#(I don't understand how gambling halls work)

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

During the "flirting while betting on Lang Qianqiu" scene, when cutting over to how the ghosts react to all this, the text repeatedly emphasizes that this is Chengzu's first time betting against someone. I wonder if this is something that gets contradicted later/wasn't meant to be taken as fact rather than Xie Lian's assumptions, or if my impression from fandom of what goes on in the gambling den was wrong?

[judesmoonbeauty]

Love Begins From a Mean Lie: Liam Evans Collection Event Story❥︎

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. What I obtain is what will be translated. Translation notes are marked with *** Alternate translation is marked with/// Dividers: @/natimiles

Liam: Victor, what's going on? Katie and I are going to be separated for a few days…..

Victor: I'm sorry. I've been making adjustments and considering things, but... due to circumstances, it just ended up happening.

Victor: ...... First, Kate I want you to infiltrate a women's club where there are rumors of drug deals going on.

Kate: When it comes to women's clubs, only women can infiltrate them.

Victor: Given Crown’s busy schedule, it would be impossible for him to dress as a woman, so I have no choice but to ask you Kate.

Liam: Can't I sneak into that women's club, too? I can even cross dress!!

Liam approaches Victor, threatening to take off his clothes and put on the dress at any second.

Victor: Liam, I would like you to work with Harrison to investigate illegal gambling establishments in the suburbs.

Victor: We need tickets to enter the gambling hall, but I only have one available.

Victor: So, Liam I want you to use your ability to disappear and infiltrate.

(There are places where only women can enter, and places where you have to disappear to enter……)

(……both of those missions are irreplaceable.)

Liam: ……

Liam: ……ok, I get it.

Victor: I’m sorry, Liam. Thank you for understanding.

Victor: While you can't be by her side, I'll be more careful than usual to make sure Kate is never in danger.

Victor: How about having Roger on standby, so he can be there when she needs help?

Liam: Yea... In that case, I’ll feel a little relieved.

When Victor told him about the schedule for the next mission, he was satisfied for a while…….

On the way home, Liam was completely depressed.

(......Liam, are you sure you're okay?)

So far, I've seen him get anxious many times before just because he can't see me even a little bit.

(This lasts for several days.…..)

Kate: Um, Liam…..

Liam: ….okay!

Liam suddenly slapped his own cheeks with his hands.

Liam: I'm sorry for looking so bitter, Katie. I changed my mind.

Liam: Even if you’re not here Katie….I'll be fine!

Kate: Really....?

Liam smiles and holds out his little finger to reassure me.

Liam: I'll complete the mission perfectly and come back to see you soon …. I promise.

Kate: Then I'll finish my mission safely and wait for you to come back Liam.

I smiled back at Liam as we intertwined our little fingers.

Liam: Haaa……Katie.

Harrison: Hey, how many times have you sighed? They say that when you sigh, happiness escapes from you. 

Liam: ……Which direction is Crown Castle in?

Harrison: From this position, it's southeast... so, isn't it over there? 

Liam: Haaa…..

Liam: I hope the happiness that escaped from me reaches Katie.

Harrison: ……We’re about to go on a mission, and you're not ready.

Liam: It's a symptom of Katie deficiency.

Liam: …..Don't you think the picture on that signboard looks a bit like Kate?

Liam: I feel like the flowers on the roadside there also look like Kate……

Liam: Katie…..I’m fine. 

Harrison: Don't talk to the flowers .....

Harrison: .…I thought you told Kate you were okay to come out.

Liam: Because if I cried forever about not wanting to leave, Kate would be troubled, right?

Liam: Even if I didn’t mean it...I have no choice but to say so.

Harrison: You sound like a toddler who is reluctant to go to preschool because he doesn't want to be away from his parents.

Liam: ….Hey, Harry. Can you do me a favor?

Harrison: What?

Liam: ..... I hope you'll imitate Isla and support me.

Harrison: Huh?

Liam: I need to intake Katie’s dosage……I’m already on…..

Liam: I may go back to Crown Castle right now without completing my mission.

Harrison: ..... Can you promise me that if I imitate her, you’ll get back on track and complete the mission perfectly?

Liam: I promise!

Harrison: ..... You're not lying. I'll do it because I have to, but don't laugh.

Harrison: Hmmm …….Liam! I'm rooting for you Liam! Keep up the good work! 😭

Liam:……Not at all.

Liam: Katie’s arms are angled like this. The direction of her neck is like this. The way her legs open is like this..... Haaa.

Liam: Harry, your poor impersonation has made me want to see Katie even more….

Harrison: ........ I can't do it.

(Haa….)

Kate: Liam! Welcome back!

A few days after Liam and I were separated for a mission.

Liam finally returned to Crown Castle after completing his mission.

Liam: Isla, I'm back……!

Liam hugged me tightly while we were talking.

The painful embrace made me feel that Liam was indeed here, and I was very happy.

Harrison: I'll report back to Victor on the mission, so Liam can go off with Isla, okay?

Liam: No problem! Thanks, Harry!

Harrison: You can buy me a table full of sweet treats later and we can call it even about the mission.

Kate: About the mission….?  What happened?

Liam: While on the mission, I asked Harry a rather difficult request.

Liam: For Harry's honor, I can't go into details...

Liam: I was faced with the obvious fact that there is no one who can replace you Katie.

Liam, who must have been exhausted, took me in his arms and ran in a straight line from the entrance hall to his room.

Before the open door is completely closed, my lips are quickly snatched away.

Kate: Mmm…….haa…..

Liam: ….I missed you, Katie…..

After many intense kisses to fill the missing time, we finally pull away.

Liam: I've done my …….mission perfectly, just as I promised. How did you do while I was gone, Kate?

Kate: The mission I was on went off without a hitch! There was nothing dangerous about it.

Liam: Good…..

Kate: I was also relieved. Even though we were a part, you were able to carry out your duties without any problems, Liam.

Liam: That’s…..

Liam: …. It was more like I was the one who had the problem by being a part.

Liam: ….What?

Kate: Even though you weren’t there Liam, when we were eating, I'd turn around to the one next to me and say, “It's delicious, Liam.” 

Kate: Even when I was writing my report, I mistakenly wrote your name Liam for a completely different person...

Kate: I was worried about you before I left...but I was the one who wasn't okay.

I remembered my days at Crown Castle with Liam by my side.

Meals that were supposed to be delicious were tasteless, and even when the sky cleared, I didn't feel better.

With each passing day, the world seemed to gradually fade away.

Liam: That's not true! I wasn't okay at all either!

Liam: I didn't want to worry you, so I lied and said I was fine...... 

Liam: I was lonely and sad and pained when I left you Kate.... I was going crazy.

(I wasn't the only one...) 

Liam: I'm sorry. I keep telling you I want to change……

Liam: Katie, I can’t leave you, I’m still so weak and useless…..

Kate: That's not true! I like the Liam, who is trying to change and moving forward.

Kate: There is no time limit, so don't be in a hurry to ……change.

Kate: Besides, if you were to leave me so quickly, I would feel lonely too.

Liam: Yeah…..

We smile, we kiss, and we make love again.

Liam's brazen lies taught me that we’re deeply in love, and I don't want to be apart even for a moment.

And then -

Liam: Hey, Isla. Actually I think I bumped myself a little bit on my mission......

Liam: May I ask you to check to see if there are any bruises?

Kate: What? That's a big deal ...... I have to check it out right away!

I rush to undress Liam.

Kate: There's nothing in particular about the upper body, but….

Liam: Then maybe it’s on my lower body?

Kate: Lower body…….

Liam: Yeah, I'd like you to help me check! I can't see much by myself.

Liam, who replies, is very energetic and doesn't look like he is in any pain.

Kate: Um……Liam, I'm sorry if I'm mistaken.

Kate: Are you lying, by any chance?

Liam: …..You found out?

Kate: Liam, you said it yourself, you’re a bad liar…

Liam: I wanted you to spoil me and take off my clothes, so I lied to you Katie…Sorry!

Kate: If that's the reason, I can't get angry.

Kate: In exchange for forgiveness, Liam I’ll ask you to help me get undressed as punishment.

Kate: Now are you going to undress me Liam.....?

Liam: …..Then it's not a punishment, it's a treat, Katie.

Giggling and giggling, we kissed again and…naughty lies deepened our evening.

I shed a tear over Harrison today LOL!

[Master List]

[fizzy-fuzz]

hello! I've been reading your SCP work and saw you add OM to your writing list.

Can I please get Lucifer with an adoptive teen reader? Sibling relationship please

AN: I wasn't sure what you wanted as far as like headcanons or oneshots go, So I just went with a short oneshot because that's what I'm most comfortable with writing. Hope you don't mind!

I took some creative liberties with the plot, since your request kinda left it open. I also left the age non-specific, except implying that the reader is a teenager... I may have gotten carried away, soft big brother Lucifer incoming.

TW: slight angst

Different yet the same... (Lucifer & Adoptive teen sibling reader)

Your shoes thud softly against the ground in the carpeted halls in the house of lamination. Your pace is slowed though you already have your destination in mind; Lucifer study. Your sure he's in there, he always is during the afternoon. Often doing paperwork assigned to him by diavolo that day.

This routine isn't unusual for you. The house gets too rambunctious, so you seek the tranquility and comfort of the eldests workspace.

It's the arguably quietest place in the house. with spells and enchants to make sure that the only thing heard within the space is the gently thrum of whatever cursed vinyl Lucifer happens to fancy that day.

Lucifer never seemed to care if you were there as long as you were quiet and didn't disrupt his work.

Yes, this isn't unusual for you... Yet today the circumstances for your visit are different.

The house isn't bustling. in fact, this is the most calm it's been in awhile: Mammon Is out gambling with the money he made from modeling, Levi is holed up in his room playing some new video game that just came out, Satan is out reading in a newly built library, Asmo is clubbing with Solomon, Beel is out at an all you can eat buffet, And belphie is napping in the planetarium.

You pause your thoughts when you make it to the grand mahogany door that holds Lucifer and his office behind it. Hand raising to knock on the door but falling short and stopping just before it makes contact.

Does he even want you in there? Maybe this whole time he hasn't, and is just too polite to tell you off.

Part of you realizes that that sentence sounds ridiculous. Lucifer never has a problem telling his siblings to leave him alone when he needs private time...

But you're not really his sibling, are you?

They're all so close to each other... They fought together, fell together, and survived together when devildom refused to accept them.

Your hand that was hovering just before the office door drops to your side, and you turn around the glance at the mirrors lining the hallway behind you. If you look hard enough, you can still picture the beautiful and pristine white of your wings.

.....

It was a few dumb decisions that got you banished from the celestial realm and made you fall from grace.

You were growing weary with the standards you had to constantly upkeep. The realm values excellence over anything, and they won't settle for any less. Angelic voices always ringing in your ears pushing you to be something you weren't; perfection.

It was that same weariness that blossomed into intrigue when you first heard the name 'Lucifer' be uttered. His name was always spoken with a hushed voice, as if he was some sort of deadly curse.

And when you begin poking around for more information about him you were quickly shut down...

Until you spoke to Simeon about it. Simeon had always been one of the most relaxed and understanding of all of the angels. And because he was so well liked and respected they let it slide.

So when you spoke to him about your curiosity, he was happy to divulge as much as he saw fit for your younger mind. Contrary to every other angel you talked to, he spoke about Lucifer with high regards. Often speaking about how kind and giving the morning star was, and still is, even if he doesn't always show it.

When you asked what happened to him he told you the truth. He fell from grace along with six other angels he was closest with. Though simeon told you he wasn't allowed to speak of why they fell from grace, he did however give you a key to access the vaults that held files on what you were looking for.

That's when you first began properly learning about the great celestial war.

It dazzled you're young mind, the thought of seven angels taking on the entirety of the celestial realm with such bravery. And although you weren't about to try and start a rebellion like Lucifer did, seeing him fight for what he thought was right encouraged you to begin declining the high expectations of the realm.

Everyday when you got free time, you would sneak back off to the vault to read more on the rebellion and war, while sneaking conversations with simeon in between.

It kept you content...

Until one day, you made the mistake of getting too comfortable and sloppy while sneaking off. Unfortunately, you were blissfully unaware of the fact that you had been spotted and were being followed the whole time.

It's safe to say the higher ups weren't pleased...

So they gave you two choses:

Stay and be held on trial for treason. Which who knows what would happen after you were inevitably found guilty.

Or be stripped of your grace and be banished to devildom...

You choose the latter...

So you fell...

And fell...

And fell some more...

Devildom was beautiful, and it's Prince was nothing short of gracious. A far cry from the pompous aristocrats of the celestial realm, and of course diavolo knew just where to stick you. Where else if not with the demon brothers? Considering your circumstance, you should get along swimmingly.

Yeah, no... it's safe to say they were not happy about the idea of a freshly fallen angel teenager stuck living with them. For the first couple of months they either avoided you like the plague, or were confrontational.

All but one... Lucifer.

He wasn't peachy with you, but he held an air of understanding with your situation. He allowed you to express your woes, and offered a guiding hand when you seemed stuck.

Eventually all of the brothers warmed up to you, and came to view you as their eighth sibling. Though you always had a hard time feeling like you fit...

.....

"I can see you standing out there, Y/n. Come in." Lucifer startles you out of your thoughts as he calls out to you from behind the door.

You grip the door handle and open the heavy wooden door. It squeaks on it's hinges, the sound normally doesn't bug you, but today it makes your anxiety spike. You look up from the ground and see Lucifer at his desk writing away at some paperwork, he raises his none occupied hand and gestures for you to have a seat on the leather chair off to the side in the room.

As you scuttle over and plant yourself in the chair, you fidget nervously with your hands. The room is quiet, too quiet. The only thing heard is the scratching of Lucifers quill against the paper.

"I take it you'd like to talk? You seem tense" Though he acknowledges you verbally, he continues to work on his paperwork. Despite this you know you have his full attention.

"I guess?.. I'm really not sure." you shuffle around in your seat to get comfortable. He hums in thought.

Maybe you should've just gone to your room and dealt with your feelings yourself... He seems so busy, he shouldn't have to deal with your self-consciousness.

"tell me what's on your mind, Y/n..."

His voice has that certain tone to it, the closest it gets to 'soft'. You feel your self doubt fade away slightly... So you decide to spill your guts.

"I guess I've just been feeling a little out of place lately? Like I don't really fit in anywhere in the family..." Your voice falls to a hesitant whisper at the end.

Lucifers writing halts but he doesn't look at you yet. It feels like he already knows where this conversation is going. A light sigh falls from his mouth.

"elaborate."

You pause and think about how you want to respond. the topic is uncomfortable for you to approach, but it weighs heavy on your shoulders, so it's better to talk about it then let yourself stew...

"it's just... the seven of you are so close, you've been together for your entire life. You guys didn't even know me when I was still in the celestial realm, I was kinda just placed here after i fell from grace because there was nowhere else for me to go..." You pause for a moment and look to the ground, avoiding Lucifers gaze. "I feel like I don't belong..."

There's a silence that falls over the room as you finish your rant, only thing heard is your shuddery breathing and the scuff of Lucifers chair being pushed away from his desk. You hear here the sound of his dress shoes approach you, but you don't look up from the ground. Scared you'll meet his gaze and be ment with a lecture about how you need to be more secure with yourself.

You fidget a bit more when he stops in front of you, his shoes now in your vision as you continue to avoid looking at him properly. Two gloved fingers swoop into your view as well when he gently places them under your chin, tilting your head up carefully.

