#Mock Trials End

[arolesbianism]

I caved and made them real. Obverse me losing more and more motivation to draw as I made each of these back to back lol

[fillejondrette]

there's finally a love has won docuseries out. i have been waiting for this.

[somehow-i-got-an-account]

Gosh I love boys

[lcrk]

.

[aparticularbandit]

ultimate despair mikan really channeling junko here, huh

[lufyuu]

,,The Verdict''

Dragon Judge x Criminal male reader

Tw/s: abuse of power, corruption, rough dom, somewhat dubcon (?), breeding, mating, claiming, mentions of getting reader pregnant, marking, double stuffing, brat taming-ish, mentions of blood (reader biting his own lip & scratching)

Goddamnit. God fucking damnit.

You could've gotten away with it if it weren't for the judge's sharp eyes in noticing you sprinting away from the scene of the crime. It wasn't as if you weren't trying to hide either— you were in the dark, how could he had even notice! Unfortunately, your days of being known as the mysterious serial killer are now over as you stand in court, face to face with the families of your victims. Fuck.

You turn to look at the infamous judge or lord, a title given by the public to him. He has been and is still shrouded in mystery. His intimidating gaze is a sufficent warning to make people look away and abandon any thought of discovering more about him. He is known to be a very neutral and cold judge. Having been around this exact courthouse for 20 years, he seems to have never aged, staying forever in his prime. With a face and body like his, who wouldn't want a taste? Unfortunately, the ones who did shoot their shots were rejected in the most humbling way possible. They wouldn't even disclose it due to embarrassment. How this man came to be is still a mystery to the public. Not even people who work close to him can discover his origins. He is the one whom citizens claim to possess abilities one couldn't explain. Due to all the reasons stated above, the people tend to believe in whatever he says. Whatever the judge says, goes around here.

And there he is, right before your very eyes with court ending very soon you can assume. His expression is as calm as can be. Even when a serial killer such as yourself stands infront of him. His demanding presence commanding everyone to pay attention as the trial proceeds. Honestly, you should've been thrown in jail at this point, you've admitted to the crime already, what is the point of this trial?

"Mr [L. Name], is it true you commited these acts of manslaughter?", he turns his head towards you, gazing into your soul almost. You look up at him, gazing back with uncaring and bored eyes, "yes", a simple and clear answer. The entire courtroom is silent, the air is tense. You can feel eyes burning into your back, the cries of your victims' relatives satisfy you enough for you to let a fleeting smile spread on your face, disgusting everyone and anyone who notices. "Before we conclude this trial, the court will hear from the victims' families. Please step forward now if you have anything you would like to say to the defendant.", as the judge says this, many, many people came to the stance to have a word or two. Despite all this, his gaze settled on you, never leaving your figure.

You look at the family member infront of you. The sister of the first victim you had took the life of. You can't be bothered to remember his name though. "You fucking monster, how could you even do that to anyone let alone MULTIPLE PEOPLE!?", her tears eventually caught up with her, hiccuping as she stutters on her next few words which you drown out with thoughts of what to have for your first meal in prison. Not a single bone in your body feels guilty for the crimes you have commited. For the pain you have caused your victims' families.

With nine of the ten family members having said what they wanted and you drowning them out, it was time for the last one. This particular guy you can recall, Jason Williams, the brother of the victim you had dated. In the middle of his heartbreaking speech, he came closer to you and slapped you real hard. Your whole head turned 45° degrees due to the impact on your cheek. You look back with a hand on your cheek, amused almost. "Couldn't even hold back, no wonder your sister hated you", your expression showed no remorse, almost mocking him in a sense, which tipped him off even more. Fortunately for you, before he could do anything more physical, the judge butted in on the whole 'fight'. "Order in the court!", his deep and commanding voice caught the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He continues his command, "Quin, please remove the parties involved and restore order in the courtroom", Quin, the bailiff, immediately goes to de-escalate the situation by asking Jason to step back and that justice would be served. With a final glare, Jason steps back, not wanting to look at you anymore.

With everything out of the way, you glance back at the judge who seems to still be looking at you. "We will take a break to allow all parties to collect themselves before the sentencing. Court will pick up where we left in 20 minutes." And with those words, the audience and prosecution walked out of the room, including you who was escorted out by several guards to a secure room to ensure you wouldn't escape.

The room itself is rather simple and basic. Nothing out of the ordinary really. An air vent, an ac, thick walls and a sofa. At least it's comfortable.

Just 5 minutes into your relaxing, you hear a knock on the door. You don't get up as it's pointless seeing how they've locked it from the outside. You merely open your eyes and await whoever's beyond the door to come in. The moment the door opens, you are surprised to see an important figure walk in. "Oh? Lord, uh...", you try to recall his name, but to no avail, you've never cared to remember names other than your own. "Liu Zihao", "huh?", you raise an eyebrow at the sudden sound, "my name", he looks down at your laying body. Something in you decided it's best for you to sit up instead of laying down. Getting up from your comfortable position, you cross your legs and arms. "So what are you here for? To cuss me out like all the others?", you ask, not even sparing him a glance, even yawning a bit and closing your eyes in hopes he'd go away soon. Without saying another word, he gets closer to you. When you reopen your eyes, he's right in front of you. You get a bit jumpy and try to throw a fist at him, which he catches with ease.

Your fingers are eventually intertwined with his as he presses down one hand on the cushion right next to you. Your expression is conflicted. Your fight or flight insticts have kicked in, yet you almost tremble at his presence. You don't know what it is about him that makes you almost tremble. "Hm", he lets out a hum of curiosity and lets go of your hand, turning his heels and walking out the simple room. Leaving you in the room all alone once more as the door lock clicked.

"What the fuck was that for", you ask to nobody in particular seeing as you're alone. You look at your palm which had touched his a moment ago, finding nothing out of the ordinary despite a strange sensation enveloping it earlier on. Not thinking much of it, you plop back to your lazy laying position you were in before and doze off for a few minutes before being roughly woken up and taken to court once more.

"Ahem, Court is back in session. We will now proceed with the final verdict.", judge Liu announces to everyone as they hold hands with one another, having hope that justice would be served and you'd finally be out of the streets where you could potentially spot another target. You are told to rise from your hard seat. "After careful consideration of the evidence and arguments presented to the court, I hereby declare that the defendant, Mr [Name] [L. Name], is found guilty of the charges brought against him.", with that sentencing, you weren't surprised at all. You admitted to everything, and there was sufficient proof once you pointed them out. But of course, Zihao still had to continue his obligatory speech. "The crimes you have committed warrant a punishment which has never been given to a criminal such as yourself ever before.", this got you intrigued. You were sure you'd face the death penalty or even life in prison, but now that the judge has said those words, your mind begins to race through countless possibilities.

"Therefore, [Name] [L. Name] shall be personally punished and re-educated under my direct supervision."

What.

What did he just say?

You could hear for a split second the audience behind you start to whisper amongst each other but those are drowned out by your thoughts of confusion and shock. What did he mean by that? What could he want to do with you? He's unpredictable. There'd be no way anyone would agree with him—

"Court is adjurned.", Zihao stands up, indicating the session has ended. He moves his attention to the bailiff, "please escort [Name] [L. Name] to my headquarters.", Quin nods in obedience as he strode towards your still shocked and confused state. "Do not resist.", he lets out a warning and takes you to the judge's headquarters. You can hear the audience and victims' families cheer as justice has been served. Your punishment shall be served by the one and only judge, making this all the more exciting. What judge Liu says, goes.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

All you remember is being escorted into a special carriage with black curtains. As the carriage carried on, you couldn't do anything, not even looking out the windows due to the curtains. Though, you did feel the road being very bumpy. It almost felt like hours before you finally arrive at the judge's headquarters.

When you first step through the doors, you take note of the high ceilings and extravagant interior. You walk further into the manor-like building, noticing even more details along the way. The walls seemed to have been carved as if this was once a victorian era castle. It looked very clean. upon closer inspection, you notice symbols of which you don't recognize. The shape resembled one of a dragon. You paid it no attention. When you turn to your left, your eyes lay on a pair of stairs which seemed as if they reached heavens due to the height of it. The railings are golden, if you squint a little, they had an effect which made it seem as if they're glowing.

You don't even notice the bailiff leaving until you heard the tall doors slam shut. You quickly look behind as it startled you. Why would he even leave you alone, that didnt make sense.

After a few moments of pondering whether to escape immediately or continue your exploration, you decide to ascend the almost never ending stairs to the top floor. There, you see that the top floor is a whole room itself. There are no doors to open, just an untouched bedroom which could honestly be called a treasure room at the same time. The amount of shiny things you could name were almost endless. Despite the whole thing looking a bit untouched, you could tell someone has taken care of it or at the very least, tried to. The desk and books are collecting dust but at least the sheets are clean. Taking another step forward, you examine the royalty-like room. There's a chandelier placed in the middle of the room. It hangs over you, something about it feel off. Maybe it's the fact it looks so much like a glowing purple bubble floating in the air. Maybe your eyesight's gotten worse? Though, you sure do notice the tall windows.

In your peripheral vision, you could see a box that caught your eye. You walk towards the box, which sits on top of the desk. Lifting it with your two hands, you blow off some of the dust. It wasn't locked, thankfully. You take a peak inside and see... a collar of some kind. A collar made out of what seems to be black leather with precious amethysts embedded into the leather itself, along with some chains drooping around it. You looked at it and thought about one thing. This thing could fetch you a pretty penny or two. Deciding on selling it the moment you get out of this fancy manor, you reach into the box and grab it using one hand. "That idiotic judge, leaving me all alone here", not only would he be blamed for letting a serial killer escape, but he would also lose a precious gem adorned collar. Within a blink of an eye, you felt something placing itself around your neck. Wait...where did the collar go!?

You panic and look in the mirror to see said collar somehow clasped on your neck. "Fuck fuck what is this shit!?", you start to cuss out of fear. You'd never been scared by anything but this....this is different. There must be some magic or paranormal activity for this to even happen. How did it teleport from your hand to your neck, that doesn't make sense!

You try to pry it off your neck but to no avail, it was tight around your neck. It wouldn't let go of you. Not now that you've accepted being its owner's mate. Your gut is screaming at you to get out of there as fast as possible. With the collar unable to be loose, you focus on escaping first. "Fuck", you try to break the windows to escape as you usually do but stop to think. You're very high above ground at this moment, if you jump off from this height, you'd end up dead or with broken bones which you don't feel like dealing with. The only decision you had left was to go back downstairs and to hopefully be able to escape through the entrance or a back door before Zihao arrives. Sprinting like your life depends on it, you finally arrive at the entrance of the manor. You push it but it doesn't budge. At that moment, you hear an "ahem" coming from behind you. Your whole body freezes, not daring to even look back. You recognize the voice as their footsteps get closer to you until you felt their chest press against your back. Their hands trailing your body. Their hands settling to grip your waist in place. "I see you've accepted my gift", you could even imagine the person to be smiling as they say this.

Their left hand grabs your chin to face them. You weren't surprised to see the judge. What shocked you was the fact he looked like a predator who just found its prey. His pupils looked like a..serpent's..? Not only that, you could see his eye color changing and glowing a bright purple. You try to pull your head back in order not to face his predatory gaze, but his hand stops you. He has a strong grip on your chin, preventing you from looking away. Even though your whole body is almost trembling with fear, you manage to ask, "w-what to do you...want...", he tilts his head a bit, as if he himself is confused. "You're now my mate, I can do whatever I please with you, can't I?", he states as if it's the most obvious thing ever, making you even more nervous. You try your best to stay calm, but how could you? Why did he even use the term 'mate'...

"What m-mate? I'm...nothing of the sorts, let go!", you thrash in his hold, trying your hardest and using all your strength to break free which eventually, you reach your goal. "F-fuck, crazy bastard!", your words spill out as you stumble back, trying to catch the breath you'd been unconsciously holding while in his strong grip. He only stared at you, you could see clearly now that he isn't human, there's no way he could be one. With the black to purple gradient horns ontop his head. Heck, you even see a long tail behind him. Your fight or flight immediately activated as you tried your best to get out of there. You've already established that 1. This man's grip is strong and that 2. He isn't human. There's no way you'd be able to beat him in a fight. You try to reach the front door. You're just a few inches away before he pulls you back to him, this time, your whole body is facing his. "Don't run", is all he says, you look at him as if he's said something crazy, "don't run?? Fuck you, let go of me right now", despite this man being easily 6'5 and intimidating as fuck, you manage to overcome your fear and speak your mind.

