#if i refine this any more its between me and god

[broh3m3]

We got a real jam going down

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

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Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

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Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier.  Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[moronkombat]

Straight to it, Bi Han finds his wife dead 😘🥰😍

tw: character death, afab pronouns used

god this ask is blessed

Wind blows lightly, the breeze is warm and pleasant. Loose strands of pure ebony wisp past the curve of a cheek bone while eyes just as dark look to a gathering of flowers so perfectly planted. Bi-Han watches as petals fall limp and wrinkled, flora beginning the end of its life. There's a hand holding his, so much smaller than his own, yet the weight heavier than any mountain.

He hears her speaking and notices her adoring smile. She is beautiful, really, a grand masterpiece of humanity's kindness. Bi-Han loves her more than he can love anything else. She knows this, he never has to say it. He need only look upon her and his heart shines through his gaze.

They stood together in their garden as they always did before Bi-Han had to go. This their own little sanctuary where time stops. They should have never left that place.

Heart pounds in his chest, legs carry him faster and faster. Blood has spattered and drenched him while he runs through hallways that seem almost endless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This meant to be between him and the Tengu and yet they have pulled that which is most precious to Bi-Han in its horrible grasp.

Ice continues to pierce those who stand in his way and the blood is so heavy upon his skin. He cannot stop, he must find her. Bi-Han knows the Tengu have her, they had told him as much. Their bodies are ripped and torn as the frantic man searches for his kidnapped wife.

The corpses have led him to some place dark but her light still shines through. There she stands, held by hands Bi-Han wishes to slice. Her eyes...she is terrified. She quivers and shakes while tears dirty her face. Bi-Han rages, an internal war erupts. Beast like eyes stare at the one who holds her from him and fingers twitch and become frigid.

"I'll kill you..." Bi-Han rasps through his bloodstained mask and everything within him begins to shake.

The Tengu looks at him, unafraid and resilient. He hums something that Bi-Han doesn't catch before eyes begin to crinkle into a smile.

"I know." He says. "But I will destroy you."

No! Bi-Han lunges forward, the ice that runs in his veins manifesting into life. Life really is a fickle thing. Blades catch the dimmed light of the room and beam with the strength of the sun. Sharpened and refined metal cuts through the air before it embraces flesh. Ribs begin to crack, blood begins to pour and her shriek lasts only but a moment before lungs are lacerated by a Tengu's wrath.

Blood flies through the air and paints a man most terrified. Droplets of her warm and scalding blood find themselves colliding onto Bi-Han's cheek as he reaches forward for her. Eyes widen while hers begin to fade dim. There's a scream. One inhuman and broken apart. As she falls, ice cuts through her attacker's throat and a life is ended.

Before that wretched Tengu body and even hit the floor, Bi-Han is cradling his dear wife who gasps and writhes in pain. His eyes look over her, blood is pooling from her wound even as his hands attempt to stop it.

"No, no, no, no-" Bi-Han panics, cold hands covered in burning crimson as a palm lays against her chest. "It's going to be alright, it's going to be okay-"

She knows he is lying but her words cannot form. Too trapped by the gasps for breath and cries of pain. Her blood is spilling faster now, it falls from her lips and runs down her chin like a flowing stream. The visage of him begins to blur until there is nothing but an obscured void.

"Stay with me now...!" his words all she has left to cling to but even they begin to echo and fade.

Her gasps, her pained whines...they are gone now. She is gone. An empty body is left in her place, limp and heavy. Bi-Han's eyes dart around her, a hand coated in red cups her cheek. He called out her name but she merely stares back at him with hazy eyes and bloody lips. Bi-Han's trembling body now crumbles apart and he cradles her just as he did when they were alone in that very special garden. The garden they never should have departed from.

He cries, he wails, begging her to speak to him, to hold him like she always did. She cannot, her body no better than the corpses he left behind. There's hurried clatter, the sound of footsteps approaching. Two younger brothers stand in the doorway, staring at the sight they should have never seen.

They stand together, Tomas and Kuai Liang looking at each other. Both are unsure of what to say as they watch their eldest brother sob and hold onto an empty husk of what was once the love of his life.

Bi-Han's mind is lost to him. He begs and pleads for her to awaken; he screams in the agony of pure destruction. The one he cries for cannot hear him. The wind blows lightly, the breeze cold and haunting.

[avocado-writing]

Gale Anon returns to Say: Yes absolutely the Mummy fic. I''m requesting more good boy Gale if you happen to have more thoughts on it. Or maybe a dirty talk Gale? Follow your heart. Thanks again for ur time, ur writing, and ur filthy mind.

well this got a lot more kinky than I meant it to oop. Thank you to M for helping me flesh out the idea!

cw: kinda cnc?; mild bimboification; mild puppy play; consent checks; excessive use of the words “good boy”; sub!gale; dom!reader

rating: E minors dni

Poor Gale is having a hell of a time of it.

Between teaching his classes; all the admin that the college has him doing; and his wizarding duties outside of academia, he’s barely had a chance to rest. Every night he stumbles home exhausted, barely able to keep up conversation with you, let alone indulge in any more intimate activities. It makes you so sad to see. You thought that after the Absolute was dealt with he’d have more control over his life - but it seems like the exact opposite has happened.

It’s been ages since the two of you were able to indulge, since you’ve been able to lay him out on your bed and ride him into oblivion. Reduce him to a quivering mess who’s barely able to speak or think. It’s something both of you enjoy, you getting him to let go and be a good boy for you.

That’s the issue, really; he’s been using his brain too much. He needs a break. To let himself go lovely and empty-headed, sweet and pliable under you. Let you decide what he needs.

When the college breaks for its spring holiday, he comes home to you so desperate that you think he might cry. You’re sitting in your reading nook when he appears, collapses to his knees in front of you and l buries his face in your lap.

“Today,” he says, voice thick with exhaustion and emotion, “it needs to be today. Please.”

There’s only one thing he can be talking about.

Sometimes it takes a little while for him to empty his head. After all, if you’re as brilliant as Gale is, your mind is always thrumming with ideas and duties, a veritable beehive of thoughts. Usually you’re able to get him there using your myriad of tricks, but sometimes you’re worried it takes too long for him to fully enjoy the session.

So the two of you have been working on a spell.

It is, at its core, a rework to be a far less powerful scroll of Feeblemind. Designed to put its target into a sweet, thoughtless state for a handful of days, where all they can do is experience pleasure and praise. No room for thinking, just feeling. 

The two of you have been refining it for a while now, and though you’re certain it will work - and is able to be lifted with no adverse effects - you still chew your lip, nervous.

“Gale, love, are you sure? If I cast it, you know you’re probably not going to be able to tap out.”

Gale groans and nuzzles into your further, pressing his face into your leg for comfort.

“I’m aware of that, but gods I need it. I trust you entirely with it, with me. I want you to take complete control over me. I want you to take care of me until I’m too boneless to move. Please, my love. Please.”

When he asks like that, how can you say no?

That night, he sits on your bed in only his smallclothes, cock straining in excitement despite his tiredness. You give him a long, sweet kiss, before pulling away.

“Last chance, darling. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he affirms, and you begin to cast the spell.

As you chant, you see Gale begin to go a little vacant. His body relaxes, all the tension immediately flooding out of it, the only thing remaining rigid being his cock. Soon there is only a sweet emptiness on your lover’s face, a dopey smile, eyes soft and aroused as he looks at you.

“Gale, are you with me?” 

He turns his head to the sound of your voice, managing an ‘mmm’ of affirmation but no words along with it. You reach out to cup his face and he immediately presses into you, mouth seeking out the warmth of your palm to kiss at it. You giggle.

“Gale!” you squeal, and he gives you another sincere, saccharine smile. Interesting…

“Aren’t you a good boy?” you hum, and his lips open just enough to let out a little moan. He twitches in his underwear. Despite his current state, he still responds to your praises, and you intend to use that to your advantage. 

“You’re so lovely, Gale. My handsome wizard. You’re so clever, but I love having you like this, just a silly boy who wants to behave for me. To be good for me. Don’t you want to be good for me, Gale?”

He nods, tears of desperation forming in his eyes. He scoots forward on the bed until his length is flush with your thigh and gently starts to rock his hips up into you, so needy for any kind of stimulation like this that he’d fuck your leg. 

“Awww, you want to get off, baby?”

Another moan of confirmation. You card your fingers through his hair and his eyes roll back in pleasure. You continue to pet him through your steady stream of praise. 

“Always so good for me, my good boy. Go on, honey, fuck yourself up against me. Let me just pull these down…”

You reach to his underwear and tug at the waistband, allowing his cock to spring upwards. He mewls at the cool bedroom air on his tip, already dribbling with precome, and begins to rut against you with more enthusiasm now that he has your consent. His face is buried into your stomach as his arms wrap around you to hold you close, his hips pressing against you in an erratic pace. When he comes for the first time it’s with a relieved little whine from the back of his throat. He coats your skin with his release, shiny and pearlescent; you feel him collapse into you. 

“Good boy. Good boy, Gale.”

He hums happily. You pet him some more.

“You know what good boys also do? They don’t leave a mess. Why don’t you clean me up, sweetheart? And use your tongue, hmm? Alright?”

Gale looks up into your eyes, soft and sweet and pliable, nodding enthusiastically at your suggestion. He’d do anything to get your pretty words anyway, but like this he is even more open to your kindness. He drops to his knees and begins to lick his spend from your thigh, lips trailing upwards from your knee where it has started to drip down. It is a powerfully erotic image to see him so thoroughly at your beck and call. Your leg is left damp when he is done but he licks his lips to show you that he’s finished and ready for more instructions. 

Oh, you are going to have a wonderful few days. 

In order to keep him near you, you decide to employ the use of a leash. The collar is snug but comfortable around his neck and he’s happy to go wherever you bring him. There’s no point in him wearing any clothes as the tower is always at an ambient temperature, so he spends his days nude by your side. Whenever he’s desperate for attention he searches out your warmth and buries his face into you, and you either run your fingers through his hair if he’s looking for sweetness or use your hand on him if he’s looking for stimulation. Either way he’s left a dizzy mess afterwards who you coddle and praise. 

He’s so relaxed, and it’s an utter pleasure to see. You sit on the sofa, propped up with plush pillows, while he reclines at your feet with his cheek resting on your leg. His proximity to you is a calming presence for him, and often he turns his head to press a kiss into your skin for no reason other than he wants to.

He loves you so completely. In return, your heart is entirely his. 

Occasionally he gets very needy and presses open your thighs, hitching up your robes and nuzzling into your sex.

