#and I don't want anyone to feel like they have to finish my stories if they don't like them

[bleaksqueak]

just wanted to say, as a fellow artist, THANK YOU for talking about shortcuts 🙏🙏 ive had baggage over not doing art """properly""" (re: the repetitive frustrating way just to prove i can), and im finally letting myself use tricks like warping and textured brushes and such, but i still feel weird sometimes. then i see a batshit amazing artist like you uses them, and i feel better. so thanks 😭 (and yes aye-eye is not included in this, mass theft isnt a shortcut)

The great thing about baggage is you can and absolutely should work up to just checking that crap in at the front desk and then conveniently forget to ever pick it back up~ Seriously though, it's no problem, and I'm glad to hear you're loosening up with it! If it helps, shortcuts are drilled into you if you work professionally in art. The only people who don't use shortcuts who work professionally are people who simply don't want to (be it stubbornly or out of enjoyment) and people who can afford to (names so big that deadlines will either be lenient or are dictated by the artist themself) The urgency to do everything the painstakingly hard way is, weirdly enough, a mindset most common in hobbyist spaces. People who want to do it that way (out of enjoyment, out of pride) are more than welcome to do it (as I'll sometimes just do slow crosshatching, no special brushes, because I find it relaxing)... but those who insist others do it or they aren't a real artist are often speaking from a position of bad faith, or are repeating what they had drilled into them by another hobbyist or their childhood/teen year art teachers, *or* are doing it to place themselves on a pedestal competitively. So, basically! Do things manually if you feel like it, but also know that there's hardly a "pro" out there that doesn't utilize a lot of fun little tricks and shortcuts. We still do it by our artistry, which is where the line is drawn with generated bullshit (also, you know, it's theft), but I guess a good way to look at it is like this: When you're drawing a piece of storytelling art or a comic page and the character has an elaborate costume with chains (my own character's lapel pins... we can look at Spawn, or a Nomura character and their department store of belts)...What's more important? The intricate detail of the chain, proving you can do it (again and again and again, since every angle would need to be drawn anew) Or the character acting, the composition, the atmosphere? It's the aspects that tell something about the character, the action, and the story that are always going to win out and matter, meaning that chain is just busy work-- a prime candidate for a quick swipe of a chain brush, or if you're me, this little friend:

So, yeah!! At the end of the day, the most important thing is to do what brings you joy or what meets your goal. I do love drawing clothes and I love details (love patterns and gold details especially)... but I also love finishing my work and shortcuts allow me to focus on the charcter acting and the atmosphere instead! Go forth and don't feel guilty. So long as you're not stealing from anyone and having fun, you're not doing anything wrong.

[jams-sims]

So I just finished Dragon Age Veilgaurd and I'm convinced some very loud Gamers just don't want to play a game that just feels nice to play. Its like a nice bag of chips, I ate the whole fucking thing.

Anyway spoilers- spoilers for my ending and romance and general yappin.

I shoved Solas ass into veil- I have no history with him from the other games. Back when (the other da games) they were first released. I understood that Solas was one of the fan favorites, so I kind of went into this thinking I was going to become a fan- nah. At every turn this game chanted change is better. Letting go of the past, just means creating something new. Solas refused to change and at every turn betrayed Rook. I faught Mythal for no fucking reason that hard ass fight. Because I just tricked him, it felt way better for my scrappy Mourn Watcher.

There were moments where I could see the vision of Solas fuckers. He had some of the best witty dialogue. Also just the aguring between them was tasty at times. An then the ending happened and I was so fucking stunned. I kept saying "imma kill him," an even as I said that i was STILL feeling sorry for him. I stood firm though, locked his ass right up.

Hes the prefrect manipulator, he played on my emotions to the very end, very good job game.

My romance was Lucanis- I love him and idk how im gonna do other playthrough to romance anyone else. When he is so devoted and i love that so much. I talked about being emmrich girl and he turned out to be more of a best friend character for my Mourn Watcher.

All in all i liked this game- everyone giving it shit is just allergic to story thats not just fucking bleak all the gotdamn time. Sad shit still happened in this game. But damn- its like you can't enjoy some shit thats corny with out someone in your ear telling you how you shouldnt like it. Nah- we ball it was good i enjoyed it. This has been the first game i've completed this year.

[seven-seas-of-rhye-bread]

Lucius Verus x F!OC (Cassia)- Part 2

They're baccckkkk! Still finishing the outline for the rest of "A Fate Worse Than Death", but still wanted to write something today, so here is another fic with Lucius and our fave thermae attendant, Cassia.

Warning: Smut smut smut-- pinv, oral (male receiving), fingering, angsty longing etc etc. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE!

Disclaimer: dont @ me with historical accuracies-- its not that I don't care, it's that my brain only has the capacity for smut when I'm in this kind of feral mood.

A/N: Yes, I know there's not really an ending, but the good stuff is there. My brain just stops after my characters cum, I can't help it, it's a PROBLEM.

Once again, very lightly proof-read, sorry xx

Cassia watched the moon rise over Rome sitting on the steps of the thermae portico, another day come and gone. It had been another busy one as Roman citizens were feeling a sense of renewed hope for the future, eager to discuss the future of the city with one another within the walls of the baths. The city had been buzzing since the rightful emperor Lucius took the throne, stories spreading about the gladiator-turned-emperor.

Cassia had listened to Alba in disbelief, in their small shared room one night, as she relayed the fantastical stories she heard in the marketplace earlier that day. The gladiator champion-- yes, Hanno-- was Lucilla's lost son, rightful heir to the empire. Cassia had laughed at Alba's tale, she couldn't believe such a rumor, her friend must have misheard. But as the days and weeks passed, it was confirmed time and time again by bathers, and by the fact that Hanno had not returned to the thermae. She had slept with a Roman emperor-- no one would believe her if she told, except Alba-- who had blushed bright pink with excitement when Cassia regaled her with the story. 

And now Alba waved as she crossed the courtyard towards their living quarters, her silhouette illuminated against the fading lamp light. Cassia was about to get up and follow Alba when she saw their master, Italus, walking at a furious pace towards her.

He wasn't exactly kind, but he wasn't cruel like other masters in the city, as long as she did her job well, he let her be, so the look on his face was cause for concern. 

"Italus, good evening.." she said standing up to greet him, hoping that a civil start to the conversation would be heeded.

"Who do you know in the palace?" he demanded, his brow furrowed. 

"What do you mean?" Cassia asked-- she had never set foot on Palatine hill, how would she know someone in the palace?

 "I've received a summons for you from the palace! There is a guard here ready to escort you."

Cassia was at a loss, she never rubbed shoulders with elites, especially anyone residing in the palace. But it was then she realized it could only be Hanno-- or Lucius, now, she supposed. She kept quiet though, not wanting to divulge her history with the new emperor. 

"It.. must be a mistake, how would I know someone there?"

She could tell Italus was suspicious, but she knew that he could not reject a request from the palace-- even if it was a mistake.

 As he turned away hastily, he shouted back to her "Go change.. I don't need you embarrassing me in front of whoever has summoned you."  Cassia did change, with help from Alba, into her nicest tunic, in a deep saffron shade. Alba quickly brushed Cassia's hair and pinched her cheeks, bringing the slightest flush to them. She hurried to the main entrance where a guard was waiting next to a carriage. He said not a word but helped her in.

Cassia's stomach and mind turned the whole way there. When Hanno-- Lucius-- left the thermae for the last time, he had kissed her gently and taken a moment to just be in her grasp. She hadn't known at the time that he was only a day or two away from changing the future of the Roman empire.

It seemed so simple, a gladiator and a bathhouse servant, it was certainly nothing new, but she saw everything in a different light now. He was no longer more or less equal to her-- he was an emperor. He surely had everything-- and everyone- at his disposal now, but he still wanted her. Cassia wished her heart didn't swell with hope at this thought-- this was a whole other beast itself. She never wanted to be a concubine, never wanted to be at the beck and call of a man-- but was this now her fate? She was, after all, answering his call. 

The carriage came to a stop at the front of the palace, where she was helped out and led to the complex of grand buildings that made up the imperial palace. The servant who met her at an imposing archway led her through halls and rooms of unspeakable magnificence. Cassia had to remind herself, she was not here to admire the frescoes and mosaic floors. They arrived outside a set of doors, the servant opening one and motioned for her to enter.

Cassia could feel her heart pounding as she stepped across the threshold into a room, lit with countless lamps that reflected against the gold leaf that seemed to adorn every corner, but she didn't take note of any further details, as her eyes trained on him, standing by the entrance to a courtyard. 

She stood still near the door, not sure what she should do in the presence of an emperor. A radiant smile flashed across his face, as if she had materialized from the heavens. 

"You're here" he declared with satisfaction and what Cassia noted was a hint of relief. 

" I don't think I had a choice." she said quietly, still standing in the same spot.

His face fell with confusion, "why do you say that?"

"Refusing a summons from the palace isn't something one does." she explained, her heart full of so many different emotions-- wariness, apprehension, happiness at seeing him again-- unsure of how to act around him, now that he was emperor. 

Lucius walked towards her then. He looked like the same man she had known at the thermae, except dressed in vibrantly embroidered tunic and no longer covered in bruises and blood. 

"You came here... out of obligation?" he asked, an edge of disappointment in his voice.

He was standing near, but kept his distance from Cassia. She was honest with him, "Not only out of obligation."

A hint of a smile flashed across his face, and Cassia couldn't help but smile to herself. 

"What am I to call you now?" she asked, the knot in her stomach loosening in his presence.

 He gave another small smile, " whatever you want to call me."

She took a step towards him, "Caesar?... Imperator?...Hanno...?"

He laughed heartily at this last one, "you can call me Lucius."

Lucius stepped closer to Cassia and grabbed her hand, "I'm glad you came.. I had wanted to call on you sooner, but I wasn't sure if I should."

She felt comfort in the fact that he was also apprehensive, aware of each of their statuses in this world now.

"And why did you call me here?" she ran her fingers through his hair, a move he leaned into with eyes closed, "I don't think you need a bath..."

He gave a laugh and pulled her in close, his eyes searching hers, before he whispered, "you know why..."

Lucius met her lips with a sigh that stirred something in Cassia. She could feel relief in his kiss, and urgency to be as close to her as he could. His tongue brushed her lower lip and she met him with her own. Cassia kissed him as if it was the last time she would ever kiss him, or anyone, for that matter-- with a hunger, a desire to feel everything with Lucius so intensely that it would be burned into her memory forever. 

He pulled away reluctantly and led Cassia to the lavish bed that was centered just so that the moonlight shown on it through the open courtyard. Lucius pulled her in once more, untying the belted knot at her waist before turning Cassia around so her back was against his chest.

She could feel his cock, already fully hard and she hadn't even touched him yet. Lifting the fabric of her tunic, his hands, still calloused and rough from fighting, found her core.

