimpers every few seconds. Your free hand gripped at the sheets as your finger worked faster, whimpers eventually turning into loud moans. You hadn't been alone to do this in so long - honestly, you'd forgotten what it felt like. As alone as you felt, you logically knew you were never alone in this house. Tate was sat in your desk chair, a distinct protrusion pressing against his light wash jeans. His jaw hung open as he watched you, in shock over how beautiful you looked.Your mind was running with thoughts of none other than him; you thought about his fingers working you like this, his large hands caressing your skin, his full lips pressing kisses into your neck.     

"Tate..." You gasped, fully immersed in your fantasy, feeling that familiar tighten in your tummy, your fingers moved harder almost instinctively. Tate sat there, quiet. You'd finally rendered him speechless. His name fell from your lips several more times. His hand clapped over his mouth to hide his whimpers as you made his cock twitch against his boxers. Truthfully, he'd fantasized about you more times than he cared to admit. Seeing you like this was just a happy accident. He'd walked into your room with the intention to scare you, throw some stuff off of your shelves to mess with your head. But he stopped outside the door, hearing muffled moans. He opened the door slowly, eyes widening when he saw what you were doing.     Suddenly, the coil inside of you snapped and your legs started shaking. Your jaw hung agape, nails digging into the soft fabric beneath you.     

"Oh- fuck! Tate..." You hissed loudly, guaranteed that someone, somewhere in the house heard you. But, it was just Tate. He now stood at the end of your bed, watching as you soaked your fingers, his hand gently palming himself through his jeans. Once you'd finally ridden out your orgasm, you pulled your fingers from their spot between your legs, sighing deeply, satisfied. Your eyes finally opened and you looked around - still no one. Part of you was surprised Tate wasn't there to make fun of you. It was in that moment that you realized how loudly you'd been saying his name. You literally gotten off to him. He'd invaded your thoughts throughout the day and now he was doing it again in your only alone time. God dammit. You sighed and leaned up in your bed, rubbing your eyes. You couldn't keep playing this game with him - you needed to ask him what the hell his goal was. You needed to see what he felt for you. 

   You stood up and slid back into your jeans from earlier, making your way to your bathroom down the hall. The closer you got, you could hear a voice coming from inside. Your hand met the coolness of the door knob, but you stopped, feeling your knees weaken when you realized what you were hearing. From the other side of the door came strained grunts. Your heart was racing but you couldn't pull away. You pressed your ear against the door, the voice getting louder and louder. 

"(Y/N)," the voice hissed - your suspicions were confirmed, it was Tate. "I-I'm gonna' cum..." He hissed, letting out a loud, relieved moan. Your mind was racing, desperate to see what he looked like in that moment. Moments later, you heard the zipper of his jeans and quicker than you meant to, you began your little run down the hall and down the stairs, no doubt he heard your foot falls. Your heart was going to jump out of your throat, you were sure of it. It was your own fault for thinking you'd ever have any kind of alone time in this house. Tate never left you alone - he saw you. He had to. There was no way that was a coincidence. You opened he fridge, not really looking for anything, just trying to occupy yourself. You jumped when you saw two hands on either side of your head, making contact with the fridge. Speak of the devil.

   "Tate! You-you scared me." Whether he saw you or not, it was clear that something had you frazzled.    

"Can we talk?" His voice sounded deep, gravelly, almost like when he'd just woken up. You finally turned around and looked up at him. His hair was a bit messy, cheeks tinted a pale pink.    

"Yeah, about what?" Your voice shook with your words, hands clasped tightly in front of you. You looked up at him as he pushed his body closer to yours.    

"No need to act like you don't know what you heard." He growled, chest pressed tightly to yours. "And I'm not going to act like I didn't see you soaking your sheets thinking about me."

His dark eyes looked bright. He got some kind of thrill out of embarrassing you. You opened your mouth to say something sarcastic back, but no sound came out. Tate being this close to you was making your heart race, you didn't have the overwhelming urge to shove him away like you normally would.   

"I think," He whispered, lips ghosting yours, "You like when I tease you." He smirked, one hand moving down your side to your hip. "Why don't you tell me what you were thinking about, hm baby girl?" His lips brushing yours forced an unintentional moan from your throat, cheeks flushing almost instantly.    "I-Tate..." You were mesmerized. He had you in the palm of his hand and it excited him. "I wasn't thinking about you." You tried to lie, realizing just how dumb you sounded after the words came out.     

"Oh Tate," He raised his tone to mock you, "Fuck me, Tate." He chuckled down at you. "Nothing to be embarrassed about doll, I know you heard me saying your name just like that too." He gave your hip a firm squeeze. 

"After what, nine months in this house, I think it's time you live your fantasies." 

He held you tightly in his hands, spinning you two around so you were pressed against the edge of the counter top. You had nothing to say. Honestly, you were unbelievably excited. You'd thought about his hands touching your skin, his lips on yours, you've wanted this longer than you cared to admit. Your hand came up to hold one side of his face, taking a fistful of his hair and kissing him - hard. His lips worked against yours perfectly, feeling as if they were made to fit together. He got rougher, not hesitating to take control of you. He pushed you firmly against the cool marble behind your back, lips moving from yours down your jaw and to the soft skin on your neck. His kisses started gentle, but quickly got aggressive, nipping at the skin, leaving purple marks in his wake.

You tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, feeling him smirk against your skin before he pulled back to tug the gray fabric over his head, showing you his slightly toned torso. Your heart rate picked up once again as you looked him up and down. 

   "Your turn, angel." He cooed softly, watching as you followed his actions, tossing your tank top to the side. He smirked at you, using both hands to grope at your exposed chest, pressing possessive kisses to your chest.    

"I've always loved it when you don't wear a bra." He teased you, his playful, mocking tone returning.

"It's much more obvious than you think." He smirked and tweaked one nipple between his pointer finger and thumb, making you whimper from the slightly satisfying jolt of pain. You leaned your head back, allowing your eyes to shut as his tongue replaced his fingers, flicking over your nipple. Your lips were parted, letting out quiet gasps of pleasure. His now free hands moved down your sides and to your jeans, unbuttoning them with ease and sliding them down your thighs. You kicked them aimlessly to the forming pile of clothes on he floor.

His kisses started moving south, trailing them down your breasts, to your stomach, to your hips, finally reaching the thin cotton fabric that was now soaked between your legs. One of his hands came up to lift your leg over his shoulder, his lips pushing a few light kisses against your clothed pussy. You whimpered, desperate for him. You'd never admitted it to yourself, but Tate has always a central theme in your fantasies. He'd force his way into your thoughts without you even realizing it, and after you were done, you'd push it away and pretend like you'd thought about someone else. You didn't want to be attracted to someone as annoying and immature as Tate, but now he had his head between your thighs and you had no intention of stopping it.

   He'd pushed the thin fabric aside, flicking his tongue against your clit just once, to make you moan out in pleasure.         

"Stop teasing me, dick head." You half whimpered, half challenged him. You did want him, so badly, but you couldn't let him see just how wrapped around his finger you really were. With your words he roughly pulled your hips forward, forcing a harsh smack to your ass.    

"I like you much more when you're just moaning my name." He growled, but he listened to you. His lips attached to your clit and he began sucking lightly, not hesitating to push two fingers into your wet heat, making you squeal in pleasure. It'd been a long time since someone else's fingers had penetrated you, and somehow Tate was fucking amazing at it. He curled his fingers perfectly in rhythm with the way his mouth worked your clit. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter top, knees growing weak. You felt that tight heat rising in your tummy, his fingers and tongue getting you so close to release, much quicker than you ever did by yourself.     

"Tate- I'm gonna-" He stood up, smoothly lifting you up onto the counter, keeping your leg slung over his shoulder.    

"You're cumming on my cock." He growled dominantly, his eyes looking dark and almost feral. He kicked his jeans and boxers to the side, completing the pile of your clothes. You couldn't help but watch as he stroked his length a few times before lining it up with your entrance, pushing into you painfully slowly. You looked up at him, taking in his features. His jaw hung open a bit, blond curls hanging in his eyes. He looked as perfect as someone possibly could. Once he bottomed out inside of you, he looked up, beginning to thrust into you, starting slow and picking up gradually. 

   "Fuck-" He hissed through gritted teeth, "You're so fucking tight." His hands rested on the counter on either side of your hips, fingertips turning white from how hard he pressed into the surface. He kept up a steady pace for awhile before you felt his hips stutter - he was close. He brought one hand up and began rubbing fast circles over your clit, making your legs tremble around him.    

