#lies of p textures

[amorganva]

Just a bunch of random interesting Lies of P stuff I've seen so far because I still love this game:

So the workshop was established 1868....which means that we're in the year 1889 or around that timeframe based on the grand exhibition signs.

Apparently Sophia has a diary? and this is the only page: Master Cherry gives the Piece of wood to his friend Geppetto At that very moment a loud knock sounded on the door It was Geppetto, an old friend of Master Cherry. The boys of the neighborhood called him Polendina because of the wig he always wore, which was just the color of yellow corn. He was known to dislike children, and even more so when they called him Polendina.

on some of the plaques at the grand exhibition

The Krat k for reference and the devs having fun sneaking pics onto bottles lol

The music sheet on the piano is the sheet music for the Oblivion soundtrack of the game. I also wonder why P chooses to play that particular piece that he plays as his humanity increases, why is it stuck in your head P?....on to another Carmeo doodle! I mean seriously the first few notes of the Estella Opera theme sound like humanity level 1 P trying the piano....like there's this specific tune in his mind. Like the two used to play together or Carlo the bougie being good at playing would teach Romeo, the kid from the streets. And the whole level P would hear that tune ....operafied and extra because it's Romeo, cmon, but also as a reminder like -Hey...remember, buddy?

Just for reference purposes, when exported directly, Romeo is a giant at almost 9 ft - while P is about 6'4" when not constantly in battle stance. But Sophia and every other NPC in Krat is also about 6 feet when directly exported so the characters aren't made to scale - youngest of the BRBH is as tall as Sophia without ears. I read somewhere that Carlo is supposed to be around 5'3" on average and 5'6" at the tallest (people being shorter back then etc....our short king) so in my headcanon for my doodles reference I scaled Romeo to be about 5'10", just a bit taller than Carlo. Idk why I make him taller but there's something about his nickname Lampwick which just meant that he's skinny and polished looking in the original context but it got in my head that he's just tall and skinny and I'm rolling with it. Funny that his puppet form is so rusted and kinda clunky and raggedy looking for someone so well put together presumably before he died. The most unruly of Pinocchio's friends but also the nicest guy in this universe--- don't get me started on Romeo again gigachad of a friend///

Also something you can't really see ingame cuz resolution but irl all records are by Trilogy Records and Feel in particular is "Song of Vamp, Rosa Milan" ....no clue what it means.

the placeholder used for Romeo's play in the trailers....but also Hotel Krat before it became a Hotel in a bustling city?

Question: Blue hair Sophia or Brown hair? Short hair P or long hair P? (I like short hair because it's an iconic look and the devs clearly spent a lot of time fine tuning it when you look at the trailers lol, long hair to me just feels so....basic) Also P's hair is aktschually brown.....it just looks really dark ingame and in all the artwork they just chose to make it black-looking. So Carlo and P technically have the same hair, he just doesn't have P's freckles which....a choice was made by Geppetto and I respect it.

You can read this oddly specific daffodil newspaper texture and this letter.....like why is this so high res??

It's a shame you can't see some of this stuff unless you actually take a close look at the game files but I like to snoop. I just wanna see more of Krat...like a tour video or something or a book before it all kinda went to hell. Thanks Geppetto ....and/or Simon.

[lunavagans]

This is a WIP I abandoned because its lore doesn‘t match the already vague canon timeline. Somehow, I fixated on the idea that the puppet frenzy had already been going on for 30 years by the time the game sets in, and I had the thought of making this mother and son that survive in the puppet frenzy, with the son having been born when it had already been going for nine years. But apparently, it‘s more like it‘s lasting up to 2 years by now. So that backstory went down the drain and this photo doesn‘t make sense anymore. Still, doesn‘t hurt to post it.

We have: ye olde pre-war photograph

The smoothed-out version

And the coloured original

[theblueeyedeagle]

Official LoP YT channel posted a short of Venigni’s model details!

[amtrak12]

Anyway, my deck bags won't be 10 bucks but they also won't be Basic (derogatory). Exciting buttons, reinforced chain stitch drawstring with pony bead pull tab (~vintage~ pony beads in this case as these particular beads date back to pre-2000 when I was 10 years old), a bottom ridge to create a proper perpendicular angle with the side of the bag while creating visual interest, reverse single crochet at the top to finish off the raw edge and create more visual interest. Back straps to complete the knapsack design while also providing a place to slip in your hand to stabilize your grip and minimize dropping your shit as you cart your tarot deck room to room (or am I the only one with that problem?). Oh and a branded wash and care label because not everyone knows what to do with crocheted fabric.

Will they cost more than your average indie tarot deck? Um yes. Will I be making a pattern pdf available for purchase so you can make it yourself if you know how to crochet? Also yes. But also spending money on things that save you time makes people happiest and my bag themes are pretty good if I do say so myself. The pictures above are my steampunk design and I just bought some black d20 buttons for another design which I'm looking forward to :D

Though my primary product is going to be 3 card reading mats because they're most economical, along with larger 3x3 card reading mats available as a treat yourself option. The small one there is actually an early prototype. I've since lengthened it a bit so the mat will comfortably fit three oracle cards side by side or three tarot cards. Same for the large mat. It will fit 3 rows by 3 columns of mass market oracle sized cards or standard tarot sized cards. Super oversized cards like the Next World Tarot will need a little scrunching to fit. A Celtic Cross tarot spread will also fit if you tilt the right line at an angle.

Spectral Hook Creations everyone! Coming to the US this fall! ??? (hopefully) (I still have a lot of administration stuff to prep and I can't quit my day job yet :S)

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Three

☒ Summary: Vox was getting too attached to you. You should have noticed it sooner when he began treating you with more consideration than anyone else. But you assumed it was all an act. You were sorely mistaken. You hoped that Alastor had a plan to get you out of this arrangement. 

☒ Warnings: wife!reader, she/her pronouns used, angst with slight comfort, strong hints of vox being in love with the reader, vox kisses reader on the forehead, alastor and the reader actually kiss and hug, lucifer is silly in this, jealous!alastor, reader expierencing a lot of conflicting emotions, lots of inner turmoil

☒ Word Count: 2,166

The ride back to Vox Tec Headquarters was quiet. However, Vox held onto you tightly the whole ride home.

Home? Is that what you consider this godforsaken place now? 

You lost your way, and seeing your husband tonight after several years reminded you of what once was your home. 

"Who" your home was; Alastor.

But that resentment you had for him still lingered in your heart. 

It would be a lie if you said you hadn't gotten accustomed to Vox's company. Even now, he helped you out of the car. Holding your hand tightly all the way up to your bedroom. Vox was a gentleman when it came to you. He respected your privacy, turning his back while you changed into something more comfortable. But he was also possessive, and that struck fear within you.

He was soft-spoken while he tucked you into your bed. The same bed that Vox picked out specifically for you. He knew what colors, what patterns, and what textures you liked. Taking it all into account when he bought you your blankets and clothing and accessories.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Vox cooed, rubbing your arm softly. He sat at the side of your bed, eyes locked with yours. You tensed from his touch. The conflict between appreciating his gentle caress and knowing it was wrong to feel that way made guilt pool in your gut. 

"I'm fine," You lied, averting your gaze from his. Vox's touch trailed lower, giving your hand a firm squeeze before he stood. "It's been a long day for you. Try to get some rest." He spoke calmly. Turning his back toward you before making his way to your bedroom door. 

"V-Vox," You called out, stopping him in his tracks before he could take his leave. "Yes, sweetheart?" He turned to face you, offering you a welcoming smile. You balled the duvet up in your hand. The same one the man standing before you hand-picked for you. "Thank you for respecting my wishes today." You whispered before turning on your side. Not wanting to see Vox's expression to your earnest words. 

The room was silent for a few beats. Making you feel as though Vox was seeing right through your lies. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you squeezed your eyes shut. Hoping that he would either reply or take his leave already. Your train of thought was cut off when you felt a set of lips press against your forehead. Vox's lips. 

"Anything for you, sweetheart." Before you could process the kiss Vox gave you, he was gone. You turned around the moment your bedroom door closed shut. 

Fuck. You were in deep shit. 

Vox was getting too attached to you. You should have noticed it sooner when he began treating you with more consideration than anyone else. But you assumed it was all an act. You were sorely mistaken. 

You hoped that Alastor had a plan to get you out of this arrangement. 

Alastor paced around his suite, wracking his brain on how to free you of your contract. Being on a leash himself kept him constricted in some ways, but there had to be a loophole. The Radio Demon tried to keep his composure, but knowing that his beloved wife had been confined by Vox, of all people, was unacceptable.

He never thought you would fall prey to someone as pitiful as Vox. But Alastor also knew that his vanishing without a word didn’t leave you with many options. He ached for you, truly. The Radio Demon loved you with everything he had. Even the parts of himself that never saw the light of day. Alastor’s deepest thoughts and emotions were all reserved for you.

“Hey Alastor, you in here?” The door swung open quicker than The Radio Demon could see. Alastor quickly straightened upright, clearing his throat before addressing The Princess of Hell. Who just so happened to barge into his room. “What is it?” Alastor beamed painfully wide as his patience wore thinner by the second. He didn’t have time for Hotel duties at the moment. You were his top priority.

“Sorry to barge in, but... my dad is here! Just wanted to keep you in the loop!” Charlie exited without another word. She sensed an air of malice and wanted no part of it. Alastor was a feared overlord, and she retained a handful of horror stories about The Radio Demon himself.

A lightbulb went off in his head. This was perfect- Lucifer was the answer to breaking your contract with Vox. All he would have to do was get on The King of Hell’s good side. Alastor let his shadows carry him to the foyer, being met by the sight of none other than Lucifer himself. “Uh, Charlie! Who is this?” The short man shot Alastor a pointed look. “Alastor! It’s a pleasure, quite a pleasure indeed!” The Radio Demon shook Lucifer’s hand firmly. Biting back the insults he wanted to utter due to The King of Hell’s stature. Opting to play nice for the sake of your soul.

“Yeah, uh- good to meet you. Anyway, Charlie mentioned something about a tour, so we must be going!” Lucifer’s tone was passive and short. Alastor knew it would take a bit more false kindness to get on his good side. “Oh, allow me! I am the executive producer of this lovely hotel, after all!” Charlie smiled widely, finding it flattering that Alastor cared enough about the hotel to offer his services. Little did she know that he had ulterior motives. “Aww, that’s a great idea! Thank you, Alastor. I’ll leave you both to it!”

