#will's original painting presentation plan:

[givehimthemedicine]

You're the best person I know to ask about El. And I've been reading fellow bylers talking about this, so I want to know your opinion because I'm not sure what to think but there's a couple of things I know for certain: El isn't stupid, she saw the painting at the airport (and probably the van, too) and she (possibly) listened their fight at Rink O Mania and Will's "You're The Heart" before the monologue. So, does El know about the identity of Will's mistery "girl"?

oh great question. she definitely isn't stupid, but it could go either "El wouldn't guess about Will because she doesn't know being gay is a thing" or "El might guess because she has no reason to think being gay isn't a thing so her mind is open to what she's seeing". I lean a lot towards the former, because she doesn't know a thing about romance that she hasn't been told by her friends or seen in old movies, and at the time Mike first kissed her I would venture to say she had no idea of the existence of romance/attraction/relationships at all.

I'm inclined to say El didn't hear the rink fight (it's a loud place and they weren't standing right outside where she was) or the van scene (Max's trailer was her first stop and the van thing had already happened right?) but she definitely clocked the airport hug as weird. and for Will to bring the painting to the airport - I mean to actually bring it IN to the airport instead of leaving it in the car makes it pretty evident that it was for Mike (actually, why did he bring it in? was he planning on being like HIMIKEIPAINTEDTHISFORYOU in front of everyone if the reunion went better?) El did say maybe the painting is for a girl, but I don't get why she would be convinced it can only be a romantic gesture when Will gifts art all the time (she and all the rest of the party have his drawings on their walls).

El said she thinks Will likes someone, and I think she sees that something weird is going on between Will and Mike, but I honestly don't think she's put those two puzzle pieces together yet. She's observant, she just doesn't have the photo on the cover of the box to refer to. I think there's a lot that will quickly make sense in retrospect once it dawns on her though.

[deathwis-arc]

honestly, it's really interesting thinking about how the events of the desert dream in 1998 would get blown out of proportion in the coming years ; hell, it already kinda is twenty-four hours later. not only does the fbi get involved ( and they get involved quick ) but the entire thing is immediately labeled as 'the desert dream massacre' which is ... simply not true. if tyler doesn't kill joyce and michelle isn't shot then the total body count is four cops, with two on life support from the motel burning down. this is literally confirmed in game!

events get labeled as massacres if there's a huge body count, or if it's violent enough. the desert dream killings were neither. all the victims were shot, usually at a distance, or they suffered from burns ; which, while violent, it was more of an escape attempt on the holts' part than anything else. i also find it telling that, even if the holts kill a hostage or two, agent bradley doesn't bother mentioning that in private. all he cares about is the cops lost to the standoff. it's no surprise that killing an officer will get you a more severe punishment then if you kill a regular person, that it can sometimes send you straight to death row on its own, but the fact they don't even care about the deaths of any of the hostages ... it sure is something.

especially since the only hostage deaths in the desert dream can turn the only two kids in the game into orphans. or on the flip side, if the holts didn't harm a hostage, there's no mention of that either. or how the hostages were treated, which compared to usual hostage situations, they got it better than most. it's just the fact that they killed cops ( who were under the thumb of a corrupt sheriff, by the way ) that made this into a massacre. though i wouldn't be surprised if to the public the force would then heavily focus on any other victims, that's usually what happens normally, after all.

anyway, point is, classism does play a role in how cases and crimes are treated -- especially back then. the holts were poor, notoriously so, and they were a family full of drop-outs with nothing to their names. the very second they escape the motel, their names are plastered all over the country and their fates ( including jay's, who's merely an eighteen year old who was an accomplice at best ) are decided : they're going straight to death row. even if jay tries to do the right thing and come clean to agent bradley, tries to turn on his family, said guy immediately goes to pin all the murders on him, for seemingly no reason at all! it's very unjust, and ah ... shady!

the news and papers hype up their crime spree and i wouldn't be shocked that within a couple years, the holts would be presented as bloodthirsty rednecks who were simply greedy rather than a family that didn't have any help and got in way over their heads. the narrative would be twisted so much, especially if three of the holts were never found. there'd be no word from their side, no mention of the thugs who were threatening to kill them, just a true crime story where they were at the forefront of a very unfortunate situation and got away with it. leaving gossips to fill in the blanks as they please, and considering the police's and the fbi's behavior towards this case, they would only fuel the narrative that the holts were a family who did all this on purpose and relished in the aftermath, a family who loved doing the crime.

anyway, it's just something i love thinking about for post canon stuff when it comes to my adf muses. how wildly inaccurate the story's become in time, simply because people got bored or because of the classism back then that was so woven into the broadcasted crime that it's become impossible to separate the two. they'd paint the holts out to be wildly dangerous, cruel individuals and probably spin tales about unsolved murders and robberies and how it could be the work of a holt who had got away. their entire motivation would be obscured and would've gone unsaid, leaving random civilians and a force who hates them to speak for them instead. it'd be a whole thing! and the desert dream was dramatic, sure, but by the time everything is said and done you'd probably barely recognize what the media was talking about had you actually been there.

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[demifiendrsa]

Hades II - Reveal Trailer

Hades II will launch in Early Access for PC via Steam and Epic Games Store in 2023.

Key visual

Overview

About

The first-ever sequel from Supergiant Games builds on the best aspects of the original god-like rogue-like dungeon crawler in an all-new, action-packed, endlessly replayable experience rooted in the Underworld of Greek myth and its deep connections to the dawn of witchcraft.

Key Features

Battle Beyond the Underworld – As the immortal Princess of the Underworld, you’ll explore a bigger, deeper mythic world, vanquishing the forces of the Titan of Time with the full might of Olympus behind you, in a sweeping story that continually unfolds through your every setback and accomplishment.

Master Witchcraft and Dark Society – Infuse your legendary weapons of Night with ancient magick, so that none may stand in your way. Become stronger still with powerful Boons from more than a dozen Olympian gods, from Apollo to Zeus. There are nearly limitless ways to build your abilities.

Mingle with (More) Gods, Ghosts, and Monsters – Meet a cast of dozens of fully-voiced, larger-than-life characters, including plenty of new faces and some old friends. Grow closer to them through a variety of new interactions, and experience countless unique story events based on how your journey unfolds.

Every Run is its Own Adventure – New locations, challenges, upgrade systems, and surprises await as you delve into the ever-shifting Underworld again and again. Reveal the mysteries of the Arcana Altar, tame witchy familiars, and gather reagents using Tools of the Unseen to get closer to your goal.

The Perks of Immortality – Thanks to a variety of permanent upgrades and the return of God Mode, you don’t have to be a god yourself to experience what Hades II has to offer. But if you happen to be one, you can brave escalating challenges for greater rewards, and prove just how divine you really are.

Signature Supergiant Style – Rich, atmospheric presentation and storytelling fused with responsive action is the hallmark of Supergiant’s titles. Vivid new hand-painted environments, even smoother real-time 3D characters, and an electrifying original score make this mythic world burst with life.

Coming to Early Access

Getting player feedback through key phases of development was vital for the original Hades, so we plan to reprise that process once more, once this game is further along.

[rheya28]

Darlington Castle [ Wedding Venue ] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to Darlington Castle, a beautiful wedding venue located on the Island of Windenburg. This one of a kind venue is known for not only its iconic architecture and stunning views but also for its timeless elegance and romantic atmosphere, making a popular destination to hold weddings and other occasions.  Whether you’re planning an intimate ceremony or a grand celebration, Darlington Castle is the perfect setting for your sims dream wedding.

Programming includes an indoor and outdoor ceremonial space, an indoor and outdoor reception hall, suites for both the bride's and the groom's bridal party. Additionally, this venue also include a kitchen and multiple private bedrooms for the newly weds and their wedding entourage.

NOTE: The exterior of this venue was based on Villa Erba

As I'm posting this, I realize there's so much more I wanna add, so maybe I'll do a part 2

♥ Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ♥ Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ♥ Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ♥ Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ♥ Thank you to all CC Creators ♥ Please let me know if there's any problem with the build!

♥ SPEED BUILD VIDEO 00:00 Beginning 00:02 Intro 1:11 Speed Build 25:26Photos

♥ LOT DETAILS Lot Name: Darlington Castle Lot type: Wedding Venue Lot size: 64x64 Location: Windenburg Island

♥ MODS: TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make life a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama.

Joyceisfox: Simple Live (Bathroom, Blooming plant) S- Imagination: Rutland Kitchen Felixandre: Colonial (all), Chateau (all), Fayun, Berlin pt (1), Florence (all), Georgian, Gothic Revival, Grove (all), Kyoto pt (2), London exterior & interior, Paris (all), Jardane, Shop the look, SOHO, Tudor Sooky: Horizontal oil Painting (Landscape, Still life), Vertical oil paintings (landscape, still life, portrait) Awingedllama: Nostaligia Living Felixandre x Harrie: Baysic, Harluxe, Livin Rum, Orjanic (all) Bbygyal123: Minimal Prints Charlypancakes: Chalk, Lavish, Miscellanea, Smoll, Telly Harrie: Heritage, Brownstone Collection, Brutalist, Coastal (all), Shop the look 2, Spoons Madame Ria: Back to basic floor Myshunosun: Midsummer Eve Arsbotanica: Peonies bouquet Pierisim: Auntie Vera, Coldbrew (all), Domain du clos (all), MCM pt (2)(3), Oak house (all), Winter garden pt (1), Woodland ranch (all) Charlypancakes x Pierisim: Precious Promises Simplistic: Magnolia Cottage Rugs, Rug Holland Sixam: Stylistwood Nursery Simten: Playable Harp (mod) thecluttercat: Sunnysundae pt (3), Dandy Diary Syboulette: Nothing to wear Taurus Design: Eliza walk in closet Other CC Cowbuild: Family Kitchen (sink flowers only), Blooming Garden cafe (Hanging wisteria only) [ I think these are locked behind paywall, but you dont really need to download as they are not too important. howeber, If you do wanna dl it....iykyk]

♥Tray File: x ♥Origin ID: Applez ♥Twitter: Rheya28__ ♥Tiktok: Rheya28__ ♥Patreon: Rheya28 ♥Youtube: Rheya28__

[mousegoesmoo]

Okay I'm sure many of you all have seen this tiktok:

This tiktok has seemingly reached a very broad audience and I'm lowkey beefing with some of the comments. And then comments are stirring some byler doubt in me but I'm just gonna come on here and think through things logically. I'm only going to take into account things that are canon or have been stated by official sources.

Many commenters have stated that Byler will only be one sided, Will in love with Mike. Narratively, this does not make sense. Will's character has been pre-planned to be queer from season 1 episode 1 and in his character description. Additionally, Robin originally was not going to be gay, but that was changed during the filming of Season 3 (Maya Hawke talks about this). So, why would they have the only canonically gay character be used as a plot device to further El and Mikes relationship? It just doesn't make sense for his love to be unrequited. They have stretched out the plot point of Will's sexual orientation and love for Mike for many seasons, it has been slow burned. They could have given Will a sharp rejection in Season 3 during the rain fight, but they didn't. If they did, moving to California would be an opportune time for Will to move on from his love for Mike. But they didn't. Will made an entire painting for Mike and gave him a veiled confession- if it ends in unrequitedness they stretched out this plot line for far to long. It is unnecessary. It would just be unnecessarily devastating for Will to be rejected in the final season. Plus, we have seen it before, entire relationships can form in one season. Mike and El were formed in one season, Nancy and Steve broke up and then Nancy and Jonathan got together, why can't the same happen with Mike and Will?

