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zeppeli-reelstallbun · 3 days ago

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Did Something Slip Your Mind?

Chapter 2/? <- previous [masterlist]

[PAIRING] Rohan Kishibe x Reader (she/her)

[SUMMARY] Read previous chapter first! After finding out you might be a key witness to a murder investigation, you suck up your nerves to preform your civic duty... but something seems off about the whole thing, and its not just the fact that the sketch artist is absolutely insufferable.

[WC] 4.5k

[!!!] Sfw for now, but will not be in the future. Heaven’s Door is a warning in itself. Memory erasing moments will be entirely excluded from readers perspective so you experience the confusion genuinely, but it will be obvious for the most part WHEN the stand has been used. Same warnings as previous chapter Tiniest bit of Jotaro x reader if you squint.

[an] hey everyone, schools coming into swing so uhhhhhhh taglist information at the bottom of the fic if you read it and enjoy and want more :)

The hotel was unassuming, tucked away in one of Morioh’s quieter corners, clean in a way that let it blend into the surroundings perfectly. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have given the building a second thought without the explicit directions Jotaro had left the night prior. The events of the previous day were still playing through your head, the entire encounter having been such a deviation from your routine that it still felt fresh. First, there was the detective's intimidating presence; then, the unsettling realization that you’d briefly worked with a suspected murderer; and now this, some formal witness interview miles out of your way.

Your intuition was telling you this whole thing was something you weren't supposed to be a part of, that you were in over your head, but curiosity (and a small sense of duty) pushed you forward. You couldn’t just ignore what you’d learned. Someone in Morioh was killing people, and if you had information that could help, you had to try at the very least. Even if you weren't exactly sure how much help you could be…

You took a deep breath after navigating the liminal halls, trying to shake off the nerves as you knocked on the door he had described.

Almost immediately, it swung open, revealing the man you’d met the day before; as imposing as ever, his hat-shadowed eyes meeting yours with intensity. For a moment, you actually felt like you were being sized up by the man in front of you.

But his demeanor softened as soon as recognition fell on his face. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you pass.

The suite was clean and sparsely decorated, about as impersonal as you'd expect of a hotel room, regardless of its size. Jotaro gestured for you to sit at a small table by the window, but your attention was quickly drawn to the other figure in the room.

Your stomach dropped the second you realized who it was.

He was seated casually enough, legs crossed, one elbow propped on the table as he leaned forward, paying little attention to anyone but himself. His hair was unmistakable, though—vivid green and styled in that sharp, angular fashion that somehow suited him perfectly. His clothing was equally flashy, though you expected nothing less from the man, but those bold colors and cutouts were the least of your worries now.

The tension in the room felt suffocating, though likely only for you. Between the stoic wall that was Kujo and the insufferable ego Kishibe wore like a suit, you felt like you were walking to a witness stand instead of an interview. But, Rohan hadn’t recognized you… at least, he didn't act like he did.

Jotaro’s gravelly voice had been calmly explaining the process for nearly five minutes now, but you felt like you were missing most of it. It was straightforward enough though, right? Regardless of the importance of his speech, your attention kept unintentionally drifting to Rohan, who now lounged on the couch as if he owned the room. His posture was relaxed, leaning back, legs apart as he absently flipped through a notebook with one hand, spinning a pen in the other.

You hated how casual he looked... as if this was just another Tuesday for him. But hey, maybe it was. You hadn’t known until today that he worked as a police sketch artist, but the notion made sense, at the very least. Though you’d only seen a handful of examples, you knew the man’s realism was as flawless as the stylized drafts in your inbox; he might be your least favorite person on this planet, but you couldn’t deny that he had an almost unparalleled talent… not that you spent that much time dwelling on it.

Jotaro’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “Are you ready?”

Shit, maybe you should have been listening closer. Still, you nodded while asking for clarification, eyes darting nervously between the two men. “For what?”

“For me to do my job,” The artist said smoothly, finally looking up from his notebook. His green eyes locked onto yours, sharp and glinting with something that made you uneasy. You were allowed to relax for a moment, however. Intense as they might be, there was not an ounce of recognition in those eyes.

“Just try to stay focused,” he said, standing. “This will only take a moment.”

You thought you saw him draw something—which was odd considering the fact you hadn’t described the suspect yet—but that was before the heavy sensation of nausea overtook you. It was difficult to explain, due primarily to the brevity of the feeling. It felt as if you’d sneezed somehow, but your brain completely ignored your action in the moment; it felt as if you’d knocked your head back without even realizing it. Even the ceiling above you felt unfamiliar for a second, but the nerves washed away as you realized that you must have spaced out. Nothing struck you as out of place.

You turned your head to Jotaro, who had moved across the room without you noticing, looming by the window like a marble statue.

“What will only take a moment?” You asked for clarification.

Rohan smirked, causing your heart to falter. What was that look in his eyes?

“Just a few descriptions of the man as far as you can recall. You weren't daydreaming, were you?” Oh, this was just his ego on full display, he was just a man pretending to be an entitled god.

“I wasn’t daydreaming,” you said defensively, forcing yourself to sit up straighter in the chair. “I’m fine.”

“Of course,” Rohan said smoothly, snapping his notebook into a comfortable position. “You seem very… composed.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist, as if he were daring you to prove otherwise.

“Can we just get started?” you scoffed, turning your attention back to Jotaro. He cleared his throat with a small nod, something about his demeanor feeling much smaller than it had moments ago.

You sat in the uncomfortable spotlight, trying your best to recall the details lost to time. In between the generic questions—prompting things like the man's eye spacing, nose angle, and ear size—the artist continued to ramble.

“I want- no. I need context.” He paused, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Remind me, how did you meet the suspect?”

You furrowed your brows. “I designed a business card for him, I don’t see how that impacts the drawing, though.”

“Just for the sake of my mental process, helps immersion…authenticity… whatnot.” He spoke as if his explanation made perfect sense, waving his hand absentmindedly.

Who were you to judge his creative process, though? If the rest of the man had to be maddeningly frustrating, why shouldn't his artistic preferences be the same? You were willing to sit here and stonewall until he had what he needed for the sketch, surely he couldn't get that much worse. It was a good plan.

Well, it was a good plan until Rohan broke the uncomfortable silence once more, speaking in a tone you had no possible way of deciphering. “So, you’re a graphic designer? Tell me, what have you worked on recently?”

The question caught you off guard, and your brain stuttered over how to respond. You blinked, unsure if he was genuinely curious or baiting you.

“I—uh…” You scrambled for something neutral. “Mostly cover designs. I’ve worked with a few smaller mangaka.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I'm sure your clients would be insulted to hear you think so little of them.” He quipped back almost instantly, still focused on the page.

You didn't know what to say, but thankfully, Rohan and his big mouth continued to do the talking for you.

“I'm intrigued, I must admit. Anyone I might know?” He mused, finally looking up from his sketchbook and straight into your eyes, expression unreadable, tone short.

Your stomach twisted again, but you somehow maintained composure. You were starting to second guess your judgment, however… unless this was how Rohan usually treated strangers.

“Probably not,” you said bluntly, keeping your voice polite but unattached as you held intense eye contact. You didn’t want to face the possibility that something was off, that you didn’t have control of the situation. There was no way he could have recognized you... right?

Jotaro cleared his throat again, clearly uninterested in whatever game Rohan was initiating. “We’re not here to talk about her career,” he said, his tone firm enough to steal Rohan's gaze.

The artist simply waved his hand dismissively. “It’s relevant, isn't it? Context is everything, Kujo. Besides, I’m just trying to understand her perspective...You can't rush art.”

You gritted your teeth, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted by the attention. Something was unnerving about the way Rohan spoke, as if he already knew the answers to his questions but enjoyed watching you squirm anyway. He had to know, right? No, if he had recognized you, why wouldn’t he bring it up?

If it were anyone but Rohan Kishibe, you might have had more lenience, but you weren't willing to put anything past the man you’d grown to despise.

“You said you worked with smaller mangaka,” he continued, his tone light but probing. “You must have an eye for detail. It’s no wonder Kujo hand-selected you, must have thought you’d be useful for this case.”

The casual banter made Jotaro’s brow twitch, though he said nothing. You felt trapped between them, caught in this strange and unspoken crossfire of disdain.

“I just do my job,” you said curtly, hoping to steer the conversation back on track.

Rohan chuckled softly. “Humble. I like that. Though, you must find it strange- working with someone like me.”

Your stomach flipped. The way he spoke felt pointed, as if he were daring you to acknowledge the unspoken.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said carefully, your voice steady despite the panic creeping up your spine. Fine then. If he was going to dance around it, why shouldn’t you? At absolute best, he truly hadn’t recognized you, and he was still treating you like some puny little plaything, just here to amuse him with your reactions.

“No?” Rohan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “How fascinating. You don’t seem the type to overlook details.”

Jotaro let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Kishibe,” he said, his voice coiled with irritation. “Stop wasting time.”

“I’m not wasting time,” Rohan said innocently, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. He turned back to you, his smirk softening. “I’m just trying to make her feel comfortable. Isn’t that what good artists do?”

Your jaw clenched for what felt like the hundredth time, and you forced yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the table in front of you.

“You've got enough detail to wrap up the damn sketch. Let’s move on,” Jotaro said sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin as he came to your rescue.

“Fine,” Rohan said with a theatrical sigh, leaning back in his seat while flashing the detective a pouting frown. “But don’t say I didn’t try to make this more enjoyable.”

The rest of the so-called interview was a blur. Jotaro asked a series of questions about Kira—about his clothing, the way he shook your hand, his mannerisms—anything that might be useful for their investigation. You answered as best you could, though your mind was still reeling from Rohan’s earlier comments.

That being said, something still felt… off, like the fact you hadn’t actually given them anything of value. Or the fact that Jotaro's questions seemed to take just a few minutes. Or the fact that Rohan hadn’t even asked you to verify the accuracy of the sketch.

Before you could dwell on it further, Jotaro stood, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the room. “Thank you for your time,” he said, his voice brisk.

You nodded, relieved to be leaving. Before you could make your way to the door, however, Rohan stood with his usual 'look at me' attitude.

“I’ll walk her out,” he said casually, in a tone you wouldn't have second-guessed from anyone else.

You hesitated, glancing at Jotaro, who frowned slightly upon noticing your expression. “Rohan, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Relax Kujo. I’m not an idiot. Besides, it’s the least I can do,” He added, his tone light but insistent.

There was no question in his voice, no space for refusal. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, brushing past with an air of indifference that only made you more uneasy. With no polite way to refuse, you nodded, heart sinking as he gestured for you to follow him.

You swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to argue. Instead, you gave a polite nod, keeping your expression neutral as you fell into step beside him. His presence was commanding, the kind of energy that seemed to shrink the hallway around him, even if he wasn’t saying a word.

As you continued further into the hall, Rohan fell into step beside you, his presence unnervingly close.

When he chose to speak again, his tone of voice surprised you, now absurdly casual instead of biting. “Hope you don’t mind, I just wanted an excuse to get away from that dreadful room.”

You didn't reply. He worked here; you didn't give a shit how comfortable it was for him.

“But alas,” he persisted with a sigh. “Duty calls. Just need a change of scenery to keep me sane, you know?”

“Sure.” You nodded, coming to a stop at the elevator doors as you extended your hand to press the button. Thankfully, he got the hint this time.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting in silence—juxtaposed by Rohan leaning against the wall dramatically—the faint ring of a bell snapped your attention.

The elevator doors slid open, and you wasted no time stepping inside, choosing to stand near the back corner. Annoyingly, Rohan followed, choosing again to lean lazily against the wall opposite you, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed relaxed, almost bored, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something calculating.

The doors closed with a soft chime before you could voice any objections, and the elevator hummed to life, beginning its slow descent as your stomach dropped with it.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Rohan finally snapped.

“So,” he began, his tone light, conversational, the floors ticking by painfully slow. “You never really answered my question. What other kinds of work do you do? Or is designing boring business cards and derivative manga covers your specialty?”

The jab landed squarely, and you stiffened, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He was watching you, his expression unreadable but distinctly amused.

“I freelance,” you replied dryly, you just had to make it through this decent, and then you were free to go. Perhaps you could bore him into silence. “Covers, layouts, branding—whatever pays the bills.”

He hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Freelance can be brutal. It must be hard to find consistent work. Or do you mostly cater to small-time authors?”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain neutral, it wasn’t like he knew that he knew you. “It depends on the project. I’ve worked with a variety of clients.”

Rohan’s lips quirked upward. “A variety, you say? And yet, you don’t seem to recognize me.”

You felt like you’d been shot.

He was testing you. You could feel it in the way his words hung in the air, in the way his eyes gleamed with power.

“I’m sorry,” you said, feigning ignorance. “Should I?”

Rohan chuckled, the sound low and far too amused for your liking. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, straightening from his slouched position. “You’ve worked with smaller mangaka, but you have no clue who I am?”

So he just wanted recognition then? From someone who should have known him???

Before you could respond, however, he reached forward and smacked the red stop button on the panel. The car jolted to a halt, the hum of motion replaced by silence as you stumbled to find your footing.

Your breath hitched. “What are you doing?”

He turned to face you fully, arms still crossed, his expression smug. “I just thought we could take a moment to clear the air.”

“Clear the air about what?” you practically shouted, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re playing coy. I don’t dislike that, but let’s not pretend.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughed, the sound rich with mockery. “Oh, come on. You send me emails—lengthy, passionate emails—full of thinly veiled contempt. You’ve practically made a second career out of critiquing my artistic choices. And now you want me to believe you don’t know who I am?”

Your mouth went dry.

“I… I work with a lot of people,” you stammered, the words hollow even to your own ears.

His grin turned predatory. “Of course you do. But tell me, how many of them have the name Rohan Kishibe written at the top of their contracts?”

You flinched, your composure beginning to crack under his scrutiny. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Every time you hit send on one of those delightful little emails, you see my name. I know you know exactly who I am.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you admitted, the words clipped, escaping your mouth faster than intended.

“Oh, how noble of you,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was here, hm? Surely you had to have known we shared a town, or are you so wrapped up in your work that you don’t spend any time in Morioh?”

“I didn’t want to make things awkward,” you shot back, your frustration finally breaking through.

Rohan’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with something that made your skin crawl. “Awkward? Or were you afraid of what I might say?”

The elevator suddenly felt far too small, the air too thick. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as every instinct screamed at you to look away.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to bother you,” you spat. “You seem like a busy man. Hm? Balancing your job as an artist with what- police volunteer work?”

He laughed again, the sound sharp and biting. “Oh, I’m always busy. But for someone as outspoken against me as you are in writing, you were surprisingly quiet in person.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to stay calm. “Is there a point to this?”

His grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, his expression flickering with something almost imperceptible. Annoyance? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual practiced indifference.

“The point,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “is that I don’t like being underestimated. And I certainly don’t like being ignored.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.

“You weren’t ignored,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I just… didn’t think it mattered.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “It mattered,” he said simply.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with unspoken tension. You wanted to say something, anything, to break it, but you had nothing left to say to the man. He could talk himself to hell, for all you cared.

After a long moment, Rohan sighed dramatically, reaching out to press the button to restart the elevator. The car jolted back to life, resuming its descent.

“Well,” he said, his tone light again. “This has been enlightening.”

You didn’t respond, your mind racing once the elevator doors finally opened to the lobby.

“After you,” Rohan said, gesturing for you to exit.

You stepped out, your legs feeling unsteady as you took a second to compose yourself. After a moment, you glanced back to see him watching with that same infuriating grin.

“Good luck with this week's drafts,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, arms crossed once again. “I look forward to your feedback.”

And with that, the doors closed slowly as he held his gaze; out of sheer stubbornness, you stared him down in return.

Was that supposed to be some form of intimidation? Or had Rohan found some form of sadistic satisfaction in leaving you in the lobby like this, equal parts confused, annoyed, and unnerved?

Whatever his reasoning might have been, it confirmed every single negative thought you'd ever had towards the man. Fuck him, you thought, baffled by the encounter all together. Honestly, the walk home felt like a daze itself, leaving you more confused than you had been on the trip over.

One thing was certain, however: if this was a game to Rohan, you sure as hell weren't about to let him win that easy. Besides, your contract clearly outlined another six months of payroll benefits. If he terminated it, you'd be rolling in money with no worries or complaints. But if you chose to end the agreement...

Fine, it was mostly because you depended on him. There was something nice about not living paycheck to paycheck, even if it meant putting up with the occasional jab or insult.

But was it really worth whatever that was?

[optional read: rohan pov]

Rohan Kishibe prided himself on being a man of precision and discipline; his craft demanded it, after all. He could spend hours—days, even—perfecting a single panel of his manga without once questioning his own judgment. Not that he needed to, of course. He also found satisfaction in the consistency of his work; that is to say, he could churn out projects like it was nothing… Yet now, as he sat at his desk, pen hovering over a blank page, his mind refused to focus. Instead, it spiraled relentlessly, replaying the events of the day and the memories he’d sifted through with Heaven’s Door.

Guilt wasn’t an emotion Rohan often entertained. It served no purpose, a distraction at best and a hindrance at worst. But as he thought about what he’d done—about how much he had seen—a strange tightness settled in his chest. It wasn’t that he regretted using Heaven’s Door; it had been necessary for the Kira investigation. No, what gnawed at him was the sheer depth of what he’d uncovered.

He had been efficient at first, methodical, filtering through her memories for anything useful about Kira. But then, inevitably, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had ventured deeper, into places he had no right to go, uncovering thoughts and feelings that were as private as they were unexpected.

Her thoughts about Jotaro, for instance.

Rohan scowled, his grip on the pen tightening. He hadn’t meant to linger there, but the way she thought about the man had been so vivid, so annoyingly warm. Admiration was one thing, but the subtle attraction she felt for a stranger had grated on him in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

Why did it bother him so much?

Jotaro Kujo was… Jotaro Kujo. Intimidating, stoic, perpetually grim. Hardly the kind of person who inspired affection. And yet, she had looked at him with admiration, even a hint of longing. Rohan had practically heard the unspoken 'what ifs' in her mind, and they’d clung to him like burrs ever since.

It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. Rohan Kishibe was above such petty emotions.

And yet…

He stood abruptly, pushing away from his desk. Crossing the room, he stared out the window at Morioh’s quiet streets, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. He didn’t like being ignored. That much he knew about himself. Whether it was his work, his reputation, or his presence in someone’s life, Rohan demanded acknowledgment. He thrived on it.

But she had ignored him.

Well, not entirely. She had recognized him, yes, but she hadn’t approached him. She hadn’t fawned over him, hadn’t stammered or blushed or tried to impress him like so many others did. Instead, she had decided he wasn’t worth her time.

Rohan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t shake the irritation—and the hurt—that came with that realization. She didn’t like him. It wasn’t just indifference; it was outright disdain. He had seen it in her thoughts, in the biting way she described him in her head. Arrogant. Pretentious. Difficult to work with.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t heard similar criticisms before. But hearing them from her—seeing them spelled out so clearly in her mind—felt different.

And then there was the other part. The part that made his stomach twist uncomfortably whenever he thought about it. The part he didn't even want to name.

It had been a passing thought, buried under layers of annoyance and frustration, but it had been there. He’d seen it, clear as day, and it had ignited something within him that he was now struggling to suppress.

Why did he care so much about what she thought of him?

Rohan dragged a hand through his hair, letting out an irritated sigh.

It wasn’t intentional, of course. He hadn’t planned to let her torment him in this way. But there was something about her that intrigued him, perhaps the way she stayed unflinchingly professional, even when she had every reason not to be. And she hated him.

Fuck.

He needed her to like him. Needed her to fawn over him like everyone else did.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling. Rohan Kishibe, a man who had always valued his independence, now found himself caring far too much about the opinion of someone who thought he was an insufferable jerk.

The guilt returned, heavier this time. She didn’t know how much he had seen. She didn’t know the full extent of how he had violated her thoughts.

Should he tell her?

The idea made his stomach churn. It wasn't something he could even consider. What would he say? Hello, I just wanted you to know that I read your mind and discovered all your innermost thoughts. Also, I’m sorry for being a bit of an ass about it.

No. That wouldn’t work. She’d never forgive him.

But could he really move forward without saying anything?

Rohan sighed again, pacing back to his desk. He needed her to keep working with him. More than that, he needed her to see him as more than just the arrogant artist she so clearly despised.

The problem was, he didn’t know how to bridge that gap. His usual charm—if it could even be called that—had little effect on her. If anything, his teasing seemed to irritate her. He hadn't cared at all a mere twelve hours ago, so why was it so important now?

He had to do something, though.

Sitting down, he grabbed his keyboard and opened his email. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before he began typing, the words coming slowly at first, then faster as he found a satisfactory rhythm.