When you meet his gaze, your surprised to see his eyes half lidded with sympathy and understanding. His other hand coming up to gently run through your hair to clear it from you face, before falling to rest your shoulder in a grounding grip.

You both stay silent for a short while, before Lucifer speaks.

"how long have you felt like this?" His words are simple, but encourage you to delve deeper into your feelings.

"For awhile... I have a hard time feeling like I'm even slightly related to you guys sometimes" to your surprised, a light laugh falls from Lucifers mouth at this.

"none of us are related by blood, When has that ever made a difference?"

"that's not what I mean... Not biologically, more like our experiences feel so different, and you're all so close in age... I don't know" Lucifers gaze grows serious as he addresses you with a firm tone.

"Y/n, I know we don't always express it, but we all cherish you greatly. We may not share the same experiences, but we're still cut from the same cloth... We're family, Y/n" he pauses for a moment and sighs. "Why didn't you come to me if this was bothering you? We could've spoken about it sooner"

You gently push his hand away and he backs up to allow you to stand. Once standing, you hug your arms close to your body and shift your weight around nervously.

"it shouldn't be your job to deal with my emotions, you already have enough to deal with-" he quickly cuts you off.

"as your eldest brother it is my job to help you through things like this, my duties come second always. Y/n, you can always rely on me."

his firm response leaves no room for argument, and with his unusual sentiment, a dam breaks in you.

You take a few steps towards him and hug him close, sniffling lightly.

"I love you, Lucifer..."

His hands hover for a second, before gently pulling you closer.

"I love you too, Y/n"

[contentloadingandstuff]

Breaking up with them - Yelan and Shenhe

CW: Male!Reader, slight drugging (Yelan's part)

Being in a relationship with Yelan meant a life full of danger and excitement. Whether you're a fellow agent or not, she would always find some activity that gave the both of you that amazing thrill. Freedom, adrenaline, sex and luxury - that's the life Yelan dreamed of. And she found it in your smile, your kind words and your touch that fired her up without fail. Your love was like a flame - roaring and intense, but equally as short-lived. 

Her work is not exactly something that allows her to settle down, or form permanent, strong bonds. Although for you it looked like you found the love of your life, for Yelan you were just a temporary indulgence, a bit of risky selfishness. Something to pass the time while her subordinates worked, targets moved. Still, she came to love you. Yelan knew this was a mistake, since she knew that, at some point, she would have to let you go. She would have to return to her lonely, dangerous life. 

This knowledge didn't make the parting any easier, however. 

—

The time was around midnight when you returned from your date in the casino. As usual, Yelan mopped the floor with her opponents, earning herself a fat sack of Mora and hostile looks in the gambling hall. You two just left then, laughing at how upset her opponents got. 

And now, you were both in bed, cuddling each other, with smiles still sticking to your lips. Your hands were snugly embracing her waist, your head resting right next to her hair. She smelled of tea and spice. 

"Is this a dream?" You mutter softly, eyes closed. She chuckles in response, before a soft sigh can be heard. 

"Yes, Y/N. It's a dream."

That was not an answer you were expecting. At least, not after that sigh, so uncharacteristically from Yelan. You brush those worries off, for now. There is no point in dwelling on it now, you think. 

"Then I'd rather never wake up, heh." You say. 

She shifts around in your arms, moving to face you. Instead of an amused smile, however, you see a… sad one. It's so unfitting here, in the soft embrace, in the soft bed, and in light of all the laughter you had today. 

"We all have to wake up at some point. You and I are not different." She moved her hand to caress your cheek. Your smile faltered. 

"Hey… is something on your mind, babe?" 

Yelan shakes her head. "Tomorrow when you wake up, I'll be just a memory."

"Surely you don't mean…?" Brows furrowed, you await her answer. She places a soft kiss on your forehead. 

"Oh, don't worry. I'll still be around, just… we won't meet again, most likely." She looks down at your chest, a slight dejected look on her face. "Before you ask… It's not my decision, you did nothing wrong. More… you've given me more happiness than I probably deserve."

She smiles, but in her eyes you see a small tear form. With a slightly shaky movement, you wipe the tear from her cheek. You can feel as if something is stuck in your throat. The familiar sting of tears appeared behind your eyes. 

"Is there… nothing I could do to convince you to stay?" You ask, with just a faint glimmer of hope in your words. You ask, even though you know the answer well. 

"No."

Silence falls after her answer. Despite your efforts to at least look unaffected to comfort her, hot tears now slowly move down her face. Her bottom lip starts to tremble slightly when you force two words out of your throat. 

"I understand."

Yelan can't understand this reaction. She thought she was going to be the comforting one. She didn’t account for the weight you have in her life however. It was just a few months, and yet… she felt in her element. You were all she needed in her life. And yet, it is her way of life that takes you away in the end.

She wanted to say it. How much you meant to her, how much you still mean to her. She wanted to recount all the memories you shared. She wanted to explain it to you, explain her burst of weakness and vulnerability. But, from the way you looked into her eyes, it was clear you knew everything.

So Yelan just cuddled you, one last time. She fell asleep to the sight of your water glass, with a thin carpet of white sediment on the bottom.

—

When you awoke the next day, you found that she held true to her words. There was no sign of her. She took all the clothes, all the baubles and even the pictures with her. 

The only place where her smile still existed was your memory.

Though it was well into midday when you got up, and you were so late to work that coming there wasn’t worth it, you didn’t worry about it. Yelan did leave something to remember her by, after all. 

On your work desk she left a check for three million Mora.

Being in a relationship with Shenhe is a generally strange experience. 

There are the occasional bursts of affection, yes. But most of the time, Shenhe is very hard to read. Her signature blank expression and monotone voice make her feel like a stranger at times. You grew used to it after a while, of course. You put all your effort and attention into the relationship, but at times it seemed as if Shenhe was not your partner at all - the way she acted made her look like a bystander most times. The initiatives were always yours. The times when she invited you to do something together could be counted on one hand, with months of time in between them. 

But you understood this. You were patient with her, letting her explore this side of normal life without any pressure at all. All her life she was made to do things, mainly by Cloud Retainer. You always advised her to start following her heart and make decisions on her own. Over time, she grew a little more open to new experiences and willing to take risks, one small decision at the time. Shenhe started discovering what she likes and wants, as well as the opposites. 

—

You lift the chopsticks, holding a rice ball, up to your mouth. 

It’s a nice, quiet evening, like most of your days with Shenhe. You fondly look across the table at your lover, munching down on a platter of hand made Universal Peace, her expression blank as usual. You smile, seeing her like this. You always loved her little frown. 

“Is everything to your liking, my love?” 

She nods, chewing. “Of course. Your cooking is top quality, as usual.”

“Glad to hear.” You give her a smile.

You continue eating quietly. After a while, Shenhe puts down her cutlery. She wipes her mouth with a tissue, and turns her winter eyes towards you.

“Y/N, I was meaning to tell you something. I have been conflicted on the matter for weeks now, and I have finally decided.” 

She sounds as dull as usual. You nod, ready to listen to whatever it was that sparked in her mind.

“I wish to part ways with you.”

What.

You chuckle. 

“Can you repeat that please? I’m not sure I understand.” 

You chuckle, yet a weight starts growing on your chest. Stress. 

You look at her, expecting it to be one of the rare jokes of hers. Shenhe doesn’t indulge in the fabled ‘humor’ often, but the occasional joke still creeps in sometimes. Most commonly, those are things she saw somewhere. Dad jokes, puns, silly pranks…

Surely it’s one of them? Maybe a challenge of sorts? She can’t be serious…

“Is this not what you advised me to do? To make my own choices?” She looks deadly serious. You could tell by her lightly furrowed brows. 

“I mean… Shenhe. Slow down… Can you maybe…” You gulp. “... explain this sudden decision? From the beginning, please.”

“Being with you no longer brings me the joy it used to.”

Bombshell. Just like that. Blank expression, dull voice. 

Her way of sharing this adds on the weight. 

“What do you mean? Since when?” A sudden thought hits you. “Were you, by any chance… pretending?”

She looks pensive for a moment, but her reply comes soon, and as blunt as it can be.

“Yes. I knew you were enjoying my company, and I wanted to make you happy.”

Your mind is rushing. So many questions, but one is pushing its way to the top quickly. You open your mouth, and the words just slip out. The weight on your lungs makes it hard to breathe.

“Why… just now?”

“I realized that making this decision, thus listening to your words of advice, would make you happier. Is discovering myself not something you wanted for me?”

You laugh. It’s the only way to not cry. Despite your effort, you feel the sting in your eyes. You shake your head, and rub your forehead.

“Oh Shenhe… of course it is. But what you said is… so… s-sudden, you know?”

It’s getting hard to control your emotions at this point. Shenhe’s expression remains unchanged. It seems as if this relationship meant nothing at all to her. 

“I understand, and I am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Shenhe it’s not that you feel this way, alright? You really could h-have… shared those thoughts when they first emerged, alright? M-maybe… we could have had…”

You hide your face in your hands. It’s too hard to speak. 

Just like that. She shattered your heart in such a brutal, blunt manner - just like she warmed it up when she asked you to be her date.

“I see you need time to think about this. I will give you space.”

With those words she gets up, and just… leaves. 

The click of the front door causes you to collapse on the table. You don’t bother holding the tears anymore. 

Thanks for reading!

[demonichikikomori]

No Nut November: Bonus Round

All students are written +18

+Round 1 +Round 2 +Round 3 +Round 4

Dire Crowley

Lasts 26/30 days

Dire Crowley is an old man. Even though he doesn't look like it... He still doesn't understand the 'memes' or much of today's comedy.

However, he agrees to participate because he thinks the challenge would be amusing to try.

How could he turn down such a thing with you asking him to try?!

During the first week he was unbothered by the challenge. This was easy enough for a fae like him!

The second week with your scent and presence lingering around his office, he became antsy.

He disliked seeing you roam the halls when he was walking to check on the many classes. The sight of you made him flustered, knowing this was a challenge that needed him to keep his hands to himself. To abstain.

The third week he had become irritable and cold to the other staff and the office visitors that he had. He didn't think this would be such an issue until he spent the days struggling like this...

As you reached the last week of November, you took a trip to Crowley's office with a big smile on your face.

You wanted to try teasing him a little more in hopes of seeing him fail or mess up. You couldn't always let him have a smug victory in everything.

When you sat on his desk after all the students had gone home, the feeling of his metal talons sliding across your waist made you shiver with excitement.

"Why don't we stop this game..? Can't you see how badly I want you?"

You could, and it was your choice to give him what he wants, or leave him hanging.

"Sam"

Lasts 13/30 days

Ohhh his little Imp is so much fun!

Sam agrees on the bet with little to no hesitance. He likes the idea of a gamble with you!~!

With a shake of your hands and his friends watching to make sure that it was official, the test began.

Working shifts with Sam left you breathless when the shadows would pinch and prod at your body. Or when Sam would rest his hands on your body casually to get around you in his organized mess of a shop.

You feared that you may have bitten off more than you can chew with Sam.

You would evade his touches and the shadows with twists and spins that amused the students that came in to shop, but displeased Sam.

On day 13, Divus Crewel came in with a soft smile as he greeted you with a kiss to your knuckles and a compliment. You walked and talked through the shop as he browsed and he eased a few laughs out of you.

Sam didn't seem to be a fan.

Once Professor Crewel left with his purchases, the shadows locked the door to the shop and flipped the sign to say that the two of you would be gone for the day.

You were bent over his counter, whimpering and whining as the sun began to set behind the trees and the lights began to dim. Leaving the light source up the neon signs, and the glowing paint on the decorative masks above.

"Sorry my Little Imp, I can't wait much longer. I miss having you all to myself."

Divus Crewel

Lasts 22/30 days

Such a silly game you asked him to play... But he won't refuse such a gamble with his little puppy!~!

He plays it cool the first few days, happy to see how antsy you look when he summons you to his classroom after hours

Nothing happens of course, just the flirty words of what he plans to do once November was over. How about an early gift for the Xmas season on December 1st?

After a week... Dealing with rowdy boys and a useless Headmage was starting to get to him

His hair becoming frazzled and out of place. He's snippy during class hours. He takes wayyyy more smoke breaks than usual... He's losing his cool with each light caress of your finger against his arm and every late night flirty text.

As the 22nd of November arrived, rushed to his classroom once the students had gone home. Apparently a potion had exploded in his classroom and everyone was evacuated due to the contents.

As you entered you looked around in alarm, inhaling a sweet scent in the air that left your body aching with desire.

Divus was rubbing at his temple with his gloved hand as his coat stayed draped over his chair. The aura in the room was tense and it left your body feeling hotter than before.

He explained to you that it was an old aphrodisiac one of the third years made for their DIY project.

"Now, hurry up and shut the door."

And you did exactly that.

Ashton Vargas

Lasts 2/30 days

Don't forget, he doesn't understand internet culture. That's for the spineless wimps and those who don't understand what it means to build muscle mass!

Although it is a challenge, he isn't sure what it's supposed to train muscle or brain wise but chooses to agree out of pride

And to impress you of course

When he finds out it's a test of 'restraint' he grows unhappy with the concept of participating

What a foolish challenge! He won't participate any longer! This ends day two

Coach Vargas choses to fail out of spite for this wimpy challenge

"A real man won't hold back on his urges! He faces them head on!"

Mozus Trein

Doesn’t Participate

"I am unsure as to where you have found this concept, but I don't think I am a big fan of it."

He doesn't have time for such games, he is an adult! An old man!

Mozus also knows not of internet culture, and isn't sure why doing this was such a challenge

To be driven by desire like some beast is unbecoming of a man like him. However, if you would like to play along, he won't stop you

But please, let him know when you've ended your silly game

He'll be waiting for you on December 1st!~!

[daemon-in-my-head]

What do the durgetashers say, is this anything?

Just a snippet of a draft, I don't even have a title yet.

"Any luck here?" A man donning a dark waistcoat and obscenely long coat seated himself beside him at the blackjack table. "Luck," Gortash scoffed, "why bother with something as fickle if you can rely on skill?" "Oh?" The stranger raised a brow as though to question him, "you sound quite confident. Do you mind me joining in on the fun then?" "Be my guest-" a wicked grin crowned his lips. The stranger didn't reply to him again, simply throwing one of the elaborately crafted yellow chips on the table. While an uncommon sight in most other dens, in this particular establishment, one might still consider the stranger's bet to be on the lower end. Peccatum capitale - one of the most infamous gambling halls within this rotten city and a place where all sorts of creatures gathered to wager unholy sums, amongst other things. In other words, the prime spot for those who sought to network within the twisted underworld this region had to offer. Which just so happened to be the exact reason Gortash had found his way inside this unsavoury, decadent place. "Your bet?" The dealer looked up to Gortash in between his shuffling of the cards. Facing the stranger with one of the most devious, haughty smirks, he threw one of the chips towards the middle of the table himself. The golden engravings of yet another yellow chip gleamed in the dim light. "Small bets as a warm-up, I assume?" Gortash taunted the stranger. "Let's enjoy these games for a while instead, hm?" The stranger cooed. "Certainly, let us thoroughly enjoy this then." Gortash couldn't tell what exactly, but something about that man intrigued him. And since he needed to wait for his contact anyway, he might as well play with that little mouse for a while. "Gentlemen-" the dealer addressed the two men in attempts to garner their attention before beginning his handy work, slipping a card to everyone at the table. The depiction of a dame soon stared back at him, a good start, no matter how you turned or twisted it, Gortash thought. His playmate, on the other hand, didn't seem as lucky, seeing how three crimson hearts lay on the velvet in front of him—the dealer himself had been served a seven of spades. But before anyone could boast or lament whatever fortune may have befallen them, the representation of the house distributed one more card to each participant, only hiding what the dealer himself had drawn.

