#I’m so so so so so so so full of hatred and malice

[whimsyprinx]

even more annoying than the term “unalive” is when people say “oof” for dying “I oofed” shut the fuck up I hate you

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[thewertsearch]

ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am noww wwithout your help […] KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science

At this point. Kanaya is Human Sarcasming better than most actual humans.

ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven knoww KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic […] KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science

I think Dave taught Kanaya more about the art of trolling in a single conversation than Eridan could in an entire lifetime.

That guy can troll better than most actual trolls.

ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there KANAYA: The Matriorb KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race ERIDAN: that sounds ERIDAN: hopeful […] ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it […] KANAYA: Fine

I’m all for the construction of neo-Alternia, but I really don't think Eridan should be on the planning committee, unless we also want a neo-hemospectrum.

Honestly, the only trolls I'd really trust to rebuild their society are the bottom half of the hemospectrum, and possibly Gamzee. The other highbloods can go sit in the corner.

ERIDAN: its not magic wwe talked about this kar KARKAT: RIGHT, IT'S POWERED BY SCIENCE, I FORGOT. KARKAT: OR HOPE. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS

I don’t see how Hope translates to a robot-exploding beam, though.

If it was wizards he was blowing up, I’d understand, because it would be consistent with my theory that he's weaponizing his hatred of FRAUDULENT MAGIC. If anything, his Science Wand should strengthen a robot, since it's a product of the TRUEST SCIENCES.

ERIDAN: i had a harder time than anybody wwith this game ERIDAN: it wwas really fuckin unfair wwhat challenges i got saddled wwith ERIDAN: i wwoulda fuckin MURDERED for a land full of a lot a harmless brains and fire ERIDAN: but no ERIDAN: it wwas so lonely ERIDAN: hey guys anybody wwant to come hang out wwith me in the land a wwrath and angels

That sounds cool, though. Angels, I assume, are how Hope is represented in his Land, and I’m sure Eridan synergized well with its wrath. I wonder what physical form it took?

ERIDAN: anybody at all i knoww it isnt anythin like one of your flippin land picnics ERIDAN: anybody please ill evven settle for the kittycat shipper cavve girl

You can't complain about loneliness and then insult your ‘friend’ in the same breath. That's not how any of this works, and the fact that you're unaware of this should tell you everything you need to know about why you're lonely.

So Karkat does know about Nepeta’s little crush. He is a relationship aficionado, after all.

Poor Nepeta.

I sort of figured Karkat didn't reciprocate her feelings. He's preoccupied with plenty of other redrom prospects, and he basically never mentions her.

Karkat’s honestly a little too nice to Eridan. He’s being such a bro here, but what Eridan actually needs is to be brought down to size a little.

Granted, I think Eridan needs a bigger shock to the system than an angry tirade from Karkat. I feel like Terezi could tear him to pieces - but since it's unfair to expect her to put up with him alone, I'd put both the Scourge Sisters on this assignment. >:)

What Karkat is aptly demonstrating here is that there’s a difference between an Eridan kind of asshole and a Karkat kind of asshole.

Let's be real, here - Karkat's a dick. But he's a dick who holds no true malice, knows when he's crossed a line, and is willing to sincerely apologize for his past actions, and make amends.

Eridan possesses none of these qualities, which is why he sat alone in his house for a month while Karkat befriended the entire cast.

[thehusbandoden]

More Than Life Itself -Dabi x Reader | Alternative Ending to Burnt

A/n: I was feeling super soft at the end if you couldn't tell lol

I have school in the morning, I should get to bed.. but I'm so freaking inspired rn. I'll probably just fall sleep writing again.

Does anyone even read this? Am I talking to myself?

Wouldn't be the first time 😶

General info:

Genre: comfort- lots of comfort/angst to fluff (ish) \\ wc: 1,099\\ posted: 01/10/2024

Warnings!: (Please just trust me. Y/n doesn't just let him get away with it, but I don't want to spoil it lol). Crying, regret, mentions of toxicity, mentions of manipulation and gaslighting, Dabi's real name, hints of Dabi's past/backstory, flinching, slight self hatred, a slight mention of physical abuse, and slight self doubt! I think that's it, please tell me if I miss anything! <33 (anon in my ask box is turned on for my shy readers ;3)

Part One- Burnt (pure angst)

You broke down sobbing as Dabi closed the door. You knew that this was for the best, and what he did was completely not okay, but that was the love of your life. Your one and only. Your soulmate. Your partner. Your beloved. Your first; and you were hoping your last.  

Yes, he could be toxic- okay. He was toxic frequently. He would yell, insult, manipulate and gaslight you. He would get jealous and possessive; and leave for months on end without a single word.  

He would break your heart; only to come back and repair it with his soft compliments, not only manipulating you into forgetting about it; but gaslighting you as he changed the story. Making himself look better.  

And you played along. Because his warm hands caressing your arms, shoulders, cheeks, and head were too loving. The way he kissed your forehead, whispering to you how beautiful you are felt too real. The way he would treat you outside of the bad times felt too... perfect. 

Your beloved Touya wasn’t all bad. He could be an amazing partner... half of the time. One thing you were- and are- grateful for is the fact that no matter how nasty, toxic, and straight up mean he can be; he has –and never will- cheat. It goes against everything he despises. He won’t do it. 

As you remember all the good times tears streamed down your face, sliding to your chin before falling onto your hand. Sobs echoed through the room as you held yourself. Rocking back and forth, you faintly hear someone calling your name. Roling your eyes, you flip the front door of your apartment off.  

No way you were letting that d-bag in. As he continues to call your name you scoff. Standing up, you head towards the door. Grasping the handle, you slam the door open.  

Right as you were about to say something you were- 

-abruptly awoken out of your slumber. You jolt awake, looking around in alarm. Dabi held your shoulders in worry, his turquoise eyes holding no recollection of the past argument.  

“Doll? What’s wrong, Babygirl?” Dabi cooed, pressing his knuckle below your eye, catching your tears. You flinch back from his touch. His eyes widen, and he pulls away.  

“S-sweetheart...” he murmured, his gorgeous orbs moving to the floor. You stare at him, tears still streaming down your face. He moved his eyes to focus on yours. “Baby what happened? Please tell me... I’m worried.” Dabi murmured.  

You shook with sobs as you stared at your beloved. His perfectly framed face held no hint of the malice it had before. His eyes were full of concern, love, and even hurt from your flinching 

“I-I had a nightmare.” You whisper, slowly melting into his touch. 

“A nightmare?” Dabi whispered, slowly brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.  

You nod, whimpering ever so softly. Your heart ached at the vivid images of your nasty argument, physical abuse, and break up.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dabi whispered, pressing a long kiss to your forehead, holding your jaw gently, stroking your soft skin. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”  

“I- I...” tears slipped down your cheeks. Dabi’s calloused thumbs caught them, wiping them away. You take a deep breath. “C-can you hold me against your chest? I-I don’t want you to look at me...”  

Dabi gently pulled you to his chest the second you asked him to; you didn’t even have to finish your request. He caressed your head, cheeks, shoulders and arms, whispering sweet things to you and kissing your forehead. “Of course, Babygirl. Take your time.”  

After a few minutes you take a deep breath before slowing replaying your traumatizing nightmare. Dabi slightly stiffened but didn’t interrupt. As you re-laid how your argument progressed and how he ended up burning you, his grip tightened, cradling you to his chest as his jaw clenched in fury.  

Yes, he knows that it was a nightmare. And yes, he knew that he didn’t actually do it- and that he would never hurt you like that.  

But he couldn’t help but be angry at himself. Angry that he theoretically hurt you, that you were crying because of it. 

He was silent as you finished your account. As you finished, he gave the both of you time to process your words. After a few minutes, he gently titlted your chin up, staring into your gorgeous eyes, the windows to your soul. He caressed your cheeks and jaw, his turquoise eyes filled with un-wilting love and endless affection.  

“Y/n, my love-” he whispered, pausing to let the words sink in. “-I will, and would never do that to you. I swear to you on my life, I. Will. Not. Hurt. You.”  

His words were filled with unwavering confidence. He pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, kissing your tears away. “I would rather die than hurt you like that. Ever- for any reason.” He whispered, cupping your cheeks with his calloused yet gentle hands.  

Your breath hitched in your throat at the obvious truth in his eyes, telling you that he was dead serious. After a few seconds tears ran down your cheeks yet again. You closed your eyes, leaning in ever so slightly; telling him that you were well enough for him to kiss you. 

Dabi slowly leaned in, pressing his lips to yours sweetly. Dabi rarely kissed you so gently, taking his time to tell you how much he absolutely adored you. He kissed you until you gently pulled away, needing air.  

Smiling, Dabi leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, so much; and trust me baby when I say: I am truly sorry.”  

You replied a few tender moments later. “For what?” Your voice was low and hoarse.  

“For making you cry... for making you feel so- however you’re feeling.”  

“Baby... you didn’t do anything...” you frown slightly, though his innocence was endearing.  

“But I’m a broken man... I could totally see me being so... destructive... you must have been worrying about that- or I don’t know... you deserve so much better, my sweet girl.”  

`“Baby, please don’t say that. You are not broken. You have been hurt, really hurt, but you aren’t broken. The mind is a funny thing, but I can assure you: you are exactly what I need and want. I love you, with all of my heart.”  