"I've finally found you after years of being in the mortal realm, stay with me, my mate", he says as he gently grabs your hand to touch his cheek. Whatever he said made you even more confused, is this all a dream? No way any of this is real. "What are you on..!?", you question but honestly didn't want to know the answer. All you want and nerd at this moment is to be able to escape his grasp as this time, it seems more secure. Without even answering, the serpent-like man whisked you up into his arms, carrying you as if you were light as feather. Even when you thrash on and on, it's as if he doesn't feel your weight at all.

Despite voicing out and even using action to show your unwillingness, he doesn't stop and continues to make the journey up the stairs with you in his arms. It doesn't take long until the both of you reach the top floor.

He proceeds to throw you on the bed as gently as someone could be. Before you could get up and even process what had happened, you're pinned down to the bed by Zihao. "Hey, hey Lord Liu–", just as you're about to protest once more, you're silenced by Zihao's lips shutting you up. At first, it was just smashing your lips together, but you knew Zihao wanted more than that. He tries to get you to slip up and open your mouth, but you don't let him. You try your best to keep your lips sealed. This proves to be even more difficult the moment his hand trails down your tummy and stops at your pants. With just a touch, your pants are suddenly discarded of along with your underwear. "Wh–", you made a mistake. The moment you had realized you accidentally left an opening for him, it was too late. His tongue slides itself into your open mouth. You have no way of closing it now. What's weird is that you could almost feel his tongue down your throat, "a-aufh!??!...", the sudden feeling shocks you yet you couldn't say anything about it so all you could think to do was try to push him off of you.

Using all your strength, you manage to push him off. It was weird seeing how you couldn't push him off earlier on. You wipe your lips, which had his saliva and your own drool still covering it. You couldn't deny that he's an amazing kisser and the way he explored your mouth did turn you on a bit but you're as scared as ever with him not being human and calling you his 'mate'. At this point, he's almost straddling you in a way. He licks his lips, and that was when you saw his long tongue. It's split in the very middle, making him look even more serpent-like. With his weight on you, you couldn't get up and sprint down the stairs and out the door like you wanted. Instead, you tried to talk him out of whatever he was about to do. "Judge Liu, why in the world would a judge want to do this with a criminal..!?", you catch your breath while you're trying to persuade him, well, more of asking now that you think about it. This obviously doesn't work. He's already decided on you as his. A simple question of why he's doing what he is right now is futile. "This is your sentencing, I'm merely carrying out my duty", after he says this, he loosens his tie and discards it on the ground next to the bed. "Having you in front of me is...exhilarating", his eyes are filled with so much lust and love while looking at your fearful figure pinned to the bed he's always wanted you to be on. "Consider this as discipline for the crimes you've commited", with just a snap of his fingers, your arms are suddenly bound above your head. When you take a look, you can see a seal of some kind hovering over your hands, preventing any movement.

With every touch of his on your skin, you felt pleasure even if you didn't want to admit to it. His hands trailing up and down your body, from your neck until your crotch. It was as if he's exploring his new treasure. "That is unless you desire the death penalty?", you shake your head as a 'no'. This definitely is better than the death penalty but you still have questions. One of them being what kind of nonsense was he even spouting? Some shit about being his 'mate' or whatnot. While infront of you, Zihao unzips his pants. "What the fuck!?", you couldn't believe what you were seeing and involuntary let out a scream of confusion as what you saw wasn't just a cock, he had two. "Hm?", he glances up at you once more, confused as to why you let out such a noise. You could only stare with your eyes wide open. As he followed your gaze, he noticed what you were staring at, "ah, it hadn't crossed my mind..you mortals aren't usually this size", though he wasn't wrong, you were talking about how he has two instead of one. "I meant you having two...", you refused to continue your sentence having already eluded to the fact he has two of which you and many others only have one of.. Fortunately, he already knows what you were trying to point out, "there shouldn't be an issue regarding them, you'll be able to take them fairly well without difficulty", this doesn't convince you, not at all. Looking at the length and width, you think you'll die if you try to fit both in you.

Fortunately for you, he didn't put it in immediately. He, at the very least, has the decency to prep you beforehand. As he was about to put two fingers in your mouth, you close it immediately. This ends up with his fingers on your lips instead. It's clear what he wants you to do but you refuse. "Open up", he demands. You aren't just going to let him put his fingers in your mouth. If you do, your ego wouldn't ever recover from it. You shook your head no as an answer seeing how you can't really open your mouth. His lips twitch ever so slightly. "You've been given mercy by me and yet you're still a brat?", he asks, eyes piercing yours. While that is technically true, you'd never thought this 'mercy' of his would get you into this kind of situation. Reluctantly, you open your mouth, leaving a small gap between your bottom and upper lip. It's big enough for him to shove both fingers into your mouth. He looks at you expectantly. You knew what he wanted so you slowly sucked and licked his fingers. His fingers eventually got deeper into your mouth, almost reaching your throat due to how long they are. You almost choke on them. His eyes scan your face, that adorable expression you're making is turning him on a bit more by the second. Before long, he removes his fingers from your mouth. Letting you catch your breath a bit.

Although, that didnt last long as he pressed his two fingers on your hole. "Don't take it that far! I'm a man—", God, how many times have you been interrupted by him? You can't remember and you simply don't want to. His long and slender fingers pushed their way into your tight hole while you could only close your eyes to avoid meeting his gaze. Of course just closing your eyes can't solve everything. You still felt this fingers push and twist inside of you in search of something in particular. You let out breathy and quiet moans until his fingers finally found what they were looking for. Your sweet spot. "Ahgh..!", a louder moan came out of your mouth as a response to the sudden pleasureful feeling. When you open your eyes, you could see Zihao look at you with hungry eyes. He continues to stretch your hole for the next 2 minutes. All the while you closed your eyes. "If this is already making you feel full, I fear my cock will be too much for you to handle", just then, he removes his fingers from your hole.

The sudden feeling of emptiness hits you so you open your eyes to look at what he's doing. Without warning, he takes one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder, leaving an easier access for him. Using his other hand, he places a firm grip on your waist, "h-hey now—", you couldn't say anything once had plunged one of his cocks inside of you. It wasn't even all the way yet but it had you arch your back, widen your eyes and mouth. You swore some tears even came out. "A-AaAgh..!", was the only noise you could let out. A mix of pleasure, pain and shock. Zihao lets out a groan of pleasure as he finally enters your hole. Though, he longed to be all the way in you and so he didn't waste anytime, thrusting all the way in this time. You let out a loud moan, almost like a scream of a moan. "Hah...you take me in so well", you couldn't even cover your face with your hands due to them being bound together. It's humiliating even if nobody's here to see. Having someone dominate you when you're a serial killer hurts your pride and ego. You look at him with a gaze which to you, conveys hatred yet pleasure. This only turns him on even more. "My mate...I've been craving for this", the second he finishes his sentence, he pulls up just until his tip is in before slamming his hips forward once more. Without anything to bite on to conceal your voice, you bite your lip until it starts to bleed. His thrusts get rougher and faster by the second. He groans and moans as he pounds your cute hole, all he wants is to fill you up with his seed. It's his natural instict afterall.

You were starting to manage the unexplainable feeling of his big cock stretching and pounding your hole when all of a sudden, he hits your sweet spot once more. Your voice might be raspy by tomorrow if you keep scream moaning all throughout tonight. You hoped it wouldn't last that long though. You wanted so badly to cling onto something or someone, to dig your fingerd into the sheets or Zihao's back but the seal prevented you. With the amount of stimulation you've been getting, you can feel yourself about to cum. You moan loudly once more as cum splurted out of your cock, coating your stomach with the fluid. This doesn't stop Zihao from thrusting in and out of you like there's no tomorrow. He's chasing his own climax.

Having just came, you're extra sensitive to his attacks. You could feel every inch of him enter. "Agh...take it all inside", Zihao groans as he can feel himself reach his limit after a few more minutes.

For the first time in the 7 minutes, he stops to catch his breath. You also take this opportunity to pant and try to grasp what had just happened. To your surprise, Zihao had broken off the seal that was bounding your two hands. You didn't have the strength to question it, you only put your hands back down, relaxing them as they had gotten quite sore.

Not even 3 minutes pass and you noticed something rubbing against your already filled hole. "W-what are you doing now..?", you question as you saw him bringing his second cock near your entrance, "you won't be able to conceive my kids with just one round", he's forcibly pushing his cock in your stuffed hole as he says this. You could only brace for impact as you gripped the bedsheets beside you. Not long after, you feel the head of his second cock pushing in. The pain is noticeable, you try to suppress it as best as you can to get through. Fortunately for you, his cocks have a sort of natural lube. Not only does it reduce the pain of the receiver, it also helps slide it in smoother.

"My love, wrap your hands around me instead", the way he said it in such a gentle and soft way made you give in. For the first time in your criminal life, you're holding and at the same time, being held by a male being.

Your thoughts are interrupted for the 2nd and probably not the last time by Zihao's dick entering you. You look down to see your stomach has a very visible bulge. When Zihao goes to press on your stomach, you moan out. "Seems you're very sensitive, you'll bring wonderful offsprings", he smiles. Before you could even question it, he starts to pound you again but this time with both his cocks deep inside your poor stretched out hole. Some of his cum even dripped out your hole due to how fiercely and deep he thrusted. Your brain is fogged due to being so full. Your nails dig themselves into his still clothed back, nearly tearing his expensive leather. He wouldn't mind if you did at all. He loves the way you're clinging onto him with your arms around him. "Hah...agh", he lets out a string of groans as he hits your prostate each time he thrusts back in. You could only writhe in the pleasure, not being able to conceal your voice anymore as you moan louder than before. If some passersby came along, they'd hear your moans and the sound of skin against skin. With Zihao's cum already inside, there's noticeable squelching noises each time he pounds your ass.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Even after having you've came five more times, Zihao shows no sign of stopping. He's only came about twice you presume, not being able to recall much. Both your bodies sweaty and sticky. Your voice has gotten hoarse. You can barely think with so much cock inside you. Your lewd sounds and expressions only fuels Zihao's urge to fuck you even dumber. It's almost as if his hips are unstoppable. By now, his clothes and yours are already discarded on the ground next to the bed. This lets your nails dig into his bare back, leaving scratch marks as gold liquid, which someone can only assume to be blood, drip out of the scars. Zihao doesn't react at all despite how painful the scratches look. You feel as if you're about to die from overstimulation, or at the very least, pass out soon enough. You feel a sense of relief once Zihao finally came in you and stopped for a moment, letting you rest. "H-hah...ah..", you look at the ceiling, your hands no longer wrapped around Zihao. Instead, they're sprawled out on the bed as you pant, out of breath. "You're my mate and I'll make sure everyone knows that", you could hear Zihao say. Out of curiosity and a tint of fear, you look at him. He proceeds to trail his finger around your lower tummy, using some sort of magic? Power? You don't know, you can see his hand having a purple glow to it before you suddenly experience intense pleasure all over your body. You look down and see a symbol on your body. Before you could even say anything, you're roughly lifted up into his lap. This sudden action shocks you as he's looking up at your cute face.

"This is my mark on you, all mortal and immortal alike shall know to stay away fron you", he says with a fierce voice, proud of his mark on your skin and then points at the symbol, almost poking your skin. "Claim...? What do you mea—", just as you are about to finish your sentence, he thrusts upwards, going balls deep in you. You end up jolting for a moment with your eyes wide. "My claim in you, you're mine, no one else's." With your body now weak and wanting him to fuck you senseless, you rest your head on his shoulder, your face almost smushed into his chest. Wanting him to do all the job for you. He finds this reaction to his mark very amusing and continues to bounce you up and down on his cocks. His thrusts are relentless, making you close your eyes. You bite his collarbone, trying to suppress the pain however you could. Even when you're distracted, you feel something slithering up your leg. When you open your eyes and put your chin over Zihao's shoulder, you see his long scaly tail wrap itself around your leg. Despite the sight being able to freak anyone out, it treats your leg with gentility, not ever squeezing too tight. Unfortunately, your cock filled mind's too foggy to even register it's Zihao's tail.