Of course, I throw Latin in again. How could I not use infernal when making deals with a different kinda devil? Also learning fking Blackjack rules so I understand what the hail is going on.

[kalpasio]

Beauty and Decimation

Things Go Well Until They Don't

A Kalpas x Reader fic loosely based on Beauty and the Beast, Chapter 3 below!

Honkai never had a particularly strong presence in your village. The reason as to why seems clear now. Nearly every night, Kalpas goes out. At first you thought he enjoyed walks, or perhaps the curse drew Honkai beasts to his home; but as Su put it, the prince still clung to his destructive ways. Even if that was what got them in this mess in the first place. Any fight was started by him. Not the creatures outside.

Occasionally, Sakura or Elysia (and sometimes even Mobius) would join him on the outing, but it was more to keep Kalpas from destroying the forest rather than to keep him safe. In the month that you had stayed here, you had only seen him return injured once. That was also the first time he voluntarily spoke to you.

It was to tell you to get out of his way, but that still counted, right?

Eden would clean up his wounds, while Hua (who you still haven’t met) would clean the blood from the halls.

Even though you shared all your meals together, it wasn’t until the second month a proper conversation was struck up. To your surprise, Kalpas asked if the castle was to your liking. Shock kept you silent until you heard an unhappy grumble come from the other end of the table.

“Truly, you have a lovely home!” The halls could be crawling with spiders, and you would have declared this the most wonderful place in the world. Anything to keep from angering your host.

“You haven’t left your room,” he pointed out the one fact that you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Leaving the room felt like a gamble. You could win the bet, run into Eden or Sakura and enjoy a lovely conversation. Or you could lose and run into Mobius or the beast. It hardly seemed worth it at this point, though you were well aware the number of books in your room that had yet to be read was dwindling.

More than once, you had thought of sneaking to the kitchen for a snack or tea, but every time, Kalpas’ mask would appear in your mind like an omen of what would happen, should you stray too far.

“Your servants take such good care of me, I have little reason to,” you gave a polite smile, hoping your excuse would be accepted.

“Elysia may dote on you, but that is hardly enough to distinguish you from a prisoner.” The prince—you had learned—hardly ever spoke in a tone that could not be considered a growl. Knowing this still didn’t make you feel any better.

“I greatly appreciate your hospitality; I do not wish to presume you are willing to offer more.” You were spouting nonsense at this point, though the sentiment held true. The time you spent in the castle was remarkable, even if you rarely strayed from your room.

All of your clothes must have come from the wardrobes of nobles, each piece fit as though custom made for you, and there was no shortage to choose from. After a week of not understanding the complexities of the bathroom, you had given up and decided to simply enjoy the inexplicable features to their fullest. You had been spoiled and returning home at this point seemed impossible. Not only would it mean a drastic change in lifestyle, but you were positive the town thought you dead you’re your neighbors didn’t take kindly to ghosts.

“The world never asks before it takes; why should you?” Kalpas was being oddly philosophical, but you understood the point he was trying to make. Not that you necessarily agreed with it. “If you do not leave your room by choice, I will drag you out of it.” That was a threat you fully believed he intended to follow through on.

Unfortunately, you did not realize quite how short the window for you to leave by choice would be.

Not even forty-eight hours later, he was throwing you over his shoulder and marching down the halls. When you were returned to your feet, you found yourself in the middle of a courtyard. Sakura and Rin were pouring tea and setting little cakes on a tray underneath the shade of a gazebo. The whole scene screamed ‘Elysia’ but she had yet to make an appearance.

Kalpas refused to take his mask off to enjoy the treats with you, but he remained seated across from you (looking annoyed, like he’d been placed in time out) until the tea had gone cold and Elysia announced that lunch was ready inside.

Chats with the prince usually consisted of him recounting a battle—whether it be from the night before or decades ago—while you chimed in about life in your village. He never failed to make a disgusted face you could sense even through the mask. Hearing how mundane your existence had been appeared to only inspire him to change your habits.

Where you used to take short walks around the castle’s gardens, Kalpas would insist upon horseback rides that lasted hours across the entire property. After his late-night fights, you were now expected to stay awake until his return so he could regale you with all the details. The only moment of peace he allowed you to retain was the hours spent in the library.

After the courtyard, this was the second part of the castle you visited. It had taken Kalpas a few weeks to figure out where you had disappeared to (no thanks to Elysia). He burst through the doors so loudly the first time, you nearly threw your book in the air and fell off the couch. Now, when he joins you, he’s much more subtle, though you could hardly say he’s quiet. The two of you will share a couch and simply enjoy the time spent together.

Sometimes the prince will read his own book, surprising you with how careful he is to not singe or tear any of the pages. Other days, he will bring his whetstone and you find yourself transfixed by how diligently he sharpens his knives until they can cut through beasts as easily as they do through air.

One day, after a couple of hours reading in the library, you had fallen asleep. This wasn’t uncommon; on multiple occasions, Sakura or Eden would cover you with a blanket or you’d awake to find another resident of the castle (usually Kalpas or Rin) waiting next to you. The prince was surprisingly good—by his standards—at keeping quiet while you were trying to focus or rest. It still didn’t take much to rile him up, however, and that was what happened today.

Apparently, Kalpas had entered the library shortly after sleep overcame you. His natural body heat only lulled you into a deeper sleep, meaning you didn’t even notice when Mobius joined the two of you. What roused you was her furious shushing after Kalpas grew too loud. To no one’s surprise, it had no effect, and the yelling continued. You managed to fake your continued rest and overhear the rather noisy conversation.

“We only have one year Kalpas,” Mobius’ voice had lost all hint of teasing, the harshness of it sending shivers down your spine. “How you’ve gone this long without warming up to any of us, I’ll never understand--”

“You make it too easy to hate you,” he growled back, the rumble in his chest vibrating through the couch you laid on.

“Well, now there’s someone new. We’ve spent too much time together to ever get along, and you’ve wasted too much time to be picky about who you use to break the curse.”

Your heart froze for a moment. What did she mean by use? Were you about to become some unwitting sacrifice?

“This is none of your business.”

“Oh?” Mobius sneered, “Really? You think you’re the only one suffering?” Kalpas remained silent but you could feel him getting hotter next to you. “Doing this your way has gotten us exactly nowhere. Your options are to give in to Aponia or do it my way.”

The sound of heels on carpet marked her exit, but the bitterness Mobius brought still lingered in the air. Before you had a chance to say anything, Kalpas was up and had left the room as well. That left just you and your thoughts in the overwhelming silence of the library.

Su had said Kalpas needed to find someone he truly cares about in order to break the curse. That may be true, but Mobius seemed to have a different theory, and you didn’t think getting involved in any of her plans would end well. ‘Giving in to Aponia’ likely meant accepting the curse permanently, never leaving the castle, and never being able to move on from this exact moment in time. It was certainly a horrible fate, but you weren’t willing to die to remedy the situation.

As open as everyone had become with you, there was no doubt in your mind that they still held several secrets close to their chests. Trusting them so blindly had been a mistake. It was clear now that the only reason they were so kind to you was because you were a means to an end. You needed to get out of this place before that wasn’t an option.

Escaping had not gone well.

Kosma supposedly guarded the castle—though you doubted Kalpas left him many enemies to guard against. Your first time meeting him was when he pushed your face into the ground with his knee pressing into your back. By the distant light cast from the castle’s windows, you could see the horns curling out from his head and you knew you’d been caught.

Now you sat in front of Kalpas.

Leaning back into his throne, legs spread and mask firmly in place, he truly fit the role of crown prince. His elbow rested on the right arm of the throne so his head could lean upon his fist. Sakura stood at attention to his right, prepared to strike, though the relaxed position of her ears said otherwise. Perched on the other arm of the throne, Elysia had one foot on the ground for balance, the other lazily swinging back and forth. Mobius seemed to be the only one interested in confronting you.

“Was our generosity not enough for you?” she asked, circling you like a snake around its prey. At the shake of your head, you could feel the coils tighten around you. “Then you must have grown tired of this place, surely?”

You could practically feel the scales pressing into your skin as she continued to pace in circles. “If not that, what could have possibly driven you to leave in such a hurry, little guest?” Mobius finally stopped in front of you, the look in her eyes all but spelling out ‘danger.’

“I don’t want to die,” you whispered, unsure of what more to say.

“Oh?” She feigned ignorance, clearly not understanding the meaning behind your words.

“I heard you in the library.” It sounded as though you were being choked, and very nearly felt like it too. Mobius’ glare pierced through you as she stopped in front of you, but you refused to meet her—or anyone else’s—eyes.

“Then you know how important it is that you play your part--”

“I won’t!” You shook your head twice before the feeling of nails digging into your cheek made you freeze.

“It’s not your choice little guest.” The harsh whisper and heartless eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“Mobius.” As cruel as her tone had been, this one word alone was worse.

Sakura now stood completely alert and Elysia’s carefree air had disappeared. Embers flared and rose from the throne behind Kalpas while the entire throne room grew hotter. For a brief second, the claws dug deeper into your cheeks, nearly drawing blood before releasing you so Mobius could turn to face her so-called master.

“Yes, my prince?” her voice was sickeningly sweet. Suddenly, it became clear that Elysia and Sakura were not there to protect Kalpas from you, but the other way around. Or so it would seem in Mobius’ case. He lunged at her with such speed you were shocked the two girls saw him move, let alone reacted quick enough to stop him. Between the both of them, they managed to wrestle him back while he struggled like a caged animal.

Mobius must not have realized the severity of her situation, because in the next breath, she was taunting him again. With the blazing flames surrounding the room, you couldn’t hear her. Seconds later, however, the flames grew hotter, to the point you could hardly breathe. Just before you passed out, you heard Kalpas shout, saw him break free, and all you could do was hope you wouldn’t be part of the casualty count.

Why do I always have Kalpas kidnap reader :( also KALPAS CAN'T READ. KALPAS CANNOT READ. HE JUST WANTS TO SIT NEXT TO READER AND KNOWS BETTER THAN TO JUST SIT THERE AND STARE INTO SPACE SO HE PRETENDS TO READ. Reader does not know this shhhh

[joezworld]

Sodor in the days of Privatisation

Hey so this is actually a fic, but unlike just about everything else I've written, which is inspired by the fact that nobody can stop me, this one is actually a bit of a spite project.

So, like most of you, I'd assume, I've read the Extended Railway Series (ERS) and the ERS Novels (ERSN) on the Sodor Island Forums (SiF). And I super duper don't agree with them on how they portray... well anyone really.

There's a couple of reasons why, but the main thing is that they just... do not understand how the interpersonal relationships between the engines would be - and I'm not saying that how I interpret it is better, but like, each and every one of these engines has been through a literal or emotional hell at least once, sometimes twice, and yet in the ERS, they continue to be jerks to one another with surprising regularity.

That's not how those relationships should work - that's not how we've seen it happen in canon:

It takes all of two pages (54 & 56) in James & The Diesel Engines for James to become friendly/on-board with diesels. They're literally the only two pages in which that even comes up, and from that point onwards, I really can't find many stories featuring the engines having actual malice towards each other like they did in the early books.

Why? Because they like each other now!

They've spent 50+ years right next to each other in the same damn shed - it'd be stranger if they hated each other, and I find it really hard to believe that they'd continue having such bad blood (or oil) considering what they've all collectively gone through, and what they've all lost.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't bring this all up unless someone asked (or if you're @mean-scarlet-deceiver at which point I bombard your DMs) but I figured I should mention this because at this point I'm blatantly stealing characters from the ERS and I figured you should all know why: Because I'm tired of seeing these fucking trains be unhappy for no damn reason.

-------------------

October, 1990

“I’ve done it!” He exclaimed, slamming his briefcase on the thick oak desk and extracting an even thicker sheaf of documents.

The special train had barely stopped rolling when the door to the inspector’s saloon coach was thrown open. Stephen Hatt, the director of the North-Western Region of British Rail (for now) charged out of the plush pre-grouping Pullman and stormed into the station office complex. He was so intent on getting there that all other sights and sounds were ignored until he finally reached the door labelled: “Arthur Agnells | Legal”

Arthur, who had nearly gone through the ceiling when his door was thrown open so suddenly, did not need more than a moment to get up to speed. “No!” He gasped, the adrenalin already running through his veins. “They agreed?!”

“Every. Word!”

Arthur let loose a cry of wordless laughter and practically ran round the massive desk to embrace his employer and friend. It had been a massively risky gamble, but it had paid off.

In the next few days, a memo was faxed, mailed, and in a few cases hand-delivered to every station, shed, office, depot, warehouse, union hall, workshop, and signal box across the region. It had two sections; The upper portion was typed, but the lower was written in extremely elegant handwriting - clearly done just before the memo had been run through the Xerox machine.

-

OFFICIAL NOTICE ON THE PRIVATISATION OF THE NORTH-WESTERN REGION:

As of 19 October, 1990, an agreement has been made between the management of the North-Western Region and the British Railways Board. This agreement - of which copies are available to read in main-line station offices - stipulates that as of 3 April 1993, The North-Western Region will be privatised into its own independent railway company. This company will consist of the following:

All British Railway Board assets on the Island of Sodor

All British Railway Board assets located west of the easternmost point of Barrow Station - with the exception of tracks Four and Five, which will be rerouted outside of the sorting yard to allow for uninterrupted British Rail access of the Cumbrian Coast Line.

The Sodor Motorail terminal at London Kensington Olympia Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Stirling Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Aberdeen Station

The Sodor Motorail terminal at Barrow-in-Furness Station

The British Rail Booking Office in Tidmouth, Sodor

The British Rail Booking Office in Douglas, Isle of Man

The British Rail Booking Office in Belfast, Northern Ireland

The new railway company, tentatively known as the North Western Railway Company, will be chaired by the current leadership structure of the North-Western Region.

The British Railway Board wishes the North Western Railway Co. the best of luck in their new endeavour.

We've done it! Anything on this island come 3-4-93 is ours! Free & clear! Start requesting equipment transfers posthaste! - S.T.H.

-

Equipment and rolling stock began coming in almost immediately. At first, it was small things - a coach here, two wagons there, and so on. The motorail terminal at Kirk Ronan made the first big play, requisitioning an entire rake of newly rebuilt Cartic wagons, which was approved without delay.

Following that, bigger acquisitions began to be made…

---------------------

January 1991 - Barrow-in-Furness

The first locomotive acquired under this scheme showed up in the winter. Bear collected him as part of the morning goods train. “Hello, what are you doing up there?” He asked the small six-wheeled shunter strapped to a low loader wagon.

“Currently?” He said with an accent that seemed to be half-Southampton and half-seagoing scallywag. “Freezin’ me axles off! Name’s Salty, by the way.”

“Bear. Nice to meet you. I assume that you’re our new harbour engine?” The harbour at Tidmouth had been rapidly expanding thanks to growth in both containerized freight as well as bulk commodity shipments, and the current shunter could not keep up on his own.

“Aye!” He said as the shunters connected the wagon and the diesel’s crew began running a brake test. “Though I unno how long I’ll be ‘ere for - I’m a bit o’ an unwitting journeyman - every few years I get sent somewhere else - no respect for us old salts eh?”

