#very simply dressed and practical from his time in the military

[morninkim]

Hayato's full civilian design is done!

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Brook’s Past, Military and Everything Between [ An Essay kinda ]

Brook’s past is not a thing many people seem to mention or think about, at least in full, however it’s something that's plagued me. Not only as a Brook fan, but simply out of the odd implications it has towards the future, if any. Oda’s planted too many seeds for it to utterly be nothing; there’s so much odd and seemingly out of place comments and facts stated by Brook and others towards this missing history. However, knowing that the show is beginning to near it’s end, due to time, I am unsure of what exactly will be done.

I believe however, for folks' interest and so we can have everything in one place, that compiling everything found so far can be beneficial, so, I have.

Starting with what we know for sure, Brook is from the West Blue, born 90 years ago to a certain kingdom, the same kingdom he was a military convoy leader from. We know this due to a few factors, however it’s still open to debate if it *is* the same kingdom, however seeing as he was shown as a child to already know what fencing is, practicing moves with his bow, I am just going to say he probably was. In any case, other things worth noting, on the topic of childhood, is that Brook seems to have had money. At least, stability.

Compared to a lot of the other strawhats, Brook is shown dressing very nice. No tatters, no tears, shined shoes and a full violin and bow. He also, as already stated, seemed to be exposed to fencing enough to mirror the moves. If this comes from his kingdom, it means he was exposed to it at a young age. Knowing that he was a military convoy leader, this could be taken that perhaps there were military demonstrations, perhaps the kid saw castle guard or other displays; it’s really up in the air.

We know Brook, again as stated before, became a military convoy leader. Now, the definition of what exactly that means can differ.

Wikipedia states; A convoy is a group of vehicles, typically motor vehicles or ships, traveling together for mutual support and protection. Often, a convoy is organized with armed defensive support and can help maintain cohesion within a unit. It may also be used in a non-military sense, for example when driving through remote areas.

This could mean Brook’s job could’ve been accompanying ships for protection, being a knight for his King, mediating information and goods that come in and out of the kingdom. This would make sense on why his speed was needed, a 9.2 ft man being a great choice for a leader.

His weapon also would make sense for this kind of mission, perhaps secrecy being important or at least the ability to be discreet. His cane sword, a ‘Shikomizue’, is not unique however to just him in the show, one other man using one that has been confirmed so far, that being Fujitora. The pair also share a sea, the west, and both utilize iaijutsu (quick draw techniques.) Fujitora blinded himself with said sword because of something apparently so cruel and inhumane that he rather not see anguish. This may be related to Brook’s departure from his kingdom, which is addressed later in this essay. (Fig 3-5.)

Another thing that’s worth mentioning here is Brook’s attack patterns, being unique even for his kingdom apparently. Once again, during the Ryuma fight, Brook states, and I quote;

“Ryuma: “Now tell me, what part of that wretched excuse for a body would you like me to severe with my special ‘Arrow Notch Slash?’ Brook: You don’t know a thing about that move, so do not use it’s name. I use to serve in my kingdom’s raider squad. The quick draw attack that I was most skilled at was ‘Requiem Lebanderole’. My comrades-in-arms renamed it in regards to my fighting technique.”

(Fig. 1, Brook explains his raider squad and move names. A banderole mind you is a long flag for BATTLE crusades. )

This sets up a few interesting facts. 1. Brook was in a raider squad, a kingdom’s group of marauders, as well as if not the same job as convoy leader. 

2. His techniques were unique to him, or at least specialized to a degree of having a nickname. 3. As expected, he seems to have been close to these men he commanded, adding another layer over Brook loosing the Rumbars.

Being in both a raider squad and being a convoy leader at one point, if not the same point, implies either Brook was simply versatile, acting in both in separate years or periods. Or, the most likely, that he was higher ranking than expected, making him a CO, or commanding officer. (Lieutenant Colonel is another equal rank for scale, making Brook just below a Major.) This makes him quite the important figure, especially for a kingdom that seems to value its military so much, so much so that a child of Brook’s age would already know about their style of fencing, as expressed already. Brook’s devil fruit is worth mentioning here, the revive-revive fruit not likely to be found by a crew like the Rumbars. It is spoken about as if he has always had it amongst the crew, being a fact of life. However, when did he get that fruit and why? I propose where it would be useful; in combat. If your military convoy leader, your best swordsman could be shot and come right back to protect the king, would he not be utterly invaluable? You would never let him leave… But he DID leave. It’s not said why, however we have some extra tidbits of information that may tell us why, and that ALSO may tell us the answer to what kingdom he means.

( Fig. 2. Brook states his leaving of the military for unknown reasoning, the word certain being used in an odd way, establishing his bounty.) This bounty mind you all is in fact, using inflation method, 297,000,000 berries. That is a MASSIVE bounty for just a pirate. Perhaps a certain blond stole a treasure a kingdom could not replace; their convoy leader. Lets rewind for a moment and cover something that may be seen as off topic however I will come right back to the subject at hand; Calico Yorki. Yorki is an odd bird, pirate wise. He makes his crew read his bounties and information, is never shown to play an instrument/sing but makes his crew preform/they all do, and makes Brook make him dinner. (Steak, and Brook continues to be able to make it as confirmed by an SBS.) What is oddest yet, other than his large crew and shirtless habits, is his nature. A man that set to sea to play music for “orphans and crying children” as stated by himself; a crew made for “any men who love music.” Now, I could be reading into this too hard, however from his speech patterns, to this apparent need for a large family, it seems that singing to orphans may be a very personal goal. An orphan turned pirate perhaps, with lofty dreams and a heart of gold, it reads to me that Yorki may have been just that. Knowing this, orphan or not, we now can compare these facts to Brook’s life up until their meeting. A child who probably grew up being taught to fight, being around access to education, expenses and the kingdom’s training. Why would a man like Brook ever join a man like Yorki, and if it’s only music, would that not make Brook a deserter? I do not think that is the case. I will now bring forward some interesting evidence regarding Brook’s kingdom and WHY he would leave. Germa 66. During Zou to Whole Cake, a few mentions of Germa are made with Brook around, garnering interesting reactions indeed.

( Fig. 3. Brook listens but chooses not to add anything utter than silence, his music pausing as well.) This silence could be take as simple ignorance, however Brook later admits he knows of the kingdom, in fact, he knows a lot. A lot more than anyone else did, Reiju admitting interest in his knowledge and once again, Brook brushes it off.

(Fig 4, 5, Brook speaks about Germa 66.) He seems to underplay or simply not elaborate a LOT on his kingdom, as if something happened. Perhaps joining Yorki was not out of simple cowardice or need to be free, (which again if he did would both reflect poorly upon his entire character and not be in character for him what so ever,) but in fact, out of necessity. It could have been Germa 66, it could have been some other grouping, however I believe this will come to be something important. The kingdom possibilities are interesting as well, and I will list the following LIKELY possibilities. (Other options are known to not be military, like Ohara, or literally places like Thriller Bark itself.) - Toroa - God Valley - Illsia Kingdom - Soja Kingdom The most likely candidates, because again, it is labeled as certain kingdom (Fig 2.) is Toroa or Soja, however I will personally lean into Toroa. This is because of a man by the named of Byron.

(Fig 6. Byron and his information.) His nose and face shape vaguely resemble Brook, however honestly that is a stretch. What is NOT however is his familiar attire, family line and the placement of his kingdom. This could easily be Brook’s home, however again, this is just speculation. Brook very well could belong to God’s Valley, or the same kingdom as Issoh, fleeing because of something he did not agree with or literally could not stand any longer. But, that falls under possibility, not fact. This concludes the facts section, now comes the final question; What does it mean for the story? And, honestly, that can be debated. What Oda has done is plant odd seeds of information about the man, similar to Sanji and his ties to Vinsmoke, that have not been addressed nor talked about in full, or so I’ve found sufficiently. These seeds MAY bloom into what I hope will be a tie into some huge reveal, perhaps aid from a past member of his convoy or kingdom, or perhaps this will only spark conflict. Perhaps it will be minute, Brook being able to aid due to his knowledge, the man already in Thriller Bark showing his prowess by being able to command the strawhats into defeating zombies via salt and tactic. In any case, we can only hope these things mean anything, tied into some huge story that could explain why a man like him would quit for a redneck like Yorki, other than perhaps love, and what kingdom would let a man like him go willingly.

Updates:

- Confirmation that he’s educated! Perhaps in military or just as a whole, but confirmation nonetheless!

- I realize the reason he’s so confident with Big Mom isn’t just guts; he’s fought for royalty before. He’s just back in the fucking building again /j

- Sabaody behaviors, a convoy leader

CHECK REBLOG FOR PART TWO!!

[ PLEASE ^^ It contains the rest of his information! ]

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 9

Rating: SFW

Warnings: ANGST

Summary: You have a date! Not with Ghost 💀

Notes: If you feel this is out of character for you personally, valid, I just like making Ghost suffer 😌

Word count: 1,513

ao3 link

You were going on a date!

It had been some time since you’d been on one, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the man who you refused to name even in your own head. You weren’t doing this out of any petty desire to prove you were desirable; no, this was personal growth! This random man from Tinder could be your future husband, after all!

Well, that was taking it a bit too far, but at the very least, he might knock some of the spiderwebs off your headboard.

Your day had been spent preparing for your date, starting with an hour-long bath in which you shaved everything from your eyebrows down, leaving your skin smooth, polished, and buttery soft. You didn’t want to think about the cost of all the moisturiser you’d used, only how nice you smelled, as though you’d been dipped into a vat of cocoa butter. Then, it was onto makeup. Thankfully, today had been a good skin day for you, so you kept it simple, a fuckton of mascara to make your eyelashes really pop, and then another half hour tweezing your eyebrows into a perfect shape. You dithered over colours, settling with a warm lip tint, which you dabbed on your cheekbones. Already, you felt that this man would not be worth all this effort, but you did enjoy the process of making yourself look absolutely breathtaking. The outfit was the last piece of the puzzle and the hardest part. How could you find clothes that said, ‘I’m down to shag, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to put any effort in’. Jeans? Mm, no, too hard to take off while looking sexy. Little dress? Eh, too cold. Midi skirt it was. Warm and practical, and easy to hike up. Plus, it had pockets! What wasn’t to love! You paired it with a nice pair of dark heels and an off-the-shoulder top. You faffed with your hair, trying to figure out if you wanted it up or down, before just sticking a little bow clip in it and calling it a day.

Naturally, now that you were preened to perfection, Soap decided it was the best time to try and rub spiky white hairs all over your outfit, as though his essence was what was missing from the ensemble. He’d been happily snoozing the entire time you were getting ready, seemingly knowing when the exact wrong time was to start trying to fuss you. You simply did your best to pet him at arms reach, then distracted him with treats while you sat on the sofa to kill time, having gotten ready far too early for your date.

You were busy trying to figure out how you were supposed to eat crisps without ruining the outfit when you heard a knock at the door. Strange, you were meeting your date at the bar. If he’d somehow found your address online, he was getting deep heat spray to the eyes. You tucked the little canister into your skirt pocket as you went to the door, peering through the peephole.

Shit.

Why did you suddenly feel awkward about going out on a date? You had nothing to be ashamed about; you were a free agent; you could go on a thousand dates if you liked. Still, you felt uneasy opening the door to him. The chain remained off as you opened the door, your arm wrapped around your waist for comfort.

“Ghost.”

For once, he wasn’t wearing the mask. He still had the ‘definitely a civilian’ clothes on, blue jeans and a black waterproof, and even the way he stood was unquestioningly military, his arms behind his back, but without the mask, he was a little more human. And gorgeous, but you didn’t want to think about that.

“You off out somewhere?”

“Yeah, actually. Got a date.”

You watched his expression carefully, a twinge of guilt in your stomach. It wasn’t like you were anything more than friends. Weird, fucked up friends where one of them broke into the other’s house and left cats. His face didn’t change. Still perfectly neutral, his eyes dead and cold, just like you remembered them. He shifted from his stiff position, bringing forth the bouquet he’d apparently been concealing behind his back.

You’d been given a lot of bouquets over the years, some from dates, some from thankful cat parents, a lot from your girls, but this was new. Usually, a man would give you basic red roses or whatever strange mix Lidl had on sale at the doors, but these weren’t cheap supermarket flowers. They were a beautiful mix of purple tulips, some so dark they looked almost black, some soft lavender, without a single limp petal or dangling leaf. A dark purple ribbon was wrapped around their stems, holding them tightly together. Fuck. He’d really gone all out.

“Wanted to give you summat as a thank you.”

“Ghost, these.. they’re really nice. You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

You took them from him, gently inhaling their scent. Christ, did tulips smell good. Did you even own a nice vase to put them in? You’d stashed all your glass ornaments in cupboards, out of Soap’s reach. Soap. Would he know not to eat tulips? They were, after all, exceptionally poisonous to cats. And Soap was a bit of an idiot. You’d just have to keep them up on the shelf in your bedroom with the rest of your treasured possessions. Not that this was a treasured possession. You just didn’t want Soap to get sick.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

There was a moment of silence, things left unsaid, but you couldn’t exactly say what was on your mind. He’d already rejected you once before, and you weren’t made of steel. Still, you felt bad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“Why would you be sorry? They’re just flowers. Don’t read so much into it.”

Well, that put an end to any guilt on your end.

“Right. Well, thanks for the flowers, Simon.”

He gave you a brisk nod, then turned on his heel and left without another word.

If the man had planned on putting your head in a spin before your date, he’d done a marvellous job. The flowers seemed to stare down at you mockingly from their position on the shelf high above your headboard, watching you spray perfume on yourself, decorating yourself for another man. You scowled at them as though you could singe their petals; they could watch you fuck another man for all you cared; as Ghost had said, they were just flowers. They meant nothing. Nothing that had a place of importance in your room. Ugh.

They stuck with you throughout your date. The man you met at the bar wasn’t unattractive, tall, handsome, dark-haired, and his conversation was pleasant enough, but you just couldn’t feel a spark. Was that a good thing? The sparks you felt with Ghost felt more like a taser; they’d left you fearful and uneasy, but my God, those sparks were strong. Perhaps it was better that you didn’t feel that way about your date. After all, people weren’t supposed to break into your house and then make snarky comments about your home security, nor were they supposed to reject you and then make teasing comments about how you wanted them, or give you flowers and then tell you they meant nothing. This date could have been good for you, a nice, normal man, a picket fence, 2.4 children, weekend walks in the Peak District and holidays in Benidorm.

You went home alone.

You didn’t need a date. You didn’t need a Ghost. What you did need was a therapist.

Unfortunately for you, they were expensive if you went private, and if you didn’t, you’d be stuck on a waiting list for months. Besides, you didn’t really want to confess to a therapist, ‘so I have a stalker, but we’re actually friends, so please don’t report him to the police!’. As if. You could therapise yourself. You knew what you needed to do. You needed to do what most other people in this situation would do: you needed to block his number, change your locks, and forget about him.

You stared at his number in your phone. Ghost. Stupid name. If you blocked him, he’d know he’d gotten to you. Or would he assume you’d moved on? It irritated you that he took up so much room in your thoughts. It would have served him right if you threw those flowers away. You considered it, taking them down off the shelf and holding them in your hand, imagining how it would feel to burn them, trample them underfoot, or beat him to death with them. Nope. Prick or not, the flowers were too beautiful to get rid of, and it wasn’t their fault that the person gifting them was a cunt. Back on the shelf they went.

You’d keep them just because they were beautiful, and they would wilt with your emotions for him, and then you could throw everything away.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

You know, because it's hard to give a massive amount of character in one post, I'm gonna list stuff about alternate rusted knights here

Repentant Thief: Emerald Sustrai, desperate for company used her semblance to hallucinate her friends/allies. Over time as her memory of them began failing, the illusions became flatter, more generic in their kindness and support, and at some points she truly believes that's what RWBY and Co. were like, while at others she can't stand the sight of them, the inaccuracies making her sick to her stomach.

She waits for her Heroes. The ones that saved her before.

She wears leather armor with a Leather helm that covers the lower portion of her face, with a large cloak and hood over all of it. her pants are very similar to previoupairs, simply plainer and sturdier. She has traded heels in for full hiking boots.

~~~~~

Fathomless Angler: Clover Ebi, now an old man, has grown tired, very, very tired. So tired he no longer cares to find a way out, and lets time slip by - He never read The Girl that fell Through the World, his knowledge of it's tale being minimal. He figures this is some twisted afterlife, that he'd done wrong fighting Qrow and has to let himself be punished for fighting his friend.

He Waits, as catching a fish is mostly waiting for it to take the bait. He's still trying to figure out his fish.

Clover wears a faded, dusty Atlesian coat, meant to have water and snow slide right off, with a large scarf and slick bucket hat. due to lack of care, his beard has grown long and scraggly, a veritable bush of salt and pepper. He wears Waders in place of his old Military boots.

~~~~~

The Cobalt Knight (Oxidized Cobalt): Alyx, upon deciding to amend her mistakes in the Ever After was assaulted by The Curious Cat. Jaune Arc, the Rusted Knight, still sick from the poison rushed to her aid. In the end, Alyx was saved, and the cat slinked away to lick it's wounds.

Jaune's didn't make it, and was swallowed by the tree.

Alyx, unable to heal him, to fix this mistake took up his weapons and trained. She was smart - out maneuvering and outsmarting the cat for years until she was able to fight it directly. Then they stayed apart, the Cat not wanting to risk themself, and Alyx not wanting to her own life in revenge.

