#Account based routing

[saassysaas]

Account-Based Routing: The Key to Closing High-Value Deals

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By integrating AI-driven routing with CRM systems like Salesforce, businesses can automate lead assignments while maintaining a personalized touch. Companies using account-based routing experience higher deal closure rates and stronger customer relationships.

👉 Want to optimize your sales process? Explore account based routing solutions today!

[beatx-mavie-archangelx]

hi the arcana fandom i was wondering did we give up or did they manage to block us all?

[seonghwaddict]

save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[rubyarerosies]

what would lowkeyartist!sukuna do and react if his wife and kids identity was revealed🤨

for dramatics, i feel like the way his family’s identity is revealed is most likely from an inside source. His hair stylist, probably new to his team wouldn’t do it intentionally, he’s probably taking a video and in the background is clear view of you and Sukuna entertaining your son. And so the video spreads and everyone starts to investigate.

Sukuna would most likely not hear about it until you come back from picking up your son from daycare with Toji.

“What happened? Why’re you crying?” you’re huffing, hair is frizzled than how it normally looks, and the gloss over your eyes concern him immensely. He takes your son into his arms, the little boy not knowing about the turmoil his mother is facing while he sleeps. You’re happy he was, because then he wouldn’t be so scared of the crowd that seemed to surround him half and hour ago.

“Your little fan base knows about them now,” Toji spoke up, walking through the door with your sons bag and car seat (you left your car at the daycare, calling Toji to come pick you up so that the fans don’t stalk your car all the way home. Toji most definitely took a different route to your house than usual)

Sukuna stares confused, his hold on his son faltering a little bit, Toji continues, “they were at his daycare, it was a big crowd, Ryomen,”

“Fuck,” he whispers, his arm coming around your shoulder so he could pull you into a soft embrace, he kisses apologies into your hairline, saying he’ll fix this, “go wash up, I’ll go see what I can do,”

The next day he goes live and everyone notices how disappointed, angry, and upset he looks. He’s not in his studio, but a room at his agency. It’s a rough, 15-25 minute video - he’s already planned out what he’s going to say by the help of Toji and his media team (Toji insisted he needed to be professional about this or else it wouldn’t be taken seriously or well - despite his lack of care for how offended the media would be, a voice in his mind reminded him of his family back home)

He thanks everyone for supporting him so far and for giving him the content life he has now, but he firmly admits that he doesn’t like mixing up the two together. “my private life is to not be shown carelessly online, my family is to stay offline,”

He over goes the incident that happened at the day care and affirms that he will be taking legal action against accounts, websites etc that post those videos or photos - “my wife and son are normal people too, I expect everyone to treat them as such or else me and my team will take legal action,”

“I hope you all come understand why I’ve come off offensive right now, my family is very important to me and I’m not afraid to drop this career for them.”

[avelera]

thesis about the sea peoples you say? may i request an infodump about the sea peoples?

Heya!

So, basically in college (undergraduate) I got really obsessed with the questions around the Collapse of the Aegean Bronze Age, mostly because I wanted to set my big Magnum Opus historical fiction novel in that time, and the deeper I dug into the rabbit hole the more it appeared that no one, absolutely no one, actually knows why the civilizations around the Mediterranean all fell from a state of pretty sophisticated internationally-trading civilizations to literal Dark Ages (all except for Egypt which was substantially weakened and never really recovered), all at once around 1200-1100 BCE.

The Sea Peoples are the names of the only contemporary (Egyptian) account we have that names who might have been responsible if this collapse was due to an invasion. It's a popular theory because a viking-style invasion is a much sexier reason for a civilization to collapse so we all gather around it like moths to flame. But the thing is, there's a lot of contradictory evidence for and against and shading that hypothesis.

Suffice to say, literally no actually knows what happened and almost every answer comes up, "Some combination of these things, probably?"

But what makes the Collapse even more interesting from a modern perspective is that if there was a historical Trojan War (and I think there was) as fictionalized in the Iliad and the Odyssey (and Song of Achilles, for the Tumbrlistas), then it would have taken place within a generation of the entire civilization that launched the Trojan War crumbling to dust.

So like, if you're Telemachus, your dad Odysseus fights in the Trojan War, some even manage to get home, and then like... everything goes to shit. Catastrophically. And doesn't recover for 400 years.

Seriously, they lost the written word, like how to actually write things down and read them and it took 400 years to get it back. That's how fucked shit got during the Collapse of the Bronze Age.

So my thesis was asking: what if these two things were related? What if the Trojan War either led to the Collapse or it was part of the Collapse or it was a result of the Collapse? Because the timeline is so unknown and muddled that it really could be any of those and again, that's if the Trojan War isn't entirely fictional (which I don't think it is, but many academics disagree, it used to be a whole thing up until Schliemann dug it up, and many doubted it was ever a historical event even after that.)

Ok, so at the risk of writing 75 pages on this again, let me just say:

My conclusion (more of a hypothesis proposal ultimately since there are so many gaps in our knowledge) was that the Trojan War took place before the Collapse of the Bronze Age. But, it might have been launched in response to a wider breakdown in trades routes and resources, causing the Greeks to launch the campaign basically as a bid to replenish their own coffers because they were getting squeezed by what they didn't know was the first rumblings of a global domino effect.

Therefore, since taking out Troy didn't solve those larger trends and forces, they all went home and then got slammed by the REAL problem, which was all the people who had been displaced from further away by this rolling drought or invasion or whatever that was disrupting these delicate international trade routes.

But the Greeks might have been part of the Sea Peoples too! Our only record of the Sea Peoples is from the Egyptians in a highly propagandistic text which makes them sound like this big fearsome foe but that might have been because saying, "We slaughtered a bunch of desperate refugees at our border who were looking for shelter," didn't sound as cool. If the Greeks (or Achaeans or Ahhiyawa) got swept up in this slow-rolling collapse/displacement of people, then they absolutely could have been among those refugees who crashed against the shores of Egypt.

A lot of my evidence was based on looking at how Troy was sacked (it was stripped literally down the nails and there was a lot of evidence of a long-term siege, like what we read about in the Iliad) vs. how Mycenae (Agamemnon's city) or Pylos (King Nestor's city) was sacked, where they were burned and stuff was stolen but they weren't stripped, it looks more like a standard looting hit-and-run type thing. Which led me to believe that it was different turmoil that rocked Mycenae and Pylos than what led to the sacking of Troy, despite the fact these things happened within about 20 years of each other. (Helen being a made-up reason for a resource-driven war would only be the oldest trick in the book, as far as propaganda goes, after all.)

But really, the craziest detail I'll leave you with is: we just don't know! And then it gets weirder. Because the Hittites fell at the same time so the Hittites scholars say, "Nah, the Sea Peoples weren't Hittites, they were probably Greeks." And the GREEK scholars say, "It wasn't us, it was probably the Hittites or someone else. " and the EGYPTIAN scholars say, "Yeah it was someone north of Egypt, maybe the Hittites or the Greeks." and the LEVANT scholars say, "It wasn't from the Levant, we know what was going on there, it has to be from somewhere else."

Literally every single possible source of the Sea Peoples has the scholars who specialize in that location saying it's not them and it must be the guy next door.

It's maddening!

And then there's a big ol' gap around Bulgaria and the Black Sea because, oh yeah, the Soviet Union forbade archaeology in those areas to quash any local pride so those places that were behind the Iron Curtain are decades behind on scholarship that would allow them to say, "Oh hey, it was actually us! Yeah, the invaders came from Bulgaria and got pushed down by a famine." or something to that effect.

We also have some histories from the time saying that the Sons of Heracles returned not long after the Trojan War to lay Greece to waste! And it's really evocative and sounds like it fits what we've got of all these burned cities that happened right after Troy fell! Except that's in doubt now too!

The latest theory is that it was climate change that led to a massive drought. You can read about it in the latest and most popular book on the subject, 1177 BCE which I highly recommend because if it had existed when I wrote my thesis, I wouldn't have had to write it.

But I disagree with the conclusion! Or rather, I'm skeptical. Because very decade, the problems of the day have been hypothesized as being the cause of the Collapse. Like, in the 60s, there was a theory that maybe it was internal strife around a labor strike, like the French Revolution. And y'know when there's a world war, they think it's an invasion. And there was a theory that it was 'cuz of an earthquake (I think that one is nonsense, Mediterranean civilizations famously bounce back quickly from earthquakes.) And now that climate change is on our mind, I'm a little weary to see that it's the new theory because it feels way too much like we're just projecting our problems onto this giant question mark.

Was climate an aspect! I think so! I think it might have contributed to the break down in trade routes that made everyone in the Mediterranean really stressed out and hostile and warlike and led to a lot of displacement. I'm not sure if it's the only reason though and I think the book just kinda reiterates everyone else saying, "I think it was this but in the end, we just don't know, and it was probably a lot of things." which we've known for ages so it's just repeating all the same conclusions. *sigh*

... Like I said, I wrote my thesis on this so yeah, I could go on for a while lol.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The cod-Marxism of personalized pricing

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

The social function of the economics profession is to explain, over and over again, that your boss is actually right and that you don't really want the things you want, and you're secretly happy to be abused by the system. If that wasn't true, why would your "choose" commercial surveillance, abusive workplaces and other depredations?

In other words, economics is the "look what you made me do" stick that capitalism uses to beat us with. We wouldn't spy on you, rip you off or steal your wages if you didn't choose to use the internet, shop with monopolists, or work for a shitty giant company. The technical name for this ideology is "public choice theory":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Of all the terrible things that economists say we all secretly love, one of the worst is "price discrimination." This is the idea that different customers get charged different amounts based on the merchant's estimation of their ability to pay. Economists insist that this is "efficient" and makes us all better off. After all, the marginal cost of filling the last empty seat on the plane is negligible, so why not sell that seat for peanuts to a flier who doesn't mind the uncertainty of knowing whether they'll get a seat at all? That way, the airline gets extra profits, and they split those profits with their customers by lowering prices for everyone. What's not to like?

Plenty, as it turns out. With only four giant airlines who've carved up the country so they rarely compete on most routes, why would an airline use their extra profits to lower prices, rather than, say, increasing their dividends and executive bonuses?

For decades, the airline industry was the standard-bearer for price discrimination. It was basically impossible to know how much a plane ticket would cost before booking it. But even so, airlines were stuck with comparatively crude heuristics to adjust their prices, like raising the price of a ticket that didn't include a Saturday stay, on the assumption that this was a business flyer whose employer was footing the bill:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

With digitization and mass commercial surveillance, we've gone from pricing based on context (e.g. are you buying your ticket well in advance, or at the last minute?) to pricing based on spying. Digital back-ends allow vendors to ingest massive troves of commercial surveillance data from the unregulated data-broker industry to calculate how desperate you are, and how much money you have. Then, digital front-ends – like websites and apps – allow vendors to adjust prices in realtime based on that data, repricing goods for every buyer.

As digital front-ends move into the real world (say, with digital e-ink shelf-tags in grocery stores), vendors can use surveillance data to reprice goods for ever-larger groups of customers and types of merchandise. Grocers with e-ink shelf tags reprice their goods thousands of times, every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/26/glitchbread/#electronic-shelf-tags

Here's where an economist will tell you that actually, your boss is right. Many groceries are perishable, after all, and e-ink shelf tags allow grocers to reprice their goods every minute or two, so yesterday's lettuce can be discounted every fifteen minutes through the day. Some customers will happily accept a lettuce that's a little gross and liztruss if it means a discount. Those customers get a discount, the lettuce isn't thrown out at the end of the day, and everyone wins, right?

