#Elysian Key

[akumanie]

Thank you so much @nsf-ko for this amazing and... spicy art! I’m absolutely in love with it!!! 😍🥰❤️

*** "Do you know, Harry, the difference between sex and love?"

Harry blissfully closed his eyes; the sound flowed through him, smooth and alluring.

"The only way, and yet it is irreversible... Purely and solely in a kiss. During a kiss, no one can lie, not even the greatest liar; not even the cleverest cheater. A kiss will always reveal who you are to the other. Remember that, Harry."

He listened, swaying on the waves, until that blissful peace shattered the feeling.

Lips, a mouth on Harry's mouth, a touch so timid and yet, so sharp, that Harry breathed out shakily. Velvet was the rough bark of trees; this smoothness came from another dimension, gliding over his lips, caressing them. Harry desperately tried to capture it. Don't disappear, don't get lost! He clasped one of his lips, sucking and tasting. An inarticulate sound escaped his throat. That taste—he’d never—good God, never...!

Harry jerked forward sharply, forcefully thrusting his tongue inside. I want it all. I must! He kissed him wildly, filling every taste bud. I’ll never want anything else; I don't want anything else, no... The moist heat of Severus' mouth, his agile tongue... Harry dissolved in bliss. He tasted him, so intensely; how intensely he tasted! He stood petrified, hands by his sides, fanatically focused on one thing. He swallowed his mouth as if he wanted to devour it... and maybe he did.

***

Check out the first chapter here:

[maphy-art]

A commission for @akumanie to accompany the fic, Elysian Key by Alice O’Really. Akumanie is currently translating the fic into English for us! Please check out her translations.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44883898/chapters/112931260

A small excerpt from chapter eleven, where the art belongs:

***

The scorching heat of Voldemort's presence was closing in. He sensed something.

Severus thought hurriedly, fearfully. He dared not speak or use the spell. They had to be invisible. How to calm Potter down? How to stop his breathing and his heart?

The Dark Lord was here, entering their corridor. Heat burned painfully at the back of Severus' neck.

Severus leaned in, tilted his face up and kissed Potter. He pressed their lips together, firmly, strongly, insistently. And Potter froze. His breath hitched, his heart stopped in shock. They stared at each other, green mingling with black, trapped in the moment.

Potter blinked. Severus snapped out of it. And realized that the Dark Lord was disappearing around the corner; when had he passed them?

He slid his mouth down Potter's cool cheek to his earlobe.

"Gone," he breathed.

[belldandye-blog]

Tak ještě jednou tahle zpráva, protože teď ji pro vás mám přeloženou a to Akumánií, překladatelkou Elysejského klíče.

ELYSEJSKÝ KLÍČ SE PŘESOUVÁ NA AO3

VYSVĚTLENÍ POZADÍ

Elysejský klíč je archiv fanfikcí vytvořený v roce 2010 a od té doby udržovaný Alicí O’Really, autorkou fanfikce stejného názvu. Elysejský klíč se importuje do Archive of Our Own s cílem zachovat její práci v případě, že by nebyla schopna to udělat sama, a také k zachování práce jejích fanoušků, kteří napsali pocty k její tvorbě a vytvořili další fanouškovský obsah inspirovaný Elysejským klíčem.

Cílem Projektu záchrany online archivů výboru Open Doors je pomáhat moderátorům archivů začlenit fanouškovské práce z těchto archivů do Archívu of Our Own. Open Doors spolupracuje s moderátory při importu jejich archivů, pokud jim chybí finanční prostředky, čas nebo jiné zdroje na nezávislé udržování archivu. Pro Open Doors je extrémně důležitá spolupráce s moderátory, kteří chtějí importovat své archivy, a plně přiznat zásluhy autorům, poskytujíc jim co největší kontrolu nad jejich fanouškovskými pracemi. Open Doors bude spolupracovat s pimpinellou, FemmeFragile a belldandy na importu Elysejského klíče do samostatné, vyhledávatelné kolekce na Archívu of Our Own. Jako součást zachování celého archivu budou všechny fanartové práce momentálně na Elysejském klíči hostovány na serverech OTW a vloženy do vlastních stránek na AO3.

Začneme importovat práce z Elysejského klíče na AO3 po prosinci roku 2023. Nicméně import může probíhat několik měsíců nebo dokonce let v závislosti na velikosti a složitosti archivu. Tvůrci jsou vždy vítáni, aby si své vlastní práce importovali a přidali je v mezidobí do kolekce.

CO TO ZNAMENÁ PRO TVŮRCE, KTEŘÍ MAJÍ PRÁCE NA ELYSEJSKÉM KLÍČI?

Každému odešleme oznámení o importu na e-mailovou adresu, kterou máme uvedenou v původním archivu. Budeme se snažit prověřit existenci kopie prací před importem. Pokud najdeme kopii již na AO3, pozveme ji do kolekce místo importu. Všechny práce archivované jménem tvůrce budou obsahovat jejich jméno v řádku pro autora nebo souhrnu práce.

Všechny importované práce budou nastaveny tak, aby byly viditelné pouze pro přihlášené uživatele AO3. Jakmile si někdo nárokuje své práce, může je nastavit jako veřejně viditelné, pokud si to tak přeje. Po 30 dnech budou všechny neuplatněné importované práce viditelné pro všechny návštěvníky. Poté natrvalo uzavřeme stránky.

Prosím, kontaktujte Open Doors se svým pseudonymem a e-mailovou adresou Elysejského klíče, pokud:

Chcete, abychom importovali vaše práce, ale potřebujete oznámení poslat na jinou e-mailovou adresu, než jste použili v původním archivu.

Už máte účet na AO3 a své práce jste již sami importovali.

Chcete si své práce importovat sami (včetně případu, kdy ještě nemáte účet na AO3).

Nechcete, aby vaše práce byly přesunuty na AO3.

Jste spokojeni, když zachováme tvé práce na AO3, ale rádi byste, abychom odstranili

vaše jméno.

Máte nějaké další otázky, na které vám můžeme odpovědět.

