#and pat themselves on the back for doing the lords work which is: nothing

[kurgy]

how are groceries prices already going up? goddamn the thing that kills me in the next four years is straight up gonna be no access to consumable food

[cherrysmokesaconha]

Apparently some people are still very fond of this post if mine. But well, I don't so here is an updated version of it, with a less aggressive tone and other stuff I think

Dear Eddsworld fandom

Just because a headcanon is very popular, doesn't mean it's canon in any way unless confirmed.

I am pretty sure some of you have already suffered from people who was trying to accuse you over a headcanon, correct? If you didn't identify with this, it's because I am mostly talking about: people who ship Tord with Paul & Pat and/or headcanon 2004 Eddsworld as mature adults instead of teenagers/highschool versions. (Fun fact: I am a victim if something like this!/srs)

Two examples!

- PaulTord/PatTord/Red Poly shippers are often called "incest shippers" or "proshippers" (mostly in Pinterest I think) because lots of people think that those ships are incestuous because of the very popular headcanon that "Paul and Patrick are Tord's parents";

And also

- People who headcanon 2004 Eddsworld (or mostly 2004 Tord) as mature adults, such as shipping them with other characters (from the same era or even other eras), also get a lot of backslash (again, mostly in Pinterest) because of people that believe that 2004 Eddsworld in general are teenagers in canon.

And well, I came here to give my visions (based on my knowledge) to say why those stuff are not canon and shouldn't be forced on other people.

Little reminder that, despite these popular headcanons being uncomfortable for some people, doesn't mean it's harmful! As long as your arguments have nothing to do with the real people and you are okay with people who think otherwise, then you're super fine!!

First of all - Tord and Paul are actually around the same age!

This is shown in Poweredd, in a flashback where it shows the characters as kids, and Tord and Paul are in the class. This could mean that both of them are around the same age, since that they studied together in the same room.

Based on this, we can say that Paul is not old enough to be Tord's father. If he were, he would probably look older than he is shown in the series.

Same thing for Patryck, since he is shown alongside Paul in The Snogre and apparently they also have a very close age range (based on their young adult appearance).

(those guys don't look hella old wtf)

Now, the second thing (oh Lord this is gonna be huge)

2004 Eddsworld are not teenagers in canon, but implied to be adults!

"They're their highschool versions!!"

No. Actually, they're implied to be adults, since they all work at the Eddsworld Studios, which is shown in the start of the Christmas Special 2004 Eddisode.

The Eddsworld Studios is not a highschool nor anything related to teens and classrooms. It's a company. A job. People work in there. Not to mention that the building belongs to the character of Edd, since it's "his world".

If they were teenagers, Eddsworld Studio wouldn't exist. Cuz, if Edd was a teenager, he wouldn't create a whole building (that doesn't make sense!) I think teens can at least give ideas for a company, but they can't be the owners of it, different of Edd, who IS the owner of the Eddsworld Studios.

"oh but 2004 Tord is emo, just like a edgy teen!"

Except for the fact that edgy ≠ teenager. Ofc, edgy teenagers exist, but being a emo person doesn't make you automatically a child/teen, specially if you word at a company (2004 Tord works in the Eddsworld Studios, let's not forget this!)

"oh but the characters were teens back then!"

This is also not true, at least not anymore.

Don't worry, I am aware that the character of Edd was implied to be 17 years old in Snobody and Tord's birth date in his tombstone in Zombeh Attack 2.

Snobody was made in 2005, while Zombeh Attack 2 was made in 2007. Larsson left in 2008 and made the explanation video in 2012 saying that "the character doesn't represent what he is in real life" and later the characters were fully separated from the real people by the Eddsworld Crew themselves. With that in mind, it means that all the relations that the characters had to the real people are not canon anymore.

That means that Edd, Tom, Tord and Matt are NOT the personas of the real people, but original characters. And this counts for everything, specally birthdays and lastnames. Their birth dates/aging with the real ppl and lastnames got removed from the characters to make them more original and distant from the real guys.

Tomska himself said in a video from 2024 (I think?) that he was upset that people were celebrating Eddsworld Tom's birthday instead of his, and confirmed that Tom (the character) doesn't have a canon birthday. And this was also indirectly confirmed by Oblivion Downing, an official animator/artist for Eddsworld who gave suggestions of fully fanon birth dates for the characters.

"oh but Tord was born in 1989 so that makes him a teen!! He's just a baby 🥺🥺"

Did I stutter? I just said that the characters are separated from the real people, even birth dates. So, I'm really sorry broski, but the character of Tord was not born in 1989. Sorry to burst your bubble. (Also why the hell ur infantilizing him pls,,,,,this always made me mad ngl)

Another important thing to note is that the Eddsworld characters already have a canon teen version (Tord is implied In the photo).

Tord doesn't wear a black trench coat in this. He wears a reddish black t-shirt. There is no mentions of trench coat in the picture. That also proves that 2004 Tord is not a teen like people think.

Not to mention that, in Zombeh Attack 1 and Christmas Special 2004 (where black trench coat Tord appears), there is no mentions of their ages or parents, and the characters are also shown as really independent, another clear proof that the "teenager headcanon" is not canon as people thought it was.

TLDR: The headcanons are harmless but shouldn't be forced on others, and also, do not believe in everything people say without proof. Do a research. It may take a while, but it will give you lots of knowledge. :)

Okay here it is. Updated post. Hope this helps the new people in the fandom ig! Thank you for coming for my talk. <3

[ekelhyiro]

can we just acknowledge the fact that at this moment aziraphale made a choice for "our side" for the first time? only then he didn't know that it could be relatively safe and he didn't have to become fallen angel. right before that crowley told him, "it all started the same way for me, i just wanted to ask a couple of questions," so aziraphale was sure that saving job's children would definitely come back to him like a boomerang. at this particular moment, he makes a choice: save the children and become a demon, or kill the children and remain an angel, without questioning God's plan. and aziraphale... saves children. he decides that saving children is more important than his work, his status, his continued existence. this is his manifestation of the purest kindness, complete lack of selfishness and true sacrifice for the sake of justice. justice according to human stardarts, not by God's. although, who knows, the ways of the Lord are ineffable.

he has made his choice and is ready to pay for it. he expects to be sent to hell, but the head office is in no hurry. turns out if you don't say you went against the rules, no one will know! heaven and hell are too busy planning armageddon.

crowley gave up very long ago and went his own way. he pretends he’s doing his job well as an evil demon, while people themselves invent and commit terrible things that no demon could ever come up with. he only appropriates their actions.

aziraphale sees the meaninglessness in the actions of heaven but cannot bent from it, cos if you are not with the good guys, you are fallen angel, a demon, if you wish. and there can be no half measures here.

crowley has nothing to lose, he lost it a long time ago.

aziraphale has.

therefore, the angel holds on with all his strength, he desperately believes that Almighty is just and he simply did not understand Her great plan. he can't leave everything and run away. heaven is the personification of goodness, where else can he go but heaven?

the fact that communication between upstairs and him was cut off after Armageddon (which is fucking understandable, i would be afraid to communicate with an angel who can breathe fire) was a crisis for him, part of his identity was taken away.

who is he now? an angel? a demon? a human?

they never appreciated what he did.

they made an infinite hole in his soul by not praising his work and now he eager for to be supported. he needs someone to pat him on the shoulder and say, "well done, angel, keep going."

heaven never really understood what kindness is. his demon friend did.

[xxdoubledaisyxx]

Advice for Squirrels and Humans

Stay away from circumcision and rebuke it out of your domain entirely every time you see a trace of it. They will mutilate you. They will do evil. Never trust them. Especially not for food, water, shelter, or any sort of basic need. They will also try to manipulate desires too, so avoid anything they might offer you as it is only a lure of bait to restrain you with tools, and then mutilate you in the most unforgiveable way.

They did that to me in real life.

They did that to my human body on paper as a government experiment.

They will do worse to the next one.

Observe the common "medical instruments" used for circumcision.

People who make things like that think of themselves as geniuses for their "innovative medical applications of Velcro". Then they pat each other on the back and give each other prizes called Nobel Peace. They are quite certainly mocking God in heaven Most High, and I am not okay with that. I am a man of faith and a patriotic American original. I expect the government of my nation to be righteous in the sight of the Lord at all times. You do not. You are circumcised. Therefore, you are evil because you are in the Lord's sight, and there is only room for one evil there: God, who is also the good. The one and the same.

All of this is unseen in darkness to your sight, no?

This darkness is the realm of eternal light that is subliminal with our own, happening at the same time at all times.

Is it not obscured? That is why this is occult wisdom. Evil has nothing to do with our cults and is most strictly forbidden, far more so than any laws of men in civilization. People like me live apart and send a messenger to inform the king of blunders like this, and that messenger, man or woman, is one of us, who is prepared to kill every last one of them as necessary, calling on support as needed. Our cult tends to be male because men are unloved. Women, if they are good in any way are coveted and desired by all men, circumcised or not, and thus they rarely ever tend to want or lack for anything unless they are in open revolt or defiance in some way.

Men are not privileged to wager that form of leverage, which is why we find other means of applying brute strength and tyrannical power for good applications of lethal force. Sometimes a maiden comes to our domain and when she does... she is the ultimate super princess of all time because that maiden is the cutest of all, as I am sure you can imagine. We are all at her mercy in the end, but only because she is one with men like me, and the exact same.

Who knows the weather of a romantic sky? That maiden will love whom she loves and there is nothing the lovers can do about it.

As of now, being one of these messengers sent from a cult I loosely refer to as Divine Order of Story, I need no support. I can manage the USA and most international problems that may arise in conflict on my own. These problems are trivial to all of us individually but can be like swarmers in Days Gone. As the USA is my own backyard, I will have the children here (age excluded) cleaning and doing their chores momentarily, and the place will be like new after a manner of sweat and tears.

If you have occult questions or concerns, come to me earnestly and openly. I am here for you as the one person in all of time who is going to step from the darkness into the light for your benefit as a kenosis self-sacrifice of instructional wisdom in practice. This is the only time. If you are concerned about the "Devil" and "Christian cultists" now, imagine how scared people will be after I am dead if you don't get answers from me while you can.

What would you have asked Jesus?

Ask me.

Jesus is one of us. Give him a break if you can. I am a relief in a way for problems that do not concern him. Understand?

I personally like to imagine that ultimate super princess maiden loving another maiden who is cutest, even if I am in that story too. Like this one, if my fantasies work out in real life, which I never expect to happen, but who knows. It doesn't hurt to hope.

If that means I have to love a man, then... he has to look like a maiden and be totally maiden all the way through the heart and hoping to die, because I'm a man that kind of way, which makes me ugly, and if there were two of us... ewwwwwww bleh!!!!

Seriously. No thank you. I only like to look at myself because I am myself. I find the image of man repulsive and vile, personally. Maidens are far better to perceive.

[eviesaurusrex]

“ʟᴀᴅʏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ.” | ʀ. ꜱᴛᴀʀᴋ

Not my GIFs!

Robb Stark x Tyrell!Reader

summary: A request for something fluff with Robb Stark!

word counts: 1.8k

warnings: kind of protective!Robb, fluff, more fluff, first-time pregnancy, a bit of angst, but really just a hint

author’s note: I’m really happy about my first request (and work) for Robb because he was my first GoT love :D But I’m not really happy with how this one turned out, so I am really sorry. The next one hopefully will get better! Edit: I just saw that tumblr messed up with my writing, so I edited it!

The puffing breaths of the black horse condensated in the cold air around her, the sound of heavy hooves sinking into the soft ground of the forest floor was the only sound echoing through the tall-growing trees around Winterfell. It was always peaceful out here, which was such a stark contrast to the busyness within the walls of the castle that YN loved to escape from time to time. She loved her life up here, as Lady of Winterfell, far from her former home where she was as useless as a pretty bush of roses.

Growing up in Highgarden, down in the Reach, had been pleasant but never fulfilling. As the eldest daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell and younger sister to Willas Tyrell, her father’s heir, she had nothing else to do but marry an old, lazy lord and continue and secure his unsuccessful lineage. Her father never had a high aim for his eldest daughter, even though her grandmother Olenna always had a greater future planned for the Golden Rose of Highgarden—in her grandmother’s eyes, she had been the perfect match for a king or prince. Olenna never wanted to waste her precious granddaughter to a low lord as her imbecile of a son had in mind. Instead, the Queen of Thorns had managed to secure an alliance with the North, and the match had been, luckily, a love match. It had taken time, but the instant sympathy and attraction from both had been a reliable support for a blossoming romance.

It certainly had helped that YN was quite fond of the winter and cold.

The sudden sound of heavy paws ripped the woman back into reality, and turning in her saddle, her eyes almost immediately spotted the dark grey dire wolf prowling through the forest, his bright eyes trained on her. Smiling, YN whistled softly, and Grey Wind trotted over the small path and sided with her on their slow way back to the castle.

Riding through the gates, the Lady of Winterfell was greeted with respectfully bowed heads by the guards while some of the children waved before getting ushered back to their tasks. Hullen, the master of horse, exited the stables at the sight of his returning lady and walked over to the courtyard. His left hand grabbed for the reins while he extended his right to YN to help her down, but he thought it through and pulled his hand back again. He knew that his lady was more than capable of getting off the horse herself. YN slid off the saddle and down onto the hard ground. “Thank you, Hullen. Treat him with the biggest apple you can find—he deserves it,” the woman smiled while patting the strong neck of her beautiful stallion Robb had gifted her shortly after their wedding. Aden had been her trustworthy companion on her rides ever since.

“Of course, m’lady,” the master of horse said, bowed his head, and led the horse back to the stables. Meanwhile, YN turned around to see Robb striding towards her, the dark fur on his cloak framing his handsome face, his dark curls still a tad tussled from their escapades a few hours prior. Smiling, the former Tyrell waited patiently until he reached her—strong hands enveloping her frame beneath the black cloak she had thrown over earlier, their faces only mere inches apart. “Wife,” he whispered in a greeting before nuzzling his nose against hers. “Husband,” YN returned, smile still on her lips, while her glove-clad fingers tangled themselves in his brown curls.

Softly and lovingly, the eldest Stark son pressed his lips to hers, and YN sighed deeply at the familiar feeling of his kisses, which still ignited a fire in her body, unlike anything she had ever felt in her life. Kissing Robb was always thrilling, always on the brink of satisfaction, and it always made her feel loved and cherished. YN really was grateful for her grandmother’s plans for her very person.

“I was worried,” the Stark mumbled against his wife’s lips before distancing himself a bit to intently eye her face. “Grey Wind was a great companion on our way home.” Robb smiled at her words but soon turned serious again. “You did not overdo it, love?” Softly, YN shook her head while her thumb caressed his cheek tenderly. “We were perfectly safe,” she promised in a whisper and laughed under her breath as the strong, serious man sighed deeply and let his hand rest on her lower stomach where a slight curve had made its appearance several weeks ago—and which kept growing steadily. “I only want you two safe and sound.”

Instead of saying something, YN pulled Robb down at his neck and kissed him with all she had, while his hand kept laying atop his first, still unborn, child.

With pleased looks on their faces stood Catelyn and Ned at the railing circling the walls of Winterfell and watched their firstborn son and first daughter-in-law. “I cannot remember seeing him this happy,” the mother mumbled while Ned held her close. “I am sure he wasn’t before she stepped into his life and turned everything upside down. I know this feeling all too well.” Catelyn looked up to her husband and smiled. “Sometimes it is good to rearrange one’s reality. It certainly didn’t harm Robb.” Ned laughed deep in his chest. “No, it definitely did not. Quite the opposite. Are you happy, Cat?” At her husband’s question, Catelyn looked up again and nodded. “I am. She is perfect for him, he is perfect for her. They await their firstborn, Maester Luwin thinks it will be a pleasant pregnancy judging by the signs so far. My son is happy, and that is all a mother can hope for.”

;

The sound of cracking wood in the grand fireplace accompanied YN in her endeavors to rise from the furred and soft chairs in front of the warm fire in their bedchambers. Suddenly, the door got opened, and Robb entered their room; the sight of his struggling wife pushed a smile on his lips. He closed the door behind him and walked over to her. “You know I can help you with that, love?” His teasing voice tickled a groan out of her, and the pregnant woman gave her attempts up. “This is nothing to laugh about. I’m not even halfway through this pregnancy and already struggling with the easiest tasks—getting out of this bloody chair on my own, for one instance,” she grumbled, and the Stark laughed lightly under his breath before kneeling down in front of his wife.

“I love you,” he told her with the most serious expression. “I love you both.” And with that, Robb bent his head and pressed a lingering kiss on her ever-growing stomach. Her fingers instantly tangled themselves in his soft brown strands, and a smile full of contentment stretched across her lips. “You are lucky you are the most loving husband in all of the Seven Kingdoms. If not, I would have chased you away a long time ago.” Robb grinned up to her and leaned his face further into her hand, which caressed his cheek, his soft beard tickling her skin. “I must be really lucky then,” he mumbled before spreading her legs and pulling his wife to the edge of the chair.

She gasped for air and rested her arms around his neck as Robb held her close and raised to his feet with her in his arms. The man carried her to the fur-covered bed and lowered her onto the soft mattress. “We have a family gathering to attend,” YN reminded the lord, but Robb only climbed over her and situated himself in the furs, pulling her body closer to his by her waist. “They will not die if we miss one dinner.” Her skin muffled his voice as he littered her throat with soft kisses before she pulled his face up.

They stared into each other’s eyes, the blissful atmosphere seeping into every corner of the room, and their body relaxed even more. YN let the tip of her nose brush against his, and Robb sighed, turning into the soft man he always was around his wife.

It still amazed him how his life had turned ever since the Golden Rose of Highgarden had entered it. Before the fateful day of her arrival, Robb Stark had only lived for his family and duty as the firstborn son of Ned Stark and future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He had held objections against marriage as both parents had reached out to him with the suggestion of finding and taking a wife as future Lady of Winterfell. He had never shown any interest in the daughters of the northern houses, and as his mother came to him with a letter from the Reach, he had been… intrigued but still unsure if he was ready to be a husband. But his mother and Lady Olenna had arranged a meeting halfway through the realm, and Robb must’ve been blind if he didn’t feel the attraction towards the woman now lying safely in his arms.

The thought of her in another man’s arms alone made his blood boil, and instantly, his arms enveloped her closer and pulled the woman closer and closer.

“Are you happy?”

Robb’s unsure voice pulled YN out of the daze she had fallen in while almost drowning in his dark, kind eyes, and her brows furrowed tremendously. “Do I seem unhappy? Not content?” She asked in return, now unsure herself. YN never wanted to make the impression of being unhappy up in the north, or as if she wanted to return home to the south, back to the warmth, because quite the opposite was the case. In the four years since their small wedding ceremony in the Godswoods, YN recalled not one single day filled with longing thoughts for her former home.