If Dabi physically could, he would be tearing up. He pulls you into another kiss, slowly stroking your hair. “I love you too... more than life itself.”

~~~~~

Dabi's masterlist | Part One- Burnt (pure angst) | Navigation | Masterlist | Tip Jar <;3

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

[rey-jake-therapist]

Galadriel going off with Sauron into the sunset as full “dark couple” not only seems highly unlikely to me, but doesn’t make sense storywise, honestly. I know a lot of Saurondriel fans want this, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. I mean, Tolkien fans would indeed lose their minds, like the Polish reviewer says, but that’s way too extreme, in my opinion.

I do think she will temporarily succumb to Sauron’s temptation (that’s also lore-breaking, because in the books Galadriel sees right through him), and she might be willing to go with him and be his queen (messing up genealogies as created by Tolkien), but something will break it off: herself, Elrond or even Nenya itself (proving once and for all the Elven Rings are not under Sauron’s influence). Galadriel not being able to resist Sauron would also show how powerful he truly is to the audience, and how powerful Galadriel herself is going to become in the future.

If they go with S1 finale 2.0. it would be extremely disappointing, and boring. Not to mention it would undermine both characters, and destroy all the foreshadowing and build-up S2 has been preparing so far.

Also, Sauron will most likely forge the One Ring after this. He poured all of his cruelty, malice and evilness, as well as a huge part of his soul and power, into the ring, binding it to his very being. Him being full of anger, hatred and grief after Galadriel being denied to him makes perfect sense (meaning she won’t be by his side), even more so than simply Galadriel saying “no” again (S1 finale rehash). The One Ring destroys and poisons the mind of every being who takes a hold of it, and takes away the very will to live; Sauron should have been in the depths of “f*ck you all, Imma burning it all down” when he forged it. The “precious” tempts power, but power is also a form of lust, obsession and unrequited love up to 100. I think, thematically, this all makes sense with what RoP is doing with Galadriel and Sauron dynamic/connection and how it will remain a core part for the series until the end.

I might go off anon and use my main account in here if I’m right 😂

Yup, I agree with all of this. Galadriel going full dark, even for a short period of time, would be very OOC imho. I love Saurondriel but I don't want that. I want a story that stays true to the characters, especially Galadriel. I'm not a Tolkienist by any means, I don't mind all the changes that were brought to the lore so far and I'm just enjoying the show ; but doing this would do a disservice to the character of Galadriel, I think, regarding what we know of her even within the show itself.

I'm still wondering if it's already in Sauron's plans to forge the One Ring, or if it's something that will come later, as you suggest... But I love the idea that the show brings, even if it's not explicit (yet...) : that Sauron's first idea was to forge two rings for him and Galadriel, but decided to forge one very powerful ring for him and him alone, once he knew he would have to rule by himself. And if your instinct is right and that for a moment, he believes he can win her back... It makes the whole story even more dramatic !

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Will the Delphi family have the answers you seek?

Warning: language, ethnic slur, supernatural (kind of)

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 7: Vagabond

Go and see the sorcerer, look into a ball. You might find the answer written on the wall. The left one was a dancer, can you see the answer, oh? Put her in a mansion on top of the hill.

Please, don’t make her do things against her will. I found something special, I don’t know why. Looking into her pretty little eye, ‘cause I’ll tell you everything about being free.

— Vagabond, Wolfmother

The cool air hit your skin as your lungs took in a deep breath, a familiar mix of sea salt and flowers. The wind whipped your long hair from your shoulders, lifting through your chiton dress and twirling the fabric around you.

You leaned against the railing of the garden’s terrace and took in the view. From your height, you could see the ocean from every angle beyond the mass of the city beneath you - one of the perks of living on a peninsula, you always thought.

Your father and brothers would be quick to tell you the perks from a combative standpoint, but that was for them to worry about.

The sky grew golden with the descent of the sun and a warm feeling crept threw your chest at the anticipation of what you knew would follow.

“Please,” you whispered your prayer, closing your eyes as the light in the sky began to dim.

“Your Highness.”

The deep voice felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around your shoulders. You turned to find the object of your selfish prayers as he stood before you.

The palace gardener. The young man with the golden eyes and the sharp cheek bones. Who you met every day at sunset as he tended to your favorite place in the whole world. The place where you’d talked for hours, days on end since he started working at the palace.

Where, as of a moment ago when your prayers betrayed your desires, you realized you’d fallen in love.

“I’m so sorry,” you felt the tears begin to well just behind your eyes, swallowing thick to try and collect yourself. “I made a vow, a promise, a fealty to another.”

“A prince?” he asked politely.

You narrowed your eyes at his reaction, expecting him to be hurt, upset, even angry. But in the light of the moon, you caught the uptick of his cheek as a smirk threatened at his full lips.

“A god,” you replied, your heartbeat increasing as he took a step toward you. “I’ve promised myself to priesthood. I didn’t expect you —“

His smirk turned into a smile as he rose his hand to your face. “My love, you prayed for me, to me.”

Your eyes searched the meaning behind his words. The gold of his irises began to shine, then burn.

“My Lord,” you whispered, realization washing over you like a vase of cold water.

“What I didn’t expect,” your gardener — your god — went on as his thumb gently ran across your cheek down to your chin before catching your bottom lip, “was to fall for you.”

The wind was stolen from your lungs at his admission before he pulled your face up to meet your lips with his own. The kiss made your body feel like it was being consumed by the sun and you poured your own love into the unspoken act.

You pulled away, eyes wet with tears and cheeks tight with a smile, your body consumed with love as you met his eyes again.

You gasped — where you’d expected to see the warm golden eyes of the man you loved, instead they were ice blue. Cold, angry, hardened of any care you thought was there.

A terrible, horrible feeling began to consume your body as you felt unable to breathe. The man before you grabbed at your arms, this time with hatred and malice.

“I curse you, Cassandra! From this day forward—”

“Y/N!”

You jerked awake, the feeling of two hands holding you caused you to panic, the feeling of impending doom still lingering over you as your heart rate beat out of control. Pushing away, you tried to fight against the hold.

“Y/N, look at me!”

You stilled long enough for the hands to turn you toward the body attached to them, your eyes finally clearing as they met another.

Cold, ice blue eyes.

You gasped in fright, your brain fog still telling you you were in danger, the face of the man from your dreams come to life before you. But the eyes were different than they’d been before. Softer, kinder, worried.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me! It’s Tommy — look at me!”

“Tommy,” you repeated, your breathing finally slowing as the fog began to lift.

The eyes that you’d once been afraid of brought you comfort as you searched them. Tommy seemed to recognize that you were coming back, because he breathed out a sigh of relief as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You flinched for a moment, but at the warmth of his palm you leaned your head into it, your breath finally slowing enough for you to look around.

You were still in the seat of the wagon, which was currently stopped as the horse in front of you bent forward to eat.

“You fell asleep,” Tommy spoke again softly as he kept watching you, as if knowing that you were still working your way back to him. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming. It was a dream.

As if a dam had broken, you gasped for air as the tears began to fall. It was a strangled cry, one of defeat and emotional pain. The dream, the loss, the confusion of being in this place, of being ripped from everything and having everything ripped from you.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Tommy say softly before you felt arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You gripped his shirt in an attempt to stable yourself, pushing your face into his chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

He pulled you back to look at him, taking your face between his hands again, doing a sweep with his eyes across your face.

“I’m okay,” you finally said, your cheeks still wet and breathing still deep, but you were back. You looked around to see that the sun was low in the sky. “Where are we?”

Tommy watched you for a second longer, dropping his hands and straightening in the seat. “Just outside of the Delphi camp. Johnny Dogs went ahead to let them know of our arrival and make sure it was safe.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled both of your attentions forward as Johnny emerged from the hilltop, accompanied with another.

“Tommy,” you grabbed his hand and his head snapped back to you. “You have to tell me about your dream. The one in France.”

His brow furrowed and you spied a flush at his cheeks, “Now? Is now the best time for this?”

“Please,” you whispered out in almost a pathetic plea.

Not sure why, but you were overcome with the feeling that time was running out. And despite your hesitations, you needed to know now more than ever what Tommy’s dream was about. And more urgently, if it had anything to do with the one you’d just had.

“You said you saw me. Were we in a garden? Something ancient, with long tunics and dressings?”

Tommy’s face continued to contort into confusion. “A garden? No, now look. I don’t know what just fucking happened there with you — you looked like some of the men back from war. But Johnny Dogs is about to be here. We’ll have to be on guard in this place, with these people — they’re dangerous when offended. There’s a reason why they’ve been able to survive as long as they have. Be careful what you say, what you give away.”

The part of your brain that was catching up with the present more quickly than the other wanted to scold Tommy for not telling you such information sooner. You liked to be prepared for a situation before walking in. But, whether it was because he still didn’t trust you, or because he was just so used to keeping secrets for himself, he was putting you in yet another situation where you felt you were playing catch up.

This seemed to snap your brain back to itself. You nodded, momentarily forgetting your dream and Tommy’s as the two men approached you both.

“Follow us,” said the Delphi member.

Johnny Dogs sent Tommy an unspoken look along with a nod. Tommy must have interpreted it as a sign to do as the other man said and follow, calling out for the horse to walk on as the two men walked alongside the animal to steer it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Tommy said in a whisper, eyes still facing forward. You moved your head to look at him but saw him shake his head. Adjusting back to the front, he went on. “Or maybe it was, I’m not sure. In the tunnels we uncovered an enemy explosive, the ricochet of it sent me backwards, cut at my chest. I was layin’ in the mud when my team found me, covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath, not daring to interrupt him or react in a way that would draw you both attention.