Lucifer stuttered as he tried to find the words to protest. But it was too late. Charlie was already enamored in a conversation with Vaggie. “Come along!” Alastor’s smile grew wide as Lucifer treaded behind him. The moment they reached the second floor, Alastor spun around. Meeting Lucifer at eye level. “Let me cut to the chase! I have a favor to ask of you, Luci!” The Radio Demon quipped. “I knew there was something off about you. Well, cmon spit it out. I came here for my daughter! I don't wish to waste my precious time with common demons such as yourself.”

Alastor contemplated biting his tongue off at that moment because the words that threatened to tumble out of his mouth were way beyond foul. But instead, he took a breath, reminding himself of the greater good. “I’m glad you mentioned your darling daughter, Charlie! You see, she and I made a little deal of sorts! I would be willing to forfeit our contract in exchange for another contract being terminated!” The Radio Demon was bluffing, but he was sure the fool would buy it. Lucifer’s chest puffed up in defense. Alastor could see the wheels turning in his head as The King of Hell contemplated the trade. “Lemme guess, you got yourself in a bad contract and need some help getting out of it?” Alastor’s laughter filled the hallway from the remark. Not even Lucifer himself could get Alastor out of his deal, but that was beside the point.

“Oh heavens, no! This is about my wife. She sold her soul to one of the Vees. I need that deal to be reversed! So, do we have a deal?” Alastor outstretched his hand. Hoping that Lucifer would shake it without further delay. “The who now? The Bees? Fine, fine. I don’t really care as long as my Char Char is out of harm's way. You got yourself a deal, Malastor!” Alastor cringed at Lucifer’s lack of awareness. He was truly in his own world. But that worked to The Radio Demon’s advantage. So it didn’t really matter either which way. “Lovely!” With that, the two men shook on it. Sealing their deal. Alastor chuckled under his breath from how easy that had been. Lucifer was a common idiot. No wonder the state of hell was in shambles, he thought.

But with the King of Hell under contract with him, it was only a matter of time until you were back in Alastor’s arms. He would make sure of that.

A cool gust of wind stirred you awake. It was nearly three in the morning when you heard someone calling for you. The radio static laced Alastor's voice as he spoke your name. Surely you were still dreaming, right? 

"Don't be alarmed, my dear! It's only me." Alastor sat atop your bed. The same way Vox had earlier. His long fingers played with a strand of your hair, pushing it out of your face as he gazed upon you. "How did you get in here?" You nervously whispered. Slowly, you sat upright, grabbing ahold of your husband's face. His cold flesh meshed well against your warm hands. He really was here. 

"I have my ways!" Alastor quipped, leaning forward to capture your lips with his. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you melted against him. Oh, how you missed his touch. Seven years was far too long without him and hurt feelings aside, you loved this man with your entire being. "My love, if you get caught-" You whispered against his lips, but Alastor simply silenced you by stealing another kiss. 

"Nonsense! It's nothing I can't handle! Don't worry your pretty little head, I have an infallible plan to get you out of your contract with Vox." Excitement surged through you from the good news. "Really? That's amazing!" You beamed, wrapping your arms around Alastor's neck. Hugging him as tightly as possible. Your husband relaxed under your touch. Allowing himself to enjoy this long-awaited moment with you.

"I need you to hold out for a bit longer, my dear. Can you do that for me?" Alastor whispered into your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back with the pads of his thumbs. You nodded fervently. Whatever it would take, you would endure. "Yes," You sighed a breath of relief. Freedom was nearly within your reach. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. 

"Sweetheart? Are you awake?" 

Fuck, it was Vox. 

You frantically pulled away from Alastor's embrace. Presenting him with a frightened look. "Go, now!" You nervously hushed, giving him one last kiss before he stood. Alastor's classic grin remained, but his eyes were full of remorse for you. He hated to leave you here like this, but there was no other way. Just a little bit longer. Alastor whispered a small "I love you" before his shadows enveloped him. Whisking The Radio Demon away right in the nick of time.

Moments later, your door swung open. Revealing a worrisome Vox. "Sweetheart, why didn't you answer me?" He quickly made his way to your side. His slender fingers grasped your chin. Vox tilted your head every which way, scanning for any abnormalities. "I-I'm sorry! I had a nightmare... so I was still pretty out of it when I heard your voice." You lied. Trying your hardest to force a smile his way. Vox's expression softened from your confession. 

"You see, this is why I insisted on installing cameras in your room. I would be able to get here sooner at times like this." Vox sighed, pulling you into his chest. His arms enveloped your waist. "No cameras in here, you promised..." You mumbled into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his frame loosely. If you were entirely unresponsive, Vox would know you were being furtive. So you played your part. Whatever it would take, right?

"I did promise. You're right, sweetheart. But the offer still stands." Vox squeezed you tighter. The embrace bordered the lines of discomfort from how he held onto you. All you could do was nod against him, hoping he would release you sooner rather than later. "I-I know, thank you." It felt like pulling teeth, forcing out those words. Slowly, Vox pulled away. He gently pressed your shoulders down before tucking you back into bed. 

"Try to get some more rest. It's still early, sweetheart. If you have another nightmare, just call out to me. I'll be here." Vox pressed another kiss to your forehead before standing up. He walked over to the chair that resided in the corner of your room. Vox made himself comfortable, gaze never once faltering from you. You squeezed your eyes closed. Forcing yourself to doze off despite the pressure you felt from his watchful gaze. 

Alastor had remained outside your bedroom window. Overhearing your and Vox's entire conversation. His blood was boiling. Is this what you've had to endure for all these years? Alastor clawed at the side of the building right beside your window. His anger was only building the more he replayed the air of discomfort you illuded. Vox made a grave mistake thinking he could win you over.

You were his wife, and he would remind Vox of that fact. It was only a matter of time. 

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts

[mochie85]

Never Enough

One-Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: Loki tests your limits as he tries one last time to make you scream. Word Count: 1.9K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Explicit. Smut. It's mostly filth with a fluff ending. Pleasure Dom! Loki, bondage, rough oral, use of toys, edging. P in V. Aftercare.

The air was hot and humid from hours of heavy panting. The once cool satin sheets were sweltering against your skin. They no longer held the cold comforts to ease the fire crawling through you.

Loki sat on the settee, facing you as you writhed on his bed. He sat with his legs crossed, an ankle above his other knee. One hand settled on the back of the chaise. The other nursed a hundred-year-old scotch. You could hear the ice-sphere clink with the glass whenever he held it up to his lips for a sip. He looked like an emperor watching a match, a favorite pastime of entertainment, as you battled with your wits to survive his night of debauchery.  

How many climaxes has it been? Three? Five? You lost count after Loki decided to suspend your arms above you and tie them to the posts of his bed.

“You look so lovely like this. Do you think you can give me one more, pet?” he growled as he turned the vibrator up using the remote control he had.

With each orgasm, your sensitivity rose. But so did the intensity of his toy. A sweet torture that you agreed to. One that you are now questioning. “I- I don’t…unnhh…” you moaned, arching your back and pulling on the restraints.

“Oh, but I love to see you unravel. Every. Time. You sing so beautifully for me.” Loki said taking another sip of his scotch. His eyes roamed your body. You could feel his stare caressing every inch of your skin. But it wasn’t enough.

“I…I need you, please,” you begged. You needed him to touch you. You needed his firm grip on your body to keep you tethered to this world. Otherwise, you would lose yourself in the haze of lust he was designing. Soft prayers escaped your lips to the god you hoped would hear them. You needed to feel something. Anything other than the soaked sheets beneath you and the unrelenting vibration of his device in between you.

Loki waved his hands and the bindings around your wrist disappeared. The slight rope burn stinging on your wrists. The vibration in between your legs stopped and soon you felt its absence as you pressed your legs together for release.

“I just don’t know what to do with you, bunny,” he admonished you. He stood up slowly, making his way over to the edge of the bed. He placed his hands inside his pockets as the light from the lone lamp behind him outlined his silhouette in rich gold. His hair fell across his face. His tongue roamed over his teeth and lips as he appraised your body. As if you were a morsel of decadence ready to be devoured.

Your eyes raked over him. From his hungry stare to his broad shoulders, down to the growing bulge tightening his pants. You were glad to know that you had affected him somehow.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, feeling sheepish at the unknown slight you seemed to have caused. You arched your back off the bed, moaning, tempting him for a closer look. Touch me please, you thought as you conveyed your cravings in silence.

“Here I am giving you exactly what you wanted. Exactly what you asked for,” he cooed, crawling over your spent body on the bed. “And yet you still ask for more…you greedy girl.” He caged your head in between his arms. Your eyes followed the veins that flowed from his wrists up to where they hid underneath his rolled sleeves. But he did not stop crawling over you till your head was nestled in between his thighs.

You felt the heat and warmth in between his legs. Your hands involuntarily ran over his steel thighs, feeling the rough texture of his dark jeans. The quick intake of his breath betrayed the cool demeanor he was trying to portray. His hooded eyes and his sharp jaw looked down at you from up above, savoring the view of you underneath and in between him.

“You little minx. Did I say you can touch me?” His thighs closed in on your head below. You placed your hands to your side as you donned your best cherubic look for him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologized biting your lip. Loki pinched his thumb onto your chin and pulled your lip from your bite. He ran his thumb gently over your swollen lips as he unbuttoned his jeans. Your eyes watched his fingers pull his zipper down and your mouth went slack as he stroked himself in front of you. Drool escaped the side of your mouth as your tongue darted forward trying to catch the precum beading off his tip.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Loki smiled. He sat on his knees, dominating over your wrecked body, not wanting to crush you underneath his godly thighs. You wouldn’t mind though.  

“You are so desperate. So hungry and greedy for more. Hence, I’m going to use that eager little mouth of yours…” Loki tilted his head to the side. The view of his neck straining to keep control, the tightness in his jaw, made you ball your fist and clench your thighs.

“My greedy little girl.” His voice was low and smooth like the scotch he was drinking. It resonated deep within you, holding you as a captive listener. “I always take care of you. Don’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” you moaned impatiently.

“I spoil you too much. But don’t worry, darling. I’ll feed your greed- inch by inch. You’re going to take me and you’re going to show me how much you want me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You said meekly, grabbing the sides of the sheets.

“Open.” He commanded and you obliged. He sank himself inside your hot mouth. Slowly at first, savoring the heat and tightness of your lips around him. You twirled your tongue around the best you could given his girth and the restrictions of your head.