"Cum with me, angel." He growled, fingers picking up their pace, your lips barely brushing his as you felt that tightness return. Your jaw hung open now as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You watched his fingers and hips work in time against you, when all of a sudden you felt him release, covering your walls with his hot cum, forcing the coil in your tummy to snap. You came with him, nails digging into his shoulder, knees feeling weak before it was even over. You watched his face relax once he was finished, chest rising and falling quickly. He looked up at you through his hair, flashing a faint smile. He pulled out of you slowly, pressing a loving kiss into your cheek before bending down to dig through the pile of clothes to find his boxers. He slipped them over his legs, followed by his jeans, but you stayed in your spot on the counter.    "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" He looked at you, jeans resting low on his hips.    "You get on my fucking nerves more than anything, and somehow you managed to have me up on this counter for you." You shook your head, blatantly in shock from what just happened. You didn't want it to end though. There was something about seeing Tate so vulnerable, yet so confident that just left you wanting more. He smirked, pulling his shirt over his head and shrugging.    "Neither of us are complaining." He smirked, tossing you your shirt and helping you down from the counter. You pulled your tank top on, opening your mouth to respond when you heard the key turn in the door - your parents were home.    "This isn't over, Langdon." You hissed, grabbing your clothes before rushing up the stairs, accidentally slamming your door much harder than you intended.    A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Tate, and there had been a repeat of those events every few days. You two started to pick up on what the other one liked. Like how you enjoyed having your hair pulled and Tate enjoyed when you'd kiss his neck. He liked having you in control. For someone as confident and douchey he was, he liked having you dirty talking him, being the more dominant one occasionally. And god damn, that boy was always in the mood. You'd feel his hands on your hips when you'd brush your teeth in the morning, or when you were getting ready for bed, he'd kiss down your shoulders the way he knew you loved. But you didn't mind. If he wanted it, you were happy to drop what you were doing and sleep with him. It was a fun little arrangement.    It was late, probably around 2 A.M., Tate was laid next to you, a blanket covering him from the waist down, his arms behind his head. You looked over at him, feeling your heart race a little faster. The more time you spent with Tate, the more you grew to appreciate him. He was funny, and charismatic. He'd make you giggle but then have you bent over your bed in the same minute. You couldn't help but miss the feeling of him when you slept alone in your bed. He was always warm.    You pulled the blanket tighter around your chest as you leaned up on one elbow, looking over at his sleepy face.        "Tate can I ask you something? It's kind of dumb, but I just need to know." You felt nervous all of a sudden. You weren't even exactly sure what you wanted with him. Could you be in a relationship with someone who died in the 90's? Was that even what he wanted? What if he just wanted to be fuck buddies? Is that okay with you? Your brain was jumbled with all these thoughts, interrupted when he looked over at you, skin almost glowing in the dim light.    "What's up?" He looked up at you, his finger drawing lazy circles on his chest. You took a deep breath and visibly shifted, clearly uncomfortable.    "What are we?" You blurted out, cheeks going red immediately. "Because we- we fuck a lot. You're in my room a lot. You never let me be alone, and I just don't want to say something weird, or continue being in the dark I guess." Your voice trailed off before you collapsed down onto your back again, suddenly unable to look at him. He looked over at you though, you couldn't meet his eyes.    "What do you want to be?"    "No, don't put this on me. Answer my question."    He sighed, and you finally looked over at hi,.    "(Y/N)," He started, looking over your chest before looking back into your eyes. "Honestly, this started as sex." Your heart dropped. "But you're right, we have spent a lot of time together. I like being in here with you, regardless of what we're doing." He moved to cup one side of your face.    "I don't want to tie you down, ever. I can't leave this house, and I don't want you to be stuck here with me." You opened your mouth to cut him off, tell him that you were willing to be here with him, for however long he wanted, but he cut you off, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.    "How about this - you and me continue what we're doing here. We can be boyfriend and girlfriend here, but I won't be mad if you find someone else, out there." His words almost brought tears to your eyes. You hadn't felt cared for like this in so long, and to be here, this vulnerable and intimate made your eyes well up.    "Please just agree. If I could leave this house, I'd ask you to be mine right now, and I'd parade you around for everybody to see. But I can't do that, so we keep doing what we're doing, and see how things progress naturally." He flashed you a close mouthed smile, but it felt genuine nonetheless. One tear fell down your cheek, and you returned his smile.    "That sounds perfect to me. Boyfriend and girlfriend, kind of." You grinned before he pulled you into a kiss, hands wrapping around you to keep you in his arms - and you'd stay there as long as he wanted you to.

[minervacasterly]

Henry VIII & Catherine of Aragon: Once Upon a Time there was a young handsome man who swore he'd marry a beautiful, destitute royal lady ... their story is often glossed over and considered unimportant but it remains an important chapter in English history, one that sowed the seeds for her intellectual successors, her daughter, the first English queen and her successor. Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII are the perfect example of a fairy tale gone bad. Their story starts very idyllic. Boy meets girl, promises he will marry her after his older brother dies and like in the promises that couples still make today at weddings, the swears that he will love her until the death. But as it is common with most fairy tales, there is a darker element in the story, one that makes their relationship even sadder. Recent historians have done a great job documented the early years in their relationship, describing how Henry VIII were well-matched and she was often the go-to- person for foreign ambassadors who wanted to see His Majesty's favor. Henry VIII's disillusion with Catherine is the product of his ancestors' dynastic warfare, going all the way back to the Normans and the Angevins. England had been this close to having its first female monarch when Henry I made all of his barons swear allegiance to his remaining legitimate offspring, Matilda who was quickly married to Geoffrey, Count of Anjou and Maine in an effort to secure the Dynasty for him by providing her father with male heirs. Unfortunately, this was not to be. Matilda fought hard against her cousin, the barons' choice and her father's successor, King Stephen, for the English throne but following his son and wife's death, the two of them had no choice but to accept an uneasy truce in which Matilda gave up her claim in her oldest son, Henry FitzEmpress favor. Fast forward to three hundred years later and the country is yet facing another civil war, this time between two other powerful branches of the Plantagenet dynasty. Once again, it was up to a man to put an end to this war through his mother's claim, also using his wife's claim to give legitimacy to their offspring. Giving all that England had to endure for three hundred years, Henry VIII knew that it was up to him to secure the Tudor Dynasty. And the best way to achieve this was by having a male heir -and if possible, a spare, in case the crown heir died. Henry VIII was after all the "spare" and he knew all too well that there were other potential claimants who could easily take advantage of the succession crisis to garner support in the same fashion his father did. In spite of Catherine's miscarriages, Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon still enjoyed a happy existence with Henry still visiting her chambers in the mid 1520s. After she gave birth to Mary, Henry VIII consoled her and told her that just as they had a healthy daughter, they could have a healthy son. One wonders if Anne Boleyn knew what Henry VIII told Catherine after she had given birth to a healthy daughter since those were almost the same words he told her when she gave birth to another healthy princess. In any case, the first years of their lives were purely idyllic. As Amy Licence, author of In Bed With the Tudors, notes in her biography on the six wives of Henry, Six Wives and the Many Mistresses of Henry VIII: "In 1510, Thomas More wrote a poem which he called 'The twelve properties or Conditions of a Lover'. With the happiness of the newlywed royal couple evident to all, More explored the contemporary ideals of amatory behavior, which included fidelity and devotion as well as the more specific examples of dressing, or adorning, oneself for the pleasure of the spouse, being frequently in their company and coveting the lover's praise. It was also essential to 'believe of his love all things excellent, and to desire that all folks should think the same' and 'to serve his love, nothing thinking of any reward or profit'. This accorded with the advice given to Henry in 1501, by his tutor John Kelton, to 'choose a wife for yourself and always love her only'. With Henry soon to adopt the title of 'Sir Loyal Heart', his devotion to Catherine was beyond doubt. Henry had certainly grown into an impressive young man. According to Thomas More's coronation verses, he had 'strength worthy of his regal person' and stood taller than his companions. There was 'fiery power' in his eyes, Venus in his face and 'such colour in his cheeks as is typical of twin roses'. Yet he possessed other skills, too. He was skilled in the physical arts of war, with 'his hand ... as skilled as his heart is brave' with 'the naked sword, or an eager charge with leveled lances, or an arrow aimed to strike a target'. More also described how Henry's virtue 'shone forth from his face' and his countenance bore 'the open message of a good heart'. Wisdom dwelled in his judicious mind and his breast was untroubled; he bore his lost with modest chastity, his gentle hearth was warmed by clemency and his mind far from arrogant. He and his natural gifts had been enhanced by a 'liberal education', with his father's wisdom and his mother's 'kindly strength'. Henry was also Catherine's intellectual equal, having studied the Classics, French, Latin, Italian, theology, modern sciences and composing music, as well as playing upon the flute, virginals and recorder ... This was the man with whom Catherine fell in love. In all things, he seemed to be her perfect match just as she was his. More's praise for the new queen extolled her birth and qualities as qualifiers that made her Henry's true equal ..." Giles Tremlett, Patrick Williams and Julia Fox in their respective biographies of Catherine, were highly descriptive of Catherine's childhood and her education, pointing out that she and her sisters were among the most learned women in Christendom, with their mother, Queen Isabella I of Castile, wishing they'd receive the education that she never had. In addition to being taught about the usual domestic arts which included how to run a household, they also had a Humanist curriculum which included learning about the classics, art, music, dancing, and of course, canon and civic law. After Henry VIII wrote a powerful spiritual tract against Martin Luther, he was given the title "Defender of the faith"; not wishing to be left behind, Catherine also wrote something, although less incendiary, defending the papacy which also earned her the title of defendress of the faith. When Anne Boleyn, then Henry's intended wife, learned that Catherine had been allowed to speak at the Blackfriars trial, she reprimanded Henry, telling him that he should have known the dangers to let her speak since, she was sure to win every time. Bottom line: Henry VIII was prince charming who knew everything there was to know about sports, Humanism and faith, but when it came to winning an argument, Catherine of Aragon was a far superior at being a drama queen. Other interesting curiosities about Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon: 1. While Henry VIII claimed that he married Catherine to fulfilled a "long lost promise" to his dad because he was such a good son, the truth is that nobody bought it and as I suspect, some of you might not either. The truth is that people expected that Henry VIII, unlike his maternal grandfather, Edward IV, would listen to his councilors and marry whomever they'd tell him to aka someone who brought more to the marriage instead of a former widow but like his grandfather, he showed them that he was going to be his own man, subject to no one but his desires. 2. After Richard III and Anne Neville's joint coronation, Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon were the other glorious coronation that symbolized the coming of something new and hopeful. 3. Catherine of Aragon was the FIRST and only one of two Tudor Consorts to be appointed Regent while her husband was away fighting the French. In spite of Henry VIII's meager victory which he called one of the greatest that had ever been achieved, it was Catherine who won a bigger one and secured his throne from any future threats from his Northern neighbor, Scotland. By defeating James IV, King of Scots, Catherine's leadership, left a power vacuum in Scotland which had terrible repercussions for the Stuarts that lasted until Mary, Queen of Scots and sowed the seed for her terrible fate. 4. The similarities between Henry VIII and his maternal grandfather, Edward IV have long been established, but it is not so often that his relationship with Catherine is also paralleled with that of Edward and Elizabeth Woodville. Just like Elizabeth was a widow and five years and a half older than Edward, so was Catherine, five years and a half older to Henry VIII. History does repeat itself sometimes doesn't it? ;) It's a shame that Catherine and her beloved daughter didn't have a happier ending. 5. In her biography on Isabella I of Castile, Kirstin Downey says that out of all her daughters, Catherine of Aragon was the one who inherited her countenance. And while I am no fan of Feminist Karen Lindsey's short biography on the six wives, she is right when she wrote that had Catherine had been born a boy, Spain would have had one of its greatest Kings. 6. Catherine of Aragon was the first Female Royal Ambassador in Western Europe! While Catherine and her mother were very similar, she could also be as conniving and deceptive as her father. In fact, knowing that there was no other best person he could trust than his youngest daughter at a time when her future seemed uncertain and war was once again brewing in Spain over who'd control Castile, Ferdinand II of Aragon appointed her his Ambassador. 7. She set the stage for other learned women, including Queen Catherine Parr! Like Margaret Beaufort and Elizabeth Woodville's family who sponsored many renowned religious scholars, Catherine sponsored artists and humanists as well but she took a step further, inspiring other women to get an education for themselves and their daughters, one of those women was Maud Parr whose daughter was possibly named in her honor. She became Henry VIII's last wife and the second and last Tudor consort to also be named his regent, once again when he was away fighting the French. In his book on the education of Christian princes and women's intelligence, Juan Luis Vives, dedicated his texts to her, calling her a role model for all women. 8. Defendress of the Faith: As previously stated, besides Henry VIII writing an incendiary tract against Luther in support of the Catholic faith; Catherine also wrote her own defense which earned her the unofficial title of defendress of the faith. 9. Gentle, sweet but strong as her lady mother and pragmatic as her father: Appearances can be VERY deceiving. This is certainly true when it comes to Catherine of Aragon. She appeared sweet and meek on the outside but get into a verbal row with her, you were sure to end up being devoured! Not only that, this was a woman who had been witnessed to her parents' conquest. She was a child when she saw the way her mother inspected her troops and how her father played coy with the politicians, saying one thing but doing another behind their backs. During her regency, after she had received news of King James IV of Scots' demise, she coldly inquired as to why she was not being shown his body. They told her that it would be too much to send his body to His Majesty; something she didn't look too kindly upon. So she had no choice but to settle for his bloody cape, sending it to her husband as "proof" of her victory which she attributed to him. This just shows you that besides being a good politician, she was like her father, tough as nails. And like him, she was subtle but deadly in her letters. When she found out that the pope had not yet reached a decision about her marriage, she told Charles about it and told him to hurry up and exert more pressure on the pope. When -in her view- Charles wasn't doing enough to help her cause, she put pressure on Chapuys and finally on the pope himself, daring to questioning his commitment to the Catholic faith. Talk about audacity! 10. A Woman for all Seasons: Besides being praised by her allies, she was also praised by her religious enemies, including Luther who greatly admired her and like Juan Luis Vives and Thomas More, considered her a good role model for women and was deeply saddened by her death. 11. The longest Tudor marriage: Out of all the Tudor unions, including Henry VIII's parents, it was Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon's union that lasted the longest. Twenty four years! (More if you don't count parliament's ruling) Additional sources: There is one good book that gives a possible explanation into Henry VIII's degeneracy; it is by Kyra Cornelius Kramer and it is called "Blood Will Tell". The first chapters go deep into Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon's relationship, as well as their education. Other books I have found very useful when it comes to this topic are Catherine of Aragon by Garrett Mattingly, Six Wives, the Queens of Henry VIII by David Starkey and Wives of Henry VIII by Antonia Fraser.