Prosím, v předmětu e-mailu uveďte název archivu. Pokud už nemáte přístup k e-mailovému účtu, se kterým jste se poprvé přihlásili na Elysejský klíč, kontaktujte Open Doors a my vám pomůžeme. (Pokud jste práce již zveřejnili jinde nebo máte snadný způsob ověření, že jsou vaše, to je skvělé; pokud ne, budeme spolupracovat s moderátory Elysejského klíče na ověření vašich nároků.)

Mrkněte se prosím na webové stránky Open Doors pro pokyny ohledně:

importu vašich prací na AO3

přidání vašich prací do nové kolekce Elysejský klíč

POKUD MÁTE STÁLE OTÁZKY...

Pokud máte další otázky, navštiv Open Doors FAQ nebo kontaktujte výbor Open Doors.

Bude nám potěšením, pokud by fanoušci mohli pomoci zachovat příběh Elysejského klíče na Fanlore. Pokud jste nováčci v editaci wiki, nic složitého na tom není! Mrkněte se na nový vstupní portál nebo se zeptej Fanlore Gardeners ohledně užitečných tipů.

Jsme nadšeni, že můžeme pomoci zachovat Elysejský klíč!

Tým Otevřených dveří a pimpinella, FemmeFragile a belldandy

Elysejský klíč is Moving to the AO3

Elysejský klíč is a Harry Potter fanfiction and fanart archive created in 2010 and maintained since then by Alice O’Really, author of the fanfiction of the same title. The archive is now being imported to AO3. If you visited or were part of the archive, read more at https://otw.news/cyg

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[modicum-elysian]

Who’s to say that your safe behind that mask of mystery

Once we figure out who you are, it’s all over

The subject of a narrative cannot rise against the creators and spectators of the narrative.

…. If that makes sense.

“Fair”

:3

[nixiegenesis]

DUDE, YOUR CAT IS SO ORANGE LMAO

He’s the absolute orangest baby I have ever met

His ears are so floppy lol

[the-potato-beeper]

feeing sad over UDAD

[4unnyr0se]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :haikyuu masterlist: :;

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ fics | smut

❥ nepenthe | kotaro bokuto

➥ bokuto's in a slump because he's missing all his spikes, and the only person who can cheer him up is msby's prettiest manager

❥ meddle about | kenma kozume

➥ kenma is forced to attend a work-related party. he runs into a model that works closely with lev, and she's into him

❥ que linda | shoyo hinata

➥ homesick, hinata jumps on the first plane to japan and hits up his old manager that he had a massive tiny crush on

❥ elysian | koshi sugawara

➥ sugawara and the art teacher bond over cleaning up glue and macaroni, which blossoms into something more

❥ ohmami | hajime iwaizumi

➥ iwaizumi runs into his high school best friend at the gym he works at, and it's too dark for her to walk back home all by herself. so obviously he's a gentleman and drives her

❥ moth to a flame | toru oikawa

➥ oikawa hates ushijima with every bone in his body. turns out his ex-girlfriend feels the same way. why make him furious by making a sex tape?

❥ shameless | kei tsukishima

➥ you and tsukishima have been enemies since high school. you enroll in sendai university thinking that you have finally escaped him and his stupid good looks. you were wrong.

❥ apple cider | tobio kageyama

➥ tobio is failing his biology class, specifically struggling with the human anatomy unit. who's better than to tutor him than the annoyingly smart hot nerd girl?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ fics | fluff

❥ young love at fukurodani | kotaro bokuto

➥ boktuo and his schoolboy crush

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ drabbles | smut

❥ tsukishima plays the waiting game | part i | part ii |

➥ tsukishima has a crush, but he bides his time

❥ tsukishima and asphyxiation

➥ tsukishima's little girlfriend likes his hands around her neck

❥ kuroo as your boss

➥ kuroo and his sexy new employee

❥ matching with haikyuu captains on tinder | part i | part ii | part iii | part iv |

➥ captains match with you on tinder

❥ pretty and possessive

➥ possessive! oikawa meets you at a party

❥ eat it from the back!

➥ kenma and akaashi eat it from the back

❥ til your teeth rot!

➥ how akaashi, osamu, kenma, and bokuto eat it

❥ morning breath

➥ morning sex with kenma and suna

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ drabbles | multiple | smut

❥ caught ya!

➥ catching you masturbating

❥ fuckin with the pretty setter squad | part i

➥ how the members of the pretty setter squad fuck

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ smau | smut

❥ spicy insta post reaction | part i | part ii |

➥ reacting to you posting a spicy pic on insta

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ headcanons | smut

❥ yuu nishinoya & morisuke yaku

➥ sfw & nsfw

❥ tobio kageyama

➥ sfw & nsfw

[chaoticallycosmic]

Viktoriya could only laugh as she watched Walt fix himself a drink. He certainly looked as if he was at home in Elysian. "If you ever wanted to change careers, I'm sure Kazimir wouldn't mind hiring you," she huffed in amusement as her eyes stalked his every move. "I'm sure it'll bring in many female clients," she teased him as she stepped closer to the bar and took one of the drinks he poured out. "Kaz definitely wouldn't mind the business it'd bring the bar," she continued before taking a large sip of the neat bourbon. She needed it. After the day from hell at work, she'd need more than one drink, though. Viktoriya loved her job, but it was a draining endeavor. "I really needed that," she commented, her eyes never leaving him as he moved around.

"Let me guess: Was it a stressful day at work, or did you just need to come and raid Kaz's top-shelf liquor?" Of course, she wanted to ask something else, but she refrained. Her mind didn't stop the thought: Or did you know I'd be here after work and wanted to see me too? She hoped for the third but was careful that it didn't show on her face. "Pour me another pozhaluysta (please)?" The nurse held her empty glass toward him, a lazy grin on her lips.

