#and really wanted her to go back to her ash roots

[herald-of-aurene]

I live and die where secrets hide. I thrive where danger dwells. I'm a blade in the darkness. Stealth. Patience. Deception.

[klausysworld]

Left But Never Forgotten

Upon the Mikaelson's return to New Orleans, they each had their worries. Klaus was focused on his pregnant werewolf and the deep rooted need to be a king. Rebekah desperately wanted her past lover, Marcel back but also felt the need to protect her niece to be. Elijah was supposed to be concentrating on his brother and Hayley as they expected their child, or the mess that the divided factions of supernaturals in New Orleans was but instead, he was thinking of her.

Y/N.

He hadn't seen her since leaving New Orleans a hundred years ago. She and Marcel had been presumed dead, nothing had prepared him for seeing her face again.

Feeling her palm cup his cheek and her thumb stroking the prickle of stubble left on his skin. She was so similar and yet so different to the last time. Before she had been a princess, now she was a Queen.

Even when the Mikaelson's moved into the abattoir and his room was just beside hers, she still felt too far away.

Elijah felt as if he were just watching her life go by without him, it made him sick. He lacked the usual hunger of a vampire, the need to kill or hurt. He lost his passion to protect and guide.

He just wanted her.

Everyone knew that, except her.

Nobody understood the pain she and Marcel went through. They waited day in and day out for their family to come home, to tell them that it was okay and that Mikael wouldn't torture them again, that their nightmares weren't real and they were safe. They rebuilt the city brick by brick, cleaning away the ashes left behind but they still didn't come back. So they moved on. They worked together and they got stronger and they earned their power and their places and then they finally came back and just took it from them like it was nothing.

And Elijah had barely said five words to her.

He just stared, but whenever his lips parted no words would leave him. Elijah didn't realise she took that as something else. But for Y/N, she had been hoping to hear his voice for a century, crying for him in her sleep and now he was here and she felt like he didn't even care enough to talk to her.

She could have thought he didn't care at all if it weren't for the way he looked at her. The look of love in those deep eyes of his. That same look she used to see each morning and night.

Y/N wanted him to know that she still wanted him to look at her like that, she still wanted him like that.

So she tried to show him. A lingering touch hear or there, just on his arm or his shoulder. Or she'd bring him a cup of tea the way he used to like it, ask him about the literature he was reading most currently but he could barely get five words out.

So she tried not to focus on words, instead she gave him a kiss and hoped it was enough. It was.

Elijah hadn't exactly been expecting her to suddenly grab his face and push her lips against his but most definitely wasn't complaining.

Both hands lifted and cupped her face like all those times years ago, kissing her deeply like he'd craved to for so long. He needed her hands in his hair, to ruin the perfect facade he'd been wearing.

His tie was clutched into her palm and tugged gently, leading him with her to his room. He followed her mindlessly onto his bed, crawling over her and keeping his tongue with hers.

The desperation was so strong.

Elijah could feel the fabric of his tie slip from his neck. The buttons on his shirt slowly revealing more and more of his chest, he wanted to rip the clothes from her body but he couldn't stop holding her beautiful face.

It was when his belt was unclasped that he finally pulled away, looking down at her with lust blown pupils. His eyes swirled with that darkness that she enjoyed, her fingers traced the veins beneath his eyes before her thumb slid over his fang.

"I really missed you." She confessed to him and he softened, his hands finally dropping to her hips to pull her close.

"I missed you too, every day." He uttered, eyes flicking between both of hers.

"But you never came back..." She whispered and he looked down.

"I thought you were gone...I saw you, you looked...you didn't look alive. I couldn't bare coming back to the place that did that to you. I couldn't stand the memory of your body strung up like that." He told her shakily, his hands desperate to keep her with him this time.

"Marcel and I had to rip ourselves free of those nails, Elijah. I could hear you, you would have ran whether I was alive or not-"

"Don't you ever think that." He whispered, his hold tight now, both arms round her waist and her body in his lap. "I would never knowingly leave you for dead." He promised.

Her body rest against him, her face against his broad chest and warming his cold skin.

"I love you, Y/N. I loved you from the second I laid eyes on you." He murmured, lips kissing her shoulder gently after. "You mean more to me than anything. You're family."

"Don't lie to me, Elijah. I know I'll never be your family, I don't think anybody can truly become a Mikaelson. Hayley's the closest anyone can get and that's because she had Klaus's baby and we both know I can't give you a child." She practically whimpered.

Elijah just looked at her for a short while, guilt in his gaze. He could remember when she was human, when she didn't yet know he was vampire. She wanted them to have three children, when she found out he couldn't she thought maybe there could be a spell, there was still hope. However when she turned too, she knew that it was a useless thought and gave up altogether.

They had considered adoption but Y/N worried that if the child wasn't biologically a Mikaelson that they wouldn't truly love or protect the child. Not any of the Mikaelsons.

Of course she'd never verbally expressed that fear but Elijah could tell. Knowing that Klaus could procreate and he couldn't was difficult for him, just like he knew it was difficult for Rebekah knowing her brother could have a baby but she also couldn't.

But seeing Y/N hurt by it too was an extra hit to his heart.

After all these years, he still dreamt of their family. He'd be a much better father than Mikael, and she'd be a much better mother than Esther.

"It's not you who can't give me a child, Y/N." He murmured. "It's me, my fault. You can't blame yourself, I turned you and I took that possibility away but it will not ever change how I feel for you. You are my family, I'd carry you with me for eternity."

It was just difficult to believe with how that family behaved towards outsiders.

"Okay." Y/N whispered, it was clear she was only relenting to try not form an argument and Elijah wanted to be more reassuring but he knew it would only escalate things.

His hand reached to touch hers, hold hers.

"Allow me to court you again." He murmured, wanting to show her their potential again but she laughed softly and shook her head.

"I don't want us back at square one. I want it to be how it was before." She told him, smiling softly. It warmed him.

"I'd like that." He nodded, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "But I still want it to be special, I haven't been able to cherish you for so long now."

"I suppose I won't stop you from a gift or two." She teased and he hummed.

She looked back down at his bare chest and sighed, she'd missed this.

He pulled her back to his chest, coddling her to him and stroking her back lovingly.

The skin to skin wasn't something Elijah experienced often, he only allowed it when he truly loved someone. His mind and body craved it.

Y/N knew how deprived he was right from childhood. So, just like she used to, she pulled her shirt from her body and let the skin of her upper body lay against his.

"You know that I love you?" He whispered and she nodded.

"I just wish you'd talk to me more, I can't be with you if you can't even hold a normal conversation with me Elijah..."

"I know, my sweet. I was just so struck when I saw you and I feared that you could have moved on...with Marcel." He hesitated and she scoffed.

"Oh? And after he was making out with Rebekah? That didn't clue you in, no?" She teased and he looked down with an embarrassed smile.

"I was shy I suppose." He admitted and she smiled.

"You used to be shy all the time." She whispered, stroking his hand and leaning up to kiss the corner of his lips like she used to.

He leaned forward and leant his forehead against hers, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm so glad you're here."

"So am I."

[charles-smith-pillow-princess]

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst.

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look.

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes.

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in.

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism.

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest.

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin.

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water.

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish.

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting.

Gone.

(excerpt from the stars are not wanted now, my first RDR2 fic and the unwitting precursor to the 'what if they made it' CanadianShack!AU)

[redfoxwritesstuff]

What's This? (Hazbin Lucifer x Fallen!Reader)

CW: Cock ring, overstimulation, pleasure Dom undertones, wings, Luci a bit in his feels, Begging, praise, multiple orgasms Rating: Adult Summary: Lucifer's lover, a newly fallen Angel continues her exploration of sinful pleasure as Lucifer teaches her what the cockring she found in his nightstand is for.

“There’s some oil in my nightstand,” Lucifer said, wings fluttering as you ran your fingers through the plumage. 

“Will I have to start using it too?” you asked, fluttering your wings, now starting to look closer to charcoal than ash as you slipped off the edge of the bed. 

“Probably. Such a crap thing to lose your oil glands for falling.” Lucifer tried to keep his voice cheery, masking the look of sadness that crossed his face. You fell for him, rather literally, and having to use supplemental oil to maintain your feathers was just one more change your body would go through as a result. 

He hated it. He hated what loving him cost you. What he hated most of all was that he couldn’t make himself pick up the phone, call up top and arrange to send you back. He loved you too damn much. 

“What’s this?” you asked, drawing Lucifer’s eyes to where you had been rummaging through his drawer. In one hand was the bottle of oil and in the other was a small black ring. He watched for a moment as you stretched it between two fingers before looking at him. 

A golden blush was high on Lucifer’s cheeks as he indulged in your innocent wonder. He had shown you so much over the last few weeks, and yet you still had so much to learn.

“It’s a… cock ring.” 

Your eyes widened at the words, and for a moment he thought perhaps you knew what that was. “Jewelry? For your…?” 

He laughed, standing from the bed. All six of his wings fluttered as he settled the feathers into place while he walked over to you. “It could be, if it was a nicer one. This one- it’s all function though. Not much to look at.” 

“I don’t… function?” You blinked those wide, still so innocent eyes at him. They were so beautiful, even as they darkened from the crystalline color they had been while your sins took root. 

“It ah-” Lucifer chuckled. “It makes it so a penis is harder and stays hard for longer.” 

“Oh,” you looked between him and the rubber ring in your hand, “But you don’t… need help with… with that.” It was your turn to be flushed, gold rising high in your cheeks. 

“Not right now, no.” Lucifer laughed, “But it can be fun for really, really long encounters.” For a moment, silence settled over the pair of new lovers. “Do you want to see?” 

He was already unbuckling his pants. You looked at him with those wide, beautiful eyes he loved so much, taking in the way his cock already strained against the front of his pants. 

“You can’t be serious.” You shifted, rubbing your thighs together under the simple robe you wore. “We just made love a few hours ago.” 

“Exactly,” Lucifer laughed as he pushed past the risk of being rejected, eyeing where your legs met under the fabric of the robe, knowing it was his seed that still dampened your folds. “What better way to show off what this baby can do?” 

You looked away in a panic as his pants fell around his ankles, cock springing free as he took the ring from your fingers. While the differences between the male form and the female still made you blush, you couldn’t help curiosity. 

You watched as his cock grew harder in his hand. He easily stretched the black ring and slipped it over his length, feeding it down. It snapped slightly as he let it off his fingers, drawing a high moan from the devil. 

“Does it feel good?” You asked as the plastic dug into the base of his shaft, squeezing him. 

“It does,” Lucifer’s hips bucked as you reached out, soft fingers caressing the head of his cock. The whole of his cock was beginning to turn a golden hue. “It will feel even better when I’m inside you.” 

“How?” You asked as he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your jaw. 

“Blood goes in,” he said, grinding his cock into her hip. “but it doesn’t come out as much. Makes it bigger. More sensitive. Makes it harder to finish, too.” 

“Oh,” you whispered, distracted by his lips on your neck and the feeling of his hand running through your feathers. When had he untied your robe? You lost track of his hands as he pressed his naked body against yours, warm skin against skin. 

He laid you back on the bed, crawling up over you. There was a moment where he hovered, just looking down at you with the softest eyes. “I love you,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing you sweetly.

“I love you, too.” You answered as he nestled the head of his cock between your slick folds. 

“Always ready for me,” Lucifer whispered, finding your arousal and mingled with the remains of his seed, allowing him to slip the head of his cock into your waiting opening without effort. He sighed as wet warmth surrounded him, sinking deeper into you. “It’s like coming home.” 

“You are home,” you sighed, back arching as he filled you slowly. He was thick on his own, but you could feel the added girth as your walls, already relaxed and stretched from earlier lovemaking, were pushed wider. 

Lips found lips as he worked deeper into you. Strong hands ran over your sides, taking in the feel of you as he softly thrust into you. Each push and pull of his cock through your walls had you gasping, still sensitive from the prior encounter. 

You ran your hands up his chest. Every feel of his muscles twitch and bunch made heat rise in your chest, threatening to burn you alive. His strong shoulders strained under your fingers as he angled his hips, ensuring his cock dragged against your clit with each soft thrust. 

“So warm,” he whispered into the kiss as your fingers ran through the feathers of his upper set of wings, getting lost in the thick down undercoat. “So beautiful.” 

Your orgasm snuck up on you, a soft wave that crested without a buildup or fanfare. Tired walls clenched and flexed as the length of his cock continued its steady push and pull through you. 

“Luci.” A gasping moan of his name fell from your lips. 

He had never had strong opinions on his name; it was simply what he had been called for eons. He was Lucifer, the Morningstar. The first. The best. The fallen. 

But hearing it fall from your lips in the heat of passion, he loved the sound of his name then. It was sweet music to his ears. Never did he want to stop hearing you say it. 

He had loved and lost before. Loving again terrified him, but for you, he would risk it. If it meant he could hear you sigh his name as your body clenched around his cock, he would risk it. If it meant he was the one giving you such pleasure, he would risk it. 

Your fingers ran up the back of his head, carding through blond hair that had once been ever so perfectly arranged. At some point, he hid his face in your shoulder as he thrust you through your orgasm, lost in his thoughts and the pleasure of your body. 

He pushed an arm under your back, holding you to him as he rolled off your body. You hooked your leg over his, running your calf up his leg as he continued his lazy thrusts. He would fuck you proper, he fully intended to, but right this second he was lost in the sea of lovemaking. His hips rocked with the waves, thrusting into you as he pulled your thigh higher, gripping it against his hip. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” Lucifer said, shifting slightly so he could run his other hand through the plush feathers of your wings. 

You looked at him as if he hung the very stars in the sky. He did, but that didn’t change the way his heart swelled with the admiration and love in your eyes. When you looked at him like that, he forgot the anxiety and doubt, if only for a little while. The way you looked at him made him feel like that man who had wielded the divine power of creation, building everything there ever was and would be at the whim of his father. 

