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mommyofkittens · 10 months

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A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 6 - Decisions. Part II. ( +18! )

Prythian

Author's POV:

To Azriel's dismay, it took three whole days for the witch's stench to dissipate almost completely from his skin. He changed several rows of clothes, most of which he gave to the people who suffered after the war. During his little free time, he volunteered to go and help reconstruct buildings, where strong men for tough work were needed. He even found some time to go and make other pairs of suits at his favorite tailor. It was quite difficult to find attires in his measurements, so he resorted to other methods

It almost always happened in the middle of a training session to find his pants ripped between his wide thighs or to wake up with the sleeves of his shirts too short. Or maybe they were too narrow to fit the entire base of his wings. He took even his Illyrian skins to be adjusted. There were far too many belts and laces to do and undo, so he tried to make everything as comfortable as possible for his spymaster duties.

In the few days when the amber seemed to dissipate into the air around him with every beating of his heart, Azriel had the urge to replace the skin from his bones. It felt like rubbing sand against him. A strident odor that unfazed his senses, weakening his spy assets. He felt desperate.

It was pathetic how such a little problem threw his cosiness upside down. Maybe it was so derranging because he wasn't used to the smell. It was uncommon for this places, so it ruined his routine, his rules. Maybe it was the fact that it remembered him of his failure from the Summer Solstice night. Or only the mere thought that a witch's odor imprinted on him, and not the flowery one he wanted.

But, to his dismay, it looked like his entire body had been submerged in a cauldron of amber. It wasn't going away so easy.

Of course, the rational part of his brain knew that it was very likely that the lack of sleep drove him crazy. But it was not in his nature to deceive himself. He was a master of concentration and self-control, but this breach in security sat like an abscess on his nerves.

Not only had someone been clever enough to get past the sophisticated protection of Velaris, but apparently he'd made both the magic of the house and his shadows submissive. If she was capable of such control over immaterial things, he didn't want to know what she could do with material ones.

Azriel's blemished fingers traced his tanned temples. The ambiental temperature became too hot for his strict preferences and the darkness that cocooned the chamber unsettled him. With a few large steps he crossed the room and pushed aside the heavy, blue cotton curtains, then opened the windows wide.

A shy breeze blew through his white, linen shirt, caressing his intercostal muscles and exposed collarbones, then kissed the rounded tattoos on his neck. With the help of his sensitive and trained hearing, he perceived the voices downstairs and the muffled laughters from the city. The precipitous atmosphere had subsided and Velaris fell back into comfort and routine.

Barefoot, the Shadowsinger made his way back to the cluttered office, looking at the diagrams and information he gathered. He already passed the time limit Rhysand gave him to make up his mind. Even so, they both already knew the answer to the challenge. It was a matter of time until he was going to put into action what he decided to do. Azriel couldn't wait any longer, he couldn't ignore or pass on the mission when another war was knocking at their door. No one knew between who the final battle was to be fought and what the costs were.

His brunette eyebrows joined on his elegant forehead. The longer strands of hair casted shadows over his handsome cheekbones, giving him a ruffled look. The man's gaze remained locked on the candle flame, whole drops of wax had spilled over the clay plate and dried on the black furniture.

Azriel couldn't give up on anyone inside the Inner Circle. They barely found eachother. No one would die at the end. He could leave this role to anyone else, but not his family. Even if he sacrificed another life. Yes, he was capable to make this decision. If the price of peace was this " Vesper ", if she had to learn to fight, endure and win, then he was more than satisfied to find her and let her do her duty, with the cost of her life.

Not even his own ghosts could stop him. After all, who was he running from? Who was he so afraid of? He faced enemies far greater than a poor, ambitious witch, he suffered wounds far worse than the overpowering smell of amber, and on top of that, she entered the house on his watch.

A smile stained his plump lips. Azriel stood up decisively from the table, signed a few papers in a hurry and then arranged them in piles. Discipline, that's what he was going to teach the little thief. Order, discipline and pain. Especially the last one.

But, before leaving on the mission, he must take care of a part inside that was grinding him. The primal part that was making him unpredictable and aggressive.

Azriel knew who was to blame for the way his blood seemed to rush through his body, to his pants. He tried too many times to give himself some satisfaction and now he'd come to the opinion that his hands were not enough. Neither the small tortures he'd submitted himself for more pleasure, nor the games of edging and denying his climax. Nothing was enough. He wanted to fuck it out of his system.

The man stopped visiting brothels for some time and that was just out of self-esteem. Besides, he didn't need to pay any woman to approach him. It was enough to go out to Rita's or take a leisurely walk in the evening and someone would surely be there to make sweet eyes at him.

But now, he didn't feel like hanging around or waiting, his patience was gone, an unusual and dangerous thing for a man in his line of work. Azriel didn't have anyone to torture to release his anxiety from his belly, and we couldn't go into the ring now that Cassian was still praying for Nesta to join him in training. Rhysand had avoided giving him any more missions just to give him enough time to think about what mattered. Either that or he wanted to torment him long enough with boredom.

He quickly took off his tunic and pants, then snapped his fingers, preparing his bath. Lately, he was boiling his water so much that he went dizzy, with visions along the way. Azriel rubbed his skin until it started to turn red. It was the only way to get rid of the smell of blood, torture and amber. It wasn't as if he couldn't stand a little discomfort, he was trained to withstand much more than a tiny violent wash.

The steam floated inside the marble bathroom, creating bodies and faces. The Shadowsinger realised it was time to get up and satisfy his last need before giving Rhysand the good news. He lingered for a few moments, curious about what his own consciousness could shape this time.

A brave shadow snaked out of nowhere, and leaned over the edge of the tub, watching curiously. A more playful one danced near Azriel's wet body, waltzing through the smoky vapors.

It wasn't anything new. For the most part, there were just scenes from his past: fights, the cellar he was imprisoned in, sometimes even Elain. He gritted his teeth as the eager heat surged lower than he would've liked to admit, burning like hot coals beneath his tight muscles.

The molten gold inside his irirses sensed the slight shift from the white clouds. He ran his wet palm over his face to make sure that what he saw was real. She was not the woman of his fantasies, he was sure of it. It was a stranger, with her head almost the size of his palm. Azriel's interest hiked when he recognized her features. Or at least that's what he felt. His instincts told him that he'd seen her somewhere. It wasn't her face, but her eyes seemed to speak to Azriel: Big, round and sad.

" Wake up. "

Had it really been her voice that shook him out of the trance?

A few shadows jumped to his aid, memorizing the shape of her oval face before the vapors dissipated: a pair of round cheeks, one of them stained with a birthmark. thick and slightly arched eyebrows, a small nose in the middle and two full lips, with a defined cupid's bow. Stunned, Azriel realized the contradiction. This might not be the same person who sneaked inside their house after all, but someone else. Her human traits were at the opposite direction than the ones of a witch: curvier rather than arched, softer, not sour, life radiated from her, not the stench of death.

This girl... Could she be the female he's looking for? Vesper? But if so, why was he the one to see it?

With a slick movement, Azriel stood up from the tub, leaving the water to fall in waves on his stiff body. His joints still ached from his rough training. He made his way back to the desk, undressed and dripping. Azriel used his powers to sketch the portrait of the unknown woman on a blank sheet of paper, then put it in the folder prepared for the trip.

Yes, the Shadowsinger made his homework even if he initially refused the quest.

Downstairs, the voices grew louder. He could hear Rhys's mannered tone and Morrigan's sensual one, then Feyre's soft laughter.

Azriel dried his body, then changed into a casual evening suit. He chose a navy blue tunic and a pair of trousers, that he could easily take off if needed, tailored to hug his strong thighs. Azriel's mouth curled in a small grin. He put on his black, leather boots and ran his long fingers through his still damp hair to dry it in the place he liked. When it came to perfume, that was an easy decision to make: something fresh, earthy, lile rain hitting the pine cones.

Dark smoke played between his ankles as he was preparing to leave. Out of habit, he checked his antechamber where his desk and cupboards with his own volumes of books were. Anxiety rose in his chest when that gentle face looked back at him from the slightly damp paper.

Who are you? Azriel spoke for himself and his companions. Sharp tongues of darkness curled helplessly on his shoulders, trying to comfort him.

The answer seemed unknown even for them.

Azriel crossed the wide hall with silent steps. The faelights lit the high ceiling, making the golden ornaments to spark. Heavy, carved doors layed closed, one after the other, shielding the empty rooms behind them. The Spymaster looked through the huge stained window at the bottom of the stairs, admiring the playful lights of the city.

Tomorrow at dawn he was leaving to find that woman. An ace in their sleeve or a hatchet above their heads.

Once in the living room, he nodded towards Nuala and Cerridwen and poured a glass of red wine from Rhysand's collection. It seemd that his brother was determined to make him go on that mission just by taking out his favorite bottle from the cellar.

" Azriel! " Feyre began, decorating her elegant face with a sincere smile, "I had no idea you were here too. I thought you were staying in the House of Wind until you finished your research on the Mortal Queens. "

Her thin eyebrows arched higher on her forehead, almost meeting the hairline. She was wearing a simple makeup that brought out her tanned complexion.

" It seems my brother has finally made up his mind. " Rhysand sang, lifting a corner of his mouth, " You wanted to surprise me? "

His High Lord smirk turned into a smile. Azriel noticed the coincidence. The young couple wore almost the same attire: Feyre in a black dress, embellished with silver stars around her neck and shoulders, and Rhysand in a loose suit, sewn with the same type of thread, but the stars where around his sleeves.

As they both sat, pressed against each other on the mahogany, velvet sofa that reigned in the living room, they looked royal, untouchable.

Azriel felt droplets of jealousy staining his confidence.

Morrigan sat on the other side of the room, cushioned by big, fluffy pillows. Her long legs were hanging over the armchair, playfully taking on and off her red sandals.

" I've made up my mind, yes. " Azriel stated, swirling the alcohol in his glass and admiring the bouquet of flowers. " But I have one condition... "

The Shadowsinger went to his eternal place, near the window and made himself comfortable. In the 500 years since he knew his brothers, there were frequent fights over seats, so each one made a sacrifice. In the end, the way they sat remained the same since they remodeled the room. He absentmindedly looked around the familiar chamber and let loose a breath when he no longer felt the traces of magic.

" Anything, as long as you accept. " Rhysand said firmly, resting his elbows on his knees.

" I'll go alone. " Azriel concluded stoically, finishing his last sip of wine.

" It can't be. You need me in Hybern. " Mor spoke for the first time, one of her slippers falling noisily on the wool carpet. " I can help you get inside, I can help you out, I have some acquintances where you can lay low if needed. "

" Give me some credits, Morrigan. I can get inside as easily as you can. I can't risk your life too. I know what I have to do and on top of that, I'll be better on my own. "

" Are you saying I'm a liability? " The blonde woman raised her thin eyebrows at him. " Sometimes I think you forget who you're talking to. "

Azriel felt a smoldering flame ignite in his stomach. He looked her frankly in her blue eyes. Mor backed away quickly.

Something ruptured between the two of them the moment she admitted to Feyre that she liked women. The Shadowsinger had never felt so stupid. Only then did he realized how easily certain feelings could blind him. It got to the point where he could completely ignore everything around him for the sake of an illusion. He never managed his positive emotions, he thrived in a deathly, mortuary stillness. Azriel was better when he had to make cold, rational decisions, and his patience was his greatest asset.

Morrigan fumbled in her armchair. She brushed a strand of her splendid hair behind her ear and looked away

" I know who you are. You're third in command in the Night Court and Rhysand's emissary for a reason, but you're also my family. Right now, you have more important things on your mind than finding a simple woman. " Azriel explained, linking his long fingers to his abdomen.

Rhysand nodded and slammed a piece of paper on the table. " As neither Montessere nor Vallahan want peace, we have to find another solution. "

Azriel eyed the treaty now thrown on the table. It had taken Helion's entire library to compose it. " Make peace with a kingdom whose king we just killed? "

" Might not be the brightest idea, but it's a safe pass for you inside. "

" Well, if it works and you don't get hurt the moment you set foot in Hybern... " Feyre contemplated, when Amren opened the front door and greeted them with a macabre smile. " But, they don't want to sign the treaty? "

" No. Those ancient creatures and pirates are too slick and too full of money to accept such a deal. " The little devil added, then poured herself a glass of wine, " Besides, it's below their level to associate with humans and lesser fae. "

Cassian appeared shortly after Amren, with a docile Nesta following close behind. Azriel silently watched the tension between the two and remained silent.

