#so if we could do either of those we would be golden my dear anon 🫶

[rosicheeks]

i have been crushing on you for a very long time! i actually screamed out loud when i saw that we became moots! so loud that i spooked my dogs and they started barking!

if we ever met irl, i would probably freeze up because you are so wonderfully beautiful and so damn cute!

[aliorsboxostuff]

Sooooo you know in one of the most recent episodes when Din in like forced to his kneels by storm troopers and he’s like kinda tied up could you do something with that maybe please.😉

INSANE how that episode got a chokehold on me. It’s both so sad and so action packed like omggg anyhow gents and gensn’t we’re here to simp and SIMP we do! Honestly the scene got me crying throwing up sobbing bcuz Din got taken away from Grogu, but leave it for a day and i came back kinda 👀 abt it, so here it is! Short drabble since i don't think i can explore this as much as i would like, either way, enjoy dear anon and readers! (MAYBE I'll make a pt.2 if y'all like this) <3

Ner Mesh’la

Tags: Din x gn!Dom!Reader, Drabble, -500 words, he/him prns!reader, husband!Din Djarin, helmetless Din, softdom!Reader, ambiguous ending, ropes, bound hands, sub!Din, those brown eyes!, Dom/Sub undertones, Praises, Mando’a translated at the end

—

“You have your safeword?” He gulps at the man hovering above him, layers of clothes still on his body while Din shivers, knees planted on the floor.

“Yes,” Din’s chest struggles with even breaths, his modulator making static sounds with each inhale. He smiles, a soft reassurance, yet the darkness hidden behind those eyes deceives it. 

“Not too tight, right?”

“No.” The rope around his wrists were secured, and loose enough for him to break free, he’s skilled enough to know. It wont leave burning marks unless he wants them, unlike those annoying times on his bounties where he’d unfortunately get tied up. The bounds reflect his trust on you, your promise to serve him. Din lets out another huff. 

“Alright, now…” Those skilled fingers trace the side of his helmet, to the jutting mandibles, then stopping just below it, the Beskar that hovers over Din’s jaw. “I’m going to take this off, is that okay?”

“Yes.” Din shudders.

“Good boy,” He smiles, eyes burning through his visor. The visor that won't separate him between the darkness of his Beskar and the colors of his husband's eyes. 

A short hiss, then his vision goes dark for a second, before he blinks away the blur and adjusts to the low lighting. Your smile grows, setting the helmet on the table, before you take in an eye full.

Din, your husband, your riduur, expanse of golden, scarred skin displayed, on his knees with his hands bound, lidded brown eyes looking up to you. His cock leaking precum onto the floor below. Lips parted, the weeks old stubble across his jawline. You couldn't resist tracing a hand there, feeling the short hair as his eyes flutter, then bending down, giving a taste at those soft lips, before you pull away and hear him whine. 

“Din, ner mesh’la Din,” He leans into your palm, eyes closed as he inhales. Your eyes soften, one hand tracing above his ear, before it moves to brush back messy curls, and he preens under your touch, sighing contently. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” He answers, eyes still closed as he feels your nails slightly scratch at his scalp, making him hum and push into your hand. You smile, both hands now holding his jaw as Din slowly opens his eyes again, a dark pool behind his lashes. 

You hum. “Ready?”

“Y-yes,”

Translation: Ner mesh’la: My beautiful

Requests are open! 

[wwilloww]

dear willow!

life can be so delightfully scheming sometimes. i had my heart broken for the first time recently. so abysmally sad and lonely and shattered, i logged on to tumblr after a long, long time- lo and behold, you answered that ask i had sent you god knows when!

your kind words reminded me of the tiny bits of happiness i used to derive from things, like petrichor and smatterings of grey clouds and the rumble of thunder. i feel like ive grown so much now, but that ask made me realise something- i shouldn't ever forget to stop and look up at the sky and just admire. and that thought- it made me feel lighter, so thank you :)

yours,

rain anon <3

dearest darlingest rain anon,

i admit that when i replied to your last ask, i did worry if it would reach you, since it had been so long since you sent it. you've become a bit of a staple in my tumblr experience. i don't know what tumblr would be without your name popping up! i am so thrilled to see you here again.

and i am so, so sorry to hear about your heartbreak. there is truly nothing like it. and there is nothing that can prepare you for it, either. whether it comes in quick or creeps up like a slow realization, it is one of the more painful things we can experience, and it can eat us whole. regardless of the context that caused it, that first heartbreak is such a momentous occasion. i hope you are giving yourself time and space and permission to feel all that grief. that you are letting the tears come, that you have friends who will listen, and that you're taking care of yourself through it all.

i had my first big heartbreak a little more than a year ago and i didn't know how i was going to get through it. though i intellectually knew i needed to leave that relationship, and that that ending was for the best, i still felt so lost and so lonely and so broken. i remember saying to my roommate that i wasn't sure if i could ever love someone again in that way, and even though i *knew* that wasn't logically true, my whole body was so in-griefed it felt true. the pain was either so sharp, or so numbing. there was no in-between for a while.

i remember a friend told me that i was breaking apart so i could reform. she told me that i had to become something new, as we always do after big life events, and that i could choose to reform and close the world out, or that i could become a creature that was bigger, with windows, to better let the living in. i remember, too, the first day i was on a walk and i looked up at the trees. they were golden and red and crisp with cold and i felt the sunlight hit me and finally, finally, sink into me--finally--after all those weeks. sometimes i still have to remind myself to look for the sky and the trees and the sun, but i've found the living again on the other side of it all. i know you will too. for now though, feel that pain as big as it comes.

as you feel those edges of grief--or the whole damn thing all at once--and then as you start to see the sky and the trees again, i hope you'll tell me about it.

with so much love,

willow.

[admirableadmiranda]

i feel like the recent gc transfer debate has been kinda odd in the sense that it misses the cultural context for wwx giving his core as well the "deception". asiam culture leaves a lot of gestures unspoken but i feel like it's better to look at the intentions behind the gnc transfer for both jc and wwx as well as the impact. applying a modern framework doesn't really suit it but we can see associated cons when jc has his revelation

Oh I very much agree with you there, anon, now that I've had a chance to do some research and continue to broaden my understanding of the world.

I will begin my answer by saying that I initially did not quite understand what my dear anon was referring to. Fortunately I had a kind friend who was happy to explain what I was missing out on in terms of cultural context, which I got permission to quote here.

"I think they might be talking about how a grand sacrifice like that isn't unusual in asian dramas/settings, and how not telling about it is so that people won't feel obligated for the sacrifice."

I am still learning and I will be the first to admit that I am not always right, but given what we see in Modaozushi and what I have seen in many other works over the years, the first one that comes to mind is xxxHolic and Himawari happily taking on Watanuki's scars for him to heal, this strikes me as very true. Wei Wuxian not telling Jiang Cheng the extent of his sacrifice is not actually all that odd, in many ways it is just what is expected. He is capable of making this sacrifice, saving Jiang Cheng from death, and what he tells him is enough that Jiang Cheng will know that he came up with a solution that would allow him to have a golden core again, without going into the specifics of why.

In many works, I hear this is done by the outsider of a family to prove that they are thinking either first or only of the needs of the family, and thus it is matched by welcoming them in properly, knowing that this outsider is worthy of respect. If Jiang Cheng were a half decent person and this were not a story that subverts many common elements of the genre, Wei Wuxian would be named his brother and welcomed in as he were not before. Or even it is a common grand romance trope. Again I think back to Clamp and their eye-trading schemes (I've read a lot of Clamp in my days, sue me).

But Jiang Cheng is not that person. He does not see any of this as a sacrifice and takes Wei Wuxian for granted, holding his own sacrifice against him in his mind even though Wei Wuxian both knew nothing of it and still came up with a way to return his golden core to him. Thus we cannot have the common genre tropes because Jiang Cheng does not have the decency to act in those ways.

My anon mentions the intent behind their reactions and I think this is important to cover too. When Jiang Cheng has his core crushed, he no longer wants to live. He makes it very clear to everyone involved that unless he can cultivate again, he feels he has nothing to live for. Thus Wei Wuxian's intent in giving him his golden core is to give him a reason to live. There are myriad tangles and snarls in this, the way the Jiangs impress that he owes them for being able to train as a cultivator, Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian's final words both imploring him to do anything to keep Jiang Cheng safe and the utter collapse of his whole world around him, but in the end Wei Wuxian looks at himself and he looks at Jiang Cheng and he is able to decide in that moment that he can live without his cultivation...and Jiang Cheng cannot.

And if Jiang Cheng had been the person his stans want to claim he is, I doubt Wei Wuxian would have regretted it. He would have still had the internal grief, the difficulty making his peace with it, but he could have looked at what Jiang Cheng was making of himself and felt that it was worth it. But again, Jiang Cheng is not that person.

So Wei Wuxian gets to watch him use his own golden core to hurt and lash out at people, use his power not to help people or stand for shared ideals, but instead attack him for upholding their debts, and then eventually kill him and everyone he's protecting. And never, ever learn from it. Jiang Cheng not only leads the siege to kill Wei Wuxian and the Wen Remnants, but then spends the next thirteen years torturing and killing people that remind him of Wei Wuxian to the point where he encourages Jin Ling, Jiang Yanli's son, to do the same. Jiang Cheng takes a sacrifice made for him to heal and instead uses it to continue causing untold amounts of pain.

And when he finds out about it... his reaction is not horror at what he's done with this sacrifice, but anger that he can no longer claim to himself that he is better than Wei Wuxian, because he knows full well that he would have never done the same and that the only person he can blame for this is himself. And oh does he despise that. He screams at Wei Wuxian about it in the temple that he feels like a clown because of it. Jiang Cheng knows better than his stans the culture he lives in and what is expected of him for such a thing, and he cannot meet that expectation. Because he is not that person.

And I think that is what MXTX is going for, as with many things in her books, she is critiquing common accepted tropes that she does not necessarily agree with. And this one would be that making a grand sacrifice and keeping it quiet for someone will make them a better person. Because it doesn't. Jiang Cheng isn't improved by this great gift, he is still the same person he always was.

You can't make someone change, regardless of what they know. That choice can only be theirs. In the end their relationship instead of growing stronger, fragments and splinters.

Its why the best thing Jiang Cheng can do at the end of the book is just let go, stop demanding that Wei Wuxian come back. Because everything he has done has ruined what he could have repaired. If Jiang Cheng had begun to improve once that transfer happened, they could have reconciled and things would have turned out differently. But he didn't, because he is not the sort of person who changes based off of subtle sacrifice and choices, and the story that would come about if he did, would not be Modaozushi.

[bokutoslittlebird]

UHMMM EXCUSE ME BUT BOKUTO X ONEE-SAN IS JUST 😳🥵. I'm a different anon from the last one but omg, is it okay to ask more??? Maybe an MSBY Bokuto now or idk what if his onee-san finally gets pregnant (if you're okay with that). Thank yoy so much!

I got like four fics where the reader ends up pregnant I’m definitely fine with writing pregnancy lmao I’ve looked it up so many times I have a notebook of pregnancy symptoms and baby delivery. I do need to start writing down baby names tho bc my computer keeps asking me when I’m expecting

Mission : Corrupting Onee-san ; Bokuto, part 3

Kōtarō was a bit upset a week after the.. incident. You weren’t showing any common signs of pregnancy.

He researched it at least six different times, expecting to match something in your behavior to one of them. Each time he realized you weren’t pregnant, it was hard on you. Well, he was hard on you. Forcing his cock into you while you thrashed and tried to get him off, only to be met with the brick wall that is your little brother. He hardly even noticed you, often off in his own delusions until after he spilled his load into you. Even then, your fucked out face and overstimulated hole always had him raring to go again, this time with his focus on how good you made him feel.

With it being a month into his stay at your house, you wondered if your family would get suspicious about it. When he told you he’d be trying out for the MSBY Black Jackals, it fell into place. That’s why he was staying at your house, with the added bonus of being there if you needed anything. From someone else’s perspective, it would seem like he was a golden child with a heart of gold. In your eyes, you just saw a monster with a goal and determination to see the goal through. Kōtarō never shied from any questions your son had, either. Answering every question quickly and maturely, as if he knew the kid would ask it. He’s able to manipulate you and your son but you can’t do anything to stop him, not when he holds power over you.

Kazuki loves his uncle, his Oji-san a lot. You know he does. He’s always enjoyed visiting your parents’ house to see Kōtarō who would tell him stories, but you find he often lets his adoration for Kōtarō blind him. In his eyes, Kōtarō is a perfect human being and can do no wrong.

“Oji-san?” Kazuki’s little head pops up from under the table. You jump at his sudden appearance, especially if he came from under the table. With Kōtarō having you firmly placed on his lap, you wonder how your son would see the situation.

“Yeah, squirt?” He still smiled at Kazuki, not seeing anything wrong with the situation. Not seeing anything wrong with the way he has a steel grip on your hips and keeps rubbing his hardening cock into your clothed pussy.

“When you both go to bed, why does mommy scream?” Your eyes widen at his question, panicking. How do you answer that? He’s so young—

“Oh! Mommy has some bad nightmares, but it’s okay! I’m there to take care of her!” Kōtarō wraps his arms around your middle, warm hands sliding along your stomach. “Isn’t that right, mommy?”

“Yes, Kōtarō, it—“ your words were interrupted with a shriek, feeling Kōtarō pinch the skin on your hips.

“Mommy, are you okay?!”

“Yes, dear. I’m fine. Uh, daddy just startled me, that’s all.” With the new situation and lack of anyone else, Kōtarō wanted to fully move into the ideal family life. Including his title. Kazuki didn’t bat an eyelash, just nodding and eagerly going to play with his toys. A present from Kōtarō.

“We talked about that, nee-san,” Kōtarō’s breath tickled your ear, a warm tongue licking the shell of it. A shiver went down your spine, feeling his bulge get harder underneath you. “Kazuki needs to see me as a father figure now. Especially since he’ll have a baby brother soon,”

“What makes you so sure it’ll be a boy?”

“I have faith. Need strong boys to protect mommy while daddy’s busy at work,” the talk of you having his offspring has him raring to go, a dark cloud covering his eyes as he ruts up against you. You find yourself face down on the dinner table while Kōtarō eagerly strips off your panties and your jeans. It’s nothing for him to pull his cock out of his sweats, eagerly rubbing the mushroom tip against your folds. Even if your mind and heart don’t want it, that doesn’t stop the slick from pooling into your panties and coating your folds. Your hole is nice and wet for him, ready for his fat cock to split you open.

“Kō, we- we can’t! Zuki-“

“If you keep quiet, he won’t know,” he hisses in your ear, his hand digging into the fat of your ass. It’s a warning to be quiet. Kōtarō usually enjoys your voice, how you scream and beg when he’s filled you to the brim, but now he needs you to be quiet since you’re on the table.

Pushing his cock into you is something he’ll never get tired of. He loves the warm feeling of your cunt and how tight your walls are around him, you’re all sticky and wet, allowing him to slide right in. He doesn’t stop, not for a moment, feeling you holding back your moans as he bottoms out. Even with your hesitance, your body knows he makes you feel good. It has him slapping his hips to your ass while he cages you to the table, pressing you down with his chest. Your nails scratch the table, trying to find something to hold on to when his hands snake up under them, squeezing while he rams into you. It’s enough to squeeze his hands while he brings you to an orgasm, his balls slapping against your clit while your walls squeeze around him, sucking him in.

“K-Kō-chan, I-“

“I’m almost there, hold on, baby,” he whispers, his mouth right next to your ear. You don’t know whether he’s talking to you or the possibility of a child resulting in this, but you find his hips stuttering, a low groan as he stills inside you. Your walls milk him dry, another orgasm as you coat him in your own release. He doesn’t pull out, keeping still inside you while you both come down your high.

“It’s Kazuki’s bedtime. I need to tuck him in,” You break the silence, squirming as the feeling of Kōtarō’s cock in you, and his cum, has become awkward.

“I’ll do it,” he presses a kiss to your hair, removing himself from you. He’s quick to pull your panties and jeans back up, keeping his cum from mostly coming out. “After all, I gotta be a good dad, don’t I?”

With Kōtarō constantly leaving the house for practice with the Black Jackals, he leaves you alone. Taking care of Kazuki was your only chore, really. With Kōtarō earning plenty of money and you having the insurance money from your recently deceased husband and daughter, you were not financially unstable. Most of your money had gone to special pills to prevent pregnancy, making sure you had one each time after Kōtarō spilled inside you. Labeled as vitamins, you easily took them all the time in front of Kōtarō as he didn’t bat an eye. They seemed to work, suspending the pregnancy as each day you turned out and took the test, only one line popping up.