“That’s my good little whore,” he praised. His words made you suck harder. It made you want to please him even more. Loki started to dive deeper and deeper towards the back of your throat. The gasping, choking sounds you made only spurred him to go faster.

You squeezed your legs together and held on to the bed beneath you. You were at the mercy of the god who could easily crush you- and it thrilled you. You grabbed a hold of the back of his hips and pushed him further into your throat. Loki whimpered your name and you held onto him tighter, your nails leaving red welts upon his silken skin. Your mouth pulled on his cock harder and he couldn’t stop moaning.

He grabbed the headboard, leaning down for support. His knees had gone weak and his whole body shook with desire. Loki continued to thrust down onto your face, pinning you in between his sharp hips and the firm mattress below. He balled his fists and screamed out your name.

Loki couldn’t take it any longer. His hips thrusted into your tight wet lips. With each pull, with each drag, he would lose a small piece of his sanity- almost bringing him to the brink of his powerful release.

“Stop,” he panted. “Stop!” he commanded himself. He willed himself to stay still. His breath was heavy. His lungs burned. His thick cock was still inside your mouth as he looked down at you.

You had tears running down your red eyes. Sweat plastered tendrils of your hair onto your slick skin. Loki pulled out cautiously and rested his heavy cock on your neck. You took a gasp of air which stung your throat. “You look ruined,” he smiled grabbing your chin and shaking your head left and right.

Loki began crawling backward, dragging his length down your deprived body. Your saliva coating his dick smeared a trail in between your heaving breast and past your navel.

“Still wet, bunny?” He asked as he swiped his fingers in between your pussy. He maneuvered himself in between your legs “I’m going to have fun ruining the rest of your body too.”

“Loki, please…” you continued to beg.

“Awe don’t worry, darling. I know…shh…I know…” he tutted gently. He placed his tip inside your wet folds, stretching you further than his toy did earlier. “Beautiful…” he grunted as he sunk deeper inside of you. Loki watched as you moaned and arched your back. Your beautiful face contorted into a sinful orgasm.

He was close as well. He was edging himself to get there but waiting for you to come again. You felt his thick cock penetrate you completely. “I…don’t know if I can…” you whined in pleasure. You were drained. You didn’t know if you had it in you to give your love another climax.

“Yes, you can. I know you can, pet,” he encouraged. He started drilling faster. Trying to keep his climax on the verge of release. He leaned over you again, trapping your head in between his arms. “I worked this pussy too well. Your next orgasm is mine. Do you understand me?” he grabbed your face to look straight at him. He pushed himself deep into you, “mineee…” he growled onto your quivering lips.

You squeezed around him. Pushing him further and deeper into the haze of bliss. “B-bunny…give it to…fuck…give it to me…” You wrapped your arms around him. Scratches and claw marks littered his back. He reciprocated your passion with bruises from his fingertips and lips.  

You looked down to where you both collided and screamed your release. “…Loki…” The sight of his godly cock entering your tight folds… repeatedly… rhythmically… made you give in to his claim. Your body exploded. You felt weightless and heavy at the same time as you yelled his name with the last breath in your lungs.

Loki soon followed. You could feel his thighs shaking in between your legs. He cried your name in a litany, along with Asgardian phrases and degrading curses.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeated as he continued thrusting inside your slick walls eventually slowing down.  His teeth grazed against your cheek, whispering sordid words and promises you couldn’t understand.

Panting and drained, Loki dismounted and laid next to you in bed. He watched you breathe deeply and lose yourself in post-coital ecstasy. “Love,” he called out to you.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move.

“Love, can you hear me?” he asked amused. You could only nod your head as you closed your eyes and let weariness take you. You felt a warm towel caress your face and wipe the tears from your eyes. He continued in between your legs massaging life back into your muscles. With a snap of his fingers, you felt the sheets beneath you change into cool Egyptian cotton.

“I think I may have driven you too hard tonight, bunny,” he said with chagrin. You shook your head to try and protest, catching his lips in the process.

“More,” you grumbled. “Never enough…” you nuzzled into his neck, letting his steady heartbeat guide you into slumber.

“My greedy girl. How blessed I am to have an insatiable woman,” he laughed.

“I’ll always want you,” you whispered. Loki smiled at your confession as he pulled you closer and wrapped both of you in a plush duvet.

“Rest then, my love. And when you wake, we can talk about more.”

One-Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief

[dostoyevsky-official]

Grandi has dedicated his career to debunking the myths around Italian food; this is the first time he’s spoken to the foreign press. 

Grandi’s speciality is making bold claims about national staples: that most Italians hadn’t heard of pizza until the 1950s, for example, or that carbonara is an American recipe. Many Italian “classics”, from panettone to tiramisu, are relatively recent inventions, he argues. [...] And his mission is to disrupt the foundations on which we Italians have built our famous, and famously inflexible, culinary culture — a food scene where cappuccini must not be had after midday and tagliatelle must have a width of exactly 7mm.

[...] “It’s all about identity,” Grandi tells me between mouthfuls of osso buco bottoncini. He is a devotee of Eric Hobsbawm, the British Marxist historian who wrote about what he called the invention of tradition. “When a community finds itself deprived of its sense of identity, because of whatever historical shock or fracture with its past, it invents traditions to act as founding myths,” Grandi says.

[...] Panettone is a case in point. Before the 20th century, panettone was a thin, hard flatbread filled with a handful of raisins. It was only eaten by the poor and had no links to Christmas. Panettone as we know it today is an industrial invention.

Parmesan, he says, is remarkably ancient, around a millennium old. But before the 1960s, wheels of parmesan cheese weighed only about 10kg (as opposed to the hefty 40kg wheels we know today) and were encased in a thick black crust. Its texture was fatter and softer than it is nowadays. “Some even say that this cheese, as a sign of quality, had to squeeze out a drop of milk when pressed,” Grandi says. “Its exact modern-day match is Wisconsin parmesan.” He believes that early 20th-century Italian immigrants, probably from the Po’ region north of Parma, started producing it in Wisconsin and, unlike the cheesemakers back in Parma, their recipe never evolved. So while Parmigiano in Italy became over the years a fair-crusted, hard cheese produced in giant wheels, Wisconsin parmesan stayed true to the original.

“Italian cuisine really is more American than it is Italian,” Grandi says squarely.

[...] Today, Italian food is as much a leitmotif for rightwing politicians as beautiful young women and football were in the Berlusconi era.

[P]oliticians understand the power of what Grandi terms “gastronationalism”. Who cares if the traditional food culture they promote is partly based on lies, recipes dreamt up by conglomerates or food imported from America? Few things are more reassuring and agreeable than an old lady making tortellini.

It wasn’t always like this. “The grandparents knew it was a lie,” Grandi tells me, finishing the last of his prosecco. “The philologic concern with ingredient provenance is a very recent phenomenon.” Indeed it’s hard to imagine that people who survived the second world war eating chestnuts, as my grandfather did, would be concerned about using pork jowl instead of pork belly in a pasta recipe. Or as Grandi puts it, “Their ‘tradition’ was trying not to starve.”

[...] As Grandi points out, a tradition is nothing but an innovation that was once successful.

Everything I, an Italian, thought I knew about Italian food is wrong

the most hated man in italy is a historian on a mission to prove that most immemorial italian traditions—like many elsehwere—date from 1860-1960

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut - fingering, p in v, f!Reader, unprotected

Synopsis: you made the choice to present yourself as a birthday gift to the Duke

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

It's Wriothesley’s birthday, and after a long day of work, he wearily makes his way back to his private room, ready for a refreshing shower and so much-needed sleep. As he flicks on the lights, a hint of exhaustion tinging his movements, he's met with an unexpected sight. There, on his bed, lies a bra and a tantalizing lace thong, accompanied by a note that provocatively states, "I'm waiting for you, your grace."

Intrigued, he follows the sound of a running shower emanating from the bathroom. Along the way, he spots scattered clothing on the floor — a short skirt, a white shirt, and heels. Wriothesley can't help but picture how your curvaceous figure would look in that alluring outfit; Wriothesley starts to feel his dick pressing against his zipper with excitement.

He swings open the bathroom door, the unmistakable sound of the shower reaching him clearly now. Finally, the moment he had been anticipating unfolds before him: through the textured glass, he catches sight of you, entirely bare, water cascading down as you rinse off your body. Oblivious to Wriothesley's presence due to the roaring water and the subdued ambiance of the shower light, you continue your cleansing routine. 

Seizing the opportunity, he discreetly undresses, slipping noiselessly toward the shower door. Swiftly, he slides open the glass door, seamlessly entering and catching you off guard. His eager hands promptly seize your damp form, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. Turning you around, Wriothesley silences your astonishment with a passionate kiss. You surrender to his embrace, melting as his hands explore your body, from your wet hair to your back and then down to the curves of your ass.

“Wriothesley,” you whisper when the kiss is broken for a second, curling your arms around his neck.Soon, you arch your back, your hands exploring his robust shoulders and muscular back, each touch escalating the intensity of the kiss. His hands grip and play with the fat of your ass before transitioning to the front, where he begins to tease and pull at your nipples. 

Wriothesley breaks the kiss, maintaining his hold on your nipples, guiding you toward the wall. You instinctively back up, responding to his firm grip. “Hi, Y/N, I missed you so fucking much,” the duke whispers against your lips.

As your back meets the wall, he swiftly spins you around, catching you off guard, and firmly presses you against it, your back now facing his muscular chest. With one hand securing you against the wall, his free hand skillfully draws your buttocks towards him, placing it in a position of utmost submission and vulnerability.

Wriothesley leisurely positions his substantial, rigid cock against your pussy, allowing you to sense his impressive size without fully committing. Urging your hips back into the tempting proximity of him, he contemplates the desire to enter you but resists. Instead, you feel his gradual lean over you, using his free hand to explore your body from the base of your spine to your neck. He caresses your breasts, then continues upward until his hand rests lightly on your throat. As he leans entirely over you, his chin hovers at your shoulder.

Suddenly, in a swift motion, his hand descends to your clit, and simultaneously, he begins to suck fervently on your neck. Your moans fill the air as he skillfully stimulates your dripping pussy.

As your moans intensify, Wriothesley leaves a trail of hickeys on your neck. Teasingly caressing your clit for a moment, Wriothesley smoothly guides you further against the wall. With one hand, he skillfully pulls at your hips, encouraging you to arch your back, presenting yourself more fully to him. Positioned behind you, he slips two of his calloused fingers into your wetness in a doggy style, skillfully exploring your drenched pussy. 

