#I should also design the forgotten world to fit the two’s designs

[zenmom]

Do you think I should create Mickey and Oswald’s outfits designed by these themes? With a surprise theme punk from me.

[teawinx]

Hello there! I just recently came across your blog, and really love your Naruto art! Especially your Sakura content. You give her the justice that she should have gotten in the canon material. Short haired Saku for the win!

However, I’m curious. What are your feelings on Hinata? I like her, but also find that I unfortunately have some bitterness towards her. Not because of the character herself (though she has her issues, and I fully believe she deserved better too), but because of her fandom and how the fanbase holds her to such high regard. She suffers from the same problems as Sakura, dare I say even worse, but people will find any excuse in the point to justify her actions and lift her up. Though I will say that most of the blame lies with SP and their very creepy fetishization of her- who mind you, was a minor for most of the series. It’s like if you even have the slightest criticism of her, your attack for it. But I don’t know. I hope you have a good day!

Hi there!

Thank you so much! I love my girliepop Sakura, she deserves feral rat rights

Hinata? Yeah I have quite a few feelings about her. Namely the feeling of "I like you and I wish you got more"

Hinata is depressingly the only girl from the Konoha 11 to have been given a story and setting that wasn't about boys. Heiress to one of Konoha's major clans but was kicked out in favour of her younger sister? A clan that's fundamentally shitty and they went into depth showing how shitty it is to its own members? There's a LOT that could have been done here.

But unfortunately this was all forgotten about and replaced with her whole existence revolving around Naruto and it's a darn shame.

I don't feel bitterness towards her or anything, just sadness. Grieving what could have been.

I couldn't tell you for certain why Hinata was favoured over Sakura, despite the two being so similar. Hinata's design is very appealing to some, and people seem to be drawn to shy cute girls (I see you, Fluttershy stans). Why I don't know. But it is frustrating as a Sakura stan to see your fav being criticized while Hinata gets praised for the same thing.

Naruto, the series, was just uninterested in them as characters. Naruto is a fantasy, a character for young teenage boys to project themselves on to. Hinata was made to be appealing to the teenage boy demographic. A pretty shy girl who's completely and utterly devoted to you is pure ambrosia. Sakura wasn't made to fit into that fantasy. She's much more like a real woman in that regard, at least to those who project themselves on to Naruto. And a real woman can't be the perfect little wife in your perfect little fantasy world. That's my personal theory anyway.

All that being said, I do genuinely like Hinata. I think she's wasted and done dirty, but even I have fallen for her core appeal. How much I like her makes me sad that she'll never be treated as a character, she will only ever be a reward.

[theotherbackgrounder]

Ever After High rewrite - Kitty Cheshire

So lately I have been toying with some ideas for a reboot of ever after high that acts as a remake but also as a continuation of the original.

Ions story short.

The reboot would be that of a movie (this was in response to the Monster High film) and while the film would act as a highlight of “The Story book of Legends” + other episodes, characters start getting a sense of deja vu. It’s revealed that Duchess has been using a power that has been resetting the universe and repeating the last four years of their Highschool life out of fear of her destiny.

The would allow the series to revisit past storylines of the original series, allow continuations or make corrections. It would be able to ready for new fans as well as for old fans without going against what Ever After High is about - the story of the ever changing narrative.

While im a huge follower of “if you want a diverse cast, make new characters” if you had to make changes to the existing characters, this would also fall into the meta commentary. This would allow new storylines where certain characters who either remember their old lives or have to come face to face with the existential crisis that they aren’t who they are.

One of the set of characters I think would be interesting is the wonderlandians (trust me, I have a huge story for Maddie) where as since Wonderland is separate from Ever After, they should be the most accurate visually to their original versions. In fact their outfits I think, if this reboot was live action, the outfits should be the most accurate of the set designs as they would be just perfectly cartoonishly contrasting to the other set designs.

For Kitty’s case, a storyline I have an idea for is the following.

So in the film there is a sequence that follows “the cat that cried wolf” and up to the ending it is fairly accurate and when Kitty is teasing Cerise (again, let’s make her Pakistani) right before Raven is about to use her spell you see Kitty’s smile disappear before she goes “You know what… forget about it. This just isn’t the same. I’m done with this.” Before disappearing and leaving the two in disbelief.

It’s revealed that Kitty is one of the characters that remembers the past. Maybe it’s because she is wonderland in, maybe it’s because she has a connection to the narrators, but for whatever reason she remembers the every loop. So the idea of her having to repeat “the cat the cried wolf” finally reached her breaking point. She then becomes one of the characters that confronts Duchess in the climax.

As the series starts proper, and several characters are beginning to learn that the world they live in isn’t actual their own world, there seems to be a cold disconnect with Kitty. She still does her pranks and stuff as a way to have fun, but it also becomes something as a way to blow off some steam.

Cerise finally confronts Kitty. Cerise feels targeted in a way where she is getting pranked a lot, but also just getting ignored when the prank is over. Cerise is wondering if the car is targeting her for some odd reason.

When confronted about this, Kitty attempts to just leave but Cerise stops her. The two just look at one another.

“…you are just like her.” Kitty says. It’s shown she remembers all the previous time-loops. “But you aren’t my Cerise.”

Kitty is shown living in the past. She had gone through so many time loops that at first it was fun and chaotic, but as things started changing, she was only coming to the realization that things weren’t going to be the same.

She reminisces about her past, times left forgotten from their world. She knows she is an outsider, but she can’t find herself fitting in.

While characters are coming to terms of their own existential crises, Kitty has to come to terms with the fact that she can’t go back. She can accept this world, but she knows she doesn’t belong here.

She has many past regrets from the previous time loops, but all of them are pointless in the new world. That is her cross that has to carry. She wants to go back, but she knows she can’t.

While others are growing in this new ever changing time, Kitty is finding herself frozen in time. Wishing she could go back to things much simpler.

While characters like Cerise are finding their new selves, all Kitty can think about is her old friends.

I mean how could she be with the new friends when all she can hear and see are those that are long gone.

[surveillance-0011]

It’s been a while since I’ve tboi posted and I’ve def said this before but I like how the horsemen r like that . Such simple designs but they get across just the right vibe

There’s a sort of innocence in it. Isaac’s interpretation of the bringers of everyone’s doom is a couple of silly kinda gross/nasty guys that ride on toy horses that laugh and cheer when they see each other beat up babies. And sometimes cry when their horsies r taken away.

But they also have that same odd-kilter edge of grossness and morbidity. They’re not just a skinny one, a sick one an angry one and a skeleton; they’re corpses (debatable in War’s case, the redness could also read as burns and heavy scarring or exposed skin). Famine and Pestilence are decomposing. Every horse is as worse for wear as its owner. And theyre all legitimate threats, if not on a typical run then in the final confrontation for sure. There’s also their theme, how it changes to fit them all, its sophistication as Death enters the fray.

Death is a skeleton alone. It’s a universal symbol, but he’s exactly what he should be, a way to show death as an equalizer and a truth isaac must face. He doesn’t need to be flashy or a new twist. He works. And he’s funny.

But the mix just goes to show that for his odd taste and better-than-average knowledge of the Bible, Isaac is still a little kid. One who had the whole weight of the world shifted onto his shoulders as his family fell apart and he became the victim of neglect, abuse and extreme religious beliefs. He is terrified and distraught, forced to deal with much more than most other kids deal with. Instead of getting a happy, safe childhood, he spends what little years he has… like this. To the point where his mind becomes this dark place, where even the most childish and idealized aspects become warped and unsafe. And of course, the Horsemen aren’t the only aspect that show this, but I feel they do act as a more notable display of this alongside some other bosses and aspects of the game…

And Conquest… ah… Dare I say the most “mature” of Isaac’s horsemen, in terms of what the boy is going through in his head. Maybe he shares this award with death, though. Not only does Isaac acknowledge the forgotten one, but… there’s just something so. Interesting about the state Conquest is in. He, too, is a corpse, but he’s not quite like the others. He is not that skeleton picked clean and is very visibly dead, but he is relatively intact and well preserved. Even the horse head seems alright. There is… honor. Respect. Humanity. Glory. He himself is holy, one of two enemies that attack w/ beams of light. The other is Isaac.

And that’s just. It’s a lot to unpack. But I think it’s telling that Conquest is the holy one. The white rider basked in holy light, not aligned with any demon, able to keep a body not rotting, burnt or stripped of flesh…

And maybe that’s why he’s the “forgotten” one. The reason he’s not with the Beast and other demons.

Because no one wants to admit those that call themselves holy the most are the ones doing the destroying.

And In killing his own “holy” self and Dogma, Isaac already destroys the standards he was held to and overcomes the brunt of the trauma from the fundamentalist beliefs imposed upon him. Conquest is really only an extension of that. He need not fight him. Now it’s a fight against the aftermath, the rest of the pain, the worst his mother sent to him…

But the source? Dogma. And conquest dies with dogma.

[nochi-quinn]

legend of vox machina watch party episodes 1-3: billfrito

why does all the amazon lovm merch look SO BAD

let laura bailey run your merch department amazon

amazon merch: focus-tested, advertiser friendly, bland

cr official merch: laura bailey wanted a thing so she made it, superior, personal

matt: I play The Entire Rest Of The World

are they already drunk or just goofy

the eternal question

"tall and lovely" literally nobody remembers sam is tall

djfskj he matches the sofa

GILMORE-SCENTED

oh HE'S already drunk

"that's five more trinkets than ever appear in the show"

travis in the calamity merch

aw, but mica's speech

I have absolutely forgotten how to use the watch party

oh right I don't get video until twitch says I get video

EPISODE ONE

"what could go wrong"

"I don't know what that means"

see, even this has better quality than the actual prime video player

"everybody be quiet I'm talking"

75k?!

I mean it makes sense but also that's A Number

"it's sleeping gas"

Nickelodeon Presents Legend of Vox Machina

WIZARDS

well she's a sorceror but WIZARDS

I was really hoping liam would be in this one but I'm beginning to understand why he's not

can you imagine

mb next time for maximum trauma

"that was my child" "sam's kids die all the time in this show"

"and then this happens"

THORDAK

I didn't notice the lens flare in the city shot beforeeeeee

"I don't wanna say yes until I know what happens" that's amazing

"don't let your shop fall on you next time"

"freak-ass"

I love that travis watches the reaction videos

"we should get rid of that"

Just A Broom™

"if the spork doesn't work you have no choice"

"no horses were harmed"

oh WOW

give them all raises

animation should win cinematography

Sam's Kids Watch

I still regret the loss of Kiki's friendship with the Sun Tree

s a m

"and it makes for really great desktop wallpapers"

"buildings were still…up"

"when I did it in their imaginations"

OH SHIT I want THAT for a wallpaper

these are fucking gorgeous

FLORIDA DRAGON

"I'm from there, I can say that"

I enjoy so much that matt has just leaned into wearing comfy pants to every event

jesus

the scrawlings of a madman

Big Dragon is Big

mica

who is that skinny motherfucker

THERE'S gilmore

I don't know who that other guy was. dark gilmore.

skinny gilmore isn't real, he can't hurt you

"I'm dying, show me your tits"

ahhh sketchy thordak

"big mistake giving sunil a catchphrase"

"remember when TVs had dials? I don't, I wasn't alive then"

travis is already in despair

y'all know what you were getting into when you let her host again

did travis just go "have fun storming the castle"

EPISODE TWO

it is nice to hear dani

"the internet is still just a concept"

will!!

the persistence of my crush on will friedle is astounding

ABC's TGIF veterans sound off

"someone had to design this!"

Ethereal Butt Scoops

will

"you're in this one!" "I know, I've heard"

Australian Accent Guy

I have not sat down and tried to hear the main cast in the background yet

there you go, it was Caduceus, but not For Real Caduceus, just Easter Egg Caduceus

"the armor looks a lot like Kima's armor!" "yeah, imagine that"

"we had to change it, the first take she was watching The Boys"

She

"if you put a backwards hat on [kashaw] it would fit"

He

STABBY WHEELCHAIR

memelords

matTHEW

josh turner, she's talking about josh turner

spoilers will

I love that they get to record together again but I

will's first ever animated swear!

terry deserved to swear lbr

"that was horrible" "it was fun!"

he's just so proud of himself. and so wrong.