You don't even notice him cumming inside you. It's only when he stops do you realize. You're almost about to pass out, how long will your 'punishment' last..? "Z-Zihao....I can't take anymore...", you huff out, panting. He, on the other hand, only smirked, "the night is still young, you're my mate for a reason, are you not?", you wish you had never committed those crimes.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Your memory of last night is quite hazy. You barely remember what happened after the 8th or maybe 10th round, you can't even recount. Zihao's inhuman stamina lasted all night long. When you awoke, it was already noon, long past when you're usually awake. Instead of finding yourself alone in your own bed, you turn to the side to be face to face with the dragon's peaceful face. His long eyelashes cast a shadow over his shut eyes. It's a completely different view compared to the night before. You could barely move anything. With the bruises all over your body, people would have thought you got into a fight if it weren't for the hickeys on every part of your body. Your neck, your chest, your thights, everywhere. You stared at the one who caused these on your body. Wondering what to do with this whole thing.

"What happened last night...", you question yourself quietly, trying not to awaken the man infront of you. You try to recall the best you can about last night. "Something about mate and..", you look at him to confirm your suspicions. Purple horns, a long scaly tail and serpent eyes from which you still remember due to how intimidating they were last night. Yep. He truly is a dragon. The one you've heard about ever since you were a baby. All your life, you thought all those stories were just crazy talk from old folks. How wrong you were.

Though, even with this being explained, you are still confused about how Zihao is able to have a human form. Not to mention what he meant as being 'his mate' and laying his 'claim' on you. When you go to check your tummy, you can still see the symbol clear as day. The shape is peculiar. The main shape is a circle with a diamond shape inside of it. In the very middle, there is almost a vine-shaped line which stretches out horizontally. The color is an unmistakable purple.

While you're lost in your own thoughts, you fail to notice Zihao's eyes opening slowly. One look at his eyes and you'd wonder why hadn't you suspected him of being non-human earlier. "My dear [Name]?", he calls out for you with a gentle voice, snapping you out of your train of thought. His tail wrapping around your leg once more. "W-wha, wait", caught off guard, you mess up your words. He throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer than before. With his grip being so strong and you being bruised up, you can't really escape this. It's your fate now and whether you like it or not, you have to accept it.

"Your punishment isn't over yet. Did you think one night would compensate the lives you took?", he states the very much obvious thing to him. You look at him with a worried look. What you did was wrong, sure but isn't this too excessive...? Being personally fucked dumb by the Judge every single night without a chance of escaping. God your pride and ego...you're not even sure if they survived last night, let alone several more nights. With a hesitant tone, you ask, "how much longer then?", which he answers without skipping a beat, "If I'm not wrong, it'll take about 7,783,457 more years", "WHAT!? Are you forgetting I'm a human? My life span's like 60 more years if I'm lucky, I'll die long before then", you yell at his outrageous words, trying to get up but eventually being pushed nack down. He chuckles, finding your reaction very amusing. "Don't fret, you're now the dragon's mate, you will live for as long as I do.", there he goes again about you being his mate. "And..how long is that exactly..", Zihao smiles sweetly, "we have the rest of eternity for us", you can almost see his face glowing as these words come out his mouth.

"Hold on, I have loads of other questions. What did you mean by having your kids??? On top of being human, I'm a human MALE", you emphasize the male part. It's common knowledge that males don't have wombs and, therefore, can not get impregnated. Perhaps it was just dirty talk? "Oh, of course you can, see this? It's proof you can", he rubs your tummy once more, gesturing at the mark he had left last night. You're flustered by his choice of words and instinctually lift your hand up to hit him for even saying such things, only to be stop in your tracks once more. "My dear, don't be like that", his expression is smug. He knew you were going to hit him sooner or later. "I guess I better make sure you learn your lesson instead of spoiling you."

══════════════════════════════

This man has my heart rn 😍☝️ I have so many ideas for him in the future.

Speaking of ideas, my next oc is an middle aged man/dilf 😋

[procrastinationaccount]

Top 10 griddlehark scenes that could have resulted in kisses, ranked by how hot it would have been if it had happened

Disclaimer: I am in no way shape or form saying that this would have made the scenes better, merely mashing them together like dolls.

10. When the gang are headed to "Dulcinea"'s sickroom on Harrow's suggestion and Gideon says she could have kissed her. Girl do it!

9. Post-avulsion, once they're back in their room - preferably, right after "Don't price your life so cheaply, Griddle." Harrow is so fucking scared and so fucking in love, and while it is adorable that she turned to anger at the trials putting them in this position she also could have put that energy into a certain cavalier! Held back by just how pained and out-of-it Gideon was. You know in the morning she would be aggressively telling herself it was a dream.

8. Speaking of things Gideon told herself were dreams, that one time Harrow woke her up from a nightmare! Underrated scene imo. She's looking at you so so softly and understandingly despite the cynicism.

7. During the battle with Cyth, after Harrow saves her flying through the air and they're both slumped on a pile of bones. Gideon just nearly died because she was too busy admiring her perpetual bone, she's so proud of her it makes everything ache, and Harrow's openly performing for her now. No time for talking or thinking, pure adrenaline, just make your move before she passes out!

6. After passing the Winnowing challenge. They are both probably the most exhilarated and turned-on they've ever been. Harrow entered her body and it was a positive interaction. It might have fully struck at least one of them dead if it had happened.

5. During the stair fight, contingent on Harrow finishing the "how dare you mock my-" sentence. Gideon called her out on jealousy, which is major fucking progress for them as far as identifying feelings. They're drained and pissed off, and it's really setting in for Harrow how willing Gideon would be to give herself away to her. Show her that you care!

4. Pre-avulsion. See lovely role-swapped example by @sinshiney here!

3. Right after Gideon tucked away that shadow-colored lock of hair. We know it, we love it, Harrow I understand but at the same time please don't talk about the Body right now. You have no idea what this will do to the next year and a half+ of your relationship.

2. First Flower Of My House. Her trembling hand is on your cheek. A beautiful little smile is on her face. She just made the most beautiful declaration of love you've ever heard in your life. You're planning on dying anyway and have nothing left to lose. Shalalalalala-my-oh-my...

Honorable mentions:

After the discovery of Dulcie's ashes, once Gideon runs to confirm that Harrow wasn't the victim in a panic. It always kills me that she calls what she would've said the other day about finding Harrow dead a "youthful" dream, but at least you're done pretending now. Wake her up and give her an update!

The hug scene. Omitted because it's perfect the way it is.

The post-pool lean-in. Omitted because Gideon's mind was already made up when she started it. Meanest thing she's ever done.

While Gideon was backed up against that pillar, right after Harrow says, "And at the end of the night, the locked tomb is me." Would it have made any sense with the trajectory of their characters? No. Would it have been hot? It would have been hot as fuck, thank you for asking.

[love-quinn]

— REPAYMENTS

summary — carmen accidentally loses his chance with you after you all-but ask him out. luckily for him, you're sitting two tables away from the kitchen he runs.

warnings — swearing, smoking, i think that's it?

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!reader

pronouns — she/her, reader is explicitly mentioned to be a girl

word count — 2.2k

note — i am still finding my footing writing for carmen so this has just been trial and error, i hope you enjoy this!!! thank you for 100 followers, i appreciate it so much omg <333

It's fairly well-agreed upon that family and business should never be mixed. Whoever said that had probably never met Natalie Berzatto. His sister infuriates him, but if Carmen is being honest that’s usually because she’s just there. She doesn’t pick fights, but she will call him out on his bullshit, even if he doesn’t appreciate it in the moment. Out of all of his relatives to be closely working with, Sugar was probably his best option.

No, it was far more likely that the coiner of that phrase did meet Richie.

Carmen loved Richie deep down. He would do a lot for Richie, and he’s seen firsthand that Richie would do a lot for him. But it’s really hard to remember that when Carmen’s having to leave the kitchen to go and talk to a table because something’s gone wrong.

“‘I’ll handle it,’” he mocks Richie under his breath. “‘Calm the fuck down, Carmen, I’m Richie and I’ll handle it even though I’m fucking incompetent.’” He abandons his station to go out into the dining room, already feeling a headache brewing behind his eyes. “Handle it, my ass.”

It’s a fairly simple problem to sort out, just an old man who was bound to complain about something wanting to talk to the owner about it. Carmen smiles and nods and apologizes and makes a note to comp that part of the meal and go chain smoke about it later. 

It’s not the interaction that causes Carmen’s chest to constrict, it’s what he sees on the way in. 

Usually, Carmen is safely in the back. He stays in his section, he spends each night being hyper aware of everything that goes on in the kitchen, and he doesn’t have to worry about anything outside of the kitchen (it took a second for that last part to be true, but he does trust Richie and Natalie enough to handle things out in the dining room. 

But of course he happens to be out in the dining room on the same night that you’re there.

He almost didn’t recognise you, the room isn’t very well-lit and he only met you once. It was about two weeks ago, but he’s thought about it quite a lot since. It had been two in the morning and he didn’t even remember what he’d needed but he’d ended up at the 24-hour convenience store down the street from his place. 

The fluorescent lights had been flickering and you had been standing right in front of the refrigerator he needed. You had been browsing the fucking chips or something and Carmen was too busy controlling the tapping of his foot so you wouldn’t hear it.

“Sorry, am I in your way?”

His head snapped up, eyes locking with yours. “Yeah.”

You tried not to frown at his bluntness, just raising your eyebrows and moving out of the way. Carmen yanked open the fridge door, rubbing his face to stop his eyes from drooping closed. He’d just left the restaurant and just wanted milk before he went home. His hand dropped and he opened his eyes to look for the milk only to find the slider-shelf thing that contained his usual stuff was completely empty. “Fuck.”

You were a few feet away, still making your way down the aisle, but you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. The last bottle of yellow-capped milk is currently sitting in the basket dangling from your elbow. You finished up and decided to just make your way to the front, cutting your losses about getting more snacks.

You’re not usually up at 2am, but one of your friends was stopping by in the city for a few days and the two of you had gotten home from a late movie still wanting to spend time together so you’d ducked down to the store for some more snacks. 

You had put a few of your items on the counter for the store clerk to scan by the time he got to the front, and you pretend not to notice him. The clerk looked so exhausted you didn’t even try to make small talk, just flashing him a soft smile while he put your stuff in a plastic bag. While you were paying, the clerk turned his head to the guy behind you to see what he wanted. 

It was the guy from the fridge and he mumbled something about cigarettes. The clerk handed you back your card and your receipt before turning back to the cabinet for the cigarettes.

Carmen didn’t even care they didn’t have the usual type he liked, he just needed a smoke soon or his chest would cave in. He slapped the bills on the counter, grabbed the pack and was out the door before you had turned around. 

He smoked almost directly outside the door to the store, and you had to walk past him to get back to your building. Usually, when guys were dicks out in public to you, you’d ignore it and you’d move on. But this guy looked so defeated that you almost felt bad for him. 

He was sitting on the sidewalk, head buried between his knees. You tried not to make it obvious that you were looking at him but he looked so sad that you felt a begrudging amount of empathy for him. You dug the bottle of milk out of your bag and put it on the sidewalk next to him.

Carmen’s head shot up at the sound, looking back and forth between you and the bottle. “What?”

“You look like you need it more than I do.” If you were being honest, it did make you feel a little smug that he was slightly rude to you earlier and now you were being nice to him, but it was mostly out of concern.

Carmen’s mouth was dry, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, hauling himself to his feet with the bottle in hand. “No, you don’t have to do that. Take your milk.”

“I don’t even want it,” you said. “Seriously, dude.”

Carmen looked down at the bottle of milk in his hand. “Now I feel bad for being an ass.”

You nodded. “You should.”

Carmen gave a tired laugh and you finally noticed how bright his blue eyes were, even in the dark street. “I’m usually not. An asshole, I mean. Well, no, actually. I… am making this worse.”

You watched him, amused, and Carmen felt his throat constrict at the sound of your laugh. “Way to sell yourself. You’re really making a meal out of this, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I do best,” he said absentmindedly. “I’m, uh, Carmen.” He tried to shake your hand but with the cigarette in one and the milk in the other, he couldn’t find a way to do it. Then he had the thought that nobody shakes hands anymore, and felt stupid for the whole thing. 

You weren’t in the habit of giving your name to strangers, especially not men you met outside the convenience store at two in the morning. “Just Carmen?”

Carmen hadn’t expected that to be your response, and he blacked out for a half second where he forgot his own last name, “Berzatto.” 

“Carmen Berzatto.” You nodded, knowing to give the name to your friend later, just for safety. You told him your own name, not bothering to shake his hand. 