"Oh, goodness," you gasp with a loud sigh, biting your lower lip firmly enough to taste a hint of metallic sweetness of your own blood as you attempt to grind against his digits.

A chuckle escapes him. "Well, well, did you miss me that much? How sweet," Wriothesley muses, withdrawing his fingers from you and slipping them into his mouth. Slowly, he sucks on them, creating a symphony of filthy sounds.

Blushing, you glance back at him over your shoulder.

After coaxing his fingers in his saliva, Wriothesley plunges them back into your drenched cunny, moving swiftly, occasionally pausing to apply pressure on that sweet, spongy spot that elicits yelps from you every time.

"Yes, yes, oh, yes!" you cry out, undulating your hips, yearning for more friction.

After the fingering, he withdraws his fingers, maintaining your position - bent over in a teasing doggy style. The sensation of his rigid member pressing against you once more heightens the anticipation. With finesse, he lets the head of his cock glide sensually along your folds, teasing your clit and eliciting a delightful squirm from you. He strokes himself a few times. The tip of his member traces against your clit, eliciting moans from you. You are aware that you sound like a cheap whore.

"Do you crave my dick, hmmm?" Wriothesley questions, and all you can manage is a silent nod in response.

“O-oh, Wrio!”

Wriothesley tenderly smacks your ass. "Wrong answer. I want you to articulate yourself, babygirl," he says, gliding his dick against your entrance, teasingly pushing the tip just an inch inside.

Your moans escape involuntarily. "Give it to me!"

He delivers two more smacks to your ass. "I told you to use your words," he growls, and you gasp.

"Please, my duke, grant me the privilege of feeling your cock nestled in my pussy!"

"And that's my girl," he commends, thrusting his entire shaft with one swift, forceful push.

Your cries of pleasure fill the air, a plea for more as he vigorously pounds you with his well-endowed cock. The sensation of his balls slapping against the fat of your ass adds an extra layer of intensity, complemented by the rhythmic jiggle of your ass with each forceful thrust.

In the midst of this passionate encounter, you slyly slip a hand to your clit, heightening the already intense sensations and bringing both of you closer to the impending climax. As moans  fill the space, you sense his impending release, eagerly anticipating the culmination of your shared pleasure. 

Wriothesley thrusts into you with intensity, intermittently grabbing the fat of your asscheek, squeezing it while his other hand maintains a firm hold on your hip, guiding you on his dick. "That's it, that's it," he grunts appreciatively. "Just like that, you're taking me so well, babygirl," he praises. 

Wriothesley releases a loud grunt as he senses your pussy spasming around him. "Oh, fuck, yeah!"

The duke, with a final, sultry groan, becomes the first to reach his climax. His thick seed erupts deep within your drenched cunny, accompanied by a string of curses and praises for your efforts that escape his lips. Even post-orgasm, he continues with a few more deliberate thrusts, ensuring you reach your own climax.

After a lengthier moment, you throw your head back, screaming his name after reaching your own peak. 

Wriothesley gradually withdraws his member, observing how the mixture of his seed and your juices oozes from your swollen pussy, dripping down onto the shower tiles.

"Happy birthday, your grace," you whisper, turning your head to him.

[simsi45]

The Sims 4 Amber House Pack - EARLY ACCESS RELEASE!

!!!THE PACK IS CURRENTLY IN EARLY ACCESS AVAILABLE FOR MY PATREON MEMBERS (3-5$ TIERS) AND WILL COME OUT FOR THE PUBLIC IN THE 12TH OF MAY!!!

CLICK HERE TO GO TO THE PATREON PAGE!

Oh...my...GOD!!! I can't believe this is actually happening....

After 3 years of hard work, I am here to welcome everyone to:

The Sims 4 Amber House Pack!

It's time to create your own mission style dream house, with this collection of 345 brand new and hella cool build/buy mode items, inspired by Dontnod's "Life is Strange: Before the Storm" game.

EARLY ACCESS: You can get the pack right now, on my PATREON on the 3-5$ tiers, or wait for the 12th of May for the public release!

Please read EVERYTHING included in the post as it contains useful information about the pack!

DISCLAIMER: Simsi45 or The Sims 4 Amber House Pack is NOT affiliated or associated with Electronic Arts, Square Enix, Deck Nine or Dontnod in ANY way. This is a purely fanmade pack made by me, a fan of both games that wanted to get the best of both worlds.

FEATURES:

 345 new items (including sofas, tables, decor, windows, doors and much much more!)

 Search for "amberhouse", "lis", "simsi45" to find most of the items in the build/buy catalog.

 Custom original names and descriptions. (the best I could come up with :P)

 Tons of custom recolors (based on original textures) to mix and match items more easily.

 Heavy modification on original meshes and textures, including english text turned into simlish.

 Everything has been playtested thoroughly.

 Included are a couple of easter egg items from The Sims 2 that I thought fit the theme well.

New lot I made showcased in the trailer and pics (found in the gallery under my tag @simsi45_mods) a recreation of Rachel Amber's house.

ABOUT THE LOT:

The lot will be eventually uploaded in the gallery once it passes its finishing stages. You will be able to find it in the gallery under my EA id: @simsi45_mods. I will update you all once it becomes available.

NOTES:

~ The pack is in an EARLY-ACCESS STATE! I have dedicated a lot of time to test everything but I'm a team of just a single person. If you find any issues please let me know so I can take a look.

~ Because of the amount of items the size of the pack is quite big. I tried my best to make everything as compact as possible with the final size being 1.5 GB of required free space. 

~ The majority of the meshes and textures of these items are ripped straight from the LIS: Before the Storm game, and then each individual item (both mesh and textures) has been heavily modified and edited to fit and function properly within the Sims 4 game's engine. That's why some items will look identical to the original game, some look somewhat different, and some are brand new meshes I made using the original items.

~ Some of the original ripped meshes' poly counts were WAY too high so I had to lower the polygons so The Sims 4 wouldn't explode when filling a lot with them. I lowered the polygons and edited most of the items as much as possible without compromising their original look too much. In other words I tried to find the best balance between looks and performance and after lots of testing on my moderate PC system, I can confirm the game runs super smoothly on my end. 

BACKSTORY ABOUT THE PACK (no spoilers):

This pack started with an idea I got back in 2017 when I first played Life Is Strange Before The Storm. When visiting the Amber house, I immediately fell in love with it as I am huge fan of the craftsman architectural style, it's literally all I'd want my dream house to be. The art team has done an incredible job on it, and as I personally find the art style of the Life is Strange series and The Sims 4 to fit very well with each other, I wanted to make these assets available for The Sims 4. Of course back then this all seemed impossible, however a few years later in 2020 during quarantine I revisited the idea as it had been stuck on my wishlist ever since.

To make a long story short, this project has been in the works for about 3 years now, and after a lot of hard work, head scratching and quite a few sleepless nights I managed to overcome all the obstacles I came across (which were a lot mind you) and I'm honestly hoping you'll be as pleased with the results as I am. Seriously this exceeded my expectations as it started as a small little pack for my personal use, to what I'd consider an expansion pack's (or even more) worth of build/buy content.

INSTALLATION:

Due to the size of the pack I had to split it up into multiple parts. You will need a .RAR extractor unpack it. More specifically:

1 -> Download ALL 6 parts of the pack and put them ALL in the same folder. 2 -> Right click the 1st part .RAR file named "Simsi45 - The Sims 4 Amber House Pack.part1" and click "Extract Here"   3 -> Once that's finished a package file will appear, this is the entire pack and you can now move that into The Sims 4/Mods. Simple as that!

CREDITS & THANKS:

~Dontnod, Square Enix, Deck Nine for the original meshes & textures ripped from Life is Strange: Before the Storm that were used to create most of the items.

~EA for some meshes & textures used to convert some items from The Sims 2.

Special thank you to all the patreon members that stuck with me throughout me developing the pack. Although not many I really appreciate every single one of you for the support you've given me and for sticking around!

[meidnightrain]

WILDEST DREAMS - kazuha

❝ say you’ll see me again even if it’s just in your wildest dreams. ❞

summary: in which you spend sunsets with the crux’s resident poet, watching the sun shine down on the both of you

warnings: reader is gn, suggestive if you squint, not proofread

notes: day 9! truth be told, i can’t write kazuha so i had some trouble getting started with this one but im satisfied with how it turned out yay

taglist (open): @staretes , @rynnlvrs , @sentifua , @i-probably-sleep-too-much , @reilly34 , @qqingque , @akutasoda , @mhiieee , @starryshinyskies , @rintosae , @kazemiya

“let’s get out of this town, sail away from the city, away from the crowd.” he had said to you almost a lifetime ago, his calloused, scarred hands clasped yours pleadingly.

the vision hunt decree was something that had struck swift and merciless like lightning from the electro archon herself, taking away whatever life you had envisioned with kazuha. you were reluctant to submit to his wishes, unsure if you were willing to throw away your life here. to leave behind your friends, your family, your homeland to you.

but then again, they said that home was where the heart is and your heart lied with kazuha. you thought that heaven couldn’t help you, that nothing lasted forever. so you agreed but on one condition to which he had taken wholeheartedly.

“say you’ll remember me, staring at the sunset. red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again even if it’s just in your wildest dreams.” you had murmured, cradled in his arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck, swaying to the sounds of the wind that he could hear like melodies of a lullaby.

that was ages ago, you mused. sitting atop a crate and watching the sun setting over the seas of teyvat, you felt at peace with the wind blowing your hair gently like a welcome greeting. that could only mean that he was nearby for the wind did wondrous, mystical things when kazuha was present. he was one with nature, one with the wind.

your guess proved to be true as you felt the rough texture of his bandaged fingers on your shoulder though his touch gentle and fleeting. journeying with the crux was something out of a dream that a kid would think up. travelling everywhere with the world at your fingertips yet, never missing your home. because your home was right next to you, his head on yours as you watched the sunset together.