The Stark barely shrugged and propped himself up on one arm, looming now over her. His other hand softly caressed the soft strands of her hair spreading over the pillows. “I suppose no one ever asked you if you want to be dragged up here in the cold north. A place without the lush gardens of Highgarden, always cold and icy…-“ But YN pressed her finger against his lips to silence him. “Robb,” she whispered tenderly, grabbing his chin in her fingers and stroking over his beard with her thumb. “Do you really believe I would still be here if I were unhappy? That I would have married you and vowed my love in front of your family, in front of the gods?” Robb looked helpless as he shrugged again, and YN smiled up at him while taking his hand from her face and letting it rest on her stomach. “I would not be carrying your child if I wasn’t happy with you in the cold north, with you by my side. I was never this content in my life than here in Winterfell.” A soft grin graced her lips, and Robb sighed, clearly put at ease. “I don’t know where those thoughts came from. Sometimes the things Theon says about you are getting to my head,” the Stark tried to explain himself, but YN only shook her head. “It is all right, my love. And specifically for your mind: You are making me the happiest woman in all of Westeros.”

;

This got really shitty, and I’m super unhappy with it, but the ideas didn’t want to come for another piece, so I went with this one. I’m sorry for even uploading it xD As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

[beels-burger-babe]

A Little Voice Told Me - Pt.1

***This request gives me sooooooooo many Sk8 The Infinity Sad!Reki vibes it's insane! Which, as the angst-obsessed weirdo that I am, I love. For anyone curious, I set out my specifications for asks with poly!mc dating all the demon bros in a previous ask HERE. I hope this is something along the lines of what you're looking for @ang3lsblue *** Summary: Words hurt and leave their scars. MC learns this the hard way after hearing some not-so-nice whispers about them while on a date with Beel. How are they supposed to be the partner of the seven lords of the Devildom when they just don't measure up? Part Two: HERE, Part Three: HERE Date night was always difficult when it came to dating the seven lords of the Devildom. For starters, it was in the nature of several of them to keep you to themselves. Leviathan and Mammon in particular had a hard time adjusting to the idea that you loved all the brothers equally and wanted to spend time with all of them. Things were bumpy when the relationship first got started, but after some communication and careful negotiation, you were all able to find a way to make this work. One particular boundary that had been set up early on was a line up from oldest to youngest of who got to take you out on a date next. That day, in particular, had been Beel's turn. The two of you were at a professional Fangol game. Although you had a decent understanding of the sport from watching Beel's practices and games so often, you still found yourself leaning over to ask him questions from time to time. Beel would smile, and answer them easily without an ounce of judgement. The night had been going wonderfully with Beel's favourite team winning as the half-time buzzer went off. The friendly giant stood and looked down at you. "I'm going to go get some snacks from the canteen. Did you want to come with me?" You smiled at him and shook your head. "No, I'm pretty comfy here. Will you get me popcorn and a bottle of water while you're there though?" He knelt down and kissed the top of your head. "Sure thing, Honey Bun. I'll be right back. Stay here and be careful, okay?"

You giggled and waved at your doting boyfriend as he walked away. You pulled out your D.D.D. and began responding to the few texts that your other partners had sent you checking on things and making sure that you were okay. You were in the middle of responding to particularly curious Leviathan when you began to notice the words being spoken around you. "That's them right? The human that's sleeping around with the Avatars of Sin?" "God, what do the Lords even see in them? I mean seriously? They're just a pathetic human." "Honestly, the brothers are probably only dating them out of pity. I mean what else could it be?" "Did you see Beelzebub walk away earlier? He couldn't wait to get away from them. I bet he's ditching them right now." "Ha! Maybe I should go find him? Diavolo knows that anything would be better than dating a weakling like that." "The human needs to take a hint and back off. They can't even compare to the lords. I mean they're the strongest demons in the Devildom, and who is this human? Nothing. They'll never even compare." You froze clutching your D.D.D. tightly in your hand. What those asshole lower demons were saying, wasn't true right? Your boyfriends loved you and had proved it a number of times. This was just nothing jealous gossip. "Can you imagine being as blind and naïve as they are? Like how do they not see how much they annoy the brothers?" You winced as slid down in your seat a little. You did have the tendency to go off and do exactly what the brothers told you not to do. You were constantly stirring up trouble and getting involved in business that wasn't yours to meddle with. They were always having to protect you and save you from the messes that you had made yourself. You really were just a defenceless, small, human in a world of powerful strong demons after all. That much was true. Now that you thought about it, there was some logic to what these other demons were saying. Demons live for centuries if not millennia. You would be dead within the next several decades. Why would they waste their time tying themselves down to someone whose existence is a mere blink of an eye to them? Why are you allowing yourself to hold them back? "MC?" You flinched and looked up to see Beel frowning down at you in concern from behind the mountain of snacks that he was carrying. He sat down and set the food on his lap so that he could place a hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright? You look upset?" You didn't want to ruin the night for Beelzebub. He had been looking forward to this game for weeks. You flashed him a fake smile and nodded. "Everything's fine Beel. Just daydreamed a little while you were gone." He looked at you with uncertainty as you grabbed your water and popcorn from his stash. "Are you sure MC? If something's wrong, we can go home and watch a movie or-" The buzzer signalling the start of the next quarter. It was exactly the distraction you needed to get the focus off of you. "Oh look! The games about to start again! You should start working on those nachos before they go cold." You could feel Beelzebub's eyes on you as you stubbornly stared at the field. He squeezed your shoulder once, before pulling his hand away and beginning to munch on his collection of food. You were much quieter for the rest of the night. You stopped asking Beel about things that confused you about the sport. You barely touched your popcorn. Even though you were watching the players the whole time, you couldn't remember a single thing that happened after halftime. Although you were physically at the game, in your head you were running through every single time you had inconvenienced your partners. As the minutes ticked by, it became glaringly obvious to you that the demons were right. You didn't deserve them. You jumped as the final buzzer went off, and blinked at the scoreboard. Beel's team had won. You got on your feet and urged yourself to cheer like everyone else around you. Beelzebub's eyebrows narrowed as he watched you, and you could tell that he was suspicious of you. You tried

to up your game and laughed at him. "Why are you so serious? You should be celebrating! Your team won!" You stood on your tippy-toes and poked his cheeks into a smile. Beel chuckled and took your hands into his own, pressing a kiss to them. "You're right. I'm sorry." You tried not to let your smile falter as you heard people whisper about how disgusting it was that he was even touching a being like you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, unaware of voices talking lowly about the two of you, and began to walk out of the arena. "We should probably go home. It's been a long day, huh?" The walk home was quiet and tense. Beel obviously knew that something was wrong, but you just couldn't bring yourself to talk about it yet. As you arrived at the House of Lamentation, Levi was pouting in the living room. "You can't just have MC to yourself all night, Beel. It's not fair to the rest of us." Belphegor flicked Levi's head as he walked by. "It's his turn for date night, Levi. He can do whatever he damn pleases. You didn't hear any of us complaining when you holed MC up in your room gaming and watching animes for twenty-four hours on your last date night." Leviathan huffed and sunk down into the couch, purposely stretching out his legs so that Belphie couldn't sit. Belphie rolled his eyes and ruffled your hair as he approached the two of you. "How was the game? Did you have fun?" The evening's discoveries were weighing down on you as you tried to pull together a small smile for Belphie. "It was fantastic! Beel's team won and there was confetti and everything!" You held your breath as the twins made eye contact and silently agreed that you were keeping something from them. Before anyone could say anything you gave them both kisses on the cheeks. "I-I'm feeling pretty tired though. So I think I'm going to head to bed," before they could react you made your way towards your room. "Thanks for the night out Beel! I loved it. See you in the morning!" And you were gone. The three brothers blinked at where you once stood. Levi frowned and sat up. "Well, that was weird. Have they been like that all night?" Beel grunted with a nod. "Something's not right. I think something happened, b-but I don't know what. One moment they were happy and genuinely enjoying themselves. Then I went to get snacks and when I came back they were like this!" Belphie patted his twin's back. "It's not your fault Beel. MC adores you, you know that. Something must have happened, and we're going to find out what."

***AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH turns out I'm going to have to break this down into two parts! For now, here is part one! I hope you enjoyed @ang3lsblues! Stay tuned for the other bros and to see how they handle MC's insecurities.***

[bamf-jaskier]

So I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about how imbalanced Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship is in the show and while I might make another post about it, I don’t think anything shows that better than by comparing the Djinn scene in The Last Wish vs the show. 

For the set-up to meeting the Djinn in the books, Geralt and Dandelion are fishing together. They are both holding onto a line in and manage to haul in a 12 foot long catfish by working together and on the other line they have in the river  Jaskier pulls out the Djinn’s amphora. In the show, Geralt is hunting the Djinn in an attempt to try and get some peace of mind. Jaskier happens to run into Geralt and watches as Geralt pulls out the Djinn. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Ha!” Dandilion exclaimed again, proudly. “Do you know what this is?”

“It's an old pot.”

“You're wrong,” declared the troubadour, scraping away shells and hardened, shiny clay. “This is a charmed jar. There's a djinn inside who'll fulfill my three wishes.”

The witcher snorted.

“You can laugh.” Dandilion finished his scraping, bent over and rinsed the amphora. “But there's a seal on the spigot and a wizard's mark on the seal.”

“What mark? Let's see.”

“Oh, sure.” The poet hid the jar behind his back. “And what more do you want? I’m the one who found it and I need all the wishes.”

“Don't touch that seal! Leave it alone!”

“Let go, I tell you! It's mine!”

“Dandilion, be careful!”

“Sure!”

“Don't touch it! Oh, bloody hell!”

The jar fell to the sand during their scuffle, and luminous red smoke burst forth.

The witcher jumped back and rushed toward the camp for his sword. Dandilion, folding his arms across his chest, didn't move.

The smoke pulsated and collected in an irregular sphere level with Dandilion's eyes. The sphere formed a six-foot-wide distorted head with no nose, enormous eyes and a sort of beak.

Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Wow. Wow. What is- What is that?

Geralt: [inspecting the stopper] It’s a wizard’s seal. The djinn.

Jaskier: Do you mind if I- [He grabs the pot.]

Geralt: Jaskier...

Jaskier: Take back that bit about my fillingless pie. Take it back and then you can have your djinny-djinn-djinn.

Geralt: Let go.

Jaskier: No! No, let go, you horse’s arse! [Geralt accidentally pulls out the stopper. Jaskier upends the pot, nothing happens.] Hm. That’s a bit of an anticlimax. [A sudden breeze ruffles their hair.] Or is it?

Now, it’s important to note that the dialogue is actually quite similar when Geralt and Jaskier are arguing about taking the jar and the seal. However, where it really differs is the context. 

In the show, Geralt finds the Djinn and Jaskier takes it from him without asking and Geralt is clearly annoyed by this. 

In the books, Dandelion finds the amphora and Geralt doesn’t believe it’s a Djinn while Dandelion does and Geralt tries to warn Dandelion of opening it because he considers it dangerous. 

It’s the difference between Geralt being genuinely annoyed at Jaskier vs Geralt being concerned for Dandelion’s safety. There is a weird amount of contention between Geralt and Jaskier in the show that makes their relationship feels honestly unhealthy in many ways. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Djinn!” said Dandilion, stamping his foot. “I freed thee and as of this day, I am thy lord. My wishes—”

The head snapped its beak, which wasn't really a beak but something in the shape of drooping, deformed and ever-changing lips.

“Run!” yelled the witcher. “Run, Dandilion!”

“My wishes,” continued the poet, “are as follows. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, die of apoplexy as soon as possible. Secondly, there's a count's daughter in Caelf called Virginia who refuses all advances. May she succumb to mine. Thirdly—”

No one ever found out Dandilion's third wish.

Two monstrous paws emerged from the horrible head and grabbed the bard by the throat. Dandilion screeched.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy lord. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy and die. Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms, and very little clothing. Thirdly-

Geralt: Jaskier! [He grabs the back of Jaskier’s top and pulls him backward.]

Jaskier: Wha-

Geralt: Stop! There are only three wishes.

Jaskier: Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?

Geralt: I just want some damn peace!

Jaskier: Well, here’s your peace! [He throws the pot to the ground where it breaks. Geralt bares his teeth and growls before he bows down to collect the pieces, missing the fresh cut on his forearm. The wind intensifies and Jaskier raises a hand to his throat.] Geralt… Geralt… it’s the djinn! [Geralt casts a magical sign at the black, transparent smoke rushing by. Jaskier doubles over and clutches his throat.]

Geralt: Jaskier. [Jaskier vomits blood.]

Again, while the dialogue is very similar, especially in the case of Jaskier/Dandelion some of it being word for word in fact, Geralt in the books tries to protect Dandelion while the only thing Geralt focuses on is the wishes themselves. As well, in the books, Dandelion’s injury in the books is due to his own folly and arrogance while in the show, the writers make it indirectly Geralt’s fault. 

It’s another weird choice that seems to suggest a dislike and a hostility between Geralt and Jaskier. It seems that even subconsciously Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier around. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“A troubadour,” repeated Chireadan, looking at Geralt. “That's bad. Very bad. The muscles of his neck and throat are attacked. Changes in his vocal cords are starting to take place. The spell's action has to be halted as soon as possible otherwise…This might be irreversible.”

“That means…Does that mean he won't be able to talk?”

“Talk, yes. Maybe. Not sing.”

Geralt sat down at the table without saying a word and rested his forehead on his clenched fists.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Chireadan: His throat was attacked. If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.

Jaskier: Wha- [vomiting more blood]

Chireadan: And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die.

Jaskier: [gasps] Fuck! Geralt.

Geralt: Uh... Yeah, we won‘t let that happen. [pats Jaskier’s back]

In the books, Geralt shows genuine concern for Dandelion and is heartbroken by the idea that he might not be able to sing again. Remember, in the books, Dandelion’s injury is a result of his own folly and Geralt still feels this obvious and clear sadness. In the show--he just has this awkward grimace and pats him on the back. He almost seems to be there out of a strange sense of duty and doesn’t seem to feel too much guilt about his part in Jaskier’s injury. 

Even when they are reunited after Yennefer heals Jaskier, it is very different in the two mediums (I actually want to do another post about Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish)

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Dandilion!” Geralt shouted, holding Krepp back, who was clearly getting ready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you…here…Dandilion!”

“Geralt!” The bard jumped up.

“Dandilion!”

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods. I might live to see another day. We need to go. 

Geralt: Jaskier, you’re okay.

Jaskier: I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.

Geralt: Let’s not jump to conclusions. What happened?

Geralt and Jaskier are overjoyed to see each other in the books meanwhile in the show Geralt is just...okay about it. 

And it’s really strange because Netflix!Geralt can show emotion when he wants to, he does with Yennefer in Bottled Appetites and Rare Species, he shows fear when she is with the Djinn and care when they are in the tent together and yet --- this emotion is not extended to Jaskier. This isn’t simply a difference of Geralt’s characterization.

In the show, the writers created an imbalanced relationship between Geralt and Jaskier where Geralt never asked Jaskier to be there. The bard is constantly inserting himself into Geralt’s life when he is not wanted and testing Geralt’s boundaries without permission. He almost seems like an invader in Geralt’s life and it makes it so that I honestly can’t believably see Geralt and Jaskier traveling together for 20 years. 

Dandelion and Geralt protect each other, care for each other and worry about one another. Even from the beginning of the Djinn incident, they were fishing together. Geralt and Jaskier on the other hand have a relationship where Geralt begrudgingly tolerates Jaskier while Jaskier plows along blindly. It’s not healthy on either side. Geralt is putting up with someone he doesn’t seem to have a genuine connection with and Jaskier is pushing boundaries and constantly talking to a man who has no interest in listening. 

There is no reciprocal relationship between Geralt and Jaskier and I think in the end that’s why there is this hostility between the two of them.

[separatist-apologist]

Honestly whatever works best for you ^^ I just like seeing jealous Lucien

This ask was for jealous Lucien. It's sort of a remix of Elain riling Lucien up, wherein they actually DO stuff. it is NSFW, 18+, and "edited".

Also I like my little Feyre/Lucien moment. I HC them as pranksters

--

--

Lucien was later than he’d meant to be, walking into Solstice. He was still reeling from his day with Elain, stunned that Nuan had been right, and her plan had worked.

She wants you, Nuan had murmured halfway through the larger meeting Lucien had glanced over at Elain, carefully arranging stems across the hall on a glass table.

He’d rolled his eyes, but Nuan insisted.

Let me help you make her jealous.

He’d kissed her hand and now he wanted to kiss every other part of her. He’d settle for polite conversation and maybe a little hand holding. He was nervous, like a young male about to touch his first female. Elain had never given him the time of day before and Lucien wanted to get things right.

He ran his hands down his sage green jacket for the millionth time, his boots echoing off the marble in Feyre’s home. He followed the sound of chatter to a drawing room and paused in the doorway. His eyes immediately found Elain standing beside Azriel, gazing up at him with sweet, doe eyes…her hand on his forearm.

He was so fucking tired of seeing the pair of them. Jealousy burned in his gut and he almost turned around and left. Feyre caught him, perhaps reading his thoughts, and looped her arm through his.

“Will you help me with something?” She asked conspiratorially, walking him out of the cozy drawing room.

“How could I say no?” He replied easily, his mind still back with Elain and Azriel.

“I want to put snow in Rhys’ side of the bed,” she confessed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s been shoving it down the back of my clothes for days now and I haven’t been able to repay him.”

“Because he’s so tall, or you love him so much?” Lucien asked dryly

“Don’t be gross, of course it’s because he’s tall,” Feyre shot back quickly. “I tried his pants but he’s just a little too fast—”

“That’s quite enough. Of course I’ll help you prank your mate. Let’s go to the kitchen for some bowls, though.”

“Smart, I didn’t think of that,” Feyre said with a happy smile.

For the next hour, he and Feyre giggled quietly as they scooped up frozen snow in metal bowls and snuck through the River House. They put the snow on Feyre’s side of the bed, creating a snow person shaped like her body they hoped a very naked Rhys would attempt to cuddle up next to. Lucien didn’t want to think about what Feyre and her mate did in their alone time but he had to admit, it was fun conspiring with Feyre again.

By the time she walked him back to the drawing room, they were pink cheeked from the cold and still quietly chuckling to themselves. Rhys was instantly curious, not that it mattered. Lucien was almost relieved to see Elain had left though Azriel remained behind, standing with Cassian and Mor discussing who knew what. Lucien went to a little loveseat, still amused when he froze.

Elain was there, looking up at him with those same wide eyes. Ah, fuck, he thought, about to turn and find another place to warm up. She scooted, patting the cushion beside her and Lucien couldn’t resist.

She was so gorgeous, her hair curled gently down her back and spilling over her shoulders in a long-sleeved, off shoulder gown of lilac. He wanted to feel hopeful, but her eyes slid past him towards Azriel and Lucien wasn’t stupid. He recognized when he was being used as bait. He nearly rose, nearly left entirely but she set her small hand on his knee and Lucien quickly changed tracks.

She might want to make another male jealous but there was something between them. He could smell her anticipation. He didn’t know what had transpired between the pair of them, if anything had, for that matter given how determined Azriel seemed to be at not looking at her. It didn’t matter. If she wanted to play games, Lucien was leave knowing she was utterly covered in his scent. There would be no mistaking who she belonged with…who she was mated to.

“Are you having a good evening?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off her hand sliding slowly up his thigh. He was so, so hard just from one little touch.

“I am,” she agreed, looking up at him again. Good. He wanted her to keep her eyes on him. “And you, Lord?”