“In the dream,” Tommy continued, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. “I just saw you, not us. You were wearing a shirt — it was long, stoppin’ at your…” he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own dream but he pushed through, “thighs. You appeared to have nothing else on. The top was an odd thing in a dark blue color with a pyramid and a rainbow on it.”

Pink Floyd, you identified, the shirt in question appearing in your memory. It was your favorite sleeping shirt — old, soft, and baggy enough for you to walk around your flat like it was a dress. It was the shirt you were wearing your last night in 2018.

He went on, his voice still low enough to not arouse the company still leading them to the campsite. “In the dream, it was like I was hoverin’ over you. You were laying, surrounded by red sheets. Then a bright light lit up behind you, surroundin’ you before your eyes opened and looked at me. I reached out for you, tried to pull you back. But the light became so bright, I couldn’t see you anymore. I woke up to Freddie poundin’ on my fucking chest to start my heart back.”

A theory began to form in your brain as you started to put the pieces together.

“I think we saw each other that night,” you whispered, mostly thinking out loud. “I saw you in the mud, sinking, with blood covering you. You saw me in my bed…”

Traveling to the past, you wanted to finish, but kept the words to yourself.

Tommy took a deep breath next to you, taking in your theory. Ahead of you, the campsite came into view.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m hoping this place will have some answers.”

Tommy didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the camp, parking the wagon just outside next to Johnny Dogs’. The sun was fully set now as Tommy adjusted his jacket and jumped out of the wagon.

The Delphi member who had escorted them approached the wagon and offered you his hand to help you down. Tommy appeared next to him, eyes steady at the man until he took back his arm and retreated. You felt yourself want to roll your eyes at the exchange, but there was something in Tommy’s warning that made you appreciate it instead.

After the dream you’d just had, it felt good to feel safe again as you took Tommy’s hand and he steadied you to the ground. He kept his hand to your back as you both walked forward into the camp.

Watching him from the corner of your eye, you noticed him slip into something else. His face hardened into the signature Thomas Shelby glare, as if building a wall around his thoughts as you began to walk into the camp. His eyes were nonstop, scanning everywhere as if looking for potential threats or escape exists. It reminded you of how your father used to walk into crowded places — always alert for impending danger.

You took that as your own cue to do the same, finally taking in the camp around you.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, half picturing some of the movies you’d seen depicting gypsy campsites. A couple large fires were lit throughout the grounds, each surrounded by a gang of caravans — the largest was parked at the end of the alley, almost like a head of the table. There were more people around you than you imagined there’d be, with dogs running around and barefoot children chasing them.

One thing you did expect, but still found chilling to see in person — the sigil on the caravan the Delphi escort was walking you both toward.

A painting of a tree — a near perfect resemblance to the mark on your back.

“Madam Despoina will meet you now,” the escort said, opening the door of the caravan. “She’s asked that you wait for her here.”

You took a step toward the large caravan, feeling Tommy begin to follow you.

“Just the lady.”

The man lifted his hand between you and Tommy, stopping him from moving further. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to the hand, then back at the man.

“No,” you spoke up, the Delphi man looking back toward you but Tommy’s eyes never left his. “He comes with me.”

“She said nothing of the sort—“

“I don’t care,” you shrugged.

The man held your glare for a moment before exhaling in defeat. Tommy held the door of the caravan open for you to enter before following behind.

Inside, the caravan was dark, with a handful of candles lit around the parameter and on the table in the center. Tommy moved to sit on the far side of the table, facing the entrance, while you took the seat to his right. Across from you was the empty seat.

As you waited, you began to grow nervous, but you were desperate to stay aware of everything around you. In your quest to disprove your mother’s fortune teller claim, you’d gone on your own crusade to debunk the myth. But despite your skepticism, you found yourself wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

“Do you know what kind of divination they practice?” You found yourself asking Tommy.

He shook his head.

“Palm readings, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea readings,” you rolled your eyes, giving the caravan a once over again. You noticed some unlit candles, pointing them out. “It’s all such bullshit, see. It could be brighter in here, but they chose to keep it dark. It’s part of their trick — a dark atmosphere decreases people’s sensitivity to movement, heightens their sensitivity to noise, and causes them to be more on edge and frightened at the little things. I can’t believe we’re here.”

Tommy’s brow rose at her deduction.

“I bet you dollars to donuts that when she sits down, she’ll ask for our hands. Another part of the act — decreases the possibility of disrupting the play. A form of misdirection. Keep your eye on her hand and you don’t see her move her knee to knock against the table crying out spirits.”

You felt your temper rise as you continued, not being able to stop yourself now from just rambling out of pent up anger and nerves. Your eyes met Tommy’s, who was appraising you curiously.

“Not a fan of gypsies, I take it?”

There was a hint of defense in his tone that punched at your gut. He thought you were judging his people and suddenly you felt the need to explain yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean— it’s not that. It’s just—“ you were having a hard time backing yourself out of this corner. You took a deep breath. “My mother wasted a lot of money and sanity on fortune tellers and seances. She thought they had answers to her questions and it became an obsession. I learned a lot to try and convince her that such stuff didn’t exist. That it was all parlor tricks, unconscious muscle movement, static electricity, light trickery—”

“She never believed you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the entrance of the caravan. Madam Despoina, you assumed, climbed into the wagon and took the seat across from you.

“She always knew there was an answer out there. A truth, just outside her grasp. She searched, the same way you now search. It’s ironic, no?”

“Madam Despoina,” Tommy greeted, nodding his head down as a show of respect.

The woman nodded in return, “Thomas Shelby.”

Madam Despoina turned then to you and reached her hand out, silently asking for your own. You sent a sideways glance to Tommy, who was already smirking at the action.

Did they have donuts in 1918? You quickly found yourself wondering.

“Please,” the Madam said softly. “It has been so long since your line has had answers.”

You crossed your arms, a direct defiance of her request, “My mother was desperate. I am not. What could you possibly know about me?”

You felt Tommy inhale sharply, an uncomfortable energy radiating off him as his back straightened and he kept an eye on the woman to his left. Obviously he had a better understanding of Romani decorum than you did — you wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your disrespect, misjudging the consequences.

But Madam Despoina only hummed and smiled, her eyes nearly sparkling with a challenge.

She folded her hands together as she leaned against the table, talking directly to you as she began. “Our lineages have traveled from the same ancient roads. I am a direct descendent of the original Pythia.”

“Pythia?” You repeated, the pieces finally beginning to take shape.

Greek history and mythology had been one of your favorite subjects in school, as it seemed to be for most kids in your time. But after learning that your own history may have led back to that country, that culture, it made you hyper-fixate on learning as much as you could. You loved the idea of these stories, these grandiose themes that people of an ancient world told to explain every day occurrences or creations.

Your dream began to itch at the back of your brain as you thought back to those lessons.

“The Oracle of Delphi,” you continued, a sly smile from the woman across from you aiding your confirmation. “No wonder the name sounded so familiar.”

“Oracle?” Tommy’s brow furrowed as he looked to you for an answer.

The Madam nodded, as if encouraging you to explain.

“They were priestesses of Ancient Greece,” you replied tentatively, careful with your words.

You knew this was another tactic used by fortune tellers, to get the payee to divulge information to use back at you, making you unwittingly believe that they knew all along.

You cleared your throat. “They told prophecies and were considered the most prestigious oracles in Greece.”

Madam Despoina nodded. “The Pythia was the most powerful woman in the ancient world. We channeled our ancient god and he spoke through us.”

“You know, there’s some that believe the explanation for the prophecy inspiration came from vapors in the springs below the temple,” you interrupted.

You remembered a professor who always loved to bring reason or scientific explanation to some of these tales as a way of relating them back to real world scenarios. You’ll never forget the way he’d compared Hercules killing his wife and children because Hera spelled him to see them as demons to a fit of roid-rage. You channeled that professor at this moment to regurgitate some of his words.

“That the shift of very specific, active fault lines and earthquakes released some kind of hallucinogenic gas, giving the illusion of connecting with the divine. And as for the possessions, some thought them to be epilepsies, brought on by either the gas or from chewing and inhaling the leaves of a poisonous plant — like the way Vikings used to eat magic mushrooms and burn leaves to see visions of trolls and giants and gods.”

Madam Despoina kept her smile as you talked, chuckling as you finished. “That is a very astute observation of our history. Perhaps it’s true. I never did believe that our power was fueled solely on magic or the divine alone.”

That surprised you. You hadn’t expected her to take your reasoning seriously — part of you thought she’d kick you out on the spot. As if reading your thoughts (or your facial expression, you reasoned), she chuckled again.

“Despite how the root came to be, it does not negate the clarity of the branches. We continue the Delphi name and practices in honor of that lineage,” she went on after giving you a moment with your thoughts. “Just as it seems, your mother continued yours.”

Your brow creased, “What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and began to speak in another language, Latin perhaps, before opening them and speaking again, this time in English.

“Know thyself and thou shalt know all the mysteries of the gods and the universe,” she said cryptically, obviously reciting something, but you didn’t know it’s origin.

“Know myself?” You repeated, your brow creasing. “That’s what I came here for,” you replied, half annoyed, half skeptic.

“I know why you came here. It’s been long predicted of your arrival.”

You took a deep breath. “I was starting to like you. Do you have anything less generic to say?”

She smirked, “You still disbelieve our power, our connection?”

“I believe you’re trying to probe me with leading questions,” you replied, leaning your elbows against your lap. “That the power of suggestion is half the battle of divinity. You know why I’m here, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if you didn’t already know there was some connection. I’m here for real answers, and you either have them, or you don’t”