Alyx waits for the same reasons Jaune did - Guilt, anger, self-loathing, and a need to help RWBY, with all the same weapons he fought with; Mind, Sword, and Shield.

She wears armor like Jaune's only simpler, and lighter, and in FAR better condition - only a little dirty and scuffed.

~~~~~

The Frosted Empress (Lonely): Weiss Schnee, Knowing all she had to do was wait, did just that. She waited. and Waited. And waited. She did her best to stay stable, she practiced arts, she kept up her training, she began to speak to herself in off moments, she never got along with people too much liker herself so Alyx was a handful to deal with.

She oscillates between a very sweet, matronly figure, and an Icy, bitchy Vol-1-esque personality, with moments of lucidity being not too uncommon.

This Weiss wears very simply constructed outfits - basic chain mail and dresses, with immense ornamentation, and a veil, like one would wear at a funeral. She has many different trinkets - leaves, feathers, jewelry and what not.

~~~~~

The Wilted Rose: Ruby Rose fell into the Ever After, and Suffered. She fought as much as she always had, but with no support, no clear goal and the weight of her failings crushing her, Alyx and Lewis were the Straws that broke the Camel's back.

She Ascended into the one person she knew could do anything.

Summer rose.

As motherly and sweet as ever, this rose has thorns only for The Curious Cat - even if she can't remember why.

She looks like an older Summer. With like, very graying hair. It's just Summer Rose.

[ofcvrnage]

      𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟⧸𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑒 : nadya kilic  ››  bitten werewolf  ››  hande ercel .

❛❛   aesthetic.  ❜❜   ⸻   ◜   ❏  . ⸻ bloodstained  dress  &  manicured  fingers , a  beauty with  the  taste  of  copper  in  her  mouth , they  say  the  loveliest  angel  makes  the  cruelest  demons ,  this  is  simply  bloodsport  for  a  being  like  you , she  could  sing  pretty  melodies  on  the  unmade  bed  . . ⸻   ◜   ❏  . ⸻  

🇦​🇵​🇵​🇱​🇮​🇨​🇦​🇹​🇮​🇴​🇳​ ​​ ››

*   ⸻   ◜   ❏  . ⸻  &.  hande ercel . cis woman  .  she/her  .   |  die with a smile by lady gaga ft. bruno mars  |  was that  nadya kilic  walking around mystic falls ? last i heard , the   30-year old  werewolf ( bitten )  can be found mostly around  the mystic grill .  wonder   what   they’re   up   to   ?  she is  known  for  being  +steadfast ,  but  they  can  still  be  very  -moody  according  to  their  friends. i  heard  through  the  grapevine  that  she was turned by her ex. although we can never know for sure when it comes to mystic falls,  in the end,  it could be only rumors, right ?    . ⸻ ◜ ❏ . ⸻ .

🇧​🇦​🇸​🇮​🇨​🇸  ››

full name : nadya kilic.

age : 30 .

date of birth : august 1st .

occupation : baker .

species : werewolf ( bitten ) .

language(s) spoken : english , turkish , spanish .

hair color : brown .

eye color : brown .

notable scars : the bite mark of her ex .

🇮​🇳​🇹​🇪​🇷​🇮​🇴​🇷 ​ ››

positive : kind  ,  steadfast.

negative : moody ,  impulsive .

moral alignment : neutral.

deadly sin : wrath .

hogwarts house : hufflepuff.

element : air .

alcohol use : socially .

prone to violence? : yes .

drives / motivations : herself .

🇫​🇦​🇲​🇮​🇱​🇾​​  ››

father : mr. kilic. †

mother : mrs. kilic. †

🇧​🇮​🇴  ››

⸻   Born on the warmest night of the year to a religious woman, and a military legacy who worked hard to be named chief . nadya was their second child, the first being Adem who is eight years older than her. Growing up, their always expected his children to go into the military as he did and his family line before him. From the day she and her older brother could walk, they were trained in hand to hand and weaponry. Being part of a military family legacy was never easy for nadya. Especially with a controlling religious mother. They never had time for themselves. Between the lessons, their father would leave them for when he comes back and going to church every Sunday, and having prayer groups.

⸻  nadya always felt left out. From a young age, she already knew she didn’t want to be like her father or keep to the family legacy, nor was she as religious as her mother. She did, however, knew she wanted to travel the world. Because her parents were always busy, nadya was always left on her own after school and after practice waiting until her older brother would pick her up.

⸻  As she grew, nadya would find ways to excuse herself from going to the prayer groups. Although, there was never a way to excuse herself in her father’s lessons and training. Which ironically enough, she surpassed her oldest brother. She figured that if she’s better, she would have more time for herself and her arts. Often making deals with her father which would grant her permission to join her school cheerleading, volleyball, and powder puff during her senior year. Graduating early, nadya was still two years shy of being able to enlist. Taking this chance to go off to college and pursue what she wanted to do. making the decision to leave from home. Which proved to be tough when it came to having her father be the chief of police and had all eyes in search of her.

⸻  nadya worked hard to come up with the money to go through school. doing odd jobs , bartending and being a dog walker mostly . then came the year to enlist but nadya kept on going to school. leaving the town to go into the city for work is when she met HIM . Hellos were said more often then they turned into good mornings when waking up next to each other. She was happy and her boyfriend being one of the many points of it .

⸻ unfortunately , it was a happiness that did not last when she got bitten . not remembering much of what happened that night and the events that lead to it. nadya had woken up in the hospital bed with her parents and brother beside her. Worried and clearly crying, they were relieved when she woke up. She had been out for two weeks. Telling her a little while longer and she would have been dead if she hadn’t been found. For the next two weeks, nadya felt strange. Hearing things she normally wouldn’t hear. Smelling scents that she wouldn’t normally smell. Was stronger than she normally was. All those feelings she had that she couldn’t explain made her grow temperamental . especially when she tried to remember what happened that night . she wanted to call her boyfriend but he clearly changed his number when she did try. her father wouldn’t let her go back to her home until she fully recovered but she felt fine. Not understanding what was happening to her before her first full moon .

⸻  nadya had shifted spontaneously for the first time. Animalistic instinct took over and she attacked anything that got near her. Waking up the next morning bare, covered in blood, and their home destroyed. it wasn’t until she saw her parent’s body and her brother was when she realized what she had done. Memories of last night coming to her. She had turned. She shifted into a wolf and killed her parents and brother. The weight of it caused a pit in her stomach. she wasn’t sure what to even do but to pack her all her things and leave . knowing the scene looked like an animal attack and the news would just chalk it up as that .

⸻ for the past 3 years nadya constantly had to keep her temper in check and it had gotten the best of her sometimes. beginning to accepted herself for who and what she is thanks to a friend she made along the way. Embracing the fact that she was a werewolf and coming to terms that she had killed her family. yet she still somewhat felt guilt over it and there was so much she did not understand . she has a lot to learn and is no longer bound by mundane rules but others that are made for creatures that go bump in the night. moving to mystic falls a year ago , nadya works at the local bakery as a baker.

[sexylinoleum]

Vault 111

Pre Cryo (visible) Staff.

Security Staff - 5

Scientists - 5

Support Staff - 5

Overseer - 1

Total Staff - 16

Amount of Pip-Boys (visible) - 1

Total Beds (visible, but I doubt they are hiding more in the walls) - 9 (8 in barracks + 1 for overseer) indicative that scientists, security and support slept in shifts, which makes sense considering that the residents were to be monitored hourly.

Staff outside the vault pre-nuke.

Security Staff - 4

Military Personnel - 4 (2 in power armor) within vault fence, 4 + an APC in Sanctuary, total 8,

Post Cryo Corpses in Vault

Scientists - 3

Support Staff - Between 1 & 2, indistinguishable from overseer

Overseer - Between 0 & 1, presumably 1 due to his refusal to open the vault. (Almost definitely the guy pictured below)

The overseer sealed the security door to the vault exit which meant anyone who wanted to leave would have to go through his loyal band of scientists (who according to the vaults terminals, stayed loyal despite the mutiny of the support and security staff).

Total Staff Casualties in the Vault - 5

Collateral Damage - 12 Civilians

Rebellion

Position of the bullet holes in the walls indicates that neither the overseer nor his loyalists even managed to put up much of a resistance to the Staff rebellion which likely consisted of;

Security Staff - 5

Support Staff - 3-4 depending on whether you believe the overseer is one of the two dead skeletons wearing a plain vault suit (he definitely is (so its just 4)).

Scientists - 2

Total Rebels - 11

Given the lack of further corpses it must be assumed that all 11 rebels successfully escaped, even if not all 11 were actively rebelling they at least left once the fighting was over.

Given the dates on the entries on the security terminal it is reasonable to assume the rebels left the vault some short time after April 23rd 2078, 6 months after the bombs fell, and around the time the vault practically ran out of supplies.

Not entirely clear how they opened vault door, perhaps there was another Pip-Boy that we never see, perhaps they didn't need it somehow, maybe they forced the scientist wearing it to open the door or simply didn't take it off his corpse when they ran the opening sequence.

Outside the Vault

The area immediately surrounding the vault is surrounded by approximately 13 corpses, all of which show no indication of belonging to Vault Tec personnel. Seemingly belonging to civilians trying to gain access to the vault, most wear casual clothes or dresses, some wear nothing at all.

One of the two Vault Tec vans seems to have attempted to drive away but was intercepted by a civilian vehicle, the bodies of the vehicles supposed owners lie beside the van where the Vault Tec security personnel (the only type stationed aboveground when the bombs went off) presumably killed them. The other Vault Tec van was flipped and remains flipped.

Both the vertibird that land as you initially approach the vault and the APC in sanctuary are gone, presumably taking the 8 military personnel stationed around the vault with them, as well as possibly evacuating the 4 Vault Tec security staff, although the only proof for that is the lack of Vault Tec bodies.

What does this analysis tell us?

Evidently we aren't the "sole survivor" of vault 111. Excluding shaun, it looks like there were actually 11 other people that both entered and left the vault. I personally doubt they survived terribly long but who knows?

I seem to recall someone theorising that survivors of Vault 111 founded Covenant, which seems possible I guess.

*Edit, after re-experiancing Covenant's story for the first time in literal years I've come to see this theory as very unlikley as Covenant was apparently formed after the broken mask incident.

[s-afshar]

Spiritual Potency, the Loss & the Recovery thereof: from Adapa (Adam) to Gilgamesh to the End Times

How God created Man and men in Sumer, Akkad and Egypt fashioned the mankind by creating gods

Emperor Ashurnasirpal II (883-859 BCE) appears twice, dressed in ritual robes and holding the mace symbolizing authority; he makes a gesture of worship to Ashur depicted in a winged disc. In front of him there is the Sacred Tree of Life. Excavated by: Sir Austen Henry Layard (May 1846) in the North West Palace of Kalhu (today's Nimrud), North Iraq (then Ottoman Empire)

The present text is not a concise essay; it does not therefore cover all the topics related to the series of historical developments herein mentioned. Being part of a long exchange of emails with a friend, it merely offers readers the chance to become better acquainted with historic events that are mentioned in almost all sacred texts but comprehended poorly and confusingly. A constant but truly disastrous human mistake is the projection of assumptions, conventional thoughts, and situations from our environment onto past circumstances that were however very different. In this regard, the present text will be very helpful as it will instigate the conscious reader into active reconsidering and systematic reassessing several hitherto unquestioned conclusions that are certainly wrong.

Contents

Introduction

I. Ra, Isis and Kabbalah

II. Messiah-Christ-Mahdi: a pre-Biblical, eschatological concept

III. The Tree of Life, its loss, and its eschatological recovery

IV. Two kinds of priesthood for the descendants of Noah and a separate, third, priesthood for the incestuous remnants of sinful descendants of Adam

V. Creation, spirituality, the loss thereof (as consequence of successive falls), and its eschatological recovery

VI. Spirituality from the Flood to the Late Antiquity

VII. Spirituality, the five elements, and the wrong sources of modern Western mystics

Introduction

Many people today confuse the human soul with the mind, the heart, and the solar plexus that are the pillars on which the human character is founded, built, gradually developed and ultimately formed; that is wrong. The human character is definitely not the human soul. Only few days after the death, the body and the character start getting disintegrated, whereas the soul is immortal. As part of the spiritual universe, the human soul is a particular spiritual entity, which is ascribed to a nascent body (embryo) at the very moment of its birth.

Due to conscious (and at times unconscious) synergy between the soul and the body, a human can perform 'miracles'. All those 'miracles', like every similar act that was performed by Jesus and described in Gospels, were not truly speaking miracles but the result of spiritual potency, i.e. spiritual-material (bodily) synergy. 

In fact, the narratives are true, but miracles do not exist. Simply, humans have been first fooled about the spiritual universe, which is also inside each being, because we all have souls and everything created within the material universe corresponds to its spiritual hypostasis (or soul); and at a second (and worst) level, humans have been deceived and dissociated from their souls, which in turn results in lack of spiritual potency and in the subsequent formation of the belief in 'miracles'. I will now offer few practical examples of spiritual potency, so that no one has any doubt about my approach to the topic:

A man with spiritual potency is able not to allow a bullet shot at him to penetrate his body and kill him. Back in the 1930s, it was reported that the great Hindu sage and mystic Mahatma Gandhi used to just watch English military airplanes (targeting the people of a city that had revolted against the English rule) and make it sure that the bombs dropped fell elsewhere without killing anyone.

A man with spiritual potency is able to physically walk on the sea or lake water or in the air, to be corporeally present somewhere without being seen by those who are present there, to instantly transfer himself bodily to a remote location, to literarily walk nearby wild beasts without being attacked or threatened by them, as well as to naturally stay in the depths of the oceans and deep inside the Earth without any difficulty, consequence or side-effect.

Furthermore, a man with spiritual potency is able to hide objects or physically transfer them to remote locations, make them speak, and instantly change their shape, to interact (or 'speak') with many spiritual beings, souls, spirits, intelligences and hierarchies, to bodily move back in time and invisibly attend a well-known or an unknown historical scene (meeting, conference, battle, liturgy or other event); and so on.   

--------------------- Response to a friend -------------------------

My dear friend,

Thank you for the attachments, your continuous interest, your comprehensive response, and the critical points of discussion that you raise!   

Recently, I wrote extensive letters to you because I wanted you to have an accurate understanding of my encounter with the spiritual universe, and of my explorations, ruminations and polarizations in view of a methodically ameliorated comprehension of the interaction between the spiritual and the material halves of all humans. For me, it is this interaction that generated History. That's why I don't believe that what people call "History" has been only the outcome of material components and constituents. I therefore try to always highlight the spiritual dimensions of the developments that took place on Earth. Consequently, it is only normal that with great joy I read your sentence "As I see you have already the basis for spiritual science, it would be a pleasure for me to give you a few hints".  

I. Ra, Isis and Kabbalah

Speaking about Kabbalah, you refer to the "the magic of the word"; to me, this fact became first understood through Ancient Egyptian sacred texts as per which Isis is the only to know the true name of Ra. I interpret this narrative as revelatory that only the spiritual ancestors of the Ancient Freemasons and Rosicrucians (i.e. Isis) had this knowledge, whereas the spiritual ancestors of the Jesuits (Nephthys) did not. I understand the beginning of the Gospel by John; in fact, it is a Gnostic text. From this point to the Jesuit-promoted concept, heretic Russian Orthodox dogma, and Catholic infiltration attempt of Imiaslavie (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imiaslavie) the distance is small.

All the same, it is my conviction that, by using the term 'word" for the description of Kabbalah-related exercises and endeavors, people only get confused. I believe that the truly correct term should be "sound"; this is the correct meaning of all formulas collected and analyzed by Franz Bardon. Their spiritual value is effective when they are uttered / pronounced; not when they are merely evoked in the mind of a person!

And yes! I fully agree with what you say "The book by Franz Bardon about the Kabbalah is the only one on our globe teaching the spiritual practice of this science.".

II. Messiah-Christ-Mahdi: a pre-Biblical, eschatological concept

Following my historical researches on Jesus, which were spearheaded by my studies of Robert Ambelain's books, I realized that Jesus was not the Messiah or Christ whom the Ancient Hebrews were said to expect to come at the End of Time. But when I studied Assyriology and Egyptology, I realized (as early as 1980) that the Biblical and later the Christian and then Islamic concepts of Messiah-Christ-Mahdi are nothing more than adaptations and localizations of the Ancient Assyrian-Babylonian monotheistic concepts of Ninurta and Etana (two parallel perceptions of the concept of a Savior coming at the end of Times), and of the (equally monotheistic) Ancient Egyptian concept of Horus. Furthermore, several episodes of the Anatolian Hittite eschatological myth and sacred text 'Ullikummi' have been passed onto the Christian Book of the Revelation, whereas the Hittite Messiah Tasmisu managed to save the central city of the End Time days at the last moment, finally vanquishing Ullikummi, the monster that came out of the Sea (: the Antichrist).

That this approach to the Ancient Oriental civilizations is embarrassing to all, namely the Zionists, the Freemasons and the Jesuits, I can understand easily. The traditional method of academic interpretation renders all these eschatological texts mere myths that no specialist truly attempts to systematically interpret and analyze.