“do you remember that promise that you told me to make?” the poet spoke up calmly, his voice a familiar sound like the strum of a lyre and the wind blowing through a flute. gosh he was so handsome as hell, you tried to hide thought circling thoughts in your mind. at times he could be a bit bad, ruthless but he did it so well that it made you weak in the knees just by seeing that side of him.

you hummed your response, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, to embrace this feeling of euphoria and serenity next to the man you loved. this sweet escape that you had both found when fleeing from the shogun had become a part of your lives, something that you couldn’t bear being without. you could feel the rising and falling of his chest, feel the way your breathing slowed to match his, calming you better than any meditation practice you had tried.

it was a life out of a romance novel you had read once, you felt, spending your endless days with him. no one had to know what you both did, the feel of his skin on yours, his hands in your hair. you’d see him in hindsight, tangled up with him all night, burning it down. leaving a mark on your bare skin, marking you as his forevermore.

but now was not the time, you’d live in the moment with him. follow the wind’s guidance and let him lead in this waltz you found yourself dancing in. you’d watch the sun set and rise, days start and end with him as long as you could. praying that someday when you’d both part ways, you hoped that these memories would follow him around.

for this life with him was the stuff of your wildest dreams.

<- prev masterpost next ->

© AVENTURNE 2023. DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD MY WORKS ONTO ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

[gamercats-fight]

KITR from ULTRAKILL vs Spring from Lies of P. Vote for your fav!!

Need help picking? Check down here!

KITR - Arsi “Hakita” Patala - 2020 - Tabby cat:

-silly little low-poly beast, modeled after one of the developer's cats :3 she's originally found in the developer museum and can then be spawned in other levels. she's immune to Everything and can fight things for you. i love her

-An invincible, pettable, lovingly-modeled summon added to fps ULTRAKILL as an easter egg. When summoned, she will follow the killing machine player character through hell and attack their enemies. Her model is extremely charming, and textured with actual pictures of her namesake, one of the devs' irl cat.

Spring - NEOWIZ - 2023 - Orange tabby cat:

-My friend said the cat was cute, I agreed

-You can pet her. You can pick her up and hold her on your shoulder. You can even pick her up and just wiggle her around if she trusts you enough. Her best quality? Her wiggles. She's named after one of the developers' irl cat Bom, which means "spring" in Korean. I know it means spring like the season but I choose to believe she is named after the object. <3

[alastrrz]

yumi + tanner in love with an autistic reader?

YUUUPPP I'll do this !! i'm only comfortable doing this because i am on the spectrum!! (in the process of getting diagnosed :P) yumi's is more comfort, tanners is more fluff!!

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 whatever the odds ; blake + tanner

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

genre; fluff/comfort

type; headcanons

tw // self harm (reader hits their knee a couple times), crying

read below!

YUMI ;

At first, when you two started dating, you didn't tell him you had autism. You thought it'd make Blake think you were weird.

Until you had your first meltdown in front of him.

"No, no no! No!" You whined, hitting your fist against your knee. Nothing was going your way today, and now all the textures rubbing against your skin were overwhelming you and it felt like everything, everywhere was just too much.

Blake opened the door, "Baby? You okay in here?" He poked his head around the door to see you in a.. not so great state.

He noticed you were hitting your knee, "Hey, hey..!" He walked up to you rather quickly and held your hand so that you stopped, which made you whine, but you didn't have the strength to fight him anymore.

"Mmm.." You sighed, your eyes heavy with tears. "Wanna change n go to bed," Blake stopped you, "But it's 4:30.."

He didn't argue with you past that, he just obliged, got you a change of clothes and lied in bed with you for a bit.

"... Do you wanna explain what was going on earlier? I won't judge you." He spoke softly, rubbing your back as he lied behind you. "... I have autism," You spoke very quietly, you didn't want to piss him off.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" He asked you, still stroking your back. "Was scared you'd think I was weird or something.."

"What the fuck? Absolutely not. Baby, I'm in love with you, just because you have autism doesn't mean that'll change. We can work through everything together, okay? Whatever the odds are. I love you."

"Mkay.. I love you too."

TANNER ;

You did tell Tanner you're autistic whenever you two first became friends, and he's been nothing but supportive!

He LOVES sitting around and listening to you talk about your interests, it's one of his favorite pastimes.

"Ooh! Ooh! Can you talk to me about that again? I thought it was really cool!" He gets you excited about things you talk about, because he knows not everyone was super nice to you about that in the past.

When you two started dating, you were so scared he'd be scared off by you having autism.

You had no reason to be scared, he loves you regardless.

He does like to poke jokes at you if you're okay with them, stuff like "So do you love trains or what?" But only if you're okay with that! He'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable.

God forbid he learns your special interest, all he buys you are things related to it.

He buys you the fidget toys you like! If you like pop-it's, he'll get you the nicest ones he can find on amazon. If you like fidget cubes, he has one he lets you play with every now and then!

He has a bunch of fidget spinners around his office that he occasionally finds you using

Regardless of how you are, he loves you so much, inside and out!

[moistreicher]

Lies of P

P became fully human

(Good Gepetto)

When P turned fully into a human, there was a lot of things to unravel. The first thing he noticed was how he needs to breath. He can feel his chest heaving as he breathes. How he inhales and exhale. How the cold air hits his nose. It was all new to him. Machines dont need to breathe so it is all strange how he feels in need and dependent to it. Second thing he noticed was blinking. How his eyes flutter as he shuts it then open it again to reveal his blue eyes, the same shade ergo used to pump inside his P-organs. The third thing was feel. He feels a lot more things after turning into human. He can feel the wind touching his face, he can feel the droplets of the light rain, he can feel the texture of his clothes. It was all overwhelming to him, but he endears it.

He got back to the hotel and Sophia was the first one to fully see his change and what he has become now. A true boy, a human. The volume of his hair might have been reduced but the softness and silkiness of his hair remains. He felt his hair with his hand and combed it so carefully. Knots have been tied and Eugene was there to help him properly comb it. He felt it as the comb runs through his hair, strands separated in order to straighten it out. Then finally, Gepetto. Gepetto reached out his hand to P. He touched P's cheeks, soft and warm. His alive. P felt his heart beats once again, instead of springs reacting, neurons were the ones reacting now and right now he feels happy, loved, and warmth. The moment felt with Gepetto felt like time had slowed down just for them, but it soon ended when both pulled themselves together. Gepetto is truly happy that he has another chance to have a family again and this time, he will not drown himself with malicious intent to bring his son back. He has moved on and realized what was in the past may never be in the present again. This time, P, his son will not be the extension of his first son, Carlo. P will be his own very person.

[a-m-pyra]

First Burn: Ch1 Madame Seymour's Home for Lost Youth (American McGee's Alice/Lies of P)

Madame Seymour was a short, curvy woman before her forties, whose head was adorned with high pinned, fiery red hair. She was dressed in red and bejeweled with silver rings, necklace, bracelets and earrings.

She greeted them at the door. Her arms were crossed in front of her, she stood straight, with a black trench coat draped over her shoulders. Because even though the sun had been shining over London since the morning — which, as he learned, wasn't so obvious — there was still blowing a cool autumn wind.

He thought that she looked like Sophia in some way — in some way, because she was sort of the opposite. It was as if someone had changed her color palette — Sophia in light blue, Madame Seymour in dark red. But because of the aura radiating from her, he almost felt as if it was Sophia herself, standing and waiting for him to approach her.

She smiled at him gently and warmly. He noticed the dimple in her left cheek, and as he and Giangio moved even closer to shake hands with her, he noticed the freckles galore — which were everywhere he could see, standing out strongly on her cheeks, nose, and shoulders as soon as she took off her of them a coat inside.

He was immediately struck by the noise that was coming from the right. Ten children, a teenager who was probably not yet eighteen, and a young woman were discussing at the table as they ate breakfast together.

He looked down at his feet, stopping for a moment. Under his feet, he saw an ornate scorpion that decorated the floor. The almost black wood against the deep brown background looked as if it had been burnt.

He felt someone's eyes on him. He glanced furtively toward the dining room, noticing the young woman glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He could get a better look at her — her hair was as dark as his and resembled a sheet of spilled ink in its smoothness and shine, that she was dressed in a dress whose cornflower blue color complimented her beauty, and that her eyes were so intensely green that they could easily compete with malachite or emeralds. She was petting a large dog that seemed to be staring at her like a picture.

He heard Giangio clear his throat, bringing him back to earth and reminding him to follow them. This is what happened; They went up to the second floor, where Mrs. Seymour's office was located. It was cozy, warm, even more so than the rest of the building. A comfortable sofa, armchairs and a chaise longue, plus soft pillows, a lot of different textures and materials, a warm shade of wood, healthy, green plants and pictures on the walls intertwined with children's cards — on the occasion of Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, birthdays, holidays and such which she received without much opportunity.

These children seemed to idolize her, judging by the inscriptions on each of the cards and their number.

Mrs. Seymour sat down at the desk, with him and Giangio right in front of her.

While Giangio and Seymour were talking, he didn't dare to look at her. Instead, he looked at the legion's arm. Venigni stayed up at night with Eugénie especially to make it for him. Now it was not supposed to be used for defense, but for normal functioning. He could install it under his clothes without worrying that the material would interfere with its functionality, and what's more, it no longer looked like a typical mechanical part of his body — they made sure that he didn't have to expose himself to strange looks from the English, making his the new arm looked like a human hand.

He felt strange without a weapon. Strange, as if he was no longer himself. Just knowing that he didn't have to worry about fighting anymore was a strange concept to him.

After all, he had been fighting ever since Sophia had breathed life into him.

“I haven't had the chance to work with the puppet yet, but I will do everything I can to help him.” He heard it and then lifted his head slightly to look at her.

“I'm not a typical puppet,” he whispered, and Mrs. Seymour looked at him and smiled softly.

“It's true,” she admitted. “Maybe you would like to tell me what you would like me to address you, hmm?” She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them

He was never asked about it. His father called him simply Son , Sophia Clever one , Gemini Pal , Venigni Compagno , the people he met along the way, Geppetto's Puppet .

No one asked him his name or what he would like to be called. But now the question made him think that perhaps they were all trying to dehumanize him.

Still, all these puppets had names. Pulcinella, Pollendina, Gemini, Romeo, all the puppets he fought. But he had none.

He clenched his left hand and then relaxed it, ignoring the strange cold and tightness in his chest as he thought about his name. He stole a glance at the extinguished Gemini lamp at his side, resisting the urge to grab the legion's arm and rub it nervously.

“Pinocchio.” He lowered his head again. “Though I'd rather just P.”

Her smile widened.

“It's very nice to meet you, P.”

P noticed that she leaned towards him. Her face was radiant with a sincere smile, concern and joy. He felt himself smile slightly.

Giangio and Mrs. Seymour stood up. He felt that Gemini's lamp was shaking just like he wanted to say something, but he himself realized that he should get up and follow them. They went down to the first floor and Mrs. Seymour opened the door at the end of the corridor, allowing him to enter.