“Aye, you are perceptive,” you were surprised to see her smile. “Most readings are easy — love, fortune, death, these are all pieces that are simple to persuade. But not you, not the one who branded herself with the tree of knowledge, of universal balance on your back.”

You felt yourself shift in your seat, your shoulders moved at the mention of your tattoo between them.

As you said, you guessed they already knew about it. Tommy would have had to give Johnny Dogs a reason for reaching out to the family, a reason strong enough to request an audience with the woman before you.

A quick glance at Tommy, who had narrow eyes on Madam Despoina, confirmed such.

Playing it off, you shrugged. “So, tell me something I don’t know.”

The woman smiled again, leaning forward to match your stance. “You were named after the cursed one herself. The first of your matriarch. The infamous Trojan princess.”

“Cassandra,” you answered. “The unbelieved prophet.”

Your dream itched harder in the back of your mind at the sound of your middle name being said out loud for the first time in years.

“A gracious gift given by the god himself at the promise of her body, who then twisted into curse once she refused to lay with him,” the Madam explained with almost a song-like quality.

Of course you knew the story. You’d been ecstatic when you began the Iliad and found your own name amongst the pages.

You hummed, “You know, there’s another side of that story. One that paints Cassandra as a devout priestess, who had the gift bestowed to her freely. She didn’t ask for it, nor did she consent to it. And it was only after he made his advances, believing that she owed him for this gift she didn’t ask for, that he cursed her in rage of an ego blow.”

The Madam nodded, “And which do you believe? The temptress or the victim?”

“Seeing as most history is written by men, I tend to sympathize with the female viewpoints,” you stated, crossing your arms again.

“What if I told you there’s a third side to this story. One that I believe you have already begun to uncover.”

Your itch turned into a burn as you thickly swallowed.

“Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some say it’s the mark of a death and rebirth of the Sun.” Madam turned then to Tommy, who’d been quietly observing during this time. “You’ve had experience with that yourself, haven’t ya, Thomas? You were dead, and now, reborn.”

“What does any of this have to do with why we’re here?” You asked, feeling a sense of protectiveness over Madam’s focus on Tommy.

“Why did you bring him?” She asked you, still looking toward Tommy. “My men told you that I’d meet with you alone.”

“I promised him no more secrets —“

“No,” she cut you off. “You wanted me to reveal your secret for you. But I cannot.”

“Because you don’t know—”

“Because it’s not time!” She shouted, pivoting back toward you quickly. The humor in her eyes had gone now. “You are a traveler, but you don’t belong here. You have been sent to this place, to this time, for a reason. A curse brought you here, but unlike the others, you have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. You have a chance to save lives with your knowledge, with your insight. You must get the right people to listen. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.”

Your mouth gaped as Madam Despoina had gone on, but your brain was doing everything to absorb every word, every micro-expression you could make out to understand.

The woman stood from her seat and began her retreat, taking a deep breath before turning back around.

“You will find the answers you seek, so long as you stay true to thyself. Listen to your dreams, your visions, your memories. And above all, know you are stronger than those who came before you — you are stronger than your mother.”

With that, she left the caravan, leaving you and Tommy alone.

You looked over to Tommy, who was staring at you — a look you couldn’t quite make out. You opened your mouth to say something when the caravan door opened.

Johnny Dogs stood at the open end, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner and to rest for the night. They have a caravan for the two of yous.”

Your brow creased as you looked back to Tommy, “We can’t possibly stay the night here. Not after that —“

“We must,” he replied, his voice as even as it’d been before. “It’ll be an insult if we don’t.”

He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up as well. He pulled you close to him, his voice low enough so even Johnny Dogs couldn’t hear.

“But we leave first thing in the morning. We speak nothing of what happened here tonight. Understood?”

“How can you expect that of me?” You asked genuinely, hoping he didn’t mistake your question for childish disobedience. Your mind was swimming with everything that’d happened in the last few hours. Your eyes sought his, “How can you not have questions for me?”

He exhaled a humored breath before swallowing, pulling your head the inch it needed before his lips brushed against your temple. His hand returned to your back as he whispered into your ear.

“Oh believe me, love, I do. But there will be time for that later. Come on, we can’t keep them waiting.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (6)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Hahahhh I finished it finally! I love my boys so much, they fill my heart with so much joy :;) @annablogsposts this obsession is all your fault! I need to make a masterpost for this... anyways, ENJOY!

*~*~*~*~*

They rode in silence back to the Kingswood as one of the soldier’s had called it. Cosimo had scrunched his nose up at that name. How can a woods be owned by a King? Nature was its own master. Besides, there wouldn’t be Elfbows there if the original inhabitants of the forest were humans. No, Cosimo had the sneaking suspicion that this was the forest Henrik had told him about in his story of Niko’s father.

Cosimo remembered his tutor, one of the Elder Elves, telling him about the histories of their people. How they would live in harmony with nature, together as one, both giving and taking in equal measures. How the humans would come like an invasive species and only ever take… upsetting the balance of the earth to build their soulless cities and castles and nature be damned. Animals be damned.

“Nothing is sacred to humans, Cosimo,” Ludwig had told him. “They are selfish creatures. They would sacrifice anything to satiate their own greed.”

Cosimo’s eyes had gone wide at Ludwig’s cautionary words. He spoke them with such hatred that was foreign coming from the teacher’s mouth. Ludwig was patient, kind, compassionate — so hearing him speak with such malice, it struck a chord within Cosimo that echoed now in his mind and his chest. Jarring, eerie and wrong.

Was he making the right choice in leading the humans to the boy that Cosimo was trying to protect? Was there any way he could possibly distract them? Sneak off and find the boy and the fox and run?

Nestor’s laugh made his chest ache, as he floated into the memory without Cosimo’s permission. Nestor and his happy-go-lucky grin. After he heard Ludwig’s take on the humans he joined the conversation, leaning down heavy on Ludwig’s shoulders. Cosimo remembers smiling as the Elder rolled his eyes.

There was only one elf who would do such a thing.

“Ah, Ludwig. You are scaring the boy.”

“I am merely teaching,” Ludwig said, the hatred gone from his voice as he straightened his spine and grabbed Nestor’s arm lifting it from around his neck. “You should know better than to interrupt.”

“Always good to be a little nosey,” Nestor said, lifting his eyes to meet Cosimo’s and winking at him. “Eh, Cosimo?”

Cosimo’s smile grew into a cheap copy of Nestor’s mischievous grin. “You should know better than to fill his head with such nonsense, Nestor. Not all elves have the freedom to be as carefree as you.”

“If he’s learning the bad he can learn the good of the humans too, no? About their music? Their art? Their love, Ludwig.”

“The boy is but a child,” Ludwig hissed, glaring at Nestor. Cosimo swallowed as Nestor’s smile fell from his face. Ludwig stood to his full height, turning his body slightly to stare at Nestor down his crooked nose. “It is better he be cautious around humans than seek them out for no good reason.”

Cosimo’s heart pounded in his skull but he couldn’t just sit by and watch Nestor be scolded. “I would never do such a thing, Ludwig.”

The two elves turned their head to look at Cosimo who was standing now too, head high, chin up, determined. “I heed your warning. You’re my teacher. I want to learn from you, and from your experiences. What reason would I have to leave court in search of humans? I have everything I need right here.”

Ludwig cocked an arched brow at Cosimo’s words, a begrudgingly proud tightness wound his jaw. “You are too smart for your age, Cosimo.”

“That’s because he has an ancient elder schooling him,” Nestor said with a cheeky laugh, slapping a hearty palm onto Ludwig’s back. “I’m heading out on a reconnaissance mission today.”

“To the humans?” Cosimo asked, ignoring the scolding glance Ludwig sent his way.

Nestor scrunched his lips up. “Sort of. More like, seeing them at a distance. If they’re close to the court we can disguise it better or hide it well, make sure the humans don’t disturb us and just walk past the court.”

“You should go do it then,” Ludwig told him. “Let me get on with my job.”

Nestor hummed sagely, nodding in agreement. “Yes. I agree. Cosimo remember to frown when he speaks so he knows you take him seriously.”

Cosimo laughed as Ludwig shoved Nestor away playfully in reply. “Get out of here.”

“I’m gone.”

Cosimo stared after Nestor who waved before disappearing from sight. Ludwig settled back down, sitting once more and gazed up at Cosimo. “What is it, boy?”

Cosimo swallowed, snapping himself out of his daze and sat back down across from Ludwig. “I just wonder what reconnaissance missions would be like.”

“If Nestor’s anything to go by, clearly it drives you mad.”

Cosimo smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean being that close to humans.”

Ludwig’s gaze was heavy on Cosimo’s face, studying the young elf’s features. His high cheekbones and shrewd eyes, always busy, always calculating something behind them. It wasn’t the first time Ludwig had been left out of Cosimo’s musings, but even so… he wanted to know what the boy thought. How his mind worked. But that wasn’t Ludwig’s job.

“We resume,” is all Ludwig said. Cosimo blinked and he was staring at Ludwig, focused once more. He nodded and shifted in his seat, clasping his hands together in front of him. “We resume.”

The memory left, leaving a sense of uneasiness in its wake. Maybe Ludwig was being over-cautious, sometimes he was like that.

And the humans only ever treated us with kindness, a sarcastic voice hissed in the back of Cosimo’s mind. Take off the hood and see their true colours.

Cosimo ignored the voice and focused on the task at hand. They were amongst the trees now, coming close to the camp. Maybe another twenty minute ride.

“Everything okay, Cosimo?” Henrik asked. Cosimo took a deep breath. Everything seemed too big right now. Too much for him to grasp between his fingers and wrestle under his control. All he needed to do was find the boy. Once he saw him, he would be fine. Everything will be fine.

“I just want to find my brother,” Cosimo told Henrik, careful to remember that’s what Cosimo had told the King and his right hand. A lie. He had told them a lie, and when they found out… what would they do to Cosimo then?

When they arrived at the camp Cosimo’s heart jumped into his mouth, remembering the events that happened here yesterday? Today? That brought him back here. How Henrik was the one who kicked him to the ground and kept him there. Cuffing him, bringing him to the palace… it turned Cosimo’s stomach.

Henrik climbed off Ebony behind him, and Cosimo lifted his leg over the saddle to slide down himself beside Henrik. He brushed the hood back off his head, the earth under his feet feeling like a sigh of relief. Nikolas came over to the pair as someone led Henrik’s horse away to be tied off.