This situation was a constant parameter and a question that I repeatedly made to myself during my postgraduate and doctoral studies:

- Why do Biblical theologians, who study a Biblical text during the seminar (first discussing issues pertaining to the script, the language-lexicography, the grammar and the syntax), offer also a historico-religious interpretation of the text under study (of let's say Isaiah 53), whereas Orientalists teaching the Descent of Ishtar to the Nether world limit their courses only to the first section of analysis? 

In any case, the fact that Jesus was not the Messiah-Christ is also confirmed by a simple fact: there cannot be a Messiah (or Savior) without the End of Time; and apparently, the time of the Roman Emperor Tiberius was not the End of Time – which means that no Messiah appeared then.

III. The Tree of Life, its loss, and its eschatological recovery

I can perhaps accept your statement ("In Kabbalah the hierarchy is called 'Tree of Life'.") but only as a metaphor. It is my absolute conviction that the Tree of Life is a real, material and spiritual, Tree, which was at the epicenter of the original Paradise. By preferring the Tree of Knowledge to the Tree of Life, Adapa (Adam in Hebrew) only condemned his posterity to 'fall'. By so doing, he provoked a series of other falls, which will be outmaneuvered and canceled only at the End of Time, following many unprecedented destructions and ruinations. Actually, this is the nucleus of every known eschatological concept and soteriological dogma from the times of the Sumerians, the Akkadians-Assyrians-Babylonians, the Egyptians and the Hittites down to our days. Further 'falls' occurred to Mankind, more paragraphs were added to the apocalyptic myths and the soteriological texts.

Many people understand that "as above so below", but few people realize that "as before so after". There is no such thing as "doomsday"; it is not an independent event or a terminal development; those who believe such nonsense are either fools or liars. A rather early phase of the End Times may eventually be described as "doomsday", but this is only the gate to the original Paradise re-established. That is why Fathers of the Christian Church and Christian theologians (thinking that he was the Messiah) named Jesus "New (or Last) Adam" (1 Corinthians 15:45-58). The final Savior will be as spiritually powerful as Adam before the original sin (which caused the fall).

Every well-founded spiritual quest is therefore the search for the Tree of Life; I surely understand very well why so many mystics in so many, different, socio-cultural environments were so obstinately determined not to allow thoughts in their minds. This is a paramount effort of self-purification. Thoughts are useless forms of self-destruction. Adam, before his sin, did not 'think'; he did not need to. Angels do not think; souls, spirits, spiritual intelligences, and other hierarchies of the non-material universe do not think. Will (voluntas) is unrelated to thinking.

Cogito ergo non sum: this truth demonstrates the rotten foundations of the Western world. And you, my dear friend, as a consistent and experienced mystic, certainly know very well that Siegfried's death in Götterdämmerung is only the result of 'thinking' (and betrayal). But this was  already very well known to the Ancient Mesopotamians, who used to identify 'thinking' as a parameter of the perilous domain of Enlil (: Air) and, to avert all troubles, recognized 'wisdom' as possible without thinking and as a dimension of the realm of Ea (: Soft Waters).

And by eliminating all thoughts and evacuating their subconscious, the Assyrian emperors and high priests were able to bring the Tree of Life back to Nineveh. They even were spiritually conscious and empowered to stipulate that the Tree of Life was one and three at the same time, as it was reflected at the center of the City of the Nether World and at the Gates of the Firmament.

I believe that real spiritual potency combined with transcendental moral (which is inherent to all created beings) enables humans to rise to the level of sanctity; then, the materialization (: the material appearance) of the 'Sole Tree' (: Tree of Life) in a spot, which is part of the -secret and unknown to most- holy land, can take place. But this is not up to anyone. When it happens, it will have worldwide impact and it will bring forth incalculable changes, totally changing everything in the everyday life of all the people. This is what happened in Nineveh in the 9th-8th c. BCE and for this development to be completed Prophet Jonah was dispatched there, having the absolute success that he had and contributing to the subsequent events, which irrevocably linked Assyria to the End Times. For this reason Jesus and the Quran referred to the Men of Nineveh as returning at the End Times, and to the conclusive role that they will play in rejecting and terminating "this generation" (: the prevailing system before the eschatological termin).

IV. Two kinds of priesthood for the descendants of Noah and a separate, third, priesthood for the incestuous remnants of sinful descendants of Adam

I am glad to know that you agree with the concept of the "two kinds of priesthood" which is a constituent element of my approach to World History and a constant point of reference in many of my articles. Identifying the "good ones" with Isis (namely the spiritual ancestors of pre-modern Freemasonry) and the "evil ones" with Nephthys (i.e. the predecessors of the modern Jesuits), I exclude Zionism from both.

Actually, I don’t believe that Zionism has anything to do with historical Judaism and the descendants of the Hasmonean Jews. In fact, Zionists hijacked Judaism, stripping (Sephardic, Romaniote, Mizrahi and Yemenite) Jews of all of their Biblical and eschatological visions and expectations, and making them theirs. Actually, Zionism is the filthy product of a bastard population which does not originate from Noah but from Adam, but has been contaminated with the seed of one generation of Giants.

Early known as the (antediluvian) Guti, they infiltrated among the early Turanian Kassites whom they helped (after the Hittite sack of Babylon - 1596 BCE) by means of treachery and black magic to invade Babylon and establish a counterfeit and devilish dynasty in Mesopotamia. After Elam overthrew the Kassites and the Assyrians invaded and annexed Babylon, the Kassites formed a powerful polytheistic and idolatrous clique of priests who fueled anti-Assyrian paroxysm and survived all Assyrian invasions.

They induced Nebuchadnezzar to invade the tiny, marginal and unimportant Judah enclave in order to deliberately transport the totality of the Jewish population to Babylonia and thus expose them to efficient Kassite Zionist infiltration. By nominally accepting 7th c. BCE Judaism as religion and by arranging intermarriages, the Kassite Zionists (later known as Gog and Magog and more recently identified as Khazars) intended to substitute themselves to the Jews, rewrite and readjust the Bible at will, thus removing and adding paragraphs and sentences; they were the moving force behind the composition of Talmud to which not one pre-Exilic layman, priest, king or prophet would have ever ascribed himself.

V. Creation, spirituality, the loss thereof (as consequence of successive falls), and its eschatological recovery

Yes, I accept everything that you say in your paragraph about Christian Rosenkreuz and the earlier stages of spiritual initiation, but I find it very brief as diagram and very modest as description particularly if we take it into account, when exploring the spiritual potency which existed as inherent to all humans but later vanished from among the average people. That is why I intend now to present to you for the first time my complete perception and interpretation of the topic, namely the presence or absence of spiritual potency among humans and the true destination of Life and Creation. This is going to be the main part of my present response.    

The present average human was not created by God; his condition is the result of many, successive falls, which correspond to different sins (in terms of thoughts, sentiments, desires, words and deeds) that contravened the Divine Order of Creation which is inherent to any being and which is called 'Moral' within religious context. So, to be accurate, today's man is the product of the consequences of earlier generations that go back to Adapa (Adam), the early Man whom God created.

And while all parts of the Creation have their spiritual counterparts (and this renders the division of the modern discipline of Chemistry into Organic and Inorganic a vicious and deliberate trickery), Adam was an outstanding marvel as he was able to perform hitherto unfathomable 'miracles', which are not at all extraordinary or unbelievable (as today's fallen, trivial, miserable, idiotic and pathetic humans think), but simply ordinary, regular deeds that may be absolutely necessary for the purpose of the Creation.

Naming animals, reptiles and birds (but not the fish) is an activity reported as part of the Creation, because by designating the name of these creatures, in fact Adam attributed to them their functions and traits as if he had been in a way their creator.

However, a considerable part of this spiritual potency was lost due to the early sin, which clearly involved thought, calculation, interest, and exposure to desire and lust. This is not only a simple matter of narrative, but also a clear indication of how the inherent (to all beings) code of the Creation functions. It is not God who punishes, but man who, by indulging himself into what he was not created for, gets exposed to the consequences of his 'impermissible' thoughts, sentiments, desires, words and deeds.

In fact, there is nothing 'impermissible' to humans, because Man was created free, but for everything there is an inevitable consequence. What the story of Adam and Eve reveals is that sex is evil, and therefore human reproduction as per the Order of the Creation was absolutely unrelated to the sexual intercourse, as this act has been viewed in the Late Antiquity and during the Christian, Islamic and Modern times.

All the same, the pictorial representation of the Ancient Egyptian concepts of fertility and reproduction lets us understand that the body members, which are used for reproduction, are the same, but their original functionality differed greatly from the paradisiac times to the post-paradisiac epochs. In this regard, it is essential to state that the act of reproduction was void of lust, because it was performed in total synergy between soul and body.

For this reason, according to the Ancient Egyptian Iwnw Heliopolitan dogma, when after the dismemberment of Osiris by Seth, Isis recollected the parts of the Human Well Being (: this is the real meaning of the Ancient Egypt name 'Wser', which was later distorted to 'Osiris' in Ancient Greek and Latin), she made a replica for the lost male part, which was "tossed into the river, and the lepidotus, the sea-bream, and the pike had fed upon it" (Plutarch's Moralia, De Iside et Osiride 18). Isis consecrated the phallus, but it is explicitly said that the phallus is only a simulacrum of the original male member.

The first fall must have had an enormous impact notably on the fauna; it would be absurd to think that God created wild animals. Simply, the successive falls of the Man affected them greatly; there are plenty of Biblical passages and eschatological literature as per which the original condition will be reestablished after the End Times (example: "The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them"; Isaiah 11, 6).

In spite of the loss of spiritual potency, the original humans were still extraordinarily formidable and dreadful to all animals; the evolutionist scheme as per which the early humanoids had to permanently fight hard for their survival is sheer nonsense and utter aberration. In fact, various absurd theories, inconsistent assumptions, and scientific frauds, such as Darwinism, Marxism-Leninism (historical materialism), evolutionism and several other absolutely preposterous philosophical systems were treacherously adopted by academic circles thus conditioning the direct and pertinent understanding of ancient sacred texts, other historical sources, and the archaeological record.

Despite the loss of spiritual potency, the early humans were still omnipotent beings that could carry out prodigious exploits and magnificent works; this was due to the fact that they were still able to master their own electromagnetic fluids far better than the Latvian-American mystic and scientist Edward Leedskalnin (1887-1951), who first quarried and sculpted, and then transported to another location (Homestead, Florida) more than 1100 short tons of limestone (1 short ton is 907 kg) completely alone with the use of modest tools and the help of a truck driver. Explaining how he was doing the monumental structure, he called upon the skills and the capacities of the early pyramid architects and builders.

Many people admire Leedskalnin's exploits, but unfortunately, few people manage to notice (let alone assess and evaluate) key points of his life example; even fewer are capable of making the equation. Abstinence and celibacy (or chastity), rigorousness and austerity were evident to all who met him. But this means exactly what I already stated for the original Man; he was apparently created to steer clear of thought, calculation, interest, desire and lust. And this is exactly what the life examples of the prophets, as well as the behavioral standards left by selected emperors, high priests, and mystics, demonstrate. 

Consequently, it is safe to claim the following:

1- Lust triggered the fall, which brought about a significant loss of spiritual potency;

2- Loss of spiritual potency caused further lust and other sins (thus starting a vicious circle); and

3- Spiritual potency recovery is impossible without elimination of lust and other sins.

As a matter of fact, numerous conspiracy theories, earlier unheard fallacies, such as the assumption about the existence of the so-called 'Extraterrestrials', and many other fraudulent postulations started being propagated in the late 19th c.: this was due to the fact that people have been gradually approaching to the End Times, when the most complicated lies and the most absurd delusions will be propagated. These monstrously devilish attempts occurred because of the determination of the evil priesthoods, which rule today's world, to permanently keep all the humans captive of deceptions, which prevent them from liberating themselves from the compact falsehood in which they have been living.

For these counterfeit and blasphemous religious leaders, it is definitely essential to prevent humans from attempting to reestablish synergy of the body and the soul in themselves. So, you understand that almost all those, who speak today against the so-called New World Order and the established academic disciplines, are integral parts of the evil system, as long as they do not admonish all the humans to focus on abstinence, celibacy, and departure (lit. exodus) from today's Western societies, as well as to deploy an overwhelming effort in order to achieve spiritual consciousness. Deception, delusion and lie were the first acts of this demoniacal priesthood, and the same nature will characterize their last acts, when they will perish in the years of upheaval during the End Times.

All the same, in spite of the existence of masterful paragons of faith like Enoch (Idris), the original fall generated conditions of life in which humans started being prone to further sins. The quintessence of those transgressions were due to the slow formation of what people now call "ego", which grows fed on thoughts, calculations, interests, sentiments, and desires, thus dragging the spiritual-material individual far from the purpose of the Creation and the inherent code of the Creation. This nefarious situation proved to be extremely useful to some evil people.

It is in Mesopotamia around the middle of the 4th millennium BCE, when we first notice that within the same early urban center some edifices start becoming larger than the rest. There are only two per agglomeration: the palace and the temple. This rivalry, as it is documented first due to archaeological data and second thanks to the early historical sources (3250-2750 BCE), bears witness to the first tensions within the then united priesthood, enabling us to correctly interpret the rise of the polytheism as an heresy and an effort to personalize, depict and humanize the Divine.

In striking opposition to the early kings and the monotheistic priesthoods that were associated to them, the devious clergy, which supported the primary sacerdotal forerunners, intended to enslave the local population and by means of falsehood to render them dependent on intermediaries between the so-called 'gods' and the humans. This was the foremost postulation of the wicked priesthood: the humans alone cannot contact God. It goes without saying that this aberration is direct rejection of the Creation.  

The malicious attempt of subordination and enslavement of the early humans to some supposedly necessary 'priests' is called 'religion'; it killed spirituality, limiting the humans to merely material functions and therefore bestializing them. The evil, absurd, and inhuman claim that Man necessitates an intermediary between him and God is the epitome of Satanism. From the deeds of those days to the final split of the early sacerdotal college in Sumer, several hundreds of years passed. Insane attempts and numerous trials of promiscuous intermarriages took place back at those days, and they left an impact on the local societies, as they were repeatedly mentioned in posterior historical sources; for example, the Assyrians, considering themselves as the only true humans (in Mesopotamia), namely the descendants of the Sumerians and the Akkadians, irrevocably denounced several unclean races, notably the Guti, the Elamites, and the Kassites, as abnormal and inhuman.

It was only normal that these calamitous developments totally dissociated humans from their souls and caused further detrimental loss of spiritual potency. The evil priesthood -of which the terminal continuity is represented today by Vatican and the Jesuits- wanted to also destroy the link between men and animals, which goes back to Adam. That is why they forced the fallen humans of the antediluvian world to kill animals in order to hypothetically obtain spiritual power by taking possession of their souls. This was a lie; it could never happen and it never happened. But due to this delusion, an unnecessary, yet enormous, bloodshed took place, plunging the disoriented and victimized human into grave immorality, polytheistic superstitions, exorbitant delusions, abject materialism, black magic (representation of animals that had to be sacrificed), and utter misery.

VI. Spirituality from the Flood to the Late Antiquity

The divine punishment and the dissolution of the early society were narrated in several sacred texts as the Flood; erroneous readings, naïve considerations, and superficial approaches to Assyrian-Babylonian and other, posterior, historical sources and divine literature led to tremendous misjudgment and protracted confusion as regards this disproportionate event and phenomenal circumstance, which left an irrevocable stamp on the History of Mankind. Actually, it is not for nothing that Jesus established a parallel between the days of Ut Napishtim (Noah / Nuh) and those of the End Times.

Gullible researchers and foolish scholars, who still accept the narrative, think that the Flood was due to intense and overwhelming rain; that's hilarious! Even if all the lands and seas, continents and oceans are covered by clouds and if it rains all over the surface of the Earth, it will be practically impossible for the level of water to rise by 200 or 300 m, let alone thousands of meters as various sacred texts stipulate.

The deliberate disregard for, if not concealment of, the Biblical text (Genesis 7, 11) only contributes to the cosmological and geological bewilderment of mankind; but the text is very accurate: "on that day all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened" (Septuagint: τῇ ἡμέρᾳ ταύτῃ ἐῤῥάγησαν πᾶσαι αἱ πηγαὶ τῆς ἀβύσσου, καὶ οἱ καταῤῥάκται τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἠνεῴχθησαν; Vulgata: rupti sunt omnes fontes abyssi magnae et cataractae caeli apertae sunt; Masoretic text: בַּיּ֣וֹם הַזֶּ֗ה נִבְקְעוּ֙ כׇּֽל־מַעְיְנֹת֙ תְּה֣וֹם רַבָּ֔ה וַאֲרֻבֹּ֥ת הַשָּׁמַ֖יִם נִפְתָּֽחוּ׃). In fact, it was a stern and formidable development, which involved unprecedented fractures of the Earth's crust and the break (: opening) of the Firmament.

Many people fail to notice that the descriptions attested in sacred texts about the antediluvian world present a natural environment totally different from the one that we see today; even worse, they fail to understand that this contrast is actually true and that the Earth that God created was also very distinct in shape and contents from what surrounds us now. In other words, it is completely wrong to imagine or believe that God created deserts, steppes, savannahs, and swamps, and that the seas (salt waters) occupied a so vast surface as in the postdiluvian world. There too, the perfect world after the End Times, a topic that is the object of several soteriological narratives, presents considerable analogies with the original antediluvian environment, which is what God created.