He thrust into you, pulling your hip to meet his with each soft roll. Your arm wound around his, fingers digging into his feathers just as he worked his fingers into the plumage of yours. The steady beat of his heart under the hand you rested on his pale chest drew you closer, eyes locked on his. 

He moaned into the soft kiss, reveling in the feeling of your hands on him. It had been so long since he had someone to hold, someone who wanted to hold him. Even in the last few years of his marriage, Lilith didn’t hold him, even when they made love- no, there was no love then, it was just fucking. That’s why he had the rings, after all, so he could stay hard long enough to do the job for someone that so clearly didn’t love him anymore, who couldn’t love him when he couldn’t love himself. 

You eagerly touched him. There wasn’t a moment when you were not running your hands over him, passing touches, fingers threaded through fingers, soft kisses. He bathed in a sea of lingering touches, something he had needed for so long and been afraid to ask for. 

You ran your hand up his chest, fingers caressing his neck as they wrapped behind it, pulling him in. It wasn’t possible to hold one another closer as he continued to rock his hips into you, sliding his cock in and out of you at a slow pace that didn’t fail to build a fire in you but that didn’t stop either of you from trying. 

Your fingers ran through his hair and his feathers, carding the strong flight feathers and digging into the plush down feathers. He moaned, doing the same to your wings. Whispered words of love were swallowed as he pushed you forward, thrusting his cock through your walls. 

“Lu-luci,” you moaned, back arching as he tugged your feathers. Lips worked on your neck as he brought you closer to another orgasm. 

It didn’t seem possible, but his constructed, swollen cock pushed into you just right. His tail wrapped around your thigh, pointed spade tip caressing higher and higher. You jumped as he softly swatted your ass with it, not enough to do anything more hint at a sting. 

“I can’t,” you gasped as he palmed your breast, eagerly feeling every part of you. “Luci, I can’t.” 

“You can,” he whispered, lips moving against your shoulder as he lightly pinched your nipple. “You can, and then we’ll keep going. With this on me, I can keep going.” 

“Fuck,” you swore, such an uncharacteristic word to drop from your pretty lips as he shoved you into another orgasm. 

“Good girl,” he whispered, eyes focused on your face. He thrust through your convulsing walls, letting you ride your orgasm out on his cock. “You’re so beautiful,” he praised. “I could never have made something as beautiful as you.”

“No more,” you begged, tears sparkling in the corners of your eyes. “I can’t, I’m so sensitive.” 

Lucifer kissed you again as you squirmed out of his arms. Wide eyes looked at him, cock flushed bright gold in contrast to the black ring around the base, throbbing with each beat of his heart. 

“I can’t.” 

Lucifer stood, wrapping you in his arms as you rose on trembling legs. “You can,” he whispered before kissing you deeply. “If you want to, you can. I promise you, it’ll feel like too much, but I can show you just how much you can take.” 

“Lucifer,” you moaned, his tail wrapping again around your thigh. The tip ran through your folds, tip nudging the sensitive nub of nerves. You were so sensitive now, body coming apart on a hair trigger and needing hardly anything to push you toward another orgasm. 

“One more,” he asked, voice hot and needy in your ear as he kissed your neck. “One more, then I’ll take it off and we can finish up.” 

“That’s,” you sighed as his cock ran through your folds, nudging his tail from your clit. “That’s two more.” 

“For you,” he laughed as you sighed, body little more than jelly in his arms. “You can do it. Just say yes.” 

Temptation. The man you loved was the prideful face of temptation itself. He was everything anyone could ever want, a sweet promise of more. Who could deny him? Certainly not you. You granted your consent with nothing more than a timid nod, stilled by his lips on yours. 

The kiss was deep, stealing what little air you still had in your lings. It left your already weak knees unable to hold you. It didn’t matter; you didn’t need them too. 

Lucifer’s strong arms wrapped around you. Black hands buried in your hair, fingers digging into the feathers of your wings as he rutted his swollen cock against you. Each soft thrust had him panting, moaning softly. 

“Lucifer,” you moaned his name as he laid you back on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. 

“My favorite song,” he murmured, slipping his painfully hard cock back into your abused hole. His name fell from your lips again as he easily bottomed out, swollen walls easily parting for him, fluttering with the promise of more pleasure. 

“Wha-” you sighed your question, his pubic bone rubbing against your clit as he nestled the head of his cock at your cervix.

“You sing my favorite song,” Lucifer clarified, beginning to thrust into you. His pace was harder, each thrust slapping his hips against yours with more force than he had used in the prior two positions. The sting of him colliding with your clit had your back arched off the bed, wings twitching and spreading wide. “In all of hell, you sing my favorite song.” 

He watched himself delve into you, your warm body swallowing him easily. Arousal poured from you, evidence of the two prior orgasms. He hadn’t given you much time to recover from either of them, pushing you into overstimulation. 

Two more, that’s all he wanted. One for the selfish pleasure of watching you come apart on his cock and one for him to ride along with his own. It was selfish, he knew, but Father above knew he was little more than a prideful, selfish man. 

He watched as your breasts bounced and moved with each thrust into you. Tears gathered in your eyes as he ran his black hands down your stomach, feeling the way his swollen cock pressed into you with each thrust. Pleas fell from your lips as you looked up at him. 

Were you begging for more or for him to stop? You didn’t even know. 

Lucifer gripped your hip with one hand, running the other down your mound. As soon as he began rubbing your clit, running his fingers around your slick nub, your pleas reached new heights. Hips twitched as you battled between getting away from him and chasing the pleasure. 

You came with a sob. His name was the only thing that could be made out. Your chest heaved, breasts dancing for him as he lazily thrust into you. 

“So pretty,” he said, running his hands up and down your sides. He caressed your ribs and breasts as you twitched and clenched around him, body fighting him for the seed he was almost ready to give up. “A masterpiece.” 

“Last one,” you sobbed, body twitching with every brush of his hands. “I can’t, not again.” 

“You can,” Lucifer promised, pulling his cock from you. “It’ll be the last one, I promise. You’re doing so good for me. You can give me one last one. Look, angel, I’m taking the ring off now.” 

You slid from the bed, sitting limply on the floor at the foot of it as you watched him take the black ring from his cock. Instantly, once the pressure was removed blood rushed from his shaft. The golden color lightened and its size shank slightly. The head of his cock remained bright gold, weeping even as your slick reflected off of him. 

“Can you get onto your hands and knees for me?” He asked softly, kneeling in front of you. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

You tried. Shaking limbs needed support. He wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling your torso up as he sheathed himself in your shuddering body. He moaned behind you. 

As soon as he lowered you onto your hands, your elbows gave out. In a matter of moments, you were face down and ass up while the devil thrust into your body. Every part of you trembled, spent, exhausted and used up. The rustling of your wings was loud in your ears. Down feathers, knocked free by the change of position, floated down around your face.

The sound of his hips slapping into your ass reached your ears, along with the string of sweet praises. You loved the way he freely complemented you. Everything you did was just right for him, from the way you preened his feathers to the way you took his cock. 

You couldn’t make words form. All you could do was moan weakly as his fingers gripped your hips. There was something about this change of position that had you aware of the coil tightening in your stomach, something you swore you had grown numb to as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you. 

“Luci,” you whimpered, finally able to form his name when his cock twitched inside you. 

One hand ran down your stomach, caressing your slick clit as the other ran up your back. Fingers walked up your spine before wrapping around the base of your wing. The tightening grip on it had you crying out and clenching around him. 

“Luci,” you gasped, face resting against the ground as he increased his pace. “Luci, I- I’m… I’m… Luci,” you sobbed his name as he chased his finish. You were clenching around him, tightening with each kiss of his head against your cervix. 

You came with a wail, sobbing his name again and again as he folded over you. The grip of your walls around his overstimulated cock had no trouble pulling him into his own orgasm. Just as you cried out his name, he chanted yours as if it was the most sacred prayer he’d ever say. 

As he painted your walls white, clinging to your trembling body, blackness overtook your vision and your mind floated away. 

“Angel?” Lucifer asked as your relaxed body shifted. Realizing you had blacked out, he wrapped his arms tighter around you. A few strong beats of his wings and he could position the both of you into the bed. 

It hadn’t been his intention to fuck you to the point of blacking out, but it wouldn’t be incorrect to say pride didn’t swell in him as he dozed, holding you as you recovered. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[sturn777]

enemies to lovers w matt sturniolo . | ( female!reader ) wc ?? ( masterlist ) + ( soft hour ) + ( request )

lana's note : if this does well i'll make it a series 🤍.

you’ve hated matt sturniolo for as long as you can remember. not in the way people say they hate bad weather or school cafeteria food. no, your hatred for him is personal, rooted in something stupid and childish but still very real.

it all started with a blue crayon.

kindergarten. you were perfectly content, coloring your picture of a sunlit park with a family picnic under a tree. the blue crayon was crucial—it was the sky, the pond, the little bird in the corner. then matt sturniolo had to ruin everything.

“can i use that?” he’d asked, pointing at the blue crayon in your hand. your mom always told you to share, so, against your better judgment, you handed it over. and what did he do? he pressed so hard while coloring his scribbly little car that the crayon snapped in half.

you yelled. he yelled back. time-outs were issued. cards were pulled. and ever since then, you’ve had it out for each other. now it’s senior year, and somehow, despite years of carefully avoiding each other’s orbit, fate has decided to intervene.

your gaze snaps up, glaring at the teacher as she reads your name along with his, looking up from her clipboard. “you’ll be working together on your senior project.”

you freeze, mid-note, and whip your head toward matt, who’s slouched in his chair like this is all some big cosmic joke. he smirks at you, and you clench your jaw so hard your teeth hurt.

“ms. taylor,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “are you sure? i mean, maybe there’s been a mistake?”

“no mistake,” she replies, not looking up. “you two will make a great team.” you glance at matt again. he gives you a little wave, obnoxiously smug. your blood boils.

that night at dinner, you vent to your mom, stabbing at your mashed potatoes with unnecessary force. “out of everyone in my class, matt sturniolo? really? what kind of cruel punishment is this?”

your mom gives you a pointed look over her wine glass. “you know, i grew up with matt’s mom.” you blink, caught off guard. “what?”

“yeah,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “we were in the same friend group. she’s lovely. i bet matt’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

you scoff. “mom, the guy broke my crayon in kindergarten and has been an absolute nightmare ever since. i’m not about to have some big bonding moment with him.”

“maybe it’s time you let that go,” she says, shrugging. “you might actually like him if you give him a chance.”

the next day, you find yourself standing in front of matt’s locker, the words just do it for mom looping in your head like a broken record. “hey,” you say when he looks up, already suspicious. “what do you want?”

you take a deep breath. “look, i don’t like this either, but my mom and your mom are apparently childhood besties, so…”

he raises an eyebrow. “so?”

“so,” you grit out, “let’s just work together and get this over with. no drama. deal?” for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious. then, to your surprise, he nods. “fine. deal.”

you walk away before he can say anything else, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu )

divider : @issysh3ll

[untildawnss]

Hii!! I love your ideas sm!!!

So how would the ud characters react to Reader getting hurt either during or after what happened on the mountain?? 🤭

oooh, during the events on the mountain is tricky because you have to basically rewrite the canon of the entire game to pull it off and i don't think i'm cut out for that. i was borderline agonising over this ask because i read it before going to bed and completely missed the "or after". i thought i'd have to disappoint you, anon. but i can do this. i am working hard and tap tap tapping away on my laptop.

i'm assuming you mean if they were dating the reader

i'm only going to do minor injury/pain scenarios

obviously excluding hannah and beth

going with the everyone lives ending as the premise

gn!reader and no use of y/n

ashley

(rollerblading queen ash is my favourite headcanon)

it was a nice day, just warm enough to be comfortable in a t-shirt and shorts. ashley had convinced you to go rollerblading after finding your old pair in your parents' basement during your last visit. you used to be pretty good at it but it had been ages. and here you were, slowly following ash who was looking back every now and then to make sure she hadn't accidentally left you too far behind. once in a while she slowed down and joined you for a few minutes and then sped back up, calling out to warn you of obstacles like potholes, roots or sticks from the trees along the street. your legs were beginning to feel heavy after an hour of this. "ash, i think i need a break." she gave you a thumbs up and came to a stop, way more graceful than you could hope to manage in a few seconds. in fact, you didn't manage to really stop. you accidentally shifted one of your feet just enough for your rollerblades to collide with each other, causing you to topple over and land on your hands and knees. the stinging pain suggested that you had scraped at least one of your knees on the rough asphalt. ashley giggled. "please tell me you're not proposing like this." you grinned at her. "what? i thought this was your dream."

you winced as you tried to get back up and your feet kept shifting and rolling, causing you to lose you balance all over again. so you leaned into it and turned until you were sitting on the ground. "oh no, you're bleeding." ashley crouched next to you and took off her backpack. she pulled out a first aid kit and a bottle of water. "oh, you're prepared." - "those are the rollerblading basics. okay, bend your knee a little. we need to clean that wound and it might sting a little." you bent you knee and ashley opened the water bottle and started squeezing it to flush the bits of asphalt out of your wound. she was right, it did sting. after that she wrapped a bandage around your knee. "all done. i can take another look at it when we get home. maybe i'll get you a lollipop if you're very brave."