“Well, Cosimo,” Nikolas said with a sweeping gesture. “Lead the way.”

Cosimo nodded, searching for the stream he had crossed. He prayed that nobody had been through here since he was. No elf, nobody who came looking. Let the boy be there.

He crossed the stream first, then looked over his shoulder to the King and his right hand. He straightened himself, shoulders pulling back, making himself taller before speaking. “Would it be okay if I went and retrieved the— my brother before I introduce him to all of you? He might be frightened.”

Nikolas tilted his head slightly, regarding Cosimo with his discerning green eyes. Nikolas pursed his lips. “No, Cosimo. I think it’s best if we find him together. What if you get lost?”

Cosimo scoffed. “I’m an elf. I can’t get lost in the forest.”

“All the same,” Nikolas said with a kind smile and a little shrug. Cosimo swallowed and faced forward again, gathering his discarded water container and walking up the slippery bank to the trail on top. He was so close… he could run, the likelihood of the humans catching him was slim. He could disappear in the trees, come out when they had given up looking for him. The boy would be safe in the Elfbow.

Unless the elves started looking for him too. The thought unsettled him more, in which case he would be better off with the humans. So Cosimo planted his feet even though he wanted so badly to run. He had to remember who he was, he wasn’t some scared boy. He had to trust his instincts, they got him this far. Everything would be fine.

“I could do with your long legs,” Nikolas said to Cosimo with an airy laugh as he climbed the bank.

“Or maybe it’s the lack of shoes,” Henrik mused, nodding at Cosimo’s bare feet. “It gives you more grip.”

“Perhaps you humans should whine less,” Cosimo said with a smirk, which only grew when the two humans full attention was on the elf. “It seems to weigh you down more, makes you slow.”

Henrik laughed his deep heart chuckle, and slapped Cosimo between his shoulder blades playfully. It was Nikolas who spoke next: “You lead the way from here, Cosimo. Hopefully we can find your brother before dark.”

Cosimo’s smile dimmed a bit at the edges as he bowed his head slightly. “Of course. This way.”

They trekked in silence back the way Cosimo came, the trees and trail familiar, the forest floor almost guiding him to where he needed to be. Cosimo prayed that the boy be okay. That he’s safe. That the elves didn’t find him and take him back to court or worse.

When the elfbow came into Cosimo’s sight he took off into a run. “There!” Henrik and the King’s footsteps thundered behind as Cosimo ran through the thick coat of leaves with ease. He craned his neck around the tree, chest heaving to see the fox in the nook, cuddled up beside the sleeping boy. Sweat soaked hair clung to the boy’s forehead and he looked far more pale than the last time Cosimo had seen him.

“Cosimo?!”

Cosimo pressed his forehead against the elfbow under his palm and closed his eyes in relief. Thank you. I’m here to take him again.

“Cosimo?” Henrik called from faraway. “Where are you?”

Cosimo’s eyes shot open. Humans couldn’t come into the sanctuary of the elder trees. Elfbows served elves and were almost sacred in their protection. After the humans started destroying forests to clear way for cities and villages, the elder trees made a pact with one of the first elves: that if the elves protected the tree then, it would serve as protector for future generations. Or so the story went.

The court elders always made a point of telling Cosimo that if he was ever lost or scared to find an elfbow and he would be safe from humans. It only occurred to him then, that he could just hide with the boy here and Henrik and Nikolas would never find them.

The humans wouldn’t find them, he reminded himself. Elfbows don’t protect elves from elves. A smaller voice, a childlike voice in the back of his mind continued: and who are you more scared of?

“I’m here,” Cosimo called back, unsure if they would be able to hear him. “He’s here, he’s alright. I’ll be just a second.”

The fox tilted her head as Cosimo entered the small nook, and watched silently as Cosimo hooked one arm under the boys neck and the other under the boys knees and lifted him from the soil and blanket of leaves. The boy was cold and covered in a thick sheen of sweat that made Cosimo’s heart race.

Surely the humans could heal him, they could fix him. Do something! They would know more. The fox chirped at Cosimo’s heel, bowed into a deep stretch her tail swishing as she stood. Black beady eyes peered up at Cosimo and he understood that she was asking: what now? Even if he wanted to, Cosimo couldn’t dissuade the fox from following and protecting the boy. Foxes were far too cunning to be tricked by a young elf.

The boy was far more lifeless than ever, his chest rising shallowly. Cosimo didn’t waste anymore time in the Elfbow’s protection. He emerged from under a sheet of leaves to see Henrik and King Nikolas with their backs turned to Cosimo.

“Here,” Cosimo rushed out, voice hitching as his feet carried him quickly across the distance to the two humans he decided to trust. Even though this could all be a farce, Cosimo was desperate. The fox pattered along behind him.

The humans turned at the sound of Cosimo’s voice, eyes drawn to the half alive boy in his arms. Henrik rushed over went to take the boy out of Cosimo’s hands but Cosimo turned at the last moment, wide panicked eyes meeting Henrik’s stunned gaze turning sympathetic.

“I have him,” Cosimo said, tone clipped. Henrik straightened, nodding.

Nikolas was the one to move them along. “We need to get him to Artzet immediately.”

“Will he be able to fix him?” Cosimo asked, following the humans back through the forest to the camp.

Henrik leaned into Nikolas and said quietly: “Niko, did you—”

“Yes,” Nikolas replied quickly, cutting Henrik off. He glanced over his shoulder at Cosimo, but the fae had his eyes and attention fixed solely on the unconscious boy in his arms, expression tight with worry. “Now’s not the time, Henrik. We can talk more once we get the boy back to Artzet.”

“Did you see the fox?”

Nikolas laughed, low and rich. “Yes. I saw.”

“Do you think it’s coming along too?”

“I don’t think we could dissuade it even if we tried.”

Cosimo was oblivious to the conversation ahead of him as he carefully stepped down the bank of the stream and hopped it effortlessly. The fox padded along beside him, not even faltering when they emerged into the humans camp.

“Come, men,” Nikolas called to the camp. “We are to be off as soon as we ready the horses.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Soldiers milled to action. It was a smaller party than Henrik was with so within minutes they were packed and on horseback again.

Henrik stood beside Ebony and held his arms out to Cosimo. Cosimo’s sharp eyes cut into Henrik, narrow, untrusting. Henrik tried to look as reassuring as possible.

“You can’t get on the horse with him in your arms, Cosimo. Don’t worry, I’ll give him right back.”

Cosimo worried his bottom lip before nodding with a sigh. He passed the boy to Henrik’s strong arms and hesitated before releasing the boy. He quickly climbed up onto Ebony and held his arms out for the boy again.

Henrik’s smile was kind and reassuring as he passed the boy up to Cosimo before mounting the horse behind them. The fox sat in front of Ebony’s snout as she grazed, beady black eyes peering up at the elf.

“Will the fox be joining us?” Henrik asked.

Cosimo nodded. “She will walk behind. I don’t think she’ll mind the distance.”

“Still, it is a long way to go for such little legs,” Nikolas said coming to a stop beside them. “Will she let me carry her?”

Cosimo looked at the fox who tilted her head at him. A silent understanding passed between them, and Cosimo nodded.

“Yeah, she’ll let you pick her up.”

“Come on sweet thing,” Nikolas said, crouching and extending his hands to her. The fox walked towards him, sniffing his hand before plodding up to him and letting herself be lifted. “Oh, she’s so soft. I think I’ll ride with her beside you, so she can still see you both.”

Cosimo nodded. “Of course.”

Nikolas did just that and then they set off out of the king’s wood back to palace, Cosimo holding the boy tight to his chest. Henrik put the hood over Cosimo’s head before they reached the city gates, the cloak partly obscured the sleeping boy’s face, the other pressed into Cosimo’s chest.

Nikolas had one soldier ride ahead and tell Artzet to prepare a bed for the unconscious boy. They didn’t stop for chats with villagers this time, the air of urgency within their ranks must have carried outwards because no one stopped Nikolas for a catchup as they raced through the streets. Hooves clapped like thunder with steady, rhythmic beats as they passed the village to the wealthier residential area and finally the gates of the palace came into view.

“Just hold on,” Cosimo whispered, tightening his hold on the boy as they trotted to the stables. Henrik dismounted quickly, spreading his arms for the boy. Cosimo hesitated, again, but he didn’t have time to waste. This was life or death and Cosimo vowed he would keep the boy safe. They had come too far to risk it all over Cosimo’s feelings.

Cosimo had just passed the boy to Henrik when Nikolas appeared beside them, fox at his heels. Anxiety at not having the boy close crawled thick up Cosimo’s spine along with a sudden warm feeling as he jumped off Ebony. He had only begun to take a step towards Henrik when his vision swam with an impenetrable darkness. The world swayed and his body became like lead and he was falling.

A warm chest caught him before he could make contact with the ground. Cosimo let out a startled gasp, hands reaching up to hold onto the solid person that kept him upright, his body shivering as strong hands wrapped around him, reassuring.

“It’s okay, Cosimo,” Nikolas told him. “You’re okay. You’ve had a very long day.”

“The boy—” Cosimo mumbled, his tongue heavy as he tried to push his legs to work properly so he could stand on his own. An elf leaning on a human… what would the Elders think?

“We’ll get him to Artzet, as promised, dear boy. Henrik will carry him—”

“No.”

“Yes, you can barely stand. Don’t worry, you and I will head up together. Henrik and Artzet will take good care of him.”

Cosimo wanted to protest but there was no time. Instead he fought back tears as he nodded meekly. “Okay.”

Nikolas nodded at Henrik. Henrik turned on his heel and within seconds disappeared into the palace. Cosimo turned in Nikolas’s hold, one hand fisting the fabric of the King’s tunic in a stranglehold to keep standing. He only stopped when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Nikolas. Nikolas wrapped an arm around Cosimo, the other ready to catch him if he tried to make a move.

“Easy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo risked a step forward. He would have fallen if it wasn’t for Nikolas’s strong arm holding him up. Cosimo let out a breathy curse in elvish, frustrated at his temporary weakness. He needed to get to Henrik and the boy. He needed to make sure they didn’t do anything bad to him. What if they locked him in iron cuffs? What then?

Something scratched the back of his brain but Cosimo didn’t have the energy to focus on it or give it the light of day.

“Just wait a second, Cosimo, it will pass. Your brother’s not going anywhere.”

The air around him was thick and clammy, like there was no actual oxygen getting to his lungs, as if he was inhaling tiny amounts of iron with every breath. He wouldn’t put it past Rochus to do something like that, poison the air while Cosimo was away.

Nikolas reached over to Ebony’s saddle bag and pulled Henrik’s waterskin from it. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Cosimo took it from Nikolas, unscrewed the bottle and drank it down. The cool liquid was soothing and refreshing as it went down Cosimo’s throat and he found the more he drank the more he wanted to drink. He finished the container of water and opened his eyes, already feeling a ten times better than before.