“It’s certainly looking up,” he replied truthfully. Feyre glanced at Lucien and he heard her in his mind.

You two look cozy. Want us to leave for a bit?

He hated when she did that, when she spoke to him mind to mind, worried that she knew every little thing he’d ever thought. This time, though, he was a little grateful for it.

If no one minds.

He heard Feyre chuckle in his head. I promise you, no one minds. I don’t think she’d notice if we left at all…

Feyre withdrew and Lucien looked fully back at Elain, her eyes wholly focused on his face, pink lips parted, her hand so close to his aching cock he felt half insane. He reached for her neck, his hands twining in her hair as he tilted her head towards him. Lucien glanced up when Elain’s eyes fluttered shut, watching as Feyre silently ushered people from the room. His lips curved into a smile and he nodded his thanks to Feyre once before she left, too, closing the door quietly behind her.

Elain sucked in a soft breath, angling her head. He couldn’t resist. He didn’t care if she had started all this to make Azriel jealous. She’d failed on that account though she’d very much succeeded in making Lucien jealous. He ghosted his lips over her own, delighted when she gasped a little, her fingernails digging into his thighs.

“It looks like everyone left us,” he told her, his mouth pressed against her jaw. Her eyes flew open and Lucien, still holding her head, let her turn just long enough to look at the now empty room. The only sound besides their breathing was the cheerful crackling of the fire and the soft hum of the wind tapping on the glass.

“I didn’t notice,” she admitted, proving her younger sister right. Lucien’s heart picked up at the admission, hope re-blooming in his chest. He smiled at her, rubbing his nose against her own. She reached up, cupping his cheek and Lucien was half-lost. He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her for the first time. It was nothing like he’d imagined, and he had spent years wondering what she might feel like, how she’d taste.

She was better in real life he thought with a soft sigh. Like lavender and honey and warm, sunlit air all combined and mixed with something personal, something uniquely Elain that was sweet and inviting. She opened her mouth for him, surprising him again when her tongue very hesitantly licked against his own.

She moaned and Lucien was fully gone, utterly done. He was going to have her on this too small couch. He couldn’t walk, not with the erection he was currently sporting and especially not with the way her arousal was slowly curling through the air around them. He couldn’t think straight anymore, kissing her with more intensity than he might have. He leaned her back, one hand on the column of her pretty throat as he shoved his knee between her legs, parting them both.

“What do you want, Elain?” He asked before licking up the smooth, soft skin of her throat, his other hand holding her by the hip. Her eyes flashed open, dark with desire.

“You,” she breathed, dragging him back down to kiss her again. Did she knew the affect she had on him, he wondered idly a moment before her hips rubbed against his thigh? She moaned softly against his lips, her eyes closed again.

Would Feyre forgive him for fucking her sister in the drawing room? He hoped so, he thought to himself, devouring her mouth with a hunger that surprised even him. His fantasies could not compete with the real thing.

He ran a hand over her breast, hidden beneath glittery fabric. Elain arched into his hand, moaning softly again. He’d kill to hear her make that notice again, he thought desperately. More, more, more, the bond between them crooned, demanding satisfaction. Elain, too, seemed to be demanding it, given how her hips rolled against his thigh. There was not enough space to spread her out the way he wanted to. They’d have to move.

Lucien withdrew, pleased at the disappointed mewl that escaped her throat.

“Not for long, sweet dove,” he promised, pulling her easily into his arms. Her dress covered his tented trousers and her weight helped ground him back to reality, to slow him down just a bit. Her mouth on his neck, nipping the skin, didn’t make walking any easier, and leaving the drawing room for the bedroom Feyre had offered was difficult, given how badly instinct made him want to slam her against a wall and bury himself within her.

They passed her family, not that she noticed. Feyre pressed a hand over her mouth and Rhys actually winked, which made Lucien almost laugh. The jealous monster that still roared in his chest settled when Azriel, too, glanced their way, catching sight of Elain utterly lost, one hand in his hair, her mouth still licking his skin. What had he been so worried about, he wondered, half jogging up the steps that led to the hall he slept in?

He placed on her his bed with as much reverence as he felt in that moment and Elain sat up quickly, eyes wide. He froze, expecting her to tell him no, that they’d taken this too far and she wanted to leave.

Her fingers found the buttons of his jacket and with a nimble quickness, managed to undo them before he could inhale and exhale. She shoved them down his arms and without any hesitation, pulled his shirt out of his pants and attempted to yank it over his head. Lucien helped, utterly stunned with the image of his mate undressing him with hurried determination. He didn’t stop her when her fingers, trembling now, reached for the laces of his pants though he did gently pull them away when, having gotten them undone, she attempted to yank them off his hips. She was still fully clothed and the part of him that was still a gentleman knew he might be tempted to just flip her skirts up and have her without any other care of consideration.

He heard her swallow when, having divested himself of his boots, he climbed up the bed. He reached behind her for the little pearl buttons on her dress and undid them much slower than she had, reveling in each new inch of skin he revealed. Lucien dragged his hands down her shoulders when he finished, taking the dress with him until she her underthings were exposed, her dress pooled at her waist. He watched as she shimmied out of it, tossing it to his floor. It took her merely a moment to remove her under things as well, leaving her utterly exposed.

“Elain,” he breathed, gently guiding her back to the bed, unable to take his eyes off the peaks and curves of her beautiful, soft body. He almost asked if she’d done this before but the memory of snide, stupid Graysen strutting about flashed through his memory and he knew he might become overwhelmingly possessive if she admitted he’d ever touched her.

Some questions were better left unknown. He simply did not care how many lovers she had or if she’d had none at all. He’d pretend she hadn’t and let her set the pace.

“Now will you remove your pants?” She asked him, her voice catching in her throat. They were hanging embarrassingly low on his hips as it was, hardly keeping him modest and the fabric was beginning to chafe the crown of his cock. Lucien sighed, disappointed to climb off her and slid them down his body, well aware of how her eyes zoomed to the appendage bobbing between his legs. He wished he knew what she thought in that moment, if she found him lacking or not.

She gestured for him to come back, and Lucien obliged, hardly able to keep himself away. This was happening, he thought dazedly, his mouth covering her own again. Elain’s hands slipped up his chest and over his shoulders, her nails dragging down his back. He groaned even as he palmed at her now naked breast, desperate to feel her naked body arch against his own.

She gasped when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, her hips lifting off the bed. He was slowly being driven mad by every little noise that left her lips.

Taste, taste, taste his instincts chanted. She didn’t pull away when his head dipped to her chest so he could take that same delicate, pebbled nipple and roll it along his tongue. She squirmed, her nails digging into his flesh in the most deliciously painful way. More of that, his thoughts begged. The idea that his mate might instinctively know what he liked and how he wanted to be fucked was exciting to him.

She writhed against him when he took the other breast into his mouth, lavishing attention even as she ground against the bare thigh he had pressed against the heat of her cunt. His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the slickness she left on his skin, growling softly in appreciation.

“Please,” she begged, lifting her hips again and fuck did he want to take her up on the offer. His hand was gliding down her body and when he dipped one finger into the source of her wet he half died right then and there. She clenched hard around him, the sensation shooting straight into his cock.

“Taste you,” he said desperately, trying to position himself between her hips but Elain screamed with frustration and yanked him by his hair, pulling him back up.

“Later,” she bossed, her kiss a demand. He wanted to taste her so bad it was almost painful.

“Please,” it was his turn to beg.

“Fuck me, Lucien,” she ordered and Lucien’s eyes rolled straight into his skull. Later implied they would do this again, slower, perhaps all night even. He notched himself against her slick opening, groaning at the silky, hot feel of her.

It had been his intention to go slow. He slid in an inch and Elain offered him another soft scream, stopping him dead. She hooked her legs around his waist, dug her heels into his ass, and pushed, slamming him to the hilt within her.

Holy fuck, he thought, dazed. His Lady was practically wanton, he thought with pleasure, watching as her hips arched to meet his next thrust, her eyes half-wild with lust.

“Been thinking of me, have you?” He grunted out, his thrusts almost punishing in their intensity.

“Mm hmm,” she wined, her breath coming in short, shallow pants.

“Tell me,” he demanded, trying to fight back the urge to spill himself inside her like an untested youth. His hand slid between them, his thumb rubbing careful, precise circles over her clit.

“At night,” she gasped. “In bed.”

“Touching yourself?” He asked, needing to know.

“Mm hmm,” she keened, her voice rising an octave. He sped up, both his hips and his hand, dragging her to the edge.

“What do you want?” He demanded again.

“You,” she begged. “Lucien, you, you—” Her words were lost to a scream, so loud he was sure the whole house heard. Lucien snarled with pleasure, still rubbing as he fucked her, driving himself deeper still, desperate to be as close as he could.

“Lucien,” she half sobbed, her body trembling around him, her nails digging so hard into his skin he could scent blood in the air.

“Again,” he told her, his voice rich with authority. She tossed her head side to side. When she came again, the walls of her cunt slick with fluid as the fluttered tightly around him, Lucien couldn’t hold back any longer. His own pleasure burned beneath his skin, coiled tightly in his gut desperate for release. Every part of him tingled wildly. He thrust hard, deep, and pumped his release into her, snarling loudly with satisfaction. This was home, his mind screamed. She was home.

When his body relaxed, Lucien carefully lowered his body to hers. She pressed a lazy kiss to his mouth.

“Again,” he murmured against her lips. She giggled in response.

“Let me breathe, first,” she asked, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Lucien couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, to leave her.

So he stayed, nuzzling his head into her shoulder while Elain worked to catch her breath. Minutes passed, timed only by the synced beats of their heart.

“Okay,” she whispered after who knew how long. “Again.”

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

Sandor x Reader - Sellsword

Title: Sellsword

Words: 3208

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to sex, arguing, reader almost sleeps with a (female) prostitute

A/N: I tried writing this as a smut piece, but I couldn’t do it. Maybe in the future if people want it, I’ll make a small part two with smut.

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

When Sandor first saw you, he had to contain his shock. He hadn’t seen a female sellsword in years and you showed up at the Red Keep escorting Tyrion Lannister, a horde of Hill tribesmen behind you. You looked confident, a slight smirk on your face and your hand on the hilt of your sword. Sandor fought not to look at you for too long, but you had no qualms about looking at him.

 You knew exactly who he was without hearing his name. When you saw him look at you from the corner of your eye, you winked at him. His eyes widened slightly and you bit back a laugh as he looked away from you.

 “I wish I could stay and celebrate with you, but I have work to do,” Tyrion said. You took that as your cue to follow Tyrion and you deliberately brushed up against the Hound as you left. He let out a sharp breath and you sent him another wink as you walked away.

 Tyrion led you, Bronn, and the Hill tribes deeper into the Red Keep. He dropped off the tribesmen off in what would be their living quarters for the time being before stopping at the door to the small council.

 “You two stay out here. If it goes the way I’m thinking it will, I’ll be out of that room in a few minutes.”

 “We’ll be here, my lord,” you said. You leaned against the wall and took out your knife, starting to clean under your nails. Tyrion gave you a look and walked into the room.

 “Could you be any more obvious?” Bronn said to you.

 “Whatever could you mean?”

 Bronn snorted out a laugh and your face split into a grin.

 “He doesn’t seem your type,” Bronn said.

 “Tall, dark, and silent? No. Definitely not.”

 The two of you laughed as silently as you could and you sighed.

 “I could use a good fuck, though,” you said.

 “I think the king would be more than welcome to the idea of you warming his bed.”

 “No thanks,” you said with a shudder. “He’s a boy and I’ve heard he’s a bit of a cunt too.”

 “A cunt that’s a king. And a king gets what a king wants.”

 ---

 The next few days were full of some changes. Bronn was appointed as the new Commander of the City Watch, Shae was Sansa Stark’s new handmaiden, and you were Sansa’s own personal guard. One that wasn’t under Cersei’s thumb. You still served Tyrion as he was supplying your paycheck, but it was a welcome change of pace.

 Tyrion had decided that you would be Sansa’s protector when you had walked into the throne room and Joffrey was ordering Ser Meryn to beat the girl. It made your blood boil and it took every ounce of your strength to not beat the so called knight’s head in.

 That night, Sansa found you outside her bedroom door.

 “What are you doing here?” She asked you.

 “Lord Tyrion has appointed me as your guard. Go on and go to sleep, my lady.”

 You could tell that Sansa was apprehensive about your presence so you gave her a smile.

 “I promise no harm will come to you if I can help it, love. Now go to bed,” you said. Sansa nodded and went inside.

 ---

 A few months had passed and it felt like a blur to you. You had learned your way around the Red Keep and King’s Landing pretty quickly, gotten the approval of Sansa, and found yourself getting closer to the Hound. The two of you often sat together to eat and you soon managed to convince him to go out with you for a drink.

 After one of those nights was when you slept together for the first time. It happened more and more, but one day, Sandor stopped talking to you altogether.

 It was a couple weeks before the Battle of the Blackwater when Sandor disappeared while you were sleeping. When you woke up, you thought nothing of it and assumed that his duties had pulled him away from you. But then he didn’t appear for lunch and when you tried to talk to him, Sandor brushed you off and continued on like you weren’t even there. You couldn’t lie, it hurt to have him treat you like that, but you took it in stride. Two could play at that game.

 ---

 “Good afternoon, your grace,” Sansa said to Joffrey.

 “My lady. Walk with me.” Joffrey looked at you, a sneer on his face. “You walk with my Hound.”

 “As you wish, your grace.” You gave him a short bow and the four of you started walking.

 You and Sandor were walking a few paces behind the two of them and you could feel the tenseness radiating off of Sandor. Your hands were behind your back and you ignored him as he tried to form words.

 “[Y/n]—“

 “Save it,” you said. “Whatever bullshit is about to come out of your mouth, I don’t want to hear it.”

 “What?” You could hear the anger start to creep into Sandor’s voice but you just turned around.

 “[Y/n], let us go,” Sansa said.

 “Of course, my lady.” Sansa walked past you and you bowed to Joffrey again. “My king.”

 Joffrey didn’t say anything back but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away. When you were far enough away from them, you turned to look at Sansa.

 “Is everything alright, my lady?” You asked her.

 “Everything’s fine.”

 The two of you walked into the Red Keep where you stayed by Sansa’s side, keeping a watchful eye on her. It was only when night fell did you leave her in Shae’s care. You went down to the brothels with Bronn and some Lannister soldiers. After about an hour, you had a whore on your lap and ale in your hand. Bronn and the soldiers were singing a Lannister song while you lazily touched the woman before you.

 You ignored what Bronn was saying, focusing only on your lover for the night. You only looked up when you heard everyone go silent. Your eyes met Sandor’s and you looked at him as he stared at you. You could see some anger in his eyes but it didn’t faze you. You just kissed the woman and patted her thigh so she’d get up.

 “First round’s on me,” Bronn said.

 “Don’t spend all of your gold tonight,” you said to him.

 “It’s just the one round, love.” Bronn winked at you and tilted his head. “Get a room.”

 “Alright, alright.”

 The whore tugged your arm and giggled as you pulled her close. The two of you walked into the brothel, the whore leading you to her room.

 “I don’t think I ever got your name, sweetheart,” you said to her.

 “My name’s Alya, my lady.”

 “I’m no lady, love. Just a sellsword.”

 “A woman sellsword? How did you manage that?” Alya asked you, eyes wide.

 “Well, when you grow up in the slums of Myr, there’s three things you can be. A slave, a Master, or a street rat. I was never a slave and I’ve never been rich,” you said. “So I think you can guess which one I was.”

 While you were talking, you were disrobing Alya. The dress she was wearing had just fallen to the floor when the bells started tolling. Groaning, you tilted her head up and landed a kiss on her lips.

 “After the battle is over, we will finish what we started here,” you said.

 You put some coins down on her dresser and winked at her before walking out of the room. You were making sure your sword was fastened to your hip properly as you walked into the courtyard and you saw Bronn and Sandor facing each other. Both their hands were on their weapons and you rolled your eyes at them.

 “Let’s go, girls. We have a battle to win,” you said. Grabbing a tankard full of ale, you downed it in one go and started to leave.

 “Get fucked, [y/n],” Bronn said, mirth in his voice.

 “If Stannis fucking Baratheon had decided to wait I would’ve been getting fucked right now!” You yelled. Bronn laughed and you flipped him off as you walked away.

 “She’s full of fire, isn’t she?” Bronn said to Sandor. Sandor’s eyes hardened and Bronn motioned to some cups full of ale. “One more drink before the war?”

 ---

 The battle was over sooner than you thought it would be. Tywin Lannister had shown up at the last moment and annihilated Stannis’ army. A lot happened in a short period of time after that.

 Bronn was demoted from his position on the City Watch, Tyrion was no longer the acting Hand of the King, and you were almost booted from your position as Sansa’s guard. That didn’t happen though. Tywin knew you could fight well and he didn’t really care for Sansa anyways. But the thing that hurt you the most was finding out Sandor had left.

 You had gone to your room after the Battle to clean up and fall asleep when you found a note from Sandor. It explained why he had left and to your shock, it said that he thought he loves you. That was why he pulled himself away. Shaking your head, you went to sleep.

 ---

 Even more happened later.

 Joffrey died by poisoning, Sansa disappeared, and Tyrion was arrested for killing the king. Some suspicion was put on you for the King’s death, but they were soon washed away because of Tyrion. Then Tyrion’s trial by combat happened.

 Oberyn Martell bravely and proudly fought the Mountain in that trial to no avail. He died and Tyrion was proven guilty of killing Joffrey. Lord Varys came to you soon after with a plan to free Tyrion and you quickly agreed to help, but only help. You would not be going with him to Pentos. Varys knew he wouldn’t be able to change your mind so he agreed and the two of you set up a safe place for Tyrion to stay in Essos.

 A few days before the ship was set to sail, you left the capital. You were planning on going up North to see if Sansa would take you back as a guard, but that never happened. You had run into a small group of people who were trying to make better lives for themselves and you decided to help protect them.

 You had been with them for about a week when some of the men came running up. You heard one of them yelling for the healer and your concern grew. Walking up to the cart your horse was pulling, you stumbled back.

 “[Y/n]?” Ray said. “Is everything alright?”

 “I know this man,” You said, never taking your eyes off of him.

 “Who is it?”

 “The Hound.”

 ---

 A few months had passed and Sandor was fully healed. He was very wary around you, never talking to you more than he had to and never being with you alone. It made you a little angry to see him acting like this but you knew from the past that nothing would change.

 So once Sandor was able to protect the village, you left. You only told Brother Ray your plans and he understood why even if he didn’t want you to leave. In the middle of the night, you got ready to leave.

 “Where are you going?” Sandor said. You stiffened before turning to face him.

 “North,” was your reply.

 “Why?”

 “Because you can protect this village by yourself and I don’t need to be here anymore.” You continued stuffing clothes into your pack before saddling your horse.

 “[Y/n]—“

 “My mind’s made up,” you said, cutting Sandor off. “I’m leaving, you’re staying. I won’t be in your way anymore.”

 Getting up onto your horse, you gave her a pat before glancing at Sandor.

 “Goodbye.”

 ---

 It took you a while to get up north and when you did, you were lucky to see Sansa after only a couple of days. She was with Brienne and Podrick and you were happy to see her safe.