Well, sure, if. If the grocer isn't part of a heavily consolidated industry where competition is a distant memory and where grocers routinely collude to fix prices. If the grocer doesn't have to worry about competitors, why would they use e-ink tags to lower prices, rather than to gouge on prices when demand surges, or based on time of day (e.g. making frozen pizzas 10% more expensive from 6-8PM)?

And unfortunately, groceries are one of the most consolidated sectors in the modern world. What's more, grocers keep getting busted for colluding to fix prices and rip off shoppers:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/loblaw-bread-price-settlement-1.7274820

Surveillance pricing is especially pernicious when it comes to apps, which allow vendors to reprice goods based not just on commercially available data, but also on data collected by your pocket distraction rectangle, which you carry everywhere, do everything with, and make privy to all your secrets. Worse, since apps are a closed platform, app makers can invoke IP law to criminalize anyone who reverse-engineers them to figure out how they're ripping you off. Removing the encryption from an app is a potential felony punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine (an app is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to install a privacy blocker on it):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

Large vendors love to sell you shit via their apps. With an app, a merchant can undetectably change its prices every few seconds, based on its estimation of your desperation. Uber pioneered this when they tweaked the app to raise the price of a taxi journey for customers whose batteries were almost dead. Today, everyone's getting in on the act. McDonald's has invested in a company called Plexure that pitches merchants on the use case of raising the cost of your normal breakfast burrito by a dollar on the day you get paid:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Surveillance pricing isn't just a matter of ripping off customers, it's also a way to rip off workers. Gig work platforms use surveillance pricing to titrate their wage offers based on data they buy from data brokers and scoop up with their apps. Veena Dubal calls this "algorithmic wage discrimination":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Take nurses: increasingly, American hospitals are firing their waged nurses and replacing them with gig nurses who are booked in via an app. There's plenty of ways that these apps abuse nurses, but the most ghastly is in how they price nurses' wages. These apps buy nurses' financial data from data-brokers so they can offer lower wages to nurses with lots of credit card debt, on the grounds that crushing debt makes nurses desperate enough to accept a lower wage:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

This week, the excellent Lately podcast has an episode on price discrimination, in which cohost Vass Bednar valiantly tries to give economists their due by presenting the strongest possible case for charging different prices to different customers:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-end-of-the-fixed-price/

Bednar really tries, but – as she later agrees – this just isn't a very good argument. In fact, the only way charging different prices to different customers – or offering different wages to different workers – makes sense is if you're living in a socialist utopia.

After all, a core tenet of Marxism is "from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs." In a just society, people who need more get more, and people who have less, pay less:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/From_each_according_to_his_ability,_to_each_according_to_his_needs

Price discrimination, then, is a Bizarro-world flavor of cod-Marxism. Rather than having a democratically accountable state that sets wages and prices based on need and ability, price discrimination gives this authority to large firms with pricing power, no regulatory constraints, and unlimited access to surveillance data. You couldn't ask for a neater example of the maxim that "What matters isn't what technology does. What matters is who it does it for; and who it does it to."

Neoclassical economists say that all of this can be taken care of by the self-correcting nature of markets. Just give consumers and workers "perfect information" about all the offers being made for their labor or their business, and things will sort themselves out. In the idealized models of perfectly spherical cows of uniform density moving about on a frictionless surface, this does work out very well:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/03/all-models-are-wrong/#some-are-useful

But while large companies can buy the most intimate information imaginable about your life and finances, IP law lets them capture the state and use it to shut down any attempts you make to discover how they operate. When an app called Para offered Doordash workers the ability to preview the total wage offered for a job before they accepted it, Doordash threatened them with eye-watering legal penalties, then threw dozens of full-time engineers at them, changing the app several times per day to shut out Para:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

And when an Austrian hacker called Mario Zechner built a tool to scrape online grocery store prices – discovering clear evidence of price-fixing conspiracies in the process – he was attacked by the grocery cartel for violating their "IP rights":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/17/how-to-think-about-scraping/

This is Wilhoit's Law in action:

Conservatism consists of exactly one proposition, to wit: There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_M._Wilhoit#Wilhoit's_law

Of course, there wouldn't be any surveillance pricing without surveillance. When it comes to consumer privacy, America is a no-man's land. The last time Congress passed a new consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they enacted the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video-store clerks from revealing which VHS cassettes you take home. Congress has not addressed a single consumer privacy threat since Die Hard was still playing in theaters.

Corporate bullies adore a regulatory vacuum. The sleazy data-broker industry that has festered and thrived in the absence of a modern federal consumer privacy law is absolutely shameless. For example, every time an app shows you an ad, your location is revealed to dozens of data-brokers who pretend to be bidding for the right to show you an ad. They store these location data-points and combine them with other data about you, which they sell to anyone with a credit card, including stalkers, corporate spies, foreign governments, and anyone hoping to reprice their offerings on the basis of your desperation:

https://www.404media.co/candy-crush-tinder-myfitnesspal-see-the-thousands-of-apps-hijacked-to-spy-on-your-location/

Under Biden, the outgoing FTC did incredible work to fill this gap, using its authority under Section 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act (which outlaws "unfair and deceptive" practices) to plug some of the worst gaps in consumer privacy law:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

And Biden's CFPB promulgated a rule that basically bans data brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

But now the burden of enforcing these rules falls to Trump's FTC, whose new chairman has vowed to end the former FTC's "war on business." What America desperately needs is a new privacy law, one that has a private right of action (so that individuals and activist groups can sue without waiting for a public enforcer to take up their causes) and no "pre-emption" (so that states can pass even stronger privacy laws):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/07/federal-preemption-state-privacy-law-hurts-everyone

How will we get that law? Through a coalition. After all, surveillance pricing is just one of the many horrors that Americans have to put up with thanks to America's privacy law gap. The "privacy first" theory goes like this: if you're worried about social media's impact on teens, or women, or old people, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about deepfake porn, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about algorithmic discrimination in hiring, lending, or housing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. If you're worried about surveillance pricing, you should start by demanding a privacy law. Privacy law won't entirely solve all these problems, but none of them would be nearly as bad if Congress would just get off its ass and catch up with the privacy threats of the 21st century. What's more, the coalition of everyone who's worried about all the harms that arise from commercial surveillance is so large and powerful that we can get Congress to act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

Economists, meanwhile, will line up to say that this is all unnecessary. After all, you "sold" your privacy when you clicked "I agree" or walked under a sign warning you that facial recognition was in use in this store. The market has figured out what you value privacy at, and it turns out, that value is nothing. Any kind of privacy law is just a paternalistic incursion on your "freedom to contract" and decide to sell your personal information. It is "market distorting."

In other words, your boss is right.

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/11/socialism-for-the-wealthy/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Ser Amantio di Nicolao (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Safeway_supermarket_interior,_Fairfax_County,_Virginia.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[judenostopwaitkeepgoing]

A Class Analysis of the Crown Villains

Analyzing all of the EN-released Villains from who would be the most to least wealthy in 1890s Victorian England.

A/N: This is just for fun! These characters/stories are not that deep, and I don’t want them to be! I just find it fun and silly to think through what this world would actually look like in history, and maybe you do too! 😊 Spoilers for pretty much every villain on the EN server, so read at your own risk! Also I am not a historian or economist, just a gal with a computer, so take all of this with a grain of salt.

Also, I’m assuming that Ikémen Villains takes place sometime in the 1890s in London, England—the tail end of Queen Victoria’s rule. This estimated time frame is based mostly on Harry’s love of Arthur Conan Doyle and passing mentions of when “he has a new novel coming out.” Doyle was a prolific writer and wrote for a long time, but I wanted to keep the time period specific enough to really think through what the economics would be like.

Wealthiest - Jude Jazza

Originally I was going to put the villains who belong to the gentry (Elbert and William and ... Victor??? Maybe?? haha) at the top of the list, but the more I thought it through, the more it became clear that in order for Jude to realistically carry out some of the actions in his route (which I haven’t finished!) or various story events/collection events, he would need to be so fucking rich. Like stupid wealthy. Like not quite at Jeff Bezos level of wealth, but pretty up there.

And baby started from the bottom now he’s here, okay! The fact that Jude grew up in abject poverty then became a successful CEO of a trading company originally struck me as one of the more unrealistic things in the game (which I do not care about, he’s still daddy), but the more I looked into it, the more I got on board with it. The writers were smart to add a rich benefactor to his backstory, because in 1890s London, that was probably the only way for a poor kid from the slums to receive an education. Wealth disparity was bad in the 1890s, and people were mad about it! Jude’s hatred of the rich and powerful is in keeping with working class (and even some middle class) attitudes at the time. And with the rapid development and expansion of the Port of London (from the completion of the Royal Victoria Dock in 1855 to the Port of Tilbury in 1886), trading was the business to be in at the time. So it’s not impossible that Jude could have just lucked out in a few key ways and worked extremely hard to get to where he is (although he would still probably be considered a unicorn in this time period).

As for Raven Co.’s annual profit: who knows. I’m guessing it’s in the billions in today’s money. I’m unsure what Jude’s salary would be, he is explicitly characterized in his route as a fair boss who pays his workers a living wage, but he’s also like randomly really generous with like Ellis or Kate (i.e. giving Ellis a blank check for Xmas, giving Kate more than enough money to get a dress, etc.) so he’s probably taking home plenty. And considering how smart Jude is, he’s probably pretty savvy about saving and investing his money. He also makes a lot of deals and has a lot of involvement overseas, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he has bank accounts in several countries. The man is committed to building his rocket, okay! I’d say his annual income is in the hundred millions of dollars (in today’s money). But his net worth is probably in the billions.

Lord Elbert Greetia

Okay, now on to our first landed-gentry boy: Lord Elbert. Lord Elbert is most likely the wealthiest member of Crown in terms of generational wealth, with William coming in a close second.

Elbert is a member of the landed gentry or “peerage” and uses the title of “Lord,” which he inherited from his father. Being in this class means that he not only has significant wealth (in literal pounds and assets), but it also means that he has a rock-solid social standing and owns land. Land ownership is a big deal here because it means that Lord Elbert has the power to control anyone who might be living/working on property that he owns. And I’m not just talking servants/staff at his estate, I’m talking residents of any townships or villages on the likely acres and acres of land that he's in control of. So he has a passive income via taxing residents and laborers on his land(s)... forever! Being in this class also makes his wealth a lot more stable and immutable than say, Jude, who is a great businessman but whose income and assets are at the mercy of the market/demand.

Elbert’s character in the game is very stoic (until Kate shows up!), and he has deep trauma from his childhood home, so he doesn’t seem to exercise a ton of the privileges that would be available to him in terms of controlling the people who live on his properties. But, if we’re talking the 1890s here, he would probably have entire villages or even small towns under his economic purview. I think of him as a Mr. Darcy type, probably bringing in about £10,000 a year, or a little over £1.5 million/$2 million in today’s money. This combined with the cost of all of his assets or “beautiful things” that he compulsively collects (artwork, fine furniture, jewels, real estate, etc.) means I’d estimate his net worth to be about $70-100 million in today’s money.

Lord William Rex

I’m only putting William after Elbert because I do think Elbert has more non-cash assets, simply from the nature of his curse which causes him to be greedy. But let’s be clear: Lord William is also loaded. He, like Elbert, is a member of the peerage of the time and owns lots of land/real estate. He probably receives a pretty substantial passive income from all of his properties like Elbert.