Nikolas grinned. “Better?”

“Yes,” Cosimo said, handing him the empty water-skin. “Much better. Can we go to Artzet now?”

Nikolas laughed and shook his head fondly. For a short, heart-stopping moment Cosimo thought the king shaking his head side to side meant no, and Cosimo’s mind conjured up the worst.

“You are a determined boy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo felt his cheeks flush pink as he stepped forward, trying to hide his reaction from the king. Nikolas stepped with him until they got to the railing on the stairs. Cosimo let go of Nikolas’s arm and placed all his weight on the railing. He could do this. He could get to the boy. He was so close to saving them.

Once they were up the stairs Nikolas led Cosimo, arm in arm, to Artzet’s clinic. Cosimo almost cried when he saw the boy, something in his arm that connected him to a bag of water. A damp cloth over his forehead.

Myshka was sitting on one bed over, observing Artzet as he worked. Henrik greeted them. “Ah, you’re here. Good.”

“Is it serious?” Cosimo rushed out.

“No, no. Boy is good, strong, healthy of heart,” Artzet replied, smiling at Cosimo over his shoulder. “He will make full recovery.”

“He’ll be okay?” Cosimo whispered, not willing to believe his ears or eyes or anything as he walked with heavy feet to the end of the boy’s bed. The fox was laying there, curled up at the end of his bed and made a noise of recognition when Cosimo approached.

“He will be fine, boy,” Artzet said again, looking to Henrik and Nikolas with a shrug. “I thought that is what I said?”

“Cosimo’s had a long day,” Henrik said. “The two of them both need some rest.”

Cosimo didn’t dare blink in case the world would trick him and make the boy disappear. He couldn’t sleep, not until the boy woke up. He had to make sure the boy was okay. That he didn’t doom them both.

“You say boy is your brother?” Artzet asked, eyes as wide as an owls. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Did he catch him in a lie?

“Good,” Artzet said happily. “Then I know he will be okay. He will be as strong as his big brother, uh? Now, I set up bed beside him for you to sleep.”

Cosimo glanced up at Artzet and nodded fervently. Nikolas made a noise behind him. “Cosimo, I think a proper bed would be better. Hospital beds are uncomfortable—”

“Niko,” Henrik said softly. Nikolas sighed. Cosimo turned to look at the King. His shoulders sagged as he yielded.

“Okay. Fine, I know I won’t convince you otherwise, but Cosimo, the minute you and your brother are better you—”

Nikolas cut himself off as Cosimo crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the King, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” Cosimo whispered. Nikolas let out a soft, shocked breath of a laugh, wrapping his arms tentatively around the elf.

“It’s my pleasure,” Nikolas replied as Cosimo stepped out of his embrace. “I will go and prepare your rooms. Artzet, I leave the boys in your capable hands.”

“Your majesty,” Artzet said with a bow.

“I’ll stay too,” Henrik said, patting Cosimo’s shoulder. “Until you’re asleep.”

“Full house!” Artzet cried, drawing the covers back on the bed beside the sleeping boy’s. Cosimo walked over to it and climbed in, thanking Artzet and Henrik as he pressed his head to the pillow. Artzet and Henrik started talking in low, hushed voices while Cosimo watched the boy’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

Alive and safe.

Cosimo did it. He rescued them. His eyelids suddenly grew heavy and Cosimo didn’t fight them as they slid over his eyes, darkness welcoming him like an old friend. Sleep took him somewhere far away, somewhere he didn’t have to think and worry and fret. Somewhere he didn’t betray his race and seek refuge in humans.

Henrik stayed even when he was sure the elf was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling softly. He looked so much younger when he was asleep, Henrik thought, without the hard crease between his brows. His jaw wasn't clenched, his face relaxed, no stubborn, steely gaze to contend with. He looked like a boy, a human boy around fourteen years old.

Already Henrik had developed a protective streak for the elf, wanting to comfort and care for him as much as the elf would allow. More than the elf would allow. The fondness in Henrik's chest for Cosimo wasn't the only recent feeling that had taken hold of him since he met the boy. There was something foreboding, unnatural, as if there was a presence watching him from somewhere unseen to the naked eye, and Henrik knew that Cosimo's presence here would only spell trouble. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to let the boy go now that he had met him. He still had so many questions to ask him; why he ran, who he was, will he stay?

All those questions could wait until Cosimo and his brother awoke. For now, Henrik pulled up a chair and rest his head against the backrest, content with watching over the newest residents of the palace.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (zee tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @tippytappytyping

[margindoodles2407]

Can I have the au from this post?

Looks super fun!

/nf

Hi there friend!

Full disclosure, I actually kind of forgot about this fic until you brought it up, and I only have one thing written for it- but if you'd like to see more, I'd be more than happy to write more for this! I think it's a really cool concept and it makes me so happy to know that people would actually like to see it.

I'll post the ficlet under the cut. I hope you enjoy!

Oh, and a quick note: It’s not exactly how I’d rewrite the story from Speedrunner!Link’s perspective, more like how the aftermath would go if you took the speedrunner approach.

It’s over, it’s finally over. The thing that had loomed over Hyrule Castle ever since he woke up two days ago was gone- hopefully for good.

He gazes at the girl across from him- Zelda, the old man had said her name was- the girl covered in malice and the grime of a century of hatred. Her blonde curls are matted and tangled and she’s covered in what looks like burn scars as she stares back at him with eyes the color of things that are alive- the only bright spot in her tarnished facade.

She blinks, hesitant, as if she’s not sure whether to stand there or run to him and fling her arms around him. He doesn’t know which he wants. So he stands there catching his breath, and she stands there dithering, and then the fleetest flicker of a smile crosses her pale lips, and she says:

"May I ask... Do you really remember me?"

He stands there, because he doesn't really know what else to do. How could he? Her smile is widened in anticipation of what she wants to hear, a smile so warm and bright and hopeful that it makes him want to say yes, of course I remember you and see that smile turn to tears of joy that they can cry together.

But he can't. He couldn't lie to her. It would break her heart. He doesn't remember a thing about her- everything he knows about her he's learned in the past 48 hours.

So it's all he can do to clear his throat and stammer out, "No."

The smile vanishes in an instant, replaced by knitted brows and eyes full of concern. “Oh- oh, I see.” She crosses the field, her luminous gown flapping in the evening twilight like a tattered battle standard, and she halts in front of him to cup his face in her slender hands and gaze into his eyes- as if she could figure out what’s wrong with him simply by staring hard enough. 

“Do… if I may… can… do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

He screws his eyes shut and tries to reach back behind the curtain of blackness, but as hard as he tries, the furthest thing he can grasp is a sweet voice- her voice- begging him to open his eyes. He shakes his head in wordless apology, opening his eyes just in time to see hers cloud with disappointment. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can think to mumble.

“Not your fault,” she mutters back, almost to herself. She’s lost in a reverie, thinking of what next to do, and then her eyes snap back to his and the disappointment is replaced by determination. 

“You know what? That’s not important right now. We’ll figure something out. Just… come with me; we’ll make camp somewhere and pick this up in the morning.”

[marionedde]

The Little Prince

story thingie I wrote about body positivity and loving yourself :) hope you like it!

I, the little prince.

I am the king, born in the twisted body.

I have fought my war for years on end. 

I know not when it started, nor when it will end.

Sometimes I’ve forgotten I’m fighting.

But I always am.

My list of enemies are long;

The twisted growth of my forsaken body,

The sharp, cruel words of my own mind,

The temptation of self-hatred,

The dark kingdom I am lost in, full of taboos and rules and vines,

The people in the shadows with teeth and claws.

When they bite and scratch, the poison starts to set in.

Then the bloody guns of war reload, aiming at your own head.

Blasting, whizzing bullets whispering past your eyes.

Words cannot describe the dripping words of malice they tell you.

And when the bullets pass, the poison grows.

The thorns in your stomach twist around your insides, growing and reaching for more fear to fuel itself.

Being the prince is hard.

You give everything, trying to be the perfect ruler.

Kind, just, impenetrable.

Worthy of the crown.

Loved by your kingdom.

You may think being on the throne is everything-

All you do is plead and beg for sweet, sweet validation.

The crown grows heavier the more civilians ask for your love.

When you give your love to everyone, you lose the love you have for yourself.

The crown twists into your head, and your nerves scream and cry.

But you can’t let it out. 

You collapse,

You can’t hear your own thoughts.

You give up, letting the shadow people rip you to shreds.

“May I have your heart, little prince?” They ask in choruses.

And you can’t say no.

The heavy crown pushes your mind into the dirt. 

It’s still not enough.

Until you surrender every fragment of yourself to the world, you cannot be happy, The crown’s roots say, twisting and bending your mind.

You give everything for the sake of others, and never for yourself.

Sometimes, the people don’t even know how much they’re taking. Sometimes they do.

So, now we’re here.

Empty, the body you didn’t even want ripped apart until all that is left is the echoing sounds of your own corrupted brain.

Alone.

No one but yourself.

And when you face yourself, it’s the worst thing possible.

The mirror is cruel. Too close.

Every shatter and fragment highlights your faults, your bruises, your insecurities.

But deep in that mirror is the one last piece of love you still have, saved yourself.

And when you take that piece, the seed is planted. 

Suddenly, your body is filled with blooming flowers, peppering your bones.

And you’re you.

The flowers of your soul are not all picture perfect.

Some are wilted.

Some haven’t bloomed.

Some aren’t the right color, size, or shape.

But why is that wrong?

A garden needs every flower in it, not just the pretty ones.

Pull the crown off your head.

Remove the roots from your mind.

The civilians do not need a ruler.

They can care for themselves.

They are not your responsibility.

Perhaps, you never were a prince.

But just one of them.

You’re the prince of your own body.

The only person you need to provide for is yourself.

Let yourself be “selfish”.

Let yourself be loved.

Let yourself be yourself.

It’s okay to be weak.

Or broken.

Or not happy.

Take your time.

And when someone is in need, remember.

You can’t fix them or their problems.

But you can be there with them.

Give love, but make sure you’re there to give love.

[zykamiliah]

the moment shen jiu forgives yue qingyuan is the moment he stops being a hypocrite

With that, he came to the cheerful conclusion that Yue Qingyuan had truly done everything he could; he’d gone above and beyond to fulfill the calls of both kindness and duty. Regardless of how much guilt weighed down his heart, his debt had long since been repaid in full.