" I've already gave you a heads up about the comet, that Vesper. " Rhysand said, standing up and positioning himself protectively behind Feyre. He gave Nesta a nasty look then eyed Cassian, " You look good, brother. "

" I'm trying. You're talking about the human comet? " Cassian grinned, leaning his shoulder against the stairwell, " That's one hell of a woman: you fell from the sky, you don't die, then a bunch of people try to capture you and use you for something you might die. "

The older Archeron sister came closer to the main table, listening. Her dark grey dress held her shoulders tight together and her spine as stiff as a sword.

" That sums it up. " Rhysand joked lightly.

" We don't know what her role is at the moment. If the armies of Hybern can rise at any moment, we need as many aces up our sleeve as possible," Amren concluded, claiming a seat on a couch opposite Rhysand and Feyre.

Nesta looked at her coldly, measuring her from head to toe, " Is this another innocent being you want to use for your own good? "

Cassian let out a labored breath and scanned her out of the corner of his eye, but it was Amren who spoke before him. " I hope not. The Human Lands are in great danger. We are the only one willing to ally with them and protect them. We are put at risk. "

Determined, Azriel stood up drawing all the attention to him. " When I get back I'll dig deeper into all this flirtation between the Queens and the Autumn Court. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. It will take me a day or two to get to the west shore, then probably a few more before I manage to find the right village."

" In which one will you stay overnight? " Mor asked, already listing in her head the acquaintances she could reach to.

" If all goes well enough, I'll probably survey two villages a day and stop in the third. "

" Be careful. Three of them surround the kingdom. You'll be very close to the palace. " Amren warned him while cleaning her red fingernails.

" Don't worry about wings or laws. If anyone asks, you're just a messenger. Everyone knows you as my spymaster, so as long as you don't kill anyone, you'll be safe. " Rhysand explained as he look at everyone around. " I've prepared for you a peace treaty similar to the one made for Montessere. "

" That won't take away the stares and insults you'll get for killing their king. " Feyre interjected, somewhat tense.

" I prepared a potion for you. " Amren stood up and handed him a small velvet bag. " The moment you feel in danger just break the bottle and you'll be automatically teleported here. This is an extreme case where maybe your powers are blocked... "

" Perhaps it would be better if he hid his wings. " Cassian's hoarse tone was thick with fear.

" It won't help. Everyone knows how the famous Shadowsinger looks like. " Nesta finally spoke, from the corner where she had retreated. " That means you have to hide your face too. "

" That's why I told you that I should come with you. I can get the information easier. I can sense the truth. " Mor countered, sulking at Azriel's decision to exclude her from the mission.

" My shadows are as effective as your gift, Morrigan. Besides, I'd say I'm pretty good at extracting information from people. " Azriel's shadows swirled around his shoulders, loyal companions ready to strike.

" No, no, don't go around torturing people. " Rhysand flinched and waved an arm in the air.

" I'm not going to. I was proving my point. " Azriel nearly rolled his eyes at Rhysand's affected gesture.

" Keep the wings. It's a warning for everyone trying to do you wrong. " Amren suggested, a wicked smile written on her thin lips.

" Now if you'll excuse me. I have something to solve before I leave tomorrow. " Azriel bowed his head and went to the door.

" Take care of you. " Feyre said, keeping her hands tight against her dress.

Cassian patted him on the shoulder before looking at Nesta.

A slight melancholy made Azriel take a deep breath. It was always tough leaving them behind, thinking that maybe he won't come back.

This is what Rhysand had to live with for fifty years, only faith keeping him on tracks.

He looked back at his family, their faces full of hope, of expectation and concern. The spymaster could excel in any field of work where his presence was necessary, but with all the pressure of the war pressing on him, with all the tension enveloping him in a tight cocoon, he couldn't disappoint them. He had to get his hands on this woman and bring her safely to Velaris, then Rhysand and Feyre would know what to do, and he could retire from his role as babysitter.

Not that the one of a chaperone would fit him better.

Walking towards the crowded streets of the wonderful city, a strange emotion of impatience knotted in his lower stomach, pulling him into a narcotic state of excitement. Danger turned him on, sharpened his senses, that's why he loved his work and did it without regrets. Being an executioner, it wasn't something that aroused him, but it gave him enough satisfaction and pleasure, feeding on someone else's suffering.

He passed by the many pleasure houses that were located in a more obscure part of Velaris. The streets here were bathed in safe darkness, where people could satisfy their needs in peace, covered only by the languid night sky.

His sensitive ears caught a few jerky gasps and moans immersed in pleasure. Azriel rubbed his teeth together, clenching and unclenching his fists. There were no inhibitions here, only desire.

The Shadowsinger never liked to reach this point of despair. That doesn't mean that in the past he hadn't satisfied his desires with anyone who came his way and was eager to ride a man with wings. In fact, many times he didn't even took into account that he shared a room with Rhysand and Cassian. He gave himself free rein to his fantasies with the woman who fell into his trap. Somehow, he managed to stir the primal impulses in his brothers as well and they ended up sharing the female.

In his youth, his sex drive was much higher than any of his brothers, mostly due to the fact that he'd been locked up and had not managed to discover his sexuality until much too late. As he got older and realized what he preferred in terms of women, what fantasies excited him and how he liked to do it, he'd become very strict. First of all, he refused to share his women. Of course, his brothers could have the females after he was done with them, and very rarely did he end up having a threesome with Cassian or Rhysand and a woman willing to accept them.

Secondly, he no longer went to the famous pleasure houses, he'd come to disgust the lightness with which many accepted him. Azriel despised the easyness of some, preferring instead to let his primal instincts rule, to hunt his women, and not just any women, but only those cold enough at heart, the mean ones, those who wanted just sex, hard , bruising, no strings attached sex.

The Spymaster was by nature too methodical and too focused to allow himself to be distracted by anyone. He didn't follow a certain diet, but he trained in a rigid and ruthless way, he liked discipline and efficiency in absolutely everything that surrounded him. His sexual life included.

That's why he had Victoria or Tory, as she called herself when she was working. She was well trained to allow him to maintain the amount of control over their relationship that he sought. She understood what he liked and how he liked it and never asked unnecessary questions, unless he allowed her to discuss personal things. ' ' Relationship ' was a big word to use for the attraction between them, it was just a physical transaction that kept them both close enough, but at the same time far enough so that his family was not included.

When he appeared in front of the luxurious brothel, a few scrutinizing eyes followed his steps inside. It was unusual to see him enter such a place, especially as he exuded self-confidence and demanding masculinity through every pore. He slid effortlessly through tables and tables full of empty bottles and semi-nude people, searching for the one he needed. Azriel didn't even bother to look at the ones around, he just made his way to the torch of bright red hair that was spinning on a table littered with glasses.

A handful of drooling men watched her swaying movements with lewd eyes. Azriel towered over them from behind, studying Tory wide hips and muscular thigs. She looked dangerous, with fox eyes and thin lips, like a mythical creature ready to eat your soul.

The music chords were so erotic that the crowd didn't even bother to reach the specially arranged bedrooms, beginning the dirty job right here, in the huge room. Faelights were dimmed so that the faces of many were hidden in shadow, a sensual ambience playing among the heated bodies.

Azriel felt his skin itchy. He grimaced when he encountered the sea of intoxicating and heavy smells. The man hated other people's sweat, feeling them rubbing against his fresh clothes, seeing some of theirs dirty faces buried in some girls breasts. He grimaced at the sound of skin against skin, someone's balls hitting one of this girls's asses.

He raised his noble face to the thin body of his bed partner and extended his scarred hand. She smiled boldly at him and downed the last drop of alcohol from the glass. The man grabbed her by her narrow waist, lifting her smoothly and placing her back on the marble floor. Her skin burned where Azriel touched her through the cheap, translucent material of her dress.

" I knew you'd come back. " The viperin woman whispered close to his neck, then pulled his shirt aside to bite his collarbone.

The Shadowsinger gave her a menacing look and led her through the sea of heated bodies. Tory licked her lips, intoxicated by the fresh taste of his skin. She thought it was better than any type of wine or hard liquor from the brothel.

She rearranged her gaping dress over her large breasts and followed him obediently. Azriel's hand was big and warm and felt safe like that, wrapped around her slim fingers. His calloused thumbs scratched her soft, creamed palm, sending a bolt of electricity through her already excited body.

The woman scanned his tanned nape, covered in swirling tattoos that rippled down to his ribs and his majestic illyrian wings that she was never allowed to touch. Tory knew his divine body as well as her own. She would never admit it, but Azriel was her favorite customer. Although he used her, just like everyone else did, she appreciated the respect he gave her before, during and after they fucked, as well as his cold tenderness that somehow soothed her sadness.

She knew his tastes: he never choosed the sweeter, softer women around the house, the ones with warm hearts and pretty, pleading eyes. He ran away from the petite ones like they were poisoned. Tory knew why: he was to afraid they could get attached, that they couldn't handle his manners, his size. And who wouldn't? She almost fell for him every time they met. Azriel's presence felt like the forbbiden powder she took before she came to work. She couldn't stop chasing him, feeding off of his precise touches, of his burning skin, of his sombre eyes. Tory wasn't in love with him, but she loved his persona, more than she would like to admitt.

During the days he wouldn't visit, she felt everything bland, the meat seemed unseasoned, the air felt thick, the world was grey. Azriel was the salt and pepper, the aroma of pine trees and summer nights and the blue haze everything was missing.

Tory guessed that's why he always came after her when he wanted to lett off some steam. She drew a line between work and love: he preffered the fact that she fucked rougher, colder, calculated and she loved the pain that he brought to her sometimes.

Entering the safety of their favorite dark room, Tory already felt her juices leaking from her little panties. They couldn't even be called panties, they were covering little to nothing from her shaved pussy. There was only a thin string between her ass cheeks and a small triangle on her clitoris.

When Azriel finally turned around to watch her, she felt his burning amber irises tearing her see-through dress to shreds. Tory felt her insecurities leave her body under his severe gaze. This man always had this effect on her, making her feel like she was the goddess in the room, not him, like she was in control over the situation, not his presence. She had the power.

" Take your pretty dress off for me, Tory. " He demanded, his rough voice making her legs shake and her nipples hard.

Azriel wasted no time and she hurried to achieve his wish, working to undo the golden circle on her shoulder that kept her grey dress on.

" Easy... " Azriel instructed, tilting his head to the side, exploring her body curves through the translucent material.

Tory admired his painful beauty for afar: the dark blue complimenting his brunette features, his soft hair falling on his forehead, his strong forearms and veiny, long fingers. He was carved from the gods. A deadly temptation among this world.

His lazy gaze become predatory when she managed to pull her dress at her navel, freeing her nipples for him. The Shadowsinger made a step towards her and pulled her hair to the back, leaving her on full display for him. He traced the back of his hand between the valley of her full breasts, watching her bite her lower lip.

Tory's skin ached at the barely tactile sensation of his cotton shirt over her pink, oversensitive rosy buds. The woman angled her head upward, searching his numb expression for any available emotion for her. Tory wasn't short, she had a pair of legs many other females envied, but with him watching over her, a handfull of centimeters between them, she felt tiny under his scrutinizing eyes. Azriel could crumble her in his agile hands.

The woman let a breath escape her thin lips, already full of desire. She barely met him, less than ten minutes ago, and she was already eager to jump on his cock like a profesional horse rider. He never even touched her in a sexual manner, only took her hand to lead her to the dormitory like a sly gentleman. She didn't dare to drag her thumbs along his beautifull features either, too afraid that he would end all of this in a second.

Tory worked to unclasp the second ring then let the material fall around her feet. The small golden bracellett around her ankle rang when she stepped out of the circle. Her conscience told her that she should feel ashamed for the obscene pair of panties she was wearing, a millimeter piece of red lace, but her thoughts flew away the second she noticed Azriel's appreciative figure.