He made slow circles around her clit, leaning into the rhythms that made her moan. Cassia grasped at him behind her, as he placed bites down her neck and collarbone. He slipped two fingers in her and pumped them in and out slowly. 

"You're already so wet for me..." he growled in her ear and retreated from within her.

 "Lucius..." Cassia breathed, her nails now digging into the side of his neck. She felt weak with pleasure, resting herself against his body.

Cassia grasped his hand as he pulled back from under her tunic, taking his fingers, still slick with her, into her own mouth. She hummed as she sucked herself off his fingers. She could hear a throaty groan from Lucius at her action and she turned back around to face him.

His mouth crashed into hers, desperate to taste what was left of her wetness. Cassia grasped at his elaborate tunic, helping him to pull the weighty fabric up and over his head.

She took a step back, pulling off her own tunic before casting a glance at his body. He might be emperor now, but he was riddled with scars-- some old, some newer, still healing. Cassia passed light fingers over his arms, feeling the taut, warm muscles, then moving her hands over his shoulders and chest.

Lucius's eyes fluttered closed, relaxing deeply at her touch. She felt along his cock with the lightest touch, feeling it twitch at the feather light feel. 

He kept his eyes closed, he breathed, " don't tease me.." 

She let her hand close around his shaft and replied, "I would never tease the emperor."

Cassia guided him back to sit on the bed while she got to her knees. Placing kisses and small bites up his strong thighs, she worked Lucius gently with her hand before taking his length into her mouth.

His cock was warm inside her mouth, filling her up to her throat, savoring the feeling and taste of him in her mouth. 

Cassia," he moaned, "Cassia, oh gods..."

 She pulled back, his cock making a pop as it left the velvety warmth of her mouth. Cassia sucked on the tip while stroking his shaft with one hand and gently massaging his weighty balls with her other.

Lucius grasped the back of her head, wrapping his hand around her hair and pulling gently. In a moment, he sat up on her elbows and looked down at her, his eyes heavy with lust, " I can't come until I have you."

She placed gentle kisses around the head of his cock, giving it one final suck before climbing on the bed. Lucius straddled her as soon as she lay back, spreading her legs open for him.

He held the tip of his cock against her cunt, rubbing it against her clit making Cassia squirm with pleasure underneath him. "Please, Lucius..." she moaned as she grasped her own breast, feeling the need to do something-- anything-- to feel pleasure. 

He dragged his cock up and down her cunt once more, gathering her wetness before he leaned down over her. Both of them stilled for a moment, simply looking into each other's eyes, their breathing was in unison now.

Lucius positioned his cock at her wet entrance and pushed in, slowly filling her up. Cassia felt her walls stretch with his length and thickness, breathing through the intensity of the stretch until he was fully in her.

He started slow and deep with his thrusts, eliciting a low moan into his ear, somehow making him even harder. He picked up his pace when she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into her as deep as he could go.

Lucius placed one leg up over his shoulder, burrowing even deeper into her. Cassia arched her back into him, her breathing becoming shallow and ragged. He could tell by the way her cunt clenched around his that she was going to come soon.

Cassia held onto his arms as he continued to fuck down into her, hearing her gasp his name as he felt her approach her orgasm. He followed soon after with his own climax, crying out as he collapsed on top of her.

"I'm crushing you, I'm sorry..." he said breathlessly, attempting to roll off of her but she stopped him.

"Don't... not yet," Lucius let himself rest back into her arms.

[brummiereader]

@mischievouslittlecreature 😬...he's not giving in easily when it comes to Lizzie, is he? At least, not yet. Urghh, I can't watch, but I wana watch 😭🙈!

With the business with Jessie and Lizzie, Lucy feels different to me. I don't know how to properly articulate it, but she just kinda seems like she's just going with the flow but deeply, deeply sad about everything. She just seems...done 😥. Tommy has all these ambitions and things going on with Lizzie, and I get the sense that Lucy has been completely worn down by it all. I appreciate how he's always checking on her wellbeing, but from the readers perspective, we're really starting to see a change in Lucy and how things she once enjoyed are starting to become a burden/anxiety inducing.

“You can’t be unmarried with an illegitimate child if you want to move into politics, Tommy.” Urghh, I know the topic of marriage has to be brought up. But you can tell from both Tommy and Lucy's remarks that neither of them want to be even thinking about the mere idea of it. He's a fucking gangster though! And illegitimate child it's hardly something people should be fussing about considering his line of work 😂. I swear, these posh/high society people have more twisted morals than anyone in Birmingham!

“You okay?” Tommy whispered to her in the dark. When she didn’t respond right away, his voice grew a little strained with worry. “Lucy?” yeh, I'm starting to think she's done with these threesomes now. It starting to look like a chore for her when she once enjoyed it. I find it interesting how she reflects on it, and if it's because of what happened to Luca or Lizzie. But I think that it properly goes further back than that. Little by little we've started to see how, even though they enjoy it, they seek each other out more during those encounters. Maybe they just want each other, but continue with them because it's a force of habit and a job that needs doing. Is Lucy waiting for Tommy to say that's enough now, do you think? Because she really doesn't seem into it.

Looking around, a beat of panic tightened in his throat at no sight of her distinctive crimson hair. His heart started to pound hard in his chest. No. No, no, no, no…he’d just left her there for a second. Ahh Tommy 😭. They way he panicked when he couldn't see her, and how he had to control himself from falling apart when she turned up😩. He's absolutely petrified of losing her again, even for the tiniest of seconds.

Another edition to their family 🥰! I love how Tommy was pouty about it first but quickly caved in when he saw how much Lucy had already fell in love with the little kitten. He's a big softie really! And that line about how he had knocked someone up, so she should be able to keep that cat, got a giggle from me 😂.

Urghhhh it hurts 😭! I know Ruby is an innocent baby in this mess, but my heart still dropped when I was reading about Lucy's struggle seeing Tommy with Lizzie and their little family she doesn't feel a part of Fuck sake Tommy, your pull out method is weak 😬! Look at the heartache you've caused 😩.

She followed Tommy and Lizzie down the stairs, lingering back to let them both go first, walking side by side with their baby while she trailed behind them; alone. Fuck sake...this chapter is really starting to stir my emotions for poor Lucy 😭. I always knew it was gonna be hard to read her seeing Tommy doting on his daughter with Lizzie by his side. I just wish there was something Tommy could do to show her that she's stil his number one girl. But I still understand how his time has now been split between Lucy and Charlie and Lizzie and Ruby. But I have hope that things will get easier for this blended family as Ruby grows up ❤️.

What a fantastic chapter to finish of this part of your story! Off to next part 😍.

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Tommy's ambitions take them to new heights, but not without consequences looming on the horizon.

Word Count: 4,005

Notes: I originally considered including some more detailed aspects--even potentially a full chapter--detailing Lizzie's pregnancy and Ruby's birth, but I have tokophobia, and just wasn't comfortable going into that much detail regarding that topic. So apologies to anyone who wanted to see more of that. And I promise that the Lizzie drama is only just beginning, and will be a big part of the next couple parts, so please consider checking those out once they're posted if you're interested in seeing a continuation of that aspect of the story.

Also, I just want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read this story. This is to date the biggest single fic I have ever written, and the support you have given me means so much. I promise to have more featuring Tommy and Lucy out very soon!

Warnings for depictions of insecurity, sexual content, PTSD, and references to torture and pregnancy. Bit of a bittersweet ending here, so sorry about that!

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Part

Chapter 29: Shake Hands with the Devil

Returning to work had been the right idea.

Already, Lucy was starting to feel better, work helping to drive the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her lately to the back of her mind. They were still there, but they weren’t nearly as loud as they once were. 

Tommy’s new plan required a good amount of logistics and organizing, both of which she was eager to take on. And another action, one somewhat less desirable, but just as necessary. 

She was surprised at just how easy it was to get Jessie to give up the name of the leader of the cell. All it took was a kiss from Tommy and a declaration that he wanted to help her cause to have information already spilling from her lips. 

But then again, Tommy always seemed to have that effect on women. And Jessie, despite how she may have presented herself, was desperate for connection.

“You alright?” Tommy asked, after Jessie had left the office with the promise that they’d meet up later.

“I feel a little bad for what we���re doing to her,” Lucy sighed, leaning back into him while his hands rested on her upper arms, chin settling on the top of her head.

“If you really don’t want to go through with it, we can figure something else out–”

“No, it’s fine.” She turned around in his arms to face him, resting her head on his chest, leaning into the warmth of his body. 

It was a shitty thing, what they were doing to Jessie. But fucking her was necessary to ensure her loyalty until the election was done. And to maintain the steady stream of information she could provide them about the communists–at least, that’s what Lucy was going to keep telling herself in order to be able to sleep at night. 

“Just…” she worried on her bottom lip, feeling Tommy’s hand settle protectively on the back of her head. “Promise me that you won’t come in her.” She didn’t need to specify as to why, feeling him tense a little against her of the reminder of Lizzie and her approaching due date. 

“I promise.”

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “We really should talk about what you want to do about Lizzie.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, unsure as to how she could properly broach the subject to him, feeling a tear begin to cleave its way through her heart in response to what she was about to suggest. Even as she forced the words to come out. 

“You should marry her.”

Tommy jerked back, staring at her with a furrowed brow, frown pulling his lips downwards. “What?”

“You can’t be unmarried with an illegitimate child if you want to move into politics, Tommy.” Knowing him, winning the position of MP was just the beginning. He had big things ahead of him. “You have to project the right kind of image. And if you want to be able to be involved in any sort of significant way with the baby…”

“But I love you,” he said softly. “If I’m going to marry anyone–”

“It needs to be the mother of your child,” Lucy finished for him stubbornly. He shot her a wounded look. 

“I don’t want to marry her.”

We don’t always get what we want, she thought, but bit her tongue. If things had been different, maybe it could have been her that he would marry. But they weren’t. 

“And besides, what about you?” he pressed.

“I think that I’m a small price to pay for the betterment of your child’s life and your career.”

The hurt in his eyes deepened. “Well I don’t!”

“Tommy…”

“We’re not talking about this,” his jaw twitched unhappily as he shook his head, turning towards his desk.

“Sweetheart, please…”

“I’m not giving you up.” That stubborn sharpness entered his eyes, jaw setting, and she knew that she would get nowhere with him on the subject. At least not yet. He’d have to see with his own eyes that she was right before he budged on it. 

She sighed. The last thing that she wanted to do at the moment was fight with him. “Alright.”

They did not speak of the matter again. Though it lingered in the air between them like a ghost. 

∗ ∗ ∗

They laid side by side in the narrow bed, Tommy in the middle with Lucy on one side of him, Jessie on the other. He was thumbing at his brow with one hand, staring up at the ceiling while Jessie slipped out from under the sheets to go get dressed. Lucy watched her lazily, shifting to tuck herself more closely into Tommy’s side. His arm dropped to wrap around her shoulders, fingers tracing over her back. She shifted nearer to him, suddenly needing the closeness.