"okay byeeee"

ONE PERSON did all of this?!

osysa's facial animation is so fucking good

sassy arrogant woman on sassy arrogant woman violence

memelords

victor!

taliesin just sneezed somewhere

Bill Frito

ART

aww, them coming up with story for kash and zahra just 'cause they could

OSYSA CONCEPT ART

why is there an audio desync when I have my headset off but not with it on

I'm unfortunately having to use this as a break to check on my kid

I desperately need Victor Award Speech

I don't even care if it's just a Victor Laugh at the end. I need this.

I Saw Green Once

"oh he's a dick!"

"you really crafted the perfect fuckboi"

ANIMATED CALAMITY???

MATT IF IT'S ANIMATED CALAMITY YOU HAVE TO TELL ME OTHERWISE IT'S ENTRAPMENT

"please get out"

I need my kid's pancreas to quit fucking up so I can put my headset back on, I missing so much crosstalk orz

DANI CARR 👏👏👏

it ain't called chaos couch for nothin

professionalism, we don't know her

"no we got a few more bits"

will did you not catch my TGIF shoutout earlier, I absolutely remember dial-up

EPISODE THREE

"that's the head of the CCP" M A T T H E W

justice for dexter the cute dragon

Skipping the Intro Is A War Crime

"who did that? I hope he's awesome" "yeah about that"

"tieflings are so cool" "just tieflings, not that other asshole"

will's shirt is doing an optical illusion on the picture in picture

"like taking the laugh track out of mash" that's a really good analogy actually

forever in awe of travis' ability to hit that pitch

I changed my twitter name to 'do not go far from me' bc I chose violence

[psychonauts 1 voice] YOU, tree-sitter!

I still cannot hear troy baker here, I am ashamed of myself

"he's a bit of an ass, you've got this"

"complete with traps" "SPOILERS"

I do love zahra's face there

"this is just travis as a player" noted Big Red Button addict travis willingham

"stay away from her! get a job!" dslkfjls

I wondered how much of this was or wasn't from kith and kin, I haven't had the chance to read it

I'm absolutely in awe of foley artists

I always felt like travis was living vicariously through grog with the beard, since he had to shave his for mocap work at the time

"I think your beard is evil!"

"'cause mary sucks in real life and I'm the nice one"

"there's never a time when they just turn around and go home" this is why Campfire Cooking In Another World is excellent, the protagonist is just like "no 🥰"

still in love with vex's little ear twitch

the way they all just went SILENT

"I don't wanna cry on national television"

you are not immune to liam o'brien

"you spelled my name 'troy baker'"

nope, no pokeball yet

(they are definitely not allowed to call it a pokeball) (I am under no such restrictions)

"that was definitely on purpose"

"we should finish those episodes"

"JUST MAKE THIS ONE BLACK AND WHITE"

I'm torn btwn "ha ha funny d&d wife jokes" and "that's actually important to communicate before it has the CHANCE to be a problem"

oh SHIT this concept art

"control water moses style"

"the damned missionaries showed up"

"their dicks are teeth"

NOT THE XENOMORPH

"do not make fanart of that"

matt if you get to say that out loud fcg gets to have a flesh tongue

"hashtag - " "NO"

grog and bacon edge was a+

that time he made scanlan drown out him in the outhouse so he could talk to it

"oh no we all share one brain cell, this is horrible"

matt say the names out loud before you get to the table, I've been saying this for years

CR 13 Pedobear

"obsessed with that" "you should not be"

"I showed these episodes to my kids" sam no

Dark is Not Evil

oh right kestrel came up with marisha's space frog

"we're gonna show up and talk behind you"

the episodes drop three hours before critrole for me, rip my thursday nights

drop the video will. will drop the video. will.

"I UNDERSTAND THAT REFERENCE"

"iono" "MATTHEW"

OH THE NECKLACE

them threatening matt until he picks a voice to do

"WHO'S SCRATCH KASH"

their dream guest stars have a habit of just being their guest stars

Bill Frito Can Do Anything

mica are you talking abo - you're talking about your dad

"I cannot do that."

ROBBIE

I miss him

that's right, will nuked all his socials

(good for him)

"you can" "get fucked"

mica just going "END"

[lesbunnian]

Introduction

Hello Writeblr! After much consideration and building of courage I realize that I technically am an Indie Writer and should be more on Writeblr. So here is me renewing my Pinned Post to make it a Writeblr introduction! I am Lesbunnian, known as Bun or Ulmaria, or even more names personally (Any/All pronouns). I am 21+ and graduated college for Graphic Design. All of my writings and creative works fall under the name of Meadow of a Rabbit! A dimensional space where all of my stories take place big or small. And I post the rough drafts of my works on Wattpad and Fictionpress. Before editing them myself and graphically designing them to become special Editions that I sell on Gumroad!

I mostly write fantasy and maybe sci-fi with a lot of representation and I tend to dip into darker topics. So I often have trigger warning before my stories for everyone's comfort. As a Black Genderfluid Pansexual myself I prioritize a diverse cast with diverse personalities and

My storytelling Carrd holds all of the info regarding Meadow of a Rabbit. and my lesbunnian carrd is more for commissioning artwork from me! Meadow of a Rabbit Carrd

Lesbunnian Carrd

Currently large stories wise I am working on 5 large works. All concept docs available on the Meadow of a Rabbit Carrd but I'll shall give brief explanations of each work and their content.

Apothecary Adagio is a Young Adult Fantasy Romance that stars Floria Faustus. A 31 year old ex-noblemon turned singer who investigates the town of Sunmire due to a high reporting of attacks by the terrorfiying creatures that roam their world, Zokaets. And how the Apothecary who owns a famous Atelier to see how they fit in the investigation.

CoLoR-LeS is an Adult Sci-Fantasy that stars Zephyr. A Blank who protects Alabaster Town within the isolated City called Void City. That after the fall of the problematic previous governing figure, the Triad, has fallen into a war between there factions trying to take over Void City: The Church of Saffron, The Knights of Amrin, and the Revolt of Caera. Zephyr who has forgotten their past but knows its their duty to protect all blanks finds themself in the middle of this conflict.

Grace of Wind is the Sequel to my already completed book, Tear of Ice. Taking place 6 years after Carmine's adventure, her friend Rio is called back home to his country of Itrora by his siblings. Only to be dragged into a conflict by the very political climate he abandoned all those years ago. With his family at stake Rio must set aside his own pride in order to protect whats more important.

Arcane Eclipse is an Adult Fantasy Story that stars Saule Alenov, a young person with an unremarkable life. A failing art career and a struggling home life, they mourn their dead friend, Gwyn with Gwyn's own father. But yet things become much more complicated than anyone could've forseen.

And Finally.

I , of course, work on smaller stories and other ideas as I go that are all shared and given sneak peeks and updates on my Patreon.

I also Roleplay! I have a canon character multiuse blog as @etgloria

Have a blog for Drakengard 3's Two at @venusphacelia

An oc multimuse at @amorfati-rp

And finally a rp blog for my original character and main character of Libraria Daffodil @booksofthelibrary

I do alot and am everywhere. But I hope this is a good introduction and tat I can finally start accepting myself as a writer. Thank you all for the support small or large. and I do plan to do more in the future. (Also thank you @coffeeandcalligraphy for being a nice source of comfort for me. I highly recommend her channel for people who struggle to acknowledge their writing skills) And I believe that everything for now. So Goodbye! and Remember, Be Kind.

[qichin]

Some thoughts on my thoughts on Numenera

I'm going to try and sort out my thoughts here. I've been spending a lot of time thinking about Numenera, from my own sessions, to reading the books again and again, to reminiscing about the big era of D20 inspired designs. I absolutely love Numenera the setting, but I've never been able to warm up to Numenera the system for Numenera the setting.

Numenera, for those uninitiated, is an RPG by Monte Cook Games that came out in 2013. The hook is that you are playing on Earth, but 1 billion years in the future. The 8 (maybe) great civilizations that have come before manipulated and toyed with reality in a way that would seem like magic to us, and each of them left behind their devices and structures and changes to the world. In come the current humans, with no true understanding of any of these wondrous technological marvels - the numenera - and try to rediscover all this lost knowledge.

Let me be clear - Numenera the setting is brilliant. Monte Cook has proven back with Ptolus that he can worldbuild weird and wonderful settings, and this game is so full of strange ideas and mind-bending possibility that I'm itching to explore it.

Numenera is also a system, one that was later extracted and turned into the universal Cypher System, with lots of advice on how to run various genres with it. I like the Cypher System, I think it has a lot of great innovations and is light-weight enough for me to be comfortable with it. HOWEVER, more and more I have this nagging feeling that it's a bad fit for Numenera the setting. And I'm trying to figure out why.

So, I guess Part 1, What is the game about?

Part 1 - What is the game about?

On my journey in becoming a game designer, I had certain tenets drilled into me, mainly that if the game is about something, the game mechanics should help emphasize that the game is about that thing. This manifests in two basic questions asked at the beginning when nailing down a game's design goals:

What is the game about?

How is the game about that?

This is the basic approach I intuitively have whenever I read a new game and evaluate how it might play (and if I would enjoy it). So what do the answers look like here for Numenera?

Question 1 is simple, the game text itself tells us this explicitly: "The Ninth World is about discovering the wonders of the worlds that came before it," and "discovery is the soul Numenera". And on page 123 of Numenera Discovery, we get this entire section:

The core of gameplay in Numenera - the answer to the question "What do characters do in this game? - is "Discover new things or old things that are new again."

It doesn't get much clearer than this. "What do the characters do" is literally one of the questions to ask during ideation, and again and again the designers tell us that they want the game to be about discovering things.

So how is the game about that? It... kind of isn't. At least not mechanically. The only thing referencing discovery in a mechanical sense is that one of the two ways PCs gain experience points is through discoveries.

Then what does the game actually have?

Part 2 - The actual game itself

Many parts of the rules system are rightfully celebrated. The character system with its three parts ("I am a Clever Glaive who Rides the Lightning", "I am a Graceful Nano who Crafts Illusions") is beautifully evocative and makes for character titles that sound cool.

The core resolution mechanic of lowering task difficulty and the associated "casting from hit point" effort mechanic are a nice change of pace, if a bit fiddly at times. And GM intrusions are a superbly elegant way for the GM to influence the narrative while buying player trust.

And then of course there are the eponymous cyphers, bits of forgotten devices that nobody truly understands, and used in ways completely divorced from their original purpose (like using a laptop battery as an explosive). They inject a constant stream of weird into a game that's all about weird, and mechanically produce a rotating roster of new and varied character abilities that can be controlled by the GM.

That said, many levels of the game are confusing to me. From a high level perspective, Numenera attempts to be a more rules-light, rulings-not-rules kind of game that gives the group a core resolution mechanic which allows for some interesting gameplay decisions, and leave the rest up to the group to make up. Per se, this is not a problem.

I've played plenty of rules-light games that take a more "toolbox" approach (is that a term? I'm just going to use it as a term). That is, give everyone at the table a solid resolution mechanic, tips on how to apply it to different situations, and then let them have a go at it.

So there's a lack of guidance from the system in helping the players tell the types of stories the game is ostensibly about, and instead provides a hammer to hit every nail the GM puts in the players' way. But even with this view, something was still bugging me about the ruleset, but to see it, we have to delve deeper.

Part 3 - Ruling the mystery out of discovery

The problem comes when, delving deeper, details and individual crunch start to rear their head. For instance, the game uses abstracted distances (immediate, short, long), but then many of the cypher effects include very precise measurements for time, distance, weight etc.

Similarly, actions and tasks that players can perform are handled very loosely; the game features no fixed skill list, and "positive or friendly social interactions with other people" functions like a skill with mechanical bonuses. And yet, class abilities are rife with detailed conditions and/or effects.

It feels like a framework that is very vague, but with very specific rules once you actually choose to do anything.

And in a way, this is the biggest rub. The flavor of numenera keeps reinforcing how everything around the players is Weird StuffTM left behind by unimaginably advanced civilizations, and yet mechanically, it's function is explained so much detail that the mystique of it all vanishes. Just like someone explaining a joke or a magic trick, the game tears aside the curtain to show you the wizard behind it, and hopes you'll buy into the illusion anyway.