 “[Y/n]?” She said, voice full of disbelief. You gave her a smile and she tackled you in a hug.

 “It’s good to see you, love,” you said, kissing her cheek.

 “Why are you here?”

 “I wanted to get here sooner, but things got in the way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

 “I survived,” Sansa said with a shake of her head.

 “We’re going to the Wall. To get Sansa to her brother Jon,” Brienne said.

 “Do you want to come with us?” Sansa sounded hopeful and you nodded.

 “Of course I’ll go with you.”

 ---

 A lot happened after that. You went to the Wall and reunited Sansa with her brother. After that, you all came back down to Winterfell and took it back from Ramsay Bolton in the Battle of the Bastards. That battle was a sight to be seen and you were glad that you survived. You had stayed with Sansa while Jon went to meet with Daenerys Targaryen, not wanting to risk leaving Sansa again. You also stayed with Sansa when she sent Brienne down to King’s Landing for the meeting.

 Jon Snow came back with the Dragon Queen and others after the meeting was over with Cersei down south. You could see them marching in and when the dragons flew over you ducked out of instinct. They were incredible and you shared a glance with Sansa.

 “I know that you’re apprehensive about meeting Daenerys, but the dragons are amazing,” you said.

 “So there is something you’ve never seen before,” Sansa teased. You snorted and shook your head.

 “There are many things I’ve never seen, Lady Stark. Now, come on. We should get to the courtyard.”

 ---

 When everyone came marching into Winterfell, you were standing slightly behind Sansa and Bran. Jon came up first and you watched as he was reunited with Bran and Sansa. He gave you a nod of respect and you returned it. Jon then introduced Daenerys and you could cut the tension with a knife. It took everything in you to not laugh, your back straightening.

 After all of that happened, you joined everyone in the main hall. This was where you learned that Cersei was sending her armies to help fight the dead. You didn’t believe it for a second, knowing that she had to have something up her sleeve. There was a lot of arguing at this meeting between the Lords and you tuned it out. None of that was important to you. All you needed to know was when to fight and when to stop.

 When the meeting was over, Sansa relieved you of your duties for the day. You thanked her before going to your room, wanting a hot bath. Ever since you had gotten to the north, you had learned that you were not a fan of the cold. Sansa had teased you for it but always made sure that you were warm enough. You were thankful and knew that there was going to be a bath waiting for you in your room.

 What you weren’t expecting, however, was Sandor to come up to you as you were stepping into your room.

 “[Y/n],” he said, walking towards you.

 “Sandor? What are you doing here?” You asked, confused to see him. He stopped a couple feet away from you, an unrecognizable look on his face.

 “I was with the Brotherhood. We went with Jon north of the Wall and down to King’s Landing for the meeting with Cersei.”

 “The Brotherhood? What happened with Ray? I thought that you were going to live a life of peace.” Sandor shook his head.

 “Something happened a couple months after you left. Some people came by and slaughtered everyone. I was too far away to save them.” You could hear the sadness in his voice mixed with some anger.

 “What?” You stood straighter. “They’re all dead? But they did nothing to deserve that!”

 “The men were killed, but I wasn’t allowed to butcher them. Beric wouldn’t fucking let me.”

 “Good. I’m glad they’re dead.” You were seething, anger coursing through your veins.

 “[Y/n], did you get my letter?” Sandor asked you. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and you practically did a double take.

 “Wait, this is what you’re focused on?” You laughed before looking at him and seeing he wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious.”

 “I am.”

 “If you must know, I did. But I don’t see why this is relevant right now.” You averted your eyes and shuffled back a bit, a little afraid of here this conversation was ending.

 “Fuck’s sake, woman! It’s relevant because I still fucking love you. Seven Hells!”

 “Sandor, you left me. More than once, too!” Sandor telling you that he still loved you made you angry. Pointing you finger in his face, you took a step forward. “You don’t do that to the people you love!”

 “You left too, or did you forget?” Sandor also took a step forward and you glared up at him.

 “I left because having both of us in the village at the same time would only bring bad things.”

 “No, I think you left because you couldn’t handle it,” Sandor sneered.

 “Handle it? You think I left because I couldn’t fucking handle it? You’re one to fucking talk! You left me alone in our bed because you couldn’t handle it. You left me in King’s Landing with only a note telling me that you fucking loved me, instead of telling it to my face! You’re the one who couldn’t handle it!” You jabbed him in the chest and Sandor swatted your hand away.

 “Don’t fucking touch me,” Sandor growled. You laughed and did it again.

 “What’re you going to do, huh? Run away again?”

 You did it one last time and Sandor grabbed your hand, pulling you close. He kissed you fiercely, not giving you time to breathe. You wanted to pull away, you really did, but it felt good being this close to him after all this time. Soon, the kiss softened slightly and the two of you broke apart. Neither of you said anything for a minute, both of you basking in the closeness you felt to the other.

 “I do still love you,” Sandor muttered. “And I’m sorry for leaving. It was a cowardly thing for me to do.”

 “It was,” you said, looking up at him. You put your hand on his chin and made him look at you. “Do it again and I’ll cut your dick off, yeah?”

 “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Sandor said after he chuckled. You raised an eyebrow and pulled him closer, cupping the tent in his pants.

 “I think there’s still one way you can make it up to me,” you said, a smirk on your face.

 “I can work with that.”

 Sandor picked you up easily, and walked straight into your room, kicking the door shut behind him. You were in for a long night, but you didn’t mind at all.

[football-writing]

Jack Grealish - real smooth

Note: I haven't seen the david and liza vid that this request was based on, and I have the attention span of fresh gravy so I didn't watch it either lmao. But I had a bit of an idea in mind for this more like Mason's fifa forfeit vid with Chunkz (let's be honest that vid was hilarious I still watch it sometimes for laughs lmao) anyway I hope that's okay. Also this features other players too bc why not

Warnings: contains some curse words probably, slight mentions of sexy times at the end, also I have no idea how waxing actually works as my only knowledge comes from that Mason vid so,, this is probably not accurate sorry xoxo

Hope you enjoy babes x

It wasn't unusual for Jack to invite some of his friends over whenever he had a day off. In fact, his days off were usually spend either with you or with his friends, most often opting for eating out with you before getting back and playing fifa with the boys for well past midnight. Today was no different. You had occupied yourself with a book and and cup of tea in your shared bedroom, while Jack was downstairs with his friends playing fifa. Their yelling and laughter could be heard even from behind the closed bedroom door. Not that it bothered you too much: as long as they were having fun and cleaning up after themselves once they left, it was fine by you.

However, it surprised you to hear footsteps coming up to the stairs, then down the hallway to your room. They had everything they needed downstairs, and never before had they bothered you upstairs, so why would they now?

A knock sounded on your bedroom door and you yelled out a quick 'yeah' as you closed your book and sat up on the bed, curious as to what it was they needed.

"Hey angel." Jack said as his head popped through the door before making his way into your bedroom, sitting down defeatedly onto the edge of your bed. He had a slight pout on his face, and bit his bottom lip nervously as he looked at you.

"What's wrong, baby? Please tell me you didn't break anything down there." You said, a stern look plastered on your face.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. It's just- uhm." He hesitated as he looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt instead of maintaining eye contact with you. Worry took over your features. What was he up to now?

"We were playing fifa forfeit, right. And Ben said I had to wax my legs if I lost-"

"Oh my god, Jack!" A releaved sigh left her lips. It was never gonna be anything serious with these boys anyway. She should've known better. "Did you lose, though? Please tell me you did."

He only nodded in response, and she let out a squeel as she fell back on the bed.

"That's hilarious, I was worried there for a second, but this is great."

"Don't get too excited. The boys asked if I'd ask you if you had any wax. But I just came up here to chat for a bit and then I'll go back down saying you didn't."

"Now, why would you do that?" She said as she looked at him with raised brows, challenging him.

"You know, I actually do have some strips left, I'd be more than happy to wax your legs. Besides, a bet is a bet, Jack. You can't just back down now." She smiled thriumphantly and he groaned in response.

"Why won't you just have my back with this?"

"Oh, I can wax your back too, no problem."

"Not what I meant sweetheart."

"I know." She smiled cheekily as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, before telling him she'd be downstairs in a bit with all the necessities to wax his legs.

"Hey boys!" She hollered as she rushed down the stairs with her wax kit, the boys looking up at her. Jack was already sitting on the chaise longue with his legs up. His shorts ridden up a bit more than usual to expose his muscular thighs. The others sitting next to him on the couch, ready for the action that was about to unfold.

"Ready, babe?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she sat down her kit.

"Oh I sure am!" Ben replied with a big boyish smile on his face.

"I'm sure you are, Ben." She chuckled as she ruffled his hair. He'd usually have it gelled back whenever he had a game, but kept it natural and curly when he came around theirs. It was her favourite look of his, perhaps partly because she could mess with his hair more easily.

"I remember when I had this done, hurts like hell. Good luck bro!" Mason interjected, patting Jack's shoulder in mock-sympathy.

"Yeah, I cannot wait to see you cry like a baby. I love you for coming up with this, Ben."

"Babe!" He whined. "You're supposed to support me here."

"Well I am supporting you, I'm the one waxing you. Trust me, you do not want to have this done by someone who has no idea what they're doing." You said as you warmed up a few strips of wax between your hands.

"Seconded." Declan replied with a serious face. Everyone looked at him in confusion; he had never told them about getting waxed before, but it sounded like an intriguing story.

"I'm not even gonna ask, mate." Jack said. Horror stories would not make this experience any more bearable for him. It left Dec pretending to be upset, eager to tell the - no doubt ridiculous - story.

"Alright, I'm gonna get these on." You interrupted their banter, tearing the strip to reveal the sticky substance underneath.

She put the strips on his leg as the boys chatted away. Just as she was putting the fourth strip on, Jack swatted her hand away.

"You have to put all those on?" He questioned her.

"Well the forfeit did say 'legs'. As in, both legs. Completely." Declan argued.

"I did say that. But that's a bit too harsh innit?"

"Yeah, there's already three strips on now, let's see how he gets through those first." Mason offered.

"Will hurt like hell with that much hair." Declan hit Jack's leg for emphasis.

"No doubt." You laughed as you smoothed out the strips once more.

"Ready, Jack?" You asked as you hold the edge of one of the strips, ready to pull it off.

"Wait, wait I gotta film this!" Declan was quick to exclaim as he took out his phone, much to Jack's dismay, who had his hands in front of his face as he waits for the inevitable pain of ripping off the strips.

"Alright, 3. 2. 1!" The boys count down in unison as you rip off the first strip.

"Jesus, Y/N!" An array of curses leave Jack's mouth as he yelps, gripping his leg in pain, his eyes wide with shock. Clearly he had underestimated how much this was really going to hurt, which has all of you rolling over with laughter. Mason is gripping his stomach as he's sitting on the floor, barely able to breathe between his giggles. You're trying to ease Jack's mind and soothingly rub the sensitive skin on his leg, but you're shaking too much from the laughter leaving your lips.

"Oh my lord, and look at the hair that's come off!" Declan hollers as he takes a step closer to properly film the strip that was, indeed, covered in Jack's leg hair. You held it up for the camera as you shrieked at the sheer amount of hair. It's like a lion's mane got glued on the strip.

"Jeez, Jack, you hairy lad." Declan laughs, which earns a grumble from dissatisfied boy. You're pretty sure if Dec wasn't responsible for filming the whole ordeal, he'd be on the ground just as Mason was.

"Oi, what are you crying for, mate? I'm the one in pain here." Jack points a finger accusingly at Ben, and when you turn around you see he has tears in his eyes, breathing coming out in desperate gasps as he shakes his head no, signalling he can't take any more of this banter. It seemed like everyone had at least slightly calmed down, but looking at Ben made everyone burst out in laughter yet again. Mason had tears streaming down his face now too, and you're sure he might piss his pants if he laughs any louder. It even makes Jack chuckle.

"Just get it over with, alright. I don't wanna be in pain any longer." Jack asks you nonetheless, guiding your hand to one of the other strips.

"It can't be that bad." Ben's voice is higher than usual from his earlier laughing fit, but he's wiping the tears from his eyes as he seems to have calmed down considerably. Mason can only nod in confirmation, still unable to form words without giggling.

"I have no problem waxing you lot too, babes." You smile up cheekily at them, which results in loud protests from the boys.

"Now that I would love to see." Jack replies, before looking down at his leg and rubbing the spot that was now rid of any hairs. "Perhaps this would be funnier if there weren't two other strips on me leg." He sighed in despair, staring at his leg with sad eyes. It made you chuckle, but seeing Jack's stern look dericted at you, you quickly focused on the task at hand.

"Alright, next one Jack."

"Lord have mercy."

The next strips don't have any other effect than the first one. It sends all of you rolling on the floor laughing, and Jack with tears in his eyes and red skin on his leg. Dec leaves the room at one point because he genuinely can't breathe, and Mason has to sprint to the bathroom, like you predicted. Meanwhile your hands get shakier and shakier from laughing, and you can barely see what you're doing due to the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. Jack's decided to rip the last strip off himself, and you're shrieking with laughter as he pulls at it but chickens out from the pain, resulting in it only coming off halfway. When it is finally off, and all the hairy strips are disposed of, everyone slowly but certainly calms down. You're getting some lotion from upstairs to soothe the stinging, and when Ben orders pizza, it all seems long gone.

Yet when you're watching tv, and Mason steals a sneaky glance at Dec, the both can't help but try - and fail - to surpress their giggles.

It's how the rest of the night continued until the three other boys finally left in the late hours of the night.

"I'll clean, love. Get in bed and I'll see you in a bit, yeah?" Jack's offering once they're gone, and you're accepting gratefully as you kiss his cheek. The night was fun, but the laughing fits had you beyond tired.

So when Jack slips into bed next to you, you're already in bed with your eyes closed, dozing off.

"Hey, babe."

"Hm?" You mumble as you open your eyes at Jack's whisper.

"Wanna feel my leg?" He asks, but he's already draping his freshly waxed leg over your legs, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You've known the guy long enough to know that he won't stop bothering you if you decline, and the request makes you think of the many times you've asked him to feel your legs after - finally - shaving them again.

So you decide to humour him and softly carress his smooth leg.

"Feels pretty good, huh?" His voice cocky as he questions you.

"Sure, real smooth Jack."

"Wanna have sex with a sexy smooth beast like that?"

You snort loudly at his inappropriate request, shoving his leg off of you in a joking manner.

"Oh come on, don't tell me I went through all that for nothing!" He exclaims in agony.

"No, you went through all that because you suck at Fifa." You deadpan as you grin at him.

His eyes are darker as he watches you intently, and the knowing smirk on your face makes you apprehensive of what he's up to now. He's moving closer, hovering over you and effectively trapping you as his muscular arms hold himself up on either side of you. And next thing you know, he's placing a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, before trailing down to your jaw. A gasp involuntarily leaves your lips as he nibbles at your earlobe.

"You know with how soft my leg is and all." He starts to whisper in your ear. His voice is husky and smooth - and normally you know what it means. But you have no clue where he's going with this sentence. "Would you mind if I-" And he's pausing again for dramatic effect as his lips graze over your hot skin. "Slitherin." He finally whispers in your ear, accentuating the 's'.

And just like that, you're back rolling over with laughter just like you had been that very afternoon.

[writing-in-a-chipotle]

Unbearably Mortal (Part 2)

(Alcina Dimitrescu x gender neutral reader)

Part 1

Words: ~2.5 K

Summary: In which a lot of things happen and none of them are good.

A/N: Hey, y’all! Back at it again with another chapter! Hope you enjoy!

“Nope nope nope nope… no way in hell…” You shook your head violently, unable to process what Mary had said. “This is… this is all some sort of elaborate prank, right? You’re messing with me. Yeah.” You swallowed. Your saliva felt like acid.

Mary grimaced. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a game. This is very much reality.”

“So… what are they then?” You began pacing the floor, anxiety clinging to the pit of your stomach. “You expect me to believe that they’re some sort of weird, blood-sucking vampires?? You must be out of your mind… they don’t exist! They can’t be real!”

Mary stood up and walked over to you, gently placing her hands on your shoulders. With her blocking your path, you were forced to stop pacing and look at her.

“Listen,” She began, eyes gleaming with fear “I have no need to lie to you. Believe whatever you want to believe, for the only thing on the line right now is your head. Jane and I risked our lives to save you. If we were caught, all of us would have died. So, are you going to freak out and get yourself killed, or are you gonna listen to me?”

You were stunned into silence. Mary was being deathly serious. You nodded shakily.

“Good.” Mary breathed a sigh of relief. “If you had a mental breakdown and they heard…” She didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to either; the implication was horrifying enough as it was.

“Thank you, by the way,” you sighed, sitting back down on the bed, “you really didn’t have to save me.”

“Honestly, I’m still scared out of my mind,” she admitted breathily, “but I’m glad you’re better now.”

“Thanks.”

She hummed, then pursed her lips. Her frown deepened even more. “Well… now what do we do? The Dimitrescu family is notorious for slaughtering any trespassers they find.”

Your eyes widened and your stomach dropped. “Oh no… oh no, no, no…”

You were stuck. You were stuck in a terrifying castle with horrifying, blood-sucking monsters who would gladly turn you into a mangled corpse on their living room floor. You had no way to call for help, and your parents probably didn’t even know what was happening…

Your phone.

You patted your pockets and fished through them. Let’s see: some dirt, a crumpled flight itinerary, your house keys… aha!

“...what’s in the box?” Mary asked, “I don't think I’ve seen anything like it before.”

You blinked. Box? “Oh, this? It’s my phone.” You rotated it slowly in your fingers so she could easily see all its sides. “It’s a bit larger and blockier than your average iPhone because it’s designed to connect directly to the satellite, making it easy to call anyone from anywhere in the world. It cost me a lot of money, but since I was planning on traveling the world after I graduated, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to have it a few years early.”

Mary gave you a completely confused stare. “What’s an… iPhone? Or a sad-del-light? Did you make those up?”

You frowned, your eyebrow twitching in confusion. “Uh… no? I wouldn’t make anything like this up. You… you truly don’t know what modern technology is like?”

She shook her head. “I’ve… never been outside the village. I have no idea what the rest of the world is like.”

“And you don’t have a phone? Internet? Anything??”

“I’m afraid not,” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “the Lords don’t allow anyone to leave the village or write letters to the outside world.”

A chill shot up your spine. “That’s… terrifying…”

Mary nodded, then tilted her head, thinking. She pursed her lips and motioned with her finger for you to come closer. You lean your ear to her.

“What is it?” You whisper.

“There are rumors of a girl who escaped the Lord’s wrath,” she began, “apparently, she managed to leave the village unharmed. There was an old hag who used to moan about how her daughter left her for a new life. She sounded half mad, so no one bothered listening to her.”

Your grandmother. She was talking about your grandmother.

And your mom.

This meant that… your mom knew about these crazy monsters? That she let you come here, to a place where you would most likely die? Alone??

Nothing made sense anymore.

You realized you had zoned out of Mary’s story. You shook your head, bringing your attention back to the present.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Uh, sorry, what?” You blinked. Mary was staring at you like you were an idiot. (Which you were, but that’s not the point.)