[salem-saint]

hi team! my name’s maddie, and i’m in scotland in the gmt timezone, so i’ll generally be online at different hours to the majority of the group because of it lmao! salem’s full bio is here, but i’ve also put it under the cut for anyone that’s mobile. i’m super excited to start plotting with everyone - i’m dashing out to work pretty soon but i’ll be reading everyone’s bios and sending out some messages either late tonight or first thing tomorrow :) and obv feel free to message me if you have any ideas! my discord is maddie#5000, i’ll add ppl there as it’s generally a faster way to reach me than on tumblr

xxx

Wesley St. Ives was one of the most well-renowned senators from New York State. His reputation was perfect, barring one thing: his son. Salem was born troublesome. As a newborn he screamed relentlessly, and more often than not Wesley would have the nanny take Salem out for long drives at night just so he could get some rest. It quickly developed into less of a relationship between son and parents, and more of an acknowledgement of existence. At mealtimes he was picky and threw tantrums when he didn’t want to eat his vegetables, so the nanny was instructed to take Salem for mealtimes elsewhere. At work functions, Salem would be rude to the people Wesley most needed to impress, embarrassing the family.

They thought they might have some peace when Salem was old enough to be enrolled in kindergarten. Being a senator’s son, he was sent to the finest private kindergarten in New York, only to be turned out months later for causing too much trouble. He constantly disrupted naptime, refused to eat the snacks that were prepared for them, drew frightening things during fingerpainting time, and insulted the teacher as imaginatively as his five year old mind would allow for.

Despairing of their son, the St. Ives’ sent their only child to a less elite school in the quieter suburb of Manhasset. He wasn’t removed from this one, but they still got far more calls home than they would have liked. Salem had learned quickly that his parents both had such busy schedules - when they weren’t working, they were attending social functions necessary to further their careers. The only way he could reliably get their attention, was by acting out. His parents might be furious when they had to sit in the principal’s office listening to his latest misdemeanours, but at least they were there.

As he got older, his anger grew more into apathy. If his parents weren’t going to make the effort, why should he bother? He became withdrawn, rarely acting out in class except to make snarky comments when called upon by the teacher. Making friends was difficult for him, because he was embarrassed to invite people home. His family was ridiculously wealthy, and he didn’t want anyone to see that. He didn’t want anyone to see how his nanny, Armelle, was more of a mother to him than his own biological mother ever had been. He rejected the lifestyle his parents laid out for him, because it had never done him an ounce of good. They bought him expensive designer clothes, and he shrugged them off in favour of beat up bomber jackets and jeans with holes through the knees that he’d bought in thrift stores. He was no longer rebelling to get his parents’ attention, he was simply rejecting what felt like a predetermined life. He didn’t want to follow his father into politics, and that was where the two most often butted heads. He forced Salem to join the debate team at school, where he excelled when he tried - though more often than not he threw the debate by making irreverent jokes.

He was a lonely, angry child, and the first time he really remembers laughing in school was when The Jokester got moved next to him. Salem couldn’t even tell you what joke they made that so tickled him, but he did remember looking up with bright surprise in his eyes, grinning. They were the first person Salem ever invited back to his house - and god, did they laugh about it. Salem, in his punky little leather jacket, was the son of a high flying politician? There was too much material for them to not tease him about it, but somehow he didn’t mind. It didn’t feel like they were laughing at him, as much as with him. He settled with ease into a friendship with them, and the Punching Bag followed shortly after. More often than not, the Punching Bag was the butt of Salem and the Jokester’s humour, and sometimes Salem felt bad about that. But in the end, the whole thing was too cathartic for him to give up. If the Punching Bag ever thought they’d taken things too far, Salem was sure they’d speak up.

Or maybe he just said that to appease his guilt, because it did weigh heavily on him.

It felt like such an unlikely group of friends into which he fell, during the years of his schooling. Some of them were people he would never have looked at twice, but somehow they formed a happy little group. Salem, for his part, was more happy on the outskirts, drawling out sarcastic comments. He liked that it made people laugh. They didn’t think he was a waste of potential like his father did, they thought he was funny. Maybe he’d have spoken up more with the squad, but in many ways he felt almost shy around them. He actually cared what they thought, and he didn’t want to spoil his reputation as a funny guy, the one with the pithy remarks. Of course, he lost himself so much in that image that he often crossed boundaries. He said things that were too mean, things friends shouldn't say to each other. It meant more to him than he would ever say that they forgave him anyway.