You thought you were safe.

When your vitamins went missing, you didn’t know where to turn. After the table sex and the bedtime routine, you needed those pills. Looking through each cabinet, you couldn’t find it. When you asked Kazuki, he seemed innocent enough. The only possibility was that Kōtarō had found out and taken them out. You had to wait until he returned from practice before you could confront him.

When he finally popped through the door, Kazuki went to go hug him. “Oji-san!”

“Hey, hey, hey! We talked about that, squirt,” a darkness looms in his eyes, but his smile is bright and blinding.

“Sorry, daddy. I’m not used to it,” he looks downright guilty, as if he did something wrong. Kōtarō’s big hand plops on top of Kazuki’s head.

“It’s alright. You’ll get used to it eventually, especially once you have a little brother,”

“I’m gonna have a little brother?!” Bouncing on his feet, Kazuki turned to you. The smile you sported was more of a cringe, but you nodded.

“That’s the plan. Daddy, can we talk?” Kōtarō eagerly follows you, handing a new toy to Kazuki as if he doesn’t have over 20 new toys. Kōtarō doesn’t stop in front of you, rather hugging you close to him as you feel his hardened cock rubbing against your leg. “Kōtarō we need to talk. About serious stuff.”

“If it’s about those Plan B pills, I flushed them down the toilet,”

“Wha- flushed? Those were my vitamins!”

“You aren’t taking anything that risks serious health problems if you don’t take it. Not only that, you’re not under any prescription medications. From now on,” he says, voice low and commanding. Pulling from you, you look into his eyes to see something sinister in them, as if his delusion is becoming tangible. “You’ll be taking what I give to you. No more caffeine, no more wine before bed, yes I know you drink a glass while getting ready, and no more vitamins without my permission. After all, our future is dependent on this.”

With his declaration of claiming you, officially deciding to prevent anything that could stand in his way, you felt sick as you took another test, the single line being joined by a matching one. You couldn’t hide it, you couldn’t throw it away, he’d know the truth regardless. You always showed him negative results, so the test going missing would mean he knew it was positive. Kōtarō waits on your bed — his, too, now — as you weigh your options. With shaky hands, you open the bathroom door as he perks up, his face smiling as if he knew the answer already. With his hair down and still damp from the bath, you see how attractive he is, his muscles flexing as he gets up to see the result. Showing him the plastic piece, he can’t hide his excitement.

“I’m gonna be a dad! You’re gonna be a mommy! Well, we are, but this time for reals!” He’s so excited, it’s easy to find yourself smiling with him, caught up in the excitement. When he puts you down, it’s on the bed and he’s quickly crawling to cage you in. “I say this is cause for a celebration.”

“Kōtarō, what about mom? And dad? And our sisters? They’ll find out eventually, won’t they? We’ll be disowned,” your panicked voice stops him, straddling you as his hand goes to his chin. As if he’s thinking.

“Well, lets just cut ties with them. I’m a member of one of Japan’s Division 1 volleyball teams. I make enough money for us to be stable comfortably, not to mention the money you have from insurance. That way,” he licks his lips, leaning over you again, “I can have you all to myself,”

[lovingumi]

— requested.

— chaos.

⤷ Hi, dear!~ I’m so in love with your Inarizaki writing! Thank you really. This’s too soft~ Can I ask headcanons about Inarizaki in the training camp with their manager?

synopsis: being inarizaki’s manager HC

pairing: inarizaki & fem!reader

warnings: none

+ i’m so happy you love them!! only the best for my boys and lil anons <3333 i’m reposting this because tumblr hates me <3

since it was almost match season, you had decided to ask the managers of some other teams to have a training camp for a few days!

it included karasuno, fukurodani, nekoma and of course inarizaki!

after the schools had agreed to a date and schedule, you gathered the team and told them the plan.

they were pretty excited! especially aran and atsumu since they both would see their friendly rivals.

osamu didn’t have any different feelings, he only hoped for some good food. akaashi and osamu would be besties change my mind

akagi was very excited to play with the top libero’s like yaku, komi and noya!

it was safe to say everyone was looking forward to it.

and so, a week later the team stepped out of the bus in front of fukurodani academy where the training camp would take place.

the managers lead all of you around and told you where you could put your stuff down.

and after that, practice could finally start!

to say that atsumu was fired up was an understatement. i mean, he was going against a setter who was on top of the technical parts of setting, a setter who knew exactly what to do with minimal movements and a setter who knew his teams strengths and how to bring out the one hundred percentage out.

atsumu felt like he was on top of the world and he was thriving.

aran had a friendly banter with bokuto, forcing a smile on your face whenever you were in their presence.

you saw akagi talk with noya, yaku and komi, a hand on his hip as he laughed at something noya said.

you felt all fuzzy inside seeing your team interact with the others )^o^(

inarizaki won majority of the matches they played, the real challenge however being fukurōdani.

bokuto had this tiny blush on his face as he went against someone equally strong, a bright smile on his face as he did what he always did: get some points for the team.

akaashi had this lil smirk on his face when he baited atsumu with a dump, staring at the blonde male who had a pout on his face.

“eh, akaashi. you’re pretty good, aren’t ya?”

akaashi was about to respond if it wasn’t for bokuto suddenly entering the conversation and slinging an arm around his setter.

“akaashi’s the best, isn’t he?” his eyes were closed and his pearly teeth were on display, teasing his best friend who tried to play it down.

inside atsumu’s head while staring at the energetic ace: yeah, i’ll play with him sometime

after practice had ended, they showered, changed in to something comfortable and had some dinner all together!

oh how much i wish that this was real

akaashi, kenma and osamu sat at a table together, talking about all the different onigiri’s they wanted to try and make, except for kenma, he stayed silent and just played his lil game.

“akaashi, we should really meet up sometime and try a few out.”

kageyama and atsumu sat opposite to them and talked about some stupid shit. it was mostly atsumu talking and kageyama nodding with a tiny blush covering his cheeks. please tell me you guys have seen that atsumu and kageyama official art of them in the youth training camp

“tobio-kun, we should play a bit after dinner! i just know that we’d be a good team together.”

at another table were bokuto, aran, hinata, yamaguchi and lev. they were honestly just talking about volleyball and food, nothing else.

hinata, yamaguchi and lev just watched the two aces talk with wide eyes and brag a little bit, bokuto doing the latter a tad more than our sweet aran who just watched with a tiny smile and that lil sparkle in his eyes.

“if you guys wanna be an ace like aran and me, then you should definitely always cheer us on and ask us things you want some more insight on!”

bokuto my lil babie

kuroo, washio, suna, omimi and tsukishima were minding their own business, all smiling a bit while talking about some stupid shit. yes, even tsukki cracked a tiny smile.

“so that’s the story on how i made this one love volleyball!” kuroo smacked tsukishima’s back, forcing an ‘oof’ from the latter before mumbling a quiet ‘hai’, no energy left to go against the stubborn third year.

“yikes, that’s pretty lame.”

not the glare tsukki gave suna

daichi, ennoshita, konoha and kita were just talking about the hard life of being in a team that’s just pure chaos </3

“yeah, the twins aren’t exactly sane either. osamu may look like the sane one, but he’s just as bad. fightin’ and playin’ around all the time with atsumu.” daichi nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “hinata and kageyama are like that too.” konoha just sighed, a hand on his hip as he shook his head. “we just have a giant baby who needs lots of reassurance all the time.”

and last but not least, our libero’s and their lil chaotic squad!

this one exists out of komi, akagi, yaku, noya, tanaka and suga. its just all chaos with probably just komi and akagi being the sane ones.

“hey, we should definitely meet up sometime and just hang out together!”

you on the other hand kept moving from table to table, receiving a little wave from atsumu when you passed their table, a smile from akaashi, a wink from bokuto with a bright smile from hinata and a loose side hug from kita who bragged a little about you.

“_____, she’s pretty amazin’, ain’t she?” you felt your cheeks warm up a little, giving the sign to get out of here with the sweet excuse of hearing your name get called by yukie.

kita has a lil soft spot for you in my manager head canons because i love him <3

and the next two days went like this one, only a few tables would change and the noise only became louder since everyone had become better friends!

so, mission succes! ^ - ^

+

bokuto had asked you a little favour of accompanying him and a few others in a late night practice, to which you obviously couldn’t say no to when he stared at you with those big golden eyes.

so, you sat on the ground and watched the ball go over the net repeatedly, the squeaks of their shoes on the gym floor echoing through the gym.

team one existed out of atsumu, akaashi, kageyama, hinata, noya and suna. while team two existed out of kuroo, konoha, tsukishima, osamu, bokuto and aran.

atsumu insisted on being with all the setters while bokuto really wanted to play with aran, thus, the teams ended up like this.

you watched with sharp, yet sleepy eyes the guys go intensely against each other. they truly were not holding back even a little bit.

“tobio-kun!” atsumu set the ball for kageyama who watched with big blue eyes the ball rotate in the air. he ran up and hit the ball with sparkling eyes and lips that were curved up into a smile.

konoha dived for the ball and brought it up, only for the ball to go in to the bleachers instead of staying on the court. he stood up, letting out a sigh as the sweat dripped down his face.

“you don’t even know how happy i am that you two aren’t in a team together.” kuroo reached for a water bottle and nodded, speaking after taking a big gulp, “i second that.”

“atsumu-san, your tosses are so easy to hit!” hinata stared at the setter like he put the stars in the sky, mouth wide open as the setter chuckled. “of course, sho-kun! only the best for my spikers,” he said with a grin on his face.

“these teammates of yours are pretty good, aran,” bokuto said, the rasp even more evident in his voice as he raised his head towards the ceiling with his eyes closed.

“could say the same ‘bout you, that setter of yours is somethin’ else.”

bokuto looked down and tilted his head, chuckling as his tooth smile made an appearance. “like i always say, akaashi’s the best!”

suna dropped down on the floor, waving his hand as a signal of stepping out. “i’m done, it’s over for me.”

and just like that, you heard all voices agree, tired smiles on their faces as they started cleaning out the gym.

[alia-turin]

Hey dear Alia!

How do you feel about a little prompt that displays Eredin's lifestory?Just a little one? 🥺 You did it justice when writing some stories about Caranthir and Imlerith as i am curious what's the deal with Eredin being The Eredin we all know and admire.😋

Hello anon, I know I have been sitting on that for more than two weeks but there were several ideas stewing in my brain. I think there is a lot of angles you can approach Eredin, there is just so much to him you can explore. I think I picked his soldierly side as I just enjoy writing stuff like that, I hope you do like it. Please check the warnings and if that is not your cup of tea do let me know, I won’t take offence, but I do want you to enjoy it and there are certainly other stories to be told. 

Warning: Violence, death, graphic descriptions 

AO3 Link

Eredin sat in his tent looking over maps trying to find the weak spot of the fortress. There wasn’t one, he knew it, staring at that map will not make an entrance for him, he had to fight. But fighting will lose him men, and losing men was not something he could afford right now. Not now.

“Any bright ideas?” Imlerith looked at him from the other side of the table, Eredin didn’t respond. He hated admitting defeat.

He remembered a time when he was younger, much younger. He wasn’t even of age then, just an arrogant boy with a talent. The throne room was filled with people, the king sitting, how mighty was Auberon then, Eredin could remember himself looking at the king and thinking that was how a king looked like. Eredin had walked through the throne room, people looking at him and nodding in approval, and why not he was to be the youngest general Aen Elle ever had. All these years of blood and sweat, his father making him sleep in the barracks like a common soldier had paid out. He walked to the throne and knelt, when he raised, he was Eredin, the youngest general they all had seen.

“I built that fortress.” he said in frustration. It was brilliant truly, it was not indestructible, everything could be destroyed even this pile of stone. But Eredin built it to withstand sieg for months.

“They will starve.” Imlerith added.

They would, but months from now. Eredin didn’t have months, he couldn’t be away from Tir na Li,  not now.

“You want to storm it.” the only other man in the tent spoke. Aedan has been silent through the whole discussion, that wasn’t typical.

Like him, Aedan was one of the younger soldiers in their unit. Son of a common soldier he had talent for fight that could rival even Eredin’s. But where he was calm and cold, Aedan was fire, hard to control, never followed orders or at least not as they were given. They were opposite in almost everything, even the way they looked, Aedan’s golden hair versus Eredin’s raven, sapphire blue eyes versus Eredin’s emerald green. Somehow the man grew on him and he trusted him with his life. For hundreds of years now he had never allowed himself to relay on one person as much as he relied on Aedan an the man never disappointed.  

“I say we wait.” Imlerith’s words made Eredin focus again at the task at hand. He knew that was the wise choice. He could win either way but why risk his men over few rebelling humans. Imlerith was right, but Eredin couldn’t wait. There was a bigger game for him and he was missing on it here.

“I agree. Let them starve.” Aedan, still unusually serious, added.

“One for waiting, one for starvation. Attack it is. We will storm at nightfall.” Eredin looked at his two most trusted men, Imlerith’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the map, Aendan’s were pinned somewhere behind Eredin. Unusually quiet. Neither of them protested, he knew both of them were against the idea, if he were them, he would be as well. He knew it was a bad idea, but he had to choose between his ambition and that fortress...were his  men worth his ambition? They were. He would sacrifice his men now, so he can make it better for them tomorrow. “Aedan, you will scale the wall, from the sea. Pick fifteen men.”

The blonde just nodded. Both of his generals walked out of his tent in silence. Eredin was left alone, he had a few hours before the night covered the sky and it was full moon. Bad time for a surprise attack but he could not wait.

He kicked his boots off and undid his sword belt leaving it over the map. He needed to rest, but he could never sleep before battle. He did lie down on his bed, there was some strange comfort in camping beds. They were uncomfortable, small and your back hurt after sleeping in one for too long, but it was familiar.

Eredin never doubted himself, doubt was a feeling unfamiliar to him. He was the youngest general to ever fight for the Aen Elle and he was the leader of the Red Riders. He had made some bad decisions and some tough decisions, but today just couldn’t get out of his mind. He was about to storm a fortress, he knew it was a bad idea. He knew there was a better way to do it, but he couldn’t wait.

Years ago shortly after Lara was killed, he had come back from a hunt. Aedan and two of his other captains were with him. They had walked in the throne room, Auberon sitting in the throne, Avallac’h and Ge’els next to him. It was hard to shock Eredin, but he was shocked this time. He had been away for weeks and when he came back the king was a shell of a living thing. Eyes unfocused, skin pale, his body looked weak. Eredin had always had a dream, but nothing like this sight to make him want his dream to be reality. It wasn’t, however Auberon’s frail look that made him put his plans in motion, it was the look on his men’s faces. They all had seen Auberon before, he knew what they had seen, their strong and unfaltering leader. Now he was a ruin. The mages had failed them.

It wasn’t that moment when he had made his mind he wanted to be a king, but that was the moment that made him realise it wasn’t just his ambition he was fulfilling. The Aen Elle needed a strong leader, and Auberon was not that anymore. He had planted the seeds long before that and he continued planting them long after, but he had to be in Tir na Lia, not on the other end of the kingdom dealing with human rebels.

He watched as the masons worked on the cenotaphs, sounds of metal against stone filling the air, dull and grim. That was what was left of his most trusted men. Almost all of them were gone. Grey stone and white marble. He wasn’t sad and he wasn’t grieving. They got warrior’s deaths and that was all they could hope for. He was angry. Pointless deaths born of weakness and bad decisions. He wondered if the plan all along had been to deprive him from those he trusted the most.

“Ceiran had a child.” he had heard Aedan’s step behind him but the man had been standing in silence until now. It wasn’t just Eredin losing friends, it had been both of them. “I will look into it.”

Eredin nodded. When he took the crown no  more of that. His men would die soldier’s deaths but it won’t be for nothing.  

Eredin walked out of his tent and he found his way to where Aedan and his men were preparing. They were all ready to go, nobody wore armor, just normal dark clothes, no capes, no swords, only knives, their faces covered in dirt and charcoal, everything shiny from their clothes either covered or taken off.

“Let it be known that Eredin Bréacc Glas likes it the hard way.” Aedan pointed at the full moon.

“I will give you an hour to scale the cliffs and then another thirty minutes to get half of the fortress, after that the soldiers inside should be looking in the opposite direction, but not for long.” Eredin turned to Imlerith who had just joined, fully dressed in his armor. “Put the rest of the men on the ridge there, spread them, but make sure the archers have good range and visibility when the commotion starts, I need you on me.”

“What are you going to do?” Imlerith asked before he put his helmet on.

“Negotiate.” everyone who heard that started laughing.

Hour and thirty minutes later Eredin, no armor, no sword, was walking to the fortress. One of his soldiers next to him, holding a while flag.

