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nikethestatue · 3 years

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La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think.

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

Azriel

Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

Elain

“He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

Azriel

Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

Elain

Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.

The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

********************

Azriel

Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.��

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

#la dolce vita #elriel fanfic #elriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #elain fanfic #my writing #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #sjm books #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #elain

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ruiyuki · 3 years

Text

"Vanitas": The Name and Legacy

Vanitas declares early on that his motive for using the Book of Vanitas to save vampires of the Red Moon is to take "revenge against the Vampire of the Blue Moon". But some of his actions, reactions and expressions seem to contradict a conventional interpretation of "revenge". Seeing how MochiJun is a master of conveying things through facial expressions, nondescript panels, and double meanings, here's my stab at trying to figure out a bit of Vanitas' complexity and his (??hidden??) motives.

⚠️⚠️⚠️ MANGA SPOILERS, obv ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Also this analysis is really long. ‼Continuation in reblogs.‼

For the sake of minimizing confusion I'm going to refer to our!Vanitas as "Vani", Vampire of the Blue Moon (VotBM) as "Luna", and the name "Vanitas"/"Vanitas of the Blue Moon" as a title in this analysis.

0. "Revenge" against the VotBM

Now, what kicked me into this train of thought initially was watching the scene where Vani announces his revenge plot to all during the Bal Masque. Ofc Bones is doing quite a good job with the anime (I can honestly forgive them for leaving out some scenes knowing budget constraints and that this was probably produced during COVID; it's just more reason to get viewers to read the manga) but there are still some subtle nuances that MochiJun puts in her work that don't get translated into the adaptation. So I revisited Memoire 7 and something just didn't sit right upon looking at that scene retrospectively – which I'll get to that in a bit – but first let me recap what is my interpretation of Vani's proclamation:

The origin story we were told at the start of the series illustrates that vampires are typically born under the Red Moon, except for the one born under the Blue Moon. VotBM, given the moniker "Vanitas of the Blue Moon" by others at the time, is said to have created the Book of Vanitas capable of manipulating the World Formulas in order to curse all the RM vampires that casted them out of vampire society. Cursing the RM vampires = turning them into curse-bearers inflicted with malnomen.

Vani's "revenge" against the VotBM is to use their name "Vanitas" and the Book to cure all RM vampires of their curses and malnomen. In that sense, Vani saving the vampires is directly opposing the vow to curse all RM vampires as told in the VotBM origin story.

Vani's revenge claim seems pretty straight forward. There is nothing of the sort as to claiming he will turn the vampires into humans, or rewrite their existence into something they are not, etc. It is literally just "I will heal you from your sickness out of spite towards the thing that wants you to suffer". His feral revenge proclamation on top of the chandelier lines up with his feral "I will save you no matter what, using whatever method I choose" at the end of Memoire 1 as Noé points out:

So here's the thing that felt a little out of place upon my rereading of Memoire 7:

This panel. Idk about you but as a long time reader of Pandora Hearts, imo one thing that makes MochiJun such a talented artist and great storyteller of plot twists and angst is how she depicts emotions in facial expressions – it is very subtle with a certain finesse. With the above panel, Vani's expression doesn't necessarily look like "anger" or "vengeance" to me. Rather (and it took me a while to place it actually, flipping back and forth between newer and older chapters) his expression looks... melancholic? Melancholy with sense of conviction.

It's noteworthy that MochiJun has made an intentional choice to emphasize Vani gripping his closed fist and his distant stare here, so it has to be important. So, what could Vani be thinking of in this moment? And why?

I. Vani's hidden expressions and feelings towards Luna

To (attempt to) figure out what might be going through Vani's mind in this moment, let's take a look at some moments we've seen Vani making different expressions and when he's thinking back to the VotBM – or really, his time with Luna. Vani claims he hates vampires, but there are obvious exceptions (Jeanne, Noé). What's interesting though is that, despite claiming to hate the VotBM, I don't think he hates Luna. He may hate the being that Luna is but I don't think he hates Luna as a person.

We can see the difference between his hatred and active desire to kill Moreau, as well as his completely blank, no-remorse kinda expression toward the Chasseur's cross in the Catacombes arc vs the above panel after his revenge proclamation:

Also contrast the above chandelier expression to Vani's empty look of distain in Dante's flashback when they first meet:

I would say none of these Vani expressions look very similar to the chandelier one — the empty or blank stares are missing a sense of resolve and the teeth-gritting smirk lacks any bit of sadness felt in the scene. Now, when do we ever see Vani make another expression of what I would call melancholy?

Ughghgh these panels break my heart every time bc there is such a sense of sadness, it's distant but palpable and it is t r a g i c... but I digress.

We have no way of knowing what Vani is thinking in these panels but I have a few ideas:

Vani thinks back to something Luna said about how one should use the Book of Vanitas when Noé says using the Book's power to cure curse-bearers is "overwhelmingly right". What Luna said? Who knows, but it may be along the same lines of "despite its power" and "doing the right thing".

Vani realizes the reason Misha wants Noé to drink his blood is bc Misha doesn't remember what happened That Day. He repeats "... I see." twice as if he's reaffirming to himself that he's the only one left that remembers what happened. If Misha did remember, there would be another person to share the memory but Misha doesn't and Vani is alone in the world in that sense.

If we are to assume that this is what's going through Vani's mind in these moments, then we have to ask why? Vani thinking back to his time with Misha and Luna elicits this sadness (possibly likely?) bc Vani did truly enjoy his time with them and didn't actually hate Luna. In his own flashbacks of Luna teaching he and Misha about malnomen (first being Malnomen Prèdateur in the Catacombes arc, second of Chloé's Malnomen Millie) and the flashback of "love" during the Gevaudan Arc, we see that Vani may be grumpy or indifferent while being with Luna, but he is still attentively listening and comfortable enough around them for them to hug him:

Ofc, we can't forget that Vani, in his fever and poison-induced delirium, even mumbles to himself ".. didn't actually hate... I didn't... Lou..—" while recovering in the cabin with Jeanne. Given that just before this he asks "Is that what you really want? Truly?" in response to Jeanne saying "This time for sure, I'll kill the beast", perhaps we can even posit that Vani didn't actually hate Luna and didn't actually want to kill them? (I have another theory on what could have happened on That Day but let's get through this one first *wheeze*).