chris

"i'm grabbing a beer, want anything?" you walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing two cans of beer with one hand. you were 99% sure that chris would want one. the condensation made the beers slippery and you felt one can starting to slip out of your hand. you were too slow to catch it, one hand still on the door of the fridge and for some reason your brain decided to try to kick the can back up to catch it that way. well, it kinda worked. the can flew back up and over your head only to land on the floor and start fizzing. the horrible pain where your foot had made contact with the ridge on the bottom of the can made you see stars for a few seconds. you were off balance now, on one leg, the other trying to shake off the pain and almost collided with the fridge as you hopped around the room and tried to avoid the fizzing and spinning beer and the sticky puddles of foam. "hiding in the kitchen is not getting you out of watching that movie with me. i won fair and square," chris said in a sing-song voice as he poked his head into the kitchen a minute or two later. you were resting your head and arm on the kitchen counter, one leg pulled up to your chest, pressing the second, wonderfully cool, can of beer against your foot. "so, i clearly missed something. what's going on?" the can on the floor had stopped fizzing and spinning and was slowly leaking now. "i dropped a beer, i kicked the beer and i am in pain." - "but...why?"

chris had helped you hobble into the living room and to the couch and then returned to the kitchen to get rid of the evidence and to grab an icepack for your foot. now he was carefully removing your sock to assess the damage. a rounded bruise was already forming and you winced as chris poked and prodded at it and then at your other foot before finally placing the icepack on the reddish-purple area. "well, i'm no expert but i don't think it's broken. does it feel broken? can you move it?" you were trying to concentrate on the absolute bliss of the ice against the pulsing, painful and stiff area but reluctantly wiggled your toes and foot. you flinched. "i mean, yeah, i guess i can move it. it just hurts like hell. it's probably not broken but i won't be doing a lot of walking." chris grinned and you already started rolling your eyes. "oh, that's great news. that means you can't walk away from movie night and hide in the kitchen just because it's my turn to choose." - "chris, we've seen ratatouille four times in the last five months."

emily

you were trying to make lemonade but the lemons you were cutting and squeezing were not cooperating. when you looked at one more closely you almost dropped it and accidentally squeezed too hard to catch it, sending a few splashes of lemon juice right at your face and right into your eyes. "ah, fuck," you screamed as your eyes started burning. you heard emily walk into the kitchen. "are you fucking kidding me?" before you could rub your eyes she grabbed your wrists. "nope. don't rub it in. bad idea. just stay where you are for a second or you'll break your neck next." - "right, yeah, makes sense." you kept your eyes closed as emily scurried around the kitchen for a few seconds. you heard the ripping of paper towels and the bin open and close. your eyes were still burning. "alright, let's go." she took your hand and led you out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.

emily instructed you to lean your head over the bathtub and turn it to the side. she turned on the water. "open your eyes and keep them open." her voice was so commanding now that you were almost scared to talk back, so you just did what emily told you to do, even though it was painful. she aimed the showerhead at your face and you instinctively closed your eyes. "i said keep them open. did you skip all the relevant parts of chemistry? you need to keep your eyes open, so i can wash the acid out of your eyes. it doesn't work if you close your eyes, okay?" you opened your eyes again. "sorry, but it hurts." - "because you squeezed lemon juice into your eyes, dumbass. keep them open or you're on your own."

your eyes gradually stopped hurting less but emily insisted on doing what felt like the longest eyewash known to humankind, at least to you. after she was done, emily started drying off your face. "better?" - "yeah." - "okay, good, because i'm not doing that again."

jess

you probably should have remembered to put on sunscreen but you hadn't planned on spending too much time in the backyard and it had been slightly cloudy anyway. and you hadn't planned on falling asleep right there in the sun and only waking up when jess got home a while later and shook you awake. your entire backside felt like someone had rubbed glue on it that just wouldn't come off and you felt uncomfortable because you couldn't even sit down and you felt like you were burning up. jess used sunscreen religiously and, yeah, you'd never seen her get sunburnt. "don't say i told you so." you waddled around the house like a penguin as jess ushered you towards the bathroom and made you take a long and cold shower. "okay, i'm not going to say it. you already know i did." the cool water felt amazing on your skin and you felt like you could stay in there for hours. when you got out jess was there to softly dab at the skin on your back with a towel to dry you off, just telling you about a new movie she'd like to go and see with you when it comes out or the stupid joke one of her coworkers told that really wasn't well received. but you knew, oh, you knew.

jess applied aloe vera lotion for you, brought you water and painkillers so you were more comfortable and just kept talking about anything and everything and you responded in kind. it wasn't unpleasant or weird, really, but not completely normal. on day three you woke up to a bottle of sunscreen on your bedside table. jess had already gotten up and moving wasn't as uncomfortable anymore. you grabbed the sunscreen and walked into the living room. jess was on the couch, a cup of coffee in one hand and flipping through a magazine with the other. "fine." jess looked up at you. "fine what?" - "you told me so," you sighed. "yes, i told you so. and how many times did i tell you? i got you your own sunscreen and you are going to use it. because if you don't, i will not play nurse next time. you're lucky i got home when i did because that could have become a second-degree sunburn and that is so much worse. there's coffee in the kitchen. love you." jess took another sip from her mug and smiled at you. "love you, too." and she was back to flipping through her magazine.

josh

(i feel like josh would be very afraid of hurting people again and also afraid that he hurt them if something happened)

you woke up because you were falling. actually falling, out of bed, not in a dream. one of your legs was still half in bed and you heard a scraping sound above your head. as you tried to get your bearings and rub your eyes the scraping became louder and you noticed too late that one of your arms was tangled in a cord. the little alarm clock on your bedside table landed square on your face and then clattered to the floor next to your head. you yelped at the pain that erupted from your nose and the top row of your teeth. you could taste blood on the back of your tongue. josh's soft snoring stopped and your heard him quietly mutter your name and, what you assumed, was his hand feeling around the bed for your body. "down here," you groaned and your voice sounded thick and nasal. you were pretty sure you had a nosebleed. "what do you mean 'down here'?" josh's voice was louder now and the room turned lighter as he turned on the lamp on his side of the bed. you shifted into a sitting position, the pain pulsing through your head, and could definitely feel the uncomfortable sensation of the nosebleed now. josh's face appeared above you as he rolled over to your side of the bed. his eyes were half closed but widened when he saw the state you were in. "what the fuck?" he climbed out of bed. "i'll get some tissues." there was a hint of panic in his voice.

when he got back you pressed the bundle of tissues to the bottom of your nose. "how do you stop a nosebleed?" - "i don't know, i've never had one before." - "okay, okay, i'll google it." he grabbed his phone and started typing. "can you walk?" you nodded and let josh pull you to your feet and lead you into the kitchen where he sat you down at the table. he started reading you the instructions on his phone screen. "lean forward, pinch your nose for 10 to 15 minutes." he rummaged through a cupboard and set a bowl in front of you. "spit out any blood and-" josh opened the freezer, grabbed a bag of frozen strawberries and wrapped it in a towel. "put ice on the back of the neck." you jumped at the sudden cold sensation. "sorry." - "josh, calm down, it's just a nosebleed." you patted the chair next to you and josh sat down. "i just don't do well with people getting hurt around me." he'd told you about blackwood mountain before. and the role he played that night. "my alarm clock fell on my face. it wasn't you, josh." - "oh, okay, good. it wasn't me."

matt

you were holding the nail you were planning on using to hang a picture frame between your fingers and squinted to line up the hammer you were holding in your other hand, weighing it back and forth and left and right to make sure you'd hit the nail dead on. you did but you swung the hammer with enough force to drive the nail far enough into the wall that you hit your fingers anyway, hard. "ow, fuck, dammit," you swore loudly, letting go of the hammer that promptly hit the ground with a loud thump. you clutched your hand to your chest as your fingertips throbbed painfully. matt came running into the room and you felt tears welling up in your eyes as your fingers started to feel like they were swelling and burning and ready to burst. "what's going on? what happened? are you hurt?" his brow was furrowed in worry and he grabbed you by your shoulders to stop you turning and turning to distract yourself from the pain. you were huffing and puffing and through gritted teeth managed to utter "hammer, fingers, ow." matt grimaced. "ouch! i'll go get you an ice pack or something."

he was back in the blink of an eye and carefully pulled your hand towards him to place the ice pack on your injured fingers. you winced at the cold but the pain started to slowly subside. "sorry, did that hurt?" you shook your head. "no, just cold." matt grinned at you. "okay. so, you wanna leave the home improvement to me from now on?" you snorted with laughter. "that's a hard no, i like my house inhabitable." matt laughed along with you. "fair enough. made you laugh, though."

mike

(please, i just think it's extremely funny to assume that mike had to cut off his own fingers for this scenario)

you and mike were both standing in the kitchen. he was washing the dishes and you had just finished peeling the potatoes and were now starting to cut them up into smaller pieces. you were humming and swaying along to the music playing from the speaker and occasionally pausing to take a sip from your glass of wine. surely there was such a thing as rules for handling a knife but you were having way too much fun with mike to mind that right now, especially when he started singing along to one of your favourite love songs. it was all sidelong glances and smiles until you got too careless and forgot to reposition your finger, cutting right into it with the knife. "ow," you hissed at the sudden pain and looked down at the small wound that was bleeding more than you thought should be allowed.

mike dropped the plate he had been scrubbing and was by your side in a heartbeat. he gently reached around you to move the knife away from the edge of the counter. "i'm taking this from you. you just lost knife privileges." you had started sucking on the wound to get rid of the stinging sensation. "would you stop doing that?" he steered you towards the sink. "just rinse it with clean and cold water. i'm getting the first aid kit." when he returned, mike took a quick look at the cut and decided that it wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches. "alright, let's get back to it." you were about to get up when mike pushed you back into the chair. "oh, absolutely not. we're not losing any more fingers in this house."

sam

(yes, sam has a dog. he can be whatever breed you want him to be but he exists)

you and sam were playing with sam's dog max, throwing different toys for him to fetch and chasing each other and max across the sprawling backyard and around the trees and shed. it was a sunny day and soon you were out of breath and feeling very warm, so you slowed down to catch your breath and make your way towards the house to get a drink from the fridge. you turned around to ask sam if she wanted anything just in time to see max still barrelling towards you at full speed. a split second later he was running between your legs and you lost your balance. your back hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of you and you closed your eyes as max began licking your face. "oof."

you could hear the muffled thudding of sam's footsteps on the grass as she came running over. she called your name. "oh my god, are you okay? max, sit!" sam kneeled on the ground next to you as you groaned. "i think so." you pushed yourself up on your elbows and squinted at sam. "i might be a little sore tomorrow." she looked back at you, one eyebrow raised. "are you sure?" you nodded and she got back to her feet, offering you her hands to pull you up. "tell me if it gets worse, okay?" she whistled and max started following you towards the house. "ooh, if i tell you i'm in soo much pain does that mean i don't have to do the dishes later?" sam rolled her eyes at you and clicked her tongue but she was smiling. "oh, very funny. now i just won't believe you."

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #4

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Pre-relationship, Dabi gets hit with a quirk that makes him cry and Shigaraki is very into it from @oh-deerio

Contents: Quirk mishap, Dacryphilia, undernegotiated kink

The scuffle with the dregs of the Yakuza as they travel around trying to find a new place to put down their roots is annoying, but not really that big of a deal. None of the Yakuza grunts who escaped the attack on their base have been particularly difficult for them to deal with and this batch hasn't been either. 

He just isn't all that thrilled when he catches a stray quirk shot from Toga's fight and is suddenly stumbling with pain radiating out from beneath his eyes and moving upwards, a red mist starting to cloud his vision. He throws out his hand and makes sure to turn the guy to ash before she gets in close again to take care of him, and that clears the warehouse. 

"Watch where you're directing shots, brat," He snaps in her direction. His breath hitches slightly when the words finish and he realizes, with embarrassment flooding his skin, that he's crying. That the red and ache are the bloody tears he has now instead of anything more normal. 

"Sorry, Dabi-- Oh, what's wrong? Did it hurt?" Toga gets up in his face, and he puts his entire palm over hers as he tries to wipe away the tears from his face with his other. But he's still crying. He can't make himself stop. 

"It doesn't hurt!" He says quickly. "I just can't make it stop." 

"Jesus Christ, dude," Spinner says, "Are your eyes melting? Fuck do we even have any first-aid stuff anymore?" 

"I'm not hurt, gecko. His quirk just must make people cry. I don't have tear ducts anymore, this is what they do instead." He tells the rest of the group. 

"Well that is inconvenient," Mister says, moving up to his side and producing a marble. He extracts a box of tissues from it and Dabi takes it so he can stop just smearing the blood around on his face. "But hopefully it should wear off soon. If not, Toga might be giving you a transfusion." 

"Loot the bodies," Shigaraki barks, his tone sharper than Dabi has heard it in weeks, "And let's move. We don't want to still be here if anyone heard the commotion and comes to check it out." Dabi's almost grateful that he doesn't bother to baby him. He isn't sad, isn't hurting, he just needs for all of them to move on until this quirk fades. 

///

They end up getting enough yen off of the bodies to be able to do their favorite trick to extend their funds. Twice makes two doubles of the largest notes they get off of the bodies and then they send Mister to get the bills made into a larger note elsewhere, Twos doubles them again, and they manage to come away enough yen to actually find a little motel out of the way to share a room for the night. Most of them will be on the dirty floor, but it's better than sleeping in an abandoned building and they can actually shower and even wash their clothes in the tub. Dabi is fine being made into a personal dryer, because when the others are clean, Shig sends them back out to go get them some real food too which he absolutely needs after using his quirk so liberally earlier. He can't go because he's too noticeable, and he would definitely get even more given that he is still crying intermittently three hours after the fight. 

Fine by him, they have an outlet and he plants himself right by it to charge his phone as Shig sits on the bed, his nails biting into his neck as he charges his game while they wait for the others to return. Shigaraki hasn't spoken a word directly to him since before the fight, and even now he is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully turned away from him, like he's desperately trying to pretend that he left with the others. Normally, Dabi would be perfectly happy to just exist quietly in the other's space, but given how weird Shigaraki has been since this quirk hit him, he can't leave well enough alone. He stands up and cracks his neck, letting the tears trickle down his cheeks as he moves over to the other side of the room to put his face right in Duster's. 