I do think there’s one key difference between them: I have a feeling that William would either redistribute some of the income that he gets from any taxed residents/workers on his properties or lower their taxes—he just seems like the type to be about that. So that’s another reason why I think Elbert might have a higher net worth. Still, we find out that William paid for the construction of a hospital in his route, and for a man to do that in the 1890s, he’d have to be pretty freaking rich. I’d say that his net worth is probably somewhere between $50-100 million in today’s money.

Victor???

Big question mark around Victor! I’m putting him here just because he is so connected to the Queen, and unless we learn something different from his route, I’m pretty sure that means he’s at least upper class, if not a (former) member of the gentry/peerage. Or perhaps comes from a wealthier family. He also receives a salary and lodging from the Queen (as do all the members of Crown I think) so he’s certainly getting all of his needs met. He’s also the oldest member of Crown, which just makes me assume he’s had more time to accrue savings. But couldn’t tell you what his net worth is even if you held a gun to my head, this is all just vibes haha.

Liam Evans

Liam grew up comfortably upper class, basically wealthy despite not being a member of the landed gentry. His father owns an estate, or at least did when Liam was a child, and had staff and servants. Because of his mental illness and disfigurement, Liam’s father probably relied entirely on family money after a certain point.

As an adult, and considering he is a successful and popular leading actor at a major theater in London at the time, Liam is doing well for himself! He is now much better off than his father! Good riddance! Actors at the major theaters at the time were typically paid anywhere between 2-25 pounds per week, and Liam was likely on the upper end of that spectrum. Let’s say he takes home 20 pounds a week, which in today’s money would be about 3,200 pounds, or about 4,000 dollars. That’s 208,000 dollars a year before tax! Not bad at all! But, it’s worth noting, that at the time actors were definitely not seen as contributing members to society (especially women/actresses—they were essentially thrown into the same category as sex workers), so Liam’s social standing in the grand scheme of things is definitely lower as an actor than it was probably growing up in an upper-middle class house.

Ellis Twilight + Alfons Sylvatica

I’m throwing these two in here together because they are probably doing well for themselves, but only because they are attached to a super-rich person haha. Who knows what their salaries/wages are or what kind of deal they have with their respective sugar daddies (hehe) but suffice to say they don’t have to worry about money. Alfons is probably more irresponsible with his money, only because of his lifestyle, but even so he’s nowhere near as big of a spender as Elbert so it probably all ends up a wash. And I’m assuming that Jude pays Ellis pretty well because he loves him lol.

Harrison Gray

Okay, this one took some digging! Harry’s dad was a police officer, which in today’s world would mean that his family was pretty well-off and Harry had a comfortable upbringing. Not a member of the upper classes/gentry, but probably solidly middle class. This is also implied in the game, or at least Harry isn’t one of the characters that we know grew up poor.

But, it turns out, police officers weren’t paid super well in mid/late 1800s London! Harry’s dad would probably be on the better-paid side of the spectrum because he was a chief/high-ranking, but the police were a relatively new-ish phenomenon and weren’t considered “high-value” professionals. Harry’s dad likely only took home about 10 guineas a week, which in today’s money is about £1,400 or $1,700, so he was making about $88,000 a year in today’s money (before taxes). Which would be relatively comfortable for a single person today, but for a family in the 1800s would be pretty much living paycheck to paycheck with maybe a couple splurge purchases a year (like for Christmas or birthdays). So Harry’s family wasn’t anywhere near as poor as Jude or Alfons were growing up, but they likely lived quite modestly!

As an adult, Harry probably makes a healthy salary as an editor/proofreader. Publishing was booming in the 1890s, and writers were most often serialized in weekly publications, which meant a steady income for both writers and publishers. I’d say Harry is probably taking home a couple hundred pounds at the least per week, so something in the thousands of dollars in today’s terms. It’s unclear to me what the rules of living in Crown castle are. Like do they pay rent? I don’t think so? Let’s say they don’t, which means Harry gets to save/keep all his wages and only spends on personal stuff. He doesn’t seem like the biggest spender, if anything he reads as very sensible with money to me, haha. So he’s likely got a cozy little net worth building up but nothing crazy. Since wealth stratification is so extreme in this time period (the rich were very rich and the poor were very poor), Harry would probably be making enough to still be looked down on by the upper classes and enough to still be the object of contempt for the lower classes.

Poorest ? - Roger Barel

Doctors today are very well paid, but this was not the case in the late 1800s! Growing up, Roger’s dad probably had an annual salary of about 300-500 pounds a year, or roughly $45k-$80k in today’s money. Not a lot to live on for a whole family now, but this probably went further in the 1870s/80s when Roger was growing up. It’s implied that his family lived relatively comfortably, so I’m guessing that his dad had a good reputation and was sought after for his surgical expertise. He may have even gotten paid to teach in surgery ‘theatres’ of the time. (I haven’t read or looked much into Roger’s route so this might be wrong!)

I’m only ranking him last because he seems to not be formally employed haha. Since Roger is not a publicly practicing surgeon, he is relying on his income (?) and lodging from Crown for his day-to-day expenses. This could be any amount it seems, haha, depending on what he asks Victor/the Queen for. He doesn’t seem like a crazy spender, so he’s probably not complaining. I have no idea what his salary would be, though. It doesn’t seem like Crown bothers with all that, haha.

[milswrites]

At the end of the night

~ Azriel X Fem Illyrian!Reader

Based on this request

Summary: They say you never forget your first love. So how could Azriel move on when you were never far from his mind?

Warnings: Gross men, intoxication, injury, blood, talks of wing clipping, talks of Azriel’s past, smut 18+ mdni (p in v), angst, fluff, the whole shebang.

Word count: 8.7k

'Tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much that he dies every night to let her breathe, and in return, she reflects his love.'

The hour was late.

Far too late for a young woman such as yourself to be walking through the shadowed streets of Windhaven unaccompanied. The waning moon lost amongst the clouds as you moved under the cover of darkness.

You had no true destination in mind. Rather, your aimless wandering was done on account of you trying to pass the hours until you were able to return home once more. The lurking dangers of Windhaven appeared much more appealing than whatever bacchic activities were currently taking place at your home.

Night becoming your only friend as you spent all your time within its company.

It was now common practice, keeping yourself occupied whilst your father drank himself to oblivion alongside his barbarous friends. Your home no longer habitable, as with each day that passed it began to resemble a dreary tavern more and more.

Yet the streets themselves were just as an unpleasant place to be.

Even in the darkest hours of the night, the camp was still teeming with life. From lousy drunkards to irreputable whores, it seemed as though everybody was searching for some relief tonight. All seeking an escape from what was the hellish day-to-day of Windhaven.

It was therefore no surprise that your presence didn’t go unnoticed as you worked your way through the miserable throng. The sight of a young woman such as yourself, alone and unaccompanied during the midnight hours, was enough to capture the unwanted attention of a nearby group of intoxicated Illyrians.

They moved quickly.

One moment laughing amongst themselves as they stumbled along the uneven paving, and the next, they had you surrounded. Eyes ravenous and smiles sinister, they approached like a predator closing in on its prey.

The male closest to you hungrily trailed his tongue across his lips, taking a sweeping glance of your tense form before speaking, “Not lost are you sweetheart?”

The putrid scent of his foul breath was enough to make your wings curl in distaste, nose twitching with disgust as you replied curtly, “No, I’m just looking for my friend that’s all.”

You attempted to sidestep the male in order to continue on you way. Having provided them the false knowledge that someone was waiting for you, you hoped that would be enough to keep the group of inebriated males at bay.

Yet luck was not on your side tonight.

The firm grip of a calloused hand shooting out to meet your arm as the male who first spoke held you in place. “A friend?” he scoffed, knowing smile growing across his face as he made a show of checking his surroundings, lips pouting with faux disappointment as his eyes turned back to you, “I don’t see any friends.”

“Hence the looking” you spat, tearing your arm from his tight grasp as your wild eyes fluttered about in search of an exit route between the ever-nearing group of males.

Dauntingly, the largest of the warriors took a slow step towards you, wicked features half-lost to the shadows as he approached.

“You don’t need to lie sweetheart” he simpered, attempting to bring his hand to rest on your shoulder as you stumbled away from his touch. Flaring your wings in an attempt to appear more intimidating. But your action meant nothing to the male who continued to advance, “We’ll keep you company darling. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we left a pretty girl like you all alone in a place like this?”

Words lost to the rising panic growing in your chest, your gaze continued to fly around in desperation. Begging stare lost upon the disinterested faces of the passer-byers who wanted no part in the troublesome scene brewing.

In one final act of hope, you raised your fists. Ready to make a stand as you ignored the shaking of your wings and trembling of your knees. Yet your courage was wasted, sadistic laughs spilling from their lips as the males continued to move in closer, unphased by your valiant act of bravery.

But then darkness approached.

Lanterns extinguishing as the shadows crawled in.

With the light gone, the menacing grins plastered on your tormentors faces dropped, bodies tense as the dark silhouette of foreboding wings slowly crept towards them. Braced to flee as the stranger began to speak with a deadly air of calm.

“She’s not alone, she’s with me.”

~~~

You’d never had a friend before.

Windhaven had always been a place of strained alliances and disgruntled kinship. It was the last location you’d expect to see anything beautiful bloom amongst the weeds.

And yet, ever since that fateful day when the shadowsinger had swooped in to rescue you before delivering you safely home, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that perhaps the two of you were meant to be more than amicable acquaintances.

Azriel must have shared that feeling. The male having come to find you the next day, and the day after that. Which is why it was no surprise that it didn’t take long for the two of you to become inseparable.

Those somber nights spent walking around the camp with only yourself for company were now far behind you. Rather, the young male sought you out at the end of each workday, whisking you away from your home before your father had even the chance to pick up a bottle.

It was during these nights, where the two of you would sit and talk for hours. Your conversation acting as an escape from the cruel reality of your lives. Each story told and laugh shared working to make the pair of you forget exactly what was waiting for you back at the camp.

Sometimes, the two of you didn’t even talk at all. Simply being within each other’s presence was soon enough for the two of you to be content. You never thought about your troubled father or uncertain future when you were with Azriel, you didn’t need to.

Not when being with him made you forget.

Therefore, it was no wonder that between your riveting conversations and lingering touches, you found yourself pondering exactly what your relationship with Azriel was.

That perhaps the feeling which had sparked inside of you upon your first meeting wasn’t just the need for friendship, but the desire for something greater.

And so for the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to dream.

~~~

Cassian’s frenzied appearance at your door was the last thing you had expected to see in the early hours of the morning. His chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath long enough to be able to get the words out.

“It’s. Az.”

He needn’t say another word, your feet already working to carry you away from your home as Cassian’s exhausted voice called out from behind, “The training rings, he’s at the training rings!”

You ran, feet aching and heart pounding, until you finally reached your destination. Feet dragging to a halt as your wide eyes witnessed the spine-chilling scene before you.

A bloodied Azriel, eye swollen and jaw bruised, was being torn from an equally mutilated male. Eyes savage and tongue bitter as he continued to shout unintelligible nonsense at the grounded Illyrian. Rhysand’s face turning red with the effort it was taking to restrain his hysterical friend.

“Az?” you uttered lowly, mouth parting in disbelief as you took in his manic state. Heart plunging as your eyes dropped to the weeping cuts on his blood-stained fists.

Ears pricking at your voice, Azriel’s head snapped towards you, body slacking in Rhysand’s hold as he noticed your arrival. Dark brows knitting together in shame as he shrank under your disappointed stare.