“You okay?” Tommy whispered to her in the dark. When she didn’t respond right away, his voice grew a little strained with worry. “Lucy?”

“‘M okay,” she said, nestling her head more firmly on his chest, eyes still watching Jessie carefully. They could not talk while she was in the room with them. At least not really. 

She ached pleasantly between her legs from having him buried inside her but only a few moments ago. And while the pleasure from the orgasm he’d given her was still rushing through her veins, she was coming down from it rapidly, crashing back to earth in an unpleasant plunge. 

It would appear that Lizzie’s pregnancy had more or less killed a lot of the enjoyment that threesomes once held for her. She’d felt an unfamiliar surge of anxiety as they’d taken Jessie to bed, the kind that sex normally helped to dull. But this time the tumultuous, overwhelming feelings only seemed to grow as she watched Tommy fuck their new lover. Even though he’d kept his promise and not emptied himself inside of Jessie, the threat of yet another unintended accident from their liaison had set her so on edge that she found it almost impossible to fully lose herself even in Tommy’s familiar kisses and touches.

She was pretty sure that he was able to sense her nervousness, but whether he was able to guess the actual reason, or thought that she was just anxious because this was the first threesome they’d had since what had happened with Luca, she wasn’t sure. Either way, despite Jessie being the primary focus of the evening, he was being notably attentive towards her, eyes constantly darting over to check on her throughout, warm mouth seeking out her skin in attempts to pull her out of her own head. 

He was looking at her that same way now, a slight crease forming between his brows. Lucy offered him a weak smile that only caused the look of concern to deepen, his other arm joining the first in wrapping around her so that he was hugging her tightly. Lucy squeezed him back, closing her eyes and burying her face in his chest. As if by doing so she could somehow hide away from the entire world. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy left his meeting with Arthur Bigge in high spirits. It had taken some convincing, but all his conditions had been met. Everything was going according to plan. 

Well, not everything. Lucy was still worrying him. She was doing considerably better than she had been during their holiday, but she still wasn’t wholly herself. 

She used to smile and laugh so easily. Even at the absolute worst of his jokes, or with the smallest little bit of teasing, and he could have her giggling, trying to shield it behind one of her hands even as her mossy green eyes lit up, entire face crinkling with mirth.

But nowadays, a melancholic aura had draped over her, seeming to cling to her skin, casting a film of sorrow over her eyes. Of course Tommy did not expect her to go back to the way that things were before Luca. But it killed him to see her so despondent and broken. 

He missed hearing her laugh. 

What he would give to make it all better for her. To pull the sadness out of her eyes. Take it into himself, if he had to. Just so long as she didn’t have to carry it anymore. 

She was still having nightmares and the occasional panic attack, as was to be expected. He had been worried originally that all the work that came along with preparing for the election would cause her too much stress. Especially with how fragile she still was. But if anything the work seemed to help, so he let her be. 

But her comments about how he should marry Lizzie had struck a nerve in him, planting a seed of dread in his chest. He had always assumed if he were to ever marry again after Grace, it would be to Lucy. No one else. Especially not Lizzie.              

He had meant what he’d said. He wasn’t letting her go. He’d rather burn his reputation and even the entire bloody company to the ground before he even considered something like that. But his Lucy seemed incapable of understanding that, and he was beginning to grow more and more worried that no matter how much he tried to reassure her, she was doubting her place at his side.

When he first brought up the idea of running for MP, she had asked him what was to become of her position as his assistant after he took office. The question had taken him aback. It had seemed so obvious to him that she would come with him. He’d hardly given it any real thought. Wherever he went, so did she. That was how things had always been, and he had no intention of changing them. Her worries seemed only somewhat abated when he smiled and coyly told her that MPs still needed assistants. It wasn’t long before she was fretting over the possibility of rumors spreading regarding their relationship and tarnishing his reputation. 

As if his reputation was not already drenched in blood and mud. 

He’d just grinned and kissed her temple, trying to appear relaxed and unbothered by any of it. Hoping that if he did, it would help to soothe her. 

“Most politicians are sleeping with their secretaries, love. We won’t exactly be unique in that regard,” he’d told her. It seemed to have calmed her concerns enough. At least for the moment. 

Adjusting the grip on his briefcase, he pushed out of the door and stepped into the crisp fresh air. Glancing around, he frowned when he didn’t spot Lucy on the bench where he’d left her before going in for the meeting. Bigge had wanted to meet with just him alone, and while Tommy had been inclined to kick up a fuss about it until he let Lucy accompany him, she’d insisted that he shouldn’t risk irritating Bigge just so she could be in the room while they struck their deal. 

He hadn’t been particularly happy about it, but ultimately he had to admit that she had a point. 

Looking around, a beat of panic tightened in his throat at no sight of her distinctive crimson hair. His heart started to pound hard in his chest. No. No, no, no, no…he’d just left her there for a second, she’d been armed, there were dozens of people around, surely she couldn’t have been just snapped up right off the street…

His head swiveled around, scanning the people passing by him. Maybe he’d just missed her. She was so short, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that he’d just lost her in the crowd of people.

He was just beginning to properly panic when he heard his voice at his elbow. 

“How did it go?”

He whirled, eyes wide, chest still heaving with the startings of his panic attack, to find her standing there none the worse for wear, black coat pulled in tight around her.

Relief hit him like a blast to the face, and it took all his self control not to seize her in his arms and squeeze her tight to him. Instead he just let out a deep breath, shoulders relaxing. His eyes closed as he steadied himself, taking the time to remind himself that she was there and she was fine.

He opened his eyes again to find her still looking up at him, head cocked curiously. “Where were you?” he demanded, tone perhaps a bit sharper than he’d intended. 

“I got bored, so I went for a walk.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s just…you weren’t here and I…” he huffed. “It’s alright. C’mon,” he indicated with his head towards the car that he’d parked on the edge of the curb. He held open the door for her, then slipped in after she’d gotten settled in the passenger seat. Setting his briefcase down and closing the door behind him, he turned to look at her. There was an odd bulge in the front of her coat. His eyes narrowed. The bulge twitched. “What’s that?”

Lucy clutched her coat tighter to her body, blinking up at him innocently. “What’s what?”

“What’s wrong with your coat?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her coat meowed. Tommy raised an eyebrow. Lucy pouted, letting the garment fall open to reveal a tiny little black and orange tortoiseshell kitten hidden underneath, blinking up at him with scrutinizing green eyes. 

“What the bloody hell is that?”

Lucy stroked the little animal’s head. “It’s a kitten, Tommy. Surely you’ve heard of them before.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know what a kitten is, Lucy. What’s it doing tucked in your coat?”

“I heard her crying in the alley behind the bench I was sitting at. And when I went to look, she was soaking wet and shivering all alone in this little box. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“The fuck are we going to do with a stray kitten, Luce?”

She shrugged. “We can keep her at the house. She could help with the mice problem.”

“We don’t have a mice problem.”

“And now that we have a cat, we never will.”

He eyed the kitten warily, still feeling like she was sharply analyzing him. Her little tail flicked back and forth, paws kneading at Lucy’s thighs. When Lucy scratched at the top of her head, she angled her face up, and batted at her playfully with one soft paw. Lucy giggled. 

Tommy looked up sharply at the sound, biting the inside of his cheek to try to maintain his serious facade even as he felt himself soften at the sight of her smiling down at the cat. 

“And you immediately assumed that I’d be alright with this?” he asked, the amusement obvious in his voice.

“You don’t have much of a choice.” Lucy flashed him a grin before her attention returned to the kitten, who’d curled up into a ball on her lap. Tommy raised an eyebrow, fond smile threatening to break containment as it tugged on the edges of his lips. 

“No?”

Lucy looked up at him, a challenge entering her eyes. “You knocked someone else up.”

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. “You know what–that’s fair.”

She snickered, leaning forward to peck his cheek to let him know that there was no real bite to her words. Tugging off one of his gloves, he held his hand out to the cat. She sniffed at his knuckles, whiskers twitching with consideration, and then rubbed her cheek against his hand. 

“She likes you.”

“Mm.” He gave her a few scratches under the chin, begrudgingly admitting to himself that the kitten was pretty fucking cute. And Lucy was right; the least he could do was let her keep the cat. “We’ll have to get her checked out by the vet before we take her home.” 

“Of course. Who knows what she might’ve gotten into living on the streets. Poor baby.”

Tommy let his hand stroke over the kitten’s back. She was so little, he could probably have fit her in one palm when she was all curled up. He felt a slight buzz under his hand as she started purring. He could feel Lucy watching them both fondly. 

“So it went well?”

“Hm?”

“The meeting with Bigge. Did it go alright?”

He smiled at her softly. “Yes; it went alright.” 

Her face lit up, leaning into him. “Good.”

He turned his face to catch her lips with his, kissing her gently in celebration.

Between them, the kitten meowed. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Don’t you dare.”

Lucy grinned to herself as she approached Tommy’s office, hearing his voice even before she pushed open the heavy wooden door. She was greeted with the sight of the kitten perched on his desk, her little paw batting his box of matches closer and closer to the edge, her head cocked with intrigue. 

Her green eyes peered over at him, holding his gaze, and promptly batted the box onto the floor. Tommy sighed, reaching across to scoop the little monster up and plop her down onto his lap. “You’re gonna be a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” But he was smiling to himself, a dimple appearing in his cheek when the kitten meowed in agreement. 

Lucy smiled as she stepped fully into the office, walking over to set down a fresh stack of papers onto his desk. “Need you to sign these.” She collapsed back into a chair across from him as he plucked up a pen. 

Her hand raised to rest against the side of her face as she watched him. With every passing day, the election drew nearer, and with it, her anxiety grew. 

She’d been keeping an ear to the ground, regarding anything that might hinder him winning. But so far, with all the careful bribing and other methods of rigging that they’d implemented holding strong, it seemed like it would be an easy path to victory.

But there were some rumblings regarding Lizzie and the pregnancy that had started to spread. Lucy was pretty sure that they could keep them suppressed at least until the election was over. But not indefinitely.

It was going to become a problem.

She supposed it was almost funny, in a way. How being unmarried with an illegitimate child was likely to cause more harm to his reputation than being a notorious gangster. 

They needed to address it. Figure out what they were going to do. And the longer that they took, the more damage the whole situation was likely to cause. 

The kitten jumped into her lap, curling up with a soft purr. Lucy let her hand stroke mindlessly through her black and orange fur.   

“Tommy?”

He looked up at her through the glinting lenses of his glasses, eyebrow raised, papers still clutched between his fingers. 

“Yes?”

She’d been reluctant to bring up the subject ever since he so thoroughly shut her down the last time over it. But if she was being truly honest with herself, that wasn’t the only reason why she’d so willingly let it go.

She didn’t want him to marry Lizzie. And she sure as hell did not want to let him go. 

We’ve still got some time. We don’t need to do anything about it yet.

She swallowed hard, feeling like the worst, most selfish scum on the earth, even as she forced a wobbly smile on her face. 