His own room.

It was as cozy as Mrs. Seymour's office. It had a spacious wardrobe, a large desk, a comfortable-looking bed with plenty of pillows and a thick eiderdown. What he liked most was the large bookcase, which still had plenty of space for his own books.

The interior was not much different from the hotel in Krat, and this was probably not so common when it came to orphanages and such centers.

Mrs. Seymour truly made sure that not only her knowledge and skills improved the condition of her patients, but also the environment. So that they can really feel at home and recover in truly comfortable conditions.

P put his suitcase next to the bed and sat on it, bouncing on the pleasantly soft mattress with fascination. Then he touched one of the furry pillows, feeling like he was burying his fingers in Spring's fur.

“I like it,” he announced, and Seymour giggled.

“Okay then, you'll probably want to see Mr. Paracelsus off.”

He nodded and the three of them went downstairs. Giangio adjusted his top hat and patted P on the shoulder, then walked towards the carriage, completely speechless. He drove away, and P followed the carriage with his eyes.

“Would you like to join us for breakfast, P?”

He was about to unpack his things.

Contrary to what he expected, there weren't many of them. A few sets of clothes and some vinyl records were all he could take. He didn't need weapons, and he didn't have any trivia to pack in his suitcase.

He figured he'd do that later, when he had some free time, and he nodded as he followed Mrs. Seymour into the dining room, where everyone was still sitting with warm tea and leftovers.

Mrs. Seymour grabbed him lightly by the shoulders and said, “My dears, please meet P, he will be staying with us for a while.”

The monstrously large dog barked as if happily, and after a while there were whispers from the girls. P looked at Mrs. Seymour, and she laughed and scolded them playfully.

“P, please meet Otto,” She pointed to the red-haired teenager, who smiled broadly as he held a cup in his hands, “Charlie, Dodo, Diggie, Toby,” She approached the four boys one by one, the blond, the one with glasses, the boy with curly, dark hair and an eight-year-old with a gap between his teeth, “Abigail, Inez, Angela, Mila and Betty.” One by one, she placed her hands on the head of a girl with pigtails, a darker complexion and two buns on her head, a blonde girl, a girl who had bows everywhere, and a girl with ponytails. “And these are my daughters, Alice and Clara, and my faithful companion Cormac.”

P glanced at Alice, appreciating every detail of her face like a porcelain doll. Appreciating the way her lips parted as they looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Then they both turned their heads, and P was glad he couldn't blush — or at least he deeply hoped he couldn't.

Cormac walked up to him and started sniffing him.

He had rather experiences with cats — one in particular. Hence, the sight of the dog filled him with anxiety, especially because it looked so large that if it stood on its hind legs it would only be slightly shorter than him.

Cormac, however, did not attack him as he expected from his menacing appearance. He lay down at his feet, scratching the floor in front of him and looking into his eyes.

“He wants you to pet him!” Abigail exclaimed, and P wondered if he should do it the same way he did with Spring, or if the dogs should be petted differently.

He pursed his lips and crouched down, hanging his hand over the dog and the dog pushing its head under it. P carefully stroked his head, noting how gentle this intimidating giant was.

“Let me show you something,” Charlie announced and crouched down next to him, only to start scratching Cormac behind the ear.

Cormac began to lie on the floor, wagging his tail happily and laying on his back.

“He loves having his ears scratched!” he added, then scratched his stomach and stood up.

“Wash your hands before you eat, Charlie,” Mrs. Seymour pointed out.

“Of course, Alex!” he shouted, running to the bathroom. He returned a moment later, returning to the table, and Seymour crouched down next to P and grabbed his arm,

“Why don't you sit down at the table, hmm?”

P nodded and sat down next to the redhead. Otto, if he remembered correctly.

Mrs. Seymour, on the other hand, sat at the head of the table, opposite her older daughter.

“Where are you from, P?” Inez asked, trying to brush a stray curl from her forehead that had come out of one of the buns.

“From Krat…”

Dodo and Diggie sighed happily.

“It's a puppet city!” said Dodo.

“How amazing!” Diggie added. “We were going to go there, but Alex said it wasn't safe there. Apparently they rebelled.”

P brushed his hair back, feeling everyone looking at him.

“Unfortunately, yes, and that made them very dangerous. I know something about that,” he said, and interested murmurs echoed around the dining room. “I had to hunt them.”

The boys suddenly dropped their jaws in shock and jumped up in their chairs.

“Were you a puppet hunter?” Toby leaned against the table with his arms bent. “How cool!”

P felt like getting up and going for a walk. He didn't expect such interest. His body tingled, and suddenly his legs began to hurt terribly.

Until now, he didn't think he could feel pain at all.

“Okay kids, finish eating, and we'll help Ms. Sharpe clean up, then you can play before your sessions.”

P was grateful to Mrs. Seymour. It seemed that she noticed the tension that was building within him, and that he himself didn't have the heart not to answer them to the barrage of questions that were unfolding somewhere on the horizon.

“Thank you, Mrs. Seymour.”

“I know how difficult it can be, and they don't always know moderation.” She patted his hand lightly on his lap.

The children were playing, Mrs. Seymour was helping the housekeeper wash the dishes, and Alice had left the orphanage before ten o'clock — something told him to talk to her, but he didn't particularly have the courage to do so. He tried to stop his thoughts by unpacking his things, but they kept coming back to him and made him pause for a moment.

“I think you're tired, pal.”

P looked over his shoulder at Gemini's lamp. He sighed and shook his head.

“It's not tired.”

“So you're just lost in thought. I hope you don’t go back to what happened with… you know.”

P pursed his lips and hung his shirt on the hanger.

“No. I try not to think about it.”

“Hmm? So what is it about?”

He was about to come up with a neat lie when there was a knock on the door. However, he didn't have time to answer, because after a while he saw red hair and a freckled face peeking out from behind the open door.

“Well, listen, it was really good, you know? Incredible.”

P froze in place and Otto went inside and sat on the bed.

“I don't understand.”

“Well, your story. A puppet hunter who looks like you... damn, that would be a good story for a play or a book. Some kind of love story, probably…”

P didn't quite understand what Otto meant. Looks like him? What's that supposed to mean? What love? So far, he has had deeper contact with three women. Lady Antonia was his mother figure, as was Sophia — who always wanted him to do as he wanted, unlike his father. Then there was Eugénie — and although he thought she was a lovely person and liked her very much, he never saw her as a possible lover — more of a, well, sister-type.

He feared that his life as a puppet hunter was much less epic than Otto would have liked to imagine.

In addition, he felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. He had the choice of going back to talking about his thoughts with Gemini, or talking about the Puppet Frenzy and fighting them with Otto. He didn't feel like doing either.

Especially since telling someone other than Mrs. Seymour didn't seem therapeutic to him — more traumatic, especially since he couldn't quite tell how Otto would react when he would tell him everything.

Giangio said that Mrs. Seymour would have no right to judge him; but anyone else could have done it.

“I don't know what you're thinking…” he paused for a moment, trying to choose his words correctly — talking to others was still a bit difficult for him, “but it's not an epic love story at all.”

“So there was no knight on a white horse and no damsel in distress?”

P shook his head.

“There was oil and people who were mad at me for absolutely no reason and tried to kill me.”

“Still epic enough.”

A quiet, irritated snort escaped P's lips unconsciously.

“You don't seem to be the carousing type, are you?”

P looked at him over his shoulder and reached into his suitcase for his vest.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, big groups of friends, partying in bars, lovers…”

“Somehow I haven't had time for this before, you know?”

“I guess. But you wouldn't want to have time for this?”

P thought for a moment, looking at Gemini's lamp, hoping it would help him a little. But Gemini didn't speak.

P looked down and hung the vest in the closet.

“That's right, I'm not the carousing type.”

“Well. I won't force you to do anything. However, Ms. Sharpe asked us to help her with the delivery of products. There are two of us, plus the delivery person. It will go faster.”

P nodded and closed the closet as he and Otto went downstairs to the kitchen, where the delivery boy was fighting with a sack of potatoes. P walked over to it and helped him pick it up, earning surprised looks from both Otto and the delivery man.

He looked at them questioningly, then understood what they meant.

“I fought giant puppets. It’s not even that heavy.”

Otto laughed and P turned away to hide his slight embarrassment and carry the bag into the pantry.

The work went by quickly  — in fact, the three of them, and with the strength of P, managed to deal with it extremely efficiently, because after just a dozen or so minutes the car was empty, and the pantry was topfull.

The delivery man took off his flat cap in greeting and drove away. However, in his place, a portly woman appeared, dressed as a housekeeper. P guessed it must have been Ms. Sharpe.

She grabbed Otto's shoulder and patted him on the back in thanks. Then she looked at him and smiled slightly.

“Well, I guess you must be P. Thank you for your help too.”

P nodded, smiling back.

“Okay, you can go about your business. I'll drag these rascals to peel potatoes. Dinner will be before two o'clock.”

“Skip one portion,” P muttered, and Ms. Sharpe looked at him questioningly. “I… well… I just can't eat.”

Nan slapped her hand on her forehead and nodded.

“Oh, yes, I understand. I’m sorry.”

He only assured that there was no problem and went upstairs, intending to hide in his room again. He was interrupted by Charlie, who ran up to him with a smile, announcing that Mrs. Seymour was calling him into her office for his first session.

He glanced towards his bedroom door, wondering if he should or even could take Gemini with him. Then his eyes fell on Charlie again, and he walked into the office without a word.

He took a breath and knocked on the door, walking inside as soon as he heard permission to enter.

Mrs. Seymour sat behind her desk with a cup of coffee at her side. P could smell it and wished he could eat or drink. He wondered about the taste of food and drinks — and he could only imagine them.

When he sat down, Mrs. Seymour asked him for a story. How did it all start. What he went through. What was the end.

Talking about his father was difficult. He felt inside that this was not how a father should behave, although in his head the thought appeared that maybe this was how it should be.

He talked about Lady Antonia, slightly lifting the corner of his mouth when he talked about the most wonderful voice in all of Krat. The smile only left his lips when he started talking about how he wished he could have spent a little more time with her.

Mrs. Seymour did not interrupt him once, only writing something down in her notebook from time to time. He noticed how different her typeface was. Sometimes she wrote sweepingly, other times long letters ended straight, without any loops. Sometimes she wrote in cursive, other times straight. Sometimes the E was made of dashes, other times it was a mirror image of a three — she crossed out the first one most often, and he could see her knitting her eyebrows.