“Gale, are you sure?” you ask, his glassy eyes shining with surety as he nods. He fucks you with his mouth as if it’s his gods-given duty, ekeing as many orgasms out of you as you’re able to give him. When he’s done and his face is shiny with your come, you see he’s spent on the floor; it is a simple order for him to clean up leaves him moaning in arousal. 

He is thoroughly taken care of. You’re never far from him to offer comfort, constantly checking in that he’s happy. He always nods his affirmation but lets you know if there’s anything the matter; hunger or exhaustion weighing on him. 

You feed him. You don’t need to, he’s capable of doing it himself, but he gets hard as he sits in your lap and you offer him bites of sandwich from your hand, face in a permanent grin of adoration. 

The last night you expect the spell to last is when you finally ride him. The two of you have had so many orgasms over the past few days you’re surprised that there’s anything left in the tank, but you still find it in yourself to fuck him into sweet oblivion. He’s able to clutch onto your hips and moan your name, pleasure his only feeling, your love the only thing he knows.

You fall asleep entwined in an embrace, gorgeous little words dripping from your lips until you drift off. 

The next morning you wake and the bed is empty, but you can smell bacon being fried in the kitchen. You groggily drag yourself along its scent until you find Gale standing at the stovetop, in his purple dressing gown and an apron, humming happily to himself. A couple of sleepy steps forward allow you to embrace him and tuck your face between his shoulderblades.

“The plan was to bring you breakfast in bed, but you seem to have thoroughly waylaid it,” he remarks. You can hear the smile in his voice. He’s verbal again - you’re glad he seems to be back to his usual self. 

“Mmm, I just wanted to see you. How are you, love? Are you alright? I tried to check in with you as much as I could…”

He turns to face you, and you’re immediately struck with how relaxed he looks. His eyes are soft, jaw loose, none of the tension he was carrying apparent any more. 

“My heart, I’m more than alright. I’ve never been so thoroughly taken care of. I’m so glad - blessed, really - to have you to look after me. I love you.”

He kisses you, and it’s long and delicious. 

“So, successful experiment, Professor Dekarios?” you ask, a cheeky grin on your face. He groans at that title, and you feel his cock throb. 

“I think you might have drained me dry over these past days, but I’m more than willing to see if I have one more in me…” he mutters, stepping forward to trap you between his body and the table. 

“It’s for research, after all.”

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13@trappedinlimbo15@infinitely-kate@dhampling@wereallbrokenangels@tilldeathdonugget@useless-contributions@beardedladyquee

[dearharriet]

By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

+

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.” You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

+

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

+

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[softshrimpy]

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 17: Oh Gods, She's Wearing Pants (NSFW)

Summary: Working at the Weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

I'm backkkk! Sorry this update took so long, I started a new job a few weeks ago and it has been a hugeee adjustment. But have some smut from this lil shrimp 🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402 @the-bagel24 @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @kimiinou @muffintopxs @h-doodles @bbykens @lilfartbox1 @bigolgay @winterfireblond @gela123 @i-like-reading @hopelessly-sapphic @alder-saan @im-a-carnivorous-plant @weemssapphic @barbarasstar

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 16

Cross Posted on AO3 Here

HWTAHP Masterlist

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

Life was actually looking up. You had been seeing Dr. Kinbott every other week to help work through the plethora of issues you had. On top of that Vlad was still getting you moving every day (you low-key hated him for it). He had also taken it upon himself to teach you everything he knew of vampire history. Sometimes you weren’t sure whether he was embellishing some of the stories or if vampire history was that insane.

Sometimes Yoko would tag along, more often than not to help him teach you how to use some of your vampire powers. You snorted the first time Vlad referred to them as that and then nearly died when he moved from one end of the room to right in front of you in the blink of an eye to glare down at you.

The one ‘vampire power’ you had the most control over was your sudden acquisition of fuckin epic strength. And by most control you mean you had to learn super quickly how not to rip every door you opened off its hinges.

Your other abilities weren’t anywhere near refined. Yoko had been trying to teach you how to use your enhanced speed which you had managed once before ending up smashing into a wall. You were fine, the wall however did suffer. (yet another wall that is a victim of your new powers. Rip.)

Since you didn’t know who your family was or where you came from both Vlad and Yoko had explained that you may have other abilities if you came from what they called a Legacy family. Apparently, they can have some super sick extra powers like hypnosis or transformation and the like. You were sure you were just a regular vampire, the odds of you having any extra powers were so slim you didn’t need to worry.

On top of that things between you and Larissa were better than ever. You spent every evening together, often ending with you staying the night in her quarters. And fucking hell was waking up to her almost every morning a gift from the gods.

On the nights when you’d stay with her, you’d help her with her evening routine, always ecstatic she let you help her. You’d help remove the pins from her hair, brushing it out for her as she removes her makeup. You always press kisses into her hair afterwards, your heart skipping a beat and the small soft smile on her face at your actions.

You’d both then change into pyjamas, hers always sinfully attractive on her. Then you spend the evening having dinner and cuddling on her couch. Sometimes she’d tell your stories of her day or about her past. you loved listening to her speak, you could quite literally do it for hours.

This morning you were lucky enough to wake up in her arms once again. You took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of her and feeling a smile creep across your face. You bury your head into her neck, sighing happily. You feel her stir a few moments later, her arm tightening around your waist. She lets out her own content sigh before pressing a kiss to your head.

“Mmm…good morning my darling,” she hums, her voice still raspy from sleep.

“Good morning pretty lady,” you hum back, leaning up to kiss her chastely.

The two of you stay like that for a little while, Larissa laying on her back with her eyes closed, one arm wrapped around your waist. You grinning up at her, bringing your hand up to trace the lines of her face. These moments with her, where the two of you are simply existing together, are your favourite moments in the world.

Eventually, though Larissa has to get up and get dressed, she does have a school to run after all. You love watching her get ready for the day. She always wears such gorgeous outfits, always looks so elegant and-

Oh, holy fuck she’s wearing pants today.

She so rarely wears pants, usually opting for skirts or dresses. So when she slips on a pair of form-hugging pants with a chunky belt and white sweater you almost choke on air and feel your face heat up. She bends over to pick up a pair of heels and you absolutely stare shamelessly at her ass.

You must have let out some noise, probably a rather gay sound with the way Larissa turns and looks at you. She grins smugly as she toes on her heels. She pulls on a blazer to complete the look before leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll see you later darling,” she all but purrs and you have to resist every urge to pull her into the bed and ravish her right then and there.

“I-you- have a good day m’love,” you manage, ogling her as she all but saunters away.

———

You spend the rest of the day catching glimpses of the white-haired beauty every hour or so. She seems to be moving around campus far more than usual. Not that you’re complaining. When she does come around, nine times out of ten you get so distracted you walk into or drop something.

On top of that, sometimes when she appeared she would shoot you these looks. You couldn’t explain it but you swear the woman was trying to kill you. Gods, you wanted to climb her like a tree.

So after a lunch filled with you all but drooling over her and a couple of hours afterwards daydreaming about her and her stupid sexy legs and hands and face…where were you again? You finally decided to say fuck it and made your way to her office in record time. Vlad and his lessons could wait, you had a far more important task to do.

You entered her office quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she was in a meeting. The sight that greeted you made you actually choke on air. There she was sitting at her desk as usual. But she had discarded her blazer on the back of her chair and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. She was typing furiously on her laptop, as usual, frowning at the screen from behind her glasses.

You locked the door behind you before striding purposefully over to her desk. By the time she glanced up at you, you were already rounding her desk to get to her.

“Darling? Is everything alri-oh!” She yelps as you pull her up from her chair into your arms.

You press a kiss to her very gorgeous lips and reach around her to shut her laptop and move it aside. You lift her up onto her desk, not once removing your mouth from hers. She lets out the cutest noise at that, hands moving to clutch your shoulders before she tangles them in your hair, tugging on it slightly. You groan into her mouth, teeth scraping against her lip. The room feels impossibly hot and she is wearing far too many clothes. As much as you like her pants they need to come off. Now.

Your hands make their way down her body, slipping under her sweater to caress the skin of her stomach. You preen at the hum she lets out, your hands becoming more daring. Your fingers slip under her bra, trailing gently over the underside of her breasts. She gasps, her mouth disconnecting from yours when your thumbs brush over her nipples.

You press kisses to her neck as you do your best to unclasp her bra. It does take a fair bit of fumbling and a few curses muttered to get there. Larissa lets out a breathy chuckle as she scratches the back of your neck. When you finally manage to get rid of the offending item you make quick work of removing it along with her sweater.

You press your lips to her collarbone, nipping at the soft skin just above her breasts. Her grip on your hair tightens, her hands attempting to move your attention where she wants it. Instead of giving her what she wants you graze your teeth along to underside of her breast, grinning at the way her breath stutters.

You decide your desire to tease her is not as strong as your need to please her and take one of her nipples into your mouth, lathing your tongue over it. The strangled moan she lets out makes your heart skip a beat. You nip at the pert bud, your other hand groping at her free breast. She lets out the most sinful sounds, your whole body heating more and more with each one.

Your hands travel down to the waistband of her pants, fingers quickly undoing the button and unzipping the zipper. You pull them and her panties down her legs after she lifts herself off the desk for a moment. She starts tugging on the hem of your shirt, trying to get you to take it off. You pull back from kissing her chest and take her hands in yours, moving them back to sit on the desk.

“Nu-uh honey, tonight I’m in charge,” you hum, delighting in the way her whole face turns red.

“So you just keep those lovely hands of yours right here. Can you do that for me, my love?”

“I- yes. Yes,” She breathes.

“Good girl,” you purr.

You get down on your knees, looping your arms under her thighs. You pepper kisses from her knee to the top of her thigh, stopping just before her soaking cunt. You repeat the action on the other side before gently pulling her thighs apart. You take in the sight of her glistening folds, feeling your mouth water at the sight.

“Is this all for me Rissa?”

“Mmm, only for you baby…” she moans.

You press one final kiss to the inside of her thigh before licking at her cunt. You lap at her slit, moaning at the taste of her. You’re certain this is what heaven is like, the way she tastes like the sweetest ambrosia.

You eat her out as though you were starved. You alternate between flicking your tongue over her clit and lapping at her entrance. Her moans and whimpers are like music to your ears, the sexiest symphony you’ve ever heard.

“Oh fuck, darling. Please-I’m-I’m so close-“ she pants.

You feel her thighs begin to tremble on either side of your head. She lets out a string of curses interspersed with cries of your name. You double your efforts, hands pinning her to her desk as she bucks and writhes.