“Never mind.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Time passed at seemingly the speed of light. And before she knew it, she was standing next to Tommy, the rest of the family–except for Lizzie who had to wait outside with the baby–crowded around him. They were all waiting with baited breath as the results of the election were announced over the loudspeaker. Lucy could feel her guts twisting nauseatingly inside her with nerves, heart leaping into her throat. 

It had been an insane handful of months, and they’d all seemingly passed within the blink of an eye. She didn’t even know where all the time had gone. 

Not long before the election took place, Lizzie gave birth to a baby girl, already bestowed the name Ruby by Polly before her arrival into the world.  

And oh, did Tommy love that little girl. 

It was heartwarming to see him fall so deeply in love with her, and every moment spent watching him with her made Lucy’s heart jump. 

But God, did it also hurt.

She kept her melancholy and jealousy over the gorgeous little family he now had with Lizzie tucked down deep and away, where no one would ever find it. Ruby was a sweet baby, and she deserved nothing but good things in life. And Lucy did love her. Enough that she was more than prepared to walk away forever if she had to in order to give that girl a chance at growing up with a proper family around her. 

She knew it made Tommy sad, to not be able to see her all the time. Ruby and Lizzie still lived at the home Tommy had bought for them, and while he visited when he could, he still did not get to see his daughter as often as he would if she lived at Arrow House. 

They still had not had the conversation about what to do regarding that situation long-term. She’d tried to bring up the idea of him and Lizzie getting married again a handful of times, especially after Ruby’s birth, but Tommy still wouldn’t hear of it. 

A part of her was worried that, despite the promising polls, his personal life would hinder his victory. And it would all be her fault. Because she had been selfish and decided to try to hold onto him, even though the selfless thing–the responsible thing–would have been to let him go so he could build a proper personal life to go along with his new ambitions. 

A huge breath of relief left her when his name was announced over the loudspeaker, a wide smile quickly replacing the look of apprehension that had been there a moment prior. She hugged Tommy back tightly in celebration when he engulfed her in his arms, briefly forgetting that she was trying to behave more distantly towards him in public. Like a mere colleague rather than a lover. To try to save his reputation before the rumor mill fully caught wind of their affair and ran with it. 

“I now declare Thomas Shelby to be the new Labor Member of Parliament for the constituency of Birmingham South,” the announcer boomed for all to hear. Not just in the room that they were all crowded in to hear the results, but across the entire bloody country. 

Cheers erupted, everyone in the family swarming around him, all smiles and uninhibited joy. They soon made their way to the doors, out to where Lizzie was waiting with Ruby clutched in her arms. Tommy beamed as he scooped Ruby up, lifting her high above his head, the baby squealing and giggling in delight. Lucy smiled at the display and the baby’s happy coos as her father adjusted her to rest on his hip and carry her with him down the rest of the stairs. But her smile quickly fell when she spotted Lizzie flashing a truly snide smirk at Jessie where she was standing in the crowd. A tendril of trepidation coiled itself around her, wondering if she would be on the receiving end of such a look sooner or later. Lizzie had been behaving decently towards her as of late, but she was not fool enough to expect that to last.

She followed Tommy and Lizzie down the stairs, lingering back to let them both go first, walking side by side with their baby while she trailed behind them; alone. 

And despite their current string of good fortune, of endless possibilities and new doors opening up before them, she found herself struggling to muster up any real hope for the future. 

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Part

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[taegularities]

just thinking thoughts

[thelediz]

Spoiler warning: I write happy endings

So I’ve been reading this fic series which is actually just one very long story that for some reason the author has decided to break into separate stories EVEN THOUGH you cannot feasibly read one without context. Believe me, I have tried to skip stories only to end up confused because I have clearly missed a plot point. Seriously, why is this a thing people do, it's so frustrating and -

I have been reading this fic series.

It’s really good, and I really enjoy the author’s writing style. I find it super easy to read, and I want to know how the story ends. But each time I read a chapter story, I walk away feeling low-key annoyed, anxious, or upset. And I find myself wondering, this morning, why am I doing this? I am not actually enjoying this story, so why am I still reading?

When I interrogate myself about it, I realise I’m falling into the same trap I often do with fiction: I want to know how the story ends, so I’m tolerating lots of things I don’t like in the HOPE it will end well.

This is actually why I like spoilers. Because if I know how a story ends, and I know the character motivations, then I know whether the journey to get there is going to be worth the pain.

At the moment, with this fic, I don’t. Because it’s told entirely from the perspective of a very unreliable narrator, and this particular author has never written from any point of view except this character’s. So I don’t even have context clues to tell me what this author thinks of the other characters and their motivations. And as the story goes on, while I am becoming increasingly certain that we’re not supposed to trust this character’s perspective, it’s just a constant slow build of tension, all from this one character, who I increasingly dislike.

Now, the story can be saved, I think, if something happens and the narrator is forced to confront the things I’m not liking about them. If the other main character can be rounded out and properly seen. But that’s not going to happen until a climax that I keep waiting for and not getting. Right now, I'm not even sure the things I dislike are supposed to be bad things! Sometimes I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for the poor baby! (I don't and will not)

I don’t personally write fanfic about characters I don’t like, and I wouldn’t want to write a story about a character or relationship that’s objectively doomed. Doomed by their personal perspective, maybe, (get loved Alastor) but I just really personally dislike unhappy endings.

That’s what the real world is for. Entertainment is supposed to entertain and comfort and give me hope.

I don’t read or watch things that I know won’t end well, even if I know they’re amazing works of art. Which is unfortunate, because it means I miss out on a lot of the zeitgeist, but it makes me a happier and more hopeful person.

So I read spoilers, so that I know, in the end, there is going to be a happy ending, and these are the characters I should be rooting for. If I have to engage with something I won’t enjoy, I can quietly disengage and disassociate and let it wash past.

But here I am, with this story series that I’m not enjoying, waiting for a happy ending I’m currently pretty sure won’t come.

I need to break up with this thing and it is so much easier said than done.

Harrumph.

So for those who read my stories, here is a blanket spoiler: I believe in happy endings. It may take a while to get there, whether literally or figuratively, but I always believe in happy endings. So please, judge my silly fics purely on the characterisation, the dialogue, and my incredibly poor proof reading, because it’s always going to end with someone smiling somewhere.

I hope that’s a comfort to someone.

[shirogane-oushirou]

[cw vent: chronic illness, general world politics mention w no detail)

"man. i'm so tired. i feel like i can't do anything selfship related. is it because my energy's been sapped from family visiting and everyone wanting to do ~summer activities~ nonstop? am i so in my head about "getting ren's story right without stepping over any lines" that i've backed myself into a perfectionist corner? is the world just going to shit so hard that i can't have one (1) minute of escape on this blog before going back to working through the political hellscape we're in? god even trying to make this plushie pattern is killing me even though i want to hold my guy So Badly AUGH."

/finishes the plushie pattern after trying multiple body bases and literally buying a japanese ebook about plushie face and hair design/

"actually what if i lived forever and spent all of that time making an army of these fuckers to swim in? what then?"

[moinsbienquekaworu]

The true pain of reading a good AU is you want more of these specific guys but that characterisation only exists in the one specific fic/series

[darklight-owl]

(Voice of deep, deep hyperfixation) I can't believe there's people out there that don't know the joy of mystery visual novels.

[valkyrietookmoved]

Sorry for thinking about himeru and making it everyone's problem</3 i love them a lot, i was wondering if u have any headcanons or observations?

Not particularly right now my brain has been very fried recently... I did notice that Himeru takes the dark chocolate if you have him in your office with the little Dars table out though. I thought that was interesting, he seems to enjoy the bitter taste of the cocoa a lot judging from the lines. He also chooses to pick up the plushies which not everyone does (like for example Tsumugi refuses to do more than just reach down and pat them)

[saederkrupps]

man. depression

[malachitezmeyka]

*wakes up*

*grabs phone*

*email notification*

*new comment on SotRL*

*throws phone to the far side of adjacent couch*

*goes back to sleep*

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[witchywcmans]

FORBIDDEN FRUIT. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ laios can't seem to get enough after he first tastes you. but the lines in your friendship are beginning to blur. it's only when your party happens upon your ex-lover in the dungeon that laios realizes what he should've communicated all along. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus, praise, size kink, jealousy, classic missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, mutual pining/confession, laios and reader are not good with communication (but they work it out v well), laios is self concious but reader is so kind to him !!, monster facts as dirty talk. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 4.8k

song inspiration ━━ awkward, sza / cherry, lana del rey / hunger, florence + the machine

author's note ━━ TECHNICALLY, this could be a part 2 to please, eat, so I'm just going to link as a part 2. you don't have to read please, eat before this, but if you like laios then obvi you should read it anyway!! I'm SO SORRY it took me so long to post another laios x reader 😭 I was trying to finish the manga before I wrote something else dungeon meshi-related, but life gets the way. oh well. also, this might be controversial, but in this fic I’m refuting the “laios is a virgin” allegations. SUE ME. I simply don’t believe he’s been adventuring so long and hasn’t been with anyone, that is crazzzy to me !! but that's just me 🤗 we all have our fave headcanons! my goal when I finish the manga is to write something for laios at the end of the story hehe. I hope you guys enjoy part 2! this one-shot is dedicated to @satoogojos 🫶

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

Catching feelings for your friend was truly a fickle thing. But you guessed it was bound to happen with what you and Laios were doing behind everyone’s back. Each night, after your party tucked themselves in their bedrolls, Laios would so delicately lace your arm through his and you two would find a private area … before he completely buried his face between your thighs.

He was fixated on the way you tasted, the way he could get you to cum so easily on his tongue. You were the only dessert he wanted after every dinner. Some nights, he would have you writhing from overstimulation, but he just wanted more of you – so much more.

It was a little confusing, though, how he didn’t ask for anything in return. Laios seemed to grind against the cold, dungeon floor as his tongue lapped at your essence, sometimes cumming in his pants and moaning between your legs. Or he would politely excuse himself after he was done, taking care of himself as you cleaned yourself up. You didn’t quite understand it, and maybe neither did he. You both were just too awkward to broach the subject.

The incident with the sea serpent had changed your friendship forever. Not only did Laios save you from becoming one, but the intimacy you both now shared seemed to open you up more. You found yourself divulging more secrets to him, leaning on him when you needed someone, even being more impartial to Senshi’s monster meals. And you liked the way he smiled, how he looked at you. You liked how fearless he was. You liked how protective he was over the party, especially you. You … really liked him. Far more than a crush. In fact, you wished you could go back in time and just have a crush. But your feelings for him became deeper as you crept lower and lower into the dungeon together. Your goal was still to come out of this dungeon alive, but now … you hoped that you would make it out alive together.

What a foolish girl you had become.

You tried to remain focused on the path ahead of you, but you were clearly lost in thought today. The party had reached floor 6, which meant you were closer and closer to the deepest part of the dungeon and hopefully rescuing Laios’ sister, Falin. The last thing you expected to see on floor 6 were other adventurers, let alone your ex.