“Another step, pointy ears, and that arrow goes between your eyes.” a human from behind the walls shouted.

Eredin didn’t need to make another step, he needed to be right here, right now. He always rehearsed his plans in his head, multiple times looking for weaknesses. This whole plan was dangerous, but it was going to succeed even if it was just due to his sheer will. He was exactly where he needed to be, he built that place, he knew every stone and every brick, that was the place, not too far, not too close.

“My name is Eredin Bréacc Glas and I am here to negotiate with your leader.” He had to be confident it will go his way, otherwise all it took was one arrow, maybe two and that would be all for Eredin.

“We won’t surrender, pointy ears” another man shouted.

“Not here to negotiate that.” he paused. He had to win time, that is all he needed. He could see movement on the walls and more torches coming to the front. What did old poets say? There is no actual difference between bravery and stupidity? Someone must have seen Eredin in this very moment to say that. “I want to give you the fortress.” he could almost hear all the men behind the wall gasp in surprise and the mummers. Or maybe he was imagining it, after all it was very far.

“Well, gather your men and leave, butcher, no need to negotiate if we already have your fortress. We know who you are Eredin, General of the Red Riders.” it was the voice of the first human. Butcher wasn’t really a creative way to address him, but humans were not creative in general.

“No, but if I just withdraw my forces, someone else will come, someone more patient than I am. I want to negotiate, what are you going to give me, so an Aen Elle never bothers you.” as soon as he finished that he heard new noises, screams and shouts of surprise. Metal hitting metal and more humans shouting.

“Kill him!” a human screamed, but Eredin was already running to the fortress, his back hitting the wooden gates, the arrows couldn’t reach him here, but he hoped Imlerith moved his ass faster. Aedan had scaled the wall faster than he thought, which was good because there was only so much talk of defeat he could pretend without breaking the pretend. The man that was carrying the flag for him was on the ground, ten arrows sticking out of him.

One.

Imlerith and the rest of his men rushed at the gate under a storm of arrows. He could see some of his men falling, but most made it. Imlerith’s back hit the gate and he passed Eredin his sword belt.

Nobody spoke, his men’s shields were raised, but still allowed some well placed arrows to sneak. Eredin counted -

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven

Eight.

Aedan and his men were surely taking their sweet time.

Screams from inside, dull sound and the gate opened. Eredin rushed in but stepped to the side to talk to the soldier who had opened the gates for then. He had expected Aedan.

“Where is your captain?” he asked as he watched his army pour inside.

“He went to look for their leader.” the man answered as he pulled a sword from a dead body nearby and took it as his.

Eredin started running to where he knew the main hall was. Kill the leader and it will all be done. Aedan had the right idea, but the man had only a knife.

Some of his men followed him, he was cutting through everything that was human and stood in his way, his clothes soaked in blood as he was not wearing armor, his sword leaving a bloody trai behind him.

He reached the main hall, the doors were closed but it took him a kick to open them.

“Eredin!” a tall human from the other end of the room shouted. He was holding a severed head in his hand. “Your dog came sniffing.” the human threw the head and it rolled in Eredin’s feet.

Eredin looked down. The golden hair was a mess, Aedan’s face was oddly calm, but his bright blue eyes were turned into glass now. He could hear one of the men behind him choke and gag. It was just a moment but it felt like hours. That was disrespectful. He launched at the human, there were others in the room but he did not care. Aedan had a knife and no armor. The man had armor and a sword. Eredin didn’t have armor but he had his sword and that was planty.

The human was injured which made Eredin’s easy task even easier. Took him two moves to disarm him and then another one to get him on his knees.

“Size him.” Eredin ordered two of his men who had come closer. “And take his armor off.”

His men were not gentle, they tore the straps of his armor and pulled the gauntlets. Even without armor the man was still large for a human.

Eredin grabbed him by the throat and pushed him to a nearby table, with his free hand he reached for his knife and pushed it into the man’s wrist nailing it to the wood. The human screamed in agony.

“Knife.” Eredin ordered, someone passed him another one and he used it to nail the other wrist to the table.

When he finally looked at the room, his men had overpowered the humans, everyone else here was dead. Imlerith walked in his armor covered in blood. He looked at Aedan’s head and stepped around it carefully.

“There were women and children downstairs and we are bringing them to the courtyard.” Imlerith announced. “We also found a pyre, we could identify items from the garrison here, they put them to the sword and burned them.”

“Do you have family, human?” Eredin turned to the rebel leader. “I’m sure you do. You humans breed like cockroaches. Was it what provoked you to do that? You didn’t want your daughter or your son to serve us. To be a slave like you. You should have slit their throats in the crib before they grow up if you wanted mercy for them.” he turned to Imlerith. “Behead all of them, don’t care what you do with them before that.” The man on the table screamed this time not in pain it was frustration.

Eredin had not forgotten about him. He walked to where Aedan’s body was lying, his hand still gripping a knife. Eredin took the knife from the dead fingers, he wouldn’t need it anymore. He slowly walked to the man who had started struggling against the restrain, but pointless, Eredin dug the blades too deep and the pain was probably more than a human could take.

“Was it worth it human? Rebelling?” the man struggled and didn’t answer. Eredin smiled as he pushed the dip of Aedan’s knife in the man’s throat, feeling flesh and bone give in under his weight. The man tried to scream but he choked on his own blood instead. He stepped back and watched the man die in agony.

Eredin turned his gaze to Aedan’s severed head. His oldest friend. Hundreds of years fighting next to each other. Killed by a human rebell. Human, who somehow saw weakness in Aen Elle and decided that he could carve his piece of history. Tir na Lia desperately needed a change.

Nine

He watched the mason work on the marble over Aedan’s tomb. Dull chiseling, scratching the back of Eredin’s head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Eredin didn’t need to turn to recognize Avallac’h’s voice behind him. “Auberon sends his gratitude.”

“Let me guess, he feels unwell?” he didn’t even turn to face the Sage. Avallac’h would do everything to defend the king.

“He is busy Eredin, humans rebelling is not our only problem.” there was annoyance in Crevan’s voice. “Was it necessary to kill all of them?”

“If you are soft on rebellion, Crevan, it grows.” Eredin knew Avallac’h wasn’t sentimental about the humans. It was about the fact that they disagreed on principle. He did not approve of Crevan’s methods nor the other way around. Auberon was growing weaker by the day, it was all a matter of the right moment now, however he had to figure out a way around Avallac’h as well.

He looked back at Aedan’s tomb and all the other statues and graves of Red Riders and soldiers who had died. Some of them had good deaths, some of them had avoidable deaths but most recently all of them had deaths that could have been avoided with better leadership. He was going to fix that. The Aen Elle would be the force to be feared, again, not a dying race of old men and women.  

[dreamdropxoxo]

From the kisses prompts, 2 for lamen?? ♥️

Hi dear anon and thank you so much for your prompt!

Sorry it took so long for me to write it. But here it is, finally.

I (once again) wrote too much for this one xD But bear with me. I needed to include the setting 😂 I sincerely hope you like it ❤️

The prompt is from the list here, where you find an overview over all my answers. (Original post of the prompt list here). 

2. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

Laurent had no idea how he had ended up in this situation. Well- that was not entirely true, he reflected. As always, it was Auguste’s fault, or maybe his own fault because he could never say no to his own brother in his mindless adoration for him. 

Whatever. It didn‘t do him much good to dwell on the reasons for his current predicament. 

Because here he sat, in a kissing booth of all places. He hated the world a little.

 Beside him sat Lykaios, his teammate (born in Akielos but proud Veretian since her fifth birthday), with a nervous and slightly panicked expression on her face. Which meant that he couldn‘t freak out. 

“Everything will be alright. It’s only one hour and then Vannes and Nicaise will take over. We can get through one hour,“ he said in a soothing voice. Lykaios looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. Her smile was shaky, but it was there.

“Yes. You‘re right.“ Her voice was feeble and the blond man had no idea how they could put Lykaios out there. She was much too nice and soft and compliant and vulnerable.

Laurent wanted to bang his head against the booth. 

When Auguste appeared beside him out of nowhere, he glared at his older brother who grinned like they had already won the championship.

“Now you two. Prime time for my two most desired team members according to multiple sources. How are you feeling? The queue is going out of the door.“ He looked smug and Laurent contemplated hitting him over the head, but that would probably end badly for the championship, with Auguste being the head-trainer and all, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“I can‘t decide if I hate you or the Akielon team more for starting this whole shit show.“ Because while Auguste was the initiator for the Veretian kissing booth, the Akielons had started the asininity spreading like a disease by auctioning off dates with their star team members. 

The Patrans had immediately followed with a charity function where their team performed choreographed strip shows and finally the Vaskians had issued a calendar with their stars photographed in the nude. 

While Laurent could absolutely stand behind the cause (which was collecting money for the for the climate. Partly because it was good publicity and partly because they were all aware of the fact that large sport events were harmful to the climate and their higher-ups felt a little bit guilty) he couldn’t stand behind the means to achieve their donations. Kissing strangers for an hour was not how he would’ve tackled the issue. 

That was the result of Drunk Auguste, who was even more ridiculously charming than Sober Auguste and managed to not only persuade their higher-ups but also the rest of the team of his unbelievably stupid plan. And one or two shots too many had made Laurent promise to bow to the decision of the rest of the team. He drank two times a year and that’s what comes of it. He seriously considered never drinking again.

Auguste pulled a face. “Sorry Lauri, but really, everybody wants to kiss you two. I had to install a rule that nobody from the team could partake.“ The horrified look on Lykaios‘ face was encompassing exactly what Laurent was thinking, although he kept his face carefully devoid of any emotion.

“Well, whatever. Good luck you two. I’ll be there and make sure you’re both perfectly safe. Nothing will happen to you and if either of you needs a break, you tell me, alright?“ Auguste waited for their nod and then went to lift the curtain. 

The queue was really enormous and Laurent groaned a bit while Lykaios blanched. 

After five minutes Laurent was very grateful for all the mints handed out at the entrance. 

After the quarter of an hour Laurent was very confident in his knowledge that he was indeed very gay.

After half an hour Laurent was sure he would punch the next person trying to slip their tongue inside his mouth.

After forty minutes Lykaios needed a break and Laurent was pretty sure that she wouldn‘t return for some time. He wanted to throttle someone.

After forty-two minutes Vannes plopped down next to him. She grinned brightly at the assembled masses and kissed the next person in line (a dark haired woman) with gusto. Laurent felt relieved and betrayed at the same time.

After fifty minutes, he started the 600 seconds countdown in his head.

After fifty-three minutes there was a commotion at the entrance and the mass of people parted like the Red Sea. Through the resulting corridor strolled Damianos and Aktis with a muttering Nikandros in tow. 

The blood roared in Laurent’s ears and he felt a red haze descend over his vision. How dare this Akielon brute to show up at the place of his torture issued to him by the very same savage beast of a man?! He was sure he’d explode every moment. 

Only his iron control kept him from standing and walking out through the door. Auguste clapped the golden boy of their competition on the shoulder and laughed at something Damianos said. Hadn’t Laurent already known that his brother was a damn traitor, he would know now.

However, everything went eerily silent when Damianos entered the stage. What the fuck was happening here? Even Laurent couldn‘t make sense of the situation. When the brute walked towards him with a decisive swagger, he could hear the whispers all around them.

“Hello, sweetheart.“ Damianos grinned at him, his dimple was really that adorable. Laurent couldn’t really blame the papers for doing a back-flip over it, not after seeing it that close in combination with the devastating smile.

“Did you get lost? Wouldn’t surprise me.“ Laurent carefully underlined his words with a layer of ice. Damianos’ grin widened.

“No. I really do want to kiss you and I have exactly four minutes left, don’t I?“

Laurent felt his breath catch. That made no sense. Damianos was here to take part in the kissing booth? Was he out of his bloody mind? Well, if that was what he wanted, Laurent would do his job, like he had done the last fifty-six minutes. 

He held Damianos’ face between his hands (damn that jawline, honestly!) and pulled him down to press their lips together in a fleeting kiss. Then he pulled back a fraction. He expected the Akielon to step back, make a joke and wave at the people staring at them before vanishing. 

He didn’t expect him to lean back in, bury one hand in his hair, tilting his head back and kissing him breathless. 

Damianos kissed exactly like Laurent remembered from their ill-advised one night together three months ago after a friendly competition. 

He licked over Laurent’s bottom lip, tugged at it softly with his teeth until the blond gasped softly and opened his mouth. The moment the skillful tongue slipped between his parted lips Laurent felt his knees go weak. He was grateful for Damen‘s arm around his waist that propped him up. 

Everything about the kiss was hungry and passionate. The way Damen’s hand gripped Laurent’s waist and his hair, the way his tongue explored his mouth, the way his teeth nibbled on his lips and the way he breathed into the kiss, hard and elevated.

Laurent gripped the soft fabric of his shirt in his hands, pressing closer, pulling him in further. Fuck, but this felt good.

When Damen pulled back, his pupils were dilated, but the expression in his eyes was soft, his cheeks were flushed and a blinding smile was all over his lips. “Would you go out with me? On a date, please?“ he asked and Laurent was helpless in the face of such open adoration. “Yes. But you‘ll have to pay for those four minutes. I‘m expensive.“ 

[dynamics-of-an-asteroid]

Dont suppose you have a copy of the interview you could share?

For you, dear anon~

His Dark Materials: Andrew Scott on life after Fleabag and Sherlock

We’ve loved him as both Fleabag’s Hot Priest and Sherlock’s menacing Moriarty. Now, he’s back on our screens in the new series of His Dark Materials. Polly Vernon talks to our TV crush

Andrew Scott is mortified. The actor – formerly Moriarty to Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock, then the Hot Priest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, imminently Colonel John Parry in the BBC’s adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – arrives at the photographic studio, bang on the appointed hour, in a fawn cashmere cardigan with a fine gold chain around his neck, bemoaning “this terrible, terrible eye infection, which is making me so self-conscious. I’m so sorry. It isn’t that you’ve massively upset me before we’ve even started. It’s so annoying. But anyway…”

Scott, 44, is small, vivid, wiry and garrulously Irish, with a face that is not handsome so much as mesmerising, intense, sharply boned, symmetrical, startlingly expressive. Sequences of emotions so subtle and complicated that I can’t begin to identify or keep up with them ruffle his brow from moment to moment. And, yup, the whole thing is rather disrupted by his left eye. This is no light kiss of conjunctivitis. It’s a swollen, red, perma-weeping situation that engulfs the whole socket. Scott turns his face two thirds on to me, so the infection is largely hidden, which would probably help if we weren’t sitting in a brightly lit hair and make-up room with a massive, inescapable mirror fixed to one wall. “Oh God,” Scott says every time he catches sight of his reflection.

Stress?

“Let’s be honest,” he says. “Let’s not skirt around the issue. It’s being overworked and…” Scott’s eye begins weeping. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry. Really, really very sorry.”

Wanna wear my sunglasses, I ask, holding them out to him.

“That would be a bit more weird, wouldn’t it? I actually did think about that in the taxi, but I thought that would be some sort of weird and screwed Invisible Man-type thing. I mean, it couldn’t be worse. And then we have to go and get our photograph taken. It’ll be one of those pictures where, you know, those creepy pictures… Of people crying?”

That’s what Photoshop’s for, I say.

“Anyway. Let’s just ignore it.”

I wonder if it’s particularly hard to walk around with an eye infection at a point in time where you’re not merely famous, as Scott is – a star of stage, screen and Bond film, winner of multiple awards, including, as of barely two weeks ago, a Best Actor Olivier for Present Laughter at the Old Vic – but specifically famous for being sexy.

In 2019, Andrew Scott became synonymous with, well, sex. While playing a character technically known as the Priest, whom the general public instantly renamed the Hot Priest, the spiritual support turned transgressive love interest of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s supremely popular Fleabag, Scott became a cypher for the nation’s more exotic desires. A deliciously contentious pin-up. Ground zero on an earnest social media debate about whether the Priest’s relationship with Fleabag should be considered abusive, power imbalanced, “problematic”. And that was just for starters.

The Priest’s sexual iconography extended far beyond the limits of the show, becoming the subject of internet memes and real-life merchandise (visit online retailer Etsy for your £12 Hot Priest mug emblazoned with an illustration of Scott in priest’s robes, alongside the word “kneel”, a reference to a pivotal moment between the show’s lead characters, which takes place in a confession box, the climax of which, assuming you haven’t already seen it, you could probably take a stab at). There was an unprecedented upsurge in young worshippers, and women started bombarding social media “influencer” the Rev Chris Lee of west London with nude photographs. There was much foetid fan fiction.

