Realizations
The steady ticking of a grandfather clock.
The normally comforting crackling of the fire, with the occasional pop as a particularly dry piece of wood was consumed by the flames.
The clinking of ice against glass as it gradually melted - fading away in a desperate attempt to keep the amber liquid surrounding it cool. The act of fading away causing condensation to form on the outside of the glass, which dripped down onto Ricard’s fingers - and yet he remained oblivious to it all, his thoughts distracted and focused on a woman in an estate all the way across the city.
Cordelia Gray
Adrian Cress’s long lost daughter.
Oh, what a sense of humor fate turned out to have.
He licked his lips before raising the glass, not even bothering to note the watered down taste as he downed what remained within the container, dark eyes settling on flames within the fireplace as he settled the empty glass back on the table once more.
Within the confines of his own room, within his own home, propriety had long been discarded - his vest and tie laid off to the side, his shirt unbuttoned and open. Fingers skimmed over skin and muscle of his torso and abdomen until finding a rather prominent scar - the lone one that stood out.
He’d made a decision after the betrothal fell through that he would leave well enough alone, leave the Cress house to their designs and stay away from it all. And then slowly, steadily, he’d been pulled back in.
Or if he was being brutally honest, he'd walked back into it.
First with the tailing of Damien Gray, and now this.
Cordelia had asked for his assistance, told him of her recently discovered lineage after his Ishgardian network had fallen to shreds and he should have said no. Should have stepped away to rebuild and simply told her that he couldn’t be of assistance to her, and instead…
Instead he’d rolled up his sleeves and gotten straight to work. Said he’d had his concerns, but they could be dealt with later.
He hadn’t demanded payment, hadn’t set up limitations…he’d been concerned for her and her overall well being, willing to overlook his own discomfort with the news to assist her with whatever she felt she needed.
What the hell was wrong with him??
He shrugged out of his shirt before standing up, walking over and grabbing the half empty bottle of bourbon, forgoing the ice this time as he moved to grab his glass before moving towards the door of the room.
Perhaps a relaxing soak…and another drink…that would clear his head, help settle his thoughts.
It couldn’t possibly be that there were inklings of feelings for this woman and that’s why he was this invested.
That would be…problematic, foolish…and gods damn it he knew better than that.
He knew better than to, in a moment of vulnerability, rather than taking advantage of it, express genuine concern.
But that’s exactly what he’d done.
He’d expressed actual, real concern - with no ulterior motive behind it.
He wasn’t trying to sleep with her, wasn’t trying to get information or money from her, wasn’t trying to discover where she was hiding anything…he just wanted her to be alright - to be taken care of.
“Fuck.”
The glass was set down and he carried the bottle with him as he stalked down the hallway. That soak was going to be a bit longer than he thought, as his thoughts just became far more complicated.
Leave it to a Cress to find a way under his skin…
Mentions: @promethea-silk
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Taking my time to answer to all the comments I could find that I haven't answered before when all hells broke loose here hahahaha
BUT!!
If you, yes YOU READING THIS, by any chance commented on something, sent me an ask, sent me a DM, or any sort of interaction and I haven't answered - and even after today I'm going through all my stuff and I still haven't answered you...
There's a good chance I missed it.
You are MORE than welcome to KICK MY BUTT and talk to me again, I WILL answer it!!
(art below: you guys talking to me, me talking to you, everyone not knowing how to be civilized or normal, black and white, Supernatural edition)
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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑?
the betrayal
you die at the hands of the person you love most. maybe there are tears in their eyes as they drive the sword into your chest, maybe there is none. there are certainly tears in yours. your mouth will open to ask 'why' only to spit blood instead. you will die never knowing if they loved you at all, wondering if you could've done something to prevent this, or if it was always going to end this way.
Tagged by: @tornreality
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Obsessed with scenes where a character tests another character to see if they're really a certain way (blind, deaf, super-powered, etc.), and are convinced because "You can't fake that reaction."
Because the character is almost certainly NOT that way, and the actor is in fact faking the reaction.
Like a character holding a gun on someone to test whether or not they're really blind, and taking the character not reacting as definitive proof that they're really blind.
Because there's a 99% chance that actor is not, in fact, really blind, and is in fact pretending.
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I love Matilda because it's a story about a child who sees injustice around her and gets mad about it and questions why things aren't fair, and instead of the ending being that she learns how the world works and that life isn't fair, she catapults one of the adults who abused her out of a building with her mind
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my partner doesn’t use pet names nearly as much as i do, which is very funny because i will crack my gay little knuckles and say some shit like “good morning my sun and moon, my loveliest boy, my baby my sweetheart my darling dearest” and he will reply “hello adrian”
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