where before he was denying that luo binghe's revenge was due to his own actions and abuse, and refused to admit his owns wrongdoings in front of yue qingyuan, getting defensive at every question,

“Shidi,” he said, exhausted, “we’ve already come this far, so why do you still refuse to consider your wrongdoings?” Even if someone had knocked out his teeth, even if he was left swallowing his own blood, Shen Qingqiu had always stubbornly refused to admit his transgressions—especially in front of Yue Qingyuan, in front of whom you could absolutely forget about any confessions. “What ‘wrongdoings’?” Shen Qingqiu asked bitterly. “Zhangmen-shixiong, please tell me, what is Luo Binghe if not a bastard? You just wait. He won’t be satisfied only taking it out on me. If, in the future, some tumultuous storm upsets the cultivation world, then the only thing I will have done wrong was fail to cut him down at the start.”

after he forgives yue qingyuan, he starts speaking honestly, and confesses he did wrong, that he only has himself to blame for what happened. it's as if some part of him finally relaxes when he realizes that yue qingyuan truly does care about him. his dialogue becomes less defensive, he is absolutely frank about his own personality.

“I’ll tell you this: Even if all of this could be redone from the beginning, in the end, the conclusion would remain the same. My heart is full of malice, my insides hatred and resentment. Today, Luo Binghe wishes for me to die horribly, and I only have myself to blame.”

everything he says from this point on is what he truly feels about himself and the world.

“Do you still hold such hatred within yourself?” asked Yue Qingyuan. Shen Qingqiu laughed uproariously. “Only when I see other people unhappy can I be happy myself. What do you think?”

then, he absolves yue qingyuan in his own way

Shen Qingqiu scoffed. “You ask me to kill you here, Sect Leader Yue? Are you unsatisfied with the crimes Luo Binghe’s already charged me with? You think them too few? Besides, who do you think you are? My hatred will be resolved as long as I kill you? I’m far beyond cure; I hate everything. Don’t blame this humble Shen for any disrespect or mockery, but if Sect Leader Yue considers himself that very cure, he thinks too highly of himself!”

and this is true: shen jiu hates everything, he's said so before. and even when he and yue qi where in good terms, he still hated people. after he forgives yue qingyuan (in his mind) this doesn't change the fact that he hates the world, he hates people, he hates men, and that he hates himself. his self-worth is not restored because he realizes yue qingyuan loves him, but it does stop him from constantly trying to pretend he had no part in what befell him.

before, every time yue qingyuan asked him "why are you doing this", he'd blame others: luo binghe for being "who he is", liu qingge for provoking him (when it was exactly the opposite). before he'd try to pretend in front of others that he didn't hate everything and everyone,

Shen Jiu hated far too many people and far too many things. Obviously, people found it hard to say anything good about the character of someone who hated everything. So fortunately, by the time he became Shen Qingqiu, he understood he ought to at least keep that hatred from bubbling to the surface.

which made him an hypocrite. but now, finally, in this prison, with yue qingyuan baring his soul in front of him, literally putting his life in shen jiu's hands, he finally stops that behaviour. he acknowledges his own agency.

“Xiao-Jiu, I—” “Don’t call me that!” Shen Qingqiu snarled.

but he still wants to leave the past behind him, and thus his relationship to himself remains the same: he thinks lowly of himself, he sees himself as a "thing". he doesn't have self-esteem or self-love, and he'll keep rejecting the past, rejecting "Shen Jiu".

and he also wants to protect yue qingyuan from himself.

[theizzy102]

So ignore me while I rant for a moment about a potential Fadeshock AU:

I was thinking of Fadeshock(obviously) and I was thinking about the type of Pokémon they would have in that type of AU. (Watch out I’m about to nerd and this is gonna be a lot of Pokémon lore)

So obviously Neon would have a specialty in Electric types with high SPD and Sp.Atk stats. And I was thinking at first she’d have a Pikachu or maybe a Pichu with her then I thought of a better one:

Electrike! One of the OG electro dogs! Neon seems like a dog person and what better Pokémon to run at top speed with than an electric puppy! I was contemplating Yamper, but I realized that Yamper doesn’t really have the wild aesthetic that Electrike does.

Anyways that brings me to Fade. Obviously she would specialize in Ghost/Dark type pokemon. Mostly in Sp.Atk stats and maybe Sp.Def. I was thinking of the dozens of possibilities based on simple abilities they have, mixed with the type of company Fade would keep and I came up with a couple options:

First up is Banette. I was researching and discovered multiple compatibilities with Fade in its Pokedex entries over the years. It’s said to once have been a doll that was forgotten then abandoned, and hatred transformed it into a pokemon. It seeks vengeance upon the child that abandoned it. It’s insides are filled with hatred and curses, stopped only by the zipper across its lips.

But also, it’s said to wait for the day that someone comes along and treats it finally with the care it once had. That type of Pokémon is something I thought would resonate well with Fade both in battles, and in general.

But that wasn’t the only option.

Next up is Zorua! The reason I chose this one isn’t just because it’s a ghost type, but because of its history as well. It’s Pokédex entry says that it protects itself by transforming into Pokémon and people(mostly children). It does this because it’s both timid, and terribly curious.

But while it’s normal form is enough, it’s HISUIAN form is created out of sheer malice. It was created from the souls of dead Zorua that died alone after being shunned by humans. Then I read that it’s evolution, Zoroark, is hostile towards anyone unfamiliar to it, but had “compassion towards those it considers family”

Sound familiar?

ANWAYS

so I was thinking “what would be the perfect joint pokemon between Fade and Neon? What type of Pokémon would resonate with them both?”

THEN IT HIT ME

I present the Fadeshock pokemon:

NOW I KNOW WHAT YOURE THINKING

I didn’t just choose this one because it seems like a Electric/Ghost type. (It’s actually a Ghost/Fairy type). I chose it specifically because of the lore surrounding it. (And kinda because it would aesthetically match them both lol)

BASICALLY it’s a Pokémon that has to cover its true body because someone had died from shock when it revealed it’s true form to them years ago. In fear of hurting another, it hides itself. Sounds familiar to how Fade forces herself to stay awake and spend every moment trying to keep Nightmare from hurting the other agents. Also, sounds like how Neon has to wear the back brace thing to keep her Radiance in check and not electrocute anyone.

Not only that, BUT, also it’s said to be terribly lonely, and disguised itself like Pikachu because of Pikachu’s popularity, in the chance that it would be loved the same way. What better Pokémon for lonely kindred spirits?

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. My brain is full of these and I can even name the other agents Pokémon’s too lol.

[sparklecryptid]

Alright so @hamelin-born said something about the ‘Ardyn did in fact curse the line of Somnus’ royal bastard au au and how it would be interesting if the curse was forgotten. And then my mind went haywire.

also tagging @raven-6-10 for reasons

-

Ace will not say he hates that he is standing in front of his father. He will not say that he hates it only because it was his choice that led here. It was Ace’s choice to reveal himself to Cor and thus trigger a chain of events that have led to him standing in front of Regis and Noctis in a highly secured room in the Citadel.

Can’t let the public know you have a bastard child, Ace thinks bitterly and waits for the news to process.

“You’re saying we’re cursed?” Noctis sounds bewildered and Ace can’t blame him. Ace himself didn’t believe it at first until his Uncle had recited the curse and Ace felt the magic of it bounce off of him.

Ardyn’s claim it turns out is enough to dissuade the curse from dooming Ace and everyone he cares about but Ardyn has no intention of offering that same protection to either Regis or Noctis so Ace now has to find a way to break his Uncle’s curse.

Ace’s master plan did not account for this. There was no ‘Break In Case of Curse’ option in his plan to break the Crystal open like an egg. He has no idea what the fuck to do but he has to do something.

“Slain ye might be and slain ye shall be,” Ace quotes. Magic rises up around them full of wrath and grief and an unending hatred. “By weapon, and by torment, and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall be barred from Garden and Stream.”

Ardyn’s voice echoes Ace’s as they speak in tandem. Ardyn’s echo full of malice and rage while Ace keeps his voice emotionless. As if he’s reciting a report. “Their rule will drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very peace they sought to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by the treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. Ye shall dwell in the shadow of death and have no respite. Houseless you shall be now and forevermore. You King has thus spoken.”

The echo of Ardyn’s magic and the full weight of it that was thrown behind the curse lingers in the air after Ace is done speaking. Noctis is frozen and for all his court training Ace can spy the way his hands shake, in fear or anger Ace doesn’t know but he can sympathize.

Regis looks like a wall of ice. His face expressionless but a growing rage lingers in his eyes.

“So,” Ace says, “You two have a problem and my current plans do not account for curse breaking. Thus I need your help to - I don’t know - find a way out of this?”

“You sound oddly calm for someone who is also cursed.” Regis’ eyes are sharp.

Ace shrugs.

“I’m immune to it, call the privilege of not being a legitimate child.” Ace is not telling his biological father about the entire thing between him and Ardyn. He is not doing that.

Regis does not believe him. Just as he should, because Ace is lying. The curse does effect bastard children. But as Ace is the only bastard this time around they don’t need to know that.

“Then do you know who cursed us?”

Ace smiles wryly.

“Who else?” Ace says, “The Sage. The Accursed. Whatever you want to call him. He was rightfully the first king until our asshole grandfather decided to take the throne and kill him.”

[gale-gentlepenguin]

LOZ TOTK Ficlet: Understanding

The Demon King had demonstrated the unholy power that didn’t seem to diminish one bit since he was sealed thousands of years ago. Link could feel the dark energy from the hand he had recently acquired, the muscle memory of Rauru’s arm on full display as it tensed when the Demon king flexed his power.

The Sages were covered and restrained by the gloom that he created and shot out. Link was the last one standing still able to fight.

The demon king lowered his gaze to Link.

“If it’s any consolation, you are fairing better than Rauru did, and you only have a fraction of his powers and down a sage.” Ganondorf commended

Link kept his eyes on the evil king. His expression stoic and hiding anger.

“Looking in your eyes, I can see that of all people, you can understand me the most.”

The statement surprised Link, his expression shifted to confusion.

“I am as shocked as you are. But that look of hatred. I have felt it before. It’s the very same emotion I felt eons ago.”

The demon king touched his chin as if he was trying to focus.

“Yes, I know this feeling well. Only ones destined for greatness can understand this feeling.”

Link kept his eyes on Ganondorf, waiting for any opening.

“You were born with a destiny that held the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Link didn’t react, letting him speak.

“A destiny that you would do anything to live up to. Sacrificing parts of yourself, any weakness in your heart in order to live up to it.”