2. Mike has never been implied or done any actions to suggest he is gay or reciprocates Will's feelings. First of, to quote the byler slides, Mike has more queer coding than Will (slide 7, slides linked). To preface, queer coding is "...when a character’s sexual orientation is implied by significant subtext without being stated outright."(Elizabeth Duarte). So, this doesn't necessarily prove that Mike is in love with Will, but it does imply that he is in the very least bicurious. Personally, I believe that one of the strongest bits of queer coding for Mike is during his initial attraction to Eleven. Eleven was often described to look very similar to Will and boy-ish. A little suspicious if you ask me. To add on to that, the problems in Mike and Eleven's relationship have grown as El has explored her femininity and self. Granted, the problems could have arose due to them both aging, but, it is still another common denominator. But, the byler slides have many instances of queer coding for Mike (some probably better than what I presented), so I would suggest looking into those rather than having me repeat them here. But queer coding implies queerness, therefore, Stranger Things has suggested that Mike is not straight.

2.5 Mike's feelings have never been reciprocated for Will. Now this is a trickier one. We haven't had a scene from Mike's perspective in a while, making it very difficult to have hard evidence that he is into Will as well. However, we can prove that Mike is heavily queer coded (because he is). So, if Mike were gay, who would he direct his affections towards? Lucas, who is trying to rekindle his relationship Max, Dustin, who has had a steady long distance relationship with Suzie, or Will, who has never shown interest in any girls despite having many opportunities (arguably, more opportunities than the other party members)? They would not put Mike into a one sided pining with Lucas or Dustin for the final season, it simply does not make sense. But Will, who has already had a developed crush on Mike for several seasons, the pieces start to click together. Mike liking Will is very dependent on Mike being queer, which we have proven through the fact that he is heavily queer coded. So, the only same sex individual that would make logical sense as his love interest is Will. Also: a huge point about not having a Milkeven endgame is that Eleven was supposed to die and, consequently, so would their relationship.

3. Unlikely for the time, so it will never happen. Girlypops. It is unlikely for someone to be dating someone with superpowers in the 80's. It is unlikely for a parallel dimension to take over and infect this one random town in Indiana in the 80's. ITS FICTION. Additionally, it is know that homophobia exists in the fictional Stranger Things universe (Lonnie, Troy, Robin's extreme hesitance to come out, etc.), ,but on the other hand, the Duffers are actively pursuing a relationship between Robin and Vickie. As of our knowledge right now, Vickie's sole purpose in the show is to be a love interest of Robin's. If they don't end up together it is most likely because Robin either gets a new love interest or one of the two dies in the final season. Ultimately, I do not think that Stranger Thing's taking place in the 80's will have an impact on whether or not byler becomes canon.

So those were the main three points made in the comment section of that tiktok.

I just want to also state that if Byler isn't canon, I would want to consider this to be a case of queerbaiting (but, this still depends on how they wrap up Season 5). Also, I would consider slapping a new love interest for Will to wrap up the season as very sloppy and lazy writing. AND, I think using Will's love for Mike as a stepping stone to progress a heterosexual relationship deeply offensive. If they were going to have Will be rejected, they should have done it way earlier in the series.

Thats all I have to say xx

[slowd1ving]

EAT MY HEART, I'LL EAT YOURS ⁺ 　 . ✦ MOZE

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides,  Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles,  The moon grins once again tonight.  He hates you. He hates your plans, how you talk, how you work. He loathes being stuck with you: detests it to his very core. But that's great, because the feeling is mutual with you! Tied to an ill-omened crow of your own, what's there not to abhor? continuation of tales of a disgruntled corvid art by @ RMavio on x!! pairing: moze + male reader warnings: blood, death, violence, yall HATE each other bro, v slow burn, pre established relationship (if you don't count the relationship of HATING each other's GUTS) wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Copper defiles the carefully manufactured oxygen that circulates this tiny starship. Its stench pervades the past the clean air, past the distinctly alkaline tang of bleach, and past what little protection your visor affords you. In fact, the clear nanocomputers pick up on a distinctly sanguine hue to the air: labelling tiny crimson specks as biological matter—human blood (tentative). 

“Adult Foxian male, died approximately forty hours ago,” the man crouched before you narrates, oblivious to the you who stares up at the ceiling of the small room—as if the gesture could possibly shield you from the horrifying reality at your feet. No matter how many times you’ve stepped into a situation like this (too many to count ever since your career path practically merged with the Shadow Guards’), you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. This is Moze’s sphere of knowledge: Moze’s work that intimately twines and dances with the very cesspit of vice and umbrage. 

“Died from presumably loss of blood caused by the deep lacerations across his abdomen and throat,” he continues—the details, unfortunately, seep into your brain as you try your best to tune him out. Thank you, Captain Obvious, you’d bite out, but unfortunately opening your mouth in these conditions would make you sick. “Or at least, that’s what the perpetrator would want us to think.”

There’s viscera splashed even on the very walls. Messy streaks of scarlet contaminate the aged wallpaper in the small room: capricious strokes, as though a child painted them, form characters and seemingly random lines of verse that register as unusual on your visor. That’s your area of expertise. 

Like clockwork, your gaze remains unwavering on the riddle presented on the structure. That’s how you’ve dealt with being in such proximity to Reapers: by pretending the wall is a block of stone and its red ink is precisely that—ink. That’s how you separate yourself from the victims of these gruesome cases; bit by bit, you’re slowly growing accustomed to the nauseating reek of metal that wafts before you. 

And so, when you finally glance down at the glazed-over eyes of the latest victim, it is with startling impassiveness that you assess his cadaver. He’s gone, you accept. Your little ritual has worked, as it oft does. 

“Same sigils as the other bodies.” You finally regain your voice, and the silver-haired man turns his sharp gaze up at you. “But the last line to the verse is different.”

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides, 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles, 

The moon grins once again tonight. 

The characters rest heavy on your tongue—foreign meanings straightening themselves out as you slowly sound out the snippet. It’s a verse from a children’s book of poems: a short tale about an obsolete, oceanic planet and its restoration by few brave souls. 

“The moon slumbered tonight,” you mutter the original line to yourself. This ancient script doesn’t suit the naïve phrases, but it’s commonly used for rituals—both antique and modern, you’ve unfortunately found. 

With a heavy sigh, you pull out the gun in your holster; it’s warm, humming to life which seems terribly ironic to you, considering where you are. You’ve not used the weapon for quite some time: the flickering it emits seems both familiar and unfamiliar. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His clipped speech warily assesses the ease with which you handle the arm you never seem to use: preferring the glassy, almost invisible blade currently strapped across your back when in combat. 

“Xiaoze,” you sigh tauntingly, infusing the firearm with quantum energy that briefly glows indigo in this dim room. “Shut up and let me do my job.”

“Ew,” his face sours almost immediately at the nickname, embittered by both how it drips with condescension and no real affection, and how off putting it is for you of all people to be adding things to his name. “Don’t do that.”

“Then shut up.” You line the sights experimentally, having successfully blackmailed the Shadow Guard into keeping mum for a few minutes while you turn the qualitative verse into quantitative data. Perhaps he does feel threatened by the promise, for you only feel his heavy stare on you and not his words. 

The bullet careens and phases through the wall where the verse is located, and with a shimmer of data, the strings of numbers behind the verse reveal themselves: meaningless to all but yourself. It’s a temporary display, containing important information about the very foundations of this riddle. Or, at least, it’s a shortcut since the verse has already been decoded. 

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides: a reference to where the power ‘current’ of Madam General Feixiao is absent. Or at least, these murder locations point to that; they’re in the areas least looked over in the Alliance: namely, not aboard the Flagship. 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles: a crude depiction of Moon Rage, as well as the shedding of a ‘Foxian’ identity. Considering all these victims have been Foxian, it’s no far-fetched assumption to think that these have all been building up to something sinister. 

The moon slumbered tonight: a reference to the plaguemark hung over the Yaoqing—a moon left behind by Yaoshi. Past tense. Sleeping.

But that had all changed with this particular murder. Whatever goal the perpetrator hoped to achieve was finally coming into fruition with the awakening of this ‘moon’. 

The data transmitted onto your visor is as elapsed: the time of writing, the exact coordinates relative to the Flagship at the time of writing, as well as some background noise of little relevance to this current predicament. These numbers are duly inputted into one of your pre-created ‘equation’ sheets: linking abstracts together in their own relationships to receive a divinatory variable. It’s one of the few successes you’ve had with qualitative equations; linking energy and mass and speed is easy, but linking feeling together is not. 

In this case, tying down the exact time and coordinates to a specific intention. Any organic creature or ingenium leaves behind a trace of intention, whether it be through actual thoughts or a pre-programmed function. But in this case, the result comes out void. 

Thirty-two hours since verse was written. 

“How long did you say the man has been dead?” you ask, urgently. Moze snaps back to attention at the specific tone in your voice. 

“Forty hours,” he answers. When it comes down to the bloody aspects of this job, he returns to his laconic, reticent ways—it’s truly a shame he can’t keep it up in other aspects. 

“You’re sure about that,” you probe, half a question in your voice.

“It’s my job,” he deadpans, and you scowl as he uses your words against you. 

“Well, this verse appeared about eight hours after the man died,” you comment wonderingly. The strokes of the characters for grins once again appear a bit messier than the rest—almost like a map. Well, it’s not a deduction; your visor picks up on the strange wording right before you do. “Unlike the others that were written manually by a perpetrator.”

“So, this sacrificial lamb was finally the success,” he mutters darkly. 

“But the trail is no longer dead.” You sheathe your pistol back into its holster with a touch of relief, because finally this set of murders is coming to its conclusion.

⁺ 　 . ✦

You take back whatever compliments you had of him focusing on his job when it came down to it. As you pilot the star skiff along the trail of data outputted from your visor and the crude map from the bloody drawings, he’s practically talking your ear off about the garbled string of answers you sent him from your visor. 

“And what is beef’s relevance to this case?” he asks, each syllable drawn taut with what could only be mockery. 

“Typo,” you grit out, tilting the control wheel starboard. Now is not the time. 

“Egg, too?” he taunts. 

Your eyes flick to the top left of your visor, where you did in fact merge the contents of your grocery list with the file meant for him. 

“Use your common sense,” you bite on the inside of your cheek, hard, to prevent any insults from slipping past your lips. “You do still have that, right?”

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” He leans back against the co-pilot seat, and you can feel his gaze prick your face—much like you feel the tiny, irritating smile he wears. 

“I will crash this skiff if I have to, and you’ll have to explain to the General why the cryptologist exploded into itty-bitty pieces, Xiaoze,” you seethe. 

“Not if they don’t find your body,” he returns—far too accustomed to the patronising name for someone who blanched at its usage just an hour prior. Worst part is, he’d definitely make do on this vaguely-worded threat. 

“Madame General and A-hua would know it was you.” You propel the stern forward, if only to feel his hands grip the sides of his seat tighter. He courts death daily as an assassin, but wouldn’t it be a treat to die because of reckless driving. It’s not like you can entrust the programmed visor to him (and it’s not like you want to send the decoded map to the skiff). 