So let's summarize:

Vani claims he will cure RM vampires of their malnomen as revenge toward the VotBM, who is said to have created the Book of Vanitas to curse RM vampires that made them an outcast.

Curing RM vampires of malnomen = revenge since it is directly opposing using the Book to inflict curses

But Vani shows a look of sadness mixed with conviction that contradicts what would be thought of when claiming "revenge", which could possibly be him thinking back to his time with Luna, whom he did not actually hate and possibly did not want to kill but had to anyway.

So here's my theory: the reason why Vani has assumed the name "Vanitas" and is on a quest to cure RM vampires of their malnomen with the Book of Vanitas is to "rewrite" the reputation behind the name Vanitas of the Blue Moon.

... And I will continue explaining this in the reblogs ⤵️⤵️⤵️ bc holy fuck this meta is so long I have reached the image limit per post asjfklgs

#vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vnc meta #vnc theory #vnc manga #vnc spoilers #vanitas of the blue moon #pls read the continuation before rb #long post #like i mean REALLY long post #w h e e z e

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consumeconstantly · 4 years

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The Only Antidote is a Kiss

Summary: Scarecrow always did come up with the most whacky chemical formulas to test on people. Red Hood gets dosed with his latest toxin, and the only way to cure it is with a kiss. The only candidate? Long time rival and almost enemy, Ladybird.

____________________________________________________

“No,” Red Hood said, resolutely. “No way in hell.”

Red Robin’s exasperated voice crackled over the comm. “Hood, if you don’t, you’re going to die.”

“Do you think I care? Death is better.”

“I would say that’s insulting if I didn’t feel the exact same way.” Ladybird nonchalantly twirled a yoyo at her side. “Besides, ten minutes is plenty of time to get him someone else.”

“You two are in the middle of nowhere. It’s thirty minutes to the nearest city.”

“Yeah, but the suburbs are always an option. You Bats always seem to miss the obvious solution.”

“I’m not kissing her,” Red Hood repeated.

“I know that you two are…” Red Robin tried to find a more delicate way to word their relationship, “Not always on the best of terms, but you are on the same side right now. Ladybird, you don’t want Red Hood to die, do you?”

Plying Ladybird was always easier than trying to convince Red Hood. The woman had a heart of gold. Today? No such luck.

“He’s not going to die,” Ladybird scoffed. “If he dies over this instead of the many, many, many assassination attempts that I saved him from, I’ll feel insulted. But I’m also not going to help. I’m not going to kiss an unwilling party, and certainly not one with a mug as ugly as Red Hood.”

“You’ve never even seen my face!” Red Hood argued from safely inside his beauteous red bucket.

“Yeah, well you’ve never seen mine either, and yet somehow, you have no issue with calling me disfigured every time our paths cross.”

“You’re wearing a mask. Only people who are horribly scarred wear full face masks.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting you’re ugly then?”

“No, I’m wearing a helmet, not a mask. Big difference.”

Ladybird barely stopped herself from bashing her head against the cement and steel wall. If the action didn’t break her mask, she would have considered going through with it. “God, this is why I’m not going to kiss him, Red Robin. Can’t you use one of those zeta things and drop in a girl for him to make out with?”

“You know they don’t work like that.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I’m in the Justice League.”

“Not for a lack of trying! We’ve offered you the position at least ten different times.”

“Yeah, on the condition that I get Red Hood to join up too. That certainly doesn’t sound like you guys actually want my help.”

“Nine minutes on the clock,” an automated voice reminded them.

“I say we blow this popsicle stand,” Red Hood pointed a finger up at the cement ceiling.

“Wow, what a stupendously original idea, Red Hood. It’s almost like the next thing out of your mouth might be something vaguely resembling intelligence. Oh wait, that’s right. We can’t get out of this hell hole because there’s three feet of cement on every side of us and we have no weapons that can help.”

“I haven’t had a crack at it, yet.”

“Be my guest. I’ll sit back and laugh at your failed attempts.” Ladybird reclined on a wall. “We both know that between the two of us, I’m the one who’s better at escape and solutions that don't require firearms. You don’t think with either one of your heads, you think with your AK-47.”

“My babies are all I need to get the job done. Your plans are always so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“They’re convoluted so I can cover my tracks instead of leaving evidence, debris, and dead bodies behind.”

“Uh, guys? Can you have your spat after Hood’s life is out of immediate danger?”

“No,” both of them chorused, immediately glaring at each other for speaking in sync.

“I doubt Scarecrow actually came up with a formula that will make you die if you don’t kiss someone of the opposite gender within ten minutes. That seems like the kind of chemical compound that’s featured in all of those really trashy romance novels, except instead of being unable to control your instincts, you die.” Ladybird considered the empty vial on the floor. “I’m confident that Red Hood can ride this out with minimal damage. Even if he does get horny, it’s not like he’s going to go for me-- drug induced state or not, he can’t stand my guts.”

“Can I just say that I don’t want to bank his life on that assumption?”

“It’s not like your life is the one at stake. Just try to get someone out here that can break down this welded door for us sooner, rather than later.” Ladybird gives Red Hood a once over. “Besides, if he does try anything, we all know that I’m more than capable of tying him up.”

“Hey, why don’t you use that Lucky Charm of yours?”

“Do you think I didn’t think of that already? That was one of the first things I considered.”