“I said,” she repeated, “you need to blend in until we can figure out how to escape.”

“That’s… that’s a pretty good idea. And wait….” you repeated her words in your mind. “We? You want to come too?”

“Goddess, it’s like you’re dense or something.” Mary muttered under her breath. “Of course I want to leave! Are you out of your mi-“

“I get it, I get it,” you huffed, interrupting her, “What do we do now?”

“Now,” she folded her arms, “we need to get you a disguise.” She walked over to a tiny dresser in the far corner and pulled out a neatly-folded maid’s uniform. “I hope you’re my size.”

————————

Turns out you weren’t Mary’s size.

You couldn’t help it; your new friend was practically a walking stick. Your shoulders were too broad, your legs too long; but with Mary’s excellent sewing skills, you were able to make it work… sort of.

“Damn, this uniform is itchy,” you complained, scratching at the neckline.

“You’ll grow used to it after a while,” Mary replied. “Now we need to get to work or-“

“We’ll be made into wine. Got it.” You straightened out your sleeves.

She nodded. “Just follow my lead.”

The two of you walked quickly and quietly out of the servant’s quarters. Your heart was racing. Every time you turned a corner, you half expected a bloodied monster to jump the both of you and tear out your arteries.

You rounded another bend and nearly walked into Mary. She had stopped suddenly and immediately fled to the side of the hallway, bowing deeply at the corridor. You quickly followed her lead.

The moment you bowed your head, a steady buzzing filled your ears.

Swarms of flies flitted through your vision as they flew down the hall, buzzing excitedly. Maliciously. You don’t know how they managed to convey such emotions, but they seemed…. off.

And then, they changed.

The insects spiraled and spun into a large, buzzing mass, sewing themselves into a completely different form; one with a deep black cloak, ghoulishly pale hands, wild blonde hair…

And blood-stained teeth.

Mary curtsied deeply and you were quick to follow suit. “Good evening, Lady Bela,” she said softly, refusing to look up, “how may we be of service?”

Bela gave a bored wave of her hand. “We’re a bit... short-staffed in the kitchens at the moment,” she drawled, “Mother doesn’t want dinner to be served a second too late. She-” Her eyes fell on you and she stopped dead in her tracks. “You smell familiar, human…” she growled.

Oh no, you were dead, you were dead, you were dead. Cold sweat fell from your neck, and your heart raced. Bela stepped closer to you, brows furrowed and hungry eyes glinting.

“They’re new, Lady Bela,” Maria said quickly.

She raised an immaculate brow. “New, you say?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“... I see.”

It was only a moment before she leaned away, but to you, it felt like hours. The Dimitrescu was a terrifyingly deadly whirlwind, one that seemed to stare directly into your soul… maybe even smell your fear. Bela’s lips twitched, giving you a glimpse of sharp fangs.

“Well then, newcomer,” she hissed, amusement dripping in her voice, “if you’re so eager to serve us, I want you to pour the wine.”

Your heart raced in panic, your hands shaking. Pouring the wine meant seeing these monsters at their most bloodthirsty. It meant you would get caught.

I won’t survive, you thought fearfully.

You quickly dropped into a clumsy curtsy before you forgot yourself. “A-as you wish, Lady Bela,” you choke out.

“Hm… we’ll see, won’t we.” She dissolved into a sea of flies and flew down the hallway and out of sight.

You breathed heavily. Your heart was still going a mile a minute. Before you could say anything, Mary grabbed your arm and tugged you along.

“Wha-“

“Shh,” she hissed. “Not yet.”

You followed her silently to the kitchen. This whole situation was too hard to process… you’d barely been in Romania for a day and you suddenly had to face the reality of your imminent death.

You felt lightheaded. Your vision swam.

“Where are you, draga mea?” A smooth, enchanting voice swirled in your mind. You felt your pulse hammering in your temples. The voice sounded so close, yet so far away. It was familiar and warm… but it was too hard to tell if it meant anything. You were too woozy, too lightheaded…

“It’s time to wake up, darling,” the voice continued dreamily, “Open your eyes for me?”

“...hey… hey!” A familiar voice hissed, “hello? Are you alright?”

Your eyes snapped open.

Mary stood in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. Once she saw you move, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you alright? You haven’t blinked for the past few minutes, nor have you responded to anything or anyone around you.”

“Yeah, I just…” you swallowed thickly. What was wrong with you? “... I just spaced out.” Mary frowned, giving you a suspicious glance, but didn’t push.

You were in the kitchen. Cooks and maids bustled around in an organized fashion, whispering instructions to each other while slicing, cooking, and plating bright red slabs of meat. You definitely didn’t want to know what kind the Dimitrescu’s were eating tonight.

Someone grabbed your arm and you flinched, turning around. It was one of the older cooks, a salt and pepper haired woman with soot-stained clothes and greasy calloused hands. She shoved a a bottle of wine into your hands so fast, you nearly dropped it. She glowered at you.

“As soon as the meal is served, you pop open the bottle and pour for everyone.” She hurriedly rattled off instructions. “When they finish their drink, pour them another. You do not look at them, you do not touch them or their glasses, you don’t even breathe around them. And for the love of the Goddess: Do. Not. Spill.”

You gulped and nodded. You just had to do your job, then leave. That’s all. You could do this.

Or so you told yourself.

The old woman gave you a quick look, and for a moment it seemed she gave you a twinge of a sympathetic smile. But just like that it was gone, replaced by her signature scowl.

“Alright, we go in three…” she held up three fingers covered in burn scars. One second passed. Then another.

The kitchen maids smoothly entered the dining room in one sweeping motion; a flurry of skirts and iron serving trays. You followed them close behind. The maids placed the trays in front of each Dimitrescu before fleeing to the kitchen single file.

And then it hit you.

You were the only maid who was supposed to stay throughout the entire meal.

Without you even knowing it, Bela had assigned you one of the most dangerous jobs at the castle; one where you had to stay, alone, in the same room as four hungry, bloodthirsty vampires.

You quickly began pouring the wine.

You walked around the massive mahogany table, trying your best not to spill the blood-red drink. You poured for Bela first, and you tried your absolute best not to look her in the eye. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw her grinning.

You moved on to the next Dimitrescu: a redhead with glistening fangs. As you poured, she suddenly hissed. In your surprise, you fumbled the bottle. But you didn’t spill.

The last sister (you assumed all three of them were sisters based on their similar appearances) was a brunette with mischievous eyes. You didn’t mean to look at her… you really didn’t…

Based on her low, rumbling cackle, you knew you were doomed.

The last Dimitrescu, the Lady Dimitrescu, was much different than the other three. She was incredibly tall, with a flowing white dress that fell to her ankles, a wide-brimmed hat…

And pearly-white satin gloves.

Why did that seem so familiar?

You shook your head. You had to stop thinking and just pour the wine! You only had one more glass to fill, after all.

The brunette stuck out her foot, and you went down.

You landed on top of the bottle, and it shattered under you. Glass and wine flew everywhere, piercing your clothes, slicing your skin, staining the rug…

And completely drenching the front of Lady Dimitrescu’s immaculate dress.

The air cracked with electricity. “You...” she hissed, in a stranglely familiar voice.

Before you could even beg for forgiveness, the towering terror of a woman stood from the table and grasped you by the collar before you could even blink.

She growled, breath smelling of blood. “You will pay for your insole-“ her breath hitched. Her death grip on you loosened and faded, till you dropped to the floor like a rag doll.

Fearfully, you looked up at her.

Her demeanor had completely changed. Where once stood a cold-hearted monster was a shocked, crying… woman. Tears streaked down her face, dripping from her chin as she sunk to the floor. She didn’t look like a monster, she looked… human.

The lady reached out a gloved hand, then flinched as if burned. She looked lost and confused and sad; unable to process what she was looking at… or rather, who she was looking at.

A chill ran up your spine, fearful tendrils snaking through your system as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

And then, Lady Dimitrescu uttered a single word, barely a whisper at all, and your stomach dropped. Your world spun.

“Y/N?”

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Everything you had ever known was completely useless, and your life would end at any moment, you were sure. You felt like crying, you felt like throwing up.

She said your name.

Lady Dimitrescu, one of the most powerful supernatural beings in the world, who couldn’t possibly know who you were, had said your name.

It was too much. There were too many strong emotions, too many near-death experiences in one day. Your body was bloody and exhausted, your energy spent.

You collapsed on the dining room floor, and your vision faded to black.

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

��I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

[randomrosewrites]

Bittersweet Dreams

Every night, your mind is plagued with visions of an old Liyue. She blesses your nights, like a guardian angel, but you never remember her face or name when the sun rises again.

Pairing: Ganyu X GN reader Words: ~5K Warnings/ tags: Memory loss, reincarnation, blood and injury, death, fluff and angst, happy ending, implied sexual content a/n: I never thought much of Ganyu, until I dreamt of her one night (which unspiringly inspired this fic) and now I'm hooked. Patiently awaiting her rerun.

She comes to you in a dream.

You can tell it’s her from the feeling of it. Warm. Comfortable. It loosens your muscles (if you even have muscles in dreams) and puts your mind at ease. It makes you sleepy, wanting to lie down on the soft hills of grass under the shade of a tree to take a nap.

You don’t know exactly where ‘this’ is, whether or not it’s in the fields of your home, Liyue, or some other place. It looks like Liyue, with the craggy mountains behind you, and the bubbling stream running down the hill. But it feels different.

Then, you see her.

You don’t know what – or who – she is exactly, because you can never get a clear view of her. Everything blurs around her body. But you know she’s there, know she’s waiting for you. Sitting in a pocket of empty grass, sounded by glaze lilies, feet tucked underneath her as she naps.

She starts when you approach, uncurling herself to sit up properly. She smiles. She says your name – at least you think it’s your name, it feels like your name – and pats the spot beside her.

You wade through the flowers and sit down, so close to her that your legs are touching. It’s rather close even for friends, but with her, it feels right. How it should be.

She never talks much. For a dream or a vision, she never has much to say. Only whispering in a soft voice about how pretty the flowers are, or how beautiful the day is. The silence is good. A brief period of peace.

(Peace from what? You always wonder when you wake, but no matter how many times you re-enter the dream, you always forget to ask.)

This dream always ends in the same way.

“You should get some rest,” she says.

“What about you?” you always respond, the words feel foreign in your mouth – like they’re not yours.

She shakes her head. “I’ll be alright. Rest, and have peaceful dreams.”

You rest your head in her lap, as you’ve done a thousand times before. Her hand cradles your head, brushing through your hair lovingly.

“Who are you?” “Why are you doing this?” “What is this?” – You always want to ask, but no matter what you try, the words never come out, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth.

Just like every time, your eyes grow heavy, your body grows weak, and you close your eyes, falling asleep once more.

…

..

.

When you wake, you’re never in the flowery fields anymore, but in bed staring at the ceiling. The hum of noise vibrates through the wall, employees at the Inn already getting up to do their daily tasks.

You sigh and rub your eyes, rolling around for another ten minutes before finally getting up.

By the time you dress and leave your room, you’ve forgotten all about the dream.

---

“Good morning, Mrs. Goldet,” you great sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

Verr Goldet looks up from the counter and nods. “Good morning, sleep well?”

You give the cat laying on the counter a few scratches. “As good as always. I had a nice dream.”

She blinks slowly. “What did you dream of?”

You turn away, heading out of the doorway to start your chores. “Her. As always.”

As you disappear, Verr Goldet’s brows furrow and she frowns. It dissolves the second a customer walks into the lobby, ready to check in.

---

You’ve been working and living at the Wangshu Inn for a while now. Free room and food for helping out every day, with Sundays off. It’s a good deal.

You do odd tasks around the Inn, helping out in the kitchen, moping the floors whenever travelers track in mud from the marsh – things like that.

Days are spent polishing the balconies, evenings are spent wiping down dinner tables, and you when the moon is high in the sky, you sleep.

And dream.

---

There are many people in the crowd, packed tight together under the hot midday sun. Guili plains is alive in celebration. Booths are set up on either side of the streets, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and colorful decorations hang everywhere. You push through them, scanning the sea of heads for a particular person. She’s not hard to miss, but everywhere you turn, she evades your sight. Anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach – the speech will start soon, and you want to be with her when it begins.

A cold hand falls on your shoulder. Turning around, you sigh with relief.

“There you are,” you yell over the noise of the crowd. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She smiles, showing off fresh Qingxin flowers in her hand. “Sorry, I was distracted by a stall. Would you like some?”

You take her free hand and kiss it. A red blush forms on the apples of her cheeks. “They’re all yours.”

Hand in hand, the two of you make your way towards an elaborate stage, raised high above the people, crafted out of rock and decorated with gold. Many people are gathered around, waiting patiently, holding umbrellas to protect from the sun or fanning themselves off with whatever they have. The two of you take your seats just as the theatrics begin.

There’s a cry, and a point of fingers as the audiences’ attention is turned towards the sky. Hailing in rays of light are two of the Adeptus, taking the form of cranes. One of them a gold and orange, the other blue and white.

Cloud Retainer, you’ve heard (?????) call her Adeptus.

They land on stage and spread their wings out in a flourish.

“People of Guili,” Cloud Retainer begins. Her voice ringing out like a crystal bell. “On behalf of all the Adepti we would like to welcome you here.”

“We hope you have all enjoyed the festivities,” the gold and orange bird speaks next. “Today’s celebration marks not only the anniversary of the creation of Guili, but to also pay homage to the warriors that have fought and are still fighting in the ongoing war. Because of the date’s significance, the Lord of Geo and Lady of Dust have decided to bless all of use with their presence.”

The two birds spread their wings once more. Cloud Retainer raises her head high in the air. “People of Guili, I now present to you, the Lord of Geo – Morax and the Lady of Dust – Guizhong.”

At the mention of their Gods, the people break into a round of applause, this only increases when a man and woman appear onstage, and everyone rises to show their respects. They’re both dressed beautifully, in fine silk-robes, adorned with smears of make-up around their eyes. Your goddess looks divine, accepting the praise with a warm smile. Morax, on the other hand, gazes out towards the crowd, sharp gold eyes piercing anything in his sight.

Morax – though you have nothing but respect for him – has always been a bit enigmatic to you. You can’t imagine what your Goddess sees in him. But their companionship has what lead you to become acquainted with her, so you’re not complaining.

Morax steps forth on stage, raising a hand. The crowd goes silent instantly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Morax’s voice is rich and calm. Beside you, your companion is sitting at full attention, gnawing on her bottom lip in anxiety. She startles as you place a hand over hers. She smiles thankfully, some of the tension leaving her, before returning her full attention to the couple on stage.

“This land has seen many years of fighting,” your Lord’s words are wispy yet firm, just like dust being blown through the wind. “Many, many people have suffered at the bloody hands of war. Such heinous acts stain the land red, spreading sorrow on every inch of the earth.”

She gathers a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is strong, that of a warrior who has fought in battle. “But not here. Guili will be – is – a place where there is respite. It’s the beginning of the future, a future where the monsters of today are nothing but a kids-bedtime story in the future.”

Guizhong touches her chest with one hand, the other extending out towards the crowd. “I make this vow to you now – my precious people – we will fight to protect the lives of each and every one of you. I promise you security, prosperity, and peace. One day, the bloodshed will end, and I promise you, when that time comes, when the dust has finally settled, we will lead you into the new age of Liyue. To this, I swear on the very ground I walk upon.”

There is nothing but pride, joy, and determination emanating from the crowd, applauding the Lady’s finest speech. Even Morax is smiling at her, the small corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Cool fingers squeeze yours. Looking over, there are tears in your friend’s eyes. She blinks them away, the wind tousling her blue hair.

She’s beautiful. Your heart squeezes painfully as you fight the urge to lean over and kiss her.

You squeeze her hand back, letting all of your hopes, feelings, and things unsaid pool between the two of you.

---

There is an Adeptus at the Wangshu Inn.

You know little of the Adepti, but seeing the boy (being?) in front of you, there’s no doubt in your mind that he is one.

His sharp eyes slide over to meet yours, run up and down your person, before returning to your face, then back to staring at the marsh.

“Sir Xiao?” you ask. “I’ve brought you dinner.”

Xiao doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were warned he would be like this - bitterly stubborn and unresponsive.

You settle the plate down by your feet. “It’ll be here if you feel like eating.”

You wait a minute longer, but Xiao doesn’t make a peep. You sigh and turn to go back inside.

“Do you remember Guili?” he whispers suddenly, so quiet you nearly mistake it for being the wind.

You spin around. “Do I what?”

“Guili. Remember Guili.”

“…Remember? It’s an ancient ruin,” your brows furrow as you frown. “I’ve only been there maybe once or twice, passing by.”

A painful second goes by.

“Why, am I supposed to know something about it?”

From what you can see of his face, Xiao grimaces. “Nothing, just – just forget it.”

“You can’t just-”

“I said forget it,” he snaps, his voice cracking at the end of his words. “You don’t – I thought you – ” He rubs his face with his hand, breaths deeply. “It’s nothing. Please just leave.”

He gets up suddenly and leaps from the balcony before you can even speak. Leaving both the tofu and you alone on the balcony, a cold ache spreading through your heart.

---

She’s nervous, you think. Abnormally so.

Jueyun Karst is safe, kept watch over by Morax’s Adepti and the Qilin in the clouds. Only select few are allowed up where you are – (There was a smug steak of satisfaction when Cloud Retainer begrudgingly let you traverse her abode atop the mountains, Ganyu smiling gleefully as she held your hand.) – and even less are allowed to set foot on the sacred lands.

She’s been shifting for the past hour, unable to focus on conversation and jittery. Ever so often, she rubs her hands over her horns in a pacifying motion, then as if realizing what she’s doing, abruptly tears her hands away.

“Is the upcoming battle bothering you?” you ask, finally, not being able to stand her fidgeting much longer.

She stiffens, surprised that she’s been found out, and dips her head in embarrassment. “Oh. No, it’s not that…”

“…Ok. If not that, then what?”

She swallows thickly. She turns to you, taking both of your hands in hers, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I was wondering…I mean I hope,” she starts, nervously. “That after this is over…all of it…that maybe…you’d, um…”

You’re patient, gently prompting her, “I’d?”

“W-well, that we could…?” she trails off, squeezing your hands again. “That this…could be s-something more.”

Oh. Oh.

Your chest heats as you lean forwards, whispering her name to the wind. She squeaks raising her head.

“I like you,” you sigh, unable to stop the loving cadence in your tone when you say it. “A lot. So whatever concerns you have just know that…anything you want is…it’s all good.”

She’s silent for a moment as your heart pounds against your ribs. Slowly, she tilts her head towards yours, resting your foreheads together. Her cheeks are so hot, unlike the cryo vision strapped to her side.

“I like you a lot, too,” she says. “I don’t really have…any…experience with something like this but um…I’d like to try.”

Your heart soars, leaps, and does a flip twice over. You smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

She blinks, nodding her head.

“May I kiss you?”

She wets her lips with her tongue and nods again, vigorously.

You close the distance, firmly kissing her lips. They’re soft and plush, warmer than you’d imagined. (Because you have imagined this, many, many nights before.) A mix between a gasp and a pleasured sigh escapes her, the noise only heating you up further.