“Fuck!” She cries.

Her back arches as she throws her head back, letting out a choked moan. Her whole body stiffens, thighs clamping shut around your head. You keep licking and sucking at her clit, only stopping when she gently pushes you away. You press one last kiss to her inner thigh before standing and wrapping your arms around her waist.

She truly looks ethereal in this moment. She’s leaning back on her hands, chest heaving and flushed. Her eyes are closed, breath coming out of her lips in pants. She’s glowing in the low light of her office. Her hair is slightly mussed, falling out of her elegant hairstyle in places.

You cup her cheek, heart-melting when she nuzzles into your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. You almost want to cry, luckily you don’t. You lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead, hearing her hum happily in response. You bury your face in her neck, enjoying having her in your arms.

“Darling,” she sighs happily, “not to sound ungrateful because that was truly wonderful, but what on earth brought this on?”

“Pants.” You mumble into her neck.

“Pardon?”

You lean back, idly tracing shapes into her collarbone. “You were uhm, you wore pants today. You don’t often you know wear ‘em. And you just. I mean you have such gorgeous legs and the most earth-shatteringly sexy ass I’ve ever seen-“

She bursts into laughter at your admission, cheeks flushing.

“It’s true!! You have no idea how hot you are Rissa. Like…I don’t know how I get anything done when you’re here looking like you stepped out of heaven every single day.”

“But the pants do something for you hm?” She chuckles.

“Mmm, they just tipped the scales of my already incredibly inappropriate thoughts about you,” you grin.

“Well, darling,” she purrs, slipping off her desk and sauntering in the direction of her bedroom while pulling you along, “I hope you had no intentions of returning to your rooms tonight.”

You stare far too shamelessly at her ass as she drags you into her room. You were so focused on watching her that when she spins you around and all but pushes you onto the bed, you can only stare up at her, eyes wide and incredibly turned on.

She straddles your waist, smirking down at you in a way that makes heat pool between your thighs. She slips her hands beneath your shirt, leaning down to hover close enough to your face that you can feel her breath on your lips.

“Now then,” she hums, “let’s get you out of these clothes hm? The evenings only just started, and I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[saspitite]

rating shrimp emojis

based on a similar post i saw (instead with seal emojis) as it made me think about how frequently shrimp are kinda... severely messed up anatomy-wise.

starting with apple's version, it's not bad but the face could be longer and the eyes are a bit disproportionately large. my man's antennule was cut off :( 6.5/10

google. again, not bad, but my boy's antennule are still gone... who did this to him? and why are his pleopods just little nubs? how does he swim with those? also not a big fan of the weirdly circular abdomen that suddenly shortens for the tail. 6/10

samsung. what the fuck did you do to his face. you massacred him. i dont even wanna give them the benefit of the doubt and say that it was just simplified, because the rest of his body is just... fine. and much more accurate. did they give up when drawing the head?? it's just a pile of spikes... 3/10

microsoft. highly simplistic so i guess that explains the shortcuts and strange anatomy. not a fan of how the long antennae seems to be sprouting from his forehead, but they did go for the simplistic route and theres only so much you can convey there, so 7/10 (added 2 points for cuteness, i couldn't resist)

whatsapp. no. no. bad die. wheres his maxilipeds. what happened to his face. what happened to his LEGS. you cant fucking move with those little formless pin needles. its a crime to continue letting this thing suffer on earth. please put it out of its misery. 2/10

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO FUCK YOU TWITTER FUCK YOU WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM HE HAS NOTHING. HE HAS NOTHING. NO FACE NO LEGS NO ANTENNULE NO DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE CARAPACE AND THE ABDOMEN BY GOD HOW DOES THIS THING MOVE??? WHAT FUCKED UP GOD DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO MAKE SUCH A MOCKERY OF A ONCE-BEAUTIFUL, INTRICATE LITTLE ANIMAL??? -100000000000/10

facebook.

thank fuck i was gonna lose it honestly. its not even perfect but i love it a whole lot more. finally my boy has his antennule!! a well defined face!! and he's not even in that dumb curled-up pose (that you'll typically only find from cooked shrimp), and they were daring enough to even put him in a more dynamic 3/4 perspective!! again, its not perfect, but after those two atrocities i'll embrace it with open arms. 8/10

LG. this honestly looks more like a cooked, unpeeled shrimp than a living one but it's whatever. not bad! at this point i'm just gonna accept that most shrimp emojis are just gonna forget about the antennule. i am (somewhat) at peace with that. 7/10

joypixels. kinda just feels like a wannabe of LG's version. plus the blobface, stop with the blobface, i will strangle you. it's okay but could use some more refining. 5/10

if you have any more emoji variants that you want me to review, show me thru reblogs!!!

[fipindustries]

not a question but basically any time i remember your art exists im looking it up and down and trying to take inspiration from it. your expression work is always top notch, and the way you depict faces is the perfect balance between cartoony and well defined

oh my god this is such an amazing compliment! thank you so much!

you know, i think this has been a long time coming. im going to take this as a chance to go in depth about how my style works, why i do what i do and how i do it. do keep in mind that none of this is me saying "this is the objectively correct way of doing art" but rather just how my own process works, what I like to see in my own art.

that balance that you speak of comes from a commitment to underlying structures. what im going to call the stylization sandwich

i start with a clear, well defined solid structure, i add whatever wacky cartoony features i want on top of it (none the less strongly tied and guided by the underlying structure) and then i refine by adding as many more realistic, grounding details i want, although you can go too far with it so i gotta be careful or ill end up with those shitty "cartoon character IRL would look scary!" clickbait drawings.

(quick aside, this trend fucking sucks, its obvious the artist went out of their way to make the drawing creepy, this pretension that "actually the character would look scary irl" deliberatly misundertands the principles of stylization, its as creatively bankrupt as jokes about mario eating mushrooms)

getting back on topic, the point is that, as long as the underlying structures are solid you can build whatever you want on top of them and it will make sense

a key tool here is internalizing the way the proportions on the face work. and i say internalize because obviously i dont actually have the golden ratio memorized inside my head nor do i stop and measure and calculate all the proportions in the features. i just read a lot about drawing, i drew a lot, i tried to always keep a critical eye to what im drawing and see if it "feels" disproportionate. once you get an eye for it then you know how far you can push things before they complitely break

let me give you another example of what i feel is a botched execution of this.

if you look closely at the face on the left there are a lot of things that dont make sense. the corners of the eyebrows dip down into the eyes when usually the eyes are enveloped by the eyebrows, the way the beard grows around the nose is just not how facial hair is distributed, the mouth is too big, etc. on the left i used photoshop to reorganize the factions into something that makes a bit more sense to me

(another quick aside, the real big problem at the heart of the original drawing were not so much the proportions but the tangents, when different lines touch each other like this that is usually a big no no but that is a topic for another day)

also a lot of it is just me cheating. yeah i cheat. you ever heard how people say there is no innate talent and its all practisce and hard work. well, yeah, that is mostly true, but is also true that some people are born with inherent advantages. either taller or more predisposed to being thin or with better facial structures or better innate hand-eye coordination. i was born with an uncanny capacity to visualize stuff. i have whatever the opposite of aphantasia is. i can borderline hallucinate things if i want to. and that goes coupled with the visual intuitions i developed through practisce and training.

so first come the learned wisdom, and then comes the innate talent that helps me exploit that learned wisdom to its full potential

on top of that is corporeality, i try to draw in such a way that it conveys depth and weight to the things im drawing, certain kinds of stylizations dont care about that and choose instead to have their drawing look flat, a classic one is the UPA style

is a very fun style! very cute, very dynamic, very expressive in its simplicity. it became very popular in the 60's and 70's. personally i choose to go in a different direction. i draw in such a way that if one were to turn my drawings into 3d models not a lot would get lost in the process.

whereas other artists....

...not so much

but yeah, ultimatly it all goes back to underlying structure. any drawing can work

as long as you have a strong foundation underneath.

PS: if you like my style i cannot reccomend enough the art of @rezuaq i feel they follow a lot of the same principles i talked about here but i could be wrong.

they have been my biggest inspiration as of the last 4 years, i shamelssly stole the design of one of their characters for jennyffer. go to their blog and give them a like

[walkswithmyfather]

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” —Revelation 3:20

“What Is the Meaning of 'Behold I Stand at the Door and Knock' in Revelation 3?” By Clarence L. Haynes Jr.:

“In the book of Revelation Jesus gives messages to seven different churches. Some scholars would say these churches represent seven types of churches you may find or seven types of people you may find in the church today. One of the churches that received one of his strongest messages was the church of Laodicea. In light of this church and the challenges this church had, what is the meaning of 'behold I stand at the door and knock'?

What Does 'Behold I Stand at the Door and Knock' Mean? Are there any Laodicean spaces in your heart where you think you are doing fine, but you have shut Jesus out? Where you are neither hot nor cold so you are not good for anything. If there are then the same invitation extends to you as it did to this church. Behold he stands at the door and knocks. Will you let him in? The difference between experiencing all God’s best and settling for much less and much worse hinges on whether you decide to open the door. We often use this verse to talk to unbelievers but remember he was talking to the church. Let’s make sure we always have the door of our heart open to Jesus so that he is able to do everything he wants to do in our lives.

Why Did Jesus Say 'Behold I Stand at the Door and Knock' to the Church of Laodicea in Revelation 3? Jesus didn’t have anything positive to say about this church. Here are the strong words Jesus used to described the church in Laodicea.

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.” – Rev. 3:15-18

Here are three characteristics of the church at Laodicea:

They were lukewarm. This was a church that was neither hot nor cold. Many people believe this lukewarm only means they were straddling the fence between the world and the church. What it really means is that they were good for nothing. They had no value they could offer. Laodicea was situated near two other cities, Hieropolis which was known for its hot springs that were good for healing and Colossae which was known for cold waters which provided refreshment. Because Laodicea was lukewarm the water they produced was not good for healing or refreshment and thus was not good for anything. As one scholar put it, you can drink hot tea or cold tea but warm tea is pretty much useless.

They were materialistic. This church was rich in material possessions which created a false sense of God’s blessing. This church is a reminder that you cannot equate the blessing of God to anything material, that is not a representation of spiritual maturity, or an indication God is pleased with your life.

They were spiritually poor. The worse part of this church is that they were spiritually bankrupt and they didn’t even realize it. If you would have asked them, they would tell you everything is alright, we are experiencing the blessing of God because look at all we have. Yet amid physical riches, they were lacking in any real spiritual blessings. Sad to say, many in churches today are unaware of their own spiritual lack.