You dug around in your purse quickly, grabbing your receipt and hoping you had a pen. You didn’t but you did find an old eyeliner in the bottom that would work. Carmen had taken a stance of leaning against the wall, smoking his cigarette and trying not to fall asleep standing up. If he was honest, he assumed you’d walk away after that, so he was surprised when he felt you press a piece of paper into his hand. “Your receipt. For the milk” Your smile was sweet and he didn’t even process that you’d scrawled your phone number on the back until you’d walked away.

That had been two weeks ago, and he hadn’t seen you since.

He bursts back through the kitchen. You’re sitting at table nine with two other women, and his number one priority is finding Richie. Or Natalie, someone who works out in the dining room and can do what he needs them to. 

Richie, as if he heard Carmen’s mental plea, is right behind him. “I need two more mushroom risotto for table fifteen and for table nine-”

“Cousin,” Carmen interrupts. “The, uh, table nine. They’re not gonna pay.”

Richie took that the wrong way, leaning down to talk right in Carmen’s ear conspiratorially. “They’re dashers? You want me to take ‘em down? I’ll go out there and fuck them up, you give me two seconds and twenty dollars and I’ll-”

“Richie!” Carmen shoved him. “No, they’re…” He’s been so pissed off with Richie lately, more so than usual. He’d gone back to the restaurant the day after meeting you, dumping his jacket in his office, receipt on the desk with every intention to at least text you during his break.

And then Richie had spit his gum into the receipt and thrown it out. 

“Listen. One of the girls, she’s… They’re just eating for free, okay?” Carmen lets himself sound desperate, maybe that will stop Richie from making fun of him.

Richie looks down at him, eyebrows raised. “You… alright, yeah. Good. Don’t make your girl pay. Good. Does she know you run this place?” 

Carmen shakes his head. “No, I kinda messed things up with her. I need everything to go good tonight, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Richie saluted. “You got it, cousin. Food’ll be good she’ll forget what a massive prick you are.”

That’s probably the best he’s gonna get, so he takes it. Then, he gets to work. He gets your order from Richie and the kitchen makes it in record time. Then, when it’s done, Carmen makes sure he’s the one to run the food.

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting when your friends had invited you out to a new restaurant, but it hadn’t been to see the guy you’d met at a convenience store in the middle of the night to be presenting you with your meal.

You’d liked Carmen, but it had been a while and you only met him for a few minutes. Once the sting of rejection had worn off, you’d almost forgotten about the encounter. He puts your dinner in front of you and practically bows. “Carmen,” you muse, mostly just taken aback. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I’m the owner,” he says, trying to ignore the way your friends are looking at him. “I saw you and I… I’m not really good at this shit, but I, uh. I meant to call you.” He sounds earnest, and he looks somewhat embarrassed by the amount of eyes on him. “I wanted to, I just lost your number and I didn’t know how else to talk to you but I wanted to call you.”

You watch Carmen as he speaks and the longer you’re silent, the worse he feels about it. He can’t read the expression on your face and he’s really regretting insisting that he walked your meals, he should’ve just sent Richie. But he also knew that it would seem more genuine if he did it in person. 

“So far you’re oh-for-two in terms of not looking like an asshole,” your tone is light and a bright smile is worming its way onto your face. Your lipgloss shines under the light and Carmen can’t stop looking at it. 

Carmen swallows, wiping his hands as inconspicuously on his pants. “Would it make it better if I told you that I already got your meals comped?”

“I mean,” you say, tilting your head up at him. “Yeah, that’ll do it, yeah.”

“I owe it to you,” he points out. “For the milk. Let me just go grab your receipt, enjoy your meals.” He flashes an awkward smile over at the two women you’re with, not noticing the way you’re looking up at him.

He walks away and your eyes follow him back into the kitchen. You had just assumed he didn’t really like you, so the idea that maybe he liked you so much he was willing to give you complimentary meals slightly overwhelmed you. Your friends swarm you the second he’s gone and you relay your very limited history with Carmen.

You almost forgot what it feels like to be in the earliest stages of romance. Slightly awkward flirting, fleeting glances, the butterflies in your stomach when you realize that the other person likes you just as much as you like them.

You don’t know much about Carmen aside from the fact that he’s apparently an insomniac who owns and runs a restaurant, has really pretty eyes and likes you. That was the part that got you. He likes you enough to come out and talk to you.

In fact, he likes you so much that once he goes back in the kitchen he dodges Richie’s attempts at a high five, and prints out your now-free bill. He likes you so much that he digs through his desk for the only working pen to scribble something on the bottom where the tip number would usually be. And, something that makes you positively giddy, he likes you so much that when he hands you the check with his number printed towards the bottom.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Be careful, it's one of a kind! - Or: the trial script.

I took a few screenshots and put them through the editor, and there are a few interesting tidbits of information that can be gleaned from the few shots we got of the final trial script:

Supposedly the trial was written by the "Vampire Santiago", and the "Vampire Samuel Barclay". With... "additions made" by the "Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt".

Now the last part is particularly interesting, because as we see in the screenshots we get, that there are quite a few "additions" that Armand makes, but he is not listed there.

We now have (additional) confirmation by Assad (at the SDCC 2024 panel) that Armand was the one who orchestrated Claudia's / their deaths, so let's keep that in mind here. Especially since he is not listed.

"Our red curtain. Our spotlight. Santiago acting as master of ceremonies. But this is the only part of the play that will mimic our normal fare. That and our finale."

There's several aspects to this.

We know that - at least in Armand's tale - Santiago "took over". "Master of ceremonies." But only acting, not actually being. The "mimic our normal fare" both hints at this being not what they normally do, and, given the mock aspect of the trial - it acknowledges the farce it is. It is not a play, not a trial, but something in between, framed as neither, while implementing both.

Santiago's entry speech. With an interesting annotation by Armand: "You are standing half in and half out of your light."

Only, Santiago isn't actually standing in and out of the light. (At least in the version we got to see.)

Now, those who know the books know that the force of Lestat's personality is often called a "light", and not always in a wholly positive manner.

For example there is this comment by Nicolas, which refers to it:

And for every aspect of our proposed damnation you found exuberance, and there was no end to your enthusiasm and the passion coming out of you-and the light, always the light. And in exact proportion to the light coming out of you, there was the darkness in me! Every exuberance piercing me and creating its exact proportion of darkness and despair!

The lights of the stage obviously put them all into focus, too, something that was forbidden before Lestat came and destroyed the old ways. The "walking in the places of light" was one of the things the Children of Darkness accused Lestat of when he encountered them.

I think the comment there is a kind-of-meta comment, of Armand being half in shadow hand half in light. There is a choice here, for light or darkness.

Here, he chooses darkness.

Some things we haven't heard in the episode:

"If the prosecution's evidence convinces you to condemn those HERETICS for the heinous trampling of the vampire laws we will carry out our sentence before your very eyes as only we at the Théâtre des Vampires know how: slowly, inventively, gruesomely."

And then, this lovely stage direction 💀:

"Agency: If and when Claudia or Louis speak, (drive) them together, close their throats, (Santia)go will address it with the audience, as per the below:"

"I don't need to hear from you..."

That part we heard in the trial.

Apart from the stage directions and the part we didn't hear Armand's notes are also interesting once more: "Remember to comment...." and something starting with "Fi"... "Fine" - or "Find their thoughts" (could fit I think). Because this note, even largely unreadable proves once more that Armand was fully in on what they did to Louis and Claudia there. Made sure that the blows... would land.

This one. This one we didn't get to hear! (The part after "Tik Tok")

Santiago reading from her diary: "He soaks in the light from everyone around him, making it all about Lestat. This is most definitely about you and your death."

Light reference again! (See the quote above.)

And (accompanied by Armand's notes to have Santiago hand the diary to the audience):

"I know she was your favorite. I know she was your baby lu. But she had us all fooled. She's the best actor of all of us. She lies so sweetly, doesn't she. But look closer. When the mask falls away, she's a monster."

Oof. When the mask falls away... Pot to kettle.

"I can't hear you." - say it louder.... Lestat.

And then: Lestat's entrance. Being seated in an especially prepared "Bergere en cabriolet".

And here we have another "I can't hear you! Let me f...". It's the counterpart to the blend-over (below), another read from Claudia's diary there, after Lestat talks about loneliness and Louis "abandoning him". (Btw, I don't buy this shift to blame to Louis and Louis "hunting" Lestat for one second, for the record^^. I think that was all very much BS for the trial, in order to make Louis seem guilty to the audience.)

Armand's comment (on Lestat's first lines) makes it seem as if Lestat was less than enthusiastic - or weak. Now, I said before, I think there's quite enough evidence to suggest that the "real trial" might have gone a bit more like in the book, with Lestat mostly out of his mind and his mind meddled with as well (see below).

But the counterpart to the blend-over is actually the most interesting one, imho:

(This is a hard one to see, it's only seen in blend-over and Louis' hand moves across it before the scene fades to Armand scribbling down the note!)

"It This is too early for Lestat to acknowledg[e...]"

This is too early for Lestat to acknowledge. Louis and Claudia, would be my guess. This direction is proof that Armand made directions for Lestat especially as well. It's the only one (we have so far) where he actually writes the name.

Armand knew he could make this direction. And he made it.

Given Lestat and their history this, for me, is proof, that Lestat's mind has been meddled with as well, at times at least. Because there is no way that Lestat would have followed Armand's directions there, imho. Would not have done something, especially in that moment, where they set up the execution.

Yes, Sam is on record saying that Lestat played along with the play itself so he could get into the audience's heads, and therefore make it easier for him to make them shift Louis' sentence to "banishment" (that's where the "additions" come from, in all likelihood), but there, at the point of judgement and the execution being set up he does not look at Claudia (but he does look at her afterwards!), he's staring straight ahead, swaying on his feet.

Taken out of the equation, so to speak.

(That's an extra shot btw, extra shots always carry meaning.)

So.

Quite the script. -.-

Clear stage directions for Santiago, Lestat, and the other coven members should Louis and Claudia try to do something.

Now. I know there have been a lot of posts about Armand "master mind" or "villain" or victim, or what not. And I am glad that Assad has been so very clear on that just recently, though all of it is already given with what the show gave us, imho.

Armand did plan the trial. Did master-mind it. Did pretend. Did direct. Did lie.

He orchestrated their deaths.

And Lestat interfered with Louis' death. At the very least.

And.. Armand continued to betray Louis. For 77 years.

I said it before, I don't quite buy the tower scene, I expect it to get more context, at the very least.

It will be very interesting to see if they return to the trial next season, and in what capacity.

Because all the "hints" are, all the evidence is there already.

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to the lovely @chrlie-cox for this adorable gifset ! )

✟ — 1/? | IN RE: “ODI ET AMO.” | i. The Problem with Stalemates.

summ.  You and Matt Murdock have been rivalling for Summa cum laude since the start. It’s your guys’ thing. So when you start to slip— it only makes sense that it’s him who catches you of all people. pairing. college!matt murdock / f!reader w.count.  4k, baby! a/n. set pre-s1 , pre-established ‘frenemy’ relationship , academic rivals-to-lovers , Matty is a soft cocky boy with blindness for rizz , Reader is an aloof girl who has a staring problem , latin title quoted from below . fic tag. #INRE:

“Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior." — Catullus, "LXXXV"

SALUTATORIAN ; VALEDICTORIAN.

Magna cum laude ; Summa cum laude.

You and Matthew Murdock.

Or, in re:

“Heckle and Jeckle,” Foggy laughs, half-exasperated and half-impressed at the mock-trial unfolding before him.

( It’s nearing almost an hour in. Nothing new when it comes to the likes of both you and Matt. )

Backchat, bickering, and banter is to be expected whenever you and Murdock cross paths. You can barely remember when you even began locking horns with him, really— it’s almost become a staple of your week to get rapt in a practice dispute with him that almost always ends up without a verdict or pushed to the next lesson for a retrial.

Professor Nguyen likes to call you two ‘Stale-mates’ because of that, and much to your chagrin, it’s stuck.

God forbid Matthew Murdock ever becomes a mate of yours. The thought has you scoffing. 

Murdock has always been outdoing you by a hair’s breadth since the start of law school, and you refuse to believe it’s ‘natural talent’ no matter how much everyone else claims it to be. He’s simply better. Which means you need to be better.

He’s also cocky, and charmingly so, you can admit that— the whole confidently-sweet-blind-gentleman shtick has half the class swooning and half the professors vouching for his success; which is exactly why he’s the bane of your existence. He had an, advantage, if you will, with a face like that. 

And brains, ofcourse.