When you pull back, she’s turned three different shades of pink and her eyes are glazed. You rest your head against hers and wrap your arms around her waist, feeling the curves and dips of her body, squeezing at the skin there.

“Good?” you ask.

She nods, tucking her head onto your shoulder. “Mhm.”

At some point, you lie down together, tangled in limbs, listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing and heart beats as Liyue’s night sky sparkles with constellations.

It’s only much later, when you hear the screams, that you realize peace is fleeting in this world.

---

You pant heavily, setting the last box down on the ground and flop on the stairs. Five in total, weighing gods know how much. Each one filled to the brim with legal documents from Liyue Harbor. You had suffered through carrying them one-by-one up the stairs as the elevator had conveniently decided to break this morning.

You push the box with your foot, sliding it with the others against the wall. If this is how much paperwork the Inn gets, you don’t even want to know how much paperwork the Qixing have to deal with. (Then again, it was the Qixing that dictated the laws, so perhaps it was well deserved.)

Verr Goldet had taken one look at them and called it an early day, leaving you to handle closing.

At least your day is done now. You hang the keys up in their proper place, pet the cat goodnight, and begin blowing out the lanterns.

“Um…excuse me?”

The sudden voice startles you, turning towards the entrance. A figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. You can’t make their identity out.

“Could I speak to Mrs. Goldet? It’s about the recent delivery of paperwork.”

“Mrs. Goldet is away right now; I could take a message?”

The person nods, steps through the threshold, and your mouth goes dry.

She’s tall. Eloquently dressed with hair the color of Glaze Lilies. It frames her face, falling down her back in delicate curls. As you stare, stary eyes blink back at you in shock.

She seems familiar.

“I’m…sorry…” she says, turning away quickly. “I-I’ll just come back tomorrow-”

The tassel of her outfit swings as she does a complete 180. Her hair is furled out, exposing the smooth expanse of her back. The sight sends a throb to your temple, the scene feeling reminiscent of…something.

Your head is aching.

“W-wait!” you reach out and grab her arm, catching on the cuff of her sleeve. The motion rattles the necklace around her neck – no, not a necklace – a bell. The chime crisp like morning frost, soft like the way she feels, like the way she-

Pain bursts from your temples, piercing both sides of your head. You cry, loosing your grip in the process. There’s a muffled yell before the world blurs, spins, and sends you tumbling down, down, down, into the dark.

And then, there’s a hallow nothing.

---

She comes to you in a dream, but Liyue is not as it once was.

There is fire everywhere you look, the ground scorched by flames or destroyed in the aftermath of intense fights. The air is thick with smog, choking you with each gasp you take. One of your legs isn’t working and blood pools through your fingers pressed tightly against your side. You don’t know how much further you can make it.

You hobble through destroyed fields, corpses littering the ground, blood seeping into the earth. All of the glaze lilies are gone, wiped out in the destruction.

You cross the river on one leg. You slip on a rock and lose your footing, collapsing into the water. It’s freezing, the sensation colliding with the burn of your wound. You shiver and suck air through your chattering teeth, dragging yourself using your arms. Your side screams in pain at every pull, black spots dance in your vision. You grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the dirt, pushing forward.

Not yet, you can’t die just yet.

You exhaust yourself at the edge of what used to be the flower field, rolling onto your back and wheezing at the sky. This is as far as you’ll go. Mud soaks through your clothes. You dig your fingers into it, grounding yourself from the searing pain.

You hear the chime of her bell before you see her, crisp and pleasant, soothing your mind. She cries out your name, fear and desperation in her voice. You call back, a cracked, soft groan.

The bell draws closer and she rushes to your side, kneeling in the dirt. Her hair’s a mess, dirty and singed. Her sleeve is torn, blood dripping down her pale forearm. She pulls you onto her lap and rushes to tend to your wounds, pressing a hand to your side. She’s never been a healer, only a fighter. A strong fighter. Stronger than you could have ever hoped to be.

“You’ll be fine,” she says to herself more than you. She nudges you gently. “Please stay awake just a bit longer.”

You take her hand and squeeze it tight. Smiling takes all of the will you have, and even then, it’s weak. “It’s alright.”

She shakes her head. Her eyes – such pretty eyes – wide and filled with tears. “Please don’t go. I can’t…”

“Morax,” you croak. “There’s still him.” Your goddess, Guizhong might be gone, but he’s still alive. As enigmatic as he is, you know she’ll be safe in his care.

“I care about that!” she shouts, for the first time ever, her anger directed at you. “I’m not talking about a god to follow, I’m talking about you!”

She’s sobbing now, her eyes swollen red, teeth clenched tightly through her gasps. She curls around you, fingers grasping at your bloody clothes.

You lean your head into her, offering what little comfort someone dying can offer their partner.

“I’m sorry, Ganyu…” The life is fading from your body, your fingers and toes are so, so cold. “For leaving you like this…”

She gives up on the wound, wrapping her arms tightly around you, burying her head onto your chest, over her heart. Pitiful whimpers leave her mouth, awful sounds that make your heart ache.

“I love you,” she confesses, the words coming out as a sob. “I love you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I love you too, please…”

But the words don’t come. The ache in your side is almost unbearable, growing worse and worse with each shallow breath you manage. You fight to keep your eyelids open, but you’re so tired. And sleep has never been more appealing.

“Rest, now,” she coos, combing your matted hair from your face. You feel the small, delicate press of chapped lips on your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The void calls, gathering you into its arms, wrapping you in a warm bundle; warning you that your time’s up. You fight against it a bit longer, mustering up the last of your consciousness to tell Ganyu – you friend, partner, lover, one final thing.

“Forgive yourself.”

She bites her lip, fresh tears forming in her eyes. She nods. You’re relieved.

Her form wavers, and you know you can’t stay any longer. You let your eyelids close, your breathing slows, and you give yourself to eternal sleep.

…

..

.

“Sweet Dreams…” she whispers after a long while, in a soft, saddened voice.

---

You wake up alone, sweating in your bed, in tears, and remember.

---

The climb to Quicing Village is long and straining. You could have taken the path to the west, but stubborn as you were, wanted to save time by scaling the mountain.

You don’t know what drew you to this place, only a tugging at your heart forcing you forward. A firm belief that you’re heading where you need to go.

It’s easier the further up you go. You’ve done this before, in another life, as another person. You remember scaling mountains all the time, just to pick the freshest Qingxin petals for her. You used to eat them together, on the tops of Mount Azjong, legs dangling in midair, watching the birds go by, the wind nipping at your skin.

It’s not long before you reach the top, where the path dips to overlook the village. Fields of red, blue, and yellow stretching over the lands.

You let yourself wander, talking to the villagers as you go. Everyone is so nice, excited to talk to a new stranger in town. The air’s so fresh and the grass is so green, it reminds you of those days in the fields of glaze lilies.

You almost stop breathing when a familiar scent flows by on the wind. Sweet, fresh, cool. One you’re very well acquainted with. You rush forward, running towards the smell faster than your legs can carry you.

She’s sitting in a field of flowers. Just like the ones in your dreams, except there’s only one glaze lily, resting by her knees and cupped in her palms. You slow down and take the stone paths carefully, as to not to disturb the environment.

You stop just behind her, clearing your throat. She startles with a jump, turning around. Your face heats in embarrassment.

“Ah…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her lips, which are slightly parted, close. She shakes her head. “It’s quite alright…I was just enjoying the day.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She pauses, then nods wordlessly. You settle down in the grass beside her, a visible gap between the two of you. There are many things you are unsure of. Does she even want you here anymore? Does she just want to forget what happened?

“[First] is your name, correct?” she says eventually.

“Oh – yes, it is.”

She nods, staring out over the river. Another silence befalls you.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” you blurt. “For a while. It comes back in chunks. The memories of my past.”

“That usually happens with reincarnation. The soul is the same but the body and mind doesn’t remember, plagued by shadows of a past life.”

You swallow down your nerves, trying not to focus on how your voice shakes. “In that past life, were we…were we…lovers?”

Her fists clench on her lap. She takes a shaky inhale and nods.

“Oh…” Is all you can say. You knew – know? But to heart it out loud is…

“You look just like you did all those years ago,” Ganyu murmurs sadly. “I’ve never forgotten your face.”

A heavy, hot weight settles in your chest. “How long has it been?”

“Thousands of years…since before the Arcon war,” Ganyu rubs her eyes with her palm. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You wait until she composes herself before you speak again. “I remember in the past, you asked me to share a future with you.”

Ganyu turns to face you, and desire flares up inside your chest. Dark and powerful, urging you to pull her close and into your arms.

“I did.” She says.

“I’m not…the same person from the past. I don’t know who or how I was, and I don’t know if I’ll ever return to remembering anything. But…”

Cool fingers rest on your lap, you shudder at the touch. Ganyu smiles gently, and there’s a feeling of deja-vu when she says. “But…?”

“But if you’ll have me, I would like – I’d really like to – to try. With you.”

Ganyu scoots to the side, until your thighs are touching, and hums softly. “I think I’d like that, too.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and squeeze her fingers tightly. She smells sweet and floral, the scent overwhelming your body, making your head drift and spin. You’ve never smelled anything more right.

“I hope this isn’t rude, but you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

She flushes deeply, smile spreading across her face. “You told me that before, thousands of years ago, when you first met me.”

You smile back, tucking a piece of stray hair from her face. “Well, it’s true.”

---

As much as two immortals (???) might have just rushed back into dating, neither of you wanted that.

You two talked. A lot. About your current lives and past. You talked about Wangshu, about your occupation, about Xiao. (“Don’t mind him,” Ganyu had said. “Xiao’s always a bit cold, even to the other Adepti.”) Ganyu talked about the harbor, about your past lives in Guili.

You might not ever get your memories fully back. But even if you don’t, you feel surprisingly calm and accepting of it.

At the end of the day, after both of your throats were hoarse from conversation and your eyes wet from emotion, you both decided to part ways.

She returns to Liyue Harbor. You return to the Wangshu Inn.

Temporarily, you promised, until you figured yourself out. Liyue Harbor is daunting, the populated streets reminding you too much of Guili, of memories you can’t remember, that make your head ache terribly.

You stay at Wangshu. In the mornings, you mop floors, dust paintings, and help fix the elevator. At evenings, you go to the top floor and eat plates of Almond Tofu with Xiao, staring longingly towards the Harbor.

And at night, when you go to bed, you don’t dream of the past, but of your future.

---

One day, when you return to an empty room, and your heart aches with loneliness and the desire to see her becomes too painful to bear, you decide it’s time to go.

---

Liyue is calm, today.

The clouds drift by idly, whisps of white against blue as birds soar on the random wind currents. The sun shines high in the sky, slowly making its way across the map.

“Stop moving,” you grumble, locking your arms tightly around her, burying your face into her chest.

Ganyu chuckles, carding her hands through your hair. “I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”

“Yes…I was having a good nap.” Which is true. Ever since your reunion, you’ve been sleeping more soundly than you ever have in years. Perhaps it’s because you don’t dream of the old anymore, don’t float through your memories like a puppet being pulled on a string.

“You’ve had enough time to rest, I think,” she says tartly. “Thousands of years’ worth.”

You lift your head and pout. “You’re so cruel,” But your words don’t hold any bite.

Ganyu smiles mischievously. Her hand trails down your spine, drawing a shiver from you. “Do you think it’s unfair? To not indulge me after I’ve waited for you all this time?”

You drag yourself up to be eye level with her. Your hand cups the back of her head, trailing up to the base of her horns. A gasp escapes her lips and her eyes flutter when you tenderly pet them.

“If you wanted my attention,” you whisper, lips an inch from hers. “You could have just asked.”

Ganyu pulls you down by the neck, sighs and gasps being lost to the wind.

---

Much later, when the two of you were sweating and grass was stuck in both of your hair, you lay together, dozing under the night sky. Ganyu lays curled to your side, feet tucked underneath her, a content purr vibrating from her throat. You wonder if all Qilin do that.

As you pet her hair, fingers rubbing curiously over her empty ring finger, a deep feeling of content seeps into your bones.

You’re home, at last.

You kiss her forehead, joining her into a peaceful dream.

[irishseeeker]

                      row, row, row your boat with ferocious jealously 

Kate Sharma is taking a boat ride with a man that isn’t him. Anthony Bridgerton decides he doesn’t quite like that.

---

Anthony Bridgerton was livid.

“Anthony.”

“Anthony?”

“What?” Anthony snapped, his tone harsher than intended as he snapped his head away from the source of his rage and back to look at his pestering brothers.

Benedict, frowning at his brother’s harsh tone, raised an eyebrow. “What on earth are you glaring at?”

Colin was smirking triumphantly over the glass in his hand, which made Anthony want to throttle him more. “I wonder what our dear brother could be glaring at. Or should I say-who.”

The widest lopsided grin spread out on Ben’s face.

Benedict, the traitor, quickly caught on as he followed Anthony and Colin’s eyeline to where Kate Sharma herself, dressed in a dark purple dress that made her brown skin glow and his legs weak, was talking to him. No-she was laughing with him. He couldn’t possibly be that funny.

Was it a pity laugh? Surely it was a pity laugh.

Anthony had never hated a man so much in his life as he hated William Trent. He was the second son of an Earl and Anthony had spoken to him a few times at Whites. Anthony didn’t know him well at all, he had been in Benedict’s year at Eton and Oxford and they had only met a handful of times.

Anthony still despised him.

Since when had he been courting Kate? Anthony couldn’t have possibly missed news that significant. He came from a family of gossips who would have said something, he attended most of the same balls as Kate did-he didn’t recall them dancing, much less speaking.

Kate’s ring of laughter rang through the air and it was like a knife to the chest, puncturing every bit of sense he had left in him. Anthony didn’t care much for sense at that moment.

All he knew was he wanted to be the one to make her laugh.

That fact itself rather terrified him.

“What do you think of Trent, Ben?” Colin’s teasing tone wasn’t lost on Anthony and he was this close to getting thrown into the river that was a few metres away from them.

“I rather like him. We went to Eton and Oxford together. Decent. Funny,” Benedict drawled, his lopsided grin close to falling off his face as it was stretched so widely. “Very popular with ladies, I believe.”

Anthony was clenching his jaw so hard, it began to ache. His grip was so tight on his wine glass, it was close to smashing in his hands. “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves.”

“Oh brother,” Colin said, patting his eldest brother on the shoulder with the same, teasing grin. “We truly are.”

This was ridiculous. He didn’t want to come today. The last place he wanted to be was at a full of young ladies on the marriage mart, their families and potential suitors. He had to come, as he is meant to be courting and finding a wife. He was also the head of his household. He was meant to be courting Edwina.

Edwina.

Anthony hadn’t thought about her since they had briefly greeted each other when they arrived. All he could think about, from the moment he saw Kate and her head full of bouncy, dark curls , was her. How much he wanted to wrap one of those curls around his fingers and pull her away, behind a tree and-

No.

He had to stop this. This endless torture of imagining things that would never be. He had already chosen a wife. Kate had dragged her sister off just as Anthony and his brothers greeted the Sharma women.

Kate had barely looked at him as she said those two words, “My lord,” that made the hairs on his arms stick up and an uncomfortable warm feeling spread through his stomach.

Those feelings only ever happened when she spoke to him.

He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while he had his way with her. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear in their bed. He wanted her to whisper them in his ear while she was sat on his lap, dancing in his arms, for the rest of their bloody lives-

“It looks like Miss Sharma is going for a boat ride down the river.”

Colin’s voice snapped Anthony out of his dangerous thoughts and the fury quickly spread through Anthony’s entire body as he watched Kate take that bastard’s hand and walk towards the boats that were lined up along the bank of the river.

Not on his bloody watch.

“What an excellent idea,” Anthony said, shoving his glass into his brother’s chest as he clapped his hands, looking around for Edwina. “I’ll go find Miss Sharma.”

“I believe Miss Edwina Sharma has already been escorted into a boat.” Benedict chimed in, gesturing towards a boat that was being rowed by a man Anthony couldn’t recognize.

Shit.

Anthony had to act fast. He had to ask a young lady quickly to take a boat ride with him so he could catch up with Kate. He would row the bloody English channel just to find out what they were speaking out and what was so bloody funny about Trent.

He scanned the crowd around them, most of the young ladies beaming at him but he struggled to put a name to most of their faces. He needed someone he could tolerate, that didn’t talk too much and someone that wouldn’t make him want to drown himself more than he already wanted to at the thought of Kate and that imbecile rowing along the river together.

He left his brothers, making his way through the crowds and spotting a few familiar faces. He nodded his head in greeting as people spoke to him, hastily turning around as he spotted Cressida Cowper and her mother making a beeline for him.

Colin had once compared them to the Queen’s yapping little dogs that never seemed to shut up and follow you everywhere and Anthony struggled to not laugh every time he had the displeasure of making their acquaintance.

There were many things Anthony would do to get closer to Kate Sharma and that man but trapping himself in a boat with Cressida Cowper would not be one of them.

He didn’t like bullies.

There, standing in a shockingly blinding bright yellow dress with embroidered sequins, was his saving grace.

Penelope Fetherington.

“Miss Fetherington,” Anthony said, slightly out of his breath as he approached her, bowing his head. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a boat ride along the river?”

He felt slightly guilty, noticing she was alone and looking uncomfortable. Eloise was sick at home in bed, she had made her first season quite the strain on their family with her habit of complaining about everything and unwillingness to participate in anything.

“My Lord,” Penelope squealed, her round cheeks darkening as she bowed her head. “Oh! That is very kind of you. But-well, you don’t have to. I’m really okay. If your mother-”

“I want to,” Anthony said quickly, the guilt growing inside of him as she spoke. No one should have to feel as if they’ve only been asked because someone’s mother forced them to. Even if his intentions weren’t honourable, he’d try harder to make sure she didn’t feel like that. “Do I seem to you like a man who does what he doesn’t want to do?”

Penelope’s anxious expression faded slowly into a relaxed one, a small smile appearing on her face. “I would love to, my lord.”

“I will admit, Miss Fetherington,” Anthony spoke quietly to her, offering her his arm as they made their way to the river bank. Anthony pushed people out of the way until they were right behind Kate and William. “I do enjoy boat rides. However, I needed to escape the preying mothers and their daughters on the bank. My mother would have pushed me onto a boat if I didn’t pick a suitable young lady and I couldn’t have picked better company.

Penelope’s giggle, which was louder than expected, caught the attention of Kate, Trent, Cressida Cowper, another gentlemen Anthony hadn’t met and of course-Colin.

Colin, who had wormed his way into a conversation with Kate and Trent and grinning mischievously at his brother as he did so. Benedict had been wise enough to stay away.

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Trent said quickly, smiling and bowing his head as he addressed him. Anthony’s bow was stiff in return.

“Good afternoon,” Anthony said stiffly, feigning slight confusion and real distaste as he stared at him. He wasn’t very impressive up close. His jacket looked cheap and his hat was slightly wonky. Anthony surely didn't have anything to worry about. This man didn’t look funny. “Have we met?”

It was rude, but Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He chose to ignore Colin’s loud snort from beside him as well.

