#Cedar/Dark Link

[kheprriverse]

Here's a funny man that's been sitting in my files for this very day!

Most recent image is the last one, so some aspects to his design has changed a bit. As well as some extra details. tbh things will probably change the more I draw him, I've got plenty of time to figure him out.

Masterpost | Lineup | Ko-fi

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 8

Summary: Acknowledging the bond between them creates a challenge Reader wasn't prepared for.

Content Warnings: Jealous!Azriel, Slight NSFW; Mentions of Death and War.

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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I wish we could stay like this forever: The first rays of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains, the lightweight comforter warm from the large body at my back. The scent of jasmine and citrus lingers on one side of the sheets, night-chilled mist and cedar on the other. The tether in my chest warms with every steady heart beat against my spine. Sleep threatens to pull me back under, contentment a yawning precipice in which I dangle dangerously along the edge.

I want nothing more than to close my eyes as soon as they open. I wish time would still and there would be no demands, no threats over our heads, no Empire to ruin these precious few moments of peace. But the stomping and shouting of guards outside the door brings all thoughts of bliss and peace to a screeching halt. There very much are threats over our head and an Empire out there doing its damndest to ruin everything that is good in this world.

I force myself to sit up, to throw off the warm comforter and the arm still looped over my waist. Force my body to move, to not linger in the early morning light, to not roll over and trace the swirling patterns of my companion’s tattoos over the firm planes of his chest.

There will be other mornings.

Rhys is gone. Cassian still snores from his bed, half hidden in the shadows. Azriel sits up with a grunt beside me. The slight tremor of disappointment that runs down the tether that links us 

tells me he’s not thrilled about the arrangement either.

If I had more time, I’d be a little more mortified about the drool I feel crusted to my cheek, or the way my hair is sprouting out the side of my head like one of Anise’s vines. “Shit! It’s late!”

Azriel’s hazel gaze flicks to the door. “We wanted to give you as much time as possible to rest.”

My heart constricts painfully tight in my chest. Last night was an ordeal, yes, but I have no physical wounds, not like they do, and no one has offered them the same luxury. I want to kiss him. Want to crawl back into bed and into his lap, tangle my fingers in the thick locks of his hair and kiss him until we can both forget how awful the last couple of days have been. I want to lose myself in him, let him lose himself in me until there is no longer all this shit between us. I want to know what the bond might feel like if we had the time to explore it properly. Instead, I lean forward and give his scarred hand a squeeze.

“Thank you.” And before he can even respond, I’m sprinting for the secret door. 

Rhys already has it open. It looks like he’s been watching the door to make sure the guards don’t try to come in before I’m gone. There’s no time to share anything other than a conspiratorial nod before the darkness of the tunnel envelops me and the door locks shut behind me. 

I have to sneak past Cook as he gets the stove lit for the day, his back turned as I sprint from the cellar, the noise of the door opening only covered because he keeps banging logs against the old iron doors to make them fit. The Guards have made collecting the right size firewood difficult, as they’ve been stealing his carefully crafted supply to make fires to keep themselves warm during the night shift.

Thank the Mother and every god of luck we have that no one sees me run down the hall and back into my room.

There is still a little bit of the Raven’s blood on the wall. I find myself shuddering as I race past it to get to my closet. The Senate Meeting is in an hour, maybe less. What I would give to have wings!

I throw on the first dress I can find and dip into the bathroom to fix my hair. Shit I’m going to look awful! At least I can blame some of it on the ride over, but Father will never let me hear the end of it. Hell, if Brannagh and Amarathan don’t beat him to it.

I wrangle my hair into a braid that I wrap around the back of my head and pin in place with a gold clip that’s sharp enough to stab someone with, just in case. I shouldn’t be totally unarmed. Scrambling, I remember my Mother’s blade in my vanity drawer, and I lose precious seconds finding a way to hide it in the extra fabric tucked into the gold belt around my waist. 

Anise meets me at my bedroom door, looking solemn. “I looked into those other gladiators like you asked.”

I loop my arm through hers. “Walk with me, please.” Her stiffness tells me she’s still mad, but she obliges me.

“The Attor is always top of the list, you know this.” She says with a sigh. At least for now, she has decided to pretend to tolerate whatever nonsense she thinks I’m getting into. I will take this fragile peace while it lasts.

I shiver. “Hard pass. What are their other options?”

“Senator Thessian has three Elven archers who have never been beaten.”

Archers leave too many variables. Especially since last time they’d flooded the arena and the Elves had won by finding a perch on some driftwood and slowly picking the competitors off one at a time. They need someone who can match their physicality with a sword, regardless of the obstacles in the arena.

“Too many uncontrollable variables.”

She sighs again as we inch closer to the front doors, and the Guards that stand waiting. “Senator Kallias just acquired an orc from the Western Wastes. He is untested, but his staff says he paid a pretty coin for it.” 

Better. I like those odds a little more.

I kiss her cheek as we reach the front door. “You’re wonderful, Anise! I will find a way to thank you later.”

She frowns at me as her weathered hand squeezes my arm. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

In earshot now, a young Fae guard says, “She will have a squad after the events of last night.”

I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. A squad of males loyal to my Father. I’m just as likely to be dragged off the horse and murdered in the road by them than another Raven. A thought that does make me uneasy. I could, probably, hold them off on my own, but truth be told, now that I’ve been forced to stop and take a breath, I do still feel shaky. Training and muscle memory keeps me composed, but last night was a lot.

It will cost me precious time, but the idea forms easily, and I turn to Anise. “Good thing I have a few gladiators to protect me.”

Her frown deepens. “I am not comforted by that.”

I pull free of her and turn to the guard. I can’t bring Rhys with me; bringing the figurehead of a known rebellion into a Senate meeting would be grounds enough for Father to take my head here and now. I can’t bring Cassian either, he’ll need every precious second he can get for that leg to heal. “Bring Azriel to me.”

The guard hesitates, clearly taken back. 

I keep walking towards the stables. “Quickly, or it’ll be your head I throw on the chopping block for making me late.”

That does the trick.

I bite back a grin as I make it to the stables in record time and instruct Grayson, a wiry, half dryad stable boy, to prepare two horses. By the time the Guard brings Azriel, I’m settled in the saddle. 

“The Emperor will not like this,” the Guard begins.

“I did not ask for your opinion.” I state, using my best courtly voice. Mother always used to tell me I sounded just like my Father. It had always felt like an insult, but at least it has its uses.

Besides, the way Azriel grins as he swings into his own saddle is enough to ease the discomfort. I think it’s a flicker of pride I feel down the bond from him, but I’m not totally certain. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I sit a little straighter in the saddle regardless. I want to make all of them proud. I want them to know I can do this, that I’m not some fragile little girl. I can handle what they’ve asked of me.

We head out before the Guard are totally ready, giving us a bit of space between us and them. There isn’t exactly room to talk at the pace we set, but I appreciate the breathing room all the same. At least, for now, it doesn’t look like they’ve been instructed to stab me in the back. 

The ride to the Capital is a blur all the way up until we’re in the city once more. The crowds are significantly less than yesterday, but there are still crushed roses and streamers in the streets. Worse, the crucifixes still stand, the Illyrian bodies still pinned. 

I nearly bite through my tongue with how hard I’m clenching my jaw. Some of those males were still alive yesterday. None are today. There is no obvious intent to remove them either, to offer a proper burial. People walk past like they don’t notice the carrion coming in to pick the bodies apart.

Azriel remains stiff and silent beside me. I try my best not to look at him, to not make it obvious that I am checking on him now that the Guard have finally caught up.

I do not breathe any easier once inside the Palace. The place feels like it should have heads on spikes posted at every entrance. All the glittering gold pillars and sparkling fountains feel out of place in a spot built upon the blood of so many innocent lives. I never liked it here, but more and more this place is starting to give me the same anxiety I’d have walking into a dragon’s lair.

The Guards follow close behind, as I once again hold the chain around Azriel’s throat. It feels heavier today, the metal hot from the sun. 

“You’re welcome to leave the brute with us, Highness,” one of them sneers. “We’d watch over him carefully.”

I’m still debating how much time it would take me to strangle the male with the chain as we reach the Audience Chamber. 

“Ignore him,” Azriel huffs in my ear. As soon as we’d gotten off the horses he’d taken his position behind me, close enough that my hip brushed his if I turned even a little. Maybe it’s a little too close for the story we’ve been selling, but it puts him between me and anyone trying to stab me in the back like a giant shield and he knows it. I don’t like that he doesn’t have armor to protect him, should something happen, but we simply haven’t had the time to find any. A situation I’ll need to handle before we leave the city.

The Chamber doors are still open, by some miracle, and bits of conversation float towards me as I enter. All of which suddenly halt as soon as the gathered group of elites realize who I’ve brought with me. 

I square my shoulders, even as the heat of Azriel’s withering glare skids across my shoulder. He’s very expressive today, and I have a sinking feeling that’s on me. Our proximity makes the bond relax, not so taut between my ribs any more, but it also heightens emotions. My protectiveness mounts the longer we’re together, I catch myself leaning towards violence anytime somebody looks at him wrong and from what the nymphs used to tell me, it’s usually worse for males.

Today will be interesting. 

We walk down the center of the room, towards the throne where my Father lounges, being fanned by two slaves with palm fronds. Amarantha already sits to his right, drinking from a goblet of wine, her mood sour. Both their eyes narrow in on me, then Azriel, as the crowd dramatically parts, like we have the plague.

I give a brief curtsy to my Father as I take the seat next to him. A seat that has long been empty and was more for show than use. Nothing my Mother ever said in these meetings came to pass. The rest of the senate seats are filled by males, Amarantha and Brannagh the only exceptions. 

“Be seated,” Father calls out, waving a hand in irritation. 

A servant comes with a tray of wine and fruits, and despite the rumbling of my stomach, I wave it away. I’d like to not test my luck today; I’m just as likely to be poisoned as I am stabbed and even Azriel can’t do anything if I ingest arsenic. 

The Emperor leans over in his seat, gray eyes sharp, jaw clenched tight. He’d never hit me in front of so many people, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from his wrath either. 

I brace myself, hands folded gently in my lap, even as Azriel tenses from his perch behind my seat. 

“So good of you to show up,” he snarls.

“I had an interesting visitor last night,” I say and I hate the way my voice shakes. 

“So you brought a known rebel into my council meeting in retaliation?” He hisses. 

There’s a heavy layer of wine on his breath and it takes every bit of training to keep myself from trying to scoot further out of his reach. If he’s been up drinking, that’s a sign we’re moving in the right direction, he’s so off his game he’s unravelled, but that makes him dangerous. There is no telling what he could do next and my first impulse is to curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible.

“I questioned my safety in the hands of your guards on the empty roads over here,” I say, digging my nails into my palms to get the words out. 

“But not with this savage?” He gestures with his chin towards Azriel.

All I can see is red. If I had not used so much energy to kill the Raven last night, my powers might not be slumbering so deep beneath my skin now. For that I am grateful. I do not need one more thing to worry about today. 

“Their interests are in keeping this deal for their people, that’s hard to do if I’m dead,” I retort through my teeth.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he snarls.

My hands shake in my lap as Azriel’s shadow makes its way around my ear again, murmuring softly in a strange language as it rubs itself against my temple soothingly. It is an effort to breathe evenly and I do my best to turn my attention away from my Father and to study those in attendance today instead. 

Thessian, Kallias and Beron sit on my right. Eris stands behind his father’s seat, serving as a guard today, and the auburn haired male winks at me when my gaze passes to him. I hope that means he did that research I asked him for yesterday.

Azriel’s hand tightens on the back of my seat with just enough pressure I hear the metal groan. Thankfully, no one seems to notice but me. 

On the opposite side of the room sits Dagdan and Brannagh, their seats pushed together instead of giving them the five feet of distance all the other chairs have, just so no one is close enough to throw a punch if things get heated, as it often does. Next to them are senators Helion and Tamlin. Helion studies Azriel intently over the edge of his goblet of wine, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine interest or the same disdain everyone else has been throwing his way. 

Tamlin broods silently in a stack of parchment in his hand, quiet without Lucien to balance him out. 

Directly across from us are some of the few Senators who were not previously Lords of Prythian, as it was our biggest conquered province. They’re also the only ones on the Council who aren’t Fae. Giais is the only Elf. Ancient and ethereal, he’s been on the council since my Great Grandfather, though he doesn’t look a day older than me. Acacius had once held Amarantha’s title, but the Goblin had lost an arm in one of the last battles of the Giant War, and had been given a seat on the Council in his retirement. Maximus, who’s self-proclaimed title is Great Lord of the Dragon Shifters; he wears no shirt, but his entire top half is drenched in gold--gold rings with giant gems atop his long fingers, golden bracelets from wrist to elbow, a dozen gold chains in varying lengths and a belt, all catching the light and nearly blinding anyone who looks too closely at him. He’s the youngest male here, with the exception of Dagdan. The only seat empty is Senator Romulius’; the Nephilim away dealing with an uprising in his adjoining provinces. 

There are no Humans or Giants on the Council. No Nymphs or Dryads. It used to be more diverse, but as Father’s paranoia grew, so did his prejudices, and the Council became smaller and more segregated as time passed. 

“Who shall start today’s session?” Helion calls out as the chamber quiets and the doors close. 

It’s like being sealed in a tomb. I wish I’d said yes to the wine, I think I might risk being poisoned just to not have to sit with the swirling anxiousness in the pit of my stomach. 

Father gestures to Amarantha with a grunt that tells everybody we’ve found him in the middle of one of his moods. The quiet shifts to something more uneasy, shared glances passing between the senators. They all know this means they must tread carefully. 

“Tax season is upon us,” Amarantha says, her voice carrying through the antechamber. “Are there any concerns we need to discuss?”

Tamlin waves his stack of parchment in the air. “My province is still recovering from last year’s tax season. Our prisons are full of debtors. My advisors are organizing things as best they can, but rumors of…” he pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flick to my Father. “...unrest are spreading. I would like to request a heavier presence of the Praetorian, just to ensure things go smoothly, if they can be spared?”

“Why should your inability to lead your people be our problem?” Acacius snarls. “Every other province has managed to reign in its citizens but you.”

“I would hardly call the situation in Illyria reigned in,” Helion says over the edge of his goblet. 

Azriel tenses, wings rustling behind him. It takes everything in me not to turn and take his hand.

“Illyria is an outlier,” Amarantha snaps. “One that has been dealt with.”

Father’s head swivels to look at Azriel with the same air of an owl getting its sights on a mouse. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes narrow in on my mate. 

“Was it dealt with, Shadowsinger?” 

The chamber quiets, every eye landing on Azriel. He keeps his composure near perfect, save for the hand still gripping the back of my chair with enough force to dent it. 

“Aren’t the crucifixions testament enough?” He growls through his teeth. 

Father grins wickedly. “Since my daughter is so certain she needed you here with her, why don’t you go ahead and tell this council exactly what happens to provinces that do not comply with our laws? Perhaps Tamlin needs a reminder about why he should keep his people in line?”

Tamlin frowns, hand tightening around the stack of parchment.

“What provinces?” Azriel snaps. “There is nothing left of Illyria but ash. It is a graveyard of women and children.” His voice breaks on the last word and down the bond comes the flash of a memory: A small body crumpled on scorched earth, a blood splattered doll clutched in its too small hand.

My stomach shoots into my throat.

Amarantha grins on the other side of my Father, pleased with my mate’s discomfort, pleased with her efforts of destruction in the name of the Empire.

“Sons must pay for the sins of the father.” Dagdan wins more than a few accolades for the sentiment. Beron goes as far to salute him with his wine glass.

“You must have known this would happen?” Brannagh counters. “Surely you knew the cost of your rebellion would be their heads? This is the price of rejecting the Empire and its protections.”

I glance around the room, looking for anyone to argue, anyone to challenge them. Helion shoots me a sympathetic look, but he says nothing. Eris shifts his weight behind his father, but he won’t look my way. They might be uncomfortable, but not enough to challenge them. Not enough to take a stand. We truly have no allies. 

“You have never been hungry,” Azriel says, his voice low. The white-knuckled grip on my chair tells me he’s trying his hardest to keep his voice down. The shadow curled around my ear moves with the agitation the rest of them have to feel, even in their hidden perch behind his wings. “You have never been without clothes. Without a roof. You have never gone without clean water, without people to tend to your every need. You have never known what it is to crawl for your basic necessities and then have them ripped from you purely because the people over you could. My people were dying. As are yours-”

“That’s enough,” Father says dismissively.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the growl that threatens to slip past my teeth. How can he be so flippant about it? So careless? I have always known him to be cruel but I hadn’t realized how truly heartless he is. How heartless they all are as they laugh off the dismissal like Azriel is beneath them. As if his story is nothing more than a piece of fiction and he a worthless storyteller.

My hands ball into fists in my lap, power awakening in my chest, bubbling up like a wave, ready to wash over everything in this godsdamned room--

Azriel’s hand settles on my shoulder, squeezing gently in warning.

The Council goes back to arguing uselessly, forgetting immediately that Azriel is even here. It is for our benefit in the long run, I suppose, but I can’t get past it. How can they all be so blind?

Azriel’s hand slides down my shoulder slowly, rubbing a soothing line down my spine until he feels my breathing even out, until I unclench my fists in my lap and he’s sure I won’t explode. I tamper down on my power like I always do; always trapping it down beneath my skin so that no one notices it’s there. My shoulders slump. Why didn’t I say anything when I had the chance? Why do I always sit here uselessly?

Maybe I am no better than they are.

The topic shifts to clearing clogged trade routes. Thesian offers his daughter in a political marriage to Kallias’s son as if bartering items of clothing. The marriage is arranged in a matter of minutes, without either of their consent. It’ll be for the good of the Empire, that’s all they care about.

Helion turns the conversation to imports on wine for a while after that.

I feel myself slipping back into my hollow shell. My voice escapes me, buried with my powers until I feel nothing. Until the words fade in and out of my ears, eyes vacantly held on a spot on the wall. They talk around me like I’m not here, like it doesn’t matter that I’d ever left. Unaware that all of their problems are so petty and stupid when there are bodies of desperate men rotting in the street as we speak. 

I want to see this whole damned Empire burn.

My thoughts remain on this one point for so long I don’t notice time slipping away until Father announces the meeting over and waves us all out. 

My movements feel stiff as I finally stand. How long have I been clenching my shoulders? My teeth?

Azriel follows, chest against my back, as I move robotically towards the exit, and dart into a quiet adjoining hall. Father will be around shortly, it is not like him to let me escape without further incident, but I just need a moment to take a breath. 

“How do you do this?” I whisper as the door shuts behind us. “How do you not explode every time they fucking speak?”

Azriel puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. “Usually I imagine how it will feel to drive my blade through Hybern’s throat.”

This close to him I’m eyelevel with his collarbone. I have to look directly at the collar around his neck; the skin beneath pink from being rubbed raw over and over again by the iron. My hands reach for it instinctively, as if I have any power to take the pain away.

“But lately…” he shakes his head as one hand leaves my shoulders to catch my wrist as I fiddle uselessly with the collar. It’s not coming off without a key and I have nothing in my arsenal to make it easier to carry.

Useless once again.

“Lately I just worry that he’d take it out on you, if I stepped out of line, and I can’t risk that.”

The raised edges of his scars are a stark contrast to the soft, smooth skin of my wrists. I have no battle scars, no obvious signs of my Father’s abuse; my skin is unblemished and soft in a way that reminds me exactly why Cassian said I was a pampered princess. I’ve never had to do anything this hard. Never had to fight for what I wanted.

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it,” I blurt and he reels back a step like I’d hit him.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snarls.

“Cassian was right about me,” I return. “I’ve never had to work for anything in my life. I’ve never stood up for anything. I always shut up and shut down and look the other way. I should have done something before. I should have done something now!”

“You are doing something,” he says carefully, hazel eyes darting to the door, conscious of where we are and who might be lurking just outside.

“Not enough.”

He steps back into my space so he can cup my cheek. Damn me and my fragile resolve but I lean into that gentle touch like it’s my lifeline. He’s so warm and comforting and that broken, touch starved thing in me leans in like a moth to flame, so desperate for even a hint of affection. I hate myself for it. Hate that this is all it takes for me to take a breath. 

“We have to take it slow,” he bites out. “We have to move carefully. We are under so much scrutiny. I know that it is hard, but you did exactly what we need you to do today. You have played your part. The time for action will come later.”

“I feel useless,” I confess. 

“Hate to drag up bad memories, but you killed a guy last night,” he counters. “That’s far from useless.”

“That needed to be done.”

“So does this,” he assures. 

I sigh and lean my head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and even against my skin. Breath warm against the back of my neck. I wish I could melt into him, let him consume every bit of my being until there was nothing left of me.

Azriel wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. My body short circuits, frozen for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s doing. I don’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. Yes, last night he’d slept with an arm around me, but that is different somehow. I don’t immediately know what to do with this. Last night had a purpose, I’d needed the security to sleep. This was in comfort. And no one had comforted me like this in years. Not even Anise when my Mother had died. 

His embrace is all encompassing, strong arms tight around my middle. Something in me cracks open and tears pool in my eyes as I slowly work up the courage to wrap my arms around his middle, conscious of where his wings sit in the middle of his spine. 

The bond hums in approval, or maybe that’s his shadows, more of them than the one curled around my ear move to caress my arms and back.