Open Starter

Walt McAllister - 42, heterosexual, private eye

Open to mutuals and non-mutuals

Connection Ideas - Partner / SO; client; ex; rival; bartender; patron

++

“You’re right. Technically I’m not a bartender… but I could be,” Walt mused, holding their gaze as he finished pouring a neat bourbon for himself. The hour was late and well past closing time, meaning the private eye had full reign of the bar, a privilege he assumed he’d indulge in alone until the other had arrived unannounced. Before they could ask, Walt said, “Let me guess… you’re wondering what I’m doing here so late and how I got in? Well, I could ask you the same question… but how about we have a drink first?”

[literaila]

still here 

tasm!peter x reader 

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation 

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue 

*

there's this little thing called stress baking. 

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed. 

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients. 

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to. 

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention. 

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it. 

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions. 

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram. 

not that these brownies would agree. 

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good. 

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him. 

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard. 

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine. 

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight. 

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking. 

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault. 

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor. 

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird. 

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off. 

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned. 

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home." 

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home." 

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?" 

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home." 

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin. 

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back. 

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear. 

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up. 

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you. 

you turn back to the brownies. 

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive. 

"sure?" 

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes." 

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it." 

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet." 

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again.  you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question. 

what are you hiding? 

"we have some ice cream, too." 

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him. 

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge. 

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor. 

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending. 

"peter?" 

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you. 

he swallows. "yeah?" 

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright? 

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?" 

you raise a brow. 

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out." 

you nod. "okay." 

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close. 

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him. 

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.” 

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.” 

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small. 

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.” 

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin. 

* 

it's not that serious. honestly. 

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it. 

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck. 

you're not thinking about it at all. 

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine. 

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to. 

peter has obligations. 

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there. 

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks. 

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine. 

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine. 

but you miss him. if only momentarily. 

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does. 

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do. 

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day. 

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read). 

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world. 

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again. 

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back. 

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything. 

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store. 

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out. 

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation. 

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough. 

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there. 

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up. 

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again. 

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep. 

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else. 

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it. 

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here. 

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands. 

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up. 

it's for him to know all of this. 

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again. 

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window. 

you want him in more than just your memory. 

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

*

peter's not supposed to be home. 

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red. 

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room. 

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask. 

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"  

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled. 

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later. 

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded. 

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?" 

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry." 

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits. 

you bite your lip and look away. 

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks. 

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top. 

you can hear peter moving. 

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear. 

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp. 

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting. 

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--" 

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?" 

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me." 

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too." 

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it." 

"well, i'm going to." 

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man." 

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore." 

peter scowls. "stop deflecting." 

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back." 

*

and you are. 

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it. 

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole. 

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation. 

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that. 

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you. 

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had. 

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by. 

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely. 

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late. 

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. 

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him. 

you're trying not to frown back. 

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?" 

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone. 

"good." 

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room. 

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes. 

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home. 

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual. 

besides the facade you're putting on. 

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about." 

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?" 

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time." 

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie." 

you frown. "i'm not lying." 

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay." 

"i'm fine, peter." 

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know." 

"well, you do." 

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. 

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you. 

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him. 

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you." 

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have. 

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny. 

"what?" 

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world. 

"what?" peter repeats, but softer. 

you open your eyes. 

and then it all crumbles. 

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him. 

"like what?" 

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day. 

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting." 

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there. 

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--" 

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me." 

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?" 

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much." 

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left. 

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off. 

"you're not too much." 

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer. 

you couldn't push him away if you tried. 

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that." 

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too. 

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head. 

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper. 

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel." 

"that's all easy." 

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before. 

you shrug. 

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why." 

"it's the sex." 

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me." 

"no?" 

"absolutely not." 

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream. 

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck." 

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his. 

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks." 

"for me too. it's not your fault." 

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know." 

"okay." 

"do you promise?" 

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter." 

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much." 

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals. 

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

[elysiansparadise]

hey elysian, hope you're all well ~ do you know what synastry aspects could show one person having an inspirational or motivating affect on the other? there's this guy i went to school with who makes me feel super motivated every time i see him on socials or when we would talk back then but i can't pinpoint what aspect it could be - if it helps we're both capricorns. thanks!

Hello love! I'm doing very good, I hope you too. 🤎

Synastry: Motivational/Inspirational effect

🤎1st house overlays [especially Mars, Sun or Jupiter falling in the other’s 1st]. When there are overlays in this house, the planet person motivates you to be yourself, to explore and show your best qualities and to be proud of them. They boost your energy in an instant, they encourage you to achieve things, to celebrate yourself and to try new things. There may be similarities between the two, which facilitates understanding and empathy.

🤎5th house overlays [especially Mars, Mercury or Venus falling in the other’s 5th]. As for this house, that person can inspire you a lot on a creative level. It reminds me of those people who write poems based on someone, or draw their loved one, I think it can reflect this dynamic a lot. You feel more excited, joyful and relaxed with this person and they encourage you to achieve a little more.

🤎12th house overlays [especially Moon, Venus and Mars falling in the other’s 12th]. When someone's planets fall into your 12th house, many of the effects they have on you are unconscious, you may not be aware of them but to others it may be very apparent. As far as Moon (mainly fire and earth moons) and Mars are concerned, that person easily motivates and lifts your spirits, whereas with Venus and Moon (water and air moons), you can feel spontaneously inspired when you share moments with that person. person or, in some cases even only if you see them. I like to call it the muse overlays, because the level of inspiration is usually very high.

🤎Mars-Jupiter aspects. This one is usually very obvious, as Jupiter expands everything it touches and when it aspects someone's Mars, it makes that person feel more driven, more action-oriented, and of course, more energetic. Although both of you may feel that spark and energy surge, Jupiter person has the strongest effect. Mars person has other effects, such as making Jupiter person’s life more thrilling, interesting and dynamic.

🤎Mars-Sun aspects. These aspects are a bit more direct. Mars person has that quality of motivating and giving Sun person that push when they need it most, while Sun person makes Mars person feel more dynamic or energetic with their mere presence, it is something a little more unconscious. They seem to trust each other's qualities and make the other feel capable of achieving whatever they set their minds to, they feel confident and ambitious when they spend time together.