To say nothing of how the rules feel confused. This is reflected in the detailed-yet-not-actually-detailed-enough combat system, and the way the game tries to reassure you that it doesn't have to be about combat, and yet puts such a heavy emphasis on it with is character abilities, traits, and an entire class (of three) devoted to nothing else but fighting.

At this point, the game suddenly feels like a vague recipe that just tells you to do whatever, but all the ingredients are very precise in their usage. It has led to restrictive play with constant checking of details on both sides of the screen in my own sessions, completely counter to the premise and promise of the system as a whole.

It just feels so misplaced, I guess.

Part 4 - What now?

So what's the point of all this? This was mainly to sort through my thoughts on this game. I really love Numenera as a setting, but playing it with what is now the Cypher System never felt right. Writing all this is helping me see the parts I enjoy and the parts I don't.

And it'll likely lead to some form of homebrewing, adapting, or redesigning the game to fit my purposes, and with my thoughts more in order, I can go about that with a clearer direction and goal.

If you've stuck with me to here, thank you, and maybe you've gained a bit of insight into game design, specifically for Numenera. Don't let my thoughts dissuade you from trying this game. It's very beloved by many, and the setting is one of the most interesting I've ever come across.

Until next time.

[charmixpower]

Thinking about the girls getting tattoos together after they defeated Valtor at the end of S3 or after the defeat of the Ancestral Witches at the end of that movie that I've somehow already completely forgotten about, to commemorate the fact that their the new Company of Light

Bloom:

I think Bloom should be allowed to embrace the dragon thing a little bit, as a treat. As this tattoo is on her leg she can pretty easily hide it with pants, and her transformations could leave her leg uncovered showing off her cool dragon tattoo to the people she's gonna burn alive

Bloom would never get a sleeve tattoo but I think she would think the idea is too cool to pass up. Stella probably helped talk her into it

Stella:

I think Stella would get a tattoo that represent her powers and the semi separate worlds she was born into and how she makes them fit together

She'd definitely get a flashy tattoo thats super detailed in a place that she can show off with a nice sideless shirt or cutout dresss, she likes her pretty tattoo and would like to show it off

By this time in a story that commits to it's character arcs, Stella would of accepted her moon powers and maybe even be speaking with her mother again? And I think this would be a fun way to represent this

Flora:

Flora seems like the type to get a tattoo just about how she loves her family and love in general. She just thinks their cute and I love her

I don't think she's intentionally look for a second tattoo, I think she'd see a person holding flowers and go "!!!!!!!!" and now she needs it

Tecna:

Tecna would think the idea to get tattoos with her friends is fun and not think too much about it

She gets a little geometric heart to represent herself and how she feels about her friends on her inner arm and that's it

(it's also a fun little reference to the only conflict they give to Tecna)

Musa:

I think Musa would be the most gungho about getting a tattoo. She just kinda looks like the type some. I think she wouldn't get anything super big and eye-catching like Stella and Bloom, but she'd just get more of them. They're probably in relatively out of the way places, like her back/legs/waist. They're usually covered by her clothes but their for her so she doesn't care lmao

Gets two tattoos about her love of music, and as a memorial to her mother who had such a strong impact on her life

She definitely was the one to suggest this idea

Aisha:

I don't think Aisha would be super into tattoos. Like she'd think getting one small one is cool but that's like it

Saw a simple wave design, was asked if she wanted it on her foot/hand/ribs, said foot

Only did this because, Musa was so excited to get a tattoo

Likes her small out of the way tattoo, doesn't want any more

[yutahoes]

Cupid

(Part Five)

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

pairing: musician! single dad! Yuta Nakamoto x researcher! Y/N  chapter word count: 2.3k words  genre: chaptered, angst, little fluff summary: What Keiko wants, Keiko gets.    warnings: death of character, mention of sex,  taglist: @nuoyipeach​ @nominsgirl​ @what-sarah​ @anntheboneless​ @ytzvivi​ @nctcafe @channie301​ @a-bts-world​​

Yuta tapped the box above the receptionist's desk while humming to himself. Will she accept this gift? But he saw how she looked so disheartened when the heel of her shoe broke. Will it even fit her? Will she like the design of the shoes? Will it even reach her? "Are you sure she can receive this package?" The girl looked annoyed when she nodded, assuring him that they will deliver it to Y/N's office. "Could you also please tell her to call me or answer my calls?" 

"Yes sir, I will deliver the message to Ms. Y/N." 

He left a sigh before tapping his finger on the box again. Another sigh and he decided to leave the lobby of her office building. 

It's been three days since he last saw her. The last time was in the diner when she suddenly left for work. Even if he kept calling or messaging her, he would always be put in voicemail or absolutely no answer at all. The first time he went to their office, to maybe ask her for lunch, the receptionist told him that their team is so busy. Which may be the case. 

He would wait for her outside her apartment but she wouldn't even come home. Her landlady even claimed that there are letters for her but it's been days since she last saw her. 

Is she just plain busy? 

Or is she avoiding him? 

But why? Is it because he's too clingy? Because he touched her things? 

Or is the sex? Is he not good enough? Did he force her too much? It's her first time, he should have been more careful with her. What if he didn't satisfy her? What if she doesn't like what he did? 

Fuck, what should he even do now? 

"Daddy, are you alright?" Keiko asked, sitting next to him on their couch. She was reading her Cinderella book which was now forgotten on her lap as she stared at him. "You look bothered." 

If Y/N won't talk to him, maybe she will talk to Keiko. "Kei, do you want to eat pizza for dinner?" 

He remembered when Y/N first brought him to this pizza place. He was surprised that she was eating so wholeheartedly, a trait that he suddenly found attractive. He enjoyed watching her eat. She looked so pretty. She also looked so good in a ponytail. "Daddy," Keiko asked while munching on her pepperoni pizza. "Did you and unnie fight?" 

The question startled him. Did Keiko know? But how? Is it too obvious? "You were suddenly suggesting pizza for dinner when it was you who would always say that it's not healthy." She reasoned out. "And we're near Y/N unnie's workplace. Are we here to see her?" 

Yuta sighed. Even if he kept Keiko in the dark, he could not do it. She already knew something. But is she really this observant? "She's not answering my calls. I think Y/N hates me." 

"Did you do something wrong?" Maybe he did. But he isn't even sure what it is. "Did you apologize to her?" 

He smiled. He can't believe he's talking about his troubles to his daughter. "I sent her flowers and shoes." Keiko looked at him in surprise, repeating the last word he said while saying that it's just like Cinderella. "She broke her shoe the last time we saw each other." 

"You met her without me?" 

"It was coincidental, Kei." he revolted then giggled. The younger looked so sad. The effect Y/N had on Keiko really amuses him. "And," he started that made the younger look at him expectantly, "I also kissed her." 

Keiko gasped, dropping her pizza on the plate. Her eyes lit up and that made him smile. Yuta giggled, he had never seen her look this happy before. "Do you like her that much?" 

Keiko nodded, "She's not like Cinderella's evil stepmother." 

Yuta didn't know that it was the answer he was yearning for. Of course, she's not. And Keiko deserves a stepmother that isn't like Cinderella's. 

Keiko deserves Y/N. 

They were eating cheesecake for dessert, the food that Yuta remembered Y/N liked best in this restaurant. He nodded after taking a bite of the sweet dessert, agreeing that it tastes really good. If only she's here so he can tell her. 

There were a few people around, a lot of noise coming from the murmurs and soft talking of the crowd but Yuta whipped his head to the entrance when he heard her voice, "What pizza flavor should we get?" It was his daughter who called her attention and Y/N turned her head in their direction looking surprised. She tapped the shoulder of the guy she came in with, smiling warmly at him.��

Who is that? A co-worker? Why do they look so close? 

He glanced at her, her eyes looking so tired that she had to drag her feet to walk to where they were. He didn't know if it was possible but she looked thinner since he last saw her. She might be overworking herself. A familiar black heeled shoe took his attention and he smiled. He's just happy that it fits her well and she's using it. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked Keiko before reaching out for the tissues above the table. She wiped the side of her lips, crouching on the floor to be on the same level as his daughter. "Do you like the cheesecake?" 

Keiko nodded enthusiastically, "Do you want to join us for dinner?" 

"Sorry, Kei." Her voice sounded hoarse. She must be really tired. "I'm a little busy with the project we're working on. I need to return to the lab quickly." The younger pouted and Y/N giggled. "We can meet next week, I think the project will be done by that time." Keiko grinned and Y/N mirrored her reaction.

The dark expression Y/N had earlier was replaced with a blinding aura. She should always be smiling and laughing in that contagious laugh that kept on echoing in his ear. She shouldn't get tired from work. He wants to take care of her. He wants Keiko to make her happy all the time. 

Yuta can feel his chest constrict. They look so well together, Y/N and Keiko. An unshakeable bond between them. He thought it must be the fact that Keiko is yearning for a mom but it isn't. There's something about the way that they look at each other. The way they smile at each other. They fit well with each other. 

And Yuta can't help but imagine that the future should always be like this. Y/N and Keiko, together. Smiling, in front of him. 

"Unnie, who is that? Your boyfriend?" Yuta glanced at the man Keiko gestured at. He was standing by the counter, holding the boxes of pizza and as if waiting for someone. Y/N, perhaps. 

He looked decent. Looked like a nerdy guy in his glasses. Is Y/N after guys like him? It's not possible. She even confessed that she likes him. 

She can't move on from him that quickly, right? She can't possibly go on a date with a guy in a pizza parlor near her work, wearing the shoes and perfume he brought. 

But fuck it, why does it bother him? 

"He's my friend," She answered, tucking a strand of hair behind Keiko's ear. "Like me and your dad." 

Yuta had to look at her in surprise. Now, it all makes sense. She is indeed avoiding him. And it's all his fucking fault. 

When Y/N left, Keiko looked at him pointedly. "You're not friends. Friends don't kiss each other." 

His daughter was right. Why would he kiss her, even have sex with her, if she’s just a friend? Why does he like her attention and companionship if she’s just a friend? Why does he like her so much next to Keiko? Why does he want to take care of her and take away her tiredness? Why does seeing her with a guy bother him like this? 

She's not just a friend. 

Why must he have to tell Mari that they’re just friends when technically, they’re not? 

Yuta chuckled to himself. God, how stupid can he get? 

“Kei,” Yuta whispered. “I also like Y/N.”

It was the same dilemma he encountered the first time. The night when they kissed. He was so scared of this new feeling growing on him. He was so scared of replacing the woman he once loved with a girl he just kissed. He was scared to be left alone again. 

He thought he might hurt the women he loves, his daughter and her mom, when he let someone else enter his heart. It’s such a stupid move. A dick move. He always runs away from his feelings. Now, he just wants to move forward and face them. 

Yuta rubbed the rim of his coffee cup, bouncing his leg while waiting for the person he was supposed to meet. Will she even come? He knew she was busy and that she can’t be seen where there are a lot of people but he promised that this will be quick. He just needed to tell her everything he felt. 

When a woman - in her signature dark glasses - sat before him, Yuta drank his coffee then breathed heavily. “Mari, that day when we met at the diner I was with someone.” She looked surprised that he started like this. No greetings, no introduction. “She’s not just a friend but a girl I really like.” The sides of the girl’s lips curled up as he continued, “Keiko loves her and she loves Keiko as well. I want to assure you that...” 

“Yuta, you called me out to tell me this?” He nodded and she smiled warmly at him. “Yuta, you should start letting go.” But Yuta only breathed heavily. It’s honestly not that easy letting go of everything. He tried. It's been years. Yet a part in his heart is still chaining him from the past. "You’ve done a great job taking care of Keiko and I want to thank you for that.” 

It's his job. He is her dad, after all. 

"Have you told Keiko about us?" 

Yuta shook his head. “I’ll tell her eventually. When the right time comes, I’ll introduce her to you.” 

The girl shook her head, smiling. “You don’t have to. You’ll just put Keiko in pain.” Yuta bit his lip and she continued, "My parents are not changing their minds about her." A sigh left his lips. Of course, why isn't he surprised? 