Link’s eye twitched, he felt that the demon king did understand him.

“And as you prepare for your destiny, an opposing force, a power far beyond Any comprehension appears, shaking everything up. All your preparation, all of your pain left for nothing! And all you can do is watch as everything you swore to protect is swallowed up by the overwhelming might.”

Link watched as for a brief moment, his eyes appeared less monstrous.

“I watched as my kingdom, my birthright was ripped away from me by a powerful god like being that had no regard for your pain or struggle. He simple appeared and forced you to your knees.” Ganondorf spat in disgust.

Link tightened his grip on the master sword.

“And I refused to simply lay down and accept this INVADER’s rule. And I took power when I had the chance in order to take back what was mine, and get revenge for everything he took from me!” The demon king roared.

The rage shifted to glee.

“But now things changed. Now I’m the one with power. And unlike Rauru who squandered his might, I am using every ounce of it to achieve my destiny, Ruling this land!”

Link charged, catching Ganondorf off guard. He tried to block but Link was too fast, slashing his chest with all his might!

“AGHHHHHH!” The malice filled monster yelled in pain.

The sages watched as Link followed up with a second slash, then a third, and then a fourth.

Ganondorf used his power to push him back.

“You arrogant Child!”

“You’re right.”

The voice was softer than many were expecting from the hero that held the master sword.

“I do know what it’s like to have everything I love taken by a force beyond my understanding, it has happened to me twice already.”

The demon king moved his blade in front of him. Preparing a strike.

“The difference is, I am not doing this for destiny or birthright. That stopped mattering to me long ago. I’m fighting you so I can find Zelda and we can fix all the damage you’ve done.”

Link prepared for Ganondorf’s attack and charged him the moment Ganondorf did.

There was a clash.

Link wobbled but stayed on his feet, The demon king however began falling.

“No! I will not lose here! Even if I lose myself. I will cover this land in darkness!”

Link realized what Ganondorf was going to do.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

The Tories Are Out of Power At Last! Thank Fuck For That!

Good news has been pretty thin on the ground lately. Climate change, the wanton destruction of the arable land we need to survive, slow-motion population collapse and the continuing not-good-enoughness of Doctor Who have all contrived to make it feel like we’re living at the end of the world. We’re not. We’ll come within a hair’s breadth of total systemic failure and then finally think to ourselves “oh yeah! We have technological solutions for all of this shit just gathering dust! Maybe we should implement them” and pull our arses out of the fire with literal seconds to spare, like we always do. Because we’re fucking idiots and it’s amazing we ever got as far as inventing fire. The point is, though, that we could all use a win right now, and my country just got one, in the form of the General Election. That’s right! Yesterday, Britain went to the polls and finally said “Okay, enough of this bullshit!” and voted out the monsters who have been making life progressively worse for everyone for a decade and a half.

For those of you who don’t live in Britain and weren’t paying attention, what I mean is that the Conservative Party got booted out of power and replaced with New Labour (in the person of new Prime Minister Keir Starmer). Now, it’s very hard to get excited about Keir being in charge, because he’s basically an unflavoured block of budget margarine sculpted into a vague man-shape by an unskilled and uncaring wizard. He’s essentially inoffensive in the grand scheme of things. However, he’s also a marked improvement on any Tory and particularly Rishi Sunak, a psychopathic urinary condition in a suit. The whole Conservative Party is a basically just a cavalcade of murderous, unrepentant torturers and serial killers whose policies are geared entirely towards short-term personal profit at the cost of countless human lives. We’re talking about a group of irredeemable maniacs who have spent nearly fifteen years defunding the NHS (the social healthcare system that keeps us all alive), turning away leaky rafts full of desperate asylum seekers (and thereby condemning the, directly, to death), trying to replace the disability benefits on which the most vulnerable depend with fucking vouchers and drafting legislation to let them spy on the bank accounts of people surviving on social securities (while taking the word of multi-billionaires that they don’t owe any tax, honest). The nature of evil is a hotly debated topic among philosophers and psychologists, but nobody who’s lived in Britain for the past few electoral cycles and possesses both a heart and a brain needs to debate it: we’ve fucking lived under it. So yes, I am overjoyed to see the back of the pricks. My hatred of the Conservatives runs deep and I’d cheer for pretty much anyone scoring a victory over those inbred, fatuous, vacuous, toffee-nosed, vile, slithering, subhuman reptiles and the system of callous profiteering they represent. When I heard, this morning, that Britain was finally free of the monsters and the constant threat they posed to the lives of the poor, I felt as though a literal weight had been lifted. I’m not being hyperbolic: I actually felt a physical change, as though some part of me had been under pressure, struggling against the crushing mass of governmental incompetence and malice that hung, eternally, over my head.

Of course, none of this is to say I think Britain is about to magically become a better place. The same people who just voted the Tories out also voted them in in the first, and they’re not giving them the bum’s rush now because they’ve suddenly become better people and realised that electing sociopaths is wrong. They’ve just noticed that their groceries are costing more and drawn the inescapable conclusion that voting for morons with no economic management skills was a mistake. Meanwhile, Keir Starmer’s Labour is not the same animal as Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour. If Labour had been voted into power with Corbyn at its head, we might actually have seen some repairs made to the country I… well, I was about to say ‘country I love’, but ‘country I have to live in and slightly prefer to America on the notional level’. But Keir’s not really in the political game to make the world a better place. I don’t actually know what he wants. Functionally, he’s just a placeholder: the Westminster equivalent of a paper plate with a face drawn on it and a developer’s sticky note saying “ACTUAL PRIME MINISTER GOES HERE”. I’m happy he’s in charge instead of any member of the Conservative party, but not because he’ll make things better. I’m just pleased he won’t make things worse. For the next five years, my country will stay exactly as shit as it already is instead of sliding into greater depths of rudderless villainy. I’m also ecstatic because the evil cunts who have been trying to kill me and the people I care about for a 1.5 decades have just been told, roundly, to fuck off, and because they’re such overprivileged wankers, I have to assume that came as a terrible shock to them. So that’s something to celebrate.

Look, if all this seems a little dour for a ‘celebration’ blog post… it is. The people of Britain were offered something better than the current administration and took it, and that’s a cause for joy. However, the thing they were offered, while infinitely preferable to the Cuntservatives, still wasn’t that great, so our joy has to be tempered a little.

Here’s to at least five years of basically acceptable and mercifully ineffectual government.

[sapphire-weapon]

WHAT?? I hate it. Even his new appearance im iffy on he just looks like somebody’s generic dad. Hopefully it grows on me because I’m so excited for SW

u asked a professional actor this question so now u will get a nerdy technical answer

i love dc douglas ok i love how much he loves wesker and RE in general, but the problem with his performance has always been that he's played wesker from a place of intrigue rather than a place of malice. he played wesker like a bond villain. he has a lilt to his voice every time he has a thoughtful/introspective line, as though he's basking in his own genius. and when he's scolding someone, he very much uses a "this is beneath me/don't disappoint me" tone that he would've had to curl his upper lip to do -- which is something you see in period pieces with haughty aristocrats and shit.

but wesker isn't a bond villain. he doesn't have the charisma.

wesker is a sociopathic mega nerd who is one of the foremost cellular biologists and virologists to have ever lived who, later in life, becomes so consumed by anger and hatred that he goes full scarface and gets too high on his own supply and becomes the architect of his own demise.

but because of the intrigue angle that dc douglas took up to that point, it was hard for him to sell wesker's moments of actual anger (to me, at least) because he uses his throat for those lines while also trying to push his air out through his nose in order to try to simultaneously maintain the timbre that he's been using for his character all along. it sounds forced to me every single time, because i know what he's doing and why.

wesker's current voice actor stays in his throat and doesn't move.

and that works a lot better for me, because the throat is where we express frustration and anger. unless you've been taught how to use your diaphragm, most people also shout from the throat.

so for wesker's voice to stay completely in the throat while keeping his tone completely level and calm comes off as really, really fucking menacing. it gives the feeling of a powderkeg waiting to explode, with no indication of what's going to set him off, because he always sounds like that.

that's who albert wesker is as a character.

wesker is petty and hateful and knows that he's smarter than every single motherfucker he's ever crossed paths with and is so fucking tired of idiots and charlatans coming out on top.

wesker's remake actor makes me afraid of him in the way that we should have always been afraid of him but never were because dc douglas tried to give him intrigue and charisma first and malice second.

[avionvadion]

Went back to Skyloft out of curiosity and… awww. Big oof.

Ghirahim is more dramatic than I could ever hope to be, lol.

Also, you done know you hecked up when Link makes this face.

Also the last shot sort of reminds me of the moment in the TotK trailer when Ganondorf’s corpse transforms. Just… with darkness instead of malice.

That said, Link just calmly walking over to Demise without even pointing his blade at him was such a power move.

And- I could be wrong- but like I’m pretty sure I heard Ganondorf’s theme mixed in with Demise’s? Which is a pretty cool touch, if so.

Anyways, I killed him! Yay!!!

Okay so, something I found interesting was how they explicitly stated that Demise’s residual consciousness is sealed away inside the Master Sword.

But in the TotK trailer, we see the Master Sword has broken. We also see the ten thousand year old corpse that was Ganondorf transforming in a tornado of malice, much like Demise in the one screenshot I posted. Ganondorf has two pieces of official art that contradict each other.

On one, the tear on his forehead is red. The other is silver.

I’ve noticed the theories going around that either the tear is purified, or Ganondorf redeems himself. My guess is, with the Master Sword broken, Demise’s residual consciousness is going to escape and he’s going to revive- and Ganondorf, being just another victim of the demon king’s hatred, is going to be redeemed.

Maybe Demise revives himself through Ganondorf somehow, taking full possession of him, sort of like… Ansem and Riku in Kingdom Hearts 1??? And you help Ganondorf escape it???

I dunno. Just a thought.

Anyways, I beat the game!!!!