🤎Mars-Pluto aspects. Here the key word is power. Similar to the above, this couple makes the other feel very powerful and capable. There is mutual admiration and respect and they make the other feel that what they do is valuable and significant, that their efforts and actions are not in vain. 

🤎Moon-Jupiter aspects [especially conjunction, trine or opposition]. In addition to being extremely precious and lovely aspects, the contacts between the two planets make the natives naturally put in a good mood, out of nowhere they feel the desire to create, to do and simply to enjoy. A mixture of motivation and inspiration that is mutual and both are given equally.

🤎Moon-Neptune aspects. This aspect helps more than anything to inspire the other. The Neptune person has that facility to give that hope, enlightenment and joy to the Moon person. Moon person feels that everything is possible with the other, feels more positive and seems to have more faith in life. They both understand each other's dreams and most importantly, they value them.

🤎Your 12th house ruler being strongly aspected by the other person's planets (By strongly aspected I mean that 3 or more planets aspect the ruler). This house is famous for representing inspiration, dreams and the subconscious, the fact that many of the other person's planets aspect with its ruler makes them have this effect on you, even reaching the point of having them in your mind for a long time. You think of them and immediately the ideas come to you.

🤎Your 5th house ruler being strongly aspected by the other person's planets (By strongly aspected I mean that 3 or more planets aspect the ruler). It shares similarities with the previous one, in this case it is a joy and motivation. The typical scenario where you see the person, suddenly you feel like doing/creating something, and in the process of doing it, you crack a smile when you remember them. A more creative inspiration can be attributed to it.

[akumanie]

***

Harry leaned down sharply and kissed him. He took his lower lip between his own, sucked it into his mouth, stole it away and swallowed all its taste. Snape's fingers, hooked into his body, momentarily intensified their grip, almost as if he was trying to break Harry in half. And then they relaxed, sliding down his sides and pressing against his hips. Such — pleasure...! Harry snuggled closer, tight, no space between them. Running his left hand into the black hair, he carded his fingers through it, soft at first, then clenched the strands into his fist; his other hand moved down Snape's cheek, over the edge of his chin, to his throat and the back of his neck, hungrily touching every bit of exposed skin, his fingers digging under the collar of his shirt; more! I want more... Snape exhaled hotly, and the searing heat brought Harry to his knees. He's has completely given up on sanity.

***

Thank you so much @nsf-ko for creating this amazing fanart to accompany chapter 25 of Elysian Key by Alice O'Really. It's gorgeous and absolutly stunning! 😍❤️🥰

[akumanie]

Thank you so much MaPhY! I truly love your work. You are amazingly talented and hardworking artist. ❤️🥰 😘

A commission for @akumanie to accompany the fic, Elysian Key by Alice O’Really. Akumanie is currently translating the fic into English for us! Please check out her translations.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44883898/chapters/112931260

A small excerpt from chapter eleven, where the art belongs:

***

The scorching heat of Voldemort's presence was closing in. He sensed something.

Severus thought hurriedly, fearfully. He dared not speak or use the spell. They had to be invisible. How to calm Potter down? How to stop his breathing and his heart?

The Dark Lord was here, entering their corridor. Heat burned painfully at the back of Severus' neck.

Severus leaned in, tilted his face up and kissed Potter. He pressed their lips together, firmly, strongly, insistently. And Potter froze. His breath hitched, his heart stopped in shock. They stared at each other, green mingling with black, trapped in the moment.

Potter blinked. Severus snapped out of it. And realized that the Dark Lord was disappearing around the corner; when had he passed them?

He slid his mouth down Potter's cool cheek to his earlobe.

"Gone," he breathed.

[tvchi]

Veiled Intentions: The Hunt, Prt 2

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- Allusion to sexual intercourse, Profanity

Pairing: black male x black female Words: 3,642k

A/N: Here is Part 2 of this series. I'm really going to try to work on getting these parts out at least once a week. Again, don't hold me to that because life be lifing!!! This part is very logistical and technical. If crime, espionage, and cerebral thrillers aren't your thing, I understand. Please scroll. While you may need these details to understand some of the premises of the story and what may happen later on, you will probably pick up on things later on.

Summary: Y/N tries to regain her composure while meeting Terry. Amused, Terry throws a wrench in her plans while running into someone who could be the key to this entire case. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rendered speechless, you look around, trying to gain your composure and decide whether you will play along. Your heart fluttered in reaction to his gaze and the warmth that emanated from his presence. Usually, you were a lioness strolling fearlessly through a den of vipers. But today, you were as timid as a fawn as his eyes roamed your body. Your brain screamed for you to say something before this became a noticeable and awkward pause. If acting like he didn't meet you at the museum was his direction, then that's the direction this would take. After all, you just bumped into each other, and you never got his name or anything else.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N Olisa." He smiled brightly at your response while you wondered whether you should have come clean to Director Moore about your encounter. You sat down at the only empty chair in the room to the left of Director Moore's desk. 

"Now that you two know each other, Olisa, I need you to brief us on what you have found on the case so far and start from the beginning so that we can get ASAC Richmond up to speed."

"Right," you started, trying to gain the resolve to forget the set of grey-blue peering at you from the right. "Well, for the past three months, I have been in the field working with other operatives on Operation Green Ledger, investigating large-scale money laundering within a network of shell companies designed to conceal stolen wealth accumulated through drug trafficking and high-priced art.

We believe that a group called the Ghost Syndicate has been partnering with art powerhouse Elysian Art Consortium (EAC) to smuggle drugs within the art purchased by some of the major gangs and cartels here in the US Several silent auctions disguised as showcases have been happening. In the area more than usual.

In 2021, Harborview Heights was home to only three art museums. Its population is about 600,000, and its average income per household is $60,000. In 2024, the number of art museums and showcases doubled even though the population has only increased by 50,000 and its average income per household, adjusted for inflation, is about $70,000."

"That's not nearly enough money to buy and sell art at that rate," Terry chimed incredulously.