“You’ve always taken care of Keiko, it’s time that you take care of yourself. You said the girl you like loves Keiko, it’s time for you to love her and move on from my sister.” The tears welled in his eyes, his heart breaking at the mention of her. “Stop caging Keiko and yourself to memories of her. It’s time to make new memories, Yuta.” 

Mari held his hand that was above the table, “Yuta, it’s time to let go of Misa.”  

Yuta found himself seated in front of her picture, a small basket of flowers next to the urn filled with her ashes. “I wished you had the chance to see Keiko. She looks exactly like you, Misa.” His fingers trailed on the glass of her picture. The same round sparkling eyes, the same button nose, the same smile. Keiko really looks like her mom. “I'm so lost without you.” 

She was Yuta’s first love. The girl who made his heart beat again. The girl who showed him how to live and breathe. The girl who rocked his world. The girl he knew he wanted to stay with forever. 

But forever is such a long time for him. Not for her. She became inexistent in his forever. All because of the girl who topped her in his heart. Keiko. 

“They were right, I shouldn’t have convinced you to keep Keiko. Maybe you’re still here with me.” The tears he had been keeping for so long fell on his cheeks. 

Keiko is everything he has. She’s his happiness. He doesn’t want her to get mad at her mom. Doesn’t want her to suffer because of his mistakes. He had to sacrifice his own happiness for his daughter's happiness. The least he can do as her dad. 

But why is it so hard to be a single father? “You should have been in this problem with me,” Yuta whined, sniffing while wiping the tears from his cheek. If Misa is still alive, he wouldn’t even have these problems, to begin with. “Misa, tell me what to do.” 

It was a sign, Yuta thought. Misa’s sign. Does she really want him to move on from her? He picked up the vibrating phone and was relieved to hear her voice, “Yuta, can Keiko come to the…?” 

“Y/N,” he called, then sobbed. He needed to face all his fears. For Keiko. For himself. For Y/N. 

“Are you alright? Are you crying?” Yuta laughed. How pathetic does he even sound now? “Where are you? Did something happen?”   

“Can I go to you?” She hummed, telling him that she was in her apartment. “I'll go to you right now. Y/N, can you wait for me?”   

“I’ll wait for you, Yuta” 

A smile escaped his lips the moment he put down his phone. His thumb caressed the image of the owner of the urn before him, “Thank you for guiding me and Keiko to her, Misa." 

As he called for a cab, Yuta breathed in relief. From now on, he wouldn’t be scared of chasing his happiness. He wouldn’t be scared of choosing himself over anything else. 

Today, he will be brave and go to where his heart wanted him to be. 

To be in Y/N’s arms.   

Part Six

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,” she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

“No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

[demonslayedher]

Dream Analysis of Mugen Ressha

Spoilers for the movie, while it does not depart from the plot of the manga, they made adaptational choices which I may refer to within.

While Enmu has control over what kind of dream his victims see, ultimately, he would have no way of knowing all of the details of his victims' lives, so we can assume that he is prompting his victims to fill in a lot of the details themselves. These are the worlds they surround themselves with consciously, but their untouchable unconscious spaces say just as much.

I've said some of this before, but these dream sequences give us so much to say about Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Tanjiro.

Into the dream: Did that "Rengoku-aniki" thing really happen???? It's animated like a fever dream (or drawn like a typical Gotouge-being-Gotouge panel), but both the movie and the manga leave this inconclusive. It can be interpreted two ways: 1. The two other demons were there all along as decoys, set to appear only when Enmu's blood technique slowly started to take effect so that they'd let their guard down. In this way, we'd know that the boys had a true way of witnessing Kyojuro's prowess and a true bonding moment, thereby making his death hit all the harder later. This would also mean that one of the cars was totally unusable for passengers, and many of the passengers were already thoroughly spooked before falling into sleep. It would also imply that they were all super excited, thoroughly relieved, returned to their seats, and then just passed out.

2. The moment the tickets were clipped, Enmu's very, very, very realistic dreams took immediate effect, but he still needed time before it took effect enough that their guards would go down. If this is the case, then it implies the following: 1. Enmu's illusions can be shared 2. Everyone syncs extremely well together to have all been sucked in by the same illusion (it's possible it was only Tanjiro's, but since we get in everyone's heads a little in this part, I believe they all experienced the same thing). Reacting in ways so true to how they would in waking like, they learned as much about each other as truthfully as they would have if they were fighting while awake. 3. The "Rengoku-aniki" thing is the moment they're falling into a deeper stage of sleep, when any bizarre thing will make sense. They've lost any sense of holding back and are embracing the emotions as they hit them. Even if that was all a dream, the bond formed was very real. But then, as they fall deep, they fall into their own headspaces. Inosuke: I love how bombastic this dream is. It moves at a very fast pace, and everything revolves around Inosuke. He is physically much larger than Ponjiro, Chuuitsu, and Pyonko, who clearly follow him as their leader, the most powerful person in this cave exploring world full of wonder and excitement. True to life, these underlings can at times be frustrating or stupid, but there is no one else Inosuke would rather have at his side to take on a hugely impressive foe. It's a relatively simplistic world, what Inosuke really cares about is his place in it, and who is there.

Taking it a step deeper, he should not be able to manifest in his self-conscious space, but Gotouge attributes his and Zenitsu's ability to do this and protect their cores from intruders to their strong senses of self. What's telling is that his subconscious space is practically identical to his conscious dream space; like there is no breakage between one stage of reality and the next. In its Zen-like simplicity Inosuke's mind is never at odds with itself, its interpretation of reality is fluid and seamless. However, being at this deeper state brings us to a deeper state of self actualization, with Inosuke manifesting closer to the ideal beast he views himself as.

Now, with Inosuke being so fully invested in what he sees as reality, he's still got a carry-over effect from dream after waking up, which one could interpret as not having fully shaken the effects of Enmu's blood technique. After all, Zenitsu simply never broke out of it, Tanjiro had to kill himself in his dreams each time to fully snap out of it, and Kyojuro was the only one powerful enough to have broken through its effects through his own willpower. When Tanjiro says the train is a demon, he buzzes with "I was right!" (a conviction that only got stronger in his dream), and Inosuke's declarations of being the boss and Tanjiro being his underling are indignantly plentiful and he fully believes what he is saying every time he brings it up, even if he's aware that he's no longer in the cave exploring dream. But, given that Inosuke is so at peace with his own version of reality, it's also just as likely that his conviction of being The Boss was also only compounded by the dream, and all that dream did was give him a more fun setting in which to play around in. But, what was so fun about the dream, what made him sleep-giggle with pleasure, was that everyone else was finally getting with the program and recognizing him as the boss, as they should. Finally. It's so frustrating in real life that he has to keep reminding them to get it right. Get it, Santaro?? GOOD. Zenitsu: What I love here is the contrast between subconscious and conscious space. Both of them have the same theme melody, but played in very, very different ways. They also both play with the same core desire in very different ways as well. Is it so much to ask that he can just spend some time alone with the girl he loves?? If we jump straight to the pitch black unconscious space, he specifies to the intruder that only Nezuko is allowed there. Not just girls in general, not a close friend like Tanjiro, only the one girl he loves, and even then, you'd have to love someone a lot to invite them into the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. And it is a very, very, very, very dark corner. Zenitsu's spent most of his life building that dark, pessimistic personality, compounded by the treatment he's always received throughout his life and what he believes about himself at his core. He's ugly and depraved there, and very defensive. Because he holds himself in such darkness, that makes him desire the bright, happy, completely idealistic world of his conscious dream world. It's rich with detail and warm and he knows it well, that places is the first place he ever felt someone have hope for him; it's Jiichan's home, that sunny place with delicious peaches and full of clovers and lush greenery and a charming stream. Of course he'd want to show it all to Nezuko, she deserves to see such a happy, pretty place! And, while the world is idealized and happy, Nezuko is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cute and actually wants to hang out with him too. She's willing no hold his hand, none of the girls who dated (read: used) Zenitsu in the past were ever willing to hold his hand. He even gets to show her that he can be cool, and she likes it!! She looks him in the eyes and is totally honest about enjoying his company!!

He just wants someone to want him back. He wants to belong in the sunshine too. So, even if he had it in him to wake up from Enmu's blood technique, who can blame him for staying there? (You know, besides Tanjiro, who has been desperately screaming for them all to wake up and help him protect the passengers. Zzzzz, five more minutes, Tanjiro, zzzzzzz----) Kyojuro: This... isn't really a happy dream. Kyojuro has accepted a lot of sad parts of his reality so wholeheartedly that he doesn't seek the comfort of a dream in which his mother is still alive, or a dream in which his father is proud of him. Instead, what Kyojuro was looking for was the chance to go back and say more to Senjuro. This implies that on the real day he knelt in that room, while his father faced away and read the book* while Kyojuro told him all about how he defeated Lower Moon Two and became a Pillar, and was met with his father's heartbreakingly unenthusiastic reply, he later went outside and...

...didn't say any words of comfort to Senjuro.

This regret, that he didn't do more for his brother whom he knew was hurting in his own silent ways this whole time, was what sat most bothersomely in Kyojuro's otherwise peacefully self-assured psyche (or fired-up psyche, if you go by his subconscious space) . It makes sense that in his dying wishes, the first thing he requests is that Tanjiro do this in his stead. *Speaking of that book, Kyojuro had forgotten about it until his memories pulled together to create the details of the dream, which was why he thought to mention it to Tanjiro later. This shows that Enmu is not an architect of people's dreams, he only sets them in motion. How believable they are depends on each victim. (Totally unrelated, I love the design of the Rengoku estate's garden??? It's primarily evergreen and unflowering trees, meaning it stays relatively steadfast throughout the year, a garden designed in samurai villa taste. Plus the details of the house also fit really well, I think??? Would need to review research of buke-yashiki architecture to say more.) Tanjiro: ...*deep breath* This boy really, really wants to go home. Like, the climax of the movie is amazing and all, but it's the scenes with Tanjiro's family that make me cry. Ugh, where do I start. Enmu probably just grabs on to whatever thread of a desire a person has, and then he just tugs on it and says "this way, let's go really far in this direction, show me where it goes, hmm, okay, nice, lovely. Have fun here, I've now seen enough to write my own angsty version for later." So... so I'm just going to work backwards a moment. Enmu screwed up here, thinking he could really read the depth of Tanjiro's family and his feelings for them. He thought he could make a convincing version of these "characters" cry and shove Tanjiro around and speak meanly to him and make him feel shame. And the cut to that dream, OH MY GOSH, truly horrific sound and color change. But Tanjiro's sees through it so fast that he wakes up immediately and uses that anger at how Enmu wrote them to cut off his "head." You screwed up, Enmu, you blew it, maybe other people would very so blown down by the shock that they wouldn't question how unreal that dream sequence is, but Tanjiro has honed his fighting spirit so much that it's been nagging him even throughout his happy dream. And he really, really, really wants to stay in that happy dream. Like, even though he's on guard at the beginning, so much so that he only focuses on the familiar feeling of a demon being around and does not notice the familiar landscape AT ALL. But the moment Hanako and Shigeru step in, convincingly made from Tanjiro's memories and unedited by Enmu, Tanjiro throws that all away in an instant. As he says when he's trying, after trying and trying and trying to rip himself away from the dream, he was never even supposed to had left this world. He was never supposed to had touched anything like a sword, they were all supposed to stay there together, living their simple life. If things hadn't gone wrong that one night. Tanjiro cares deeply about his mission, he's adopted his training deeply, he has serious desire to improve, which is why his subconsciously keeps trying to call himself back to reality, but it's so hard, because this is where he wants to be, and it's even harder because it feels so real. It's a little peeve of mine when families with lots of little siblings are written to be too angelic and idealistic, and there is some of that with the "let's make sembei, yaaaay" scene, but... but that's actually pretty true. I'm giving myself away with how close this hits to home, but it's a dynamic in a lot of large families, especially large families pretty happy to stay to themselves and people who live the same sort of conservative, traditional lifestyle, to foster in the older siblings some pride in taking care of the little ones and helping create that happy world for them, even if taking care of little kids can be rough. It's not to say that things are always happy and fluffy, they're not, and that's not to say even

happy kids don't resent being in a large family sometimes. But there's plenty of moments in daily life, especially in the presence of small children, that you get swept up into a sillier, happy, caretaker side of yourself, and since you all grow up with these silly moments together, you're going to naturally fall into into some silly, scripted-feeling moments of "then I'll be in charge of eating the sembei!" "no faaaaair!". So, I'll give the sembei scene a pass because that IS a moment that happens in years of moments with the same posse of kiddos around you all the time. But it's also so striking to me how each of Tanjiro's siblings, however idealized, has their own personality. The traits are so subtle but consistent and Tanjiro knows all of them. They pick up on things about each other, they grow realistically annoyed and surprised and concerned and scared like they would if they were real instead of only Tanjiro's memories of them. Those kids feel so real to me, even if they are annoyingly overidealized in some parts as Tanjiro is letting himself get swept away. And just when he's managing to part from it to go face reality, Enmu makes more attack: he brings in Nezuko, trying to make it feel like there's no point in Tanjiro running at all. She's fine. There's nothing left for him to fight for. Everything's fine. And all over again, Tanjiro just stops. He KNOWS it's not real, but he's hurting so much to hear her voice again that he just sto-o-o-o-ps. And his desire to stay with the others catches up to him all over again, and he's tempted all over again to stay, EVEN KNOWING IT'S NOT REAL and there are very, very, very pressing matters to attend to. Even if it was all a little happy and idealized, more than anything, it felt like life always did. It's telling that when Tanjiro finally, FINALLY pulls away from that that time, he doesn't look back, and the family stops chasing him. This is Tanjiro accepting reality, however much it hurts. He's already had a couple years to accept this, but it was all overwhelming to get such a vivid taste of it again.