Bear laughed. “As much as I want to relate, I’m afraid I can’t. Us ‘old salts’ are the ones running this island - you’ll fit in fine!”

“Izzat really?” Salty asked, a little surprised.

“Oh yes!” Bear chortled as he was throttled up to leave Barrow yard. “In fact, you and I are practically spring chickens compared to some engines I can name!” He directed that last comment to Bloomer, who was steaming into the yard with a short passenger train from Norramby.

“I can work you under the table any day, youngster!” The old single harrumphed as he steamed by. “An’ don’t you forget it!”

Bear laughed - partly at Bloomer’s antics, but mostly at the gobsmacked expression on Salty’s face at the sight of steam traction with a TOPS number - and powered across the bridge onto Sudrian metals.

--------------

April, 1991 - BREL Crewe Works

The foreman stared at the list of items that had come off of the teleprinter. “They want this junk? What for?”

“Search me.” Said his secretary. “But they were very insistent about it.”

“Well, I suppose it does keep it from going to waste...” Most of the old works complex was being torn down to allow for new commercial development, and anything that wasn’t involved with the Class 91 programme or couldn’t be sent elsewhere would likely end up in a skip.

But seriously, the man thought to himself as he went out to inform his underlings. What could they possibly need with this? Old casting molds from the steam era? Sulzer engine blocks? Crown sheets? Wheel truing machines? Wheel drop tables? Steam heating boilers? Everything here is decades old! We found them in the weeds! What could they possibly be maintaining? Steam engines? Vintage diesels?

It took a week for everything to be loaded into a load of wagons that had also been specified on the transfer orders, and things became more curious when a freshly-painted Class 46 came down especially for them.

She was sparkling from buffer to buffer, and smiled and laughed as she was connected to the long train of old rubbish. It took only a few minutes for the train to be assembled, and then the diesel roared away without a hint of clag or a single misfire - implying much better maintenance than just about any other engine the men at Crewe had seen in months!

Also… “Didn’t they scrap those years ago?”

------------------------

November, 1991 - Crovan’s Gate Works

The works foreman examined the rake of coaches carefully. “Wendell,” He said slowly. “These are the coaches they told you to take, right?”

The big diesel blinked slowly. “Yes? Why wouldn’t they be?”

“These… aren’t Mark 2 stock.”

This drew a chorus of jeers from the coaches:

“Of course we’re not!”

“How dare you!”

“We’re better than those old wrecks!”

“You weren’t actually going to put those heaps on mainline services?”

“You should consider yourselves lucky that we agreed to come along!”

“Mark 2 stock indeed! We’ve just been built!”

Man and engine exchanged a look. “They said that they were the only proper coaches in the yard…” Wendell said, realizing his mistake all too late.

-

King’s Cross Station, London

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone?’” The stationmaster asked. He was a very busy man, and didn’t have time for nonsense like this.

“I mean,” Said the head of the rolling stock depot over the phone. “That they aren’t there. We can’t find them.”

“You lost two rakes of Mark 4 coaches?!”

---------------------------

February, 1992 - Tidmouth Docks

“I must say Stephen,” Jim the Harbourmaster said as he led the Fat Controller around the docks in his car. “I didn’t think that we’d be able to handle all the additional expansion - what with the automobile unloading dock and whatnot, but that extra engine has certainly done us a treat!”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” Stephen visibly relaxed into the car seat. “Out of everything, the expansion has been one of my biggest worries - we don’t need any problems here.”

“And thanks to you we haven’t got any.”

“Thank heavens for that. How is the new one settling in? I know Merlin worked alone for so long, but Salty seemed quite knowledgeable. I hope there haven’t been any issues.”

Jim pulled a face. “Salty is getting along great, but… I wouldn’t say he’s fine.”

“Oh?”

“His axleboxes.” Jim said severely. “Anything over twenty and they just start to fail from the heat. Crovan’s has been working on a solution but it’s severely limiting his range; we certainly can’t send him further than the big station, and the ferry boat trains are right out.”

Stephen stared at his subordinate, a picture of bafflement. “But you said that everything was going well..?”

“Oh yes!” Jim was not at all concerned. “That’s all Marina, not Salty!”

“Marina?”

“Oh, the Class 33 you got from Eastleigh.”

“What Class 33?”

-

They found Marina shunting trucks with Salty out by the aggregates yard. Both engines were engrossed in a raucous sea shanty, and didn’t notice the men.

Stephen actually gasped when he saw the engine, and Jim made a noise as he realized that he should have spoken earlier. “Ah, yes, I - perhaps I should have mentioned that earlier… You see, the works was full at the time, and she wasn’t all that bothered about it…”

At an almost total loss for words, Stephen could only glare at the harbourmaster in a way that screamed In What Universe Is That An Appropriate Response?!

This response was somewhat understandable. At some point in the past, some amount of calamity had befallen Marina - what kind exactly, she’d refused to elaborate on - and caused significant cosmetic damage to her front.

Quite significant and deeply concerning cosmetic damage.

Her “A” end cab was basically destroyed - all of the windows were gone, with not even jagged glass remaining in the frames - and in some places the frames were gone! There were deep gouges in the metal of her bufferbeam and up her front - mercifully her face was untouched - to the point where bare metal was showing all over. The damage was so bad that drivers had to use the “B” end cab whenever possible, leading many trucks to think that she’d driven herself out of the scrap heap, and causing them to give her a nickname: “The Haunted Disaster”!

Despite all of this, however, she seemed happy. Her blue eyes sparkled like they were filled with a million stars, and her voice was clear and bright as she sang along to the chorus of whatever song Salty was singing.

Then like Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!

Rise again, rise again!

Though your heart, it be broken, or life about to end

No matter what you've lost, be it a home, a love, a friend

Like Mary Ellen Carter, rise again!

The song finished as Stephen strode insistently across the ballast. “Excuse me,” He said, trying his best to be polite. “But who are you?”

“I’m Marina.” She said happily. “I’m the harbour engine.”

“For this harbour?”

“Yes, but not originally though - I was the Harbourmaster of Weymouth until they shut the tramway. Then I was withdrawn for a while, but now I’m here.”

“I… I see.” It was rare for Stephen to be so off kilter. “And may I ask who approved your transfer to this harbour?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Another harbour engine was needed, so I came here.”

Stephen’s mouth flapped open and shut several times. “I see.” He lied. “And was this… before or after you… damaged your front?”

“Well after that, sir.”

“I see,” He was saying that a great deal and it had yet to be true. “And you haven’t been mended?”

“No sir. I’ve been quite busy.”

“I see…” The Harbour was a three-engine job, that much was clear. And he hadn’t been able to find a suitable type three for love or money… “I would ask you if you will work hard, but somehow I feel like I know the answer to that.”

She smiled, and one of the depot allocation plates on her side sparkled in the sun. It was from Saltley MPD - notorious for being one of the hardest working depots on British Rail. “I get the job done, at all costs.”

--

Several days later

“Stephen, why the fuck is there a bagpiped 33 in my repair bay? And why does she look like you dragged her out of a scrap heap?” Leigh Hunt’s voice crackled over the phone. The head of the Crovan’s Gate diesel shops was a cantankerous old man who held very little respect for anyone who wasn’t a locomotive, and such exchanges were normal.

“Oh, Marina?” It had been several days, and Stephen was now much calmer about his mystery locomotive. “She’s one of ours.”

“I’d’ve never guessed. What am I doin’ to her? The usual?”

“If that’s what’s needed, then yes. She seems to be working perfectly, damage aside.”

“Ah was to ask about that - She’s bein’ awful tight lipped ‘bout that.”

“Then you know as much as I do, Leigh.”

“Huh. Figures. We’ll get ‘er done in a week so long as nothin’ calamitous happens. Oh, by the by, how’d ye swing one of these? London’s got it out for any type three that ain’t a tractor - I’m surprised she isn’t razorblades yet.”

Stephen sighed, not entirely sure how to explain this. “Sometimes, Leigh, you just come into engines…”

------------------------------------

July, 1992 - Crewe Electric TMD

“No, Hatt.” Bruce - the head of Crewe Electric Depot said in greeting.

“Bruce! You didn't even know what I was going to say!” Stephen protested.

“Don’t need to. You’ve been getting everything between hither and yon for your Nowhere Railway and I’ve not got a steam engine hiding under a cover or anything like that - I run an electric depot, in case you didn’t know.

“And that’s exactly why I called - you see, I have an electric branch in need of-”

“Absolutely not.” Bruce’s eyes widened at that. “I’ve barely got enough engines to go ‘round, and I’ve got those new leasing companies crawling up my arse every other day trying to inspect things! I do not need to go transferring assets off to your little hole in the ground!”

“Fair enough.” Hatt said as though Bruce hadn’t just massively insulted his region. Bruce wondered exactly how many phone calls he’d made in order for statements like that to go unnoticed. “Do you know of any other TMDs that might have excess motive power?”

“Not off the top of my head; the 91s and the 90s are sending everything else into out-of-use. You’d have to call around and see who’s got what on their storage lines - and that’s only if you need a locomotive.”

“That I do. You see, I’m in need of a higher-power unit to use for heavy goods services. A 90 would be perfect, but everyone I’ve spoken to has been reluctant to part with theirs.”

“Good luck with that.” Bruce scoffed. “I only have three of the damn things and I’m across the bloody railway line from the works! I’ve to make do with some clapped out 85s for the time being.”

He surveyed the yard as Hatt tried to wheedle a pair of ‘clapped out 85s’ from him. The electrics had been getting grubbier and sadder as the years had been going on - lack of maintenance expenditure from management, coupled with a lack of care (also from management - his crews hated not being able to fix something) had made the engines a damn sorry sight.

Sending them off to the Island of Woebegone Locomotives would be a mercy, really. He thought to himself, before stopping as something registered in the corner of his vision. He suddenly had an idea.

Hatt was still blathering on about how he ‘needed’ a suitable freight engine (don’t we all, Hatty), when Bruce cut him off. “Actually, I might be able to help you with your issue.”

“Do tell…”

“You still run the Island of Misfit Prototypes, right? Or have you finally gotten some standard stock?”

“I wouldn’t exactly characterize it as that-”

“Well you’d better,” Bruce sighed as he looked at a particularly sad-looking engine sitting by itself on the weed-filled out-of-use tracks. “‘Cause I’ve got one and she’s yours iffn’ ye want her.”

-

Crovan’s Gate Works - a week later

The engine had been towed in on an extremely delayed goods working - so delayed in fact, that the mainland diesel who had brought it to Barrow had run all the way down to Wellsworth under the cover of darkness in order to make every station stop. (The diesel had also been offered a place to stay the night, and had instead fled the Island as fast as he could! Perhaps the region’s new reputation was growing…)

As such, it was only in the dawning light of the morning that anyone from the North-Western Region actually saw what Crewe had sent them.

“Land’s sake!” Rolf Tedfield, the works manager said when he laid eyes on the engine. “She’s huge!”

“I will admit,” Stephen said as the two men walked over the sleepers, headed towards the engine. “I was not expecting such a… sizeable engine.”

“Not expecting - Stephen, you had this engine transferred! What did you think it was?”

The Fat Controller ignored him and approached the engine. While not the biggest engine in the world, there was a certain… mass to the engine, perhaps brought on by its bogies, that made it appear powerful; they were three-axle Co-Co trucks, instead of the smaller two axle Bo-Bo trucks that every other diesel and electric engine - save Delta - sat on. It also might have been the size of the engine - while no taller than the other engines, it was a good ten feet longer than Abbey and Dane - the Island’s other electric locomotives - and overall she looked heavier, faster, and burlier than most of the other engines on the Island. Painted in bright white Intercity livery, the engine’s name was stamped on a brass plate in the center: Avocet.

Already present at the engine - who hadn’t said a word the entire time, choosing instead to stare at them with bright blue eyes - was Mr. Williams, the chief electrical traction engineer for the works. In charge of maintenance for the railway’s small electric fleet, he was an excitable man with hair that stuck up in every direction. His first name was Emerson, but this was only theoretical, as he never used it, instead preferring a nickname that seemed appropriate both because of his chosen profession, and also because he’d electrocuted himself so many times that he could stick a penknife into a live electrical outlet with no adverse effects: Sparky.

“Sah!”He shouted, springing to his feet from where he’d been inspecting a traction motor. “Do you truly expect me to repair this engine? To turn this malfunctioning pumpkin of an aardvark into a carriage fit for the royal ball?”

The engine - Avocet - looked offended at that, but Stephen and Rolf were used to the man’s antics. “Yes, Sparky, I do intend for you to return this engine to traffic. Is that going to be a problem?” Stephen asked.

“Sah!” Sparky said, bounding around the engine like a man possessed by himself. “You have just asked me to accomplish what BR cannot - nay, what the manufacturer of this stock cannot! And turn her into a proper goods engine at the same time!”

“Can you do it or not?” Avocet finally lost patience with him, revealing that she spoke with a melodious London accent. “You’ve been bounding around here talking about thyristors and chopper circuits for twenty minutes! I’d very much like to not go into the out-of-use lines again, so out with it!”

“My Lady!” Sparky hopped around, balancing on one leg atop a rail. “I’ve only been asked to perform the impossible! Please allow me some room for gesticulation!” He didn’t sound put out over this.

“Emerson…” Rolf said quietly. “She’s new. Don’t drag this out.”

“Ah yes! Of course!” Sparky said, spinning himself on the rail so he faced the engine directly. “My lady, you have it on my word as an electrician and a gentleman that you will be operational post haste!”

With that, he spun around a third time before bowing deeply to both men and the engine. “Now, if you will pardon my absence, I must prepare my staff.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and bounded off towards the electric depot at the corner of the yard.

“Is he… always like this?” The engine asked, watching him bound across the rails like a stag prancing across a field. When he reached the building that said “CROVAN’S GATE TMD: ELECTRIC DIVISION”, he kicked the door open and disappeared inside with a flourish. “MEN! GATHER YOURSELVES! WE HAVE A CHALLENGE!” Echoed out from the open door, followed shortly thereafter by cheering from the staff within.

“Unfortunately yes.” Rolf said, burying his head in his hands. “But let it be known that he’s a very skilled electrical engineer… who most certainly would be fired if he wasn’t.”

This did not convince Avocet, and Stephen tried to be encouraging. “If it makes you feel any better, he is more excited than normal - we haven’t let him work on a prototype in a while.”

That did not help, and Rolf again had to calm the wide-eyed engine. “Ignore him - well, don’t, because he’s your controller - but for right now pay him no mind.”

He paused to give an innocent-looking Stephen a glare. “What he means is that we’ve only got a few electrics - most of whom are standard production units.”

This did calm the engine, for all of a moment, before her brows furrowed. “Most? Who’s the prototype? Did E2001 survive?”

“Ward - our Class 370.” Stephen said blithely. “You will meet him in time.”

Avocet stared at him. “No. No. You do not have an APT on this pokey little island!”

--------------------------------

January 1993 - Peel Godred

“Stephen, what is that?” Gareth choked out.

The Fat Controller looked over at the suddenly-red representative from BR’s head office. “What is what?”

“That!” The man sputtered, pointing towards the passenger train that had rolled out of the tunnel and was coming to a stop at the platform.

Stephen blinked. “That’s Ward - he’s our class 370.”

Gareth choked some more. “Class 370?! You daft old man, that’s an APT! We scuppered that program a decade ago! What’s it doing here?!”

“Running our 13:30 passenger service, by the looks of it.”