"So what's wrong with you, nerd? Scared of a little blood? Guess turning people into dust leaves a different kind of mess." He gives him a loose, shit-eating smile as red eyes catch on the tears slipping over his cheeks before they move up to his own. 

Dabi isn't expecting there to be so much... heat in those eyes when the lock on him. "I don't mind the blood, Dabi." He says in that strangely intense way he speaks sometimes that makes Dabi's skin prickle. 

"Sure you don't." He says, rolling his eyes and straightening up because he can feel the tears getting to his chin and he doesn't want to ruin his shirt. He moves to grab a fresh tissue to clean them up, but he isn't expecting Shigaraki to stand from the bed like a cobra uncoiling to strike. Dabi takes a jerky step back, sparks flicking up from his skin and making his whole body ache after how much he's already used his quirk today, instinctively wanting to get out of Shigaraki's space to keep him from being able to use his deadly quirk on him. 

But the room is small and Shigaraki had been on the far side of the bed, leaving Dabi stumbling back, his spine hitting the wall hard a split second before Shigaraki's forearm is braced beside his head and he has two fingers grinding into his chest to keep him in place. The threat is slightly mitigated because the other man doesn't look angry and he has his other three fingers tucked completely into his palm so there isn't any chance of him slipping. 

"I don't," Shigaraki says, his voice a low rumble that Dabi has never heard out of him before, "Have a problem with blood. My problem," he moves his fingers up Dabi's chest to his chin, dropping his middle finger so he can catch his chin between his thumb and forefinger instead, thumb swiping through the bloody tears that were about to drip. "Is that I really like to make pretty little brats like you cry when I put them in their place, and you're very distracting like this, firefly." 

The amount of whiplash that Dabi receives in all of five seconds as he is made to confront the fact that: 1. Shigaraki has a crying fetish. 2. Shigaraki is not a bumbling virgin. 3. And Shigaraki is a top, which might actually break his brain. It, in fact, breaks it so badly that Dabi's immediate defense mechanism kicks in. 

"Oh yeah? Whatchya gonna do about that, boss?" 

Which, he may realize about half a second after the words are off of his tongue, could constitute as 'asking for it'. Certainly doesn't make it seem like it's out of nowhere when Shigaraki holds his chin tight so he can bring their lips together in a rough kiss that absolutely steals Dabi's breath before his other hand is catching the edge of his coat in four fingers and the scrawny fuck is proving he's got more muscle than Dabi thought he did by hauling him around and pushing him back down on the bed. 

"Red for stop, Dabi. Otherwise all I want to hear out of you are sobs." Shigaraki speaks as he pulls on his sleep gloves. 

Dabi really hopes he's not blushing as the other man climbs down on the bed with him, caging him in against the mattress. "The door--" He was looking for a way to dig himself out of this hole without showing how inexperienced he is with a hookup when the person actually wants him without either of them being plastered, but Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat. 

"No one's going to walk in, firefly. They're gonna be able to hear you crying and begging for more from halfway down the hall." 

He is going to completely blame it on the quirk when those words make his skin hot and a soft, needy sob slips out of his throat as Tomura leans down so he can lick away a track of his tears with a growl. 

Thanks for participating! If you'd like to join in, consider checking it out here!

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

The Phoenix and the Crow

pairing: (future) kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: nutural

el's thoughts: this was by far my favorite request ever haha submitted by @rachelcarroll1819 *mwah* love you for this, thank you! this is part one and there's a sneak peak at part two at the bottom! this is following the show plot line (season one). also this one is kinda short... but i couldn't find a proper place to cut it off soooo... sorry. i hope y'all like it

masterlist

In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix must first burn. That’s what Y/N reminded herself over and over again. It’s just a stage of life, it’ll get better and you’ll always come back stronger. She scoffed, “Some phoenix.” Aren’t the birds supposed to be powerful, elegant, and brave? Then why was she running away? Out of fear? 

Yes. 

~

Alina grunted when she tripped on a tree root and fell to her knee. “C’mon, darling, we have to keep going.” Y/N helped her up with a quiet sigh and quickly checked behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed. The sun summoner nodded and kept walking behind her mentor figure. 

Alina was extremely grateful for the grisha who took her under her wing when she first arrived at the little palace. Teaching her the ways of grisha and helping her adjust any way she could. Saving her a seat at meals to spare her from the embarrassment of standing at the front, searching for a seat. Within the last few weeks Y/N became like an older sister, even if there was only a few years age gap between the two. 

“We’re almost at the docs, then we’ll be out of here.”

The moment Y/N realized what the Darkling had planned for Alina she was planning her own escape. She knew she needed to get the sun summoner out of the little palace as fast as possible in order to stop the nightmare-ish horrors that were in store for their country.  

The rustling of leaves were heard behind the pair causing them to stop and turn around, arms raised in defense. “Mal.” Alina’s voice came out in a breathless relief. She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him at which Y/N turned around to give them their moment of reunion. After a few minutes and hushed whispers behind her, she cleared her throat “Okay, we really must get a move on now.”

~

“So you want to go after the stag instead of running away?” Y/N had a smirk on her face as she watched Alina wring her hands. “Yes?” “It’s either a solid yes or no, no maybe.” The younger girl took in a breath, “Yes. I want to go after the stag.” The y/e/c eyed girl smiled proudly, “Perfect.” 

So the journey continues. Sunlight was spent hiking and the nights, huddled close to Alina to stay warm since fire was out of the option. Y/N could feel the need to use to power growing stronger and stronger, her hands got so warm she thought fire might start on accident. She needed just to let out a single spark to dampen the burning temptation. While following the couple walking ahead she let a single flame lick through her fingers, swirling around her wrist before diving back into her palm. Her smile was so bright and soft as Alina looked over her shoulder to check that she was still there. 

Using their power makes a grisha stronger, and not being able to use it properly had taken a toll on the older girl, making the younger slightly guilty. Y/N had no reason to stick with them, she could leave and go find her own way if she wanted to… So why has she stayed? Alina furrowed her eyebrows, mentally searching for a reason that her mentor would stay. 

“We’re almost there… It should be just around-” Mal cut himself off once the stag came into view. Y/N stared wide eyed, “Oh… It’s real.” She moved closer to Alina and Mal, waiting for them to take their aim, but right before the could fire, she noticed black whisps of smoke curling through the snow. She quickly let a small flame flicker through her fingers as she felt his presence creeping up behind them. “Alina-” 

Everything happened in a blur, the stag was brought to the floor, Alina threw up a sun shield around herself, the stag and Mal. Y/N held her hands out infront of her her flames followed her arm movements like whips keeping the other grisha back. Black smoke circled her ankel keeping her firmly planted in her place, panic bubbled in her chest when she made eye contact with Ivan. Her eyes pleaded with him to which he only slightly shook his head. The last thing she saw was the Darkling standing over her with a look of pity, before her eyes closed on their own acord and her heart slowed to the point of unconsciousness. 

~

“Heartrenders…” Y/N grumbled as she was finally able to move and control her body. She had started to wake up a while ago, first her mind then her toes up to her fingers, the tingling sensation crawling it’s way up till she was able to fully move. Her vision cleared slowly, the sunlight streaming into the tent through the waving flaps of the entrance. 

Rising to her feet, she made her way to the tent entrance after gulping down a glass of water. One gaurd stood in front of her making her sigh silently. With a flick of her fingers a singular flame danced across the dirt floor to a pile of straw and some explosive crates. A high pitched yelp left the guard’s lips as he ran over desperately pulling the crates away from the growing fire. With a smug smile, Y/N slipped on a first army coat and stumbled a bit as she made her way to the crowds of people. 

Alina Starkov came into sight as the inferni quickly mimicked everyone’s hands over her own chest. The sandskiff. Y/N’s eyes darted around as she thought of a way to get herself on that vessel. 

“I still can’t believe the age on this.” Y/N’s attention snapped to the voice belonging to a tall zeminni man. “There is no way they’ll believe this.” “Sure they will. Now keep quiet.” A suli girl and kerch followed the taller of the trio closely. She watched as they slipped into line soundlessly, seemingly belonging to the crowd if only she hadn’t overheard their conversation.

sneak peak at part two:

“Who are you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Y/N L/N, inferni. Lieutenent General of the second army. Well, ex-lieutenent, I now assume.” A gasp slipped from the person behind her and she was instantly released from their hold. The suli girl for before step around her and moved to stand beside the other two. The trio looked like a rough patch group of criminals. Ketterdam. She could only assume that’s where they’re from. “Now it’s only polite to tell me who you are given I just told you who I am. Very willingly, mind you, I could’ve easily set a controlled fire loose.”

“Jesper Fahey,” said the tallest of the group. 

“Inej Ghafa.”

“Brekker.” His rich coffee brown eyes bore into her’s as if trying to read her soul. The dark lighting casted shadows over his sharp facial features. “Kaz Brekker.” His voice held much reluctance as he spoke his name.

“And I’m safe to assume you’re all criminals. Now that leaves me with one last question…” She spun on her heel and walked around, throwing glances over her shoulder every so often, inspecting the room. “What business do you have on this skiff?” 

[mvltisstuff]

hi hi! i love reading your works, they’re so good and they have definitely inspired me🥹 don’t forget to take breaks and take care of yourself!🥰

the last request with ‘you belong with me’ made me think about ‘happier’ by olivia rodrigo. if you are taking requests, i got an idea😁

buck x reader where they’re both in a “will they, won’t they” relationship, and everyone in the 118 can see that they both like each other and are rooting for them, but buck and reader are kinda oblivious. when things finally start moving between the two, taylor comes back into buck’s life and they start to date. reader gets distant since she really likes buck, and really thought something was going on between them, and she doesn’t want to ruin his relationship.

cue ‘happier’ and it’s basically the reader’s perspective on what happened (even though buck and reader weren’t dating so it wasn’t really a break up). buck wasn’t 100% into the relationship just like taylor. they kind of just use each other to benefit themselves (ex. buck trying to get over reader since he thinks she doesn’t like him back, taylor getting stories to report). buck notices how reader has changed and gotten distant, so he confronts her, and then feelings explode everywhere.

a little angst and hurt-comfort for buck and reader😋

happier - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif from @livelovecaliforniadreams

a/n: it makes me so happy that you liked and felt inspired by my writing, it’s my fav thing to hear <33 i hope you enjoy this, it’s a lovely idea and i’m so excited to write it!

the entire firehouse saw the way y/n’s face dropped when taylor walked in with buck. her radiant red locks that curled perfectly onto her shoulders, and her strong, confident demeanor being attractive to any man. you can always tell when buck really loves someone. the way his eyes light up and how he could spill his life story within first talking to them. the comfort he finds in people is quick, but there isn’t a connection stronger than y/n. buck pretends, though.

he hates himself for trying to envision y/n in taylor. their relationship was far from ideal, meaningless sex before interchanging stories about their day. stories for taylor to use, and stories for buck to lust over while trying to forget about y/n. maybe with taylor, he just realized that y/n was only a faint memory in his mind.

she became smaller and smaller in his life, and it silently pained him. she barely said a word to him, not wanting to ruin anything he had going on. between drunken conversations and relentless flirting, it didn’t seem like he wanted her the way she did. he missed their late night texts and pairing up on shifts. he longed for her shoulder to lean on and her guidance to listen to. he wished for her to be his, but she couldn’t be. so, he lay in bed next to the other woman in his life.

it became like a chemical reaction, suddenly exploding all over the place and the mess being near impossible to clean.

y/n had washed all the ash and cleared her body of the dusty uniform. she shoved it all back into her locker, hoping not to see buck and taylor before leaving. just her luck, she was confronted with his arm around her shoulder.

“hey y/n!” he says, excitedly like there’s nothing that could be wrong. it almost makes her smile, seeing how gleeful he is. “leaving already?”

“yeah, i’m just gonna head home instead,” she tells him, his nose scrunching up in confusion.

“you don’t want to get any drinks with us?” taylor asks, tilting her head to show off her blaring stare that drills into y/n. “you guys can give me some inside info on the report i’m running.”

“not tonight, i’m not really feeling up to it.” the longer she stares at the couple, the more she wants to slam her head into her locker. it’s agonizing to watch him slowly fall for another woman and it’s out of her control. it’s even worse for buck to know y/n is slipping away and he can only watch.

she begins to walk past, bucks arm lightly brushing her own and the hand that used to bring comfort only leaves chills down his spine. it may have been safe to say that he officially lost his y/n.

it felt like with losing buck to another woman, everything piled down on top of it. more people were lost on jobs, her family became more distant, and absolutely nothing was the same. usually, she’d have buck to confide in, but he was off being with someone else. y/n missed the way he would look at her, but now his eyes only belong to the glow of taylor. his silly stories and blurbs of thoughts aren’t things that make y/n’s day anymore. instead, taylor receives the words that y/n once claimed as her own.

it didn’t matter if there was a sunny day because somehow, a thick cloud formed over y/n’s head. the things she used to do with ease at work drained her, just wanting to be out of bucks sight and not have to be drowning in her own thoughts.

she doesn’t back down, though. she still shows up to work every single day with the fear of disappointing everyone. so, she gathered around the table with the rest of her team, getting ready to dive into one of bobby’s meals. her friends noticed her silence, not looking at buck or even conversing with him. it was rare to see her in such a state of upset, especially one where she wasn’t leaning on buck for help. they could all see clearly where her mind was.

“i was thinking of taking maddie out somewhere nice this week, any ideas?” chim asks the group, the ones of experienced daters including the infamous buck.

“oh! there’s a lot downtown that women love. i took taylor down there the other day…” the whole sentence drifted off into y/n’s head, pushing the small crumbs around her empty plate. she’d rather watch paint dry than listen to bucks stories about his girlfriend, who should be y/n.

no one really engages in bucks story, besides the new transfers and the probies trying to find out how to make their own lover happy. however, the ones closest to y/n and buck saw right through the little act she had on. leaning back in her chair with a blank expression gave it all away. every word that left bucks mouth, they knew, only left another stab into y/n’s heart.