She knew he was dirty, she knew he loved skimpy little lingerie under elegant dresses, she knew he liked to dream of what was under a woman's clothes and she knew he loved to undress a woman with only his eyes.

" Good. " His soft whisper came in a baritonal note as he sat in the plush sofa, right in front of the bed. " Make yourself comfortable, I want to see you pleasure yourself tonight. "

As exciting as the proposal was, Tory felt a little dissapointed that she was, in fact, not going to ride anything tonight.

With only a small, ambrose tinted candle to light the large room, Azriel was half enveloped in shadows, like a ominous presence looming over. His lustful mouth curled upward in a viperin smile, like he could see it all on her face, " Be patient. We'll get there later. "

She could only count on one hand the times she got to devour those full lips.

Tory bit her inner cheek hard, tasting the blood on her tongue and she climbed the high bed painfully slow, making a show of her perfectly tanned body and her bouncy, round ass. The woman learned a few sessions later that he prefered a handfull of asscheeks rather than big breasts, even if he always gave them the same amount of attention. As she finally sat between the black silk sheets, her thong rubbed painfully against her.

" Spread your legs for me. " His order made her bones shiver and she complied, bending on her elbows to give him a view as fruitful as possible.

" Wider. " Azriel's tone was so low, so dark, that she barely heard him. " Move your panties to the side. They look cute on you. "

Tory's cheeks burned red with ecstasy. She snaked a slim hand down on her thin abdomen and pushed the tiny material enough to let him see her pink sex, leaking for him. Her heady scent morphed with his strong, pine-like perfume and hit her nose. Azriel's tongue brushed his lips, wetting them. He never ate any of the women out, she could understand why, she had the splendid opportunity to be devoured by the Shadowsinger only once.

It was a godly experience.

A new wave of heat ruptured through her tummy and she circled her clitoris, gathering the wettnes. She whimpered lowly, her breating becoming uneven. Tory imagined his calloused fingers instead, every edge and every scarr bringing a new spark of pleasure. She bucked against her white, velvety fingers and moaned. Azriel's eyes watched every motion of her wrist like a hunter, wary of how her body reacted to her touches.

" Put two fingers inside your cunt. " He shifted in the chair, adjusting the growing hardness of his cock.

When Tory conformed to his commands, arching her back, Azriel growled gently. "Good girl, Tory."

It was hard enough to take his mind off Elain, to let his body have such reactions to other women, but he repressed his instincts so much lately that he could barely keep himself from jumping on Victoria. With parted lips, he passed his large palm over his pants, greeted by a wave of pleasure.

The woman's brown eyes lit up at his gesture and she moaned, extending her fingers with long nails towards him. Azriel was breathing shakily, feeling his skin on fire. His balls strained painfully at the sight of her gleaming fingers pumping in and out of her cunt.

" Do you think you're pussy is ready for me, Tory? " He asked, a mischievous tone curling around his raspy timbre. " Do you think you can handle me, now? "

She nodded eagerly, stretching closer to the end of the bed.

" Use that beautiful mouth. " Azriel demanded, getting up from the chair, closing the space between them.

" Yes, Azriel. " Her breathy voice went straight to his aching groin. " Please, take me here, I crave your touch. Please... "

He towered over the bed, letting her slim hand stroke him through his tight pants and her pleading feed his ego. The woman's lips fell apart as she felt him hard under her palm, long and round and thick. His neck constricted at the pleasure, large veins appearing under his skin.

Azriel always made sure his women were ready for him when he fucked them, he loved the prelude, he wanted everyone in a safe and controlled enviroment.

He began undressing himself as the women worked them both. " Let me help you. " He simply said as he ripped the thin material from her hips, leaving furious, red marks on her white skin. He bent and captured her mouth in a ferverous kiss as he pinched a nipple between his two fingers. There was nothing soft, nothing intimate about his mouth, how he sucked her tongue demandigly, how he bit her lips, bruising them.

Azriel's other hand went to Tory's fingers, bringing them to his mouth, sucking each one of them dry. He hummed apreciative at the taste, then replaced her hand with his giant palm who covered her whole sex.

He coated his long, elegant fingers in her juices, then pumped three digits inside her already elastic cunt, working the bundle of nerves with his thumb. Tory trashed against the sheets, clamping her legs. " Keep your legs apart or I'll stop. " Azriel warned, spanking her sex.

She mewled under his unforgiving touch and unbuckled his pants, greedily freeing him. The muscles in his thighs flexed as she stroked him in awe, barely able to circle him with her fingers. His cock was beautiful, with a dark pink crown and a soft skin. Azriel gritted his teeth as she moaned in apreciation and hungrily licked the underside of his shaft from his base to the tip, trying to taste as much of him as she could from this position.

Tory's happiness of having him in her mouth was short lived as she felt her climax building in her belly. Her tongue slid into the small slit across it's tip, then sucked the beads of precum gathered there. Azriel panted, and brushed a hand through her hair. " You take me so well, Tory. You're so fucking behaved. "

Her brown eyes rolled in her head as he leaned and harshly sucked one of her nipples, bitting lightly at her underboob. She almost chocked around him as her orgasm shivered through her, making her legs shake. She tried to clamp them shut again, barely able to sustain herself on one elbow, but two shadowy hands kept her ankles still on the bed.

" Turn around. " Azriel's command came out breathless as he traced his burned hands along her spine.

He stroked himself a few times before easing inside her, groaning silently at the way she clamped around him. Patiently, he slided slowly, giving Tory enough time to adjust to his considerable size. The woman arched like a profesionist, presenting her ass for him, letting him fill her whole.

Azriel never made love to any of these women. He wasn't an easy lover and he never knew how to fuck like one, either. The only thing he could offer them in exchange was patience and tenderness, making them feel less like prostitutes and more like actual women who enjoy their sexuality. He always fucked them within the limits of what they could take, of what they wanted.

He tangles his fingers between her fiery locks again, beding her back at a painfull angle. Tory moaned otherworldy, pinning her hands to the headbord to sustain her body. " Azriel. " She pleaded as he landed a harsh slap against her round ass. " Do it again, please. "

He hit her again, harder this time, untill her skin was tainted a sexy colour of red. Azriel pumped roughly inside her, like he could abandon all of his suffering here.

She felt him stimulate a burried spot within her belly over and over, until her legs began to shake against the mattress. Her doe eyes rolled in her head, enjoying both the pain of her hair being pulled mercilessly and her pussy being used senselessly.

" Have you been fucked like this today, Victoria? " Azriel's voice was thick and intoxicating, breathless even, as he burried himself faster in her gleaming pussy.

" N... Oh, oh... No, no " Victoria's brain was drowned in cedar perfume, too full of hormones and pleasure and overstimulated by everything he offered.

" Do you want to come all over my cock? " His dirty words made her orgasm come closer to her, within reach.

" Yes... Yes... Please, I want to come... " Tory's breasts bounced painfuly with each of his hard thrusts. " I didn't have any orgasms today. Help me, please... "

" Poor thing... Let me satisfy your needs... " Azriel purred, placing a large hand on her lower belly, pressing lightly. Tory braced her hand on his strong thigh, unable to think straight from the pleasure.

She came all around his cock, she barely had the chance to register when all of that happened. Azriel thrusted inside her a couple more times, groaning lowly. He withdrew from Tory's cunt, pumping himself untill his seemen painted his abdomen.

" Thank you. " Victoria said, a big smile on her lipstick stained mouth.

" I'm the one who should be thanking you. " The man admitted, as he made his way to the bathroom to clean up his mess.

" I'm leaving tomorrow. " Tory found the courage to announce him while wrapping the sheets around her naked body.

Azriel stopped in the middle of the hall. Tory sipped the erotic sight of his huge back and chiseled ass.

The woman wondered how sensitive those wings were, what reactions she could draw out of him if she licked them.

" Where are you going? " He asked her, slowly turning towards Tory.

" I've collected enough money and I'm going to move with my mother and sister somewhere further away. Maybe we'll see each other again if you ever need me. "

Azriel said nothing, just nodded slightly and closed the bathroom door.

♤ The chapter is not edited. ⚘️

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yandere-romanticaa · 5 years

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Su cautivo.

|| title translation: His captive.

APH Spain x Fem! Reader

police! AU

Sitting in his office, the young officer grumbled to himself. Paperwork in hand, he got down to work not before checking the clock on the office wall.

17:50.

Ah, his shift would be over soon, how wounderful! And if he got really lucky, he could maybe catch a glimpse of his beloved at just the right time... A dreamy sigh escaped Antonio's lips as he held his warm cheeks with his gloved hands. Just the mere mention on (y/n)'s name was enough for the Spaniard to lose all control of himself but he needed to stay focused. Thanks to his position, he was able to learn a lot more about (y/n). Her job, where she lived, etc, etc. He liked to make sure that she wasn't hanging around the wrong crowd, Antonio could never forgive himself if he ever let something happen to (y/n)!

The two of them met suddenly, almost as if God himself decided that the two were made for one another!... At least, that was the case in Antonio's derranged mind that is. In his eyes, (y/n) was the sweetest little angel that could do no wrong. Yeah, she had some fire to her but the Spaniard liked that. He liked that a lot, actually. She made his dull life a lot more exciting and he found himself craving her presence each and every day. Only her smile could cure his sadness, only her touch could make him feel complete. Oh yes, Antonio was deeply in love with (y/n) but somewhere along the way his feelings started to become a lot more twisted. He really didn't want to admit it but he was a jealous and possessive man. For someone so carefree he never thought that such a horrible feeling could ever take ahold of him, but that was the kind of power (y/n) had over Antonio.

She made him do and feel certain things he had never felt before, it was almost as though he was under some sort of spell. But he was perfectly content with being under that spell, and as a matter of fact he absolutely adored it!

As much as he wanted to though, he simply couldn't do whatever he pleased. He was a man of the law, and he wanted nothing more then to protect those around him. He became a police officer to ensure the safety of others and he loved his job. In fact, if it wasn't for this job, he never would have met (y/n)! Recently she came to Spain to vacation with her friends and he had to give her a parking ticket. She was so flustered the first time they met and Antonio found it so difficult to be fair. He could tell that she really didn't know any better, but he had to still give her the ticket. Still though, he couldn't completely hold himself back, calling her a beauty and sending a cheeky little wink along her way. Ever since then, the Spaniard had watched intently, finding the girl to be utterly irrasistible. He kept track of her activities and he made sure to bump in to (y/n) a couple of times too. To his delight she wasn't bitter to him at all, instead she would greet him with the sweetest of smiles. They would talk and chat for hours and hours, and Antonio always somehow found a subject that she liked. The way her eyes gleamed with joy when she spoke about her hobbies and passions was just so precious. He could have sworn that the (h/c)ette could hear his rapidly beating heart....

He also always made sure to be nothing but charming and patient with (y/n). She was falling for him, he was sure. He was so sure in fact that he even found several ways to sabotage her little trip. He always found a way to get her in trouble and he always managed to separate her from her friends. He was always there on time to save her, and (y/n) was always oh so happy to see him. They were meant to be, he knew it, he just did!

Reaching for his back pocket, he pulled out a pair of sturdy handcuffs. They gleamed brightly under the officle lights, as if they were tempting Antonio. He could already imagine her two soft hands cuffed, him leading her away somewhere... A dark smile formed itself on Antonio's handsome face as he decided to do something he wanted to do for so long now.

♡♡♡

Walking down the dimly lit street, Antonio made his way towards a club. There were a few calls in regards to the noisy club but this was also a great oppurtunity for Antonio to capture his sweetheart. He could already pitcure her petrified face as he took her away all for himself... He was so selfish, wasn't he? Wanting all of that beauty and glory for himself only!

Pity he didn't give a single damn.