How Does This Tie into Verse 20 ‘Behold I Stand at the Door and Knock’? Knowing what was happening in Laodicea helps you know the meaning of behold I stand at the door and knock. Let me point your attention to a few thoughts.”

[Read more here.]

[leiawritesstories]

Stick Season (Prologue)

hey everyone! this is the introduction to a fic that I'm planning to post for Rowaelin Month! it got really out of hand lol so I'm splitting it into a few parts. inspired by "Stick Season" by Noah Kahan. hope you enjoy! :))

Word count: 757

Warnings: none ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three years ago

Aelin had to force herself to keep ahold of the steering wheel even as laughter-tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. “Gods, Ro, I’m driving! You’re gonna make me pee myself!” 

“I’ll be doing much more than that, Fireheart,” her boyfriend purred, his demeanor switching from hilarity to sultry promise in the blink of an eye. Though he was on the other end of the phone and she couldn’t actually see him, Aelin could picture the precise tilt of his wicked grin, the precise gleam of the spark in his deep pine eyes. 

“You’re incorrigible.” She caught her breath, firmly focusing on the highway. “I’m nearly there, buzzard. You shouldn’t have any problems keeping it in your pants for another twenty minutes, hmm?” 

His soft groan rumbled through her phone. “You could make it in fifteen minutes if you speed.” 

She snorted. “It’s December, Ro, and I’ve lived in Vermont all my life. I’m not stupid enough to try and speed on winter roads.” 

“Yeah.” He inhaled softly, about to say something else, when another incoming call buzzed across Aelin’s screen. 

“Shit,” she swore. “Ro, it’s my mom, I have to take this. I’ll call you back in a few minutes, I promise. Love you.” 

“Love you,” he returned, affectionately. 

She hung up and accepted her mom’s call. “Hi.” 

“Darling.” Evalin Ashryver’s refined accent filled the front of Aelin’s car. “You must be nearly home by now, yes?” 

“Yes, I’m about twelve minutes away from Rowan’s exit.” She glanced at the nearest exit sign. “I’m going to swing by his house for a few minutes before I–”

“You’re going to your boyfriend’s house before your own home?” Evalin didn’t even try to hide her disapproval. 

“I promise it will only be a quick stop to say hello and reassure Rowan that I haven’t died.” In return to her mother’s disdain, Aelin made no effort to muffle her sarcasm. 

“Watch your tone, young lady.” Evalin’s voice was as frosty as the December temperature. “I would be lying if I said I don’t mind you putting your own family second.” Without waiting for a response, she sniffed. “Hopefully we’ll see you by dinnertime, Aelin.”

Guilt wrapped its oily, barbed tendrils around Aelin’s heart and squeezed, sending flashes of thick, ugly emotion through her body. She gripped tightly to her composure, took a few deep breaths, and redialed Rowan. 

He picked up on the first ring. “That was quick.” 

“You know how Mom is,” Aelin joked. “She’s never seen a conversation she can’t cut short.” 

Rowan coughed out a laugh. “She wants you to go home first, doesn’t she?” 

“Yeah.” Aelin sighed. “Honestly, I don’t understand her phobia; she knows full well that I mean it when I say I’m just stopping for a few minutes.” Silence fell for a moment. “You know you mean more than anything to me, Ro. More than all the distance between our houses.” 

“Yeah, all ten miles,” he chuckled. “You must be just about at the exit now, right?” 

She glanced out the window. “Mhmm, it’s coming up in a couple minutes, and…” Her voice trailed off, drowned out by the discordant echo of her mother’s words. You put your own family second. Disappointing. Selfish.We hardly even see you, Aelin.

Rowan’s exit approached, the familiar numbers tugging on every string of Aelin’s heart. Tears fogged up her vision, but she blinked them away despite her throat constricting again. 

“Fireheart?” Rowan’s voice was so warm, so familiar, so concerned. “Are you still there?” 

A sob clawed its way out of her throat. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” she croaked. Her weak, traitorous voice cracked on the last syllable. Blindly, she reached over and ended the call, cutting Rowan off before he’d even formed coherent words. 

She drove past his exit, only daring to look into her rearview mirror when she was far enough past the sign that the numbers were barely visible, and watched the sign fade away. Through the hazy, conflicted mess of heartbreak, anguish, guilt, and tears clouding her senses, Aelin let muscle memory take over and guide her off the freeway at the next exit and drive down another country road until she was back in her charming little hometown. 