To be publicly defined by so much sex, as Scott still is, a year and a half after Fleabag concluded, and then to be encumbered by something as visibly unsexy as an eye infection, I can see how that might make a chap self-conscious.

Scott isn’t here to rake up all that old Hot Priest stuff, mind. He’s here to talk about the second series of His Dark Materials, a lush, expensive fantasy drama based on the Philip Pullman books, jewel in the crown of the BBC’s autumn schedule. The series was filmed through 2019 and the beginning of 2020 and had all but wrapped before lockdown. Good timing, as it turned out, because the extensive post-production processes, unlike shooting, could be completed in isolation.

Scott’s Colonel John Parry is an explorer, the missing father of the central character, 14-year-old Will Parry. He’s a man who slipped into a parallel universe some years earlier, acquired a “daemon” – an exterior animal-formed expression of his soul, a female osprey called Sayan Kötör, voiced with public-pleasing symmetry by Phoebe Waller-Bridge – and never found a way back to “our” world and his son. I speak as a fan of the books, which you might describe as a darker, existential response to Harry Potter, although honestly? They’re better than that. The show is great, a deft, rewarding interpretation, and Scott is an exciting prospect as Parry.

Did he jump at the part?

“I did, actually. It was definitely something I was into. We were doing a play and it seemed like a fun thing to do.” Scott is one of those who slips into the third person when speaking about himself in a professional capacity.

Had he read the books?

“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re extraordinary. The truth, but told on a slant. I love the way Pullman tells children about spirituality or religion in such an extraordinary, intelligent way. He doesn’t speak down to them. He talks to children’s souls.”

Given that Pullman effectively kills off God through the course of the books and Scott’s a lapsed Irish Catholic who has suffered his share of shame on account of the church’s grip on his homeland (more on which shortly), I’d imagine Pullman’s books talked to Scott’s adult soul too.

Presumably, he didn’t have to audition. Presumably, he never has to. Too famous for auditions?

“No,” he says. “Although I’ve always thought auditioning is a pretty good thing to do.”

Why?

“Because you’re able to understand, ‘Oh, this is the vibe here.’ You think, when you’re an actor, you don’t have much choice, but I’ve always felt like auditioning is a good opportunity for you to go, ‘Oh well, I don’t much like you either. I think you’re dreadful!’ ”

I don’t care that you didn’t give me that part?

“Yeah.” Scott becomes playfully, theatrically defiant. “I don’t care!” He flicks aside an imaginary rejection with a churlish hand.

Will John Parry and His Dark Materials be enough to eliminate all residual overtones of Hot Priest sexiness from Scott? Maybe. He is a fine actor, no question, entirely transformed from role to role. I saw him play Paul, a narcissistic, fame-addled touring rock star, at the Royal Court in 2014 in Simon Stephens’ Birdland, back when his deeply sinister Moriarty weighed almost as heavily on Scott’s reputation as the Hot Priest does now. I’d watched him become someone else entirely on stage. “Oh, you saw that?” Scott says, pleased.

I quote, “Am I cancer?” at him, his defining line from the play, as evidence.

“Oh Jesus. Oh f***ing hell. Oh my. I’d forgotten that line. ‘Am I cancer?’ ”

The Hot Priest association hasn’t left him yet, which is why I find myself asking what it’s like to be the very definition of sexiness.

“You get invited to more parties.”

Better parties?

“Yeah.”

Better than during his Moriarty phase?

“Definitely.”

It must be fun to find yourself le dernier cri in sexy, according to the whole nation.

“Yeah, that’s fun,” he says. “I didn’t really like being associated with scary. It’s not what I’m interested in being, in life, being intimidating to people. It’s not part of my nature, whereas being sexy to people…”

That is part of his nature?

“Well, they’re very different things.”

They’re both about having power over people.

“I suppose they are, yes.”

So did Scott, bored of scaring people, say to Phoebe Waller-Bridge, writer and star of Fleabag and a long-term friend (they met in 2009 while starring in Roaring Trade at the Soho Theatre), “Write a role for me that will make everyone think I’m just really, really sexy now”?

“That’s such a good belt. Are they two ‘Gs’?”

“Exactly.”

——————————

Andrew Scott is not the easiest interview. He’s utterly charming. Really, just a delight. In between prostrating himself for the offence of his eye and apologising for not turning up the first time we were scheduled to meet (ten days earlier; a delayed Covid test result meant he couldn’t make it), he ensures I have a good time in his company. He is playful. He makes me laugh. His every utterance is delivered as a grand performance. (“Shhhh! Just… Shhhh!” he implores, placing a finger against his lips while expressing frustrations over the mindless jabber of social media, and he does it so powerfully, he compels me to be quiet, breathlessly to await delivery of his next line.) He finds elegant ways to flatter me. He laughs at my jokes and is terribly taken with my belt.

Yeah. For Gucci.

“Oh. Ha ha! I thought it was the Golden Globes. I love the Golden Globes. Ha ha!”

And of course, he’s Irish. Clichédly, melodiously Irish, which makes everything sound softer and jollier than it might otherwise.

As for the actual business of being interviewed, of answering straight questions with straight answers, finishing off sentences, offering more than a slip-slide of vagaries punctuated by vigorous hand gestures, none of which translates into print? He’d rather not.

He tells me, as he’s told other journalists before, this is because he’s interested in navigating the line between “privacy and secrecy”, then says he’s aware he’s sometimes “got away with secrecy under the guise and respectability of privacy”, as if signalling potential incoming slipperiness, which means I prepare to throw every trick in the book at him.

First up: amateur psychology.

Might Andrew Scott’s gayness be at the heart of his reluctance to speak more freely? Perhaps. This is no scoop. He’s been out for almost as long as he’s been famous. “I mean, as a civilian, I was quite young [when I came out], you know? But then, as a celebrity…”

He tails off, allows me to fill in the blanks. This is another of his evasion tactics. I can’t very well quote Scott on the presumptions I make about things he never quite says.

He had to have another coming out?

“Yes. And I have another one coming up.”

He has another coming out coming up?

“Yeah.”

So that will be, what? Tier 3 gayness?

“Tier 3, yeah.”

Scott grew up in Ireland at a time when it wasn’t legal to be gay, which could certainly seed an enduring reluctance towards carefree openness in a person. He invokes the concept of shame more regularly than the average interviewee. He was born in Dublin in 1976 to Nora, an art teacher, and Jim, who worked at an employment agency. He has one older sister, Sarah, and a younger one, Hannah.

He was shy, so started attending a children’s drama course.

Did that help?

“Yeah. Acting to me is not pretending to be someone else. It’s more like, this is who I actually am. The lie that tells the truth,” he says. I am none the wiser. He was clearly talented. He went from adverts to his first starring role in a film aged 17 (Korea, directed by Cathal Black), won a bursary to art school but took a place at Trinity College Dublin to study drama instead, and ditched that six months in to join Dublin’s Abbey Theatre. He’s been gainfully employed in the field ever since.

How Catholic was his upbringing?

“Well, there were Catholic priests in my life,” he says. “None of whom I wanted to have sex with.”

Does it amuse Scott to know he inspired a mass fetishising of priestly ranks? That in 2019, the Hot Priest would make, “Can you have sex with a Catholic priest?” one of the most googled terms of the year?

“Absolutely f***ing mental,” he says.

Homosexuality wasn’t legalised in Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16.

“I always think, if I’d had a boyfriend then, which I definitely did not…”

No?

“No.”

He knew he was gay, though?

“No. No, no, no, no!”

Was he suppressing it or not thinking about it?

“I would say suppressing. Definitely suppressing. I don’t believe people just don’t think about it.”

An upbeat, cheesy jazz remix of something or other starts playing outside the room.

“Oooh, this is the soundtrack for this bit of the interview,” says Scott. He wiggles his shoulders to the music.

I switch to strict dominatrix interviewer mode. Focus, I say. You were about to tell me something good.

“Oh, shit, was I? OK. I think what’s really insidious is that people don’t ask you about sex or… People wouldn’t say, ‘Are you gay or are you [straight]?’ And the lack of directness is very damaging. They just didn’t go there.”

Does he think his family, friends, the people closest to him knew then that he was gay?

“No,” he says. “I don’t think they did know. Or maybe they have a suspicion, but they think, I want to be respectful, so I’m not going to ask about that. Then [when you do come out], people say, ‘Oh, I’m glad.’ You know? If you do talk about it. So I suppose what I feel now is, talking about sex or sexuality is important. Really important.”

Having said that, “There’s still getting rid of the shame. In a situation like this, 10 or 15 years ago, I would have been…” He fakes shock, horror. “Oh no! Polly’s just asked me about [he switches to a whisper] that.”

Scott will talk about his sex life only notionally. No specifics. For 15 years, between 2001 and 2016, he was in a relationship with the actor turned screenwriter Stephen Beresford (Scott starred in Beresford’s 2014 film Pride). Ever since, he’s refused to answer questions about his romantic life.

And he’s not going to talk about it now, I presume.

“No.”

What if we talk about it opaquely?

“OK.”

Where does he see himself, domestically, in an ideal world? Married with kids whom he’ll, I dunno, adopt or have via surrogacy?

“I like it. It’s bold. Am I going to adopt or…?”

Get a surrogate?

“I definitely think that’s something I would be open to.”

Great, I say, with blatant sarcasm. Thanks. How specific.

“Ha! I’m sorry. OK. Have I got any children at the moment? No. How can I… [explain]? OK. I was with a friend of mine in Dublin…”

His partner?

“No, no, no. Not my partner. Ah ha. I see what you were…”

Teasing. Yes.

“Ha! Yes. So, I was with a friend in Dublin and we were walking around and he was looking at apartments and I was like, ‘What about this place here?’ You know? And he said, ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘I don’t live a heteronormative life, so I don’t want a heteronormative house.’ ”

What’s a heteronormative house?

“Two up, two down thing. He goes, ‘I can live in a loft or a weird space. I don’t need those things.’ He was so proud of it. He really owned it. I think where a lot of one’s pain comes from is when you go, ‘I should want that.’ And so, to answer your question opaquely, I have kids I adore. I love children, genuinely, and I had a very happy childhood. But I also feel, if I don’t have kids, that’s all right. I think I would’ve attached a lot of shame beforehand, with not living a particularly heteronormative life… Even with being gay, there’s a sort of way of being gay that’s acceptable. And I don’t feel that any more.”

He feels you can be unacceptably gay?

“Exactly. Exactly!”

I ask when shame shifted for him and Scott says it was when Ireland voted overwhelmingly in favour of same-sex marriage in the 2015 referendum, which felt, he says, “like acceptance, genuinely. And I remember going out to this gay bar in Dublin and this girl came up to me, this cool Dublin girl, and she said, ‘What are you doing here? You need to go down to, I don’t know, blah, blah, this bar in some park.’ She was saying, ‘This isn’t the right gay bar for you. This is some shit gig,’ when the fact I’m in a gay bar in Ireland [at all] is a miracle to me, and then some person with a half-shaved head is telling me, ‘No, you need to go somewhere cooler.’ ”

His left eye starts weeping again.

“I’m so happy about that,” he says. “Even though I’m crying.”

I ask Scott if he has a game plan when picking roles, if he plots his course from Sherlock villain to Bond quasi-villain (he played Max Denbigh in Spectre) to sex icon, and, if so, what next? “No. Jesus, no,” he says.

We talk about the totalitarianism of social media, which he isn’t on, and share a mutual despair over it. “I thought it was something one would associate with the right, but actually, now it’s [the left] that is very ‘you’re this’ or ‘you’re that’. I find that quite frightening. It actually makes me feel ferocious.”

Is he not worried about being cancelled, of somehow saying the “wrong” thing, according to Twitter sensitivities, then having a thousand voices mobilised against him, demanding his firing, in the style of JK Rowling?

“I’m not,” he says. “I refuse to be. A very intelligent person I was talking to recently was writing a book and he said, ‘I’m going to get a sensitivity expert to have a look. I don’t want to get cancelled.’ I found that frightening.”

Is he rich? “Rich is the absence of worry about money,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he worried about money.

That must be nice.

“Of course it f***ing is. I think it’s a miracle. I really do. I was working in a French theatre in London for nothing – none of us was working for anything – and I remember the artistic director of the theatre talking about the fact we weren’t earning any money as some sort of virtue. I remember feeling really annoyed about that, like this isn’t good.”

This leads to an inevitable conversation about how the arts are suffering with Covid, including a segue down the Fatima route, the much shared government advert that depicted a young ballerina and suggested she retrain in something called cyber. “Her name’s not even Fatima,” Scott rails. “I think she’s called Desire’e. From New York.”

I mean to ask him about his experience of filming The Pursuit of Love with Lily James and Dominic West, stars of their own recent off-screen micro-scandal in Rome, just in case he lets any scurrilous insight slip, but our time’s up and it’s not as if Scott has much form on offering up scurrilous insight anyway.

Still, I feel grateful to him for meeting me halfway on the other stuff. And so I say goodbye to Andrew Scott, the UK’s foremost gay heterosexual lapsed Catholic faux-priest lust icon with a troublesome eye infection.

[achaoticeternal]

You Still Know Me Too Well

RANSOM DRYSDALE X READER

masterlist    //   taglist

request from anon: 95,98,100 where the reader and Ransom are getting a divorce cause they both think that there is nothing left of their marriage and they think they don’t love each other anymore but one of them ( probably Ransom) can’t bring themselves to sign the papers and they end up realizing that their divorce is probably a mistake and don’t end up going through with it?

Summary: Divorce is hard, but we’re both of you that broken? Word Count: 2k A/N: Wow, I absolutely adored this prompt because weird fact, but getting a divorce is my biggest fear. Haha. I also twisted in the song “Ophelia” by The Lumineers because it just slaps so go LISTEN TO IT :)

95.  “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me, but I wanted to see you.” 98.  “I’ll follow you anywhere.” 100.  “Don’t you love me too?”

Ah, ah, when I was younger, ah, ah, should have known better And I can't feel no remorse, and you don't feel nothing back

Three years. You have been Mrs. Drysdale for the past three years, but looking down at the paper that now held your signature, that name would change soon.

It was moments like this when the penthouse felt cold and lonely. Moments like this when Ransom’s words seemed to each off the wall.

“I’ll follow you anywhere.”

 It was the last sentence of his vows. But now where was he? Vacant of the penthouse where only you and two cats remained. It felt like he was here though, his warm physical form wasn’t. The idea of Ransom lingered, the idea of having a possible family, the idea of settling down to be outside the presses, the idea of selling the penthouse and his home in Boston and buying a big family home in Virginia, the idea of sharing a fulfilled life together. 

But none of that was happening. Neither of you could escape the public eye while you remained a big-name actress in the New York Theatre community and rumors continuously spreading about his family and their way of living. It came to the point where you were both in orbit of each other, but never around each other long enough to matter.

You couldn’t regret this decision. You couldn’t live this was the rest of your days. You need your husband, but you never knew if he quite needed you.  

Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind girl since the flood Oh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in love

You requested the next week and a half off, having your understudy filling your role for the next five performances. It just happened that Ransom hadn’t been responding to the lawyers, so you needed to pay him a little visit down in Boston.

The drive to the house in the suburbs of Boston wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t the most pleasant either. Traffic was always crazy though. However, you didn’t expect the drive to feel like a visit down memory lane and everything the flooded your mind, like the day Ransom asked if you would move in with him. Or the time you both got snowed into the house and couldn’t even open the front door. Or the engagement party at your favorite Italian bistro in the downtown area.

You approached the front door and knocked. Then waited, for about 45 seconds. And knocked again. Then waited, for a full minute. You raised your fist again to reveal your husba- Ransom.

“Don’t you have anything better to do then throw stupid sales pitches at,” Ransom stopped his complaining when his eyes finally met yours, “(Y/N)- I... Shouldn’t you be at mic-check or doing some show preparation right now?”

“I took the weekend off, Ransom. I just needed a little weekend getaway. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me, but I wanted to see you.” You flustered, pulling your coat in a little tighter, “Can I come in?”

He opened the door a little wider and stepped back as to allow you in, “Of course, this is still your home.”

It had been months since you had stepped into this place, and longer since you stayed the night. Most of the meeting in regards to the divorce was either in New York or over Skype. But looking at the walls you knew so well, it felt like a breath of fresh air.

“You’re probably wondering while I’m here.”

“A little, but more shocked to you you without any lawyers involved or anyone trying to get our attention,” he walked over to his minibar and poured himself a bourbon, “You want anything? A red? I might have your favorite sitting he- ah yes. Merlot, aged 8 years.”

“You always knew me a little too well.”