The Squad made home life easier to deal with. He saw his parents less and less over the years, sometimes barely even aware of what country they might be in. He was left alone with Armelle for the most part, which suited him fine. She was only fifteen years older than him, an au pair practising her English in the States. It was only supposed to be for a year, but in the end she enjoyed her work, and the many perks the St. Ives supplied to her, enough that she stayed till Salem graduated high school.

To all appearances, Salem was a highly independent young man. But he did rely on his family for one thing: money. And his father had always threatened that if Salem didn’t keep his head on straight, he’d never see a single cent of the trust fund that was saved away for when he turned twenty one. And he hated to admit it, but that money would make a real difference. He just had to play along until his twenty first birthday. What ‘playing along’ meant, was getting good grades at school. It surprised many of his classmates, because Salem rarely participated in class, and always had a scathing attitude towards things, but after school he knew how to knuckle down. His homework was always done, even if he tossed it onto the teacher’s desk with the air of someone that couldn’t be bothered. He stayed up late studying for exams, and sometimes he even stood out. English was his favourite subject - he loved writing, particularly poetry, although his father discouraged it.

When Salem was accepted to study economics at Cornell, he wasn’t going to pretend it was because he’d really worked for it. There was no doubt in his mind that the generous donation made by his father had more to do with his acceptance than any real talent he had. Whatever the reasoning though, he had been accepted, and he was going to study a subject his father chose for him, and he was going to grudgingly carry on doing the bare minimum until he got the money. It wasn’t that he was greedy, he just wasn’t stupid - if someone says they’ll give you a small fortune for playing nice, you’ll learn to toe the line expertly.

Salem was miserable. He hated economics. He hated the other students. He stayed in touch with the squad perhaps more persistently than most would have expected of him. He’d always been teasing to the point of rudeness, raising eyebrows as well as questions of whether he really liked any of them at all. But the truth was, he’d come to depend on them in many ways, and Cornell was sapping the life out of him. He persevered for a year, surviving largely on the texts and emails he got from the members of the squad that kept in touch, and then during the summer vacation before second year he went to visit Armelle in Paris.

She’d flown back once Salem graduated high school; she’d cried, he’d pointedly told her to get a grip. It made her laugh. She’d always been the only family he really cared for, and his parents were happy enough to fork out for plane tickets to get him some culture. The trouble was, he didn’t come back. At nineteen years old, he moved in with Armelle, and sent an email to Cornell telling them that they could eat his entire ass if they thought he was coming back for one more semester at their insufferable university.

At first he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His father cut him off entirely - no contact, no money, no home to return to. His mother tried in vain to mediate, but Salem and Wesley both preferred it this way. Salem didn’t want their money if it meant following their dreams instead of his own. Paris suited him: the people were generally rude and arrogant, the food was excellent, and the literature, exquisite. He began writing again, after having lost his passion at Cornell. It didn’t exactly pay the bills, so eventually he took up a job in a bakery so that he wouldn’t be such a burden on Armelle. Thanks to her efforts over the last nineteen years, he was more or less fluent in French, so he didn’t struggle. But he did submit his poems to several magazines, and got a few published. It brought in some money here or there.

It felt more like the life he was supposed to be leading. He woke up early, went to the bakery to stock the displays and sell as much as he could, and in the evenings he would sit outside some little cafe sipping red wine and scrawling out poems about life and love and beauty, largely spiked through with a sharp sense of nihilism and cynicism. Salem never quite lost his pessimistic streak. He stuck at it, and eventually published his own little poetry anthology, written dually in French and English, and found a moderate amount of success. Not quite enough to stop working at the bakery, but enough to keep him happy. Over the years, he lost touch with most people. He hasn’t heard from his parents in almost ten years, and barely touches base with any of the squad. He missed them, and their influence was in many of his poems, but he was worlds away. He had new friends in Paris. Now that he’d grown up Armelle was more of an older sister figure to him, and he went out to meals with his colleagues, and fell in and out of love with various people. High school was just a distant memory, until he woke up one morning to a message from The Soul.

Of course it was bad news. You don’t reach out to a friend you’ve not seen in a decade just to say ‘hi’. Despite all the years that passed, he had never forgotten how the Squad had made him feel a part of something when he’d felt like nothing more than an angry loner. He owed it to the Soul to go back and offer some support, so he dipped into his meagre savings and flew back to Manhasset as fast as he could.

In many ways, he’s still the same person they all remember him as. His sense of humour was always cutting, and the sharp French humour has done nothing to appease that. He’s still quiet, happy enough to let other people do the majority of the talking. He’s still more at ease sharing quiet, humorous glances with one person than being in a larger group. But he’s also calmer than they recall, more at peace with himself, and quicker to realise if his comments are taken the wrong way. Salem is a lover, not a fighter, but you’d never guess from the lazy drawl with which he snips at people.

[blooddrinkingbartender]

Team Fortress 2 Verse

Below, you will find a profile for Bill’s Team Fortress 2 verse, where he works as an Admin and occasional supplier. To be honest, it’s pretty much the same (even his backstory) as his regular self, except the game is set around the 60s/70s and Bill is an admin/supplier. 

Name: William Godolphin IV (he started going by Bill Cyrus Goodwin during the 1800s, the surname was changed first during the 1500s, and he added the middle name in the mid 1950s)

Nickname: Vampire of Roxbury, Old Bill, Monster, Admin

Age:  Around 800 years old (looks to be in his early to mid-thirties)

Birthday: 7th December 1171 (Star sign: Sagittarius)

Gender: Cis Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual.

Species: Vampire (died and turned in the year of 1203)

Powers and Abilities: Mesmerism (able to force people to obey his commands, entrance them, or forget that they encountered him, it’s arguably his strongest skill, but it works a lot better when he’s also applying physical contact), flash steps (he can move at abnormal speeds. He can cross a long distance in a literal blink), heightened senses, forming very long claws, regeneration (the time it takes depends on the severity of the wound and how long it’s been since he last fed). Able to create his own shadow weapons of sorts, such as using them to create tendrils to grab/damage opponents, and he can smell lies ‘like when someone rips ass in a car’.

Weaknesses: Can’t enter a place without being invited (however, that doesn’t stop him using his mesmerism to force people to invite him in), some people can naturally see through the glamour and/or resist his mesmerism, fire (kills all vampires), sunlight (surprisingly, it doesn’t kill him, but it still burns him to the bone, leaves him in horrible pain, and makes him wish he could die), can’t utilise his super speed if he’s being watched (he can move quickly while you blink though), cannot consume normal food or drinks without vomiting them up again soon after (he still has eaten or drank normal things for the taste),  the sap and juice of fresh plants burns him like acid, and holy symbols repel him (as long as the wearer/user knows this and/or has faith that it will. If it works, in his point of view, the symbol glows in a blinding light and he feels the sensation of something pushing him back.)

Ethnicity: White

Current Residence: Mainly lives and works at Coldfront base, but moves around as needed. 

Former Residence: Many. His very first was Penzance in Cornwall, and then he kept moving from place to place after he was turned. During the 1500s, he moved to the United States, and now subconsciously speaks with an American twang (currently, his accent is associated with Massachusetts.)

Nationality: English (in particular, he came from Cornwall)

Mother: Glanna Godolphin (deceased)

Father: William Godolphin Sr. (deceased)

Siblings: None. He was the only surviving child out of eleven.

Other Family: He does have a few distant living relatives who are unaware of his existence due to having cousins that kept passing their blood on. 

Height: 6’3”

Weight: 200lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph/Muscular

Hair: Ginger, as is his beard.

Eyes: Very pale grey with slit pupils and red sclerae (Regular grey with normal pupils and sclerae when glamouring)

Languages: English, American Sign Language (ASL), British Sign Language (BSL), Cornish, French, German, Russian and Latin and currently learning Japanese (he’s had plenty of time to learn.)

Distinguishing features: He has major burn scars on the right side of his abdomen, chest, part of his right arm, and just above his butt. A hunter managed to set him on fire. Luckily, before it could kill him, he managed to put himself out. That Hunter paid with her life. He is always physically cold.  He can see himself in mirrors, despite popular belief. He’d be very sad if he couldn’t. The same goes for photographs. However, he doesn’t cast a shadow. If he doesn’t drink blood for a long time, he starts to age. Drinking blood reverses this effect.

He has three scars on his chest that are either from arrows or crossbow bolts. They’re all under his left pec muscle. He can only assume that that was how he died before he became a vampire; someone had shot at him three times and at least one of the projectiles had killed him. 

He has a birthmark on the back of his left hand that’s shaped like a crescent. He often jokes that it’s because one of his ancestors was a werewolf. He also has a tattoo of a Cornish Heath plant snaking around and down his outer upper thigh.