In Ancient Mesopotamia, which is the cradle of World History, we find

a- 'prophetic' or 'apocalyptic' texts about the Flood (which were written before the event),

b- historical texts about the Flood (which were written after the event but detailed the downward spiral of circumstances that had occurred in the antediluvian society of Akkad, leading it to ultimate collapse and decomposition), and

c- mythological texts about the Flood (which were written later for spiritual, religious and educational purposes, therefore involving symbols, analogies, specific terms, and codified descriptions that became the foundations of the transcendental comprehension of the facts by later generations).

Although the cosmological-geological changes were unprecedented, the spiritual, socio-cultural, religious, and imperial transformations were apparently even more overwhelming. The polytheistic priesthood prevailed almost worldwide, forcing therefore the true believers (: the monotheistic sacerdotal colleges) to be organized in defensive mode in order to avoid infiltration. This is how what we call now 'societies of initiation' or 'spiritual orders' came to existence. It was apparently detrimental for the entire mankind, because due to this situation, spirituality depended almost exclusively on participation in some priesthood.

Societies, nations or countries with hierarchical priesthoods and spiritual orders are abnormal, inhuman, and impossible to maintain; that is why the present world order is inevitably perishable. There cannot be any hierarchy among humans, involving the absurd withholding of information, knowledge, wisdom, and spiritual potency. This is so, because if this condition had been tolerable, God would have not created one but many Adams – one per hierarchy level.

There cannot be secrecy among humans and there cannot be secluded groups with interests common only to them within a society; this is so because such conditions of life breach the divine commandment of fraternity. The structure of the postdiluvian world is therefore unsustainable, because it is morally indefensible. The only means that prevented its total collapse was the war; the conditions of sin, injustice and inequality -in and by themselves- bring forth the end. This is so because dissociation from one person's soul and formation of egoistic, egocentric and egotistic characters cause confusion, misjudgment, failure and putrefaction.

In the postdiluvian world, people could not reestablish spiritual-material synergy except by becoming members of a priestly college. Within such an environment, the incessant clash between the polytheistic and the monotheistic priesthoods took the form of invariably composing and decomposing myths, epics, and transcendental narratives, attributing different traits to the same god (thus disfiguring God), and elaborating dissimilar variants and opposite versions of sacred texts. There has never been a religion with an unaltered holy book.

Physically strong and spiritually dwarf, Gilgamesh was an anti-Akkadian king or, if you prefer, a counterfeit Sargon whom the polytheistic and idolatrous priesthood of the Neo-Sumerian times fashioned in order to divulge, and ensure the prevalence of, the concept of Papo-Caesarism. Projecting his past at will, they made of their creature a foremost king, a legendary hero, and a divine human with a material perspective and an anti-universal worldview.

Justifying the increasing urbanism of late 3rd millennium BCE Mesopotamia and the subsequent disconnection from nature, Gilgamesh became the object of many sacred texts and narratives which promoted the counterfeit and idolatrous notion of a city being the microcosm of the universe. Consequently, the original literature about Gilgamesh facilitated evil spiritual policies of the type 'urbi et orbi'. That is why in striking contrast to the genuine Akkadian imperial universalism (or ecumenism) of Sargon of Akkad, the religious-educational cycle of Gilgamesh attempted to foster an 'internationalism' based on the interconnection of urban centers, solid disrespect for the nature, deliberate promotion of ethnic amalgamation and acculturation, and lack of any temporal dimension.  

Quite contrarily, the Akkadian (and later the Assyrian) imperial universalism was founded on the sanctity of various locations (geographical determinism), exemplary respect for the nature viewed as remnant of the original Paradise, singularity of the Chosen People, namely the Akkadians-Assyrians, uniqueness of the Emperor (King of the Universe / Caesaropapism) as the permanent embodiment of the Messiah (Ninurta or Etana: two monotheistic cycles of religious-eschatological Mesopotamian literature), adoration of God in front of the Tree of Life, and endless exaltation of the Sacred Moment (as identification element on the axis of Being and Becoming).

The interminable friendliness and rivalry between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, as an odd spiritual-literary pattern, reveals the morbidity of Gilgamesh as prototype; in fact, all the Biblical and Islamic prophets followed the example of Enkidu, the paramount non-urban human. The wretchedness of the evil model of Gilgamesh can be best understood when specifying that the Mesopotamian hero-king is none other than the Biblical-Islamic Nimrud (also spelled as Nimrod & Namrud), who forced Abram-Abraham-Ibrahim to exile.

But, when we comprehensively examine all the related literary excerpts, we are certainly able to conclude that no utterance surpasses the detrimental rejection of Gilgamesh by the real vanquisher of the Flood Atrahasis (Ut Napishtim/Noah-Nuh), who lived eternally in Dilmun, having preserved around him the likeness of the antediluvian world; the fact that Gilgamesh would never attain immortality heralded the inevitable termination of the system, which produced this monster.

The predilection for the imperial model and the rejection of the priestly model was not only a fervent choice of the Mesopotamian monotheists, but also an explicit statement made by the Biblical God: "the more priests there were, the more they sinned against me; they exchanged their glorious God for something disgraceful" (Hosea 4:7).

Maintaining the material yoke over the captives was a permanent concern for the sacerdotal colleges that propagated one delusion after the other; despite the fact that the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah was preserved as narrative in the Torah, a) the ritualistic use of sex, b) the extraction of energy from the human lasciviousness and debauchery, and c) the utilization of the material-spiritual potency of all the initiates for purposes of social-religious prevalence and material control remained a practice for all types of priesthood. The advanced decay and the loss of the original faith were the reasons for which the ancient religions were practically dissolved or could not have a serious impact anymore.

VII. Spirituality, the five elements, and the wrong sources of modern Western mystics

During the Late Antiquity, spirituality turned out to mean desecrated spiritual potency exerted by immoral mystics, Gnostics, and high priests who had to perform always more miracles in order to attract more followers. In this regard, Christianity was only a smart project of two colleges of Iranian and Egyptian priests settled in Rome. These Mithraists and the Memphists intended to extract the energy of their believers, i.e. fanaticized people whose total dedication was offered to narratives about Jesus rather than to Jesus' preaching itself. The rise of Roman Christianity was a disaster for the Gnostics and the earlier monotheistic priesthoods, whereas the rise of Constantinopolitan and Cappadocian Christianity, as an ingenious and impetuous reaction, consisted in stark rejection of the Roman fallacy.

The arrival of Islam, which in its original form was not another religion properly speaking, but a rejection of the heretical narratives about Jesus, a strong devotion to his preaching, and an effort to ascertain his faith, consisted in an effort to offer people another chance to reestablish synergy of the body and the soul in themselves after the examples of Moses, Elijah, Jonah, Jesus, Muhammad and Ali.

From the Brethren of Purity (إخوان‌ الصفا /Ikhwan al-Ṣafa) to Muḥyiddin Ibn Arabi to Safi-ad-Din Ardabili, a great number of mystics founded tariqas (orders) that do not differ essentially from the Hesychast esotericism of St. Gregory Palamas. But their failure to oppose and eliminate a) the theological dogmatism (within both, Islamic and Christian, contexts), b) the numerous yet absurd versions of rationalism, c) the treacherous and impious notions of nominalism, and d) the persistent but calamitous impact of Greco-Roman philosophy prevented a great number of Christian and Muslim mystics from bringing spirituality back to the epicenter of human life.

It was only a matter of time for fanatics to take possession of Islam and spread darkness and ignorance from Ottoman Constantinople; when the Observatory of Taqi ad-Din Muhammad ibn Maaruf was attacked and destroyed (1580) by a lunatic mob guided by ignorant, silly, and vicious Sunni theologians, the indivisible corpus of Islamic science and spirituality was considered as the enemy of the prevailing bogus-Islamic dogma and therefore persecuted by the Satanic sheikhulislams.

In Western Europe both, secular spiritual movements (like the Cathars, the Templars, the Rosicrucians, etc.) and Christian orders (Benedictines, Jesuits), originated from the Gnostics and several religious priesthoods of the Late Antiquity. It was inevitable for the former to lose a large part of their documentation and spiritual potency as they were clandestine organizations and for the latter -as the winners- to indulge themselves in very immoral and sinful mindset, attitude and behavior. Even worse, the persistent clash of the two spiritual nebulae brought forth disproportionate hatred, abysmal negativity, and further spiritual loss.

There is no spirituality wherever the lie exists, let alone prevails; there is only the curse of God (קִלְלַת אלוהים/kalalt Elohim) there. This concerns not only the Jesuits and the pseudo-Freemasons (launched in England in 1717; about whom we have already discussed), but also the fake Rosicrucian orders of our times, namely the so-called Order of the Golden and Rosy Cross (1750s–1790s), the bogus-Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (1887–1903), and the Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia (1865–present). They all usurped the name of Christian Rosenkreuz with whom they have nothing in common and whose spiritual heritage they viciously loath. On the contrary, the early 17th c. German Rosicrucians trustworthily reflected the spiritual inheritance left and the masterful example of life offered by Christian Rosenkreuz, although I don't accept all three manifestos as unbiased.

By having Late Antiquity Gnostics as their masters and points of reference, almost all the modern European mystics, psychics and magicians failed to perceive accurately and comprehensively the spiritual universe. Few great scholars and mystics make the exception in this regard, the likes of Herman of Karantania (Carinthia; 1105-1154) and Christian Rosenkreuz (1378-1484); this is so, because they traveled in Africa and Asia and contacted Muslim, Jewish, Oriental Christian, Parsi Zoroastrian masters and scholars there.

In terms of Spiritual Ontology, the most common mistake that deceitful mystics, occultists, and spiritual fraudsters, such as Helena Blavatsky, Rudolf Steiner, George Gurdjieff, Aleister Crowley, Alice Bailey, and many others made was the absurd acceptance of the following four as the basic elements in nature: Earth, Water, Air and Fire. Franz Bardon certainly broke with this erroneous and misleading tradition, by systematically stating that at the origin of all is Ether. All the same, when their sources were wrong, they were predestined to spiritual failure, moral misconduct, and final damnation.

As a matter of fact, they could not perform better, because their readings and their references were misleading. All these authors were not in a position to go through authoritative sacred texts of superior societies like those of 3rd millennium BCE Mesopotamia and Egypt and have thus access to original spirituality. The cuneiform and hieroglyphic sources, which would help them best comprehend and sense the spiritual universe, were not yet deciphered or they were deciphered but few texts were published, transliterated, and translated - let alone analyzed.

Even more importantly, Water cannot be considered as one element, but two. Late Antiquity Gnostics were totally disoriented and misled in this regard. In striking contrast, early cosmological narratives and sacred texts clearly differentiate between Soft Waters (Apsu/Ocean) and Salt Waters (Tiamat/Sea). The latter is in fact the 'survival' (or 'maintenance') of the pre-creational chaos within the Order of the Creation. Salt Waters (Sea) is what humans must most categorically abstain from; this is what Jesus named "the Father of the Devil" (John 8:44). At this point, Modern English translations are wrong, because they repeat a mistake already made in the Vulgate. And by using this phrase, Jesus takes position against the theory as per which Elohim created the Devil; by so doing, Jesus is evidently closer to Assyrian-Babylonian cosmological standards and concepts than to Old Testament notions.  

On the other hand, Fire is not an original element; it is a subordinate or derivative element that emanates from the Salt Waters. As such, Fire is a soiling substance that was duly reviled by all the early humans. Indeed, it was forcefully introduced as 'holy' element by the devilish, early Mithraic priesthood in Central Asia. Zoroaster and the Achaemenid dynasty of Iran engaged in ferocious and merciless battles against the abominable Mithraic Magi, who intended to impose their polytheistic dogma in Iran and to make the Iranians consider Fire as a 'holy' element. 

It goes without saying that the ontological differentiation is considerable and stern; it impacts Spiritual Anthropology in a most disastrous way. "Four Elements" (Earth, Water, Air and Fire) instead of "Five Elements" (Ether, Earth, Soft Waters, Air and Salt Waters): this is enough to cause detrimental changes in the spiritual exercises one may make, and this development may impact enormously the ascetic soldier.

I read with great interest your email's last paragraphs about your life; for me there are not 'better' or 'worse' persons in this life. Even if many sins are involved in the life of a person, while another person committed only few and minor transgressions, the lives of the humans are independent trajectories like comets the deeper meaning and function of which only God knows. I therefore find it very normal to always expect to learn from anyone and from anything; consequently, I never comment on others' lives and life models, merely accepting or rejecting at the very personal level and on the basis of my standards (that I have progressively established during my life). That is why I admire always the people, who can offer life examples whatever their socio-professional life or economic status may be - either they lived in Iran like me or they explored India like you!

Many thanks for your time, responses, advice and attachments!

Best regards,

Shamsaddin

================

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[kytedevlin]

Dream Journal 00005

About a day ago I experienced a dream, warning that I did go to sleep aroused so it remains 18+ from this point. So the dream begins with me on a military base being interviewed, i recently decided to head to the National Guard building in real life, so this is no surprise. But that's a topic for another time. The base was not like the base I visited, in fact the base was somewhere close to the sea. Numerous aircraft had literred the lot In which I was standing, and I was in the midst of doing some form of training with other recruits, we had all gathered together, and we were going through what I can only assume was basic. Though there were numerous recruits getting tired and bowing out, though they had all seemed fit. After awhile I was taken aside, and then told I wasn't going to be able to continue joining, despite my performance I was being disqualified for another reason. This frustrated me, in the usual way, as slight disappointment washed over me I was handed some papers and left the base. There are some hazy bits in there but I end up around my grandparents house. (I know its becoming common but i did live with them for quite some time after graduation) though my room was that of the house that followed, a kind of strange warp, where the neighborhood outside and the home on the inside kind of blended together. But essentially due to my loss of what I consider of a job, i sought to drown a bit of the frustration, sexually, I would exercise and scroll the internet, for pornography, as well as try to work on game design. (my dream was pulling from my day to day currently, as If I was hardly sleeping as much as thinking unconscious) but after a hazy moment of calamity, and the possibility of something more criminal, someone knocked on my door. It was two white men, And older white man, and a younger white man, very straight looking, dressed in what you could consider dress clothing or business casual attire, brown hair neatly trimmed but long enough to hang over his forehead, and wearing pitch black shades, that wear round enough to cover the entire socket. The older man, in a white shirt and short blue jean shorts short white hair, and a white beard, slightly round gut and bit shorter than his younger counterpart with light blue eyes. The two were carrying a woman, a naked woman, wearing a blue wrapping around her waist sort of like ghandi. Thin topless. Very fair skinned, blonde, seemingly tired. She latched onto me and they simply nodded, and left. In my head I immediately knew what they meant and inaudibly I knew. That the girl was a virgin. And that I could have sex with her if I wanted as much as wanted, as long as I have children, and marry her. But she is mine, as she has agreed to the arrangement. And she is my responsibility to now feed and cloth for the rest of her life. These are customs that I recognize to be like ancient. And obviously not something practiced today. So while I knew this and was horny in the dream, as soon as I brought her in i laid her down on the bed. She spread her legs, and me standing over her throbbing with anticipation. Stopped. And we appeared in the kitchen where I fed her food in the way my grandmother would cook me food in the morning. Despite how i was basically leaking, I quit, everything receded and It just felt like i needed to take a piss.

I woke up cold, and hot at the same time. A faceless adult virgin woman placed into my care for no reason other than to start a family with. She wasn't ugly. i didn't look at her face, i just know she had blonde hair, blue eyes, fairly pale skin, thin, relatively tall, taller than me, small breasts, A or B cup. She didn't speak, and she was as willing as i was. I am certain that is supposed to be either a fantasy I am supposed to have or something i should feel poorly for. Either way. One of the few dreams I have, so here is the log.

[krombopulos-mercenary]

"If you would just stop fidgeting-"

After a bit of struggle, they're both fully dressed and are led away from the medical bay. Micheal making sure to look alert and unaffected, a nice compliment to Rick's put upon nonchalance. The pair putting on a united front against the glares and looks directed their way as they walked along.

Micheal inwardly groaned as they made their way to the main "war room" of the Outpost, a room he had unfortunate familiarity with. Battling off very bad memories, he takes a look around. Noting how not much had changed aside from some cosmetic updates and upgrades to the the technology being used in the room.

His focus shifts as they reach their "destination" within the space, a large table surrounded by obnoxious clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke. The same type that Flannax Archibald himself would enjoy all of the time. The terrible olfactory reminder just set Micheal on further edge; his eyes taking on an all the harder gleam to them as he returned the glares given to him by the gromflomite generals in the room. The star soldiers behind them glared as well, but Mike paid them no mind at all. They were just young fools. Like he had once been.

He takes his seat and has to resist rolling his eyes when he sees the practical throne that served as Kenneth's place at the table- fucking really?!

The defector remembered back when he and Ken used to make fun of all the overdone trappings and ceremonies that the older military elite would always engage in. But now it seemed that the Grand Leader had fully bought in. Proudly, tiredly, sitting dead center of all the gilded testosterone and cigar smoke choked glory of Outpost 8's War Room. Especially when Kenneth began their meeting with The Display of Honorable Arms. An old - cultish - ritual where the personal weapons were presented to literally mark each participant's place at the talking table.

Micheal didn't stand with the rest. Pointedly remaining seated while all of the generals rose and stuck their knives into their table slots. He only moved after Kenneth himself placed his knife down and got seated. The killer for hire simply reaching for his weapon and sticking his diamond knife into the slot before himself and Rick. The glittering blade representing them both at the table and instantly out shining all others, though Kenneth's own golden blade was a strong second place.