A breath stutters out of me, trapped by the lump in my throat.

“We will beat him,” he promises into my hair, lips brushing the top of my head. “I can take a few punches on the way to that victory, Princess.”

I tighten my grip around his waist. “Not if I turn them to mist, you don’t.” The words are comically muted by his shirt, but they draw a chuckle from him all the same. The sound is rich, like melted chocolate and I’d do anything to hear it again.

“Vicious, little thing,” he tuts.

I work up the resolve to pull my head out of his chest so I can look up at him. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, I will see this collar off him, all of them; I will see his people free. 

He practically has to duck to look me in the eyes at this angle, but that intense hazel gaze goes straight to my mouth. Heat flashes down the bond, a glimmer of desire so intense I’d think I might have imagined it were it not for the way his tongue darts out to run over his own full lips. It feels as if we share a breath, a heartbeat. I meant the words in a very literal sense, for the sake of this mission, but I think I might mean them in other ways too. 

He leans in and I feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Or maybe that’s mine. I cannot tell us apart anymore. What is him and what is me is suddenly very intertwined.

In contrast to the firm planes of his body, his lips are sinfully soft as they brush tentatively over my own. I lose all sense of time and reason as I lean up on my toes to close the distance between him, to finish the kiss.

And then the door to the hallway opens.

Time comes in a blazing rush and I suddenly remember where the hell we are as we jerk away from each other like we’d been thrown. 

Eris saunters in with his thumbs looped in the golden belt around his trim waist, grinning like a cat. There’s no way he didn’t see us.

“There you are,” he purrs. The shadows of this hidden servant’s hall suit him, bathe his sun kissed complexion in dark hues that make his amber eyes glow like coals. There’s a shade of gold dust in his unbound auburn hair. Everything about the Autumn heir seems to glow, even in the shadows of the world. “I had a feeling you’d be hiding in one of these secret places. You always did like them better.”

I don’t know how to explain myself. I just start smoothing my hands over my skirts, trying to find some semblance of control as my head spins. He can’t tell anyone what he saw! Azriel’s dead if does.

“Just needed to collect my thoughts,” I say, voice uneven.

Amber eyes flick to Azriel and roam over him slowly. I can’t tell if it’s admiration or that look Eris sometimes gets as he decides how much of a challenge a fight would be. Honestly, both those looks are pretty much the same. Eris has always toed the line between flirting and fighting.

“And his?” It’s teasing, not judgment, that much I can tell, but by the way Azriel’s wings open and shut behind him with a snap says he doesn’t share the understanding. 

“Eris,” I warn.

He shrugs as he comes to stand in the space Azriel had just held. I don’t miss the snarl that flashes across my mate’s features, or the way his hands clench and un-clench at his sides. He can’t do anything to Eris, not without risking his head. He knows it just as much as Eris does, which is why the male keeps stepping into my space, testing what he can get away with. 

“Relax,” Eris tuts. “Who am I going to tell?”

“You want me to make a list?” I retort. 

Eris shakes his head, long locks of hair kissing his high cheekbones. “Now now, what fun would that be?” 

Fun. Eris might be a bastard, but he is not cruel like his father. Beron would sell out his own mother for a chance at power, but Eris? Eris likes to play cat and mouse. He likes to collect secrets and trade with them. His influence in the court is strong not because he’s paid for it, but because he knows enough to get people to move in the ways he wants without having to lift a finger. Crafty and cunning as a fox; he’s dangerous, but he’s not an enemy, not yet.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

He grins, teeth perfect in his face. “I heard you’re looking for a husband?”

Azriel actually growls at that, stalking towards, shadows slipping out from behind his wings.

Eris rolls his eyes at him before turning back to me. “Have you decided on one yet?”

The obvious dismissal, or perhaps the blatant disregard to the danger he’s in, makes me pause. Why is he playing with fire like this? Is he really that confident Azriel won’t rip his head off his shoulders?

“I’m not on the decision committee,” I say, but I keep my eyes on my mate, a hand raised in his direction, silently begging him not to do something stupid. 

The gaze that was so focused on my mouth just seconds ago drops to my hand and he stills, teeth clenched so hard I can see a tick in his jaw. A shadow snaps angrily behind him, like they’re fighting the grip he has on them. 

“I should think your word would have some sway,” Eris muses.

He can’t be serious? “You want to marry me?” 

“Most females swoon under such an implication,” he starts.

“I thought you preferred males?” I counter.

He grins at that and I am not so blind that I don’t understand why people swoon when he gives them a few seconds of his undivided attention. “I don’t discriminate.”

We’re getting off subject.

Azriel may have allowed me to call him off the attack, but that doesn’t stop him from taking up his position at my back again. The rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing is hot and heavy against me, I’m suddenly very well aware of his size compared to mine. The thin line of his restraint is fraying, worse than it was in the Council Chambers. 

“Fine, I will pose the suggestion to my Father.”

The bond flares with an anger so hot it seers my insides. I can practically taste Azriel’s rage as it floods down the tether between us. 

“Good, then this will be our little secret, won’t it?” Eris purrs, smug expression shot in Azriel’s direction. 

Gods they’d kill each other if I wasn’t physically standing between them.

“Yes,” I concede. How has this day gotten so far away from me?

He slides his thumbs back in his belt and strides towards the exit on the other side of the hall. “Oh,” he throws over his shoulder, “by the way, you’ll want to ask for Kallias’s Orc in the arena. It’d be the best match-up for your little pets.”

Azriel is shaking at my back, shadows unfurling from behind his wings like snakes, bathing the room in darkness as Eris opens the door. 

“I look forward to our future, Highness.”

Azriel explodes as the door shuts behind Eris, shadows lashing against the walls so hard the lights flicker. His wings snap open, apex talon striking the wall and leaving an angry slash in the paint. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath rasping out of him like he can’t get air in fast enough. 

I spin to face him, taking his face in my hands. He has to get this under control or someone else is going to come running down the hallway. “Azriel-”

“No,” he chokes out, scarred hands gripping my wrists like a vice. “You can’t!”

Panic floods down the bond so fast it sweeps away all that rage like a tidal wave, ice filling my veins. I’m losing him and fast.

“You can’t!” He repeats and the ground shutters beneath his feet. 

I panic, worried about who else might be close enough in the hallway to hear, and do the only thing I can think of to get his focus back: I surge up on my toes for leverage and press my lips against his. It’s messy, and not at all how I wanted this to go, but it does the trick. His shadows still, their hissing cut off like they’re trying to wrap their ethereal heads around what just happened. The ground stops shaking. 

Azriel’s eyes widen, hands un-clenching. For a moment he freezes, just as I had when he’d hugged me a minute ago. And then he’s on me, hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back against the wall as his lips slide over mine. His tongue lashes behind my teeth, desperate and hungry. He kisses like a male starved, like he’s trying to get the very air from my lungs. He loops an arm beneath me and lifts, a shadow helping guide my legs around his waist as he kisses me again and again and again. 

Now we’re going in the wrong direction again. This is not the place for this!

Mother help me, I’m not sure I have the control to tell him that though. Especially not as he pulls away for the briefest of moments, eyes so dark they’re almost all pupil, nostrils flaring. 

“Mine,” he growls, dipping his head to press hot, open mouth kisses along my jaw and neck. 

Shit! I knew going into it that our growing proximity, and maybe the fact that we’d both acknowledged the bond last night was going to start causing some problems, but I didn’t think it would be this bad this fast. I didn’t think I’d have such a hard time trying to think rationally about it either. 

We have to stop. We have to get back out there before this situation gets worse than it already is. But my body doesn’t seem to know that. Hell, the bond doesn’t seem to know that. It purrs and glows between us, warm and bright in the contact of our bodies. 

My fingers tangle in the thick locks of his hair as he nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. If I’m lucky, the neckline of my gown might just cover any mark he’s leaving. Maybe.

“Azriel,” my body arches into every kiss. My skin is on fire. I need more. I need him everywhere. I don’t know if his name on my lips is an admonition or plea. 

His hips rock unconsciously against mine, searching for friction, and holy gods is he hard! My mouth falls open at the contact, even with the layers between us, he’s bigger than I imagined he would be. 

Azriel’s lips trace back up my neck. “My mate,” he murmurs into my skin. I’m losing him to the bond, to his instincts, the primal aspect the nymphs warned me about taking over. I want it to. I want to know what would happen if the immaculate control he’s held since I met him were to slip, but I can’t. Not here. The door feels like it’s suddenly made of paper, as if anyone could walk by and see us through it.

No one will be as forgiving as Eris.

The thought is sobering, like a bucket of ice water in my veins. We can’t do this here.

“Azriel,” I start and he groans into my neck, hips rocking into me once more as if I’d said something dirty and not simply his name. The sound makes heat shoot right down to my core and I clench my eyes tight to try and ground myself. One of us has to be in control here. I don’t know for the life of me how that ended up being me.

“We have to stop.”

His lips find mine again, desperate and needy and he moans into my mouth like this is the best thing he’s ever had. “Don’t,” he begs. “Don’t offer to marry him.”

I glide my fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my chin, the corners of my mouth, everywhere he can reach like he just can’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been listening for the door. I shouldn’t have gotten us caught.” 

The words fall like he can’t stop them. “I’ll find a way to get around it. I’ll deal with him. Let me deal with him. Don’t…” he shakes his head, goes in for another desperate kiss. “Please. You can’t do this.”

I cup his cheek in my hand and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. “Eris is a snake-” his gaze darkens when I say his name, shadows hissing angrily. “But for now, let’s not make an enemy of him.”

His teeth flash angrily, a growl rumbling up his chest. Heat flares between my legs at his outright possessiveness. Still, I force myself to unwind my legs from around his waist and he, begrudgingly, sets my feet back on the floor. The ache between my legs is uncomfortable. The bond feels like it whines at the loss of contact.

“No decisions have been made,” I promise. “Besides, hearing me suggest it might turn my Father away from the idea entirely. At least, to that end, I can’t say I didn’t try.”

Azriel’s hands leave my hips to fix my rumbled skirts in an attempt to collect himself. He looks a mess! Hair disheveled, lips kiss swollen, eyes dark. I doubt I look any better. “Nothing is happening today.”

“I won’t let anybody take you from me,” he vows.

My heart clenches in my chest and I can’t stop myself from placing one last, gentle kiss on his lips. He chases after me once more like we weren’t just aggressively making out. We’ll have time for more later, when it’s safe. When nobody can take him from me.

I grip his scarred hand tight and place it on my chest, over my heart, in promise. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make sure no one takes you from me either.”

I mean it. No matter what it costs, no matter what deals I have to make, this male is mine. No one in this damn Empire is going to take that away from me.

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

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[a-bit-of-writing]

Cloak

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 

Characters: Astarion x Reader

Words: 1,591

Summary: You only meant to survive your night watch, not end up draped in Astarion’s cloak and scent.

part. 01 | part. 02

The cliffs above the Chionthar were pretty things by daylight — ragged ridges powdered in wild heather, gulls wheeling overhead — but after dusk they sharpened into bone‑white fangs. Wind tore off the river and scraped your cheeks raw, tugging at your sleeves like a petulant child begging to be let in.

You flexed your fingers — nothing. Half‑numb. Brilliant idea, volunteering for the late watch in nothing but a travel shirt and bravado. Gale had offered his spare cloak; you’d waved him off. Shadowheart had raised an eyebrow; you’d grinned. Pride was a stubborn parasite and now it gnawed your bones with every icy gust.

A twig snapped behind you. Leather boots, light tread — predator’s footfall. Only one person walked that quietly and still managed to announce himself with the sheer audacity of his presence.

“Honestly, darling,” Astarion drawled, voice a silk ribbon sliding round your throat, “if you wished to turn blue you could have asked me for pointers. I have centuries of experience.”

You exhaled a foggy plume. “I’m fine.”

He came into view, draped in a cloak the color of spiced wine, clasp of polished garnet winking at his throat. Moon‑silver hair spilled over the collar like frost over velvet. He looked entirely too warm, too princely, too amused.

“Liar,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his breath stirred the hair at your temple. “Your teeth are rattling a charming concerto.”

“I said—”

“And I said you’re shivering.” One arched brow. “Would you like my cloak?”

The offer landed like flint on tinder. You opened your mouth — habit formed around refusal — but the night stole the word and left only a shudder. Fine tremors climbed your arms. Astarion watched, ruby eyes bright with mischief and something startlingly soft.

“Here,” he sighed — half resignation, half relish — and reached for the clasp. Gold links whispered apart. As the cloak swung free, heat rushed out like the exhale of a hearth. Cedar, smoke, faint mulled wine: his scent, rich and dizzying.

He didn’t simply hand it over. Oh no — Astarion performed the act like ritual. One step forward, boots crunching frost; cloak lifted high, then draped across your shoulders in a slow, enveloping fall. He gathered the fabric at your throat, cool fingertips grazing the hollow just above your pulse. You felt it leap; he felt it too — his smile said everything.

“There,” he purred, smoothing collars with absurd delicacy. “A lovely splash of red to set off those cheeks.”

You tugged the cloak tighter. “Thank you.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, studying the way it swallowed your frame. “Marvelous. It hangs on you like sin.” He leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Be wary — wearing a vampire’s garment might constitute a blood pact in certain, decidedly salacious circles.”

“Oh dear,” you deadpanned, exhaling warmth back into your stiff fingers. “Am I doomed?”

He hummed approval. “Doomed to — let me think — moonlit poetry recitals, perhaps a scandalous duet or two.” His grin glinted fang. “Surely you can bear the torment.”

You mustered a scoff, but the cloak’s heat seeped beneath your defiance, loosening the tight curl of your shoulders. Even the wind seemed reluctant to intrude through velvet this thick. You inhaled — cedarheart and something sweet, like the echo of summer berries on the tongue.

Astarion’s gaze followed the rise of your chest, satisfied. Then, casual as smoke, he settled onto the flattest rock beside your post — close, but not crowding. The river’s dark ribbon murmured below. Fireflies stitched gold thread between brambles.

After a beat he said, softer, “I never cared for that cloak.”

You glanced sideways. “No?”

“Cazador chose it.” A small shrug. “He enjoyed dressing us like decorative knives — beautiful, useful, always his.” For a moment the campfire in his eyes dimmed, revealing an undertow of old hurt. But then the mask slipped back into place, polished and bright. “Yet here we are — re‑appropriating luxury. Rather poetic, don’t you think?”

“Very,” you whispered. “And it does suit you. Or did.”

He laughed, rich and low. “Are you angling to keep it?”

“Maybe I’m claiming it. Finders, keepers.”

“Heresy.” He slung an arm along the rock’s rim, posture indolent royalty. “If you intend to steal my wardrobe, I’ll need compensation.”

You arched a brow. “More secrets? Another blush tally?”

“Oh, I have grander schemes tonight.” He leaned in until moonlight caught in his lashes. “How about a favor to be named later? Something deliciously open‑ended.”

Your pulse skipped. “Dangerous.”

“Exhilarating,” he corrected. Then, unexpectedly gentle: “But if bargaining unsettles you, we’ll stick to simpler trades. A story, perhaps.” He lifted his chin, invitation in every line. “Gift me a memory.”

Cold forgotten, you searched for something worthy. “All right,” you said at last, voice soft. “When I was small, my mother would brew cinnamon milk on winter nights. She’d hum — terribly off‑key — while I sat by the hearth pretending to read. I’d memorize the tune, wrong notes and all, because it meant warmth was coming. I loved that.”

Astarion’s expression flickered — surprise, then a longing so fierce it scared you. “Cinnamon,” he echoed. “I remember cinnamon.” He looked away, throat working. “I’d- I’d snatch sweet rolls from palace apprentices and hide on the roof. Eat them alone so no one could shame me for sticky fingers.” Soft laugh, brittle as spun sugar. “Feelings taste different when you savor them in secret.”

He fell quiet, the confession hanging between you like frost‑glittering glass. Your hand twitched beneath the cloak — impulse to reach for his. Instead you said gently, “You don’t have to hide anymore.”

His eyes cut back, bright and wary. “Don’t I?”

“You offered me warmth with no demand.”

“Oh, I’ll demand something eventually,” he teased but the line lacked bite.

“You could have let me freeze,” you pressed. “Mocked me, walked away. You didn’t.” You lifted a corner of the cloak. “That choice is yours now. Every time.”

Astarion stared long enough that riverwind filled the silence with its hush. Then he chuckled, a sound that trembled at the edges. “Careful, sweet thing. Keep talking like that and I might start believing I have choices.”

“Maybe you should,” you echoed your earlier words, softer still.

He inhaled — sharp, startled — like the idea itself was a sudden ache in his ribs. For an instant vulnerability bared its throat. Then his grin returned, dazzling and defensive.

“Let’s test this newfound autonomy, shall we?” He stood, offered a dramatic bow, and extended a hand. “Come. The wind’s unrelenting, and I know a niche halfway down the cliff face — sheltered, private, excellent acoustics should I burst into impromptu sonnet.”

You laughed, taking his hand. His fingers were cool but steady, closing around yours with teasing ceremony. As you followed him along the narrow path, the cloak swirled your ankles, trailing his scent.

At a ledge half hidden by thorny broom, he paused, gesturing you ahead. A natural alcove cupped a sliver of embers from some forgotten traveler’s fire; still warm. He dusted the stone, sat, then tugged you down beside him. The space forced proximity — knees brushing, cloak draping over both. Twin warmths: velvet outside, his body heat inside.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded. In the dim, his eyes burned garnet, softer than any flame.

A playful silence stretched. Then he cleared his throat theatrically. “Right. About that sonnet…”

“Oh gods, no,” you groaned.

“Too late. Inspiration strikes.” He pressed the back of his hand to his brow, reciting in a tragic stage whisper: “O crimson cloak upon a trembling frame, / Envy of dawn, ye put bright day to shame—”

You dissolved into laughter. It echoed off stone, mingling with his self‑satisfied chuckle.

When your mirth subsided, you found him watching you — smile gentled, eyes steady. “I like that sound,” he admitted quietly.

“What sound?”

“That laugh. It…does something foolish to me.” He glanced away, almost shy. “Makes monsters feel less monstrous.”

Your breath caught. Without thinking, you slid your hand across the small gap, resting it atop his. He stiffened — a reflex born of centuries — then eased beneath your touch, exhale feathering the cold air.

“Monsters don’t share cloaks,” you whispered.

“They do,” he said, lips quirking. “They just expect payment in flesh.” A pause. “I’m trying something new.”

“And how does it feel?”

He considered, thumb grazing your knuckles. “Terrifying,” he said. Then, softer: “Nice.”

You smiled into the dark. “Borrow the feeling as long as you need.”

“Dangerous invitation.” He curled his fingers, lacing them with yours. “I may never give it back.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep you, then.”

He laughed — a fragile, wondrous thing. “You drive a scandalously hard bargain, darling.” He squeezed your hand once, then let the silence rest — comfortable, living. Wind rattled faraway branches, but the alcove held only warmth.

Minutes — or hours — later, when your watch ended and you both rose to return to camp, Astarion reached to reclaim his cloak. His hands paused at your shoulders, clutching velvet as though reconsidering.

He released a hush of air, almost a sigh, and withdrew, leaving the cloak on you.

“Keep it till morning,” he said, eyes unreadable. “Consider it… interest on our deal.”

“What deal?”

“The one where I practice giving without taking.” He winked, stepping back into moonlight. “Don’t get used to it.”

Too late. You smiled, heart thudding. “Good night, Astarion.”

He hesitated, then with the softest smile you’d ever stolen from him, murmured, “Good night, warmth‑thief.”

He vanished into shadow, leaving you cloaked in crimson and something far rarer: the promise of choice.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

National Anthem…

Jey Uso x Reader

“And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult -- we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had at the beginning. He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew it. When he walked in every woman’s head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself.

I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. And in that way I understood him and I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. And I still love him. I love him…”

Warnings:

Explicit sexual content, emotional intensity, past divorce, language, wet/underwater sex setting (consensual), soft angst, reunion trope, emotional vulnerability, steamy but tender intimacy.

dedicated to @maineventabbey

bffls: @spiicii @cheappop @love4brutality @acknowledge-reigns @isabella-2025

You sipped from your drink — something too fruity, too sweet — half-listening to your friends laugh across the poolside bar at the resort. Hawaii smelled like sea salt and sunscreen, the night air still sticky and warm even this late.

The sky was navy blue. The stars bruised the horizon.

You were laughing too, or maybe just pretending. Pretending you hadn’t just been thinking about him. Pretending he wasn’t still there, stitched into every part of you like a scar that never quite closed.

And then—

The world stopped.

He stepped into view like he’d never left, like six years hadn’t passed. Like time bent around him.

Jey.

White muscle tee clinging to arms you remembered better than your own reflection. Black joggers sitting low on his hips. White Air Force Ones clean as new paper. Two thick gold chains glinting against his chest. A heavy Cuban link bracelet wrapped around his wrist. Grill flashing when he spoke low to someone beside him, even though you couldn’t hear a word.

You didn’t have to.

Your body knew.

He turned —

And those dark eyes found you.

Like he felt you before he saw you.

God, it had been six years.

Six years since you left, when love wasn’t enough to patch over the bruises ambition left behind.

Six years since you begged him to stay, to remember what you had when it was just the two of you, so young, so stupid, so sure the world would never break you.