He usually is in a ‘glamour mode’ of sorts in order to blend in with mortals a lot more easily. He can turn this on and off as he wishes, but some people are able to still see through it when it’s on. When he’s ‘glamouring’, his fangs look like normal teeth, his skin looks more like a healthy pink than the deathly white veiny visage it actually is, and his eyes look a warm grey with regular pupils rather than yellow with slit pupils and red sclerae.

If you can get him drunk (he needs to feed on a drunk person), tired enough (wake him up during the day), or flustered enough (good luck with that one), he’ll revert back into his English/Cornish accent.

He always carries a gun on his person; an original Colt Frontier Six-Shooter, of the Bisley 1895 model, 'just in case’.

Hobbies and Interests: Dancing, astronomy (might as well enjoy the stars if you’re nocturnal), origami, drawing, mythology (he has met some figures of myth, or so he claims), and smithing. He’s also pretty good at playing acoustic and electric guitars, acoustic and electric violins, a lyre, the harmonica, the ocarina, and the accordion.

Occupation: He works as a supplier and admin for both BLU and RED, at TFI. He simply does what he is asked by the higher-ups, but takes requests from the regular crew as needed. He is NOT connected to respawn due to his vampirism. 

Personality: He’s friendly, he’s confident, and he can be rather eccentric at times. He’s far from shy and he enjoys the company of others. He lives to entertain, laugh, spread laughter and merriment, and give and get validation.

However, he can come across as conceited, arrogant, a show-off, a bit of a large ham at times, and/or a little bit too full-on for some people. That said, he honestly doesn’t mean harm (not anymore at least) and if you’re his friend, he will kill for you and do what he can to keep you happy.

He’s usually quite hard to anger. He can laugh off most insults or even attempts to hurt him physically. However, if you do make him mad, it’s your funeral, or at least your mind’s. He does try to keep himself in check however. He has no plans to go back to the sadistic bastard that he used to be.

Basic Backstory: Starting out his life in the coastal town of Penzance, Cornwall (in England), William Godolphin was the only survivor of the eleven children his parents gave birth to. His father was a lord and his mother was a blacksmith’s daughter who was married into the family.

William lived a fairly easy and unremarkable life with his loving mother, not-so-loving father and a few servants. His father made sure he worked hard however, not wanting to hand him everything on a silver plate, and told the same of his servants. That said, William was fairly well off, and spent his childhood and adult years getting ready to take on his father’s estate. On finding out his bloodline’s wealth and notoriety was founded on thievery, murder, extortion, he was not so willing to do so, but he was unsure of how to find a way out of it.

However, at the age of 31 years old, tragedy struck, and he was attacked and bitten while taking a walk. Despite being weakened by a draining of his blood, he was still determined to get home. But then he was shot and killed, reviving as a vampire soon after. He has no clue how he became a vampire, and who made him (although his maker would often speak into his head), and it did take him some time to get used to his new condition. However, after about fifty years or so, he managed to wrap his head around all of it.

He started out his unlife as a sadistic asshole, to be blunt. After the death of his parents (he hid his condition and they went to the grave never knowing what he became), he dismissed his servants to his father’s uncle’s house, took his inheritance, sold his old estate for a sizeable sum, and travelled. He toyed, hurt and killed humans as he pleased. 

What he doesn’t know is that his maker was puppeting him from a distance during those three hundred years. He still believes the choices he made during that time were his own. It also took a toll on his mental state even centuries later.

During the mid-1500s (coincidentally, around the same time his maker died) however, he came to the realisation that he didn’t enjoy doing what he was doing. He didn’t enjoy hurting or killing others. He decided to try and use his abilities for good, targeting criminals like murderers or rescuing those who might have needed it. He knew he couldn’t bring back those he had killed or restore the minds he broke when he was still mastering his mesmerism abilities, but he could at least start doing better with his life and do his best not to hurt another person (within reason).

At this time, he changed his surname to Goodwin and went to the United States to settle there, moving from place to place (although he visited other places and went back to England from time to time). Over 300 years later, during the 1850s, he changed his first name to ‘Bill’ (becoming Bill Goodwin) and settled down in Roxbury, Boston, content to stay off blood for the rest of his immortal days and age into an elderly gentleman.

In the year of 1899, one of his neighbours gave birth to a baby boy. After the loss of her other children, this seemed to be a spot of hope for her. However, she had no love for this child. She even refused to give this son a name and was very abusive towards him as he grew older. Bill gave the boy a name and started to help raise him like he was own, growing attached to him like a son. Said boy grew up and a few months after he turned eighteen, was sent out to fight in the first world war. Bill killed and drained the kid’s mother soon after he left, planning to tell him she just died suddenly in her sleep if he came back. Despite Bill’s worries he wouldn’t survive, he was delighted to receive a letter telling him that he would be returning to America in the month of November of 1918.

His surrogate son wasn’t on the ship, much to his dismay. He was informed that he fell off on the way home and he wasn’t found. He suspected foul play and got the truth out of one his son’s friends. He had been caught kissing another man, beaten up and then thrown off the boat. He knew he couldn’t judge anyone for that (“I drink blood to sustain my own life and I’ve had a few different lovers over the years”), let alone the young lad. Hellbent on revenge, he set off to slaughter his surrogate son’s four murderers, even admitting that ‘even though it won’t bring him back, it makes me feel a hell of a lot better’. He drained them of their blood in the process, going from an old man back into his early-to-mid-thirties. He decided to stick to that age this time around.

He later found out his son survived and had washed up on London’s docks. He went there to find him, but much to his grief, he was told he had been killed in a violent brawl with a vampire the night before he arrived. However, he took said vampire down with him in a mutual kill. He wonders if his son possibly reincarnated and could be out there living a new life now.

He continued to travel around, learning new things and trying new stuff to keep himself busy. He still drank blood to sustain himself but he didn’t kill unless it was someone he felt ‘deserved it’. He also kept up with all the changes in technology. He even adapted his speech as needed, keeping up with slang and staying savvy with the times.

He eventually found his way to TFI and after some discussion, became an admin and a supplier for them. 

As of now, he’s currently settled in Coldfront as his ‘main’ base of sorts, but he goes elsewhere as needed. 

[rosykims]

5 + 10 for emeraude, 14 + 18 for effie, 19 + 24 for arylene and 30 through 45 for imogen bc i love her so much ? 😏😏😏

fdjkfjkfdk thank u SO much maia i absolutely Treasure You !

EMERAUDE HAWKE - DA2

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

emeraudes fashion sense is probably my favourite out of all my ocs, so uh if u havent looked at her pinterest board yet u should do that bc its Very cute hehehe

anyway for the most part she sticks to dark, practical clothing whenever she's out and about in kirkwall or doing merc work, etc. she picks clothes that convey strength and power, but she likes having a little bit of colour somewhere on the piece, just to keep things interesting. she's not much of an embroider, but was a good way to keep herself distracted during hard times, so she tends to add little patterns here and there whenever she gets the chance!

as for special occasions, for her this would actually just be. a quiet night at home or a relaxed gathering with her friends. bc its so rare for her to have that lmao. anyway for events like that she usually wears light colours and soft fabrics, simple but always decorated with flowers or colourful patterns.

What does your OC keep in a special drawer?

she has a collection of gifts ! that kids from lowtown would give her over the years she spent in kirkwall. she's a very community based person and wants to do right for her city, and shes very nurturing (in an ironical, Cool Big Sister way) so she likes making sure all the kids are safe and being looked after. she gets a lot of trinkets and strange gifts from some of the kids as a result, but she does treasure them (even if she laughs about it with her friends) and keeps them all !

EFFIE RYDER - MEA

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life?

effie's maternal rolemodel has always been her late mother, ellen. nobody could really fill that role in her eyes, since they had such a close, positive relationship before she passed. her relationship with her dad was a lot more strained and it really impacted a lot of her relationships later on in life too ! she tends to.... see an older man who is Vaguely Nice to her, and then think “ oh, youre my dad now?” which isnt fair to anybody obviously but yeah she,,,, has a lot of unresolved issues regarding alec and tends to unintentionally project so. We stan !

How many times did your OC move as a child? Which area was his/her favorite?

oh constantly lol. With her dad being an n7 and her mother working so hard on her research, they tended to move around wherever her parents work required. she actually enjoyed it this way. she was never good at making long term friends, but she lived meeting new people, and obviously with the move she got to experience a lot of different cultures which really put the idea of adventuring and travelling in her head at a young age.

ARYLENE TORR - TES IV

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

she likes them ! she tends to keep her distance with most communities and groups of people in particular, but she does like enjoys having the odd conversation with the odd street urchin here and there, either sharing with them some strange, ridiculous life advice or – if shes feeling particularly chaotic – telling them the scariest stories she can think of. as for having them, arylene isnt AGAINST the idea, but she has far too much for the foreseeable future for that to ever be a good idea

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

outwardly, arylene is an almost unbearably easy going person, so you would assume she doesnt hate anyone lol. but she does DEEEPLY dislike cults and groups of ignorant people who are arrogant enough to start messing with the balance of life, or making deals with gods, etc. she believes that people like that can do an unbelievable amount of damage, so she invests a lot of time and effort it sabotaging any group or plot she happens to find !