“Objection, Foggy— I mean— Your Honor,” he amends, “Uh, I believe the defendant just called me a stubborn dumbass? I’m pretty sure that constitutes misconduct.”

The lecture hall breaks into laughter. 

You throw your hands up. That— well. Okay. Maybe you do tend to speak on impulse. But he had that effect on you: Disarming, as if acutely aware of your buttons to push and exactly when to push them.

Definitely not because he’s more level-headed than you when it comes to debates.

( Definitely not because of that jawline, either. )

…Whatever.

“Sustained, Mr. Jeckle Murdock,” Foggy waves. “As for you, Ms. Heckle, as much as I personally know how much of a pain in the ass my roommate can be, please maintain professionalism in court.”

Later, behind the lectern, Professor Nguyen dismisses the class short of a few minutes before it’s end. “As entertaining as it was, today’s trial went nowhere. Both parties ended up at an impasse, as usual. A stalemate.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. ( Matt notices from his end of the room. )

“And while it does show that dear Heckle and Jeckle here skilfully know their way around law, it also shows that both of them are terrible at exercising it. Why? Because what we’re trying to do here, at the end of the day, is find a conclusion. To seek resolution.”

Prof. Nguyen looks pointedly at Murdock. A swell of pride washes over you. ( Which, is recognisably a petty and self-indulgent thing to feel, considering he can't even see her look at him, anyway. )

“You should’ve taken the settlement, Matt. It was practically gift-wrapped,” Foggy tells him afterwards, during their usual trip down campus for a quick grab-and-go snack. “Doesn’t always have to be a cage fight, y’know?”

“And give Ms. Heckle the satisfaction of thinking she won on terms? Not a chance,” he snorts, nudging his guiding arm. “She’ll see that as surrender. At least, I would, with a compromise like that. Besides, even if the tables were turned, you know she wouldn’t have taken it either.”

“Aw, you guys know each other so well, don’t you?” Foggy sing-songs. “Practically all up each other’s faces earlier. Swear I thought she was gonna jump your bones for a sec—”

“Oh, c’mon, Foggy,” he groans, “Not this again.”

“I’m serious! God, if you can see the way she looks at you.”

“Fortunately, I can’t.” 

He can. In a way, ofcourse. Not that he’d ever admit that. Yeah, sure, he’s privy in the fact that you’re undoubtedly attracted to him, what with the fluctuating heartrate and tell-tale scent of natural pheromones, but that still doesn’t discount how you genuinely find him grating above it all. 

Matt would’ve almost considered it endearing— if he didn’t find you just as frustrating at times, too. 

It’s the boldness, he reasons. You never seemed to hide. Unapologetically and deliberately agitating.

( …Pretty voice, too. )

“You’re still smiling. That’s creepy. What’re you smiling about, Matt?”

It’s only when they’re too exhausted to read through some lengthy case study about Torts, lazing over their beds in their messed up dorm room, that the conversation gains traction again.

“Next time, remind me to keep your ass out of settlement negotiations.”

“I was giving her a reason to come back with a better deal,” Matt says, face half-smushed against his pillow.

“Mhm, sure. Just admit it—” Foggy pokes his head out the side of his laptop. “—you want her to come back. Every. Single. Time.”

“That is, hah, not true. I just wanna win fair and square.”

“You can’t see, but I’m making the biggest ‘that’s bullshit’ face ever,” he snorts, setting the debris of his bed off to one side. “First of all, law isn’t about winning. It’s not a game, and you of all people know that. Second of all, you can’t deny the sexual tension and chemistry of academic rivals!”

Chemistry that don’t exactly mix well, Matt wants to argue, not with your cross-sword tempest of a personality and his cool as ice quickdraw against every contrement you two share. Half of the school calls the pair of you oil and water when really it’s more a struck match to open gasoline.

Instead, he goes with: “Did Marci tell you that, Foggy-Bear?” 

Matt receives a pillow to the face. He barks out a laugh. “Okay, low blow, sorry, buddy.”

“You’re just jealous I got a girl and you’ve got the hots for the ‘Heckler’.”

“I do not. And in her defense, that nickname came from a good cause.”

( The ‘Heckler’, of which was borne: the time you discovered one of the University’s wunderkind sophomores got away with harassing Nabilah from your Interdisciplinary Legal Studies class under a registrar’s aegis.

You’d harangued both men, tore their reputation asunder with damning evidence, and left a monstrous shiner across the student’s face that printed all over the front page of Columbia Daily Spectator— the school paper— as a cherry on top. 

Matt remembers your voice echoing the flagstones: Another victim’s story swept under the rug of shitty institutionalised silence along with all the untold scandals!

No one crosses you since.

Until Matthew Murdock, of course, and so turned ‘Heckler’ into Heckle and Jeckle. )

“Never thought I’d see you come to her defense, Mr. Jeckle Murdock.”

“Well, I am an aspiring lawyer.”

“And Ms. Heckle—” Foggy points with a finger. “—is your literal enemy! She’s the only person standing against you and a Summa cum laude distinction— right after me, ofcourse— and is also the most stubborn force to be reckoned with.”

Matt shrugs. “She’s… you know. Passionate. I respect that.”

He regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth. He can feel the smirk cutting across Foggy’s lips before he could interrupt him.

“…Respect, huh? That’s what we're calling it now?”

“Foggy.” Another groan. Matt volleys the pillow back— manages to clock him straight to the head despite an attempted dodge. “I respect her. Doesn’t mean I care about her.”

Matt Murdock realises very quickly he eats his words.

If he had the time to feel humiliated about it, he probably would.

“Heckle!”

On a sunny Monday afternoon, you wince mid-step down the flight towards your seat in the lecture hall, a lovely— you glance at the clockhand— 15 minutes late to class. 

The attempt to sneak in is ten times more awkward with the now-empty coffee cup in your hands.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Heckle,” comes the Professor’s terse voice. Tardiness has always been scorned by Mr. Lowell, and over the past few days— you’ve been arriving later and later. It’s unusual of you.

“…Good afternoon, Professor,” you greet, sheepish. 

You’re suddenly pinned by a hundred gazes. All except your Jeckle.

Murdock’s standing with a cant to his head and a smirk on his face you want to wipe off, looking pointedly forward. He must have been called upon in class to dispute a case before you stepped in. 

“Before you take your seat,” Prof. Lowell begins, “A tenant has claimed ‘illegal eviction’ after their landlord changed the locks to their door when they were away for a week. What’s the landlord’s best defense, in this case?”

You blink. Gather yourself by muscling your tote and laptop to another arm. 

“Abandonment. Since there was an extended period without any notice, or in this case, a week’s absence of no communication— they have reasonable grounds to assume abandonment was the tenant's intention, and justify locking the door as preventing damage or unauthorized occupancy.”

Matt Murdock’s reply is quick as lightning. 

“Abandonment is not a specific ground for eviction according to the law.” ( He doesn’t bother reminding you under which law and in what section; he knows you’re smart enough to know. ) “The landlord is still required to follow eviction procedures and file a holdover case in Housing Court to prove anything, regardless of their concerns about damage or squatters.”

Then, to add insult to injury: “Though self-help eviction can be deemed practical— it cannot be legally justified,” he shrugs. “So the tenant’s rights are still violated.”

The class turns to you. 

Your mouth opens, and shuts. 

Murdock smiles.

( It’s hardly a triumphant one, considering you were set up for failure. Little context, and even less evidence— Mr. Lowell is notorious of knowing exactly how to punish his students without making it blatant. Had the tables been turned, Matt knows himself he’d have argued the exact same thing and lost the exact same way. )

“Thank you,” the Professor nods. “Well argued, Heckle and Jeckle.”

You take your seat.

Then:

…Matt’s smile drops.

“Hey, uh, Foggy, is she—?”

Foggy is telling him something, probably clapping him on the back for actually winning, but he’s tuned everything out in favor of listening to you.

Matt tilts his head to concentrate. “Is she, Is she okay?”

“Hah, after that? Probably n—”

“I’m serious, Fog.”

A blink. 

The tone in his voice sends Foggy looking over his shoulder to look at you. “Not that I can tell?” he scrutinises. “Looks like her typical self. Not exactly wallowing, but maybe she's tired today?”

No, Matt doesn't say. 

You’re… crying. Been crying. 

He can hear your quiet sniffles; feel the hitching of your breath in the air; can taste the salt in it from where they’ve dried down your cheeks. Your bracelet tinkers as you down the remaining droplets of your cold brew.

“Something’s wrong,” Matt says, an hour later, for the third— Or fourth time? He’s not sure. He hasn’t been concentrating on whatever the lecturer has been saying, too busy paying attention to you.

“I can’t shake the feeling.”

“As someone who’s job one day involves taking hyper-educated guesses; I’m pretty sure she’s just stressed as hell. I mean, we’re law students. Even the great Ms. Heckle is bound to lose herself every once in a while, Matt.”

This is different, he wants to insist, even though the logical part of him is reasoning out the same answer. It wouldn’t hurt to check, though, if the nervousness he can practically feel radiating from your end of the room is really just workload-stress. 

He’s devised a flimsy plan by the time the lesson is over. Flimsy, by way of meaning: he thought of it on the spot as everyone rushes out of class when the clock struck 4pm. 

A clumsy bump. Brailled papers sent fluttering to the floor. Matt’s stellar acting as a blind man struggling to gather scattered work.

You curse and mutter an uncandid apology. “Didn’t see you.”

“Makes two of us,” Matt jokes, and once you’d neatly stacked his papers and returned it, goes:

“Heckle.”

He feels your gaze flick up to him.

“Jeckle.” 

A pause. Matt flounders. He hadn’t really expected to get this far. ( Neither did Foggy, apparently, who he can feel peeking around the corner. )

“I…”

“Listen, Murdock, I’m not in the mood,” you sigh in the silence, and he can hear your bracelet charm again as you raise your hand to rake through your hair. “You won. Congrats. Is it not enough for you that I got caught with my pants down in front of everyone already?”

“No, that’s not— That’s not what I was gonna talk about. I just,” he fumbles, fidgeting with his satchel’s strap, “Wanted to know if… everything’s okay.”

You blink.

Matt waits for a scoff. The curt counter. The caustic remark. Then, like a record-scratch jerk on a vinyl:

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

A lie. And an uncharacteristically polite one. The beat pulses late, loud and clear in his ears. 

And, perhaps most curiously:

That rush of bloodflow around your elbows, carefully hidden under your sleeves; the faint scent of coagulate pooling into a fresh haematoma and forming a shaped contusion on your arm. 

A bruise.

You’re late for Advanced Legal Ethics on Tuesday.

Professor Abena is a strict Ghanaian woman who never tends to be lenient, but you tell her you’re late because of a dragged-out interview for an externship. She buys the lie.

Matt doesn’t, for obvious reasons.

The bruise on your arm has begun to fade. He wonders how long it’s been there. 

You disappear too quick for him to ask. 

You’re absent on Wednesday.

It’s hard to focus without you.

“Where’s your stale-mate, Mr. Jeckle?” Professor Nguyen jokes.

Wish I knew.

You miss MBE Prep.

Matt tries not to worry.

He offers to take the theory typescripts out the Professor’s hands to pass along to you— just so he gets the excuse to ask around if anybody knew where you were, or whether you had a roommate.

( No one’s exactly sure— apparently your only friend had dropped out a year ago due to some medical issue, and you’ve been a loner since. )

Foggy learns from Marci, though, that she’s pretty sure you stay in a single-dorm at Lenfest Hall.

Word-of-mouth reaches you by Friday that Matt Murdock had demolished four other students back-to-back on a practice Defamation case. 

He’d apparently told Foggy he misses having competition.

You don’t smile, but… it’s a very close thing.

The Diamond Law Library on campus is gargantuan, so you’d practically jumped out your skin when someone decided to take the seat across your work-scattered table. At 9:45pm on a Saturday night, the library’s mostly a ghost town.

It’s Murdock.

Under the moon and the flaxen-dim lamplights, he’s painted more softly than you’ve ever seen him.

( Perhaps it’s the sweater and the mussed hair. Whatever it is, you’re just glad he can’t ever see you staring. ) 

He greets you in lieu of the usual head tilt:

“Heckle.”

“Jeckle.”

You continue before he can. “What do you want?”

( Blunt. Cursory. Borderline rude— he almost sighs in relief from the familiarity of it. )

“It’s more of: What does Professor Nguyen want,” Murdock says, inviting himself by folding his cane and resting it on the table to take a seat. “Remember the Legal Research assignment? She wants it done in pairs.”