Mike had no interest in playing into military rituals or procedures; just sitting in that room made him sick to his stomach as it was. He was no longer a soldier. He was not loyal to the Galactic Federation.

So no. He hadn't stood up. He had not heeded the Grand Leader.

But Krombopulos Micheal had stuck his knife into the table to show he was serious in being heard, in being part of the current conversation.

Kenneth would have to be happy with that.

Micheal kept his eyes on Ken as the head of the table started the discussion, waiting for when he would need to jump in....which was nearly immediately. Of course Rick had been right, no one believed what the human had to say....

"It's true. This isn't behavior we've seen before from the creature. Up to this point Lizarperson has more or less been "normal", as in acting like any other larger predator like species...."

Mike begins, voice steady and calm. He makes a slight grimace as he continues.

"But this current....horror show shit. It's like.....it's like a bacteriophage. Like the creature is a virus. Injecting material into an unfortunate host to incubate copies and once they're ready they burst out! We saw it on the way up, Kenneth. The mangled bodies littered with the giant ragged teeth marks. Whatever the creature is injecting into it's victims, it's not the usual venom that would come from it's mouth. It's something else...."

Continued from (X)

[noriakihunny]

CORPS X FAMILY (The Beginning)

now, now - listen. with the popularity of spy x family, i thought i would do a bit of a crossover with AOT. this idea came to my mind & i really wanted to entertain the idea of a certain circumstance where erwin and you had to adopt the child. anya is still anya, (mind-reader, loves peanuts) but in the AOT world. all art is created by me as well. this is my female AOT OC i’m using as a (visual) placeholder for the reader. hope you guys like it!

disclaimer: all rights go to the respective owners, studios, creators, writers of both the AOT manga + anime, as well as the SxF manga + anime. there are also some elements/quotes from the shows/manga which i have incorporated into the story so it makes sense/relevant to the story. this crossover is simply for entertainment purposes.

_

Erwin is set to trial after the Scouts were (falsely) accused for murdering some of the Military Police. He is brought over to “King” Fritz and in some twisted way, they come to the decision to spare his life and retain his position as Commander of the Scouts - under ONE condition: he is to adopt a child. If he cannot take care of a mere child, what hope would humanity have in store under his direction? After the decision, you retrieve Erwin from Capital Mitras and make your way back over to the local orphanage in Trost where there is only one child who awaits.

main cast:

• Y/N | she/her

you are a captain within the survey corps. very smart, strategic. s-rank soldier.

• erwin smith

commander of the scout regiment. also your husband. typical dad. (yes, dad jokes for days.)

• anya (no last name until adopted) smith

adopted daughter. mind-reader. eccentric. kawaii. adorable as fuck. loves aunt hange & uncle levi. loves peanuts. simple backstory, she was part of some titan experiment and somehow she ended up having mind-reading powers.

• levi ackerman

he is your baby brother. you are only a year older than him, as well as taller. the cool, chill uncle. (is mean to everyone but his niece)

• hange zoe

your best friend, also the crazy, fun aunt. (is more of a child than the actual child)

note: name colors will also represent their thoughts :)

—

Part 1: The start of it all

After almost a week long travel back home to Trost after retrieving Erwin back from Sina, you two finally make your way over to the small little orphanage where the future awaits. Although, you never opposed to having a child; you and Erwin had this discussion long ago, that when the time was right you two wanted to have a family of your own. Not only did you feel that it was too soon, it wasn’t the ideal way you two wanted to have a child, considering it had to be done in order for Erwin to avoid execution.

"Y/N." Your husband nudges your arm as you're completely out of focus, feeling your entire body riddle with anxiety as you stand before the main doors. "Are you alright?" Much to your surprise, Erwin seems more optimistic about the entire situation than you are. You’re practically disturbed by his cheerful disposition.

"I-I'm sorry, honey. I'm just a little nervous." You look down to the ground as you twiddle your thumbs, kicking into the dirt.

"Don't be nervous. It's just a child."

"Well, it's not that.. I mean, do you think we'll be good parents? It's a little nerve-wracking that everything lays on the line.. depending on this child's welfare under our care. The moment something goes wrong, you could be--"

"Darling, calm your nerves. Everything will be just fine. This is for the sake of humanity. We can take care of a child. Just think of it as a little soldier."

You couldn't help but snicker. Even in times of strife, Erwin manages to keep calm and reserved, like the true leader he is. "If I catch you giving the kid some ODM gear, I'm kicking your ass."

-

"Hello, Commander. Captain.” You are immediately welcomed by a gentleman standing by the front desk, who seemed to be the head honcho of this place considering he was dressed more nicely than the other caretakers who passed by. "I'm Ackley Watts, the owner of this orphanage." (i literally used a name generator for this lmfao) He shakes both yours and Erwin's hand. "I did receive word that you were looking to adopt a child under the request of the King. I'm sorry to say, we only have one left, so we don't have much of a variety to provide."

"That's alright. May we meet her?" Erwin nods.

"Right this way."

The orphanage was small and quaint, almost drab looking with how out-of-shape a few things seemed to be. The floor was creaking with every other step you made. A few walls were worn down from what seemed to be water damage. "How long has this kid been here?" You nuzzle next to Erwin as you walk down the main hallway, the feeling of anxiousness creeping back up again.

"She's been here for a few months. We've had children arrive after her who still managed to get adopted before her."

"Hmm, so it's a girl. Is there anything wrong with her?"

"Nothing that we're aware of. She's never posed as a problem. She may just not be.. well, for a lack of a better word, as desirable as the other children. She does look a little off due to her pink hair."

"Pink.. hair?" You were surprised that anyone within these three walls possessed such an odd hair color. Could that be it? Her hair that makes people skip right over her?

"She's quite the unique little girl. She's very smart. Eccentric. You'll like her. Especially when she's warmed up to you." He laughs, taking a stop before the last room at the end of the hallway. "Anya?" He pokes his head through the open door. "Come, let's meet her. Anya, this is Mr. and Mrs. Smith, they're here to see you."

As soon as you enter the room, the pink-haired girl looks over her shoulder, flushed at the sight of both you and Erwin. She was sitting down at a small table, reading a book. "Huh?"

"Hi, Anya." You greet the little girl, who suddenly jumps out of her seat to stand before you like a soldier.

I know these two!! They're the grown-ups of the Scout Regiment!

"Commander Erwin! Captain Y/N!" She screams out, startling both you and Erwin. The Commander only has one arm and the Captain is so pretty..!!

“How did you know who we are?” You’ve never seen Erwin turn so red before.

“The Scouts are awesome! Me and my friends used to talk about them all the time. They’re our heroes and protect us from the Titans.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re a fan.” He chuckled.

"Are you here to recruit me?" There was a tinge of fear in her voice as she retreated back over to her seat.

Hmm, I wonder how old she is.. she has to be at least 4 or 5 years old, but speaks like she's much older.

"I'm six!" She calls out to you. Whoa, what? How did she..?

"Well, Anya.. actually, we're here to adopt you." Erwin kneels down beside her. "We want to, uh, well.."

"We want you to be part of our family. Besides, you're way too young to be in the military." You laugh, standing by Erwin as you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"I see you have a book here. What do you like to read?" The Commander glances over to the table where her book was.

"History. I l love learning about new things!" Her demeanor shifted so quickly - she started jumping up and down, throwing punches in the air as if she was fighting with someone. "Stupid Titans!"

You glance over to Erwin, who seemed quite deep in his thoughts. Hmm, she's certainly smart for her age, but.. we've been here for only a few minutes and she's gone through several mood changes. Deep down, I hope she doesn't end up driving us crazy.

"I-I promise I won't drive you crazy!" You're surprised by her reply. Why did she say that so suddenly, specifically towards Erwin? "I can be a very good, behaved girl."

"We'll be happy to have you, Anya. Would you like to be our daughter?" She certainly is.. eccentric, I'll give her that. But, if this is what it takes to keep Erwin alive, we'll have to commit to this. The fate of humanity is on the brink.

Fate of hu..man..i..ty? How cool! My parents are now.. the Commander and the Captain of the Scout Regiment! Without hesitation, she runs into Erwin's arms, taking him in an embrace. "Can I call you Papa? And you.." She looks over to you with her chin buried in his shoulder. "..Mama?"

You and Erwin nod in agreement, without saying a word as you both come to the conclusion that this decision is final. You have officially adopted Anya as your daughter.

BONUS: how did papa lose his arm?

"Papa?" Anya tugs at Erwin's pants, as you all come to a complete stop before entering the house. "Why do you only have one arm?"

"Hmm, well your mother tore my other arm off." Erwin joked, looking at you with a devious little smirk on his face. "Isn't that right, darling? She said she needed a hand with the dishes and ripped it right off my body." (yes, the dad jokes are starting)

Anya began laughing hysterically, running over to your side as she grabbed your hand. "Mama seems too nice to do that."

That does remind me of the time I did rip off the limbs of a Titan with my own bare hands because I was bored and out of spare blades..

WHAT?! You look down to see Anya running away from you, hiding behind one of the bushes near the front door.

Erwin stared at the door with a blank expression, watching your newly adopted daughter hide in the bushes. "Was my joke really that bad?”

-

Hope you guys like! Part 2 will be coming soon; meeting Uncle Levi and Aunt Hange!

[the-girl-in-the-box]

As I Am

A/N: Day 5 of Barris Week! Heavy heavy heavy trigger warning for this one for su/cidal ideation, attempted su/cide, and description of su/cide related injuries- just... anything that comes from spending time in Thomas's head immediately after That Incident in S6. If this is all alright with you, then I hope you enjoy this fic! Otherwise, those themes will not be prevalent in my other Barris Week pieces, and I hope you'll check them out instead if you haven't yet!

Summary: Richard gets a terrible feeling, and goes to check on Thomas, and Thomas gets a pleasant surprise.

--

If anyone asked why Richard had noticed Thomas’s disappearance, he’d have stated simply that he was very observant. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just come out and say that he had fallen for the man, not with the world how it was. But as it was, Andy seemed more concerned about Thomas’s whereabouts as well, as opposed to why Richard had noticed. 

Apparently, he hadn’t seen him since he’d gone into the bathroom in the attics, which had been quite some time ago. If not for the time of day, Richard might have contented himself that Thomas was just bathing, then fended off the images that supplied him with, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was very wrong. 

Baxter bursting into the servants’ hall confirmed his fears.

“Where is Thomas?” she demanded. 

Andy only blinked at her, but Richard stepped quickly towards her. “You haven’t seen him either?” he asked. “Andy said he’d seen him last going in the bathroom, but no one’s seen him since…”

“Oh my God,” Baxter said. The horror in her eyes made Richard feel sick. Right as he often was, he’d have given anything to be wrong, just this once. 

He didn’t wait on anyone to say anything else, simply turned and dashed like a madman up the stairs, though he could vaguely hear Baxter and Andy following him up. Practically pulling himself off the stairwell by grabbing hold of the end of the bannister and yanking hard against it to give him some extra speed, Richard came to a nearly screeching halt by the bathroom door, heart pounding in his chest as he slammed his fist against it several times.

“Thomas!” he shouted through, despite his title was actually Mr. Barrow. “Thomas, are you in there? It’s Richard, open up!” Not Mr. Ellis, as he probably should have been.

The door didn’t budge, and there wasn’t a sound from inside. 

“Thomas!” Richard screamed. 

He could barely register anything above his rising panic, not even Baxter pulling him away from the door so Andy had room to kick it in- he could have kicked it in, why didn’t he kick it in? Without letting another moment pass, the normally quite composed man shoved past them both and burst into the room.

The metallic smell of blood was the first thing that hit Richard, even if the second thing was Thomas’s pale, almost lifeless body lying in the tub in a pool of it. That was when it finally hit Richard that what he smelled was Thomas’s blood, and suddenly he felt like the world had frozen in its place. 

He paid no attention to Baxter and Andy following him in, even as she ripped her dress to start bandaging his wound and stop the bleeding, instead focusing on trying to wake Thomas, holding his face between his hands and begging him to wake. Nothing changed. 

Andy soon came around and got his attention, so he could tell him, “We need to call Dr. Clarkson, and we need to get him to his bed. If you need to step back, we can handle it, but we can’t waste time, Mr. Ellis.”

Richard didn’t waste a single second more, grabbing Thomas and lifting him like a bride from the water, not caring if his own clothes were soaked, and suddenly it was like he was back in the military, handing out orders right and left. “Baxter, come with me and help me settle him. Andy, you go and call Dr. Clarkson. No one is to know, or disturb us, until he is well enough to see them himself. Is that clear?”

Andy looked like Richard’s sudden shift had given him the shock of a lifetime, and he nodded like a bobble head almost before running off to do as he’d been instructed. Richard looked then to Baxter, and said, “Get his door for me, will you? We need to stop the bleeding as best we can while we wait on Dr. Clarkson, and that means getting him flat.”

Baxter scurried away and Richard followed her, his heart hammering in his chest, and thanks to her quick movements he was able to walk straight into Thomas’s room and lay him down on the bed, lifting one of his arms and taking the makeshift bandage Baxter had applied off. He reapplied it far more tightly, to add more pressure to the wound, and tied it off before telling her, “Come here and hold his wrist. Don’t let up.”

She did so immediately which freed him up to go around to Thomas’s right side, where he copied his actions, and held his wrist by himself, using his free hand to hold onto Thomas’s as though it might be of help somehow. Well, how could he know? Maybe somehow Thomas would feel it, and it would convince him to fight. He couldn’t know. It felt oddly still and quiet once it was done. Empty.

“You care for him, don’t you?” Baxter asked, interrupting Richard’s thoughts and drawing his attention toward her. “More than you’d be at liberty to say in front of Mr. Carson?”

Her question made him look back at Thomas’s face, almost grey from blood loss, and he swallowed before nodding. “I should have made it known to him,” he said. “At least then he’d have known, even if it changed nothing.”

Baxter smiled sadly, and Richard barely noticed it as he focused entirely on Thomas, but he did notice. Anytime Thomas was the subject of conversation near Richard, he would pay close attention, and that was the only reason he’d caught the smile at all. “When he wakes, you should tell him,” she suggested. “It’d please him to hear it. And… I don’t think he’d be upset to receive some happy news, right about now.”

Before he got the chance to respond, Andy returned, panting and winded from having run up the stairs, back down them, and back up them once again in so short a time as it had been since Baxter returned from her walk with Molesley. “Dr. Clarkson’s on his way,” he told Richard, and then plopped down in the chair that sat unused, Baxter on her knees and Richard on the edge of Thomas’s bed. 

“Good,” Richard replied. “Then all there is to do now is wait.”

Hours and hours passed, and then the night itself, before Thomas finally woke at somewhere around 3:30 in the morning. His head was pounding, vision swimming as he blinked his eyes slowly open. Where was he…? A dark room? It looked like his, but that couldn’t be. He hadn’t thought he’d ever end up there again. 

He became slowly aware of a weight in his hand, the bed sunk in next to his thigh, and he craned his head around to see what was there beside him. A warm, solid hand in his, brown hair tinged with red laying beside him. Richard was half laying against the bed, his legs uncomfortably crumpled up beneath him, and it startled Thomas to realise he had fallen asleep there. Why did his wrists hurt again?

Thomas moved his hand a little, and Richard stirred, lifting his head and looking up at him. Relief flooded his eyes, and Thomas frowned again. “What’s going on?” he questioned, looking around the room. “Why are you here?” He watched as Richard frowned, as if confused, and the response made him frown as well. “What is it?” he pressed.

“Thomas… you don’t remember?” 

This really made Thomas frown, his mind swimming with what he must have forgotten. He shook his head, and tried to lift his free hand to scratch at his head as he often did when he was thinking. But his wrist protested painfully, stinging as he tried to move it, and he let out a cry of shock and pain as he lowered his hand again. His eyes moved to look at it, see what was wrong, and that was when he saw the bandage wrapped around the joint. Quickly, he went to look at the other, only to find Richard still holding onto his hand. He blinked, and looked at his face in time to see Richard turn red and pull his hand away. It felt too light all of a sudden.

The day before came creeping back to him. He’d thought many times before that if he’d ever gotten to that point, it would have been met with tears, shaking shoulders, and sobs that wracked through his entire body. It was surprising to him that he’d felt so numb through it all, even when he’d gone through with it, how he’d laid back in the water and closed his eyes. But now, now he was here, and even worse… Richard knew what he had done. He knew the crime he had committed against himself. 

“Who knows?” he asked anxiously. “You, obviously. Anyone else?”

“No one who won’t keep the secret,” Richard replied. “Just me, Baxter, and Andy who found you. Then Andy called Dr. Clarkson to come and make sure you were alright, and that meant Mr. Carson had to know...”

Thomas’s heart sank into his stomach, and the numb feeling returned. “Then I’m done,” he interrupted. “If Carson knows, I’ll be in the back of a paddywagon by nightfall tomorrow. He was already searching for a way to turn me out, and now he won’t have to wait on me to find a new place.”

“Thomas,” Richard tried to cut in, but the numbness was seeping away and giving rise to a panic that clawed at Thomas’s heart and throat, drowning out Richard’s attempts at his attention, until he suddenly snapped, “Thomas!” This did the trick. 

“…What?” he questioned hesitantly.