“So why didn’t you use it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that after I do, I detransform within five minutes? Not a big fan of exposing my identity, plus it’s not like anybody’s in any real danger because we’re locked up here. Scarecrow’s tied up, the goons that welded the door shut on us aren’t capable of using their brains, and a team is going to bust us out in thirty minutes anyways.”

For the millionth time, Red Hood pounded his shoulder against the steel weld, hoping that something would give. Nothing happened.

A beep sounded.

“Ten minutes have passed.”

“See?” Ladybird crowed triumphantly. “I was right. Nothing’s--”

Red Hood fell to the floor, clawing at his chest.

“... happening. I jinxed it, didn’t I? I guess I’ll use it, then.”

Ladybird called for a lucky charm. No antidote fell into her hand. Just a sheet of paper, saying Kiss him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Tikki, don’t do me dirty like this!”

“Tikki? Who’s Tikki? What did the Lucky Charm give you?”

A wet cough sounded from underneath Red Hood’s helmet. He started to gasp for air.

Ladybird didn’t like Hood, but Red Robin was right. She had grown fond of him after saving his ass so many times. She wasn’t just going to let him die, especially not when she could help him. With a bone weary sigh, she knelt next to Red Hood.

“I guess we’re doing this, aren’t we? Red Robin, comms off.”

“Off? But Hood sounds like--”

“Off,” she repeated, firmly. “Or I’ll break them.”

The telltale sign of static ceased in her ears.

Ladybird held Red Hood by his shoulders, maneuvering his mask off.

“I hope you’re ugly,” she whispered.

He was not.

Even with blood on his lips, Jason Todd was unfortunately attractive.

“Gonna--” he coughed again, the spray of blood accompanied by a wheeze. “Bless me with your face before I die?”

“I can’t believe that you’re still snarky while you’re on death’s door.” Ladybird touched the full face mask that she added during her years as a vigilante in Gotham. She still has the usual Ladybug eye cover, so her identity is safe. But the noh mask provides a sense of safety to her. She’s loathe to take it off, but in order for a kiss to work, it needs to be put aside. With a sigh, she places it on the ground and places a hand over Red Hood’s startlingly blue eyes.

“Kinky,” he spat. Ladybird grimaced. Why she ended up on this mission alone with Red Hood was beyond her, but they always ended up in the worst situations together somehow, anyways.

Her lips descended on his.

Iron and sweat.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her lips with the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with shielding Red Hood’s eyes. “You feeling any better?”

He coughed again.

“Great, so Scarecrow was lying and I didn’t have to kiss you. You were just going to die anyways.”

She placed her noh mask back on, then pressed a button on her comm. “You’re going to want to speed up the whole backup team. Looks like Scarecrow was lying.”

“You’re kidding me. Scarecrow never lies--”

Red Hood sat up shakily.

“I’m fine, Replacement. Throat’s a little sore, but I’m fine.”

“Good to know his MO hasn’t changed,” Ladybird remarked. “I’d suggest that you wipe your face with something. It’s covered in blood.”

“And Ladybird cooties.” Red Hood used his forearm to wipe the blood off. Ladybird had to admit that the man was objectively good looking. The artist in her wanted to take a picture or sketch him. The shock of white hair, symmetrical features, and prominent nose. His eyes had a certain darkness in them, like he had seen the worst of the world, but there was still a clarity to them that said he was fighting against those injustices. “C’mon, you’ve seen my face, don’t you think it’s time to exchange the favor?”

“Backup’s arriving in three,” interjected Red Robin.

“There’s nothing in it for me.” Ladybird tugged the hood of her cloak down lower.

“Isn’t it weird that we kissed and I don’t know your face?”

“No.”

“You really are into some kinky shit.”

“Also no on that.”

“Then why not show me your face?”

“Stop being such a brat.”

“I know I’m older than you.”

“Bratiness isn’t measured in age, but in mental maturity. Which you have none of.”

“Please?”

“I’m almost tempted to take off my noh mask if only because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word please.”

“If I say it again, will you?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Pretty please, Ladybird?”

“... Fine.” She’d get a laugh out of this anyways, and the team was minutes away from picking them up.

She took off her noh mask to reveal the red and black domino.

Red Hood cursed.

@jasonette-july-2k20

it’s wild that yall are liking my fics when i basically vomit these things up im honestly scared to look back at some of the ones that have been posted because i do not proof read or edit

#poison #jasonette #you ever want to see what's under a mask?#only to find another mask?#Marinette's masks are like those russian dolls #never ending #maribat #jasonette july #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #dcu

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funsize-cenobites · 2 years

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So as a life long lover of pokemon games- such a rarity I know- I do like a lot of the changes both mechanical and graphical in newer games and I recognize a lot of what Im about to say is coming from a very rose coloured glasses tinted place buuuuut..

I really really reeeeaally love pixel art and I wish they would do more with that. And yes I know. You'd have to pay pixel artists a lot to do that nowadays and make it cool. But like?? If anyone has the funds and ability to scoure hell and creation for any and all talent they want...

Its Nintendo. Its the Pokemon franchise. Probably the most lucrative franchise to date if not one of the most eminently recognizable brands. They could make some of the most visually breathtaking pixel art vistas ever seen by real human eyeballs. I fully believe they're capable of making something for the modern age, modern gamer sensibilities, that would rival the shock and awe we experienced playing HeartGold and SoulSilver for the first time. That shit was gorgeous, do not EVEN play with me.

And again I do really love a lot of what the newer games offer, I was one of the people who genuinely adored what Sun and Moon attempted to do with the formula. I loved how weirdly fucked up Sun and Moon got at the end, that was bizarre. And the game was visually striking, it looked so neat! And I didn't hate SW/SH like some people seemed to?? Its not my favorite but like neither is Red and Blue so ya know. I think I'd just like to see more from them than just LOOK AT HOW GREAT THE GRAPHICS ARE! Nothing against them but Id love it if that wasn't the only style forever.