Your breath caught when he started walking — slow, steady — toward you.

Every cell in your body screamed to run.

But your heart… your heart said stay.

And as he came closer, closer, the memories rose up like smoke:

His hand on your lower back, guiding you through crowds when you belonged to him.

The way he used to whisper “I love you..” against your neck when you woke up tangled together.

The way his cologne — ambery cedar and fresh citrus — made your knees buckle when you were still young enough to believe forever meant something.

You watched him, chest tight, as he came to a stop just a few feet away.

Neither of you said anything.

The world, the music, your friends — all faded into the background.

It was just you.

And him.

Still tethered.

Still burning.

Still him.

Finally, his mouth curled into a small, slow smile.

That smile you swore you’d forgotten.

That smile that broke you and rebuilt you all at once.

“Been a long time, mama,” he said, voice deep and a little rough, like he hadn’t used it in too long.

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

Six years, you wanted to say.

“Six years and you’re still the only one.”

But instead, you just looked at him — the man you left behind, the man you never stopped loving.

And he looked at you like he already knew.

However.. when it came down to it, you didn’t say a word.

You just set your drink down — barely hearing it clink — and turned.

Walked away.

Walked fast, heart hammering against your ribs.

Maybe you thought he’d let you go.

Maybe you prayed he wouldn’t.

Footsteps pounded after you, quick and very certain.

“Babygirl!”

Jey’s voice — rougher now, more desperate.

But you didn’t stop.

Not until the resort lights faded behind you, the path turning to packed dirt under your sandals.

Not until you stumbled into the forest — palm trees and tropical air wrapping around you like a second skin.

And there —

In a clearing just beyond a crag of lava rock —

A waterfall crashed down into a glittering pool, silver under the moonlight.

It was stupidly beautiful, so stupidly Hawaiian it made your teeth ache.

You spun around, fists clenching.

He was right there.

Closer than you expected.

Chest heaving.

Eyes dark.

Mouth parted like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how.

You cracked first.

You slammed your fists against his chest — once, twice — not hard enough to hurt him, just hard enough to make your arms shake.

“Why?!” you shouted, voice breaking. “Why did you choose work over me?!”

Jey caught your wrists without thinking, holding you steady, but he didn’t pull you close.

Not yet.

“I ain’t doing this,” he muttered, low and dangerous. “I ain’t fighting with you over old shit.”

“Old shit?” you snapped, yanking free. “It’s not old to me, Jey. You— you chose everything over me! The travel, the tours, the spotlight— you always came first!”

His eyes sharpened — a flash of the Jey you once knew, the one who could command a room with a glance.

But he didn’t shout.

“No,” he said, voice a low tone. “You always came first.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Yeah?” you choked. “Is that why I used to fall asleep alone five nights a week? Is that why I woke up on my birthday and you were already gone for another show?”

His jaw tightened.

You saw the war inside him — pride battling regret, stubbornness cracking under guilt.

“I was tryna build something for us,” he said finally, almost pleading. “I was tryna make it so you ain’t never have to worry about shit again.”

“I didn’t want all that,” you whispered, breaking apart like waves against the rocks. “I just wanted you.”

The wind howled past you both, whipping your hair around your face.

And there — in that moment —

You realized it had never been about who left who.

You had been pulling away even as he had been reaching for something bigger, something he thought would keep you safe.

You just wanted him.

He just wanted to give you the world.

Neither of you could win.

Neither of you ever stopped loving the other.

He stared at you under the moonlight, chest rising and falling, water from the mist of the falls dusting his arms and face like silver.

And then — slow, cautious —

He leaned in.

You felt it before it happened.

The heat of him, the pull that had never really broken.

But when you took a step back —

Too quick, too clumsy —

Your foot slipped on the wet rock.

And before either of you could catch yourselves —

You both tumbled straight into the pool beneath the waterfall.

The water crashed around you, icy and shocking.

You surfaced first, sputtering and laughing, hair slicked to your forehead.

Jey rose up a second later, gold chains glinting even underwater, grill flashing as he grinned wide and shook his head like a dog.

For a moment — for the first time in six years —

You both laughed.

Really laughed.

“I hope you didn’t have your phone,” you gasped, wiping water from your eyes.

He snorted, paddling closer to you through the waist-high water.

“Nah. You?”

You shook your head, heart beating so loud it almost drowned out the waterfall.

“No,” you said, voice soft.

You floated there, barely a foot apart.

The spray of the falls soaking you both, washing away the fight, the years, the loneliness.

And before you could overthink it —

Before your heart could run scared again —

You reached out, grabbed his soaked shirt, and pulled him down to you.

You kissed him.

Hard.

Wet.

Breathless.

His mouth moved against yours like he was starving.

Like he had waited lifetimes for this.

But then —

Slowly —

Jey pulled back.

Panting.

Forehead resting against yours.

His hand came up, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that shattered you.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say you wanna be mine again.”

He searched your eyes like his whole world depended on what you’d say next.

“Say it, mama,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “Say you still love me.”

You didn’t say it with words at first.

You said it when you leaned in again, kissing him deeper, drowning in him.

But he needed to hear it.

“I still love you,” you whispered against his mouth.

“I always have.”

Something inside Jey broke.

Without a word, he surged forward, kissing you harder, backing you up until the waterfall was crashing directly onto both of you — cold, wild, relentless.

You gasped, clutching at his soaked shirt.

He laughed against your mouth — deep, rough — and pushed you playfully but firmly right under the falling water.

You squealed, water beating down on you, and when you peeked through the spray, he was grinning — really grinning — like the man you met all those years ago.

Then, with careful strength, Jey slipped his arms under your thighs and lifted you up — muscles flexing under your palms as he set you down on a smooth rock ledge right under the waterfall’s curtain.

The rock was slick but solid, water rushing around you like a living thing.

You were caged in by the elements — the roar of the falls, the mist, his body.

He leaned in close, his forehead brushing yours, his hands steadying you.

“You comfortable, mama?” he asked.

You nodded, smiling through the mist.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

He held your eyes as he reached for the hem of his soaked white muscle tee, peeled it up over his head, and tossed it onto a nearby rock.

The sight of him — broad chest, gold chains sticking to his skin, tattoos gleaming wet — stole every bit of air from your lungs.

He lowered himself slowly between your legs, dragging it out, savoring it.

Positioning himself betwixt your thighs with a purpose that made your whole body tremble.

Jey tilted his head, studying you.

Checking, waiting, needing your permission even now.

You licked your lips and whispered, “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He ducked his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, as if rediscovering you inch by inch.

And when he rocked his hips forward, grinding against you with slow, aching precision, it wasn’t just need anymore.

It was home.

“Mine,” Jey groaned against your skin. “You hear me? Always been mine.”

You moaned, threading your fingers through his wet hair, pulling him closer.

“Yours,” you gasped. “Always yours.”

The waterfall roared behind you, drowning out everything else — the past, the pain, the years you spent apart.

Jey kissed you again — slower this time, deeper. Like he wanted to memorize you all over again.

Like he needed to.

His hands slid along your waist, over your thighs, bunching the wet fabric of your dress up higher and higher.

You shivered but it wasn’t from the cold.

It was him.

It was the way he looked at you — like he was seeing something sacred.

Like you were still his whole world.

You were are still his whole world.

“I missed you so bad, baby,” he whispered, kissing the soft spot beneath your ear. “Every damn day.”

You couldn’t speak.

You could only nod, mouth parted, breath quick.

And then he sank.

Jey scooted down and pulled your legs over his broad shoulders, hands anchoring your hips, thumbs brushing lazy circles into your thighs.

His breath was hot against your center before his mouth met your pussy in a kiss that made your soul crack open.

You cried out softly, fingers flying into his wet hair, and he groaned in response.

His tongue moved with the kind of skill only someone who knows your body could offer.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t tease.

He worshipped.

And while his mouth devoured you, his hands slid up, cupping your breasts beneath your soaked dress, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you arched like you were offering yourself to the Samoan gods.

“Jey…” you whimpered, voice high and broken.

He didn’t stop.

The waterfall crashed behind you, the moonlight breaking through the spray and landing on your skin like scattered stars.

It caught in the curve of his back, the gold of his chains, the tremble of your thighs wrapped around his neck.

Together again.

No longer separate.

No longer yearning..

When your release hit you, it was quiet — no screaming, no chaos.

Just a whisper of his name, tears in your eyes, and his arms holding you tight as your body shook.

He rose again slowly, kissing the inside of your knee, your belly, your heart.

Jey pressed his forehead to yours, chest heaving.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “You still mine, mama. You always been.”

You nodded, tear slipping free, and he kissed it before it could fall.

Slowly, still holding your gaze like he was scared you might disappear, Jey reached down and pushed his black joggers down just enough — just low enough to free himself.

You caught the movement through the waterfall’s mist, your breath hitching at the sight of him — girthy, hard, glistening with water and anticipation.

He let his hand wrap gently around himself, as if even that moment was something private, something just for you to see.

He pressed closer, the body weight of him heavy between your thighs, and paused.

“Baby…” he said, voice breaking slightly.

“You ready?”

You nodded without hesitation, your fingers curling into his broad shoulders.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I’m ready.”

He kissed you again — slow and deep — while his hand slid down to guide himself to your entrance.

The first press of him made you gasp against his mouth.

Stretching you in a way that made your chest ache and your thighs shake.

That all too familiar stretch..

Jey grunted softly, squeezing his eyes shut as he pushed in slowly, taking his time, sinking inch by inch into you like he was terrified of hurting you.

Like he was savoring every second.

You clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck, legs trembling around his waist as he buried himself deeper — your bodies fitting together with the same devastating familiarity they always had.

When he was finally fully inside you, he stayed still — forehead resting against yours, bodies trembling, hearts racing.

Neither of you moved.

Not yet.

You could feel the rapid thrum of his pulse against your chest.

The tremble of his hands where they held your hips, grounding himself.

He was breathing hard, fighting to stay in control.

“You feel so good, mama,” he murmured against your cheek, “So fuckin’ good.”

You whispered his name like a promise, threading your fingers through his wet hair, holding him close.

He rocked his hips — just barely — the smallest movement, and it sent a wave of shivers through both of you.

Your eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it — the way he filled you, the way you stretched around him, the way he fit inside you like you were carved out for him.

And the way he waited.

Waited for you to move first.

Waited for you to say it was okay.

You shifted your hips slightly, and he groaned deep in his chest, pressing a kiss to your temple.

He moved again — just a little more, slow and careful — and your back arched instinctively, your body clinging to him.

Jey kissed you — everywhere — your cheeks, your mouth, your throat — whispering soft, half-formed words you could barely hear.

“My girl,” he breathed. “Always my girl.”

You didn’t rush.

You couldn’t.

There was too much..

Too much history.

Too much love.

The rhythm stayed slow, bodies doused with water and sweat and memory, neither of you rushing toward the edge.

Just feeling.

Just being.

Jey’s hands trembled slightly as they slid up your thighs, holding you steady as he rocked his hips into you — still slow, still deep — like he couldn’t bear to break the fragile thread of connection between you.

It wasn’t rough.

It wasn’t frantic.

It was devastatingly tender — an ache in your chest that only he could soothe.

Jey’s movements grew a little faster, a little less controlled.

Like he needed you the way he needed air.

He pulled back just enough to look at you — his forehead still brushing yours — his eyes shining under the fractured moonlight, wet with more than just water.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice cracking, “I’m not gonna last.”

You shook your head, chest heaving, pressing your forehead harder against his.

“I don’t care,” you moaned out. “Jey, just— just stay with me.”

A broken sound left his throat — half a sob, half a groan — and he wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

And then he moved —

Harder, faster — but still with that desperate kind of worship in every thrust.

The world blurred around you — the roar of the waterfall, the glint of the stars, the wet rock beneath your spine — and there was only him.

Only this.

Your release crept up slow but meaningful, pulling at your spine, making your thighs quake around his waist.

You felt his rhythm stutter, the man inside him fighting to stay in control, but he held on — held on for you — until you both shattered together.

You cried out, arching into him, every nerve-ending lighting up at once.

Jey groaned deep in his chest, voice breaking against your mouth as he followed you over the edge, burying himself as deep as he could go.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t wild.

It was achingly beautiful — the quiet kind of destruction.

The kind that left you reborn.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you moved.

You stayed locked together, breathing each other in, your chests heaving in sync.

He pressed his forehead into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped tightly around you like he was afraid to let go.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin.

“You’ve always been mine.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping free.

“Always..”

[theonottsbxtch]

THE COME DOWN PT 2 | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is not everyone's cup of tea and warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse and overdose, so if you're not comfy reading this, step back now! if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

wc: 3.8k

warnings: substance abuse, overdose and mentions of death

part one

The flat was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old pipes and the distant hum of traffic outside. She sat cross-legged on Oscar’s bed, wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smelled faintly of cedar and something else distinctly him. Her bag sat untouched in the corner; she hadn’t bothered unpacking, too afraid that settling in even slightly would mean acknowledging the enormity of what she’d done. Leaving Lando. Leaving everything behind.

Oscar was in the kitchen. She could hear the clatter of mugs and the low hiss of the kettle as he made tea, always keeping his hands busy to avoid saying too much. He had a way of filling silence that was considerate, like he understood she needed time and space but couldn’t leave her to drown in her thoughts.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She ignored it. It wasn’t as though anyone important would be calling her, and she couldn’t stomach the idea of hearing Lando’s voice, slurred or otherwise. The last time still replayed in her mind, a cacophony of anger, confusion, and shame. She pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and pressed her fists to her temples, willing the memory away.

Oscar appeared in the doorway, balancing two steaming mugs. His face was a study in quiet concern, his dark eyes scanning her as though trying to decipher what she wasn’t saying.

“Chamomile,” he said, setting a mug on the bedside table. “It’s good for relaxing. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “But, you know, just in case.”

She offered him a small smile. “Thanks, Osc.”

He stood there for a moment, uncertain, before finally retreating to the sofa in the other room. He hadn’t asked her why exactly she called him three nights ago looking like a ghost of herself. He didn’t need to. Oscar had always been like that—a safe harbour. Dependable. Steady. A friend.

She leaned back against the pillows, clutching the mug in her hands and letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The flat was so different from Lando’s. No art on the walls, no clutter, no hint of chaos or indulgence. It was simple and unpretentious, much like Oscar himself. For the first time in what felt like years, she felt like she could breathe.

But the guilt lingered, gnawing at her. She’d left Lando. Not just walked out, but abandoned him when he was at his lowest. The memory of his eyes, wide and red-rimmed, flashed through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry again. Not now.

The days at Oscar’s flat passed in a blur of silence and borrowed familiarity. She didn’t do much—couldn’t, really. Her thoughts were too loud, her energy sapped by the constant cycle of guilt, anger, and self-recrimination. Most of her time was spent curled up in Oscar’s bed, surrounded by the faint smell of his laundry detergent, trying not to think too hard about anything. It was a losing battle.

Oscar gave her space, which she appreciated. He didn’t hover or press her for answers, but he was always there, lingering at the edges of her solitude, ready if she needed him. Sometimes she found him at the small dining table in the corner of the living room, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

Tonight was one of those nights. She wandered out of his room with the cup of tea he’d given her. He glanced up when she padded into the living room but didn’t say anything, just offered a small, welcoming smile before returning to his book. She sat down opposite him, curling her legs beneath her, and watched him in the soft glow of the table lamp.

The book must have been gripping because his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned the pages with an almost reverent care. She noticed the way his fingers brushed the edges, like he didn’t want to crease them. She hadn’t seen him this still in years. But then again, she rarely ever saw Oscar now.

“Good book?” she asked eventually, her voice breaking the comfortable quiet.

He looked up, startled for a second, before the smile returned. “Yeah. Bit dense, though. I’m not sure I actually understand half of it.”

She huffed a small laugh, the first real one in days, and it surprised her. He noticed, too. For a moment, he just looked at her, like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and glanced back at the page.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t oppressive. She stared at the mug in her hands and her mind wandered—back to Lando, inevitably. To his voice, slurred and sharp; to the way he used to be, before everything went wrong. She wondered if he’d even noticed she was gone.

Oscar’s voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. “You don’t have to stay cooped up in there, you know.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“In the bedroom,” he said, nodding towards the closed door behind her. “You’re welcome out here, anytime. Even if it’s just to sit.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks.”

They sat together like that for a while longer, him reading and her lost in thought. It was strange how easy it was to be with Oscar, even with all the mess she’d brought into his life. She wanted to thank him, to say something to convey just how much it meant that he’d opened his door to her without question. But the words felt too heavy, so she stayed quiet.

Later, when the weight of the day became too much, she retreated to his bed again. She pulled the covers up to her chin, staring at the ceiling, but sleep didn’t come easily. She kept seeing Lando’s face, hearing his voice. Over and over, the same thought clawed at her—I left him.

The phone call came in the early hours of the morning, jolting her awake. She fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, her heart already racing as she answered it.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was barely a whisper, but she recognised it instantly.

“It’s me,” Lando said, his voice cracking.

Her stomach twisted. “Lando? What’s wrong?”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, his words slurring together. Then the line went silent.

“Lando?” she said, louder this time, her voice thick with fear. “Lando, are you there?”

Nothing.

She sat up, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew something was wrong. Her body knew it before her mind caught up. She stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where Oscar was sprawled on the sofa, asleep under a thin blanket. She shook him awake, her urgency spilling over.

“Osc, wake up,” she said, her voice shaking.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Lando. I think something’s happened. We need to go. Now.”

Oscar blinked himself awake, shaking off the haze of sleep as he sat up on the sofa. The urgency in her voice jolted him fully alert. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern.

“It’s Lando,” she said, pacing in frantic, uneven steps across the room. Her hands were shaking. “He called me, and something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but we have to go. Now, Osc. Please.”

Oscar frowned, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Wait, slow down. What did he say?”

“He didn’t—he barely said anything. But I know him. Something’s wrong.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped pacing, fixing him with a desperate look. “Please, Osc. We can’t waste time.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. He grabbed his keys from the table and pulled on his jacket. “Let’s go.”

The drive was a blur of adrenaline and recklessness. Oscar’s McLaren roared through the city streets, the tyres screeching as he ignored red lights and zipped through gaps in traffic that barely existed. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, clutching the edge of the seat with white-knuckled hands, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as though willing them to go faster.

“What’s his flat number again?” Oscar asked, his voice tight.

“Four. Top floor.”

When they reached the building, she was out of the car before he’d even fully stopped. She tore up the stairs two at a time, her breath coming in gasps, the blood pounding in her ears. Oscar was right behind her, keeping pace as she reached the fourth floor and darted to Lando’s door. She banged on it with both fists.

“Lando!” she shouted, her voice echoing down the empty hallway. “Open the door! It’s me!”

Nothing.

“Lando!” She banged harder, the sound reverberating through her skull. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening.

Oscar caught her arm gently, his expression grim. “Move,” he said.

Before she could argue, he planted a foot against the doorframe and slammed his shoulder into the wood. The first hit made it shudder; the second sent it crashing open.

The smell hit them first—a sharp, acrid scent that made her stomach turn. She rushed inside, her eyes darting around the dimly lit flat. “Lando?”

The bathroom door was ajar, and she spotted his legs sprawled on the tiled floor. Her heart stopped. “Oh, God.”

She ran to him, dropping to her knees beside his lifeless form. He was slumped against the tub, his head lolling to the side, his skin pale and clammy. An empty syringe lay on the floor next to him, and his breathing was shallow, barely there.

“Lando,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. “Lando, wake up. Please.”

Oscar appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. “Is he—?”

“Call an ambulance!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Right now, Osc!”

Oscar pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he dialled. She turned back to Lando, tears streaming down her face. She shook him gently, her voice rising in desperation. “You don’t get to do this, Lando. You hear me? You don’t get to give up like this.”

The operator’s voice buzzed faintly from Oscar’s phone as he relayed their location. He crouched beside her, his free hand resting on her shoulder, trying to steady her as she broke down.

“Come on,” she pleaded, her forehead pressed against Lando’s. “You’re not allowed to leave me. Not like this.”

The sound of distant sirens filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Oscar stayed silent, his grip firm but gentle, grounding her as she crumbled.

In that moment, a bitter realisation struck him—a knife twisting in his chest. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never truly have her. Her heart was still tethered to Lando, even in its shattered, battered state. And as he watched her hold the man who had hurt her in so many ways, he knew it would always be that way.

She, meanwhile, was drowning in her own spiral of guilt. She’d left him. She’d abandoned him when he needed her most. And now, seeing him like this, all she could think was, I’m the reason he’s here. I’m the reason this happened.

The paramedics burst through the door, their presence swift and efficient, but she didn’t move until Oscar gently pulled her away to let them work. She stood frozen, clutching the edge of the sink as they checked Lando’s pulse and prepared a stretcher.

“Will he be okay?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

One of the paramedics glanced at her with a professional calm. “We’re stabilising him. He’s got a chance.”

As they wheeled him out, Oscar stayed close to her side, his arm hovering protectively near her back. They followed the stretcher down the stairs, out into the crisp night air. She couldn’t stop trembling, her mind replaying the scene over and over.

For Oscar, the sight of her clinging to Lando’s hand as he was loaded into the ambulance was a final confirmation of what he’d already known deep down. He would always be the one standing on the sidelines, watching as her heart belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding her away from the flashing lights. “Let’s go.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut with a finality that echoed in the pit of her stomach. She stood on the pavement, watching as the vehicle sped away into the night, its siren cutting through the heavy silence. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her chest tight with the weight of too many emotions to name.