“i mean, y/n,” buck acknowledges. “you’ve met taylor and maddie, do you know what they’d like?”

y/n glances up at him, just wanting to scream into his ears that taylor’s not the one for him. if she has to shout it to herself in her own head, maybe he deserves to hear it. “maddie would love anything,” she smiles softly, making buck grin at the thought of his loving sister. “i’m sure taylor would too, as long as she can get a good news headline from you.”

heads turn, hens eyes widen a bit as she looks up from her plate. chim stops with a bite in his mouth, his gaze shifting from y/n to buck. buck was just completely lost, thinking y/n thought better of taylor. buck never thought of her using him, but y/n was always the most observant person he knew.

“cap, you all done? i’m gonna start the dishes early tonight.” y/n stands up, smiling brightly at bobby who awkwardly hands his plate over to her. she gathers a few other empty dishes, dropping them into the sink as she desperately creates as much distance from buck as she can.

the rest of the 118 clears out of the kitchen, staying out of y/n’s way knowing that she needs a moment. they can see the tension written all over her face, but they can’t stop buck from waltzing over to her.

“you know you can talk to me right?”

“what do you mean?” she asks.

“c’mon, y/n. i just don’t know why you’d say that in front of everyone. i’m just worried about you.”

“you don’t have to be worried about me.”

“you haven’t talked to me in weeks. or, even since taylor came back.”

she whips her head over to him, beating her eyes into his. “i don’t know if that’s a me-problem.”

“i think it might be,” he squints, watching her turn her head back to the knife she was cleaning the hardened food off. “i’ve tried to connect with you these past few weeks and you aren’t even trying at all.”

“buck, all you talk about is her and how amazing she is. it’s like you completely forgot i existed, or that i even have a life. just think about when she left you in the dust last time and who was there to pick up the pieces. or who was there whenever you got hurt, or needed someone to call. i have never seen her bending herself over backwards to make sure that you’re happy. i’ve never seen her drive herself crazy because of how much she needs you.”

buck can only notice the reflecting light in her eyes only getting stronger by the second. y/n could feel her neck getting hot and her nose start stinging alongside the shakiness in her chin. her vision was continuously blurred as she scrubbed at the serrated blade in her hand, letting it be covered with the soap she could barely see before it just slipped like a feather. despite the long gash on her hand, it still wasn’t worse than the humiliation she felt in front of her favorite person.

she just leaned into the glass wall while sitting on the bench, wrapping her hand out of the gauze to examine the cut she had gotten. the slice to her palm had almost become a faint memory compared to the engraving thoughts in her head.

“it doesn’t look too deep,” she hears the low voice come from the door of the room. “but i can’t see too well from her.”

her head only lifts, but doesn’t turn to look at him. “can i come in, please?” she doesn’t say no, so he takes that as a sign that she won’t attack him if he does. he sits beside her on the bench, closely looking at the cut before covering it again with the bandage and gauze. “we should talk.”

“i don’t know what there is to say.”

“maybe i do, y/n,” he says. “i’m sorry. i never wanted to leave you in the dark but that’s exactly what i did. i just never knew that you really thought that about her.”

“i don’t think it, i see it. i’m not trying to be a bitch, i just want you to be happy.” with me, she thinks. “i didn’t want to flip out or anything. you mean a lot to me and i won’t watch you get hurt again.”

“i know, and i don’t ever want to see you hurt yourself or have someone else hurt you. it doesn’t matter who i’m dating, i’ll never care for you any less.”

she only turns the corner of her lips up; she was wanting a better answer but that’s all she had. all she expected, that it. “i’m probably gonna head home soon. i’m exhausted.”

“i’m gonna get going too, i have to shower and visit maddie,” he stands, brushing his hands on his thighs as he sighs. “love you, i’ll see you tomorrow.” he grins but it almost looks agonizing as he steps out of the door, grabbing his bag and wandering out to the car.

the ride home for both of them was painful silence. buck never thought he’d be in a position where two girls wanted him, or at least loved him. the more he thought about it, did two really love him?

taylor loved the idea of buck. the sexy firefighter with badass stories for the cutthroat journalist. she only understood the outside of buck, the exterior and maybe some of the wounds he had. she would never want to understand his mind.

y/n understood all of it. his beauty, internal and external. she understood his love for the world around him and his nurturing energy. she understood his trauma in the past and put it to ease. she made it feel like more of a past rather than something that still haunts him. she understood his desire to love someone and his craving to be loved. she understood that he was more than just a story to be told, but that he was a man to be cherished and held onto. not one that taylor could easily let go. he feels insane for not seeing the radiant bursts of love that come from y/n, and he feels ridiculous to the fact that he hasn’t given it back. he wants her to be right next to him through everything and he only wants to fight battles with her. she would give up the world for him, so the least he could do is try to give it to her.

a sharp u-turn was what landed him at y/n’s apartment, his hands fluttering together. his heart pounded through his body and into his ears and his spine held a column of anxiety. she could fall into his arms and agree to live long with him, or she could push him further away and he would be too late. there was only one way to find out. y/n was the one waiting at home for him, not taylor.

he cruised up the stairs, easily skipping over each one praying that he didn’t miss his chance to love on her. his feet heavily thumped on the carpeted stairs of the apartment building. it felt like a movie scene, a sickening lead up to a moment that could make or break the story. one to leave the viewers enamored or one that leaves everyone in tears.

he saw the beloved number engraved on her door, knocked in harshly but then slowing down. he came her to confess, not scare her out of her mind.

he taps his feet against the floor, not caring about the other people who might see him pacing around in the inch of space. his heart starts to feel like it’s going to light up into flames when he hears the soft footsteps of y/n come to the door. she swings it open, looking casual but disappointed as ever.

he doesn’t think, he can only move. he’s always been notorious for that, but he knows it’s not a mistake now. it’s what he wants, and what he needs.

“buck?” she questions, only to be instantly cut off by his tall frame walking into her. his hands connect with the sides of her face, cupping her jaw as his soft, pink lips fall into place on hers. she stumbles back at the sudden force of him on her. there’s no time to think, no time for anything but to take the moment for what it is. his lips move smoothly against hers like they were made to kiss from the moment they met. his kiss was like a secret that y/n was dying to keep and she wanted to protect for the rest of her life. it was steamy and hot, but it was equally passionate and warm-hearted.

the seconds that followed were the thing buck feared most. she could freak out at him, or she could accept him and his insurmountable love. he didn’t know what to think when her jaw fell open and she just gandered at him. “what- why? i though-“

“i’m done hiding from who i really want. i’m done being stupid and oblivious to the truth. i’m done keeping you away from me. you’re all i’ve wanted, and i’ve just been so scared to let it happen. i’ve been so scared to love you, but i can’t hold it in anymore.”

y/n runs her hands through her hair, her eyes becoming glossy as she looks up at him. “why are you just saying this now?” she sighs, her exhales coming out strong through her mouth. “i’ve been ruining myself over you!”

“i know, y/n,” he says. “and it was the worst mistake of my life to let you fall behind. and i’ll be damned if i let it happen again. i love you.”

suddenly, the world stopped spinning along with the dread inside of y/n. the weight was lifted off bucks shoulders and he didn’t have to carry it anymore. he didn’t have to take his mask everywhere to pretend he was happy with his situation. he doesn’t have to pretend not to love her anymore. her name sounds better next to his.

[vindieselsfacebook-blog]

I want to hear more about your opinion that Rory ending up with Logan would go against everything the show stands for. How so? Tell me more!

Bless your heart (complimentary) for asking for MORE of my rambling! :’)

I think there are a few themes that ultimately guide the entire Gilmore Girls narrative. No matter where the plot and characters end up, if ASP is writing, I think the outcome will always adhere to these themes and a specific pattern.

The most important is family - how complicated and imperfect it is, how patterns repeat and break and struggle to repeat and break. We try our best and love in our own ways, but inevitably fuck things up, too. We just keep working at it, which is beautiful and painful and frustrating and gratifying. I think found family and community is just as important, which leads me to the second theme, which is independence and/or individuality.

The show centers Lorelai's quest to build her own life from the ground up which is a pattern I feel repeats in most of the main characters. She rejects upper class life to work a blue collar job, make her own home, build a new family unit with her daughter and close friends, and aspires to small business owner life. Luke shares those values and has a similar journey - taking his father's store and making his own, new thing from the ashes. Jess, the character with the most positive character growth, repeats that pattern, too. He struggles until he, too, strikes out on his own to build his independent life from scratch.

The third theme is class struggle. Although I do think it's clear the show has more respect for the working class, it loooves playing with the back-and-forth of it all and never takes itself too seriously to poke fun at it. It's fun to sometimes see Emily's point even if it's often buried in shallow superficialities. It's thought-provoking to agree with Richard that Rory should use her grandparents' privileges, although we've been rooting for her to make it on her own. We respect Lorelai's independence, but want to yell "just take the money!" when she needs a loan. Or we judge her for it and think "you're not so independent after all."

I love scenes like this one at the end of S4E15, Scene In A Mall:

Lorelai: This is your window on a whole other world, Luke. The world of worthless rich people stuff. People of means see what they want and simply take it, regardless of others. Luke: ... d'you pour your own coffee? Lorelai: Oh, err, yeah. Luke: You're not supposed to do that. Lorelai: Oh yeah, sorry, I won't do it again. Luke: Mmm hmm.

Like, yeah, rich people suck and we dunk on them all the time, but hey, even queen main character can be selfish and hypocritical. No one's really above it!

Anyway, all that to say... Rory is clearly set up to have a similar trajectory where a wrench is thrown in her plans and she won't ever really get back on track until she, too, burns her life to the ground and independently starts all over. She just struggles with the push-and-pull of it all more than her mother ever did.

I get frustrated with fans who think her ending up pregnant like her mother is some pessimistic "history is doomed to repeat itself and no one can ever really change" message, when I see it as her being set up for her inevitable successful ending. She has to figure it out for herself on her own terms. This is why I feel she and Jess will be linked together forever, romantically or not.

If Rory had ended up with Logan, that crash and burn would've just come later. She would've been unsatisfied in that life. Rory and Logan always went to each other for escapism and fantasy - it just doesn't make thematic sense to me that he would ever be a legitimate happily-ever-after option. It's simply not how things are done on this show. Even Emily ultimately follows the pattern - she starts a new life as a more independent person rejecting the "bullshit!"

And conversely, look who is set up in contrast - Christopher is the coward who could never fully run away from his guided cage. The show repeatedly calls him "weak" and makes it clear he's not as brave and independent as Lorelai. He ends up isolated from his kids, accepting the status quo. And ohhh boy, look what his parallel is doing in AYITL - Logan is accepting the dynastic plan, working for daddy and marrying the heiress. That is not the story of a viable end game to me! It feels pretty clear.

Phew - you asked for it! lmao I hope I articulated this well enough??

[actual-changeling]

I've been rotating this scene in my head for like three weeks now, send help. There's a continuously expanding fic I'm writing and this is a warm-up stream of consciousness. thing. I guess.

If there's one thing I know how to write it's overly emotional mental breakdowns.

tagging @today-in-fic (side note: would people be interested in a general tag list for my txf writing? i did it for GO until the fandom got. bad.)

And they're changing and still looking at each other, thinking, is this who I want you to become? Is this how you see me? Is this the 'you' I shaped without knowing I was taking the knife to your face?

There are no apologies spoken, but they both know they're sorry. They both know they're forgiven, and that was never the question to begin with. If there's one thing they never have to ask for, it's forgiveness.

Every single time she takes his hand, she wonders if their fingers will always fit together the way they do now. If it's enough to squeeze them until it hurts and then find more pain in the letting go than the holding on.

You don't need me. You never have, and he never did, did he? I've just held you back.

Scully cannot decide what's worse—being needed and becoming expendable or never having been as important as the blood rushing through his veins, after all. Mulder is the oxygen in hers, indispensable, vital, the reason the world has yet to suffocate her as it reaches for her with its greedy claws and sharpened teeth.

I loved you, she wants to say, and then corrects herself before the words can spill. They built a home out of misplaced guilt and fear of loneliness, and yet she wouldn't change a day—she likes to think that neither would he.

I want to love you. I still love you. I love you. 

She knows she might never tell him. Maybe she will, maybe it will be a goodbye instead of a long-overdue confession. Maybe he will kiss it off her lips and lick it out of her mouth. Maybe she will take what could have been to the grave.

I don't need you to love me back.

Maybe her words will grow roots and bury themselves in the soil of their relationship, maybe they will grow and morph into something entirely unrecognisable; maybe Mulder will dig them up one day and read them back to her.

I just need you to keep looking at me and make me believe that you need me. That you have always needed me and always will.

When did they turn themselves into a game? When did she start feeling lonely with his palm pressed to her lower back? When did he stop believing in her? Why does love suddenly feel like surrender on an empty battlefield she thought she had left behind?

One in five billion, he told her, and she believes him even though she knows he is lying. She still believes him when his past catches up with them and takes her place.

She needs to believe him, or she's going to turn around and walk away.

She might anyway.

She will never ask, but she knows he would never forgive her if she did, not really. Not in a way that would bridge the gap opening between them as they drift further and further apart, and she believes him and he believes her, and she doesn't recognise either of them anymore.

There's a stranger in her bathroom mirror smeared with soot asking, who is this person you no longer need? Because it isn't me. It can't be her.

Everything smells like him, and her body is aching for more, for his arms wrapped around her as she tries to keep him from breaking within her embrace. For his hand on her lower back and the loneliness it brings. 

Mulder will gift her his anger, and she will take it because anger means there is still something left. Anger presses a gun into her hands and tells her to keep fighting.