You were hesitant to call him an ex, since you two had never really been anything but a warm body in each other’s beds while living on the surface. But when your bodies collided and your eyes met his, you realized why you had taken a liking to him in the first place. He had been a butcher’s son, handy with an axe, and you had liked his big, strong hands. You almost fell right into him from the slippery dungeon floor, but those strong hands seemed to catch you like you were made of air. “It’s you,” he chuckled, setting you up straight and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Look at you … feels like it was just yesterday when we were on the surface, huh?”

Marcille looked like she didn’t want anything to do with your ex and his party, but Senshi was very kind to offer them food, if they needed it. Chilchuck seemed neutral, and Laios … you still couldn’t read Laios as easily as the rest of the party. He watched your ex like a hawk, standing behind you as if to protect you. Your ex’s hands were big, sure, but Laios was tall, his shoulders wide and intimidating even without the armor. Laios narrowed his eyes slightly whenever he saw your ex’s gaze roam over you, like he was undressing you with his eyes. And you weren’t sure if you caught it – it only lasted a second – but did Laios clench his hands into fists?

There wasn’t enough time in the world to dwell on it. Especially when you had ghosts seemingly pulling you into another area of the dungeon and waking up on a dirt path, a beautiful golden castle mounted ahead of you. Your party was initially confused, walking into the village and seeing monsters living harmoniously with humans. After becoming acquainted with the village, you and your friends were offered a warm, delicious meal with Yaad, the lord of the Golden Country. After Yaad explained the history of this village, you all were each given rooms to rest in for the night. The beds were small and cold, but far better than a bedroll.

You were used to Laios initiating with you every night, but by the time everyone went to sleep, he still didn’t call upon you. So you stood from your bed, adjusting the nightgown given to you, and walked across the hall to where Laios’ room was. You knocked on his door, and you heard the slip of a sword into a sheath behind the thin wood. He had been inspecting Kensuke for some reason, probably mulling over Yaad’s words. When he opened the door, he was dressed in loose pants and a linen shirt, droplets running down his neck. He must’ve just bathed. You couldn’t stop yourself from digging your nails into your palm.

“Can I come in?” You asked in a hushed voice, and he moved out of the way for you to step inside.

His room looked exactly like yours, but the sheets were ruffled from lack of sleep. Laios walked around you and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving you more confused than ever. You played with your hands as you stared at him, contemplating. “Is something wrong, Laios?” You inquired, stepping closer to him. “You’ve been acting weird even before we got here.”

His brow furrowed for a moment. “How do you figure?”

“Well, you …” Your tongue clicked. “You didn’t come to find me after everyone went to bed.”

He seemed to concede, shoulders dipping at your answer. Shifting on the mattress, he propped himself up against his pillows and moved Kensuke to lean against the wall. His silence was even more perplexing. This had to be the longest time Laios went without talking. He was a blabbermouth.

“I don’t understand,” you continued, walking over and sitting on the end of his bed. “Are you … are you angry with me?”

“No, no,” Laios was quick to reply, “I’m not angry with you. I’m just …”

You raised a brow, eager to hear his answer.

“That man you recognized. On floor 6,” he finally said, his fists clenching again at the memory. “I didn’t … I didn’t like the way he looked at you. And his tone. It was disrespectful to you. Unless I’m reading this all wrong.”

You were taken aback by his honesty. So he had been bothered by your ex. “Oh,” you replied, “well … me and him, we do have history, Laios. But it’s in the past.”

“I could tell.” He was picking at his nails now, any excuse not to meet your eyes. “Everyone has a life before the dungeon. It’s not about the past. I just … I didn’t like him. Or how he looked at you like … like he still wanted you. Or something.”

“Or something,” you repeated, nodding your head. A slow smile crept onto your lips at the realization. “Laios, are you jealous?”

His head jolted up, his eyes glued to his hands, searching for something unknown. Realization washed over his face, as if he hadn’t even considered this possibility. “Oh, gods,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This whole day I’ve been trying to reconcile with what I’m feeling and I knew I wasn’t mad at you – maybe just mad at the circumstances – and none of it made sense, but now …” He finally met your eyes, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “I was just jealous. How did I not realize?”

“Maybe because we didn’t talk about it,” you offered in a low voice, reaching out and lacing your fingers with his. A jolt of electricity ran through your fingertips and all the way up your arm. You wished you could hide your reaction, but it was clear as day, making Laios shift in his spot. “Laios, we should talk –”

“You’re not leaving the party, are you?” His grip on your fingers went tight, and he didn’t even realize it.

“No,” you laughed, scooting closer and running your free hand over his face. His cheeks flushed instantly when you touched him. “I think … we should talk about what’s happening between us.”

Laios’ gaze went narrow as he processed your words. “Oh,” he said blankly, and then his eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“I just … because we’ve been doing this every night … it’s hard not to feel …” You sighed, unable to get the words right. But he seemed to understand, quick-witted as ever, squeezing your hand in encouragement. And then he smiled at you, all dopey and kind, and your heart began to pound. “I can’t help but think that the lines are being blurred between us. My feelings for you are … much deeper than what they were initially. And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. I needed you to know. I’m sorry if this hurts … whatever our relationship is.”

He was still smiling, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. “Well, I think –”

“And now I can’t help but wonder if maybe – just maybe – you feel the same way,” you started rambling, terrified to know how he was going to reply. “Because why would you feel jealous if you didn’t … I shouldn’t make assumptions. But I still wondered. And I can’t stop talking. Again, I don’t want this to ruin anything and I’m sorry if it does. My ex doesn’t mean anything to me anymore and he won’t ever again –”

Out of nowhere, Laios used his upper body strength to flip you onto your back, pinning you to the bed. Now your cheeks were flushed, completely caught off guard by the action. He sat in between your legs, his fingers just brushing over your waist, as he said, “I do. Feel the same. I feel like I’m the one who could’ve ruined this because I didn’t realize it sooner.”

You gave him a sad smile, reaching up to cup his chin. “You couldn’t ruin anything.”

He leaned into your palm when your hand moved to his cheek, humming under his breath. He then leaned down, his body just barely pressing against yours, as if he craved your body heat. Like a moth to a flame.

“Can we not talk about your ex ever again?” He muttered, his hands running up and down your sides. “Because when I saw him today, all I could think about was …” He stopped himself abruptly.

“What?” Your curiosity peaked.

“I’m going to sound like a jealous brute,” he sighed dramatically, nose brushing against yours as his hands moved higher, thumbs grazing over the underside of your breasts. The material of your nightgown was so thin that your peaked nipples were already visible. “I just … couldn’t stop thinking about all the times I’ve tasted you that he hasn’t. I wondered if he knew exactly how you liked it, which places made those funny sounds come out of your mouth. And then, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and all I wanted this whole day was to get you alone.”

You shuddered when his thumb brushed over one of your taut nipples, making your heel run down the back of his leg. His words alone made tingles run down your spine, but the second his hands were on you, you were properly soaked. The both of you lay there for a moment: him on top of you, nuzzling your nose, rolling his fingers over your nipples through your nightgown, eliciting breath hitches from your lips.

It was so slow, so patient, so good, but had you wanting more. And you couldn’t stop the words coming out when you blurted, “I want to have sex.”

He paused, opening his eyes for a moment, making sure he heard you properly.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you said quickly, feeling awkward. But why were you so shy all of a sudden? It’s not like he didn’t have his tongue deep inside your pussy every night. Maybe it was because there was a question still lying underneath the surface. “Why ... why don’t you want me to help you finish after you eat me out? Sometimes you just … walk away to take care of yourself.”

Laios’ face went bright red, and then he buried his face in your neck. “I’m so embarrassed.”

Your hand pushed back his cropped, blonde hair, trying to soothe his racing heart. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Because it’s … it’s big,” he sighed and lifted his head. “There. I said it. It’s just big. And the last person who saw it made me feel super self-conscious about it.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “You’re embarrassed because you have a big dick?”

His pretty golden eyes were serious, but it looked like he wanted to laugh with you. “Please, don’t make it sound trivial.”

“It’s not trivial, it’s just …” You went to cup both his cheeks. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you ever experienced. You wondered why it took you so long to realize he felt the same. “I would never make you feel self-conscious about anything. I like everything about you, Laios.”

Your words had him melting, leaning back down into you and kissing you slowly. It was only when his tongue slipped into your mouth that his hand snaked down between your legs, just cupping your soaked entrance, the one thing he loved to eat more cheesecake. Realizing that you weren’t wearing any underwear had him reeling. “Gods …” He moaned into the kiss, his fingers simply running down your soaked folds.

As his lips broke away from yours, you asked in a tone as sweet as barometz, “Do you want to have sex, Laios?”

“Yes,” he replied, voice desperate. “Yes, please.”

Your hands went to the hem of his loose, linen shirt, breaking your kiss again to lift it over his head. For the first time, you were able to see what he looked like underneath all the armor. His shoulders were wide-set, his torso soft while also being oddly defined. Most tall-men your party encountered thought Laios was on the slender side, not believing how strong he was. But once your eyes beheld his biceps, you knew how wrong they all were. He was built and muscular and – gods, you could admire him for hours.

Laios stopped your hands from going any further, a pleading look in his eyes. He pushed your nightgown up and bunched it at the waist. “Can I taste you first?”

You nodded quickly, already intoxicated by the way he kissed you, the way he smiled at you, all eager and excited to bury his face in your pussy. It didn’t take him long; he was lightning fast, moving down your body and lifting your legs on his shoulders so he could eat you out easier. His tongue dove into your folds immediately, and he groaned at the first taste. You were acutely more aware every night that he could do this for hours, just lapping at you lazily, bringing you to orgasm over and over again. No monster compared to the way you tasted.

His nose bumped your clit as he tongued your leaking hole, practically whimpering at every drop of your wetness that reached his mouth. Large, calloused hands wrapped around your thighs, making sure they didn’t close and digging into your flesh. Your own hands fisted into the sheets, your ass lifted off the bed, but you could still grind your hips against his face. Soft whines left your lips, nothing compared to the groans Laios was making as he ate you like he didn’t have a three-course meal just an hour ago. You almost wondered if you should tell him to quiet down, afraid of the others hearing, but you were too lost in the pleasure to care.

It was clear to you the closer you got to reaching your peak that Laios wasn’t keen on stopping. And as much as you truly wanted to cum all over his tongue, you thought it was important that you both have this new experience together. It took you a few seconds to finally gather the courage to say something, his tongue feeling too good as he swirled it around your sensitive clit. “Laios,” you called, and then a little louder, “Laios.”

He lifted his head, your juices dripping down his chin. A primal urge made him want to dive back into you, but he controlled himself. His tongue licked at your essence around his mouth, and you shuddered at the sight.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, yes,” he muttered hoarsely, placing your legs so delicately back on the bed, as if they were made of glass. “Of course.” He so desperately wanted to taste you again, but he was even more excited for this, to finally feel something other than his hand wrapped around his cock. You were the first person he ever tasted, but it had been quite a while since he was truly intimate with someone, to slide into someone and feel them clench around him.