Also, and this is gonna sound mean, the double edged sword of Pokemon amd specifically Pokemon games being so so so beyond successful and beloved is that I honestly dont think Nintendo really gives a shit anymore about putting real effort into them. I don't mean that as a way to shit on the people who pour themselves into the games trying to create more generations of the thing they love dearly, but I do wonder how much of the odd... mediocrity of the newer games comes from higher ups and corporate basically saying "Why would we spend a lot of money and effort on something that will always be a net profit for us even for our barest minimum?"

Its just a little sad I think. Because Pokemon as a game series used to always feel like it strove to innovate. Yes it was the same game over and over but go back and play Red and Blue, then play the games that sequentially came afterwards. It always felt like steps forward. Some of the greatest pixel art and most inspiring RPG works came from Pokemon innovation in the niche. And now the games are just... Good. Just okay. It feels like stagnation without identity. Like the actual creators have their hands tied so they're just pacing while their dulled passions continue to rake in nostalgia money for someone else.

#Pokemon #Meh ignore me #I just miss pixely pokes and Im being wordy #Just talking

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emma-nation · 3 years

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The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela x oc #resident evil fanfiction #the devil in i

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brawltogethernow · 4 years

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So, I don't think I've ever asked you this... what IS the whole point of the Spider-Sense? It really seems like something that only exists for writers to ignore or work around when they want to inject Legit Tension into a story.

I’ve thought about this power so much, but never with an eye to defend its right to exist, so I needed to think about this. The results could be more concise.

Ironically, given the question, I have to say its main purpose is to ramp up tension. But it’s also a highly variable multitool that a skilled creative team can use for...pretty much anything. It does everything the writer wants it to, while for its wielder always falls just short of doing enough.

I went looking through my photos for a really generic, classic-looking example to use as an image to head this topic, but then I ran into the time Peter absolutely did not reimburse this man for his stolen McDonald’s, so have that instead.

A Scare Chord, But You Can Draw It

That one post that says the spider-sense is just super-anxiety isn’t, like, wrong. It’s a very anxious, dramatic storytelling tool originally designed for a very anxious, dramatic protagonist. I find it speaks to the overall tone of the franchise that some characters are functionally psychics, but with a psychic ability that only points out problems.

Spidey sense pinging? There’s danger, be stressed! Broken? Now the lead won’t even KNOW when there’s a problem, scary! Single character is immune to it? That’s an invisible knife in the dark oh my god what the fuck what the fU--

Like its counterpart in garden variety anxiety, the only time the spider-sense reduces tension is in the middle of a crisis. But in the wish fulfillmenty way that you want in an adventure story to justify exaggerated action sequences, the same way enhanced strength or durability does. Also like those, it would theoretically make someone much safer to have it, but it exists in the story to let your character navigate into and weather more dangerous situations.

For its basic role in a story, a danger sense is a snappy way to rile up both the reader and the protagonist that doesn’t offer much information beyond that it’s time to sit smart because shit is about to go down.

Spidey comic canon is all over the board in quality and genre, and it started needing to subvert its formulas before the creators got a handle on what those formulas even were, and basically no one has read anything approaching most of it at this point, so for consistent examples of a really bare bones use of this power in storytelling, I’d point to the property that’s done the best job yet of boiling down the mechanics of Spider-Man to their absolute most basic essentials for adaptation to a compelling monster of the week TV series.

Or as you probably know it, Danny Phantom. DON’T BOO, I’M RIGHT.

DP is Spider-Man with about 2/3 of the serial numbers filed off and no death (ironically), and Danny’s ghost sense is the most proof in the formula example of what the spidey sense is for: It’s a big sign held up for the viewer that says, “Something is wrong! Pay attention!” Effectively a visual scare chord. It’s about That Drama. And it works, which won it a consistent place in the show’s formula. We’re talking several times an episode here.

So why does it work?

It’s a little counterintuitive, but it’s strong storytelling to tell your audience that something bad is going to happen before it does. A vague, punchy spoiler transforms the ignorant calm before a conflict into a tense moment of anticipation. ...And it makes sure people don’t fail to absorb the beginning of said conflict because they weren’t prepared to shift gears when the scene did. Shock is a valuable tool, too, but treating it like a staple is how you burn out your audience instead of keeping them engaged. Not to go after an easy target, but you need to know how to manage your audience’s alarm if you don’t want to end up like Game of Thrones.

The limits of the spider-sense also keep you on your toes when handled by a smart writer. It tells Peter (everyone’s is a little different, so I’m going to cite the og) about threats to his person, but it doesn’t elaborate with any details when it’s not already obvious why, what kind, and from what. And it doesn’t warn him about anything else-- Which is a pretty critical gap when you zoom out and look at his hero career’s successes and failures and conclude that it’s definitely why he’s lived as long as he has acting the way he does, but was useless as he failed to save a string of people he’d have much rather had live on than him.

(Any long-running superhero mythos has these incidents, but with Peter they’re important to the core themes.)

And since this power is by plot for plot (or because it’s roughly agreed it only really blares about threats that check at least two boxes of being major, immediate, or physical), it always kicks in enough to register when the danger is bearing down...when it’s too late to actually do anything about it if “anything” is a more complex action than “dodge”.

Really? Not until the elevator doors started to open?

That Distinctive, Crunchy Spider Flavor

The spider-sense and its little pen squiggles go hand in hand with wallcrawling (and its unique and instantly identifiable associated body language) to make the Spider-Person powerset enduringly iconic and elevate characters with it from being generic mid-level super-bricks. Visually, but also in how it shapes the story.

I said it can share a narrative role with super strength. But when you end a fight and go home, super strength continues to make your character feel powerful, probably safer than they’d be otherwise, maybe dangerous.