Anything, anything at all, and she will take it.

I burned a long time ago, and now you've finally grown tired of playing with the ashes.

[yaeggravate]

I wanted to collect my thoughts on the newly released book Perinheri, focusing on the usual overlooked suspects such as Kaeya, the Seelie and the connection to Princess Fischl.

TL;DR: Kaeya is (probably?) not cursed because he's half-Seelie

I strongly recommend reading the book first, which you can buy in Fontaine's book shop. Link to the official website here.

Perinheri is "based on a legendary story known throughout Khaenri'ah, but there are none left who can verify this." Ok, first of all, Kaeya and Zhongli are right there, you even put their names in the book!! Second of all, Khaenri'ah is only ever referred to as the "Kingdom" throughout the rest of the story. 🤨 Most likely because it went by a different name back then.

I think most people are aware this book is probably connected to Arlecchino because of her constellation Ignis Purgatorius which is Latin for Cleansing Fire. In the book, the titular Perinheri is made to crawl through a dark corridor filled with ash. He is pulled out of the other side, "reborn".

This fits with depictions of Purgatory:

The faithful dead go through the furnace and once purified ascend towards Heaven. Some of the faithful are plucked by angels, the result of intercessory prayers.

That being said, I don't really want to dig into the Arlecchino connection too much, since we'll find out what her deal is in a few weeks anyway, and with story spoilers running rampant, it won't be much fun anymore.😮‍💨

FALLEN SEELIE

But isn't it fascinating how one of the characters' name is Angelica who guided Perinheri out of a subterranean realm?

Kaeya has connections to the Seelie who are equated to angels in the game. Brief summary here, but the meat of it is that Kaeya most likely has Seelie roots and Nabu Malikata's last name can mean "angels" plural in Arabic. This wordplay tells us Angelica is without a doubt a Seelie, or at the very least someone belonging to the angel category. (The Jinn, for example, are descendants of the Seelie.)

What's funny is that Kaeya owns a book called The Adventures of Angelos, that he deliberately showed to the Traveler. Dude has been dropping hints since the very beginning! It's almost as if he's important to the plot or something.

Perinheri reveals the curse laid on Khaenri'ah is not unique to them and affects those who have forsaken or betrayed their god. There are a few other instances in Teyvat's history that have people turning into beasts, but no further information was given which made it hard to tell how it was connected to the curse of the Cataclysm.

Ukko, the last survivor of the fall of Sal Vindagnyr, was turned into a Frostarm Lawachurl. His final recorded words were of him asking for the destruction of the world as a last middle finger to the gods.

Didn't work.

Shiruyeh, Liloupar's grandson, fell into the abyss thanks to the behated lamp's machinations, and brought back a plague to Gurabad, which turned his people into wild creatures without faces.

Something interesting is that one of the six sins of the Akademiya is to revere gods without acts of devotion. Perhaps the other sins are connected to the conditions of the curse as well:

Cyno's Character Story 5 To prevent researchers from being devastated by their own knowledge, the sages laid out six cardinal sins. They held that all the crimes in this world derive from these six sins. The first is to interfere with human evolution; The second is to tamper with life and death; The third is to delve beyond the universe; The fourth is to investigate the origin of words; The fifth is to revere gods without acts of devotion; The sixth is to attempt the forbidden and fear none.

According to Angelica, the "pure-blooded" (for lack of better word) aristocracy of the Kingdom persists because any offspring they have with those who forsook their god will be affected by the curse as soon as they venture outside.

The witch, Angelica, explained thus: "Hleobrant is the descendant of those who forsook their god and came to the Kingdom. This is why the Kingdom's obstinately pure-blooded aristocracy persists. This is the price of betraying your own god."

The implication here is that the Kingdom seems to be protecting its people within its borders. Those who have come from another world like Perinheri are also curse free.

Angelica herself is not affected by any curse. It's hard to say if she was telling the truth here but she claims to have come from a nation that was defeated by Zhongli. Keep in mind, it's possible that she was only saying this to cast herself in a more favorable light by disguising herself as a fellow god-hater.

Whatever the case, since Angelica is most likely a Seelie, who were cast down by the heavens for reasons unknown, we have to analyze her words a bit more carefully.

The Seelie were also cursed after all.

Arama: Seelies are just empty husks that race left behind. This is because they were born with a curse: If they fall in love with Nara, they shall lose their intelligence and strength, and their bodies will regress.

Explains why Angelica led Hleobrant on and to his demise. Not unlike a certain other Seelikata we know.

Angelica: As for you, Perinheri, you are one who drifted there. Thus, you bear no such curse. You may not have the nobility to shoulder a world, but you too have your own destiny. And as for me? I betrayed no one, not for a moment, until my god died, so I too bear this curse not. But you now see who I truly am, yes?

"Until my god died." If Angelica is a Seelie, then who would her god be? Istaroth? A moon sister? Both? Something to think about…

As for why Angelica did all of that...No idea. Maybe she was just being a little silly. Haha, get it? Because Seelie means silly. But guiding people with a promise of a reward only to lead them into a trap sounds eerily similar to what Kaeya did in his story quest... and in the manga.

It's because he's silly 😂!

ANGELS GEORG

How exactly Kaeya is connected to Seelie is unknown but the character of Kaeya is partly based on Hagen/Högni who is himself half-human/half-dwarf or half-elf. If Kaeya is also half-human then mayhaps the other half could be Seelie.

If Kaeya is half-Seelie, it would explain why he isn't cursed: Angelica. Angelica never betrayed her god. If Kaeya's "pure-blood" father, had a child with a Seelie who never betrayed their god, then maybe the curse wouldn't transfer to Kaeya. This is just one suggestion because we have no idea why the curse gives immortality to pure-blood Khaenri'ahns and if it can be passed on or not.

(As an aside, Kaeya's father is most likely cursed. Kaeya said his hand writing was atrocious, which implies his hands were losing dexterity like Chlothar's.)

I'm aware of the technicalities and the plotholes here such as "uhhh aren't Seelie all empty husks" and "don't they regress if they fall in love"?? Well, we know at least there were survivors out there, meaning there might be loopholes. Columbina, Nabu Malikata, and maybe even Nicole are all characters who weren't husked to floating eye state.

And of course there is Angelica, whose name I joked about being Kaeya's mom's name long before this stupid book came out. 😮‍💨 RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS, ARE WE, HOYOVERSE EMPLOYEE READING MY BLOG

(It could also be that Kaeya's mom was a descendant (Jinni) or scion of the Seelie instead, which I have talked more about here.)

Another alternative is that he's something akin to Perinheri: a child who drifted from some destroyed world. This doesn't seem likely though. Kaeya has the patented star shaped pupils that are more prominent in official art than in the game.

I will say however, that Kaeya's pupils are very different from other Khaenri'ahns such as Dain, Halfdan and Clothar. His pupils are similar to Pierro's which are also "solid". Maybe Pierro is in a similar situation as Kaeya.

Kaeya is in part based on the changeling prince from Midsummer Night's Dream. Changeling in this context means a human child raised by fairies... The title of the Harbingers' trailer, Winter Night's Lazzo, is probably a nod to this play…

In Scottish folklore, the Seelie have a darker counterpart: the Unseelie. Unseelie haven't been mentioned in the game yet, but it's likely they do exist. Perhaps they're the fallen angels, abyssal creatures or even the pure-blood Khaenri'ahns. It's hard to say without more information.

The Seelie Court is ruled by Titania, the Fairy Queen from Midsummer Night's Dream. While the Unseelie Court is their cold, somber counterpart, described as a winter's night...

Fischl's princess outfit is called Immernachtstraum which is also a nod to Midsummer Night's Dream. It's like Fischl and Kaeya belong to the Seelie, also known as the Summer Court, while the Tsaritsa belongs to the Unseelie, the Winter Court.

Getting off track here, but whatever's going on with Kaeya is connected to Princess Fischl and it's difficult to talk about either of them without acknowledging their strange bond.

Lastly,

Kaeya's Character Story 4 Sinister thoughts flashed through Kaeya's mind, and he simply smirked: "This world is truly… fascinating."

Why say world, why!? He just had to throw that in to confuse us even more!

Recently I found out that Kaeya took the traveler to the nameless island on his birthday. No one would go to such lengths if the place wasn't important to them. This island has a ravaged moon-or sundial belonging to the God of Time. The platform on the island can also be found in two places in Dragonspine; the Mural Room and the Secret Room. What the purpose of these things are is unclear, (my guess is elevators), but the Mural Room just so happens to have a painting of a giant angel on it.

The fact that the island is shrouded in mist, hidden from the map, implies someone very powerful brought Kaeya and his father to Mondstadt. If Kaeya's mom was a Seelie then perhaps she was the one who brought them above ground. I can also see a scenario in which a fellow brethren of hers might have helped out.

Such as, I don't know, someone with connections to the Seelie and Dawn Winery. Like Nicole or Columbina, who just so happens to be part of the Fatui… Someone must have given Crepus that delusion after all. 🤷🏽‍♀️

(Venti was taking a power nap at the time, so it can't be him.)

IMMERNACHTREICH

A while back I proposed Fischl might have been a ruler of Khaenri'ah. And now Perinheri has dropped more crumbs unto our laps.

Princess Fischl is the ruler of the Immernachtreich, which is appointed as the future realm of Fischl. This is an important distinction because it means this Realm wasn't always hers. The Immernachtreich is described as an otherworldly place where everything will eventually flow into.

Mitternachts Waltz Everything in this world must pass through the doorway of their destruction unto the future kingdom of the Prinzessin. In the silence of her pitch-dark Nachtgarten would they find a place to slumber.

Flowers for Princess Fischl: Phantasmagoria Every good, bright and noble thing must eventually fall to inexorable entropic destruction, and the final destination of the universe is the realm-in-waiting of the Prinzessin, Immernachtreich.

More About Fischl: To condemn the guilty, to sanctify the just, and to draw all castaway dreams into the embrace of the infinite Immernachtreich.

Something about that sounds familiar!

Perinheri Vol 1 Due to the Kingdom's unique position, things from outside this world were always leaking into it. The Kingdom's weapons would wipe out the calamities slipping in, but what of all the other objects? Such as, say, a child who may have come from some destroyed world?

A child from a destroyed world leaking into an underground Kingdom and the Immernachtreich, another subterranean realm, the doorway of their destruction.

Both realms are welcoming to castaways.

The annoying thing is that it's unclear if Khaenri'ah is the same as the Immernachtreich since Fischl describes her Kingdom as a "small and forbidden paradise". Perhaps Fischl created a subset within the underground realm that kept people safe. At least for a while.

She did after all create a Sommernachtgarten, or Summer Night Garden, that is referenced in the domain Midsummer Courtyard. See, I didn't just mention the Seelie Summer Courts for no reason; Fischl might've been the princess of the Seelie/Angels. But there's little else to corroborate that other than the wings on her back and the Seelie like emblem on her waist...

Anyway, Fischl can see the threads of fate and has seen the causality of worlds too numerous to count. As we all know, she created another universe and founded paradise. This other universe might be a new branch that split off from the parent timeline.

In other words a parallel universe.

These branches are referenced in the description for Mitternachts Waltz, so I'm not just pulling this out of my ass.

Even the branch of the tree of time upon which the great and glorious Reman Republic nested would be cut off in the end, such that the nation founded by the other twin child of the wolves might rule.

Perhaps this is also what Perinheri's world was. Maybe the various destroyed worlds were branches that got cut off...

Another interesting similarity is that Fischl ran into a bunch of fate-resisting royals who devolved into beasts after denying her status....

Flowers for Princess Fischl (I): End Time Zersetzung When the lone pilgrimaging princess reached the kingdom of eternal twilight, the fate-resisting royals chose to deny everything in their desperation. They refused to recognize Fischl's noble stature and mission as the princess of the Immernachtreich; denied their 13,000-year lineage as a branch of the royal family; and forsook their own nobility and restraints as humans… devolving into clumsy and vicious beasts.

Huh, it's just like Angelica said 🤷🏽‍♀️. Kingdom of Eternal Twilight might be the "Kingdom" from Perinheri and the fate-resisting royals is code for those who forsook their gods. However, Fischl wasn't without sympathy and took it on herself to protect the Immernachtreich.

Narrator: The Prinzessin harbored much sympathy for all living things, and wished to never see them in pain. She harnessed the power of darkness and dreams to weave the night, and gave it the task to safeguard all living things. The people celebrated and worshiped the Prinzessin's authority, and followed her call to migrate to the sacred land that would eventually be known as the Immernachtreich. We established a nation on the Holy Land, revered the Prinzessin as The Absolute One, and introduced poetry, theater, and adventure to the Kingdom, laying the groundwork for the Immernachtreich.

One final stray thought:

That giant crying left eye on the cover may or may not be the same as Fischl's left Auge der Verurteilung, which caused her great agony due to its ability to pierce through the heart of all truths.

It could also be Fischl's enemy, the World Beast, a night-patrolling beast named "World", who casts a greedy eye on all dreams...

Perinheri The crimson moon, hanging high in the pitch-dark night sky, suddenly turned around, revealing itself to be a titanic, horrified eye.

About Us: Shooting Down the World Beast You seem to be troubled...? Oh traveler, you need not be perplexed. With my left eye, this "Auge der Verurteilung" that penetrates the threads of karma, I keep watch over your fate; with Oz's crow-eyes that have witnessed the nirvana of a thousand worlds, he observes your way forward. If the ferocious night-patrolling beast named "World" casts a greedy eye on your dream, then I will shoot it down with my Magic Arrow of Holy Retribution!