Ah. So this is where it’s going. “There is absolutely no way in Hell that I’d partner with you, Murdock.”

“Ah, well,” he shrugs, nonchalant. “You were absent Wednesday. A little too late to say no. ‘Sides, she already noted I’m gonna be your partner.”

Something in your frontal lobe haywires. Words catch in your throat. Your palms are thrown wide. “What do you mean—?! Why the hell didn’t you partner with your ‘B.F.F’ Nelson?!”

( Someone shushes you in the distance. Matt almost laughs when he senses you flick a middle finger their way. )

“Because I have an advantage,” he states, matter-of-fact, and because it’s far better verbiage than saying ‘you need me’ to one of the world’s most independent and mule-headed people alive. “And I know it’ll hel—.”

“I don’t want your help,” you override, pen placed down with an impatient slap. 

Murdock leans back against his seat. There’s a mien you see washing over him; the same calm, collected and cocky one that he always slips into whenever he’s called up for an answer or dialogue. Prepared for a fight.

“Listen, Heckle. It’s the final year, and we’re drowning in work. Now, I can tell by the fact that you’re here on a Saturday night that you’re behind on something, because I know I would be if I missed nearly a week of classes. What you need the most is time, and fortunately for you, working with me grants you that.”

A confused look. “You’re gonna buy me time?”

“Us,” he rights, cheekily, before explaining simply: “Me being visually impaired has its perks. I’m blind; considered disabled. And students with disabilities have the right to ease of access and accommodations.”

The chair creaks as you sink back into it. He can tell you’ve already connected the dots.

“Like an extra week for submissions,” you huff, resigned. 

Matt drums his finger on the table edge. “A week and a half if I push it. I mean, Ms. Nguyen loves me. Can’t blame her, really.”

Another eye-roll, but with less heat this time. Matt knows the space of contemplative silence is really just for show in favour of protecting your ego. Which— fair enough. He’d have done the same.

“You’re holding a cudgel over my head,” you say, testy.

“I prefer to call it an olive branch. Speaking of which: Mr. Ravi from the prep course handed out a review guide…” He trails off as he feels for his bag, sliding out two spiral bound booklets and setting it on the table. It’s a compendium of notes for the final year bar exam.

A braille label is pasted on the top right corners of both books. His fingers read the raised dots, before he slides it across. “This is your copy.”

Your finger runs curiously at the dents translating your name.

Unbidden, you picture him domestic in his dorm room, meticulously taking the time to emboss a label to differentiate yours from his. The thought alone has you with half the mind to rip it off.

(You end up leaving it as is. Wouldn’t’ve made a difference if you did, anyway. Yeah.

Totally not because you find it endearing— No. Never.)

Coloured sticky notes with chicken-scratch writing are littered across some pages as you flip through. He must have heard you thumb at some of them, because he goes, “Oh, I got Foggy to annotate whatever you might’ve missed. I hear he’s got bad handwriting so, uh, I made him do it on post-its. If you can’t read it, you can ask him.”

( …God, he makes it hard to be pissed off at, sometimes. Maybe you just need more caffeine. )

“Mh. How thoughtful of you.”

It’s the closest thing to a sincere thank you he’s sure he’ll ever get. Matt has to bite back a smile. “You’re welcome, Heckle.”

You set the guide aside with your other study materials, ignore the nickname. “How’d you even find me here?”

He shrugs. “You won’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Alright. I caught a whiff of coffee and misery a floor away and knew it could only be you,” Murdock jokes, smoothly. (Except it’s not a joke. He could smell your perfume and your cold brew from the stairwell.) 

When you scoff, he makes a you-asked-for-it face. Before you can remark, though, he lets out a soft exhale. It’s honest.

“…Your bracelet.”

Realisation takes a moment. “You heard it?”

“I recognise it,” he emphasises. “Always makes a sound whenever we argue because you like to throw your hands around. Like tiny bells.”

That shouldn’t have felt more intimate than it sounds.

You breathe sharply out your nose. Press your tongue against your cheek. The air is charged with something, but not so much the keyed up kind you two share in a mock-trial. If anything, it almost feels right; as if he’d filled in a space you hadn’t yet realised was empty. 

Margining a comfortable silence. 

“Where’d you go?” Matt decides to finally ask, so imperceptibly that had you not been in the silence of the library, he doesn’t think you would’ve heard him. “Mock trials have been boring,” he adds, before he can even stop himself. 

It’s a sliver of heart. Unforgivable sentiment to extend to his so-called nemesis.

He hears your heartrate spike. The sleeve of your jacket shifting as you fidget at your arm. The bruise is healed, now. Matt can’t tell if the adrenaline he can sense is borne from his question or his admission.

“I visited my friend in the hospital,” you say, turning your attention to your pens and highlighters instead as you put them away. “She was my roommate.”

Steady pulse; honest truth. “A week-long visit?”

“I caught something there and ended up sick.”

The fib is delivered so fluently he’d have been convinced if he hadn’t been listening to your heart. Matt breathes a sigh out his nose. He’ll have to try again another time, he supposes, and fortunately he’s bought plenty with you.

“Feeling better?”

You zip your pencil case sharply. Shut your laptop with an abrupt click. “Well, I was, until you came along. So, no.”

A lie. Beat late, loud and clear. 

Matt Murdock tilts his head at you. Puppy-like, almost— as if he’s studying you.

Then he ducks his head and smiles.

It’s punctuated by the briefest slip of knowing, soft laughter; Has you tarrying over the flash of his canines; the dimple carving into his cheek; the windswept look of him in his stupid navy, cotton-light sweater.

…Boyishly handsome. It stuns you into place. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” he avers, “Don’t be late, Heckle. Remember, we’re stale-mates, now.”

“Shut up,” you snap, bristling.

Somehow, against all odds—

It’s the least insulting tone you’ve taken with him yet.

( Matt considers it a win. )

[kinda-super-hot]

I Want More. (1)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Summary: This will be a series! Part 1: (Y/n) and Harvey were 'together' during their time at Harvard, but Harvey couldn't commit to an actual relationship. They 'break-up', or whatever you do to end a situationship, and split on bad terms. Years later, after they become successful lawyers, their paths collide once again when (Y/n) takes a job at Pearson Hardman.

Warnings: commitment issues, angst, arguing - I think that's it but if you noticed something I missed, please let me know.

Word Count: 1784

A/N: I haven't written in a WHILE. Please, please, please constructive criticism. Also, there's, like, no Harvey fanfics. I think I read literally all of them soooooo... that's why there's this thing. Anyways, lemme know if you're interested in part 2 (I already started writing lol).

Harvey and I didn’t used to be so distant. Once upon a time, while we were both attending Harvard, I was the person he went to practice flash cards to study for the bar. While I sat against my bed frame asking him questions off the cards, he’d lay on his stomach with his feet in the air. Seeing as we were both quick witted, we’d often get distracted and end with a battle of lighthearted jabs.

               And likewise, he was there for me when I had been stood up on a date with some frat boy. He ordered in some Chinese food and pulled a big tub of ice-cream out of my freezer. We sat on my goodwill couch picking apart the guy and making up some dumb unfathomable story as to why he hadn’t texted.

               “I can’t wait to hear the headline in the morning: Duke, whatever the hell his last name was, found having been thrown from his car in a head on collision right into a semi-truck loaded with rubber ducks.” He did a news reporter voice that didn’t sound far off from how he normally talked. “Luckily, the ducks cushioned his fall, so he only suffered having lost his phone and missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime with the (Y/N) (L/N).” I repress my giggle but can’t stop the goofy smile on my face. “What a loss.”

               “I mean,” I spoon more ice-cream into my mouth, “Who would name their son Duke? You can tell they wanted a dog.” He nodded along to that and all the other ridiculous things we talked about that night.

               But some friendships don’t last forever. Especially, when you want more.

               We grew closer and had fleeting kisses often. Some borderline dates, but never anything serious. Never anything real. Not to him.

               “Harv.” I called his name from the couch after I heard the door to his apartment open and close. He walked through the door with a smile on his face. “How was your day?” I asked, but I already knew the answer just by looking at his face. He had a mock trial set that day and absolutely crushed it. He was assigned the husband’s attorney and was in charge of making sure that the wife got the minimum of what she was entitled to without having signed a prenup.

               After he boasted about his triumph, I applauded him. But he wasn’t finished running his big mouth. And his next, one little comment, threw our relationship through a loop. “One of the stupidest things a person can do is get married.” He smirked as he took of his jacket and started on his tie.

               I froze in my place on the couch. He continued getting comfortable and taking off his restricting clothes with his back facing me. My throat was tight, but I persevered, I had to make sure that I had heard him right. “You think marriage is stupid?”

               I eyed his back feeling distraught. Every fiber in my being hoped and pleaded that he was joking, but my gut knew better. Moreso, it knew Harvey better.

               “Marriage, in my eyes, is an irrational vulnerability. There’s no point other than, I don’t know, taxes?” He rambles on with his back still facing me. My heart clenches. “And even then, it’s not worth it. Divorce can ruin everything. A man, his family, hell, it can run an entire business into the ground.”

               My head was throbbing, and I couldn’t help the hot tears that brim my eyes. “Huh.” I acknowledge. My voice feels raw already from holding back letting out any noises. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

               My voice must have given me away because Harvey flicks his head over his shoulder to spare me a glance before double taking. His eyes widen and his body tenses. He turned his body to me and takes a step in my direction before stopping in his tracks. A tear falls down my cheek and I feel burning hot embarrassment in my chest.

               “Honey…” He gently grabs me by my biceps and looks into my eyes. “What’s wrong.” His voice is smooth as he caresses my cheek and pulls my face into his chest. I let out a choked cry and he rocks me back and forth for a few moments.

               I feel ridiculous. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I can tell I’m not being convincing when Harvey pulls my face from his chest and gives that knowing look before putting it right back where it belongs.

               I had no idea what to say. How do you tell your kind-of-but-not-really-boyfriend that you had already planned what the centerpieces at your wedding would look like? That this was it. This was everything you wanted. He was everything you wanted.

               “Even if it was me?” I blurted it out before I could really think about what I was saying. He looked confused for a second but then his face went stern.

               “Y/N.” All of a sudden, his delicate touch is a little heavier. “We’re not even-…” He cuts himself off and looks to the corner of the room. My mouth opened as I processed what he was too scared to say.    

               “You don’t want me.” My expression turned icy and I looked down. He let out a frustrated noise and pulled away from me. Though, I felt empty before he could even begin to move from my embrace.

               “That’s not it.” His brows were furrowed, and he wouldn’t look at me. That’s exactly it. I read his face and could feel he was holding something back. I was at a loss for words. I removed my body from the bed and let out an emotional scoff.

               I speedily walked into the bathroom, trying to make a plan. Any plan that won’t leave me anymore heartbroken than I already was.

Leave.

               It was my only option. I eyed the unused, small garbage bag next to the toilet and ripped it from its basket. “Y’know,” I suddenly felt his presence behind me. “I know you’re studying to be a lawyer and their whole schtick is lying and-” I started tossing my deodorant and face wash and every other thing I bought for his place into the bag. “-and withholding the truth.” I ranted in a demeaning voice. “But I didn’t think you would do that to me-”

               “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was raised and his hands were out to his side in an exasperated way. “I didn’t lie!” I didn’t stop tossing things in, in fact I’d finished my bathroom segment and moved on to his closet.

               “You’re right- you didn’t lie, you just kissed me, went on dates, and cuddled me! But, oh no, you’re right. We’re not anything.” I growled as I tossed my spare shirts and pants from his closet onto the bed before stuffing them in my already bulging, see-through bag.

               He didn’t yell, but he did have an icy tone when saying, “It’s not my fault if you convinced yourself there was something here when there wasn’t.” I stopped trying to make everything fit into the bag. The next few seconds were silent as I let his words sink in. My heart had to have gotten heavier because it felt like it was in my gut. Either that, or I was about to vomit.

               All I could think was ‘get out’. I couldn’t look at him, fuck, my heart hurts so bad. I tie off the bag and walked from his bedroom into the living room and finally, slam his front door. I couldn’t help but stop outside of it to try and listen for footsteps… but I heard none.

               So, I left. For the next few days, I spent my hours crying, sleeping, crying again and completely and utterly alone.

               I hardly saw Harvey again whilst I was at Harvard, thank God we were in different law classes. Of course, with an ego as big as his, it was impossible not to at least hear about him every once and a while. During graduation, I grimaced knowing that he was a few feet away with that million-dollar smile on his face. Never the matter, I put a smile on my face too and high-tailed it when the picture was over.