He usually saw regular writing and wondered what could be causing this variability, which could occur even within a single word.

He fell silent, looking at her. She noticed this, asking him to continue.

“I think that's it…”

She muttered, setting the quill aside.

“Tell me, what do you associate with Geppetto?”

P thought for a moment.

“Or I have a better idea.” She stood up and rummaged through one of the drawers, pulling out some cards. “Now I should shuffle them and put them face down, but we'll do it differently this time.”

She opened the yellow aluminum box and unfolded the cards with various drawings on them. They depicted various areas of life, some of them depicting fantastic characters — the Emperor, the Empress, the Fool, or the Magician.

“Draw out the cards that remind you of your father.”

P looked at them, trying to pick out details that would tell him what the cards meant — any he didn't understand, he discarded. He drew The Emperor, The Pope, The Chariot, The Death, King of Swords, Five of Cups, Two, Three, and Seven of Swords. He also made an exception for The Moon — because even though he didn't fully understand this card, something told him he should draw it.

Alex was silent for a moment, resting the lower part of her face on her intertwined fingers.

“And if you were to tell me what you felt then and now, would you rather talk about it or present it in some way?”

P scratched the back of his right hand — not that it was itchy, he did it completely on reflex, hoping it would ease the strange feeling that was inside him.

“I'm just starting to learn how to talk about emotions,” he paused and looked at the cards in front of him. “In Krat I didn't think about them, and in fact, the first time I felt something was the death of Lady. Antonia. Such a tightness in the chest; weight.”

“Sadness.”

He nodded.

“So you don't have a problem with basic feelings. But if you had to tell me more about it. About what's on your mind. Would you rather show it or discuss it?”

“Show; but I don't know anything that could perfectly describe my thoughts. Talking about it seems… pretentious. Like I shouldn't talk about it.”

“That's nonsense. Each of us feels something, me, the children, my daughters, Otto, Nan. Even you.”

Alex opened the desk cabinet and searched it carefully.

“You said you're not an ordinary puppet-” She placed the object on her lap, “and I agree with that. When I look at you, I see someone in between. You may have springs and gears and pistons in your body, but you act like a human, feel like a human, think like a human and use defense mechanisms like a human.” She placed a sketchbook in front of him. “I bought it thinking that I would write down notes from the session in it, and then I threw it away in favor of this notebook.”

Mrs. Seymour's notebook was full of bookmarks, loose pages and numerous traces of use on the leather cover.

“Children have pencils in a container. It's on the shelf in the living room.”

“I can’t draw.”

“That’s nothing. Your drawings don't have to be perfect. They are meant to represent what is going on in your head. People, thoughts, whatever you want. Every session, you'll give it to me to look over, and we'll see what you've drawn, hmm?”

She smiled slightly at him. He returned the smile.

“All right.”

“Well then. Sketch your mind for me, and then we'll think about what to do next.”

P heard the children running down the stairs to the dining room, ready for afternoon tea — but he was so fixated on sketching what was on his mind that he only curled up his legs tighter on the couch and bowed his head to hide his work.

He really didn't want anyone but Mrs. Seymour to see it. He felt intimidated by the thought of someone else looking into what he thought. What he felt.

He heard the door open quietly and heels click. After a while, he saw the cornflower blue fabric of the dress out of the corner of his eye.

He closed his sketchbook and sat up straight, returning the slight smile he saw on Mrs. Seymour's older daughter's face.

“She used the same tactic with me.”

P opened his mouth.

He didn't think people couldn't describe their emotions, either. He attributed it to the puppets, especially himself. After all, he didn't know if other puppets felt emotions too.

“Does Mrs. Seymour do this often?”

She thought for a moment and shrugged.

“I don't think so. Children are usually effusive. Otto knows his feelings better than anyone and has no problem expressing what he thinks.”

He looked at Gemini's lamp. He was quiet except for his natural chirping sounds.

“Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I'll sit at the table, I don't want to disturb you.”

“You're not disturbing me.”

She glared at him, then set her bag on the coffee table, right next to Gemini's lamp, and sat down next to him on the couch.

They were silent for a moment. P wondered what to do now. He felt his heart flutter slightly as he tried to think of something.

“You left before ten. Something happened?”

Alice looked at him and took off her shoes, tucked her legs in and leaned on the armrest.

“No, everything was fine. I work in a theater, I sew costumes. I was going to work at ten o'clock.”

A big red exclamation mark appeared in his head. It worked, he found something they could talk about.

She could. She could tell him about her work, what is happening in the theater and what it all looks like behind the scenes. And he could listen to her, sometimes just asking for details.

Then, at dinner, she got up to get for herself a portion of food and returned to him to continue talking about her work.

“I feel stupid for only talking about myself.”

P smiled slightly.

“It doesn’t bother me. I don't want to talk about what I had to do.”

“So, maybe what you would like to do?” She rested her head on her hand, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“I haven't had time to think about it yet,” he admitted. “But the set designer job you talked about sounds interesting.”

“Oh? Maybe a conservator?”

“The set designer sounds better. It's work-”

“Man, isn't this romantic? Just look at that sunset”

They both jumped, spotting Otto leaning against the wall and looking out the window.

“Right, sunset.” Alice rose from the sofa. “I should go home. The streets of London get dangerous after dark.”

“I think you can hang out some more. P will definitely be happy to accompany you.” Otto grinned and P looked at him, trying to understand what he meant.

“Thank you, but I'll be fine,” she assured, and after saying goodbye to Mrs. Seymour, she left the orphanage, bidding farewell to P with a quick wave.

“Well, well.”

P looked at Otto questioningly.

“What?”

“Nothing, that's just what I was told without a reason.” He shrugged and, putting his hands in his pockets, headed for the stairs, whistling.

“Otto, no whistling!” Mrs. Seymour exclaimed irritably, and Otto uttered a quick apology and ran upstairs.

P sighed and grabbed Gemini's lamp to go to his room as well.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Seymour.”

“Good night, P. Get some sleep.”

P smiled to himself. Thanks to the fact that he began to gain humanity, he was able to fall asleep normally. Sleep turned out to be pleasant, sometimes even necessary, and in a way he was glad that he could finally rest.

He put Gemini on the shelf and started changing into something more comfortable, first unfastening his legion arm and placing it next to the bed.

Gemini activated right after P got into bed and snuggled into one of the pillows, smiling to himself as an image of Alice appeared in his mind, happy as she talked about her job and the people she worked with.

And about the fact that she often had the opportunity to work with Mrs. Seymour because she performed on the stage of this theater.

“Okay, so that's it,” Gemini said. “You were thinking about Alice then.”

“She is nice.”

“And you like the way she looks.”

“She's pleasing to the eye.”

“That's what I'm talking about.”

“I won't talk to you about it. I'm too tired.” He turned over and closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep.

But then he opened them again and smiled like a fool.

[blackjackkent]

"Why? Because of what you are." or "We tried, and we failed." for hector for the lyric prompts?

(TY for the prompt! Sorry it took me this long to respond lol. I hope you see this since I can’t tag you. D: 

I'm not sure if you are the same anon-friend who said they were tickled by Hector's previous interactions with the Emperor, but if so, well… this one is definitely not funny, but it is about the Emperor! And it’s long! And feelsy! So there’s that. :P

I'm going to go ahead and set this within Hector's liveblog and directly after this post specifically, because I am still emotional about it; originally my intention was to let him vent and expend some frustration but this definitely ended up going in a very different direction. The game doesn't give us an opportunity for a followup conversation with Karlach until morning, which leads me to believe she straight up just doesn't come back to camp that night and Hector lies alone in their tent, staring at the ceiling for hours in a sort of emotionally fragile haze before finally drifting off into restless dreams…)

PROMPT: 70 Lyric Prompts - “Why? Because of what you are.”

-----

Hector knows where he is without opening his eyes. The air within the Astral Prism is still, but there is something undefinable about it that feels different, some scent or taste or even the texture of the atmosphere on his skin. Foreign. Strange. Wrong. 

He shudders. He doesn't want to look around. He doesn't want to see anyone right now, not really; after the conversation with Karlach over Gortash's dead body, he feels like something ripped into his chest and removed his heart. He barely even spoke to anyone when they returned to camp, just spent hours bashing his fists desperately into the training dummy beside Lae'zel's empty tent and then collapsed into his bedroll as if there was any relief to be found in sleep. 

But he wants least of all to see the Emperor, and that is what he knows he will see if he looks around - the mind flayer's beady lavender stare and twitching tentacles and implacable agenda of transformation and destruction. 

“Go away,” he mutters hoarsely, and does not open his eyes. 

“We must speak,” the creature rumbles. “Gortash is dead. Our plan must move forward.”

Hector's eyes squeeze tighter shut and he rolls onto his side away from the illithid voice, curling into himself. “There is no our plan,” he growls. “There is your plan and my plan. And I want no part of yours tonight.”

“Yet you will hear it, nevertheless, because you must,” the Emperor continues implacably. There is the soft, almost imperceptible sound of shifting fabric, of the illithid levitating along the ground. “With Gortash dead, you will mean to face down Orin. The battle ahead will try your abilities to the utmost. You must reconsider the use of the Astral Tadpole if you are to--”

“No.”

“Why will you not simply--” 

“Why?” Hector answers flatly. “Because of what you are. Because of what you want me to become. I want no part of it, I never have, and we are not having this conversation tonight.”

“It is not a question of wanting. It is a question of what must be.” The mind flayer pauses, then continues implacably, “Karlach's death is a regrettable loss, but you must look beyond it. You and I--”

Something snaps inside Hector's brain and he feels suddenly choked with a surge of emotion too complex for easy definition - rage and grief and exhaustion and disgust. “Leave me alone!” he snarls. His eyes come open and he rolls to his front, through his knees and onto his feet in a smooth motion that curves itself into an unthinking punch in the direction from which the Emperor was speaking. 

The Emperor is too quick, and darts backward before the blow can land. It hovers just out of reach, looking at him with that unreadable stare, and makes a clicking noise from somewhere within the maw beneath its tentacles. “Foolish,” it murmurs. “I am not your enemy, Hector. I never have been.”

Hector stares back at it, for once not bothering to hide any of his anger. “You know,” he spits angrily, “you do a very good impression of humanity. You've almost made me believe it sometimes. But sometimes it's really obvious that Withers is right - that you have no soul. Because no human would ever think that this was the right time for a strategy meeting.”