She hadn’t seen Rowan waiting in his battered old green pickup in the shoulder of his exit, eyes locked on the highway, phone still glued to his ear, staring in heartbroken disbelief as the woman he loved so deeply drove straight past him without a single look back.

~~~

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[klorophile]

On death and life, more specifically suicide, Piltover VS Zaun

[TW: for death and suicide, obviously] There are differences between Piltover and the Undercity, in their culture and way of life, that are so big that they can’t just remain only one city—they’re two cities, and they basically all but don’t speak the same language, and share even less the same laws and morals even before "the Undercity" would become "Zaun".

They don’t see what it is "to live" the same way. Note: this is not about one being right and the other wrong, it’s about observing.

The way I see it, Zaun is more animalistic. "To live" is to survive. It’s survival first and foremost, survival at any cost: first you live, and then you see what you do, but you have be alive to do anything. You have to be alive to be free and live your freedom; and even if you are not free right now, it’s only by keeping on living that you can get to it. Living is everything. You are when you live. To be = to live. I haven’t actually looked at where the name "Zaun" comes from canonically, probably the German for "fence" I guess, but to me I can’t help but think that it comes from the greek ζωή (zoe) for life, and the word "fauna" from the latin gods of earth and fertility and forests etc Fauna and Faunus that we use to talk about the animal life. So Zaun would be the city of "living animals that are alive".—Let’s not be scared of repetition, it’s Zaun! (Note: this etymology would be meta, no in-universe, it’s how it will mean something to the spectators, not the characters.)

Piltover is more refined. It’s less about needs (the needs are met in Piltover, they aren’t as easily in Zaun) and more about wants. It’s the city of progress, and it aims to be always more beautiful and successful, than itself and than other cities. Piltover is all about being "more". In a way it’s less instinctual than Zaun. The architecture aims to be impressive and also identifiable: there is a standardization in it, where in Zaun you find art more as a need for individuals to express something through it. For the etymology, I guess it would be simply "over the Pilt", but what I hear, again as a spectator and not as someone living in this universe, is "built over"—over what? well, over the Undercity, over itself, over everything, and more importantly over what makes us animals and beasts and into what makes us human, because that is what progress is. It's "built over" because Piltovans don't simply live, the build themselves, an identity. In Piltover, to be is not enough, life wouldn’t be worth it with just that. To live = to be someone.

In clear, Piltover is all about being someone respectable: someone that has a moral code and follows it, someone who makes discoveries push humanity into flourishing, someone who helps the city, someone that their parents would be proud of and anyone would accept as a honorable human being. Zaun is all about existing at any cost: the end justifies the means, everything changes constantly and following laws and rules is not important when it can prevent you from following your own path and becoming who you are. Go with the flow, be the flow.

Now that we have those two mentalities, we can also say that the show loves to push its characters to their limits… And it’s very interesting to see how they will all react in their crisis, but what might be even more interesting is to understand what are each characters limits? When do any one of them stop being themselves? When do you lose yourself?? What must happen for each character to feel like they can’t be the person they are anymore, to feel like they can’t live anymore, and reach the conclusion that death is preferable. …So I guess: Who do they think they are? What I want to put into light here is how this question in answered very differently for a character who is from Piltover and for a character who is from the Undercity/Zaun.

As a Jinx fan, if we talk about a suicide attempt in Arcane I will immediately think about her letting a chomper go off right next to herself after her fight against Ekko on the bridge. Yes, but there is another suicide attempt we see a lot earlier in the show, and it’s Jayce’s. The feeling is the same, "I can’t continue", but their situation is very different. Jayce is very clean. He leaves a letter, there is his bracelet that started his dreams and hopes for the future on it, he’s well dressed and the white of his jacket contrasts against the shambles of his lab and the night, and this happens after a decision was taken with a vote at a trial. The law decided he couldn’t science anymore, Jayce can’t see himself being anyone else than a science dude that finds a way to control magic of anything, so he prefers death. He could still live and laugh, he still had his mother and a home, he still had money, he still had skills that could give him a role in society, but he esteemed that none of this was enough for Jayce to be Jayce. His standards are pretty high: he will follow his dream or nothing. In a way, his attempt makes his character look disturbingly impressive, because he still had so much for himself, but he considered it not enough for him to be himself. He’s the golden boy, but that’s also because he refused to be anything else.

I think it’s very interesting to compare him to Silco. Silco makes no apology. He does not accept people judging him and deciding what he can’t be (free! powerful!). He was betrayed by his own brother when they no longer saw their cause the same way, he fought for his life when he was being drowned by stealing a knife he didn’t have, he survived an infection to his eye, he found new followers, he made his way to the top, even if he had to kill and poison for that. As he says, he died, yes, but he was reborn. He refused to be erased and found a way to live still by reinventing himself, like a butterfly (Jayce did put his hands in the air like butterfly wings but this butterfly was going to go swoosh-flop, you need the cocoon phase first Jayce). I think it’s very interesting to note how Jayce and Silco are different, especially when you think about the scene where they meet to negotiate. Here is a man with the higher standards and here is another capable of the lowest blows, and they will try to reach an agreement…

We can also compare Jayce to Vi. Vi loses her whole family in front of her eyes, carries the guilt of having left her little sister behind, gets imprisoned for who knows how long, remains in hell for years… and she’s still standing and fighting. Maybe what she has is not hope per se, but there is something still pushing her. A zaunite light, one that refuses to be extinguished. Same for Ekko. He is only a little kid when when see him lose everything, and next time he appears, he has founded a strong community around a tree that can’t possibly grow in Zaun but has grown in Zaun and they are the resistance about what is poisoning their city. He is the same as Silco, he reinvented himself, though not on the same bases. When you lose everything, you build something else. Same for Powder. She causes the death of her family and gets rejected by her own sister, and when she is about to be stabbed, well she decides that the person with the knife will now care about her and fucking actually causes him to care about of all things. How? Because Zaunites survive, always, like the ivy leaves going around Singed’s lab, Singed who has to cover himself in bandages but hasn’t stopped what he was doing before this accident.

Like Singed who decided his axolotl was going to live no matter what, even if it has to stay in a tube. Like Silco who decided Jinx could not die, even if she had to become inhuman for it.

Piltover people have an idea of what their life can and cannot be. For Jayce, he has to be a part of progress, or his life doesn’t have enough quality for him to live it. We can also see it in Caitlyn, though she hasn’t been pushed to her limits (yet?), in the way she says "shit" in front of her parents because she has decided that she was going to be an enforcer and even go as far as defending the Undercity even if it is against what she was taught. She calls herself a "misfit" because she knows what she is and what she isn’t. Zaunite people just need to survive. It’s almost as if that instinct to resist is stronger than them… They can be dragged through hell, but they will find a way to get back up and continue living. They will find a solution, even if a limb or a brother has to be left behind.

Viktor is also really interesting in regard to that because he is from the Undercity but lives in Piltover, and he has a Piltovan moment before acting more like a Zaun guy. After he accidentally causes Sky’s death, he goes to scatter her ashes, and almost follows them down there. He then states to Jayce that they lost themselves because "in the pursuit of great they failed to do good". So this is his piltovan limit: failing to do good, doing bad. Very different from Silco who doesn’t shy from bad to reach great. Viktor has morals, and feels like if he steps over them, he can’t live with himself. It is interesting to not that when he is on the edge, it’s on a window with the shape of the Piltover crest…

…but with some kind of ivy on the right, reminder of Zaun and its survival at all costs. Because in this moment Viktor is rapidly dying. And I feel like this how he shows that he is a Zaunite at core: in the end, he turns to Singed. And if we watch who he is in League of Legends, he is not that scared to lose himself anymore, at the very least not his body. He responds to the ivy call, the ivy mostly in the shadow but with tendrils like hands not that scared from stepping into the light.

And then there is Jinx letting a bomb go off almost in her hand. Something I find shocking in what she does is how not Zaunite this is. We see Silco, Vi, Ekko, and even Powder herself, go through so much and still get up like there is nothing that could destroy them completely, but at this moment we see Jinx reaching a point of no return… A Zaunite, previously defined as a "living living animal" say "that's it, I’ve got enough" and I think that that’s a really heartbreaking moment when you think about how there is so much she can and already has survived, and there is finally too much.

Silco’s death is also very tragic in that regard, and I use "tragic" in the sense of a classic tragedy like Racine would write. We show that Silco does not want to die: when there is this doubt about who Sevika will choose and who she will kill between Silco and Finn, he’s not that confortable. He doesn’t want to be done. And as much as an in control villain he likes to look, he still has that instinct when in danger that makes him scared in close contact to his potential demise.

But when Jinx shots him? He accepts. He tells her not to feel guilty… even when we just saw how he very much minded staying alive. He could have been angry, he could have tried to still remain standing even with bullets in his body, but he did not. Why? Because he had reached his ultimate cul-de-sac too. He was the father of Zaun and the father of Jinx, and here the both couldn’t coexist. It was a choice he couldn’t make, because stopping for Zaun here would mean he was as weak as Vander, which could mean that killing him was a mistake since they were more of the same mind that he thought in the end, which could also mean that Sevika and other people following him would stop following him since he was not strong enough to seize their independence when given the occasion, but taking the opportunity would mean sacrificing his Jinx, and would his life be livable without her? But could he survive betraying Zaun? No to both. I am sure that hadn’t he be shot, he would have kept fighting. But he was, and there was no way he could be angry at Jinx for having the Zaunite instinct to shoot to survive.

PS: I’m not talking about Noxus here, but I guess Mel’s way would be "if you’re not letting me live like me here in Noxus, I guess I’ll live like me but somewhere else so that me can stay me and Noxus can stay Noxus."

PPS: Watching them crumble is fascinating ;u;

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork Heart pt24

Part 23 here

———

Wyrm: *sitting at his desk, swaddled in a thick blanket and staring at voryn in awe as the chimer repairs his mechanical arm with the parts he’d taken from Mzulft* how did you do that?!

Voryn: *smiles as he tests the new joints he’d made with tiny dwemer spheres, making it function like a ball jointed dolls limb* Ah, I suppose you don’t remember any of sotha sils work, he was very fond of the dwemer and like myself and neht, befriended them. Seht was a brilliant scholar and architect, he thrived with our deep elven cousins and would often accompany Nerevar and myself on our visits to Dumac. Though… that was of course before everything went wrong between our people. *sighs and lifts the blanket from Wyrms body before fitting the arm to him* But, I did learn a thing or two from them myself.

Wyrm: Its beautiful. *smiles up at him* what was he like? Dumac?

Voryn: He was kind, always welcoming and excited for our visits. There were times he’d rush from his throne and take the lift up to greet us before we even had a chance to climb from our silt striders. He was fond of games, food, drink. Everything was fine until Kagrenac ruined it all… *sighs* He was closer with Neht then me, I’m sure he can tell you more but… I know it broke his heart when Dumac sided with the grand architect over him.

Wyrm: I think, he maybe thought he was doing what was best for his people, maybe he thought it’d benefit the chimer too? As a leader he’d have to put his people first right?

Voryn: not when doing what you think is right spits in the face of the gods. The good daedra warned them, the aedra warned them. And they ignored it all. And look at what happened to them. *looks down at the arm as he adjusts the shoulder harness*

Wyrm: *his Pearl eye flashing blue for just a moment* they’re screaming.

Voryn: *eyes snapping to look at him again* what?…