Subject: Upcoming Cover Design

I hope this email finds you well. I wanted to touch base regarding the progress on the cover for the upcoming volume. While your initial concepts are strong, I’d like to see a version that incorporates more dynamic elements—perhaps something that better captures the intensity of the narrative.

Additionally, your attention to detail is always appreciated. I trust you’ll bring your usual level of creativity to this project.

Let me know if you have any questions.

Rohan Kishibe

He stared at the email for far too long before hitting send. It was professional, as always, but he’d chosen his words carefully this time, softening his tone just enough to leave room for interpretation.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

comment or dm to be added to my taglists. more info on my masterlist below :)

also, if you’re reading this. i have already written the scene where heavens door is used… teeheehee. i definitely want to keep it vague for now but 😃 holy moly it’s very fun. if only you had those memories mwahahaha

-> read other works and progress announcements on my masterlist !!

#rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #rohan kishibe x you #rohan kishibe x y/n #jjba rohan #jjba x reader #jotaro x reader #jjba fanfic #jjba part 4 #diamond is unbreakable x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba x you #fanfic #x reader #rohan kishibe #eventual smut

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aestheticallynotdeerlightful · 6 months ago

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THIS JUST IN: WORLDS SNAZZIEST 10 YEAR OLD

Please do not use or repost my works anywhere without explicit permission from me first, thank you <3)

#deersart #my art #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #razputin aquato #psychonauts razputin #psychonauts raz #my son he means the world to me #technically some of these are a year later so he would actually be 11 but shhh #i like dressing him up in little outfits #he’s still figuring out his own fashion sense #but now they atleast fit #was definitely inspired by some of the outfit concept art for him #took free liberties with some of them though #yes the flower and bracelet are from lili

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tobiasdrake · 5 months ago

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I really do love how much you can tell about Doomguy just from looking around his room.

Like. Yeah, all the stuff you expect to see is there.

He's got his big ol' gun rack.

What appears to be a rock he uses as a punching bag.

Whetstone for sharpening his knives. All the Real Manly Violence Man stuff you'd think would be there.

But also a pair of nunchaku. Doomguy has never used nunchaku in any of his games. Those are just there because apparently he's the kind of dork who likes to play around with nunchaku and pretend he's doing kung fu.

Also a jump rope. Gotta keep his cardio up for all that running and jumping he has to do.

He reads Guns & Bullets magazine, but he also reads Science Monthly. Which makes sense that he'd be a bit of a techie since....

...he seems to have made his new Praetor Suit by disassembling the old one and rebuilding it to be higher-quality. You can see from the guts of the suit that it's powered armor, and he just... knows how to work that.

He's mad. Not stupid.

He also reads cooking magazines, of course. His only friend is Doom J.A.R.V.I.S.; He's gotta be self-sufficient. Though how he got those pizzas delivered is certainly beyond me.

And, of course, he has a collection of regular books that he likes to read as well. Though his taste in literature reveals a certain trend.

Also, he reads comics.

So many comics.

So, so many comics that he's left discarded comics lying around on his munitions cases. This man is a nerd.

And if you doubt his nerd cred, remember that he even keeps collectible toy displays. Doomguy is explicitly the kind of person who will go out of his way in a firefight with the forces of Hell itself to go snatch up a new toy for his collection.

He even has collectible toy figures hanging out on his computer desk. He put a little hard hat on one of them.

On the other side of his desk, he's got some leftover pizza from the inexplicable delivery service, plus takoyaki flavor chips and some candy. It seems Doomguy is a fruity candy kind of guy, not a chocolate guy. Man after my own heart.

Oh, you know he has shredded every single surface of the Fortress of Doom at some point. How do you think he learned to react so quickly in combat?

That is, of course....

When he's not ROCKING OUT with one of his three separate guitars. I bet the middle one's his favorite. It has a place of honor under the giant demon skull.

Some people might say that a record player and casette tapes are old-fashioned but cut him some slack; He's a Gen X-er.

Of course, there's one thing that any walk through Doomguy's room reveals more than anything else. The one thing that matters more than the world to him. The thing that drives him in his every waking moment.

He loved his bunny rabbit. My favorite thing about the portrait - Well, my favorite thing about it is that it's a piece of fanart that got officially canonized, but aside from that - is that he's wearing his Praetor Suit in it.

That's not something he brought from home. He commissioned an artist to paint that after becoming a Night Sentinel. He still loves his poor, late bunny rabbit.

And he keeps her close to him when he's home.

#doom #doom eternal #doom slayer #doomguy

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sunderwight · 5 months ago

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Trying my hand at this one:

Shen Yuan transmigrates into a worm.

It's just a normal garden variety (heh) earthworm, not a special magical worm (yet), so initially he thinks this is gonna be a really short transmigration adventure indeed. But of course that would be boring, so he also manages to end up in the body of a worm who lives under one of those magical immortal fruit-bearing trees.

One of the fruit drops, Worm Yuan chows down, and he significantly upgrades his physical abilities, and senses, and gains a cultivation boost! Hooray!

Unfortunately it's not enough to fix that he's still a worm, but it's enough so that he has less to fear from getting hit by a random shovel or such. In the process of eating the fruit, he sees some disciples (come to gather the fruits, slacking somewhat since they even allowed a few to hit the dirt) and overhears enough of a conversation to figure out that he's transmigrated into a worm that lives in the PIDW setting. Specifically, on Qian Cao Peak!

Wow! How random and wild! Why a worm??? What god did he piss off in his past life for this?

Well anyway, it is what it is, and Shen Yuan decides that if he's gonna live a probably short and uneventful life as a worm, at least he wants to see his favorite character. So he inches his way in what he hopes is the general direction of Qing Jing Peak, course-correcting whenever he gathers that he's guessed wrong, hitching a ride on the occasional shoe or once even gripping the internal part of a wheel from an An Ding Peak carriage, until finally, he's leveled up his meager worm cultivation even more and has reached Qing Jing Peak!

As Worm Yuan continues to inch his way across the peak, he keeps just-barely missing Luo Binghe, until finally he comes across... not Binghe, but a recognizable item: a fake jade pendant!

Though lost initially on a tree branch, it must have fallen at some point, down to the ground where Worm Yuan stumbled upon it.

Mustering his strength, Worm Yuan manages to get the broken string of the fake jade around his little worm body, and then makes the herculean trek to the wood shed. Dodging bird attacks, hiding from other QJP disciples, and further upgrading his Worm Skills such as digging, inching, and oozing, until finally he reaches his destination and squeezes under the door.

Leading to the situation of an incredulous disciple Luo Binghe -- who had previously been tending to his bruises -- watching as a little worm climbs into the shed (normal, usually it's spiders but sometimes other bugs get inside) while dragging his long-lost most treasured item in what can only be described as a deliberate fashion (very not normal).

After ascertaining that Worm Yuan is not some cultivator's tool or shapeshifted creature, Luo Binghe decides to approach this situation in the only reasonable way, and offers the worm some scraps from his leftovers. Worm Yuan happily shares a meal with his favorite character, and things take off from there.

Somehow Luo Binghe finds himself learning more about cultivation by watching Worm Yuan than he has in all his attempts to figure out his manual or listen to his shixiongs on Qing Jing Peak so far. He watches Worm Yuan work up the spiritual energy to crack rocks and scale the wood shed walls, and deduces some methods for applying his own spiritual energy in similar ways. He finds it heartening to think that if even a little worm can learn to cultivate through what seems to be pure determination, then surely Binghe can make his situation work, too. He scrounges around and manages to gather up enough materials for a makeshift terrarium, so Worm Yuan can be safe and cozy by his side at night.

Of course, trials and tribulations never stop. At some point Ming Fan and his cronies find the terrarium and smash it. Binghe is inconsolable until he realizes that Worm Yuan got away (extra durable, after all!) and is wriggling back towards him in a reassuring fashion.

Worm Yuan's hero schedule is quite full, too! At some point he digs his way into a tunnel to the Lingxi caves and saves Liu Qingge, and in the midst of the demon invasion he manages to help Binghe at a vital moment by hardening his body and tripping his opponent. He rides in Binghe's pocket when Binghe goes to claim Zheng Yang, too, developing his cultivation throughout it all.

Unfortunately, kind of, Worm Yuan is also in Luo Binghe's pocket when he gets thrown into the Endless Abyss. Through the hardships of the Abyss, Worm Yuan consumes some unsavory things (the less said about the quality of worm food in the Abyss, the better) but manages to unlock rare worm cultivation upgrades, until finally he achieves his first transformation -- a gigantic Dune-esque mega worm!

The less said about the symbolism of a stallion protagonist accompanied constantly by a literal monster worm, the better, probably. But having the ability to tunnel through basically anything does make a lot of things easier, at least in terms of travel, and cuts years off of the Abyss trip. Binghe and Worm Yuan almost have fun, even, just tearing through the terrain and any foes stupid enough to get in Worm Yuan's path until they retrieve Xin Mo and bust out.

Then they get into the demon realms and that actually is just straight up mostly a good time. Worms like Shen Yuan are not common so at first he nearly always surprises Binghe's foes when he shows up to help with fights, and a lot of the time the demons involved don't even seem to realize, at first, that he's with Luo Binghe and isn't just some hellish calamity that's coincidentally also shown up! But word gets around pretty quick that the new Heavenly Demon on the scene has a giant worm companion (probably leading to some misconceptions of people who think it's Tianlang Jun returned and that someone's mistaken Zhuzhi Lang's snake form for a worm).

Once that happens, unfortunately, some demons start taking precautions. After the first time Worm Yuan gets poisoned and nearly perishes (saved by Binghe's blood in the nick of time), Luo Binghe stops letting him participate in fights. Which is just rude! Worm Yuan's not going to make the same mistake twice, duh! But Binghe just keeps holding him in reserve again and again until the fight with Mobei Jun, and then when Worm Yuan intervenes anyway (is it just him or does Mobei Jun seem to know a lot more about potential heavenly demon weaknesses than he did in PIDW...?) and gets partly frozen, Binghe goes berserk. For a while there Shen Yuan is worried he won't actually LET Mobei Jun surrender!

Thankfully though he does, and then Binghe settles into his properties and starts... building a giant-scale worm garden? What about the harem, Binghe? Like obviously it's nice and all, but shouldn't you be focused on housing for, y'know, your future wives?

Other factions in the demon realms clearly are wondering about the same thing, as the marriage alliance offers naturally start pouring in. The most vocal of these being Sha Hualing. Worm Yuan supposed that his Binghe is probably waiting to officially take his wives so that he can marry Ning Yingying first or something, but still, a little planning wouldn't go amiss. Though eventually Luo Binghe seems to get -- if anything -- fed up enough with the questions about his marriage prospects that he does start setting up for a wedding.