"Exactly. We noticed that this was happening in more than just Harborview. It's happening in Pinehurst, Kingston Circle, and Cedarwood. These surrounding towns are only maybe within a 60-mile radius of each other. So we started looking into the interwebs to see if there was any chatter about any new players in town. After weeks of searching, SA Donovan intercepted a series of encrypted communications between the CEO of EAC and a buyer by the name of Muammar Gadaffi."

“The Muammar Muhammad Abu Minyar al-Gadaffi?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That's the one"

"Hmm"

"Right. As I asked some of my contacts in the CIA, they assured me there has not been any chatter from that family and anyone from the US in years, especially not in art or stolen artifacts."

"SA Donovan got me into one of these showcases that our CEO talked about with the cover, Alana Thomas. While there, I noticed that most people on the guest list weren't even Harborview residents. In fact, most of them flew in from out of the country. I made a contact that night, posing as an art enthusiast and buyer for an affluent family. I asked about how to bid on pieces and when they had auctions.

"The contact let it slip that the event I was attending was, in fact, a silent auction for some of the pieces but that he didn't think I would be interested in this month's pieces and to come back next month. Then some other operative bugged the place, posing as museum patrons, chaperones for field trips, etc." I continued.

"We are hoping that Olisa's Mark would provide fruitful information given his status in the EAC. It has been five grueling months, and more bids have taken place without knowing much about how to even receive a formal invite to bid. The invitations are heavily encrypted. Apparently, the designer used to be one of our own," Director Moore let out in frustration.

"Well, I've been formally invited as a plus one to the silent auction in two weeks. I seemed to impress one of the higher-ups at a company party last week. Adrian, my Mark, is curating the event and handling the guest list. I sent a copy over. So far, more than half of those people are major players in cartels worldwide. I am close to getting a handle on how first contact is made between the art dealers for EAC and the buyers. The key encryption on their computers changes every 18 hours."

Terry nods slowly, lips pursed in contemplation. His breathing slows, eyes trained on you as if he anticipated your next words. Your eyes go down to his big hands. They were strong and defined. The slight calluses on his fingertips and various small, healing scars on his knuckles told you he wasn't just pushing papers in his office. His fingernails were neatly trimmed and clean, tapping the arms of the seat he occupied. He stopped tapping when he noticed that you stopped speaking and were staring at his hands. You cleared your throat to relieve the tension that was building up in your chest.

"I'm assuming you are here with information about increased activity from the cartels," you said.

"No. I'm here because we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible. There's something big coming up the pipeline and we will need all hands on deck. We are asking everyone to clear their desks. The timeline is four months."

You laugh. "It took three to get an invite and look at the guest list. This is grade-A cyber encryption. There's no way we can wrap this in four months!" You look at Director Moore, eyes wide, and plead for help. 

"Olisa, ASAC Richmond will help you in this endeavor. We know that you are making some headway, but we are going to need all the help we can get if we are to meet the deadline. Please share the rest of your intel and show him around." 

"From operative to babysitter and secretary. My how the 'best and brightest' have fallen." Terry chuckles as he peers at you intently.

"And when you're done being a smart ass, make sure he has a copy of the case files."

You purse your lips in annoyance and then pull them into a tightly lined smile. 

"Yessir," you say. You turn to Terry, sitting in the chair, legs agape and elbows pressed against the arms of the seat. Your eyes were drawn to how muscular his legs were. Even underneath those suit pants, you could tell that he was well-toned. Quickly reverting your eyes to his face, you said, "Follow Me."

He rose from his seat, his build towering your frame. You two left the director's office and headed down the stairs. You started introducing him to everyone you passed by name, title, and what role they played in the case.

He greeted every last one with a congenial, dashing smile that reached his eyes and a "nice to meet you" or an "I'll try not to bother you too much, I promise." Once you finished introducing him to Brooke and apologizing for her lewd remarks, you stopped by the office with his placard beside the door you spotted while you were walking him over to Brooke.

"And this is you. SA Hilt will be coming over shortly with a copy of those case files you wanted, and if you need anything else, SA Donovan will be more than happy to assist you," you concluded, turning to face the door.

"What if I want you to assist me?" he asked sharply.

"Excuse me?" you replied, half-turned.

"You told me about everyone else you're pawning me off to. But what if I need you?" That flash of grey seized you once more, threatening to hold you hostage until an acceptable answer shot up from your mouth.

"I'm not sure in what situation you would need me."

"I can think of a couple of situations," he said mischievously. With your brow furrowing from his surprising lewdness, you turned around fully to face him.

 "From my understanding, we are attacking this from different angles. I'm supposed to stay with the Mark and I supposed you'd be posing as one of the buyers. Until the last 48 hours leading up to the auction, I'm not sure why you would need me."

"Well, for one," he started, folding his arms across his chest, "it seems like you know this case inside out and have been working this case since day one. Something stored in you may be the key to how we can get it; you just can't place it yet. Not sure how much you know about me," he stood and strolled towards you, eyes fixed on yours, "but I've been told that I'm pretty good at getting things that I want." Your body quivered at the heat of his gaze. 

"So advancing on operatives in the field, then showing up at their site pretending not to know them is how you get what you want?" you asked heatedly. The corners of his lips curled.

"Well, actually, this is our first time being introduced. You marched off before I could tell you my name."  His reply was swift, as though he anticipated the question. You assessed him, still trying to figure out his angle. 

"As I said, the other operatives will be here with you. I'm mostly in the field. I was here to collect some things before reporting to my post as assistant professor." He looked at you intently for a moment. Then, his demeanor changed to that of indifference.

"I'll walk you out."

"No need. Besides, I'm the one that knows my way around."

"Are things always this difficult with you?"

"Difficult," you said with a raised brow bordering on annoyance.

"Yes. Difficult," he repeated.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir, but the only difficult thing about me at this present moment is the energy I would need to conjure to deal with an outsider coming into an investigation I spent months on and asking me not only to speed up my timeline but also calling me 'difficult' in the process," you replied poignantly. As you finished, he looked at you rather amused. "Is something funny?" 

He turned and walked behind his desk. Looking at the files on his desk and shuffling them around, he said, "Yeah, but I don't think HR would share my sense of humor. I'll keep it to myself, but I think I'm changing my opinion on 'difficult.' You wear it well."