Mustering the strength to pull himself from Rhysand’s crushing grip, Azriel broke away from his friend. Casting one last lethal look towards the crumpled warrior at his feet before stalking away. Walking straight past you without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Males” you huffed with a shake of your head, struggling to tear your gaze from the macabre scene before you in order to chase after your friend.

It didn’t take you long to find him.

Azriel having predictably fled to the spot where you spent most of your time together. Retreating to the small clearing tucked deep within the forest surrounding Windhaven. No doubt needing a space far from prying eyes to clear his tempestuous thoughts.

You made to clear your throat as you approached, cautious not to startle an adrenaline-spiked Illyrian. Yet Azriel beat you to it.

“I’m not going to apologize” his gravelly voice cut through the silence of your surroundings, hazel eyes failing to meet your own as you closed the distance between you, “that bastard got what was coming to him.”

Lowering yourself to the leaf-littered ground in order to sit by his side, you took a deep breath before moving to rest your head against his tense shoulder. A soft sigh escaping from your lips before you spoke, “Are you alright? . . . Your hands -”

“Have seen worse” Azriel replied, lips twitching with the bare-bones of a smile in response to your concern, “I’m fine, truly.”

Yet his harrowed eyes told you otherwise.

Azriel’s gaze cold and absent as he stared at the forest floor.

“Why?” you simply asked, face a picture of confusion as you tried to make sense of what could have been said to elicit such a reaction from the shadowsinger.

“You wouldn’t understand” he said dismissively, shrugging as he started to pick at the laces of his boots in avoidance.

“Try me” you answered, hand moving to stop his anxious action, pulling his own into your lap to assess the damage that had been done. Hoping that if your eyes were occupied elsewhere, the male might find it easier to speak.

An hour may have passed, or perhaps only minutes, yet when Azriel finally spoke his voice commanded your attention, “He said I was unworthy of being an Illyrian.”

“That’s it?” you question, brows drawing together as you failed to understand how Azriel would let some simple little remark get under his skin in the way it had, “That’s all he said?”

Azriel released a shaky sigh, knuckles turning white underneath the caked blood as he elaborated. “I didn’t -” Azriel paused to allow a harsh exhale, “I didn’t grow up Illyrian.”

You were unable to stop the way in which your eyes left Azriel’s hand in order to flicker to his face in surprise. He had never spoken about his past before. You had always surmised that it wasn’t pretty, his scars had told you that much. But for the sake of his privacy you had never pressed him further.

Yet here he was, offering you a piece of his dark and twisted past.

“I spent most of my childhood in a cage. I couldn’t train, or fly. I didn't even have the luxury of space to spread my wings. And then . . .”

Your grip on Azriel's hand tightens as he struggled to find the words, your consoling touch giving him the strength he needed to continue, “And then my brothers thought it would be funny to test the true extent of an Illyrian’s healing gifts.”

The frigid nature of his fingers in your palm told you all you needed to know about that. Heart sinking and nausea growing as your gaze fell to the scarred contours of his hands, sickened that anyone would do that to a child – to their family.

“Then I was dumped here. Wings weak and hands frail," Azriel's frown of anger morphing into one of shame as he spoke, "and I felt . . . Useless. Eleven years old and I already knew that I was a lesser Illyrian than everybody else. All because I was never even given a chance at life.”

You wanted to speak, to comfort the male and tell him that he wasn’t the same little boy who had found himself stranded in Windhaven all those years ago, yet Azriel’s sharp inhale told you he wasn’t quite done.

“I could barely even hold a sword at training. It took years for my tendons to grow used to the strain. Even now I still have days where I struggle to even move them. . . But I worked too damn hard for anyone to tell me that I am any less of an Illyrian than they are.”

Azriel’s eyes were now swimming with tears, the male sniffling slightly as he finished what he had to say, “And when he told me that today . . . I was back to being that scared eleven-year-old boy with no friends. And I just felt worthless.”

"Never be ashamed of the things that make us” you reason, thumb moving to lightly caress the back of his scarred hand, "That's what determines a person's worth. Not their skill or ability. . . It's how hard a person fights to survive that tells you the most about them."

The shame washes from Azriel’s face, colour returning to his cheeks at your words. Soon your eyes were watering alongside his own as you gently brought your hand to meet the curve of his cheek, a soft smile gracing your lips as you spoke, “You’re not alone Az. Not anymore. You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I won’t allow you to think you’re any less than that.”

Azriel stills, the tension in his shoulders easing as his grateful eyes moved to meet your own, "How is it. . . that you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?"

You blush at the intensity of his thankful stare, ears burning red as you attempted to casually shrug away the male’s question, "Call it intuition."

Seeking to shift the male's attention from yourself, you hopped to your feet. Dusting yourself off as you offered out your hand for Azriel to take, "Come on trouble, let's go get you fixed up. I don't really think red is your colour."

And as the two of you walked back to camp, Azriel’s face now sore and aching as the adrenaline ebbed away, he wondered if he would ever have the courage to tell you that it wasn't being an Illyrian he was called unworthy of, but your love.

~~~

Spring had finally arrived at Windhaven.

The harsh conditions of winter had subsided, and the once icy camp had now thawed enough to reveal the frozen ground beneath. The shoots of new life, which had managed to outlast the chill of the dark months, now sprang forth in order to grow.

And for the Illyrian recruits, the changing of the seasons could only mean one thing.

The Blood Rite would soon commence.

All of Azriel's time had been given over to preparing for the upcoming ceremony. Hour after hour being spent in the training ring, perfecting his form, and building his strength. Whatever fleeting time you were able to have together was spent planning strategies and developing his survival skills.

You didn't mind, any time spent with Azriel was time well spent. You could even say that it was nice, witnessing the male in his element. The determination which coursed through his eyes whenever he spoke of the Blood Rite was enough to bring a proud smile to your lips.

Yet as the start of the ceremony loomed ever closer, you found yourself worrying more and more about Azriel’s well-being.

It’s not that you didn’t trust Azriel’s skill, but rather the fact that you didn’t trust the other males who would no doubt take great pleasure in besting the notorious shadowsinger.

Their leering sneers told you enough; Azriel was going to have to watch his back if he was planning on making it to Ramiel in one piece.

You did the best you could to help him, acquiring special ointments to massage into his aching hands with the hope of soothing his muscles for when the time came that he'd need to use his sword. You'd even taken to slipping various forms of mild poison into the food of the other males, praying that the toxins would keep their strength at bay long enough for Azriel to succeed.

But no amount of preparation worked to ease your anxiety as the day finally arrived. Your brow creased with worry as you stood in the square where the novice-warriors were beginning to gather, patiently waiting for Azriel to arrive in order to bid him farewell.

His confident smile, one of which he had no doubt worn for you, did nothing to sate your rising panic as he approached. Not even the soothing warmth of his comforting embrace brought you any joy. Rather, the action managed to bring tears to your eyes as you looked up to your friend in hapless despair, "Aren't I the one who's supposed to be doing the comforting?"

"You being here is enough for that" Azriel said lowly, hazel eyes squeezed tightly closed as he did his best to commit the feel of your body in his arms to memory. Not letting you part from his crushing hold until the camp leader had shouted the call for them to make their leave.

"Be safe" you choked through your tears as Azriel pulled away. His faux smile long forgotten as his expression turned into one of worry. Whether it was worry for your well-being or his own safety in the coming week, you did not know.

Azriel placed a parting kiss onto your forehead, hand lightly brushing against yours before he reluctantly began to walk away. "Always" he answered, hazel eyes never straying from you as he made his exit.

"Goodbye!" you called out after him, attempting to stretch an encouraging smile across your lips for his sake, your hand waving wildly as Azriel lifted his own to do the same. But then all of a sudden he stopped, body stiffening as though he had been struck by lightning.

Face drawn blank as he stared back at you.

"Az, what? -"

It took five steps for him to close the distance between you. Five swift steps for you to take in his dark, feral eyes. Five steps to wonder exactly what he was doing before his lips fell onto yours.

You had imagined this, the feel of his lips against yours, his tender hands wrapped around your curves as Azriel pulled you in closer.

But no dream could ever compare to the real thing.

To the feel of Azriel's soft lips molding against your own like they were made for each other. The heated desperation of the kiss working to steal your breath and weaken your knees. Each passionate swipe of his tongue and the salacious tug of your lip between his teeth, working to tell you everything that had until this moment remained unspoken.

And yet it was over all too soon.

Azriel pulling away upon the final call from his superiors, a heated breath of relief escaping from his swollen lips as he pulled away from you for the last time.

Finally turning to face his future, Azriel uttered, "No goodbyes."

This time when Azriel walked away, you allowed yourself to truly smile, eyes full of love as you enthusiastically waved goodbye until he was well out of sight.

The tears that fell, now ones of happiness as you watched the male head towards what he had worked so hard for. Heart full as you knew you needn't to be worried any longer.

Not when you knew Azriel had something worth fighting for – someone worth fighting for.

You.

Yet that feeling didn't last for long, all thoughts pulled from the shadowsinger as a heavy hand fell onto your shoulder.

Alarmed eyes shooting to the perpetrator, widening further still as they fell onto the gaunt face of your father. Eyes hollow and lips downturned as he ominously warned, "It's time girl."

~~~

It was dark when Azriel returned.

Having emerged from the rite victorious, the fortunate victors now arrived back into Windhaven to celebrate. Grins stretched across their lips as they walked towards the blazing fire where the rest of their evening was to be spent in merry enjoyment.

Yet there was no smile on the shadowsinger's face, not as he craned his neck to look past the crowd of well-wishers. Shadows aiding in his hunt by swimming through the pools of surrounding people, searching for the one face their master so longed to see.

Hoping to see the familiar smile which had carried him through the trials.

He needn't search far.

The sound of hurried footsteps filling his ears before a body collided with his own. His arms instinctively wrapping around your waist in order to pull you in closer, nose settling into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your sweet scent for the first time in a week.

"Gods, I missed you" he cried hoarsely, pulling back from the hug so as to be able to see your face again. Beaming as he brought a hand to cup your cheek, failing to notice the way in which your smile didn't quite meet your eyes. Adrenaline still rampant in his veins from the rite, Azriel wasted no time in bringing his lips to meet your own.

Where your first kiss had been rushed and desperate, this was one was slower, softer. Azriel taking his time with sweeping his lips over yours, savoring the moment in which you began to kiss him back. His worn hands working to slowly explore the length of your body as your lips danced together.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you whispered against his lips; words being met with the pearlescent grin of the shadowsinger.

Providing you with no answer, Azriel grabbed onto your hand before eagerly tugging you in the direction of his home. Too lost within his lovestruck haze to notice your unbalanced stumbles as you breathlessly trailed behind him.

"Az, where are you going? I thought we were going to celebrate!" Cassian's voice yelled after his retreating figure. Rhysand grabbed onto his brother's arm as he tugged him in the direction of the fire, a knowing smirk upon his lips as he answered, "I think he is celebrating Cas."

You were a flurry of limbs and giggles as you entered Azriel's home. Lips finding each other's once more as the pair of you became lost to your primal urges. The overwhelming need to be close to one another after only a week apart was almost too much to bear.

Sighs of intoxicated pleasure slipped from your mouth as Azriel began to trail his burning lips along the expanse of your neck. The male smirking as he slowly grazed his sharp teeth across your sensitive skin.

Needing more, Azriel moved to press your back against the wall in order to close the distance between you. Leaning in to seal your lips together once more until he was stopped by the painful cry which rang from your mouth.

It took seconds for the lust in the shadowsinger's dark eyes to fade.