Oscar stood a step behind her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, the tension in his body radiating outwards. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew better. She needed space, and he wasn’t sure he had the words to make this better, even if she’d let him try.

Finally, she turned to him, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the city. “I can’t believe I left him.”

Oscar frowned. “This isn’t your fault.”

Her eyes snapped to his, the raw guilt blazing in them making him wince. “Isn’t it? I walked out, Osc. I left him. I knew he was falling apart, and I still…” Her voice broke, and she pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “What kind of person does that?”

“The kind of person who couldn’t set herself on fire to keep someone else warm,” he said softly.

She stared at him, her breath hitching, but the words didn’t seem to sink in. She shook her head, taking a step back. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love destroy themselves, to feel like you’re all they have, and then to just… leave.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know?” His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been watching you do it. For too long. Staying with him, breaking yourself to pieces trying to save him.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She just looked at him, stunned, as though the weight of what he’d said was pressing down on her all at once.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” Oscar continued, his tone gentler now. “But you need to stop blaming yourself. Lando made his choices. You didn’t make him drink, or use, or…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t make him do this.”

She turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold the pieces together. “I just keep thinking… if I’d stayed, maybe—”

“Maybe you’d have ended up in that ambulance too,” Oscar interrupted, stepping closer. He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “You did what you had to do. For yourself. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”

The tears came then, silent and unrelenting. She leaned into his touch, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile and precious. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, Oscar allowed himself to close his eyes and just be there for her. It wasn’t enough—not for her, and not for him—but it was all he could offer.

When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was a flicker of determination in her expression.

“I need to go to the hospital,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

Oscar nodded. “I’ll take you.”

The drive to the hospital was quieter, the urgency replaced by a heavy solemnity. She stared out of the window, her mind miles away, while Oscar focused on the road.

When they arrived, the harsh fluorescent lights of the A&E waiting room made everything feel colder. She checked in with the nurse at the desk, explaining who she was there for, and was told to wait.

Minutes turned into hours, and still, they hadn’t heard anything. Oscar sat beside her, his knee bouncing impatiently. She sat perfectly still, staring at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap.

Finally, a doctor emerged, her expression neutral but kind. “Are you here for Lando?”

She shot to her feet. “Yes. How is he?”

The doctor glanced at the clipboard in her hands. “We’ve stabilised him. He was lucky you got to him when you did. Another half an hour, and we might have been having a very different conversation.”

Her knees nearly gave out, and Oscar steadied her with a hand on her arm. “Can I see him?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“He’s still unconscious,” the doctor said. “But you’re welcome to sit with him.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and followed the doctor down the stark, sterile corridor. Oscar stayed behind, giving her space.

Inside the room, Lando looked small against the backdrop of wires and monitors. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a stark reminder of how close he’d come to losing the fight. She sank into the chair beside his bed, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

But as the words left her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered something else: You couldn’t have saved him alone.

She sat there for what felt like hours, holding his hand and staring at the fragile rise and fall of his chest. In the doorway, Oscar watched her silently, his face unreadable.

For her, it was a moment of reckoning. For Oscar, it was a moment of heartbreak.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence of the hospital room. She sat by Lando’s bedside, her hands trembling as they clutched his limp, lifeless one. He looked fragile under the harsh fluorescent light, a hollow shadow of the man he used to be.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there when his fingers twitched weakly in hers.

“Lando?” she whispered, leaning forward.

He stirred, his eyelids fluttering before slowly cracking open. His eyes were bloodshot, unfocused, but after a moment, they found her. Confusion flitted across his face, followed by something darker. Shame.

“You shouldn’t… be here,” he rasped, his voice thin and raw.

Her breath hitched. “Lando, don’t say that. I was terrified. I thought—” She swallowed hard. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, jagged and broken. “Why do you care? You left, remember?” His words cut, even though his voice barely carried above a whisper.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the words. She squeezed his hand instead, her own shaking. “I care because you called me. You called me, Lando. You could’ve called anyone else, but you didn’t.”

He looked away, his expression crumpling. “Should’ve called no one. Let it… end.”

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. You don’t get to give up like that. Not when there are people who still care about you.”

Lando’s gaze drifted past her, to the doorway where Oscar leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his stance, a sharpness in his eyes.

Lando scoffed. “Even him? What, are you here for moral support, Oscar? Come to gloat?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for her, not you.”

The venom in Lando’s glare was palpable. “Course you are. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Sweep in like a knight in shining armour, acting like you’re better than everyone else.”

“I don’t have to act,” Oscar replied coolly.

“Stop it, both of you,” she snapped, looking between them. “This isn’t about whatever history you two have. Lando, you’re in a hospital bed because you nearly died. Oscar, I didn’t ask you to be here so you could fight with him. This is bigger than that.”

Lando’s gaze flicked back to her, and the defiance faded, replaced by something brittle. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured. “I didn’t want anyone to.”

“Then stop putting yourself here,” she said, her voice breaking. “Lando, please. You have to get help. You can’t keep doing this.”

He didn’t respond, his face turned away. She felt her throat tighten, but she pushed on, her voice softer now. “I left because I couldn’t keep watching you destroy yourself. I didn’t want to, but I had to. For me. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. And it doesn’t mean you can’t fix this.”

Lando turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking with hers. “What if I don’t know how?”

Her heart broke at the quiet, vulnerable question. She squeezed his hand, her tears falling freely now. “Then let someone help you. Let me help you. But you have to try, Lando. Promise me you’ll try.”

Lando’s lips quivered, and after a long moment, he nodded weakly. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Behind her, Oscar exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. But when Lando’s gaze shifted back to him, the bitterness returned.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for this,” Lando muttered. “The great Oscar Piastri, saving the day again. Must feel nice, huh?”

Oscar stepped forward, his expression hardening. “This isn’t about you, Lando. It stopped being about you the day you threw it all away. The career. The friendship. The team. I stopped caring about you a long time ago. The only reason I’m here is her.”

Lando flinched, and she bristled, turning to Oscar. “That’s enough, Osc.”

But Oscar didn’t back down. “No, he needs to hear it. You’re not my responsibility, Lando. You never were. But you made her yours, and you dragged her down with you. That ends now.”

Lando’s face crumpled, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his hand over his eyes. The sound of his muffled sobs broke something inside her.

“Oscar, stop,” she said firmly, standing. She faced him, her eyes filled with anger and hurt. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the time.”

Oscar’s jaw worked, but he nodded curtly, stepping back. “Fine. I’ll be outside.” He walked out without another word.

When she turned back to Lando, his face was wet with tears. “He hates me,” Lando muttered.

She sat down again, taking his hand in hers. “Maybe he does. But I don’t. And that’s why I’m asking you to fight. Not for him. Not even for me. For you.”

Lando didn’t answer, but the faintest nod of his head gave her hope.

In the hallway, Oscar leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor. His heart ached with frustration and unspoken words. When she finally emerged, her face pale and drawn, he straightened.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be okay,” she said quietly. “He promised he’d try.”

Oscar nodded, his expression unreadable.

He didn't know how this was going to go, but he wasn't ready to mourn the loss of another friendship because of his old teammate's reckless decisions.

the end.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife@iimplicitt

[duckprintspress]

Buy Story and Art Bundles to Raise Money for Rainbow Railroad!

HAPPY PRIDE! For the third year running, Duck Prints Press is celebrating with all-new bundles to benefit charity. This year, bundles include 31 short stories and 8 artworks across three bundles – an art bundle, a general imprint bundle, and an explicit imprint bundle! Over the past 2 years, with your help we’ve been able to donate over $500 to three different charities; this year, we’re back and we hope you’ll join us again! This year, charitable proceeds will go (once again) to Rainbow Railroad. We’re also offering bundles both on our website and on itch.io!

Already convinced and ready to buy? Here are the links right up top for your convenience!

ART BUNDLE – duckprintspress.com | itch.io

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Want to know more first? Read on…

How This Works

you buy one or both bundles between now and June 30th, 2025.

we tally up all the proceeds earned and do some math-e-magic to figure out how much we’re donating!

before the end of July, we donate the raised money to Rainbow Railroad, we post the proof we’ve done so.

you get fantastic stories!

we all get that happy, glowy feeling of knowing that money has been well-spent on fantastic causes!

About the Press

Duck Prints Press is a queer-owned indie press founded to publish original works by fancreators. We’ve been in operation for almost 4.5 years, and in that time we’ve worked with well over 150 creators to publish eight anthologies and almost 150 other stories, from shorts to novels, as well as three substantial art projects (with a fourth, pride-inspired project launching in just a couple weeks!) – and we’ve got more on the works. The vast majority of our creators and their creations are queer/LGTBQIA+.

26 authors and 8 artists have chosen to include their works this year’s bundles. Bundle contributors voted, and we’ve decided to support again the same charity we supported last year – Rainbow Railroad.

About Rainbow Railroad

In countries around the world, LGBTQI+ people face violence and oppression simply because of who they love or who they are. Rainbow Railroad helps them get to safety! Rainbow Railroad is a global not-for-profit organization that helps at-risk LGBTQI+ people get to safety worldwide. Based in the United States and Canada, they’re an organization that helps LGBTQI+ people facing persecution based on their sexual orientation, gender identity and sex characteristics. In a time when there are more displaced people than ever, LGBTQI+ people are uniquely vulnerable due to systemic, state-enabled homophobia and transphobia. These factors either displace them in their own country or prevent them from escaping harm. 

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About the Bundles

General Imprint Bundle

16 stories! 222 pages/69,029 words. Price: $21.50 USD. Approximately half of the sales price for the General Imprint Bundle will be donated to Rainbow Railroad!

Princess Antonia del Montari, aka the Accidental Barista by A. L. Heard

The Problem with Wishes by Annabeth Lynch

So Much Braver by boneturtle

Unsafe Haven by Cedar D. McCafferty-Svec

Got You Covered by D. V. Morse

Troubled Trouble by Genevieve Maxwell

Ride On, Shooting Star by J. D. Harlock

A Thousand Hopes, A Thousand Risks by Kelas Lloyd

The Ending Line of Casablanca by Lucy K. R.

Going Dark by Max Jason Peterson

The Waiting Wife by Mikki Madison

The Deadman’s Gambit by Nicola Kapron

The Inscrutable Fate of the ISV Devotion by S. J. Ralston

Best Friends AND… by Tris Lawrence

In Fine Feather by Violet J. Hayes

The Lighthouse and the Sea by Zel Howland

Visit the bundle page to learn more about these stories.

Explicit Imprint Bundle

15 stories! 248 pages/86,593 words. Price: $24.00 USD. Approximately half of the sales price of the Explicit Imprint Bundle will be donated to Rainbow Railroad!

A Blessing Shared by A. L. Heard

Running Mates by boneturtle

sweet static by Cedar D. McCafferty-Svec

The Benefits of Consequences by Dei Walker

In the Moonlight by E. V. Dean

then, too, at sea by ilgaksu

What Monsters Need by Lyn Weaver

Hold My Reins by Lyonel Loy

The Fated Prince by Mikki Madison

Lust by Nina Waters

Tough Job, Sweet Reward by Samantha M. Piper

Escape by Sanne Burg

Dancing for the King by Terra P. Waters

Just Let Me Lose Control by Tris Lawrence

This Treatment for Chronic Pain has an Unbelievable Side Effect! by Xianyu Zhou

Visit the bundle page to learn more about these stories.

Art Bundle

8 artworks! Price: $12.75. Approximately a quarter of the sales price of the Art Bundle will be donated to Rainbow Railroad!

Ol��� Reliable by Aaron Kotze

Samhain by Aceriee

I want to be different. by Jagoda Zirebiec

Spark by May Barros

Snow Heart by Max Jason Peterson

april’s sweet showers by radicalhoodie

untitled (Mermaids) by swev.art

Chrysopoeia by Zel Howland

Visit the bundle page to learn more about this art.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for tabetharasa behind the cut; alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

Jazz has no idea why Red Hood thinks he smells anything but delicious, but there’s a very reckless and dubiously-ethical part of her that would be willing to prove it to him. Not that she would, obviously, because that would be, again, incredibly unethical and highly inappropriate and also a total dick move. 

She just could, that’s all. Just if it came up or whatever. 

“Well, it’s not,” she says, mildly put out by whatever’s going on here, and Red Hood growls. His scent blockers continue to be useless. Just–absolutely useless, yes. 

Ancients, he smells so good. What is she even supposed to do about how good this omega smells? 

Maybe offer to walk him home, or at least offer him her jacket so he has enough alpha scent on him that no one bothers him on his way back to his den. Although he’s a crime lord–or a vigilante? one or the other, whatever–who’s built like a truck, so that probably isn’t really a concern, she supposes. 

Then again, some people seriously do have no sense of decorum. 

Or survival instincts. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Red Hood snaps. Jazz frowns. That seems like a disproportionate amount of anger in his tone. Maybe he's sensitive about his pheromones. Well, if people have been telling him he smells like death . . . 

Though “death” doesn't necessarily smell bad, in Jazz's opinion. 

Admittedly, that's a liminal's opinion and besides the point anyway. But still. 

“Alright,” she says. “But can you get to your den safely? Or . . . somewhere you can den down, anyway, I don't know. I assume you have a headquarters or a safehouse or two, something like that. Or at least can afford a heat hotel or know a decent clinic.” 

Red Hood hisses at her. It crackles through his modulator, but the sound of it still makes her jeans a little . . . uncomfortable, she'll just say. Sue her, she likes omegas with a bite to them. Johnny 13 definitely didn't win her over by being the sweet and polite type; he won her over by being a blunt asshole in a leather jacket who'd convinced her that he was a sincere and straight-up person. 

She wonders how “sincere” the average Gotham crime boss really is, but it’s a little difficult to concentrate on that question with the scent of old books and burning cedar filling up her nose. And also that note of lilac. That note of lilac is a problem. 

A serious problem. 

“I realize heat drop is probably imminent and you must be uncomfortable, but it’s a valid concern on my part, given your condition,” she says, which normally she’d make sound politely disapproving but really can’t make sound any kind of disapproving right now. Again: the lilac. “So can you?” 

“Fuck makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my den?” Red Hood snarls. Jazz blinks; tilts her head. 

“Nothing,” she says. “What makes you think I was asking to go anywhere near it?” 

Red Hood–stalls, briefly. Jazz tries to be polite about how incredibly obvious a tell that statement was. 

Flattering, but incredibly obvious. 

“I mean, I'd be happy to escort you if you’d like,” she says. “Or lend you my scent, if you need it. But I'm not trying to presume anything.” 

“Fuck off,” Red Hood snarls. “Nobody escorts an omega like me.” 

“Do you think maybe you have some self-esteem issues?” Jazz asks. Heat is almost definitely making him a bit more volatile and emotional than normal, considering the kinds of things he’s been saying to her, but it still seems like a valid question. Being on their cycle doesn’t make people different people; just makes it a bit harder for them to censor and control themselves. 

Or a lot harder, sometimes. 

Judging by how strong Red Hood’s pheromones smell right now . . . 

Well, he might be having a harder time than he’s used to having, so far as “controlling himself” goes. 

Jazz certainly is, all inappropriate knotheaded puns aside. 

Do Poison Ivy’s pollens make cycles hit harder, actually? Or does the suddenness of the effect disorient or throw people off, maybe? 

Well, that’s a worrying thought, since Red Hood seems to be out here alone. 

“‘Self-esteem issues’?” Red Hood repeats incredulously, his pheromones briefly sparking with bewilderment. Jazz decides not to press it, since he might be feeling a little vulnerable right now. 

“Yes,” she says. “Is there someone you can call, if you don’t want an escort or to borrow my scent? I could wait with you until they show. No offense, just Park Row’s not a very nice neighborhood.” 

Red Hood laughs. 

“No fucking shit!” he says, spreading his arms. “It’s Crime Alley!” 

“I know, sorry, I just keep accidentally calling it ‘Park Row’ in my head. Still new in town,” Jazz apologizes. She assumes a crime lord would prefer his territory be correctly referred to, anyway. Seems like a thing. She knows standard humans don’t actually have haunts–even most liminal ones don’t, including her–but sometimes she does . . . well, not forget, exactly, but just . . . expect them to anyway, she supposes? 

She spent way too long in Amity, yes. 

Even without Crime Alley being Red Hood’s actual haunt, though, it’s still disrespectful to call it the wrong name. It’s still his territory either way, and she imagines someone on their cycle especially wouldn’t appreciate the mistake. 

“What is your damage?” Red Hood snarls, his voice modulator crackling threateningly as he visibly bristles, and Jazz catches notes of that electric and unexpected edge in his pheromones again. Still vaguely familiar, but still not quite what it seems like it should be. Just . . . 

Really, if she didn’t know better . . . well, she’d think he was liminal. But that seems like a very unlikely coincidence for her first week in Gotham, so . . . 

Then again, her life is her life. 

It’s not really the time to be asking Red Hood about his levels of ecto exposure, though, and she’s pretty sure they’ve both got more important priorities right now. 

“We don’t really have time to unpack all that, to be honest. You really do need to get home,” she says. “Or at least call someone to pick you up. If you go into heat drop alone in Crime Alley, I can’t imagine it’s going to end well.” 

Red Hood hisses. That might’ve sounded like a threat, Jazz realizes belatedly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, apologetic again. “But it’s not safe, is it?” 

“If anyone I don’t want near my ass tries to touch me, I’ll put a bullet up theirs,” Red Hood growls, low and crackling. 

“That seems like a lot of trouble when you’re on your cycle, though,” Jazz says. He’d have a body to deal with, and maybe someone would call the cops–well, she supposes it is Crime Alley, so maybe not . . .? But it’d be self-defense anyway, and if he is a crime lord, maybe he has people for that. 

Hm. 

She really needs to get familiar with this area as soon as possible, yeah. And just Gotham in general, really. Every city has its own idiosyncrasies, but Gotham is its idiosyncrasies. 

Well, so is Amity Park, of course. 

“I think you belong in Arkham, lady,” Red Hood says. Jazz feels like a Gothamite should be more understanding of someone taking supervillain attack side effects and hostile heated-up crime lords in stride, but apparently not. 

“Technically, you’re not wrong,” she says with a wry smile. She’d offer him a handshake, but that’s not really appropriate for an alpha to offer to an omega in heat. Especially not an unmated alpha, which Jazz very definitely is. “I start Monday. Jazz Fenton, psychiatric intern. At your service.”

Red Hood manages to very clearly stare at her without actually taking off the helmet. It's actually an impressive amount of expressiveness to get across, under the circumstances. 

Or there could be a touch of liminal empathy happening, admittedly. That's possible too. Especially with another liminal involved. 

Jazz briefly considers what knotting a liminal omega might actually be like if an empathy loop got established somewhere in the process, which is a lie, because what she’s actually imagining is picking up this liminal omega and showing him exactly how delicious she thinks he smells. 

Definitely inappropriate. 

“They will literally eat you alive,” Red Hood says. 

“I mean, there’s a risk of it,” Jazz allows, because nothing is a perfect guarantee. It’s just not a very large risk. Comparatively, she means. 

“You applied to Arkham on purpose, lady?” Red Hood says disbelievingly. 

“Oh, no,” Jazz says, shaking her head. “They made me an offer. Somebody read my thesis and liked it, apparently.” 

Well . . . “thought we should interview you for either a position or to have your file established for whenever the convictions start rolling in”, whichever. The interviewing psychiatrists had a range of reactions during her interview, she supposes is the best way to put it. 

Jazz really doesn’t think it’s fair to classify her parents as actual supervillains, but an increasingly long list of professionals has, admittedly, not agreed with that assessment. 

She can’t imagine what they would’ve thought if she’d told them about Danny, considering. 

Well, it’s not her problem if someone else is going to be close-minded about things like that. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to be pushy here, but are you sure you don’t want to call anyone? Or want my scent. Or . . . literally anything,” she says, gesturing a little awkwardly with her shopping bags. “I do get told my pheromones are pretty discouraging to unwanted attention, if that helps?” 

“Sure they are,” Red Hood snorts. Jazz tries not to look disapproving, given his compromised state. That kind of thing can bother omegas in heat, she knows. 

“That’s what people tell me,” is all she says. Obviously it’s not just the default parts of her scent that make it a strong deterrent, but as for the force of the emotions and claim she can put into it . . . 

Well. She just hears it’s “discouraging” to other alphas pretty regularly, that’s all. And also some betas, depending on their sexuality. And, um . . . well, a little closer to “catnip”, for omegas, but . . . 

“I’ll believe it when I smell it, knothead,” Red Hood snorts again. “Prove it.” 

Jazz isn’t sure that’s a good idea, considering–again–his compromised state, but, well . . . he’s clearly a strong omega himself, and maybe she’s a little miffed by him just assuming she’s lying about something like that, that’s all. She knows plenty of alphas do lie about their pheromones or even lay on fake ones, but . . . well, it’s hard not to wonder if he just thinks she’s a lesser alpha because she’s female, or because of how she’s dressed or looks or speaks, or just because. 

Her inner alpha doesn’t love the experience of one of the most gorgeous-smelling omegas she’s ever scented sneering at her worth as an alpha without even giving her a shot to prove it, either way. 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

[athena-xox]

UPDATE!!