Worm Yuan is surprised and touched when he finds himself being fitted for a monster-worm sized amount of wedding regalia. So he can be included in Binghe's wedding procession? That's so sweet! He's not sure he understands the inclusion of a veil, though...?

Anyway. Yes. Binghe marries the worm.

#svsss #bingqiu #bingyuan #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system #long post #is binghe marrying worm yuan to get everyone off his back or is he dtf the worm? you be the judge!

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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 10

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has a shiny new spine, Azriel threatens to murder and the shadows keep torturing Elaine's floral arrangements and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“And if something happens…”

“We do know how to contact you,” Mor drawled drily from her seat on the couch. “Velaris will still be standing when you return, High Lord,” she told Rhys sarcastically. Az bit back a smile while Amren huffed.

"And you're alright with taking care of Nyx?" Feyre checked carefully. It was already dangerous enough for the High Lord, the High Lady, the General and the Spymaster to be out of the Night Court at the same time. There was no need to add the Heir to the Night Court to it as well.

Mor rolled her eyes. "He'll be alive and happy when you return," she promised Feyre.

Rhys sighed as he watched Feyre fuss over Nyx, who was sitting on the ground beside her, playing with what looked like a stuffed toy of some sort. A bat, now that he was looking at it with more interest.

He wondered where exactly he had gotten that from for a moment.

"He’ll be in good hands, love," Rhys assured Feyre, walking over to place his hands on her shoulders.

"And don't give her too much milk!" Azriel heard his mate exclaim, fussing about the little kitten that followed behind Eira everywhere. Snow, or Snowflake, as Eira had christened her, would stay with Cerridwen and Nuala...and Eira was fussy about it. Had been for days.

Azriel had more than once been jealous of a damn cat because it got all of Eira’s attention. And then he looked at Eira smiling at her, at playing with her with a ribbon, at how she coaxed her to eat little pieces of chicken from her hands, and scratched her underneath her chin, all of this with that expression on her face that told him that she was incandescently happy and he wasn’t jealous anymore. Eira loved her. How could he be jealous of that?

Eira appeared just a moment later, Snow still wrapped in her arms. She was clad in a green coat over a cream dress…if one could call it a coat? Azriel had absolutely no clue about fashion but it was a weird coat. It only had three-quarter-length sleeves and the neckline was open, with a shawl collar that bared her clavicle...and right there rested a necklace featuring fat emeralds that he knew the shadows had given her.

His shadows twined around her, whispering their approval for how pretty she looked, and he couldn’t disagree.

Eira was… She was stunning. She always was, of course. But that simple - yet still lovely - dress, the necklace, and her hair that was pinned up carefully with combs in it...Perfect.

He took her in, the slender, elegant lines of her figure in the dress, the dark gold strands of her hair in the elaborate braided hairstyle that revealed her lovely neck, and those blue-grey eyes that met his as a blush stained her cheeks.

She was beautiful.

"Where did you get that necklace from?" Amren suddenly demanded, staring at the necklace resting around Eira's throat with hungry eyes that made not only Azriel's brows raise.

Eira froze, and her fingers moved up to the emeralds that sat against her skin.

"The...?" she stumbled over her words a little bit, her glance shifting nervously between him, Amren, and Mor and Feyre, who had both also turned to look. "I...the Shadows got it for me," she said quietly, her cheeks darkening further.

What is this about? he demanded from the shadows, which seemed to nearly preen with something.

The Tiny Ancient One wanted it. We bought it first, they answered drily. Petty. So Petty.

He had to bite his lip to avoid snickering.

Of course, the Shadows had stolen something Amren had wanted from right under her nose. Of course, they had.

She still hasn’t apologised to her, the shadows sniped. It’s her own fault.

True. Amren was back in the city because Rhys would prefer his second and third to be there, but that came with strict instructions. Azriel wasn’t quite sure what exactly had been said, but the shadows had promised him that The High Lord had been more than clear with Amren.

A little mrrrrp from Snowflake in her arms brought attention down to the kitten, and Azriel reached out to fondly stroke the little ball of fluff. Eira giggled as Snowflake leaned into his touch, pressing her face against his fingers and continuing to purr.

"She likes you," Eira said with a little smile, watching the little cat with fondness.

"I think the feeling is mutual," Az murmured quietly, as he gently scratched Snowflake's head, and she just continued to press against his hands for more. Another mrrrp escaped the little cat, and Eira giggled a little.

"There we are!" Cassian exclaimed at that moment, Nesta trailed behind him. "I hope Helion still knows how to throw a party!"

"Or how to host one at least," Azriel grumbled under his breath, as he withdrew his hand from Snowflake's head. Rhys chuckled at the comment, as Feyre rolled her eyes.

Eira next to him stayed quiet, and he could see the nervousness in every line of her body. He offered her his arm and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, as she placed Snow on the ground.

"It will be alright," he promised her. It would be alright. It was only a wedding. Even if that meant facing Elain and he knew how nervous Eira was about that…He wasn’t nervous. He had promised himself an iron-clad grip on his temper. It would not flare. He would not actually kill Elain. Regardless of if he thought she deserved it for what she had done to them. “I’ll be there,” he added after a moment. He wasn’t going to leave her to face her demons alone. Not when she had grown even paler at the thought of facing Elain. Her fingers were gripping his arm almost like a vice.

"Everybody ready?" Rhys asked. "We'll winnow into the Courtyard of Sunray Palace."

A chorus of confirmations met his question, as Azriel placed a little kiss against his mate’s head, while her fingers in the crook of his elbow remained as tight as iron.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, I guess...” Cassian muttered, and Azriel silently agreed.

The shadows wrapped around them, and Azriel took a moment to make sure Eira was wrapped in them as well before they vanished from the River House. And rematerialised in the Day Court.

His first thought was...it was bright.

Very bright.

The brilliant sun was shining overhead, and the courtyard they appeared in was large and lovely, if a bit...showy. Similar to the House of Wind, The Sunray Palace was carved into the stone of a Mountain, that was covered in lush grass. He looked up to see a group of Pegasi fly up to their home in the highest tower.

He turned his head to check on Eira, catching her pale face and the nervous gulp as she took the Palace in, and his worry spiked. She was shaking like a leaf, and her knuckles were white where she clutched his elbow.

And then he watched as her shoulders went back and her chin went up, her jaw clenched nearly imperceptively. "You look lovely by the way," he whispered in her ear, making her blush. "Green suits you. Though I am partial to blue."

The compliment drew a flush of colour to her cheeks, and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as a little smile appeared on her face.

“Of course, you would say that,” she shot back, the slight tremble in her voice still there. “You’re biased. And don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckled even as he led them forward, the two of them easily slotting into place between Nesta and Cassian, Nesta throwing her younger sister a look. Azriel could read the worry into it but he shook his head nearly imperceptively. Eira was doing well. Better than he thought she would at any rate.

Eira still looked nervous. Extremely nervous. Her hand still had a death grip on his arm, and she was walking stiffly beside him, and yet...she still had her chin lifted high, her eyes forward. He had to admire the courage she was putting on.

The doors to the Palace suddenly opened, and Helion stepped out, grinning brilliantly. “Well, well, well, you all are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, his voice drawling out the syllables in that typical Day Court fashion.

“Don’t you know it, High Lord,” Cassian replied in his usual easy, charming tone, and Helion chuckled as his gaze travelled over the group with a smirk. Suddenly the smirk faltered as his gaze landed on Eira and the shadows wrapped around her.

His eyes widened, and Azriel didn't know what this was about before Helion continued. "We prepared rooms for you all. Why don't you arrive properly and then we'll have lunch?"

The suggestion was casual, but Azriel still thought that Helion's gaze remained on the way the shadows swirled up her body. It did result in the shadows hissing

"Thank you," Rhys drawled, easily matching the Day Court High Lord's tone. "We'll do that, and we'll see you for lunch."

The High Lord nodded, and retreated back into the Palace, while the group headed in the same direction.

When he glanced at Eira again, her face was paler than before, her hands trembling even more.

"Breathe, love," he whispered to her quietly, his voice soft, hoping it would soothe her a little bit. She gave him a weak nod in response, and he could see her forcing herself to take a shaky breath in. Azriel didn't know entirely what was going through her head, but he had the feeling it was not a happy thought, by any means.

They were shown to their suite of rooms, arranged around a shared living room, and he led her to a marigold yellow sofa. She collapsed like somebody cut the strings holding her up.

He had half a mind to curse, but her paler face, the trembling hands, stopped him. Instead, he carefully lowered himself down onto the sofa beside her, pulling her onto his lap without a second thought, and wrapped her in the shadows around them.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he repeated, as one of his hands stroked gently up and down her back, while the other cupped her cheek.

She leaned against his touch willingly, as another shudder wracked her frame.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whimpered.

His heart wrenched in his chest at the tremble in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with you, love," he assured her quietly. "Nothing at all. You are nervous to face Elain. That's alright."

She sighed softly, but relaxed against him, bedding her head against his shoulder.

"Looking awfully comfy there," Cassian drawled and her cheeks flushed scarlet. She moved to get off his lap but Azriel held her in place gently until she stilled.

He wrapped his arm a little bit tighter around her, keeping her from getting off his lap, as he shot Cassian a quick glare, while the hand rubbing her back continued the slow and gentle motion.

He could almost hear the Shadows whispering their own displeasure at Cassian in the back of his mind. Azriel could hear a sharp smack and he just knew that it must have been Nesta.

He turned his head to send a glare in Cassian's direction, as the Shadows snickered in his mind.

"Sorry, I am sorry, Eira" Cassian hurried to add, as Feyre stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Eira said nothing, just curled tighter against him, resting her temple against his shoulder.

"We got three bedrooms, not four," Rhys said with a sigh, apparently having surveyed the rooms in the meantime. "They clearly expected Azriel and Eira to share a room.”

Azriel wondered if that was on purpose. If that was Elain’s doing. Her attempt at making Eira uncomfortable. Eira, the one of the sisters that kept the most to human ideals of modesty, that blushed if he as much as kissed her cheek…that only kissed him when they were alone. And even then it were quick pecks against his lips.

Not that he would ever protest against one of Eira’s kisses. He wanted to hoard each touch of her plush, soft lips against his like a dragon hoarded its treasure.

But now he could feel Eira's body stiffen in his lap once more, and he glanced down at her. She was very pale again, her fingers trembling where they were wrapped around his jacket. He wanted to smack his head against the nearest wall, or at least something, but he refrained from doing that, and instead just pulled her further against his chest with a quiet huff.