Tanjiro wants to do well to his organization and honor Urokodaki's training and avenge the fallen and prevent anyone else from being hurt and see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and make Nezuko human again, but more than anything, he wants that simple life. And it's so, so heartwarming that at the end of the manga, he gets it.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He never wanted a life with a sword, but he's been working so hard at it anyway.

[ml-salt-central]

Okay, It's finally time so let's just get this over with: Ephemeral Salt

Gabriel decides to leave his son handle a press confference by himself over akumatizing some guy crying over a coin, we're off to a great start (sarcasm)

The two scenes in the episode where Gabriel is twisting his ring and giving Adrien orders is really feeding into the "Adrien is a Sentimonster" thing which is just... really shitty, this post already gonna be long af so I won't go too in debt on this but I will leave this post here because it makes my point for me

Ew, Zoé exists

Pigella, Purple Tigress and King Monkey literally did nothing on the akuma fight at the beginning so why were they even included here?

Su-Han might be a dick head but... he's right, Mari SHOULD know Chat Noir's identity now that she's the guardian. I know this episode tries to show why them knowing who they are is dangerous and shit but the way Gabriel finds out Adrien is Chat Noir in this episode is so contrived is not even funny

Okay, Imma just say it, the conflict in this episode is really forced and it relies on the characters just not speaking up, there were MANY ways all of this could've been prevented:

Luka could've spoken up about finding out who Chat Noir is during "Wishmaker" and told both Mari and Su-Han about it or Mari could ask Luka to wait until she leaves and tell Su-Han if she really doesn't wanna know

Tell Su-Han to follow Chat Noir after a battle and find out who he is

Have Tikki talk to Su-Han since she knows that Chat Noir is Adrien and can actually say his name since he's not her holder

Instead of Ladybug lying about wanting to reveal themselves to eachother for no fucking reason, have her tell Chat Noir about the situation with Su-Han and explain it to him. Then have her ask Chat Noir to reveal his indentity to Su-Han so they can keep a better eye on him

Everything in this episode is so fucking FORCED!!!!!

Luka, I'm really disappointed in you this episode... not only could all of this been prevented by you opening your mouth but you could've also rewinded time anyway instead of waiting for Mari to give you a signal, you idiot!!!!

Mari, again, why the fuck did you lie to Chat Noir and promise him to reveal who you were if it was never your intention to follow through? I get that you would've forgotten had Viperion done his part but still, it's a dick move! You could've just told him about Su-Han bothering you

Not talking about any of the Love Square moments because I hate these two together and individually

So Gabriel finds out Adrien is Chat Noir by just happening to be right outside his room when he called Marinette "My Lady" on the phone because I guess no one in paris reffers to their girlfriend in this way ever

And just like in Chat Blanc, Gabriel proves to be the most horrible person on earth, making all of the writers' attempts to make him sympathetic seem laughable

*Sees Shadow Noir* EW! TAKE IT AWAY! JUST WHEN I THOUGHT THEY COULDN'T MAKE GABRIEL ANY UGLIER WHEN TRANSFORMED!!!!!!

Adrien, I don't care about you anymore but they really did you dirty with that akuma design, my boy... (Your Astro Cat form is kind cool tho)

Okay so Mari gets wrecked and then Luka has Sass rewind time without a holder which sends time out of wack and the solution is... to go to a satellite that coordinates the clocks in the world and this is supposed to fit time itself somehow? Like huh? Ya'll realize that clocks don't dictate how time functions right? Why not just use the Miraculous Ladybug to fix everything? Why did we even have to go to space?!

During the scene where Ladybug explains her dumbass satellite plan, the rising sun flag makes a brief appearance and... I just... I just can't with this (Here's a post explaining why this is awful)

So everything goes back to normal because mlb isn't written with the intention of viewers enjoying it, it's written with the intention of making the viewers obssessed by making promises of something happening eventually only to not actually stick to it and keep dragging shit on, hooray!!!!

In conclusion:

This being the 100th episode of Miraculous is really appropriate because it showcases what the series does best: Waste your time

(Next order of business: Imma be making some posts about changing the way the Miraculi and their powers work as well as the series entire magic system, look forward to that)

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: Changing Departments

*click! click! click! click!*

Derek listened to the camera flash as he sat on the side of the bed. He was currently doing a photo shoot for HIMBO magazine, a fashion and lifestyle magazine “for the modern gay male™”. Fake blood dripped against his chest - they were doing some Halloween type of shoot. But let’s be honest, the blood wasn’t the focus of the shot: it was his body. Derek had never been the best student - and his attitude certainly didn’t help - but if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make his body look as sexy as humanly possible. Derek scoured nutrition blogs to make sure he stayed up to date on everything related to fitness, and the dedication showed itself in his beautiful, sculpted body. Sitting here with no shirt on and wearing a pair of lethally tight skinny jeans, he looked like every gay man’s wet dream. To put it simply, Derek was hot as hell; problem is, he knew he was hot at hell.

“Alright, that’s good. I think we have what we need, thank you Mr. Hale” the director said. Derek stood up and two twinkish looking assistants came over to remove the blood. Derek stood still and tried to ignore the two obviously gay men putting their hands all over his body. Derek was the kind of guy who thought all gay men were jumping at the bit for any man they can find. Doing a photo shoot for a gay magazine was certainly not his dream, but hey: a paycheck is a paycheck.

After he was cleaned off, Derek put on a t shirt and enjoyed the feeing of it stretched tight against his pecs. He slung a Louis Vuitton backpack over his shoulders. All he had to do was collect his check and he could be done with this homo magazine. Derek headed towards the doorway connecting the studio space to the rest of the offices. He turned the corner into the hallway, only to immediately crash into someone coming from the opposite direction. Papers went flying.

Derek hesitated, then reluctantly crouched down to help the man pick up his papers. As he did, the man spoke to him in a deep voice “You know, you should really watch where you’re going. People are busy around here.”

This was the remark that set Derek off. It was enough that he had done a photo shoot outside his comfort zone, and ran into someone while he was leaving, but now he was being sassed by some worker who couldn’t slow down enough to watch out for passers. Derek had had enough of this magazine. “You know,” he said, “I’m surprised. I thought you fags would be more excited to slam into other guys.”

Derek could sense the shift in mood immediately. All the workers around him who had been buzzing about immediately stopped and looked at th scene. The office had gone dead silent. As Derek looked around at all the men staring at them, the man he had bumped into finished collecting his papers and stood up, allowing Derek to finally look at him properly. Woah, this was a fine looking man. Strappingly tall and ruggedly handsome. He filled out his expensive-looking three-piece suit perfectly. His whole demeanor was one of absolute confidence. Finally, Derek realized what had happened. He hadn’t bumped into some random employee. He had knocked over and subsequently cussed out the boss of the whole place.

*Well*, Derek said to himself, *I fucked up bad this time*.

The boss was surprisingly well-composed for someone who had just been called a slur, Derek thought. As if to prove this point, the boss suddenly started laughing. It was a good, deep laugh. And when he laughed, everyone else in the building laughed along with him. Derek stared at everyone in the office in confusion. Why did they find this so funny? Was it because he’s their boss? And they were all looking at the boss with such admiration. Derek just hoped this meant the issue would blow over and he could leave before embarrassing himself sooner.

But before he could step away, he was spoken to. “I used to get really angry when people said stuff like that to me,” the boss explained in a rich, inviting voice, “now it just makes me sad, because I see all the failed potential hiding behind that language.”

Derek took a little offense to that last statement, but he knew he was in no position to argue right now. It seemed like the laughter was the all-clear the rest of the office needed to know their boss was okay, because the normal hum of voices and keyboards had returned. Now it was just him and the extremely powerful man he had pissed off. Derek broke the silence. “Look, Mr...”

“Christian Le Maítre” the gorgeous boss informed him, “Editor in Chief of HIMBO magazine. But everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.”

“Right. Well, uh, Mr. M, I’m really sorry about-“

“No you’re not.” Christian cut him off without missing a beat. “I’ve seen so many models like you come and go through these halls. You think you’re hot shit, and take pity on all of my boys in this office who had to take desk jobs because their bodies weren’t nice enough to let them get by on looks alone. But you know, we’re hard workers here. And we’re a close knit family.”

Derek objected to being interrupted, but as Christian talked, he felt his defenses melt away with every word. Mr. M was right, Derek realized. I am a narcissistic asshole who holds myself above others. He had never felt like this before. But everything Mr. M said just seemed right. When this gorgeous, confident man spoke, Derek realized he was speaking the truth.

“What’s your name, son?” Mr. M asked him.

“D-Derek, sir. Derek Hale.” Derek was never one stutter, but how else could he feel right now?

“Well Derek, I’m sure our lame little office doesn’t fit your macho man swagger persona, but I think you’d find that working here is pretty great.”

Was that an offer? Derek didn’t know. He had completely forgotten the context of their conversation, and indeed his reason for being in this office in the first place was slowly becoming a distant memory. All Derek knew in this moment was that he HAD to work at HIMBO. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life without working here.

Derek tried to compose a response, but was increasingly timid in the presence of this incredible man. “Well, uh, Mr. M. Perhaps if you have any opening I might be able to, uh-”

Mr. M just laughed again, and this time Derek laughed right along with him.

“Well I’m shocked to hear you change your tune so quickly, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Working here is kind of a dream job, if I do say so myself. But there’s no need to submit your CV and go through the traditional channels. I am actually prepared to offer you a job on the spot.”

Derek felt his ears burning. How lucky was he! To be offered a job at the best company on earth. He would take it immediately!

“Mr. M, it would be an honor to work for you” Derek bowed his head as he said this. Respect was important, especially for the man who was giving him a job no questions asked.

“Glad to hear it, sport! Now full disclosure, it’s a clerking position. I know, not the most exciting stuff, but here at HIMBO we believe even the most mundane work can be made magical! Of course, you would have to change a few of your behaviors to *best* fit the position. Your ego, your hot-headedness. Do you think those are things good for a clerk to have?”

“No, sir” Derek said with convocation. “Anything you want me to change, I will change.”

Christian cracked a smile, as if Derek had said something unintentionally funny. “Well I admire your commitment. It’s just, clerks are so straight-laced and serious, and you are such a character, Derek. Mr. Macho Man with a great body. Actually, I do like this body.” Christian looked Derek up and down, “I think that can stay. But as for everything else, well, I can take care of that.”