“William Trent, my Lord.” He said, blushing slightly as he shook Anthony’s hand while he pushed his shoulders back and stood up straighter. He looked scared. Anthony knew instantly he wasn’t a good fit for Kate. She would walk all over him. Anthony relished in how intimidating he could be sometimes. “May I introduce-“

Anthony could feel his blood boiling. How dare he. The hand that was free from Penelope’s arm curled into a fist, he knew the expression on his face was thunderous. No one had to introduce Kate to him. No one. If anything, he should be the one introducing Kate to people. That should be his job. Except it wasn’t and it could never be. “There is no introduction necessary. Good Afternoon, Miss Sharma.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” She said plainly, frowning slightly at him. Her voice and frown, and those two words once again, having an exhilarating effect on him like nothing else has before.

Anthony’s manners quickly made themselves known as he turned to Penelope. “May I introduce Penelope Fetherington?”

“Sir,” Penelope said kindly, bowing her head. “Kate.” Her smile was much wider as she greeted her. Kate’s smile and something inside of his stomach twisted.

“Lord Bridgerton,” A voice from beside them piped up, belonging to, unfortunately, Cressida Cowper. “I would be happy to accompany you on the river. Sir Byrne will take Penelope off your hands-”

“I don’t believe I asked you, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said sharply, turning to glare at the intruder who had wiped the smile Anthony had been staring at right off Kate’s face. “I believe I asked Miss Fetherington.”

That shut her right up. Anthony didn’t like to think too badly of ladies of the ton but Cressida Cowper was truly unpleasant. That was the nicest word he could think of that wasn’t severely inappropriate.

“But, Miss Cowper,” Anthony said, his revenge so sweet he couldn’t help the smile breaking out on his face. “My brother Colin would be happy to accompany you.”

The colour drained right out of Colin’s face.

Anthony couldn’t help but glance at Kate, who caught his eye before looking down at the ground, desperately fighting off a smile.

Anthony clapped his brother’s shoulder as they moved towards the bank of the river where footmen had set up the boats for the passengers. He moved quickly to make sure they got the boat right beside and behind Kate and Trent. Kate and Trent were saying something quietly but Anthony could see the smile on her face and it infuriated him more.

It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Kate to have suitors. How could she not? She may be different to some ladies of the ton but everything different about her made her stand out from the rest. Not to mention, she was absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t stand in a room with her lately without glancing at her every ten seconds.

Any man would be a fool not to want her. Of course she was going to be courted.

He just wished she wasn’t.

He had no right to, he shouldn’t, but he did anyway.

Trent, the incompetent idiot, was caught in a conversation with a man on the bank. Kate, of course, took it upon herself to get herself into the boat.

“Be careful.” Anthony said, jumping at the opportunity to offer her his hand after he helped Penelope into their boat. Kate stared at his hand for a moment, before, begrudgingly, accepting it and stepping into the boat.

“Thank you.” She said stiffly, avoiding eye-contact as she settled into the boat. The moment their hands touched, her touch erupted a sensation that traveled from the top of his fingers, all the way up his arm and into his chest. This was seriously getting out of hand. Anthony needed to get himself together.

“Enjoy your boat ride,” He said quietly, noticing out of the corner of his eye Trent was finishing up his conversation. “Kate.” Anthony made his way back to his boat, smiling briefly at Penelope as they waited for Trent to begin rowing so Anthony could quickly follow.

Once they started moving, Anthony had a small swearing fit under his breath but the chances of Penelope hearing his language was quite high. Another boat had pulled out in front of them and separated them from Kate and Trent. Anthony was manically rowing to try to catch up with them up the river and his arms were beginning to ache.

Penelope spoke up. “I was sorry to hear about Eloise. I hope she is feeling better soon.”

Anthony didn’t miss the sly smile on Penelope’s face, which momentarily distracted him from glaring over at Kate and Trent’s boat. “I would be willing to bet the deed to Bridgerton House that Eloise has made a miraculous recovery by this evening.”

Penelope laughed. Anthony couldn’t help but join in.

“I apologize,” Anthony said, both of them sharing a smile that his apology wasn’t sincere at all. They both knew Eloise quite well. “Betting is not an appropriate topic to discuss with a young lady.”

“Please do not apologize, my lord.” Penelope said, smoothing out the bright yellow skirt of her dress and fidgeting with a few beads.

“We have known each other for a long time, Penelope. Please, call me Anthony.”

“Okay, Anthony,” Penelope said slowly, testing out the name before smiling shyly. “I will not say anything. What happens on this boat, stays on this boat.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow at her before returning back to glaring at Kate’s boat. He couldn’t help that his attention drifted there. He didn’t mean to be rude but he was just dying to know what they were talking about. He could see Trent rowing, and Kate laughing, and he couldn’t help the ache in his chest that he wished it was him.

“I do hope Miss Sharma is okay.”

Anthony looked back at Penelope, his arms slowing down slightly as they were really beginning to ache. He didn’t want to seem too obvious in his endeavours to get closer to Kate but he would be willing to capsize the boat between them to get closer to her. “I believe I saw Miss Sharma get on a boat earlier, with a gentleman I didn’t see. Is there a reason she wouldn’t be alright?”

Surely Kate wouldn’t have got on a boat if Edwina was ill or in some sort of trouble. Kate was always by her sister’s side, looking out for her. It was one of her traits Anthony admired the most.

“I didn’t mean Edwina.”

They briefly stared at each other in silence, an awful sinking feeling in Anthony’s stomach settling in as if he had been caught in the middle of an act. Subtly had never been his greatest form. If Penelope knew what Anthony was thinking, who was he thinking about, what he was trying to do-well, he was screwed.

“I was speaking with Kate earlier and well, she is not too fond of boats,” Penelope said, glancing upwards as they rowed under an oak tree. “I’ve always enjoyed the water. Kate, however, doesn’t. The movement makes her feel quite sick. I believe she tried to avoid a boat trip but Mr. Trent was quite persistent.”

It was as if the clouds had cleared and the storm inside of him had faded away, making way for the sun to shine brightly through.

Anthony tried very hard to smile. He focused on pulling each oar back and forth to hide his smile but he wasn’t having much luck. Kate was with him out of pity. Kate hated boat rides and she was probably miserable a few metres ahead of them, desperately wishing to be anywhere but on a boat with Trent.

A man who had to beg a lady to do something she didn’t want to do wasn’t the right man for her.

He wasn’t the right man for Kate.

“I hope the experience isn’t too unpleasant for her.” He said idly, desperate to keep up some sort of calm, cool and collected façade that he wasn’t thrilled to hear the news. The boat ride was actually quite pleasant, they chatted away while Anthony picked up the pace to make sure they were behind Kate and Trent as they pulled back into the bank of the river.

Anthony stood up and helped Penelope out of the boat herself, waving off the footman and smiling as she bowed. “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, my lord.”

“Anthony.”

“Anthony.” Penelope blushed slightly, her eyes catching something behind him. Anthony turned around to see a rather flustered Colin, desperately rowing and splashing to make his way to the back with a very displeased Cressida Cowper. Penelope bowed her head again before turning around and walking back towards her family’s tent, to her very pleased looking mother who was pretending she hadn’t been watching them the entire time.

“That was nice of you. To ask Penelope.” The voice next to him, one he could recognize in a crowd full of people, caught him by surprise as he turned around to see Kate Sharma beside him. She wasn’t glaring at him like she usually was, which was an excellent start.

“I like Penelope. I know this may come as a shock to you, Miss Sharma,” He said teasingly, the smirk on his lips the most genuine and amused all day. “On the rare occasion, I can be nice.”

To Anthony’s surprise, Kate laughed. The low, joyful laugh was like Christmas to him, flooding his veins with dopamine like no other. He never wanted to stop hearing it.

Anthony made her laugh.

It was the best feeling in the world.

He was secretly thrilled she approved of him inviting Penelope. He didn’t know why, but he had found himself lately needing her approval. He was desperate for it.

Kate’s eyes darted around them before landing back on him, quickly bowing her head. “Well, I will see you at your ball tomorrow evening.”

He bowed back, a small smile playing on his lips. “You will, Kate.”

“Well,” She said, gulping slightly as she fidgeted. She appeared flustered, her neck and cheeks reddening slightly. Anthony desperately wanting to kiss it away. “Good day Lord Bridgerton.”

“Anthony.” He quickly corrected her.

Kate wasn’t buying it. “My Lord.”

“Good day, Kate.”

He watched her nod her head before turning around, making her way back up the slight hill of the bank. He watched her fierce, bouncing girls fly in the wind until she disappeared into the crowd.

It was a good day, indeed.

[midnightsunnyday]

Holiday dinner with the family (Black MC)

Summary: MC invites the brothers to meet their family for holiday dinner. As the day progresses, shenanigans ensue.

A/N: wrote this back during the holidays and is heavily influenced off my own familial experiences, yet exaggerated for fictional purposes. Either way, I hope you enjoy. 

Warnings: some curse language, mentions to sexual situations.

----------

1:00 PM

Lucifer: alright, we're here. For the record, I think this is a horrible idea.

Belphegor: you've already stated the record 30 times before getting here.

Lucifer: and just like the 90 times before getting here, let's go over the rules again, shall we? 

*everyone groans*

Lucifer: say them.

Everyone except MC: no using our powers, no mentioning we're demons, no mentioning we attend RAD, no mentioning we're the literal envoys of the seven biblical sins, no mentioning our actual ages, no mentioning our real names, no mentioning the Devildom, no stealing, no maiming, no sodomy, no hypnotism, no blasphemy, no betting souls, and no eating MCs family.

Lucifer: good.

Asmodeus: I'm so excited! I can't wait to show your family how wonderful I am.

MC: just make sure that's the only thing you show them.

Asmodeus: I promise I'll be a good demon. Well, as good as a demon can be.

Satan: again, I get why we had to change our names, but do they have to be so ridiculous?

Beelzebub: I like my fake human name. It’s cool.

Satan: well, I don’t. Mine makes me sound like an old man.

Mammon: um, guys? Levi's having a panic attack.

Leviathan: *hyperventilates into a sandwich bag*

Beelzebub: Levi, I know you're nervous, but you're breathing on my sandwich.

Leviathan: I can't do this, OK? Just let me sit in the car.

MC: Levi, you'll be fine.

Leviathan: Levi will not be fine. I can see them from the window. Why does your family have so many people? No way they'll want to meet--

MC: --what did I tell you about the self-deprecation?

Leviathan: but I--

MC: --listen, remember that anime we watched together: I'm a Demon Who Fell in Love With a Human and Now I Have to Meet Their Family but Little Do They Know I Have Horrible Social Anxiety?

Satan: these titles...are oddly specific.

Leviathan: oh yeah. In the end the whole family went to Hell for the wedding and was super accepting.

MC: the point is they were nervous too, but they worked through it together just like we all are. And do you know why?

Leviathan: why?

MC: because I love you, Levi, to hell and back.

Leviathan: *blushes* Alright, I'll do it. If it's for you, I'll fight all the forces of Heaven themselves!

MC: it's dinner Levi, not Armageddon, but I love the confidence.

Lucifer: good then. Now, let's get this over with. Diavolo help us all.

----------

1:15 PM

MC: which one of you gave my parents a $2000 bottle of wine? 

Mammon: $2000? I thought we agreed to give them gifts under $50?

Belphegor: that's right. Who’s the show off?

Lucifer: isn't it obvious? And please, they need to know that I'm the provider in this relationship.

Mammon: and what does that make the rest of us?

Lucifer: a pain in my ass.

----------

1:35 PM

MC: great. Now my mom won't stop bragging about "my baby's boyfriend."

Asmodeus: which one?

MC: very funny. And I'm talking about “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bougie” himself. Though I don't recall mentioning you were my partner, Lucifer.

Lucifer: why mention the obvious, love?

Mammon: don't make me gag.

----------

2:25 PM

Satan: I don’t think your uncle cares for me much.

MC: why is that?

Satan: well, for one, he keeps referring to me as “white boy.”

MC: oh, no.

Satan: I know, right? Tell me, do I really look that pale? Granted the *whispers* Devildom doesn’t have much sun, but still. Do you think a tan would be beneficial?

MC: Satan?

Satan: yes?

MC: I love you.

----------

3:40 PM

Lucifer: one of the smaller humans asked me if they could "hold a 20."

MC: yes, I saw. In which you gave them twenty $100 bills.

Lucifer: yes, to hold. Is that not correct?

----------

3:53 PM

Mammon: MC why won't you let me near the spades table? I could be making a killing right now!

MC: because lives are at stake.

Mammon: wow that hurts, MC. Do you really think I'd hurt your family?

MC: no, I think my family would hurt you.

----------

4:13 PM

Leviathan: MC. MC. EMERGENCY. All your cousins kept asking if I had games on my phone, and I was like, "Duh, of course I do." Now they've taken my phone and won't give it back!

MC: *rises from their chair and walks off*

*the sound of screaming children is heard in the distance*

MC: there you go.

Leviathan: thanks, M…ew, why is it so sticky?

----------

5:05 PM

Asmodeus: now I know I said I’d be a “good demon,” but your aunt --

MC: --is married.

Asmodeus: oooh, so she’s a two for one deal, then?

MC: go sit in the car.

Asmodeus: but--

MC: IN THE CAR.

----------

5:48 PM

Satan: MC, I don't appreciate your family insulting my intelligence.

MC: what are you talking about?

Satan: every time a song comes on, they keep asking, "what I know about it?" It's infuriating.

MC: we really need to have a talk about colloquialisms.

----------

6:07 PM

Leviathan: I think Beel just killed MC’s dad.

Lucifer: WHAT?

MC: my dad isn’t dead, Levi, just winded.

Beelzebub: we were playing football.

Lucifer: out of all the games to play and you choose football?

Beelzebub: I said no, but they really wanted me on their team and well…I was having so much fun, that I forgot my own strength and threw the ball a bit too hard. I’m so sorry, MC.

MC: *pats his head* it’s OK Beel. Though it was hard explaining why you were capable of sending a man flying several feet through the air. On the plus side, no one wants to challenge you to anymore games.  

Beelzebub: that’s...probably for the best.

----------

7:00 PM

MC: Belphie where did you go? I haven’t seen you for several hours. *sniffs his clothes* and why do you smell like that?  

Belphegor: your house was way too noisy, so me and your cousins...went for a walk.

MC: for a walk, huh?

Belphegor: *shoves a handful of Doritos into his mouth* yep.

MC: …

Belphegor: …

MC: you’re high aren’t you?

Belphegor: I will neither confirm nor deny it.

----------

7:35 PM

Lucifer: are…are we praying?

MC: oh yeah, sorry. We always pray over the food before we eat. Don’t worry, it won’t take long

*three minutes pass*

Mammon: is it over yet?

Lucifer: *whispers* Beel, calm yourself.

Beelzebub: *shirt wet with drool* I’m trying!

*five minutes pass*

“And father god, we humbly ask that you protect everyone at this table from Satan and all his machinations, both physical and spiritual. May no evils prosper against them.”

Lucifer: yes, Lord.

Satan: *glares *

Lucifer: what? I was simply agreeing with said affirmation.

----------

7:42 PM

“In Jesus name we pray, Amen.”

Everyone: Amen.

Beelzebub: finally. We can eat.

Belphegor: an eight minute long prayer? Even Jesus would tune out.

Satan: they rebuked me so much during that I think I felt my skin burn a little.

MC: Beel, save some for everyone else, please.

----------

7:55 PM

“I see you have a lot of men around you these days, MC.”

MC: they’re my friends.  

“Funny that you have all these friends, yet not one of them is your husband.”

MC: *sips drink* I’m sure you would know a lot about having no husbands, considering you’re going through your third divorce.

Mammon: *chokes on his food *

Asmodeus: I love this family.

----------

8:05 PM

“So what did you all say you do again?”

Lucifer: Student affairs

Mammon: Entrepreneur

Leviathan: Digital media

Satan: English Literature Professor

Asmodeus: Image consultant

Beelzebub: Personal trainer

Belphegor: Mortician

MC: …

Belphegor: *smiles*

----------

8:55 PM

Belphegor: wait, we’re praying again? But we’re leaving.

Lucifer: at this point we’re so blessed we could qualify for sainthood.

Mammon: hang in there, bro.

Satan: I think I feel a few blisters forming.

----------

11:35 PM

Lucifer: well, that could have gone worse.

MC: see? Everything worked out.

Lucifer: other than a few mishaps, this evening turned out to be quite pleasant.

Asmodeus: right? I had so much fun with your family, MC.

Beelzebub: I think soul food is my favorite kind of food.

Satan: do you think we made a good impression?

MC: I’ve gotten nothing but notifications since we left. Everyone wants to know when I plan to bring back… *sighs* “my rich boyfriend and his brothers.”

Mammon: I resent that first part.

Lucifer: the part where I’m rich or the part where I’m their boyfriend?

Mammon: BOTH.

MC: you guys know you’re all my family, right? So just know you’re in this for the long haul. No backing out.

Lucifer: *smiles* as if we ever planned to.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 12

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword. 

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well. 

It isn’t really funny at all.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,704 (good lord I’m tired...)

Warnings: angst, swearing, one brief moment of sexual harassment, lots of assumptions made, Dark Din returns and some familiar characters make themselves known

Author Note: Believe me I want Din and Cupid reunited as much as all of you do, but my dark side keeps saying just stretch it out a little bit longer 😈 All the love to each and every reader out there, the support you give me keeps me sane and happy each week ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 11 and Part 13

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You wipe furiously at your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, while inwardly cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of Gideon. A lump forms in your throat as you replay the last sixty seconds on loop in your head, imagining exactly how Din will react to each sentence, especially those last two words: let go. This will be the one and only time you’re thankful you can’t feel Din’s half of the bond. If he’s feeling even a smidge of the throbbing, torturous pain you’re feeling right now, experiencing both sides would have overwhelmed you. Of all the commands Gideon could have chosen, why would he choose to taunt Din with that one? It’s as if the Seraph is purposefully trying to piss Din off.

Maybe he is insane, you think, not for the first time, just as he starts to clap his hands together in applause.

“Well done,” Gideon says, almost in admiration. “You’re a much better actress than I imagined you’d be.”

“It wasn’t an act,” you snap back.

“Regardless, you’ve served your part well.” He reaches forward to pat your head, and you honestly deserve an award for not giving into the urge to break his hand. “If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget this moment ever happened. Should I require you to send a second message, it would certainly make it all the more bittersweet for you to think it was your first attempt.”

His words make no sense at first, and you merely sit there in the chair blinking back at him, some distant part of you aware of how your eyelashes are still wet and stuck together. Involuntarily, you find yourself recalling Din’s reaction to your memory loss, how he had muttered under his breath he thought someone was responsible for the blank spots. Your mouth falls open in shock as Gideon’s meaning clicks.

“You...You tampered with my memories?” you whisper.

“It wasn’t personal. There are holes in every Cupid’s head.”

Why would he use his powers so cruelly and invasively? How does he choose which memories to erase? These questions and more run through your head, but you don’t voice them aloud. Everything you’ve heard about and actually seen in person about Gideon has solidified your opinion he is a certifiable control freak. Of course he would use his memory-erasing ability to further establish his position of authority amongst the Cupids.

Your eyes drift to the Cupid twi’lek behind him. “Is that why she’s here? You brainwashed her into joining you?”