Kicking the door down, he raised his gun up in the air shouting "Police, no one move!" In front of him were two young men who have gotten in to a fight and in between him was the person he was looking for... Talk about good luck! The entire club fell silent as Antonio examined the room quickly. Various wine bottles were shattered to pieces as several guests had small injuries on themselves. He alerted his colluges and the hospital. In the meantime, he calmed everyone down but he paid special attention to (y/n). He could see her shock from miles away and Antonio wanted nothing more then to ease her worries. He decided to take his chances as he approached (y/n) to "arrest" her. He quietly mumbled in her ear how she was an important witness and that he needed to question her at the police station. She relaxed a little, but still bearly walked along side Antonio. Her hands were cuffed at the back as the metal held on tightly on to her wrists. Antonio made sure to cuff her tightly, aftrer all he can't let her run away! She was being such a good girl now, obeying all of his rules. A scarlet blush tinted his cheeks as he and (y/n) entered the car. A goofy smile was on the brunette's face as his green eyes focused on the (h/c) beauty through the rear view mirror. He knew that he had to pay close attention to the road in front of him but he couldn't help but to steal a glance.

By now (y/n) had realized just how wrong all of this was. She hadn't done anything wrong, and no matter how much she saw she still couldn't be that important to be held up for questioning, right? Not to mention the way Antonio stared her down sent shivers down her spine. The way his eyes stared down her figure was nothing short but predatory, and being both in the same car as him really didn't help to ease her situation. The entire car ride was intense as heavy rain started to pour down, the ocassional thunder roaring loudly through the sky. (y/n) shook up a bit, the latest lightning bolt slightly scaring her.

How adorable was she?!

After a few silent minutes, the duo was now in front of the police station. The building was dark as the heavy rain tapped against the car window, making the tense atmosphere more unsettling. She could tell Antonio was planning something but she had no clue as to what that was. She tried to wiggle her hands but the metal cuffs were just far too tight. Noticing her small escape attempt, the Spaniard smirked, feeling pleased with himself. Reaching in to his front pocket he took out a small syringe. A dark glint formed itself in his forest green eyes as (y/n) stared helplessly at the mysterious liquid. She wobbled and shook in her seat, trying desperately to somehow open the car door. Salty tears pricked her eyes as Antonio grew closer, almost breathing down her neck by this point. She whimpered, cried, begged Antonio not to hurt her.

Silly girl, can't you see that he wants to protect you? Being by his side means guaranteed saftey and comfort and that was all he wanted to give to his darling. With nowhere else to go, Antonio gently pricked (y/n)'s soft neck with the syringe, a loud whimper escaping her in the process. Soon enough her vision became foggy as her heart pounded in her chest madly. A sweet and loving voice filled her ears as Antonio sung her a little song in hopes of calming her down.

She was his to take and his to keep, and now she was finally his to love as well.

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sonysoftprivilege-blog · 4 years

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LGBTQ Communities desperately need to FORSAKE people like CancerChaser

I am telling it right now. The LGBTQ movement needs to keep its house in order and cast out their worst people and their best possible choice to ex-communicate is people who are in the same level as CancerChaser.

CancerChaser is a manipulative philandering creep who sexually harasses people he likes. Taken or not. He just is that creepy. But that is just scratching the surface. He goes into serious depths. How about trying prevent others from attending their workplace through guilt tripping? He has done to that one of my best friends and I am beyond sickened by this scummy behavior. How about all the invasive and evasive actions he has done to my friend. We are talking abusing emails, using alternative numbers, and even alternative Facebook accounts. This disgusting creeper even lives a few blocks away from his target as well. He is also a disloyal cheater as well. When he was stalking and harassing his prey, he had another boyfriend all along. This subhuman bully had manipulated my friend so well that CancerChaser was able to convince him to unblock his number. All because my friend had very little amount of friends near him. And the police was useless in this situation as well.

This man has been giving homosexuals and the LGBTQ movement a bad name with his scummy unrestrained actions. Why should CancerChaser be allowed to harass people to his liking? Imagine if instead CancerChaser being gay he was a homophobic bigot, and instead of conducting sexual harassment he was conducting homophobic harassment. This deranged deviant is a 40 year old unhinged man who should know better and yet he acts like a petulant child at people younger than him. And he has been a dirty liar who asks for tons of help but never delivers all the way. Plus taking advantage of kind and generous people all the way to preventing his target from going to an important job is very clearly in the wrong!

His creepiness has nothing to do with his sexual orientation. It is not that he loves the same gender romantically. It is the means he goes about his love being the problem. Keep this in mind.

There is even more to this. CancerChaser simply declared his target to be his boyfriend without any knowledge or consent of the other party. I am pretty sure love does not work that way. I am pretty sure that needs to be mutual for an actual relationship to form. You cannot simply declare someone to be your boy/girlfriend. And when his target mentioned that he was taken, he did not back off and started hitting on him about his butt. This CancerChaser monster cannot even restrain himself. And he is 40! Given what I know about his posts on social media regarding his sexual experiences and how he conducts himself, I believe he actually knows better and chooses be this intrusive and gross at people he wants in bed. And after it all fell apart for the last time, he started harassing his victim and stated that he was never a good friend to him.

CancerChaser is very wrong. All he cares about is his own sexual pleasure and would do anything, including destroying other people’s lives, for own desires and only his desires matter to him. And he is obviously projecting. The favors he asked for are very easy to do and yet he never thanked his victim for the help he received that he begged for. He has no right to say he was any good to my friend. Clearly CancerChaser is the bad friend and there is evidence supporting that. The large amount of emails laced with attachments is proof enough that he is so full of lies. And also, for leaving halfway through a short video game segment and doing nothing with the controller, CancerChaser lied about wanting to play, which makes him an even filthier liar. Anyone who agrees with this CancerChaser is either a liar, a troll, a lover of his, or just as sociopathic as he is.

The LGBTQ community needs to cut this man and anyone else loose. Having people like him around is a massive liability. He is only going to make the entire movement look bad and become ammunition for homophobic bigots to use a destructive example for LGBTQ movement and homosexuals to look as derranged as possible. CancerChaser’s horrible actions hurt the LGBTQ community. And it is important to keep the house in order. Having consistent decency is very important your cause. If CancerChaser is not forsaken, then it makes to community looks very bad. He is as helpful to the LGBTQ movement as Logan Paul is to YouTubers. Cast him out like how the Splatoon community casted out Heavy the Squid.

With the rise of Cancel Culture, CancerChaser deserves a cancellation. If anyone deserves to be canceled, it is creepy harassing monsters like this. People who are so selfish it costs their victims money and opportunities. Until this depraved man changes, he deserves to be alone and single for the rest of his life. This goes to literally anybody out there like him who are disgusting creepers just like that horrible sexual harassing monster known as CancerChaser.

And if he treats adults this way, could you imagine what kind of sick twisted unspeakable actions he would do to children? He has shown that he lacks restraint so I believe that is entirely possible that he might try to sexually harass underage boys as well. If he cannot act with dignity with adult men and cannot restrain himself, he should never be around children.

The full context of the CancerChaser siatuation can be found here: https://walhartonsclub.tumblr.com/post/180955479605/cancerchaser-masterpost

#cancerchaser #lgbt #lgbtq #gay #homosexual #lesbiangaybitransqueer #queer #cancel culture

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escapekissed · 4 years

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there’s a certain. way. the final fantasy series portrays women. as sort of breathless, flightless birds, hands always clasped in prayer or behind their back as they arch and tease and commit to some bit that i as a non-binary lesbian written by myself for the benefit of women and not an out-of-touch video game man, cannot hope to understand.

with aerith, i tend to try to bridge the gaps. aerith is kind---but i rely more on her humor than anything. it’s a coping mechanism i understand. i say that she’s stronger than the game does---i say she cares a little less about femininity and a little more about cloud and tifa than the game lets on.

but with lunafreya... i’m aiming for a Heroine Gothic. taking ffxv to its more realistic, logical extreme with the very little we are shown of her.

luna is a woman that exists for men&god. she exists to pray, to motivate, to be consumed by the love of her people and noctis. her destiny is to die, and she knows this, and by all accounts, god & her people think that she should feel honored to be placed on such a pedestal to get to fall so low beneath them.

aerith’s affectation is saracastic and witty and quick, her voice is deep and smooth, but it drags, and it rolls, she drawls like a the kind of woman that says she’s ‘sweating like a sinner in church’ and like she’d love to commit any number of sins right now with u here.

lunafreya’s, in comparison, is blank. she sounds robotic, even as she smiles at u, and her eyes are dull and faded from restless nights, always spent praying, waking up and praying more, talking to god, pleading to god, healing the sick & taking on their sickness just as ardyn once did. she can speak in multiple languages, she can read and write and translate alll of them, but she seems to come with stock phrases, phrases that she thinks will make u happy, a script she follows to the letter, and when you do not respond the way she thinks you will, she repeats the script, changes a word here and there so that it will help you deal with your pain a little easier. if she could say nothing, simply smile and make you go away happy. she would do it.

lunafreya is a woman that has stared into the abyss, and the abyss has taken her for its own, claimed her body and soul. she does not speak to god anymore---she speaks to god’s despair under his patriarchal rule, and she falls deeper into the monarchy’s control everyday as nifhelm (and ardyn) grow more powerful.

she has no hope except to love & die, as most final fantasy women do. luckily i plan for luna to have a more yuna-esuqe ending than ffxv grants her, where she is literally saved by a divine goddess’s love as a representation of her feminine spirit to fight and be a holy woman in and within herself and not just a vehicle for a man’s reign---but at the beginning of the game.

luna would do anything for god, and for the man she ‘loves’ to die alongside her ‘for the peace and prosperity of the world’, including hurting her own family, toppling empires, taking on the very plague itself. and she does do it. anytime she gets a chance to fight, she does it, and it’s very scary when she does get to fight. that blankness takes a form of pure, angelic light.

and that takes her mind to a very derranged and fatal place for a very long time.

i just think final fantasy heroines should be a bit unhinged. that’s all!

#fandom: DARLING STAND BY ME! | ffxv #hc: I SPEAK TO GOD; I LIVE FOR HIM; AND ALONE IN THIS WORLD; I WALK FORWARD ON BROKEN STAINED GLASS HEELS | lunafreya #ch: I SPEAK TO GOD; I LIVE FOR HIM; AND ALONE IN THIS WORLD; I WALK FORWARD ON BROKEN STAINED GLASS HEELS | lunafreya

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determined-magi · 3 years

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[There is no turning back... is there?]

...

he can’t really sleep.

Agarwaenor lies on the makeshift bed of his, a pair of potato sacks sewed into a single small bed filled with hay. blackened eyes staring absently towards the exit as he listens carefully to everyone around the camp, nostrils opening and closing over his scaled face. Brows furrowed before he lets a frustrated, inhuman growl and snaps from his resting position.

He really hated this timeline...

Everyone was... just so MISERABLE, so damn depressing on it, he hated it, and it was all his fault. All his fault for chosing to have a little hope from seeing one of them take the initiative, all because he thought things could go differently with everyone involved. What a fucking moron he was, right? An absolute fucking tool of stupidity. Of course it would never work... It didn’t to him, with all the power he had... what fucking chance they had to right it? It would take a miracle to right this world, or change the course of history, it was a suicide mission.

He should have let it run its course, perhaps... perhaps that way they would get some control on how they went, perhaps that way they wouldn’t be stuck in the place they were, burning bridge after bridge against their will so horribly, they wouldn’t lose everyone’s trust, their trust on themselves. Where did this little ruse left them? They were sick, losing control, losing friends, killing allies... perhaps they were worse now than how they would have been the other way around... and for what? Monsterkind would never value that, they’d just see everything that was wrong, pain their kind as barbarians, even those who wanted to do right by them... and they? They would be painted the worst, most likely, for rising a coup so disastrous, and a long-lasting bloodshed that would expand to other kingdoms allied with Bellegur’s father... there was no use in saving a few monsters if the price to pay was that... It would have led to the same position they were, with little allies, and with them struggling to control themselves and avoid risking the future for both races...

He claws at his face, letting a long insufferable growl. Before roaring in frustration whilst he throws around his table. Futile... it was all futile. He knew it was futile, and like the dumb madman he is, he tried anyways.

What a fucking joke.

Look where it got him? He was dying on body and mind, sick beyond life, sick beyond death. Living more in an endless torture sustained by a dumb spell that was failing, mutilated in body by his magic, and in mind by his LOVE. And the worst of it? He dragged the others into it, his dumb decision had them all suffer the same thing, how? he doesn’t remember... but he knows it was all hist fault too, whatever happened the last Reset? it was bad, and it is involved... and he dragged them into it too. For some miracle it got handled... but now? now they were risking doing that all over again, with no assurance that whatever happened last time would save anyone again. He’s fucked and he fucked everyone else too...