Christian stopped talking and instead just looked at Derek. The hopeful employee stood there silently, unsure of what to do. Just then, he suddenly felt a draining feeling. It wasn’t his muscles or his IQ or any of that stuff that he felt fading away, it was more like he was losing... his personality? All the pride Derek felt over his hot body and great life was disappearing. All the anger he get towards people not like him, slipping away. But it wasn’t replaced by new emotions, it wasn’t replaced by anything. Derek stopped feeling strong feelings about much of anything. He liked his job, he followed the news, but he had never had any opinions of his own. Never tried to be individual or stand out. Derek was becoming like his new favorite flavor of ice cream: vanilla.

As Derek’s personality slowly morphed him into a contender for the World’s Most Dull Man, his wardrobe changed to follow suit. His designer t shirt loosened out a bit. The sleeves grew down his arms before spouting buttons and cuffs. Buttons also sprouted down the middle, and the shirt gained a collar, becoming a basic button-up shirt. A white plaid pattern spread across the shir. At the same time, Derek felt his skinny jeans go “pah” as all the tightness shrugged out of them, changing them into (gag) regular fit pants. They lightened to gray and changed material to thin cotton, becoming work slacks. His new plaid shirt automatically tucked itself into the pants, and a brown leather belt formed around his waist, with his expensive designer sneakers morphing into brown leather dress shoes to match. The LV backpack he wore fell as one of the straps broke off, before disappearing altogether. The remaining strap lengthened and slung itself over his shoulder, and the bag itself shifted into a basic messenger bag, holding plenty of important documents and paperwork.

For a brief moment, Derek felt confusion and fear. Why were these changes happening to him? Where did his nice stuff go, and what were these boring-ass clothes replacing them? These thoughts only lasted for half a second, before Derek realized how right this was. This was his style, or more accurately his *lack* of style. Derek had never cared about trends, or getting fancy new clothes. As long as they fit him well and looked professional enough for work, that was all that mattered in Derek’s eyes. A Ross Membership Card popped into his wallet to cement this change.

Derek felt something in his pocket, and pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses. These were the glasses he needed to see, of course. Derek opened them up and put them on. To follow suit, his hair parted itself to the side and became thick with gel holding his new professional haircut in place.

As promised, Christian had left Derek his body, but had taken basically everything else from him. Where there had once stood an arrogant, trendy mode, there was now a walking turtleneck. Normally in cases like this, Derek would sprout new memories of his new life. But no memories came, because Derek didn’t really *have* a life. He was now a total office drone. From 9-5 he worked faithfully for HIMBO, and after that he went home and solved jigsaw puzzles until it was time for bed... except on the nights where Mr. M invited Derek to his house. Derek truly wanted nothing more from life.

Christian smiled at the new corporate boy that stood before him. “Okay I think you’ve handled the onboarding process well, Dirk. Dirk, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” Dirk replied matter of factly. Dirk Kent. Filing clerk for HIMBO magazine.

“Great! But there’s actually one more thing I need from you. I’m still a little raw about that comment of yours earlier, and I would hate for it to taint our working relationship with each other, so allow me to bury this hatchet.”

Christian snapped his fingers, and Dirk felt his impressive manhood shrink, and shrink, and shrink, until he heard a “pop!” sound and knew that it was no more. Poor Dirk was smooth as could be in his private areas. But he didn’t mind: being unable to orgasm helped him focus on his work. And besides, if Mr. M needed help Dirk still had two perfectly serviceable holes on him.

Christian laughed again, eliciting another laugh from Dirk. “Dirk, pal, I don’t think I have ever been happier with one of my new hires. But you know, I do seal my deals with a kiss.”

“Why thank you sir!” Dirk replied with enthusiasm, as he allowed Christian to walk over, turn up his chin, and plant a kiss on his lips. And it was the greatest kiss Dirk had ever felt. Indeed, it was the only kiss he had ever felt, but as far as kisses go it was still pretty spectacular. As Dirk stood there with his lips pressed against those of his incredivle boss, he knew there was nothing more he would want from life.

As they parted, Derek looked hopefully up at his boss “Where should I start with my work, sir?” He lived to work.

Christian smiled again. “I’ll film you in on that in a minute, but let me take you to your desk. You’ll be down in the accounting department. In fact, I think you’ll be desk neighbors with our other new hire Bartholomew! You’ll love him. A total nerd but a sweet kid regardless.” Without warning, Christian turned and walked down the hall. He didn’t need to say anything. Dirk instinctively followed him, just as he instinctively obeyed every command Mr. M gave him. Life was easier that way.

[whumpersdump]

Project Rebirth - CH1: The Speech

So, this is my first whump work (that I’m posting;). The word count’s close to 1400 words. Worth noting, English isn’t my first language.

This chapter is from the whumper’s POV.

[ Masterlist ] -- [ Next ]

TW: Restraints (like, very restrained. In a straitjacket) / muzzle / Implied past and future pet whump (institutionalized, like there is a ministry for it.) / implied torture / dehumanization (not with pronouns though)  / I think technically this also fits as lab whump, but it’s still implied.

This is the intro to my series, and doesn’t contain nearly as much whump as the next parts will. The Whumper is literally going to explain what the plot is. He’s very excited about it. He’s prepared his Project Rebirth for years. He’s prepared for anything.

Whumper straightened his back as he looked out on his audience. He hovered his hand over the remote he’d use for this slides, and corrected the position of his speech cards. “We live in a world that is on the brink of change.”

He opened the first slide. He’d picked it all out with the most care he could give it. This one featured headlines from the past few years. ‘An Epidemic of Defiance. How Can We End It?’. ‘More Pet Returns Than Ever Before’. ‘Interest In Re-Training Skyrockets’.

‘Pet Escapes a Record Thirty Times’.

He gave his audience a moment to take the headlines in, before continuing his speech. The last one in particular. His soon to be masterpiece.

“Throughout the past centuries, thousands of specialists have committed themselves to the task of training the pets we cherish so much. There are ones for every type. Those that breed defiance, or rather submission. Quiet pets, or loud ones. All tastes can be accounted for today. However, not for all pets.”

He gestured to the last headline. “No matter how hard we’ve tried, again and again, some pets never seem to learn. What then?”

He held his hands up as if waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. “We keep them as examples, to teach the ones that will learn to know their place. Or in the most extreme cases, we have even considered resort to well… extreme measures. I’m here to tell you, I have the solution.”

“Project Rebirth will put an end to to our struggles. My program can turn any pet in the pet that you deserve. It can make them the submissive and obedient friend you require. It can also create that fiery defiance that makes them seem almost human.”

He took a breath as some faces in the audience grew a frown. “Without the risk that compels us to train it out of them.”

The audience calmed, their faces filled with curious anticipation. Right where he needed them to be.

“Defiance,” he began. “It’s not the only flaw in our pets that drives us to return them to their trainer’s doorstep or worse— leave them on the streets. However it is the most common problem we face today. Whether it is violence to themselves or others, failure to comply, or accept their place in our world, if you’re here today you’ve seen it.”

He pointed at his so coveted headline again. “Even if you’re not the proud owner of a pet of your own, I don’t think there’s many of us that haven’t seen this headline re-appear over the past years. Different numbers, of course.” That got a giggle from a businessman in the front row.

“The pet in question has never actually qualified for placement. This pet is the one that made us consider those extreme measures. They’ve escaped every institution that made the mistake to consider them just another pet. Not even the most renowned specialists have managed to break them, our greatest heroes included.”

He looked down, and basked in the eager anticipation that hung in the room. “With Project Rebirth, I can tame even them.”

Right on cue, his assistant Toby entered the stage. Obedient as ever. Toby’s owner had volunteered him to test the last stage, but passed away. The pet was left in Whumper’s care. Not too bright—like all pets—but among the smartest nonetheless. He was one of the rare ones that truly understood his place. Which was why he was the only pet allowed near the Project without going through it.

Toby pushed forward a hand truck Whumper had specifically designed for today’s purpose. To restrain the most dangerously defiant pet in decades, while making sure the entire audience would catch a glimpse of what would soon be called a miracle.

Muffled curses came out from under the muzzle, their muscles twitched even within the stark white straitjacket and countless restraints that kept them in place. They were as heavily sedated as they could be without them losing their spark. The few master trainers in the audience would know this was a fraction of the inferno their anger and fear could cause, but to everyone else this was spectacle enough.

“Now I’m sure you’re all familiar with at least several of the many names their different trainers have given them, but under my care, for the following months, they will be known as Subject One. After all, they will be the first pet to complete the entire Rebirth program.

“Of course we shouldn’t forget the people that have selflessly volunteered the most intelligent pets of the nation to test the stages separately.” He didn’t want to say this, but his PR manager assured him it would backfire on him if he didn’t. “It is because of them I can finally introduce Project Rebirth’s trial phase to you all.”

He flashed on an as genuine smile as he could muster, and clicked over to the next slide. “With Project Rebirth, any pet can be reborn in anyway you wish them to be. Our entire program is tailored to the pet’s past, and our client’s needs. As will be the program for our dear Subject One.”

As he stared into the pet’s frantic eyes, a frown curled so deep it almost folded over their muzzle. In just a few months, even they would be a sea of calmness. As the ministry desired.

“The ministry of pet management has turned Subject One over to my care in the hope that I could achieve what no one else could.” A few faces turned to others, soft whispers spread through the room. Some sighed. In the back, someone even got up.

It didn’t matter. He would blow their minds. “What if I told you, that within the same time it took for this pet to escape those 30 times, I can turn them into the pet you all wish your pets strive to be?” That got their attention back.

“In the past month me and countless professionals that work under Project Rebirth have evaluated and tested each and every part of this pet.” He clicked to the next slide. It featured a number of diagrams detailing everything from personality traits to behavioral patterns.

“We quite literally mapped their defiance. Starting tonight, Project Rebirth will uncover the treasure buried under the large X that marks all of their placement forms.”

The following slide showed pictures of the test subjects placed in different stages of the program. Pre-Birth, Infancy, and the Toddler stage, as some of the staff had dubbed it. Though, on the official notes they just numbered them.

“Project Rebirth consists of 8 stages. The first you’re all familiar with.” He put on a smile again as a few people predicted what he’d say. “That dreaded evaluation that tells you where you went wrong.” A soft laugh went through the room.

“The second is more for us rather than the pet, but rest assured they won’t be forgotten. In our second stage we take what we’ve learned and map not only their behavior, but also the program in accordance with said behavior.”

He held his hands up. “Now, the third and onward… those are a bit of a trade secret. Rest assured, should you decide to put your money—” he blinked, to ease the not-so subtle request— “and once our first trial is completed, your pets in out care, you won’t be disappointed.” He nodded, marking the end of his speech.

“Now my scientists will happily answer as much of your questions as they can, after which those of you who decide to support my goal will be given a small sneak peak into our second stage. Which I assure you, is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Applause erupted from the audience, as Subject One trashed against their restraints. Whumper smiled. He gave them one last bow, and turned the presentation back the headlines.

If he succeeded, his program could become the standard worldwide. All he had to do, was get all those people to throw enough money at him to make it possible on such a scale.

He turned off his microphone and addressed the assistant that had patiently waited beside the subject for his orders. “Toby, write down your last observations on the subject’s responses. I want a presentable report within two hours. And tell the staff to begin storage preparations. Tier 3, please.”

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x Reader) Part 8

Summary: how do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brothers’ best friend?

Word Count: 4.8K

__

You woke up late the next morning, having forgotten to plug in your phone which also functioned as your alarm. Instead Hange had busted into your room and ripped the blankets off of you, exposing you to the chilly air. You yelped and reached blindly for the covers, your mind too foggy with sleep to comprehend how late you were.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty." Hange sang as she jostled your shoulder.

"Wha..."

"School starts in like thirty minutes come on bust a move." That woke you up. You tossed your legs over the edge and stumbled around your room, pulling on a pair of joggers and a large t shirt. Hange had left once she was sure that you were awake, leaving you alone to get ready. You didn't bother with make up, not that you ever really did. You double checked that you had all of your supplies for school before zipping up your bag and meandered down the steps. Erwin and Hange were already pulling on their shoes by the door, Erwin was wrapping one of his scarves around Hange's neck. You scrunched your nose in disgust at their outright display of affection and shoved your feet into a pair of old sneakers.