His eyes hadn't left his desk once. Your face stalled, not knowing if you preferred the heat of his gaze or the coldness of his nonchalance wrapped in a sultry yet suggestive tone. "I guess I'll just find you. Thank you, SA Olisa." 

The finality in his tone urged you to move towards the door and out of his office. You weren't sure what was happening, but you needed to get a hold of yourself to see if you were going to last the next three months under this man. 

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

TERRY

I watched her walk through the glass doors of the empty office, her curvy frame gliding down the hall. I never thought I would see her again let alone standing in Director Moore's Box. If I'm anything, it's intrigued.

I wanted to know her story, how she wound up here, how she could dissociate from her marks after an assignment was over, why this case meant so much to her, or why she couldn't look me in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time. I wondered whether the latter was partly because she felt that same rush of electricity I felt when we touched yesterday.

I pushed thoughts of Y/N aside as I began to look at the files in this case. A lot was riding on this, and I needed to give this all of my attention. A knock came to the door.

"Come in," I said without looking up.

"Would you like anything for lunch, sir? A couple of us are ordering." SA Brooke Donovan said with a bright smile.

"It's lunch already? I didn't realize."

"Well, technically, it's 2:00. But we just now decided on where everyone wanted to eat from."

I chuckled. "Okay, then I'll have whatever you're having."

"Okaaaaaaay, Sir," she replied with a bright, spirited smile." Whatever you want."

I chuckled. Brooke was definitely the one who brought light to everyone's dark days. I am also well aware of my effect on people, especially women. 

I worked through lunch and almost dinner reviewing the case files, looking for anything that was missed that could be a potential angle to work while everyone went through the other obvious roads. I even set up a case board inside my office to track all the information I gathered.

We needed to attack all fronts, but no one was posing as the transport. No delineation of the route taken to deliver the product since only the supplier knew where the product was stored. That would be the critical area of interception.

Another angle would be forcing a route change by making all parties involved aware that they were being watched. As I pondered these notions, my stomach growled. Heeding that warning, I stood up, packed my things, and headed out of the office in search of food.

Out of the Box and walking out of the campus's main library, I smelled her before I saw her.

Her long, toned legs walked down the aisle, a book in one hand and a cup in the other. The heels she wore made her calves and ass look like every man's dream. Her skirt fit snugly around her curves, stopping just below her knees. Her bell-sleeved blouse had a keyhole slit in the back that revealed her warm, mahogany skin. I watched her for a minute, moving to a desk in the corner of the library next to another self of books.

She moved intently, searching while removing several books and stacking them in her arms. Everything she did was poetic. The way she moved her locs out of her face, the way she placed the books she wasn't going to take with a single push of her index finger, the way she tilted her head upward as if making a mental note to revisit a topic later, all of it made me wonder.

I wondered what she thought about when no one required her to think about anything, what frightened her, what her favorite restaurant was, and what made her toes curl in heated passion. I haven't had a chance to contemplate hoisting a woman up by her legs and to drink from her well in a long while. Come to think of it, too long. Looking at her now, passions I forgot were there slowly rose, forming a tent in my slacks.

She placed them down on the counter at the front, where she exchanged pleasantries with the librarian, after which the librarian scanned the books and tucked them away underneath the counter. She strode to the front, and my feet followed, drawn.

When I finally reached the door, she was down the steps where some light-skinned dude was waiting on her. They embraced, and his hands trailed down to her lower back, then her ass, as he kissed her. A fire lit in my chest, my eyes glued to his hands. Then he opened the door to the car and let her climb inside. 

As he shut the door, he turned and seemed to look at me. Still far off from the tall steps, I'm not sure how much he saw of my face, but pride settled into my feet like lead and wouldn't permit me to move. We stared briefly at each other, and I watched him walk to the driver's seat and drive off.

I'm not sure what is drawing me to this woman or what about her makes me want to break every finger on that man's hands for touching her, but I knew that the timeline on this case had just moved up.

I spent the next few days between the Box and my rental, visiting all the different sites of the case. I felt at home on the road because it allowed me to think out loud, from the most far-fetched ideas to the safest ones.

It also let me think about what I would do about my obvious attraction to Y/N. She's been running through my head lately, especially about how committed she is to her cover and the Mark. From how things looked the other night, he's familiar with her in ways that made me seeth wrathfully. While there was absolutely no place for an office romance, my body yearned for the weight and warmth of her. Whatever small disdain she has for me and my orders should deter me. Yet it does nothing but make me wonder what she sounds like, shouting expletives as I fill her with my girth.

God knows I love a good brat. He also knows I'm tired of going from home to home with no intent of lying my head in any one place. Not feeling safe enough to believe that I can have something permanent. Something good.  Something that would stay with me as I aged.

Many of my cohorts share this sentiment, but some strive for 'happily ever after' anyhow. I then started to wonder what 'happily ever after' would look like for me. Who would be sitting beside me? Who would be in the back seat? What would home look like? What would it smell like? The last question or thought crashed into me with a strong wave. Would it quiet my mind if I gained all these things, and would the nightmares go away? 

Quickly unlocking the safe of my mind and placing those intricate thoughts back in their place, I parked at the library's side entrance. I hopped out of the Mustang, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger's side. I made my way towards the steps.

"Excuse me," I heard. I turned slightly and saw him. "I was wondering if you worked here."

I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether his question was rhetorical or genuine. When I didn't answer, he continued to speak.

"I've never seen you before, so I was wondering whether you worked here."

"Lots of people come through here. It is a university."

"Yea. That's true. It is a university. But most new people tend to be students, and it's heading towards the end of the semester. I also used to go here, and I know most of the people who work in this building. I've never seen your face before." That piqued your interest even further. There was little doubt that he had seen your face, or most of it, the other night. 

"Well outside of the fact that there are over 300 graduate school programs, other agencies and programs utilize the university's libraries of work or research and are allowed day passes for a small fee. But you went here, so you knew that. So unless you work security around here or a cop, I'm unsure what you want from me."