“Of course, that’s why I know you're here in regards to the papers,” Ransom poured your glass and handed it to you.

“Thank you,” You relaxed a little bit, “Well yes, but I also- I needed to see you. I needed to know that you’ve been doing okay because I can never read you with other people around.”

“Well, I haven’t told the family.”

“And you completely don’t have to. That’s why we had two receptions.”

“Tomorrow is Harlan’s birthday. Eighty-five and still writing those damn novels. I’m sorry about the papers, I’ve been trying to get other things to fall into place that it just slips my mind.”

“Well, maybe with me here it won’t slip your mind. How about we visit your grandfather tomorrow? We don’t have to say or do anything to your family, but I feel Harlan should know, all things considered.”

Ransom let out a sigh, then shook his head, looking down chuckling, “as much as I disdain that cynical old man, you do have a point, as usual.”

Ah, Ah, got a little paycheck, you got big plans and you gotta move And I don't feel nothing at all And you can't feel nothing small

The night of Harlan’s party seemed to approach quickly. Honestly, you were terribly nervous because this would be your last interaction with the family as Mrs. Drysdale. This feeling wasn’t as freeing as you hoped it would be. Since Ranson and you started to divorce process, the whole thing seemed like a load of bricks on top of you instead of that feeling of freedom. 

Ransom and you had opted to take separate cars, yet arrive at the same time so that no one grew too suspicious. It would be the first time you had seen him after breakfast that morning where he couldn’t seem to touch you or look at you. 

You approached Ransom who wore a maroon cardigan, a white shirt tucked into black jeans, and high-end black ankle boots. You wore a white silk button-up blouse tucked into a pair of navy pants that flared out at the bottom with a brown belt around your waist. 

When Ransom caught a glimpse at you, you thought you saw a flash of endearment flash through his blue eyes. Maybe it was just de ja vu. 

“You could dress in rags and look better than anyone in this house, even this city, but you always have to take everyone’s breath away,” Ransom smirked as he held out his hand to you.

“You always had a way with your words, Ransom,” you took his hand and allowed him to lead you into the house.

Quickly both of you had a glass of champagne and interacted with friends and family of Harlan Thrombey whilst the birthday boy talked with his youngest son, Walt. Ransom held you close by his side, even keeping a hand on your hip as you talked with other authors who also wrote mystery novels. For a moment, it felt like you were back where you were supposed to be. You felt at home as you rested your head on the space between his shoulder and chest. 

Sometimes you both were so good at fooling others that you could fool yourselves. 

After a wonderful dinner, you and Ransom sat infront of Harlan and his desk within his office. Door shut. We didn’t need any other Thrombey’s or publicity attempting to get some good details.

“Happy Birthday, Harlan,” you took his hand in your own and smiled at the old man. It hurt to deliver this awful news.

“Thank you, my dear,” He smiled kindly back at him, “You’ve been good to my grandson, to my family. It hurts to feel like the pair of you need to put up a facade.”

“Well, Harlan,” Ransom sighed and shook his head, “I hate to bear bad news, again”

The air went cold and everything was silent. Neither you nor Ransom wanted to say it. It felt like you were waiting for a bomb to explode.

“The pair of you are on a break,” Harlan spoke, “It was easy for me to tell. But I ask both of you to consider where it began.”

You looked up into Harlan’s eyes, seeing if you could find some clarity or maybe forgiveness for hurting his heart. But you saw the same shade of blue that were Ransom’s eyes, asking for you to think through your decisions before it was too late.

“Might I speak to my grandson alone, Mrs. (Y’N)?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll be in the other room,” You made your way out of the office, turning back to meet Ransom’s eyes. They held to same hurt the night you said you weren’t coming home for Thanksgiving and were filing the papers but also held to same love he had for you on your honeymoon. 

You continued into the night with a glass of champagne and speaking with Joni about luxury cosmetics and skincare. She babbled about her “best-selling’ line of skincare tailored for women approaching their golden years. Somewhere along with the conversation though, you heard Ransom yelling and two doors slamming.

You made your way into the entrance hall promptly to find what the commotion was, but all you found is that you had been stranded by Ransom.

Honey, I love you, that's all she wrote

You opened the door of the house to find the clear image of Ransom on the couch with a bottle of brandy. As you approached the living, you head the music of the cellos echoing out of his vintage record player filling the house. On the coffee table in front of him were the divorce papers, lacking only his signature.

“I do this at least once a week,” Ransom spoke up, “I think about what I could’ve done better, how to be a better person for you, and all that sappy shit I’ve always hated. Because I hate losing you. Because it’s always you. Because I love you”

“Ransom, you’ve been drinking. I’ve been drinking. You’re still drinking,” you shook your head, wanting to end whatever he was going to start, “let’s just go to bed.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep in that bed. It’s too cold knowing that I have no one to hold on to or wait for anymore. Why did we buy such a big bed?”

“Because you hated the way my cold feet felt against your legs in the middle of the night,” you chuckled to yourself.

Silence fell over the two of you and just seemed to linger. An eternity passed before Ransom took another swig from the bottle.

“I’m sorry to hold out for so long. I really thought if I waited it out, I could get my way. I’ll sign them if you really want me too. But I just want one thing,” He looked into your eyes, “I just need you to answer one question. You don’t have to tell me the answer.”

He took in a shallow breath, looking quickly at the papers then back to you.

“Don’t you love me too?”

He set down the bottle on the coffee table, then proceed to slink upstairs to the bedroom. You watched him, letting his words weigh down on you more with each step.

You moved to sit on the couch yourself, looking over what was left of the evening; a bottle of brandy, the divorce papers, a black pen, and a notepad with ways Ransom could try and earn you back. You took a page out of the notepad and inscribed it with four words. Honey, I love you.

Oh, Ophelia, you've been on my mind girl like a drug Oh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in love

It’s been 4 months since the day Ransom and you decided to cancel the divorce. Sometimes, you have to evaluate what you want in life. For the pair of you, you needed each other. 

Ransom and you decided to stay in Boston till next summer when you both would move to England so that you could start your run on the West End Theatre Wing and he could get some new surroundings to begin his writing career, a little secret between the two of you.

As it turns out, Harlan’s advice to remember the beginning was exactly what you needed to remember a time where Ransom was your finishing puzzle piece. And everyday you both seemed to fall a little more in love with each other, like fools.

[witchygirl99]

Idk why but recently I've had this vision in my head of Inuyasha from tell me I'm crazy, drunk as shit singing along to wait a minute by Willow Smith with some dancing, and Kagome watching from her seat looking at him with all the adoration in the world, because oh my God, what a fucking dork but also low-key impressed because his performance isn't bad. So yeah, had to share that with the world so you can picture it as well cause it's a cute mental image

I’ve waited so long to respond because I wanted to write this for you. It’s not particularly good, but your message made me smile when I was mildly concussed and frustrated. My goal was to make you, dear anon, smile too.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sending this in. I love messages like these. I can’t really explain how awesome it is to have people tell you they were thinking about your fic.

Now on to the (1,000+ word) drabble!

x x x x

“No.”

Kagome bites the bottom of her lip to contain her smile, though it’s doing nothing to prevent the curving at the edges of her mouth. It’s impossible, really. She should have known it was a losing battle. Inuyasha is holding onto the microphone like it’s an extension of his hand, drunk enough that he’s doing this little grinding thing with too much arm flair and not caring a single bit. 

“Hold on, wait a minute! I left my consciousness in the sixth dimension!” Inuyasha spreads his free arm wide as he continues to sing, giving it literally all that he’s got. Kagome would be horrified but she’s actually incredibly impressed. She had no idea he could sing passably, never mind well. She feels strangely deprived that this has been kept a secret for so long.

“I can’t look away,” Sango says, and it’s enough to finally make Kagome laugh. She can’t take her eyes off of her boyfriend though, not when he’s drunk and happy and every so often staring directly at her with that golden gaze.

Oh boy. She loves that gaze.

“How much has he had to drink?” Sango asks and Kagome gestures towards the pile of empty glasses by her elbow. There are at least six of them. None of them are hers.

“And this was the second round,” she points out. “They did a few shots the moment we entered the bar.”

Sango groans because she knows. “Miroku?”

“Obviously.” Kagome laughs again, but it turns into a coughing fit as Koga climbs onto the stage. His singing is, well, considerably worse. “But I think Koga got the brunt of it. Is he even wearing a shirt?”

He isn’t. And he’s trying to take off Inuyasha’s now, dear god. 

It’s like the best kind of show, but also the worst. Kagome’s unsure if she should try and be a groupie, or if sitting back and watching from afar is the best way to go about it. Either way, her boyfriend is going to be shirtless in less than a minute.

“You left your diary at my house!” It’s almost worse that Inuyasha has no idea how to dance, other than dirty grinds at parties that make Kagome want to drag him upstairs and make him beg. He’s kind of flailing, randomly hip thrusting, and absolutely none of it works with the song he’s singing. “And I read those pages. You really love me, baby.”

And now, god. Inuyasha’s staring at her like this is a private show, like he wrote the lyrics and is bleeding them out just for her benefit. Kagome takes Sango’s glass directly from her hands and downs it.

“Hey!” Sango calls out. “Get your own.”

“I’m going to jump him,” Kagome says, by way of an explanation. “On that very stage if I don’t have anything to distract me.”

Sango groans then. “You two are gross. Like, the worst. I knew you would be but this is actually worse than I thought.”

“Thanks,” Kagome answers with a wicked grin. She gets out of her chair and heads towards the stage. As predicted, both men are shirtless, flexing, and singing. When Inuyasha points into the crowd while crooning out ‘left my soul in his vision’, his aim is perfectly directed towards her. Like he can’t take his eyes off of her either. It’s endearing.

It’s also really hot.

She waits at the edge of the small stage as the song finishes. Inuyasha and Koga hug for an indeterminately long time, repeating just how much they love each other. When her boyfriend finally takes the couple steps down to meet her, his golden gaze is bright with alcohol and adrenaline. He’s flushed and panting, his stupidly perfect six pack heaving up and down with every breath.

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I didn’t know you’d find it attractive.”

“Everything you do is attractive.”

Inuyasha smirks and wraps an arm around her waist. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re absolutely crazy to be up on stage like that. You made half of the bar fall in love with you. How am I going to keep them away now?” Kagome whines. Her heart isn’t in it though, if only because her boyfriend’s smile turns that much more wicked.

“I can think of a few ide—Ah! Miroku, fuck off!” Inuyasha yells, flinching when his best friend jumps on his back and nearly makes the three of them fall.

“Encore! Encore!” he jeers, laughing all the while. “Let’s get some Ariana up in his bitch!”

Kagome can see the smirk on Inuyasha’s face, and can feel the way he pulls away for only a second before tightening his grip on her waist. Torn between having more drunken fun and flirting with her.

“Go on,” she encourages, slapping his chest lightly. “Just put on a shirt for me, okay? Those goods are mine.”

He winks at her, pleased, and does as he’s told.

Later – after singing three more songs, downing two more shots, and a few half-measures of beer – they’ll go home. He’ll be clinging to her the way he always does, singing and barking out laughter when he messes up the lyrics. Kagome will sing along with him though she’s more amused simply watching him. They’ll fall into bed, too drunk to do more than kiss lazily before passing out.

Later, after the sun rises and threatens to make Inuyasha regret every single drop of alcohol he’s ever tasted in his life, Kagome will sing to him.

“Hold on, wait a minute. Feel my heart’s intention.”

Inuyasha will groan and Kagome will laugh, and she’ll end up wrapped up in his arms against his chest, mouthing the last of the lyrics.

Let’s go get it, oh, oh…

[kibastray]

Different Anon. You mentioned projects... How many are you working on or... maybe I should ask how many projects do you have? Could you maybe share some with us? Like a list or something?

Oh, oh boy! Did you ask me the wrong question. lol. You want to know what projects I am working on? I’m gonna show you.

Key notes: Free to use = If you like the idea you are free to use it. Just ask about my notes. (Please give credit though) Willing to Share = I would be more than willing to share my notes on the idea and partner up on it with someone if anyone is willing. Not for Sale = Fics/ideas I plan on using and writing myself if it isn’t listed as FtU or WtS then it means that is something dear to me and I want to work on it myself. (these fics/ideas will not be all listed as NfS, so if you don’t see the added tag assume it is NfS) Paragon/Renegade = means good/bad version of the story.  Spin-off = typically a one off of a story already listed and will be listed in a sub-listing of that story. Eh / Da Faq/ Competent Folders = Are all unique and original ideas that I think are either good, meddling, or just plan bad after a second look. 

Each story title will also have a small decryption to go along with it.

With that out of the way my list of projects are under the cut. Enjoy. :3

Side note: I will try and list the fandom things grouped together. I will also try and alphabetize them. 

First up BNHA:

My Hero Academia (most of these can be found in my previously posted BNHA: Fic list) 

Ash Phoenix: An Idea where I ask/answer if OFA is the only quirk that can be merged and be something else entirely. (It will be a bit dark and involve the hidden quirk Izuku and Toga’s quirk combining into something powerful)

Bedlam: A story of Izuku being a combination of Bruce Lee/ Brock Lee. Who needs a quirk when you have martial training that can’t be beat. He is shipped with Momo in this one. (Izuku’s dad is a bastard that dies early and his life insurance helps Inko give Izuku the life he deserves) 

Paragon... Fighting Bedlam: good timeline where Izuku goes to UA, with his girlfriend, Momo like cannon BNHA just without OFA and a lot more confident Izuku with some Midoriya family angst sprinkled in.

Renegade... Hoods of Bedlam: Bad timeline where Izuku and Momo are vigilantes know as Green/Red Hood. They still go to UA but not through the hero coarse. Izuku is in management/business and Momo is in General. This time it is Yaoyororozu family drama that involve Izuku being quirkless. (might also have to do with an surprise pregnancy. This one also has the pair say “f^ck society and it’s rules, we are gonna do what we want”) 

Brain over Brawn: (This one follows a head cannon of mine where Izuku is on a lot of Forms about anything hero) The day he was suppose to grab All-Might’s leg he was just a little to slow and doesn’t get OFA. instead he goes to the Forms shares his impressions of heroes and gets picked up by Nezu. After all what is better the muscle to beat up or a baddy or the knowledge how to? (Free to use)

Champion of Olympus: I give a Fem!Izuku a direct line to the Greek Gods mainly because I want to see a BA Izumi with a bow. It is like Percy Jackson but without the god parents and more Izumi being the first person in generations to interact with the gods.

Epitaph: Izuku gets the strongest and probably worst combo of his parents quirks. Simply put, on Izuku’s quirk registry he can take the heat from an object or person. In truth his quirk is so much more powerful than that. He has the ability to take the life force or soul of living beings. (Free to Use)

Eri’s Big Brother: An angsty fic where Izuku gets kidnapped at an early age, and no one knows what happens to him. That is until the first day of UA when a small white haired kid Aizawa is watching over asks Bakugou “Are you Kacchan?” (Free to use)

FF7 x BNHA No title yet: A story that finds Izuku transported from his old world into a world of heroes and villains after a bomb that should have killed him launched him across dimensions. Izuku is a member of AVALANCHE and shows the world of heroes what a freedom fighter can do. While also finding out that the world of heroes might be more familiar to him than he originally thought

Future Heroes: This one is a future fic with a whole cast of OCs of mine 

In The Name of LoV: Izuku is a villain and is the Co-leader of LoV with Tomura. Photogenic and maybe a little psychotic Izuku addresses the world in videos saying that him and his friends are villains because they ‘Lov’ the world so much.(Izuku is a sweet&charismatic kid who sees heroes as a problem because all society cares about is strong/flashy quirks) (Free to Use)

Izuku!Nomu no title yet: A fic where Izuku tries to follow Bakugou’s advice but is saved by LoV and turned into a Nomu. We follow a guilt ridden Bakugou perspective after that day all the way to the USJ where he finds and frees an Izuku who may be to damaged to ask forgiveness of. (willing to share)

Jet Set Radio x BNHA no title yet: I give Izuku confidence through the power of roller skates and the street art of graffiti in order not only become a hero, but a hero without a quirk. (I think it would be fun to see Prof. K and Present Mic be rival radio hosts where Mic is a public radio host Prof. K is an underground pirate radio dj)

Killing Bites X BNHA no title yet: (TBH I have watched maybe 10min of Killing Bites and that is it. I really like the look of the characters in the show.) Fem!Izuku is has the same power as the honey bager character from KB. She along with countless other quirkless where kidnapped and tested on. Now free Fem!Izuku isn’t quite human after all the DNA experimentations she has been put through. She along with the other test subjects are part animal and have an instinctive drive to fight. 