The three of you exited the house, and made a beeline for Erwin's minivan which had been heating up to melt off the frost and snow. The drive was slow and cold, the van was dated so no matter how early Erwin woke up to heat up the car for you, it would always be colder than the Arctic. Erwin also drove like a god damn grandpa in the winter due to the icy roads which didn't help. Finally you made it to school with only five minutes before the bell rang, you bolted into the building, you were in such a hurry that you didn't bother to stomp the snow off your feet as you entered. Which was a mistake because in your hast you lost your footing on the already slick floor, you yelped as you fell flat on your ass. You blinked as you tried to comprehend what had just happened, you were brought back to the present by the sound of boisterous laughter. You turned to glare at Connie and Sasha who where standing to the left munching on a bag of hot cheetos.

"You should've seen the look on your face!" Connie howled as he slapped his thigh. Sasha giggled and nodded as she wiped cheeto dust on Connie's white shirt while he wasn't watching. You rolled your eyes as you picked yourself up off the floor, you ignored them and pushed forward down the hall. Sasha and Connie trailed after you since they had the same first class as you, making jokes as they went.

"You know they really should put out those yellow signs, you know the ones with the person falling?" Sasha joked loudly.

"Yeah I know what you mean, then we could print out a picture of (Y/n)'s face and then stick it on the sign." Connie quipped which lead to the two of them dissolving into another fit of laughter. You ducked into the class room as the minute bell rang weaving through the desks to get to your seat. Armin watched you with wide eyes as you pulled your things out for chem, after your desk was covered in notebooks and pens you topped it off with your phone, which was still dead. The bell rang and then Sasha and Connie staggered in, your teacher shook her head and marked them tardy once again.

"Did you get my text last night?" Armin asked, eyeing your phone on your desk.

"Aw no Armin I'm sorry, I didn't charge it last night so it's dead." you apologized as you attempted to organize your cluttered desk. Armin smiled sweetly and nodded,

"It's all good! I was just wondering what your schedule for this week was and if you wanted to study together again?" Armin explained as he pushed his pencil across his desktop.

"I'd love to study, Geometry is kicking my ass right now." you moaned, the thought of your math class made your stomach heavy with dread.

"I can help you with that if you can help me with poem for English." Armin said softly, his blue eyes sparkling with a playful glint. You rolled your eyes you knew that Armin wouldn't need your help with any of his classes, he was just trying to make you feel smarter.

"Whatever you want baby doll." Armin's face flushed at the pet name that you used for him, you had recently started calling him the nickname due to his doll like features. He averted his gaze to the board where the teacher had written a warm up question on the board to get class started. Instead of working on the problem like a good student, you decided to use the first five minutes of class time to revive your dead phone. You plugged your charger into your laptop and then plugged your phone into the charger, once you saw the tiny lightning bolt you turned your attention to the board.

__

Chemistry went by uncharacteristically fast, the teacher kept the class busy with a lecture as well as a rowdy game of kahoot in preparation for your midterm. You had no time to check your phone, so it wasn't until you were walking through the hallway with Mikasa and Sasha that you noticed that Levi had responded. According to your phone, he had responded only fifteen minutes after you sent the initial message.

"My bathroom schedule is none of your concern."

You smiled at your phone, it may not seem like he was pleased with your text but you knew better. You had come to appreciate Levi's own weird way of showing that he cared, it had been no small feat either. So you decided to interpret his response as "don't worry I'm fine." you shoved your phone back into your pocket and continued to push through the throng of students in the hall. Sasha walked a few paces in front of Mikasa and you, swinging her lunchbox and humming along to whatever song was playing through her ear buds. Mikasa tugged her scarf up over her nose as you passed Eren who waved vaguely in your direction. Your eyes roamed over Mikasa's form, she had recently switched her aesthetic a bit, changing her wardrobe to a more soft goth mixed with grunge.

Today she wore a green plaid skirt with a belt cinched tightly around her thin waist. She had selected a black turtleneck that clung to her curves with a thick silver necklace with a heart pendant. And of course she wore her red scarf around her neck. You had to admit that it suited her, she looked hot as hell. Sasha on the other hand often dressed in a more causal manner. Today the brunette wore a pair of baggy jeans that hung off her hips, only staying in place because of the shoe lace that she had tied around her waist to function as a belt. Despite the cold weather Sasha wore a tiny pink cami with cute little strawberries on it, she also wore a light pink cardigan over the cami, presumably to prevent herself from being dress coded. Seeing how cute your friends had dressed made you feel embarrassed, you frowned down at your sweatpants and your t shirt that had an ugly bleach stain on the front. You'd do better tomorrow, you thought to yourself as you and Mikasa followed Sasha to your next class, which was World History.

The three of you arrived just in time, not that it mattered anyway. The history teachers always took their time on Mondays, spending a minimum of at least twenty minutes in the hall chatting about sports. You took your seats in the back of the room, surprisingly Connie and Jean were already seated and arguing quietly.

"-I don't know that's a bit sus but hey I won't judge." Connie retorted, crossing his arms and averting his gaze while Jean glared at him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Sasha interrupted as she dropped into her seat next to Connie. Jean's cheeks flushed as he hardened his glare on Connie who waved Sasha off.

"Oh nothing" Connie winked at Jean who eyed the pair suspiciously, knowing that neither one could keep a secret.

"Aw ok then." Sasha looked a bit disappointed as she dropped her huge lunchbox down on the desk.

"Got anything good in there?" Jean sighed, eager to change the subject.

"Duh you dummy." Sasha scoffed as she opened the bag and began pawing through it's contents.

"Let me rephrase that: Got anything to spare? I have practice tonight and I didn't pack any snacks." Jean exasperated as he pointed to the lung box. Sasha paused and pursed her lips in thought while Connie poorly covered his laughter.

"Hmmm what's in it for me?" Sasha hummed thoughtfully as she pulled out a variety of granola bars and fanned them in front of her face tauntingly.

"I'm giving you the chance to be a good friend that should be enough!" Jean fumed with his eyes locked on the bars. You watched the pair go back in forth as they bartered for the snacks until they finally settled that Jean would be the designated driver for the party this weekend. You watched as Jean stuffed a handful of granola bars in his soccer bag and Sasha opened up another bag of hot cheetos. You giggled and turned to gauge Mikasa's reaction, she had a small smile on her full lips as she jotted down some notes.

"Speaking of parties, where is the party this weekend?" You asked as you pulled your own notebook out to take some notes. Connie cocked his head, his thin eyebrows furrowing as he stared at you.

"Your house I thought." Connie remarked as he drummed his pencil against the desk.

"Oh, I wasn't really planning on hosting but..."

"No Connie it's at Marco's remember?" Jean stated as he rolled his eyes.

"My bad." Connie chuckled.

"Well still I don't think I was invited so I wouldn't want to impose." you admitted.

"Nonsense! Marco would love to have you over." Sasha assured you as she once again wiped her hand on Connie's sleeve.

"Yeah Marco wouldn't mind if you tagged along." Connie shrugged, not even noticing that Sasha had left a bright red stain on his sleeve from the cheeto dust. You noticed that Jean looked a bit uncomfortable, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink. Strange, maybe something happened between the two of them.

"I don't know guys, I really wouldn't want to take advantage of the guy, he seems really nice and I wouldn't want him to think badly of me." you sighed, thinking about the sweet freckled barista.

"I'll ask him, don't worry about it!" Connie waved you off before he turned back to his work. You nodded, deciding to throw in the towel with this argument.

____

After history, you went your separate ways with your friends and went to your next class. English was easy enough, your teacher was an older woman who also doubled as the theater director. This meant that she would often assign some busy work at the beginning of the period and turn you loose so she could make preparations for the next production. So once you finished the assignment for today's class you allowed yourself some time on your phone. Levi's message remained unanswered as you ran through all the possible replies. Everything that you thought of didn't seem to fit so you decided to leave it unanswered until you could think of something good.

__

Levi tapped his foot impatiently as he watched Farlan and Isabel fumbled around the small flat. Farlan was rooting through a bin filled with shoes searching for his loafers. Isabel was standing in front of a small mirror holding up two different pairs of earrings up to her head to see which best matched her outfit. Finally they both found what they were looking for, Farlan slid on his brown loafters and Isabel fastened her hoops to her ears and then they were off. The streets of Paris were dusted in about a foot of snow, which Farlan bitched about due to his poor choice of footwear.

"Can we please call an uber? My toes are going to fall off!" Farlan complained as he shook snow out of his shoes. Isabel giggled and tossed her scarf over her shoulder.

"I like the snow." her green eyes sparkled playfully as she teased the older boy.

"So do I but that doesn't mean I want it between my god damn toes." Farlan hissed as he lifted his other foot to shake out more snow. Levi watched the pair bicker with a certain fondness in his gaze. They had been his first friends and for a time his only family. After his mother died, he was sent to live in an orphanage where he met the odd pair. Even if he was only in the orphanage for two years, he still had come to love the idiots. Thankfully they never lost touch, Farlan had turned 18 in July so he now had custody of Isabel and rented a flat for the both of them. Isabel was still only 16 so technically Farlan was her legal guardian, and so far he seemed to be doing a good job.

"What do you think Levi, should we call an uber?" Isabel asked, bumping her shoulder into Levi's to grab his attention.

"We're already almost there." Levi deadpanned as the three of them meandered down the sidewalk. The city was surprisingly busy for a Monday evening, couples walked with arms linked, families were window shopping, and students sat perched on barstools as they drank coffee while they typed away on laptops. Levi couldn't remember much about Paris, at least not this side of the city. He had grown up in the north-eastern district, which was known to be poorer than the central district or southern district. Farlan had managed to get a job at a law firm as an assistant which had allowed him to move himself and Isabel to the central district. Of course Kenny sent Farlan and Isabel a monthly allowance to keep their heads above water, but it was mostly Farlan who had scrounged the money together to move the pair.

"Then it's settled! We'll walk!" Isabel whooped as she skipped ahead of the two boys. Farlan groaned and shot Levi a disappointed look.

"Don't look at me like that, you're the idiot that wore loafers." Levi scolded.

"I hate how you're always right." Farlan chuckled. The trio walked the rest of the way to the restaurant in relative silence. Thankfully the walk wasn't too long, they sat themselves in a booth. A waiter came and took their orders, Levi was slightly taken aback when Farlan ordered a bottle of wine, but he quickly remembered that the legal drinking age in France was 18. The waiter left them to put in their order, Levi took the moment of peace to check his phone. A hand full of texts from Hange, a meme from Erwin, and.... no response from you.

He frowned as he stared at his own response, looking back at it he wasn't sure how she could respond to that. He mentally kicked himself, for the first time in your odd relationship you showed an interest in him and all he was doing was pushing you away. Levi was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to notice that the waiter had already brought them their drinks. Isabel tapped her straw on the table a few times to rip the paper, once the tip of the straw was exposed she lifted the straw to her lips and blew. The paper shot off the straw and hit Levi square in the chin. Farlan snorted and spat his wine back into his glass so he could laugh at Levi's exasperated expression. Isabel howled with laughter, she banged her hand on the table dramatically as Levi frowned at the two of them unimpressed.

"How old are you?" Levi ridiculed as he stooped to pick up the scrap piece of paper. He balled the trash up and set it down on the table top. Farlan sighed as he finally managed to quell his laughter.

"Someone has to keep you humble Levi." Farlan teased as he took another sip of wine. Levi reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass, Isabel was drinking a root beer loudly through her straw. Levi sat his phone down on the table as he gave his friends his undivided attention. Isabel told him about her job at a doggy day care where she cleaned kennels and watched dogs. Farlan told him about his superiors and how they told him he would make a good lawyer one day. Levi felt a huge sense of relief as he listened to his friends, he was glad that the two of them were finally making a living for themselves. Levi was politely listening to Farlan rant about one of his annoying coworkers when he noticed that Isabel had grown uncharacteristically quiet. His heart dropped when he saw that Isabel had his phone and was frowning at the screen. Farlan followed his gaze and grew quiet as well.

"Isabel what do you think you are doing?" Levi enunciated each word, his tone dripping with venom. Isabel looked up at him, her cheeks tinged pink when she realized that she had been caught.

"Your phone was open and I saw her text..." Isabel trailed off as she turned to show Farlan. Levi slapped his palm over his face and sighed deeply. Farlan whistled lowly as he read the text.