As you tugged off your nightgown, Laios began to work at the ties of his pants. But his hands stopped as they came undone, glancing up at you with hesitation. You looked so pretty sitting in the middle of his bed, waiting for him, naked and vulnerable. He felt silly for feeling so self-conscious, especially when you were so beautiful like this.

“Laios,” you cooed, caressing his arm, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And if you don’t want to, then we can stop.”

He almost choked on a laugh. “Trust me,” he replied, “I want to.”

After another beat of stalling, Laios finally stepped out of his bottoms and blushed pink from ear to ear. His cock was … well, it certainly was big. You sympathized with him; if anyone told you something about your body during sex, you would focus on that forever. But there was nothing for him to be embarrassed about. Truthfully, most males would kill to have what he did. His cock was thick and long, a few veins trailing down the shaft, curving up at his pretty red tip that was dripping with precum. You got even more wet just from staring at it, wondering what he would finally feel like inside of you. 

Your mouth opened to say something, anything to make him feel better, but he was already talking: “I need a distraction so I don’t think about you staring at it.” He crawled back onto the bed and between your thighs, immediately pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself still on his mouth, and your arms wound around his shoulders instantly. His teeth tugged at your bottom lip, and he asked, “Can I just … ramble about monster facts for a minute?”

You blinked, not expecting that. Laios released your lower lip and sighed, clearly still nervous. “It’ll help me get over this feeling. I swear. Or if you want to stop this, we can. I’ll … I’ll understand –”

“Laios,” you huffed, your mouth pulling back into a sweet smile, “I want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered, nuzzling his face back into your neck, placing sloppy kisses. “Did you know that … that harpies almost exclusively have the head of a female human and it is unknown if male harpies exist?”

His voice was muffled against your neck, but you could tell he was desperate and aching. You felt his hard length against your stomach, smearing precum on the exposed skin. “Really?” You breathed out, trying to engage with him but completely failing when he licked a stripe up your neck. A moan escaped your lips.

“There’s also … there’s, uh …” He was struggling to talk now, grasping his cock and giving it a few quick pumps before teasing the head against your dripping wet folds. Your legs instinctively opened wider for him, hoping to whatever gods were out there that you could take his cock. “There also exists a seabird variant of harpies called … called, Sirens. Their wings and  … their – their tail look like a seagull’s.”

You could hardly breathe as you asked, “What else, Laios?”

He began to push inside you slowly, letting you adjust with each inch. “Okay, okay … uh … bicorns … bicorns hate – oh, fuck.” Just the feeling of your tight warmth wrapped around his cock had him biting into your shoulder, like you were the forbidden fruit. He could hardly string together a word, could hardly think, as he sank deeper and deeper into you, his whole body shaking. “Bicorns hate … hate virtue. They prefer – shit – immorality. It is believed that … doing all seven deadly sins will … will allow an individual to approach a bicorn – fuck. Fuck. It feels –”

When he was finally buried to the hilt, all he could do was breathe into your neck. You whined, locking your legs around his waist. The stretch was unbelievable; your walls gripped him like a vice. But it was even better than you could’ve imagined. If you had thought originally that the night would go this way, you would’ve at least brushed your hair. Laios didn’t care though, inhaling the flowery scent as he nosed your pretty strands. You couldn’t even comprehend – whether it be from the stretch of his thick cock inside you or the overwhelming amount of butterflies in your stomach – how you were so lucky to have found him.

Not to mention, you felt even luckier that this wasn’t happening on a cold dungeon floor.

With one hand carding into his hair, you chuckled under your breath, “Had enough of reciting monster facts?”

“Mmhmm …” He groaned, unable to form a sentence. You finally felt him pull back before pushing into you in one fast, deep thrust, making you shiver. Your body was hardly used to feeling this full, but you wanted him so badly that it was humiliating, a pink blush tinting your nose. “You feel so good,” he muttered.

You pulled on his hair, and his head lifted from your neck. His lips were swollen from kissing you. Yours probably looked the same. But that didn’t matter right now as he held your gaze and began thrusting into you a little faster. His eyes were the color of melted gold, flecked with amber and brown, and you felt like you could stare into them forever while he fucked you. Laios lifted one of your legs higher on his waist, but his other hand stayed around your middle, keeping you nestled against him.

“Laios,” you whimpered, feeling him nudge your clit with each roll of his hips. Despite his desperation, his pace was tender and relaxed, making sure you were adjusting to his size. He knew he was big – clearly, it was something he’d been self-conscious about for a while – but the way you were looking at him right now … he’d never felt more at ease, more special. This was all he ever wanted: to be close to someone like this, to find intimacy with someone he had true feelings for. All the other times had been stepping stones, leading to this moment with you, where your warmth enveloped him so nicely and your gaze made him want to cum on the spot.

His hips began to move a little faster, pushing even deeper inside you, as his mouth swallowed your moans in a hungry kiss. Face going hot, you trembled, and his cock pulsed inside you with each pass. Your nails dragged down his shoulder blades, leaving marks for him to examine later, like a predator with its prey. Goosebumps raised on his skin, feeling himself get closer … and closer … and closer. If you kept digging your nails into him like that, he’d surely lose his grasp on reality. But you just felt so good, so warm, and he craved you. Craved you like you were his last meal.

“Laios,” you croaked out when his lips broke from yours, “Laios, are you close?”

He could hardly say anything else but, “Mm …” 

You thought you could get there by now from his tongue teasing you earlier, but you needed a little more friction. Bumping against your clit wasn’t enough. “Okay, okay,” you rambled, reaching down between your legs to touch yourself. “Just hold off for another minute. I’ll get there.”

Laios opened his eyes, realizing what you were doing, immediately envious of your own hand. “No, let me,” he murmured, voice like honey, and found your clit easily. “Then I can taste you on my fingers after.” His excitement made you laugh, which brought a smile to his own lips.

He shifted a little, pulling back so only his tip rested inside you, and fucked back into you at a different angle, one that brushed against your special spot. The stimulation of both your clit and g-spot had your back arching, whimpers slipping out of your lips like a chant.

“Is … this … better?” He asked, panting after each word.

Your voice was strained when you answered, “Y—Yes.”

His balls slapped against the underside of your ass, and he knew how close he was, but all he cared about at this moment was cumming together. He needed to see that look on your face when you reached your peak. He only got to see it a few times, when he lifted his eyes while tasting you, watching the way your lips parted and sweat ran down your forehead.

His fingers rubbed tight circles on your aching clit – knowing exactly what you liked – and you were close. So, so close already. Laios had a way of touching you that felt inquisitive, yet effortless. Like he wanted to learn which spots made you moan the loudest, while also already knowing without even touching you. You grew to like him not just because of his dopey grin, his protectiveness, or his positivity, but also for the way he was willing to learn with you, the way he needed you. And right now, he needed you to cum more than anything.

Tension coiled in your lower abdomen, making you gasp out, “Laios – fuck – Laios, I’m gonna –”

“I know, I know,” he rasped. His pace was nearing on brutal, his whole body shaking as he held off his release for you. “Together. We’ll – together.”

And then, your muscles tighten. You clenched around his cock, and it only took one more thrust against your g-spot to have you falling apart underneath him. You put a hand over your mouth as you cried out, careful of the rest of the party hearing. Your eyes rolled back, his fingers stroking your clit through it, and it all just felt too, too good. Your orgasm went on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. As your walls spasmed around his cock, he groaned low, finally spilling into you. His hips stuttered. His mouth gasped for air against your lips, as he felt a ripple of relief from emptying himself inside you. He bit into your shoulder again to muffle his own noises. Your pussy convulsed, milking every last drop, and you were pretty sure you saw stars.

Once the aftershocks hit you both, he slumped against you, breathing in the scent of your hair again. Your fingers traced small circles onto his back muscles, your chest rising and falling with the fast beat of your heart. When his cock went soft inside you, his fingers finally left your clit and he brought them to his mouth. Your eyes were half-lidded as you watched him wrap his lips around his fingers and suck the juices off, moaning at the taste. He looked like an intricate painting; you couldn’t help but admire the sight.

His fingers left his mouth with a wet pop, and he whispered in a voice so soft you almost didn’t hear him, “You just taste so, so good.”

Laios kissed you again, slow and full of affection. You didn’t even care that he was still inside you; you could stay like this forever, pressed into his warm skin. Gods, you liked him so much that you immediately whimpered as his tongue slid into your mouth, and when he shuddered at your fingers on his back … you couldn’t believe you once questioned if he returned your feelings. You had both been so oblivious.

His mouth moved away from yours and he cupped your cheek. He took a moment to memorize the dusting of red across your face, the way your eyes hardly opened after sex, and then said, “Are you hungry? I think we both need a snack. It’s been a long night already.”

You giggled. “You had me at hungry.”

[florencemtrash]

Bedsides and Breakfasts

Summary: After Azriel comes home battered and bruised, he refuses to eat the meal you've made him... Why?

Warnings: Angst, character injury, fluff

Author's note: For context, Y/n is Helion's bastard daughter. In an earlier draft of my other (very long) fic, The Shadowsinger and The Inkbird, this was going to be a scene that takes place after Azriel gets hurt during the Battle on the Lake where Y/n figures out Azriel is her mate. I wanted to finish it up and get it out there because I don't want to say goodbye to that story just yet and I wanted to get back into writing so.... here ya go!

The Townhouse sang quietly as it worked. Its melodies lay in the shifting curtains that shook off dust into the wind. Its lyrics in the whistling teakettle. You liked these sounds as you moved about the kitchen, preparing your tea and a crust of bread slathered with butter and jam. 

When the Townhouse was empty, you didn’t need to fear your power — there was no one around for you to touch and steal memories from. Mor had tried to drag you out to Rita’s that evening — “Rhys says you’ve learned to keep your Clairvoyance at bay! Come dancing with us!” — but you couldn’t muster the courage or the energy.

Besides, you were awaiting a certain Shadowsinger’s arrival. 

“Won’t you come back and make me your home? You who’ve stolen my heart as simple as a whisper, calm as a storm,” You hummed to yourself. You swore the Townhouse sighed in contentment. “Do you like my silly little songs then?” You mused. 

The lights shone a little brighter, crackling the air with a flicker of energy. 

You were singing about Azriel — of course you were — and blushing all the while. He’d been the first to truly speak to you — the first to notice you — and the embrace you’d shared in Rhysand’s office had left you breathless for days. You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your neck as you’d buried your face in the hollow of his throat. The cracked leather beneath your fingers and the short hairs at the base of his skull you’d caressed as lovingly as any flower. It was the first time you’d ever been touched like that. Like you were something worth holding onto. 

When he was gone, the Townhouse felt too empty. You felt too empty. Even now, the edges of your patience frayed like a worn shirt without him. 