I moved back to the city I was born and raised, not too far from New York. I practiced as an associate for a while, but quickly climbed the ranks and made Junior Partner at the firm. I had mind blowing reviews and an amazing success rate that assured a job offer at whatever firm would have me. In fact, I worked so hard at my firm, that I reached the capacity of what they could pay me as a Junior Partner. I could either become Senior Partner or go somewhere else if I wanted to continue to grow my paycheck.

               And if I learned anything from Harvey Douchebag Specter, it’s that I should never settle. I set my eyes on the most successful firm in New York: Pearson Hardman. One over the phone interview and a quick glance at my numerous 5-star reviews, recommendations, and success rate-and I was welcomed to the Pearson Hardman family.

I rented an apartment not too far from the firm and began unpacking the few things I had. After paying off my student debt, I went on a spending spree, and I wound up with more than I could manage. After being knees deep in Dior, I had to offload some stuff. I packed everything I couldn’t part with and donated everything else to be distributed to a few women’s shelter. They couldn’t contain their excitement and now I’m a part of the state-wide organization. Funny enough how those things happen!

Either way, it was a fresh start, through and through. I had the bare necessities, and I was content. A shopping spree for some Ikea furniture was calling my name, though. The apartment was a literal husk up and would remain that way until I could find the time to go shopping.

Being in the city where I studied law and had some of the toughest years of my life made me emotional, but in the best way. Now I’m back, and at least 3 times as kick-ass as before.

Of course, since Harvard, I’d heard a comment or two about Harvey and what he’s been up to, but I tended to butt my head out, far away from his business. I’m sure he’s somewhere still in New York, I mean, he loved this city- but New York’s huge! There’s no way I’ll be seeing him anytime soon.

[bunicate]

i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3

dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !

pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+

you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.

after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.

you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.

It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.

when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.

it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.

and then you see it.

it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.

that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered

“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.

you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.

he excites you.

you know it and he knows it.

“sure you don’t.”

he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?

it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.

you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.

before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .

and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.

so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.

he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.

you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?

just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.

it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.

even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.

two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?

soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.

you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.

“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.

“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”

and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?

“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.

“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.

there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.

it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.

things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.

“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."

and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.

"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”

you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.

“y-yes sir.”

such dangerous words.

[cocoacat323]

Scum Villian Fic Recs

So, I've been reading fanfiction for a long ass time, longer than I've been on Tumblr and have always loved fic recs, and now I realize I can make my own(yay!), so here it is. None of these are explicit or anything, but they are super good.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into The Bamboo House Summary:

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

Unveiling The Imposter Summary:

While tracking a suspicious fortune-teller, Shen Qingqiu falls unconscious. The fortune-teller extracts a glowing orb from his body, telling Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge that this Shen Qingqiu is an imposter, and they can see for themselves if they don't believe it.

Alternatively, the Demon Lord and Peak Lords watch Scum-Villain's Self-Saving System.

Characters Watch the Series fanfic. Post-Canon.

High Mountain, How I Long Summary: Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

meta madness Summary: Looking at SVSSS through the eyes of the universe left behind when Airplane and Cucumber died. (Note: Not a fic, but a series, but every fic in it is so good so definitely check it out.)

it's only shameless if you had any shame to loose in the first place Summary: They have not told anyone about their marriage, and at Shen Qingqiu's request, they will only do so once the wedding preparations are done. No one will have time to nag!

But in the meantime, Luo Binghe, demonic lord or not, is only an alpha. He must do something to show off his claim or he'll go insane, he really will. He'll qi deviate terribly, see if he won't.

Fortunately, as thin-faced as he is, his Shizun does not care much for proper dynamic etiquette...

love's worth running to Summary: “Shizun,” he purred, darkly calm despite the anger oozing out of his mock-respectful smile. Luo Binghe's grip on Xiu Ya's blade tightened, and he realised with belated horror that his blood was running down the sword and dripping by Shen Qingqiu's feet. His sword had to be held at an upwards angle now, to reach the place where he pierced him back then.

Shen Qingqiu felt sick. There was something wrong in this dream.

“I ask you again. Do you regret it, Shizun?”

//

Shen Qingqiu can't answer whether he regrets betraying him. Luo Binghe wants his Shizun to understand how he suffered, and drags Shen Qingqiu into his dreamscape of the Endless Abyss that night.

The only problem: Shen Qingqiu isn't waking up.

We Are Not Wise Summary:

When Shen Qingqiu drew Shen Yuan’s soul sword, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The fire wasn’t cruel, but it was still fire—hot and destructive, searing the softest pieces of him.

When Binghe’s fingers touch the hilt, he is ready for pain.

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords. Written for the Bingqiu Reverse Minibang 2023, illustrated and conceptualized by the incredible Suzu!

The Cultivating Force Summary: In which a Master and a Padawan run into a Shizun and a... Sith?

and judgement is just like a cup that we share Summary: The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

"Proud Immortal Demon... Protection Squad?" Summary:

[ REWRITTEN 2023 ]

in which shen qingqiu, the nation's scum villain, doesn't perish from a qi deviation and instead, after dying tragically in his pathetic, sickly, 20 year-old body because he ate some definitely rotten yogurt he mistook for cream cheese like the absolute knob that he is, shen yuan wakes up to find himself in the body of a child, in the middle of a forest, and with absolutely no clue what world this shitty system had dropped him into. he decides to just go with the flow, one step at a time.

what could possibly go wrong?

(the answer is: everything)

(Shen Yuan Might Die Often but His) Old Habits Die Hard Summary: When Luo Binghe asks about his spiritual veins in the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Yuan's chest feels so funny that a lifetime of being chronically ill and reassuring his loved ones that, actually, he's fine kicks in. It is fine, really, because every problem in Airplane-bro's world can be solved by something that's penciled regularly into Shen Yuan's schedule at least eight times a week now.

Except the cure for Without a Cure doesn't work, and Shen Yuan's unlucky enough that Airplane-bro's plot device for winning over a tsundere via 'walking a mile in each others' bodies' hits him before he can figure out an alternative to telling Binghe that actually his five years of rebuilding Shen Qingqiu's spiritual veins diligently failed to cure him.

Luo Binghe is, of course, less than impressed to discover through personal experience what Shen Yuan, with his pain scale so skewed by years of chronic pain, never did during all his time poisoned: that, actually, having spiritual energy forming blockages and blood stagnating in your body hurts like hell.

Anyway, that's all that I've got for now. I hope that if you do take my recs you enjoy them, and remember to read all of the tags. Have fun reading!

[daddy-deathslinger]

Oooh, I really liked that killers with a S/O who has a particular perk! May I ask for a reader whose perk is to be able to hide very well/slip away easely? As in, they are quite small and so they can crouch and slip through spaces other survivors can't to go unnotinced! Maybe the killer in question struggles to hook them because they keep slipping from his grasp, but reader never mocks him or anything and just runs away until the end of the trial where they leave an item behind as an apology (Hillbilly, Cannibal, Oni and Deathslinger, if it's not too much trouble! If they are too many, feel free to choose whichever!) Thank youuu 🩷

Hi there! What a lovely request, I hope yer happy with what I came up with! <3

The Hillbilly/Max Thompson Jr with a slippery survivor

Max is good at hunting his prey, and he usually finds them quite easily.

But there’s always one person he struggles to catch. You.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten you cornered, you slip away somewhere. It’s really frustrating! How can you find that many cracks and nooks to sneak off into? 

And his chainsaw can’t do shit once you’re out of sight again. Sure, he can saw through the wooden walls and search for you, but you’re never there.

It’s as if you disappear from the face of the earth.

One time, after a trial had ended and you, as the last survivor left, had probably escaped through the hatch, he had found something. He was going back into his house when he saw something in the mud of the cornfield. 

A necklace. Shiny, must have been made of real gold.

Max had picked it up and examined it, a smile slowly growing on his lips. He knew you wore this kind of necklace, you must have either dropped it or left it here for him to find.

And his heart pointed towards the latter.

The Cannibal/Bubba Sawyer with a slippery survivor

Bubba isn’t the best tracker (it must be hard to see anything through that mask of his), but once he finds someone they won’t get away.

Except you, you always manage to get away somehow.

Be it a dark nook you can slip into, a hole that is perfectly shaped for you, or you simply just wiggle out of his grasp just as he’s about to put you on a hook.

You’re usually gone in seconds, he never has a chance to find you again.

This pains him greatly, you know that. He shrieks and yells in annoyance and anger, waving his chainsaw around in the air when he can’t find you anymore.

It almost makes you feel a bit bad.

A bit, only a bit. Enough to make you want to make it up to him somehow.

Not through sacrificing yourself though, gods no! But sometimes you leave behind small gifts for him to find.

It can be anything, really. A nice can you found in the cornfields, a bracelet that was buried in the mud. One time, you left a doll inside the house in the cornfields, knowing he would find it there after the trial.

You can only hope your little gestures are appreciated.

The Oni/Kazan Yamaoka with a slippery survivor

Kazan is a great tracker. Always has been.

He can smell blood a mile away, and see it as clear as red, shimmering pearls on the ground.

Naturally, prey have a hard time hiding from him once he has injured them.

And yet, there’s one he just can’t seem to ever catch.

This prey just vanishes from his sight the second he has injured them. It’s like they don’t even bleed! Sure, he can find trails of blood here and there, but it never leads him anywhere.

It drives him mad! If you’re in a trial these days, he’s almost certain he’s gonna leave with only three kills. You always seem to find the hatch as well, so.

Sometimes, Kazan finds things.

Things in places it’s never occurred to him to look before, but when he does he always finds a surprise.

It can be a hair tie, or even something of great worth, like a ring or earring. 

Once he found a little crocheted doll, with black buttons for eyes.

He doesn’t know where these things appear from, but something tells him they appear from the same source that so easily disappears. And that thought is a bit amusing to him, it almost brings a smile to his lips at times.

The Deathslinger/Caleb Quinn with a slippery survivor

Caleb is a proud man, that much you know.

He hates losing, and losing is exactly what he does these days whenever you’re in a trial.

His swearing can be almost amusing at times, when you peek out from a hiding place and see him frantically search for you. He never finds you, and eventually gives up.

You’ve lost count of all the times you’ve gotten the hatch.

All that being said, you make sure to never taunt him. 

You don’t want to rub it in his face, he’s only doing his job here. And so are you. It’s nothing personal.

During the last trial, you had decided to try something a bit different. You had been tinkering on things at the campfire for a while, your latest project was carving a butter knife out of a piece of wood.

It wasn’t particularly pretty, but you liked it.

You had decided to leave it behind for Caleb to find, as a little gift for all his troubles catching you. 

So, you had left it inside the Dead Dawg Saloon, at the bar. Then, you had hid.

When the rest of the gang had escaped, and Caleb eventually got back to the saloon with heavy steps, he had found it.

You had watched as he had taken the butter knife in his hand, weighed it (why would you weigh a butter knife??) and examined it. 

You will never forget the smile on his lips, as he had whispered: “What in the goddamn…” and put the knife in his jacket pocket before leaving.

[resart]

The Inconspicuous Writing Gem: Daeran’s Look-alike Contest Breakdown

The Dance of Masks brought the long-anticipated last hurrah to the Knight Commander’s story. Although it was announced that the DLC would focus on the companions, I wasn’t holding my breath for substantial content that would actually enrich the characters’ plots. The game is already massive and has a ton of variables, so expecting the writers to continue storylines that can have multiple outcomes would be unreasonable. But one scene far exceeded my expectations and set the bar high for the rest of the expansion, rendering me more critical about some of its elements than I would normally be. The event in question may not appear as much, but the true artistry in writing stories driven by the player’s choice fully reveals itself in what we don’t see on the surface. Daeran’s look-alike contest varies greatly, depending on how his personal quest was resolved, and, therefore, serves as a semi-epilogue to his arc. I wanted to post an analysis of his character’s progression for quite some time, and this send-off is a fitting opportunity to delve into this matter. I’ll break down the differences in the new scene as well as in a few others and share my overall thoughts on what this addition brings to the table. Brace yourself because it’s going to be long.