"Their error," Nesta said drily. "Eira and I will share."

The Shadows were practically sulking in his head.

He shut them up with a growl.

Even when he wouldn’t have laid a single finger on Eira if they did share a bed, that clearly was a step too far for her. It would have made her uncomfortable. And he wasn’t going to push her. Not ever.

He had never asked, but there didn’t seem to be any human suitors in her past. Kissing seemed foreign to her, making her nervous and excited, her heartbeat quickening and she stared at him with this expression of wonder on her face.

"Alright, that works as well," Feyre agreed, and Azriel silently echoed that.

He could feel how tense Eira still was in his lap, though. Still trembling nervously under his touch. He continued to rub her back slowly, still trying to soothe her.

“Cassian can share with Azriel,” Nesta declared.

“Oh come on,” Cassian muttered.

The Shadows muttered their displeasure as well.

Azriel rolled his eyes, his fingers still rubbing her back soothingly.

"You're a grown male, Cassian," he said, his voice dry. "I'm sure you'll live."

A huff from the General, and Azriel just rolled his eyes again, his glance down to his mate again.

She still looked quite pale. The hand on her back continued the gentle rubbing.

"Interesting that it wasn't Elain and Lucien that greeted us," Feyre said drily. "Given that it's their wedding we are supposed to attend."

"Very interesting," Rhys agreed, as Azriel continued to eye Eira in his lap.

She was still tense against him, still pale, still trembling a little bit. Her nervousness and fear were rolling in waves towards him, through the bond.

"Elain will be at the lunch, no doubt," Feyre said, and Rhys just hummed in agreement.

The Shadows continued to whisper angrily in his mind, upset at the way their Mate was feeling.

"Or maybe Elain is terrified of what the shadows will do to her now," Nesta quipped darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but smirk a little bit at that.

He could practically hear the Shadows preen. Cassian let out a bark of laughter, and Feyre tried to hold hers back, while Rhys tried to keep a serious expression.

You'll behave, he told them sternly.

Maybe , they hissed back, though they were still clearly preening over the compliment.

He rolled his eyes and glanced down at Eira again.

I mean it. You will behave. You do not attack her, he reiterated in his head.

A few displeased mutterings echoed in his head, but they did quiet down. He refrained from rolling his eyes this time, and his glance went back to the female in his lap. She was no longer pale, the tremors and shakes having died down, and while she was still nervous, she now appeared relaxed. At least a little bit.

"Let's get changed for Lunch," Nesta said easily.

"You literally just put on a dress before we arrived here," Cassian said with a snort.

"You don't need to understand females, Cassian," Rhys said easily. "Just deal with it."

Cassian grumbled, as Feyre stifled another laugh and Azriel held in a snicker.

Nesta held out her hand for Eira, who took it and let her sister pull her to her feet, giving him a small smile and his hand a squeeze before they, together with Feyre, disappeared into one bedroom.

He watched her go, a strange feeling of loss creeping up once she was out of his sight.

Azriel was tempted, so tempted to get up and go after her, pull her back onto the sofa, onto his lap, into his arms, but he managed to stop himself from doing so.

He leaned his head back against the back of the sofa, and a long sigh escaped him.

"You're absolutely besotted." His head snapped up to see Rhys staring at him, his violet eyes sparkling with smug amusement. The Shadows immediately hissed in agreement his mind at Rhys' observation.

"Shut up," Azriel just grumbled.

Rhys smirked at him in response, and Cassian just laughed. "Whatever you do tonight, if your shadows start sweetly caressing me like they do to Eira, I'll scream," Cassian muttered.

"That won't happen," Azriel immediately shot back, the words practically hissed through his teeth.

At the same time, the Shadows muttered their own disapproval of that possibility. Only our Mate, they whispered.

Cassian just rolled his eyes.

"Do you think she'll manage?" Cassian asked, growing serious. "She seems awfully...nervous."

A heavy sigh escaped him, as he sat up straighter in his seat, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She...is very nervous. But she's trying not to be. She's trying to stay brave."

"And you?" Rhys asked quietly. "How are you holding up?"

He took a deep breath, contemplating the question.

He was angry. Furious. Worried about his mate, his heart clenching every time he felt her distress through the bond.

But he had to stay strong. For her. He needed to keep it together.

"I..." he mumbled, his voice faltering. He had to pause for a moment to collect himself. "I'm hanging in there."

Silence followed his admission, and Cassian and Rhys were studying him. He knew his friends could see through his facade, knew that they knew how worried he was. His face must have given all away.

"You have every right to be angry," Rhys said quietly. "I don't know what I would do in your place."

"What I want to do is to take her home," he admitted, his voice quiet and gruff, his eyes fixed on his lap, where he was clenching his hands into fists. "I want to take her home. I don't want her here. I don't want her to face Elain. Hell, I don't even want her to meet Elain at all. I..." He took a shuddering breath. "But she needs this. She needs this closure. I think Eira knows that herself."

Another heavy sigh escaped him, as he lifted his head and met Rhys' eyes.

"I just hate...seeing her so scared. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to feel frightened and scared because of...Elain," he said, bitterness seeping into his voice as he said her name.

"What did she see?" Cassian said suddenly. "Elain had a vision of you and Eira and worked to make sure it wouldn't come to pass. But what did she see?"

"Cass..." Rhys said carefully, but Azriel shook his head. It was alright.

"She saw...She saw Eira and a little girl in a garden. A little girl with her hair and freckles and my wings and eyes. She saw me coming home to them...picking up our daughter and kissing Eira...they saw my hand on her swollen belly...another child in her womb. She saw our children Cassian." There was a heavy pause after Azriel's words.

Cassian just stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, while Rhys' mouth was set into a thin-lipped grave line.

His voice had started shaking a little bit, towards the middle of his story, and he clenched his jaw against the emotions building in his chest.

"That you didn't outright kill her is a fucking miracle," Cassian seethed.

"I damn near came close," Azriel muttered darkly, while anger coursed through his veins.

His jaw was set, his hands were clenching and unclenching almost of their own accord, while the Shadows kept muttering angrily in the back of his mind. They were furious, furious that their Mate was distressed.

"Why did she do it?" Cassian demanded. "Because she is the prettier one? Because if she couldn't have Azriel, Eira shouldn't have him either? Because of jealousy ?!"

"Jealousy and spite," Azriel said darkly. "That's what it comes down to. Jealousy and spite ."

He wanted to break something. Preferably Elain. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze.

He took a shuddering breath to collect himself, as he felt himself slowly losing control of his temper.

But he needed to stay in control. He had to. He wasn't going to explode, not in front of Cassian and Rhys, and certainly not in front of Eira.

"I...hate...her," he bit out, his voice strangled, as his hands clenched and unclenched, even as he tried to keep control over his temper. "I hate her so much. Hell, I want to destroy the very thought of her. I...I want to make sure she can never hurt Eira again. And if it's the last thing I damn well do," he continued, and his voice was venomous. "She. Will. Never. Lay one finger on my mate ever again."

"And I'll make her suffer," he snarled, his voice almost a growl. "By the Mother, I won't just kill her. I'll make her suffer first. For what she did to Eira. For what she did to us. For the thought of that future that she denied me. I will make her pay."

A strangled breath escaped him, his lungs straining with the effort of keeping himself from going on a rampage right then and there.

He closed his eyes, and took a long shuddering breath, as fury continued to course through his veins, while the Shadows hissed and whispered in his mind, their mutterings murderous in nature.

He let out a shuddering breath, as he tried to will his raging temper to abate. He needed to calm down. He needed to, for Eira. She was nervous enough as it was. He couldn't go to her like this. He...He wouldn't do it. He refused to upset her further.

He kept his eyes closed, as he tried to force his emotions to a simmering rage.

Another shuddering breath escaped him, as it took all his strength to calm down. He forced the tension from his body, slowly loosening his clenched jaw. His hands were still clenched into tight fists, but he continued to just breathe deeply, willing his temper to die down.

It felt like an eternity before he finally felt in control of his own emotions again.

He opened his eyes again and met Rhys and Cassian's stares.

Neither of them said anything, silently watching him, and he leaned back against the sofa with a sigh.

"I'm alright," he said and was slightly surprised that his voice was steady, even if he still felt like he was full of rage. "I'm fine. I'm alright," he repeated, and it was more of a reminder to himself than anything else.

"You need to not react like that when you see her," Rhys said quietly, and Azriel couldn't tell if it was a warning or a mere observation.

"I know that," he said between clenched teeth. "I know that, Rhys. But I have every right to be furious. Hell, I have every right to rip her apart."

"You do," Rhys agreed quietly. "But it won't do anyone any favours if you get like this when you see her. You need to keep your temper in check. For Eira ."

***

Eira was staring at her reflection in the mirror, struggling to recognise the person looking back at her.

Her eyes were wide and anxious, her breathing quick and nervous, and her hands were trembling. A part of her was wondering how she was even managing to stand at the moment, seeing how her legs felt like they were close to giving in underneath her.

But she was also...she was also dressed in a tissue-thin gown out of pleated silk in a lavender colour, cinched in around the waist by an embroidered ribbon she had made. Her hair was pulled back from her face, diamond encrusted haircombs that she had no clue from where these had come from fastened in her hair...( One day she would need to actually get the shadows to stop buying her things. ), a diamond bracelet tightened around her wrist…They had even clipped earrings to her lobes, diamonds as well, dangly and pretty and in the Human Lads would be considered to be too much for a simple luncheon.

But here in Prythian, the shadows didn’t seem to think twice about it, to wrap her in more diamonds than most people had ever even seen in the same place.

Once they judged her ready, a tendril of shadows curled itself back around her wrist, while another picked up the small train of her dress.

"You know, I am kinda jealous. You have a handmaiden wherever you are," Feyre said drily.

Eira let out an embarrassed little laugh, the sound shaky and weak as her heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of her chest.

"They are...very helpful," she admitted, as she gave a small, nervous glance to Feyre.

Nesta finished pinning her own hair into her usual coronet, smoothing the blue-green fabric of her dress. "You do not need to accept her apology," her eldest sister said fiercely. "Remember that, Eira."

She swallowed, the familiar nervous butterflies back in her stomach, and she gave a shaky nod.

Feyre placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, as she gave her a gentle squeeze. It was a little steadying and helped quell some of her anxiousness, even as the nervous tremors continued to wrack through her body.

"I...know," she said quietly.

Right. There went nothing.