Persona x BNHA no title yet: Another fic where I have Izuku taking Bakugou’s advice but gaining a quirk instead of dying. Basically I give Izuku personas to summon because I liked how P3 showed the summons. I also have him move schools to Shiketsu, after winning the Sports Festival, and with his move takes UA’s place as #1 hero school with him to Shiketsu. (not gonna lie this one is a bit crazy)

Sharpening my teeth on the rays of the sun: Izuku has an OP quirk based on his parents. He can pull in and eat fire/energy. He finds inspiration from old Norse mythology as a kid and takes on the mantle of “Skoll the devourer of the sun.” He is going to befriend Tokoyami so hard.

Sheep’s Wool hiding Wolves Teeth: Izuku is smart, too smart. he uses the system to his advantage. Most people think Izuku is an angel but people like Bakugou know the truth. They see Izuku pretending and fooling everyone and see him for the manipulative demon pretending to be human he is. (Izuku lacks empathy/morality, and sees play things where humans should be. He will manipulate everyone he can just for his own amusement) (Free to Use)

Spirit Chaser: The world of heroes and spirits collide with Izuku at the epicenter. Izuku is a shrine priest or priestess if you want to do Fem!Izuku. Quirks mean little when ones faith and mantras are just as amazing. (me using all the priest/priestess powers from other anime/manga to come up with his powers and made a pretty OP quirkless teen who can seal spirits, cure villains of hatred, and fight along side the best heroes with nothing more than his families traditions) (willing to share, free to use)

Soul Resonance: A Soul Eater x BNHA fic. Inspired by Ravenclawoutcast13 fic on Ao3. Izuku is a miester and after moving to Nevada at an early age the the DWMA comes back to UA when it is time to be a hero.

Task Force: Izuku is part of a not so secret task force that deals with villains, criminals, and aggressive heroes. Most members of the task force are quirkless and are like Japan’s SWAT. The Task Force is also an internal affairs for the hero system. Because of their no nonsense way they operate most people fear the Task Force and any person reveled to be apart of it. (Willing to Share)

Web Weaver’s Betrothed: An idea came about from two writing prompts; 1. “What is so dangerous about the forest” and 2. My answer to all the Spiderman crossover fics. This fic is ambitious as it combines BNHA, Spiderman, and Yokai together. (Izuku is spiderman, but his own spiderman. and I add forest spirits in for fun)

What is in a name: My very first BNHA fic idea!! I turn the ‘BNHA name explaining someone’s powers’ up to 11 and give Izuku the power of the forest and fay like creatures. Izuku is the fairy king basically.

Paragon... (no name yet) Izuku is a kid with a powerful quirk that transcends all previous quirk types. Watch this little hero work his hardest to get the title he has longed for. (a nice fic, with Izuku/Bakugou friendship)

Renegade... (no name yet) Only a few know Izuku. No one would guess that he is the ‘Fairy King’ that has saved countless kids from harm these last ten years. (an accident puts Izuku into a coma. that won’t stop his heroic spirit from doing what he was born to do. Toga gets to go to UA, Shoto gets to be a normal kid, and Bakugou might get his butt kicked by the army of people that Izuku has helped)

Yakuza!Izuku: Izuku's dad was a big time Yakuza boss in the past. Izuku has been the head of his family for over five years controlling the underground. Which would be good for the underground world if it was what he wanted. And after a fated conversion gets him thinking more about his place in the world Izuku decides to clean house and become a force for good.

Dishonored:

The Royal Consort Series: A three part series where Jessamine lives but Emily goes missing. Emily isn’t truly missing she grows up in the Golden Cat because she was never found and eventually becomes its owner. She and the girls of the Golden Cat replace Daud and the whalers. She is has the mark of the outsider, a kill count and maybe some resentment at what happened all those years ago.

Miraculous Ladybug: 

There is quite a bit of Maribat just fyi

Bio!Family ideas: (Most of these are one-offs and once their stories are posted, will become free to use)

Bio!Dad Obadiah Stane 

Bio!Dad Zod

Bio!Mom Poison Ivy 

Bio!Sister Ace (from the wild flush gang)

Blood Orchid: Marinette’s family is very powerful on her mother’s side and when the Akumas get too powerful in her parents opinion, she is told she will be moving to China. The stress of not being able to decide thing in her own life gets to Marinette and she is akumatized. (Free to Use)

Bounts of Paris: Bleach x MLB. Truth be told I liked Bleach and even liked the filler Bount arc. This AU would be where Master Fu fled Asia after the Soul Reapers Massacred the most of the Bounts. The Kwami are the ‘half-Bounts’ with special powers. They can live on after the human they are connected to die. and can forge new connections with with new humans creating new ‘true-Bounts.’

Casse-Cou: DareDevil x MLB (the idea is a Gift for miraculous786). This is an AU where Marinette is not a seamstress. Instead she is an aspiring lawyer. This does feature a Blind!Marinette but she is makes do in her own way. With a different destiny before her Marinette gets paired with Plagg and becomes The Cat of the Devil, the DareDevil Casse-Cou 

Death of Gods and Men: WitchBlade x MLB. I stumbled across witchblade’s anime and the crossover sounded like a great idea. I mean listen to the WB intro:::  Sought by the greed of men since the dawn of human kind, but only bestowed upon the women whose fate it forever scars...the Witchblade. Is it the righteous sword of God? Or hand of the Devil himself? Now a new bearer has been chosen. And she must discover the answers for herself. As she stands on the brink of destiny, she is forced to seek the balance between ecstasy and ruin. (How could I not!?! I just need to tone down the fan service because WB is thirsty AF)

Demon Princess In Paris: Inuyasha&Yashahime x MLB. Another Fic where Marinette’s family on her mother’s side is very powerful back in China (and Asia as a whole). Lila planned to ruin Marinette when she came back to school after being gone for a week. Only to find Marinette has connections to a very powerful family in Asia. Stranger still Marinette looks nothing like what she did when she left. Little does Lila, or anyone in Paris, know that Marinette is a half-demon of her demon mother Sabine and her human father Tom, and not to forget she is granddaughter to the great Demon Lord Sesshōmaru

Flower Pot: MariBat. The Justice League have to rush to Paris because some new villain is opening time portals. When they get there the villain is already defeated by teenagers. Stranger still once they get close enough Wonder Woman rushes one of them in a hug with a shout of “Ladybug.” After a moment ‘Ladybug’ asks “Flower Pot, is that you!?!” This AU sends Marinette back in time and to the land of Themiscyra when Diana was a little girl. Chaos ensues both in the present and in the past.

Lantern’s Light: Green Lantern x MLB. Different Maribat AUs where I give Marinette a Power ring.

Star!mari: Marinette gets a ring of the Star Sapphires

Merci!mari: Marinette gets a ring of the Red Lanterns

Duty!mari: Marinette gets a ring of the Green Lanterns

Hope!mari: Marinette gets a ring of the Blue Lanterns

Let’s have fun with Miraculous: all of these are just silly ideas that I thought of late at night or early in the morning and wanted to share. All of them are Free to Use)

idea one is just a silly thing trying to figure out what Marinette might call herself after moving to Gotham as the Guardian of the Miraculous.

idea two is a Timinette ship that has Marinette using the Miraculous to heal Gotham. But because Batman is a control freak, she hides her healing as a three ring circus. (made possible by using the mouse miraculous to the max) Tim becomes smitten with the acrobatic performance.

idea three is just a random MLB idea. An entity convinces Fate to let them mess with destiny. that entity whether it is  Spirit, Demon, Devil, or God is Marinette’s new partner. And while the craziness of the Miraculous Ladybug canon is going on with a different ladybug. Marinette is having her own adventures. She is still undecided if this is a better fate than dealing with all the Miraculous stuff like she was suppose to.

Lost Valkyrie: Thor x MLB. A series covering both Miraculous Ladybug and the entire Thor movies (because my brain hats me). Marinette is a Valkyrie that through wormhole nonsense lands in Paris after their defeat by Hela. Marinette is adopted by Tom and Sabine as their daughter. Marinette has amnesia of her time as a Valkyrie. (This one is crazy too and once I get the idea fully written down I will be glad to give it to someone. Free to use- when it is done)

Miraculous Stitching:  Marinette has been getting some magic power from the natural magic radiating off of Tikki. Mari can imbue things with magic into things through her stitch work. (this one is might not be for the squimish, some body horror)

Price of Life- Purest Wish: (inspired by BAllpointbasic “The Price of Life”) A villain worse than Hawkmoth shows up and decimates Paris. Marinette uses the Miraculous wish and offers her life as payment. She is happy being able to save everyone and not cursing anyone else with the pain of losing someone they care about. With the selfish wish she gets reborn as a Kwami. 

Rise of Arachnid: After getting blinded and unable to be healed during an Akuma fight Marinette has to give up being Ladybug. Marinette ends up talk to Hawkmoth and because of her bleeding heart she offers her help after hearing his story. She becomes a very powerful recurring villain that the new Miraculous team have to deal with on top of the normal Akuma. She has the powers of Spiderman and DareDevil. (another Blind!Marinette)

The Forgetten City- Early Renaissance: (Inspired by multifandomscribette “The Forgotten City” series. It is a Young Justice x MLB crossover) The Team go to Paris following The Riddler’s spree of crime. They are helped by local heroes none of them have heard or met before. Once the villain is dealt with the team and is asked, not to kindly, to leave Paris and never come back. 

Pokémon: 

G1RBY: A silly Picachu DJ story I had. She is a talking Pokémon that I drew once and wanted to make into an ask blog. But the VA I had didn’t feel conformable with the idea of having people hear her voice so it is seelved. (Willing to Share)

Shinny Cubone: Proof that I have always had an angsty edge. This is a story of a Cubone dealing with life after their mother dies. But it is okay as their mother’s old teammates are there to help. A Gastly offering help as well. But is everything as it seems? (this was going to be a art blog. but I got lazy and did not want to redraw all my stuff from paper to comp)

RWBY: 

Grimm Masks: Bleach x RWBY... Kinda. A fic where Ruby presumably dies during a mission. She is later found wearing a grimm mask in the same forest she was killed in and seems to be able to control the grimm that share the same mask as her. (Basically got inspired by Ichigo’s hollow mask and thought to give it to Ruby. then as the story demanded it give a mask to the other girls of team RWBY. This was before the whole maiden thing was cannon)

She-Ra (netflix version)

Innocence of an Enemy Soldier: Magicatra Au idea. Catra is She-Ra and Adora is a Horde Soldier. After all the fighting is done and the Princesses have won. To bad things can’t end happily for Catra. Adora finally learns the truth about the horde being the bad guys after she is captured. With that knowledge she asks to be tried for her crimes. Catra needs to work hard to prove her once friend’s innocence otherwise Adora will be executed.

Dissonant Whispers: Catra meets Corrupted She-Ra and wants to scream to bad Corrupted Adora/She-Ra shushes her with a finger to the lips. (I just want to see Catra being small scared cat with pin-prick pupils seeing a slightly blood splattered She-Ra while being being cornered and her voice failing her when She-Ra puts a finger to her lips just as she was about to scream.)

Shadows make and Shadows break: another Magicatra au. alt title (Shadows make and Light breaks). this idea came about because I rewatched the part of She-Ra when Shadow Weaver adopts Adora. The whole “This one is different. Can’t you feel it? She has power...” “Don’t worry little one, we are going to do great things together.” thing. (I want a magic user Adora, and I only have the looses ideas of what I will do with it so far.) Why isn’t there more magic!adora AUs!?!

Original Ideas: 

/The Squad/: (A colab furry Comic/Radio drama I had planned to do with VAs and everything. Had the pilot printed out and everything. Just didn’t get enough VAs.) Crime has become a spectator sport of cops and robbers. Criminals no longer snatch purses or kill people, instead they are closer to performers robbing banks, stealing from museums, street racing and the like. Criminal and Police Officer alike vie for attention of the crowds and the attention of viewers at home. (willing to share)

Dark Skies: A small story based off a photo a friend of mine took. It won me a short story award way back when. I willing share it with artists to so how they want to draw the scene. (willing to share, if you got the willingness to draw. lol)

Competent Folder: Stories I think are good just haven’t done anything with them yet.

Olympian Noire: a 50s Noire story with Olympian characters and references. (needs some grammar edits and a good reread before it is posted again) (Willing to Share after I rework it a little)

Misgivings about Airships: A start of an actual story I was writing but lost most of the progress I made except the first page I had. (a reminder to save often. will come back to it if I ever get over how much I lost of it)

Marked and Scarred: This is my bread and butter. A short hook for a story. Tells you just enough about the characters and world to grab your attention but leaves enough for you to also add details to it if you want. (willing to share/ free to use)

Gremlins: A dream I written down once about ‘Fairy Folk’ and how much they don’t like someone like me. Probably wont ever be finished because I woke up before the dream ended and most people wont find it as unsettling as I did. 

Dragons: Short story. A warning a dragon gave to a ship and its crew about a dangerous storm, unlike any other, that would devastate their homes if they didn’t prepare for it. The dragon later became a symbol for the port town.

Danger Days: Not so much a story and more of a parody of the My Chemical Romance song “Look alive/ Sunshine” as my own type of intro of sorts. 

Badge of Babylon: A fun Colab I did with other people on Facebook a few years back. A changing POV fic involving an Older Thief, a young Page, and Sylph (fairy). The group fell apart sadly. But I saved our saved notes and could still make a decent story out of it. 

All from a Ring: An entire scene that came to mind from a ring holding a broken gem a friend of mine had. And I am pretty proud of it. (needs a little touch ups but it is complete)

Eh Folder: Stories that aren’t bad but don’t inspire anything in me anymore. They range from bland to me needing to be in a certain mindset to be able to add to them. (all of these are Free to use) 

Caterpillar: a story that takes place in older alt timeline where strange creatures exist and follows the diary/journal entries of a man trying to find one of those creatures. At first he thinks it is a dragon, but eventually finds out that it is a kaiju sized caterpillar that has terrifying Lovecraft elements added to it. 

Spider Junk: Was concocted by me after being sick, sleep deprived, or plain crazy while I wrote down this short story. I have no memory writing this but it is in my own hand writing so... It is a story about how your mind can play tricks on you if your mind is not operating properly. 

Psych session: It is a story about a character talking to his psych doctor about a dream/haunting he had about his dead sister. It is a good idea but I really don’t have any drive to continue it. (I am sure someone else could make something out of it)

Da Faq Folder: a series of stories/ideas that are not worth the light of day or the energy it would take to store in your brain. Worse than needing to be deleted. they serve as a reminder to me that not all ideas are worth it. Sometimes we just need to write them down to get over them, drop them completely, or to get out that little bit of nasty we have that needs to get out in a healthy way. 

Holy f^ck that is 65 different stories! This was a bad idea. Seeing them all listed like this is weird. Normally I have them on Microsoft word, Google Docs, or saved on my Tumblr Drafts.

[thefanficmonster]

Quarantine On Crack...yet again

PART ONE 

Until Dawn Gang + Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Underage Drinking, Shameless Flirting

Genre: Crack, Humor

Summary: Time to check on our favorite gang who are still quarantined together and have still surprisingly not murdered one another. The lodge is still intact, which is promising. And everyone still has all seven of their limbs. How long will this simulation of peace last for is the real question.

Requested by my dear Until Dawn Anon who I haven’t heard from in so long 🥺 Hii dear! I have missed you tremendously! Here we are again to witness the craziness of our babies and I hope you’ll join me on the rollercoaster once again! Sorry it has taken me so long to write the long-ago-promised part 2 to the crack fic but here it finally is! Hope you enjoy it! Love and miss you, Vy ❤

“Alright folks, the delivery has arrived!“ I announce as Josh, Sam and I stumble through the front door of the lodge, each one of us carrying large boxes of food and toiletries. Bless the Washingtons for still sending us food, if I were them, Lord knows I’d either forget to do so or simply not do it because I didn’t feel like it. Hey, I’m not saying I hate these people, I’m just insinuating that they would not among my priorities had I been the one responsible to send them food. They should be in that case - but I’m being very honest when I say they wouldn’t be.

“Finally!“ Jess and Emily are so in sync for two people who supposedly can’t stand each other, it’s scary. Not that I wasn’t already scared of them to begin with. I just have a hard time dealing with them. But they are good in bed so I keep them around...

“What do you mean ‘finally’? We still have food from last week.“ Matt points out, a slight frown on his face when he lifts his head from the book he’s reading.

“We ran out of coffee capsules, duh!“ Jess says as though she’s addressing the most obvious thing to a person with very low IQ.