You spent the evening’s hours combing through every book you’d managed to lug over from the Library. It was quick, but taxing work as every touch against the weathered binding allowed you to absorb its knowledge without you ever having to lay an eye on the page. 

When the candle flickered dangerously close to your books and the dull throbbing behind your eyes had gone on for too long, you blew out the light and could do no more than curl up on the sofa before falling fast asleep. 

The whispers of shadows woke you. You couldn’t understand the words hidden within their overlapping voices, but their panic and relief were heavy in the air. You could almost taste their meaning on your tongue.

“Y/n,” Azriel moaned. He leaned heavily against the open door, forcing it open against the drag of the carpet. His sword clattered to the ground before his knees. “Y/n,” he called out again, more urgently this time. He prayed to the gods you were home. He’d flown through the night, tattered wings struggling to keep him aloft, to make sure he’d see you again… just in case.

Blood and iron burned your nose and your sleep-swollen eyelids split open. “Az—” Your knee slammed against the coffee table in your struggle to escape the blankets. “AZ!” 

Azriel was always greedy for the sight of you, and that familiar tug in his chest tightened as you rounded the corner and sprinted towards him. You tripped where the hardwood ended and the carpet began, throwing his arm around your shoulder. 

He smiled softly at you. Three months ago, you’d been too afraid to touch anyone. Now here you were half-supporting his weight as he staggered to his feet. He stole a few precious seconds to lean his head into the crook of your neck and breathe in your scent. For a moment, he believed it would be enough to heal him.

“How bad is it?” 

“Three arrows in the right wing, two in the left. Fae bane.” 

“Anywhere else?” You both stumbled down the hallway back from where you’d come. 

“I may have been stabbed a few times.” He offered the piece of information casually, like he was complaining about the price of eggs.

“What’s a few?” Your eyes were wide as the moon. Searching, searching, searching for wounds.

“Ten?” 

Your growl tore through the quiet of the night. 

Your hands were slippery with blood, and Azriel almost slid out of your fingertips as you deposited him against the table. You flung your arms out over the hardwood tabletop sending bottles of ink, pens, and sheafs of papers clattering to the floor before rolling Azriel onto the top and forcing him to lay down.

Under the chandelier, Azriel looked ghastly. The warmth was drained from his skin and the hollows of his eyes and the fullness of his lips were tinged purple from cold. His eyes drifted apart from one another.

“I need you to stay awake.” 

“I will.” His words were slippery as soap on porcelain, syllables sliding into one another as he promised you he would be alright and that he had suffered worse before.  

“Stay awake!” You commanded him and his eyes sharpened ever so slightly on your figure as you tore through the cabinets in the corner. 

Where is it? Where is it? Glass bottles clinked and tottered on rounded bottoms. There! 

You snatched one of the pale green bottles lining the back wall and bit off the cork top with a grimace, spitting it out onto the floor. You could taste the medicine inside coat your teeth with an acrid film. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” You slapped Azriel’s cheeks to keep him awake. “Drink this.” 

Azriel’s lips parted immediately and he accepted every bitter drop you forced down his throat. It wasn’t a cure, but it would help stabilize him long enough for help to arrive. In the time it took for you to call out to Rhys and light the candle that would wake Madja and call her to the Townhouse, Azriel’s cheeks had flushed with some more color. 

The sight did little to ease your worries as you worked on unbuckling the straps of his armor. Piece by piece they fell away with a wet thud on the ground. 

He grabbed your wrist before you could run in search of something to cut off the clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Elain had left gardening shears on the back porch. Perhaps the kitchen had scissors?

“Stay.” He begged. “Please stay.”

“Rhys and Madja will be here soon. I just need to get something to help you.” 

“Then stay.” His grip turned desperate, short nails digging into your forearm. “Stay and help me. Don’t leave me.” 

Azriel might have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain. His hand slid up the curve of your arm to hold your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. 

“I wanted to see you just in case.” His chest rattled with the effort, “Gods, I missed you.” 

He’d been gone weeks on the Continent, scrounging after every whisper of Koschei’s name as far as the eastern mountains. He’d scavenged and raged. Killed and tortured. And he’d missed you all the while. It was what had possessed him to fly all the way to Velaris, when he would have been better off breaking into the Day Court and throwing himself at the mercy of Helion — your father. 

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, angry and hot. “If you say another fucking word like you’re about to die, I will kill you myself.” You were not prone to violence, and Azriel felt some pride that he could elicit such an emotion from you. 

Luckily for you both, Azriel didn’t get a chance to say anything else, and you didn’t get a chance to murder him before Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, and Madja were bursting through the front door and following the blood-red trail to the dining room. 

Azriel squeezed your hand once more. “Stay with me.”

“Where else would I go, Az?” You whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before the others crowded close. 

You stayed at the head of the table, one hand always holding onto Azriel’s. He swallowed his pain, the faintest groans slipping from his lips as arrows were pulled out inch by bloody inch. It was no easy thing to endure, not even for Azriel. Wicked barbs lined the arrow shaft and caught onto the delicate membrane of his wings no matter how Madja twisted, pushed, and pulled. 

One particularly harsh wrench had Azriel crying out, his nails digging into your arm and drawing blood. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, feeling your skin break beneath his nails. His skin was tinged green now. A sickly sheen covered his face and fell over his eyes. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. Just look at me.” You grasped the sides of his face. “Look at me.” 

Once again, Azriel was ready to listen to your commands. His eyes never left yours, not once, until the last of the faebane-tipped arrows dropped onto the table with a menacing ring of metal on wood.

Feyre closed his wounds as best she could, but the flesh inside would take longer to heal. For now all they could do was carefully wipe the blood from his body and carry him up to his bedroom. 

You lingered by Azriel’s side long after he fell asleep, fingers twitching with nerves as you counted every slow and steady breath of his. 

“Y/n.” Feyre gently touched your arm. “He’ll be alright.”

You nodded, still watching Azriel sleep. Then, to your mortification, you burst into tears. Your clothes were drying stiff with sweat and blood — none of it yours — and the red handprints Azriel had left along your arms were turning to copper rust. 

She shushed you, softly tugging at your arms. 

“He-He asked me to stay,” you said between gulps of air. 

“He’d want you to be clean and well-rested, Y/n. Don’t let him wake up feeling guilty.” 

If it weren’t for Feyre, you would have remained glued to the floor of Azriel’s room until you became one of the faces trapped in the wooden floors. You let her lead you across the hall to your own room where she filled the tub with warm water and soap. 

“Shit,” you mumbled. Your fingers shook so much you couldn’t undo the buttons of your dress. Shadows, loose and long as stalks of grass, wound around your back, plucking the buttons undone without a word. 

“He’ll be alright.” Feyre repeated this phrase many times as you scrubbed off the night’s events and turned the water copper brown. The magic of the Townhouse whisked away the grime almost as quickly as it appeared until you sat in a sudsy bath, milky and clean.

“What happened to him, Fey?”

“From what Rhys and I can tell, Koschei had over a dozen archers lying in wait for when he returned to Prythian. We’ve already warned Helion.” 

You nodded. Your head felt heavy on your neck, like a doll with a snapped neck. 

“He nearly died.” Once the words were out in the open, fragile and pure, you broke down again, knees drawn up to your chest in the tub. 

“But he didn’t.” Feyre smoothed back your dripping hair. “It will take more than arrows and faebane for Death to steal him from us, Y/n.” 

Gods you hoped that was true, or else your heart might give out every time Azriel walked out the door. 

You returned to his side the moment you were clothed, hair still dripping onto his gray bed sheets as you leaned forward from your chair and held his hand. He slept on his stomach, wings flared out and peppered with white gauze like a patchwork quilt. Beneath the drape of his blankets you knew more gauze covered his chest and stomach, dotted with blood like blooming roses. 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you awoke to a deep ache in your back and a faint choir of voices in the air. 

Shadows. 

They kissed your cheeks, cool and soft, urging your eyelids open. Azriel was already awake and sitting up in bed with a grimace. One hand clutched his side and a leg hung over the edge of the bed, like he intended to stand. When he saw you, his hazel eyes widened. First in alarm. Then in guilt. 

“Az?” Your voice felt crusted with smoke and sleep and you did what you could to straighten the crook in your neck and your spine from the odd position you’d fallen asleep in. ““You’re not supposed to be sitting up.” Your bones cracked obnoxiously as you moved for the first time in hours, and the guilt in his gaze deepened. 

You pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the gauze scratch your skin, but he did not budge. 

“Az, you need to lay down. What were you even doing up?” 

Azriel’s eyes flickered off to the side. “I was… I was trying to move you to the bed.” 

You swallowed your yawn and blinked in disbelief. “Azriel, you’ve just been shot and stabbed. You need to lay back down.” 

He grabbed your wrists, tugging you forward until you almost collapsed against his chest. “There’s space on the bed. I want you to be comfortable.” 

“The chair is fine, and you are hurt. Now, please—” He did not move. No matter how you reasoned with him. No matter how you tried to shove him back beneath the covers.

“I will lay back down under one condition.” 

You frowned. He was much more stubborn when he was injured. “What condition?” 

“Sleep on the bed. There’s plenty of room.” 

“Az—” 

“Please.” His hands slipped into yours, fingers pressing against the pulse of your wrists. “Y/n, I will be comforted with you beside me.” He held up his finger before you could sleep. “And not in that gods-awful chair. You’ll wake up crooked.”

“I’m not a stalk in a storm,” you grumbled, because it only seemed appropriate that you should fight him on this. Otherwise, you’d have to admit that the thought of melting into his bed set off fireworks in your stomach, exciting and terrifying at the same time. You’d also have to admit the scent of mountain air embedded in every inch of his room brought you comfort. You could lay your head on his pillows and sleep for an eternity. 

I shouldn’t be here. But you let him tug you closer to him. You slid your legs over his waist, calves catching on the waistband of his pants and dragging in a way that had your heart leaping into your stomach until you were safely on the other side of him. 

Azriel’s bed was massive — over 12 feet across to better accommodate the span of his wings. You moved as far away from him as you could without eliciting offense and stared at the window. 

Your muscles clenched as he shifted closer to you, wings rustling against the silk sheets and whispering as he got comfortable. Every time he so much as shifted, your back prickled, as though you had eyes there that shifted to soak up every inch of him. 

He’s hurt and I’m taking up space and—

He reached out his arm and his fingertips brushed against the curve of your back. You stiffened like you’d been struck by lightning. If Azriel were awake, he would have apologized and wrenched back his hand as if burned. But he was fast asleep and the touch was a natural movement he made in his dreams where he was imagining that you were closer to him. So close that he could breathe down your neck and feel you melt beneath his touch. 

You didn’t sleep, as much as the lull of his breathing threatened to sink you into sweet and comforting dreams. The sky was but a lighter shade of black when you were slipping out of bed with barely a whisper. Miraculously, Azriel did not awaken, and his shadows ghosted over the floors drowsily.