“No matter what Carson tries to do, I guarantee you Baxter and I wouldn’t let them take you away- and I don’t imagine Andy would be too keen to stand by, either. Even then, that would be a cruel thing for Carson to turn you in for this. There’s nowhere you need to be right now but home, and after that, maybe on a beach somewhere. But a jail is far from the right place, and difficult as Carson is, I don’t think he’s ever wanted to see you hurt.”

Thomas was only halfway listening now as he looked out the window at the night sky, thinking about Richard’s suggestion. A beach somewhere… “I like the sun,” he said softly. “Everything looks better under it.”

Richard hummed softly, bringing Thomas’s attention back around to him. “Travel is usually one of the first things recommended when someone’s feeling… down, I suppose, in any way. But you’re feeling a lot worse than that, aren’t you?”

He frowned, pressing his lips tightly together in a way that said he very much didn’t want to talk about it. Still, when it was Richard Ellis asking him… That made it all the more tempting to actually answer. But how could he tell him why he’d done this? It wasn’t Richard’s problem, far from it in fact, and Thomas looked up to him too much to want to tarnish his own reputation in the other man’s eyes. As if being found in a bath of my own blood hasn’t done that already, he thought bitterly.

“No one here really cares how I’m feeling,” Thomas admitted. “Maybe you and Baxer, but no one else does. If they do, they don’t show it, and they don’t care enough to speak up when I’m being tossed about by Carson again and again.”

“We all should have spoken up,” Richard said. “But especially me. I wish I had known how deeply you were bothered. I’d certainly have done something then, but even so… I shouldn’t have waited for a sign from you first-”

“I wasn’t giving any signs,” Thomas pointed out, interrupting him. “And as much as I’d have liked having someone in my corner, it’s not anyone’s responsibility to be, so I’ve got no right to be upset there isn’t.”

“I’m in your corner,” Richard corrected him, and Thomas frowned, his brows drawing together uncertainly. It seemed Richard read this in him, as he replied, “I am, and I mean that very much, Thomas. Even more than that, I’ll fight your corner. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle. “No it’s not,” he said. “Nothing I’ve ever needed has actually been mine, not really. Even if it was just… someone by my side. Someone who wanted me- not just someone who got stuck with me.” He often thought about Baxter as the latter case, although it was far from true, but considering they’d known each other in childhood he couldn’t shake the worry. 

Richard sighed, and Thomas watched him as he seemed to be considering something very seriously. He looked up at Thomas, searching his eyes, and finally he reached for Thomas’s hand once again. The action made his heart lurch in his chest, and he suddenly felt very unsure again.

“You have me,” Richard stated, looking him in the eye without wavering. “I’m not stuck with you, never have been, but… I do want you- in whatever way you might want me.”

Now, his heart stopped. “In whatever way?” Thomas questioned. “You… you should be careful with…” Oh, what the hell? Why was he trying to pretend, when he’d not immediately yanked his hand away from Richard’s when he took it again? There wasn’t any hiding anything after that, and it wasn’t like Richard was hiding anything when he did it. “Do you really mean that?”

Richard chuckled in a distinctly affectionate way, and he nodded. “I do,” he confirmed. “But if you’d rather, I can make it more clear what I mean?”

Thomas nodded a bit, and watched as Richard smiled at him. He gently lifted Thomas’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, watching his eyes, then turned his hand gently to kiss the palm of it, and then his wrist- a kiss far more delicate than any so far- before pressing another on his forearm, and working slowly up him that way, until Thomas was rendered entirely breathless, and could do little more than melt when he felt Richard’s lips against his own. Well, that, and let out a small contented hum that he would be embarrassed by later. 

He fought against the pain to lift his arm and slide his fingers into Richard’s hair, having desperately wanted to know how it felt in them from the moment he arrived, almost. It was just as soft as he’d imagined, and Richard just as warm, to the point that Thomas wouldn’t mind if this was the last thing he ever experienced. But he hoped to experience it many more times, and to experience far more than this, before it came time for him to have any lasts. A far cry from his thoughts and desires that morning. 

When Richard finally pulled back, he left Thomas wide-eyed and gazing up at him, panting softly in shock. “I’d say that makes it clear enough,” he breathed. 

Richard smiled and took his hand again, holding it close and settling in without moving back down the bed. Thomas gave the lightest tug on it, and scooted over as best he could, trying to give Richard room to lay down beside him. If he let Richard hold him, they could both just fit. “I like to be clear about things,” he confessed. “Leaving room for misinterpretation just leaves room for problems, and I don’t ever want this to be a problem- that, and I certainly never want you to feel like a problem.”

Thomas frowned slightly. Him? Not feel like a problem? He’d felt like a problem since he was sixteen years old. Some of that time he figured maybe he’d overplayed it in his head, but now he was only alive because Richard had found him, and he wasn’t meant to be a problem? Not to even feel like one? He blinked a few times, and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” Richard repeated, surprise evident in his voice. “Of course I’m sure, Thomas. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I’m not exactly in great shape,” Thomas pointed out. “I can’t say you won’t be taking on a lot, and I don’t want to put any of this on you…”

“You’re not,” Richard assured him. “I am choosing to take you on, and even if you prove to be a lot, you won’t be too much. Besides, I’d rather like it if you prove to be a lot.”

“And why is that?” Thomas asked, baffled.

“Because who wouldn’t want a lot of a good thing?”

Thomas’s eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard himself called a good thing, but if Richard believed it… well, maybe that was reason enough to try, himself. Things always seem a bit easier when someone believes in you, and has your back, and he looked up at Richard’s face, watching how the moonlight from the window made him almost seem to glow. 

Maybe things could look better under the moon, too. 

If you've enjoyed this fic, please feel free to check out my masterlist!

Happy Barris Week!

@barris-week-2022

[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​

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[soft-october-night]

The Love Interests in the Works of Jane Austen: An Assessment

This is an "extremely scientific" and "thoroughly researched" ranking based on personality, money, family and connections, and is a bit of a blend between the book characterizations and the film characterizations (and is in no way only based on my own opinions). Here we go, grouped by book but not much else.

Edmund Bertram: absolute trash. His family has treated you unbelievably shitty since day one and not only has he BARELY noticed, he ALSO has treated you shitty. Will fall in love with someone beautiful and fun and when she dumps him will come crawling to you for a rebound. His passion for you is so lackluster that even the esteemed author who wrote about it barely spared a paragraph on your relationship. Has a job but only because his dad owns the land the church is built on. You’ll gain no connections or family by marrying him, since he’s literally your cousin.  0/10

Henry Crawford: There IS such thing as too much fun, and that is never clearer than in this man, who will try to seduce you as a game, freak out when his middling overtures don’t work and then try and seduce you “for really real” this time. You will definitely move up in the world if you marry him, and if you play your cards right it seems like his sister is also just REALLY into you, so see how that goes. Life will be pretty okay until you find him in bed with one (or more, who knows) of your relations. 3/10, 8/10 if you’re into that

John Willoughby: Will be like something out of a romance novel, you’re thinking he’s going to propose and then he just fucking ghosts you and embarrasses the fuck out of you at a party by acting like he doesn’t know you. Somehow marry him (congrats on the inheritance you must have, btw) and get ready to take a backseat to the whims of his aunt for as long as she lives. 1/10, at least you get to live in a nice house.

Edward Ferrars: Oh Edward. He’s a bit of a mess, isn’t he? Super kind, your family loves him, he made a bunch of stupid decisions in his youth that are coming back to bite him in the ass. He is loyal to an absolute fault, but you luck out when his fiance turns out to be a bit of a gold digger and dumps him when his mom disowns him. He doesn’t have a job and neither do you, but his family doesn’t wanna speak to him (lucky you!) and you’ll be happy and poor together if you two can work on your communication skills. 7/10.

Colonel Brandon: He’s got a nice house, the respect of his friends and the community, and he has a LOT of passion. He’ll give your sister’s penniless husband a job, dramatically rescue you from a rainstorm, make sure his dead girlfriend’s daughter is happy and taken care of even after your ex fucks HER over too, and is all around a pretty decent guy. Just. Uh. Maybe, kinda, sorta, needs to go after women his own age and is probably with you because you remind him of his dead girlfriend. 5/10 with the wildly inappropriate age gap, 9/10 without it.

Mr. Wickham: Please don’t. He’s a thirsty bitch who lives for drama and you think he’s fun until you find out he tried to sleep with one teenage girl and is making eyes at your fifteen year old sister behind your back. Marry him (through the grace of mysterious benefactors, cause he ain’t marrying anyone unless he’s paid the right price) and get ready for a life of being surrounded by military men in the north of England while your husband tries to fuck everything that moves. Work that out somehow with him and you might actually be happy. 0/10.

Mr. Bingley: He is a softboi who will do literally anything his friends tell him to do. He is SUPER rich, and marrying him will throw your sister’s into the path of other rich men and he is REALLY into you, but get ready to be sucking up to his sisters for literally the rest of your life. Unless he can ship Miss Bingley off to live with Mrs. Hurst, have fun trying to wage a war of barely concealed insults over the breakfast table every morning, and if you’re marrying Bingley I’m sorry but that is a war you just cannot win. He doesn’t have a job but he does have five thousand a year, and neither of you can manage money. You’ll love simply and deeply and be happy as any two can be. 8/10.

Mr. Collins: Last resort to rescue yourself from a life of being a burden to your parents until they die and then having to become a governess or something. Has a job but never shuts up about his boss. You will have to rearrange everything in your house according to his boss’ will. 2/10

Mr. Darcy: Is a anxious disaster who doesn’t know how to talk to girls at parties and needs to learn how say no to going out when he’s just not feeling it. He doesn’t have a job because he’s a landlord; he owns half of Derbyshire and has ten thousand a year, but turns out that all of that money and land can’t buy tact or charisma. Doesn’t know how to flirt and thinks he’s doing a great job (he’s not). He’ll propose to you out of the fucking blue one day by insulting literally everything about you, but don’t worry! Reading his letter unlocks Darcy 2.0. This patched version gives him humility, a personality, and he WILL gain the ability to rescue your family from utter ruin. Marry him and enjoy a life of luxury and witty ripostes, but beware! You ARE going to have to deal with Lady Catherine until the day she dies, not to mention Caroline Bingley’s barely concealed contempt every time you meet in polite company. Darcy 1.0 3/10, Darcy 2.0 8/10.

Captain Wentworth: Absolutely top tier. Has a job, has earned everything he has, including a fortune and the respect of his peers, superiors, and subordinates. His sister and her husband are practically the only happily older married couple you know, his friends are super fun and nice (even the dour one with all the poetry knows how to have a polite conversation). If you dumped him ten years ago on the advice of your almost comically shitty family yeah, he’s going to hold a grudge, but he WILL NEVER STOP LOVING YOU and the MOMENT he gets over his pride will do everything and anything in his power (including leaping the bounds of propriety!) to win you back. Based on his love, money, and connections you should RUN, not walk, into his arms TODAY and allow him to rescue you from your family and whisk you off to see the world on his ship, at least until Napoleon busts out of Elba. 12/10

Mr. Eliot: Will lose all your old schoolfriend’s husband’s money in a bad deal, has debts out the ass, might be trying to get with either you or the woman your dad has been flirting with for the last few years, you’re not sure. Is totally ruining the rekindling relationship you’re trying to get going with your far superior ex. He wants the land and title your dad has and will stop at nothing to get it. Marry him and you can move back into your old house (maybe? it’s a little unclear what with all the debts) but have every single cent your mother left you immediately put into some dumbass scheme. 1/10

Henry Tilney: another softboi who just wants to act in the school play while his dad and brother plan to ship him off to military school and berate him for not joining the football team. Bring him shopping with you to pick out dresses, spend long nights over tea chatting about books. Has a job, but again, only because his dad owns the land the church is on. Loves you even though you have some very strange ideas about his house, and will forgive you when he realizes you thought his dad either murdered or imprisoned his mom. If he can find the courage to tell his dad to fuck off and let him live his own life, expect a long, happy marriage of snuggling together in a window seat somewhere, sipping tea and reading. 9/10

John Thorpe: Trash bastard man. Peaked in whatever equivalent of high school he had. Shitty and rude to everyone, would post racist memes on facebook and start fights if he could, all while being shitty and manipulative and CREEPILY possessive of you. -2/10

Robert Martin: A sweet himbo farmer who just wants to love and worship you. He has a job, is pretty rich, and while his connections may not be above his class, he’s an earnest boy who wants to take care of you and be taken care of in turn. Marry him the first time, absolutely do NOT let your friend influence you against him, because who KNOWS if you will get a second proposal! (You will, he likes you THAT much.) Marry him and enjoy a sweet, simple life of exactly zero drama (unless your friend is around). 7/10

Mr. Elton: Trifling gold digging trash who doesn’t know what the word no means. Do not marry, unless you want to be censured by decent, hardworking people -1/10

Frank Churchill: Knows how to have fun, but you know there’s something more going on. He won’t let you see his letters, he sends out secret notes, then he smiles and tells you that everything is totally a okay. Another boy with ANOTHER overbearing aunt, only this one doesn’t know how to say no. Marry him if you’ve got the money, but he will always be longing after the poor girl next door that auntie wouldn’t let him married, and would have cheated on you already if she was into it. 3/10

Mr. Knightly: He’s your brother in law and you’ve known him almost your whole life, so that’s a little sus, but he is also the ONLY person in your entire life who knows how to tell you no (and you really, REALLY need to be told no sometimes.) He is extremely wealthy, but more importantly he’s kind and caring about people who are considered “beneath” him. He will break his weird no dancing rule to dance with your shy friend, he will ream you out for being shitty to unwed spinsters who value your opinion, and somehow has the correct read on everyone all the time. You will gain no connections by marrying him, since the two of you already have the exact same connections anyway, but the two of you should be content in a test of wills that will last a lifetime. You’ll be very happy as long as he doesn’t get super pedantic and start correcting you about everything. 7/10

[2jaeh]

INSUFFERABLE l  KIM DOYOUNG 

GENRE: mature theme, slight smut

WARNINGS: choking, dom themes, cursing

asshole! Doyoung , enemies to ???

Words : 4k 

You’re put in a group project with the most annoying pretentious jerk your law class had to offer. Immediately Doyoung tries to boss you around but you being you, you weren’t taking his shit...soon enough he finds out he can dominate you after all...in a very different way. 

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

“Theres no fucking way...no fucking way” you groaned looking at your group project list, eyes narrowing on possibly the worst people within your course year. Slumping in your seat you half smiled at the girl who approached you, one of your fellow members from project hell. 

“Heyyy y/n I think we're in a group together” she grinned and took a seat next to you, flipping her red hair over her shoulder and checked herself out in her mirror covered cellphone. 

Dami was probably the most narcissistic person you'd ever met and being in law, it was definitely a common trait around here. Dami sat up and began tapping you on your shoulder frantically “He’s in our group! Kim Doyoung is in our group” the two of you watched as the dark haired man conversed with the lecturer, casually turning back to look at the table where you guys sat, in annoyance. 

“That guy is such a prick” a guy who slid in the desk behind you, Seungmin said and Dami nodded in agreeance as you all continued to watch him. 

“Ive never really spoken to him before” you cocked your head, “What’s so annoying about him?” 

This time another group member joined in, a quieter girl who normally sat in the back Jisoo, cleared her throat, “He is really bossy and only likes to do things his own way.”

‘Well he is about to meet his worst nightmare’ you thought knowing nothing pissed you off more than someone telling you what to do. 

The muffled conversations around you began to soften as you felt someone stand over you and drop a file on your desk. Looking up, you locked eyes with the one and only Kim Doyoung, dressed in his usual black slacks, black turtleneck and clear rimmed spectacles. He raised his eyebrow at you as if you were supposed to guess what he wanted.

“What ?” you challenged him, folding your arms across your chest and returned an eyebrow raise. 

Doyoung sighed in annoyance, his long slender fingers moved across the file and opened it swiftly, “I want you to do roll call” he said coldly. 

A lump formed in your throat. You felt like you were being talked down to, it was something that infuriated the hell out of you. He wasn't older than you, nor was he getting better grades than you but somehow he had a superiority complex. Dami quickly nudged you and you rolled your eyes, “Seungmin ?”

“Here!” 

“Jisoo ?” you placed a tick as you called out each name. 

“Dami, Jangjun…?” you looked around and noticed that the usually loud comedic relief in your classroom was nowhere to be seen. 

“I think Jangjun is late, i’ll text him” Seungmin sighed and pulled out his phone. You turned back to the roll call sheet and pursed your lips, “Kim Doyoung ?” 

Doyoung just looked down at you, sucking in his bottom lip and raised that damn eyebrow at you again. 

“You need to say ‘here’ do you not know how roll call works ?” you tested him and he rolled his eyes and sighed, “here.” 

You smiled to yourself, completely satisfied with pissing him off when your internal celebration was interrupted by an out of breath Jangjun, who threw his bag on the floor and took a seat on Dami’s desk. Doyoung looked at him disgustingly, and even though you too were obviously annoyed by Jangjun’s tardiness, was that reaction really necessary ?

“Be on time” Doyoung sneered and grabbed the roll call file making his way back to the lecturer. 

“Fuck Kim Doyoung is in this group ?” Jangjun groaned, sharing the sentiments of the entire meeting. You couldnt believe these were the people you had to work with for the week. It's like you could almost feel an outburst waiting to happen, whether it be from you or Kim Doyoung. 

Doyoung returned and took out his phone, not really looking at any of you as he spoke, “we should make a group chat to update each other on work”

The group hastily shared each other's details and Doyoung created the chat and pinned a set of three rules. 