I finally finished the timeline!!

Yay!!

For those who don’t know, I have been working on a very extensive timeline of eah including every single chapter from every book, every webisode, ever diary chapter and every special.

I’m not saying it’s perfect and if anyone wants to tell me that’s somethings in the wrong place I am totally up for criticism.

Anyways I’ll link a key here, just because it may be hard to understand. Because it’s so long I don’t think I’ll make a post explaining it, but if someone wants that I’ll be up for that.

Without further ado , I’ll paste the whole thing under the cut

- Shear terror (toh)

- chapter 3 (d. ginger)

- Light and dark (fgt)

- Snacky time (k&s)

- Pretty is as pretty does (asckl)

- Chapter 5 (d. darling)

- Cooking lessons (k&s)

- Mommy makeover (k&s)

- A fairy fitting (fgt)

- Chapter 3 (d. faybelle)

- Banned books (asckl)

- Overly perfect (asckl)

- Chapter 2 (d. dexter)

- Ugly duckling (ntv)

- Tower years (asckl)

- Chapter 2 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 2 (d. kitty)

- Chapter 2 (d. lizzie!

- Prologue (tsbol)

- Introduction (ouat)

- Cedar Wood and the end of summer (ouat)

- Ashlynn Ella and the mysterious woodsman (ouat)

- Hunter Huntsman and the forest maiden (ouat)

- Simply unquestionably perfect (tsbol)

- Briar Beauty and the jewelry thieves (ouat)

- Madeline Hatter and the upside down day (ouat)

- Dexter Charming and the yellow eyed changeling (ouat)

- Darling Charming and the razor eel (ouat)

- Lizzie Hearts and a home for the hedgehogs (ouat)

- Never touch the mirror (tsbol)

- Kitty Cheshire and the tricksy day (ouat)

- Chapter 1 (d. cerise)

- Apples tale 0-3:27 (series)

- Ravens tale 0-3:14 (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. blondie)

- Chapter 1 (d. briar)

- Chapter 3 (d. raven)

- Chapter 4 (d. maddie)

- Always doing in how it’s undone (tsbol)

- Chapter 2 (d. blondie)

- Chapter 2 (d. briar)

- Chapter 1 (d. apple)

- Chapter 1 (d. holly)

- Chapter 1 (d. maddie)

- Maddies chat with the voice (tsbol)

- Chapter 1 (d. raven)

- Chapter 2 (d. apple)

- Chapter 3 (d. briar)

- Chapter 3 (d. apple)

- Chapter 2 (d. raven)

- Chapter 2 (d. maddie)

- Chapter 2 (d. cerise)

- Chapter 4 (d. briar)

- Chapter 5 (d. briar)

- Chapter 4 (d. apple)

- Chapter 5 (d. apple)

- Chapter 6 (d. briar)

- Chapter 6 (d. apple)

- Chapter 3 (d. maddie)

- Chapter 1 (d. ashlynn)

- Chapter 2 (d. ashlynn)

- Chapter 1 (d. hunter)

- Chapter 2 (d. hunter)

- Chapter 3 (d. ashlynn)

- Chapter 3 (d. blondie)

- Chapter 3 (d. cerise)

- Ravens tale 3:15-4:30 (series)

- That dangerous word (tsbol)

- Chapter 5 (d. raven)

- Chapter 5 (d. maddie)

- Apples tale 3:28-4:37 (series)

- Ravens tale 4:31-5:40 (series)

- Chapter 6 (d. raven)

- Chapter 6 (d. maddie)

- Chapter 4 (d. blondie)

- Chapter 4 (d. cerise)

- Chapter 5 (d. blondie)

- Chapter 3 (d. hunter)

- Chapter 5 (d. cerise)

- Chapter 6 (d. cerise)

- Chapter 6 (d. blondie)

- Never after again (tsbol)

- Chapter 4 (d. raven)

- Chapter 4 (d. hunter)

- Apples tale 4:38-5:30 (series)

- The looming threat of legacy day (tsbol)

- Ravens tale 5:41-6:35 (series)

- Apples tale 5:31-7:27 (series)

- Chapter 5 (d. hunter)

- Chapter 4 (d. ashlynn)

- Chapter 5 (d. ashlynn)

- Ravens tale 6:36-8:29 (series)

- Apples tale 7:28-8:30 (series)

- Princely present (ouap)

Chapter 3 (d. cupid)

Chapter 4 (d. cupid)

- Apples princess practice (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. cedar)

- Chapter 1 (d. Iizzie)

- Chapter 2 (d. cedar)

- Chapter 3 (d. cedar)

- Chapter 4 (d. cedar)

- Chapter 5 (d. cedar)

- Chapter 3 (d. lizzie)

- Chapter 4 (d. lizzie)

- Chapter 5 (d. lizzie)

- Chapter 6 (d. lizzie)

- Chapter 6 (d. cedar)

- Here comes Cupid (series)

- Maddie in chief (series)

- catching raven (series)

- Beware of the glare of her fair hair (tsbol)

- A hot mess of wolves and screams and pastries (tsbol)

- Stark mad Raven (series)

- Chapter 6 (d. ashlynn)

- Chapter 6 (d. hunter)

- Cedar wood would love to lie (series)

- True reflections (series)

- The unsigned page (tsbol)

- A hero in every story (tsbol)

- Maddie bothers the narrator again (tsbol)

- Darkness scampering (tsbol)

- Her very name could cause an earthquake (tsbol)

- A horse of a different colour (ouap)

- Briars study party (series)

- The shoe must go on (series)

- Almost through the wall of briars (tsbol)

- Cute and cuddly things (tsbol)

- Plump red apple white (tsbol)

- Maddie pesters the narrator yet again (tsbol)

- Red paint on the wall (tsbol)

- A noticing game (tsbol)

- The undiscovered vault of lost tales (tsbol)

- Trouble with jackalopes (ouap)

- The horrible power of evil (tsbol)

- Born to wear it (tsbol)

- Going off script (tsbol)

- A tale of legacy day (series)

- Chapter 5 (d. cupid)

- Treading water in a well (tsbol)

- Prologue (tuota)

- Chapter 2 (d. holly)

- Not your momma’s fairytale (tsbol)

- Maddie annoys the narrator one last time (tsbol)

- Rewrite ignite restart (tsbol)

- Mysterious epilogue (tsbol)

- The cat who cried wolf (series)

- Prologue (aww)

- A spoonful of porridge (tuota)

- The day after ever after (series)

- In service of destiny (tuota)

- Maddie chats with the narrator (tuota)

- Just be happy torches and pitchforks (tuota)

- Maddie catches up with the narrator (tuota)

- A smile and a friend (tuota)

- Time to take off the hood (tuota)

- A children’s treasury of fairytale heirlooms (tuota)

Chapter 3 (d. holly)

- Maddie gabs with the narrator (tuota)

- Prologue (aww)

- The uni cairn (tuota)

- Banished (tuota)

- Such scullduggery as this (tuota)

- Wisp whispering (tuota)

- Maddie chara with the narrator (tuota)

- Blessed beast of terror (tuota)

- Fairyball (tuota)

- The opposite of quiet (tuota)

- The buzz of a spell (tuota)

- Smile like you mean it (tuota)

- Irrefutable evidence (tuota)

- Maddie pesters the narrator (tuota)

- Happily ever afters (tuota)

- Epilogue (tuota)

- Replacing raven (series)

- Blondies just right (series)

- Chapter 4 (d. holly)

- Chapter 5 (d. holly)

- Chapter 6 (d. holly)

- Chapter 1 (d. poppy)

- Chapter 2 (d. poppy)

- Poppy the roybel (series)

- Chapter 3 (d. poppy)

- Chapter 4 (d. poppy)

- Chapter 5 (d. poppy)

- Chapter 6 (d. poppy)

- Chapter 1 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 2 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 3 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 4 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 5 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 6 (d. duchess)

- Chapter 1 (d. ginger)

- Chapter 2 (d. ginger)

- Chapter 4 (d. ginger)

- Chapter 5 (d. ginger)

- Chapter 6 (d. ginger)

- Chapter 8 (d. ginger)

- Rebels got talent (series)

- Mirrornet down (series)

- Candy wish fish (ouap)

- Class confusion (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. faybelle)

- Chapter 2 (d. faybelle)

- Chapter 4 (d. faybelle)

- Chapter 5 (d. faybelle)

- Chapter 6 (d. faybelle)

- Royally ever after (diary)

- True hearts day (series)

- Once upon a table (series)

- Blondie branches out (series)

- O’hairs split ends (series)

- Birth order (toh)

- Ginger in the BREADhouse (series)

- A delivery for ginger (k&s)

- Kissing booth (k&s)

- Spells kitchen (k&s)

- Dumpty’s doubts (k&s)

- Science and sorcery (k&s)

- The desperate deal (k&s)

- Hocus pocus (k&s)

- Frog talk (k&s)

- Ms. Breadhouse to the rescue (k&s)

- Fairy blackmail (k&s)

- A wonderful wish day (k&s)

- A sleepless night (k&s)

- Frog forever after (k&s)

- Eenie Meenie (k&s)

- The golden rule (k&s)

- A non poisoned picnic (k&s)

- The princess ploy (k&s)

- The ever after swamp (k&s)

- Happy hopper (k&s)

- Chapter 6 (d. cupid)

- Beyond boring (asckl)

- Strong is as strong does (asckl)

- Dexters dilemma (asckl)

- The village smithy (asckl)

- The stress of being distressed (asckl)

- Gallant sir gallopad (asckl)

- Bad news betty (asckl)

- If the suit fits (asckl)

- Princely pox (asckl)

- A cry for help (asckl)

- Squire darling to the rescue (asckl)

- A charming confession (asckl)

- Questions and crisps (asckl)

- Marian by moonlight (asckl)

- Story one: The Spell (cc)

- Story two: Pied Piper (cc)

- Story three: Mad Hatter (cc)

- Story four: Red Riding Hood (cc)

- Story five: King Charming (cc)

- Story six: Snow White & EQ (cc)

- A damsel parade (asckl)

- A knight in dented armour (asckl)

- Happily ever after (asckl)

- Story seven: reunion (cc)

- Chef ginger (k&s)

- When in doubt shout! (aww)

- The lone tree on the hill (aww)

- Maddie converses politely with the narrator (aww)

- The tragedy of Aquilona (aww)

- A baby bandersnatch (aww)

- Maddie tried to just listen politely (aww)

- A twisted kind of wonder (aww)

- Wonder worms are a go! (aww)

- Storybooker share slam! (aww)

- Reasonably by accident (aww)

- A wobble of uncertainty (aww)

- Wonderland found me (aww)

- Trapped! (aww)

- Narrator takes a sick day (aww)

- Swamp juice in your tea cup (aww)

- Running from deadly terror (aww)

- Takes of wandering un-books (aww)

- More vorpal (aww)

- Yellow wallpaper (aww)

- The vorpal sword awaits (aww)

- Beware empathy! (aww)

- Hedgehog croquet (aww)

- A ruler of nothing (aww)

- Madness is life (aww)

- Friends would be aces (aww)

- Accidentally becoming friends (aww)

- Epilogue (aww)

- Next top bird (ouap)

- Kittys curious tale (series)

- Swan song (ntv)

- Royal roomies (ntv)

- Lizzie’s fairytale first date (series)

- A charming crush (ntv)

- The cauldron room (ntv)

- Rebel roll call (ntv)

- Duchess’s dilemma (ntv)

- A scoop of snoop (ntv)

- Madame’s message (ntv)

- Swan secrets (ntv)

- Duchess’s decision (ntv)

- Princess practice (ntv)

- Horse course (ntv)

- Hood’s house (ntv)

- Sweet Sabotage (ntv)

- Fairy dust feast (ntv)

- A house of cards (ntv)

- Broken hearts (ntv)

- Ravens room (ntv)

- A rebel revealed (ntv)

- Ravens ruse (ntv)

- Horsing around (ntv)

- The end is just the beginning (ntv)

- Chapter 1 (d. dexter)

- Chapter 3 (d. dexter)

- Chapter 4 (d. dexter)

- Chapter 5 (d. dexter)

- Chapter 6 (d. dexter)

- Lizzie shuffles the deck (series)

- The beautiful truth (series)

- Maddies hat-tastic tea party (series)

- Duchess’s swan lake (series)

- Cerise’s picnic panic (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. kitty)

- Chapter 3 (d. kitty)

- Chapter 4 (d. kitty)

- Chapter 5 (d. kitty)

- Chapter 6 (d. kitty)

- Thronecoming 0-15:44 (series)

And the thronecoming court is… (diary)

- Throne coming 15:45-45 (series)

- And the throne coming queen is… (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. rosabella)

- Chapter 2 (d. rosabella)

- Chapter 1 (d. darling)

- Chapter 3 (d. rosabella)

- Chapter 2 (d. darling)

- Chapter 3 (d. darling)

- Chapter 4 (d. darling)

- Chapter 6 (d. darling)

- Chapter 4 (d. rosabella)

- Chapter 5 (d. rosabella)

- Chapter 6 (d. rosabella)

- There’s no business like snow business (series)

- Best feather forward (series)

- Spring fairest (diary)

- Spring unsprung (series)

- Ashlynn’s fashion frolic (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. alistair)

- Chapter 2 (d. alistair)

- Chapter 3 (d. alistair)

- Chapter 4 (d. alistair)

- Chapter 5 (d. alistair)

- Chapter 6 (d. alistair)

- Save me darling (series)

- an hexclusive invitation (series)

- Chosen with care (series)

- Just sweet (series)

- Just sweet (diary)

- Through the woods (series)

- Baking and entering (series)

- Date night (series)

- Raven’s review (diary)

- Dexter digs it (diary)

- Driving me cuckoo (series)

- Faybelles choice (series)

- Chapter 1 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 3 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 4 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 5 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 6 (d. bunny)

- Chapter 1 (d. farrah)

- Chapter 2 (d. farrah)

- Chapter 3 (d. farrah)

- Chapter 4 (d. farrah)

- Chapter 5 (d. farrah)

- Chapter 6 (d. farrah)

- Wish list (series)

- Apple’s birthday bake off (series)

- card tricks (series)

- jesters wild 0-7:26 (series)

- Lizzie Hearts (d. wtw)

- jesters wild 7:27-8:19 (series)

- Madeline Hatter (d. wtw)

- Jesters wild 8:20-13:31 (series)

- Apple White (d. wtw)

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- Shuffle the deck (series)

- A Royal Flush (series

- A big bad secret (series)

- Rosabella and the BEAST’S (series)

- A letter to my dearest daughter (doaeq)

- The importance of evil (doaeq)

- Who deserves freedom? I do of course (doaeq)

- Shatter the mirror 0-13:19 (series)

- Tips and tricks to bring evil at school (doaeq)

- Casting evil spells (doaeq)

- Shatter the mirror 13:20-17:41(series)

- Note from darling (d. dragon games)

- Note from Holly (d. dragon games)

- Note from Poppy (d. dragon games)

- Note from Raven (d. dragon games)

- Shatter the mirror 17:32-24:47 (series)

- Care and feeding your dragon (doaeq)

- Evil rules

Hatch the dragons 3 (series)

- How to convince someone to be evil (especially if that person doesn’t want to be evil) (doaeq)

- Escape the forest (series)

- Battle the queen 0-6:50 (series)

- Hand over the diary mom, by raven queen (doaeq)

- Battle the queen 6:51-24:47 (series)

- The Evil Queen’s Unjust, Unfair Return to Prison (doaeq)

Moonlight mystery (series)

- Tale of two parties (series)

- Piping hot beats (series)

- snow day (series)

- A wicked winter (series)

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- Diary Entry 1 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 1 (tsdoaw)

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- Chapter 3 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 3 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 4 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 4 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 5 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 5 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 6 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 6 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 7 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 7 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 8 (tsdoaw)

- Diary Entry 8 (tsdoaw)

- Chapter 9 (tsdoaw)

- Watery witch (fte)

- Corals spell (fte)

- The legacy orchard (series)

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Meeshell comes out of her shell 0-0:51 (series)

- Tea trouble (fte)

- A pair of princes (fte)

- StoryTeller2 (fte)

Meeshell comes out her shell 0:52-1:21 (series)

- Above the waves (fte)

- Club day (fte)

- Down the drain (fte)

- Enchanted lake (fte)

- Sports day (fte)

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- Mirror beach (fte)

- Rescue repeat (fte)

- Out of hiding (fte)

- The true tale (fte)

Meeshell comes out of her shell 1:22-2:02 (series)

- Sugar coated (series)

- Meeshell comes out of her shell (series)

- Happily glees (fte)

Meeshell comes out her her shell 2:03-3:17 (series)

- Swimming lessons (fte)

- Thumb-Believable ! (Series

- What’s in the cards for courtly jester? (series)

- Croquet-tastrophy (series)

- Fairest on ice (series)

- Heart struck (series)

- Heart struck (diary)

- Bunny and Alistair forever (series)

- Diary Entry 1 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 1 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 2 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 3 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 3 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 4 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 4 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 5 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 5 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 6 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 6 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 7 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 7 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 8 (tsdorq)

- Diary Entry 8 (tsdorq)

- Chapter 9 (tsdorq)

- Wings and things (fgt)

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- Chapter 1 (d. melody)

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- Chapter 5 (d. melody)

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- Beanstalk bravado (series)

- Swinging for home (eahcyb)

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- Tri-castle-on (series)

- The Legend of Shadow High

[slippinmickeys]

The Unseelie Court (2/16)

Something about the mouth of the woods struck Mulder as they entered it—a kind of lonesome chill—and he reached out for Scully’s hand, something he normally would never have done on a case, particularly with local law enforcement loitering around. 

She looked at his hand for a moment, considering, and then reached forward to grasp it, her eyes flicking up to his. If you could lay your thoughts bare with only your eyes, he did so, trying to convey an earnest sense of the psychic dissonance he felt when he peered into the darkness of the forest opening. Scully nodded and squeezed his hand and they crossed the threshold between beach and forest, and then they were inside of it. 

The quiet struck Mulder first. There was no birdsong nor breath of wind; the space had the underwater feeling of a head cold. He looked up toward the canopy, expecting to see the tops of the trees waving against a matte gray sky, but saw neither—there was no sky at all to speak of, the tops of the trees interlocking as tightly as their fingers, so that all you could see when you looked up was a solid, green stillness. 

The vegetation that had lined the beach was all cedar and shoreline undergrowth, but in the cavern of the woods were more stately trees: beeches and hemlock, and at its center, one large, wooly willow tree, the yellow-green whips of its branches hanging down to brush the ground like some great shaggy head. 

“This doesn’t look quite right,” Scully said, the heat of her hand warming Mulder’s palm. 

“It doesn’t feel right, either,” he said, and for once Scully didn’t press him. 

The copse gave the impression of Atlantis sinking, of some verging, malevolent decline. It was dark where it should have been light: a penultimate place, somewhere you could only go once. 

“What are we looking for?” Scully asked, stopping to look around the cloistered space. 

“Evidence?” Mulder asked, for lack of a better answer. He wasn’t exactly sure. 

“The footprints don’t extend into here,” Scully pointed out, looking at the ground. She loosened her grip as she turned to inspect more of the forest floor, but he squeezed her hand tightly, overtaken by an irrational, unnamed fear. 

“I don’t know why,” he said, “but I feel like we shouldn’t let go.”

Scully gave him a long look. “That’s going to make doing the autopsy a little awkward,” she finally said, “but I’ll humor you for now.”

They walked a slow, concentric circle, looking for footprints or anything else out of place, but found nothing, eventually finding themselves back near the mouth of the forest. Then, from their right, just outside their periphery, there was a sharp glint of bright green light, like a camera flash, but when they both turned to look for the source, there was nothing there. As Mulder turned to Scully, he was suddenly struck by a memory of the night before, when he’d held both of her hands over her head, their fingers linked like they were now, her gasping into his mouth. 

From Scully’s sharp inhale of breath, she was maybe remembering the same thing. 

“Mulder, what—” 

Another bright glint, and Scully swallowed her words as Mulder led them both toward where he thought it had originated. There, just outside the border of the hanging willow, was a single golden coin. Keeping his grip on Scully’s hand, Mulder kneeled down to pick it up. 

“Wait,” Scully said, and Mulder paused. She stood and he crouched, their hands fused together, as awkward as Chang and Eng, and from her pocket, she shook out a small evidence bag. Mulder grabbed it with his free hand, turning it inside out so that he could pick up the coin with the bag before sealing it and standing. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Mulder said. Scully offered no argument, and they ducked through the bracken and out onto the shore. To their right, the lake rippled like fish scales; the rain had stopped. 

Up ahead, around where the body had been laying, there was a tent set up, and there were three Tyvek-suited techs kneeling amongst the sand, surrounded by a string grid. One looked up as they approached. They hastily let go of each other’s hands.

Scully checked her step once, mid-stride, but then resumed walking. 

“You the FBI agents?” the man asked. 

Mulder nodded, held up his badge.

“Where’s the body?” Scully asked, a hint of accusation in her voice. 

“It’s been processed and wrapped, ma’am,” the tech said, annoyed. “It’s waiting for you at the morgue.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look. They’d only been in the woods, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. 

Mulder glanced up toward the road, expecting to see the swarm of deputies, but only the fleet sedan and the CSI van remained, the rest of the roadside chewed up by tire tracks and rain, empty as fairgrounds in the fall.