“Would they, though?” He pares away the dirt beneath his nails with his knife, and you hope the sudden jolt in the vehicle gave him an injury. 

“Jump.” A single syllable, gracing the space with your tender command. His brow raises minutely. 

“No one will miss you,” you add. 

“Since you’ve got no friends,” you tack on with an air of finality. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

He hates you. He hates you: hates the way your hands deftly turn the control wheel on the skiff; hates the way you trip and stumble through life, leaving countless messes behind yet still managing to have Feixiao’s approval to work with him; hates your facetious and conniving and sly insults. But most of all, he really fucking hates your plans. 

“This is so stupid,” he mutters in your ear; invisible to all but the tell tale outline on your shrunken visor. You’d reply, but you’re already conspicuous enough in the tailored suit you’ve donned—all sharp lines and a cut too bittersweet for your home planet. So actually, fuck that, then—there’s no point in being all Spy-like and Inconspicuous any longer. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, adjusting the cufflinks beneath the rich jacket—then subconsciously running a thumb along the edge of your fake identification card that’s pinned to your collar. Unlike that weirdo, you can’t turn invisible—so you’re left firing quanta bullets at the hull of this rig right outside Yaoqing airspace (or technically, space-space) and gleaning whatever information you can to assemble a persona for yourself. 

 <Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> how do I look < 1:34

The message pings to him from your visor, and you know he’s seen it—from the caustic sigh that leaves his lips, because if he ever blows his cover while he’s invisible, it will have been because of you.

< Weirdo > 1:34 > Focus on the damned mission.

Lukewarm, you scoff, brain sounding out your response. How… do… I… look, you type out once more.

1:35 > Terrible. 

Aggravated, you clench your fist, and you swear you can hear the space behind you warp and distort when he snickers. Terrible! What a joke, you seethe—jabbing the code into the airlock that you’d worked out by the little tones left on the verse, as well as reading the intentions left by people at this door. 

Your job is simple—getting to the bottom of these long-standing murders while also planting a bug on the ship that would allow the Seat of Divine Foresight of the Yaoqing to monitor the situation. Nothing more, but maybe something less if something went wrong. This was only a two-man operation, after all. 

Of course, you neither kept optimistic nor pessimistic. Though there were only two objectives,  those that underestimated the simplest missions oft suffered the brutal brunt of defeat. And of course, the former term being negotiable showed just how difficult it was. Or at least, if you managed to find the office of the higher ups, the data you stole would allow you to reconstruct the space virtually—though what you needed were concrete files that pointed to clear motives. 

No—not the office. 

You squinted as a rough plan of the building popped up from the continuous data you fed your visor—a general prediction of where the lab and computer room would be located, which were simulated as being in the same wing as the office. Perfect. 

<Weirdo> 1:40 > Done all your shopping already, or are you just tired of steak?

You grind your molars as you travel past the small throngs of borisin and humans alike: you don’t look entirely out of place as they’re dressed in a medley of different outfits, from IPC uniform replicas to Penacony garb to even the long robes found on Herta’s Space Station. Point is—your Earthwear doesn’t stand out, and there’s enough people that your badge does not go noticed. 

<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> gonna shoot you how about that < 1:40

It takes the time of twenty-seven heartbeats to stride through the corridors (tunnels) that make their way around the aircraft. Twenty-seven heartbeats, three checkpoints and one smile shot at presumably a ‘coworker’—before you finally make it into the final stretch. He knows, though you don’t, because he’s counted: listening to the rhythmic beat of your organs as you calmly navigate the ship like you know what you’re doing. 

It’s devoid of souls, except for the two of you as you pad down the corridor. Even the very lab and big office seem abandoned—but Moze’s urgent text alerts you of the presence of someone in the office, just not the lab. 

Guess we’ll start there then. 

A quick swipe of your falsified keycard, and you were in—slipping on one of the freely available lab coats and extending your visor to cover your eyes at the entrance. You do respect lab etiquette, after all; erasing even your thoughts about food and drink as you press through the automatic glass doors. 

<Weirdo> 1:43 > You almost look like a scientist now.

You can hear his exhales—they’re so obviously deliberate, because no way would he blow his cover by accident. He’s snickering, that sod is. 

I am a scientific doctor, you senile fuckwad. < 1:44 

1:45 > Thought your default display name was just a joke. Did you hit your head and hallucinate some credentials?

You seethe, since you can’t exactly scroll through endless files to locate your dissertation on ancient science and qualitative formulae. Over sixty-thousand words, reduced to mere mockery by this cretin. 

It’s a triple entendre < 1:45 And I’ve got the creds < 1:45 prick < 1:45 

1:45 > moron

He types this lightning quick, not even pausing to stop walking—not even pausing to capitalise and punctuate his stupidly mocking text like normal—and you can still hear him because he’s letting you hear his normally silent steps, he’s letting you know he can fulfil the mission while shit talking you to your own face.

this is why you have no friends < 1:46

1:47 > this is why you don’t have friends outside your job. no one actually likes you

You rummage around in the large filing cabinet besides all the gleaming equipment: large centrifuges, safety cupboards, fume hoods, and weird display cases filled with samples of what can only be blood. Swiftly, you snap several photos of the evidence with your visor, then mindlessly write a response. Talk about a call coming from inside the house, you think. 

name two people who voluntarily spend time with you < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent index.finger.pointing emoji] < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent laughing.crying emoji] < 1:49

He’s no longer in the peripheries of your earshot; so you know he’s gone off to investigate the other areas of the small lab—beyond the equipment and into the computer room. Good, you exhale—at least he respects lab protocol. 

1:51 > name a time feixiao actually talked to you outside of work

I will…. lend you… my gun so… you can shoot…. yourself, you type, then quickly hit backspace before you can send it by accident. 

yesterday. eat shit xiaoze < 1:52

1:52 > that was charity work don’t flatter yourself

Hastily, you scan any files in the weird stronghold that look even remotely related to borisin and Foxians and especially the one you cradle: labelled only with the icon of a moon and containing eerily similar rituals to the crime scenes you found. 

oh you want to talk about charity work? lets ask the crowd bro < 1:55 everyone who interacts with you is doing charity work.. < 1:56

1:57 > ok at least my job wanted me

Wow. Wooow. You stare incredulously at the message—he’s dragging the Intelligenstia Guild into this, knowing you got put on leave for ‘engaging in querulous behaviour’ and ‘lacking in real life experience’. Low blow. 

…and no one else did so what now < 1:58 name a single friend you have < 1:58

1:58 > .. 1:59 > Jiaoqiu 

Jiaoqiu. How cute, you scoff, resuming your hate typing while you flick through the last few files hidden around in drawers and cupboards. 

idk how to tell you this but you are NOT the friend bro you’re the test subject… < 2:00 I think he pitied you or smth.. < 2:01

2:02 > ew 2:02 > don’t call me bro it’s sickening 2:02 > we are not alike

it’s exposure therapy < 2:03 since you don’t have any friends you don’t and probably never will be called anything endearing < 2:04 aren’t I so nice < 2:04

Pausing, you glance up at where the glass doors lead right to the computer lab; a dim glow washes over the space. Nothing much to worry about, you think—copying data is a far less burdensome task than rifling through pages upon pages of reports and then arranging them back into their rightful place. Though, if you were worried about anything, it was that the virus and bugger installation would take longer than they had to. 

Maybe it’s the paranoia getting to you. 

Or maybe, maybe, it’s the faint click of footsteps against linoleum floors—getting louder and louder and louder. As does your heartbeat: thundering deafeningly in your ears. You can’t turn invisible. You don’t get the luxury of slipping into the shadows like your colleague (to put it very politely) does. 

And so you swallow—tongue thick and leaden within your suddenly too-dry mouth. There are two courses of action you can take (hurry, the steps are getting louder): the first being to hide away in the little storage cupboard and take the escape from there. You will not be able to fool a scientist who knows their colleagues far more intimately than the grunts in the lobby. Moze has worked alone before. He’ll figure out how to get the virus downloaded and the data copied before the person even gets close to noticing him. 

Or—and your eyes flick to the computer room clearly visible from the lab—you could put on an act to save both your life and Moze’s time. You could… probably do that, right?

Heart moving renditions…. Never mind that your heart was pounding right out of your chest—never mind that your glassy sword could not be wielded in this narrow hallway, never mind that flipping the switch on your gun was not quite something you were prepared to do. 

They were almost at the corner, and you made your decision to step out into that narrow corridor. One hand in your pocket and the other raking across your face as you yawned. The epitome of casual. 

And Moze’s ears pricked as he watched you; though you’d never know, and he’d never admit that he did so. He heard the sound of sharp shoes, and was honestly expecting you to turn tail. 

But you didn’t. 

You’re taking lazy strides as he hears the researcher approach—counting on the secrecy of this organisation being tight enough to operate on a need-to-know basis. In other words, you’re operating on the high-risk gamble: that this particular person would be unaware of changes in personnel. There’s no time to read the data streaming from their steps. Ordinarily, from their intention you could figure out their rank in the pecking order—but you are plumb out of luck. 

He rounds the corner: wearing a suit far more well cut than yours, though his tie sits loose at his throat and his jacket is slung over one shoulder. From one glance, you can tell immediately. You’re screwed. Still, it’s too late to run now: far too late to leave Moze to figure out how to download the data faster. 

“Who are you?” The drawl is heavy with a cadence far too confident. Just your fucking luck, you momentarily scowl—of course the lab would be frequented by some clear higher-up. Not a regular degular scientist you could simply sweet talk, but someone not in the lower strata of this shady organisation.  

He’s handsome: black hair that sheens prussic, eyes glinting practically amber even in the frigid lighting that washes over this space. Something you’ve unfortunately learned while traversing the galaxy is that this guy cannot possibly be a grunt; and if he is, there’s something seriously wrong with the corporation. He’s eye candy—which makes this situation so terrible. You are screwed. In that moment, your lazy smile wavers somewhat; you are utterly and irredeemably fucked. You could shoot him, but that would no doubt put the rig on immediate lockdown with the sound of the gun. 

Fuck. You want to slam your head against the glass, but that would no doubt screw you over even further. 

You’re not built for this. 

“Oh, are you part of the research team too?” Naive. Your qualifications have just landed you this position, and you’re not quite capable of discerning if you should be divulging that information or not. That’s the mindset you centre this particular character around: just some random guy who’s a bit gullible. 

“Just got transferred,” you lie through your teeth, shamelessly. It’s a sin to lie, but you’ve committed bigger ones before. 

“No wonder I’ve never seen a cutie like you here before,” he murmurs—leaning in as though to inspect your face. And so, you freeze; naturally, this was not the direction you thought this conversation would take. Maybe sweet talking is not entirely off the table, but you sincerely doubt you’ll actually get away. 

You swallow. How much longer do you have to stall for? Is Moze done? What the fuck do you say next?

“Uh.” Thanks? I guess? You’re pretty cute too? You find your hand inching towards your holster—minutely, of course—while potential replies whirl through your mind chaotically. Miniature storms wrapped up in slimy brain matter and miniscule neuron connections. 

It’s only when he lets out a short laugh that you realise that you might’ve let out your thoughts, and you curse at yourself in your mind. 