Just look at his friends... his family...

They hardly looked human, they hardly acted so. They couldn’t even speak anymore, for fuck’s sake. What kind of path was this? Their magic was making their bodies collapse on themselves, their Love was twisting their mind until they didn’t know what was real and what not, what was the poison trying to further screw them over beyond salvation, twisting their bodies into a mockery of the race they were trying to save. How long until they lost it? Or people couldn’t keep up anymore? When was enough... enough? He should fix this... he has to... he has to fix this, what else is this power for, if not fixing things?

He just needs to find that old save... that old file before this conflict started. That... that should do, right? Gilrin will be back to her academy, no wiser and happy with her students, Thanneth? She’d still have her privileges, a prestigious position and enjoy a rather comfortable day to day basis being an asshole. Braigon? He wouldn’t have to fight many men he knew and saw grow over his long life, he didn’t deserve to fight people he once knew, he deserved his life with his colleagues, his family... Belle? He shouldn’t be fucking killing his whole family, for fuck’s sake, what kind of life was that? He shouldn’t be doing a coup to get his crown, or lead a civil war to stop the extinction of an species, what kind of sick bastard was he to allow this?

What of Thannor? He had a happy life with Kairos as his apprentice before all of this came crashing down, even if it was a lie, they both were happy, who was he to take that away? to ruin that by entertaining this pointless path? He ruined everything he worked hard for, decades of work with the bastard to keep him from being the same as most of the rotten fucks wrong in this world are. He ruined a perfectly good dishonest friendship, and chance at him to get actually better for once... that is what he did...

And Rhowën?... oh dear Rhowën... that poor judge...

He ruined his friendship with Lost, With Kairos, the only persons beside him and the other mages that had managed to get a semblance of a honest, good and close friendship... Made him burn bridges he deeply valued, only to watch him come to the crashing realization of how his sacrifises were FOR NOTHING. They didn’t mean ANYTHING, the outcomes all led to the same fucking endings. They fought, they worsened, they fell from grace, and they would die for it.

He ruined Kairos and Lost too, ruined yet another chance at hoping to find something that was different, ruined their relationships with his friends, nay.... his family. He ruined honest, well meaning attempts by humoring this all, now he could see that fucking mistake. Discouraged one from showing ever again, and now was cutting the last ties with the other, at the pace they were going. He ruined everyone and it was his fucking fault, he ruined a perfect lie in a desperate attempt to find another way, knowing there was no other, and he ruined everything for doing so. And he was even risking being found out on top of it, he was losing everything over a fucking maybe, AGAIN.

Well... screw turning this all into a meaningless lost battle, he’s got the power to stop this, right? he should fix this mess, before it couldn’t be undone... he had to fix it... he had to... He didn’t care if everyone hated him for it, he had to fix this. he didn’t care if he was seen as a greceless bastard or anything, for turning all into a joke, he had to undo this damage, he had the power to do that.

He would fix it... no matter what cost was on him. He just wanted to see them be happy, he just wanted to be happy... if only a little longer... he just needed a little more time to figure things out... just... give him more time...

He would fix this, he promises. He had to...

For everyone.

*You open the menu You move to the files and look for the old save file.

* The file is older than desired But it seems fine... It should do, right?

* Load?

[Yes] - [No]

His hand hovers over the loading option...

This was right, wasn’t it? It should be enough. Perhaps Kairos and Lost would have to pretend a bit again, until they didn’t need to feing like they didn’t know much about them... but... that couldn’t hurt them, they were good at that? Not like each had their lies to keep, or anything really, it would make their lives easier, really... isn’t he right? It would suck seeing things go bad, once they do, but they would learn from this and perhaps find a way to lessen the blows... Kairos spell should work then, they’d get way less LV than the amount they currently had... it should work... it had to...

Then? They could figure out a way to have things be different, perhaps get a shot at a happy ending, because this? This would never lead to it. Going against the current would never work for them, they weren’t like salmon were... No.

Load?

*[Yes] - [No]

Are you sure you want to load the file?

[Yes] - [No]

His hand hovers over the yes, snorting at the question seeking confirmation. Of course he wanted to, he wouldn’t hover over it without a reason, or if he didn’t want to do so. That was a senseless thing, he never understood why it was there to begin with, really.

Or... well... used to never do so.

The moment moment he’s about to press the option to confirm, a tearing pain rushes from his chest towards his head. Ravaging every inch of his mind as he lets a single agonic cry towards the sky. Hands snapping at his head and clawing at its sides, tears falling down as eyes light up with magic and his face twists in pure, unbriddled pain and despair. Before doubling down as his magic grows volatile immediatelly... ramming against the spell viciously as Agarwaenor shakes profusely, as if trying to get something off his head.

Once that proves useless, he goes back towards tearing at the side of his head and jaws, screeching unholy, inhuman cries as the guards immediatelly run into the sight. Alerted by the sudden cry breaking through the sound proofing spells, and the sheer emotions conveyed through the camp by his magic screaming at their souls. Only to find the sight of the distressed mage grow less reassuring, as his gaze grows from helplesss anguish into a derranged irate beast with tears still falling down.

“ Fuck... get whoever had those fucking meds, NOW. “

He doesn’t waste time using his magic o stop them, against his instincts screeching that it would only worsen the pain. He doesn’t care then, no... And that leads to both guards deaths, quick and as sudden as they could be. And the mutilation of their bodies as he continues to slam claws around their corpses until Bellegur and Gilrin come to tackle him... knowing well this time they would be needed to pin him down for a shot.

But not without a fight, that is, he made sure to be hard to catch. As he thrashed and fought fiercely against his would-be captors. Wrathfully screeching and roaring madly whilst tears fell down his face, clawing, striking and biting at anyone trying to pin him as his body was soon to follow signs of strain, until he couldn’t fight anymore out of pure pain...

He didn’t fade into restless sleep silently however, not at all. And the camp echoed with his inhuman cries, until his breath could no longer let such jarring cries. And even then, his eyes remained wide open, face twisted back towards a distressed grieving cry until they closed his eyes.

No one slept that night.

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priboltao · 3 years

Text

...

so this is about loki, in case you wanna avoid this post but

the thing that drives me insane ab the internet is how polarizing every fucking thing is?? Especially on tumblr jfc

Like I get it, ship whatever you like but. omg. I have seen almost all possible takes. People who ship Loki and Mobius and are FURIOUS that it didn’t happen. People who claim it not happening was queerbaiting. People who say Sylvie is not good enough. People who say she is also Loki so is “selfcest” something that does NOT exist, but that they claim is the same as incest which makes no sense. People who claim you are shitty if you ship them. People who claim this is straight washing. People who claim shipping Loki and Mobius is pure stupidity bc OF COURSE disney would queerbait that.

And I’m sitting here like???

What I have NOT seen is people happy that we had finally a confirmation on screen of a - well, two - bisexual (or pansexual) characters, and that it is very, very small, but it’s something, coming from disney, who pushed away the idea of queer people existing forever, and it’s a small thing but it’s a big character so it. Something. I have NOT seen people saying that well, it’s a seemingly straight couple, but at least we know they’re bi/pan. And that at least people are discussing the actual norse mythology and how Loki is actually. Queer as fuck. And also derranged and we got a little bit of that. I have NOT seen people talking about how Loki and Sylvie are actually a nice couple to have bc they are very on theme - what makes you you, what makes us people, and at what point of our lives we differ so much from what we could be, since they are, technically, the same person, but with completely different experiences that, essentally, turned them into two different people. And I have NOT seen people talking about how Loki and Mobius were NEVER portrayed as a couple and everyone should know that, bc their WHOLE ass arc was about friendship, and it’s ok, but it’s the fandom who decided they could be a couple and now feels queerbaited and that maybe we should have some conversations on how some fandoms are super ready to accept gay shipping but not a seemingly straight one, even between bi people, although it does feel like straightwashing, and this has less to do with representation and a lot more to do with fetishization of gay men and internalized mysoginy (bc it’s usually the female fans doing this) and this is valid to raise bc it’s exactly what happened in the SPN fandom, way before they decided to queerbait.

Anyway, I think these are valid points to raise regardless of who you ship but god forbid people have balanced discussions that consider different points of view

Anyway I don’t even care anymore but if anyone wanna fight me on this I’ll just block bc at this point I’m just to tired to fight over. TV shows.

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dwestfieldblog · 4 years

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THOSE WHO DO NOT WANT TO HEAR MUST FEEL

This temporary apocalypse could be seen as a globally overdue Long Night of the Soul, an initiation of sorts which might result in a deeper understanding of what actually matters for human evolution (despite the very best efforts of the scum who are trying to reverse any spiritual progress because it weakens their hold.) There are several ways in which the negative side could truly take over, starting with the horror nightmare prospect of DT (aka ‘Just Another Scumbag’ as Bannon once called him) re ‘elected’. The realistic pessimist in me is sure that if he wins, this planet in this dimension is finished. His winning will be a final signal to the world to give us up. In my lifetime, we have never been so close to the mass breakout of totalitarianism and utter lack of empathy than we are now. Actual fascist populists, not some wet Liberal bleating but the real thing, ready to go live. Covid has bankrupted hundreds of thousands of businesses, millions have lost their jobs, migration from the truly poor and dangerous countries continues...into the becoming poor and dangerous countries. Those who live there and are already ruined by the disasters in every home will be easy prey for the populists. Speaking of whom...

Steve Bannon has spent a great deal of time and other people’s money in setting up a network to overthrow the (arf arf arf) ‘deep state’ and replace it with... a new deeper state...still run by the rich, who will use the populists, who in turn will use the mass of the angry and frightened...etc etc...And power, as most people recognise it, will stay in the hands of the unhuman swine with the most gold and the least soul. WER NICHT HOREN WILL, MUSS FUHLEN...

‘...the human nervous system properly programmed, can edit and orchestrate all experience into any gestalt it wishes. We encounter the same dismal and depressing experiences over and over again because they are repeating tape loops in the central programmer of our brains. We can encounter ecstasy over and over by learning the neurosciences that orchestrate all in coming signals into ecstatic tape loops.’ R.A.Wilson. Prometheus Rising, Hilaritas Press.

It takes a lot of effort and Will to do this but what else is worth it other than to attempt to break out of the vicious cycle and evolve? Even I have managed this when I focus on choosing it. Giving up ingrained behavioural habits often hurts; this is, however, a choice. It doesn’t have to unless you are a masochist.

Flew to England for three weeks in August, full flight sold out, all of us wore masks (apart from one 6 foot 6 mad eyed American who kept pacing up and down the cabin.) Right up to the point where we were all given a bottle of water, some crisps and two biscuits...All masks off at the same time, all passengers attempting not to breathe while we drank and ate. Love seeing how many in both countries wear masks under their nose or even only on their chin. As Bill Hicks would say ‘Any questions why we’re f.....d up as a race?’ As Jonathan Pie does say; ‘Put a f...... mask on.’ I have been coughing since February, and drinking heavily, so not especially optimistic about getting C19.

I avoided almost all of the news while in UK, watched five minutes in total on the TV and only read headlines in the paper. It was enough. Since I have been back in Prague I have continued to avoid the news other than that which I am told by friends and students but I can tell from daily receiving over one hundred emails that things are truly breaking. Hexagram 23 and total Weltschmerz is upon us. Mental health is twisting up globally. One by one, all my friends are suffering serious damage, one way or another. Hearts are breaking apart and many damnable souls, who should be burning, are not. People are afraid to breathe or to embrace, looking to the very worst set of leaders in my lifetime for answers and being manipulated en masse to mass crises.

(Jaz Coleman....On the Day the Earth went Mad...watch the video, listen. Feel. Weep. Rage. Change.) QUI NOLERUNT AUDIRE DEBERE SENTIRE.