Azriel's once sultry gaze growing panicked as his face contorted into a picture of horror. The amber glow of the faelight finally permissing him to see what the darkness of the night had hidden.

"Your wings!"

A shaky breath fell from Azriel's lips, hazel eyes swimming with tears as they raked over the scarred membrane of your clipped wings. Teeth bared as a low growl rumbled in his chest, "I'm going to kill him."

Fists trembling with rage, Azriel made to leave. Exhaustion after his trialing week long forgotten as the desire for revenge took an inescapable hold of him.

Yet your hands chased after him, holding onto Azriel's wrists in desperation as you looked up the male with begging eyes, "Stay. Please."

Shaking with the effort it was taking to stay put, Azriel sighed as he glances back to your wings. Jaw clenching as he cursed, "I should never have left."

Heart twinging at his self-placed blame, you pulled your lips into a sad smile, hand coming to rest against his quivering cheek, "You had to go Az, and I'm so proud of you for doing so."

A cry of protest slipped from his mouth, Azriel's eyes squeezing shut as he pressed his cheek further into your comforting hand. Voice breaking as he spoke, "They wouldn't have touched you if I was here."

"It was bound to happen eventually" you truthfully stated, "At least I was fortunate enough to keep mine, others aren't so lucky."

Azriel inhaled sharply, pulling you into a soft hug, careful not to disturb your fragile wings, "That doesn't make this any less right."

"No" you agreed, nuzzling deeper into Azriel's chest. His familiar scent a welcoming reminder that you were safe. No one could hurt you again, not whilst you were in Azriel’s arms. Content to stay in his embrace forever, you spoke, "But I have you, and that's all I need for now."

"I'll get you out of here" Azriel promised, loosening his hold on you just enough to allow his serious eyes to meet your own, "I don't know when. Or where we'll go. But I'll get you out. We’ll never have to see this damn camp again.”

"Together?" you asked, needing reassurance that you wouldn't have to face your uncertain future alone.

"Together" Azriel smiled.

~~~

"Stop peeking!" Azriel chided, unable to stop the smile of contentment which spread across his lips as you giggled at the sensation of his warm breath tickling the skin of your neck.

"I'm not!" you promised, chuckling as Azriel's palm moved to better cover your lightly closed eyes.

The shadowsinger hummed in disagreement, his free hand coming to curl around your stomach. Pulling you closer into his chest as he led you deeper into the forest.

"You're going to make me fall" you warned with a laugh, stumbling as Azriel's legs bumped against your own. The male's arms moving to hold you tighter still, soft lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "So long as you're in my arms, I will never let you fall."

Thankful that Azriel couldn't see your rising blush, you allowed him to walk you towards whatever surprise he had planned. Satisfied the shadowsinger would keep you safe, you tightly squeezed your eyes shut.

Putting your trust into the males loving hands.

You needn't walk much further, Azriel gently pulling you to a stop as the warmth of the evening breeze began to kiss your cheeks. The heat of the setting sun working to banish the chill that had settled in your bones as you moved through the shadowed forest.

"Ok angel," Azriel purred, the hand covering your face moving to your shoulder as he placed a swift kiss upon your temple, "take a look."

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting as the amber glow of the evening flooded into your vision. Heart pleasantly aching at the view that greeted you once your gaze came into focus.

"It's beautiful Az" you softly gasped, mouth parting in awe as you took in the picturesque scene before you. The slowly setting sun, inching ever closer towards the horizon. The ghostly silhouette of the towering mountains in the distance. The woolen blanket, carefully laid across the ground before you.

"It is" Azriel answered, tender eyes never leaving your delicate features.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze from the breathtaking view, you turned back to Azriel with a crease between your brows, "But why? . . . I've not forgotten something important have I?"

"No, not at all. I just wanted to do something nice for you" Azriel reassured. His hands moving to gently cup your cheeks in order to pull your loving eyes to meet his own. But you didn't fail to miss the rising pool of sadness which swam amongst his affectionate gaze.

"What is it?" you asked, your once peaceful expression now morphing into one of worry, "What's wrong?"

A low sigh fell from the male's lips, Azriel's forehead gingerly coming to rest against yours, "I've been given my orders, the High Lord asked for me himself. . . I am to leave tomorrow."

Your heart sank, mouth growing dry upon the realization that this would be your last night together for a while. But this was what Azriel had always dreamed of, having a purpose. Having worth. And so you would not allow yourself to be selfish and ruin that dream.

"T-that's great Az" you exclaimed, forcing a proud smile onto your lips, "You've worked so hard for this."

"But you-" Azriel contested, ever the selfless Illyrian.

"Will still be here when you return" you reassured him, moving to place a sweet kiss onto his forehead.

Azriel's eyes softly closed at your gesture, a shaky breath drawing from his lips before he quietly spoke, your heart aching at his solemn words, "I just wish we had more time."

"We have time now" you soothed, blinking away your tears before taking Azriel's hand into your own, gently pulling him towards the waiting blanket, "Let this night be our forever."

There, wrapped in Azriel's embrace, the two of you sat and talked as though you had all the time in the world. Because there, sat within the comfort of his arms, the fading amber of the setting sun before you, it felt as though you did.

"Azriel?" you quietly ask once the conversation had dwindled into a peaceful silence.

"Hmm?" he replied, hazel eyes sweeping over your face in question. His hand moving to lovingly tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"Kiss me."

Wordlessly, Azriel brought his thumb to slowly brush across your lip. Hooded gaze growing dark as a radiant smile crossed his face. Leaning in to huskily whisper in your ear, "How lucky I am, to have been blessed by an angel as beautiful as you."

And then his lips crashed to yours.

It was a heated battle of tongues and teeth. Azriel biting back a groan at the softness of your lips as they worked against his own. Your intoxicating scent delectably filling his senses until Azriel's thoughts were consumed only by you.

Moving to sit in his lap, you desperately pulled at the top of his leathers. Azriel aiding you in removing the item before your warm hands instantly moved to explore the vast expanse of his muscular chest. Mouth coming back to meet his own as you playfully nipped at the shadowsinger's lips, eliciting a soft whimper from the male who found himself entirely at your mercy.

Skirt bunching at your hips, you broke the kiss to slip your dress from your body. Nipples pebbling as the cool evening air hit your breasts. Azriel's hands froze, hovering over the curves of your waist, lustful gaze turning hesitant as his touch shied from your unblemished skin.

Seeking to quell his hesitance, you brought your hands to meet his own, lightly kissing the scarred flesh before whispering a soft truth, "You're perfect, Az." Hips moving to grind against his hardening member as you reiterated, "Every last inch of you is perfect."

Slowly, you raised Azriel's tense hands to rest against your breasts, the supple skin working to ease his trembling until the dark cloud of desire pooled in his eyes once more. His once stiff fingers relaxing as they began to work your breasts, the male smiling softly as cries of pleasure began to spill from your lips.

Unable to help the way your hips were bucking in desperation, you moved to unlace Azriel's pants as his swollen lips came to gently suck the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue working to trail over each of the purple marks left behind. A low groan escaping from his mouth as you pulled his aching cock from his leathers, twitching as you moved to wrap your hand around his length.

Azriel's hands flew to your waist as he made to flip you over. However, unwilling to hand over your control so easily, your firm hands moved to keep him beneath you. The smoky tendrils of his shadows creeping in to hold their master in place.

Eyebrows knitting together in protest, Azriel made to argue. Yet your teasing words beat him to it, "Poor Illyrian baby." Hand coming to rest on the center of his chest, you languidly rolled your hips against his leaking cock, "Relax, Azriel. Let me take care of you."

Moaning at the sound of his name on your lips, Azriel settled with placing his hands on your hips. The shadowsinger lifting you up in order to allow the head of his cock to slip between your soaking folds.

Inhaling deeply, you lower yourself onto him. Your soft whimper meeting Azriel's guttural cry as you sunk until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Allowing you the time to adjust, Azriel placed sweet kisses along your collarbones. Whispers of how perfect your heat felt wrapped around his cock tumbled from his lips, distracting you from the twinge of pain which had risen from the unfamiliar stretch.

Only when the ache had subsided, and your desire for more had become all too overwhelming, did you then move your hands to Azriel's shoulders. Clutching onto the shadowsinger for support as you began to move. Slowly raising your hips before sinking back down onto his cock once more.

It didn't take the two of you long to find a pleasurable rhythm.

Azriel's bruising grip on your waist working to pull your body down in time to meet his forceful thrusts. Incoherent mumblings of pleasure slipping from your lips as Azriel fucked you with a brutal pace.

It was only when you were nearing your high, and you wanted Azriel to ride the wave of pleasure alongside you, did you stretch your hand out to rake a teasing finger along the sensitive membrane of his wing. Azriel's cock pulsating inside of you as the male stilled, a strangled shout falling from his mouth at your action.

Pleased with the male's reaction, you repeated the motion, nail brushing against his twitching wings once more. A low growl rumbled in Azriel's chest, eyes blown black as he moved to flip the two of you over. Your own wings stretching out in order to allow you to comfortably lie on your back.

Azriel's cock never leaving your heat for a moment as he continued his unforgiving pace. Stars blurring your vision as his relentless pounding pulled you nearer and nearer to completion.

And then the wave crashed over you, vision turning white as a scream of pleasure tore from your lips. Azriel continuing his merciless thrusts as he chased after his own high, hands falling to your hips to try and steady your spasming body.

It wasn’t long after that Azriel followed suit, thrusts faltering as he came with a hoarse groan. The male exhaling a soft sigh of satisfaction as he withdrew himself from your core, arms caging your body as he rolled over in order to pull you on top of his chest.

Panting, Azriel raised a hand to brush the stray wisps of hair from your face. Eyes blowing wide with realization as he found himself unable to stop the words which fell from his lips next, "I love you."

Your breath caught in your throat, teary gaze looking to Azriel as your lips parted wordlessly. You had waited years for this, to hear the words you thought you would never be fortunate enough to hear. And now the moment had come you found yourself utterly incapable of expressing the undying devotion you felt for the male in front of you.

"I love you" Azriel repeated, unphased by your lack of an immediate answer, "I always have, from that very first day. All it took was one look and I knew you were it for me."

Tears welling in his hazel eyes, Azriel takes in a shaky breath before he continues, "I love you like the sun loves the moon. So much so that I would die every night, so only to let you breathe."

A sob escaped from your lips, your hand moving to rest against Azriel's cheek in order to allow your thumb to gently catch each falling tear. "Shadows" you corrected with a small smile, Azriel's expression morphing into one of confusion, "I love you like the sun loves the shadows. That I would give up my light, so only to see you dance."

Softly, you brought your lips to his. And even with the smallest of kisses, you were able to show the eternal nature of your love.

"I don't want to go" Azriel weakly cried, his words bringing you back to the unfair reality you had been dealt.

It was your turn to lovingly brush his dark hair back, matching tears falling down your own cheeks as you answered, "It's not forever. We'll see each other again."

"I'll come say goodbye tomorrow morning" he promised, sorrowful voice cracking as he spoke.

"No goodbyes, Az" you said with a bittersweet smile, moving to rest your head against his chest in order to savor your remaining time together.

As you watched the night crawl in, and the warm hues of the day had long since melted into the inky darkness; you wondered if the sun yearns for the comfort of night. In the same way you yearned for the comfort of his shadows.

~~~

Azriel's absence took a toll on you.

Your joy-filled days once spent in his company were now long forgotten as the mundane reality of life without the shadowsinger had finally come to pass.