“But—” Scully started, then stopped, looking off-put.

Mulder shot his left wrist through his cuff and looked at his watch. If they were missing time, he had no way of knowing. He hadn’t been paying attention to the clock. 

“Guess they work fast around these parts,” he said, uneasy in his own right. Then he handed over the coin they’d found in the woods and filled out the chain of custody form, using Scully’s back as a writing surface. He returned the pen to the tech and they both turned to go.

The ground as they walked was damp, but firm, and when they approached his car, there were several bright green maple leaves on the ground by the driver’s side door, as if the rain had knocked them from their tree’s limb. Mulder slid into the car, turning to Scully when she closed her own door. 

“I’m thinking I can drop you off at the morgue and I can get us checked into a local hotel. You have your overnight bag?”

Scully nodded, distracted, looking out her window at the crime scene techs. 

“How’d they get the grid set up so fast?” she asked, watching the team work.

Mulder considered his next words carefully. He’d wondered that himself. He was thinking ley lines, wormholes—odd, warped pockets of space-time. They had a victim who’d disappeared 26 years ago and appeared not to have aged at all. And then there were the peculiar coins in the man’s pocket; the iron. Of all the things he believed in, fairies weren’t really at the top of the list, but he was not one to discount anything, and one thing he and Scully had always agreed on was the adage: follow the evidence. That said, he could tell Scully was in a vulnerable place and it couldn’t hurt to ease their way in.

“Maybe we were in there longer than we thought,” he finally suggested. 

Scully turned to him, her look puzzled. “I guess,” she said. 

“So,” he hedged, then pointed at her. “Morgue?” He turned his finger on himself. “Hotel?”

Scully pressed her lips together and nodded.

[kheprriverse]

A very strange wolf, indeed.

An oddly perfect day for a Cedar post.

[maggore]

Flag 1 id: A square flag, styled similar to a 3 x 3 moodboard. It has black borders, with the squares being colored, from left to right, top to bottom; light copper, very dark red, dark carmine, burnt umber, off-white, bone white, dark coral, reddish cedar brown, and old rose. Moodboard id: A 3x3 moodborad, from left to right and top to bottom, the images are; a pixilated meat png on a black background, a dark red and background with tons of tiny holes, a pixilated meat png on a black background, a photo of a black cat editted to have 5 red eyes, a photo from the video Username 666, a white cat with red eyes there are two boxes zoomed in on the eyes and text saying "what do you see?", a pixilated meat png on a black background, several red question marks on a black background, a pixilated meat png on a black background Flag 2 id: A rectangular flag with 17 horizontal stripes, alternating between thick and thin. The thin lines are all colored black, while the thick lines are colored, from top to bottom; light copper, very dark red, dark carmine, burnt umber, off-white, bone white, dark coral, reddish cedar brown, and old rose /end ids

Mulvi666cat / Muligorcat — Mulviboard term related to the moodboard below- it can be used on its own, as a gender, as an allion, as a aldernic term, etc

Coined 11/22/2024 | Colors picked from the moodboard images | Moodboard source (link)

[Tagging] @radiomogai & @obscurian

[duskandcobalt]

Stargirl: Part Two

After a month of waiting, Azriel and Elain find themselves back in the kitchen to bring Elain's sexy vision from stargirl to life.

Ya'll know that SZA lyric "now I'm ovulating and I need rough sex" ?? This is that :)

You can read this as a standalone but if you did miss the first part, it's linked above xx

Read on AO3

4.6k words - explicit, 18+ pls

...

One month since she’d had that vision and Elain could still hardly look Azriel in the eye. In fact, she had taken to doing absolutely everything in her power to avoid him because even being in the same room as him for any longer than a couple minutes made her heart race in a way that she was sure would lead to her untimely death, immortal fae body or not.

She’d managed to suppress the memory of that morning, had pushed it just far back enough in her mind to allow her to carry out her day to day activities without remembering how he’d felt inside her. It had worked for a while but for the past few days, that stupid vision was all she could think about.

His scent was everywhere in this house, lingering in every nook and cranny - somehow clinging to her to the point where she could smell his rich cedar scent even as she lay in her own bed each night, trying to ignore the ever growing ache between her thighs. Much like she was doing right now.

 It was a different kind of torture - knowing exactly what it feels like to have sex with someone without actually having sex with them.

Elain drags her hands over her face in an attempt to regulate whatever the hell was happening to her mind and body. She thought hard, counted the days carefully… she was due for her cycle soon - had been preparing tonics with the twins to help ease the unbearable pain. She hadn’t noticed the first time she’d experienced her cycle in this body… maybe because she’d been in such a state following everything that had happened after the war that any shred of desire had been buried under the dark cloud that had seemed to follow her. But now that the cloud had lifted and she had clarity on her powers, Elain wondered if that primal need to be touched which she’d felt as a human on the days leading up to her monthly cycle hadn’t amplified in the same way as the pain. 

That had to be it. That had to be the explanation behind the intensity of the thoughts that had been plaguing her for the past three days. Thoughts so overwhelming that it was as if the floodgates had opened and all the images that she’d pushed back over the past few were hitting her at full force, all at the same time. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, had been pacing around the house like a mad woman - channelling her rampant energy into cleaning every surface in sight as if it would somehow simultaneously erase the memory of all the filthy things Azriel had said to her in her vision.

She needed a distraction immediately, needed to keep her body and mind busy.

… 

Azriel watched from the doorway of the kitchen, slightly amused and somewhat concerned, as Elain furiously scrubbed a rag over what looked to be an already spotless surface. He’d heard her storm down the stairs a little while ago. Her footsteps, usually near silent, had been so loud that they’d been audible even from the floor above hers. 

He couldn’t help himself when he rolled out of bed shortly after her, not even bothering to put a shirt on before silently making his way downstairs. He wouldn’t let his shadows take this task, needed to see for himself that she was okay. 

Elain’s hair fell in soft waves down her back, shielding the smooth expanse of bare skin left uncovered from the way her nightgown scooped low in the back. The cotton slip fell to just below her knees, the white fabric glowed golden from the light of the few candles that were scattered around the kitchen. The outline of her body was just visible through the thin material.

Azriel wasn’t stupid… didn’t need his shadows to know that she’d been avoiding him ever since that morning last month. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for any longer than absolutely necessary. The one time his fingers accidentally brushed hers when he passed her a dish at dinner just two nights ago, she’d blushed so profusely and fled the dining room almost immediately, claiming that she’d forgotten something in the kitchen only to come back empty handed a few minutes later.

 He might've found her behaviour funny if he didn’t miss her so damn much. 

Things had changed after that day, after those thirty seconds. He hadn’t realised how the quiet moments they shared had functioned much like his siphons - tempering the tension between them into something manageable. Without the outlet of their conversations, the tension had become unbearable. But even if missed her, he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t like he’d been able to get that moment out of his mind either.

She’d been making cinnamon rolls for him, explaining why she preferred to grind the spice herself when her eyes had glazed over and she’d stopped speaking mid sentence. Azriel’s entire body had tensed, dread flooding him as he prepared for the worst. He’d witnessed her have a few visions before and they’d always been dark, always alluded to something foreboding. Each time, the way she’d go completely still and her breathing would halt, made his own heart stall until the haze lifted and she returned to herself.

This time had been different. 

Elain’s breath had still hitched, her hands went slack and the rolling pin she’d been holding fell to the floor. She had gripped the counter with such force as if she was doing her best to keep herself upright. Then her chest began moving, the rise and fall of her breasts rapidly picking up pace as her eyebrows pulled together.

He was just about to get up and try to get her out of this vision and back to him when her scent hit him, that familiar honey and jasmine, but amplified - something even sweeter. He knew it was the scent of her arousal, had known it immediately but it was further confirmed when her lips parted into a pretty ‘O’ and a soft sound escaped them. His own body had reacted on its own accord to the noises coming out of her mouth only to be rendered absolutely useless seconds later when he heard his name and every inch of him froze in shock. 

“Azriel,” she had breathed, quiet but clear. There was no mistaking it. No pretending that she had said anything else.

The knowledge that she was having a vision about sex was one thing, but knowing that she was seeing him threatened to bring him to his knees. 

Even after she’d come back into her body, after he’d asked her if she was okay, even after Cassian had come down and Elain had fled upstairs -  all he could think of was how much he wanted to hear her make those noises again, how much he wanted to make her say his name like that. For a whole month now, all he thought of when he closed his eyes at night was Elain’s mouth - the colour of her lips. He wondered if he got her out of her dress, if her nipples would match the pink of her lips. If he spread her open, how would the colour of her sex compare?

… 

“Do you see dirt that others can’t with those powers of yours?” Elain jumps at the low voice, her hand landing against her chest in an attempt to calm her heart as she turns to face him. 

She hadn’t realised anyone else was in the house tonight. Feyre and Rhys were away at the cabin, Nesta and Cassian at the House of Wind. She thought Azriel was in the Hewn City for the night but he must’ve come back earlier in the evening without her realising. 

Her stomach tightens, her thighs involuntarily pressing together at the sight of him. He’s shirtless, tan arms crossed in front of his absurdly broad chest as he leans against the doorway to the kitchen. Those godforsaken sleep pants sit low as ever on his hips and Elain tries very, very hard to look away from the outline of what’s underneath them.

“What?” It’s all she can say, the word leaving her lips in an embarrassing squeak as she finally drags her eyes back up to his face. She crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly extremely aware of how thin her nightgown is when she realises where his eyes linger as they sweep over her.

“You’ve been cleaning more than usual.” He answers. “Even things that are already clean… like that countertop.” His chin juts towards the surface she’d just wiped down for the fourth or fifth time tonight.

“There was a… crumb…” She says it like a question, like she doesn’t believe her own lie. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” Azriel straightens, his arms falling to his side as he leaves the threshold and walks towards her, stopping just a few feet from where she’s standing. 

Elain draws in a long breath as she tries to make peace with the fact that he clearly isn’t skirting around the topic any longer.

“I don’t… I haven’t been…” 

“You said my name.” He interrupts her fumbling words. “You said my name and then you haven’t been able to look me in the eyes since.”

There it was - the answer to the question that had been haunting her all these weeks. 

She’d said his name. Out loud. 

She’d said his name out loud and he had heard her. Azriel knew that the vision had been about him and she could just about die from embarrassment.

“Tell me what you saw, Elain.” He takes another step forward and her breath catches in her chest. 

The sound of her name from his lips sends a ripple of anticipation through her along with a renewed wave of arousal that she feels high on her thighs. By the slightest flare of his nostrils, she knows he can scent it on her, too. 

“I can’t.” She shakes her head, looks away from his face and looks at his bare chest instead - studies the tattoos there. Another mistake. All she wants is to know what it would feel like to run her fingers over those tattooed muscles.

“You can.” Azriel’s directly in front of her now and the scent of him has her head spinning. It’s all too much to handle and perhaps it’s her hormones but the mortification of him knowing that she’d had a vision about him gives way to pure arousal with the proximity of his body to hers.

“Will you at least tell me if you liked what you saw?” He asks when she still doesn’t say anything. He’s standing so close to her and she’s so dizzy with need that part of her wonders if this is another one of the dreams that have been haunting her nights recently.

Elain nods slowly. Azriel hums, his eyes flicker with something she can’t quite place. He’s silent for a moment, his thumb tracing his full bottom lip. She wants to run her own thumb along it.

“Do you think about it at night? When you’re alone?” His question sends a shiver down her spine. 

She nods again, bites down on her own lip to stop the whimper that threatens to escape her.

“Do you touch yourself when you think about it?” 

“Yes.” Elain breathes - admits to him with that singular word that she often spends her nights in bed with a hand between her thighs, desperately trying to find relief from the ache that plagues her by imagining his fingers in place of her own.

“Show me.”  She gasps as Azriel’s hands land on her waist, fingers pressing into her as he lifts her easily onto the countertop before stepping back. The cold granite is a welcome relief against the burn of her flushed skin. “Show me how you touch yourself when you think of me.” 

Elain can’t believe this is happening. That her vision may actually be coming to fruition. She cannot reconcile in her mind that she’s perched on the kitchen countertop in her sister’s home, her nightgown hitched up around her thighs and Azriel - Azriel! - has just asked her to pleasure herself in front of him. Most of all, she can’t believe that she doesn’t even really hesitate before she slides the white cotton of her dress further up her thighs.

Her desire overrides the thought at the back of her mind that tells her maybe she shouldn’t be doing this. That she has a mate and even if it means nothing to her, that she should figure out that situation before doing whatever this is. But Elain thinks that maybe… maybe if she just does this once, if she allows herself this one moment, this one night, to get it out of her system then she can sort it all out with a clear head afterwards. That maybe if they do this just once, make her vision a reality, they can go back to how easy it was between them before.

She opens her legs just enough to allow her hand to fit in between them and traces a trembling finger over herself. Her cheeks burn when she feels how wet she is and that warmth consumes her entire body when she risks looking at Azriel and sees the hunger written clearly across every inch of him. Those blessed pants of his doing very little to conceal the physical proof of his arousal.

Elain swallows back any lingering shyness and circles the nerves at the apex of her sex twice before she slides two fingers inside herself. She watches as his hazel eyes flit between her face and the hand between her thighs, as if he can’t decide which bit of her to focus on. Her eyes close as she pumps her fingers, savouring the sound of Azriel’s quiet moan at the show she’s putting on for him. 

She drags her arousal up and over her clit, increasing the pressure of her fingers to match the pressure low in her stomach when she feels large hands settle gently above her knees. The callouses and scars are gloriously rough against her supple skin as he moves higher up her legs, one hand sliding in between them. His fingers brush hers - silently asking for permission. Elain removes her hand and spreads her legs wider, offering herself to him.

His eyes catch hers just as he slips one finger inside her. She draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of that singular finger of his stretching her more than two of her own. 

“I’ve thought about this for so long.” His lips brush her throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

She wants to tell him that she feels the same, that she’s wanted him long before she’d had that vision, but Azriel adds another finger and his thumb presses against her clit and she’s lost for words. His other hand pushes her dress up around her waist before moving down to wrap around one of her calves, bending her leg up so her foot is on the counter. He does the same to the other leg and Elain leans back on her elbows to compensate for the new angle. 

She’s unable to look away as he stands, eyes raking over her as he nudges her knees wider before bending down. His hands are back on her, one spreading her open while two fingers of the other sink back inside her and curl upwards. Their moans combine, echoing through the quiet kitchen when he lowers his mouth and gets a taste of her for the first time, his tongue runs flat up her centre before his lips wrap around her clit.

It only takes a couple minutes under the spell of his tongue before Elain is coming for him, her thighs threatening to close around his head. Azriel takes it all in stride, doesn’t let up until her legs relax and her hands are in his hair pushing him away. 

“Is that what we were doing?” He teases, pressing a kiss to the curve of each hip as he looks up at her. “In your vision?”

“No.” She pants. His hands are running over her thighs, up under her dress. His fingers graze her stomach, trace along the underside of her breasts before his hands are over them, palming them gently. 

“Tell me, then.” He slips his hands around her back, lifts her until she’s sitting up and they’re chest to chest. His face is inches from hers, his eyes lock on hers - he won’t let her look away this time. 

“We…” Elain can’t resist the urge to touch him anymore. She reaches out a hand, traces the black ink on his shoulder and bites back a smile when she feels him tense. “You had me… over the counter.”

Azriel’s eyes darken as he takes in her words.

Elain eases herself down until her feet are on the floor, her nails dig into Azriel’s arm as she stands on shaking legs. She looks up at him, presses her lips to the centre of his chest while her hand travels down between their bodies. She pushes the soft fabric of his pants down, feels the weight of his cock against her stomach through her nightgown. 

Her fingers wrap around him, her small hand barely able to encircle him. She looks down, swallows at the sight of him hard and leaking in her palm. She drags her hand up the thick length of him and tries to figure out how he’ll even fit inside her. 

“You can take it.” He must’ve seen the apprehension in her eyes when they’d widened as she looked at him. “You know you can take it.”

His fingers land on her hips again, turning her so quickly that she doesn’t even register what’s happening until he presses on the small of her back and leans her forward until she’s bent over the counter. His back hovers over hers, his lips drag along her shoulder and up her neck until his teeth gently close around her earlobe. “Is this how you want it?”

“Please.” Elain turns her head to look at him over her shoulder and pushes back into him, desperate to finally have him in her.

“So eager.” Azriel grins against her skin, pulling her dress back up her legs until it’s bunched around her waist. His hands are on her ass, fingers kneading into her flesh. “Spread your legs a bit wider for me.”

Elain listens, spreads her legs and pulls herself up onto her tiptoes to compensate for their difference in height. Azriel guides himself along her sex, coats himself in her release, and settles the broad head of his cock at her entrance. 

“If it’s too much, tell me.” He eases in, just an inch - pausing when she curses at the way he stretches her. 

“More.” She tells him, resolute. He’s barely even inside her and it already feels so good, the slight pain of her body adjusting to him only adds to the pleasure. “I can take it.” 

Elain turns her head to the side, sees the reflection of them mirrored in the dark window. She has the fleeting thought that maybe they shouldn’t be doing this in the kitchen, in front of a window where anybody could see them. The thought disintegrates when she watches Azriel sink into her in one drawn out movement until his hips are flush against her backside. 

He groans, somehow pushing in just a little further until there’s no space between their bodies at all and then he starts moving - gives her long, teasing strokes that has her anxious for more. 

“Fuck, Elain.” Azriel’s fingers dig into her hips and she prays that the imprint of them lingers long after this encounter ends. She wants the proof that this happened to stay with her. “So wet, so fucking tight for me. How am I supposed to hold back when you feel like this?”

“Don’t.” She pleads, pushes back hard against him to prove her point. “Don’t hold back.”

His teeth graze her shoulder as his hands settle on the counter beside hers right as he thrusts in again, the momentum sends her surging forward, cold granite presses hard against her nipples. The strap of her nightgown falls off her shoulder as her hands slam against the smooth stone to keep her from collapsing completely.

“Like that?” The hint of arrogance in his tone tells her he already knows the answer. 

“More.” She grits out. 

The assurance with which she says it is all he needs before he complies, picking up his pace as he fucks her. His lips move against her ear, talking her through it.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? To fuck you like this? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about the way your pretty little cunt would feel around my cock?”

Elain whimpers at his words. The language he uses causes her to clench around him.

“It’s even better than I imagined.” His pace is relentless. Elain’s nails scratch at the surface as she fights for leverage. 

She’s already close when she feels his hand land sharply on her ass, the sound of the slap coupled with the light sting forces a small scream out of her. 

“Again.” She demands, surprising even herself - she hadn’t expected that she’d like that so much.

“Greedy girl… you like it rough like this, do you?” His palm lands against her with a little more force. “Want me to fuck you so hard that you think of my cock with every step you take tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes! Harder, Azriel. Please!” Elain begs him.

“Fuck.” Azriel moans as his hand meets her ass again hard enough that her skin goes pink. “Say that again.” 

“Harder.” Elain repeats, waits for the impact.

“No.” Azriel delivers a particularly hard thrust as his hand makes contact with her ass for the fourth time. He rubs over the ghost of a mark that remains on her skin, soothing it before bringing his hand down again. “Say my name.”

“Azriel.” She breathes, attempting to catch her breath. 

“Louder, Elain.” The demand in his voice has her arching her back, trying to get him even deeper inside her.

“Azriel!” She moans, louder this time. His name from her lips sets him off, has him well and truly fucking her, hard and fast, just like she’s begging him to until she’s unable to do anything else except shout his name. “Fuck, fuck… Azriel!” 

“That’s it, Elain. Scream for me, I don’t care who hears.” She feels his tongue on her neck, marking her. “Let everyone know who’s fucking you like this, yeah? Let everyone know you’re mine. Tonight, you’re mine.” 

Sex had been fine for her previously, occasionally it had even been good, but this - in this new body, with him. There was nothing like it. It’s somehow better than her vision - every sensation that she had felt was nothing compared to what she was experiencing now. Everything had intensified. The sound of skin meeting skin was louder, the burn in her calves and core even greater. The weight of him on top of her was even heavier, felt even better.

The feeling is incomprehensible. The way he fills her, the friction of his cock sliding in and out of her sex. The pure pleasure that’s quickly building low in her stomach as he angles his hips up and brings a hand in between her thighs, circling her clit. The rasp of her voice, the way her screams echo through the kitchen - through the empty house - as she comes around him. It’s all so obscene, so perfectly right.

“Good girl. You’re so fucking good for me.” Azriel praises her, fingers still moving in soft circles against her until she relaxes around him, until her breath steadies.

Elain almost cries at the emptiness she feels when he abruptly pulls out of her, his hand lightly fisting her hair to pull her up and turn her around. Her nightgown is completely askew, her breasts half exposed to the cool night air. 

Azriel makes quick work of getting her on the floor, laying her on her back as he settles back in between her legs. She draws her knees up, wraps her legs around his waist, pulls him closer. He threads his fingers through hers as he brings their joined hands above her head. “I need to see your pretty face when you come for me this time.”

She wasn’t sure if she even could come again but she’s still so sensitive from her last orgasm that when he enters her again and hits that spot inside her at the same time his pelvis makes contact with her clit, her body goes taut. This release hits her even harder than the second and she cries out his name. It’s so overwhelming that actual tears form in the corner of her eyes. Azriel’s hands clutch hers tighter, pinning her down as his own rhythm starts to falter.