Matt does the smart thing of rolling his eyes and returning to his book. Speaking of which, I’m sending another blessing to the Washingtons for having the GRAND library here. I know I would’ve gone nuts and murdered half of these bitches if I didn’t have a book or two to keep me busy. That’s how things are with me, I either have a book to read or I’m committing a murder rampage. No in-between, at least not with these people.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs attracts our attention. Mike, Mr. Golden Boy comes down the stairs and plops down next to Jess, wrapping his arm around here, “There better be some beer in there.” He winks at me. Yeah, that’s Mike alright - has his arm around one girl, winks at another.

“I swear to God, if you two try to have a sword fight with empty beer bottles again, one of you is getting sent to the cabin.“ Josh warns us, taking on the parent role for once.

“Whoa there, Dr. Phil! Send us to the ranch next, why don’t ya!“ I roll my eyes at him, seeing his expression beg to change into a smile at my joke while he’s trying to maintain his no-funny-business look.

“Can we go unbox these things already? My arms are dead by now.“ Sam complains and doesn’t wait for an answer from us as she takes off with a rather fast pace towards the kitchen.

Josh and I are quick to follow. Much to my dismay, in order to reach the kitchen, we have to pass by where Emily is sitting. Since I haven’t already put in a request for a restraining order against her, passing within grabbing distance of her is risky as all hell. But you know me, I love risks. Passing in front of her I get ballsy and even give her the finger as I go. 

“You’ll regret that, Y/N! You’ll fucking regret it!“ She calls after me in teasingly threatening manner that almost makes me chuckle, however I keep my features as still as the ones of a statue and I don’t turn back around.

Sam and Josh have already cut the boxes open and have started moving the products from the box onto the kitchen counter and island. I grab the box cutter from its spot near the sink and cut the box open as well. To Josh’s dismay but my incredible luck, there are indeed a few beer bottles in my box. I cheer silently as I take them to the cooler.

“You know, Sam...“ Josh’s voice interrupts the silence just as I’m about to close the cooler. I’m honestly intrigued by what he has to say to Sam, and eavesdropping might be wrong, but it’s not like the fuckers can’t see me standing five fucking feet away! - so I pretend I’m organizing the cooler so I don’t have to return to the center of the kitchen where the two of them are crouched by their packages. A quick look over my shoulder confirms that they are indeed having a *MOMENT*, one I wouldn’t want to interrupt.

“Yes, Josh?“ Sam responds, giving me an urge to go grab some popcorn before any more progression happens. I know these two have eyes for one another, but they are both massive hypocrites! The are doing the very thing they hold against Chris and Ashley: hiding their feelings. Since I’m Josh’s unlicensed and unpaid therapist, I have a bit more intel on what’s going on in his head. It’s basically: 30% what am I doing with my life; 30% I need a drink; 40% Sam. You’d be surprised if you knew how often he mentions her when he’s venting. I’ve encouraged him to make a move countless times but it’s like trying to talk me into not killing Mike - impossible.

“You could melt the snow outside.” It takes me all my might to hold back from facepalming. Oh God, if this is what he thinks I meant when I said ‘tell her how you feel‘ he couldn’t be more wrong.

“Ok, lovebirds!“ I have never been happier to hear Chris’ voice. He saved me the trouble of having to step in and end the awkwardness myself. I turn around with a what I hope is a casual and friendly and totally not distressed smile. Behind Chris stand Ashley and Mike. “Need any help?“

“Yeah, you guys could come in handy.“ I tell them, waving them over almost desperately, “Ok, one of you help me with the rest of the things in the box. The other two can organize the shit that’s on the counter.“

I duck back down to continue unboxing. There’s bags of dried fruit, tea, the coffee capsules Jess was talking about, some spices which I’m not sure why they’re there but I’m not complaining.

“Heard you needed help.“ Oh for fuck’s sake, Mike again. Why couldn’t it be Chris or Ashley, or Satan for that matter. I’m really not in the mood to be cleaning blood off the kitchen floor tiles.

I tilt my head to the side and it’s only then that I realize how close he is to me. My eyes immediately travel to where I left the box cutter. “Back it up, Michael, or....“ FUCK IT’S NOT THERE. I swear I left it there! Where the fuck is it?!

“Or what?“ He reads my confusion and holds up his hand that is holding the box cutter I’m searching for. I’m afraid the more time we spend under the same roof the more experience he’ll have in defending himself and disarming me.

“Motherfucker...“ I growl and grab the tea and coffee capsules and stand up, “It’s a pandemic, damn it. Six feet apart at all times, buddy. I wish you’d put a mask over that mug of yours too.“ I narrow my eyes as I look down at him, resisting the desire to kick him.

“Only if you were the mask.“ Oh this fucker...he even has the audacity to stand up and step closer. Why are the four other people not noticing this? Ok yeah, cause they don’t wanna be witnesses to the murder of their old class prez. I got it.

“Six feet apart or six feet under, Munroe. Your call.“ He cockily waves the box cutter, not as a threat but as a remainder that I don’t have a weapon. “Bold of you to assume I need that to kill you.“

“She could always snap your neck.“ Chris pipes in.

“Or poke your eyes out.“ Ash does too.

“Or strangle you.“ Sam adds.

“The latter doesn’t sound so bad...“ He smirks at me, earning himself mortified looks from the peanut gallery.

“I. Hear. FLIRTING.“ Jess’ voice cuts through the tension that has built up in the kitchen. Mike and I turn to the doorway simultaneously as well as every other head in the room.

There is Jess looking like a pissed off cartoon toddler - aka: my escape.

“And I hear the void calling me.“ I catch her off-guard and put the items I was carrying in her arms, “I better go see what it wants from me. Byeeee.“

I all but hightail it out of there. I mean, say what you want about Mike’s shitty personality, or lack of personality all-together, but the fucker’s got sexappeal. Not that I’d ever admit it or fall under its effects.

In the living room I find Hannah and Beth with no traces of Emily or Matt. I feel slightly relieved, to be perfectly honest. Seeing the perfect stress relieving opportunity, I sit down next to Beth on the couch and lie down, placing my head in her lap. “Hi!” I give her a cheeky smile.

“You’re the Devil.“ Beth mutters without giving me as much as a glance. I turn to wave at Hannah and that’s when I see the chess board set up on the coffee table. So that’s what she’s so focused on.

“Oh please, you’ll make me blush.“ I fake a giggle and blow her a kiss while she remains completely unbothered.

“Whatever’s going on over there - I DON’T LIKE IT!“ Josh says menacingly as him, Sam, Chris and Ashley enter the living room.

“ME NEITHER“ Oh no, that’s Emily’s voice. Her and Matt have just walked into the lodge after another stroll - they have those when they wanna make out in private. Speaking of making out, I don’t see Jess and Mike anywhere, much to my relief - one of them wants to kill me at the moment but they both wanna sleep with me too so you get why it’s a situation I’d like to avoid.

“No jealousy, guys, please. I love you all the same!“ I prep myself up in a half-sitting position to give them an apologetic but seductive look when a pillow whacks me in the face, “What the hell?!“

“I thought you loved me more!“ Beth barks back angrily.

Well, I’m in some serious trouble now. Not only is Beth DEADLY when angry, but she also has two siblings who are more than capable of kicking my ass.

“I do! I really do, Beth, I swear!“ My apologies are put to an end by another hit with a pillow. “You know I do!“ I sit up completely and turn to look at Beth who has turned the opposite direction. “Pwease?” I give her the best puppy-dog eyes I can pull of despite feeling utterly ridiculous.

“So you do have a favorite member after all? And it’s not me? Wow, Y/N.“ Ash glares at me as well, crossing her arms and also turning away from me.

“I SECOND THAT.“ Emily stomps her foot down and storms out of the room

Oh fuck.

“I do too, honestly. I’m really hurt, Y/N.“ Matt the person I can always trust to be on my side has turned his back to me in this time of need.

Oh fuck squared.

“You’re in some deep shit now.“ Hannah laughs almost evilly as she leans back in the armchair she’s sitting in.

“Josh, could you set something on fire again? Preferably me this time.“ I mutter with a monotone voice. I’d like to picture there’s a rain cloud above my head just pouring down on me. And zaps me with lightning every now and then for good measure.

“Nah, that’d be too easy on you.“ This motherfucker....

“Oh so you WANT me to tell a specific someone what you think and say about them when they aren’t around?“ I change the meaning of ‘death glare‘ with this look I give him. I’m sure that if I keep staring at him like this long enough I’ll burn holes into his skull.

After a few moments of still silence and intense glaring he finally breaks, “Alright fine, I’ll get the deodorant and lighter.“

I sigh in relief. I suppose there are worse ways to leave this world...

“No!“

“Don’t you dare!“

“No way!“

Beth, Ashley and Matt all jump up as soon as Josh gives any effort to stand up.

“Washington, I swear to God!“ There go Emily and Jess in sync again as they both enter the room armed. Jess is only in her underwear but we don’t talk about that. What’s important is that she’s carrying the box cutter from before while Emily is armed with a dull butter knife. Knowing how determined she can be, I wouldn’t underestimate her power due to the lack of sharpness to her weapon.

Josh is rightfully stunned by the sudden turn of events and sits his ass back down with hands raised in the air. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“Y’all love me!“ I smile at them, putting a hand over my heart.

Jess turns to me in a split-second, angry as fuck, and points the box cutter at me. “Y/N, I swear to God-”

“Alright, alright, alright...“ I too raise my hands in surrender.

This is how shit goes down over here. Just pure fucking CHAOS, a lot of drinking, flirting and sex jokes. And so much wondering how we’re all friends.

[preternaturaliisms]

@strange-corners

“My Dear boy, er, Silver. Of course I let you into my home no questions asked. Its poring rain, its freezing cold, you were soaked to the bone and looked exhausted. Were in the middle of a forest in absolutely no where alola, the chances that you were here to rob or kill me were slim. Even if they werent im a force to be reckoned with, i wouldnt go down without a fight, and if i did go down you’d best believe id be taking you with me.” His golden eyes narrowed as he sipped his tea, and he flexed his muscles slightly to get the point across that anone would have to be absolutely out of their gourd to go after his six foot nine inch built like a brick wall ass.

“However, thats beside the point. You were most likely a traveler who got lost, or whose car broke down. And as you said, its dark and thundering. Im a kind man and im not going to just let some poor soul just suffer outside when he could come in and be warm.” Spook walked over to the kitchenette, grabbed another mug and filled it with milk, he was making the boy a hot chocolate to warm him up.

“You may charge your cellular phone in the living room. The living room has a fireplace, its er... cartoony fire projected on a screen in front of a heater, but it does the trick. My daughters a pyrophobe so no fire allowed in the house you see. As for my name, its Dr Spook Spectra, ghost and dark type specialist and scientist. A pleasure.” He takes the finished mug of hot coco and hands it over.

“You really should change out of those wet clothes or youll catch a cold. When you do, join me in the living room just passed the stairs on either side, we can sit and relax while your phone charges, you may leave when its done if you like, but as its raining and shows no sign of stopping soon i insist you stay till its over. But if you dont want to wait, at least let me give you a ride into town or home so i know you didnt get caught in the storm.” Spook walked down the short hallway into the livingroom where he made himself cozy in one of two armchairs in front of the faux fireplace. He set up a wireless charger on the table for the young man. He really didnt seem all that concerned that there was indeed a stranger in his home. But as hed made clear, spook was a large, well built and a bit mad, scientist who was capeable of handling himself. So the somewhat skinny looking sleepy younger man didnt much pose a threat to him, or if he did, spook didnt let on that he had.

[the-unknown-storyteller]

From a Bird's Perspective

(Based on this ask by anon; Universe belongs to @linkeduniverse)

Summary: A small island floating in the sky. That's where our heroes will meet her.

_

From quite a distance away it looks like just a speckle of dust. Suspended in the air, far and further above the earth, suggesting something else. Something impossible.

Flying closer, the speckle begins to grow in size. Then it gains texture and actually, it's made out of a brownish-sandish colour, probably dirt or something more solid, and with just enough squinting and focusing, spots of green are visible atop the brown.

Drifting even closer, an island forms before the naked eye, revealing the saturated green of the grass moving silently with the wind, the vibrant yellows and gentle reds of the flowers scattered about. Watered and cared for by a small waterfall coming from the small islands floating closely above. The flowers match the strings of paper flowers hung up all across the small village in the sky.

The soothing muted reds and blues and the occasional yellow of the roofs speak of warm homemade meals and endearing storytelling at night. Of hardships made through and laughter ringing through the town.

They're swallowed up and whisked away with the wind of a sacred creature passing by. Gentle movements of impossibly big and soft wings carry them away, farther and higher up until they're lost to the clouds.

A group of about nine people watches as the Loftwing glides towards and lands next to them with a gentle thud on the ground.

This is where the story begins. Welcome to Skyloft.

______

"Why are we so high up in the sky?", Hyrule asks, leaning over the edge of the island. But as far as his eyes can reach there's nothing but clusters of clouds. Just when he thinks that he could maybe, just maybe, make out a glimpse of the land below them, it reveals itself as a trick of the light. Hm.

"This island is called Skyloft. It's where I grew up," Sky explains, a soft smile playing around his lips. "I guess you could think of it as the beginning of Hyrule, the very first iteration of it. I'm surprised we were sent to this point in time because in my timeline it has already sunken to the land below…"

"Sunken to the land below?" A wave of confusion and shock goes through the group. Sky's soft smile turns bittersweet, as he stares out at the sea of clouds on a backdrop of blue. He focuses back on the group before him, shoving the sinking feeling in his chest aside for now.

"Anyway, there's someone I would like you to meet." He turns around and steps away from the ledge, his loyal Loftwing follows him with light and graceful steps. The others exchange gesture and looks, agreeing that they shouldn't push him, not for now at least, before they follow after him as well.

Slowly, a monument of a woman comes into sight. A massive statue so much bigger than any they have ever seen. Wide wings span across her back, long hair cascades down in gentle waves, engulfing her shoulders wrapped in formal robes.

Her hands are held close to her chest, as if protecting something. Her eyes look empty, yet all-seeing as they stare down at the approaching group. It feels like the goddess Hylia herself is watching them, judging them. Wild observes it with curious eyes, the bitter taste in his mouth sours his feelings of admiration for the sculptors and workers of times long past. The hollow sensation in his chest makes him sick.

The statue just keeps staring. Cold. Detached.

Slightly intimidated most of them don't dare stare back, except for those that make a point of openly glaring at her. Animosity and a deep grudge set deep into his eye. Eyes wander across the statue's surface.

Their gazes follow the soft curves and folds of her clothes until they land on her hands which are holding something like a stone plate, big enough for something or someone to stand on. A shadow slowly walks across that platform and comes to a stand still at its centre. A quiet song slowly drifts down, faint sounds reaching their ears. Haunting melodies of a quiet harp dance around the group, accompanied by a gentle voice. Something about it unsettles Hyrule.

Startled, he taps Sky's arm a few times, pointing at the looming figure. "What is that?" Hushed whispers say, unsure if and what kind of enemies exist in this world. This place seems rather peaceful and thus, suspicious and dangerous in a sense. One can never be too careful about anything.

Sky looks up at the figure atop the massive statue. Instead of concern a smile graces his lips, as he opens his mouth to yell "Zelda!!"

The figure perks up at the call of the name and waves at them with exaggerated gestures. The light, that's coming from behind, reduces Zelda to nothing but a vague shadow. "Don't move, we'll come up to where you are!"

Sky looks at the rest of the group, most of whom have a curious or surprised expression on their faces, and gestures for them to follow him. They quickly climb up the steps, that are hidden between the folds and billows of the statue's robes. Hyrule brushes his hands against the coarse surface of the stone while following the others, delighted to find a few exceptionally smooth spots in between.

Reaching the top, they see Zelda, standing in the middle of the platform. She's holding a small harp in her hands and sings softly along to a sweet tune. Her eyes are closed in tranquility. From up here the melody doesn't sound as haunting. The notes are simple and clear, undistorted by the wind and the distance.

Sky walks up to the person most dear to him, hesitantly clearing his throat to gain her attention. The song is cut off, as she stops playing. Last notes ring through the air. Nobody breaks the comfortable silence that follows afterwards. Zelda carefully snaps her harp to the side of her belt. Rubbing the ribbons winding up its sides fondly.

It is a precious thing, really. Intricately carved out of birch wood and wrapped in light blue and yellow ribbons at the ends. And while it did look almost delicate, it was very much sturdy and pretty much unbreakable. It's such a contrast to her very formal golden harp, adorned by the heads of a Loftwing on either side. Easy to bend and break.