She took a few more, long, deep breaths, to calm her nerves.

She was going to be alright. She was going to be just...fine.

You're going to be fine, she repeated to herself as she squared her shoulders.

Azriel was waiting for her as she left the bedroom, in a quiet conversation with Rhys and Cassian. He looked up as soon as he came out, his expression softening.

His eyes widened momentarily as a breath caught in his throat at the sight of her in that dress, and a small smile started spreading across his lips.

"Eira," he said quietly, taking a tentative step towards her. "You...You look beautiful, sweetheart."

She gave a shaky smile, her eyes meeting his as those familiar little butterflies came to life in her belly.

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart fluttering at the affectionate endearment.

"Ready?" Rhys asked.

She exhaled, steadying her breathing, willing her trembling body to not shake.

Eira gave a shaky nod, even as the familiar anxiousness threatened to overwhelm her, and she swallowed past the lump forming in her throat.

"Ready," she whispered.

She just needed...She reached out for Azriel's hand before she could help herself, not caring how inappropriate this was. They weren't married, they weren't even engaged and still, she claimed his hand with hers, threading her fingers through his.

The feeling of scarred skin against her home, grounded her, giving her something to hang onto.

The shadows that kept closer to him than usual, hiding behind the wings he had snapped close to his body, dusted over her arms for just a moment, like they wanted to assure Eira that they were there as well, before returning to their mater, leaving her with a few wrapped around her wrist and another tendril keeping her skirt in place.

For a brief moment, Azriel looked down at where their fingers were woven together, before lifting his head again and giving her fingers a firm, reassuring squeeze. She felt his warmth through his skin, the steady beat of his pulse, and it was comforting...comforting to know that he was right next to her.

She took a few more, deep breaths, the anxiety continuing to flutter in her stomach, but...

But Azriel was here, she reasoned.

Azriel was right there...right next to her, holding her hand...and she could do this. She could get through this. All she had to do was stay close to him.

They were let to a dining room, with high ceilings, beautifully appointed in white and gold.

“I swear I told them to put white jasmine and blush roses in here and not yellow carnations and orange lilies!” she heard her sister’s voice before she saw her.

Seconds later, she got her first glance at her twin sister. Lucien and she made a lovely couple, always had. And Elain did look as utterly beautiful as she always had. Elain had always been extraordinarily lovely, but that hadn't changed in her transformation into a High Fae. Now she was utterly beautiful.

Even when… with a blink Eira realised how harried-looking Elain was, fiddling with the flowers on the table. Her heart clenched at the sight of her, mixed with the swirling, anxious emotions in her stomach, and she couldn't help the shuddering breath that escaped her as they walked into the room.

Azriel's hand clenched around hers.

Her eyes snapped to his. His face was a mask of ice. She had never seen him look ...like that before. Never seen...this tightly controlled murderous rage.

The shadow tightened around her wrist. She wasn't sure if it was in warning, but she didn't care anyway.

He was hers. Hers in every bit of this murderous rage.

They came to a halt, and she felt the way Azriel clenched his jaw as his eyes met with Elain's across the room.

He was furious, she could practically feel the rage simmering under the surface, the only thing keeping him in check was his ironclad control...and the fact that he was holding onto her hand.

She would leave the diplomacy to Feyre and Rhys, the useless pretty words. She didn’t trust herself to say anything that was actually nice. Instead, she tugged Azriel along to find their seats at the table, pasting a smile on her face.

They sat at the table, and Azriel kept a firm hold of her hand, never loosening his grip on her. The shadows kept themselves firmly around her wrist and continued to cling unto her, even as they settled into place at the table.

And a part of her could feel how Azriel was tensed, how he was wound up so tight she was afraid he might snap.

Cassian sat down next to Azriel, with Nesta bracketing Eira's other side, fully ignoring whatever seating arrangement had been put down by the Day Court.

Eira wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly why Cassian had been put there. In the event of Azriel losing his temper, Cassian may had a chance at subduing him. Though she somehow doubted that would actually work.

With them right there, and Azriel holding onto her hand, she felt...steady. She felt secure...secure enough to withstand this dreaded luncheon.

Feyre and Rhys sat down next to Helion, Lucien and Elain, and she could feel the tension in the room.

She could sense Elain's gaze on her, sitting directly across from her. , but didn't dare to meet her eyes as the anxiousness roiled in her stomach, even as Azriel's fingers continued to grasp hers, and one of the shadows curled around her wrist, giving a small, reassuring little squeeze.

"It's so nice that you could make it," Elain said, a smile on her face, masking her nervousness. She was glancing at the shadows that were topping up Eira’s water glass, clearly making a pest out of themselves, to put bread on her plate and drag the butter dish closer to her.

For just one moment Eira wondered if they did that on purpose. Were they trying to scare Elain?

"We wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Feyre said, her voice carefully neutral.

There was a stiffness in the air, palpable enough that it could be cut with a knife, the tension as so thick that one could drown in it, and Eira just sat there, her fingers tightly wrapped around Azriel's hand.

There was a moment of silence, where nobody commented.

And then...her heart hammered against her ribs, her stomach twisting in knots, as those doe-like brown eyes landed directly on her. "You look...good, Eira. Healthy. I hope everything healed well," Elain said sweetly.

Her breath caught in her throat as she fought down the nausea that welled up in her stomach, and she forced a tight smile onto her lips.

"Everything healed up just fine," she said, her voice shaking, only to be steadied by the firm squeeze Azriel gave her hand.

It was the truth. Nothing but a thin white line underneath her left breast. Nobody but her would probably ever see it.

"And the... lightning ?" Lucien wondered. "I hope your cauldron-given gift didn't give you too much trouble," he quipped, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Elain mentioned that you…defended yourself quite well.”

The nausea that welled up in her throat was nearly immediate. Defended herself. She had defended herself. She had also killed 4 males.

"Lightning?" The High Lord of Day asked, sounding fascinated. He was looking at her like she was an exceptionally interesting specimen.

Her stomach roiled, the nausea continuing to grow inside her, as her heart thundered in her chest.

“No,” Eira said, struggling to keep her voice even. “It...It wasn’t too much trouble,” she continued, even as the nausea continued to rise, and she felt like she might retch all over the table.

"She's learning to control it," Rhys said evenly. "She's doing as well as one could expect."

Her heart fluttered at Rhys’ words. He was trying his best to...deflect the attention away from her. Trying to help.

“So she really can generate lightning then?” Helion spoke up, sounding utterly fascinated.

"She can," Rhys confirmed, his voice even. His words were simple, but the tone of them was almost warning, and she could feel Azriel tense even more next to her. And that was enough to pique Helion’s interest.

“Extraordinary,” he said, and he sounded way too fascinated with her wretched blessing.

Her heart skipped a beat, the nausea continuing to grow in her stomach until she feared she might vomit at any moment. Her hand clenched around Azriel's, fingers practically digging into his skin, while the shadows around her wrist squeezed reassuringly. And all the while, she could feel Elain's eyes on her, her stare practically boring into her.

"Do the shadows help control it?" Elain asked hesitantly. Only now, Eira realised that more had come to swarm around her, banding around her midsection and chest, like trailing black ribbons. Their touch was gentle, and soft.

"No," came Azriel's reply, and his voice was so filled with cold fury that she was amazed he could even get the words out.

He was tense, like a coiled spring, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, while the shadows continued to cling to her, continuing to twine around her wrist in a firm, reassuring grip.

"They like touching Eira because she's Azriel's mate," Cassian said, his voice icy. Her heart stuttered in her chest at Cassian's words.

His blunt, to-the-point declaration of her belonging to Azriel...the words had stunned her, and it seemed they had stunned Elain too if the way that she stiffened was any indicative.

"Ah, yes...we should talk about that," Helion said with a sigh. "Elain?"

The tension in the room immediately ratcheted up even more higher, and Eira could feel it, as a chill settled over the room. She was so tense, she was struggling just to breathe, and her hand was trembling where it was held in Azriel’s ironclad grip.

"I am sorry," Elain said quietly.

Her heart skipped a beat at her twin sister’s words, her stomach twisting in knots, as her eyes flicked towards her. Elain’s voice was soft but sincere, and her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable, and there were tears in her eyes... Tears in her eyes as she spoke.

"I am sorry, Eira," she said again, her voice trembling. “For...for everything.”

And suddenly...suddenly the fear, the nervousness went away, replaced with ice-cold anger. "You are sorry ," she repeated flatly. Sorry .

The anger in her voice was not missed, and she heard Nesta and Feyre inhale sharply. Elain's eyes widened at the tone in her voice...at the anger in Eira’s words, and she gave a small, shaky nod, her chin trembling slightly.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have tried to keep you and Azriel away from each other. I was...I shouldn't have done that."

Eira clenched her jaw, the anger still boiling in her blood as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze.

"No," she replied, her voice so flat it was as if it was made of ice. "You shouldn’t have done that," she repeated coldly. "But that's not all you did, Elain," she spat out. "You saw that vision. You know what you did." What she had done. Namely, keep Eira's babies from being born .

Her heart lurched in her chest, and she felt Azriel squeeze her hand tightly as if he knew what had been going through her thoughts.

Her throat was tight, and her breathing was laboured, as she continued to hold her sister’s gaze, her eyes cold and furious as she spoke.

"You did a lot more than keeping me away from Azriel',” she hissed.

And the worst part was, her sister didn’t even try to deny what she had done. Didn’t even try to fight back. All she could do was sit there, looking like a wounded puppy, which only fuelled the anger in Eira’s chest.

“You tried to take everything from me,” she hissed again.

"It all worked out!" Elain defended herself. "You and Azriel seem to be..."

She couldn’t be serious, could she?

It all worked out?

It all worked out?!?

"It is not all ‘worked out’!" she snapped, her voice cracking as she fought back a frustrated scream bubbling in her chest. "You tried to take everything from me!" she repeated, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. The tears weren't for her.

The tears were for her babies.

The anger ratcheted in her chest and she could feel the lightning underneath her skin, begging to be released. Begging for her to let go of her grip on it and let it find its target. Let it find Elain. Let it hit her.

She clenched her jaw, forcing that feeling down, as she met her sister’s eyes with a cold glare. "You tried to take my children from me," she hissed at Elain. " My children. "

The temperature in the room seemed to drop to below freezing, and she could feel Nesta and Feyre’s gazes on her. She didn’t care though. Her eyes were entirely focused on her twin, and the words had come out in a deadly hiss, the anger steaming out of her in waves.

"You tried to take our babies ," she repeated, her words cracking again as she spoke.