I'll start with a quick reminder of what Daeran’s questline outcomes are, because I'm going to reference them a lot:

Good, in which he’s openly grateful to the Knight Commander despite having to face the tribunal, and Liotr, noticing their bond, intervenes so the Inquisition doesn't lock him up;

Lobotomy, in which Daeran reluctantly accepts his predicament of having to face the trial, Liotr doesn't support him and after the crusade, the Count is sent to the asylum and lobotomized;

HappyEvil, in which the Commander kills Liotr to secure Daeran’s freedom;

ArchEvil, in which Daeran doesn't have any trust in the Commander, feels deserted and murders Liotr to avoid the trial.

At first glance, there's nothing profound about Daeran’s festival quest — it fits his image to indulge in the vain act of self-celebration by choosing the most accurate imitation of himself. However, this simple setup proves itself clever when we realize that, by observing the contestants, he sees himself in a distorting mirror. Coincidentally, each participant appears to represent a different facet of the Count’s character. Therefore, his reactions to them speak volumes of the self-image and mindset he developed during the crusade in each scenario.

Among the doubles, we have an aasimar who mimics Daeran's arrogance and cruelty, and constantly interrupts other participants' speeches with mocking remarks.

A woman who recreates Daeran's sophisticated bon vivant persona.

A drunkard who paints Daeran as a worthless and utterly unapologetic rake.

And finally, an innocent boy who keeps staring at Daeran with admiration and portrays him as a virtuous hero of the crusade.

After the presentation of the contestants is over, Daeran asks the Commander’s opinion. Again, his responses to their verdict vary in each case (unless they choose the cat), but the difference in how he reacts to being compared to the little boy is the most telling.

No matter what the protagonist suggests, the winner of the contest is fixed for each of the outcomes. If the Commander failed to earn Daeran's trust and he murdered Liotr himself, the conceited aasimar is declared the winner.

If the Commander killed Liotr, the Count awards the lady.

If the quest was resolved peacefully (either Good or Lobotomy), Daeran chooses the boy and has a heartwarming exchange with him.

This variety of possible scenarios and the way they are handled encapsulate why I consider Daeran's story so intricately woven and enjoyable to analyze. He's an incredibly flexible and dynamic character whose potential endings range from becoming a saint to a homicidal maniac. But what makes this duality and everything that comes in between so engaging is that all these vastly contradictory conclusions are equally organic and convincing, given his rich characterization and the player’s choices. The subtle yet significant divergences in the narrative paths maintain the integrity of his personality and prevent his evolution from seeming far-fetched while efficiently showcasing his growth or regression.

Regretfully, this attention to detail is missing from the other new scenes, which don't convey a similar sense of progression and can come off as somewhat disconnected from the rest of the playthrough. The rendezvous, for example, avoids references to how the player concluded Daeran's romance and quest. Given these plotlines' non-linearity, it's an understandable approach, but it prevents the scene from exploring deeper themes and hitting more emotional notes. What's particularly detrimental to the its overall intensity is the absence of exclusive dialogue for the True Love outcome. Ironically, it's the two worst endings that get unique and surprisingly heartfelt lines.

The difference is insignificant, however, because the conversation always plays out the same. All in all, the segment is nice and leaves a lot to the imagination, but only partially exploits its potential. Meanwhile, the festival mini-quest embraces the aforementioned strengths of the storyline's writing, giving every iteration of Daeran distinct dialogues that clearly demonstrate the impact the crusade and acquaintance with the Commander had on him.

I won't examine every dialogue branch in detail but will mainly focus on the Good scenario. As someone who likes this ending the best and even advocates the controversial writing in the final confrontation with Liotr, I always thought the narrative failed to properly sell its implied benefits. Apart from the closing conversation in the quest itself, late-game provides little reactivity to differentiate the outcomes, making it hard for the players to fully grasp the internal shift that Daeran undergoes. Comparison of said dialogue in various scenarios reveals his perspective in Good route as the least egocentric and overall most mature. Unfortunately, in an individual playthrough, these qualities can get overshadowed by the Count's dissatisfaction with the inconveniences he will eventually have to endure.

Aside from that, the effects of each resolution manifest only in Daeran's responses to one question in the romantic route and how he expressed his feelings regarding Galfrey’s death.

Even though they show evident contrast and serve as a much-needed emotional pay-off for the moral dilemma the player faced in the storyline finale, both are relatively minor, with the Queen one completely missable in most playthroughs. When combined with the similar omission of negative repercussions for Daeran’s moral condition and emotional maturity in other outcomes, it's not surprising many players believe he doesn’t ever change or that becoming better fundamentally clashes with his nature.

The discussed competition scene remedies the narrative’s deficiencies, ultimately proving this statement untrue. In the Good outcome, Daeran presents a reasonable dose of self-distance. When confronted with the drunk’s insults, he replies with humor and courtesy, which is a stark contrast to his reactions in the Evil outcomes and his past responses to criticism. Despite being hurt by the harsh judgment, he understands such a low opinion of himself is somewhat justified. The Count's mild response and his sensitivity to the suggestion that he's nothing more than an unfeeling scoundrel may even indicate that he has developed some remorse for his past actions. He also dismisses unwarranted flattery and distances himself from the brash egotism. All without falling into a spiral of gloom and self-deprecation that occurs in the Lobotomy scenario. Introspectiveness and vulnerability showcased here are a seamless continuation of the self-evaluation Daeran does in the High Trust version of his quest upon being supposedly betrayed by the Commander.

It's all the more unfortunate that the other interactions in the DLC don’t acknowledge these differences and instead return to the common denominator of all endings. As a result, the player will go from Daeran, who self-reflects and claims the aasimar presents an unfunny caricature of him, to Daeran in the tavern, who puffs himself up exactly like the guy (using even the same words) and seeks more sycophantic praise. While it's expected for him to put on an airy act and tease others, the absolute lack of self-awareness he previously exhibits in the Good route is quite jarring. Considering the complexity of the storyline as well as all sorts of limitations, such inconsistencies are inevitable (the base game already has a fair share of them) and in the end, one can easily reconcile them through their own interpretations. However, after being spoiled by a reactivity treat like the festival mini-quest, it's disappointing that the remaining dialogues lack similar nuance.

In the Good scenario, Daeran's behavior reinforces what we learn in the epilogue — that in this version, he has the most difficulty navigating through his newfound freedom and redefining himself in it. Choosing the winner of a silly contest shouldn't be hard for him, and it isn't in the Evil outcomes. There, the self-satisfied Count (who in both cases already has the blood of at least one innocent man on his hands) picks what he perceives as an idealized version of himself — be it the aestheticized depiction of his self-centredness or the unbridled and unyielding haughtiness. Noteworthily, in the Happy variant, Daeran openly flirts with the lady and, in both Evil paths, if not romanced, attempts to seduce his favored contestant. It’s peak narcissism, given the implications of the scene. In the peaceful outcomes, especially the Good one, the ordeal is a series of unpleasant self-reflections that even causes him to become overwhelmed by sorrow at one point. In the end, Daeran’s choice stems not from an ulterior motive or a desire to boost his ego but from genuine fondness for the boy. The youngster's belief in the Count’s kindness and heroism reminds him of his own innocence that was prematurely and brutally snatched from him. At his core, Daeran is not a self-sufficient master of his own fate but a helpless child thrown by unfortunate circumstances into otherworldly oppression and a vicious cycle of selfishness. In the Evil routes, he successfully deludes himself into believing he’s the former, but here, he realizes he’s the latter.

We're used to seeing Daeran scoffing at saccharine narratives and lofty ideals, and in the Evil versions, he's indeed annoyed with the boy’s portrayal of him. In one of them, he even anticipates him to be disenchanted, finding the prospect amusing. In the campaign's early stages, the Count voices his dissatisfaction with being enrolled in the crusade and laments the tarnishing of his ill reputation. Any suggestions that he may be secretly vulnerable are met with biting retorts. But now, Daeran doesn't disabuse the child and isn’t even bothered by being seen as a heroic figure. There also isn’t any objection when the Commander points out the similarity between him and the boy. He’s shocked they can see through him but decides to be honest and agrees with their assessment. Daeran’s sensitivity and his tendency to be more emotionally transparent with the protagonist is, at this point, a recurring theme in the peaceful outcomes, so it’s a shame that when they later choose to compliment his vulnerable soul, he's always equally dismissive.

Daeran is perfectly aware of how damaging cruel disillusionment can be to one’s psyche. As a child, he witnessed firsthand the powerlessness of good in the face of evil, the suffering adhering to moral principles can bring, and how those who claim to be righteous can turn out to be as callous and uncaring as hardened villains. These experiences left the young Count with a pessimistic view of the world and human nature, making him adopt coping mechanisms that only deepened his melancholy and loneliness. Knowing this, he wishes to spare the boy a similar fate and plays along to preserve his innocence.

In the non-peaceful outcomes, Daeran gives the signet away as if it was an insignificant bauble. But even though we barely ever see this side of him, some dialogues indicate he’s proud of his heritage and his ancestors' role in Mendev’s history. They were valiant defenders of the kingdom, who, for generations, protected its borders from any threat. This is who the Count, as a scion of the Arendae house, was originally destined to be and who, it so happens, the boy sees in him. Perhaps his take on him makes Daeran reflect on how differently things could have turned out had it not been for his family's demise and the Other’s interference. It undoubtedly revokes memories of his roots and deceased kin, since he not only rewards the child with the ring but also educates him on its meaning and sentimental value, expressing unexpected sincerity and kindness. In the Lobotomy scenario, this gesture is particularly bittersweet — with his impeding childless death, Daeran’s lineage is going to expire, making the memento the only way to keep its memory alive.

Finally, the Good version of the scene carries a deep symbolic significance. Daeran rewards one person who doesn't focus on his superficial traits or recreates the mask he hides behind. The image the boy paints of him may not be accurate, but while the other portrayals embody what the Count turned into under the Other's influence, this one shows what he could have been if he hadn’t lost the childish naivety he now longs for. And who he, despite his own skepticism, still can or perhaps even already started to become, thanks to the good protagonist's compassion and support. Just like the Commander, the boy views him as someone better than what his predicament forced him to be. And Daeran, confronted with sincere faith in him, cannot help but answer the call.

[brucewaynehater101]

The first planet that Tim and his life partners conquered, the planet that became the seed of the empire, was an accident.

The planet was ruled by a terrible tyrant, they were petty and cruel just for the sake of being cruel. They also liked to hold mock battles and gladiator fights that frequently ended with the winners getting eaten by half starved predator creatures. And the tyrant liked to also fight in the arena themselves. They would even hold their crown as the ultimate prize. They always cheated though and so they always won.

When the C4 came to the planet, it was an accident and they ended up as gladiators in the arena. Tim, as one of the smaller ones in the group, got picked to fight the tyrant.

Unfortunately for the tyrant, Tim is also a cheating cheater who cheats. And Tim was a better cheater than the tyrant.

The tyrant lost. They survived but their crown was now placed upon the head of the little bird who beat him and there were more than enough who were sick of his rule and willing to take advantage of his weakness that they would support this little baby ruler, at least long enough to figure out a real ruler.

But then it turned out that the baby was good at the job? And the baby's companions? consorts? were really freakin' strong.

Another tyrant on a different planet found out about the first tyrant's failure and laughed and decided to take down this little baby on this planet that they thought was weakened and that they would take the planet under their control and begin an empire.

Things...did not play out that way. Tim goaded the second tyrant into another trial by combat with the respective planets up as collateral. Tim won. Tim now had two shiny hats and two planets who needed serious overhaul to support its inhabitants rather than be centralized on now imprisoned tyrants. (Tim absolutely cheated but only his team could catch how he did it)

The third planet that came under Tim's control did so because they were being bullied by a different planet and their own ruling class had been wiped out and could they pretty please join for their own safety? And Tim said yes.

The bully was neutralized with some blackmail. And then there was a rebellion and the formerly bully planet joined the empire.

Then two planets caught up in a genocidal war ended up essentially being put in time out by C4 who were trying to set up some trade routes and the war was getting in the way of things.

And so on and so forth until Emperor Obi Wan Kenobi now had an empire of over a dozen different planets, an empire that is still growing.

I like that there's now background lore for how Tim acquires his first few planets! This does sound like the chaos and unfortunate situations that Tim ends up in as well as the ridiculous (but somehow works out) solutions he comes across.

I'm also vibing with C4 acquiring the two planets by putting them in timeout. I'm just imagining Emperor Tim going up the planets, saying "quit it," and then the leadership of these two planets is just thrusted onto him. He did not ask, but he'll make do.

I'm also curious if he has an informational packet, announcement, powerpoint, or otherwise for new planets that join.