“Wow, you’re bold,” he comments, closer: until you can almost taste the lingering iron and manufactured scent he has. Like wood. Earth pine. A bitter pang goes through your heart at that: someone from the surviving fallout of Earth, here of all places. In a clean, sterile lab dedicated to sacrificing Foxians—for what? Money? Stupid credits? Humans are rotten creatures, cut from a cloth macerated in cesspits. On Earth, it was no exception. 

Still. Your lips press into a line at his clothes, the particular way the tie is knotted. You’ve never seen another survivor prior to this. 

You may also be completely mistaken. Penacony and doubtless others have the same strands of fashion—but this. This is wholly Earth. 

“People do tell me that,” you return, unbuttoning your lab coat since you’re no longer in the lab boundaries. Moze, hurry the fuck up. You’re already regretting it, but you need to confirm it. Alien everywhere, what other choice do you have?

His eyes don’t widen like you expect, and you feel a stupid ache at the realisation that you’re once again alone. But rather, they flicker to your breast pocket, where your falsified keycard peeks out. Closer. His fingers pluck the plastic as though it were a flower, and you’re much too astounded to stop him. 

“What a shame…” he murmurs, and only the nails digging into your palm remind you fitfully of just how near he is—practically tasting the fucking lies on your breath. 

“Sir, back up a bit,” you grimace. This sucks. The perks of keeping the guy from witnessing the glow in the computer room is slowly fading away the longer you keep this up. Should’ve left Moze to get caught. 

“O strange doctor, do movies of the bygone era really interest you so?” 

You freeze. Shit. Shit. You’d let down your guard—attempting to gauge his reaction to your attire and getting caught out yourself. Really, was there any spy worse than yourself? The falsified card was hastily put together with the help of your visor; of course it autofilled that stupid alias. 

It’s not the first time your mistakes have cost you. 

“You…” This guy. You should’ve run. You suck at gambling. 

“How odd. I should’ve been aware of one like me being transferred.”

“Who the hell are you?” Cautiously, you take a minute step back. He notices—of course he does. 

“The head of the research department, who else?”  Fuck, fuck. Your heart is entering arrhythmia: pounding flush against your eardrums like some goddamn hammer against piercing nail. You’re dead meat. 

“It’s unfortunate that I can’t buy you a suit to replace that cheap one—if you hadn’t infiltrated, we might’ve been good friends.” He’s still putting up a front, but you can tell he’s close to a fight. It’s the snarling instinct of a cornered human—fight or flight activating almost immediately at every minute movement of his. Each shallowed breath, each minute shift in sinew. All of it. 

“No, definitely not,” you retort in disgust. “Most people from that planet sucked.”

It’s true, but your heart twinges blue just the same. Millions of years, all for that stupid molten iron planet to just cease. None but you—all alone amongst the cold, dead stars. 

It was a graveyard of the giants: hulking Jupiter, so wretched and broken; stars slowly winking out one by one. Even the massive silhouette of the Sun had finally been conquered. Had the universe ever been so lonely for the wandering?

“Even you?” And now his fists punctuate the empty space with his words. 

“Especially me.”

How foolish. How foolish, as he’s barely breathing on the floor beside you. How foolish, as you let your teeth grind in stupefied frustration. How foolish, that you wanted to communicate with a remnant from that obsolete planet. 

You’re an idiot as you clutch at your side: warmth seeping between your fingers as you prop yourself up against the wall. Shallow, heaving breaths come ragged—though the fight didn’t last even five minutes, courtesy of your visor working overtime to electrocute that fool by your feet. He looks fried, but you don’t look much better: being stabbed does that, after all. 

You don’t know what you’re doing here. 

What were you trying to accomplish?

Iron tastes especially caustic today. Ah, you realise with a start—this stupid endeavour was all to buy time. Maybe it was all pointless. Maybe you’ll slip into slumber here—tripping over the sleeping man at your feet and seeing your planet once more, if only in your dreams. 

The flicker of lights reminds you of your wretched childhood apartment. All concrete and dilapidated structure, but it was your home. A cruel and cold home—though it was also one where the sun touched the horizon just so, in a way that erased pain for a singular moment in time. 

Stupid. All this to fulfil your stupid mission. 

Your legs wobble, and you would’ve slammed right into the wall were it not for the cold arms wrapping around your ribcage—gelid hand splayed on your chest. 

“Idiot.” Moze’s voice is low and angry; practically shaking while he supports your body. He’s pressed right up against your side—making the smell of blood ever more pungent. Slippery, metallic copper—all coming from you and ruining that stupid suit for good. “Are you illiterate too?”

“Huh?” You don’t know why he’s upset; he got the job done, didn’t he? Maybe he’s mad he has to prop you up while navigating the dim tunnels of this building—his teeth are gritting, after all, even if you can’t see him. You can hear the molars grind together. 

“Are your eyes just for show, or do you occasionally read your messages?” he seethes. Your trembling heart is far too loud to register the final death rattles of the man left behind in the corridor—courtesy of a blade thrown right into his jugular. 

“Hah. Muted them to not read your irritating texts anymore.” You close your eyes as he guides you past the chemicals, past the cleaning supplies in the closet that leads to a hidden path outwards. He’s more… gentle than you would’ve expected; grip firm on your arm slung over his shoulders rather than constricting. 

“I didn’t need your help,” he informs you: tone boreal as ever. “You blew our cover.”

Still, you cannot see the furrow in his brows as he peers down at you; neither can you see his lips pressing together. His heart’s pounding weirdly: focused on you rather than leaving this stupid place far behind. 

“I didn’t do it for you—” you grit out, stumbling the last few steps to the concealed star skiff while alarms blare on the ship the two of you leave behind. And he’s grasping your waist as you lean against the rocking vehicle—but you were not going to fall. Blood seeps onto his clothing, though he pays the mess no heed for once. 

“Don’t need your help either,” you scoff, returning his words back to him as you lean against the worn seat. It’s cold. So cold, but you’d rather die than admit it hurts. “Get off me.”

“I’ll drive.” His rich voice finally has a body once more as he settles into his copilot seat. He can visualise the path back to the Yaoqing already—back to the messy, warm place you call home. Where you linger on all those stupid trinkets, the decorations you put up, and the food simmering in the pot on your stove—he knows the route like the back of his scarred hand. 

“I’m fine. It’s not that deep, and Jiaoqiu will take a look at it anyway.”  Jiaoqiu. His lips curl into a sneer as the dashboard lights up—flipping switches with such harsh precision it’s much too apparent that he’s in a terrible mood. 

“Or A-hua,” you add, and his heartbeat becomes something twisted and wretched as he hears the dimmed affection in your voice. You’re tying off the bandage tight around your side—very rudimentary first aid, but the priority is to get as far away as possible from this facility while their systems go down.

“Neither of them will be in when we report to Feixiao.” 

He doesn’t quite know why he lies: syllables rolling off his tongue like a blunder, yet he manages to keep his voice steady. 

“Then I’ll give myself stitches.” So damn stubborn, he thinks. He’s irritated, for reasons unclear to him. 

“No, this was because of me. I’ll treat you.” He doesn’t know why he insists either; one thing he knows for sure though, is that he can’t help but cling onto the scent of your embodiment. Blood and sweat, laundry powder and soap. You. It’s nothing like the damp of his cell. 

“No thanks. You’d probably—hah—use this opportunity to get rid of me,” you wince out. Well, he cants his head in thought—you’re not wrong. He might’ve left you behind: no regrets, no more dead weight. 

“You think so little of me?” 

“Yes. Why else would you come close?” On edge—that’s what he can hear in the tremulous pulse beneath the flesh, all torn and never at ease. It’s not fearful, precisely, but gone is the casual annoyance in your tone—it’s more of a void acceptance, as though you’re stating the obvious. 

To answer your question, he doesn’t know. He’d normally recoil at the sight of the dried blood on his clothes—scrubbing at his skin the moment he could—but he’s absent-mindedly pulling at the threads laved in you with a hand not preoccupied by steering. 

“Anyways. If you keep pushing it, you’ll be permanently dubbed that nickname you so hate.” 

“Don’t care.” He meets your eyes through the reflection of the glass window. One gaze—flinty and stubborn. The other pair of eyes—silent and unyielding. “I’m treating you before we report to Feixiao.”

“Little A-ze is all grown up now, huh,” you mutter, and the prefix you put in front of his name is cold and distant. It tastes quite bitter, and for that reason he doesn’t deign to speak for the rest of the flight. 

For once, he’s truly living up to his description of being reticent. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

“Why’d you do such a stupid move?” With each agonised beat of your heart, the needle jabs into one side of your flesh and extends past the other. This may have been taken as to mean he’s fast with your treatment—but your pulse is as sluggish as barely molten lava, burbling and gurgling like you’re on your last legs. “Look after yourself first.”

The towel he painstakingly placed on your couch is spattered with sanguine. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too lost in delirium to realise the gravity of this situation: Moze, kneeling by your side as he carefully stitches you back up. So delirious, you don’t notice his heavy gaze and scarred hands that reverently handle the tools that pierce your body. 

“A-ze,” you slur, half-conscious as you bring a scalding hand to press against his boreal face. He freezes, like he really is made of ice. But alas, your hand falls back to your side just as quickly and his expression settles back into a scowl. 

“I could’ve escaped,” you murmur, eyes heavy with slumber. “But then you would’ve been in trouble.”

I wouldn’t have been, he wants to say back. You and your idiotic plans. He’s thought it before and thinks it now—he really fucking hates them. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he instead grits out, tying off the last stitch with the scissors with a clinical professionality that you’re quite astounded then. “Look after yourself, and I’ll do the same.”

“Shut up and get out then,” you retort—and he plucks the roll of bandages you were planning on winding around your side. You blink: taken aback once more. 

“No.” 

No? 

“Fuckface,” you comment bitterly, though there’s a certain decrease in volume as he winds his arms slowly around your torso to wrap the cloth around you. Like this, his silver tufts of hair brush past your chin—strangely clean smelling for an assassin. And when you rest your palms on his upper back to alleviate the tension in your side, you swear he freezes. 

“Idiot,” he slams back; though, there’s a certain rapidity to his pulse as your chest is right in his eyeline. It’s steady, rising and falling with each even breath you have: naked muscle just about grazing his nose. For the first time in ages, his fingers waver in his task. 

“Call Jiaoqiu then,” you shrug. He’s tucking the ends of the bandage into itself, so you miss how the faint flush on his face immediately fades. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Call who over?”

The foxian stands in the doorway with a pleased, close-eyed smile—much like the cat that finally got the cream. He’s grinning, Moze realises with horror; he saw the vulnerability in his shoulders, even if for a brief second.

Shit. He didn’t even notice. 

“Jiaoqiu?” You take your hand off his shoulder to wave; the man can no longer suppress the irritation in his expression. 

“In the flesh!” 

“Wow, you really don’t look good,” he continues, voice drawing closer as he inspects your bloodied torso. 

“Yeah, because I’m stuck with the fucker who lied about you not being—”

Moze presses his palm against your mouth—heart erratic at the feeling of soft lips against his hand, though it has nothing to do with you. More of the fact that he’s never been so close to someone like this. Yeah. That’s the reason. 