Love the interviews I saw with those who voted for Trump and realised they made a mistake...after FOUR YEARS. What clued them in? Which particular excremental atrocity of his foulness gave them the alert? Will the Electoral College let him ‘win’? Before I left, I saw the Trump interview where he said ‘It is what it is’, with regard to the massive number of deaths in the USA. ‘We are below the world’. Blood pressure rising, I even checked his Twitter account where he published two letters, one from the eternally unlovely NRA and the other from the American Police Federation, assuring him he was the best president to ever serve their interest and they would back him to the hilt. His plan to stir the US up into open civil war continues and Putin sits back and smiles. As does Jared it seems, the smug sadist advisor in the same style as (England’s off Broadway Trump) Boris’s Dominic Cummings. Herd Immunity? Well yes it might work at some point after a few years and millions dead. You evil alien bastards. The main individuals in the British Government will make millions from a no deal Brexit, perfect timing. The country will die.

The newest PC bullshit has got even the wonderful JK Rowling into trouble just for speaking her mind politely about transgender issues. I love PC... it is how dumb useless Liberals can act out their secret fascist impulses and feel hard of c..k and wet of p...y...feel good to be so righteous... same with overly ill humoured religious folk, but the PC tribe cannot use God to justify anything so they are a bit weaker...You morons... ‘People who menstruate’, People with a cervix’? PEOPLE? Really? Women is a bad word is it? Too specific? (Well it has the word men in it, so seems almost inclusive.) You bastards are annihilating language; raping semantics...get another hobby you ridiculous cretins. (Be sure the populists well understand how to manipulate such fools.)

Extinction Rebellion is being used (among a multitude of other groups in other countries, hello Black Lives Matter) by the Kremlin to stir up shite, they are mostly well meaning on the road to Hell. Stop being so dumb and stop helping those who are against you at home and abroad. Dogmatic faith leads to mistrust, violence and hatred, says the lone derranger...And as for the absurd Q Anon, it is those who seek a Deeper State who are using you to do it. Well done.

Jacob Blake, shot seven (count them) times in the back by police even though charged with no crime and paralysed was handcuffed to hospital bed. That goofy twat of a 17 yr boy who wanted to be a policeman, shooting at blacks because he believed he had carte blanc (arf) from Trump to defend his country against ‘terrorists’...he will probably escape much punishment because... he was bullied at school...WHO WASNT?? The only people who weren’t were bullied at home. Guns ‘open carry’ in various states as the NRA rejoice in what they encourage. ‘Your first amendment means I can say your second amendment sucks d...s’. JimJeffries. Damn straight. By the time even I was 17, I had grown out of wanting to kill half the world. Wannabe cops are a little slower.

Everything is the new normal. Too late for a mid life crisis unless I die at 108 but I never forget that statistically there is more chance of being killed by death than anything else. ‘Heres to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.’ Walking... see three funeral services shops in the road leading to/away from the hospital, clever businessmen...walking...masks off, between two conveniently placed flower shops and smoking outside the fuming crematorium in black suits and highly polished shoes. Waiting. That’s us.

I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. Nice headline seen on US newspaper...‘Can any good from cyberstalking your online crush?’I wondered that after falling in fascination with a woman in Germany who wrote like a poet and wove a spell of stories to charm and beguile. I would have walked from London to Hamburg to see if she was real. Everyone expresses love and the need for it in different ways. Reprogramming a deeply imprinted circuit is usually uncomfortable and so it proved for both of us. We shall see...if there is time. ‘One of us is crazy and the other one’s insane’

I can remember one of the days I Changed (seven years old?) We had a history lesson and were told about English kings and their ‘Divine Right’ to rule. Because God told them. And they told the people. And the people believed them. I remember the light in the classroom, where I was sitting, the smell of the tables, old unused ink wells, pencil shavings... and just thinking whatever a child’s version of F..K OFF...THATS BULLSHIT ISNT IT? would have been. That was the first moment I started questioning the class system, gullibility and bastards. A couple of years later, the absolute freedom of being, sent to collect the class register, walking down the empty corridors and not in the classroom...a beautiful feeling of being OUTSIDE. Free. Two of many experiences which have never left me. (The Angel Choir, the Rituals, the EYE across the Multiverse dream, the Reconnection...) Even if Freedom turns out to be as much of an illusion as everything else, it is still as beautifully sensual to me as music.

One summer night in 1990 after my 3rd breakdown, I had a dream. I think. Bear (or even bare) with me on this, I know how this sounds but it is only reporting what I saw in my mind. Two Aliens, thin and shadow like, came though my open bedroom door in the night (I could see the silhouettes) and one took a long shiny silver needle like a hypodermic for a horse and stood behind me and pushed the needle in through the top and centre of my skull, penetrating my brain. I FELT it slowly being pushed in, it hurt but I was paralysed. There was no voice but I heard (try not to laugh) ‘So now you have Superintelligence’. They moved out, the door closed, I slept. As usual with me, I remember every single dream I have ever remembered as if they were films I have watched over and over...and after a dream, the atmosphere stays with me for 23 whores. Later that day, I picked a big hardback book to find some info on something (A Cyclopaedia) with pages as thin as a bible. I sat almost motionless and without food for eight hours, DEVOURING every subject in it. Economics, geometry, geopolitical events, medicine, beliefs, systems.....the next day I finished ninety percent of it and went on to read books by five philosophers from second hand shops, started watching insects, stopped swearing, worked out, and read and read and read. All the knowledge I hadn’t cared about in school and college I picked up that one summer. It led to making new friends, new possibilities, new work, new love and led me to fly to Prague in this sequence while continuing to practice many ‘New age’ techniques by a writer called Stuart Wilde. They all worked and I continued...with regular fallings and breakthroughs.

‘Religion was invented when the first scoundrel met the first fool’. Faith is believing what you know not be true’. The seeker finds a belief and stops thinking for themselves...‘Every ideology is a mental murder, a reduction of dynamic living processes to static classifications, and every classification is a Damnation, just as every inclusion is an exclusion.’RAW

I had a four hour conversation with a Christian bloke, thirty, intelligent, believes in Satan as an actual being with horns. Etc. He couldn’t quite see any flaw in saying that any prophet who saw angels, white light and heard the voice of God, healed, etc but was not actually Christ, was only being tempted and used by the devil. He told me to watch the beautiful side of evil...

‘Every act of authority is, in fact, an invasion of the psychic and physical territory of another’. Human progress ‘is the concrete manifestation of some person’s refusal to bow to Authority.’

‘WE GOT ELECTED ON DRAIN THE SWAMP, LOCK HER UP, BUILD THE WALL. THIS WAS PURE ANGER. ANGER AND FEAR IS WHAT GETS PEOPLE TO THE POLLS. THE DEMOCRATS DON'T MATTER, THE REAL OPPOSITION IS THE MEDIA, and the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.’ Said Bannon, who also said. ‘Darkness is good. Dick Cheney. Darth Vader. Satan. Thats power.’ Has he met Putin yet? Is he also on speed dial along with Boris and Trump? People! Create better leaders. NOW.

Happy birthday Aleister Crowley on the 12th October and Happy Halloween to all readers, stay healthy and sane (arf) Remember you are magick...buy the re-release of Musick to Play in the Dark by COIL and become moonlight... And those in America, if you actually do truly believe in a good God...go and vote and remove that evil ego and his cohorts in the White House with absolute overwhelming victory or we are done in this lifetime. Be healthy.

LOVE!!!

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wretchedsons-blog · 7 years

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When it Pours... (Death Korps Short Story)

It was unlike anything he had seen before. Though the little spots reminded him of hot, fresh ash, they were different: much more pale, and disappearing as they landed upon him. He could only observe them through the glass of his rebreather, watching them melt as they touched his visor. They even floated differently than ash; much more gracefully and undisturbed in their patterns. Every one of them instilled a feeling in him with which he was unfamiliar. Something between awe and curiosity, yet it seemed deeper; more wonderful. For the first time in a long time, he was at peace. Then came a gentle rain. “Rain?” he thought. “As well as this…dust?” Confused, he looked to the sky, gradually being pelted by heavier drops before he was suddenly knocked back by something heavy. He was staring into the blank eyes of an engineer’s mask. With a shrug he cast off the body of his comrade and took himself to a knee. Cautiously he looked over the top of the trench wall. An ork Defgunna was in a frenzy, blasting men left and right. Suddenly, the beast looked back at him, their gazes locking. As the ork raised his weapon, the Kriegsman ducked and affixed his bayonet, awaiting a charge. "I’m gunna rip you apart, ‘uman!” screamed the derranged ork, charging forward toward the trench line. When he reached the summit, the Kriegsman plunged his blade into the ork’s belly, skewering the creature. It screamed and swore, trying to free itself from the dagger. It looked back up at the Guardsman, enraged, and held the barrel of its weapon back at him. But before he could fire, the trooper pierced him with several blasts from his lasgun, firing as fast as his adrenaline would let him. When he was sure the thing was dead, he withdrew his weapon and stumbled back. His first kill. Without warning, the Commisar called for a counter charge. Swaths of men vaulted the defensive walls with bayonets set and death in their hearts. As they reached him, he himself joined the assault, looking around, seeing the horrors that surrounded him. Men bleeding out and crying in agony; brutal melee combat erupting between the conflicting sides; explosions and weapon fire ripping apart the landscape. Ripping him apart. He closed his eyes, and the chaos was quelled. He looked back at the sky parallel to him. Again, the those strange flakes fell upon him, but now, he could feel them. They were bitter cold, and swallowing him whole. He thought of his life, his home world of Krieg - his Emperor. And he was not afraid to close his eyes again.

#death korps #warhammer 40k #short story #writing #krieg #death korps of krieg #ave imperitor

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punk-in-docs · 7 years

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Loving The Handsome Duke of Chatsworth, Chapter 6

TITLE: Loving The Handsome Duke of Chatsworth.

 CHAPTER NO: Chapter Six

SYNOPSIS: Tom Hiddleston AU Love story - Set in the Victorian Era... Circa 1858 to be precise...

AUTHOR:@punk-in-docs

AO3 LINK: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4108306?view_full_work=true

In a breakfast room across town, at a later time, in fact, just a fair few streets away from Montague Street, on Bloomsbury Way, sat what was, very evidently, a Bachelor’s lodging’s.

Sir Benedict Carlton’s pristinely white marbled townhouse stood proudly among a row of others that lined the pavements. Similarly to the Farrow Household, the breakfast room was occupied, except in this residence, it was occupied by a singular person.

That person was Sir Thomas Kenworthy.

Who sat alone at the large dining table, a pot of still steeping tea in front of him, as he penned his correspondence to Iris. He liked to keep her abreast of his activities in town, and was just scratching across the paper with a fountain pen, that he had quite possibly found a woman who would serve splendidly as the Duchess of Chatsworth.

Usually, it would have been considered strange for a brother to confess such a personal thing to his sister, but after the death of her husband, and Thomas leaping into the picture to support Iris, Judith and Edith, He and Iris had become very close indeed.

Iris bore looks much alike that of her brother, the same milk skinned complexion, with skin that looked like it had been crafted from a chunk of marble.

Except hers had all the splendour and supple beauty that a radiant woman of her 30’s had about her. Whereas Thomas was simply remarked to be ethereal looking, something which he always found rather far fetched, himself. Iris also had a set of eyes that closely mirrored the own brilliance of his, except hers reminded him of a bolt of lightning, her cerulean orbs mingled with a striking silver grey to them. Which her abundant and thick waves of Raven’s black hair made stand out all the more on her pale, gently shaped, face.

She had softly sloped cheekbones like that of her brothers sharp ones, and a fuller set of heart shaped lips which Thomas would try his best to make smile, to take away the misery that oft lingered in her generous eyes because of the tradgedy of loosing her beloved husband, John Nathaniel Thatcher in the war.

Thomas always supposed he felt guilty for such a thing, he had fought and battled his way through more than the russian enemy and still limped home to tell the tale, John however, had not. He had suffered graver injuries that sought not to heal, and a fever claimed his life shortly after. Thomas felt rotten when he heard the news.

John was only stationed a mere mile away from his own camp, he should have made sure he was properly attended to before he returned home. Iris had watched the two men she loved most in the world, uniformed and dressed, dissapear down Chatsworth drive to go to war, and what came back through it, was her brother and a mere letter that confirmed her very worst nightmare...