They were much younger and watching clouds fly past at the time, when Zelda told Sky that sometimes she's scared of playing on it, in the fear of breaking a string or leaving a scratch. It's been passed down for generations and generations centuries past, from her great grandmother to her grandmother to her mother to her. It goes even further back than that. What if she damages such a precious relict? It had been such a great concern of hers back then.

But right now, the harp is put far away into the back of her closet in a neat little chest. Zelda looks up, as she smoothes down her dress here and there. Her eyes are twinkling with joy at the sight of her beloved hero, then they widen in shock and curiosity at the sight of the group behind him. A group of eight, all showing an uncanny resemblance to her Link. Be it the golden hair or the warm blue of his eyes or the general shape of his face, his eyes, his nose. They could be mistaken for brothers.

"Zelda," Sky starts, a heartbroken smile on his face, "meet Link." One by one, they greet the very first princess of Hyrule, who is not at all a princess, but a simple girl. A simple girl, who is just another pawn in Hylia's cruel play of chess. Well, she's more like the King, watching from the sidelines as her loved ones sacrifice themselves for her. It doesn't really matter. Not yet at least.

The not yet to be princess looks over the group, taking in their faces and slowly comprehending the way they were introduced.

"You're meaning to tell me that all of you are called 'Link'? Where did you even find them? It's not like Skyloft is particularly big and didn't the elders tell us that nobody lived on the surface?" Zelda asks, observing the way Time's brow crinkle the same way Link's do and the way Hyrule rubs at his tunic similar to how Link does it with his hair. It's all so familiar, yet she can't explain why that is. "But it sure is a funny coincidence regardless."

"Sure… a funny coincidence," Sky mutters, glancing at his companions, then back at Zelda. He can't suppress the frown that's digging itself into his face and he can't stop his eyes from getting wet. He feels unsteady. First emotionally and then physically, as they can all suddenly feel the world shift in such vivid forms and motions, that their heads start to spin.

The ground on which they stand starts to crumble and fall to the earth of the floating island, taking them with it. The face of the Hylia statue distorts and breaks. Cracks form in various places. Her empty eyes turn to dust, her wings split off and rush to the ground where they fall to pieces. All of it happens impossibly slow and fast and slow and fast again, and Sky's head is still spinning. His whole body plunges into the depths along with the shattered pieces of the statue, toward the ground beneath him that seems to move further down as well.

His frantic gaze shoots to the left and then to the right, taking account of the group, making sure they're okay, more alright than he is at the moment, but they're falling as well. And Sky can't do anything about this. He can't stop them from falling, from meeting the same demise that he will. He tries to call out, but his voice won't cooperate. They're not looking.

Is this a dream? But why is this so vivid? Are they changing Hyrules right now? Why is it taking so long then? Are they going to die? What is happening? He doesn't know, he just doesn't know.

A blinding hot pain shoots through his skull and Sky can't help but gasp for air and his shaking hands are pushing against his eyes, trying to contain it. His head is about to split open. He squeezes his eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain, the ache thrumming behind his eyes. He wants to scream, to cry out, but his voice is still failing him. And then…

And then…

The pain is suddenly gone. It's disappeared as fast as it had come and he slowly moves away his hands that have stopped shaking. He looks up and instead of seeing a destroyed island, a broken statue, a desperate hand reaching out for him, he sees red and his hands feel something soft. Something soft and warm. His hands glide through the something a few more times, feeling kind of detached and spaced out.

Sky looks up and all he sees are clouds on a backdrop of blue and a friendly Loftwing face staring back at its companion with wide eyes full of concern and worry.

"Oh, it's just you," Sky sighs, leaning into the feather dress of his dearest friend.

On the ground, not too far below the hero, stands a statue tall and proud. Despite its missing wings and broken head, a sight to behold. A group of nine stand on what's left of its platform, watching the Loftwing fly circles above their heads, relieved that their tenth is starting to calm down now.

"So all of you are Link?" Silence.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Fire & Ice (Part 1/2)

Pairing: ONE-SHOT Michael Langdon x fem!Reader (Game of Thrones AU) 

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Game of Thrones AU - Reader is forced into an arranged marriage to Michael, through her brother, Viserys. In exchange for her, Michael guarantees them a spot in the Sanctuary and restoration to their family’s name and rule. 

Warnings: ANGSTYYYY, mentions of arranged marriage, fluffy!Michael

REQUESTED BY - ANON 

“ hi! idk if requests are open but I was wondering if you could do a Michael Langdon x reader 2 one-shot au based on Daenerys and Khal Drogo’s arranged marriage minus the abuse because that’d be too much and Michael is soft (enough said!) please? thanks :) ” 

A/N - Just to let you know, the reader in this is a Targaryen, wasn’t sure if you didn’t want her to be or not, so I thought to include it tho :) Sorry for the long wait, and I really hope you enjoy xox I’m really sorry if this wasn’t what you envisioned, but it was the best possible way I thought the story could flow! I tried to combine both the storylines from both shows. I tried really hard, so sorry if its shit 😫

“Y/N!”

The familiar, stern voice of your older brother, Viserys, booming through the hallways, sent chills down your spine. Indeed he was your brother, and essentially the only living family you had left, as the both of you were the only existing members of your dying house, house Targaryen, and yet it was he who frightened you the most. You had grown to understand, that he was a man of bad character: he was never mindful of you, never considerate of your feelings nor your worth, was too invasive and extremely controlling…To the point where he made the sole decision to arrange you for marriage: without a single word from you, or any sort of input, you’d become a bride to be and there simply was no way of arguing your way out.

“I promised him a wife, and he promised me an army, a crown and the throne. He promised us a position in the sanctuary. You know that since we lost our rule, our reign and all our treasures we can’t buy our way in. This is our only chance to live, sweet sister. Now, do as I say, for the sake of our family’s legacy…Because Y/n, we are the last Targaryens, the rightful heirs. Do it for the sake of who we are.”

Yet much to your unfortune, your husband had arranged a day to meet you, to see you face to face, for him to make the final judgement as to whether he wanted to marry you or not…Still you had no say in your own future. You hadn’t known much about him nor how he looked, despite knowing that he was in fact a man of wealth, of strength and of great power, from the rumours you’d heard…And today was the day you’d finally meet.

And the only other thing you knew of him, was that of his name…Michael Langdon.  

“There’s our bride to be!” Viserys called, holding what seemed to be a beautiful, silk violet dress. Having interfered your thoughts, of you remiscining the precise moment you’d been told you were to sold off, you hesitantly tore your attention from the serene view of the city, and immediately walked over to Viserys.

“It’s a gift, from the Cooperative...Go on touch it. I want you to wear it for today.”

Mesmerised by the fabric, you instinctively reach your hand out to touch it. Your fingers gently stroking through the dress, satisfied by its smooth texture, amazed by the gesture of the gift, despite not yet meeting your husband to be.

“I need you to be perfect today…Can you do that for me?

“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

“No” You silently uttered, no more than a whisper. You’d always spoken this way, you simply grew accustomed to being dubious, submitting yourself to fear and fright, enticed by your superiors. To them you were just a pawn.

“When the write the history of my reign sweet sister, they will say it began today…”  

***

Dissonant sounds of chattering, and the whistling of the light breeze was all that filled the silence and the tension. You both awaited for Michael and his companions to arrive, standing in between behind your Viserys and you your landlord, Illyrio Mopatis.

“Where is he?” Viserys questioned, sensing his growing frustration as his impatience as per usual ran thin all too quickly.

“The Cooperative are not known for their punctuality.”

All to coincidentally, the distant sound of hooves stomping against the solid concrete ground followed by the heavy wheels of a carriage being pulled grew louder, and much more closer. You felt your body tense, by the second, the inevitability of this arrangement and the unpredictability of its outcome began taking its toll on you.

Many times before, you’d tried convincing yourself that this situation in its entirety was all simply a dream, that it was all just a nightmare far to vivid for you to awake. Yet once the black carriage had come into view, trying best to pinch yourself on the arm, thinking that would do the trick, you knew better than to remain in denial. This was happening, and there was no way of escaping it.

When the horses stood afront of you all, the carriage coming to a halt behind, instantly you felt your heart leaping from your chest, this gut-wrench feeling wavering through your body.

As its door swung open, 3 men each walked out, all wearing similar black suits which you felt instinctively couldn’t have been Michael, with a tiny, middle-aged woman, with short black hair yet again in a similar black suit exit through: in pairs each standing on either side of the carriage.

Finally, there he stood.

The least to say, you were breath taken: he was gorgeous. Wearing a red, velvet suit, luscious, long golden hair flowing just past his broad shoulders, with a towering height compared to the rest, his eyes this light blue colour that were ever so piercing, yet ever so mesmerising. His features all too accentuated, exemplified his age, his maturity you felt.

“Welcome, my honoured guests! May I present to you, Viserys of House Targaryen, the third of his name, the rightful king of the Andals and the first men. And his sister, Y/N of House Targaryen.”

Before your thoughts could roam any further, you’d remembered that Illyrio insisted you walked down and greet your fellow and yet potential husband to be. Out of respect that you assumed was the reason for this, although Illyrio simply clarified, that Michael was a man not to be taken lightly, and was definitely not to be kept waiting. So, before you had the chance to even speak a word to him, you were certain you did not at all want to upset him and began to gradually walk, as Illyrio continued greeting his guests.

Instantly you felt your body being aggressively pulled, your arm tugged back as Viserys held on, preventing you from walking down the steps to greet Michael. Your eyes were fixated on him, just as his were when he exited the carriage: you felt giddy, yet still most fearful. A part of you wanted him to say no, in that way you’d have your freedom for now, until perhaps Viserys struck up another bargain with a powerful figure. Yet for now, your fate was held in the hands of a complete stranger.

“Do you see his stature and those fellow companions?  Michael Langdon has never been defeated, in anything. He gets what he wants, when he wants. He’s the Antichrist of course, one of the most influential people alive…And you will be his Queen.”

The whisper of his words, left you senseless, paralysed by fear. You were potentially going to wed a monster, or worse you were currently face to face with him. You’d never felt this terrified ever, not even Viserys startled you this much.

“Come forward my dear” Illyrio had shouted, his eyes widening with impatience, as he gestured you to walk…It seemed you had kept them waiting.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, you mind trying hard to comprehend the news that Michael was essentially the son of Satan… How was it even possible? Surely he was just pure evil, worse than Viserys, and you’d believed no one could have ever been more worse than him…

Walking down the final step, coming face to face with Michael: you were much shorter than him. His towering figure overlooking you, every inch of your body exposed for him to see, for him to torment. The dress was no help either… It’s silk fabric was ever so thin, that your nipples were on display for all to see, the breeze hardening them, causing them to look perkier than usual. The fabric tight, hugging your body, just enough to reveal your curves: your eyes still locked on his, watching him examining you, those piercing blue eyes travelling up and down your body. Stepping forward, just inches apart, he began circling you: like a predator hungry for its prey, you felt helpless, before returning to his original position.

Hesitantly, tearing his gaze apart from you, to Illyrio, giving him a swift nod of assurance, did he only then return to seat himself in the carriage. His companions following behind shortly, the horses continued riding on.

Puzzled you were, though a part of you had an inkling, knowing most likely what his decision had been.

“Where is he going?” Viserys shouted, his voice drenched in confusion as he hastily ran to stand beside Illyrio, wanting answers.

“The ceremony is over.”

“Well, he didn’t say anything. Did he like her?”

“Trust me, your Grace, if he didn’t like her, we’d know…”

***

Days had passed since you last saw Michael, since you’d last spent your time as a ‘free’ woman. Today was the wedding…

According to the words of your servants, as news travelled immensely fast, Michael insisted on having the wedding immediately: just as Illyrio said, he wasn’t a man to be kept waiting.

You were assisted in wearing this beautiful, white gown. Similar to the silk one you’d worn to your first meeting with Michael, one he had also gifted and insisted that you wear. Perhaps for sentimental value, you’d hope, searching for a bit of good in him, knowing well it probably wasn’t a natural occurrence of his.

Now you sat beside him, ever so still, ever so silently. Not much to your surprise, he looked as handsome as ever. Wearing a similar velvet suit, more maroon than before, with a long black coat, and red leather clothes, you both contrasted with the other yet still looked as though you both synchronised with one another. His hair still looked just as luscious the first time, he looked impeccable.

The ceremony was unique, held outdoors, in a private venue, overlooking the sea, with many esteemed guests that had been invited, all that you had not known. Many wore silver masks, or masquerades that completely hid their identities: perhaps it was the way of the Cooperative. All of whom were in debt to Michael. Yet it frightened you still.

The giving and receiving of gifts had began, as you sat beside your husband. Still the both of you hadn’t said a word to one another: Michael having many times tried to spark a conversation though was always interrupted by his guests coming to congratulate their ‘Lord’ on the marriage. And now, you felt at any moment, he try again, although you’ been to distracted by the most unusual, most shocking of gifts. One of the gifts you’d been most intrigued about, one that you felt ignited a feeling within you that you’d never felt before, the moment they had been laid in front of you…Dragon eggs, three of them in fact, just like the sigil of your house. Gifted by Michael himself, “from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai…frozen in time.” Lifting one up, holding it in your bare hands, you felt empowered, like you never had before.

“My gift to you.”

“Th-Thank you” You stuttered, still staring at the egg grasped in your hand, observing its every fine detail.

Although, soon following them, laid before you two, the hissing sounds of a pit of snakes had startled your attention. Lowering the egg, returning it to its casket, looking over towards the snakes in complete fright, it was perhaps the most bizarre of all the gifts, yet you knew precisely of its significance to Michael. Despite not having had a proper, consistent education, having been on the run for so long, you were familiar with the traditions of the gods. Sneakily diverting your attention unto Michael, you’d noticed a small smirk growing on his face. Almost, as though it had been instinctively, as though he felt your eyes on him, he turned towards you, shooting you a heartfelt smile, that you immediately thought was a simple act of deceit. Immediately you’d pretended you hadn’t even seen him at all, and looked onwards towards the crowd of guests, dining, dancing and chattering away. It was your wedding yet a part of you felt like a complete foreigner.

“I’m sorry about before, having left you in the dark, you not knowing what was to come. I was simply just savouring the moment till I foun the best possible moment we could talk...Privately.”

His words interfered with your thoughts and growing concerns, yet he hadn’t startled you as you’d predicted. His tone was sincere, it felt soothing to hear.

“T-That’s alright, I understand, my Lord.”

“Michael, just call me Michael, Y/N. Please, I insist, since we’re bounded together for life and death.”

Nodding to his instruction, you wanted nothing more than to sit in silence, hoping that your shy behaviour would simply do the trick…Wrong.

“You look beautiful, can’t help but feel incredibly lucky” He interrupted, his words triggering you to instantly snap your head in his direction. It definitely wasn’t something you’d been expecting to hear, a compliment escaping his lips…Outrageous you thought, yet optimism ignited within you.

“Th-Thank you, Michael.”

A small smile brewing on your face, wanting to reassure to him that you were most thankful for his kind words, or perhaps for this marriage…You didn’t want to upset him in anyway possible, that may have shown his true colours. This Michael would do for now.

“The ceremony should be coming to an end soon. If you want we could just leave now? Our time perhaps could be spent more wisely, getting to know one another, than with these people.”

Instantly, he stood himself from his seat, his long hair flowing perfectly in time with the breeze. His hand reaching out to you, waiting for you to take it, and without any further hesitation, a part of you agreeing to his words willingly, you took it.

You felt yourself being pulled with ease, as he stood awaiting for you to ensure your dress was perfectly placed, before you looked up at him, nodding to signal that you were prepared.

“Thank you honoured guests, for joining us on this special evening. But I must inform you all that Y/N and I will be leaving now.”

“Hail Satan!” The crowd roared in unison, cheering to their Lord, as you both walked through the crowd, Michael leading the way as his hand continued to hold yours, gripping you tightly, as though to not lose you. You felt completely intimidated, feeling the stares of his followers burning through your skin, despite not actually witnessing their faces, you simply knew.

Finally having reached a breach in the crowd: you noticed Michael standing in front of the black carriage, he’d arrived with initially.

Opening the door, waiting by its side, just as you were about to enter, you felt his hand gripping your arm gently, as though not wanting to cause you pain, though wanting to stop you from entering. Gazing up at him, despite the watchful crowd, you felt the intimacy between you two growing immensely, and a part of you, as though instinct, wanting nothing more than to kiss. Just as though he’d read your thoughts, he began to edge closer to you, feeling his hands grip around your waist, pulling your body closer towards his chest, as your hands gripped his large biceps.

The feeling of his lips crushing down against yours, giving yourself into his affection, most willingly felt right and pure. His lips slightly parting, feeling a small smirk growing on his face as you looked up to find it was indeed a smile, he utters:

“My angel.”

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