Wyrm: *literally didn’t even notice he’d spoken or remembered doing so* what?

Voryn: you just? I… never mind. *smiles deciding not to press further* can you move your arm for me? Let me see if it needs adjusting.

Wyrm: *looks down at the arm and tries to flow his magic through it only for it to grasp onto nothing, leaving it hanging there, limp* it’s? It’s not working.

Voryn: hm. *rubs his temple and closes his third eye* Perhaps I missed a step, no I’m sure I didn’t. I labelled the tendon wires correctly and the spheres should activate with the condui- The conduit oh gods I’m stupid this won’t work.

Wyrm: I? A conduit?

Voryn: Yes. Aetherium. *sighs* Though that material is more precious than ebony. Only the deep elves knew how to harness it, never mind refine it small enough to fit inside of the shoulder mechanism.

Wyrm: oh! I have some!

Voryn: i- *opens his third eye in surprise* you do?

Wyrm: *nods and smiles sliding out of his chair and running to his rucksack, only to finally notice everyone else’s bags minus voryns and nehts are missing* huh?…

Voryn: Wyrm?

Wyrm: *pulls the small aetherium shard from his bag before looking at Voryn with tears welling up in his eyes* m-my friends are g-gone? Wh-where’s their stuff?

Voryn: *finally notices their stuff is gone too, thinking they must have left when they were napping* Oh Wyrm, I’m sure it’s fine come, come here don’t cry.

Wyrm: *shakily walks to him, body still weak and sore and now his heart hurting equally as much making Voryn grimace a little in pain* th-they left me… d-did I do something wrong? I thought… I… m-maybe they weren’t, my friends. M-maybe they decided their debts were paid and they didn’t want to put up with m-

Voryn: *pulls him into his lap and holds him close* Shhh. Deep breaths now, let’s not spill more tears just yet. *dries his eyes already seeing them spill* I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation- *looks at the door as nerevar enters* Speaking of which.

Nerevar: *holding dinner for the three of them* Oh! Good you’re awake- *goes quiet seeing wyrm on the verge of a heart wrenching meltdown that could potentially kill Voryn if he’s not careful*

Voryn: Where’d the others go? Neht. *strokes Wyrms hair back behind his ears as he turns his attention back to him*

Nerevar: *deciding it’d be best not to tell the whole truth* The arch mage had some work for them. Said it was related to Ancano but wouldn’t let me press for details. They wanted to have Wyrm join them but, well neither of you are fit for travel or battle at the moment. They should be back in a couple days. *walks to the desk setting the food down* and you both should be restin-

Wyrm: *shakily grabs his wrist, barely holding in the hiccups already developing from how hard he’s trying to keep himself calm* th-they’re coming back?…

Nerevar: *realising what’s causing him distress finally* Yes I- Oh Wyrm no, no they wouldn’t abandon you, they wouldn’t leave forever without saying goodbye. *kneels down to display more comfort and sympathy in his posture* they’ll come back and everything will be okay.

Wyrm: *sniffles and nods feeling more at ease now* o-okay. *let’s go of his hand and rubs his eyes feeling silly for getting so worked up* i-i was scared I’d lost my friends again…

Voryn: again?

Wyrm: *nods and points to the boxes on his shelves* I had to pull them apart… A-ancano stole my book one night and- I lost control of myself when I couldn’t find it… they nearly destroyed the arcanum with them, s-so savos made me pull them apart… I only got to keep mr wrench. *looks at the dwarven spider now holding onto the aetherium shard waiting for instruction* and Onmund, J’zargo and Brelyna are nice too but… I’m scared I’ll annoy them too much and I was scared- i-i annoyed or upset the others into leaving too.

Nerevar: *clenching his jaw ready to snap Ancanos neck and feeling anger rumble within his chest that anyone could find him annoying* Oh wyrm, no…

Voryn: *picks up the blanket and wraps it around wyrm once more* Theyd never find you annoying little scrib, we’d never find you annoying either. *gently unbuckles the arm from him* Why don’t we have dinner and I’ll finish your arm before bed? I think I remember how to install the conduit.

Wyrm: y-yes please. *blinks looking up at the door as it opens allowing Enthir to help Urag into the room to join them for dinner* papa!

Urag: *looks over to see his sons tear stained face* … *picks up his cane* Which one of you did it?!

Enthir: BABE NO!

*a few hours later*

Wyrm: *Unable to sleep, nestled in bed beside voryn, everyone agreeing it’d be best for him to stay close to the high councillor in his sleep until they can figure out what’s causing his nightmares* … *rolls onto his side and looks over at his desk and his new arm glowing ever so slightly with the aetherium powering it, but still brightly enough to illuminate nerevars empty bedroll beside it* huh?… *sits up and slides out of bed, whole body wobbling as he gets his bearings* nerevar?…

???: the labyrinthian?…

???: there’s no way they’ll come back alive why did you lie to him like that?

Wyrm: huh?… *walks to the hole in his wall and peers out to see nerevar, Urag and Enthir standing in the arcanum, their only light the bright glow of a magelight between them*

Nerevar: would you rather I tell him they left towards certain death to protect him? He was on the verge of tears thinking they’d abandoned him how could I possibly hurt him like that?

Enthir: He’ll need to know the truth eventually-

Urag: he’s right… *sighs* he’s not well, and if we deliver him news like this while he’s still vulnerable it might kill him, or kill everyone else with whatever this curse is that’s afflicting him… *looks up at nerevar* But they’re a capable bunch… don’t particularly like any of them but… they kept my boy alive. And he likes them… he’s got a good sense for people. I’m sure they’ll come back fine… *glances slightly at the hole in the wall letting them know he’s aware Wyrm is spying*

Wyrm: *quickly ducks away from the wall as Enthir and neht turn to look* oh no… oh no no no- *hurries back to bed and climbs in trying to come up with a plan to leave unnoticed*

Voryn: *jumps a little feeling the dunmer scurry under the covers* wyrm? Are you okay?…

Wyrm: y-yes I- h-had to use the bathroom I’m okay. *snuggles up close and pouts a little as voryn pulls him closer, realising how hard it’s going to be to escape without waking him up now*

Voryn: *yawns sensing a some distress from Wyrm but chalking it up to his friends sudden absence or a possible fear of the dark or even going back to sleep and the potential nightmares returning* okay, go back to sleep little Pearl…

Wyrm: okay… *sighs and snuggles in close, his ears twitching as he hears the door open and nerevar enter again*

Nerevar: *walks to the bed and leans down kissing voryns lips softly and earning a soft tired smile in response* did I wake you?…

Voryn: mmm, no, Wyrm just needed the bathroom. *opens his eyes and yawns with a content sleepy expression*

Nerevar: *looks at him and then Wyrm before smiling as he sees the young dunmer clearly trying to fake being asleep* I see. *leans down brushing his fringe out of his face and giving his forehead a soft kiss making Wyrm scrunch up his nose in surprise as he struggles to keep up his pretending* good night little dragon. *chuckles softly before giving voryn one more kiss and returning to his bedroll*

Wyrm: *sighs and relaxes again back into voryn as he tries to formulate a plan, only to realise he actually needs to use the bathroom now* …Aw biscuits.

*a few hours later*

Wyrm: *testing the movement in the fingers of his new arm one more time before pulling on his cloak and picking up his bag* okay… *places his hand on the door knob and looks back at his room one more time to see Voryn & Nerevar fast asleep* …I’ll come back… *opens the door and walks into the arcanum before walking to his fathers room and peering in to find Enthir & Urag, both sleeping soundly* …I’m s-sorry papa… *places a note on the night stand* I love you… *creeps out of the room and through the library before heading down the stairs and out into the courtyard, the cold night air chilling his weakened body to the bone* I can do this… *walks towards the bridge slowly, heart in his throat, and then nearly exploding out of his mouth as strong hands grab him from behind and he screams in fright before spinning around and slapping his assailant hard across the face with his mechanical hand* LET ME GO!!! *pulls away as the tall figure staggers back revealing who he already knew they were*

Ancano: *holding his face in surprise at how much that hurt* Gods you little-

Wyrm: Don’t you touch me! Don’t you EVER touch me again! *staggers back holding onto his bag strap tight* e-everything bad that’s happened to me! It’s all been your fault!

Ancano: *eyes flashing with intrigue at his little pearls sudden bravery* My, my, where did this attitude come from? All my fault how? *steps forward*

Wyrm: FUS-

Ancano: What th-

“RO DAH!!!”

Voryn: *jolts up in the bed to see nerevar already on his feet holding his sword* What- Wyrm?! Where’s Wyrm?!

Nerevar: he’s in danger it came from outside!

Enthir: *already running out to the courtyard pulling on his slippers as he goes while Urag follows after him and the rest of the college emerges*

Urag: *holding the note from his night stand and moving as fast as he can as tears cloud his vision* no not again- not again please! *hurries out to find snow cleared from the court yard by a great force, and his son, and nobody else in sight* Pup…

*meanwhile*

Wyrm: *running through the village as lights illuminate windows, everyone waking up from the blast, his body already beginning to lose steam from just how weakened he really is* no- come on- please- *reaches his arm out for nerevars horse as he approaches the stables, the cold air stinging his lungs and blurring his vision… the pounding of his heart doing wonders to block out the sound of crunching snow as a strange figure approaches and bashes him in the head with the blunt end of their spear, knocking him unconscious* Ugh- *collapses in the snow*

???: *stares down at him before gently rolling him onto his back and fixing his cloak to keep him warm* I thought you were supposed to be smarter than me, Seht… why would you be so foolish?… *looks up hearing panicked voices of his loved ones approaching* They will return… They are not careless with your heart. *smiles down at him before suddenly disappearing with the chime of a bell*

*meanwhile*

Ancano: *nearly falls off the ladder entering the midden before dropping to his knees and gritting his teeth as he splints his broken arm* Little-sh-shit. Wh-when did he learn how to do that? Ngh- *coughs up what he firsts thinks is phlegm from being hit so aggressively, only to taste blood on his tongue* It seems I’ll need to teach you some manners again, little Pearl… *smirks* at least 3 of my problems will be out of the picture permanently… now to get rid of the other 4… *resets his broken arm and holds in a pained groan*

*A few days later, in the depths of the labyrinthian*

Taliesin: *laying prone next to Kaidan & Inigo after being ambushed at the end of the barrow by estormo, fairly certain his friends are dead, unable to move, only stare up at the other high elf as they take the staff of Magnus from his paralysed grasp* i-I’ll s-slaughter y- you once th-this wears off.

Estormo: *smirks down at him, twirling the staff in his fingers* it’s a shame. You’re not even worth enough to earn me a promotion by killing you. But, I suppose I’ll enjoy it regardless~ *raises up the staff bludgeoning him in the head with it repeatedly until he goes still* that felt good. *looks back at his men awaiting his orders* alright, let’s get going. *pauses thinking he heard a bell chime* …

Guard: sir?

Estormo: …Its nothing. *feels a chill run down his spine remembering the stranger in the blizzard* let’s go… *walks out of the barrow with them, oblivious to the hooded stranger walking to team dragonborns aid*

???: *stands over the three of Wyrms friends, poking them with the real staff of Magnus and smiling as they sense life* Your time hasn’t come yet. Seht needs you still, Wyrm needs you still… *leans down and gently starts healing them all the while looking at the door where estormo left*

Taliesin: *groans softly in his unconscious state* wyrm… my… little moth…

???: *looks back at him and smiles warmly, the oil lamp light illuminating their half gold and blue lips* He misses you… he ran to your rescue despite knowing he’d die before reaching you… *strokes the high elfs cheek, cleaning the blood away* please, don’t break his heart… *looks back to the doorway sensing estormos presence fading* For being such a dickhead, you’d think he’d know a dick just by holding one, even if it is a bit pointy…

[hopeymchope]

DanganLike, Ahoy: 'Inescapable' is a rollercoaster of highs and lows

I've previously laid out what "Inescapable: No Rules, No Rescue" is about and how its gameplay works, so I'm not going to reiterate that here. Right now, I'm going to focus on explaining what's great about it... and sadly, why it ultimately disappointed me.

You might say that Inescapable left me a bit 'upsetty spaghetti.'

It's blatantly obvious how much time and effort were put into this game... not only because the art is gorgeous and there's clearly a lot of love poured into the dialogue, but mostly because each of the game's four "routes" contains so much unique material. You spend the first half of your playthrough making the decisions that wind up deciding what the second half will be, meaning that the entire second half — 50% of a given playthrough's runtime! — can be completely different on four different runs. Although plenty of visual novels have alternate routes/endings, few I've encountered do it to this extent. And even when they do contain such extensive differences between routes, they don't usually do this MANY routes; consider 'Steins;Gate 0', which has only two major routes once it breaks off.

Literally the first line of the entire game is a reference to another piece of media. It will not be the last. And I say that with affection! I found these references fun.

In essence, the devs at Dreamloop games have scripted, directed VAs, and made distinct CGs for 2.5 complete runs of a a story that tkes roughly 12 hours on the first pass, giving you well over 30 hours of playtime... provided you want all that. Some of the routes even have unique gameplay mechanics JUST for them!!