“Why are you here, Jiaoqiu?” he replies in your stead, ignoring how incredulously your gaze pierces into the side of his face. 

“So cold! You two are late to report even though you arrived half a system hour ago! But I totally understand, Moze.” Jiaoqiu’s smile does not quite reach his eyes as his gaze flitters between you and the assassin. That, perhaps, would be the usual description of how the foxian smiles regardless, but especially so today. “He’s injured, after all. Why not let me treat him before the two of you report to our Arbiter-General?”

“Pah–!” With a gasp, you finally wrench his hand from your mouth—glaring at him all the while. “That would be great, Jiaoqiu, thank you.”

Thus, the assassin is left simmering on the other side of your living room: daggers jabbing right into the other man’s back as he finishes your treatment off with a bowl of scorching hot broth. And though he doesn’t outright say it, Jiaoqiu is evidently amused by this turn of events—much like he’s amused with every irritated tell of Moze’s as he inches ever closer to you with his sly smile. 

Sorry, friend, he surmises. Not much of a chance you’ve got. 

It’s a great day for the fox, but not so much for the crow who seethes in the corner. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Happy For You | Yandere Malleus Draconia

Malleus had read extensively about the matters of the heart. As the prince of Briar Valley with a castle older than a millennium it’s natural, he’d delve into different fae authors as they detailed triumphant and tragic love stories. Filling his imaginative prepubescent brain with dreams of him dazzling his love and finally sharing true love’s kiss. 

But he was grown now. Long gone were the days he needed to rely on books and Lilia and Silver to simulate a sense of community. There were others that he learned to value their company. None stood out as much as the prefect of Ramshackle dorm—(Y/n).

Who in a matter of days after meeting them had ignited those dreams of romance. Unlike his past though this was real. You were real. It was a common event to find you coming through the gate of Ramshackle to talk into the late hours of the night. To say he was enthralled was putting it mildly. Passing thoughts of his time with you turned into bundled excitement that would persist through the week. Where he’d simply dream of sharing holidays turned into a reality he never wanted to end.

It was bliss.

It would have been bliss. 

If not for the measly rock on your finger.

“Tsuno-taro I’m engaged!”

Coupled with your shining smile, there was no way he could express the shattering of his heart with anything but a smile. As a dear friend of yours, it was his duty to stand by idly as you paraded around sharing your good news. Unaware that you were smothering the fae in his heaping regrets. That bubbling anger with himself, with the one who gifted you that diamond, and with everything that had ever been presented themselves as an obstacle. Maybe if he hadn’t spent time destroying them he’d have caught this much sooner. 

He smiles and congratulates you with all the elegance of a prince of the Draconia name.

Inserting himself into plans as he offers to be a part of the wedding in whatever way you need him. Help with decor, finding the venue, handcrafting your accessories—-all you have to do is ask and it’s done. Naturally securing himself as a member of your wedding party, rehearsing to stand by your side up until the moment you say your accursed vows. 

How it burns to witness the developing of a ceremony that’d promise he’d never have you. Not without ruining the joy you’ve been glowing with. The only comfort he deluded himself with was the searing pain described by tragedies of old. Convincing himself amid his stormy sphere as he reread the strong conviction of a character.

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

He hoped this would be true. If fae were to surpass humanity in everything then it’s expected he ascend from his desires. To abandon his selfish fantasies of cursing the one who holds your heart. To keep the dreams of reverting to his dragon form during the beautiful ceremony as figments of imagination. The same way he imagined burning the decor to the ground as he demanded his child of a man be returned to him. Banishing those thoughts as he watched the sunrise on the big day. 

“Tsuno-taro…do you think I look alright?”

You look like everything he’s ever wished for. Like a painting prized as a global treasure. You look as worthy of world domination as you did the moment you ignored the first alarm. Just as irresistible as the day you handed him his first invitation in so long. Alright, that is an understatement. You’re a vision of perfection on earth. Greater than any natural rare mineral or obscure literature that depicts the origins of the world. You are everything Malleus hopes for. 

“You look immaculate, (Y/n).”

He didn’t walk you down the aisle or stand at the altar or throw rice in the air when you shared that binding kiss. 

But he watched. While reciting that your happiness was his. Your happiness was his. Your happiness was his. Your happiness could never be his. Downing a drink that wouldn’t get him drunk as the other guests let loose with rowdiness. He was thankful for the rabblerousing it blocked his vision when your spouse snuck you away from the reception. 

It was then that he left. 

Engulfing his tower in a torrent of violent storms, hoping to soothe the despair that gripped his being. The image of the intimacy he dreamed of sharing with you, stolen by someone who proposed with such a small token. 

He knew he’d be unreachable for days.

But he would pull it together. 

Ruling his kingdom and writing to you with just as much vigor as always. His child of man may never be his but their happiness would be. He’d just have to make do with that. 

__________________________________________________________

“They cheated on me!? Tsuno-tarou can you believe it?! What happened till death do us part!?”

Malleus never thought he could throw up.  He hasn’t gotten sick for many a century but it reappeared at the revelation of your unscheduled visit. Bags in hand and tears on your face it was an avalanche of emotions the King of Briar Valley had closed himself to. 

Anger at the tears on your face. It took you far too long to tell him who’d put them there. Collapsing into his chest brought dismay. His darling human was strong, a paragon of a survivor. Now reduced to a shriveling mess barely holding onto him, shaking with exhaustion. 

Then relief.

There was the conviction in his mind that called for guilt, those thoughts of envy and want, quelled with the truth about your partner. It was rejuvenating that he didn’t have to fight himself any longer for the sake of your happiness. Shattered in their careless actions it was as though fate had created a caveat for the King. No longer would he have to stifle every insult he’d been waiting to spout the second their name left your lips. 

With you by his side, in his arms, it was time he’d silence those regrets of his. Older and wiser now his expertise in running his kingdom extended well past the governing of his people. In his solitude, he learned of the hunger within him. The broiling spirit that beckoned him to cast a spying magic on you in your day-to-day life. The side of him that knew how to speak a honeyed truth into your weakened ears. 

A truth that would one day have you offering a humble but promising stone. 

“I know it’s not much but Malleus…will you marry me?”

Those characters who would have refused knowing what unblinded happiness their love was entitled to were incredibly wrong—in Malleus' opinion. As the King of the Draconia line, he’s read a plethora of literature. Some depict love stories and others tragedies all fueling the romance he had chased after. Malleus had decided that the dreams he had were his greatest wish was fulfilled. Where his child of man looked only at him, where their happiness was him was better than what those books had suggested before. 

His happiness has always been in (Y/n) and by any means necessary he was going to be the happiness his child of man needed.

“I will. I always planned to.”

[pastorfutureletthembe]

I actually started this blog for one post only. The theory is that the story we are following is currently the 5th timeline.

I would need to watch the donghua again to find hints in the show itself but for now this post is exclusively about the content we keep getting served as fanservice. Now, people nowadays see this word as negative but in this particular case, we are evidently caught in an ARG (Alternative Reality Game), which is AWESOME.

For those who aren't familiar with the concept, it is basically a treasure hunt outside of the original media. For example, if you gather enough clues during your playthroughs of OXENFREE, you'll find the coordinates of an actual place where a real object, a gift FOR FANS was hidden. In the context of Link Click, I believe the rules and answers regarding the worldbuilding are hidden in plainsight for us to discover!

I will make different posts on the clues in lyrics, but for now we're gonna have a talk about VISUALS only. And boy, do we have THINGS to talk about

First things first, let's start with

>>>>> Promotional posters.

I'm opening this analysis with this particular one because it is the most relevant to current events. Black circles are V and white ones are IV. The huge clock is the background isn't supposed to be oriented this way for starters. One V is where XII should be, which could mean our journey starts here. The other V is between Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianxi, on the light side, while both VI are on the dark side. Every other VI on this artwork is a broken piece taken out of a quadrant except for the one on the right near Qiao Ling which is still part of the biggest piece.

It is interesting that we don't see any clockhands here, only the quadrant, and the only whole number is 5, ONLY on CXS's introduction.

Not so subtil, the mirror or "painting" is labeled 'V'. Lu Guang is also looking directly at US, viewers.

Probably five lines of five x but we only see 3, of which only the first one got 5x. Four diformed shapes can be seen at LG's left, under V/VI, which could be the four previous failed timelines. You might notice that LINK CLICK is written 5times. The clock says 00:05. Oh, familiar, isnt it?

As you can see, the V is a light in the darkess at Lu Guang's feet. it is a broken piece, though. The fact it is the enlighted one could mean two things. 1) It marks the spot, where we're currently at. 2) Hope. I would argue that until then Cheng Xiaoshi always died and now, at the end of season 2, Lu Guang is in the dark because he never went that far.

VI is there too, in complete darkness, blocked from view by a ring. There is something to say about VII being completely obliterated but I honeslty don't know how meaningful that could be.

>>> It is my understanding that if a character change the past, it breaks the timeline. Past changed, present and future cannot be the same ever again. It doesn't create a new timeline like in MARVEL, there is actually no going back from a changing node, it unravels this world. Either it already happened, allegedly because of Lu Guang, or will happen in the next season, we can suppose that Timeline VI is the actual doomed one. The fact Cheng Xiaoshi is trapped is relevant too. Destroying Present and Future would trapped him in the Past, hence Come back from the dive back in time.

>>>>> Dive Back in Time

There are many things to say about this one, but I'll keep it simple since it's already a long post. Let's start with something a bit out of topic: colors. Why? It actually indicates that LG isn't from the same timeline than CXS and QL. And I swear it would be useful at the end of this post.

Blue and Red are on the same plan, no matter if we're talking about RGB or CMYK, but Green and Magenta are not. It's like CXS and QL are anchoring LG in this reality, but Magenta is not supposed to be part of the mix. Primary colors in photography are Red, Blue and Green; not Magenta. Since we're talking about photography and this is not the original timeline, I think it is intended.

I'll leave the count of squares to you (spoiler: either 5 or 3 (I'll explain this one in another post) :D).

>>>>> Overthink

I recommend you read this glorious meta about this ending. I'll just "correct" mimicha on one point:

The way the hands are "cutting a piece" of the clock; just like in the promotional poster for Train Trail. It indicates 5. I'll also add this one:

If you look carefully, you'll see two words: TIME PARADOX. As said above, a paradox should NOT be possible with the rules LC gave us so far, but it could be related to the possible 6th doomed timeline. The "dark side" could try and make it happen. Just food for thoughts.

If you want more meta on OPs/ENDs, I recommend you also watch this glorious analysis. That's all I have to say for this one regarding the number 5.

>>>>> VORTEX

Not much to say, except for this "blink and you'll miss it" screenshot. If I missed anything, feel free to share with the class!

THE TIDES has, sadly, nothing to offer on this current topic!

>>>>> 3rd Anniversary: Surprising Click

Oh boy, do I have THINGS to say. Don't be surprised when I'll make another post about this Link Click monument haha. Note: 5 PVs were prepared for this anniversary. Coincidence? (I think not).

N O W A N D F O R E V E R

The only 5 clue I found is what looks like a clock with one hand going backwards, from X to IV, it appears while the chorus is playing. That might be a bit farfetched but I'd mention it for archives purpose anyway.