[all-souls-matinee]

BONUS Halloween in August/September Review: Alien: Romulus (2024)

[Eschewing my usual format of 1-2 sentence summary + 1-2 paragraphs of thoughts, this one will be a combination to include several spoilers. It also assumes some prior knowledge of the Alien franchise]

Going into Romulus I was leery of how video game-y the trailer felt and the choice of a director best known for 'subverted expectations' home invasion horror, but those were the two aspects of it I ended up really liking. The premise is that a group of 20-somethings are stuck in an intergalactic mining town where the amount of missions they must fly hours they must work to gain an emigration permit is raised by a few years each time they reach their goal. Our protagonist, Rain, is told by a friend that he and his crew have discovered the wreck of the Nostromo floating above them and plan to break in and steal its cryochambers; the last thing they need for their own ship to make an escape into deep space. The crew welcomes her, but admit that what they really need is her adoptive brother Andy, an ill-liked synthetic who can access the Nostromo's controls. So far so good, I love this premise! It's a little YA dystopia, we've got a ragtag group of mining orphans that look like TikTok influencers and don't have personalities, but that's okay- acceptable and even expected for an Alien movie. I'm also not here to clutch pearls over the sanctity of the original; everything that follows plot-wise is good stuff! Reminiscent of video games, yes, but that means lots of clever little item pickups and interactions, and the tension-building is excellent. An early example: while collecting cryofuel half the team is trapped in a room full of slowly thawing, unseen facehuggers. The other half must retrieve a master-key computer chip from Ash's body (left over from the original mission) to pass to Andy, who is then stuck in reboot mode and unable to help until a critical moment, and this all filmed brilliantly with great effects. There are several standout scenes like it; the movie feels connected to the rest of franchise while contributing new ideas- playing with gravity and temperature and electricity as both weapons and stumbling blocks. It looks good, I like individual plot beats (including the contentious climax), I love the multiple dead rat puppets that are here for some reason, but this is also the only movie I've considered walking out of.

No one barring David Jonsson (Andy) can act, and chemistry is nonexistent. We're told that the crew is composed of friends, siblings, cousins, and love interests, but never actually see it, and no matter how good the plot and pacing are on paper that really makes things drag in places. I like the aliens and love the androids in these movies, but at the end of the day I've always ended up rooting for the humans because of the empathy on display. Many of the Aliens are objectively worse than Romulus from a filmmaking perspective, but this is the first one where I wanted the bad guys to win.

The main villain of this movie isn't the aliens, it's Ash. I was spoiled on CGI Deepfaked* Ian Holm going in, so when they boarded the Nostromo and saw his body I rolled my eyes and braced myself for a scene where he comes to life like a haunted house prop and then they kill him or whatever, but no, he sticks around and drives the entire plot. It's awful; I don't even hate this one from a writing perspective it just feels insanely disrespectful (and is distractingly bad to look at.)

3. The Green Mile is one of my most hated movies of all time. I revisited it early this year when the podcast Just King Things discussed the book within the context of Stephen King's larger body of work, which stresses the character of John Coffey not as an aberration but a trope King keeps coming back to: a black or disabled person who is a holy innocent. Physical prowess and/or magic powers are coupled with the disposition of a character like Of Mice and Men's Lennie or Flowers for Algernon's Charlie to create someone who looks scary but is actually worthy of love because, hey guys, he's nice and sympathetic in a way that appeals to an imagined white American audience. Months after listening to that episode I accidentally walked into an even broader literary context, discovering the character of Jean in E.E. Cummings's The Enormous Room (a nearly 1:1 blueprint for Coffey), and Pip in Moby-Dick, a child traumatized to a point of babbling incoherence that allows him to act as a holy conduit, a prophet, and a comfort to his captain. These characters aren't meant to be racist but rather to teach about antiblack racism, which makes for interesting reading, but a terrible Alien movie.

Andy is the only black character in this film. Andy is referred to as Rain's brother at most twice, then revealed to be her servant (literally programmed by her father to do two things- protect her and make dad jokes.) Andy is cognitively and physically disabled from being rebooted so many times over the years, and faces extra abuse and discrimination because of this. I cannot begin to describe how it felt to have spent the year bumping into saintly black characters in media who are dehumanized in order to teach some vague platitude about humanity, only to run into it again here. It gets worse and more muddled when Andy is rebooted using Ash's chip, which makes him "normal," which makes him evil. Ash uses him to further the interests of Weyland rather than his sister/master Rain and it makes him start saying scary inhuman stuff like 'the solution to the trolley problem is to kill as few people as possible.' (Again, go bad guys.)

I know the movie doesn't see itself as racist. Andy is by far the most interesting character and has a lot of complexity to him; Rain's whole arc is learning that no one should have seen him as expendable or treated him as an inferior, and tells him his new prime directive is to live for himself (as well as her. Can't leave that on the table.) Alverez clearly had the best of intentions, but the movie can't get away from the fact that Andy being cognitively impaired and using his strength and powers to the benefit of some random white girl, choosing family over work but also the individual over the collective, was actually what made him human.

Okay rant over. I liked the part where they threw a flair and the facehuggers scurried after it like a pack of dogs because they hunt by body heat and movement instead of by smell and vision. Yay :-)

*Holm was deepfaked 'respectfully' with the consent of his family using a combination of animatronic and a new actor... and the company literally responsible for deepfakes (https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/alien-romulus-ian-holm-rook-ash-ai-1235982350.) I cannot stress enough how bad this is to look at for almost 2 hours like i needed to talk about Andy but jesus christ.

[homestuckreplay]

Average Rose Lalonde Behavior

(page 862-870)

I’m not saying I like Rose better than John, but Rose definitely has the cooler story right now, so I’m glad to be hanging out with her in this super cool lab which may or may not be part of her house. I thought she picked up Jaspers’ corpse because she wanted to prototype her sprite with him – the ‘dark twisting path to necromancy’ she mentions on p.440. But she doesn’t seem upset when she accidentally throws him onto the transportalizer. ‘Oh well. Ashes to ashes you guess.’ (p.863) is reminiscent of ‘I would describe my feelings toward the animal as lukewarm’ (p.442), but could also be more of a ‘I don’t have time to deal with this on top of the other 413 things I’m dealing with’.

But hey. Where did that cat go?? Is Jade going to go outside and there’s just a transportalizer there with a dead cat? Will there be a twist where it’s Jade who prototypes Jaspers, not Rose? The similar technology makes me suspect their locations are linked, as does the ‘UNESTABLISHED IN’ countdown timer. Jade growing up with this timer would explain how she knows today is ‘the big day’ (p.838).

Rose of course enters the lab 4:13 minutes before Skaianet Laboratory is unestablished, which could mean ‘destroyed’ (by a meteor, perhaps) or could mean ‘shut down, power turned off’ and either way, Rose doesn’t have much time. It feels soon to see this timer and could mean this is a short act, or could mean there will be a lot of cutting back and forth between characters. But either way I think Rose getting into the Medium in three minutes having not even connected with a server player yet is a tall order. She might end up just moving to increasingly strange locations while she waits.

It’s very funny that Rose ‘I think trees are elegant’ Lalonde has been using trees wrong for the entirety of her fetch modus career. ‘Root’ even being an option is like sorting price from high to low, it’s a totally unnecessary function that makes everything worse. I love on page 868 where Rose captchalogues the hub while still holding her laptop, and there’s a cable leading into her sylladex – I am contorting my understanding of 3D space to process this but it’s a cool moment, I really like the reminder that this compression of space is normal for these kids, and it’s a cool visual when the connected cards shuffle around each other.

The hub also has a very pleasing design. It’s green and square and has lights and buttons. Undeniably a piece of science technology.

PM was an absolute beast with that sword and beheaded that giant mailbox eating worm like it was NOTHING. They’re also far more adept with the bunker terminal controls than WV. From a story perspective, it works that the bunker’s countdown and >HOME command were a big deal and a story-expanding moment in act 2, but now those mechanisms are established, it’s all pushed into simpler images in an external page that indicate ‘the same thing happens’. That’s helpful if a story is going to use a lot of patterns and repetition.

Mailboxes are not cans but I think there could be a place for them in Can Town, when WV and PM presumably meet up on Jade’s island. PM’s sword could probably open a can and the two of them can share in BEETS and MAYO. PM will love WV’s trusty knife. And maybe they can look at that mysterious undelivered letter that’s visible in one of PM’s mailboxes….

> Rose: Check out John's work on the GameFAQs.

[lewkwoodnco]

Heyy:) I just wanted to request a George x fem!reader one shot :P I totally understand if you don't want to write it or if you don't like the idea or anything but I was thinking a fic inspired by "wildest dreams" by Taylor? Just some silly teen romance vibes you know🤭 (and please no Angst or anything, I can't take that shit atm😔)

Wildest Dreams - George Karim x Reader

A/N: going to be taking a break from the requests in my inbox to work on my 12 days of fics series! (but will get back to them after im done heheh) I might have completely butchered this ask im so sorry BUT I made it as fluffy as I think it gets (w George at least), just had to do the 77 thing i have no self-restraint, also this poem is soso beautiful one of my absolute favesss but idk whats up with the formatting :(((, wc 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Subtle Bridges

Walking with me, you'd once pointed to the fragility and ingenuity of a spider's web. Subtle bridges, you said, On bridges some men hang. A warning that has stayed While I read history traced in blood and tears of men. I was caught in the end with a nest of books. They burned anyway, and now I bend to build an emperor's endless wall. Like a thread of longing the border runs in loops and bends, and along it we root the gravestones of nameless men. A king's metaphor, This is, history raised from ash and bone -- a symbol Of its vast futility, or of eternity. Which it is I do not know, But since leaving home some things have come clear. No one literally breaks from loss, not even here. And some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang.

By Yvonne Koh

She was at the Kensel Green Cemetery with the rest of her team from Fittes, after being called down by DEPRAC because of a robbery. They had spread out over the building, looking for any sign of the missing relic or the culprit, when she heard a slow, grinding noise from inside the hall. She quietly crept in to the silhouette of a shadowy figure bent over the casket.

"Can I help you?"

The boy's head snapped up immediately, painfully slamming against the stone shelf behind him. She let out an involuntary gasp, briefly wincing at the hollow thunk.

"Didn't do it," he groaned, steadying himself against the wall. "...whatever it was that...someone did."

She squinted at him using the little light spilling in from the corridor. He couldn't have been more than a year or two older than her. Against her better judgement, she kept her voice down.

"This is a crime scene!" she hissed at him.

"I - what?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not a thief, or a relic man. I promise."

Her eyes swept his scruffy appearance critically. "Why would I think that?"

"Ms L/N?"

She turned, momentarily speechless, barely registering the rustle of the boy stealing away into the darkness. She blinked against the brightness of Inspector Barnes' torch, glancing back to check that he really was gone.

"Everything alright?"

She paused for a moment longer, as if willing him to rematerialise in the corner he had been crouching in just a moment ago. Nothing. Her eyes narrowed. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"Must have been the wind."

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

George was staring out the kitchen window glumly, lazily stirring his mug of tea. The weather was as pleasant as it got, and Lockwood had roused them all at the crack of dawn for a breakfast picnic, to 'boost morale.' Of course, George should have known better than to hold his breath, especially when loud angry voices had started to shake him awake when he had been halfway through groggily packing their picnic basket. Now, he sipped his cold tea through thin lips, listening to the slow, steady footsteps approaching the kitchen and the wan face belonging to them.

"Let me guess. You and Lucy are no longer in the mood for a picnic?"

Lockwood sombrely shook his head. George sighed, picking up the picnic basket. Seemed like a shame to let his slaving away go to waste. And he was still very much in the mood for the strawberries and cream he had packed inside. Which is why George had been heading out for a solo breakfast picnic with enough food for three when he heard a foreign voice stop him.

"George Casper Karim."

He looked up from the doorknob in alarm. It was the girl from Kensel Green Cemetery. He hesitated, trying to gauge her expression.

"Ex-employee of Fittes Agency, fired after six months for insubordination, currently a researcher at Lockwood & Co."

"Brilliant. Astonishing, really, how you've repeated my own job history back to me."

She frowned. He relished the stab of satisfaction. He'd had a shitty morning and was likely going to have a shitty day, so really, having a go at someone was probably going to be the highlight.

"There's no need to be rude."

"I think I'd know where I've been the past couple of years, thanks very much. Forgive me for not being more impressed."

Still looking a little disgruntled, she pressed on, firmly clutching the waist-high gate. "I've got a bone to pick with you, if you don't mind."

He eyed her warily, and decided against approaching her any further. "You can pick it just fine from over there."

She looked mildly peeved, but he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. After a few long, tense seconds, she relented, not that she was happy about it..

"So...you were right. You're no relic man."

That was quick. "Thank you. Have a nice day." He closed the distance between him and the gate in a few quick strides, pushing against it, but she pushed right back with a steely look in her eye.

"Don't know about the other bit, though."

He didn't like the look in her eye; the look of someone knowing something he didn't. His mouth went dry.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Might be more convincing if your associate hadn't mentioned a talking skull. Awfully difficult to contain a visitor without a ghost jar, wouldn't you say?"

He swore under his breath. "Fucking Lockwood can't keep his mouth shut."

"I don't expect DEPRAC takes kindly to thieves or hooligans-"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Hooligan? Me?"

"-or strange boys who break into places they shouldn't be-"

"You can't prove it was me."

"Wanna bet?"

A challenge. A dare. His mouth was already open to call her bluff when the self-satisfied smirk curling at the corner of her lip gave him pause. Lockwood wouldn't be much pleased if he gave DEPRAC another reason to steer the agency dangerously close towards closing. He wasn't like Lockwood or Lucy - he was careful, very careful. Too late George wished he had been a little more careful all those years ago in covering his tracks - but, to be fair, he had no reason to think anyone at Fittes would have been capable enough to put two and two together.

Until now.

"Look, why don't we...talk about this, like civilised people? I've got strawb - you like strawberries and cream, don't you?"

She sneered again. George was beginning to think that was just how her face looked.