 IMOGEN FOSTER - RDR2

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

hmm idk if this even EXISTED in 19th century london lol, but she would have done some very tame version of girl scouts as a child! She barely remembers any of it, but she liked the classes on what plants did what, which were safe to eat, and the likes. its something that helps her a lot when on the run with the gang, and something shes always had a personal interest in, as a nurse !

other than that, she’s done a lot of independent study on history, classical literature, and she speaks fluent italian we stan !

What is your OC’s opinion of school? What kind of student was s/he?

imogen comes from a very wealthy aristocratic family, so she was very fortunate that her privilege afforded her the education she got at the time. she is VERY grateful to have attended the schools she did, and she made sure to make the most of it, paying attention in class and studying harder than most of her classmates. she's a smart girl with a very active mind, so knowledge is something she can't get enough of. she was actually petitioning the board of education to allow her to attend university before she left for america – already their had been women accepted into universities at that time, but obviously it was still a very scandalous thing lol, especially since imogen wanted to study medicine.

What subjects did your OC excel at?

imogen is a HUGE overachiever and did pretty well at basically everything from science, mathematics, language studies and later on, in her studies as a nurse. i can tell you what shes bad at though lmao

anything physical really dkdkdks she is TERRIBLE at horse-riding since she usually just went by carriage everywhere in the city. art and poetry and writing in general she was never great at, because she's a pretty logical person and was told she never put enough emotion in her work lol !!! sports...obviously was very limited anyway as growing up in like? the early 1870s lol. and as for the traditionally feminine lessons in like ?? sewing and cooking and stuff well ! she was very average at them which made her  feel worse than if she was actually bad bc she's so used to excelling and making a name for herself oof

What subjects interested your OC?

Imogen loves greek literature and mythology !! the iliad is her favourite book and she keeps her heavily annotated, dog eared copy – a gift from her late father – on her person almost constantly. needless to say its why dutch admires her as much as he does lol.

obviously, as a nurse-trying-to-be-a-doctor, she has a great love for medicine in all its forms. she's always been fascinated in natural remedies, and even moreso when she's running with the van der linde gang and is really relying on the land to survive.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession?

hmm okay so. Technically she's a nurse – she worked in her father's hospital for almost 10 years prior to his death, and she was sort of his unofficial understudy, as in she knows a LOT more than her job description requires lol. but after her father past away, another, less progressive man took his place as chief of surgery and made a lot of changes to the way the hospital operated, and imogen was let go. she and her mother were fighting against it, however, under the ground of unfair dismissal, but obviously given the time period it didnt get them very far. so ! i mean technically she's unemployed rn. but she still has dreams of being a doctor, or at least continuing her career in medicine.

How is your OC working towards their dream job and/or achieved their current profession?

Oh VERY direct action up until she got disheartened and chose to take her sabbatical. she had been working in her role for nearly a decade, and was very obviously one of the most experienced nurses there. even younger doctors would sometimes ask her for her medical opinion dksksks anyway what i am saying is Brain Very Good. she had been fighting to gain admission into a university – any, she wasnt picky – to study medicine officially, but it didnt get very far and she put it on hold after her father got sick. after he died and she was laid off, she fought even harder against the city to reinstate her title, and continues to fight after she returns from america a year or so later.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

helping people is her entire life, and she wouldn't know what to do without it. she loves being a nurse enough to fight to be a doctor, but also in BEING a nurse, she is hyperaware of all the things current medical standards seem to get wrong, and she has a lot of ideas about how else to go about things. her father, a shockingly progressive and worldly man for the time period, shared her sentiment, but he wasn't able to make the changes he wanted to before he passed, so imogen hopes she can be the change herself, and make her father proud

What is your OC’s biggest dream?

being a licenced doctor, babey ! preferably at her father's hospital, but at the point she will take what she can get.

How does your OC react to and handle stress?

imogen  handles stress very well , which is partially why she makes such a good medic, and also how she managed to survive the first week of being with the van der linde gang lmao. she is very good at shutting out EVERY distraction when things get dicey, and her brain tends to move at a million miles an hour. all traces of english etiquette and politeness go out the window, though, so you'll usually catch her barking orders at people, and yelling at anyone who prevents her from doing the work she needs to do. it.....is a big wake up call for people like dutch and micah, and gets her into a LOT of trouble on multiple occasions.

How does your OC handle anger?

ooo......not great. she’s grown up with parents who maybe encouraged her to speak her mind a bit....TOO much given the historical circumstances lol. she really doesn’t stand for ignorance or prejudices in any capacity, and if she has a problem with someone and it gets in the way of her trying to do her work or help others - she will ABSOLUTELY be having words. she also overestimates her own strength quite a lot. she’s tried to throw hands with micah MANY times, often forgetting she’s this tiny 70kg englishwoman and he’s .... Him sdjkdcjkf. she has a big mouth too so she often says snide remarks without even meaning too, which tends to get her in trouble as well. on the bright side, it also helps her fit in with the gang quite well, because for the most part they all appreciate how wild she is lmao

How does your OC handle grief?

hmm i guess it depends on what you would class as “well”? she doesnt cry very often - being stoic and handling your emotions is important when your a nurse - but she does tend to shove her feelings down far longer than she should, and tries to pretend they don’t exist by simply focusing on other things. she also blames herself when a lot of things go wrong, because she’s a perfectionist and wants to FIX everything, so when she finds something - or someone - she can’t save, it feels like a personal failure. like she let them down :(

What is your OC’s greatest fear?

probably being trapped in an unhappy, unfulfilling marriage with someone who undervalues her. she’s not much of a homebody and doesn’t have too much of an interest in being married, but the idea of feeling FORCED to marry someone in order to have a decent quality of life makes her blood run cold oof

What makes your OC happy?

helping people ! meeting new folks ! learning about other cultures and ways of life! learning about NEW THINGS in general ! proving people wrong ! insulting micah !

as tough and high-and-mighty as she sometimes seems, she’s a pretty easy person to please, honestly. treat her with respect, give her space to do the things she wants to do, and don’t get in the way of her opportunities to learn new things, and she’s mostly very happy !

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

she has a fairly macabre and sardonic sense of humour, something she picked up from her mother. she says a lot of Shocking things for the time period, and she’s not shy of dirty jokes either. the first time sean heard her, a soft, well spoken english Lady, make some filthy, crude joke, he nearly had a stroke right there on the spot kjkjkfdjkf

What are some things that greatly upset your OC?

senseless violence, suffering or cruelty. she really hated the gang at first and hoped to escape the first chance she got, because all she could see was the crime and disregard for human life she assumed they all held. fortunately, as she got to know them, she realized this wasn’t exactly the case, but she still has a lot of anger in her heart for a few key members of the gang who seem to enjoy bloodshed more than anything. she also hates any form of social prejudice, and people who gatekeep knowledge and opportunities from others.

What are some things that annoy your OC?

i guess all of the above, but she also dislikes misplaced arrogance, and people who talk down to others. she tolerates dutch, but often gets frustrated with the way he speaks, using as many big words as he can to manipulate and confuse others. she believes that really intelligence doesn’t require obscure jargon and big, fancy words - she likes keeping things simple, so everybody can follow along.

[spltlippd-blog]

❝ I’m officially off the rails. You should try it.❞  BENJAMIN WADSWORTH? No, that’s actually MADDOC ‘MADS’ BLENKINSOP. Only NINETEEN years old, this HUFFLEPUFF alumni works as a WILDLIFE + ANTIQUES SMUGGLER and is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as CISMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be ERRATIC, VIOLENT, and IMPULSIVE but also RESOURCEFUL, BOLD, and PASSIONATE. { EL, 22, EST, SHE+HER }

I. A HISTORY

“DEATHS: Barnabus Blenkinsop, 25. Body missing. Reward for information.” ─ The Daily Prophet, 8th February 1999.

Mr. Blenkinsop's presumed death occurred on November 20, 1998 and his obituary appeared in the Daily Prophet. A reward was offered for information about what happened to his body since all that was found in his bed at St. Mungo's was a tin of anchovies.

The Blenkinsop family made their money through “trade” and “exploration,” which are both just codewords for seizing territories and poaching wildlife.

They’ve comparable to the mafia in the sense that the extensive family operates within itself as an organized crime unit with a tendency for violence; everyone knows what they do, but no one has the concrete evidence (or balls) to do anything about it.

Plus… dragonhide clothing is all the rage, yeah? Who do you think is out there getting the resources? Those pickled hippogriff eggs (found only in the highest society establishments and incredibly illegal for consumption) that you like so much come from somewhere, right?

Also deal with antique looting for private collectors and played a prominent role in the original horcrux hunt as they were able to track down founders memorabilia and get it by any means necessary.

Weren’t originally anti-muggle, but since the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy became very much so.

The Statute both hurt their business and seemed incredibly unfair; wix were continuously pushed into the underbelly of civilization as muggles were continuously and freely expanding and wix are just supposed… to accommodate that? Be alright with living in hiding and bending over for a race that can’t even wipe their arse without using their hands? Bullshit.

The anti-muggle sentiment only grew and festered over time as wix were persecuted by muggles and forced into hiding and culminated in the Blenkinsops becoming one of the most prominent pureblood families that actively and politically opposed muggles altogether.

Blenkinsops were part of the Knights of Walpurgis and continue to be heavily involved with the Death Eaters.