“Don’t you play coy with me! That trainset was supposed to be withdrawn and scrapped! Not shuffled off to your little island fiefdom! You’ve still got three months before we’re free of you, and we will not let that thing keep running!”

The uppity young corporate drone continued raving like this for some minutes, promising that a large amount of inevitable doom would come down upon the heads of the Region’s managers as soon as he got back to London.

When he reached a lull in his threatening, a much sterner Stephen Hatt drew his attention back to the platform of the station, where a crowd had now gathered, looking at the two men in the station’s carpark. “Aside from the fact that you are now causing a scene, I would like to remind you that Avocet was transferred to us with the full cooperation and knowledge of London.”

“Avocet- what? - WHAT?!” The man shouted as he turned around to look at the platform again, almost jumping out of his tailored suit in the process.

There was no APT at the platform any more. Instead, Avocet was running around a few coaches, giving the younger man the evil eye as she did so. “You would do well to calm down,” She said in her snootiest accent as she rolled past. “Excitement is unbecoming of you.”

Gareth looked like the rug had been ripped out from under him, and frantically looked around the yard for any sign of the train that had been there just moments ago. It did not calm him to find nothing other than Abbey and Dane, who were backing a long string of wagons across the yard switches and into the sidings for the Alumina Plant.

He continued sputtering and shaking for several more minutes before he left, leaving Stephen in the carpark and stalking across the street towards a pub.

Everyone waited until the door to the establishment slammed shut, before collectively exhaling a sigh of relief.

“Am I ever glad we’re going private…” Avocet muttered.

“Glory, that was one of the worst ones yet.” Abbey sighed. “Thank you for going along with it sir.”

“Not a problem.” Stephen said. “I will admit, I had thought your… protectiveness of Ward to be somewhat unusual, but I can see that it’s not undue at all.”

“I’m just glad that we managed to find something big enough to hide me behind!” Ward called from behind Abbey and Dane’s train. “Normally it doesn’t work.”

“That’s because you’ve got me now,” Avocet said seriously. “The three of you could get lost in an empty shed with a map.” She looked over at Stephen. “I’m the brains of this line, sir.” She said without a hint of cheek.

Almost unconsciously, Stephen turned to the others. On the main line, such a statement would bring forth a host of jeers and corrections, but Abbey and Dane were all smiles.

“Yep!” Abbey Chirped.

“And most of the brawn.” Said Dane.

“Don’t forget the looks!” Called Ward. “At least a quarter of that!”

Stephen shook his head. Once they were free of BR, he’d have to spend more time on the branches!

-------------------------------------------------

2 April 1993 - Barrow-in-Furness

It was almost midnight, but the yard was alive with music, engines, and lights. It seemed like half the Island had made their way out to the mainland to watch as the first step in BR’s privatisation took place.

A stage had been assembled at the station throat, and many speeches had been made. Coffee was flowing liberally, and members of the press were on hand.

Many of the engines had elected to attend: Those who remembered the time before BR like Gordon, Edward, Henry, and Toby, and those who had never experienced anything but, like Delta, Bear, and Daisy, were all parked end-to-end in the station platforms. In the yard, those who had been saved by the Fat Controller from BR, like BoCo, Marina, Avocet, Douglas, Donald, and Oliver sat with baited breath; they held no fond memories of BR, and were waiting to be rid of it.

At twenty minutes to midnight, a quick headcount was performed of all the engines and staff who were in attendance - namely to make sure they were on the correct side of the station!

At ten minutes to midnight, The Fat Controller ordered a track crew to sever the tracks on the “mainland” side of the station.

It took several minutes to unbolt the rails and lift them out of the way, and at two minutes to midnight, Sodor was officially separated from the mainland rail network.

At one minute to midnight, a countdown began, while the stationmaster and his staff began pulling down BR logos from the station. The largest sign was a light-up model on a pole above the carpark, and when they thought nobody was looking, Leigh Hunt and several others from Crovan’s Gate retreated outside, pulling an air rifle from the back of Leigh’s BMW.

He took aim at Thirty Seconds to Midnight.

The first three shots missed. Twenty Seconds.

The next two chipped holes in the BR arrows. Ten seconds.

The next one opened up the hole to the point where the bulb could be seen. Five seconds.

As the crowd in the station began counting down from five, Leigh took aim once more, and fired.

The station clock struck midnight, drawing jubilant cheers and deafening whistles and horn blasts from the people and engines. Sodor was officially free from BR.

Stephen Hatt had taken a proffered bottle of champagne and shook it to the point where the cap would come off easily. At midnight, he popped the cap, and was quite surprised to hear a much louder BANG, followed by tinkling glass.

Looking around, he saw that the station sign had suddenly exploded. From where he was standing, Leigh and his celebrating conspirators were invisible.

Glancing down at the ‘magnum’ of champagne, Stephen decided not to question it any further, and poured himself a drink. “To the North Western Railway!” He shouted.

[suganovakawa]

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄 .

PAIRINGS : tooru oikawa x fem! reader , platonic hajime iwaizumi x fem! reader

GENRE : angst , romance

WARNINGS : cursing , implied car accident , amnesia recovery

SYNOPSIS : tooru doesn’t understand how special you are to him until he comes close to losing you forever . as he struggles to comes to grips with his feelings and balance it with his future , you still have to recover from your own injuries , but without your memories to assist you .

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 < [ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ] > 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 .

your first day back at seijoh doesn’t seem so bad . . . but that boy at the window sure does pique your interest .

word count : 1.4k

saudade masterlist .

SAUDADE

( 𝐧 . ) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant , or that has been loved and then lost ; “ the love that remains ”

⠀"hajime, was i always this... popular?"

⠀unsure of how to accept a bouquet of flowers from an unknown face as you and the only friend you could confide in walked through the halls of the vast school, your mind was only left to ponder aimlessly. did you always think this school to be so big? maybe it was because you had no recollection or memories of this place, that it seemed like a never ending corn maze.

⠀"well, word travels quickly, y/n. everyone here is worried about your safety. we're all glad you're back, safe and sound." you turned to the male walking beside you, his hands loosely stuffed in his pockets. that same gaze turned to the flower bouquet held tightly in the embrace of your arms, echoes of well wishes and greetings filling your ears as you struggled to find your classes. iwa was assigned to be your personal guide until you got the gist of the seijoh halls once more, and he made sure to make it crystal clear he was your go-to guide incase you needed some assistance with anything.

⠀"i feel guilty, not being able to remember anyone..." your voice hushed into a whisper, only loud enough for hajime to decipher. "everyone i've spoken to is so nice, i wish i could at least remember everyone's names to thank each of them properly." every time anyone reached your vicinity, hajime was the one who had to inform you of their name before they approached the two of you. you had to explain of your amnesic situation, to which each of them understood... to an extent.

⠀you'd always get a mix of emotions in reaction to such horrific news, depending on the person. many shown pity, while others attempted to empathetically understand your frustrations. a select few were skeptical upon first hearing the news, but there was nothing you could be lying about. amnesia wasn't something to be joking about; at least, you found no reason to joke about it. the way it erases your mind of your precious memories with those you love and cherish is cruel in its own right. you remember how distraught your parents were when you had no recollection of their faces. you believed them to be your family, as you assumed they had no reason to lie, but that was as far as credibility went.

⠀hajime was a tremendous help through it all, too. after his first meeting with you - when you awoke from your supposed coma, he brought in a large group of boys, around the same age as the two of you. though their names were a blur, the one thing that stuck out to you was when they each thanked you for being their volleyball team manager.

⠀the aoba johsai volleyball club team. that's who they were to you. could a team really be so tightly bonded they'd even visit a mere manager? the thought of it humbled you, and your heart felt fuzzy. you were able to smile genuinely once more, bringing joy to the boys' faces. though their visit wasn't that long, you were able to remake some friends, and maybe met new ones before returning to seijoh.

⠀you snapped out of your daze as you accidentally bumped shoulders with another student, flinching at the sudden contact. hajiime reacted to your movement by looking to see who you bumped into, but it was too late for him to speak up first.

⠀"watch where you're going, will you? damn." he snapped at you as his nasty glare stared you down, his posture slouched over and grumpy. even with an appearance as unique as his - bleached buzz cut, darkened eyelids, and two brown stripes on both sides of his head - no name came to mind. his intimidating aura worked on you all too well, and your mouth clamped down nervously, since it technically was your fault you hadn't paid attention to where you were walking.

⠀"kyoutani." there was a bark, to which both you and the strange male looked towards hajime, whose glare was darker than the other's. "don't talk to her like that. it's y/n."

⠀as if it was some sort of special cue, kyoutani's snarl lightened oh so slightly, his eyebrows arching upwards as he cleared his throat before looking at you once more. "oh, y/n." his voice lowered to a mumble, "sorry about that. glad to know you're back in one piece." in astonishment towards his abnormal attitude change, you weren't able to say anything in reply as he quickly shuffled past the two of you and disappeared down the hall.

⠀"who was that, hajime?" you were freaked out about how easily iwaizumi was able to change such a grumpy attitude with just a snap and your name. were you a sensitive topic to talk about amongst the students? sure, your accident was pretty bad, but it could've been a lot worse than memory loss, right? amnesia was probably the luckier gamble of the entire situation.

⠀unless if there was something else he hadn't informed you of already?

⠀"oh, don't mind him. he was part of the volleyball club team, too. he's just more on the... lone wolf side. he doesn't interact with us that much." he only shrugged at your curiosity. "he knows of what happened, and it's nice to know he has enough manners to wish you well."

⠀there were so many questions you wanted to ask him; the problem was, you didn't know where to start. there was that standing fear of overwhelming him with too many inquiries, too. just how much did hajime iwaizumi know? what doesn't he know? he seemed to be capable of informing you of everything that you'd need to know, but even if there was anything he was hiding under the surface, you would have no notion or clue as to what it was.

⠀and while you were eternally grateful for his presence and overwhelming kindness, your curiosity of rediscovering everything continuously poked at the back of your brain. maybe when you got back on your feet, stable enough to figure out things on your own, hajime would let up and see things for yourself. for now, you were content with him being at your beck and call - whether it be for better or worse.

⠀"we're here." you filled your lungs with a sharp inhale as hajime opened the door for you, reintroducing you to your first classroom of the day. seeing your nervousness, the brunet merely smiled comfortingly, placing a hand on your shoulder before looking to the others, who were trying to hide their curiosity in seeing you standing under the doorway. "there's no one you should be afraid of, y/n. you sit next to me anyway, so you'll be fine."

⠀"thank you, hajime." there was nothing to be afraid of, he was right. why were you hesitating? there was no need for that self inflicted worry.

⠀two empty desks stood side by side as majority of your classmates rose from their own to greet you the moment you stepped in. unfortunately for you, there were too many people reaching for you all at once, so hajime was a bit behind in naming all of them for you. as much as you tried and appreciated their concerns, all you really wanted to do was just sit down and let everything sink in. today was going to be a long day.

⠀"oikawa, are you not going to say anything to y/n?"

⠀oikawa?

⠀your head turned at the name, noticing how a small bunch crowded a single desk in the back of the room, their faces less than pleasant as they glared at the lone male sitting by the window. an uneasy knot grew in your stomach as you caught glimpses of the student; you ignored hajime repeatedly calling your name, instead focusing on the boy sitting in the back of the room.

⠀why was someone so attractive sitting all the way in the back like that? alone, no less?

⠀the male ignored every advance towards him, and the students who ganged up on him had no choice but to back away, grunting in their failure as they plopped down in their own desks. you, however, still felt strange. oikawa... there was no ring to it, just as everyone else's name was in aoba johsai.

⠀but you couldn't deny it, he was the one.

⠀and such a thought was solidified the moment he turned from the window to gaze into your eyes. it was only for a second, but that stare meant something; you could feel it.

⠀oikawa...

⠀the first one to see you when you woke up.

a / n : writers block hurts so much i deeply apologize for the absence 😭 i’ll def be updating more frequently now , don’t worry !! n don’t mind me crying over this chapter , casually crying as i write this on tooru’s birthday— happy birthday sweetie

saudade taglist : @ot127 @rena0921 @karlitabi-rrito @psychicpercyjacksonfan @crescentbitch @amelimiles @damnirina @pasta-warlord @blossomingbangtan @clinomanians @i-am-kinda-in-a-lot-of-fandoms @manq-fandoms @cirtruss @sugar-wara @haikoo @anime-simp @kairostatue @awkwardspontaneity @iwantapoptartqwq @aquariarose @softestdreamer @plantisnotplant @avylee @froppysgirl @that-animebitch @wisepandaslimeland @samanthaa-leanne @dumplingzumispam @0hakaashi @captain-janeway @afterglowkuroo @bellabelieveme @attixc @chickenrest @tycrackculture @ynjimenez @lissa-writes-and-does-matchups @lavieenblancetnoir @dabilove27 @cuddlesslut @crypto-s

taglist closed !

[tswiftownsmyheart]

(A kanej fanfic)

The hall buzzed with voices. This amount of kruge must've put Kaz in a good mood for today, thought Inej. She walked through the gambling parlor, on her way to Kaz's room. She would've slid through his window as she always did, but she had some stirring news. Why not this, she had said to herself. She was looking forward to tonight. Even for her, it was one of the best nights she could think of. Outside the Slat, the crowd moved on as usual. She waited by the bar for Kaz to come out. He'd asked her to meet him out there once she had gotten hold of the much-awaited news. "Another shot Kalem," a voice said.

"Did not spend the night at a gambling parlor, Jesper? This day has surely been pulled out of the year," Inej smirked.

"What do you think this is my love?" Jesper retorted in his usual charming manner. She quickly gulped down the shot before he could even reach the table. "Hey! That's mine"

"Well go ahead, take it back," Inej grinned. "Another one for me, Kalem," he said. Looking back at her he asked, "So, what's the Wraith doing here? Anything you need my guns for?"

"I've been waiting for Kaz here, who should've been here a long time ago." Saying this she hopped off the table and walked to Kaz's door. She would've knocked but she'd learned better than that over the years. As she closed the door behind her, she felt something by her feet. A fedora. Kaz's fedora. She walked to his bedroom, but she wished she'd thought against it. What she saw would stay with her for all her days. Something she would've never dreamt of. There, by the window tumbled in a heap was a body. His cane was protruding from somewhere below his chest. The crow's head hung there, dripping with blood. His hair was over his face, disheveled. She couldn't look straight at his face. His gloves were still on but they looked like they'd been through a sleepless night. She heard a gentle plop as the fedora fell from her hands. She wanted to run to the body, hug it tight and mourn. The girl who'd survived the Barrel wanted to find the soul who'd dared to enter the place he would regret in his dreams and stab him with every knife she could hold. She wanted to end the life of the bastard who'd dared to take away Kaz from her. His life from him. A life he survived being the worst demjin you could dream of, she thought. The Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands, the boy who had been through too much, was no more. Rage shone brightly in her eyes. Her fury knew no bounds. She left the sad, mourning girl in the dark corner of her heart which hadn't been visited in long. She would deal with her later. Right now, the barrel would see the wrath of Inej Ghafa. That's when she saw what she should've long ago. A note. It laid on Kaz's table which was covered in papers and maps. She picked it up and dropped it just as quick. She drew her knives and jumped out the window. The golden lion on the paper shimmered as the light in his room flickered.

**************

"The killing was the best part of it," said one voice.

"I'd never thought it would stay the same but it did. It was so fun seeing the color fade from his eyes. Boss would've never allowed us in if he weren't sure of it," said another.