The spider-sense just keeps blaring, “Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! God, why aren’t you doing something about this!?”

Pretty morose thing to live with, for a safety net! Kind of a double edged sword you have there! Could be constantly being hyperattuned to problems would prime you for a negative outlook on life. Kind of seems like a power that would make it impossible for a moral person to take a day off, leading them into a beleaguered and resentful yet dutiful attitude about the whole superhero gig! Might build up to some of the core traits of this mythos, maybe! Might lead to a lot of fifteen minute retirement stories, or something. Might even be a built in ‘great responsibility’ alarm that gets you a main character who as a rule is not going to stop fighting until he physically cannot fight anymore.

Certainly not apropos of anything, just throwing this short lived barely-a-joke tagline up for fun.

One of my personal favorite things about stories with superpowers is keeping in mind how they cause the people who have them to act in unusual ways outside of fights, so when you tell me that these people have an entire extra sense that tells them when the gas in their house is leaking through a barely useful hot/cold warning system that never turns off, I’m like, eyes emojis, popcorn out, notebook open, listening intently, spectacles on, the whole deal.

It also contributes to Peter Parker’s personality in a way I really enjoy: It allows him to act like an irrational maniac. When you know exactly when a situation becomes dangerous and how much, normal levels of caution go out the window and absolutely nothing you do makes sense from an exterior standpoint anymore. That’s the good shit. I would like to see more exploration of how the non-Parker characters experiencing the world in this incredibly altered way bounce in response.

It’s also one of many tools in this franchise hauling the reader into relating more closely with the main character. The backbone of classic Spidey is probably being in on secrets only Peter and the reader know which completely reframe how one views the situation on the page. It’s just a big irony mine for the whole first decade. A convenient way to inform the reader and the lead that something is bad news that’s not perceivable to any other characters is youth-with-a-big-exciting-secret catnip.

Another point for tension, there, in that being aware of danger is not synonymous with being able to act on it. If there’s no visible reason for you to be acting strange, well...you’re just going to have to sit tight and sweat, aren’t you? Some gratuitous head wiggles never hurt when setting up that type of conflict.

Have I mentioned that they look cool? Simultaneously punchy and distinctive, with a respectable amount of leeway for artists to get creative with and still coming up with something easily recognizable? And pretty easy to intuit the meaning of even without the long-winded explanations common in the days when people wrote comics with the intent that someone could come in cold on any random issue and follow along okay, I think, although the mechanic has been deeply ingrained in popular culture for so long that I can’t really say for sure.

It was also useful back in the day when no artists drew the eyes on the Spider-Man mask as emoting and were conveying the lead’s expressions entirely through body language and panel composition. If you wiggle enough squiggles, you don’t need eyebrows.

Take This Handwave and Never Ask Me a Logistical Question Again

This ability patches plot holes faster than people can pick them open AND it can act as an excuse to get any plot rolling you can think of if paired with one meddling protagonist who doesn’t know how to mind their own business. Buy it now for only $19.99 (in four installments; that’s four installments of $19.99).

Why can a teenager win a six on one fight against other superhumans? Well, the spider-sense is the ultimate edge in combat, duh.

Why can Peter websling? Why doesn’t everyone websling? Well, the spider-sense is keeping him from eating flagpole when he violently flings himself across New York in a way neither man nor spider was ever meant to move.

How are we supposed to get him involved with the plot this week???? Well, that crate FELT dangerous, so he’s going to investigate it. Oh, dip, it was full of guns and radioactive snakes! Probably shouldn’t have opened that!

Yeah, okay, but why isn’t it fixing everything, then? Isn’t it supposed to be why Peter has never accidentally unmasked in front of somebody? ('Nother entry for this section, take a shot.) That’s crazy sensitive! How does he still have any problems!? Is everything bad that’s ever happened to characters with this powerset bad writing!? --Listen, I think as people with uncanny senses that can tell us whether we are in danger with accuracy that varies from incredible to approximate (I am talking about the five senses that most people have), we should all know better than to underestimate our ability to tune them out or interpret them wrong and fuck ourselves up anyway. I honestly find this part completely realistic.

*SLAPS ROOF OF SPIDER-SENSE* YOU CAN FIT SO MANY STORIES IN THIS THING

The spider-sense is a clean branch into...whatever. There is the exact right balance of structure and wishy-washiness to build off of. A sample selection of whatevers that have been built:

It’s sci-fi and spy gadgets when Peter builds technology that can interface with it.

It’s quasi-mystical when Kaine and Annie-May get stronger versions of it that give them literal psychic visions, or when you want to get mythological and start talking about all the spider-characters being part of a grand web of fate.

Kaine loses his and it becomes symbolic of a future newly unbound by constraints, entangled thematically with the improved physical health he picked up at the same time -- a loss presented as a gain.

Peter loses his and almost dies 782 times in one afternoon because that didn’t make the people he provoked when he had it stop trying to kill him, and also because he isn’t about to start “””taking the subway’’””’ “‘’“”to work”””’’” like some kind of loser who doesn’t get a heads up when he’s about to hit a pigeon at 50mph.

Peter’s starts tuning into his wife’s anxiety and it’s a tool in a relationship study.

It starts pinging whenever Peter’s near his boss who’s secretly been replaced by a shapeshifter and he IGNORES IT because his boss is enough of an asshole that that doesn’t strike him as weird; now it’s a comedy/irony tool.

Into the Spider-Verse made it this beautiful poetic thing connecting all the spider-heroes in the multiverse and stacked up a story on it about instant connection, loss, and incredibly unlikely strangers becoming a found family. It was also aesthetic as FUCK. Remember the scene where Miles just hears barely intelligible whispering that’s all lines people say later in the film and then his own voice very clearly says “look out” and then the room explodes?? Fuck!!!!