B R E A K

I won't be a smartass by pointing out BREAK is a five letters word but- okay that's infuriating of them if it is on purpose.

Most of it is obvious, the same logic applies, except for the cogs and hourglasses, we see four of each falling. Since LG's shadow/light goes from IV to V, it's safe to assume that those symbolize the four failed/achieved timelines. The ones left behind. I'll probably post something about cogs and hourglasses one day.

A last one, for the road:

S U R P R I S I N G C L I C K

You should take a look at this fan's brain! They did a wonderful work. I already had this part prepared so I'm still gonna share the obvious. Five mics ("time is like music"), and five letters (with photographs inside I'm guessing). Magenta and Green are very flashy in this one.

Oh, here are LG's five magenta squares from Dive Back in Time ;D

Four failed timelines/tasks, and... loading the first out of three chances. (Again, I can't address everything in one post, this one will have a long meta on his own, don't worry :D)

T R A I N T R I A L

Two occurances worth mentionning. Once again, V is the only timeline enlighted.

B U R N I N G P A L A C E

Many things are happening in this one but only one regarding our current meta. If you pay attention, you'll see it several times, while the chorus is playing:

x x x x x

Now, if you remember correctly, green is the exact chromatic opposite, the complementary color of magenta. They aren't on the same plan (primary vs secondary)/from the same timeline. Usually, they color Lu Guang but here, there is no magenta and no Lu Guang. With this in mind, could it be the paradox OVERTHINK warned us about? We can only assume Vein is from the same original timeline as LG. Red and Green are primary colors so yeah, we'll see.

That's all for today folks!

I had this brainworm eating at my life for weeks so I'm very happy that it is finally out there.

| Part 2 |

[cheshirebitch]

Can i request reader who has pingu energy with making and giving alastor his valentines day card please?

I didn’t know what you meant at first until I REALIZED haha. I hope I did you justice and that you enjoy as much as I did writing it! (Here’s a gif for the people who don’t know what this lovely requester meant)

𝔾𝕣𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕪 𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖

Alastor x Reader

I really hated Valentine’s Day. Like, I really fucking hate Valentine’s Day. You can only like the holiday so much when you caught your boyfriend cheating on you, shot him, and then got hit by a car while speeding away from the police. Hell of a way to go, I know. Alastor found it hilarious. Especially when my ex tried to stay at the hotel. The lovely deer man ended up eating him before I could get a word in. That was when I realized I really had a thing for the old fashion man.

That pretty much explains why I was now trying to make a card perfect enough to present to him. Everything had to be perfect, but it definitely was not going as planned. I have created at least thirty cards by now, none of which were good enough to give to Alastor. The top three cards so far got ruined when I spilled my paint water on them. I tried recreating the one with the deer puns, since he is always making them with me whenever he has a chance. We were both deer. I joked with Alastor that the reason I was created into a demon deer was because I was hit by a car, like how deer were commonly struck during my time alive.

The next card was completely red with different shades. With how he dresses, and his diet preferences, I figured his favorite color was red, hopefully. Inside it wrote in the fanciest cursive I could write, “You have my whole heart, try not to eat it.” I thought he would get a good chuckle out of that, just in case he doesn’t return the feelings as well.

The last card was one that had a drawing of Alastor I was actually proud of, but of course that was right when I knocked over the cup. Which, of course, stuck me in a completely grumpy mood. I grabbed the red construction paper and slammed it aggressively onto the table. I glared daggers at the cup, now empty of all its paint water, before smacking it off the table.

With the red construction paper in front of me, I glanced around the table for what I should slap onto this three hour long project. Husk walked past before stopping and back peddling.

“What are you doing?” Without hesitating, I mean mugged him.

”This stupid fucking heartfelt card bullshit.” I snatched the red glitter glue from the edge of the table and squirted it messily onto the cover of the card. I grabbed the other shade of red construction paper and started cutting out a heart shape. Husk chuckled, shaking his head.

”To who?” My eyes snapped back up to look at him. I grabbed the three ruined cards and tossed them towards the end of the table Husk stood at. He looked down at them, carefully flipping them without ruining them further than I already had.

“Al-“

”You shut your mouth, Cat.” He raised his eyebrows, dropping the ruined cards back down. The last thing I need is for Alastor to hear and come snooping around. I know him well enough that he could hear when someone says his name and always shortly swings by like the nosy man he is. I mean, he was a radio host. It was his job to be nosy.

“I will leave you to it.” He raised his hands up in surrender, walking back out of the room and towards wherever his original destination was. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get back to making your own stupid Valentine’s Day gift for Angel Dust. I huffed before slapping my cut out paper heart in the center. My fingers rummaged around the table, ready to grip the black marker whenever I found it. I was too busy glaring at the messy card. My teeth ripped off the cap, spitting the lid somewhere next to me, and then carefully writing his name with as much patience I had left. My patience was barely there, but there was enough for the cursive to come out great.

I was still pissed.

I snatched the card off the table, scribbled my message inside, and then marched to find the deer in question.

”Alastor! Where are you?” I strode into the lobby area, searching for Alastor so this nightmare could be done and over with.

"What's that frown on your face for?” Static and a smile.

“Here.” I spun around and aggressively held out the card, still completely grumpy about everything leading up to this moment. Alastor had an amused face, looking down at the card. Waiting for him to take it, I watched how he tossed his staff into the crook of his arm. His claws delicately took the card from my hands. Glad to be rid of the card and the pressure, I marched off back into the room where my three cards sat, slightly drier than before.

“Stupid fucking water. Stupid fucking cards.” I grumbled while cleaning up the mess I made on the table. Why did I have to worry so much if he liked it? Why did I even decide to even make him a card? He probably just thought it was friendly, or something negative. Valentine’s Day has always been just heartbreak, why did I set myself back up for it this year?

”You left before I could give you my gift, dear.” I jumped out of my skin and turned around to see Alastor looking at the three ruined cards.

”These are also very pleasant. I do wish they didn’t get ruined.” He flipped the cards back over to how they were sitting before. That’s when I saw the bouquet of my favorite flowers, a beautifully decorated card, and a black velvety box. My eyes shot up to his as they looked at me over his monocle. He straightened his back and took two long strides to me.

”I promise I won’t eat your heart if you promise to stop being so enticingly sweet.” The grump look on my face melted away into a sheepish smile. It must have been infectious as he smiled wider and more sincere. He gently places the gifts on a cleared section, then carefully grazes his claws on my face.

“There’s that beautiful smile, Mon Cher.” His hands dragged down from my face to my hands, pulling one up to kiss delicately, then flashing those crimson eyes of his back up to mine.

Okay, maybe Valentine’s Day won’t be so bad this year.

(As always, the character belong to their owner and the story belongs to me. If you have any requests or ideas, send them over :)! I will gladly try to write things for my supporters! Thank you for the love and have a great day <3!)

[nonsensical-pixels]

i've been on a historical challenges binge recently, so have the fruits of that! starting off with: 3 new, long gowns for your stuck-in-the-past sims! they are each meant for different periods of history 🥰

i do plan to add on to this collection, as i've seen a lot of very cute hairs, accessories, etc. that ts2 doesn't have yet 👀 so keep an eye out! more info on all 3 dresses under the cut 👇

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF ⌛

credits go to @my-historical-sims, @teanmoon, @clepysdra, and @zx-ta for the original ts4 creations! and to ea/maxis for the original mesh of the swan dress, which is technically a sims medieval to sims 4 to sims 2 conversion 🥰

ITEMS INCLUDED

4T2 MY-HISTORICALSIMS' MEDIEVAL BELTED DRESS (SFS | MF) - made as a late birthday present for @spell-bloom 😍 - mesh is yf-af only, but elder-enabled - everyday, formal, outerwear - 12 swatches - 5769 polys! 4T2 TEANMOON'S MINOAN MAIDEN DRESS (SFS | MF) - a redux of a dress i posted to the simscord literally a year ago and should never have posted tbh, the original was so bad - paired with 4t2 @clepysdra's gladiator sandals by me - meshes for tf-af, but again, elder enabled - everyday & formal - 6 swatches - 7190 polys! 4T2 ZXTA'S SIMS MEDIEVAL SWAN DRESS (SFS | MF) - expect some gaps between the cross-fabric at the back and the actual back, since they're painted on - mesh is yf-af only, but elder enabled - everyday & formal - 6 swatches - 3028 polys

SWATCHES

MEDIEVAL BELTED, MINOAN MAIDEN, AND LASTLY SWAN

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! part 2 will come whenever i have the energy honestly, so don't get too excited. happy simming though, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

[boggledoodle]

Travelling

So. I've got this idea. Imagine this: after the rise movie, after Cass apocalypse series (it's already canon for me), all the turtles are finally ok. Both present and future-alive, their injuries and traumas healed.

Then Splinter has an idea: they saved the world. Literally. So let's go see the world. Afterall, boys haven't ever been out of NYC.

Baron Draxum makes them cloaking broaches, so they look human to everyone except each other and can travel by daylight. Future Donnie provides them with money (just don't ask how or where from). Future turtles decide to stay in New York and enjoy some peace after, you know, apocalypse. And keep an eye on the city while teenagers and Splinter are away.

First stop- Italy. Cause pizza😉 They've got to try the original pizza (Splinter wanted to start from Japan, but was outvoted).

So here they are in a city plaza (I used Turin for reference), each doing their own thing while Splinter tries to figure out where they are supposed to go next.

Leo's feeding pigeons, Mikey's painting, Donnie helps out Mikey and at the same time researches history of the city. Raph's relaxing✨. Splinter told everyone he has been here when traveling as an actor and DEFINITELY knows where the best pizza place is, but let him consult the map again. Why does this thing have to be so large and hard to read?

I'm planning to make a series of paintings, all about their family exploring the world and having fun😉

Why? Cause I want to😎 And after all they've been through, they totally deserve it

[seungsuki]

head pats - who doesn't love head pats? (gn!reader)

warning: none

note: nini is in her lazy era ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summer has already spread in the fields of Easton Magic Academy. It was one of those rare days when the divine visionaries of the building got a brief break from work. Having nothing planned [name] quietly stood in front of a window and enjoyed the breeze. 

Rayne Ames, the serious and somewhat reserved divine visionary, stood not too far. His yellow eyes locked onto the sight in front of him; you. He silently watched you, trying to print the image in his mind. 

You suddenly shuddered. Was it the cold wind hitting your sensitive skin? You looked around and saw a piercing set of eyes watching your every move. An awkward smile painted your face as you quietly strolled over to the double-liner 

“Surprise seeing you here Rayne”, you joked 

“Why would it be a surprise?”, he asked locking eyes with you 

Oh god, here we go again. Your eyes never left his gaze and you painfully gulped. A small blush erupted, enhancing your already perfect features. Your heart beating faster and faster as time slows down 

“You’re never this quiet”, Rayne spoke again 

You broke out of your trance and shook your head from the thoughts lingering in your mind. You hoped Rayne didn’t notice how much of a lovesick puppy you become whenever he’s present in front of you. 

“I can’t think of anything to say”, you muttered 

Liar. your internal thoughts overlapped your actual words. You could go on and on about how great this moment was. How you wish you could frame this opportunity to look back at it… you cringed at how you sounded right now.