Thomas had tortured himself for months after for not helping save John. Iris mourned, but showed her brother that the blame could not be laid on him. If he wanted to be mad at anything, then the Russian army would be a more wise venture. And the bond that drew them close thereafter had remained strong ever since.

Then there was Judith and Edith. Edith was now ten and six years old, and would soon be able to make her way out into society, if she so chose to. Edith was a terribly soothing girl, much like a miniature version of her mother. She had a calm and tender temperament, and was so placid for a girl of her age, that this often caused Thomas to muse to her that she was an old soul, because she was nowhere near as pesky as she ought be compared to other ten and six aged debutantes he had the awful task of being introudced too.

She too, had the same lily white skin, silky, coal hued, thick hair. Except Edith’s eyes were like her fathers, almond shaped ash grey eyes which sparkled with such wisdom that reached beyond her years. She also had a willowy, yet substantial flare to her body shape, again, mirroring that of his sister’s. But her second child, Judith, was quite the veritable little surprise of the family.

She had been born with a headful of bouncy buttery blond curls. Which nobody knew where she had got them from. John, had a headful of plain brown hair, and it certainly hadn’t come from Thomas or Iris’s jet black colouring. But, everyone adored Judith, being only just five, had not quite grasped reality yet...

Nor, Thomas noted, had she learnt that one filtered what they spoke out of their mouth before saying it aloud. Alas, Judith had not been gifted with such a feature. But she was extraordinarily amusing, always had a tiny toothless little grin to flash at everyone, who would be enchanted by her cornflower blue eyes that were huge and as captivating as that of a cute little puppy.

Subsequently Thomas could never deny his little poppet anything, because she’d just have to blink those wet blue doe eyes up at him, and his resolve would crumple like a house of cards. Judith was his little ray of sunshine (because of her sun coloured locks) and her chirpy demeanour, and Edith was his duplicate-Iris, as he liked to call her. And Iris was more his best friend than his sister.

His girls, and how he adored each single one of them in spades.

Well, then... there was Great Aunt Ophelia.

She was as mad as a hatter, and then some. She was his and Iris’s grandmothers sister. Some far off mad lineage of Kenworthys, dating back to 1066, or beyond. His relatives, she informed him, had probably been the men and women who were responsible for populating mankind, she had him know. Thomas winced at the thought.

No wonder all the families elderly members, deep in the recesses of senility, were all completely barking mad and eccentric. Mental Illness didn’t just, run, through his family. It galloped through with as much noise as it could muster, glaring with flamboyance at the top of its lungs – with brass knobs and all the whistles and bells on.

Because every great relative he had, was positively, unarguably, batty, like her. She only wore blue the third Wednesday every month, had a pet parrot called Fidget, who could squawk the alphabet, and whom she had also taught to sing indecent limmericks, and kept her husband - great Uncle Percy’s – ashes in an old teapot and she'd delight in the fact that when anyone asked her what was in it. She’d reply in Queen’s english “My Husband. Sir Percival Warren Durrack Ridley Clifford Anthony Thompson Ridgeworthy, the Third. Earl of Salisbury you know….”

Then she would peek into the teapot, by slightly lifting the lid and peering in. muttering under her breath for a moment. Before straightening up, and concluding to the poor soul who she was accosting with her insanity; “..And he doesn’t wish to speak to you.” Before flouncing off, teapot cradled under her arm. Fidget squawking away 'What should we do with the Drunken Sailor' on her shoulder. Presumably tottering away to do something completely barmy. And Sir Thomas daren’t ever ask what.

She was the kind of old biddy who made Thomas clap his hand over his face and sigh most despondently whenever they had guests. She’d always find some derranged way of startling them and declaring how she had absolutely no heed to the fact she had no longer got any of her sensible wits about her – they probably deserted her sometime during the normandy invasion, he would add drily in his head.

Heaven knows how long that old dinosaur aged relative of his had been walking the earth for. Since the Big Bang, he thought. They had had the Earl of Carlise stay for a couple of weeks with them last year, an old family friend, and Ophelia made her usual mischief by putting eight pairs of her false teeth between his bedsheets. The poor man had been frightened half to death as he slid his toes into bed that night. When Thomas had confronted her the following morning at breakfast, angrily so, asking her why. She simply blinked, carried on eating her marmalade toast – laced with crushed up peppermint sweets, and said to him; “That is where they live.” With a tut and a roll of her mad eyes, as if he was the most foolish boy in the world for asking her such ridiculous outlandish questions.

Sir Thomas had said nought in reply, just listened to the sound of Iris tittering behind her napkin the other side of the breakfast table. He had turned, on his heels, and marched right out of the room and straight to his study to down a glass of whiskey.

He shook his mind off his very loopy Great Aunt. As he had been thinking of his family back home, his hand had paused on his second page of letters to Iris. There now sat a substantial blob of ink on what he had been about to write.

He was attempting to capture Elizabeth Farrow in words, to her. To try and do her goddess like beauty justice in words, was no easy thing. He found he had used the word ‘divinity’ so often to describe her sultry looks, that he dare feared he was making it seem redundant now. He sighed and put his pen down, flexing his fingers across his lips.

He was beaming when he even thought of Elizabeth Farrow. Her luscious smile, her lovely eyes. Her wonderful hips and the red hair that he wanted to twine his fingers into. She made him feel blissful, and not any other woman had ever done that to him.

He hoped she liked the roses he had ventured out early this morning to procure them for her. And it had taken him next to no time to pen down the note. He had always enjoyed reading and writing, and as such often took enjoyment in poetry and penning down a few things from time to time. Not that he’d ever show anyone.

He wondered if she had received the flowers yet? And he beamed. The thought that he had caused her to smile, and the fact that he knew that, was such a terribly fine thing, it made his heart sing with happiness.

He reached for his teacup with a smile, bringing it to his lips and downing a great mouthful. It was hot enough that it made his mouth ache slightly. But that was how he liked it, he couldn’t stand tepid tea.

It was then that he heard an almighty THUD clump to the floorboards above him. Followed by a muffled ‘Aacck’ the deep timbre of the voice quite obviously belonging to his lazy house mate.

It was nearly half past eleven now, it seems his slobbenly friend had elected to grace the world with his presence, and drag his limbs out of bed, at last. Finally having grown bored of the inside of his eyelids, and probably, Thomas thought, as he had stumbled in, blind drunk, and very loudly, at 3 in the morning. That he was most probably of a most delicate and precious hung over disposition this morning, to boot.

Thomas listened as more muffled sounds came from the room above him, as the man probably scrambled about failing at trying to dress himself. Thomas smiled wryly at that, hearing his feet scatter across the floorboards as another loud THUMP echoed down to thomas, and yet another “arrgghhhmmnnnff” of a groan also.

He smiled twice as wide, sipping more of his tea. The idiot was probably trying to manouvre himself into his breeches and clearly, from the noises that were thwacking through the house, the drunken lout wasn’t having much.. THUD-THUD-THUD… ‘Owwwwwwww’ … Luck. With the optimistic task, of trying to put both of his legs the correct way into his trousers, cursing and blundering about his room like a bull in a china shop.

Finally, much to Sir Thomas’s dissapointment. He heard footsteps make their clumsy unsure way down the staircase, thudding gently with each step. Until the shuffling groaning six foot one frame of his friend managed to make it, upright, to the Breakfast room door.

As it was pushed open, the aggrivated and pained body of Sir Benedict Carlton could be seen the other side of the wood. And, Thomas felt like applauding the man, he had managed to sucessfully pull on his breeches, he even had them the right way round. Bravo, Indeed.

On his top half he wore a loose cotton shirt, with his biscuit coloured breeches, and tan braces on, and atop all of such, a red silken long dressing gown. His feet had been left uncommonly bare. My god. Think of the massacre if the twit had attempted his boots...

“Morning.” Benedict mumbled, his voice husky, and miserable, displaying how much agony he was suffering in.

“Thank god, I was worried you wouldn’t make it down the stairs in one piece.” Thomas smiled a wry smile, looking back down to his letters below him on the table. As he tried to refocus on telling Iris just exactly how wonderful Elizabeth was.

But, he feared his words would not do her looks justice. And her beauty was certainly something to behold. She was just… indescribable… And he had dreamt of her, he was certain, last night.

After he got in at the modest time of half past eleven, he had gone straight to bed. Not that he was tired, he had risen that morning at seven, as always.(Something about the military life had stuck with him) But after the events of the evening, he didn't feel tired. Not a bit After he undressed, into his loose cotton shirt and sleeping breeches, led between the crisp cool sheets of his room. One arm behind his head, and despite the fact he was relaying the sound of Elizabeth’s laugh over and over in his head, he doesn’t remember falling asleep… But he definitely dreamt of her. That much he does know.

Sometime in the night, his sleeping form had become quite restless and hungry. And his mind had been filled with the most – sensual – of images. He’d watched these visions as if floating somewhere near his ceiling. But yet, at the same time he had been the mortal form on the bed aswell. And he had not been alone. Or clothed.

He had been naked, and could feel everything. His frame moving over a lithe female form; his hands stroking and squeezing her warm flesh. The delectable tangle of arms and legs, the musky definable scent of two bodies in love – He could see her lips gape open as she moaned, pale bare skin tinged with amber firelight. He could see his hands groping over the fleshy and rounded globes of her thighs. Slipping round to cup her ass. His mouth had been, suckling, most intently on her burgeoning stiff rosy breast. Causing her hands to claw deep into the bedsheets below.

The both of them were moaning and making husky rasps of desire. His shoulders and back, arching and tugging back and forth as he made love to her. it had all been there, hot and vivid in his unconscious mind. And then he had shifted over the woman below, just going the tiniest fraction to the left, probably to kiss at his eager lovers neck. And then she was no longer faceless. First thing he saw was a long coil of curled red hair fold over her shoulder that was suddenly the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life.

She looked like Venus. Aphrodite. A Goddess sunning herself on some rocks off a Grecian isle. And this stand of hair was tickling him, feathering the sensitive skin on his shoulder.

And he saw her. Moaning his name. He saw Miss Elizabeth Farrow.

He’d awakened in the blink of an eye. Sitting bolt upright in bed and gasping from the sheer eroticism of it. It had been the most lurid sensual dream he had ever had.

He had taken deep drawing breaths until his heart calmed in his chest, and the heat that flushed him drowned away. Then he had lain back down onto the pillows, slowly and carefully. As it that would somehow prevent another lusty encounter with her in his head. He had been a tad aroused, by the conjourings of his sinful mind. But had found It no hardship to fall back into a deep dreamless sleep.

Waking up on the dot of six, to rise, bathe and dress. And scurry out of doors to the nearest flower emporium to place a delivery for her. Mostly out of sheer generosity of showing how much he wanted to court her, but also because, remembering his dream, he felt almost as if his body had taken advantage of her.

Nonetheless, he shook the thought away with a blink as Benedict came to the chair closest him, Thomas sat at the head of the table. Benedict just to his left.

“I won’t point out you’re in the seat that traditionally the master of the house takes..” Benedict grumbled. Face resting on elbow as he watched Thomas scribble his correspondence to the lovely Iris in his wide loopy and spidery hand.

“You just did.” Thomas smiled, finishing his words with a flicking flourish.

“Oh.” Benedict frowned. “Did I say that aloud?” He asked, clearly stuck. Whether Benedict was adressing him, or speaking plainly to himself. He couldn’t be sure.

“Evidently, you are feeling a bit, precious, this morning.” Thomas pointed out, smile twitching in amusement, brow raising. Watching as Benedict slumped his angular face into both his hands. His friends voice nothing more than a grumbled throaty warbling sound to his ears that sounded like his head was underwater.

“I’ll answer you when my head stops rotting from the inside out.” Benedict growled lowly. Thomas’s low voice quite grating to his aching head.

Champagne, he cursed, the bloody stuff, was the reason he now felt utterly resistable, head feeling like someone had been far too greatly liberal with a mallet, whacking him upon the head with it like they were trying to tenderize a steak. Ugh. No, even thinking of the notion of food was not a good idea. His stomach rolled in a wave of something that made him feel utterly queasy, and want to heave up his innards.