"A grad student can afford a whip like that?" He whistled as his eyes ran the length of my car. "You must be paying tuition out-of-pocket."

I looked at my watch in feigned annoyance. "I'm late, so do you have a question for me, Officer?"

"Oh, I'm not a cop."

"No?" he moved closer to him, "You move like one."

His eyes never left mine as he spoke calmly. "Nah. I'm not a cop. I just have something precious inside. There's a lot of history there. Its beauty was meant to be displayed for all to see, but that doesn't mean that there aren't people looking to possess it for themselves."

"Okay, now I'm confused. Are you in security or art history?" I said sarcastically. I wanted to know how deep his obsession with Y/N ran and what lengths he would go to keep her.

He chuckled with an air of arrogance. "You can say it's a bit of both. I've always been fascinated by how curators can showcase the most priceless pieces of human history while being confident that no one will walk out the front door with them. By the way, I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't throw it. Do you stop everyone you don't recognize coming into the building or just the ones built like me?"

"Only the ones with that look in their eye," he said, almost sneering. 

"Hmm. Not just what that look is."

"You know, the one that longs for more. For something they can't have"

"Oh, that one. Well, I've never had to steal anything. I either earned it or paid for it."

"Is that right"

"Yes. That's right. Oh, and I think that curators rest in knowing that their pieces are insured and protected by the police force. This is a pretty safe campus in a properly policed city. Unless…”

"Unless?"

"Unless, somehow, your valuable item has free will and can choose to walk out with whoever it chooses to. I really am late. It was very…interesting meeting you," I said with a slight grin and trotted up the steps with gleeful ease, knowing that the game clock had officially started.

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

Check out Part 1 if you haven't already! Please hit the comments with your feedback, give suggestions on what you'd like to see, and let me know who you like and don't. Talk TO ME!!! Part 3 coming soon.

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 24. Footsteps

Fandom: Wrath of the Righteous

Some Act 4-5 game spoilers especially for Woljif. Riffing on the game dialogue in this scene and giving some key comebacks to Woljif because Sia's the charm but he's the brains.

Also on AO3

Despite the power of Elysium sublimating out of him like scintillating steam, Siavash couldn’t hide his trepidation as he raised his eyes up, and up further, to the massive iron gates of the Ineluctable Prison.

While in principle Woljif was always in favor of busting people out of the joint, that principle mostly only applied to himself, and not this joint: a fabled prison constructed by the Prince of Hell to contain a demon lord, a prison famous for being—well, ineluctable. He had a very bad feeling that if they set foot in this place they would become permanent fixtures. Like ol’ Torf. Every time they let the old orc out he’d walk right up to the Watch and commit a crime in their faces so they’d toss him back in. Not so bad in there, Torf would say. Free food. Friends. He never said which category the lice and rats belonged to.

But he digressed.

He wanted to say – “This guy dropped you like a sack a’ fire mephits just when you needed him the most. Just leave him. Besides, he’s an angel. He can handle it. Let Iomedae get him outta there.”

But he couldn’t forget the sound of the chief’s voice trying to rally the troops the night of the gargoyles—the voice he, Woljif, could hardly hear over the singing of the wind in his ears as he ran. Later he learned Siavash had received a near-fatal claw to the gut that night, and then he’d led the charge to the Lost Chapel without a wink of sleep, and Ember claimed he was so distraught he hardly laid a hand on his guitar for weeks after that.

Siavash had forgiven him and taken him back. And here Siavash stood at the massive gates of a prison where a friend who’d also betrayed him was being tortured, and he was not going to walk away.

That’s the chief for you. Woljif sighed.

“Please tell me we’re not standing here having a conversation with Baphomet.” Seelah set her shield on its edge and leaned on it. Radiance blazed at her hip, impatient for more demon blood.

They had arrived at the base of the stairs, rows of barred cells stretching out into the gloom on either side. A chandelier of skulls shed dim, blood-red light from overhead but the Merry Band glowed with wild Elysian power. Even as they stood facing the demon lord, tiny vines and flowers pushed up between the prison flagstones and wound themselves around the bars, gradually eroding the metal.

Keeping a wary distance from the possessed minotaur, Siavash shrugged and his wings shimmered. “I’m curious what he has to say.”

“You know he’ll only twist his lies around in your head until you can’t find your way out,” she protested, twirling her finger at her temple.

 “That’s just it.” Siavash knit his brows in thought. “He claims he freed himself from Asmodeus’ prison by destroying the very notion of imprisonment. I want to understand that.”

“I made the whole multiverse believe my lie,” came the deep, insinuating voice from the minotaur.

“But it’s still a lie,” said Siavash. “You’re not really free. You took Asmodeus’ prison with you to the Abyss and there you’re chained.”

“Yeah,” said Woljif, half-hiding behind Siavash but growing bolder. “I don't think you know what freedom means.”

“You who know so much about freedom,” sneered Baphomet, “tell me, how will you escape? How will you find your way through the tangled corridors of my labyrinth?”

Woljif gave him a smug smirk. “I been payin’ attention. You don’t find your way, you make it.”

This earned him a snort from the minotaur’s flared nostrils and a warm smile from the chief.

“Clever,” said Baphomet. “I may consider reeducating you, my spawn.”

“Ugh.”

“It is not I who is chained. It is my minions. My seed and spawn, chained by my will. We are one and the same, and as they roam freely, so do I.”

Behind him Woljif made a gagging noise, but Siavash wasn’t done. “You can’t hide behind your minions forever. We turned Minagho against you. Defeated Hepzamirah and Horzalah. Stamped out what was left of Ygefeles.”

“Yeah, about that,” Woljif piped up. “All your sp—ugh. Your minions ever do is stab each other in the back. I don’t reckon that’s workin’ out for you.”

“Only the strongest survive, you will see. Soon Golarion will be ruled by my mighty brood. I shall watch from my throne as your world drowns in blood.”

“I’m just trying to understand,” said Siavash. “What is it with domination and destruction? I don’t see the point.”