“That’s unusual. You’re always chatty”, Rayne questioned your behaviour 

“I’m using my only chance to escape from the paperwork orter throws on my desk”, you sighed remembering your long-due work 

“Then you better get to it”, Rayne said 

In an attempt to leave, he gave you a small pat on the head before leaving you behind. As soon as Rayne was out of sight, you fell flat on the ground. Your knees gave up and your heartbeat rate skyrocketed. Coincidentally, mash and his gang were walking around the corridors. They walked into the scene and Finn was the first one to run over 

“[name]! Are you okay?”, Finn bent down to reach your level 

“Rayne”, you whispered 

“Rayne..? What about him?”, Finn asked trying to piece together the problem 

“He patted my head!!”, you joyfully remembered touching your head 

“That’s it? You gave me a heart attack!” 

Lemon overheard the conversation and squealed in joy. She quickly rushed to you and got you back on your feet. Holding your hand tightly, the both of you jumped up and down in excitement 

“You’re one step closer to winning his heart!”, lemon cheered 

Lance and Mash watched the interaction in confusion. They knew you had a crush on Rayne but they didn't expect you to be down bad for the divine visionary. Finn sighed at your behaviour.

While everyone watched you and Lemon gush over the simple touch, Rayne was behind the wall, listening to everything. He knew you liked him and he felt the same. Maybe a new love story will bloom? Only time will tell (definitely not nini being too lazy to write an actual story)

© seungsuki 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

You've Got Some Nerve Trying to Buy Me

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Silvio: "Alright then, let's see what you all have brought."

At Silvio's command, the gathered merchants eagerly began to showcase the items they had brought.

Merchant 1: "This is a rare crystal said to exist only in a few places on the continent."

Merchant 2: "This is a golden cup crafted over the course of a year by a master goldsmith known as the Arm of God."

Merchant 3: "This is the fur of a beast that inhabits only limited areas in the north."

Merchant 4: "This painting is said to be the final work of a legendary artist."

With the opportunity to buy Silvio's favor for his birthday, the merchants display their carefully selected items one after another.

(I've never seen these things before.)

(You could buy an entire country with this stuff.)

Silvio: "You're the last one."

(.........)

All the eyes in the hall turned towards me.

I had prepared myself, but my legs still trembled with nervousness.

Silvio: "This all started because you wished for something in exchange for my birthday."

Silvio: "Let's see what the one who started it all has brought."

Emma: "Sure."

(It's gonna be okay. He gave me a hint last night.)

(As the fiancée of the continent's top merchant, I can't afford to lose.)

Emma: "I've prepared the thing you want the most."

I spoke clearly and presented the item.

Merchant 1: "What's that piece of paper?"

Merchant 2: "What is this woman thinking?"

As murmurs spread through the crowd, Silvio silently took the letter and read it.

After a while,

Silvio: "Geez..."

He carefully folded the letter he had just finished reading and let out a big sigh.

Silvio: "As frustrating as it is, this is what I want the most right now."

(----!)

Merchants: "What!?"

Silvio: "As promised, I'll let you buy me."

Emma: "Thank you, Prince Silvio!"

(Phew, it worked!)

Merchant 1: "What's going on? Is that some kind of contract?"

Merchant 2: "What kind of deal did that woman make?"

The hall buzzed with surprise at the unexpected turn of events.

As I felt the gazes of awe and even fear directed at me, Silvio quietly hid his blushing face with his hand.

The next day,

Having successfully won his birthday at the auction, I stayed at the villa.

From the moment we woke up, I spent a dreamlike day with him, from baking a cake to having fun at the beach.

As the sky began to change color, he and I sat side by side on the sandy beach, leisurely watching the sunset.

(We really were together all day from morning till now.)

The pleasant evening breeze cooled my skin, warmed by the wine.

Wearing the dress I'd prepared for today, with my hair tied back, the sea breeze felt even more refreshing than usual.

(I didn't think I'd end up relaxing with him on his birthday.)

(It feels like I received a gift, even though it's his birthday.)

Silvio: "Using the time you won to watch the sunset, you've really started to indulge in some real luxuries."

Emma: "I'm the fiancée of the richest man on the continent, after all."

Silvio: "No argument there."

Silvio: "Still, I didn't expect you to sneak in pretending to be a merchant."

Emma: "Were you surprised?"

Silvio: "Yeah. You really are a woman who never goes along with my plans."

(I was worried about how things would turn out, but I'm glad we could celebrate his birthday like this.)

Silvio: "To be honest, my plans were getting a bit off track, so your proposal was a godsend."

(Plans?)

(Carlo seemed to be hiding something too. I wonder if there was a reason he stayed cooped up in the villa.)

(The merchants seemed to have gathered for the birthday celebration, but...)

(That reminds me.)

------------Flashback-----------

Merchant 2: "You're right. We would also like to celebrate on the day if permitted."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(The way he said that sounds like they weren't allowed to celebrate on the actual day.)

(Even though I won the auction, he really gave me his entire day free.)

(Could it be...?)

Emma: "Were you staying in the villa because you were keeping your entire birthday free?"

Silvio: "..........."

He silently turned away and sipped from his glass.

Emma: "Prince Silvio."

Silvio: "I just didn't feel like dealing with the usual hassle of merchants swarming around me."

(Sure, being celebrated by various people on your birthday could be hectic, but spending an entire week cooped up in the villa was way harder.)

(He went to such lengths to make time for me.)

Silvio: "You didn't need to take such a big risk and write such an embarrassing letter, you know?"

Silvio: "I had my birthday free all along. Tough luck for you."

Emma: "It's mean to call it embarrassing!"

Emma: "You were blushing and getting all red-faced too!"

Silvio: "I was not!"

Emma: "You were!"

Silvio: "Do you have any idea how I felt having to read that letter in front of everyone?"

Silvio: "You took the opportunity to write all sorts of lovesick nonsense."

(He's right. I might have gotten a bit carried away.)

The letter was filled with my heartfelt love for him.

"I, Emma, can make Silvio enjoy, and feel loved on his birthday more than anyone else."

I wrote that I could provide something invaluable that money could never buy.

Emma: "I thought it had to be something significant to win you over."

Silvio: "What I wanted wasn't a letter."

(Yeah. What Silvio wants the most isn't a rare item or a letter—it's me.)

(That night, he came to tell me that.)

Emma: "Thank you."

I leaned against him, letting the slight intoxication take over.

Emma: "I love that about you."

Silvio: "What's that? I didn't catch that. What do you love about me?"

He pulled me closer, his eyes challenging me as they locked onto mine.

(Wait, did I say that out loud!?)

Emma: "Uh, well, I love how you do so much for me and how you love me."

Silvio: "Anything else?"

I realized he was playing with the strap of my dress, making my heart race even more.

Emma: "Everything I wrote in that letter!"

Silvio: "A letter isn't enough. Say it straight to my face like you do when you're being cheeky."

(..........)

He grabbed my chin and made me face him.

(I'm blushing.)

(Is this how he felt when he read my letter?)

Emma: "You're a tyrant, stubborn, and a mean demon."

Silvio: "Hey."

Emma: "But you always take care of me and love me."

Emma: "Every time you do something for me, I get so happy I can hardly contain myself."

Emma: "I love how you always think of me."

Emma: "Thank you for letting me celebrate this special day of yours."

Silvio: ".........."

Silvio: "You're blushing too."

Emma: "Of course I am. Saying something like this face-to-face is... mmph."

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine, and his tongue traced my lower lip.

The lingering scent of alcohol mingled with the kiss, making my head swim.

Emma: "Ah…"

He pulled away, and a soft sigh escaped me.

Silvio: "Hah, this is the most fulfilling birthday I've ever had."

Silvio: "You think so too, right?"

His provocative gaze made my rationality crumble, and the loneliness I'd been storing for a week surfaced.

Emma: "Prince Silvio, let's go back to our room."

Emma: "It's getting dark, and the wind is picking up."

Silvio: "Is that the only reason?"

Emma: "Yes."

Silvio: "You're a terrible liar."

Emma: "......."

His fingers, which had been playing with my dress strap, now traced up my shoulder to my neck.

Silvio: "This whole day is yours."

Silvio: "If you want to go to our room, I'll make it happen."

Silvio: "After all, you still haven't paid the full amount for the day you bought."

We returned to the villa, and I gave him the one thing he wanted most—myself.

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Part 3 ╎ Part 4

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention Part 4 - Beef

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Afab Reader (referred to as she/her) x Trafalgar Law

Summary: Law and Zoro finally face off in a slightly heated discussion about you

CW: Brief mentions of slavery and violence, slightly toxic male “Bro” like behavior. You are the prize after all.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Next Chapter: Part 5

Word Count: 2.2k

MDNI. Even though this chapter does not contain any explicit content, the rest of the story does. Please respect this disclaimer.

I was originally going to present this chapter as a two-parter because I didn’t want to leave it as a cliffhanger, but the first part is completed and I’m still working on the second part and I wanted to finally release something for this story. I hope you’ll enjoy this little snippet and I will try to complete the next part soon. Happy Reading!

(Divider by @/cafekitsune and banner by @/eelnoise

Law couldn’t be more thrilled. Somehow, blessedly, you would be staying with him.

More simply, it would be you and the other remaining Strawhats on the journey to Wano, but the details of your failed rendezvous were irrelevant. For now he could at least continue enjoying your company.

Re-coordinating the plan was difficult, though having dealt with the Strawhat captain made Law more skilled at adapting to irritating deviations. His crew was a godsend for they were practiced in anticipating his needs before even being asked. Their reunion had filled him with the realization of how close he’d been to never seeing them again. Would they have forgiven him? Would they have even cared? Would they harbor any resentment for him abandoning them? It took great difficulty to prevent himself from falling down a rabbit hole of self-loathing, but it was combatted with his gratefulness for having such dedicated and devoted people in his life. He’d also internalized your guiding words which reminded him that there wouldn’t even be a dependable and trustworthy crew of his if there weren’t a great captain to lead them.

His mind and heart had been a jumbled mess on the days leading to Zou. A shard of his heart was being taken away, and he feared it would make the rest of him collapse in a way his own Devil Fruit wouldn’t be able to fix. He’d dreaded the moment he’d leave you behind—even more so when you’d clung to him, rendering him frozen with your unshed tears, a suffocating lump lodging in his throat. He’d never seen you look so small and defeated, shriveled as your vivacious essence was drained. Any doubts of your feelings for him were wiped clean when you’d whispered softly how guilty you felt for wanting to stay with him.

Despite your anguish over your blasphemous confession, a part of him— more mountainous than he cared to admit—was delighted that he’d somehow nestled himself within your heart. He’d kissed you so fiercely, pilfering the breath from your lungs, and uttered thankful praises against your lips for painting his world a little brighter—saturating it with your sweetness.

Now that your time together was extended, he had the luxury of hosting you within his domain. Almost daily he struggled with the task of remaining discreet and careful not to further exacerbate the brewing tension between you, him, and Zoro. Not so secretly Law wished the mossy-haired swordsman had joined the others in their rescue of their cook, though he soon realized how futile that would have been given Zoro and the Cook’s contentious relationship.