The first was the group was strictly to be used for the project, no small talk or any other messages that weren't related to the project. The second rule was that no one talks about the group content in private chats as it will cause confusion among members. Lastly you weren't allowed to message after 9pm unless it was an emergency, a very serious emergency. 

“Dang is this the military ?” Jangjun snickered as Seungmin and Dami tried their best to hide their laughs. It was typical of people like Dami and Jangjun to not take anything seriously. Their families were well off and they were just studying just for a piece of paper you call a degree. Doyoung couldn't even hide his annoyance, not like he ever did but he seemed particularly pissed off today. 

“Look, just follow the rules and all of you get a free pass and then we never have to speak to each other again” Doyoung spat and made his way to the exit leaving the rest of you in utter shock. 

———

The first two days were utter hell as Doyoung tried to take control of almost every aspect of the project and frankly you didn't even mind because his business proposal was flawless, it was just the way he spoke to all of you that drove you insane. 

“Dami its not fucking rocket science all you need to do is make a clientele spreadsheet with the mock list the professor gave us” Doyoung didnt even lift his head from his laptop, unaware of the impact his words had on her. 

Dami pushed away from the desk and her eyes began to well up and before you knew it she was running out of the library, with Jisoo and Seungmin following quickly out of concern. 

“Nice move asshole” you rolled your eyes, continuing to work on your laptop. 

Doyoung peered up and pushed his spectacles up, “what was that?” 

“I said nice move asshole, do you intend to talk to your future clients like that?” He initiated a different kind of anger from you but you managed to keep your cool. Doyoung shrugged as if what he had said to Dami had not carried any weight and continued typing away. 

A few minutes of the members disappearance quickly turned to an hour and Doyoung’s nonchalance about the whole ordeal really ticked you off to the point of slamming your laptop closed and pushed back from the desk. 

Doyoung quirked his eyebrow at you, “Is something wrong ?” 

“Is something wrong” you mimicked him, “Jangjun hasn't come in today because you sent him on multiple errands, and you just made Dami cry over something so ridiculous”

Doyoung sat back in his seat and rubbed his temples, “They're all freeloaders, you and I are the only ones doing work, why do you care so much about them?” 

“Basic human fucking decency maybe?” you groaned and ran your fingers through your hair, “listen im not like them, i'm not gonna take shit from you”

“Sure”

“Youre a fucking asshole Kim Doyoung.” 

—-

You lay in bed and replayed that scene with Doyoung in your head multiple times. He was so unbothered by your antics nor did he care about anyone's feelings within the group. He was cold, heartless all he thought about was himself. His cold expression was practically engraved in your head, spending all these hours with him was really not your favourite pastime. 

Group 7 gc 7:00pm

KDY: I posted a schedule for tomorrow we will be working in pairs on the highlighted sections. 

You took a look at his document and groaned when you saw your name placed next to his. There was no way, no way in hell you want to work with him one on one. Not caring about breaking his rule, you pulled up a private chat with him and began expressing your concerns. 

y/n  x  KDY : 7:10pm 

Y/N: Hi, there's no fucking way in hell am I working with you. Change It. 

KDY: I said no private chats and no, I'm not changing it. 

Y/N: Wouldn't it be better for us to split and have the others actually DO work for once ?

KDY: I barely gave them room for error, we're going to be the most anyway and besides, I'd prefer someone who can handle...my personality. 

Y/N: …..so you agree..you are an asshole ?

KDY: I give people a reality check that's all..

Y/N: whatever makes you sleep at night...can I atleast choose our work venue because If I were stuck in a library again with you I might kill you. 

KDY: haha..

KDY: sure. 

Y/N: mango drop cafe, 10am. 

KDY: cool, see you then. 

��Haha’. You had no idea why that text in particular riled you up. Did he find all of this amusing ? Was he making everyone's life a living hell because he enjoyed it ? You stared at his messages and somehow ended up on his profile picture. He was leaning against a railing dressed in all black with his hooded eyes concentrated on the camera lense, Your realization of how attractive he was came from the fact that you stared at the picture for a good 20 minutes. You wondered who took the picture, a girlfriend maybe ? You shook your head. He seemed too uptight to be getting laid. You sighed, closing your phone and awaited yet another day with the insufferable gorgeous man that was Kim Doyoung. 

You arrived quite early at the cafe but of course Doyoung was here before you, already typing away at his laptop, in his usual attire. You greeted the barista and placed an order for a chilled cafe latte before making your way over to him. 

“Hey” you said simply and took a seat opposite him in the booth. Doyoung’s ears perked up at the sound of your voice and made room for your books on the table.

“You're here early” 

“You're already picking a fight with me?” you said casually setting up your workspace. 

Doyoung chuckled under his breath and shook his head, “I just didn't expect you this early y/n it's not that serious.” 

You ignored his words and got straight to work, not in the mood to play his little game. You felt Doyoung look at you a few times. You weren't sure if it were to check if youre doing the right thing or he was just looking at you. 

“Well i'm done with my part” you stretched your arms above your head and yawned. 

“Yeah I'm pretty much done too, Do you want another cup of coffee ?” Doyoung offered pointing to your empty cup. You were taken back by his softer demeanor but quickly nodded, “uh yeah sure.” 

Doyoung returned carrying a tray of two fresh cups of coffee and a slice of cheesecake. Setting everything down he handed you the extra fork and placed the cheesecake in the middle of the table to make it easier to share. 

“H-how much do I owe you ?” You fumbled in your bag for your wallet. 

“It's okay, it's my treat” Doyoung replied, placing a piece of cheesecake in his mouth and slowly licking the fork clean. You gulped as his tongue darted out carefully licking the cream from the metal, not leaving any residue behind. You had no idea what the hell was going on but you felt hot, almost claustrophobic. 

“You're okay?” Doyoung asked innocently, unaware of what he was doing to you. 

“Why are you being...nice?” You questioned, knitting your eyebrows together as the man continued to act as if this was his usual behavior. 

Doyoung pursed his lips and placed the fork on the plate, “You want me to be mean to you?”

“No I just don't get-”

“I apologized to Dami and she told me she only overreacted because the guy she likes, Seungmin was there” Doyoung explained and removed his spectacles, “she was embarrassed to ask anyone for help, I paired them up for today.”

“Wait wha-”

“Also Jangjun works at the campus radio” Doyoung continued, “I had only found out the day we all met, I gave him tasks that will allow him more flexibility, that way he doesn't have to join group sessions often.” 

You blinked, unable to form any words in order to reply to Doyoung. Especially after he chuckled at your speechlessness, knowing you didn't bother getting his side of the story at first. 

“You were right y/n I dont have to be an asshole all the time, I just like to get my work done” He shrugged. You kept eye contact with him but somehow it felt as if he were still toying with you, waiting on your next reaction. He seemed like he played this game often, making sure he always had the upper hand. Doyoung seemed relaxed as he stared at you, taking another scoop of the cheesecake and slowly ran his tongue over his lips after his bite. What the fuck was he doing ? 

“Y/N ?” you heard a familiar voice come from the entrance of the cafe. Your attention diverted from Doyoung to the blonde haired boy who began approaching your table. 

“Jungwoo ? oh my God what are you doing here ?” You stood up and pulled him into a tight hug and pecked his cheek. Doyoung shifted awkwardly in his seat as he watched your exchange with the stranger. 

“I got off early from class about to go to Subway, are you still doing that group project thing?” Jungwoo looked over at your table and half smiled at Doyoung who tried to distract himself with his phone. 

“Uh yeah but i'm all done here I think, wanna hang out ?” you hooked arms with Jungwoo as he nodded enthusiastically. You turned around and scratched the back of your head, 

“So...uh”

“Were all done you can go, I have somewhere to be anyway” Doyoung smiled as you slowly began packing up your things. 

“Alright, see you tomorrow I guess” you bid your goodbye and headed out for lunch with Jungwoo. 

—-

You had just finished up your skincare routine and caught up with a few instagram posts when you noticed Doyoung had followed you. Sitting up in bed you scrolled through his feed curiously. Every post was aesthetically pleasing and he looked absolutely hot in every single one of them. He had to have a girlfriend right ? No guy posts pictures this good without women flooding his DMs. 

There was no harm in doing the same since he was in your class, you decided to return the follow and close the app. Suddenly your phone vibrated with a new message in your chats. 

Y/N X KDY  10:30pm

KDY: hey 

Y/N: aren't you breaking two of your rules right now ?

KDY: haha 

KDY: I didn't realize what time it was…

Y/N: ….anyways..is this about work at least ?

KDY: kinda… you left one of your books at the cafe. I have it with me. 

Y/N: oh… thank you.

KDY: no prob...oh I hope its not a problem I added you on ig

Y/N: no its okay we are friends I guess

KDY: haha I thought I was the insufferable asshole..

Y/N: you are...but not all the time. Look im sorry for saying shitty things about you. 

KDY: its all good. 

KDY: …….

Y/N: ..whats up?

You twirled your fingers as you watched the three dots from Doyoung pop up and disappear over and over again. What was taking him so long ? 

KDY: that guy….that you met at the cafe..is he your boyfriend ?

Y/N: Jungwoo ? no way we've been friends since high school.

KDY: oh..

Y/N:....why would you even ask that ?

KDY: curious. 

Y/N: curious about who I'm dating ??

KDY: A little. 

You frowned at your phone and noticed Doyoung had changed his profile picture to a selfie. The picture was..something alright. You bit down on your lip as you enlarged the picture, which showed a wet haired Doyoung with his head resting in his palm and his long index finger was placed between his plump lips. 

“Fuck y/n get yourself together” you gave yourself a pep talk before opening his chat back up again. 

Y/N X KDY  10.54PM

Y/N: fine if you can ask a question can I ask one..

KDY: go ahead 

Y/N: who do you keep thirst trapping for ?

KDY: ….haha thirst trapping ? 

Y/N: Yeah who do keep posting these hot pics for huh

KDY: …..

KDY: You think i'm hot ?

Fuck. Why did you word it that way. You groaned immediately regretting sending that message but something in you was so curious about him you decided to just risk it, what was the worst that could happen ? 

Y/N: well yeah, I mean I'm sure everyone thinks you're attractive, you seem to know it too. 

KDY: wow. 

KDY: I think you're hot too. 

What the hell was going on. You felt your face heat up and you placed your pillow in between your legs as you turned on your side. 

KDY: I was almost disappointed when I thought Jungwoo was your boyfriend, he's way too passive. 

Y/N: ...and what makes you think you know what kind of man I need ?

KDY: hmmm

KDY: first of, with that fucking attitude of yours..A dominate one. 

You swallowed hard as you felt a tingle in your stomach, squeezing your thighs together on the pillow to create more friction. 

Y/N: I could say the same for you. 

KDY: You may think youre dominate in many aspects...but when it comes to fucking..im the one in charge. 

God you hated how hot that sounded. He had you in the palm of his hand through text. You were a mess and he wasn't even the room to fuel it. You wanted him so fucking bad it was insane. 

Y/N: running your mouth doesn't equate to doing it you know...

KDY:.....

KDY: then would you like me to show you ?

Everything happened so damn fast. One minute you two were texting the next minute you were sharing your apartment location and Doyoung was on his way over. You scrambled to put on sexier underwear and do your hair, still in shock by the fact that Doyoung was on his way over to bang you. 

You jumped when you heard the doorbell and realized it was him. Opening the door you were greeted to a very different look of Doyoung. His hair was messy and reached his eyes. Instead of his usual black academic attire he wore a loose white vest that showed off his toned chest and arms, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. 

“Hi” Doyoung smirked, his eyes were dark as he scanned your figure. 

“Hi” you responded, leaning against the wall in the hallway and looked up at him. Doyoung slowly approached you, like a lion circling its prey. His slender fingers danced lightly along your body, drawing a line from your waist until he found your throat and wrapped his cold fingers around it. He bit down on his lip as he studied how perfectly his hand looked around it and squeezed gently, smirking after hearing a soft moan emit from you. 

“I want you to do as I say, any back chat from you will get you punished you got that ?” he brought his lips down to your neck and exhaled. 

You nodded in response but that wasn't good enough for Doyoung. You felt his squeeze on your throat once more and he used his hips to pin you against the wall, “use your words” he gritted his teeth. 

“Yes sir” you replied obediently, and felt him smile against your neck. 

“Good girl, and if i'm too rough let me know so I can stop okay ?” he replied, his voice changed and it was much sweeter and genuine than before. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek when you nodded and led you to the bed. 

Doyoung lay you on the bed, already stripping off his shirt and ordered you to undress yourself and rid him off his sweatpants. You bit down on your lip taking notice of how aroused he was when you palmed his member. 

Doyoung watched you through hooded eyes as you discarded his sweatpants and boxers. He softly patted your head and grabbed a tuft of your hair in order to make you look up at him. 

“Spit” he ordered, and held out his hand and you did as you were told. You watched as he lathered himself with it, moaning as he stroked himself. He was so damn sexy, biting down on lip and slowly pleased himself as you watched. 

“Do you want this inside you sweetheart ?” he cooed and placed a finger under chin. 

You nodded quickly, “Yes please” 

“What do you want me to do baby ?” He purred and hovered over you as you lay on the bed, breathing heavily as his fingers moved against your warm skin, tracing your curves, ghosting over your heat and returning back to your lips to insert a digit inside. 

Doyoung watched diligently as you sucked on his finger like the good girl he knew you were. He finally pulled his finger out and with one swift movement entered with his member before you could even respond to his question. You moaned as he quickly slammed his hips into yours, wasting no time in gaining a rhythm as you marked his back with scratch marks feeling as though you were on a high. 

Doyoung fucked you like a pro, wasting no time to switch positions and had you on all fours, slapping your ass before slamming into you again, that pretentious smirk forming on his face as he heard your whimpers asking him for more. 

“Are you ready to cum sweetheart ?” he asked, pulling you up as his strokes became slower and tugged on your ear with his teeth. 

“Y-yes yes i'm ready” you panted.

“What's the magic word ?” he growled as he grabbed your throat and slowed down his pace as you were nearing your climax. 

“Fuck youre so annoying PLEASE, please let me cum Doyoung fuck” 

Doyoung chuckled and picked up his pace until you finally climaxed and he followed shortly after, collapsing in the bed next to you. 

“You have such an attitude God” he rolled his eyes playfully, bringing the blanket over your bodies and grinned when you moved in to cuddle him. 

“I guess you will have to fix that some time” you yawned and wrapped your arm around his waist, “but I have to admit, maybe I do enjoy the insufferable Kim Doyoung bossing me around once in a while.”

[une-femme-de-lettres]

Build A Home

Summary: In order to give a good image of the Marines to the people, the world government wanted to promote family values within the military forces. The admirals were each offered a woman to marry. You were one of these women.

Characters: Sakazuki, Female!Reader (technically could be gender neutral if you forgo the context/plot)

Parings: Sakazuki x Female!Reader

Word count: 2440

Warnings: Arranged marriage, nsfw towards the end, size difference, size kink

A/N: Rewatching the War of Marineford episodes and watching the admirals made me think… and then I started measuring… and calculating and my brain did a thing… and that is the thing… It’s all over the place, it started as a mere idea, then turned to headcanons then a full story for some reason…? Enjoy!

(edit: I turned everything to past tense cause it was bothering me for some reason…)

In order to give a good image of the Marines to the people, the world government wanted to promote family values within the military forces. The admirals were each offered a woman to marry, chosen from the upper middle class, amongst the best suitors.

You were one of these women, you were to marry Sakazuki. They said it was your duty to your government. At first, you were not against it, you were just not really sure what to expect. From the little of him you had seen or heard, he was a very stern man, obsessed with absolute justice and quite taken by his place and duty in the Marines.

The marriages were made a public affair, of course. The government and the Marines wanted to show as much of them as possible. So in addition to not knowing what your future held for you, you weren’t even granted privacy around such a life changing event. Even with your mind weary of all the cameras and flashes aimed at you by reporters during the ceremony, you could not overlook his massive presence. Yet, you didn’t dare look at him for more than a second at a time.

You were given a home to occupy with your now husband. You were offered services such as housekeeping so you could continue to work your previous job if you wished to. Sakazuki was very distant at first, he didn’t really interact with you except for bidding you good morning when you woke up and wishing you a good night when you went to bed.

You got more privacy as your married life went on, although you were still exposed to media, especially when you went to work at the hospital every other day. You had dismissed your housekeeping help to do it yourself on your spare time, and also to accommodate the ideal family model the government wanted to promote.

You’d grown used to having him around the house in the evening and on his days off duty. He’d become more involved with you and started asking how your days went. Sometimes, he would thank you for taking care of the housework and keeping your house clean and feeding him good meals.

You got to tell him about patients you’d seen at the hospital and he listened to you. You could tell, later into the evening, that he was half listening and half falling asleep. Although you talked a lot about yourself, he didn’t tell you much about himself or his work. You guessed most of it was classified information anyways.

You’d always shared a bed together, but you’d been sleeping closer and closer to each other lately. At first, your remembered feeling very lonely on your side of the bed. In addition to the distance, you felt very small in that bed made to fit him and his unusual size. But then you started to move towards him slowly, and he towards you.

You now usually slept with some part of your bodies touching and even, on the better nights, he would pull you closer in a spooning position and fall asleep like that. These nights were your favorite, you got to feel him engulf you in his warmth and protection. You slept best when he was close to you.