It was as though Azriel had taken all the warmth with him when he left. The absent presence of his comforting embrace allowing the bitter chill of Windhaven to permanently settle into the marrow of your bones.

The arrival of each new month a cruel reminder that you had been left behind. Spite festering within your heart upon realization that your fate, alongside that of every other female's here, was forever bound to the camp.

Yet the dark clouds brewing overhead signaled a change in the wind.

War was coming to Prythian.

Whispers of skirmishes arising between the faeries and the mortals travelled like wildfire throughout the camp. All eyes warily looking up to the approaching storm which was steadily growing above the shadowed mountains of Illyria.

It was the males who left first, called to action by their High Lord.

You watched them leave through your frosted window, wondering if Azriel would be waiting for them at their final destination. Pondering what life would have in store for them now that they were free from the burdensome shackles of the prisonous camp. Ultimately knowing that they would fare no better in the future that awaited them at the frontlines.

The next sign that the war had finally arrived was the diminishing supplies. Even miles away from the nearest frontier, the conflict didn't leave Windhaven untouched.

Wartime Illyria was not a place for luxuries. Materials were growing scarce and food even more so, all your valuable recourses having been sent to the warriors in the mortal lands. Your father growing increasingly insufferable as his forced sobriety from the rationed drinks plagued him like an unquenchable thirst.

And then a stranger arrived at your camp.

A male from Dawn, skilled in the art of medicine, seeking aid in healing the countless victims left wounded from the violet acts of war.

Unsurprisingly, the hostile inhabitants of Windhaven all turned their noses up at his cry for help, unwilling to risk their lives on the battlefield for the sake of another's. Yet to you, the call for aid was a blessing. An invitation for you to do the one thing you've always wanted to.

Leave.

So for once in your life you allowed yourself to be selfish.

You didn't think about whether Azriel would return for you - far too many years had passed for you to still think that was a possibility. You didn't even think about your hopeless father, who without your help would surely succumb to his toxic lifestyle.

You only thought about the little girl who used to dream of seeing the world. Bright-eyed and unbroken as she spent her days wishing for someone to come and save her from the iron cage she called her home.

But no one was coming for you, you understood that now.

And so, longing to make a name for yourself in a kinder world, you answered the call.

Walking away from Windhaven without so much as a glance at the life you were leaving behind.

~~~

Azriel was dreaming again.

Dreaming of you.

Of moonlit encounters and sun-kissed embraces.

Glowing smiles and heated kisses.

And at the center of it all, you.

Yet when he wakes the sheets are cold and bare.

But the ghost of you never strays far from Azriel's mind.

~~~

His mornings always started the same.

Azriel rudely torn from his sweetened dreams by the coming of a new day. Chest unnaturally empty as he gathered the will to crawl out from the security of his sheets.

A stranger in his own home, he drifts downstairs.

Spending breakfast alongside the beaming faces of his brothers and their equally contented mates. The shadowsinger a silent observer of their animated conversations, only ever sparing a grunt of acknowledgement whenever the discussion turned his way.

Their gleeful smiles a glaring reminder to Azriel that he still hadn't found the missing piece of his soul. Tender heart aching as he longed to find the same overwhelming sense of happiness that his family shared around him. Unaware of his brother's concerned stares as they watched him slowly turn into a shell of the male he used to be.

Their worry growing, as with each passing day Azriel became more and more like one of his shadows.

Silent and unyielding.

Yet Azriel found himself helpless when it came to fighting the crushing feeling that he was to forever remain alone. Unable to sit there and watch his friends fall in love without wondering why the cauldron hadn't dealt him the same blessed fate.

Your haunting presence never failing to return to the forefront of his mind as Azriel feared that his first love was also bound to be his last.

~~~

Wallowing seemed to be Azriel's new favourite past time.

Even in the company of his friends and family, the shadowsinger failed to ever truly let the lines of his smile meet his eyes. Mind numb and heart aching, Azriel's increasingly glum attitude did not make for the most pleasant of companies.

Yet, unable to sit around as her friend slowly became half the male he used to be, Feyre decided that she wouldn't allow the Illyrian to pull away without putting up a fight. Adamant that the Azriel she used to know was simply hidden away, the Lady of Night wondered if perhaps the soothing touch of a woman was all that the male needed in order for his depressive episode to lift.

And so, having ignored Rhysand's warnings that trying to force love onto the shadowsinger would be a bad idea, Feyre began her master plan.

She started small.

Testing the waters by suggesting to Azriel that it would be nice for him to step into Velaris's dating scene. Casually mentioning that a friend of hers was looking for a partner and she thought the pair of them would be well-matched.

Much to her dismay, her efforts were met with no result, Azriel's gruff reply being a crude remark that if her friend were so desperate for a partner then she may have better luck searching in a brothel.

However, not one to give up so easily, Feyre persisted.

Each passing day bringing about new opportunities for her to share the news of a potential love interest that she believes the male should indulge in.

In the beginning, Azriel found amusement in Feyre periodically showing up at his door. He'd even feign interest as the female listed off the attributes of yet another young maiden she claimed would be perfect for him. Smiling along encouragingly as she spoke before ultimately shutting his door in her face.

But what the male hadn't predicted, was just how far Feyre would go in order to secure the happiness of her friend.

Determined that Azriel would find love so only he tried, the High Lady had neglected to tell the shadowsinger about his evening plans until the hour of his date was already upon him.

Feyre merrily bouncing on her heels as she broke the news to the male, excitable grin plastered across her lips as she waited in bated anticipation for Azriel's appreciative reaction.

But it never came.

Instead, Azriel's face turned deathly pale as his eyes briefly flickered over to the young woman standing besides Feyre, a shy smile gracing her face as she waited for the shadowsinger to greet her.

"What is this?" Azriel asked roughly. Taking the time to swallow the rising storm of anger which had settled on his tongue, the male well aware that Feyre's friend was just an innocent victim in the Lady of Night's game.

"This is your date, Az" Feyre said encouragingly, "It's time to put yourself out there."

The thundering whispers of his shadows were impossible to ignore.

Not her, they cried into his ears. Not her.

Azriel willed himself a stretched smile, chest tight and breathing difficult as he turned to Feyre's friend, "I apologize miss, my High Lady has chosen to lead you here under false pretenses, I'm not looking for a partner. Please allow me to walk you home."

Feyre's face fell in dejection, lips parted in surprise as her bewildered gaze fell upon Azriel's unrevealing expression, "But . . . I thought-"

"You thought wrong," Azriel interjected, hurt shining through his furious stare, "We'll discuss you and your thoughts once I've taken your friend home."

Feyre was still there upon Azriel's return, her face a picture of fury as the male walked through the door, "What was that?"

"What was that?" Azriel scoffed, his booming voice echoing against the hollow walls of the house's entryway, "What the fuck were you thinking Feyre?"

The female shrunk under Azriel's burning gaze, ears turning red with embarrassment as she quietly answered, "I was just trying to help. . . I thought you wanted to find love."

"I had love!" Azriel shouted in response. His outburst enough to have gathered Rhysand's attention as the High Lord winnowed into the room, rushing towards his teary mate's side.

"I had love" Azriel repeated lowly, voice cracking as he spoke, "And look how well that turned out for me."

"That's not Feyre's fault Az" Rhysand answered in defense of his mate, tone calm and steady as he worked to ebb away his brother's rising anger, "She didn't know."

"No, she didn't" Azriel replied solemnly, accusatory stare turning to the High Lord, "But you did and yet you still let her do it. . . But it's fine! Let's all play with Azriel's heart because we need some entertainment."

Rhysand's mouth dropped open, failing to find an answer that his brother deserves to hear. A cold laugh of disbelief fell from Azriel's lips, the male shaking his head as he began to walk away, "You know why I can't move on Rhys. Why I never will."

It was in that moment, whilst Rhysand watched Azriel's retreating figure, did the male then realize what all this was about. That it wasn't love that Azriel had been searching for all these years; it was you.

~~~

He came at night.

The firelight cowering in his presence.

Its amber flames licking at the darkness which had arrived alongside him. Those familiar violet eyes twinkling through the shadows as your High Lord slowly stepped into the light.

"My, my" Rhysand crooned, lips pulling into a cheshire smile, "You are a difficult woman to find."

"Rhys?" you ask in disbelief, resisting the urge to pinch yourself. Afraid of waking up from whatever strange dream your mind had conjured, "What are you doing here?"