II. OVERVIEW

NAME.

↳ Maddoc Anarawd Blenkinsop. Goes by Mads.

GENDER + ORIENTATION.

↳ Doesn’t think of people like that. But for the purpose of clarity, cisman, biromantic bisexual.

BIRTHDAY + BLOOD STATUS.

↳ ?? / ?? / ???? (currently 19 years old). Pureblood.

OCCUPATION.

↳ Poacher + antiques smuggler.

III. DIGGING DEEPER

↳ “Now this looks like a job for me / so everybody just follow me / 'cause we need a little controversy / 'cause it feels so empty without me.”

What they see: expensive robes, even more expensive cologne worn far too young, five languages, silver gold and glistening rings, never without his wand, unwavering loyalty, straight spine and shoulder back, looks just like his mother, a smile that says: you don’t know me at all and you never will

What you see: tattered shirts, salt and sweat, a vicious tongue, silver gold and blood rusted rings, never without his beast, all-consuming obsession, violence violence violence, looks absolutely insane, laughing at his own traumas

The images co-exist.

He’s so pretty, absolutely lovely at society banquets, trained in wix ballroom dancing that’s essentially spinning on air, but there’s always been a darkness inside of him you might glimpse upon a first meeting

Anyone who was unfortunate enough to attend Hogwarts with him knows all too well exactly why he’s called “Mads” over Maddoc

“i’m officially off the rails. you should try it.”

ERRATIC. his whirlwind of emotions are either charming or terrifying, and switch so suddenly and quickly it can give you whiplash. his behavior more so. he operates by his own moral codes that’s yet to be deciphered and doesn’t seem to follow any pattern of behavior whatsoever. it’s got its benefits, sure, but the downfalls include: unfinished projects, dropped conversations, and general confusion.

VIOLENT. you don’t get it: one second, he’s smiling, laughing with you, and the next you’re dazed and wondering what it was you said that caused that punch. mads is known for sudden and intense violence; his family is much the same, as their enemies are far too aware of, and rumor on the street is that they all beat the shit out of each other daily. it’s mostly true. while in hogwarts, he earned the reputation of the “attack dog,” jumping into physical altercations at the drop of a hat if he felt it justified.

and IMPULSIVE. his line of work kind of depends on split-second decision making and he’s fortunate enough to excel at that. unfortunately, he’s impulsive to a fault and will go with his gut quicker than he can think not to.

but also RESOURCEFUL. not even mads’ worst enemy would deny his intellect. kid’s fucking smart and able to process information and spit back results in a second; he’s already gone through all the possible outcomes of a problem, he’s already thought thirty steps ahead, he’s already more than prepared for every single plan to go to shit. he’s got this.

BOLD. mads was never one to hold back, whether it be his thoughts, opinions, or feelings. he doesn’t second guess himself and he won’t ever hold back. why live life wishing you did instead of doing?

and PASSIONATE. whether it be his unwavering loyalty bordering all-consuming obsession, or the fire he pours into his every action, or his ability to laugh through tear-streaked cheeks, mads has so much ambition within him it’s hard to contain at all.

fluent in English, Spanish, French, Italian, and Persian; currently studying Greek

Blenkinsops (illegally) keep and breed manticores and each have their own; Mads’ is called Bully and he loves him

but at the same time “do animals deserve rights” because he’s really out here poaching wildlife without a care in the world (ask him about pygmy puff kebabs he had at a shady pub in Morocco)

IV. MAGIC SHIT

(former) HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

WAND: Cedar wood, acromantula web core, 11 ¾ inches, unyielding flexibility 

***(Inherited, passed down through generations of Blenkinsop wizards. The wand is incredibly loyal to its original owner─ dead for nearly 500 years now─ and Mads has difficulty using it.)

CEDAR WOOD: “Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find strength of character and unusual loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, used always to say, ‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.”

ACROMANTULA WEB CORE: Those who are determined, stubborn, cold (cool-natured), fearless, and with a mischievous and/or dark disposition would have this wand core. Having such a wand core suggests that you have firm convictions and have a deeply rooted vindictive nature, but this does not at all mean that you are not capable of caring or loving someone or something in your own way. However, your vindictive nature can often lead you towards revenge when something wrong or unjust is done to you. This makes you less likely to forge strong bonds and/or forgive someone easily. This is one of the best cores to use in the darkest of Dark Magic, particularly with The Unforgivable Curses. It is a wand core predominantly found among those of House Slytherin. If one is thinking about having a wand made with an Acromantula Web core, they’re probably a fan of having their wand confiscated by the authorities. Using a wand with this wand core has been illegal in Britain since 1782, after they were discovered that the wielder of a wand with this wand core has particular ability with Dark Magics, especially the Imperius Curse. There are certain diplomatic exceptions, as it is a traditional wand core for Asian wands, but even those are temporary, and many wizard diplomats on long-term assignments find themselves compelled to procure replacement wands during their stay. This was once a common wand core among Dark Healers.

UNYIELDING FLEXIBILITY: A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner’s preferences and doesn’t stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

congratulations on making it to the end!!! i would absolutely love some plots for this ferocious little beast so hmu or look out for my plotting call!!!

[astralgloss]

im a curious meanie so 1-134 muhahaha you get to relive the hell i just went through

etab i haTE U

1: Name

my name is marit lol but please just keep it mar

2: Age

i am 17 but i’ll b 18 in 2 months!!!!

3: 3 Fears

the dark, complete and utter loneliness, and clowns

4: 3 things I love

books, forest fruit tea, the sound of rain

5: 4 turns on

a nice smile that reaches the eyes, a nice smell, having a dog ngl, a soft touch

6: 4 turns off

extreme arrogance, insisting to pay for my meal if i want to pay bc its “what a man should do”, forcing lifestyles on me, not caring about my interests

7: My best friend

she does have tumblr but idk it but hey demi if u ever see this ur the bomb.com

8: Sexual orientation

im bi fam

9: My best first date

my bf and i went to amsterdam to go shopping and he followed me everywhere (even the bookshop even though he hates books) and idk i just love him it was a nice day

10: How tall am I

im 1,65m or 5′4″ but i can and will kick ur ass

11: What do I miss

nothing really??

12: What time was I born

ok so i asked my mom and she said i was born on a tuesday at exactly 12pm but i bet she’s lying

13: Favorite color

yellow!! im basic!!

14: Do I have a crush

well i sure hope so @ boyfriend

15: Favorite quote

to the stars who listen, and the dreams that are answered

16: Favorite place

my bf’s house tbh, specifically his bed

17: Favorite food

pizza, specifically the hot chicken one from ny pizza

18: Do I use sarcasm

nah fam (ofc i do im a little shit)

19: What am I listening to right now

god is a woman by ariana grande

20: First thing I notice in new person

how they look at other people when those people don’t notice it

21: Shoe size

38/39 idk the other size lol sorry 

22: Eye color

its blue but it changes with my mood (oh my god im so sorry im kidding please don’t hate me)

23: Hair color

im a blondie

24: Favorite style of clothing

sth casual but also a bit towards the punkish style, but i also rlly love looking tiny and soft and cute lol

25: Ever done a prank call?

ok so there’s this hotline for kids who have troubles with their parents and families but it was a shit hotline tbh so once i called it up with my friends pretending i was crying and the man on the phone asked me what was wrong so i told him that all my friends had fire type pokemon and i only had grass type pokemon and they kept beating me and i didnt know what to do and then man was so confused it was funny af

27: Meaning behind my URL

idk man i wanted a name that could b easy to remember and i was inspired by ridgeport tbh

28: Favorite movie

the perks of being a wallflower

29: Favorite song

Fav song atm is anything from p!atd's newest album and my fav song of all time is probably train of consequences by megadeth

30: Favorite band

megadeth lol

31: How I feel right now

pretty good but also annoyed bc i have to go to work in half an hour :(

32: Someone I love

my bf

33: My current relationship status

if u guys havent noticed by now im taken

34: My relationship with my parents

p ok

35: Favorite holiday

halloween/christmas

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

I have my ears pierced and thats it lol

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

i rlly want a few bookish related tattoos, like a tiny raven, a little lightning bolt, and the city of velaris and then i also rlly want a sleeve tbh but imma be a teacher and idk if i can :/ about piercings: i rlly want a helix or tragus and maybe get second holes in my hearlobes

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

ok so ive been on tumblr for about 5 years and initially it was bc i was Depressed™ and then about a year ago i found out about simblr and i was hooked

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

tbh i dont even talk to him anymore i dont rlly care about him in any way

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

yes bih

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

hes my bf so yea lol

42: When did I last hold hands?

wednesday

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

about 45 minutes bc im lazy and i keep getting distracted

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?

nope

45: Where am I right now?

in bed lol

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

either my bf or my best friend

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

depends on where i am

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

mom

49: Am I excited for anything?

tbh moving out but thats gonna take a few more years

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

*insert bf here*

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

every time im at work lol

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

wednesday

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

lol bye

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

nope

55: What is something I disliked about today?

the fact that i have to work a day shift instead of an evening shift

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

my internet friends tbh it’d be cool to meet all the people from my bookish discord or from @booptherat​‘s discord

57: What do I think about most?

what book i should read next

58: What’s my strangest talent?

i can finish a book in about 4 hours

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

not rlly? i hate the whole asmr thing tho ew

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind lol

61: What was the last lie I told?

i dont remember tbh

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

neither lol

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

look im not saying that believing that we’re the only living species in the entire universe is narcissistic, but it is. also dont fuck with ghosts

64: Do I believe in magic?

hell yes

65: Do I believe in luck?

hell yes

66: What’s the weather like right now?

idk probably cloudy and windy

67: What was the last book I’ve read?

fahrenheit 451 by ray bradbury 

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

nah not rlly

69: Do I have any nicknames?

i guess mar?