His height and build were what frightened you the most when you first met him. Now, it was the thing that made you the most comfortable. He’d started kissing you on the forehead when he would go to work and when he would come back. He usually came to you, hands in the pockets of his red suit, bent over slightly to reach you and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead or on the top of your head.

You appreciated greatly that gesture. You’d never thought such a man could have shown such gentleness and care. But then again, Sakazuki was very gentle towards you from the beginning, even with the awkwardness of the first days.

As for “marital duty” he had always assured you that there wasn’t such a thing in your marriage. This relationship was more of an agreement to please the world government than anything else. It was nice if this could both gain you a friend, it was nice if this could both gain you a lover, but you were never forced to do anything.

You never questioned if he wanted to be intimate with you in that way. You assumed he didn’t but you were never sure. In any case, you never pressed the issue, it would come if and when it was meant to happen.

Living with him full time, you were bound to see each other in different states and different clothing as what was usually appropriate. First, you would both dress privately, away from each other. You would always make sure you wore proper clothing around each other, except maybe for sleeping, when you were the most naked in front of each other, although still technically wearing clothes.

As the time went, you grew closer and more comfortable around each other. He didn’t mind being shirtless in front of you. Then you grew more comfortable dressing around each other, seeing each other in your underwear at most. Then you sometimes ended up seeing each other practically naked, especially when you switched to take turns in the bath, with only towels covering your bodies.

But then again, there was no underlying sexual interest, so you were both comfortable with this. Your couple and your day to day life in this house were functioning smoothly. You dared to think you had finally become friends, maybe even close friends with him.

He only got one day off a week and he usually spent that day reading and gardening. You often left him alone with his gardening tasks, to offer him some needed time alone. Sometimes, he invited you to read with him, you pulled out one of your romance or fantasy novels and sit curled up on the couch, opposite to where he was. You both remained silent, purely enjoying each other’s presence.

Sometimes he was curious of what you were reading. You usually took some time to lay out the plot of the book you were reading for him. He was not used to reading fantasy and it amused him to watch you excitedly talk about your favorites. He was more into philosophy, history and essays. You sometimes asked him about his book in turn.

He was glad you were willing and capable to keep up with his reads. You were actually quite interested by what he read. You grew more and more comfortable with asking him about them as you noticed him liking having discussions with you. At first, even in everyday life, you practically didn’t dare addressing him for fear of being a bother, but you grew bolder.

You didn’t always share his views on things and sometimes, your discussions would lead to a debate. You could converse for hours at a time, calmly exposing each argument and sharing views. When you were in agreement, it led to a productive sharing of information. When you were in disagreement, you might not resolve the issue but it always allowed you to share your points of views.

You always listened carefully to each other in these moments. He never cut you off and you did the same. These moments were probably the most constructive of your relationship. There was no bad blood held after arguments. Each of you was entitled to their own views.

On these days off, when came evening, he usually liked to take a relaxing bath. Either himself or you warmed the bath water and prepared the items needed. He never failed to thank you when you did it, with one of his kisses. You liked to be helpful to him, not only for the kisses, but because you’d grown to like, dare you say love, the man.

One day, he asked you if you wanted to join him in the bath. With him inside the tub, you didn’t even need to maintain the heat like you were used to doing. Because of his powers, he simply warmed it up with the presence of his body. That day, you spent hours in the bath, in a peaceful silence most of the time. He pulled you closer until you rested against him, your back to his chest and you let your head fall back onto his torso with a delighted sigh.

He held you more intimately this time, and he spoke. He told you many things, about his feelings for you mainly. You were delighted by this open-hearted confession and responded to it positively. He asked if he could kiss you and you leaned into him.

The kiss was the start of your romantic relationship. The progression was slow and steady, you grew physically closer to each other in every day life, needing to feel the other’s touch. The gestures that were kept to the sheets and the dead of the night were now becoming more presents in your daily routine.

You slowly moved towards being fully intimate. He was always weary of the striking difference between his body and yours. He had to care for you with the outmost attention. When came the time you wanted to be with him fully, he couldn’t hide his concern.

Everything on him was proportionate, and with that in mind, he moved very carefully. You had to talk about it openly for some time before he agreed to it. When the time came you were in bed, still exploring each other’s body. He made sure you were as prepared as you could be and he still advanced with the most care.

“Don’t hold anything from me, understand?” His order resonated in you, although he kept his full composure, you’d known him enough time to know he was not at rest.

“I won’t, I promise.” You assured him, giving his arm a light squeeze to let your words sink in. Over the past weeks, he’d taken the time to know you and your body and you his. Today you’d decided to take it slowly. By the time you were in this position, he had brought you to climax several times already and you were ready and eager for him.

Although he would have wanted to have you face him when he penetrated you for the first time, he wanted to minimize the chances of you getting uncomfortable of even hurt and got you on your hands and knees. He was pressed against your back, his height allowing him to completely cover you with his body that he made warmer on purpose.

His mouth breathed against your neck, he tried his best to offer you intimacy despite not being able to look at your face. He kept caressing you and you moaned out your pleasure and desire. You pressed back into him and felt his parts against yours. He was ready to go, heart beating loudly in his chest and he moved forward slowly, gently.

He entered you carefully and even the hours of preparation, the ideal position and the unconditional desire hadn’t prepared you for this. The stretch was not yet painful but very uncomfortable. You let out a cry as you could not formulate words. Your arms buckled under your weight, muscles tired of constant tightening.

“Relax, let me hold you,” he whispered in your ear, fully aware of the strain your body was enduring.

He wrapped a strong arm around your waist and held you close to him. You felt the entirety of his heat invade your body and relax your muscles. The sweat on your skins made your bodies stick together in the most obscene way. You moves your hands to rest on the arm that was holding you up. You felt so small in his embrace, you squeezed his flesh in your hands as if to feel more of him, all of him.

Once you’d relaxed he moved into you more. It was less and less painful to you. You tried to keep your lower muscles as relaxed a possible and it came to you naturally. You took deep breaths until he filled you completely. He didn’t fit all of him into you but this was already overwhelming for both of you.

He stopped there for a few minutes and started kissing your neck. His arm was still strongly wrapped around you and you had nowhere to go. You wanted to stay like this forever, feeling his hot tongue and lips on the skin of your neck. But you wanted to see him, you wanted to kiss him.

You turned your head to meet your lips to his. He captured you into a deep kiss. You pulled away and moaned as the tiniest movements of your body stimulated your sensitive parts.

“Move…” you blurted out, “you can move… please.” He groaned softly in return. Your pleading voice suddenly the only music he ever wanted to listen to.

He started moving with care, keeping his rhythm as steady as possible through the overwhelming sensation your body procured him. The friction was delightful for the both of you. You mindlessly moved your hand to your core and caressed yourself in rhythm. Your hand sometimes touched the part where your bodies connected, letting you feel with your digits how big he was and how much he stretches you.

You felt a tight coil quickly form in your belly and it was only minutes before you cried out in pure pleasure. The orgasm piercing through your body made your walls tighten and pulse around him. His cry of pleasure was almost filled with pain, his own orgasm so powerful his arms trembled. He struggled to hold you as his body betrayed him. Yet he couldn’t let go of you, wanting every last drop of his seed to spill inside you.

You remained motionless for a moment, both completely spent but not wanting this to end. He moved right when he felt his body would give in, he fell onto his side, with you still pressed tightly to his body. You both fell asleep then, your bodies unable to function properly and your minds still floating in ecstasy.

From then on, you were more intimate than ever. You grew bolder and bolder in the bedroom. Being with him was easier and easier each time, having slowly learned how to make it work. Your routine continued as it was, only some things changed. And the passion of your first moments together slowly but surely turned into a deep, faithful love.

[americancowgirl19]

Loving them Both

Summary: Y/n fell for Adam long before they found out about anything supernatural. Then Michael came fell for him as well.

Warnings: Fluff, angst if you squint

Reader: I wrote this with the idea of the reader being a female but there’s no pronouns used so it can be read as a gender neutral reader.

Pairings: Adam Milligan/ Archangel Michael x Reader

Word Count: 2,039

A/n: This takes place around the time of the episode ‘Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven’... I changed it a little bit to make it more of my own. Might make a part two, might just leave it the way it is. Let me know if you want a part two!

Masterlist

Waking up I noticed I was in the bed alone. Sighing quietly, I sit up and rub my eyes. Yawning, I glance towards the clock seeing that it’s far too early in the morning to be awake.

Throwing the covers away from me I climb out of bed. My feet slide into some slippers and I shrug on a robe. I quietly walk out of the room, down the hallway and to the main room.

The room is dark but I see a silhouette by the window. The moon gives me little light but I know who it is. I notice the tense stance he’s in with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s far too serious at such an hour.

“You should be in bed, sleeping with me,” I whisper wrapping my arms around him. I know archangels don’t need to sleep but I feel safer when he’s beside me, especially when I sleep. His hands rest over mine as I lay my head on his shoulder. He lifts one of my hands to his lips, kissing it softly.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, his voice an octave deeper than I’m used too. I smile kissing his shoulder.

“No,” I whisper squeezing him tightly. “Nightmares, again?” I ask and he simply hums. I hated the fact that his past haunts him no matter what he does. Even when he’s awake he’s haunted by something. “What can I do to help, Michael?” I ask. He smiles a bit and turns his head slightly.

“How do you do that?” He asks quietly. I hum with a small smirk.

“What?” I ask quietly. He slowly turns in my arms. “How can I tell which one of you is in control?” He nods caressing the side of my face. I lean into his touch and kiss his palm. “It doesn’t matter that you two share the same body, I always know who I’m talking too,”

“How?” He asks.

“Because I love you, both of you,” I tell him simply. “You two are different from each other. I can pick up the subtle differences that most others can’t,”

“Like what?” He asks curiously. I smile staring into his eyes.

“Well, sometimes it’s your voice,” I explain. “The way you talk, the sound of it. It’s different between you and Adam.”

“Is that what gave me away tonight?” He asks and I shake my head.

“No, tonight it was how you stand,” Michael frowns his eyebrows. “You have military background, you’ve been a soldier for longer than I can understand. You stand stiff, straight up, as if you’re about to go lead an army into battle despite the fact that you’re standing in your fiancé’s living room at 4 in the morning,” Michael smiles tenderly. “Now that I’ve told you a little bit about my secret, why don’t you come lay down with me? You may not need to sleep but I do,”

“Of course, angel,” Michael whispers before scooping me up in his arms. I grin nuzzling my head into his neck.

“Tell Adam I love him,” I whisper curling into his chest.

“He knows,” Michael whispers back. He turns to kiss my forehead before laying me on the bed and climbing in next to me. “We both love you,” He says pulling me to his chest. “We love you very much,”

“Dream with me, Michael,” I whisper snuggling closer to him and under the blankets. “I’ll protect you from your nightmares,” Michael smiles kissing the top of my head.

“My beautiful protector,” He whispers holding me even closer. I slowly fall asleep against his chest. “And what shall we do now?” Michael asks appearing in my dream.

“How about we go to Rome?” Adam suggests coming up behind me. I smile turning around and hugging him. My dreams are the only place I can see, hear and touch Michael and Adam at the same time. The only place where they don’t have to share a body. This is where my ability to tell the two of them apart comes in handy seeing as they both appear in the form of Adam.

“I don’t care where we go,” I whisper wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m just happy to be with the two of you,” I say turning to look at Michael.

We didn’t do anything exciting in my dream. We simply avoided any negativity and just stayed together. I didn’t want to wake up, I love having the both of them with me at once but when I did wake up I woke up to Adam.

“You look better,” I whisper lifting my hand up to his face. My thumb gently rubs under his eye.

“I love you,” He whispers. I smile climbing on top of him. His eyes lighten as a grin appears on his face.

“I. Love. You.” I whisper kissing him between each word before giving him a long, deep kiss. 

“You’re perfect,” He mutters against my lips. I smile kissing his nose before climbing off of him. He whines loudly as his arms reach for me.

“Get dressed, I want to go out for breakfast,” I say while walking into my closet.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Adam asks still laying under the covers. “You can make pancakes and I can distract you,” I could practically hear the playful smirk on his lips.

“Because I’ve been cooking and you’ve been distracting all week,” I say coming out with an outfit. “I want to go out,” Adam sits up, his eyes watching me as I change clothes.

“It might not be safe out there,” Michael says taking control.

“It’s the world, Michael,” I say glancing at him. “It will never be completely safe,”

“Yes, but it’s even more dangerous right now,” He states climbing out of bed. “Especially for you and I,”

“And what’s so dangerous that you’re afraid?” I ask looking at him. “What can hurt you?”

“You,” Michael whispers pulling me to his chest. “You’re my weakness. Sooner or later very dangerous people will find out,” 

“Hey,” I whisper not liking the look in his eyes. “I love you, alright? Whatever is coming, I’ll face it right next to you. I’m not going anywhere and I swear, Michael, if you leave me I will track you down to the ends of the Earth to get you back,”

“I won’t leave,” Michael promises kissing my head. “I could never leave you... I’m far too selfish to give you up,” I smile hugging his body against mine.

“Good,” I whisper snuggling into his chest. “What has you so nervous?” I ask resting my chin on his chest to look into his eyes. “You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” He says quickly. I smile rubbing his back knowing there was more he wasn’t telling me.

“We don’t have to be out and about all day,” I tell him. “But can we please get out of this apartment for breakfast? Then we can come back,” Michael sighs.

“I have encountered some of the most dangerous beings in the entire universe,” Michael states. “Yet none are as dangerous as you,” He smiles kissing my lips lightly. I deepen the kiss, clinging to him tightly. “You and your ability to convince me to do anything for you,”

“Because you love me,” I sang quietly.

“Very much,” He whispers kissing my lips again before pulling away. “Breakfast it is then,” He caves causing me to do a small dance. He smiles shaking his head at me. “Just for the record, Adam called you a dork,”

“Takes one to know one,” I wink at him. “Get dressed, I’m going to grab my shoes,”

Seeing as the place I wanted to go get breakfast was one down the street, Adam and I decided to walk. After Michael had finished getting dressed he allowed Adam to have the first half of breakfast while he will get to walk me home.

However, a couple of minutes after we sat down, Michael took over. I was too busy reading over the menu while verbally wondering if I should try something new to notice the change. However, he catches my attention when he moves out of his side of the booth and slides beside me. Before I can ask what is going on, a man occupies the seat he had just been sitting in.

“Uh, hello?” I say hesitantly. I glance towards Michael as he pulls me closer, his eyes trained on the man in front of us wearing a trench coat. “Who are you?”

“I am Castiel,” He introduces himself. “And you?”

“None of your business,” Michael answers. I instantly get the hint to stay quiet. I lean into Michael and he responds by giving my leg a gentle squeeze. “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy,” He admits. “Donatello was able to sense you and we were able to track you down,” 

“Where are your two pets?” Michael asks with a hint of bitterness. 

“Not far,” Castiel tells him. “We were hoping to talk to you,” He says. Castiel’s eyes move from Michael to me. Michael’s grip tightens again.

“What do you want?”

“I know you have been through a terrible ordeal for many years,” Castiel mentions. Now, it was my turn to squeeze Michael’s hand. I don’t know if I squeezed it out of anger for the man brining up something that both Michael and Adam are trying to get over or to comfort the loves of my life. “You’ve been beyond the reach of heaven. Been beyond the reach of Earth. Much has changed with both. Heaven is not what it was. And your father is certainly not who you knew. Michael, there’s a battle raging, and you are a warrior, but you much know the nature of this fight. I’m not your enemy anymore. Now we all have the same enemy. God himself.”

I turn my head towards Michael, who’s still staring at Castiel. I intertwine our fingers and squeeze his hand again. I could sense the conflict in him.

“Can you give us a minute?” I ask looking at Castiel. He looks at me curiously. He’s hesitant but eventually leaves our booth. “That sounds pretty serious,”

“He’s lying,” Michael shakes his head. “God’s not our enemy,” He says confidently.

“He seems pretty convinced,” I comment. Michael turns his head towards me. “I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going on but what’s the harm of listening to what he has to say?” I ask.

“I’m not leaving you,” He says sternly. “Going with him would leave you vulnerable and I won’t do it,” He shakes his head.

“Then I come with you,” I say simply.

“Absolutely not,” Michael replies instantly. “I’m not taking you anywhere near the Winchesters,” 

“Then what do you want to do?” I ask him. Michael sighs, his eyes glancing towards Castiel. “How about this,” I say regaining his attention. “You take me home and then you go talk to them. You’ve made sure my apartment is safer than anywhere else on Earth. I’ll wait there for you to come back to me,” Michael looks into my eyes for a moment before nodding.

“Alright,” He nods standing up. I follow him as we walk out of the diner.

“What’s your decision?” Castiel asks.

“I’m taking them home and then I will listen to you,” Michael says before stepping closer to the man. “But I promise, if anyone lays a hand on them, I will kill all of you,” He warns. Castiel slowly nods. “Come on,” Michael whispers pulling me down the street.

“Will you be safe?” I ask him.

“I’m sure they have something up their sleeve but I’ll be fine,” He promises. “I won’t let them take me from you or you from me,”

“Good,” I smile hugging his waist. He kisses the top of my head as he leads me back to the safety of the apartment.

“I’ll be back soon,” Michael promises before kissing me slowly. I lean into him, clutching his jacket in my hands. When we pull away, Adam is in control. 

“We love you,” He whispers. I smile kissing him again.

“I love you both,”

Part Two