"What I should have done centuries ago. . ." Rhysand answered, his charming smile failing to hide the worry which danced in his telling eyes, "I'm taking you home."

~~~

Azriel had grown up listening to the tales of men who claimed to have seen the Mother.

Their stories full of mighty wonder as they spoke of a being so perfect that her beauty alone was enough to drive even the strongest of males to the brink of insanity.

He had never believed them of course. Having laughed at their foggy eyes and lovesick expressions, believing their drunken words to have been no more than what they were. Fairytales.

But there you were.

Smile just as warm as he remembered, features just as soft.

Standing there in ethereal beauty as you waited for the shadowsinger to approach. Yet all Azriel could do was stare, wordless mouth parted in shock as the realization dawned on him that this was the closest he would ever get to seeing the Mother herself.

Azriel's hand flew to his chest. Never having imagined that after all this time your beauty would still have the power to disarm him just as it had done the day you first met. Unable to stop the cry of joy which fell from his lips as his dormant heart sparked to life. Eyes closing in relief as he felt the familiar comfort of its rhythmic pounding once more.

His love reborn as your two souls reunited once more.

"Hi Az" you beam, hand coming to rest against his tear-stained cheek, your voice coaxing the trembling male to open his hazel eyes, "I've missed you."

Stunned speechless, all Azriel could do was cry.

Weeping as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, the two of you sinking to the floor as he fell into the comfort of your loving embrace. The recognizable scent of your sweet aroma finally spurring his words into existence, "I came back for you."

You inhaled sharply at his words, pulling away from the hug in order to meet his sincere gaze. "After the war" he explained, stumbling over his words in an attempt to get them out, "I wanted to bring you to Velaris. . . But you weren't there. They told me that you were gone, that you were never coming back."

Hushing the male you moved his head to rest against your chest, running your fingers through his dark hair in attempt to calm him. Your own tears running down your face at the realization that Azriel had come back for you.

That he hadn't forgotten you.

"I'm here now" you promised softly, gently placing a kiss atop of the shadowsinger's head, "And I'm not going anywhere-"

You barely managed to get the words out before Azriel's lips crashed onto yours. Whimpering at the familiar sensation of his soft lips against your own. Five hundred years, that's how long you had yearned for this. For his mouth, his touch, his warmth.

Azriel pulled away, lifting his hands to your face in order to wipe away the stay tears which remained. "I love you" he blurted, hazel eyes sparking with life as he said the words, "cauldron I love you."

An overjoyed laugh tumbled from your lips, your tender smile wide as you listened to what Azriel had to say.

"No more waiting" Azriel begged, "I've already wasted five hundred years that should have been spent by your side. But not anymore. . . I'll spend the next five hundred years telling you just how much I love you. . . So long as you still want me that is, if there isn't anyone else."

"Want you?" you asked in surprise, "I'm already yours Az, I always have been. So just as they were the first, let your lips be the last to ever kiss mine. Because you're it for me Az, there is no one else."

You didn't need to ask again, Azriel bringing his lips to meet yours once more. Taking his time to pour all of his love into the action before pulling away to whisper a promise against your parted lips, "I'll never leave you again, not as long as I live."

"I won't let you" you answer, pulling the male into another crushing hug, "I'm never letting go of you again."

It was there, wrapped within your embrace on the floor of his home, that Azriel finally allowed himself to believe that everything was going be ok. Because how could it not be when his happiness had finally returned. The shadowsinger safe with the knowledge that at the end of the night, the sun will rise.

[creative-frequency]

Furniture Shopping with Them

Headcanons incl. all LIs

Xavier

You asked him to accompany you, so that is what he will do; no questions asked.

He is surprisingly budget-conscious and will keep a proper tally of your spending.

Xavier will offer some insights based on whether the furniture offers a good place for napping or not in his expert opinion.

“This one’s big enough for both of us and it feels very comfy.”

Watch out so he doesn’t accidentally stay behind because you will find him napping on a display sofa.

Zayne

He is actually really helpful during the whole process.

Zayne will ‘quickly’ look up different options and study the qualities of different materials, so he can recommend some items to you based on his findings.

He has also planned the most efficient route through the most promising stores based on your current interior.

“Based on your earlier preferences, the brands sold at this store would be the most suitable.”

The man is an expert in finding the best quality-price ratio.

Rafayel

Initially, he is more excited about the shopping trip than you are.

Rafayel makes the decisions about furniture purely based on aesthetics, so at least following his recommendations will make your apartment look stylish.

Too bad he doesn’t care to follow the budget you’ve set.

There is going to be a point where Rafayel gets frustrated and just wants to go home already. You will need to entice him with something, so you’d best be prepared to deal with a pouty fishie.

“Can we go now? The amount of knowledge the salesperson has about upholstery is making me uncomfortable.”

Sylus

His first preference is having someone do the shopping for him. The second preference is shopping online. Sylus will be a bit exasperated to go in person, but will eventually get really into it.

Since he would usually make others do the purchases for him, he is not very knowledgeable about what to take into account nor does he care about the price tag.

Usually he would just buy whatever is the most expensive as long as it looks alright.

He will be happy to try out the different furniture with you and offer his insights, but the final decision is yours.

“Take the one you think is the most suitable. But, I’m paying for it. A-ah. No arguments, sweetie.”

Caleb

He is happy to tag along and spend the day with you wandering around the stores and test-sit each surface you point at.

Caleb will be way too interested in hearing the salesperson’s explanations of the different features of sofa filling and upholstery materials.

He will gravitate towards the most comfortable pieces of furniture with minimalist design.

“We should pick this one. It has a great price-quality ratio, and the color is nice too.”

He will try to insist on paying half of it too, because it was his recommendation, he will also be using it a lot, and it's an early/late birthday present.

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[rhyrhy]

“'Cause we're way too involved, just to cut and not call”

Situationship! Abby Drabble

࣪𖤐.ᐟ Warnings: none, just two idiots pining, fluff, 2k words. IFY This was 110% Inspired by this — more Abby here — same AU

The sound of Abby’s door clicking shut behind you was second nature by now. You’d met her after being transferred to the WLF base. thrown into a new routine, a new home, with new faces. Eyes feeling- no, knowing you are sizing you up. And hers, Abby, had been one of them. What started as a proper passing familiarity. working the same routes, seeing her in the gym, nodding at each other across crowded mess hall tables. had turned into nights spent in her room, pretending it was casual.

But the feelings had started to bleed through…

First, it was the small things. Redoing her braid after you’d messed it up by tugging on it all night. Jokingly calling her patrol dog, your “baby” when she curled up beside you, earning a sound of amusement from Abby. Then she’d started catching your wrist before you could slip away, her fingers firm but careful. The dim glow of a lantern casting shadows across her face as she’d murmur, “It’s late. You can head back in the morning, yeah?” Now, after weeks of being apart. separate assignments. However the pit in Abby’s stomach from your absence was impossible to ignore. Too obvious to be anything other than what it was. Or what was building.

Abby was sprawled her bed, one arm tucked behind her head, a small smile on her lips as you stepped inside.

“Hey, stranger. Starting to think you forgot about me.”

You sat beside her, the mattress dipping under your weight as her arm stretched along the back, her fingertips brushing your shoulder, resting on the fabric of your shirt. This was supposed to be easy. No strings attached. But as she laughed, her gaze lingering on yours, something soft and knowing in her expression, she realized you both were in trouble.

in deeper than either of you would admit.

“Forget about you? Please, never.” You joked, bumping her shoulder with yours. Truth was, you couldn’t even dream of forgetting about her.

Abby humed, tilting her head to the side. Her braid following her small movement. “You say that now, but you haven’t even bothered to check in for almost three weeks.” There was tease lilt to her tone, but a small part of her was beginning to wonder if maybe you’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble after all. Trying to push that past relationship troubles take over.

“Really?” You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking back to how long it had actually been. It clicked She was…counting? Regardless she was right. yes, it had been awhile. “Oh… shit, I’m sorry, Abs. Got busy, I guess?” You rubbed your arm, glancing over at her. It was a weak statement but it’s all you could mutter out.

Abby rolled her eyes, nudging you with her knee. “Busy, huh? Couldn’t even leave a note or something?” She gave you a pointed look, pouting dramatically. “Im offended.” But as she took in your sheepish expression, her gaze softened. Her bottom lip out.

“Hey! Don’t do that. You’re a horrible communicator too, and you know it,” you chuckled, reaching out to tilt her face toward you with a finger under her chin. Scanning over the new scar on the side of her cheek.

Abby scoffed, still faking offense. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh?”

She smirked as your fingers gently lifted her chin, her eyes meeting yours. A familiar spark flickered between you, something that felt like it was always standing behind you. Looming.

You nodded jokingly, scanning her face again. “Mhm. I’m soo not taking accountability here.”

Abby rolled her eyes again, but there was a mischievous glint in them. She pouted again, though this time it was clearly more playful than serious. “Oh really? I see how it is.” She leaned into your touch, her voice much quieter than before. Fingers twitching to reach over and hold you more.

You chuckled, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear before cupping her face. “Oh Yeah? You do?”

Abby’s teasing melted away the moment your hands settled on her skin. Your touch was too gentle, too easy, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She knew she should keep things light, keep up the playful air, but the way you were looking at her? Like she meant something? It was fucking terrifying. You always looked at her like that, always.

“Earth to Andersonnnn,” you teased, your thumb caressing over her cheek. Eyes on hers, like you were trying to read her thoughts.

Abby blinked, cheeks tinged with a rush of heat. She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Sorry, got lost in thought for a second.” Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, savoring the feel of your touch. It felt too natural. Too safe.

“I see that,” you hummed, shifting along the couch until you settled onto her lap, resting on her thighs. “Whatcha thinking about, hm?”

Abby’s hands instinctively found your hips, her grip firm but careful. The warmth of you against her sent a flood of emotions rushing through her. Ones she’d been trying to ignore for weeks, months. Ever since you first kissed her if she being completely honest with herself. Your arms around her neck, the soft sigh you let out. it wouldn’t leave her, ever.

She exhaled, her fingers absentmindedly skimming the hem of your shirt. “Nothing. Just… stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeated, unconvinced. You sighed, resting your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of pine. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop by sooner. But I… I thought about you.” Your voice was quieter now. “I promise.”

Abby’s breath caught as you nuzzled closer, her fingers tracing lazy circles along your back. She closed her eyes, relishing in your warmth, in the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against her. Worried hers was loud enough for you to hear.

“I thought about you too,” she admitted, barely above a hush. More than she should have. More than she wanted to. But admitting that meant something, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face what that was. It screamed at her, little did she know it was mutual annoyance. That nagging to just face what was happening, like taking the sun away from a blooming flower. Forcing the petals to stay shut. She swallowed hard, gripping your waist just a little tighter.

“No, Abs… like, really missed you.” You sighed, pressing a small kiss to her shoulder before leaning back to meet her eyes. “Like more… than I should.”

Abby’s heart thumped at your words. She averted her gaze, trying to shove down the overwhelming feeling creeping up her throat. But when she felt your lips against her skin, her resolve broke. She looked at you then. really looked at you. That look you’d always given her whether you knew you were doing it or not. Your face, so open, so…unguarded. A expression she hadn’t yet memorized.

“More than you should?” she echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

You sighed, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. A thousand words wanted to spill but the only one you let fall was..

“Yeah.”

A long silence stretched between you, those heavy with unspoken words.

The warm of her fingers traced slow invisible patterns along your waist, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions she didn’t know how to name. Or if she should. She took a deep breath, exhaling shakily before finally admitting, “I… I’ve missed you too. More than I should.”

You glanced back down at her, a small sigh of relief escaping your lips. “Not just me then?” you murmured, resting your forehead against hers, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin.“Good… I feel better about that.”

Abby closed her eyes, savoring the weight of you against her, the way your fingers danced along her arm like this was something much more. “No, not just you,” she murmured, her voice softer now. She opened her eyes, searching your face for something. reassurance, maybe. A sign that this wasn’t just in her head.

You chuckled, running a hand along her arm. “I mean, you are so cute. How could I not think about your stupid face?”

Abby let out a short laugh, swatting at your arm. The tension eased just slightly. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Miss ’Too Busy to Check In,’” she teased.

“Oh, shut up! Now I’ll find you every day just to spite you. How’s that?” You grinned, tilting her face up once more, Faces much closer than before.

Abby huffed, pretending to be put off, but her heart was hammering against her ribs. “You better. I’ll be waiting for it. Every single time. No pressure, though.” She smiled, raising an eyebrow at you as your hands cupped her face. “Oh? And what else? Gonna bring me flowers too?”