Searching 3D environments where our characters stand as 2D cutouts... seems familiar.

Dreamloop's European team wear their affection for Danganronpa on their sleeve, too. Early on, the characters participate in a pretend murder-mystery where they are challenged to find "the Blackened." When/if blood is spilled, it's usually bright pink. Someone breaks into Monokuma's signature laugh at one point... these devs are people of refined tastes. :)

One of many overt references to the devs' love for DR.

And oh god, that voice acting. Most major scenes are fully voiced in English, but of the four routes in the game — Greed, Lust, Suspicion, and Trust — it's the Suspicion route that really shows how excellent their VAs can be. They will break your fucking heart in that storyline. Highest possible kudos for those performances.

But let's dip deeper into those four routes, because their presence is both a big brag point (tons of content!) and also the game's biggest downfall. The main problems with them are twofold:

If you're going to have four different second-halves of your game, they ALL need to align with that first half. But because the game uses such arbitrary reasons for why it slots you into one of its four routes (I'll circle back to that), the player character — Harrison — can suddenly come off as being WILDLY different after doing very fucking little to justify it. Two of the routes just... don't feel like you're playing the same character any more after the transition into the back half; Harrison goes from being well-meaning but nervous and full of self-doubt to suddenly being defined and dominated by some new trait that has NEVER existed before then.

But there's an even bigger issue with the four routes. See, most visual novels with multiple endings/routes keep the characters consistent across all the story branches; it's only your choices that change what storyline you wind up on. Even in Danganronpa, when you play any bonus modes or side games (Island Mode, UTDP, Danganronpa S), the characters remain inherently the same people. 'Inescapable' doesn't adhere to this logic, though; the personalities, behavior, and background motivations of the characters are completely different on different routes. And I don't just mean "In one route they are mean and in another they are nice." I mean they are so FUNDAMENTALLY different that you just have to accept that this person containing the same name, VA, and sprites is a completely different character. If the same person opens up/reveals more of themselves to you (i.e., Harrison) on two different routes, then one route could have that person reveal their fears, insecurities, and innate kindness... while the other route reveals them to be a sociopathic, Machiavellian figure (sorry for the bad rap, Nic). If you a character see fall from grace into becoming basically a Nazi on one route, another route might show you that same character as someone who holds onto their best ideals even in the face of brutal hardship. It's hard to even explain how INCREDIBLY different these characters are between routes. In one route, a quiet character is just a shy sweetheart waiting to be brought into the light... in another, they're a complete sociopath who tortures with detached curiosity. These people are ALL-FUCKING-OVER the place!

Mia is Harrison's closest confidant and ally throughout the first half of the game. And the sprite shown here is giving major Chiaki vibes.

I can truly say that I've never seen another visual novel take that approach before... and this break from the norm only helps to make it clear WHY we established that norm. It's hard to embrace and love a character who winds up an important, trustworthy ally on one route when you've already seen the same person be your most aggressive, duplicitious nemesis on another route. It serves as a powerful deterrant to establishing much emotional attachment to these people. Everybody I loved in the first half of the game eventually became people I no longer cared about, because the routes make it clear that they can each suddenly become ANY type of character at ANY time the writers demand it.

There's some commentary on modern politics as well as representation of gay, non-binary and asexual people in here. But is it still desirable representation if those characters only reveal their sexual preferences on ONE story route — and worse, they're evil on some other route???

As long as we're talking about routes, though, let's break them all down in regards to how you reach them. (Yup, this is the time for that circle-back I promised y'all earlier.) The game does NOT provide any hints or insight into how you get onto the routes, but people who've brute-forced the game and looked into the files have figured out quite a bit. And boy, these triggers are... some bullshit.

You get Greed by winning competitions or playing built-in mini-games. I wound up on this route during my first playthrough SOLELY because the game includes a daily (in-game daily, that is — and a 'day' in the game is usually around seven minutes) Wordle mini-game, and I played it regularly. I also played the three Arcade cabinet mini-games (an Asteroids clone, a side-scrolling infinite runner, and... Seagull BBQ, which is by far the most fascinating/weird one IMO). And playing mini-games apparently means you're greedy, because it tosses you onto this route where your character suddenly values money over all else. (????) Other stuff that leads you down this path includes winning any games in the story, such as when the characters do a tug-of-war or host a trivia quiz about each other. YEAH, playing the quiz well evidently is a sign of Greed... THIS is the kind of shit that makes these triggers so frustrating.

You get Lust by talking a lot to any characters the game deems "scantily clad" or possibly, uh... fetish-ize-able. That means spending time with the innocent maid (Annika) counts for this ending because she's dressed as a maid, and that's a potential fetish, so fuck you. :P Talking to Giovanni the Italian 50something dude ALSO counts, because his shirt is hanging open to reveal his musculature. The twin-tailed teenage heir to a fortune? That fuckin' counts, too — she's young and small, ergo it's now a "lust' point. Talking to Eva, the excessively flirty social media diva in small clothing? OBVIOUSLY counts... but that's really the only one that legitimately makes some sense. (Weirdly, spending time with the huge-boobed Portuguese mechanic who always sports her midriff seemingly does NOT count towards this route. Is it because she's in her 30s? Is this sexist ageism shit?) Other triggers for this one are thankfully more obvious: Choosing to play around with or be alone with any girl (even if it's part of a meta-game, such as when the cast are playing 'Caverns & Wyverns'... yeah, that's a thing), going to the sauna alone with a girl, etc.

Off-brand Fast & Furious movies are somehow a plot point on MULTIPLE routes. Starring "Bill Petrol"!

You get Suspicion by spending most of your time talking to your most trusted confidant (Mia) and/or to the most suspicious/secretive person around (Sasha). Also eavesdropping on conversations or spying on people to learn what they're up to will get you here. Oh, and when the producers tell you that you can use in-game points to unlock bits of "Dirt or "Gossip" that will reveal secrets about the other contestants? Yeah, going for "Dirt" whatsoever will ABSOLUTELY get you on this route. This is the route that most heavily caters to Danganronpa fans, because this is the one that leads to you solving a series of murders on the island. And yes, you'll be investigating crime scenes, collecting evidence, and presenting it at opportune times to corner the killer! Unfortunately, the ultimate thesis is pretty much the opposite of Danganonpa: There's no hope to be found on this route. Instead, this is the perfect route for those oddballs who mostly liked Danganronpa but really felt Despair should've won. :P

Like I said, the hardest route to get is definitely Trust. You have to be RIDICULOUSLY pure and avoid ANY/ALL of the triggers for the other three in order to wind up on "Trust." In other words: Spend almost all your time with Daan, Lumi, Francisca, and/or Isak (because these are, for some reason, NOT triggers for other routes). Refuse to ever look at the unlockable "Dirt" or "Gossip." Never eavesdrop and never spy, no matter how sus a character is acting. Refuse to participate in as many in-story games as possible — even when you are prompted by the game to enter an answer or choose from a set of choices, try to find a way to refuse or to enter blatantly fake responses. Like, if the game says "Guess who the answer is to this question"? Just say "Nobody" or some crap like that. :P Don't play mini-games, because Wordle and Asteroids are somehow vaguely evil for reasons I don't get. At one point, there's an in-story competition where you have to choose to either take money (Greed) or expose someone's secrets (Suspicion), and you either need to know which characters to speak with in order to avoid BOTH options, or you need to keep them both as balanced as humanly possible.

It's unsurprising, I'm sure, that Trust is basically the mega-happy ending. But because Trust is easily the hardest route to access, you'll probably see these characters spiral into some shitty behavior on those OTHER routes well before you see them settle into something more peaceful. Which means that unfortunately — due to what I said earlier about the characters being wildly different people on different routes — this happy ending feels pretty unearned, maybe even unwanted. Because no matter how much of a pal they are on the "Trust" path, someone with the same name who looks and sounds the same was willing to go full fucking psycho on you with VERY little provocation on another route. So do you really think these people deserve this mega-happy ending? (It doesn't help that "Trust" also runs pretty long without much happening for 1/3 of it... it can turn into the most boring of the four, imo.)

The story supposedly takes place in 2017, but it sometimes makes references to things that didn't yet exist then. Oh well.

None of these routes are free from writing issues, unfortunately, Where the game excels at making very distinctive characters who are initially interesting despite their Choose-Your-Own-Adventure personalities, the actual overall plotting are where things always seem to fall apart. For example: In "Trust," a character disappears to go work secretly behind-the-scenes to free the group. And this staged disappearance of a major ally is probably the BIGGEST plot point in the final act of this route. Yet, ultimately, said ally... does nothing. They just vanish for most of the story, only to show up at the end and be like "Oh yeah I'm fine but there was no reason for my disappearance, I didn't do anything." It's not even clear why or how the whole 'Inescapable' broadcast/game ends on this route! It just... STOPS, after the characters are told multiple times by the producers that it WON'T, without any explanation. In "Suspicion," on the other hand, we have one major murder case where no motive for the premeditated brutal killing is ever established. This perpetrator isn't some maniac, but... I guess maybe they are, because the game never establishes ANY reason for why they did the horrible thing they did. It just... kinda happened. THESE are what I mean when I say there are big PLOT issues. On more than one occasion, it's just like "This shit happened for some reason. We either don't know or won't say why."

And I get that maybe my expectations/demands are just really high. There's a LOT that goes into high-quality writing, after all - you have to develop characters that are interesting, you have to have consistent characterization for them, you have to write dialogue that feels engaging, and you have to create coherent and intriguing plotting throughout. To its credit, Inescapable's writing absolutely succeeds in TWO of these things. But one of them, it fails in. And one of them? It doesn't even TRY to do.

I think you get the picture by now. I was ultimately let down by this latest attempt to recapture the magic of titles like Danganronpa, Zero Escape, etc. In the past two years, my favorite "Danganlike" attempt remains Yurukill — I still think about that one fondly and with surprising regularity. By comparison, Inescapable is a much longer/more complex game ... that I sadly have a markedly lower opinion of.

Both Yurukill and Inescapable ultimately end with a tease for a potential sequel. I would ABSOLUTELY play a Yurukill 2, but I feel like that's not looking too likely right now. Would I play an Inescapable 2, though? .... Eh. Maybe. If I was in the right mood or I heard/read something about it that sounded good, I may risk it.

[glowstone23b]

:DD!!! yes!! a wither!! (i saw a video once of some guy spawning a wither in the nether and letting these piglins have at em, cuz theyre naturally aggroed on wither skeletons as enemies and i thought it was super cool- i think one suevived nearly the whole fight? and it just,, gave me ideas!)

the immortality thing is kinda like a player status thingy! so yeah! (in part cuz im super attached to some of them, namely dereck, rylan, and grimm; and so i while i was super cool with them getting hurt and outcasted and going thru a lot of angst essentially, i was super super uncomfortable with them experiencind death in any permanent capacity, so here we are 😔) so respawning is a thing! and my thought was since players (people playing the game) are able to be any kinda skin they desire, i figured itd make sense like this "player" status was bestowed upon them like a gods blessing! if that makes any sense,,

and yea so with dereck, with his withered status, it cant really go away cuz he was withered BEFORE the wither died and he got blessed, aha 🤭 🤷 (lol i just thought that what if he treats his condition with milk like in game, and so he keeps trades with zombie piglins and other players who go to the overworld so he can drink it since its not available in the nether omg *enter he needs some milk vine* and and lol if he does nothing to take care of it hes just gonna fall into a death loop cuz hes immortal 👀)