You were no stranger to dawn as you padded down to the kitchens. You hummed to yourself, cracking eggs over a well-greased skillet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers tossed in. They bobbed up and down in a sea of yellow like ducks on water. Potatoes browned to your right, their skins crackling and spitting grease as bacon popped and sizzled beside them. 

You ate as you went, plating the final meal for Azriel, who—if you knew anything about him—would be waking shortly after the first rays of sunlight split his shadows in two. 

You slipped back into his room as quietly as you’d left, and then nearly leapt out of your skin to find a dark mass of shadow covering the bed. 

“You’re awake,” you said blankly. 

Azriel propped himself up onto his elbows, back rippling as he forced his stiff and swollen wounds to stretch until he could sit up in bed. 

“Where did you go?” There was but a faint slur to his words. “You weren’t here when I woke up.” 

“I was making breakfast.” You dragged over the ottoman from the foot of his bed as a makeshift table. “Did you brush your teeth already?” Not that it mattered. A sour mouth wouldn’t keep him from a meal if he was hungry. 

The flash of fear in his eyes was so subtle, so brief, that you missed it. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Well that doesn’t really matter. Madja said you should eat first thing. Oh!” You plucked a purple glass bottle from his bedside table. “And she said to drink this with a meal.” You pushed it into his hands, reluctant as they were to take the stoppered bottle from you. 

“I can’t imagine eating right now.” He said, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed out and he swallowed hard. “The smell… it’s… I can’t stomach it.” 

You frowned at that. He liked your cooking. It was only due to circumstance that you hadn’t been able to cook for him in months. 

“Can you please try?” you begged. “Just a bite.”

His skin turned pallid and the dark marks beneath his eyes stood out. He picked up a fork with a trembling hand, stuck it into a potato, then dropped it as if it burned. Suddenly, he regretted asking you to stay the night. Guilt ate away at his stomach, twisting it like spaghetti on a fork. 

You sighed in dejection. “I’ll bring it back downstairs.” You said. You began collecting the silverware from where you’d left them by his side. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, catching your wrist in his hand. 

You smiled softly. “Try and get some rest.” 

“Will you be back?” His words caught you by the door. 

“You won’t even realize I was gone.” 

He doubted that very much. Still, he settled back in bed, rolling onto his stomach to keep its rumbling at bay. He was quite hungry. 

You closed the door behind you, carrying the untouched plate of eggs and potatoes. Cassian stopped his whistling as he made his way down the hall, a teasing smile playing at his lips until he caught sight of your dejected expression. 

“What’s got our resident Librarian frowning? Did someone misplace a book in the House?” 

You didn’t rise to Cassian’s jests. You cast a sullen glance back at Azriel’s door like it was personally responsible for everything, and shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten since he’s been back and I’m starting to get worried. I read up on Illyrian anatomy weeks ago and he should be fine enough to eat by now.” 

Cassian leaned down, taking a careful sniff of the plate before grabbing hold of a butter and rosemary roasted potato and plucking it in his mouth. It was cold and the butter had hardened into a greasy slick, but it was still good. He told you as much as he walked with you back to the kitchens, stealing slivers of potato as he went.

“It’s nice to know my cooking’s not at fault.” 

Cassian jerked back in surprise and sudden understanding. “You made him that?”

“Yes. I know the House has its own will, but I like to cook. And it still feels strange having food just appear out of nowhere.”  

Cassian fought with all his might to keep the cheeky grin from his face. 

Poor Azriel, forced to go hungry because he was still too much of a sheepish fool to tell you about the mating bond let alone accept it. 

He clicked his tongue. He loved his brother to the grave and back, but Azriel had a horrible habit of getting trapped in his own mind. Cassian had hoped you would help with that, given you suffered similarly. 

“I wouldn’t take it too personally. Azriel’s a picky eater. Always has been.”

That was a complete and utter lie. Growing up in the Illyrian war camps meant you either starved or ate whatever gray-brown mush you could get your hands on. Rhysand and Azriel had been quicker to move on from the rugged Illyrian lifestyle, and Rhysand especially had used his High Lord privileges to cultivate a refined and expensive taste, but if they were hungry and limited they didn’t give two shits what went in their mouths. 

“I didn’t realize you could afford to be picky in a war camp,” You grumbled. You dropped the plate’s contents onto a skillet, patiently waiting for the House to light a toasty fire. There was no need to let good food go to waste.   

You thought over it, some minor irritation settling in that the Shadowinger had rejected the food you’d worked to make. It really didn’t make sense that Azriel would be so particular about food. Or anything for that matter. He’d always struck you as the practical, bare-bones sort, and you knew him well enough now to know that was true. His very job required it of him. But then again you couldn’t remember the last time he’d accepted any food that you’d offer-

You froze. Oh. Oh.

The first night he’d visited your apartment in the Day Court, he’d refused your tea and cakes before leaving abruptly. You’d agonized over that night for months, trying to figure out what you might have done to scare him off. But he’d been so kind and shy afterwards and then the whole matter of Koschei had arose and you’d never given it much thought because he just seemed so familiar and... Oh. OH-

“BASTARD!” You spat out in shock. The skillet dropped to the stove with a sharp cry that had Cassian blinking. He’d never seen you like this. So…agitated.

Had you always been this dull? A year ago you might have been able to blame it on your naïveté, but you weren’t so socially misinformed now and yet this was a bit much. And… oh you couldn’t wrap your head around your own stupidity to even begin to think about a mating bond with…

A mating bond with Azriel. You… you were his mate. He was yours. And you were his. And suddenly the pieces of it were falling into place so quickly you thought you might be crushed beneath the weight. 

Mate.

Even the thought of the word crashed around your mind incessantly, like an anxious dog trying to settle down to sleep. Yet it all made such perfect sense. The way Azriel always found you when you were in danger or grieving. The awful days when Azriel had been away and you’d felt like a piece of your body had been severed. The way that the world felt right when he was beside you. Maybe it was the bond, maybe it was just something born out of love, or maybe they were one and the same. It was impossible to tell but it didn’t change anything.

Mate.

Cassian glanced sideways at you and said cautiously, “We’re both bastards, Y/n. I don’t think that’s much of an insult coming from your mouth.”

Your eyes snapped to his, suddenly remembering that he was in the kitchen with you. You brandished a fork in your hand like a weapon, pointing the pronged end up at him like he was a piece of meat to be skewered. You were shorter than him, but the sharpness in your eyes made him pause.

“You.” Such a simple word, yet it sounded so threatening. “You knew didn’t you?”

Was he sweating? The room felt warm.

“I don’t know what-“ You snatched his wrist and with your magic, you stole the information from him that you needed. It was as easy as plucking a flower from a field. 

Fuck. Cassian groaned at the same time you did. You knew now. Not that you really needed confirmation from Cassian. Still. It was rather embarrassing to learn you were the last of… well everyone to know, even if it was your fault for not noticing the signs. In your defense you had been preoccupied with other matters…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You muttered, heating up the remaining food with a great deal of force before setting down a fresh tray, plate, utensils, and mug of tea on the countertop.

You keep muttering to yourself, your joy disguised by your embarrassment and no small amount of shock. Cassian watched nervously as you prepped the plate. 

You’d no sooner growled, “Move,” before Cassian leapt to the side and you set off out the door and down the hallway back to Azriel’s room.

She knows. One shadow whispered in his ear. Azriel felt his heart skyrocket and his stomach plunge to the cradle of his hip bones. 

She seems… upset.

Upset was a mild word. You were alight with every emotion possible — fury, fear, anxiety, excitement, love — and Azriel struggled to tease them apart. It was like he’d been hit in the chest by a tangle of snakes, each a writhing, living, ever-changing thing. One moment you seemed nervous, the next angry. 

“You.” Your knuckles were pale as they gripped the tray. Sunlight molded to your form like a crown, and it became all the more apparent that you were Helion’s daughter — his bastard daughter, but daughter nevertheless. 

He scrambled into a seated position just in time for you to drop the tray in his lap with a clatter that sent fork and knife skittering over the dish.

You looked down at the tray, then up at his eyes, wide and molten as amber. “You didn’t tell me.” You didn’t need to elaborate any further. 

“I didn’t think—”

“You’re right. You didn’t.” You blinked, suddenly shy. “Did I not make it clear enough that I liked you? That I loved—love you? Or perhaps you don’t… perhaps you don’t want me.” That was a possibility you hadn’t thought of in your excitement to see him again. 

Oh gods, you hadn’t thought of that possibility had you? You’d just aggressively thrown food at him, expecting that he would—

Azriel gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him again. Your cheeks were warm and painted with color. 

“I always worried I was reading into actions that meant nothing to you. But, never think for a moment that I don’t want you.” He smiled then, a shy, secret smile reserved for you. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.” 

Now your cheeks were burning, but Azriel did not mind feeling this kind of heat on his hands. He let go of your chin, twirling a fork with his fingers like it was a knife. It was one of his few nervous ticks whose knowledge was reserved for the people he trusted. For the people he loved. 

“Being with me will put you in more danger than you know.” 

“But I expect it will bring me more happiness than I could have ever imagined.” You raised a hand up to his face, twisting away a stubborn curl of hair that fell over his forehead. “And you forget who my father is,” you reminded him. “Maybe it is I who will put you in danger.” 

“Maybe,” Azriel whispered. His breath fanned over your cheeks, soft and sweet. 

You picked up the fork, lifting it up in between you. 

“Eat.” You commanded him. 

Azriel smiled, plucking it from your fingers and stabbing a potato. He sighed. “I never could deny you anything, and I would never want to,” he said, before chewing carefully. Cautiously. 

You blinked in surprise, instinctively taking a step away when you felt something new and warm begin to burn in your chest, like someone had taken a drop of the molten hazel in Azriel’s eyes and dropped it into your heart. 

“Oh.” You breathed. 

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “An unusual feeling, I know.” He placed the tray beside him and he’d no sooner opened his arms before you’d buried your face in the crook of his neck. You wanted more of that warmth in your chest. You wanted to slip into Azriel's skin as close as possible to his beating heart. To feel the mating bond wrap around you both like a curtain to block out the rest of the world. 

Azriel groaned in pain, but would not let you leave his embrace. No pain had ever been worth so much. 

You forced him to finish eating, even though all he wanted was the taste of you on his lips. “Later,” you promised him. When he was healed and whole there would be more breathless kisses and urgent touches, but for now he had to content himself with eating his meal and drinking his draught. But he would not be denied the press of your skin against his as you slipped beneath the covers and curled up beside him. This time, you fell asleep quickly and your dreams came over you like water. 

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?

I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.

The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!

Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:

[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]

A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)

This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.

This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.

If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:

Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious

Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic

Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed

Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character

Makes Adrien narratively important

MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT

Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists

Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.

I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.

I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:

I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.

If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!

Spoilers below:

I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.

While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.

The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.

That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.

That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.

I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.