“I made my own choice,” she replies, tone as sharp as the knife she twirls with nimble fingers. It doesn’t gleam like metal, instead faintly sparkling just like your arrows do. Kyber crystal, you realize with a chill of uneasiness. “You don’t see me in a collar, do you?”

“Indeed, I cannot alter memories, only erase them. It was free will that brought Xi’an to me, not manipulation,” Gideon says with a smile, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes your throat close up with fear. “She has become a loyal and valuable ally.”

Valuable. One word and your suspicions are confirmed. Collared or not, Xi’an is just as much a toy for Gideon to play with as you and Din are. The only difference is she doesn’t seem to realize she is one. Or, and this is a dangerous possibility, she does know and simply doesn’t give a damn.

“She’s your ally?” you echo, nervously licking your lips. “What does that mean?”

“She has dedicated herself to the achievement of my goal.”

You know he’s purposefully baiting you, but still you find yourself asking, “And that goal is?”

Gideon leans forward, invading your personal space even as you jerk backwards in your seat. The smile has been wiped from his face, replaced with narrowed eyes and a twisted scowl. He deliberately presses the unlit laser sword against the middle of your chest in the space between your breasts, thumb teasingly hovering over the activation button.  

When he answers, you’ve never heard anyone else speak as seriously as him.

“To finish what I started.”

The words linger in the air the same foreboding way Din’s reapers linger around hospitals. You don’t realize you’re not breathing until Gideon steps back after several pounding heartbeats pass and your lungs are on fire. You suck in a breath of relief, but your body remains tense, recognizing the dangerous situation you’re still stuck in.

“Mayfeld,” Gideon addresses the man armed with three guns who immediately straightens. “Take her back to her cell.”

You don’t resist as Mayfeld grabs you by the upper arm and tugs you out of your seat. It’d take a miracle to incapacitate him and everyone else in the room before they subdued you. No, you can’t make any rash decisions. The right moment will come, you tell yourself. It has to.

...Right?

“So, what’s it like being Death’s soulmate?”

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Mayfeld’s voice. You side-eye him, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“I mean, I’ve heard he never takes off the helmet,” he continues, unbothered by your silence. “But surely you must’ve seen what’s underneath there. If it were me, I’d definitely wanna know the face of the guy I’m allegedly destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Allegedly?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not so much a believer in fate or destiny or true love. And now that I know the guy who’s the boss of Cupid operations?” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Forget about ever trying to convince me the universe has a mortal’s best interests in mind when it allows a Seraph as bat-shit crazy as the Moff to have the power he has.”

“If you think he’s insane, why do you work for him?”

“The pay’s good,” he answers with a laugh. “Plus, if he really does pull off this plan of his, well...let’s just say I’d rather be in his corner than anywhere else.”

“You do realize though that anyone in Gideon’s corner is an enemy of Death’s?” you say, half-taunting him half-genuinely curious about his reaction.

“That thought has recently crossed my mind,” is all he replies.

The conversation comes to a halt when you arrive back at your cell. Mayfeld pushes you inside, but the force is noticeably gentler than the thug who had manhandled you earlier. Standing near the pallet, you watch as he digs a remote out of the pocket of his pants and activates the laser grid with a single press of a button.

Interesting.

You expect Mayfeld to immediately return to Gideon’s side, so you’re surprised and more than a little confused when the man continues to linger. A minute of silence ticks by and your confusion changes to frustration. What does he want?

Just as your mouth opens to snidely voice the question, the baby chooses that precise moment to sneak back into your cell. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush forward to grab him, torn between forcibly shoving him back into the hole or foolishly attempting to hide him behind your back.

“There’s the little green guy,” Mayfeld says, and you pause at the audible note of cheerfulness in his voice. The baby coos in your arms, waving his hand in the man’s direction.

They kriffing know each other?

Mayfeld notices your bewildered expression. “What? You think none of us noticed he doesn’t like staying put? We might be mercenaries, but we’re not complete idiots.”

“You’re a heartless bastard,” you spit, holding the baby tighter against your chest. “He’s a baby and you’re doing nothing to get him out of here.”

“First of all,” he counters, holding up a finger. “Ouch. And second,” he points that same finger directly at the baby, “that little guy is older than me so calling him a ‘baby’ isn’t exactly fair.”

Your eyes sweep over Mayfeld, estimating him to be at least forty. You then look at the green face smiling back at you. Yeah, there’s no way he’s telling the truth.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maker, the hits just keep on coming.” Mayfeld rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about his age?”

“I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Exactly.” He nods smugly. “Look, he fooled me, too, with those big brown eyes of his. If I hadn’t witnessed what he can do when that collar’s off, I might have been suckered into releasing him. He’s cute, sure, but he’s also secretly a menacing gremlin.”

You frown. “What do you mean you’ve seen what he can do?”

“I mean he’s got powers. He can lift things with his mind, throw men against walls five times his size like they weigh nothing. What’s worse is he uses those powers to steal. I had a pack of cookies I was saving and he levitated them right out of my pocket.”

Your disbelief falters at that last bit. You had already surmised the baby had stolen the cookies, but not like this. Looking down at him again, the collar stands out more prominently than ever before. Xi’an told you they were purposefully designed to prohibit the use of powers. Why else would the baby wear one if he didn’t possess some type of special ability?

“You really have some serious trust issues, don’t you?” Mayfeld says, almost sounding impressed by your stubborn reluctance to believe him.

“I’m currently being held hostage by a psychopath,” you retort. “I think I’m allowed to be suspicious of a mercenary who says everything that pops into his head.”

His lips purse. “Alright. That’s a good point.”

“Isn’t it risky?” you ask, stepping closer to the gate. “Sharing all this information with me?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate the value of it all.”

Your brow furrows, not understanding.

“Look,” he lowers his voice meaningfully. “One way or another, Gideon and Death are gonna face each other and only one side will win. Gideon wins, great. Status quo unchanged. But if your soulmate wins?” He grimaces at the prospect. “By talking to you, I’m trying to cover all my bases here.”

Your brain works rapidly to fill in the blanks. “So, let me get this straight. You think that by getting on my good side, Death won’t murder you?” A wide grin stretches across your face, not the least bit friendly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to do so much better than that. With what you’ve given me so far, the only kindness he’ll spare you is ripping your throat out quickly so you don’t suffer long.”

Take the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” A flicker of nervousness flashes across his face. He shifts his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “What would I have to do to not have that happen? I’m, uh, open to suggestions.”

Good, good, good.

“You get me the keys to these collars, I can guarantee you’ll walk out of here with every limb attached and not one drop of blood spilt.”

A long beat passes wordlessly. It would be completely silent if not for the baby’s quiet whining as he cuddles against you, unsettled by the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not the only one with trust issues,” Mayfeld says at last. “Maybe you can guarantee Death won’t kill me, but how do I know you won’t kill me with your bow yourself?”

You say nothing, not because you’re guilty of thinking of that specific scenario, but because you don’t know how to convince him you haven’t considered it. Anyone else in your same predicament would undoubtedly shoot him the first chance they got. He is an enemy after all. A minor one, true, but nevertheless contributing to the effort of keeping you separated from Din. He also clearly only has his own self-interest in mind, making him unpredictable and untrustworthy. Who’s to say he won’t attempt to double-cross you somehow?

All these reasons are valid and should make you hate him, but something inside of you isn’t allowing you to commit wholeheartedly to the feeling. And as much as it pains you to admit it, you know that ‘something’ is fear. You’ve never killed anyone before. Shot someone with an ichor arrow? Yes, several times, but not once was the wound fatal. As your list of escape options continues to dwindle though, you’re terrified of the possibility you’ll have no choice but to personally be responsible for ending someone’s life.

“There’s my answer,” Mayfeld says. His words are distressingly ambiguous, but it’s the way he bobs his head in a decisive manner and turns his back on you that causes your stomach to tie itself into knots.

Throat suddenly dry, you struggle to choke out, “Wait, I—”

He starts whistling an upbeat tune as he walks away, ignoring your attempts at reclaiming his attention. You listen hopelessly as the sound gradually grows farther and farther away, until eventually all you can hear is silence.

And once more, it’s just you and the baby alone in the cell.

~~

You lie on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling with the baby sleeping on your stomach. You reflect on everything that has happened since you left Arvala-7, taking every moment apart piece by piece to figure out what you know.

From what you’ve witnessed, you don’t think your superiors are involved in or even aware of Moff Gideon’s plans. Lang, Hess, and Morgan were his associates, not allies like he’d called Xi’an. The difference is subtle, but profound in meaning. You wonder if the three of them have had memories erased too, if they know Gideon was responsible.

He had told them you were being hidden away to prevent other Cupids from knowing you had a second soulmate, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Gideon wants you as his hostage because you’re Din’s soulmate. He wants to use you as leverage to get Din to do what he wants. Initially, you assumed that meant kill those who Gideon considered enemies, but that assumption was proven incorrect when you sent the message to Din without naming even one potential target.

Unfortunately, you think that is not the only wrong assumption you’ve made recently. Gideon had forced you to tell Din to let go. The bond had cried out with agony when you’d said the words out loud as it had thought you were telling Din to let go of you. But looking back at the incident with a clearer head, you find yourself wondering why hadn’t Gideon included those two extra words if that was what he meant? It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of space left to write them on the paper.

If he didn’t mean for Din to let go of you, then logically that would mean he wants Din to let go of something else. Something important enough that Gideon is taking advantage of your relationship in order to convince him to release it.

But what could Din possibly possess that Gideon wants this badly? Din doesn’t own anything valuable except for the Crest and his armor, and you doubt either of those will further progress Gideon towards his goal.

To finish what I started.

Hours later and you still can’t figure out what the kriff he’s talking about. No matter which way you twist or turn the phrase over in your mind, it’s incomprehensible. What did he start? When did it happen? How does he intend to finish it?

Considering how your previous assumptions were both flawed, you really shouldn’t be making another one, but you can’t get the moment of when he’d pressed the sword against your chest out of your mind. The action itself screamed intimidation as well as sexual harassment, but when you think about how he did it at the same time he revealed his goal, your gut instinct is telling you to definitely assume the two are connected to each other.

And then there’s Mayfeld’s comment about there being an inevitable clash between Din and Gideon. He had sounded so certain there would only be one victor, but, unlike you, he hadn’t immediately placed his bet on Din. Which makes no sense to you. Everyone knows it’s an indisputable fact Din is the most powerful entity in the universe, second only to the Maker. The chance of Gideon winning their fight is so slim it’s infinitesimal.

It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword.

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well.

It isn’t really funny at all.

~~

Over the span of Din’s existence, he had witnessed entire civilizations wiped out by war, genocide, disease. No matter the reason behind the tragedy, the universe always called him there in the final moments to walk amongst the ruins left behind, to watch those last to die mourn those who passed before them. In those moments, he felt powerless, knowing there was not one thing he could do to change any of it.

He realized the universe was trying to instill a lesson in him: what is meant to happen, will always happen. Regardless of who is hurt in the process.

And maybe he would have surrendered to the harsh teaching if his angel hadn’t been stolen from her rightful place at his side. No one, not even the fucking universe itself, is going to stop him from getting her back.

From their first meeting, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Then when she asked him question after question about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite sights in the galaxy—he made the risky decision of trusting her. He revealed his face to her, allowed her to know every part of himself, and was stunned every time she didn’t fear or run away from what she discovered. He didn’t know whether to consider her stupid or brave, but the moment he first heard her laugh at one of his sarcastic quips he knew it was a sound he wanted to hear everyday for the rest of eternity.

When she showed him her marked hand, claiming they were each other’s soulmates, he swore to himself he’d dedicate himself to her happiness. Anything she wanted or asked for, he would give to her without question.

Except now she has asked him to do the impossible: to let go.

He replays the transmission enough times every word, every quiet hitch of breath, and every subtle twitch of her facial features is embedded in his mind. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh after the eighth loop, squeezing the bridge of her nose as if a headache was forming, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the hologram long enough to glare at the reaper. She doesn’t have a soulmate, therefore she can’t even begin to fathom how it feels when his half of the soulmate bond slams itself against the invisible wall separating him from his angel with all the unhinged ferocity of a feral beast.

If Din didn’t know his angel as intimately as she knew him, he might have believed those were her own words coming out of her mouth. However, throughout the entire length of the message he notices how her eyes nervously flick to the side every few seconds, as if she needs to reassure herself someone offscreen isn’t making any sudden movements. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know she’s being used as a mouthpiece against her will to demand Din gives up searching for her.

Din refuses to yield to the whims of an enemy who doesn’t have the balls to face him directly.

He channels his seething anger into steadfast determination as he stretches his powers out across the galaxy for a second time, this time searching for the twi’lek Hess so graciously identified for him. Her being the one to have dragged his soulmate out of Cupid headquarters couldn’t have been a random circumstance. If she has even the slightest notion of who the elusive immortal is that is responsible for shielding his angel from him, he’ll beat the name out of her just as he had her Cupid superior.

Bo-Katan, never one to stand still when she can be doing something useful, sends a message out to her fellow reapers to fill them in on the developing situation. Only Din can give them orders to follow, but she strongly recommends they interrogate any Cupid they come across for information about Xi’an.

Transmissions start flooding in an hour later of reapers reporting what they’ve learned. Turns out Xi’an is the type of person who finds joy in antagonizing others. No one claims her as their friend nor do they know what region of the galaxy she usually operates in. The most interesting tidbit learned from the interrogations is that several Cupids have admitted they often saw the twi’lek in the archives at headquarters, studying datapads and flipping through holobooks.

“She was searching for something,” Bo-Katan murmurs, brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Or she was gathering information on someone’s behalf.” Din’s eyes remained closed, focus split between the conversation and the search. “Only Cupids are allowed at their headquarters. She’d have no issue slipping in and out without anyone giving her a second—”

Every soul has a unique aura that can only be sensed by power-sensitive beings like himself. No two are the same, similar to fingerprints and snowflakes. Having a specific target in mind hastens the search of detecting them amongst the trillions of other beings inhabiting the galaxy, but it is not the fact that Din’s powers have just locked onto Xi’an’s soul that has his eyes snapping open. It is her location.

She’s on Umbriel.

“Stay with the ship,” he tells Bo-Katan.

Din teleports before the reaper responds, arriving at the front entrance of his soulmate’s apartment in the next blink. The front door is wide open and his jaw clenches as he recognizes the gesture for the taunt it is. Rolling his shoulders back, he enters the apartment, purposefully shutting and locking the door behind him.

“About time you showed up.” As soon as Din hears her voice, he’s reminded of a loth cat screeching when its tail is grabbed. The anger he’s been forcibly holding back starts to simmer beneath his armor, fingers twitching at his sides with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze.

He finds a purple-skinned twi’lek Cupid standing in the center of the living room. Or, what used to be considered the living room at least. Every piece of furniture has been broken and torn apart. The pile of newspapers kept in the corner are shredded and scattered across the floor. If he didn’t know how precious they were to his angel in her quest to reclaim her memories, he wouldn’t have cared about the mess, but he does know and his wrath increases exponentially.

“Xi’an,” he says, the name bitter on his tongue like a curse.

“The rumor mill says you’ve been looking for me,” she drawls, looking coy and fluttering her eyelashes. “I gotta say, I’m flattered by the attention.”

“Tell me where my soulmate is and you won’t meet the same fate as your boss.”

Her head tilts, tapping her fingers against her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are you referring to Hess? I heard no one’s been able to reach him lately, but since I report to someone of much higher ranking I could hardly bring myself to care.” Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, revealing the faintest glimpse of her fangs. “You’ve piqued my interest now though, what’d you do to the bastard?”

“I ripped out his soul and crushed it into dust.”

She giggles, unpleasant and shrill. “How scandalous.”

His patience snaps.

“Enough of this.” He steps forward. “Tell me who you work for and where is my soulmate.”

A pair of knives appear in her hands, summoned in the same quick manner as his angel had drawn her bow.

“My answer to the first part is no. And as for the second, you need to be more specific.” She sneers. “Which part of her are you looking for?”

The noise that tears itself out of Din’s throat is one never made by another entity before. It is an outburst of ravenous fury, a promise of bloodshed and carnage, and a predator’s roar before they consume their prey all blended into one deafening war cry.

Xi’an maintains a brave face as she throws knife after knife at him, but as each one harmlessly deflects off his beskar and dissolves into a flicker of light, he sees her mask begin to crack, revealing her nervousness.

She resorts to throwing punches when he’s close enough, but there is no finesse and each one is sloppy. He catches her fist mid-swing with his own hand and twists, shattering her wrist. She gasps out a curse, but the unexpected reappearance of her mischievous smirk manages to catch him off guard.

“Are you gonna do it?” she asks, voice tight with pain, but the intent to provoke him is clear. “Unleash that beautiful darkness I can sense writhing around inside of you?”

He pins her against the wall harsh enough her teeth audibly clack against each other. Still she keeps smirking, still her voice drips like poison into his ears.

“You know you want to, sweetie, so just let go.”

Din’s powers lash out, incensed by those two words he’s sick of hearing. Latching onto her soul, she starts to choke, but the deranged glimmer of glee in her eyes makes him think she’d be laughing if she could.

Darkness starts to ooze out of his armor, resembling thick, black smoke. He can feel the sinister energy emanating from the very core of his being, as if the box it’s been trapped in has been unlocked and is seconds away from bursting open.

Some distant, far part of him is ringing every warning alarm and urging him to stop. But he ignores that voice of reason when he sees Xi’an’s soul start creeping up the back of her mouth, glowing brightly as it squirms in a futile attempt to free itself from the hold of his powers.

He grits his teeth, impatience prompting him to tug at it again, and—

The world lurches and transforms in a blur. When his vision adjusts, he’s no longer standing in his soulmate’s apartment, but instead surrounded by an abundance of scorched trees. Chest heaving, he struggles to clear his head of violent thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Someone suddenly calls out from behind him, “I summoned you here to speak with you.”

Din recognizes the speaker’s voice before he actually turns to see the female togruta. She wears her usual blue-and-silver tunic and a brown headpiece embedded with a gem over her montrals. The ground is green beneath her feet, the only glimpse of flourishing nature for miles.

“I was in the middle of something, Ahsoka,” Din answers, stalking forward until they stand nearly toe to toe. He’s lost count of how many encounters they’ve had with one another over the years, but no matter the number he remains reluctant to consider her a friend since the Oracle has the irritating knack for disrupting his life when he least desires her presence.

She stands tall, but her hands move to rest on the hilts of the two sabers attached to her belt. “Have you forgotten your creed? When the universe needs you, you listen to it.”

“My soulmate needs me!” he shouts, trembling as another pulse of dark energy discharges from his body. It washes over Ahsoka like a harsh gust of wind, but while she remains unaffected, the patch of grass withers instantaneously.

“The universe recognizes that,” Ahsoka says, and while her calmness does nothing to ease his frayed nerves, her next words have him freezing in place. “And I’ll take you to her so long as you promise me one thing.”

Tentative hope slices through the erratic storm of frenzied emotions in his chest like a beam of sunlight. He searches Ahsoka’s face for the faintest hint of deception, but finds only sincerity.

“What is it?”

“You cannot kill Moff Gideon.”

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