"I'm sure this means a raise. Oh the plans I have to spend it," said a third as all of them started laughing. More like cackling. In an evil undertone.

She would've pounced from the shadows and killed them and then and there, but she knew better. Her real aim lay in the room across her. She just had to find a way to get there. Brick by brick, she told herself. But how? She could've handled the two, but three? Plus there'd be more in the hall. She couldn't risk being seen. She wanted to finish Pekka Rollins. Make his worst wish come true. And she would. She then saw it. The vent in the roof. It was approachable from where she stood. She just needed a distraction to get there. Before she could think about anything, the distraction walked right through the door as if to serve her. As the man walked down the hall, people all around cheered. Loud and crowded. Just what she needed. She used the small dents along the wall to quickly climb the wall, and she was in the vents in no time. She wiggled through the vents trying to find an opening. They were too small, even for her. She felt them closing in with every breath she took. She heard a noise and lurched ahead just to find a grill. An opening. She moved towards it and pulled open the cover from the hinges holding them with one hand. Not all vent covers were connected to the vent. She'd learned that the hard way. She gracefully slid down into a dark void that seemed endless. No light, no sounds, nothing. She tried to find a wall, possibly a lamp or a door. She thought she felt a window. "Not that quick, Inej, is it?" a voice behind her asked. She jerked behind with a knife in each hand but all she could see was the dark. "You walked right into my trap didn't you little lynx?" She lost grip on reality for a second when she heard that name. Little lynx. Tante Heleen. The Menagerie. It all came flowing back to her. "Who are you? Step forward," she demanded. But that one second was all they needed. All around her she could feel the presence. She was about to slash her knives ahead of her but a number of hands caught her. She struggled, fought, tried to wriggle out, but they were too many. The knives were still in her hands. She tried moving her wrists when something, someone grabbed them out of her hands as if the blades didn't hurt the flesh it touched at all. She felt betrayed. They called her the Wraith, and she felt a tug in her gut when the shadows had chosen someone else to shelter. "Come on out you hellhound. Show me your face if you were raised in the Barrel."

That's when the lights filled the room. Every corner of it. No shadows spared. She looked at him right in the face. He grinned at her. Creepily. It felt familiar. The face, the voice. "What business? Who are you?" she barked.

"Oh, not a bad man at all. You're very polite though I see. I'm just here to talk to you." "I am not here to talk. Leave me alone. I want a meeting with Pekka Rollins. I need to even some scores" "Oh, you think he did that?" The hands holding her started laughing. She recognized some of them. They were from the halls.

"What do you mean, think? And what do you know about my business?"

"If your business is about Mr. Brekker and his cane, I know all about it my dear. I had a hand in it too"

"But the dim-"

"Oh, the note? Ha! that was easy to counterfeit. It lead you straight to us didn't it?"

"You mean-"

"Yes yes, I killed him. Very well now that we have got that out of our paths let's-" "WHY DID YOU DO IT? YOU HURT KAZ-"

"Oh no, I never laid a finger on your Mr.Brekker. He is quite safe. Asleep though. It's you I intend to talk to."

"I don't understand," Inej muttered after a pause. Then almost as if the epiphany struck her, she glared at him and exclaimed, "You faked it! That wasn't Kaz! You tailored him. That's what they were talking about."

"Yes you're quite smart indeed little lynx," at which Inej growled, but he ignored it and went on, "Now, if you want him to awake from the sleep he is in, we have some matters at hand. You worked in the menagerie before you became Brekker's spider didn't you?"

"I was slaved there, I did not work there"

"Yeah, whatever. Well, I need some work done. I need you to go back there and collect some information for me. It seems Heleen van Houden has been taking away my customers."

"And why do you think I am going to listen to a coward like you who couldn't fight me himself"

"Because if you don't, I kill Brekker and throw him in the harbor where no one will ever find him." She flinched at that. "Didn't he flee the room you kept him in? I head your guys talking"

"Did he now?" he said pulling away and glancing at his boys. That was all she needed. She elbowed one guy in his gut and he gave away. She lurched forward and broke his nose with her forehead. He doubled over. She picked up her knife and slashed two of them. Two more came but she used the boss, jumped over him, and attacked the other two. The guy on her right had risen, but one swift movement, and she had hit him in the shoulder and numb his arms. She then gashed at another's calf and he fell down. Someone got on her back, but she doubled over, pulled him above, and threw him down, then with a smooth kick, knocked him unconscious. She saw the boss scrawling towards the door and hissed, "Not so soon little guy." She pulled him back, made a rapid motion, and saw drops of blood on his shirt. "That's just a warning," she said holding a blade dangerously near his neck. "Now the business. Who are you? And where is Kaz?"

"I-I own the new pleasure house on the West Stave. Heleen had started taking away my customers hers so I-I needed someone to find me secrets. Leave me, ple-please."

She stared at him for a while examining his features. Something she knew. Something at the back of her mind. She was rummaging through her memories. That's when her eyes narrowed. "What did you say your name was?"

"Ajendro," he stammered. She saw sweat glistening on his forehead.

"You used to come to the menagerie didn't you?" "Some-sometimes..." With one unhesitating motion of her blade, she let the dead soul fall onto the ground, and she joined her home, her shadows. She scaled the walls as easily as you slide on marble. In a quick scan, she found the room Kaz was in. It had the smallest hole in the wall that could be taken as a window but it was all she needed. She quietly slipped inside just to find another dark room. Why they hated lights, she had no idea. This time the moonlight shone through the room illuminating it enough for her to see him though. He lay there motionless. His gloves are still on, she noticed. He had some blood on his face, which meant he had tried fighting his way out. Seeing him like that sent a shiver down her spine. She briskly moved towards him and whispered, Kaz. When he did not seem to respond, she called him again. She called him out a third time and his eyes flickered. "Inej," he murmured. He glanced around the room as if to get a hold of the present. She helped him stand up. "How did they get the Bastard?"

He ignored her and limped to get his cane which was carefully kept in a corner of the room. "How did you get here?"

"It was quite easy. They drugged you right?" Still no response.

"We need to get out now though. There are a lot of people outside." He slightly nodded. She could see he was still hurting. As he walked across the room, she could see his limp had worsened. "Can we take them?"

"Among the two of us, no. I might have a plan though. How's your leg?"

"Good enough to get us out of here"

She opened the door with the slightest click and looked outside. The noise had quietened but the crowd remained. She quietly slipped out and returned in a moment. She looked at him and a mutual understanding passed. Follow me. They slipped out, walking into corridors. He stopped her with her cane when they'd gotten a little far away. "Footsteps," he muttered. They slipped into an empty room in the hall. A huge open window lay open as beams of moonlight entered the room. The sky was clear for once. His hair glistened with sweat and his eyes were like the color of the sky when a storm is brewing. With Kaz, there always is, she thought to herself. She walked towards the window and glanced down. "How good are you with leaps?" she asked him, with a slight smile. He walked to her, looked down, and said "Good enough."

She took out a blade just in case and held out her hand. Hold it, you'll need it. He looked into her moonlit face and reluctantly took it. With that, they both sprung from the second floor of the mansion and into the darkness below.

She wasn't ever going to have a perfect prince. But when she looked into his eyes when they got below, she knew that her fairytale didn't need one.

Credits:

Cover page fanart- @eerna

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hello everyone. I’ve been wanting to write something longer for this couple for a while, and this idea seemed quite fun. I hope you all enjoy it and maybe I can convert some of you to living Freed x Gajeel. Happy reading.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter One - Makarov's Idea

As he walked towards the guildhall, Freed kept looking up at the moon.

The nights sky was cloudless and gave him an unhindered view of stars and the moon. It was a beautiful sight, but made him frown a little. The moon was large and nearly in its fullest state, a concern for the time of year. It had been some time since the full moon had coincided with the longest day of the year, and it seemed like it was going to happen again this year. The brimstone in his blood seemed to fizz at the idea, and he quickly looked away.

At his side, Laxus bumped his shoulder to get his attention. His frown told Freed that the dragon-Slayer had seen his concern, and he smiled to comfort the man.

"Nothing to concern yourself about," Freed assured him. "I've got it under control."

"Make sure you do," Laxus instructed. "No missions until it's over, right?"

"Of course," Freed nodded.

Laxus seemed to think the matter settled at that, but Freed wasn't so sure. The entirety of the guild - or at least those not already on missions - had been called to the guildhall that night. Makarov hadn't explained why he wanted everyone present, but it was entirely possible that they would all be dragged away on a mission and that Freed would be forced to act as if everything was normal. So promising that he wouldn't go on any missions was more wishful thinking than anything else.

Still, if he did have to go on a mission, he could handle it. Six years ago, it had taken him by surprise. Not this time.

"Let's take bets," Bickslow, unaware of the hushed conversation, stated mischievously. "Fifty-fifty odds of it being either a world ending disaster we have to deal with, or some weird competition so he can perv on the gals again."

Laxus winced at the second option, but didn't deny it.

"It better not be the second one," Evergreen huffed. "But knowing him, it probably will be. So I'll put five hundred jewels on that."

"Nah, it's been too long since we all nearly died," Bickslow shrugged. "Five hundred on the world ending. You two sticks in the mud gonna get involved?"

Freed had stopped listening to their conversation moments before, and found his worries back on the sky. The full moon had been scheduled in exactly one week, and it meant trouble for him. He should be making preparations in case he lost control of himself; this was all a distraction. He should leave town, just in case.

His team looked at him in concern, but remained quiet.

As they approached the doors, Freed's mind remained preoccupied. A hand clasped onto his shoulder and jerked him back, and he realised it was Laxus. He frowned, only then realising he had nearly walked into Gajeel Redfox. The dragon-slayer glared at him, arms crossed to highlight his biceps. He didn't have much else than his physical strength, Freed supposed, so he had to show it off.

"Idiot," Gajeel spat at Freed, and Freed nearly scoffed at the hypocrisy of the word. If either of them was an idiot, it was not Freed.

Gajeel was walking into the hall before Freed could retort.

"God, who put a stick up his ass?" Laxus muttered as he shook his head. He looked down to Freed again, looking worried. Perhaps he hadn't believed Freed's assurances as Freed had hoped. "You need to go back? He ain't taking over yet, right?"

"No, I was distracted, that's all," Freed assured him, but none of his team looked happy. "I'm in control of myself. But I've got plans on how to approach the demon should I need them."

"Can we help?" Evergreen asked.

"I'll ask if I need it, but I don't suspect it'll happen," Freed placated them. They were still unconvinced. "You needn't coddle me, I'm fine. Particularly when there's apparently a fifty-fifty chance that the word is ending. Though, I'm putting five hundred jewels on the competition."

Apparently, the mention of gambling, broke the ice.

When they got inside the guildhall, it was more crowded than normal. All the tables on the lower level had been taken, and as such they were forced to climb to the S-Class balcony and sit there. None of them particularly minded that, and they waited for a short while for the rest of their guild mates to file in and settle, drinking and talking as they did so.

Eventually, Makarov walked onto the stage and stood before the crowd of wizards. After a few shouts for them to be quiet, the room fell into silence.

"Thank you all for coming," He began after clearing his throat. "I'm sure you're all wondering why we're here."

"For you to creep on us," Ever mumbled, and Bickslow snickered.

"Fairy Tail is a guild with its bedrock founded on the principles of friendship. We work so well because we work together. Whereas other guilds maybe have one or two teams, we have many," Makarov explained, gesticulating as he spoke. "It makes me so proud that you've forged these relationships and implemented them into your working lives. Your friendship and love allows you to work together to fight harder and become stronger, side by side as friends. I'm immensely proud of you all, but as of late I've noticed a problem with your work."

He paused, and Freed rolled his eyes. Everything was so dramatic with him.

"While you're very good at working with your own teams, you sometimes struggle working with the guild members you're unfamiliar with," Makarov continued, as if this statement were a tragedy. "And sometimes your teams won't be available, and I don't want you not taking group jobs because your regular team isn't around."

"Starting to think I bet on the wrong side," Bickslow grumbled, taking a drink.

Freed found himself only half listening. Whenever Makarov made an announcement there would be a lot of preamble that Freed didn't particularly care to listen to; not when he had bigger problems to deal with.

Perhaps, if his demon did become more powerful under the moon, he could rune himself into a cage of sorts. That might work, though perhaps physical manacles and shackles might be more practice. His team would be able to help with that, most likely. They wouldn't be happy about it, but Laxus had seen first hand what could happen when the demon was allowed to take over without restraint. He would understand.

No. He was worrying for nothing. The demon was under control now. Besides, he should be listening to his guildmaster.

"So, to broaden your opportunities, I've come up with an idea," Makarov grinned. "For the next week, you'll be split into pairs that you don't normally work with, and you'll spend all of that time training together. These partnerships will be random, and by the end of the week you'll be fighting side by side in a tournament to prove how well you can work together."

Hm, maybe a distraction would work better than restraints. Makarov's idea was flawed to the point of pointlessness, but a week of training might wear his body out to the point his demon wouldn't have the energy to take over.

"And, I'm sure you're all thinking why you should care about this, so there's a prize set up for the team who wins," Makarov was grinning wider now. "Fifty thousand jewels!"

That sent a rush of excitement and talking through the guild. Freed found himself wondering where the money actually came from.

"That's not all. The fights will be ranked on teamwork, cohesion and communication, and at the end of each fight you'll get points based on how well you did," Makarov was running his hands together. "And the team with the least points will have to do a punishment, and the winners decide what it is!"

"Goddamnit," Bickslow mumbled, handing money to Evergreen. "Always about punishments with him."

"If you knew that, then you should have bet smarter," Evergreen laughed.

Freed ignored his friends, leaning back and watching as Mirajane brought out a large, ridiculous top-hat. It wasn't difficult to guess that this was how Makarov intended to randomly choose the teams; pick them out of a hat. Maybe Laxus was right and his grandfather was turning mad, but he seemed to be enjoying himself so Freed had no place to complain.

He would simply drink his beer, watch the chaos unfold, and use the oncoming disaster as a distraction.

——

Gajeel swallowed down his beer with a scowl on his face. When Makarov had called this meeting, he had known that whatever the old crow had to say, it would piss him off. When Makarov had made his announcement, Gajeel had been proven right.

A whole week with some random wizard seemed pointless. Gajeel worked alone, and only teamed up with people when needed. This wasn't going to work.

Fuck, it was such a waste of time! He could be doing jobs and earning his rent instead of fucking around with a stranger, trying to embrace Makarov's ridiculous mantra about the importance of friendship. Or if he wasn't making money, then he would have at least liked to relax and take some time to rest. He didn't want to make a new friend, he wanted to eat, sleep and maybe find a guy to take to bed. None of that would happen with some Fairy Tail mage hanging around his neck.

"Our first team is," Makarov began as he rummaged through the stupid hat he'd had made. "Juvia and Natsu!"

Dammit! Juvia was one of the few people he could have tolerated. The other was the bookworm, and Makarov would probably say them working together wasn't in the spirit of things.

Still. At least the salamander had to work with someone who extinguished his fire. That was funny.

"Kickass!" Natsu yelled into the crowd, standing up and pumping his fist in the air because he lacked self control. "We're gonna dominate!"

They wouldn't.

"If you'd like to meet up and discuss your plans then now's the time," Makarov stated, and Natsu was making his way to Juvia immediately. "And now it's time for the next team up," He reached into the hat again. "It's Evergreen and Lucy."