Whereas usually the ladies man would be jovial, sly and more cunning than that of a slinking fox. But today, alas, he wanted to crawl somewhere dark, quiet and warm and completly free from anything resembling, food, loud noise and the entirety of the female race. So suffering was he, in a matter of fact, that even if a goddess, Aphrodite herself, for instance, even if she swanned into the room, floating on a bloody clamshell, perfectly, delightfully naked, except for a few well-placed flowers, desperately urging and seeking his desire. He’d reward the woman by most probably puking at her feet.

And to top it off, even the tempting mental image of even a nearly naked woman hadn’t excited him one bit. He really was not himself this morning.

“Champagne, again was it?” Thomas asked, asking as to what It was that his friend had ibibed last night, to now owe to his charming state. His answer was a mumble bred with a growl.

“Breakfast?” Thomas asked. “More like luncheon for you.” He added, muttering that sentence under his breath.

Benedict’s stomach lurched. “Are you mentally deficient?” He snarled rhetorically, in acute misery, head thumping down softly onto the surface of the table below him. Resting on his bracketed arms. Stomach squirming in sickened and pained complaint.

“A, No, would suffice.” Thomas smiled.

“Sorry, Darling. I’m not generally in an affectionate temper when my head feels as if a grand piano has fallen on it.” Benedict japed, snapping the words softly.

It was then that Benedict’s delightful and very astute Butler, Perkins, swept into the room noiselessly and with grace and ease that belied his aged look. Every London Butler seemed to have that trait about them. He noticed.

“Anything I can fetch for you sir?” Perkins enquired kindly.

“A very good murderer. Spare me of life quickly and with little pain.” Benedict joked. Face still in his arms.

Perkin’s eyes flickered off to the side, his lips pursing. Silence portraying that he did not understand what was required of him.

“Another pot of tea, if you would be so good, Perkins. I believe Mr Carlton's state is of somewhat delicate, at best.” Thomas explained. Miming tipping a glass back to his lips three times.

The Butler answered with his staple ‘very good, sir’ with a hint that followed sounding like a reproving ‘drunk again, I see Sir’ to Carlton, tone about it.

“Shall I have Mrs Smith make you one of her famed steadying tonics, Sir?” Perkins asked. Benedict groaned, Thomas could see the man heaving. That was his reply.

“My understanding is that was Benedict for ‘No Thankyou’ Just the tea will do nicely, Perkins. I Thankyou.” Thomas smiled.

“He Thinks I drink too much…” Benedict mused correctly when Perkins had swept out of doors and back down to the kitchen, just as silently as he had come.

“You do drink too much.” Thomas chided with a smile.

“I’m a charming rogue. People overlook drunkard ways if you are such a charming rogue as I.”

“Yes, your positively a absolute Siren of a man this morning.” Thomas joked.

“Why do I like you again?” Benedict asked. Swerving his head round to glare at his friend again.

“Battle of Alma, September 20th, 1854, I believe you were present, You know, I only went and shot a man who had been about to put a bullet through you.” Thomas fought back. Wit on top form.

“Oh, that.” Ben waved off jokingly. Swatting his hand in the air.

“How was Lady Heartcliffes ball anyway? Did it serve you well?” Thomas asked. That’s where Benedict had been last night. Where apparantly, he had bathed in a bathtub full of champagne, to have had enough to get him to a level of agony such as the current one he was in now.

“Full of silly idiots. Namely Mama’s and their silly frilly dressed girls. I don’t think there was one there last night who had more than one active braincell among them.” He grumped.

“So, a standard society turnout then?” Thomas asked.

“Quite.” Benedict answered.

“What about you? How was your Dinner?” Benedict asked.

Perkins had returned to the room with a pot of steaming tea, Thomas watched with hilarity, as after Perkins poured the cup and left, Benedict pushed the saucer and cup away across the table as far as his arm would reach. Clearly, his stomach hadn’t the temperament for anything this morning. Friend, foe, tea, woman, food or otherwise. It was most unlike the man, anyway...

“It was. Very. pleasant.” Thomas smiled adamantly, like a handsome rake. Smile wide and proud.

“Dinner with Richard Farrow? Pleasant?” Benedict asked, obviously shocked. “Sir Richard is, I grant him, a very nice man. But was his wife there? Anna, -minty Sharpe or whatever her name is..” He asked.

“Yes, she was present.” Thomas smiled. “She sends her well wishes to you, Mr Carlton. She quite dotes upon you, something wicked.” He smiled, cooing his words at his best friend.

A blind man could have seen the all body shudder that overtook Benedict’s lanky form. Revulsion spreading through him.

That was before his eyes turned into sizzling blue orbs, and his smile curved up into something that told Thomas his thoughts behind it had been most, impure.

“And what of his, breath-takingly lovely, daughter?” Benedict asked. Looking quite sultry and passionately interested. Like the scoundrel that he was.

Thomas grit his jaw. That did it… He had a self obligation to keep to himself aswell if his memory served him correct…

“OW!” Benedict outburst, as Thomas’s hard booted foot met his soft shin. “What the bloody hell that for?” He demanded. “And, Damn, your legs are long…” He gasped, reaching under the table to rub his battered shin.

“I’ll aim for the other leg if you talk about her in that way…” Thomas seethed.

“I thought we’d ascertained that I was to be the precious one, this morning?” Benedict asked, wondering where the mans hostility was coming fro-

He stopped, grinned wolfishly at Sir Thomas, who scowled back at him, and then Ben tilted his head.

“You favour her.” Benedict spoke obviously.

Thomas’s jaw grit together.

“She’s taken dances with you, as I understand it..” He asked, cooly, anger flaring down.

“Several.” Benedict smiled in an all fox manner.

Back was the rascal now. Most inopportunely.

“I preferred you when you were in pain.” Thomas growled.

“She is quite the fine dancer too, lovely slim waist to hold onto. And she always without fail, smells wonderfully like lillies and honey. And has quite the prettiest smile this side of Mayfair. Her wit is excellent too I grant. and those curves of hers… Beautiful red hair too. I’d long to see it unbound, I bet she would look divine, hair fanned out below her, spread out, utterly nake-“

Whatever he had been about to say, was interupted by the way Thomas sharply dug the toe of his boots deep into Benedict’s thigh. Causing the man to screech, rather than lustfully dissect the woman Thomas was now courting. His scream now filled the room instead.

“..JESUS! Kenworthy, bloody cursed bollocking ow! Alright, I desist. She is a fine woman. I’m glad she goes to a good man…” He grumped, rubbing his leg.

They heard rushed footsteps barrell their way through the house, before Perkins poked his head around the door, looking startled. Clutching a large wash jug in his right hand.

“Is something amiss, Sir?” he enquired in shock, having heard Benedict’s cries.

“No. Its quite alright Perkin’s. I’m just being mildly assualted in my own home, But nice to know you value my life to try and come to my defense with the porclain washjug from the spare room.” Benedict smiled, half under the table as he touched his injured leg. Sir Thomas smiling coyly sat near him at head of the table. The pair of them looking like errant, misbehaving schoolboys.

“You are dismissed.” Benedict grinned. Perkins nodded.

“Thankyou, Sir.” He said unsurely, looking at the jug in his white gloved hand before he backed out of the room and shut the door in his wake.

Sir Thomas looked back at his friend with a gritted smile.

“Continue…” Benedict grunted sulkily, furiously patting his hurting thigh. glaring grumpily at his friend.

Everything below his neck had been quite satsifactory and unscathed until just now.

“But, here’s just the thing..” Thomas spoke. Benedict frowned, not cottoning onto his intent.

“She’s also receiving Marcus Burke’s attentions..” Thomas ground out. Angered at even the whiff of the mans name. How he had grabbed and handled Elizabeth like she was piece of dead meat.

Benedict wrinkled his nose in disdain. His eyes clouded with hatred.

“The man’s got worse habits for gambling and drinking than I have. Not to mention seedier taste in company. He’s been through every single stage girl south of Clerkenwell.” Benedict pointed out.

“So most squalid habits indeed, then?…” Sir Thomas smiled in jesting at his friends expense. Bendict jabbed a stern finger in his direction.

“Careful.” He warned.

“Or what?” Thomas smiled.

“You are hardly in a position to fight me for impugning your honour.” He pointed out dryly.

“I’ll get Perkins not to attend you.” He threatened.

“Perkin’s adores me. I don’t get drunk every night, and I am a humble house guest. AND, Mrs Smith would quite feed you to the dogs if she found out how I was being treated.” He spoke with a smile that showed his security in how his housekeeper would punish him.

“Curse you.” Benedict smiled.

“So I understand.” Thomas leered.

“So, the frightful Burke is stealing your young madam out from under you.” Benedict smiled.

“That statement borders on indelicacy.” Thomas pointed out.

“Well. Come now, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about what she’d be like in the marriage bed.” Benedict asked.

Thomas shut his eyes and sighed. Willing away the erotic images from his dream that taunted him behind his eyelids, that confirmed Benedict’s statement.

“Having only met her, and made her acquaintance last evening, I cannot confirm that lewd enquiry.” Thomas glared at his beaming friend.

“So. How best get rid of the Burke..” Bendict thought aloud. Musing.

“You, could.....Let me seduce her aswell, and then Burke will definitely loose interest If I declare my interests in her, between the two of us, we could scare him off. I have quite a repute you know...” He smiled, asking what Thomas thought.

Judging by the fact that the man now looked like he wished to commit manslaughter using his bare hands. That was most obviously a ‘no’

“I’ve no intentions of getting rid of Burke. And you are going nowhere near her.. Or I fear you’ll start drooling at or over her.” Thomas remarked.

Benedict’s smile grew.

“I can’t help it if the woman’s figure is worthy of my ardent appreciations.” Benedict twitched a wry brow at his terse tempered friend.

“What happened to your licentious M.T.T.T.W acronym when it came to innocents?” Thomas asked stiffly.

“I’d bend my rules and ways for a woman such as she.” He ogled. Eyes glittering with sensuality.

“Cad.” Thomas scowled.

“Finest Ladies Cad about town, I think you’ll find.” He added.

“So. How are you going to catch this elusive red haired mare?” Carlton asked.

Thomas smiled. “I am going to do nothing but let Burke show himself up as the soundrel that he is. In the meantime, I am just going to court her, get to know her. But I have a sneaking suspicion I will like what I find. She is quite the loveliest woman I have ever met.” He smiled, looking down to his letters and idly touching a fingertip to twirl his digit on the paper, tracing it over the words on the page.

He had a mushy look dancing across his blue eyes, and a stupid smile adorning his lips.

“Good god, you’re in love with the woman…” Benedict groaned. Finding the notion so wonderfully mundane.

“How dull.” He supposed.

“When, and if, you ever reclaim your soul and heart back from the devil, and do fall in love, Benedict Carlton. You will not come to think of it so poorly.” Thomas brought up.

Benedict made a ‘Pssshhhh’ sound. “Marriage is not for every man. I like having my freedom and wealth, and the riotous disposable affairs and bliss that numerous different women offer me.” He insisted with a sly wink and smile.

“You’ll change your tune when you meet some – poor, unfortunate and, not to mention, deeply unlucky, lass – who you want to marry.” Thomas japed.

“What if she’s already married?…” He grinned. Lifting the teacup he had pushed away earlier to his lips, taking a sip. Thomas sighed.

“You have no gallantry about you whatsoever.” He shook his head.

“I beg to differ…” He whined. “I have enough to know that you will not rest until you wed this woman.” He finalised.

“Now, that….” Thomas supposed, pointing a finger at his rake of a best friend who allowed him to kick his shins in his own home, who would never deny him Perkin’s excellent service. And whom he quite considered to be the most decent friend - despite his repute of dishonesty and bed hopping.

“…Is the first honest and true thing that has crossed your lips all morning.” He smiled.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” Benedict winked.

Thomas grimaced at his rogue friend. But he was right, he would not stop until Elizabeth Farrow became his Duchess of Chatsworth. His, Miss Elizabeth Kenworthy.

Cross his heart, and hope to die.

#victorian era #historical fiction #historical romance #tom hiddleston #AU #fan fiction #dukes #duchesses #suitors #falling in love #love #original story #benedict cumberbatch

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