She felt Azriel’s grip on her hand tighten even more, the shadows clinging to her wrist once more, as if trying to both keep her grounded and hold her back.

And it was the only thing keeping her from lunging across the table and grabbing her sister by the throat.

Her skin was itchy, that strange, foreign energy writhing underneath the surface, and she fought to keep it reined in, to keep it from escaping, even as the room went silent, the tension so palpable you could taste it in the air.

It hurt, keeping it restrained, and her heart thudded against her ribs, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

Her whole body was tense, and all she wanted was to let the lightning free. To let it roar.

"You are my twin sister, Elain," she said, biting out every word. "We spend 9 months sharing our mother's womb. I trusted you with my life. And you did this to me."

Her sister just sat there, her eyes wide and watery, as if somehow even that had been a shock to her.

"We spent years together," she continued, her words sharp and cold. "I never thought I would need to worry about you betraying me."

Her chest hurt like something was sitting on it, making it hard to breathe, as she continued to hold Elain’s gaze.

Elain’s eyes were wide, watery, and wounded, and she might have been almost sorry that she looked so hurt…if not for the fact that Elain was the one who had caused Eira to be in this position in the first place. Elain was the one who did this to her…hurt her so badly she didn’t know if it’d ever heal.

"I…I…" Elain started, her voice cracking. She looked like she was going to cry, and Eira felt herself waver slightly at the sight of her distraught expression. But then…her mind flashed back to the vision of her daughter , so small and beautiful…and that small, weak flutter of sympathy in her chest died.

"I trusted you," she hissed, her voice thick as she desperately tried to hold back the tears that were burning at the corners of her eyes. "I trusted you and look what you did to me. What you took from me."

Her sister let out a watery gasp, her lower lip quivering, and the tears slid silently down her face. And for a moment, Eira felt her resolve waver…only to remember the image of those two babies. The ones that should have been hers.

Anger flared again at that thought, her heart squeezing in her chest, as her breath hitched.

All the sympathy that she had felt was gone, and all that was left was the all-consuming rage coursing through her veins.

She had every right to be angry, she told herself. She had every right to feel this way.

She was so angry, so incandescent with rage, that her entire body was shaking, and she felt like she needed to just scream. To shout and rage and fight…fighting was all she wanted to do.

She gritted her teeth, her fingers wrapping tightly around Azriel’s hand, as she tried desperately to rein in the storm of emotions warring within her chest.

Azriel’s grip on her hand tightened as if he was sensing how close she was to breaking.

“Eira...” Elain said tremulously. Her sister’s voice was quiet, almost timid, and it was enough to snap something within her.

"Don’t. Don’t speak to me. You are the last person who gets to speak to me right now," she snarled, her voice cold as steel. "I loved you," Eira snapped. "I loved you and you did this to me. And now you want to tell me that everything is alright because it WORKED OUT?!"

Her sister looked like she was going to start sobbing, her lower lip quivering faintly, while her brown eyes were like large, round pools. But Eira was done feeling sorry for her. Done feeling sympathy towards her.

“You don’t get to talk to me about what’s alright or not,” she hissed, fighting the urge to reach forward and throttle her. "I just want to know one thing. Why?" she snapped." WHY? Why did you do it?” she shouted bitterly.

Elain looked like she had absolutely no idea how to answer that. She looked like a lost child, and it took all of Eira’s strength to keep her seat and not lunge across the table to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

She knew her eyes were probably like ice when they met her sister’s, and her glare was hard as steel as she waited for her answer. "Why?" Eira repeated icily.

Her sister’s lower lip was trembling, just as much as her shoulders, as she raised her head to meet Eira’s furious glare.

"I…" Her voice was small and watery, and her eyes were now wide and pleading. "I…I was jealous," Elain whispered.

Eira’s jaw dropped at the words. At the admission, she had just heard. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting her sister to say, but a quiet confession of jealousy hadn’t been it.

Her sister’s chin trembled, her shoulders hunching slightly as she let out another sniffle. She sounded utterly small and looked almost pathetic in that moment as she slowly raised her head to meet her sister’s eyes.

“Of you and Azriel,” Elain admitted, her voice quiet, and trembling. "You...we just...we just got out of the cauldron and this was...one of the first things I saw. You didn't have visions. You weren't going insane. You...you adjusted so much quicker. Not a week later and you were making soup in the kitchen in the House of Wind and...you…were alright."

Alright.

Eira thought back to these first few days after the cauldron. Thought back to the terror that had clawed under her skin. Thought back to too loud noises and every piece of clothing feeling like sandpaper against her skin.

She thought back to how she hadn’t been able to sleep. How she had locked herself in the bathing chamber to hysterically break down because she had never wanted it. How she had pulled at her ears, too big, too pointy. How she had wanted to cut them off. How she had wanted to die. How she had thought that throwing herself off the balcony would be a solution .

"I locked myself into the closet. I hid underneath the bed. I rocked back and forth and back and forth and hummed to myself to stop hearing heartbeats and breathing and birds," Eira spat out. "Yes, I was making soup. For you. Because somebody needed to," Eira said, her voice icy. “I wasn’t alright, Elain. I kept stuffing my ears with cotton wool for the better part of 2 years so I could sleep!”

Her sister looked like she was going to start crying yet again, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and it only fuelled the rage in Eira’s chest.

“You were jealous of that ? Jealous that I was making soup? That I was taking care of you?” she repeated, her tone hard and cold. “Of the fact that I was trying to make a positive out of a shitty situation. That I was trying to move on with my life? That I tried not to give Feyre another thing to worry about? And you were jealous? Jealous of what ?!"

Of the breakdowns she had daily?

Her sister didn’t reply, her shoulders shaking as if she was trying to hold back a sob

“You were jealous of the fact that I was trying not to scream, not to break down crying,” she repeated, her voice now dangerously quiet. “Of the fact that I wasn’t moping around feeling sorry for myself, because somebody needed to make sure that you didn’t starve to death? That I was trying not to give Feyre or anyone any more of my baggage?”

"And that you got Azriel," Elain whispered. "You got...I saw you with him. With a kind man. I saw these children and I was...I wanted that. I wanted what that vision promised you. So I thought that if I..."

Her breath caught in her throat at her sister’s words, her heart twisting in her chest.

It was sick, what she had done. Horrible. And part of her had known that Elain had a crush on Azriel…but Eira had never thought she’d be spiteful enough to try and rip her children away from her just for that.

“So you wanted it," she stated coldly, her eyes like chips of ice. "You wanted what you saw me having. So you tried to take it for yourself.”

Her sister’s shoulders slumped, and she looked small and pathetic as she curled in on herself. That rage and anger were still burning hot inside her, but along with it, there was the slightest flicker of sympathy starting to burn within her again.

And Eira hated it. Hated that part of her that still felt sorry for her, even after what Elain had done.

"And later? After you and Lucien figured things out?" Why did you continue it?" she snapped.

Her sister’s face screwed up, and she looked like she wanted to burst into tears yet again. Her chin quivered, her entire form trembling. And she looked so small and fragile, that that small flicker of sympathy flared again within her, and Eira found herself hating it.

"I was...I was angry," Elain muttered softly. "I was furious. I thought Azriel and I...there was something growing between us and then he...he called trying to kiss me a mistake."

Her sister’s voice was quiet and sad, and Eira could see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Because it was," Azriel said, his voice quiet. "It was a mistake. You had a mate that was literally sleeping upstairs. I never should have laid a single finger on you."

Her sister flinched at Azriel's words and hunched even further in on herself, as if she wanted to crawl into a corner. "Later it was revenge on me, wasn’t it?" Azriel said, ice dripping from his voice.

Her sister looked as if she couldn't quite meet Azriel's gaze, her eyes lowered onto the table, her body trembling. She nodded.

And part of the anger that was currently roiling within Eira burned hotter at that. How dare she look so pathetic now, like she was the damn victim and everything that had happened was Eira’s fault?

Eira’s free hand clenched into fists, and she could feel the sparks dancing across her skin, the strange energy writhing beneath the surface. Azriel, noticing this, gripped her hand tighter, his shadows snaking around her wrist again as they tried to rein in those sparks of lightning.

She didn’t want to hurt him.

That was what made her reign it in.

She was still boiling with rage, the anger thrumming through her veins like fire, and she desperately tried to calm herself, tried to get a hold of her temper.

She didn’t want to cause any damage, to break anything or hurt anyone, and the part of her that was still rational, still logical, forced her to rein in whatever was itching to get out. She breathed in and out, forcing herself to calm as those sparks danced across her fingers, and those shadows snaked up her arm. A part of her couldn’t help but notice how Elain’s eyes kept darting to the sparks and the shadows, her body tensing every time they appeared, and a small, vindictive part of her couldn’t help but be glad of it.

Her head was throbbing as that rage continued to thrum through her, but she took in another breath, forcing her mind to concentrate on the sensation of Azriel’s hand wrapped around her own. His skin was warm against hers.

"I hope nobody ever does the same to you," Eira finally said, her voice quiet.

Her sister lifted her gaze, her eyes watery, and she looked as if she’d been slapped. She looked as if she was shocked at her words.

There was another pause, another silence, as the two sisters sat facing each other, and her words hung in the air.

Elain’s chin trembled again, as if she was fighting the urge to burst into tears once more.

"I think we can all agree that Elain did not handle this...properly," Lucien said carefully.

Lucien’s words broke the silence, and Eira couldn��t help but feel a pang of irritation as he spoke.

"No, she surely didn't," Rhys said, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her sister flinched at Rhys’s words, as if she had been struck, and her shoulders drooped even further than before.

"I think that's an understatement," Nesta snapped.

Her sister’s eyes widened as if the sound of Nesta’s voice startled her. Elain’s head jerked to look over at her eldest sister, who was scowling at Elain with an almost furious look of disapproval.

Eira almost felt a little bad for her sister at that look in Nesta’s eyes, but that sympathy was quickly squashed as she remembered the pain that her sister had put her through.

Her chest ached, the memory of what she had lost still too fresh and raw, and a part of her knew that it would take a long time for the pain to subside.

And even then, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to forget what Elain did to her, and that knowledge sat like a lead weight in her stomach, making her feel like she was going to be sick.

Elain shrunk back at the look on Nesta’s face, her eyes even wider as she looked over at her eldest sister. And for a moment, just for a moment, it looked as if Nesta was going to reach across the table and smack her sister. The eldest sister’s hands were clenched into fists, and she looked like she was restraining herself, only just managing to rein in her own temper.