No loss there. Maybe he and blondie could have been okay, but Gajeel wasn't pissed the chance was gone.

Lucy looked up toward the balcony and waved at Evergreen a little intimidated. Evergreen looked resigned, but after some nudging from Bickslow, made her way down the stairs and started to talk to the woman. Gajeel absentmindedly wondered if the two had ever had a conversation, because they looked awkward around each other; painfully so.

Fuck, that was going to be him, wasnt it?

Maybe he could convince whoever he was paired up with to lie and say they trained when they just spend the week alone. But then there was the tournament, and the threat of some random punishment, and Gajeel had already been humiliated after losing the guild-wide race and having to dress like an idiot; it wasn't happening again if he could help it.

"Next up," Makarov reached into the hat again. "Bickslow and Gray."

"Fuck yeah, some eye candy at last!" Bickslow yelled, and people laughed. Gajeel rolled his eyes, watching as Bickslow leant over the banister and looked towards his teammate. "Wanna make a deal, every time you strip, I strip."

Gajeel could see Gray avert his gaze as if bored, but he was red in the cheeks. They were even redder when Bickslow tossed his shirt towards him, both men now partially stripped.

Well, at least he wasn't with that idiot. The two of them would be a mess.

Many other teams were announced, and Gajeel found himself more and more annoyed each time. The partnerships made no sense, most of the time their magics wouldn't compliment each other, and Gajeel knew that it would end in disaster. At best, half of the partnerships might end up having a fight with each other, and at worst people would get hurt because they just didn't work. How the hell did Makarov think this was going to work out?

Maybe Gajeel should have slunk out and not attended the meeting. He was running out of money for rent, and his landlord was a bastard just waiting to kick him out, so it made sense for him to get a job. Maybe if he left now he could avoid it altogether.

"And next we've got Gajeel," Makarov shouted, and Gajeel cursed. "And Freed."

Oh fuck no. Absolutely fucking not!

Gajeel was not working with that stuck up prick. A guy like that had clearly never worked a day in his life, probably grew up in a fancy ass house and only got into guild work because it was a trend to slum it with the other wizards. Everything about Freed - holier than thou - Justine screamed pampered brat. He would probably throw a fit if he got dirt under his fingernails. He was the damn opposite of a man like Gajeel, and he knew he'd struggle not to murder the spoiled shit before the week was over.

Could he even defend himself? He had magic, but as far as Gajeel knew, that only worked when he had time to prepare. Hardly practical in the heat of battle, and what would he do without it? He wouldn't have the balls to use his sword as a weapon, Gajeel was pretty sure of that, and he looked like a gust of wind could take him out.

Fucking dammit. The salamander was better than this!

He damn near walked out of the guildhall then and there, because he couldn't deal with an egomaniac freak for a week. But, as he went to move, he saw the egomaniac freak walking towards him, and he was not going to allow Freed to think he was running away. He turned in his chair to meet the man's gaze but didn't make a move towards him. Freed could come to him, not the other way around.

Soon, Freed was in his space, standing above him. His expression was as unimpressed with the situation as Gajeel felt. At least they could agree on one thing.

He looked up to meet the mans gaze. Freed was… taller than he thought.

"I think it's fair to assume neither of us want to do this," Freed said rather than greeting him. Gajeel was right, he was a dick. "And I expect that the way I train myself won't be the same way you do, so likely there's a chance we'll come to blows, so I have a proposition."

Huh, maybe Freed was gonna suggest they lie and only pretend to train together. Gajeel would agree, but make Freed squirm first. "Yeah?"

"If we went somewhere and tried to train how we both normally do, it would be an act of futility," Freed explained. "We have six days to work together. I propose that for the first three days we train however I wish, and you follow my instructions. For the latter three days, we train however you wish and I will follow your instructions. That way, we both get three days of training ourselves in a way we know works, and the week won't be a waste of time entirely."

Huh.

That wasn't what Gajeel had thought, but he could deal with it. He had to admit, trying to find a way that would work for them both would not work, so this meant he'd at least have three days to improve himself.

"Fine," He grunted. "But I wanna go first. You're gonna drag me to some library or something like that, and that's a waste of time. Might as well make it a rest day after some actual working out."

Freed sighed, as if dealing with a child, and Gajeel nearly kicked him in the balls. "If you insist,"

"I do."

"Well then, I'll see you on Monday."

"Guess ya will."

That was it, and Freed turned to go back to his table. Gajeel emptied his drink, then grinned. Three days where the asshole had to do as he said; that was interesting. Freed probably spent his life being pampered and spoiled, but not with Gajeel. Nah, he was gonna work. Gajeel was gonna put Freed through hell and love every damn second of it.

[thebluelemontree]

What was Littlefinger thinking when he kissed Sansa after they built the snow castle? Did he plan for Lysa to see? I don't understand what his plan was, it seems like a big gamble to make hoping she'd see, then disposing of her.

I think it's a mistake to assume everything Littlefinger does is planned to a T. He is highly intelligent. He does have a rough sketch of some long-term goals, and he can logically follow through on each progressive step, but he is mostly a great opportunist and highly adaptable. There is another side to him, though. His ego and selfishness can also make him downright impulsive and reckless at times. It could be enjoying the thrill of taunting his enemies unawares with hints of his guilt or crossing moral boundaries to indulge his whims without a thought to the consequence. He doesn't seem to think there is any possible consequence that he can't manage since he boasts that he "thrives in chaos." 

Petyr just kissed her because he wanted to. From the start of their interaction, his thoughts are made known by the lascivious way he asks if he can "come into her castle." Stepping into the snow castle scene was stepping into his fantasy: a beautiful, vulnerable ingenue in need of his help. A highborn trophy girlfriend/protege that he can mold and guide in building something together. He's trying to create an invaluable and intimate connection by offering his knowledge and experience to give her her heart's desire. This is a remade Winterfell with Petyr and Catelyn 2.0 at the helm. With his Stark and Tully enemies wiped out, its a symbol that he won, and they lost. He can now claim what he feels should have been his all along. It's the ultimate boner, so he felt emboldened to top it off with an embrace.    

"I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more." He stepped closer. "This."

This reads more like an impulsive escalation to their relationship, an urge he feebly tried to suppress, but is going to indulge in now anyway. He can't seem to maintain the guise of father and daughter that he insisted upon as the safest and most believable cover story. It's a reckless transgression out in the open for anyone to see, but he couldn't be bothered to care about that when he's drunk on the scene’s potency. Sansa even says he sounds like Marillion when he was drunk and forcing himself on her at the wedding.  

So how did he get from here to killing Lysa if none of this was planned? Here's how it went down:

Petyr has been away from the Eyrie for some time, visiting with characters that will eventually become his allies. As a result, Lysa is a very lonely newlywed bride, which will add more fuel to her insecurities and anxieties. Because Sansa resembles Catelyn so much, this already has Lysa on-edge where her husband is concerned. Petyr is not the only one either. Lysa is extremely possessive of men she covets, and she is easily threatened and angered by younger females. Sansa notes Lysa was displeased by the attention Marillion focused on her and that her aunt has dismissed servants who complained of being sexually assaulted by the bard. On some level, Lysa is itching for a final confrontation and permanent solution to the Sansa problem. She can't stand her niece's presence even though its what Petyr wants, so she tries to diminish Sansa's power and allure by making her dye her hair and betrothing her to her son. These things give Lysa only a fleeting sense of control and security. It's no good. Within a few lines scattered throughout this chapter, GRRM has set Lysa up to be a hairsbreadth away from snapping.     

Lysa saw Sansa playing alone in the snow from her balcony, so she knows her niece's location. She leaves, and a bit more time passes with Sansa trying to build her snow castle. Then Petyr arrives on the scene. He has just come back from the Vale below, but Sansa had not heard any news of his arrival from the servants. This tells us his return to the Eyrie was unexpected, unannounced, and probably happened not long before the scene began. It also tells us the first thing he probably did was seek Sansa out, not his anxiously awaiting wife upstairs. Or if he was on his way to Lysa, he allowed himself to be sidetracked.  

So Lysa is probably told that her husband is home, but he hasn't come to her for a celebratory reunion as she would expect. After he fails to show up in a reasonable amount of time, where would her possessive, jealous mind tell her to look for him? The garden. We know Lysa saw the kiss because she says so, but Sansa never saw Lysa watching her and Petyr. The only reason she forgets Lysa left the balcony before is that she's horrified at Petyr's behavior and frantically tries to remind him that infidelity is wrong. And maybe there was some small hope that her aunt had seen the assault and would use her power to protect her, as at least a decent aunt would. It must have happened very quickly that Lysa saw the kiss and left in a rage. While she is off-page, it seems that she had herself a good cry, hit the wine pretty hard, and plotted with Marillion to have the little bitch brought to the High Hall later that afternoon.

In the High Hall, Lysa accuses Sansa of being a liar and a homewrecker, then tries to murder her. Petyr shows up by way of a passage behind the dais before she can. This may seem like the timing is too perfect for it not to be staged; however, it makes sense that he arrives how and when he does. Petyr would have more than enough reason to think that his wife is up to something not good.  Sansa tells us the High Hall had not been in use since they arrived, so already, it's odd that Lysa is using it outside of holding court. Major alarm bells would go off because that's where the moon door is, and Lysa has ordered the guards to keep anyone from coming in. She doesn't even trust the guards not to intervene once the screaming starts, because she has Marillion bar the doors from the inside. Who is the captain of those guards? Lothor Brune, Petyr's man, and the guy charged with watching over Sansa. He’s well-acquainted with what kind of scumbag Marillion is. These are his men at the door trying to get in. All Petyr needs is for a quick-thinking guard or Lothor Brune himself to inform him of what Lysa has done. He then can rush in through the back way to save time.   

Of course, it doesn't seem like Petyr ever intended to stay married to Lysa for very long. The marriage was merely a stepping stone, and he would have eventually devised some way to be rid of her after securing his own position of power in the Vale. Hence why he has been amassing allies among the nobles and why he got Lysa to appoint him Lord Protector of the Vale soon after they married. Lysa unknowingly hastened her own demise when she started spouting off about poisoning Jon Arryn in front of Sansa and Marillion. Lysa isn't merely an easily manipulated delusional woman in love anymore. She's an unstable loose cannon now. He can no longer trust her to keep her mouth shut or follow through on any plans reliably. He can't even trust her not to kill his most valuable possession. Lysa has outlived her usefulness, Petyr already has everything he needs from her legally, and now she's become a liability. Out the moon door, she goes. Marillion gets framed for it. Problem solved, stories are straight, and witnesses neatly wrapped up.  

If Petyr hasn't been in the Eyrie for several days, you can see how unlikely (if not impossible) it would be for Petyr to plan for Lysa to be in that exact place at that exact time when he could not have foreseen that Sansa would be in the garden in the first place. Even if he saw Lysa watching them and decided to use the opportunity to kiss Sansa in her view, why is this necessary or even practical? Sansa may have been seconds away from being thrown to her death. There is no way he could have orchestrated this with such precision that she was actually in no real danger. 

I would say the idea of framing Marillion for Lysa's eventual untimely death was something Petyr already had simmering in his mind. The Vale nobles hated the singer, they hated the way Lysa showered him with unseemly gifts, and they've wanted to see him gone a long time. No one is going to care if he meets his end in a sky cell. Lysa herself is also extremely unpopular with the nobles for many reasons.  No one is going to miss her or her disastrous reign that much, either. I think Petyr could have worked out any number of scenarios that Marillion could kill Lysa in a fit of jealousy since they were known to be inappropriately close. The circumstances that GRRM built-up make the execution of that plan become an immediate necessity and very plausible all on its own.   

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

this is the gentleman jack anon from a bit ago, sorry I dunno why it was anon last time lol- in terms of ur fics reminding me of the show I think it's mainly due to

1) historical queerness - I kno technically most of ur stuff is fantasy but it's basically the same - Annes (eponymous gentleman jack) mascultinity n attire is very reminiscent in vibe of ur discworld fics in my opinion

2) Anne in general really reminds me of Downey bc it's mentioned she had a reputation for gambling / hanging out with soldiers and being rambunctious in her youth but now she's a very mature character and a lot of the plot focuses on her business and landownership deals similar to Downey and running the assassin's guild. also shes really invested in maintaining the status of shibden hall, her historical home which is very similar to Downey's taste for traditionalism and grandeur. Also as characters they're both very into dignity/ courtesy/ 'doing the done thing'

3) theres also scheming and drama and illness which vaguely reminds me of the Sicily plot in thus always

4) Anne's actually a proper nerd aswell and loves to mention her time studying anatomy / art / blah blah in Paris which echoes William 'poisonous plants' Downey n Vetinari the og big nerd

5) also just older queer people which u don't often see in fic n stuff- Anne is in her 40s in the series

anyway that's just a few things that came to mind I could probably write an essay on it but I would defo reccomend u watch it I think it's right up ur lane 💓 (Soz for how long this got hehe)

<3 helloooo 

1) Historical queerness - I do borrow a *tonne* from early modern and late-early modern queerness for Discworld stuff, and Downey in particular (see: Downey’s hats & Florentine mlm and their hats) - and I mean discworld as TP wrote it has no consistency in clothes so there is the late-early modern and early victorian (e.g. Moist & Adora) mixed in with late medieval and early modern (e.g. Vetinari) - I do tend towards the early modern myself because medieval and victorian is overdone 

2) ahhh that is delightful! she is clearly living her best life. But I do appreciate a good #Growth experience with characters - yet ones who never lose their joie de vivre. So, still have a love and lust for life, but you know, also have maturity, responsibility and a sense that there are Consequences for Thine Own Actions. Which us something you rarely see in characters? It tends to be Rake/Louche Living v. Stodge/Do What is Right rather than a more normal mix of someone who once ran wild who learned there are consequences and has appropriately tempered themselves. So they’re still be a mad lad when they want to be but also pay the bills on time and have descent life advice and make good relationship decisions. 

3) ooooooo! this interests me greatly! anyone get suspiciously pushed down some stairs? 

4) <3 <3 ah this Delights me. Downey: Have you heard of this rare mushroom? Vetinari: Have you heard of this super niche linguist? Downey: I love you so much you dumb nerd. Vetinari: takes one to know one. Downey: I will have you know I’m one of the cool kids. Vetinari: mmmk honey. Only because no one knows about your secret sordid plant nerd ways. 

5) YES. OK I LOVE OLD QUEERS. I love them so much. Mostly because i am a 75 year old man at heart. But yes I love old queers and i just - always want more of them. all of them living their best lives. doing what they need to do. just out their. being gay. ugh - be still my beating heart. 

-- 

well! it’s still on my to-watch list and that has been a great booster of it up the list! so good work! 💓 💓 

in cute things; my mom has watched it in an attempt to better understand me since I apparently remind her of the Anne character and she was very excited when she finished it and told me all about it and I was like “thank u you’re great” then she bought me men’s boots. 

so you know, happy 2021 everyone. 

[famous-aces]

Karl Lagerfeld

Who: Karl Otto Lagerfeld

What: Fashion Designer, Creative Director, Photographer, Author

Where: German (Active largely in France)

When: September 10, 1933 - February 19, 2019

(Image Description: a black and white photograph of Lagerfeld, a self portrait from 2013. Lagerfeld is alone in the image, standing in profile. He is holding a book with an identical portrait of himself on the back. That Lagerfeld is also holding a book we can assume one that has him on it again. He is wearing his trademark look, sunglasses, fingerless gloves, suit with detachable collar. He is a white man with a very square face and large mouth. He has snow white hair pulled back in a ponytail at the back of his head. End ID) 

In 2011 Helen Wigham of British Vogue called Lagerfeld "the master of reinvention" because of what he did for the brands that hired him as well as his own persona. He was as well known for his elaborate eccentric image as his styles and designs. According to Bruce LaBruce of Vice magazine "having now met and spent time with Mr. Lagerfeld, it seems that, as close as I can figure out, the man really is the myth."