You scoffed, arching a brow back at her. “Oh? What kind of flowers would Miss Anderson want?”

She pretended to think about it, tapping her chin before grinning. “Lilies. The white ones.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Lilies? That’s real romantic, Abby.” you hummed. “But I like the idea. It’s a deal then. ilies for your time.”

Abby chuckled, playfully swatting your arm. “Oh, so now it’s a trade? Fine, You’ve got yourself a deal.” Her fingers idly traced the back of your neck as she softened, her gaze stamped on yours.

“Good. You don’t have a choice anyway.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Now, can I kiss you, or are we just gonna flirt until the sun comes up?”

Abby pretended to think about it, her fingers still playing with the hem of your shirt. “Hmm… such a hard choice.” She whispered back, but the hunger in her eyes betrayed her.

“I think I’ll go with option one. C’mere.”

Dividers

[saassysaas]

Unlocking Sales Efficiency with Account-Based Routing

In today’s competitive market, targeting the right audience at the right time is crucial. Account based routing streamlines your sales process by matching leads to the right accounts, boosting conversions and reducing response times. This approach ensures your high-value accounts get immediate attention, empowering sales teams to close deals faster.

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Businesses leveraging this strategy see better customer relationships and higher ROI. It minimizes friction between sales and marketing, ensuring qualified leads never slip through the cracks. Account-based routing is not just a tool — it’s a growth engine that aligns your sales strategy with your revenue goals.

[chenya-my-love]

Fictional Yuu

I see a lot of people basing Yuu off of characters on TV and in games. They'll have characters (usually Idia) make refrence to this fact but usually in just a throw away line. But nobody really leans into the idea of Yuu actually coming from some fictional media in Twisted Wonderland.

Like imagine some character like Cater, or maybe Vil while advertising the VDC, posting a photo with Yuu in it. Only for some random account to comment "That's an amazing cosplay, it looks so much like the character". And of course they're confused, they keep looking for who in the photo is cosplaying but nobody is there. Eventually just asking the commentor who was being cosplayed. The comment is simple.

"Right next to you. That's Yuu from (insert anime/game name here)". They don't believe it until they look up the listed media and sees the character they think Yuu is cosplaying and are shocked. They look identical to Yuu (except animated). Their name, looks, and personality are all identical to Yuu. It is Yuu.

I see two (techincally three) routes this could go. A RomCom route and an angst route.

The romcom route revolves around Yuu having a canon love interest making the boys jealous (regardless on whether they entered a relationship yet or the plot was still building it up) and trying to imulate them.

Like all the wikis say that Yuu's feelings blossomed after the love interest nursed them back to health when they were sick, so the moment Yuu gets sick the boy is just rushing to Ramshackle to take care of them. Or if Yuu caught feelings first and it was some romantic moment, the boys try to emulate that scene so Yuu will fall for them too.

But than we have the angst routes.

A scenerio where all the boys decide to watch the anime/play the game that Yuu is from. Only for Yuu to catch them, quickly learning that they're fictional.

Yuu realizing that all their memories were made up, and if their a playable character all their actions were being controlled. That all their suffering was pointless, that it was done simply to make them more interesting or to entertain a bunch of other worldly beings that Yuu didn't know existed.

Yuu having an breakdown over everything. Their life isn't even their own.

Or

While learning about Yuu's world and story, they learn Yuu dies. And not just a shock value death that could be removed from the plot without care, their death is important. Their death leads to the ending whether that be Yuu sacrificing themself for the greater good or Yuu's death motivating the protag to take down the villain.

All that matters is that Yuu dies and Yuu needs to die. The story can't progress without Yuu there.

The boys realizing that if they send Yuu back to their world, their pretty much signing Yuu's Death Certificate. And Yuu doesn't know. The boys now know that Yuu is doomed by the narrative and is destined to die in the end, but Yuu doesn't. They can't even tell Yuu cause Seven only knows how Yuu will take the news that not only are they fictional but they're also destined to die.

[krems-chair]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[croquettish]

That time Hans turned down a threesome with Henry (and why)

So as it turns out I need to add to my other post about why Henry pushed Hans away!!

Thoughts under the cut on account of spoilers for KCD2 specifically:

Henry being Henry, I chose for him to go with the blacksmith over the miller in order to go to the wedding. I did not realize that the conversation with Hans and Enneleyn in the hayloft could go so differently.

Because boy oh boy. It is a doozy.

To callback to my previous post, Henry's estimation of Hans is laid bare as soon as he finds them (provided that he has spoken to Hans prior to this and didn't get involved in the swordfighting downstairs):

Like, holy shit, Henry.

Hans is baffled and points out that he's clearly occupied with a woman:

Here's where it gets interesting on the Hans front in particular. Henry points out that yes, in fact, he was sent there to find Hans' company, namely Enneleyn.

Hans immediately goes on the offense, assuming that Henry is trying to steal her away.

At which point... Enneleyn says this incredible sentence:

OH, OKAY THEN!

But Hans immediately shoots this down.

And I do mean immediately. He wastes no time in stepping in to point out NO, THANK YOU, HE IS NOT SHARING WITH HENRY or rather sharing Henry ahEM

We do know that Hans is a jealous, jealous boy based on his conversations with Samuel and Hans' conversation with Henry at the end of the game if Samuel doesn't make it, but this just adds to it.

All that said, I do think this was a moment of Hans going into a blind panic. Yes, he doesn't like sharing (of course not). But this would have undoubtedly put the thought of Henry in a sexual context into his head. I will not reach so far as to say that him saying not to think about it was Hans talking to himself, but I'm putting it here anyway in case anyone else is as delusional as I am.

But from Henry's perspective, how does this come off? Sure, you could read this as Hans just being a brat who refuses to share his toys with other children. But I imagine that most people, if someone shot down the idea of a threesome with them that quickly, would take this kind of personally?

Like, would Hans have reacted that way with any guy, or is it just Henry? If it's just Henry, what's wrong with him? If it's not just Henry, that implies that he's just not interested in men. And then Henry would have held this conception of Hans in his head for most of the rest of the game. No wonder he ends up worrying about his own feelings for Hans. Maybe Hans could never return them, thus just adding to the list of great reasons to panic.

It also bears noting that, just like with Hans, Enneleyn's comment would have also put the thought of a threesome with Hans into his head, if only for just a moment. I wonder how long that thought stuck with him after that!

I will also add that when Enneleyn is about to leave, Hans says this right in front of Henry's salad:

PETAL! To add to the flower he calls her in the blacksmith route!

She treats the audience to an incredible stinger after that, which Hans clearly could not care less about (he even pumps his arm in celebration):

And Henry... Henry did not want to know that. Poor Henry.

He gets it, he knows what's about to happen there, and he does not want to be present for it or to be thinking about it, and all that in addition to the part where he just learned that Hans is either not into men at all or not into him specifically 🥲

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“You’re gorgeous.”

Lips brush softly against Billy’s temple. Fingers card into his hair at the base of his scalp, holding him like he’s something precious.

Billy scrunches his nose.

“Knock it off,” he scoffs.

When he bats his hand around, shrugging away from the touch, his wrist is snatched with a gentle grip.

“So fussy over nothing,” Eddie muses. He smooths his thumb from side to side against Billy’s inner wrist, leaning forward and planting another kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always get so grumpy when I compliment you, hm?”

Now, Billy’s brows draw together. Eddie kisses the crease, snorting into Billy’s palm when his free hand flies up to shove at his face.

“‘Cause it’s gay.”

“Well, I have some news you’re not gonna like.”

The brunet’s voice is muffled. He wiggles his eyebrows from between Billy’s fingers, and Billy only retracts his hand when lips press against his palm.

He makes a show of wiping his hand against the front of his shirt, and Eddie snickers.

“I don’t like it, okay?”

“Don’t like kisses? Blondie, I’m wounded.” Eddie closes the short distance between them, crowding Billy against the headboard. “You sure seemed to like ‘em a minute ago when I was—“

“Shh, stop,” Billy interrupts.

He can feel his skin grow hot when Eddie cracks a face-splitting grin, so close he can almost taste it.

In the back of his mind, on loop, is the sound of the headboard thunking against the wall over and over. The box springs creaking. Those damn fucking handcuffs rattling around his wrists.

As if sensing how deep his embarrassment runs, Eddie reaches up to tuck a curl behind Billy’s ear.

Just enough softness to cut the edge. Always.

“C’mon, you know how pretty you are, how can you expect me to not wanna smooch all over your face?”

“I said knock it off,” Billy warns.

Eddie stays close. Lingering well within the short reach of Billy’s personal bubble, but his expression dulls ever so slightly. Like a switch being flicked off, the light behind his eyes vanishing.

It has Billy holding his breath.

“Do you think we’re doing something wrong?”

The brunet’s voice is lower than before. Quieter. Billy opens his mouth and closes it again, looking for the answers in the other’s expression.

When he doesn’t provide a response, Eddie huffs amusedly and tilts his head to the side. Releases Billy’s wrist in favor of interlacing their fingers.

“Just ‘cause you don’t want love to come your way doesn’t mean it won’t, y’know.” He leans back against his free hand, giving Billy adequate space to breathe, and chews his lip in brief thought. “Don’t have to be naked to be loved, either.”

For a long beat, Billy just stares. He almost wants to run to Munson’s bathroom and look in the mirror, just to check and make sure his thoughts aren’t written all over his face for Eddie to read aloud. It’s a silly urge, all things considered.

He’s sitting in a trailer that he spends more time in than his own bedroom, wearing a stupid t-shirt and boxers that aren’t his, surrounded by pillows that he forced Eddie to buy because one pillow just wasn’t up to code.

The devil is in the details, and suddenly the air feels thin.

Even with the small space between them, Billy is still boxed in with no feasible way out. He furrows his brows and clenches his jaw.

“You don’t love me,” Billy spits.

Then Eddie laughs and it brings his blood to a simmer.

“I kinda do, though,” he lilts. “I get this happy little rush whenever I see you, I think about buying you cassettes and other shit with my negative account balance, and I quit lookin’ at nudie mags a little while back. If you’re mopping up what I’m drippin’.”

He fucking winks and Billy’s sure his face is redder than a tomato right now.

“What do you look at?” he hears himself ask.

His voice sounds far away over the thundering in his ears. Eddie snickers and leans over towards the edge of the bed, pulling the top drawer of his nightstand open and routing around.

How he keeps track of anything in this room is beyond Billy. Still, he manages to produce exactly what he’s looking for; a Polaroid.

Eddie sits back up, looking over the picture fondly for a moment before he hands it over. Billy accepts it with shaky hands.

The camera has made it into a few of their sessions before. For later, Eddie always says, and then snaps the most diabolical picture any lens has ever seen. The pervert probably has a whole shoebox full of them by now.

Not that Billy would ever ask to see.

He’s expecting something filthy when he turns it over in his hand. A shot of cum all over his face, or his mouth full of cock with a fist in his hair, shoving him deeper. The last thing he needs to see right now.

Instead, it’s an image of him smiling. Fully clothed. Eyes shut, and crinkled at the corners.

He looks genuinely happy, and he can’t even recall when the picture was taken. All he can deduce from the background is that he’s in Eddie’s room.

Go figure.

“We were smoking,” Eddie says, leaning closer to tip the picture down so he can peak at it once more. “One of those first times, before we ever did anything, and you were so giggly. Laughed at damn near everything I said, and I knew I wanted to remember that sound and how pretty you looked when you smiled all big like that.”

“Wanted to remember?”

“Mhm, you immediately smacked the camera out of my hand and yelled at me,” Eddie snickers. “Wasn’t sure I’d get another opportunity.”

He sighs fondly, like that’s endearing to him, and Billy presses his lips into a line.

“You jerk off to this?”

“Well, when you say it like that—“ Eddie pauses. Dawns a bit of a blush and shrugs one of his shoulders, still peaking at the picture. “You look relaxed. Totally at ease and happy, and it just gets me excited, I guess.”

Billy nods.

“How many times have you whacked to it?”

Eddie clears his throat and averts his eyes, sitting up straight reaching to toy with a lock of his hair.

“Like, uh, I dunno. A lot?”

“What’s a lot?”

Briefly, Eddie’s eyes flit back to Billy’s, and he looks away again. Tugs his hair in front of his face to hide his rapidly reddening complexion.

“Maybe something like 20-ish?”

Billy’s brows shoot upward.

“20 times?”

“Just counting the times I’ve used it exclusively.”

“Christ.” Billy shakes his head, spreading the faintest hint of a smile. “No wonder you keep saying you like me so much, you fuckin’ Pavloved yourself.”

“No, I felt that way the first time!”

Billy laughs, and he doesn’t miss the way that Eddie stares at him through half-lidded eyes. Like he just did something sexy with the intention of getting a rise out of the brunet.

It makes everything too real.

The air between them is suddenly hot again like it was mere minutes ago. Billy swallows thickly.

“That’s really your ultimate fantasy? Making me happy?” he asks. Glances back down at the picture. “More vanilla than I would’ve guessed.”

“Oh, you saying I can’t fuck you nasty and make you happy at the same time? That’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

Eddie crawls closer again. Dips down to nudge his face into Billy’s chest like a cat, pressing kisses against the worn fabric of his shirt.

When a hand brushes up his side, Billy goes rigid. Takes a few calming breaths and fights the urge to squirm away when Eddie kisses at his collarbone. He warily pushes his fingers through the brunet’s hair instead, cradling the base of his scalp.

Because maybe he’s something precious, too.

“You’re weird, Munson.”

Eddie chuckles, nosing fondly at his neck.

“You’re gorgeous, Hargrove.”