“I’m right there with you.” His voice is strained. “Gonna come so deep inside you. Would you like that, Elain? Want me to come in you?” 

“Yes.” Elain replies without an ounce of hesitation, her eyes burning into his. “Make me yours.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off him as he finishes, as his hips slam tight against hers. She studies the beautiful planes of his face, the way his lips form her name - commits to memory the way he moans it as he comes. He’s buried so deep inside her that she can feel the way his cock twitches as he fills her. He gives her so much of himself that she feels it drip down her thighs even before he pulls out of her.

Azriel presses a kiss to her cheek, carefully untwining his hands from hers as he sits back on his heels and kneels in between her legs. Elain raises up onto her elbows to watch as he brings two fingers between thighs. She lets out a quiet cry at the feeling of his fingers gliding over her overstimulated sex, collecting their combined arousal. 

When he brings his fingers up to her mouth, she opens for him. Wraps her lips around them and sucks. Their eyes are still locked as she licks his fingers clean.

“So beautiful.” Azriel whispers, withdrawing his fingers from her mouth. He cups the side of her neck with that same hand and lowers his lips to hers for the first time.

It should’ve been the last time, too. 

One night. One time. That’s what she’d told herself just a little while ago. It was stupid, really, to think that was even a possibility.

“Elain?” Azriel’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts and back to reality, as it alway seemed to do..

“Hm?” She hums, their faces are barely an inch apart. He pulls her up and into his lap, holds her close to him. Her legs wrap around his waist, her arms drape around his shoulders. 

“What’s your preferred cleaning solution because I think the counter might be in need of a clean.” 

Elain can’t help but laugh at the small smirk on his face. She’s amused but also relieved, so thankful that he’s back to interrogating her. So grateful that they can resume these easy moments and their shared laughter. 

“I’m partial to vinegar…” She bites her lip, her eyes flickering down to his lips. “But I don’t think it’s clean up time just yet.” 

“No?” Azriel’s unable to hold back his smile. 

“No.” Elain shakes her head, slotting her mouth over his for their second kiss. 

Once was never going to be enough. 

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

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Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

They arrived at Cedars Motel just after 9:30 a.m. The lobby was devoid of patrons, and its squalid conditions left little ambiguity as to why. It was the sort of establishment that would appeal only to the most desperate of passers-by—or those involved in illicit activities.

The owner was evidently aware of their target clientele. A digital touch display was mounted on a nearby wall, one of the few furnishings that appeared to have been purchased within the century. A roulette wheel spun on the screen, a blur of red and black, before transitioning into an image of two scantily clad women. They were locked in a provocative embrace, winking coyly at the camera.

The fluorescent pink of the advertisement clashed with the sallow yellows and browns that otherwise dominated the room. Nines muted the visual assault with a swift feedback adjustment, then turned his attention to the reception. Even the staff were reluctant to linger, with the front desk equally abandoned as the rest of the facility.

As he scanned the vicinity for a bell or buzzer, Reed wandered toward the digital display. With the urgency of a tourist on vacation, he dragged his fingers across a rack of magazines beneath it. This seemed an unlikely spot for their witness to hide, with it equally doubtful that any evidence would have been concealed there.

In a superficial attempt to 'inspect' something, the human pulled one of the publications from the shelf and brought it to his face. The calibre of material he had selected was no surprise. 

While the cover wasn't entirely in focus from Nines' current vantage, the bare skin and scarlet lace were unmistakable.

"Our perp sure has some refined taste…" Reed punctuated the remark with a snort, flicking to the next page. "Classy digs, don't you think?"

Nines held his tongue, desperate to point out that the current behaviour hardly proved any more refined.

Then, his systems alerted him to something: an unusual detail concerning the models his partner was shamelessly gawking at. The faultless smoothness of their skin, despite minimal photo editing and subtle flares of light which traced the contours of their temples.

> ENHANCING OPTICAL UNIT MAGNIFICATION…

> SCANNING DOCUMENTATION.

> SCAN COMPLETED. 

> PUBLICATION TITLE: ELECTRIC DREAMS — ISSUE NO. 226

> HEADLINE ARTICLE: 'Your girlfriend's jaw might get tired – but ours won't! - Why Android Sex Is Still The Best.'

It was curious that Reed had felt drawn to this particular publication, given the ample range of choice. One filled to the brim with artificial bodies—flawlessly manufactured to mimic intimacy, lust and satisfaction that was inherently false. 

Yet here Reed was, completely engrossed. His fascination with a dark-haired HR400 proved particularly pronounced, their already sparse wardrobe dwindling with every swipe of his finger. This continued until he was revealed in full, legs spread, striking a shamelessly evocative pose.

The detective made a low noise, somewhere between a hiss and a whistle. His vitals spiked, barrelling wildly out of control:

> ALERT

> RAPID BIOPHYSICAL SHIFT DETECTED 

> HEART RATE ESCALATION: 75 BPM → 115 BPM — TIME ELAPSED 2.7 SECONDS

It was clear that the admiration of his partner's physique had not been an isolated oddity. Reed found a certain allure—an excitement—in the temptation of something that should have repulsed him. Whether or not he consciously recognised this remained unclear. 

What was clear, however, was the gross inappropriateness of indulging in such material whilst on duty. The RK900 sought to correct this—on the slim chance that a customer might present themselves, witnessing the uncouth display.

"I would advise that you close your mouth, Detective." 

Reed's jaw, which had dropped a disconcerting distance from the rest of his face, promptly snapped shut. He glanced up at his partner, brows raised, protesting the interjection, "Are you seriously telling me to shut up? I hardly said anything."

"I wasn't suggesting that you 'shut up,' although it would certainly be a bonus if you chose to do so—I just fear you may have to pay for that item if you continue to soak it in your drool."

Irritation veered sharply into embarrassment. A faint flush crept up his cheeks as Reed hastily set the magazine aside, all but propelled from his hands. "Great. You've got jokes now. Just what I need." 

Sarcasm thickened every word, though Nines detected the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Some part of him, however grudgingly, had found humour in the remark.

The enjoyment was fleeting, buried by discomfort. Reed rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he muttered, "Let's just find the owner of this dump and get the hell out of here…"

Nines tilted his head, a hum of consideration escaping him as he filed the response for future reference. Strategic flirtation could prove beneficial going forward—seeking to redirect wandering attention, keeping his partner in line...

Experimentation would have to wait. For now, Reed was correct. They had more pressing matters to attend to, not being helped by the owner's persisting absence. 

The desk remained empty, with the staff door behind it tightly sealed. Nines doubted the flimsy plywood had muffled any part of their discussion; fledgling impatience exacerbated as it occurred just how unsavoury their current conditions were. 

Beyond the unsightly furnishings, mildew and rot crept up the aged plastered walls. Running a finger across one, the surface crumbled, falling apart like rotten pastry. 

"I agree it would be best to limit your exposure to our current surroundings. There is a dangerous concentration of fungal spores in this room; it could be hazardous to your health."

Reed clicked his tongue. It was clear that he'd wanted to say something—perhaps relating to the myriad of toxins he routinely invited into his body—but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he directed his focus towards the reception. A hand emerged from his pocket, encouraging Nines to take the lead.

The android was unsure if the intention behind this had been affability or idleness. Nevertheless, he accepted, his primary objective taking precedence on his HUD:

> LOCATE CEDARS MOTEL OWNER. 

He made his approach, studying the desk more attentively. Overturning abandoned letters and leaflets, clearing a path through the expansive debris, until the dull yellow flicker of an overheard bulb caught against something metallic. Partially obscured beneath a pile of unpaid bills, a tarnished call bell caught his attention. It was so heavily weathered that Nines was surprised it produced any sound at all when pressed. 

A shrill chime sliced through the air, utterly useless in achieving its intended purpose. There was no sign of movement, and Nines might have considered the possibility that the proprietor had expired—if it hadn't been for the vital signs detectable through the wall.

He pressed the bell again, this time with greater force, in line with a firm verbal address. The RK900 hoped this might inspire a greater incentive to respond—while simultaneously assuring that they were not debt collectors:

"Detroit Police Department."

"Whoever's hiding back there, they're deaf," Reed complained. He reeled from the unpleasant sound, hands pressed to his ears. "That thing is loud as fuck."

As though responding to the criticism, the unseen figure stirred. Biophysical mapping tracked their movement to the closed passageway. A silence descended between the partners until, at last, the soft creak of the door revealed their witness.

An elderly man emerged, ambling aimlessly toward the desk. It soon became apparent that his arrival was coincidental—he seemed completely unaware of the officers idling mere feet away.

SCANNING SUBJECT…

SCAN COMPLETE.

ANDREWS, WALTER.

BORN: 05/11/1965 // REGISTERED BUSINESS OWNER — CEDARS MOTEL LTD.

CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE.

Andrews hummed absently under his breath, eyes scanning the cluttered desk without any clear direction. He shuffled around, brow furrowed in mild confusion, until he appeared to find what he was looking for—an empty mug, half-adhered to one of the many scattered documents.

As he tilted forward, Nines detected weak feedback pulses emanating from his ears. Upon closer inspection, the source was identified as twin devices nestled beneath tufts of overgrown hair:

HEARING AID(S).

COMPONENT BATTERY LOW — FUNCTIONALITY IMPAIRED.

As spindly fingers reached for the cup, Reed cleared his throat. His fist was brought dramatically to his mouth, with his elbow pointed outward. Sunken eyes lazily tracked the motion, their ashen grey magnified by a pair of thick glasses.

Andrews responded as though the officers had materialised out of thin air. He jerked back, clutching his chest in alarm before fumbling to regain his composure. Readjusting the collar of his moth-eaten pullover, his thin lips pulled into a wiry grin. 

"Apologies for the wait, sirs." His attention flitted meekly between Nines and Reed as he offered them each a cordial nod. "I must have dozed off…Are you looking for a room? I have a King Size left—great rates."

"Detroit Police Department," Nines repeated coldly, hoping the man would hear this time. "Officer RK900, Serial Number 313 248 317 - 87, and Detective Gavin Reed."

Andrews seemed put out by the forcefulness of his tone. He blinked slowly, bleary gaze absent of comprehension. There was a twitch of movement in his mouth, calling attention to the deep-set wrinkles in the corners.

Then he hummed as though to indicate he understood the situation.

"Oh, right, of course. Are you looking for a room...officers?"

He did not, still labouring under the assumption that he and his partner were prospective customers.

The assumption was brazen, bordering on insulting, and Reed appeared equally stunned. His eyes widened, belatedly grasping the full implication of what was happening.

Nines might have teased him—suggesting that they consider the offer later, should he feel so inclined—but the required humour promptly deserted him. He leaned across the desk, inches from the perspex security visor that bordered the counter. His badge was pulled from his pocket and pressed to the barrier with an authoritative thud.

"Mr. Walter Andrews, your assessment of this situation is deeply misguided. We have no interest in a room. We are here on professional matters."

The hotelier's strained smile vanished, wiped cleanly from his face as his sallow complexion deepened. Desperately, he scrambled to mitigate the fallout of his mistake. 

"I-I'm very sorry to have caused offence! I thought perhaps you were doing a role-play and wanted me to go along with it. It happens more often than you'd—I didn't actually think you were—"

Fortunately, the android was not made to interrupt the blathering. It was unclear how much more scrutiny the man's weak constitution could bear. His partner took charge, stepping forward with a huff of exasperation.

"TMI, buddy." He joined Nines by the perspex divider, offering Andrews an out with a smooth redirection. "We want to know if anyone suspicious checked in on the night of January 13th—think you can help us with that?"

Andrews seemed relieved, swallowing a nervous breath that had lodged in his throat. He ran a hand distractedly over the unkempt stubble on his chin as he tried to recall the date in question.

"Well, most folks who check in here are a little... suspicious," he muttered, his tone shifting back to apprehension as a spike in his heart rate betrayed his unease. "Nothing illegal, mind you! Drunk businessmen, ladies of the night...that sort of thing."

> WITNESS PROFILE UPDATING…

> ANDREWS, WALTER.

> CRIMINAL RECORD: NONE. 

> MAINTAINING PREMISES FOR CRIMINAL ACTIVITY (SUSPECTED)—FURTHER INVESTIGATION REQUIRED.

"Prostitution is not permissible in Michigan, so the arrangements you have described are indeed illegal." Nines dismissed the witness summary from his HUD, optical units refocusing. "Not that it is of immediate concern. The individual we are looking for would have been alone. Do you have any check-in records that we may review?"

"Well, yes, of course, I do…but I wouldn't usually share them. Customer confidentiality and all."

It seemed convenient that Andrews was now concerned with legal technicalities. 

His thumping pulse rate continued to escalate as he made a superficial adjustment to his eyewear. "Mind telling me what this is about, officers?"

"It concerns a homicide," the RK900 informed. "This information may be critical in assisting our investigation. Your cooperation is appreciated."

"Homicide? As in murder?" The man spluttered. His hoarse tone raised several octaves, cracking unpleasantly, as he clutched at the front of his stained sweater. "I haven't heard anything about that. Is it public knowledge?"

"The story has been broadcasted on several networks."

"Was it a man? A woman? God, my niece Julie would've been out that day. She's only eighteen and such a dainty thing. It just kills me to think that something might have happened—"

The inane drivel grated against his acoustic modulators. Had the man not been so visibly frail—and the divider not present—the RK900 may have felt inclined to throttle him.

"Mr. Andrews." 

"I'm looking at a screen most days and nights. Except when checking guests in—or driving Julie home—"

That said, the flimsy plastic hardly provided any real protection. The android was confident that he'd have no issues scaling past it.

Or breaking through.

"—She helps out with the cleaning on Fridays, you see. I would think I would have heard if something like that had—" 

"It was an android." Nines interrupted, resisting his more violent inclinations in favour of raising his voice. "The records, please."

The torrent of verbal excrement halted. Andrews' attitude had shifted, the mania tapering as tension eased from his hunched shoulders. He spoke with an airy quality, almost like a sigh, as though the added context brought tremendous relief. "Oh, oh yes, that's—"

Then, trepidation returned to his eyes as they met with a disapproving glower. It seemed to dawn on him that this stance may have been ill-advised when addressing this particular officer.

"W-Well…that's a shame, isn't it?" he quickly backpedalled, his lips sputtering like a faulty motor. "I mean… It's very…"

His words trailed off, the stench of uncertainty mingling with the room's heady must. His gaze flitted desperately to Reed, silently pleading for support.

The detective ignored him, staring fixedly at the cork noticeboard above his head.

"…Sad," Andrews finished weakly. 

He then turned to busy himself, hobbling along his workstation and sifting through mountainous piles of junk. Eventually, he craned to reach something haphazardly propped on a stack of boxes—a leather-bound ledger with a bent spine, the word 'Guests' embossed in neat script on its cover.

He wiped it with the back of his loosely draped sleeve, brushing off some residual grime before sliding it beneath the plastic partition to the android.

Nines yanked it roughly towards him, prying it from the tips of outstretched fingers. He set it on the desk and started flipping through the pages. Must and dirt filled his nostrils, intensifying the further he progressed—until he halted at entries relevant to their investigation.

He analysed the check-ins, isolating those that aligned most closely with their developing timeline of events. Unsurprisingly, many of the names appeared aliases, as cross-checking local housing databases yielded few results.

Handwriting samples were equally unhelpful. Their culprit had gone to great lengths to disguise his penmanship, with none of the writing resembling the threatening messages at the crime scenes.

The RK900 leaned closer, studying every scrawl and ink blot in meticulous detail, willing them to reveal something. Given their target's penchant for riddles—and taunting law enforcement—it was almost certain he had left them a message: 

> ACCESSING SUSPECT PROFILE

> SEARCH PARAMETERS: COMMUNICATION PATTERNS. 

> ANALYSING…

> LINK(S) ESTABLISHED: MORALISTIC EXTREMISM — ASSERTION OF TRADITIONAL IDEALS — RELIGIOUS/SPIRITUAL REFERENCES. 

He placed these criteria at one end of his neural pathway as he sought to establish the next point of deduction. Assembling the scattered fragments of his reasoning into something sensical.

> KNOWN ALIASES — THOD GRAWS. 

> ASSESSING FOR HIDDEN CODES AND MEANING...

> DETERMINING POSSIBLE SYSTEMS.

> PROBABLE RESULTS:

> ANAGRAM, CAESAR CIPHER — USAGE: COMMON IN ENCODED COMMUNICATIONS.

> APPLYING SEARCH CRITERIA 1...

> GENERATING RESULTS

In the background, he was vaguely attuned to Andrews and Reed conversing, though the details escaped him. The letters shifted in multiple directions, ordered and reordered in rapid succession. They became a frenzied blur of movement as results tallied on the right-hand side of his optics:

> GHOST WARD.

> WART HOGS.

> DAGS THROW.

This continued until one in particular struck as significant—connecting seamlessly to the established criteria—and he promptly suspended the search.

> GODS WRATH. 

He stared at the phrase. The neat diagnostic typeface gnawed at his thoughts, filling him with a complex mixture of hopefulness and foreboding. 

Dismissing all superfluous data from his conscious view, he redirected his focus back to the book in front of him. Its blotched, yellowed pages were now perceived through a new lens of clarity, the threads of logic weaving together as he repeated the same deductive process.

The name practically leapt from the page, its letters joining those that swarmed like locusts in the enclaves of his mind:

> HANS STIVER.

Nines recorded a snapshot of the text, storing it with the rest of their evidence before pulling back sharply. 

"He was here."

The motion startled Reed, and it took a moment for him to process the words. As their meaning sank in, the defensive tension drained from his shoulders. 

"...You're kidding me." He lunged forward, palms slapped onto either side of the sign-in book. "This guy was seriously dense enough to use 'Thod Graws' in two different places?"

"He didn't use the same name," Nines clarified, noting the confusion knitting between the human's brows the longer he squinted at the pages. "But he may as well have done."

He then looked to Andrews, who appeared dismayed to be the renewed centre of attention. The RK dismissed this, pressing a finger to the guestbook and urging him to look. 

"Do you remember this man?"

Reluctant to argue, the hotelier leaned forward, obediently studying the page. It was a struggle, given his already impaired eyesight, exacerbated by the numerous spots of grime on the perspex. 

"Who, Hans?" he asked pensively, his mouth curled into a frown. "He was a strange one. I couldn't get two words out of him. Paid with cash and went straight to his room." 

"Do you remember what he looked like? This may be of crucial importance. I implore you to think carefully."

"It was raining that night. He came in wearing a hood and refused to pull it down…" Andrews' lips pulled inwards, although Nines was confident he'd heard some muttered beratement about 'the youth of today.' 

"I asked if he had an ID, but he said he'd left it at home—I never got a good look at his face."

Emerging optimism strained as the android encountered an impasse. He searched for a way around it, adapting his approach to draw whatever he could from the spotty witness account:

> ACCESSING CASE EVIDENCE...

Images blossomed in his peripherals, creeping forward until they formed a scrolling banner across his visual scope. He studied them closely, searching for potential identifiers that might jog Andrews' memory…

Reed was faster, gleefully seizing the opportunity to outpace him. His tone carried preemptive confidence as if he already knew the answer:

"Let me guess. He was wearing a black raincoat?" 

Andrews reeled back, his bulging eyes and gaping mouth speaking volumes about the accuracy of this assessment. "W-Well, yes, actually, I believe so—but how did you—"

"Psychic," The detective quipped before retrieving a tattered notebook from his jacket. 

Flipping through the pages, he passed through droves of illegible scrawlings and crude sketches until he landed on a blank sheet. Fishing a well-chewed pen from the ring binds, he poised to take a statement.

"Who was on the desk the following morning? Anyone who might have seen him check out?"

The initiative had been unexpected—and was not strictly unnecessary, given the RK's ability to record and transcribe audio feedback in real-time. Nonetheless, he allowed Reed to proceed, indulging in his perceived victory.

He listened along, prepared to field any gaps in the account:

"Well, I was here all day, but…" Andrews faltered, cheeks tinged with embarrassment. Slowly, he gestured to a small metal panel mounted on the far wall, a slot cut in the centre. "I have a drop box for early morning checkouts. Got to sleep sometime, you know?"

> ANDREWS DID NOT SEE THE SUSPECT LEAVE.

> RECALCULATING APPROACH…

> SUGGESTION: ESTABLISH OTHER POSSIBLE WITNESSES.

"Does anybody else work here, or is it just you?" Reed asked, surprisingly in sync with Nines' own neural processes.

"I mean, there's Julie. I did tell you about Julie, right?"

No words passed between the partners, though the android could sense a mutual disdain developing for the tangent.

"She's a lovely girl, always helping me out, going to college in September. Sharp as a tack, that one. I could ask if maybe she saw—"

Reed was the first to break. He shoved the notebook back into his pocket with a groan, mostly unused. "You know what? Never mind…"

Nines resumed the lead, reluctant to leave empty-handed after the profound feat of mental endurance that had carried them this far.

"Would you have any CCTV records from the night in question?" 

"Well, I've got the camera up there…" Andrews gestured to the corner of the room with a weak flourish that failed to inspire confidence. "But it's grainy as sin. You can't make out anything but blurs and squiggles. I'm not sure what good it'll be."