Lagerfeld liked to be weird and mysterious and had a distinct Look of suits, removable collars, fingerless gloves, black glasses, and white hair.  He also describes himself as a lover of paradoxes and really a lover of controversy, subscribing to the Oscar Wilde that there is "only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.". Indeed he claimed a lot of his controversial statements came from a desire to troll, although some, like his feelings on use of fur in fashion, he held strong to.* This doesn't excuse him from being a massive tool, even if he was being insincere. He was definitely an asshole, talented, but an asshole on many fronts.

There was more to Lagerfeld than just his persona, of course. He had the skills to back up his strange arrogance. He was famous for his ability to bring a brand back from the brink of death, as he did for Chanel in the 1980s.  He excelled at the marketing end of fashion, how to sell a brand and how to sell to buyers. He was known for his designs' "intellectual sexiness." He worked for Chanel (1983-2019), Fendi (1965-2019), and his own brand Karl Lagerfeld (founded in 1984-2019) as well as doing collections for the likes of H&M, Macy's, Chloé, among many others. 

*To be fair when he elaborated on his stance on fur it is understandable. Not a disregard for animal life, but that there are people who make their livelihood that way. I'm not crazy about fur, but there are ethical ways to raise animals for that end. 

(Image Description: Some of Lagerfeld's designs over the years listed are the model and the year the design is from. Image 1. Jerry Hall, 1984. A women's tailored suit in plaid and black. There is a wool coat and a wool cape. Image 2. Naomi Campbell, 1992. A bright purple pencil skirt suit with big floppy hat -- very 1990s -- with a black leather belt with gold chains. Image 3. Naomi Campbell 1997. A black and sheer Lacey dress with a feathery hat and fan. End ID)

Probable Orientation: gay ace or aro ace with a queerplatonic attraction toward men and mspec aesthetic attraction. 

Don't skip this guy! The post might be long but he is evidence that exclusionists are completely ignorant about queer history!

Lagerfeld didn't really identify as much, but he was definitely put under the gay umbrella and was content enough there.  The thing is his sexual relationships were all but nonexistent, few and far between, and seemed to have nothing to do with attraction. His longtime partnership with Jacques de Bascher, who tragically succumbed to AIDS in 1989, was platonic, easily defined as queerplatonic. Lagerfeld called him his "best friend." He talks a lot about aesthetic attraction to men and women (he has great admiration for female model's bodies), but it seems to be more about aesthetics from a distance than sex.  He admires both male and female bodies but does not want to have sex with them. He voiced his feelings that sex was seperate from affection and should be kept that way. He didn't mind being alone at times.

He is proof that asexuals have always been queer. He had a QPR and was asexual without the term "queerplatonic" or the word "asexual". He was accepted as part of the gay and then queer community. He is against gay marriage as part of this desire for heteronormality within a queer relationship, much more in favor of dismantling this concept of "normal" rather than become part of it: "Yes, I’m against it for a very simple reason: In the 60s they all said we had the right to the difference. And now, suddenly, they want a bourgeois life."**

In many ways Lagerfeld was Old School Queer and proof that Queer has always been complicated. 

Lagerfeld was devestated by de Basher's death. He never had another partner again. In the end Lagerfeld's ashes were mixed with his partner's and his mother's, two people he loved most. 

**I am not against gay marriage, obviously, but exclusionists love to taut that the queer community was "always" about gay marriage and becoming "normal."

(Image Description: more of Lagerfeld's designs. Same structure. Image 1. Lagerfeld and unnamed models, 2003. He is wearing his usual costume, they are wearing flowery and frilly pale dresses. Image 2. Kaia Gerber, 2019. A pink flowery dress with feathers at the arms and waist. End ID)

"I infinitely loved that boy [de Basher] but I had no physical contact with him." 

-Karl Lagerfeld in an interview in 2017 

LaBruce: What about famous gay artists like Francis Bacon or Wilhelm von Gloeden? They both had important relationships that were almost like marriages.

Lagerfeld: I knew Francis Bacon; he was the sweetest man in the world, like a Middle English lady with the finger up drinking tea in Monte Carlo. My best friend, who is dead now, was very friendly with Bacon. They gambled and drank together.

LaBruce: Your best friend is…

Lagerfeld: He’s dead, too.

LaBruce: What happened to him?

Lagerfeld: AIDS. That happened 20 years ago.

-Excerpt from a 2010 Vice interview.

"I don’t want to sleep with them [people he truly cares about] because sex cannot last, but affection can last forever."

-Karl Lagerfeld, same Vice interview (in that interview he also voiced an appreciation of Simone Weil) 

(Image Description: another photo of Lagerfeld this one in color from the 2010s. He is on a red carpet kind of thing.  He has a beard and his usual uniform. His fingerless gloves have a ribbed pattern and he has a bee pin on his lapel and another pin [maybe a plant?] in the center of his fat black necktie. End ID) 

[xtruss]

Goodbye Ted Dexter, Free Spirit, Cricket Thinker, Renaissance Man

The England and Sussex captain had aura, flair, majestic batting, and impossible glamour - and that was just on the field

— Mark Nicholas | 27 August, 2021

Ted Dexter batting in a ring of close-in fielders in Sydney, January 1963 Getty Images

I don't know when the Ted Dexter affectation started but I can guess. The last thing my father did with me before he died so young was to take me to see the 1968 Gillette Cup final at Lord's. This was during Ted's short comeback and when the great man strode to the wicket, I leapt about in excitement, cheering his name for all I was worth. He didn't get many but no matter, I had seen him live. That evening Dad bowled to me in the garden as I imitated every Dexter mannerism and stroke I had seen just a few hours before.

"There is about Dexter, when he chooses to face fast bowling with determination, a sort of air of command that lifts him above ordinary players. He seems to find time to play the fastest bowling and still retain dignity, something near majesty, as he does it." — John Arlott

I fell for the aura, and for the flair in those back-foot assaults on fast bowlers. Not for a minute do I think I saw the 70 in 75 balls against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's in 1963 but I feel as if I did - the power, the poise, the sheer gall of it. Nothing, not even the Beatles, could drag me from the television screen when he walked to the wicket, seemingly changing the picture from black-and-white to glorious technicolor as he took guard. Frankly, much of the Test cricket of the time was pretty dull but there was a frisson, an expectation, with Ted, just as there is when Ben Stokes is on his way today. It was all too brief, he had retired for good before I started proper school.

The West Indians of the day - Conrad Hunte, Garry Sobers, Wes Hall - thought that innings the best played against them by anybody, though Dexter himself would modestly say it was just one of those days where everything came together and the bat swung freely in just about the right arc. He was well miffed to be given out lbw, however, insisting later that the DRS would have saved him. Who knows how many careers might have been changed by the sliding doors of the DRS.

The word majesty sits well with Dexter's batting, primarily because of the way in which he attacked through the off side off his back foot. This is a stroke so difficult to master that more prosaic batters choose to ignore it. It is no great surprise that Dexter thought Gordon Greenidge and Martin Crowe the two most technically correct right-hand players that he saw, citing their ability to stay sideways-on and to play the ball alongside their body as the prime reason for the accolade.

He was a huge fan of Joe Root and became near apoplectic during the England captain's relatively lean spell a while ago, when he became square-on to the bowler and was playing in front of his body. This niggled so much that he wrote to Root without mincing his words. Though at first put out, Root soon saw the kindness in a man of Dexter's age and knowledge who bothered to write, and therefore returned an email of thanks with the observation that he took the point. Who knows to what degree? It is enough to say that this year Root has batted about as well as any man could have done, and no one has enjoyed each of these innings in Sri Lanka, India, and now at home as much as Dexter.

One final appeal: Dexter (fourth from left) watches as umpire Charlie Elliot gives John Inverarity out off Derek Underwood, The Oval, 1968 Getty Images

For the best part of a year now, Ted has been banging on about Dawid Malan: simply couldn't understand why England didn't pick him to bat at three. He cited the hundred in Perth in 2017 and this year's big scores for Yorkshire before predicting near-certain success with the method that brought those runs. It is sad, indeed, that he didn't live to see the fulfillment of his prophecy in Malan's fine innings yesterday. He liked the look of James Vince and Zak Crawley too, cricketers who stand tall and play with freedom. He got a lot right, this man of Radley, Cambridge, Sussex and England.

Tall himself, strong, handsome and impossibly glamorous, Edward Ralph Dexter caught everyone's eye. With the golden Susan Longfield on his arm, they cut quite a dash and cared little for the sniping that came from those less blessed. The enigma in him - and how! - was often confused with indifference, and though cricket has remained his other great love, it was never the be-all and end-all for him - a fact that made his appearances all the more cherished and his company all the more engaging. It is remarkable to think that he first retired as far back as 1965, before returning briefly in 1968 to make a double-hundred at Hastings against Kent and be immediately recalled to the England team for the Ashes. In the brilliant photograph (above) of the moment when Derek Underwood claims the final wicket at The Oval, Ted is caught spinning to appeal for lbw with a face that smacks of a lifelong instinct for competition and achievement.

"Ted was a man of moods, often caught up in theories, keen when the action was hot, seemingly uninterested when the game was dull... a big-time player, one who responded to atmosphere, liked action and enjoyed the chase and gamble. Maybe this was the reason he was drawn to horse racing so that a dull day stalking the covers might be enlivened for him by thoughts of how his money was faring on the 3:15 at Ascot or Goodwood." — John Snow

Richie Benaud and Dexter in Sydney during the 1963-64 Ashes Frank Albert Charles Burke / Fairfax Media/Getty Images

And Snow would know for he was not the type to rise above those grey days of county cricket when the stakes were so low. Snow and Dexter, my first heroes, along with Jimmy Greaves and George Best, Muhammad Ali, the Beatles and the Stones - all of them important figures at 29 Queensdale Road, where the young Nicholas grew up with vinyl records and cared-for willow, narrow-grained and well-oiled for the garden Test matches that England forever won.

Much of the 1960s were about rebellion, revolution even, in response to the age of austerity. After the long and mainly drab post-war years, the young simply broke free and changed pretty much anything they could get their hands on. Music and fashion led the way, leaving sport's establishment to stutter in their wake. Only a few precious players could transcend the inertia, using both their talent and expression to delight the crowds and influence the young. Cricket was my thing, Dexter and Snow were the wind beneath my wings.

In Snow there truly was rebellion, against authority and the system it supported. This was not so in Dexter's case, though his free spirit and somewhat cavalier approach to responsibility gave the impression of one determined to ruffle feathers. From the outset he adored sport, worked harder than some might think at his books, and embraced diversions with the enthusiasm of a man who had more to do than could ever be done.

In many ways Ted was a contradiction: at once a conformist, as shaped by the early years of his life at home and school, and a modernist, whose lateral thinking did much to reform the structure of English cricket during his time as chairman of selectors. Richie Benaud observed that Ted's imagination and drive "will be of great benefit to English cricket in years to come. Equally, I'm in no doubt that others will take the credit for it." The rebellion in Ted was hardly radicalised but he loved to challenge conservative thinking, to take risks and to invest in his life as an adventure. Both on and off the field, this made for a terrific watch.

The best of Ted: Dexter on his way to 70 against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's, June 1963 PA Photos

He thought the Hundred a good wheeze and admitted he would rather like to have played it himself. He was, of course, the original thinker about one-day cricket, supporting its conception as early as the late 1950s and then leading Sussex to the first two 60-over titles at Lord's in the Gillette Cup. He paid close attention to the tactics and convinced his men that following them to the letter would do the trick. Which it did. He pushed for four-day county matches 27 years before they were incorporated and he founded the idea of central contracts for England players long before other teams caught the bug.

He was proud of his part in the development of the spirit of cricket, applying golf's moral high ground to the game that made his name. Through his own PR agency, he became a pioneer in cricket's digital-technology revolution by inventing the system of Test match rankings that first announced itself under the banner of Deloitte and is now the ICC international rankings.

On a Zoom call a couple of months back, with tongue firmly in cheek, he said, "Having a rather high opinion of myself, I can safely say that had the rankings been in place sometime around the mid part of the 1963 summer, I would have been the No. 1-rated batsman in the world." We had special guests on these calls - Mike Atherton, Michael Vaughan, Ed Smith, Robin Marlar, Sir Tim Rice and more - all keen to share a drink, chew the cud and have a laugh with the game's most original and forward-thinking mind.

Champagne days: (from left) Fred Trueman, Dexter, David Sheppard and Colin Cowdrey celebrate after winning the Melbourne Test, January 1963 PA Photos/Getty Images

We cannot jump past golf without mentioning the game at the Australian Golf Club in Sydney when Ted partnered Norman Von Nida against Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player. So enamoured of Ted's golf were they that Nicklaus suggested Ted follow him back to the USA for a crack at the tour. Player has long said that Ted was the best amateur ball-striker he ever saw and Von Nida just thanked him for securing the one-up triumph that day. Eighteen months ago Player told me that in their one head to head with each other, Ted beat him up the last at Sunningdale, receiving only four shots. "Little so-and-so," said Ted, "we played level!" They were due for a game last summer but Covid stood firmly between them. The last time I played with Ted, two summers ago now, he beat his age, shooting 83 round the Old Course at Sunningdale without breaking a sweat.

This was a man of Jaguar cars, Norton motorbikes, greyhounds, race horses and an Aztec light airplane that, in 1970, he piloted to Australia with his young family beside him, to cover the Ashes as a journalist. They flew 12,000 miles and made about two dozen stops at British military bases along the way.

Ted married the very beautiful Susan soon after returning from Australia and New Zealand in the spring of 1959. How she is hurting today. So too Genevieve, Tom and the grandchildren.

There was an eccentricity in him that was occasionally misunderstood but otherwise immensely appealing and it is with that in mind, that I turn to the man himself for the final word. It comes from his blog, which is a splendid read and will remain a platform for the family to share their thoughts about this husband, father and grandfather who brought us so much joy.

Dexter and Frank Worrell at a BBC interview with Peter West, August 1963 Harry Todd / Fox Photos/Getty Images

It was in my last term at Radley College when I had a hard game of rackets in the morning, scored 3 tries with two conversions for the 1st XV in the afternoon, was heard listening to operatic voices in the early evening, before repairing to the Grand Piano in the Mansion and knocking off a couple of Chopin preludes. "Quite the Renaissance man it seems" said my Social Tutor and I admit I liked the sound of it, if not quite knowing what it meant.

The Encyclopaedia Brittanica description of Renaissance man (or polymath) is as follows: one who seeks to develop skills in all areas of knowledge, in physical development and social accomplishment and in the arts. A point is made that you do not need to excel at any one activity. It is enough to tackle it seriously and see how far you get. I like the physical development bit obviously and I feel the social accomplishment bit is covered by my willingness to take on responsibilities all my life. Perhaps the arts bit is a bit shaky but a love for music, and particularly opera, and love of language - being fairly fluent in French, Italian, rudimentary German and Spanish - may be some modest qualifications."

Some different cat, huh. What a man. What a cricketer. Goodbye Ted, and thank you.