omg flint is so cute i wanna draw em together 😭 who knows if i have time tho. they WOULD be friends omg taking care of the littol ones together 🥺🥺

thank you!! i love the wither star idea! just a littol trophy for him ^-^

dereck loves u too

How tall would you say your ocs are? Dereck here but rylan and grimm for future reference? No reason (I lie, it’s for drawing reasons). I would love to draw them together also!! I love piglins :) if you couldn’t tell fhdbsjsk

Poor guy with his chronic illness & pain 😔 but hey he’s a good channel for staying on good terms with the local overworld villages and whatnot bc of trade routes, it works out! RIP dude, don’t fall into a death loop… maybe overworld like… cow’s milk has special properties that help soothe ailments that are caused by negative statuf effects? I assume they could probably get milk from hoglins or like. Idk. Ghasts or something fbdbsjjs or maybe if nether fungus variants of mooshrooms existed? Who knows!

I’d like to see that tbh— I’m surprised a bastion could hold their own against a wither in game 😳 that’d be interesting to see the outcome of for sure! Makes sense why an oc would come of it, haha.

I have a couple more piglins in the works, but I’ll have to refine designs, tbh. I’d love to have a solid brute, but most of the ones I come up with end up being retired brutes or dropouts/wannabes, lol. Maybe a good set of piglets to draw consistently or something, too. Idk I have a bastion in my head and I just need inhabitants for it 🤔

Trying to find a good in between for in-game mechanics versus irl influences is so tough !! I do my best but sometimes I realism too hard. It’s kinda fun to mess with though :D

[the-travelling-witch]

Hello everyone, I have an exam next week plus there’ll be some somewhat major changes in my life soon, so I don’t know when I can finish any of my wips.

That said I want to offer you guys the chance to pick one to three prompts from the following list+ a character from a listed fandom and shoot me an ask; I’ll write a short blurb based on it (I’m aiming for ~3 paragraphs each, but might write more or less based on inspiration) and if I like one idea enough I might write an actual fic for it at some point, who knows (I don’t)

Fandoms: Genshin Impact, Haikyuu, Blue Lock, Tokyo Revengers, Obey Me (+ my OCs Dantalion and Valefar), Twisted Wonderland, Honkai Star Rail, My Hero Academia, Bungou Stray Dogs, Jujutsu Kaisen, Tears of Themis 

You can also leave the character decision to me and get surprised (or not, I will choose one of my faves jsjsh); also, though I’ll try to respect your choices, I’ll keep my liberty to choose a different character or play around with the prompts here or there ♡

Empowering ingredients that spur to action:

Sweet Flower- If you've been waiting to muster up the courage to confess, this flower could certainly give you a push in the right direction

Crystal Core- Found in Teyvat, this core of a crystal fly will light up every date night

Butterfly Wings- Just like the flap of a butterfly wing, this ingredient will instil the enchantment of a first love within the drinker

Star Piece- Ever gazed at the stars and wondered what really lay beyond what we can see?

Moonstone- This stone shines brightest in the light of the full moon, its gleam helping to soothe the sleepless, even for those who have to share a bed

Unicorn Hair- It's no wonder that unicorns are considered some of the most loyal beings out there; their hair will further the friendship felt between two people

Mermaid’s Pearl- A bright pearl treasured by the merfolk; if dissolved in a drink on the night of a proposal, this pearl is rumoured to cause eternal love

Flower Crown Piece- Normally worn by a fairy, this crown causes mischief when consumed in a potion; may lead to excessive flirting

Piece of a Heavenly Cloud- Although it may not be cloud nine, the comfort and warmth this cloud provides is similar to the hug of a loved one

Golden Laurel- Adorning the heads of absolute victors, this wreath marks the best of the best; and what is a better prize than spending every anniversary to come with your special person?

Electro Sakura- Electrifying and leaving you wanting more, this petal simulates a spark normally only occurring during a kiss

Ingredients that refine any potion:

Ambrosia- The food of the gods; it revitalises even the most exhausted person so that they could dance until their soles burn off

Nectar- As the beverage of gods, this is what liquid luck and liquid courage were derived from; in moderation, this ingredient will strengthen every encouragement received

Leaf of Yggdrasil- This leaf is rumoured to land on the shoulder of those who are bound by fate

Edelweiss- An unassuming flower often found on mountain tops, only adventurers with a keen eye who are out exploring come across it

Eye of Argus- This eye sees everything, so it's often used to spot a bad weather cloud from far away

Cinnamon- A spice adding comfort to most beverages consumed, it fills the drinker with a gentleness normally found in domestic life with a partner

Fae Wing- Fae are creatures who don't always have a human's best interest at heart, luring oblivious people into the woods and lulling them into a nap they might not wake up from

Slime Condensate- A substance worth studying, displaying many different qualities depending on the potion it's used in

Dragon Scale- Test the strength of your bond; will you both truly be able to withstand anything?

Forbidden ingredients activated by dark magic:

Hellfire spark- Riles people up to the point of a mindless argument; works even on the calmest of souls

Tooth of a Vampire- A creature of the night and a stealthy predator, this ingredient will help you keep a secret

Will-o-Wisp- Luring wanderers off the right path, they just wait for the unknowing to succumb to their insecurities

Deadly Nightshade- A small dose won‘t outright kill a person, yet, they'll certainly feel sick

Gorgo Venom- Coursing through the victim's veins, this venom takes hold of their heart and fills it with jealousy in no time

Mist of Nyx- A mist so thick and dense it wraps around its victim like a blanket of sorrow you cannot shake off; the first tears that spill are only the beginning…

Demon’s Horn- It might not be enough to conjure a full-on sleep paralysis but this demonic shard is definitely nightmare-inducing

Basilisk Fang- This feeling of rage whenever you see them, surely there's nothing you'd like to do more than take revenge?

Werewolf Claw- These claws are meant to ensure survival, naturally, they will ensure nasty injuries on the poor person on the other side of these sharp weapons

Asphodel from the Underworld- A flower that has been associated with death ever since Ancient Greece, but surely it wouldn't…?

Ingredients that pull at the seams of reality:

Siren’s Scale- Combined with a song, this scale will channel the power of any music played into the potion; either recommend a song yourself or pass me the aux-cable

Time-Mirror Fragment- Bring your special someone into the modern world or send them into a universe they don't belong

Fur of a Kitsune- Ever wanted to switch bodies with someone else? Well, this is your chance!

Figment of your Imagination- Haven't found what you were looking for? If you're willing to hand me a piece of your mind, I might just be able to work my magic…

[askfallenroyalty]

since the epilogue is close to ending, here's some sketches of wip designs

this is very rambly so i'll add ID descriptions later, sorry. (its 4am for me rn)

Frisk looks too older, they've only aged 2 years. both chara and asriel's designs here are SO beta and non refined. I think this was drawn even before Flowey came out -I wasn't sure how much of the trans aspect was going to come into play. I initially wanted the comic to end with Chara and Asriel reconciling after the Toriel-Asriel Airplane Call scene, but realized that there was too much unsaid between the two that needed to be hashed out and the epilogue had enough to cover already.

It was going to be a last minute "oh btw, since coming home Asriel is trans now, deal with it" but THANK GOD i didn't just sneak it in like that and explored the topic in the comic instead.

I forgot where this artwork was saved so I tried to draw it back from memory a few months later:

Chara's form was starting to come together -i assume this was around the time that Chara got their boss monster form in the comic itself. I like that Frisk has a Bi flag shirt here -I should of gone with that! The cheeks are more square but ultimately I thought age 15 wouldn't allow for that much of a change. so yeah, this is what an adult frisk would look instead.

oh! for funsis: did you know i was originally going to have the other fallen humans be skeletons instead of different monsters?

I thought it was too similar to insanelyadd's skeleton fallen kids. I actually am friends with Addy now, but then I had to message and be like "🥺is it ok if i also do this i swear i'm not copying" to which they were chill about. ultmatly i felt the designs were to Sans-like and didn't allow for much creativity. (also why tf does Hol have green instead of cyan colors what was wrong with my computer or me in 2018 lmao

I always wanted to show the kids age and progress throughout the comic. oh my god the hair is SO anime here ouch! anyway I wanted Chara to really lean into the "prim and proper" role they give themself. I thought it was so cool to have them cut their hair short in the back and have long hair in the front. (wait. wait, thats what Chara does now in the epilogue. huh.)

honestly??? i like "pissed off librarian" vibes this frisk has here. Also weird to see my Frisk without an afro!

sadly no beta adult asriel designs. no idea why i never drew any then.

Here's me figuring out how Chara should have a monster form -here's proto boss monster chara, as you can see i planned out the red hair aspect early on enough that this was before the timeskip happened.

um. anyway, pre-epilogue concept sketches. I think Raine had bird wings at this stage?? dang wild. Don't ask why Franky looks like a new yorker paper boy. Hol looks too much like a raggedy ann which is funny. Ursus... well, they probably won't look much different.

Hol eye concept art. done before they were revealed in the comic itself. ..........less said about this the better

And lastly, chara's boss monster design drawn right before they showed up. First one drawn <- left to right <- You can see I wanted Chara to have a hippy/punk design, but realized like, that jacket was going to be a binch to draw over and over. so i simplified it, and then was like, "ok this is TOO plain, i need SOME detail" and got very close to the final version.

alright since I know some people like color ref sheets, here

Continue Arc full cast. Was SUPER annoying to scroll thru to find the right character lmao

hol's prequel story color ref -actually changed the Berry's hair color last minute and never got around to updating the color sheet. was very annoying to hand-color pick from a previous page instead of using the ref :/ smh @/ me

Baker's Trouble.

OLDIE. From the Start Again? and Christmas sections of the tumblr version. God. Hol is so small. Asriel looks like a mess. Good lord.

Cancelled Christmas Arc. Chara was supposed to meet up with Asriel on a boat offshore of Monsterland for Christmas, but turns out Asriel was using Chara as publicity. Except... not fully. He did want to meet up with Chara, but they get the wrong impression that Asriel was only doing this for image's sake. It'd explore how the public views Chara as an idolized figure and how Frisk plays into that too.

Anyway the story was too ambitious and I should of started this on December 1st instead of days before Christmas. Plus, I wasn't happy with how I started it and the vibes were off. I might have this as a side story in the redraw but idk

Back to the Epilogue. I changed Asriel's dress just a little bit to improve the body shape silhouette (the dress is so plane its like she's wearing a towel! gah! I should have added SOME flair to that dress dang it!) anyway the dress is more... swooshy? swirly? and the teal ties up to the neck which works nicely with the heart locket and bow combo. Actually. Shit. Why didn't I just put the locket OVER the bow i'm so stupid that'd be so much easier-

If I could redo it, I'd make some changes...

now here's the cousin and sib groups here. Flowey is actually a little TOO big and not up to scale which is funny hehe (also more blocky looking??? weird) In the Redraw version I'm modifying Raine's dress to have a sash and other details, this thing is TOO plain. Franky's Mad Scientist like outfit could of just been an actual labcoat and ideally, the fact that Franky wasn't at the party could of foreshadowed that they knew it was going to be reloaded.

(...Which, actually, Chara's surprise was a surprise for me as well. That was a impulsive idea that came to me when we were getting very close to meeting with Chara again. Thus I couldn't foreshadow it. Redraw WILL have better foreshadowing U_U;)

ACTUALLY SCREW IT for the remainder of the epilogue, i made some changes I wanted to add detail and change some designs a tad -mainly to make the designs more distinct from each other and for story continuity. (AKA: Asriel and Papyrus are supposed to be the only "red scarf" wearers. Asriel's bowtie is knitted like a scarf. previously, hol and yun had red bows which made this match up less distinct. mew Mew's design was a little too similar to Sans' and Alphys and needed some changes.)

anyway i think thats all i can share now! thanks for reading and hope you guys keep following the redraw. I really really want a completed version of this story that's not missing holes. i want AFR to be complete and well, even with the epilogue ending, it won't be "done" for a long while. But thank you guys, it's been a journey!

If you hadn't guessed, I might be finishing the epilogue today (tomorrow for me, cause i'm going to bed in a few minutes). Depends on how much I manage to draw today, but yeah. Chara is going to the party, we'll get to say hi, close some loose ends and come to end. worst case scenario, i'll have to do a little comic to tie it off (like I did with the main storyline's ending) at a later date and this will be the end of the ask-able portion of the epilogue.