Venom becomes immune to it after hitchhiking to Earth in Peter’s bone juice and it makes him a unique threat while telling a more-homoerotic-than-I-assume-was-originally-intended story about violation and how close relationships can be dangerous when they go sour.

It doesn’t work on people you trust for maximum soap opera energy. Love the innate tragedy of this feature coming up.

IN CONCLUSION I don’t have much patience for writers who don’t take advantage of it, never mind feel they need to write around it.

#spiderman #peter parker #spiderverse #spidey #marvel #danny phantom #one day you'll see what i'm doing with it in the project i'm collabing on w/ my brother and then you'll all be sorry and hopefully impresse #mirrorfalls #asks answered #essays

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link4eva · 4 years

Text

Kiro’s Work Visit Date (探班之约) Translation [CN]

Hi! Just a couple of notes before you begin reading...

This fluffy and wholesome date was just released (March 11, 2021) in the CN server and will eventually be released in the ENG server sometime next year.

I also don’t know any Chinese myself so all of this translation was done through the power of Google Translate and with help from the lovely @keliosyfan .

You can read his Couch Potato call that comes with this date here!

Hope you enjoy!~

*Spoilers ahead for future content!*

[First Part]

MC: So now the question is….

Kiro: Wait a minute! I didn’t seem to understand too much of what was said. Let me take a look!

During the video call, Kiro suddenly moved his face close to the screen with excitement.

Kiro: Miss Chips, do you mean that….you’re going to go in person and be a host on the show?

MC: Pretty much….

Some time ago, I did a variety show about a certain European town called “Cloud Tourism”.

The reason it’s called “Cloud Tourism” is because I’ve never been to this small town before. I only got a preliminary understanding of the traditional customs there through a novel.

Out of an abundance of interest, I consulted a lot of relevant sources and finally released a program with the concept of “seeing words as faces”.

Originally it was just an experiment inspired by an idea that didn’t really make any big splashes in China.

Unexpectedly, an internet celebrity from the small town recommended this program on his personal blog which led to it becoming popular very quickly.

Kiro: Oh….slowly but surely, I figured it out. Not only has this show received great praise, the local TV station also sincerely invited you to come and do some interviews. Even in the form of a reality show, I must say that Miss Chips is amazing!

MC: ......

MC: I think you understand it pretty clearly but some parts are exaggerated….

Kiro: Congratulations, MC!~

Kiro: If I wasn’t shooting abroad, I would definitely take you there to celebrate! But we can celebrate like we did before….

MC: Wait! Wait a minute! I haven’t decided whether to go or not yet….

Kiro: This is a great opportunity to promote the company. Why are you so hesitant?

MC: Although I have previous experience, this would be my first time shooting as the host….

MC: What if I’m too nervous in front of the camera? It’ll affect the shoot.

Kiro: Miss Chips.

On the screen, Kiro sat upright and pushed his glasses up that were nonexistent.

Kiro: It seems that you’ve forgotten that there’s an experienced acting teacher right in front of you.

MC: Pff….I would like to ask Mr. Kiro how I can act natural in front of the camera.

Kiro: It is very simple. Step one is to do the warm-up exercises in advance. Your shoulders should also be really relaxed. Then imagine the camera as a friend who can’t speak and has big eyes….

A few minutes later, Kiro was still “teaching” very professional acting techniques on the phone screen.

Kiro: Hello, MC, are you still listening?

MC: Um….I don’t think I can do this.

His bright eyes suddenly crinkled upwards, hiding a triumphant smile.

Kiro: I’m just teasing you. In fact, you only need to remember the first few steps.

MC: But I’m worried that if I get nervous, I’ll forget those first few steps. I hope that I can become Kiro that day!

Kiro curled his lips up again when he heard those words.

Kiro: Then close your eyes and hypnotize yourself….

Kiro: “I am the superstar Kiro!”

[Second Part]

At five o’clock in the morning in the dressing room at the local TV station.

I tilted my head to face the makeup artist and held back yet another yawn.

The makeup artist whispered a few words to the accompanying translator and then left the dressing room.

Translator: Miss MC, the makeup artist has finished your makeup. The director will be here shortly. You can rest for a while.

I nodded gratefully. This country’s language is one that I’m not familiar with so the TV station specifically hired an interpreter.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt my phone vibrate.

Kiro: MC, are you still in makeup?

MC: Just finished. Are you ready to start work too?

Kiro: I’ve already been working for an hour.

MC: Why so early? It’s only five o’clock where you are!

Kiro: Don’t worry, I’m used to this kind of shooting routine.

Although I’ve known before that Kiro started almost every filming session in the morning, this was the first time experiencing it for myself. It’s hard work getting up early and putting on makeup.

What’s more, he often works overtime to catch up on his other stuff and rarely has enough time to rest.

MC: Then you must take time to rest!

Kiro: It’s okay. If I’m tired, I just close my eyes and think of Miss Chips’ smile.

Kiro seemed to take a deep breath on the other end.

Kiro: Hmm~ Charging is complete!

I seemed to see him being content and I couldn’t help being amused by him.

Kiro: By the way, what is your shooting schedule today?

MC: It’s sightseeing shooting. The director arranged to take me to several local attractions and I can also choose places of interest.

MC: The first stop on the agenda is to explore the shop on the pedestrian street.

Kiro: Great! I heard from the crew that there is a famous cake shop on the pedestrian street of that small town. I will send you the address.

Kiro: Only by filling up your stomach and replenishing your energy can you be in the best state!

(Cut to the street)

MC: Well….

I watched my stiff expression and rigid body in the video replay. I couldn’t help but curl my toes and pick at the ground.

Director: Take it easy, alright?

I nodded slowly.

The director looked at me with sympathy and discussed some things with the translator for a while.

Translator: The director wants to know if you have anything you want to do. He suggested that if we start with one of your interests first, you’ll get into the right state of mind faster.

MC: Well, there is one place….