"You want to bribe me with...strawberries...and cream?"

"It's not bribery. Just...a friendly chat. Agent to agent."

Which was how they ended up on a grassy hill at one of the meadows at the outskirts of London. He had never been there before, but Lockwood had remembered it as a prime spot for cosy family picnics.

"So what else do you know about me?"

She chewed a bite of scrambled eggs thoughtfully before responding.

"You're obsessed with the Problem. An obsession that made you an asset, initially."

She had heard that he was the one who had identified the visitor, Edmund Bickerstaff, but what she had had difficulty wrapping her head around was how he had managed to do it with only the vast yet imprecise volumes of the Archives at his disposal. Imagine what he could do with the carefully curated library at Fittes. She stared at him, trying to figure him out. There was a gentle breeze blowing and the slight movement made him look marginally more affable but not any more comprehensible. She let out the breath she was holding.

"You must have really screwed up for Fittes to have let you go."

He shrugged. "It was a long time coming. Fittes never really was the type of company I was interested in working at, and I was never the type of employee Fittes was interested in keeping."

"What about now? Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Why would I?"

"I've taken a glance at Lockwood & Co's financial records. You can't be making much, if anything at all."

"And go from being broke to being broke and homeless?"

"Homeless? What about your parents?"

"I visit them, occasionally, but they're a right piece of work. Last time I saw them was my grandmother's 77th birthday. I think there was a row but I can't be completely sure because I was a little, er, sloshed. The party ended, and I expect the champagne went flat, and my aunt was the last to leave. She was sitting on the floor with a merlot in her hand, and her voice was ringing through the halls. The curtains were burnt, my parents didn't talk to each other for a week, and one of my brothers had broken his hand. But I could never forget sitting in that empty dining hall, holding those sodden, scorched curtains, listening to her saying nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever."

The sunlight had a diffused quality to it, at least the little of it that managed to pour through the layer of clouds blocking the sky. The ashy light threw a powdery glow on George's face, and for a moment she felt as though she was in that dining hall with him, listening to those same laments. He glanced at her, and she felt a sudden, foreign uncertainty grip her heart.

"Now I feel really bad about lying."

His hand slipped, missing his mouth by a good couple of inches, nearly sending the contents of his glass down his shirt.

"Lie? What lie?"

"I kind of haven't, not really...actually spoken to any of your associates."

He chokes on his laughter, and when he throws his head back she wonders if she's ever seen anyone laugh as freely as him. It's a ridiculously enticing sight.

"Touché. Touché."

He looks at her in the eye, unabashed, with an unnaturally casual intensity. It almost feels impolite.

"So...yeah. Maybe I was suited to be a Fittes agent, once upon a time, but not anymore."

"That's a pity."

He looks at her weird, and she hastily changes the subject.

"Do you do this often?"

"What, taking strangers out for breakfast?"

"No. Bring a girl out here, feed her some strawberries and cream, maybe a Shakespearean sonnet or two..."

"I don't set much store in Shakespearean sonnets. I'm not...I'm not much of a poetry person."

There's something reserved in his face that makes her feel terrible for asking.

"I've really only read one worth remembering. Subtle bridges, you said, on bridges some men hang. Some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang."

He bites into a strawberry, which stains his lips a bright red. She looks away a second too late.

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

After reluctantly agreeing to keep the matter of the stolen ghost jar between the two of them, she never expected to see him again. And yet, as fate would have it, they crossed paths again roughly a week later. She and one of her teammates had been assigned to a Church to handle a relatively weak Type Two, when she heard a scuffling sound from one of the rooms whose door was ajar. Her teammate froze, and she didn't feel much braver either. They approached the room cautiously, rapiers at the ready.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Y/N?"

The glare from their flashlights blindly darted over the room before it settled on the floor, illuminating a bleeding George looking the worse for wear, hissing at the harsh florescent light.. She visibly relaxed.

"Oh. You again."

Lockwood and Lucy exchanged a look.

"Do you two know each other?"

A silence followed. George looked to be at a loss of words and she, too, couldn't quite find the right answer.

"We've...met."

They helped George up while Lockwood smoothly explained the situation, and how they would never dream of intentionally From the derisive eye rolls of his remaining, uninjured associate, there was clearly more to their presence than he was letting on, but she wasn't paid nearly enough to go through the trouble of finding that out. Apparently, they had already dealt with the Type Two, so she filled out her report as vague as she dared to be, while they wandered out to flag down a cab.

George lingered behind briefly, dabbing at his nose experimentally while she put the finishing touches to her file.

"We can't keep meeting like this, you know."

"Like what?"

She shook her head, surprisingly having to bite back a smile. "You're incorrigible. If you keep sneaking around for much longer I'll have to report you one of these days."

He pulled his face into an exaggerated sulk and ducked as she tried to smack him with her case report.

"Alright, alright!"

True to his word, their less-than-ideal meetings came to an end. Instead, they continued to occasionally meet at that serene, refreshingly Edenic sloping hill. She'd return from a client meeting or from scoping out a location and the front desk would have a message waiting for her, from one vaguely snippy anonymous man. Sometimes he'd be waiting at the hill with snacks, which she'd ravenously dig into, though he was less generous on the biscuit front. He tells her about the happenings of 35 Portland Row and his research and bounces his latest theory on the origins of the Problem off of her. She tells him about her week, and the bothersome, inept people she works with, and on their joint cases he's snarky towards all the right people. It makes her feel special.

On one such evening, they were lazing on a picnic blanket, and a pleasantly warm breeze was toying with their hair. George was looking at the severe, fragile branches encroaching on the powdery blue sky through heavily-lidded eyes. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with his surprisingly soft fingers, distractedly breathing in the faint, antiseptic smell of ammonia that clung to his clothes. She was thinking about how sharp he was and how quickly he picked up on details on their joint cases. No matter how many times she saw him pick apart a case with a carefully perfected elegance, she felt like a part of her would forever be in awe of his beautifully intricate mind.

"Sometimes I feel like your talents are so wasted here. Imagine what you could do with access to all of Fittes' resources."

"i don't need Fittes's resources to be a good researcher."

She watches the yellow daffodils tossing their heads back just inches in front of them through her eyelashes.

"i know you don't. It can't hurt, is all I'm saying."

"Why do you care?"

She paused. Why did she care? She cared about him, sure, but it was no different from how she cared about her teammates, her friends, but with George...it somehow felt more personal. She sighs irritably, releasing the bubble of frustration lodged in her throat all week. She just wanted what was best for him. It takes her a minute to come up with her hesitant response.

"I...don't know. I don't care. But sometimes I can't help but wonder...what if this was what you needed to uncover the root of the Problem?"

He half-laughs, but stops short at the sight of her face as she lifts her head off his chest. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Y/N...statistically speaking -"

"All I'm saying is the answer could very well be in the Fittes library and you might be the only one who'd know where to look."

She lies down again, and whispers to the trees rather than George.

"Just...something to think about."

As time went on, their relationship began to bleed into more public spheres. She dropped by Portland Row occasionally, and they even had tea at her apartment once. On this particular afternoon, they were in George's room at Portland Row. She was looking through the titles on his alarmingly tall bookcases while he was at his desk, copying some runes from a book while telling her about his latest experiment with the skull. Her eyes roved over the titles restlessly, unseeingly, in a futile attempt to distract herself from her upcoming assignment. She let George's voice wash over her, pleasingly varied in tone and comfortingly familiar, soothing the itch in her brain. After a moment or two, she realises he's stopped talking, and looks up to see him staring at her with a frown on his face.

"Er, sorry. Drifted off there for a while."

"I guessed."

He studies her with an inscrutable expression and she's been caught too off-guard to come up with anything other than the letter burning a hole in her desk.

"You alright?"

She sits on a chair next to his and rests her chin on her knee, feeling oddly wooden. After getting to know George, she had taken the comfort of being able to somewhat predict his mannerisms for granted, and the thought of heading into this blind made her nervous.

"My team's been assigned a case outside of London."

"Oh. When?"

"We leave this weekend."

He looks too stunned to ask the question weighing on both their minds.

"It's for a month."

"A month," he echoes distantly, as if not quite sure what to make of that piece of information. His face remains impassive and she waits for a reaction which never comes. "What about that celebratory dinner?"

"We leave after it."

"Oh."

For someone who usually always had so much to say about anything and everything, his current conversational skills were desperately wanting. Say something. Be affected, she begs internally. She needs to hear him say it. She needs the sickness in her chest to be real, to be founded.

"It'll be...different without you." The careful look on his face makes her feel like he's picking out her emotions from her face and engineering an optimal response. "I'll miss you."

It doesn't comfort her in the way she expected it would. Suddenly, she can't even bear to look at him.

"You don't have to."

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

Either George had decided that she needed some space or he was just as pissed as she was, because she didn't see one sign of him over the next few days. Good. She hardly noticed. The thousand times a day he crossed her mind were only out of relief, and nothing else. But as much as she pretended otherwise, by the time the celebratory dinner rolled around, his absence had taken a toll on her. She couldn't tell if she was hoping or dreading seeing him again.

She was on a balcony on the upper floor, looking miserably into the radiant foliage of the gardens below, where unfamiliar faces flitted with a lightness of heart she envied. Their shadows are tall and intertwine ceaselessly, making her dizzy. Her bags were packed, her ticket was waiting on her mantle, and all loose ends were tied up. Even her one chance at happiness for the rest of her life.

There's a rustle behind her and she turns to see George standing a considerable distance away from her. He's only marginally closer than the first time they met, properly, when he was standing outside their front door and she was pacing behind the garden gate. She wants to cry in relief. Instead, she finds it in her not to look away. Maybe it's the confusing lighting, but there's a soft edge to his face.

"I thought I saw you come up here."

She doesn't say anything; she's too happy to. And yet, a part of her is still deeply unhappy with the sight in front of her.

"Have you...tried the food?"

"...it's not as good as yours."

"You must be leaving soon."

"Tomorrow." The thought makes her want to rip her face off.

"You'll be back in a month."

She drummed her fingernails against the marble railing, carefully choosing her words.

"What if things change in a month?" What if, she wanted to say, you meet someone else who loves you better than I can?

"It's only a month."

"A whole month."

"I don't understand. Why are you so afraid?"

"Because - because you'd forget me. You'd forget me, and our memories would sink six feet under, and you'd move on and my heart would break and...you wouldn't care."

She's never felt this way about anyone before, and she doesn't know how to express how badly she needs him to stay.

"I don't want to go back to not knowing you, George."

The setting sun burns into her neck and all of a sudden, she feels unbearably hot. Her hair is plastered to her forehead and her hands feel clammy. Her face is flushed and she feels ridiculous in her dress. But he's here, and she's said it, so she lets herself dream, if only for a moment.q

"I think about you every day. One month, two months, three months...I'll wait."

TAGLIST: @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[wings-of-ink]

hello! sorry for the incoming macabre ask:

you said you liked ghosts, which made me think 👻... do spirits of the dead exist in the GC universe? what’s ROs’ stance on ghosts? (who’s going to get outed as a scaredy cat?) also, if it isn’t something we’ll get to see in the story, what do funerals look like? do people usually get buried or cremated? are there any special ceremonies?

i’ve read whatever i could find of your (delicious) worldbuilding but i need more; i’m hungry!!

I wouldn't say that's so macabre, as long as we're not killing off the ROs or the MC, we're good! 

This is a fun subject, really!

The people of the GC universe have varying ideas of what happens after death - sort of how we do irl - but the most prevalent belief is in reincarnation. They don't necessarily ascribe to remembering past lives or anything, but they don't think the soul of a person just vanishes after, and that it's sort of "recycled" back into the world. There are some that think the souls of the dead return to the gods they served - sort of powering them up and becoming a part of them.

Funerals in the world can be big events depending on the person - whole towns may be involved. Most people are cremated in pyres. Loved ones stand watch and speak to the departed one last time. They say goodbye or even air grievances - and it is firmly believed that the dead actually hear or understand everything that is said at their funeral. The smoke is sacred - a representation of the soul departing.

Families usually handle the body of their loved ones with any traditions passed down from within. Otherwise, you may see healers or midwives assisting. Since some are still followers of the gods, there may be something specific to those practices that they'd want done. For example, if they follow the Deities of the Stars - their service would be held at night. If they worshiped Casimir, they'd have a really really big pyre and likely be burned with a weapon. Some families simply bury any ashes or bone that remain, keep them in urns, or actually use them - mixing into a clay to make a memorial pottery of some sort. There are a few regional traditions as well. Those in the north may leave ashes at the tops of mountains. Those in the south sometimes take ashes out to sea. The middle province doesn't really have anything quite like that - burying ashes is the favored tradition.

MC's mother was burned on a pyre according to Dov's family tradition. He's from a nomadic people that burned the dead after placing a loaf of bread in their hands (often the departed's favorite kind) - sort of like a last meal. The pyre itself would have the departed's name etched in it and sometimes mourners would write sentiments to burn with them. Kip and Dov made promises to see that MC was cared for. They buried her ashes among the roots of the tree where she was found with her baby.

Spirits exist - more so known as demons - but they are not believed to be the spirits of the dead. They are their own entities but instead of being corporeal, they're magic. Demons can take possession of the living, but in the current world, this is quite rare. Gods nearly eradicated demons (at least the ones most dangerous to people), so they're a rarer find, and are drawn to strong magic and even emotion. This is why the Fields of Desolation are not pleasant. 😁 (Guess where you're headed later, teehee)

Since ghosts as we know them aren't really a thing they would know about, the ROs attitude towards demons:

Oswin–unnerved

Zahn–scared shitless

Duri–fearless (and dumb)

Rune–trying really fucking hard to not look scared

???--annoyed

Thank you for the fun question Anon! I love that you're interested in the fabric of the world. I'll try to pop this in the codex as well. ^_^