He turns away, walks to the edge of the floating rock on which the two of them are standing. “If you have something in mind that can save Karlach, I want to hear that. But I don't want to hear about your plan, or our connection, or our partnership. I don't want to hear about the Knights of the Shield, or bloody Stelmane and how she was the love of your poor misbegotten life. And I don't want to hear about your fucking tadpole.”

Anyone else might have been surprised to hear the curse on his lips, but the Emperor listens impassively, its tentacles barely even twitching. 

“So shut up,” Hector finishes coldly, staring out at the unending starscape. “And leave me be.”

There is a long silence. Finally the Emperor speaks, and even for it, the words are slow, low, and very carefully controlled. “Perhaps you think I tolerate such disrespect with equanimity.”

“Oh, go ahead, then,” Hector says with a humorless laugh. “Kill me. Suck my brain out. You won't, of course. Because you need me.” He scowls. “Pity. I would welcome oblivion right now.”

“Were I weaker of spirit than I am,” the illithid growls, “I would grant it. It is lucky for us both that I am not.”

Hector's fists clench at his sides. “Why?” he asks, and it's a demand less of the Emperor and more of the universe, of any gods that might be listening. “Why do I get to live and she gets to die? Answer me that, if you can, you eldritch bastard.”

“I have no more control over Karlach's fate than you do.” A pause. Its tentacles give a sharp, spasmodic twitch.  “Except in one regard,” it adds, with a sudden strange cruel brightness in its voice. “The tadpole would transform her, you know, just as it would transform you. She would have no need for her engine heart. No limit to the years you could have together...”

Hector goes utterly still, the blood draining out of his face. “No,” he whispers.

“There, you see?” the Emperor says caustically. “It is I who offer to heal her, and you that would let her die.”

“Shut up.” He tries to put force into the words but they emerge hollow, broken. The Emperor has found the weak point in his armor, stuck a knife into it, and twisted.

“Are you so selfish,” the mind flayer presses, “that you cannot see the value of what I have to offer? It is strength, and it can be life.”

He sinks to his knees on the edge of the platform, his breath starting to come in sudden sharp bursts. “She has taught me… some things are more important than living or dying…”

“And when you see her burning from the inside out, I am sure those things will seem very important indeed,” the Emperor murmurs. 

“Shut up,” he says shakily.

“I am sure you will watch her scream and think fondly on your principles, on the strength that you turned down because you lacked the courage to evolve.”

“Shut up.” Hector hunches forward, his fists pressed into the stone beneath him, as if curling away from a physical attack.

“And when she is gone, your forbearance will provide great comfort in a cold bed.”

“SHUT UP!” The roar bursts from him and cracks apart into a sob. Tears flood his eyes, blurring his vision. “Gods… please… just leave me alone. I can’t… I can’t… she is dying and she is in so much pain, and I can’t help her, I can’t stop it. If you were anything less than a monster, you would grieve with me, you would want to help her… you would give a single, solitary damn… but you don’t. All you care about is your fucking worm, and it’s all falling apart… it’s all gone… it’s all gone…”

The tears are coming heavier now, choking him, blinding him. “What the hell am I going to do?” he whispers. “I won’t… I won’t do it, I won’t do what you want… I won’t become an… an abomination just to save my heart… I won’t take her choice from her… but how will I bear it…? ”

He realizes, suddenly, that he is awake, that his fists are clenched into his pillow which is soaking wet with tears, that his whole body is being wracked with each gasping sob, that his bedroll is tangled around his legs, constricting him, trapping him. “Oh, gods…” he whispers brokenly. “My Lady, help me, please… please… the night is so dark…”

“Hector?” Shadowheart is crouched at the flap of the tent, peering through at him with an expression of uncharacteristic concern. As he rolls over awkwardly to look at her, he sees faint movement behind her, a flash of Jaheira’s eyes in the dimness, the curve of one of Wyll’s horns. Gods, did he wake the whole camp bawling?

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” he mutters hoarsely. “A bad dream… I’m-- I’ll be fine.”

She frowns, glances sideways at someone unseen beside her in the dark. “Do you… erm. Need to talk about it?” she asks, with an awkwardness that he might find touching if he were not so utterly lost in his own grief. 

“No,” he answers. It is an old habit now to turn away, to hide his feelings, to withdraw into an air of aloofness and control-- though he makes a poor show of it just now, with his eyes red and body trembling. Oh, what’s the point? “Yes,” he adds in a low mutter after a pause. “Maybe. But…not now. Rest. You need to rest, all of you.”

She looks at him for a long moment, then nods and withdraws into the darkness. 

He rolls over and stares at the ceiling of the tent with a heavy breath out. The grief still sits in his gut like a heavy stone, and his breath still feels caught in his throat.

And the Emperor’s voice still whispers in the back of his mind, implacable and cold as ice. “Think about what I told you. We both know that very little time is left…”

[blarrghe]

pls pls pls I want “lazy kisses in the morning, that starts with a grunt as they pull you closer to them as you try to get up and lazily placing kisses all over face and ends with a hoarse whisper from them asking you to stay.” maybe it’s zevistair maybe it’s tarendorian IDK MAN I YEARN

oh! how we yearn (I saved this one because I liked it so much I wanted to fit it into Party Camp. Spoilers but this is going into the next chapter :p)

@dadrunkwriting

--

Sunlight glows in warm orange behind Alistair's eyes. He shifts in his bedroll, turning his head towards the collar of the body next to his and away from the light. A hand grips over his side, resting across his belly as he turns. Another arm pulls him in, wrapping up over his shoulder. Hips prod into either side of him, and he hums.

The skin of the neck by his lips is warm and soft and familiar. He drags a kiss against it instinctively. The lean body he has rolled into wriggles into the touch, sliding down to expose more neck, smooth chin, warm cheeks. He kisses them all, eyes closed, half smiling.

Then his lips meet lips. With his eyes closed and his mind still slowly wandering out of a rare good dream, he is led by sensation. The texture of them is soft, warm. He presses into another slow kiss, carefully aware of the push and the pull, the building heat, the sway and roll to press closer. Two hands wander over his waist from behind, and two more push at his chest now with each kiss.

These soft, warm lips are gentle and they fill him with heat, but he is struck by the unfamiliarity of their shape, the slight graze of teasing teeth that pull sweetly at his lips. He leans into one more curiously, savouring the feeling, allowing it to spread as the hands at his waist wander lower. He feels heavy, cushioned under full furs and enveloped by warm bodies. He feels achingly aroused, lazily drinking in kisses and swimming in the heat.

It is a man's hushed groan and the unmistakable press of a man's want against his own that causes him to finally open his eyes.

Zevran's amber ones greet him with a mischievous glint. His smooth face is close, smirking, lips hot and tender from hungry kisses. He leans in for another, and before any awareness of the action can settle into him, Alistair has met his kiss.

He pulls back more quickly this time, not savouring sensations but simply blinking, catching up.

"You're not Violet," he mutters, almost an apology. His cheeks are warm for all the ways it is not one.

"No," Zevran agrees, "though you seem less than bothered." He's pecked a new, teasingly sweet kiss onto his chin before Alistair can register the rebuttal.

Violet, it turns out, is behind him. Her hands caress his hip and thigh. "No, he's certainly not," she says with a playful laugh.

He shivers as she moves against him, bringing her own lips up to brush against the tip of his ear.

"But I don't mind, go on."

"I -- um."

Zevran's smirk turns up into a grin. He lifts a hand to Alistair's face and turns his cheek to draw him into another kiss. His lips sink ever deeper. Alistair closes his eyes again, but now instead of calm, slow evaluations of gentle feeling, he is all fast heartbeats and jittering nerves. Zevran's tongue snakes into his open mouth, and he almost can't pull away.

But Zev does, and when Alistair opens his eyes it is both gratitude and confusion he feels. Zevran's eyes read the hesitation on his face in a quick flash of concern before the smirk returns.

"And you did not seem to mind much either, last night." Zevran says, sparking memories that inflame Alistair's cheeks past the warm, dreamy heat they've already been reddening to.

He moves, rolling out of the too urgent and confoundingly tempting press of Zevran's hips and pelvis. He rolls away from what little cover lies between his tunic and the furs, puts distance between himself and Zevran's skin and his lips, warm and soft.

"Maker," he breathes, disbelief in his own voice. "I had far too much to drink last night."

Violet climbs over him and presses a kiss against his lips with all the secure familiarity of her mouth. He wraps hands around the soft curve of her waist and closes his eyes.

As she presses into him, moving to cradle his face and press her hips against his own, Zevran rises up to a seat. He shifts as though to push past them, leaving his place with a lingering trace of his hands over Alistair's arm, then Violet's shoulder.

Violet turns, sitting over Alistair's lap now to meet Zevran where he has risen to crawl around them on his knees. She leans over, catching Zev's body with an arm that snakes around his torso and pulls him in on stumbling legs. Alistair watches from beneath her as she meets Zevran's lips with a deliberate, slow kiss.

He watches as Zevran's posture stiffens, then softens. Watches his bare legs come to a kneel outside of the bundles of furs, his long shirt sitting over his hips but not quite covering the fullness of his arousal. Zevran's hands reach for Violet's head as his mouth opens, and her tongue plays in his mouth. Alistair slides his hands up from Violet's hips, pulling her back by her sides.

"Zev," she murmurs, leaving his mouth to allow Alistair to bring his face to her chest, where he kisses her over the thin fabric of an unlaced undershirt. "Stay with us."

Zevran smooths a hand through his waves of golden hair and chuckles lightly -- uncertainly. His eyes meet Alistair's in another cautious glance.

Alistair swallows, nods, and reaches his hand out to graze against the exposed skin of Zevran's thigh, touching him only barely, beckoning him closer.

Zevran shifts. Alistair's palm falls flat against his hip, he squeezes it into a grip. Zevran lets out a sigh, and leans in to kiss Violet's shoulder, to touch Alistair's chin, to tilt his head up and meet his lips again.

"You are certain?" Zevran asks, replying to Violet, but not asking her.

His lips move against Alistair's differently than Violet's do. They fill his body with a sharper wave of excitement, move against his mouth with an exploratory curiosity, playful and tempting and hot. Alistair squeezes his hand against Zev's hip again and drags it down his thigh. He closes his eyes, and leans into another kiss. Slowly, carefully, breathing through his nose and falling back into the quiet warmth of this morning, Alistair allows his mouth to open against Zev's, allows his tongue to flick in against his own.

It is Zevran's low moan into his mouth that causes him to finally open his eyes and whisper, "stay."