I almost immediately thought of the cake shop that Kiro had mentioned.

(Cut to cake shop)

Because of how early it was in the morning when we arrived at this cake shop called “Flipped”, the first batch of pastries had just come out of the oven.

I was standing in front of the shop window outside the store while the director was preparing for shooting and I made adjustments for myself.

Shoulders down, jaw relaxed, a smile appeared on my face. I recalled the formula Kiro taught me.

Close your eyes. Look into your heart.

“I’m the “not afraid of anything” Kiro!”

A burst of mellow sweetness lingered wantonly in the air. I opened my eyes and focused on the window again.

A pair of bright and familiar smiling eyes appeared in the window. The owner of these smiling eyes waved to me.

I felt my heart jump out of my chest.

Kiro: Hello, Miss Chips~

Looking at the two intersecting faces on the window glass, I finally couldn’t help but smile.

Oops, I really did become Kiro.

[Third Part]

I didn’t expect Kiro to have secretly been planning to see me on set. I was pleasantly surprised and realized that I was deceived by him during the morning call.

I made a “follow me” gesture to him through the glass.

(Cut to alleyway)

In the alleyway next to the cake shop, I wiped away the shock in my heart and checked, again and again, to make sure that no one else had followed us.

Kiro: Don’t worry, MC. Almost all the folks in this small town will have no idea who I am. And….

He pointed proudly to the sunglasses on his nose.

Kiro: I also came prepared.

I looked around and around and deliberately put on a face of worry.

MC: Why are you here? Weren’t you filming in another country?

Kiro: Actually, I don’t have any shooting arrangements today. It only takes an hour and a half to fly to this country from the shooting location. And it only takes two hours to take the train from the town’s airport.

MC: No matter how easy you make it sound, that was no easy journey….

MC: And with this time off, you should be resting in the hotel.

He pulled down his sunglasses aggrievedly.

Kiro: But I really wanted to visit you at work for once, and give you encouragement at your side, just like what you did for me last time.

Kiro: And more importantly, I really missed you….

(Here’s a cute little clip of this dialogue uploaded by @cheri-translates !)

MC: Kiro….

All of my pretentious arrogance dissipated in an instant and I was about to reach out and hug him. But, he crossed his arms in front of him.

Kiro: But speaking of shooting, I just observed it secretly and your performance does have some small flaws.

Kiro: Your expressions are small and stiff, your movements are rigid and tiny, and your eye contact flutters from time to time….

Kiro: Also, you can walk without looking at the camera…. If I look at the camera while walking, [robot noises] don’t I look like a robot?

The more he talked about it, the more he assumed the coach position. He made a great show of it too.

I was so embarrassed that I nodded my head to accept the criticism with shame.

Kiro: Hahahaha--I’ll stop teasing you.

He leaned over and squished my cheek and curled his lips again.

Kiro: Although, I can see that you are a bit nervous. I’m used to seeing your confident working style as a producer on set….

Kiro: It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this nervous. You can do it, love! *Did my own interpretation of what he said here cause I had no clue what Google was trying to say lol.*

He opened his arms and the morning sun fell on his shoulders.

Kiro: Come on, Miss Chips.

Kiro: Thank you for your hard work. For that, you get a rechargeable hug from Kiro.

I nodded my head hard and as soon as I took a step of joy, the director poked his head out of the alley.

Director: Stand by, sweety!

I slammed the brakes and took out my phone, pretending to take a call. I shook my head slightly at Kiro.

He immediately showed me an aggrieved expression and I gave him a wink.

MC: It’s okay, I’ve already learned a recharging trick from Teacher Kiro.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, sketching a picture of bright, smiling eyes on the pitch-black canvas.

When I opened my eyes, those smiling eyes gradually merged with Kiro’s in front of me.

MC: Charging is complete~

(Cut to inside cake shop)

Under the guidance of Kiro, “the super professional”, I calmed down and tried to get into the shooting state.

However, in order to not affect my shooting state, Kiro pretended to be a stranger and waited silently near the shooting location.

When I don’t know which dessert to choose, he would raise his voice and give me a hint.

With pastry crumbs hanging on the corner of my mouth, he pointed at the corner of his mouth and winked at me until I understood what he meant.

During the filming, there were children running around noisily, so he used the tablecloth on the table to do some tricks to attract their attention.

Perhaps because of his “invisible” companionship, I really became more natural before I knew it.

Translator: The shooting in the store is OK! The director said that we are going to shoot some scenes on the pedestrian street next. Miss MC just needs to walk around the street casually.

After checking the route with the director in the cake shop, I realized that the table where Kiro was sitting was empty.

(Cut to the street)

I walked out of the cake shop and looked around but did not find him.

Without giving me too much time to think, the director shouted to start behind the camera.

I tried to walk the streets with peace of mind but my eyes subconsciously looked for Kiro.

Although the sun is shining in the early spring, there is still a bit of a chill in the air that has just warmed up.

Inexplicably, my heart is a little empty.

There was hustle and bustle on the other side of the street and my gaze followed the prestige in the center surrounded by a group of local children. The familiar blonde hair was dazzling and shining.

Kiro was holding a few yellow balloons in his hand with the children cheering around him as if he had helped them stop the balloons from flying away.

He squatted down and handed them the balloons one by one.

As if he could feel my gaze, he turned around and gave me an unreserved smile.

The empty part of my heart instantly filled up at this moment.

I retracted my gaze and found that the director was gesturing at me to continue walking. I quickly continued to walk.

When I pretended to spontaneously look to the other side of the road, I found Kiro with his hands in his pockets walking at the same pace as me.

Although separated by the road, he walked with me in such a special way.

The approaching noon sunshine finally had the temperature as spring.

[Fourth Part]

The shooting had finally come to an end before dusk came.

But Kiro disappeared when I was filming the last scenic spot.