"Shot her down real quick didn't you Levi." Farlan chuckled as he took another sip of wine. Levi frowned, another wave of guilt washing over him.

"Didn't mean to." he mumbled as he lifted his glass to his lips. Isabel had already set his phone down and favored her own phone, her eyes were scanning over the screen quickly as she scrolled through her phone. A few minutes of silence passed before Isabel showed Levi her screen, she had pulled up your instagram.

"This her?" she questioned, Levi only gave her a curt nod as he finished off the wine in his glass.

"Aw Levi's she's adorable!" Isabel gushed as she scrolled through your page, pausing on one of your more popular posts. A series of pictures of you on a beach towel wearing large sunglasses and a huge sun hat, the quality was amazing. He was sure that Armin took the photo, the kid had a knack for photography.

"Damn if you don't want her I'll take her." Farlan hummed as he looked over Isabels shoulder. Levi shot Farlan a disapproving glare.

"What's her number?" Farlan pressed, Isabel choked on her drink as she burst out laughing.

"Forget about it." Levi hissed as he snatched his phone off the table top.

"I'm just teasing you Levi." Farlan waved his hand dismissively as he poured another glass of wine. Levi rolled his eyes and let out a grunt, his own version of acknowledging Farlan's good natured jokes.

"You should call her." Isabel mused as she chewed on her food. Levi furrowed his brows, what would he even say to you? It's not like the two of you casually conversed, he usually only called you if Erwin couldn't reach you, which rarely happened. He glanced at his watch and frowned, if it was eight o'clock here that meant it was about two back home. Therefore you were still in school so he would have to wait until later.

"That's a dumb idea." Levi monotoned, Isabel rolled her eyes dramatically.

"No it's not, even if you're just her friend I'm sure she would like to know that she's on your mind!" Isabel insisted enthusiastically, Farlan nodded in agreement as he shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

"She's right you know-" Farlan paused as he swallowed his mouthful of food, "not everyone can handle your cold demeanor as well as others." Farlan chided as he lifted another bite to his lips.

"Fine I'll call her." Levi caved in as he stabbed his fork into his salad. Isabel squealed in excitement.

"This is great Big-bro! I'm so proud of you!" she gushed, her eyes glimmering with adoration. Levi couldn't resist reaching across the table and ruffling her hair affectionately. Dinner ended without any more noteworthy events, Farlan and Levi split the check and then bundled back up to walk back to the flat.

___

You sat at your dining room table staring hopelessly at your geometry homework. A bowl of cold soup sat untouched, you had been too stressed to eat dinner, a habit that you had recently picked up. Erwin and Hange had made dinner so you could get straight to work, which had been very sweet, but you felt guilty because truthfully you had barely made a dent in your assignment. You thought about calling Armin, he would help you. No you couldn't bother him, he was probably doing work of his own.

So you suffered in silence, the shapes and numbers spinning in your brain the longer you stared at the page. With a frustrated sigh you flipped the page only to see more blank problems that needed to be done. You stood up intending to stretch your legs and take a brain break. After you'd walked around the island in your kitchen three times you came back to the table and dropped down into the chair. You cracked your knuckles before clutching your pencil in a death grip and began to attempt one of the questions. As you scribbled on the page, attempting to make sense of the numbers and letters, you pressed too hard on your pencil and snapped the lead. You watched the tiny piece of lead roll across the page, out of spite you swiped your hand over the page to wipe the lead off.

Your eyes widened at the large smudge that now marred your paper. It all started with a single tear, it rolled down your cheek and splashed onto your paper. Before you could really understand why, you were absolutely bawling your eyes out at the dining room table. Was it because you were frustrated with school? Yeah that was definitely part of the reason. Before you could spiral into a dark pit of self deprecation, you were rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. You squinted through your bleary eyes to see that it was already 10:30 pm. You sighed, not really caring who was on the other end of the line you answered the phone.

"What" you blurted, not really in the mood to talk.

"..."

"Well? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now." your voice quivered as you fought back tears .

"Is...this a bad time?" your heart dropped at the sound of Levi's smooth voice.

"Uh" you sniffled and wiped your eyes.

"No it's not I can talk, what's the matter Levi?" you asked as you continued to wipe your eyes.

"Are you sure?" Levi probed, you nodded despite the fact that he couldn't see you. You stood up and began to pace around the kitchen once more.

"Y-Yeah-" you hiccuped and cringed, Levi sighed on the other end of the line.

"(Y/n) be honest with me....are you drunk?" Levi interrogated, you gasped it was a Monday night! Did he really think that you were that much of an alcoholic?

"No! I just...."

"Hm? What is it?" Levi quipped clearly enjoying your frazzled state.

"If you must know, I was in the middle of a mental break down." you admitted with a heavy sigh. Levi went silent on the other line, you were beginning to regret your honesty.

"It's only Monday." Levi cringed at his less than empathetic response.

"Yeah you're telling me." you chuckled, Levi immediately relaxed at the sound of your laughter even if it wasn't as bubbly as it usually was.

"What's bothering you?" Levi asked, surprisingly softly. You furrowed your brows surely he didn't call you just to hear about your day? He was probably just being nice.

"Oh uh... just school I guess." you paused your pacing to drop onto the sofa and kick your feet up onto the coffee table.

"I see." Levi mused as he reclined in the armchair he was seated in.

"Anyway, enough about me, why did you call me? Is there something you need?" you asked, you were sure that he didn't want to hear you complain about geometry.

"It's fine, tell me about your day." Levi grimaced, tell me about your day? Who was he your mother?

"O-Okay. Well I guess it was fine up until I tried to do this stupid geometry." you grumbled, the mere thought of your homework making your stomach sick with dread.

"Geometry?" Levi hummed, crossing his leg so his ankle was over his knee.

"Yeah." you sighed dejectedly, waiting for his scathing remark about how stupid you were.

"That one can be tough." Levi huffed, you could hear him re-situate so you waited to respond. Once you were sure he was settled you inhaled sharply to prepare yourself.

"It's just not clicking for me." you groaned, Levi snorted and once again you could hear some shuffling.

"Want some help?" he asked. You blinked slowly, not fully processing his words.

"Help?"

"Take it or leave it."

"I would be an idiot to decline."

______

"That wasn't so bad was it?" Levi asked, a playful glint in his grey eyes.

"It was awful, but I'm grateful for the help." you sighed, resting your head on the table. You'd been on the phone with Levi for almost two hours now. After he had offered to lend you a hand you had switched to facetime so he could see the problems. Levi tapped his pen on the counter top he was sitting at. Yeah you heard that right, Levi does math with a fucking pen like a psychopath.

"Anytime." his lip twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"God, I'm sorry that all we talked about was fucking math." you apologized.

"It's fine really. " Levi shrugged once again tapping his pen on the counter.

"Tell me about Paris? How are things on the other side of the pond?" you joked, finally able to genuinely smile now that the stress of your homework was lessened.

"First off, never say 'pond' again. Second, it's cold as a witch's tit over here." Levi enunciated each point by tapping the pen against the counter.

"Really? Is there snow over there?" You asked, suddenly very invested in the weather in France.

"Yeah there's a fuck ton." Levi stood up and brought his phone with him to a window. You could tell that he was on a high floor, you could see the lights of the city through the flurries of snow.

"Woah, it's so pretty!" you gushed as you admired Levi's view.

"Tch, I guess." Levi clicked his tongue as he flipped the camera back onto his face.

"Hey what time is it there?" you yawned.

"Six am." Levi deadpanned.

"What!! Why did you let me keep you up so late Levi! My god go to bed." you huffed incredulously. Levi rolled his eyes as he listened to you lecture him on the importance of a good nights rest.

"I mean seriously Levi no wonder why you're always so grumpy." you finished your rant as you closed your bedroom door and began pulling out a pair of flannel pj pants and a large hoodie since your room seemed to be particularly chilly. You dropped your phone onto your bed (camera down obviously) and began to change into your pjs.

"Don't worry about it sweetheart." Levi drawled, his voice a bit muffled by your comforter. Once you picked up the phone you dropped down onto your bed and sighed.

"Seriously, I'm just adjusting to the time change." Levi shrugged, he was now in his own room, also laying on the bed a pale morning glow seeping into the room.

"Uh huh sure." you teased, a smile spreading across your lips. After a moment of silence you decided that it was time to call it a night.

"Well, unlike you I need my beauty sleep." you said groggily.

"Good luck with that." Levi scoffed, his own voice a bit scratchy.

"Thanks again Levi. Goodnight or erm, Good morning I guess." you giggled as you watched Levi try to cover up a yawn.

"Yeah yeah whatever." He scoffed, you waved as you hung up. You rolled over and plugged your phone in, having learned from your past mistake. You sighed contently as you snuggled beneath the covers, your head filled with thoughts of geometry and Levi.

[yomigaere]

Some frank spoilery thoughts on Tribe Nine episode 9 (heh):

*Ota's zerg rush of runners was a hilarious galaxy brain move, if nothing else.

*It was very, very easy to see coming from a million miles away that Minato Tribe would all forgive Kazuki and accept him as a True Nakama, and that Kazuki would admit that he liked being with them after all.

*Rejoice, Ojiro fangirls! Your husbando is confirmed redeemable and Minato Tribe are going to save him in defeat-equals-friendship fashion and make him smile again and have him finally see the fun in playing XB!

*I still like Enoki, but I liked her more when she was with Ota Tribe smiling at people getting cut up and squashed by falling billboards. Shame she'll probably just be Taiga's unwanted yandere waifu now, and doubly so if she ends up actually joining Minato Tribe. (Also, holy sexism when Haru and Taiga faced her...)

*I'm about 50-50 on whether or not Fucho actually died at the end. On one hand, his last line sounded very much like Last Words, and being killed by Kiyoshiro seems like a fitting end for him. On the other hand, we don't see what happened after Kiyoshiro brought his knife down, and IIRC one of Kiyoshiro's voice sample lines on the official site is something like "huh, why'd I let you live?!", so as far as I'm concerned Fucho's death is far from guranteed (plus we've seen he can easily snap his bones back into place, so who knows what else he can survive). I personally want to believe he's still alive, because I was hoping to see at least a little bit more out of him, but I guess we'll find out in a week or two or three's time.

*Meanwhile, I think it's 99% guranteed that Tenshin is dead for real. (Holy shit, a plot twist I didn't necessarily predict!) No way could that old man have survived a punch from Ojiro that practically caved his chest in... good riddance, to be honest. He was a total cartoon villain anyway, so he had to go, and if this show's going to have any actual character deaths other than Shun then Tenshin absolutely should be one of them.

*Did this episode completely forget about Yasuhiro? He didn't show up or get mentioned at all, after that whole thing with him in last week's ep. I was surprised he got brought back in the first place, as I thought he was just a throwaway character who only existed to establish Haru as a bullied woobie in the first ep; if the narrative wasn't going to bother with actually doing anything of value with him, even if that thing was just showing how far Haru has come since the beginning or whatever, then what was even the point of bringing him back?

*This ep also seems to have forgotten about Minato's win order that Ota Tribe would help patch up their diner again. (Was it even still wrecked? I admit I wasn't paying that much attention...)

*I bet the remaining three episodes are going to be very predictable. Next week might see a quick detour to Taito, because a) there's a scene of Hanafuda hitting a ball with his pipe in the second PV that still hasn't appeared in the show itself, b) Taito's theme song hasn't played at all yet and there's no way the show's gonna finish its run without the fan-favourite (going by views on the official YouTube channel) Tribe theme song ever playing. Other than that, we'll have the final Minato vs Chiyoda showdown, and I'll be bloody amazed if it doesn't end with Minato winning and Ojiro being redeemed.

*After all the complaining I've done here, I just want to say I never had particularly lofty expectations for the T9 anime in the first place. I was always more interested in how the game would turn out and was never that taken by how the anime adapted the designs (garish colours, simplification of designs even when the animators still keep forgetting design details afterwards); honestly, I figured it would be a win if the anime just got me liking the characters and world and wanting to see more of them elsewhere. Then again, I expected Akudama Drive to be a brain-switched-off trainwreck at best and was surprised by it being legitimately good, so I admit part of me hoped the T9 anime would also turn out better than it has...