“Power,” said the minotaur. “You understand more than you claim. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You were given immense power, and what have you done with it? Spread its tendrils across the Worldwound and Mendev and beyond, worming its roots into Golarion and growing like mold. You have felt the exhilaration. Don’t deny it. How power begets power.”

“But power to do what? To rule over a wasteland and a prison? A bunch of spaw—minions trying to overthrow you? You freed yourself from Asmodeus’ ineluctable prison. With your wisdom, think what you could do.”

The minotaur let out a bellow of a laugh. “Attempting to beat me at my own game?”

“You really are trapped. From your prison cell all you can see is bleakness. Power for its own sake. Deception and destruction.”

“That’s right,” said Arueshalae. “Areshkagal’s riddles only led you deeper into a pit of lies and evil. Desna’s riddle led me out into the light of truth and goodness.”

“Yeah, you hear that, you old goat?” yelled Seelah triumphantly. “She escaped the Abyss and you bound yourself to it for eternity.”

“The only prison is the one between your stupid horns,” said Woljif.

The minotaur turned its bloodshot glare on him. “You are so like Ygefeles,” the demon lord chuckled. “I valued his shrewd mind and uncanny ability to lie, but though he was crafty and able, he lacked zeal and ardor. Alas Hepzamirah proved the stronger. If you had accepted his power you might have followed in my footsteps.”

“Yeah, right back into jail,” Woljif muttered.

Flames spilling from its eyes like tears, for a moment the minotaur silently surveyed him. “I don’t think you know how alike we are, mortal. A shame another of my promising spawn must die.”

[myobscureimaginarium]

A commission for @akumanie to accompany the fic, Elysian Key by Alice O’Really. Akumanie is currently translating the fic into English for us! Please check out her translations.

"It will be amazing. I will be a great witch and you will be a powerful wizard. And one day the whole world will know us! What do you think, Severus? Will they know our names one day?" The commission is based on the upcoming chapter 10. You can find the rest of the scene under the cut:

Lily ran across the lawn in the park, waving from a distance. She reached Severus, grabbed his arms, and spun  around with him.

"It came, it came, it came!" she shouted as she spun. Her long red hair fluttered wildly in the wind, her green eyes shone with fierce, mad joy.

"I said it was coming," Severus said breathlessly, the moment she let him go. "Will you show it to me?"

"Sure!" She nodded eagerly. She took a crumpled letter from her pocket, religiously inspected it for the millionth time, and solemnly lent it to him.

"We'll go together," she said enthusiastically.

Severus had read her letter from Hogwarts over and over again.

"Great," he announced, raising his face and grinning.

"I'm so happy, Severus!" She grabbed him around the neck. He returned the hug without the slightest hesitation.

"It'll be great, Lily, you'll see. You will love it there, you don't have to be afraid of anything."

"I'm not afraid," she said indignantly. "First of all, I'm very smart and I can handle everything. And secondly, if I can't handle something, you can handle it. Come on, let's sit down. I brought something."

They settled on the freshly mown lawn, and Lily pulled out a bag of candy.

"They're not as good as your beans, but then, there’s no danger that any of them will taste like manure." She winked at him.

"And that's certainly reassuring." Severus nodded seriously, and they both burst out laughing. As they sucked caramels together, Lily rolled onto the grass on her back, looking up at the sky, a letter lovingly pressed to her heart. Severus lay down next to her.

"It will be amazing. I will be a great witch and you will be a powerful wizard. And one day the whole world will know us! What do you think, Severus? Will they know our names one day?"

"I doubt that," he said calmly.

"Me too." Lily grinned. "But that would be great, don't you think? Everyone would know who Lily Evans is. And if they heard the name Severus Snape, they would freeze in horror! Oh, spare us, mighty one!

"You're crazy." Severus shook his head, smiling from ear to ear. "You're an awfully snotty little witch, you know that?"

"And you're a terribly terrifying tiny wizard," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"With a giant nose." Severus sighed. "They'll laugh at me again."

"You're a dummy. Of course you have a big nose. You are Severus Snape, an exceptional wizard. You can't have something as vulgar as an ordinary little nose." She rolled onto her side, reached out, and pushed her index finger to the tip of Severus' nose until the skin around it whitened. "Like this, it’s absolutely fine. And I will beat up anyone who laughs at you."

"Wizards don't beat each other up, Lily Evans. Wizards curse each other. That reminds me! Did you try the Worms in Hair spell yesterday?!" he blurted out eagerly.

Lily chuckled. "You should have seen her, Severus, I thought it would be her death...!"

"Great!" He nodded with maximal satisfaction. "She shouldn't have locked you in the basement."

[gleek-runner]

i don't think you can be convinced--

by all accounts, objectively, the new arc isn't bad nor is it overcomplicated compared to before (honkai lore has always been like this, it just was more apparent in the mangas than here). The ER arc, on the other hand, shares none of the "problems" moon arc has. It's just focused on different characters-fleshed out characters-and Mei.

Anywho, I'm ranting, what I wanted to say is that neither arc is bad, it's just a matter of personal taste.

i hate the moon arc. please convince me to like it again please i dont like hating on honkai but the moon arc is simply bad

i dont like it when they use big words. i bet if you googled them youd find out that they probably dont make sense together but mhy strings them together so they sound smart and sophisticated or whatever. please dumb it down because the story is so fucking long and most of it is just parts that i am Very Tempted to skip

i went to sleep at 5 this morning because of the stupid story which is probably my fault but god damn Hare is so boring

also her boss outfit is so bad like what.

anyways i feel like honkai story is deteriorating. i am not normally a cryer but one time at 3 am over the summer i was able to make myself cry over himeko. same thing happened during honkai world diva. but now when i watch things like Because Of You (hate me if you will but i personally think the song kinda sucked) i dont even feel anything. what i got from the story was "oh no all the flamechasers are deleted! how will mei bring elysia back? it's simple! just think about her" and then poof mei can leave the elysian realm while elysia somehow gets into the actual realm from mei's brain and fights hoc to the death" or something. its weird.

anyways the moon arc sucked mhy please write better 🙏