As soon as I had finished work, I took out my phone to check it and found that Kiro had sent me two text messages half an hour ago.

Kiro: MC, I will have filming tomorrow so I have to rush to take the last train.

Kiro: Also, you performed well. I know my MC is the best.

I hurriedly called Kiro but the call informed me that his phone was turned off.

I took a look at the time and it was about 20 minutes away from the shooting location to the train station in town.

Maybe Kiro has boarded the return train and even arrived at the airport….

However, before I could think rationally, I didn’t hesitate to reach out and stop a taxi.

(Cut to the train station)

Due to the small population of the town, the train station at dusk is deserted.

I couldn’t understand the local language on the big screen at the station so I stood on tiptoe and looking into the waiting area in the hall.

Benches in the waiting area, a window for manual ticket purchases, on both sides of the platform, beside the vending machine.

Kiro wasn’t there.

My shoulders drooped in disappointment and I walked slowly towards the station gate.

The setting sun gives off the last bit of its light and the half-curved dome clouds shroud half the station hall in the shadows.

A slender figure stepped out of the shadow and looked at the phone in his hand, his face was as disappointed and lonely as mine.

The sunset gradually kept coming down for another minute but it just happened to pass through the windows around the station, covering the entire lobby with a layer of gold.

I looked at the young man illuminated by the golden light and couldn’t help but shout.

MC: Kiro!!!

He raised his head with a surprised expression.

Kiro: MC?

I waved at him frantically and ran in his direction.

He regained his senses after a brief moment of disbelief and then opened his arms wide like everytime he hugs me.

The moment his breath came to my face, my heart was filled with contentment.

Kiro put a hand around my waist tightly, lowered his head, and rubbed my forehead.

Kiro: Why are you here?

MC: I remembered that I borrowed something from you today, so I ran to pay you back.

Kiro: What’s that?

I tightened my arms around his neck.

MC: Isn’t this for you?

His breathing seemed to be slightly stagnant. He slid his hand on my waist to my hair.

Kiro: Then I’ll gladly take it.

MC: I….

He bowed his head slightly, and put the words that I was eager to confide in between his lips.

Trains in foreign towns are always prone to delays. Thanks to this, Kiro has been at the station until now so we now have the opportunity to be alone outside of our schedules.

As soon as the setting sun fell, the stars scrambled to fill the sky.

We were dressed in starlight, sitting side-by-side on the benches outside of the station, waiting for the late train.

Kiro: How was the last scenic shoot? Did it go well?

MC: OK! But when I was eating a snack, I poured all the ingredients inside by accident.

MC: But in fact, you’re just supposed to pick a flavour and eat it as a dip. The director laughed and shouted “CUT”....

Kiro: Pff….hahahahaha! Fortunately, I wasn’t there or I would’ve been laughing even louder!

MC: And there was….

I counted all the interesting things about today’s shooting, and laughed happily with Kiro.

Kiro: I’m glad I was able to come to the shoot today. Otherwise, I would have missed so many interesting things about MC.

MC: Kiro, do you feel that our current conversations seem to have the roles reversed?

MC: I used to visit you at your shoots, and you talked with me about all the interesting things that happened during them.

MC: Today, we “swapped” identities, and I feel a little delicate.

Kiro: Can I interview the delicate mood of Miss Chips?

He held his hand out to me as if he were holding a microphone and placed it in front of my mouth.

MC: Well, when I was shooting before, I could always feel your gaze. I felt it a lot today.

MC: It turned out to be difficult to stop myself from gazing back.

MC: Obviously, I saw you all day, but I had to hold back from looking at you.

MC: Obviously, you are by my side, but I have to resist the urge to hug you….

My cheeks were slightly hot and I avoided Kiro’s gaze. I lifted my head to look at the stars in the sky when I heard a “click”.

I turned my head and found that Kiro was taking pictures of me with his phone, the power bank that I had given him was still hanging from it.

MC: !

I took a look at the phone in his hand and saw the picture.

MC: It’s ugly! Delete it quickly!

Kiro: How is it ugly? The most natural MC is obviously the most lovely MC!

MC: I’m not letting you keep the power bank to charge your phone as revenge. Delete it quickly!

I struggled to snatch the phone from him, only to find that all the pictures he had taken today were of me.

I randomly clicked on a picture Kiro had taken of me eating a grilled sausage with an exaggerated expression, with me nervously facing the table in the background.

MC: You little….!

I glared at him angrily then clicked on other photos.

I frowned and watched the replay. I was stubbornly asking for another shot and I looked at him in the distance.

Kiro: Miss Chips….

He prolonged the ending, slowly coming closer to me.

Kiro: Don’t delete them. They’re all my precious memories of you. I want to keep them.

MC: No wonder your phone is out of power. You took too many photos!

He heard the relaxation in my tone and happily took the phone from me.

Kiro: Is this really too much? Compared to all of the photos of me on your phone, this is nothing out of the ordinary.

I blushed and tried to retort.

MC: Well, that’s because you are Kiro!

Kiro: But to me, you are MC.

He said this in a sincere tone.

Kiro: Just like you said, I also felt MC’s unusual mood today.

Kiro: I was worried whether you would be thirsty after talking for so long. And worried that you’d be tired after shooting for so long.

Kiro: You did well. I'm proud of you.

Kiro: The most important is….

He slowly came closer to me. I was the only thing in the reflection of his eyes.

Kiro: Although the scenery of this small town is beautiful, your shooting content is also very rich.

Kiro: But just like this moment….

Kiro: Under the starry sky, I can only see you.

Kiro: You are the unique star in my world.

[END]

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mr love game #mr love kiro #mlqc kiro #date translation #mlqc spoilers #zhou qiluo #AAAAAAAAAA #HE IS SO PRECIOUS #I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!!#WHY ISN'T HE REAL?!?!?!#周棋洛

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