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

when i was 2 i fell from sth and slammed the corner of my eye onto the corner of a table and i couldve been blind but thank god im not

71: Do I spend money or save it?

both 

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue?

yup

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?

post it notes

74: Favorite animal?

doggg

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

reading lol

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

idk man

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

i gotta feeling by the black eyed peas lol

78: How can you win my heart?

give me a samoyed and a 1000 books

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

“a boss ass bitch”

80: What is my favorite word?

fuck?

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

@cubersims​ @imvikai​ @ridgeport​ @cowplant-pizza​ @bloomlet​ @tiptoptab​

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

spend fiddies, pet kitties, hold tiddies

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

not that i know of lol

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

the power to choose whatever power i want at any moment

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

“do you like working here?”

86: What is my current desktop picture?

its an august background from @emmastudies​

87: Had sex?

yes

88: Bought condoms?

no

89: Gotten pregnant?

no

90: Failed a class?

yes

91: Kissed a boy?

yup, i’ve been kissing my bf for about 2,5 years now lol

92: Kissed a girl?

yup, i’m living the bisexual dream lol

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

yes

94: Had job?

yes, im working at a movie theater right now!!

95: Left the house without my wallet?

tbh all the time now that i can pay with my phone

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

yea i used to but that was when i was 12 and i’d like to say that i’ve grown a lot in the past 5 years

97: Had sex in public?

nope

98: Played on a sports team?

yes

99: Smoked weed?

nope, even though i live like 20 minutes away from amsterdam lol

100: Did drugs?

nope

101: Smoked cigarettes?

nope

102: Drank alcohol?

yupppp, i love me some raspberry cider

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

nope

104: Been overweight?

nope

105: Been underweight?

nope

106: Been to a wedding?

yup

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

lol all the time tbh

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

yup

109: Been outside my home country?

yup, however never outside of europe tho

110: Gotten my heart broken?

a few times

111: Been to a professional sports game?

yess, i saw the dutch female volleyball team once!

112: Broken a bone?

nope

113: Cut myself?

yes

114: Been to prom?

we dont do prom in the netherlands lol

115: Been in airplane?

yes

116: Fly by helicopter?

nope

117: What concerts have I been to?

k3 (only dutchies and belgians remember this), one direction, megadeth, and ed sheeran

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

yupp

119: Learned another language?

i mean im from the netherlands and im fluent in english thanks to myself

120: Wore make up?

yuppp

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

yes

122: Had oral sex?

lol yes

123: Dyed my hair?

nope

124: Voted in a presidential election?

not old enough to vote :(

125: Rode in an ambulance?

nope

126: Had a surgery?

nope

127: Met someone famous?

nope

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

nope

129: Peed outside?

a few times lol

130: Been fishing?

nope

131: Helped with charity?

yep

132: Been rejected by a crush?

a few times

133: Broken a mirror?

lol yes

134: What do I want for birthday?

some books, money, cake, more books, makeup

[blastthatsadfm]

I just read your ask thing about Izaya and I'm super interested in what you had to say about Izaya in fanfiction! I'm not sure if you've written fanfic and if you have please point me to it, but if not do you have any how would you write him? Any ideas you're willing to share?

Oh, hey! That was really kind of you, to have an interest on that! First of all, no, I dont write fanfic. English is not my native language and I’m pretty awkward at it. =/

But I think you basically asked me if I had Izaya headcanons and how I would write him and here they go!

 - Izaya probably has read Russian literature, since he needed some use for that language other than to throw small provocations at Simon. He can probably talk really seriously about Russian Literature, the literary divergences that stems from it, the philosophy imbued on it. Its a heavy subject, full of contradictions and I can see Izaya having a fun time with it. Folks, Russian literature is The Real Shit, I know very little about it but its fun. (and depressing but ya know thats a whole other thing)

- I really, really love all of the potential that Izaya has with his little sisters, like??? It used to surprised me how little of it was explored on fandom and mostly on fanfics. I understand that everybody has their little headcanons about that, but I have no doubt those are siblings who deeply hurted each other and, yet, still profoundly love each other.

- Think about Orihara Twins sticking their noses on Shizuo/Izaya’s relationship. Think about them asking out loud Completely Innapropriate Questions, like “So did you guys had sex yet?? Kuru-nee and I were talking, right Kuru-nee?? And we got to the conclusion Shizuo-san definitely needs to get laid” and making Izaya Want To Jump from the window.

- LIke, my take is that he tries, but he cant mantain his composure At All in front of them and thats why I think they would have so much potential. I think this is why they lack scenes on canon; we inevitably learn too much about Izaya everytime the Orihara Siblings interact. Sad this isnt explored on fanfics, regardless of the plot.

- Its canon that he cares deeply about them and its canons he also cares about Shinra. And its not like this kind of thing isnt explored on fanfics, but??? Its always like “Izaya is so bitter and lonely, he’s trash hahahaha”, for once I would like to see or read some situation in which Shinra and Izaya would confront each other about the shitty friends they were for each other, and with the admission that Shinra is Absolute Trash too. And like, it doesnt have to be emotional. Just a step on their mutual character development.

- Guys I love Shinra but he is. He is Trash on Izaya’s level. Super weird this is never adressed too?? Narita himself indirectly addresses a bunch of times, but playing with the fact is Shinra’s relationship to Celty that makes him so likeable. But Shinra would be Just As Lonely if it wasnt for Celty (People werent on that hot pot because they were friends with thim, my buddy. LIke, how come??)

- And Izaya and Shinra would be, you know, rational about it?? And sarcastic little shits but they wouldnt get emotional over it. This is interesting too, their unspoken camaraderie.I really would like to read they being able to slowly rely on each other.

- People usually ignore the DRRR!! Characters background as, ya know, japanese people that live in Ikebukuro, and they forget they can talk about this?? Not talking about traditional aspects, of course. Just… 

- Is Izaya good at arcade games?? If Shizuo and Izaya are together, whos better at videogames and at getting prizes out of the claw crane machines?? (We see Chikage and his girlfriends having a scene close to one of those stores, at some point in the novels) Who get super competitive playing silly nintendo games?? (Both, its both of them). Which one of them reads mangas the most, and buys it every week?? Who are their favorite characters?? Do they have a favorite series, a favorite TV Show?? (We know Celty has fave tv shows, as an example) How come Ive never read a fanfic in which Kadota, Chikage, Shinra, Shizuo and Izaya embarass themselves at the Karaoke?? How would an Actual Date between Shizuo and Izaya be, in Ikebukuro?? Why must you people fail me like this??

- And since we’re at it, give me established domestic Shizaya; who does the laundry, who makes tea?? It doesnt have to be boring, with them it never is. Would they have a cat?? How would they name it?? Would they fight about having the cat and naming it?? The answer is yes. 

- I can see they slowly reaching a routine together, only just having small arguments over every step of the way and that’s where the potential for nice scenes lies, I think.

- Izaya has problems to go to sleep at the right time and Shizuo tries to find a way around fixing that. Shizuo is super shy when the Twins or Celty come to visit, Izaya teases him about it and tries to find a way to make him relax around others. There, we have little conflicts and ways to solve them! And it can be solved with snarky remarks, sarcastic answers, a little dose of sincerity and genuine care for the other, and look! We have a shizaya fanfic that its not a trainwreck.

- They really just need… good dialogue between them. Seriously, that’s all there is.

Second of all, I absolutely admit is very arrogant of me to criticize other people’s writing when I very much… Dont Write. I’m doing this right now since I got this ask, but as an artist I recognize the guts it takes to post your own work out there for the internet to see. Is very assholish of my part to just say I have a problem with it.

But well… I… do…. Its hard to say with which element I have a problem with cuz I honestly believe every plot can work, as long as well-written. 

But I think I have a prolem with the whole takes of either “Izaya is trash he sucks LMAO right??” or “Izaya has XXX disorder and his entire live is Pure Misery”.And when it comes to Shizuo is either “Hes brutal and hurtful and makes Izaya’s mental state worse, by never caring about him  or treating him right” which honestly  just fucking hurts. to read. Or he’s a uncaring friend or a uncaring boyfriend for plots sake in order to make Izaya hurt more like I’m tired, Canon!Shizuo is not an uncaring person, why cant I just have a fic in which they bake cookies with Akane or work out their issues or both!

But if it helps or makes any better I always make a point to leave comments and reviews to fics I like, I am a Good Citizen who leaves reviews! I just…. havent left reviews in a while because its been months Ive ever read any drrr fanfic. if you folks have recs, I’m really happy to hear about it.