"Regardless of its quality, a copy of the footage would be appreciated." Nines straightened his back authoritatively, eager to conclude the mind-numbing exchange. "We can analyse it ourselves to determine its usefulness."

"Well, I wouldn't know how to make a copy, but I can give it a go…never got to grips with this newfangled technology. If you ask me, it just makes everything more confusing."

Nines hummed, glossing over what could have easily been taken as another insult. It seemed pointless, seeking to educate a man teetering on the brink of senile dementia. Instead, he lifted his hand, retracting the skin to expose the chassis beneath—a quiet demonstration of what, precisely, his 'newfangled technology' was capable of.

"If you could show me to the hub, I will be able to download the data myself."

"Oh, right, yes, I forgot that you—uh—" Andrews fumbled, reassessing his words before he said anything else potentially contentious. Or got himself arrested. "That androids could do that."

With a stiff nod, he opened the bolted gate beside the desk and slid it back obligingly.

"This way, please."

While he had hoped Andrews' assessment was a consequence of technological ineptitude, the man had proved frustratingly correct. Nines reviewed the security footage as they stepped onto the street but found himself unable to decipher anything but mangled contortions of pixels.

"So much for a quick in and out," Reed complained, groaning loudly. "If I had to listen to another word about 'lovely Julie,' I was going to blow my brains out."

Nines huffed at the theatrics, his amusement growing as he watched Reed recoil from the cold. His chin was buried in his jacket, nose peeking over the zipper. 

"Perhaps you were too dismissive—this Julie could have been a valuable witness."

"That seems pretty unlikely." 

"I don't know, Detective. I hear she's rather sharp."

Then Reed's irritation faltered. He leaned back, exhaling a rogue chuckle into the air, the sound carrying like smoke until it vanished. 

"Seriously, did you download a sense of humour? Because you are full of them today."

"Nothing I have said has been in jest," the RK countered. It was a selective truth, punctuated by a light shrug. "I am simply being transparent."

"Surprised you didn't rip that guy a new one the second he started spewing useless bullshit. I thought you were designed to intimidate."

> Do not be mistaken, Detective. I was highly tempted. 

He relented from vocalising this particular cognitive strand, maintaining an appropriate degree of professionalism. "I was designed to intimidate criminals, not harass civilians. Well, that, and also to—"

His voice was claimed from him.

Its absence was jarring and unceremonious as the world around them was plunged into darkness.

Nightfall had arrived without warning, and Nines was forced to scramble through it, unable to see anything ahead. Then, like the beam of a torch, a set of large, fearful eyes cut through the shadows.

“̸̾͜"N̷̲͍͒͑͌̌̕9̵͙̀̉̌́̒͝—̸̮̪̐

̵̠̈

̵̹̳͈͈̱̹̉̉̽͗̓P̴̺͈̠̬̙͌̀/̵̗̺͎͈̲͈̿͑̇̾̽͌#̷̡̛͔͍̪͓̥̄͒̚͠@̸̪̘̮͚̈́̈́s̴̿̃́̂̈͝ͅ#̸̺͚͇͈̅͑͂͊̌̏ ̷̩̠̐d̵̜̠͎̪͚̍̔́͝͠9̸̳̲̥̺̔͊̈̕ń̴͈̝͠5̶̭̥̅—̸͕̍͊̒͘”̶̔̂̿͐͝"

̴̦̅

̴̘̻́͑̓͒͘

̵̢̩̜̱͕͐̅͛ͅ>̷̡͚̄ ̵̳͉̗̈́̌̓͝E̷̽͜X̷͉͓̂ͅẸ̷̛̥͋̈́̆̽C̵̳̩̽̉̎̋̏̑U̸̩̖̐͗̕T̶̪͇̫̗̪̼͆Ë̵̻́̇̊͝

Blue.

It flooded his sightless gaze—a chaotic kaleidoscope of pixels—until it coagulated and dripped in thick, viscous lines down his hands.

The liquid slipped from his splayed fingers, pooling at his feet, dripping until each trace was gone, and the puddles faded from view.

Invisible to all who looked, but with stains that permeated his skin. Remaining there forever, visible only to him.

"...Nines…?"

A flash of light and day returned. The android reeled back, clutching his temple, blinking in the harsh winter sun.

Reed was staring at him, his hand offering some protection from the oppressive rays as it waved inches from his face.

"You're not glitching on me, are you?"

The lingering tendrils of his nightmare taunted him. Skating across his arms and legs, threatening to tighten their hold and drag him back into the void.

Then they receded, and he was safe—for now—able to press ahead.

"I am not," he lied evenly, hoping his performance indicator would not betray him. "My diagnostics indicate that I am functioning normally."

"Right," Reed spoke flatly, his tone brimming with scepticism. 

For a moment, it seemed he might relent, allowing the matter to rest. This was before he proved steadfast in his commitment to privacy invasion.

"...Are you sure? You're acting twitchy."

"If I were experiencing a fault that may inhibit this investigation, I would certainly be aware of it." 

Even with the efforts to conceal his deceit, Nines couldn't hide the spidering cracks in his facade—ones that Reed pounced on with irritating precision.

Perhaps it was juvenile to bemoan this ability, given the man's profession, but Nines couldn't bring himself to care. His priority was ending the unwelcome scrutiny as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps it is best we focus on that rather than the intricacies of my program, which I can assure are beyond your comprehension."

Reed hissed through his teeth, the sound teetering between offence and mockery. "Jesus, okay, touchy much?" 

The RK900 refused to dignify this with a response. He trusted his partner must have retained some of what had been discussed the previous day—the limitations of his program, including his scant tolerance for matters he did not wish to discuss.

Reed ultimately relented. He kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk, scowling bitterly—a petulant child who had failed to get his way. 

"Fine. If you wanna talk business, what did you mean when you said our guy 'may as well' have used the same name? Because I checked those sign-ins, and I didn't see anything close to 'Thod Graws.'"

"Our culprit is fond of codes." Nines' attention flitted briefly to the data he had collated in the motel before returning to his partner. "His preferred method for alias generation appears to be anagrams. When reordered, Thod Graws translates to God's Wrath. This new name, Hans Stiver, has similar connotations."

Reed frowned, pausing to retrieve his forgotten notebook. With a grunt, he scrawled out the name. His brow furrowed as he bent over the page, letters scratched out and reordered, frustration simmering beneath his focus.

Minutes passed before his posture stiffened. His hunched shoulders snapped straight as a spark of realisation lit up his ruminative gaze.

"Holy shit, you're right."

The confirmation wasn't necessary. Nines had run multiple self-tests to finalise his computation. Still, a small sense of satisfaction came from having his findings validated.

"Your computer brain got anything for that gibberish from the other day?" Reed asked, lifting his eyes from the papers, genuinely curious. "The weird binary shit?"

"It wasn't binary. Had it been, I would have deciphered it instantaneously—" 

Nines fought to maintain his composure, but hints of resentment slipped through. Heat crept across his face as his core temperature steadily rose.

"Truthfully, I'm unsure of the system used. While I possess advanced deductive capabilities, code decryption is not one of my primary functions. An oversight on Cyberlife's part, perhaps."

"Yeah, I'll say. What kind of detective bot doesn't have a built-in code breaker?"

The comment tightened his jaw, far from appreciative of Reed's decision to 'kick him' while he was down.

"At any rate," Nines continued, voice levelling back to its usual neutrality, "it may take me a little longer, but I'm confident I'll crack it soon."

"We can definitely add 'religious nutjob' to the suspect profile, anyway. Hell of a lot else we've got to go on…"

The RK900 refrained from mentioning he had already done this, not wishing to jeopardise his partner's burgeoning interest. 

"I wouldn't suggest that we have nothing." 

The assurance was ineffective, the scowl etched on the man's face deepening significantly. "What are you, fucking high?"

"I am incapable of getting high. They have yet to replicate the effects of human narcotics on androids. Although I hear Thirium-based alcohol is—"

"You knew what I meant, jackass," Reed challenged coldly. "Just face it—we've got no DNA, no reliable witnesses, and no more leads. Unless that footage is of the killer holding up a signed confession, this feels like another dead end."

The android bristled, mirroring the man's sour expression, as he was faced with the looming possibility he might be correct. 

It was doubtful further analysis would draw anything salvageable from the footage. That being said, while tracing the killer's call had yielded little results, the data presented could still prove beneficial in guiding their movements. A different approach would be needed.

Nines considered the events that had predated the phone call: where their culprit may have been before checking into Cedars and whether retracing those steps could reveal anything new.

As he assessed the TSU transmission for any overlooked details, his attention shifted to the surrounding buildings. Among the drab streetscape, a shock of red drew his focus. Formed in bold lettering on a weathered storefront:

> MIKEY'S PHONES AND ELECTRONICS.

He was pulled from his analysis, the discovery sparking a new hypothesis. Their trip, it seemed, had not been wasted—having brought them to what might be their next significant lead.

"Perhaps not," he concluded, a satisfied quirk tugging his lips. "We can assume that our culprit used a burner phone when they arranged the HR400's services. He would have needed to purchase the SIM somewhere, as well as the phone itself—how convenient that a store nearby could provide him exactly what he was looking for."

As Reed followed the explanation, his gaze drifted to align with his partner's. Upon catching sight of the storefront, he received the information with far greater scepticism. 

"Detroit is a big fucking city," he said bluntly. "Our perp could've bought that SIM from anywhere. Even if we had a hunch, we'd have no way of tracing it. Thing is probably long gone." 

"Maybe so, but the log collected from the suspect's call provided more than a location—

The phone used was a 2013 Samsung S3. If it so happens that a phone of that model was purchased in that store, with a prepaid SIM included, in the days before the murder..."

"...It would seem like one hell of a tidy coincidence," Reed grunted, begrudgingly conceding the point. "Alright, tin-can, I'll bite. But if you're wrong about this, I'll fucking dismantle you."

"Duly noted." The smirk tugging his lips grew before it was suppressed. It occurred that their current opportunity ought to be seized promptly, lest it slip from their fingers.

"I suggest we act quickly. We have failed to check in with the Captain for quite some time. No doubt he'll wish to receive an update." 

[lottiecrabie]

itll be you and me and this idea forever babe.. we might be alone but we Understand🤞

what if it wasn’t just us… 😌🙂‍↕️ and it entered the world through the miraculous art form that is writing by tumblr dot com user lottiecrabie 😌🙂‍↕️😏 (even just a crumblet)

for you my psychic linked sister. a little Crumb🫶

the saxophones and trumpets ring through the ballroom. the repetitive steps and roaring laughs mix through, skisloping off the kicks and twists of the t-strap shoes. the champagne flows out into a series of coupes and you grab one, spilling it on the side. you down a mouthful with a grin, still light and happy from the spinning dance you just twirled out of. 

sweat sticks your headache band to your forehead. you fix up the feather. you fish a cigarette out of the emerald elephant dispenser, placing it between your ruby red lips. your eyes scan for a lighter next. 

‘enjoying yourself?’ your ears perk up at the sound of his husky voice. you smirk, turning around to find detective healy. 

with his modest trench coat and permanently gloomy predilection, he sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the decadent decor. it’s always a little funny to see him around such open fun, like he’s meant to exist in dark, cold alleys, frowning over a body. still, he looks handsome, dark and broody, with his sober eyes and his wild flowing hair. 

you pull the cigarette from your lips with a smile. you shrug, crooning, ‘why, it’s a lovely night.’ healy searches the inside of his trench coat. ‘what about you? not too joyful for mr. grumps?’ 

he shakes his head, though a grin still teases his lips. he draws a lighter out. you lean closer to him, hanging the cigarette off your lips again. he flicks once, lighting up the tip. you exhale out the smoke, but stay near him. he smells like cedar and whiskey, like nights toasting after murders successfully solved.

healy gives you a look, shoving his lighter back in his trench coat. ‘what are you doing here, trouble?’ 

‘can’t a woman enjoy a soirée? my, if i was like you, i’d be locked up in my house all year round.’

‘you’d be safer for it.’

you smile, mischievous. ‘and your life much, much less fun.’ healy gives you a onceover, trailing on your uncovered legs. you take a sip of your champagne, drawing attention to your lips next. you give him a faux-innocent look, singsonging, ‘you know, mister briggs is an excellent charleston dancer.’ 

healy groans, rubbing his eyebrows. ‘tell me you didn’t dance with a murder suspect.’

you up your nose. ‘well, if you don’t want to know, then i guess i won’t share what he said.’ you whip around, taking two steps before a strong hand wraps around your arm. 

you don’t even bother hiding your smirk before turning around. healy gives you a somber look, demanding, ‘spill.’ the tone of his voice sizzles down your spine. 

‘is this a shakedown?’ his jaw ticks. a crystalline voice spills from your lips. ‘you’re cute when you’re annoyed.’

‘then i must be ravishing every time i’m in your company.’

your eyes spark. ‘oh, yes, you are, detective.’ healy swallows thickly, dropping his hand from your hand as if burned. you cock your head, tension still fizzling. ‘promise me a dance and i’ll tell you.’

‘a dance?’

‘oh, you do know a foxtrot, don’t you, detective healy?’

his stare burns. ‘fine.’ 

you hum, turning to look at the roaring party. ‘mister briggs has a lovely summer home in brighton. he loves to entertain his most favorite guests there. why, he just invited me,’ you catch briggs chatting up a young lady, brushing the pearl on her ear. you sigh regrettably, ‘but i’m afraid the cold sea air doesn’t agree with my predilection.’

‘brighton. where francesca would visit every month.’

‘oh yes,’ you throw him a look. your shoulders up excitedly. ‘francesca and mister briggs were having an affair. how scandalous.’ 

he grins and, oh, this might be your favorite look of his. rare but dazzling, shining over his face. he says, ‘that’s motive.’

you tsk. ‘and you didn’t even want me to dance.’ he opens his mouth to protest, but you’re too quick. your throw your coupe on the table, discarding your smoke on the elephant head. you grab his hand, cutting him off, tugging him to the dancefloor. ‘come on, you owe me one.’

‘there’s a murder suspect at large.’

‘oh, please,’ you halt in the middle of the floor; your hand on his shoulder, his finding home on your waist— no matter his protests. the touch is electric, burning through your dress. you feel wired. ‘he’s not going anywhere. this is the soirée of month, after all.’ 

matty sighs resignedly. languid jazz plays. he takes a first step, gliding across the floor. his moves are certain and precise. you follow his rhythm, pushing and pulling at his guidance. detective healy is a good dancer. what an interesting new morsel of information.

in the crook of your ear, healy whispers, ‘one day, all this frolicking with trouble will really get you in deep waters, darling.’

you lean back enough to meet his eyes. ‘then it’s lucky you’ll be there to save me, isn’t it, detective?’

[pupsmailbox]

MAGIC ID PACK

NAMES︰ ace. achilles. adonis. agate. alaric. alastair. alastor. alec. alecto. altair. alwyn. amaranth. amber. ambrose. amethyst. anders. angel. aoife. aphrodite. apollo. apollonia. aqua. aquamarine. arion. arrow. arsenic. arsenius. artemis. arthur. ashlin. asriel. astra. astraia. astrid. astro. athena. atlas. atticus. aurora. axel. azalea. basil. begonia. bellamy. blair. blaise. blake. bless. bramble. bran. brenner. briar. brutus. bruxo. bunnie. bunny. calamity. callisto. callum. calypso. cantasyia. carrick. casper. caspian. cassandra. cassian. cassiopeia. cedar. cedric. celeste. celestine. cherish. circe. claude. clem. clemet. clotilde. copernicus. corbin. corrigan. cosimo. cosmo. coven. crow. crystalesse. crystalette. cullen. cynthia. cyrus. dagur. damon. daphne. diablo. draco. drake. dreerie. drefan. drift. drusilla. duske. eadburga. ebenezer. edgar. edwin. eerene. elias. elphias. elysia. ember. emil. emrys. eon. ernestine. esme. espen. eternitie. eternity. etherial. etteila. evander. evangeline. evanora. fabian. fay. felix. finn. finnley. florian. fredrich. fyre. galatea. gale. galen. garnet. gideon. gloria. glyra. griffin. grimm. gwyneira. haven. hazel. hazoire. hecate. helaine. henrik. hera. hester. hex. horatio. hyacinth. hydrangea. hypnyra. ignatius. indigo. iridessa. iselda. ismene. jade. jambres. jasper. jinx. jonah. juno. jynx. kara. karma. kian. kimble. klaus. krystal. krystalle. lapis. lennix. leo. leona. leticia. lilith. link. locusta. lucien. lucius. lucky. lumen. lumiere. luna. lune. lunesse. lunette. luz. lyra. mabel. mac. mackenzie. maddie. maddy. madelyn. madison. maeve. mage. maggi. maggie. magia. magique. magnus. maleficent. mara. maria. marlowe. max. maxwell. melanie. melchior. melodie. melody. melusine. menander. mercy. mia. milena. miles. milo. minerva. moonesse. moonette. morgaine. morgana. myrror. mystique. neria. nerius. neville. noble. nova. onyx. opal. ophelia. orion. oscar. ostanes. oswald. pandora. pearl. pearlesse. pearlette. pearlle. peony. persephone. phineas. phoebe. phoenix. pinkie. pinky. prism. prudence. quest. raven. rhiannon. ridley. river. roland. rosemary. rowena. rowenna. ruby. rufus. rune. sabrina. sage. saint. saintesse. salem. sapphire. selene. seraphina. sereia. shale. silas. silouet. sirus. skye. sol. solomon. sophronia. sora. sorcyrie. soren. spella. sulpicia. sulpicius. sybilla. sylvan. sylvester. tabitha. theodosia. theoris. thistle. tiberius. twyla. twyllusia. ursula. vale. valeria. valerius. vega. veronica. vesper. victoria. vince. violaine. wander. winifred. wisteria. zephyr. zinnia.

PRONOUNS︰ air/air. alchem/alchemy. amu/amulet. an/angel. arc/arcane. bad/bad. bless/bless. bless/blessed. bo/bone. book/book. brew/brew. broom/broom. ca/cast. can/candle. candle/candle. cha/charm. cla/clash. cloak/cloak. con/conjure. copper/copper. cr/crystal. crackle/crackle. cur/curse. dark/dark. de/demon. di/dim. du/dusk. earth/earth. en/enchantment. en/entity. eon/eon. eternity/eternity. ev/evil. fan/fantasy. fea/feared. fi/fight. fire/fire. fla/flame. fu/future. gem/gem. go/golden. go/good. gold/gold. h?/h?m. hae/haze. hat/hat. hex/hex. hx/hxm. hy/hym. h✩/h✩m. ill/illusion. iron/iron. ix/ix. jar/jar. know/knowledge. lead/lead. ma/mage. ma/magic. mag/magic. mag/magical. mag/magician. magic/magic. magnum/opus. mi/mist. mirror/mirror. mis/misfortune. mys/mysterious. myth/myth. myth/mythical. noir/noir. obs/obscure. pe/peril. po/potion. po/power. poi/poison. potion/potion. pu/purge. pur/pure. pur/purity. rit/ritual. robe/robe. salt/salt. scroll/scroll. sh?/h?r. sha/dow. shae/shade. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sh✩/h✩r. si/sigil. silver/silver. sini/ster. soc/sorcery. som/somber. sor/sorcery. spe/spell. spell/spell. spi/spirit. sta/star. staff/staff. sulfur/sulfur. sup/supernatural. ta/tarot. th?y/th?m. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. th✩y/th✩m. tin/tin. vae/vaer. wa/wand. wand/wand. water/water. wi/wise. wi/witch. wit/witch. wit/witchcraft. witch/witch. wiz/wizard. ☪. ☪️. ⛥. ⛧. ✨. ✩. 🃏. 🌒. 🌕. 🌙. 🍀. 🍄. 🐀. 💎. 📖. 📚. 📜. 🔥. 🔮. 🕯. 🕯️. 🕷️. 🕸️. 🥀. 🦴. 🦷. 🧙🏻. 🧙🏻‍♀️. 🧙🏻‍♂️. 🧹. 🧿.

[ajscico]

Fan Joy July Day 27

Follow the Lights by CluelessMoose @cluelessmoose

There could be so many little scenes that this could be. And I’ve seen others' fanart of this one now, but I committed back... 25 days ago so here we are.

I love the image of Wild waking up in Sky’s arms, at the top of one of the Dueling Peaks shrines. He doesn’t know Sky, Sky doesn’t know him, but it’s Sky and they’re Links and the soul-bond that CluelessMoose writes into this series is just... lovely.

A low stuttering moan escaped his lips without meaning to as a muscle in his arm spasmed painfully, and the arms under his legs tightened as the person holding him stopped walking, kneeling to rest him atop their folded legs.

(Stepping confidently into thin air-a thousand possible forms waiting to be revealed in one piece of uncarved wood-lavender and cedar incense curling lazily through the air)

“You with me now?” A hand cupped his cheek, warm against his frigid skin. Link happily leaned into it, enjoying the darkness for a little while longer before accepting the inevitable. Peeling his eyes open had him for once not immediately blinded by a supercharged shrine putting on a light show around him. Instead he looked up into clear blue eyes framed by enviously thick lashes, a lovely face graced with plump lips and cheeks flushed with cold. The smile that broke out across his companion’s face was heart wrenchingly sincere in its relief, considering that they were perfect strangers.

And it's Sky holding Wild, around them the breeze with the shadow of the shapes communicated through the Soul-bond swirling around them.