What was even more concerning was Zoro’s audacious hovering—the man never let you out of his sight. Evidently you and him had engaged in some sort of tryst and now he’d magnetized himself to you and was digging in his heels. Law had taken for granted the minimized scrutiny he’d had aboard the Sunny and how greatly it’d worked in his favor. Now back on the Polar Tang he was forced to maintain the veneer of a respectable host. Ultimately he found himself lying awake at night, wishing to carry you back to his quarters and lavish you with his mouth and body every second of every day it took to reach Wano.

The question now was: where would everyone sleep? How would they divvy up the common areas? The Polar Tang was quite large, but it was uncertain if it could comfortably house 8 guests. The easiest solution was to drag in the spare cots from the infirmary and send all of the men to the men’s quarters.

With strained indifference he’d sent you and Robin to stay with Ikkaku, whose keen eyes took notice of him lingering in the doorway as you settled in. Between her and Robin he felt far too exposed, but it was understood that they’d never mention anything about it. Not to him anyway.

As the sun dipped into the horizon amongst brushstrokes of apricot and magenta, the mighty sub made its descent, hurtling deep into the ocean’s depths. While the Heart Captain sat in his office a soft knock wrapped at his door.

“Hey Captain,” popped Bepo’s head from the doorway as Shachi squeezed past to join him, “that one Strawhat guy was looking for you earlier.”

Massaging his temples, Law prayed that no one else had tampered with anything else of importance.

“If it’s their shipwright tell him we’ll arrive at the next island in a few days’ time, so he can get the materials to fix that tank Long Nose-ya busted.”

Bepo scratched his head as Shachi struggled to hold in his snicker—he’d been complicit in pranking the sniper after all.

“No, it’s that green-haired swordsman who’s been wandering around all day and knocking things over with those swords of his. I think he’s lost but he won’t tell anyone where he’s trying to go.

He’s probably looking for you, Law thought to himself, remembering how you’d spent most of the day sleeping.

“Figures. Bring him and his astronomically pathetic sense of direction in here.”

“Who’re you calling pathetic,” came a grunt from the other side of the door before Bepo stepped aside.

“Actually Captain he’s right here.”

“Yes I see Bepo, thank you. You both can leave. And Shachi, stop encouraging the Strawhats from wreaking anymore havoc. We have too long of a journey together. We can’t afford anymore repairs.”

“Aye aye sir,” Shachi saluted, failing to wipe the shit-eating grin from his face as he ushered Bepo out of the room and closed the door.

Law and Zoro were finally alone, which had never actually happened before they’d arrived at Zou. Much to their surprise they’d formed a delicate alliance, one that stemmed from their disdain for the ludicrous mourning over Kanjuro’s crude drawing and their shared excitement for meeting a ninja. They’d become tentative acquaintances—save for the awkward chill that surged between them whenever you squeezed in to link your arms with theirs. Side-glancing each other over the top of your head, they reluctantly folded as you guided them along.

Zoro leaned against the desk a few steps from where Law sat, who frowned as the force of the other man’s weight knocked over his lamp.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking anything but.

“What is it that you want Zoro-ya.”

Taking a moment to answer, he ran his finger over the hilt of Wado Ichimonji.

“Where’s she sleeping tonight?”

Setting down his pen, Law swiveled around to face him.

“Somewhere you’ll never be able to find.”

The perilous edge in Zoro’s eye made him snort.

“Relax Hercules. She’s with Nico-ya in Ikkaku’s room.”

Blowing out a breath, Zoro shifted on his feet. “Surprised you didn’t drag her to your lair.”

“Are you saying I’m Hades?”

The genuine befuddlement crossing Zoro’s face prompted Law to trudge neatly along.

“I might’ve thought about it but i figured it would be inappropriate to grant her the privilege in front of everyone.”

Zoro smirked and Law relaxed, leaning back in his seat.

“I would if I could though.”

Zoro glanced aside to the disorganized pile of books stacked in a corner.

“Everyone knows you know. Even your crew.”

“I know.” Law laid his hands over his stomach, drumming his fingers. “But I can at least maintain the illusion that we’re all keeping it professional.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m lookin grab her right now and take her to that...observation aquarium-thingy she likes so much. Makes for a very romantic setting.”

With a scoff Law turned back to his desk. “Good luck finding it.”

A bark of laughter whisked the tension aside as Zoro removed his katanas to lean them next to him against the desk. Carding a hand through his hair he turned to face Law properly.

“I can see why she likes you so much.”

Law’s brow twitched as he was unable to tamp down his confusion.

“She likes people who give it to her straight. Bet you’ve said things to her that most people would consider rude.”

He was momentarily stage-hooked to his first encounter with you and smiled.

“One day I basically told her she looked like shit. Like she hadn’t slept for a week.”

“I see,” Zoro replied, concealing his laugh with a fist over his mouth. “Did she...ever tell you why she has so much trouble sleeping?”

Of course you had. It’d been one of the very first offerings of yourself you’d entrusted him with.

“Almost every night for weeks on end, without even breaks sometimes, they forced me to participate in those underground fighting rings under the threat of being sold as a slave to a Celestial Dragon. All thanks to my shitty parent’s debts. And ever since, I’ve been like a prisoner in my own mind. I don’t think you realize how much you’ve helped me.”

“Yeah, she told me.”

Zoro scratched his jaw.

“She still has those nightmares you know, even now. But I imagine you’ve provided the perfect late-night distraction for her.”

Law’s eyes widened in bewilderment.

“I thought she was with you during all of those late nights. You both seem so close after all.”

“Well. Shit,” Zoro shook his head, “I guess we were both missing our opportunity.”

“I guess we were,” Law affirmed with a wry smile.

A blanket of comfortable silence settled before Law turned back to re-open his book.

“Looks like I’ll have to work harder to find a way to steal her away.”

Zoro’s head snapped back to him, eye gleaming with careful warning.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Law’s face gave away nothing as he flipped the pages of his book.

“You sure? I can be very convincing. My crew seems to like her already. I’m sure she’d fit right in.”

“She’s not the type to abandon us just because she fell a little for your pretty boy charms,” Zoro muttered, leaning closer.

“Well it seems your Mr. Cool act hasn’t been enough to keep her full attention, so you never know.”

Zoro’s mouth curled in a taunting sneer.

“I definitely had her attention a few weeks ago in our kitchen. And I was also smart enough not to cut it short by the way.”

Law snapped his book shut, bristling as he stood up.

“She told you about that?”

“Not directly. I could just tell. She said it was good though.”

His body eased with relief. He’d been worried he hadn’t given you enough during your last encounter. It was good to know you’d at least liked it. He’d give you so much more if you let him.

“Well luckily I have ways of bringing her to me discreetly, if she wishes. And we’ll have plenty of privacy for me to service her properly.”

Zoro leaned closer, not quite touching his nose to Law’s but close enough to feel the heat from his body.

“Don’t think it’s gonna be that easy to take her just because you made her cum.”

Law countered with unwavering eyes, “I don’t know if you’re trying to offend me Zoro-ya, but this thing between us is much deeper than just satisfying her sexually, and I think you’re underestimating that.”

“I’m not underestimating shit. That’s why I’m telling you. I won’t back off, and I’m guessing you’re not either, so this ain’t personal but I’ll fight you for her if I have to.

Their aggressions squared off until Zoro shifted back to tuck his katanas safely back into his haramaki.

“You’re lucky you’re too noble of a guy to play around with her heart, otherwise I’d have to slice you up just for wasting her time.”

Law remained stood at his desk, arms folded.

“And I know you’re too honorable of a man to sacrifice the greater good of our alliance for some non-beef with me. It’s nothing personal on my end either.”

Fully finished with the conversation, Law sighed and held out his hand. “I’m sending you back to the men’s quarters now since I do not trust you to find it on your own.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me so you can-“ but his reply was cut short as he was teleported out of the room, replaced with a dirty sock that flopped to the floor.

Collapsing back into his chair, he threaded his fingers behind his head. Considering Zoro’s accusation he now considered actually teleporting himself to Ikkaku’s room and stealing you away. Before he could talk himself out of it he focused on a discarded hairbrush and landed softly on the carpet. You were still sound asleep in your bunk, tightly wrapped in your blankets. As he approached your bed he considered an item inconspicuous enough to swap himself with without being too obvious that his presence had been the reason for your absence.

Settling on a pen, he bundled you up in his arms and swiftly warped back to his room, setting you down on the bed just as your eyes cracked open. His heart fluttered as you gave him a dreamy smile.

“I was wondering when I was going to see you.”

[shreddedleopard]

Okay back on my bullshit and I need to talk about these —

This to me is a direct call back by Sherlock to Liam pre- William James Moriarty. Baby Liam, before he stained his hands with all that killing and stole the identity of another child. Can you see the way Sherlock gets down on his knee like that? Know what it reminds me of?

How you speak to a child on their level.

“You’ve taken your first step …”

Also feels very child-oriented to me. And painting an ideal future …?

Sherlock is appealing here to the boy who never was; the boy who never got the chance to grow up and learn about his true self …

“My own self …”

Liam’s entire life has been spent behind a mask. His whole existence was that of a ghost; the shell of a dead child. He never gave himself permission to consider who he truly was; him him, and not William Moriarty, because the old him had to die in that fire all those years ago. I cannot even begin to think about what that must feel like.

And then along came Sherlock Holmes, and with a simple look during a moment of rare honesty from Liam — his genuine, child-like inquisitiveness at the sight of that spiral staircase provoking a trait that was truly his — his love of mathematics — Sherlock was able to effortlessly reach out and take the hand of the person who existed behind the mask.

A mathematician: one of the most elementary aspects of Liam’s character, indeed. His love of mathematics shone long before he committed his first act of violence. To be judged so quickly and found not to be the devil, but just a man who loves numbers — that was a glimpse of his true self that he’d almost forgotten about, amidst the pressure of his plans on the Noahtic.

Sherlock is also, aside from Louis and Albert, the only person to my knowledge who is aware of Liam’s true name — and because it was Liam’s choice to gift that knowledge to him. Recalling that Liam believed he was about to die, him giving Sherlock the evidence of his birth, as he was truly originally supposed to be, feels like a painfully poignant and intimate gesture.

Even we, the readers, are not privy to that information. It’s granted only to Sherlock; a secret they share.

The theme of rebirth is very present in the climax of the story, and Liam even states in his letter that if only he could be born again, this time he thinks he and Sherlock would be true friends. It’s desperately sad that he can’t see at that point that he doesn’t need to be reborn to get back in touch with his old self, because he’s still there inside of him. Sherlock is the proof of that, because Sherlock hasn’t found a friend and, dare I say it, a soulmate in William Moriarty, or the Lord of Crime. Sherlock has found that connection with the man beneath the mask.

During the moment on the Thames, William James Moriarty did indeed die a second time. But this time it was so that Liam, as his true self, could re-emerge. This is why he suddenly sees all those colours again — that which was buried is now brought forth towards the light.

Another small point to make is the decision to have Sherlock use Liam almost immediately. It’s a name that feels a lot more removed from the identity of William Moriarty than for example, Will. It’s new and something that’s very much separate from the dead boy Liam embodies. It’s a tiny glimpse of the branch in identities beginning once again after years of suffering his sins in silence.

I could go on and on about all this. It’s probably just obvious stuff to most people. But god damn is it the most beautiful story of losing and finding oneself again, even in the darkest depths of despair, because someone cared enough to reach out a hand.

Might just be my favourite.