A pause. Another silence. Elain sat, looking small and fragile across the table, Lucien’s chair positioned right beside hers with a possessive arm wrapped over the back.

Azriel’s hand was still gripping hers. He was still sitting beside her, the Shadowsinger’s eyes glittering with fury whenever he looked over at her sister. And his fingers were still rubbing gentle circles on her wrist, the shadows still coiled against her skin, and Eira couldn’t tell if he was doing it to comfort her or himself.

"I am going to say this now," Azriel said quietly. " Once . If you ever do anything remotely similar to your sister again, it will not end well. Do you understand me?"

Elain’s chin quivered, and she looked as if she was struggling to keep herself from bursting into tears again.

She swallowed as Azriel’s words, before slowly lifting her head, forcing herself to meet his eyes with her own. “I…” She took in another shuddering breath. “I understand,” she whispered.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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beneathsilverstars · 1 month ago

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A lot of people headcanon that Siffrin was something around 12-14 when the island disappeared, which does make sense. But it’s common enough fanon that I wanted to go back and figure out what’s actually canon!

Lots of evidence and math under the cut, including various things to consider when creating your own hc timeline, but tl;dr:

If we stick to only textual canon, then Siffrin only needs to have been old enough to row a boat, which I would guess to be 6-8. If we take into account the ranges id5 gave for everyone’s ages during canon, he theoretically could’ve been anywhere from 6-25 when the island disappeared. Or if we adhere to everything id5 has said, then he was a “teen” when it happened, so, 13-19.

Siffrin: I ran away from home once! I just didn't want to eat my veggies. And so I took our boat! Got to the beach, rowed away from the shore a bit. I was going to come back right away, I just wanted to scare my parents a bit! I started to row back towards the shore... And then, I...

People often assumes this means Siffrin was fairly young when they left. However, that relies on two assumptions, which are fairly reasonable, sure, but assumptions nonetheless: that they were young when this happened, and that this is when the island disappeared.

While throwing tantrums over vegetables is a stereotypically childish activity, chafing at strict or even well-meaning rules doesn’t belong exclusively to children. There are parents who continue treating their kids the same way even as they grow into teens and even full adults, before they move out or even just while they visit. Which is very frustrating for the kid! So imo it would make perfect sense for a teenager or even a young adult to go, “I can’t believe my parent is still trying to control what I eat like I’m a blinding 10 year old. If they won’t treat me like an adult at home, maybe I’ll prove my independence by leaving for a bit!”

It’s also possible that the event this dialogue refers to ended with Siffrin returning safely home! It’s fun to say that his story trailed off at the moment that the island was forgotten, but it’s possible he only stopped the retelling there because the curse kicked in, just like it would for any childhood memory. Maybe he didn’t get cut off from the island till he ran away for a second time. Maybe he was just on a regular, fully-sanctioned outing when it happened. Maybe he was even with other people. Who knows! Siffrin sure doesn’t!

(Edit: It’s word of god canon that the veggie event was the island’s disappearance, but it doesn’t necessarily affect our timeline anyway.)

I think the only thing this story proves is that Siffrin didn’t leave the island until after they were old enough to row the family boat. Unfortunately I don’t know for sure how old that would be. I did some research and found a couple posts about 6-7 year olds learning how to row, but one of them was using an inflatable raft, and the other was on a rowing team, so I don’t know how the difficulty compares. Young children really are quite good at picking up their parents’ hobbies, so I think even a 4-5 year old could learn how, but they may not be physically capable of handling an adult-size boat. It really comes down to a question of core strength / endurance. Found some posts saying the weight of the boat doesn’t matter as much as the weight of the oars, though, so maybe old fashioned boat vs modern inflatable raft doesn’t matter that much…? So maybe it would be possible for a child to row a small wooden skiff at around age 6-8. Probably not for long, but that just makes it all the more realistic for them to drift farther than they meant to and then struggle to return to shore.

So: Siffrin was at least 6-8 when they left!

Bonnie: I think my village was really close to it!!! My sister said it was all everyone could talk about for weeks!!!

If we assume “my village” means Bambouche, the island disappearance would have to be after Nille ran away with Bonnie, but still long enough ago that Bonnie doesn’t remember it directly. If we define “preteen” as age 10-12, then the longest ago this could possibly be would be 12 years. On the other side, I think it’s reasonable for a 10 year old to not remember a major (but personally irrelevant) event that happened when they were 6, meaning the closest it could be is 4 years ago.

If we follow WoG (word of god) age ranges, then Siffrin is in their “mid to late 20s”, which I’ll define as 24-29. Subtracting our 4-12 years ago range for the island’s disappearance, Siffrin could’ve been at youngest 12-17 and at oldest 20-25. If we stick to only TC (textual canon), I think one could interpret Siffrin as anywhere from 18-35, which would mean they were at youngest 6-23 and at oldest 14-31.

Of course, “my village” could also mean wherever Bonnie and Nille lived before running away. I think the youngest age at which it’s likely for an adult to remember a personally-irrelevant event from their childhood is maybe 5. Nille’s WoG age range is “late teens to early 20s”, which I would define as 16-23, which means the disappearance could be 11-18 years ago. Combining this with our 4-12 range gives us 4-18, meaning WoG Siffrin could have been at youngest 6-11 and at oldest 20-25.

But if we’re only going off of TC, we can say Nille’s as old as we want, so the disappearance just has to be at least 4 years ago for Bonnie to not directly remember.

Isabeau: This article says there's no record of him anywhere... Up until he appeared out of thin air sometime in his adulthood. Looks like he lived in the city of Corbeaux for a few years before he became the King...

According to the change god statue exposition cutscene, the King started his rampage “almost a year ago now”. The way Isabeau says the bit about Corbeaux kind of implies that the King lived other places before that, but not to the point that it’s unreasonable to say he didn’t. So if we define “a few” as 2-4, then the soonest the king could’ve appeared is 3-5 years ago, meaning the island disappeared at least 3 years ago. We already said it has to be at least 4 years ago, so this doesn’t change our math.

How old were Nille and Bonnie when they ran away? How old was Sif when their home got zapped?

id5: Both were teens.

Womp womp, there it is. WoG says 13-19!

But while we’re here, here’s a summary of everything you might want to consider while creating your timeline:

Siffrin must have been at least old enough to row a boat. I’m not an expert in boats but I think it’s reasonable for a kid to be capable of rowing at age 6+, but a 6-8 year old may struggle to maneuver the oars of an adult-sized boat, and wouldn’t be able to row very hard or for very long. Doesn’t necessarily take much effort to get far enough for waves and currents to take you farther, though.

It’s WoG that the veggie event is the island’s disappearance, but if you’re going off of TC, the disappearance could have happened later instead. And a dramatic disagreement over veggies could theoretically happen at any age! Its causes could also range from rather practical (Siffrin is extremely picky and his parents are worried about his health) to pure power struggle (Siffrin just wants more choice in what he eats but his parents just want him to follow the rules they’ve set).

Since the King lived in Corbeaux for “a few” years before his nearly-a-year-long rampage, the island must have disappeared at least 3 years ago.

Since Bonnie remembers Nille telling them about the gossip surrounding the island’s disappearance, I doubt they would’ve forgotten the gossip itself if it had happened somewhat recently. (I think it must have been at least 4 years ago.)

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means Bambouche, the disappearance must have occurred after Nille ran away with them.

If Bonnie’s reference to “my village” means wherever they lived with Nille before running away, then the disappearance could be before Bonnie was born. But it would still have to be when Nille was old enough to pay attention to the gossip and remember it for a while. (I think she must have been at least 5 years old when it happened.)

According to id5, Siffrin is in their mid-to-late twenties during the game, and Nille is in their late teens to early twenties.

According to id5, Siffrin was a teen when the island disappeared, and Nille was a teen when she ran away from home.

You can do whatever you want forever, including contradicting textual canon. ^^

#fuck i shouldn’t have spent five hours on this right now. oh well ^^#isat #isat spoilers #siffrin #isat siffrin #thoughts #thoughts about siffrin

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immortalmrwavell · 4 days ago

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More Like A Real Man

(Original story posted September 8th 2022) This story has been significantly Updated!

A rare Gay to Straight themed story from me here so if that’s your thing then I hope you enjoy! 😜

“Finally I’m starting to look less like a nerdy piece of shit and more like a real fuckin man.” Henry smirked as he checked himself out in the selfie camera. At last he was starting to see the results of his labour. His body was finally starting to take shape. All the new muscle he’d been able to pack on made him a far cry from the stick figure of a man he was before. “Next thing will be to get some contacts so I don’t have to wear these dumbass glasses half the fuckin time.” He scoffed.

———

This all started over 6 months ago Henry was practically the picture of a skinny booknerd. With his frail body, glasses that framed his average face and clear lack of fashion sense. He was intelligent for sure, easily making it into one of the most advanced courses at his local college, but that only made him less popular when it came to the jocks. Henry was everything they weren’t. And most of all he was gay which didn’t help his reputation with the jock either.

Despite this, one day Henry found himself sneaking into Coach Kent’s office. The Coach had been in charge of the college’s football team and physical education courses for quite some time now. However, news had recently spread about Coach Kent deciding to leave. Saying something about a “Change of scenery”. And so this day was said to be his last day at the local college. Of course Henry, being the meek gay nerd that was, couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see if the coach had left anything behind for him to steal. After all, he'd had a secret crush on the older burly man ever since he started going to this college.

He’d hoped to find maybe an old shirt or pair of shoes. Anything Henry could use to remember the Dilf that was Coach Kent in his own perverted way. What he didn’t expect to find was one of the coach’s jockstraps!?! He couldn’t believe the coach had left it behind but he certainly wasn’t going to complain. The nerd swiped it up without a second thought, giving it a good long sniff before shoving it into his bag.

Henry made another sweep of the office to see if there was anything else worth grabbing. He grabbed an old blue cap that had been left hanging on the door along with a pair of football socks remembered seeing Coach Kent wear a few times before. He was already imagining how hot the cosplay was going to be as he quietly slipped out of the office. Knowing he was gonna nut in that jockstrap as soon as he got home had him struggling to hide his boner.

Once in the comfort and privacy of his bedroom, Henry tossed his bag on the bed and immediately stripped down. He pulled out the worn jockstrap before pressing it to his nose yet again, loving the strong masculine scent left behind by Coach Kent. All the while thinking back on all the fantasies he’d had of worshipping the hot older man.

Eventually however he was able to pull jockstrap away from his face long enough to start putting it on. Sliding up over his lanky legs until the pouch pulled over his moderate cock and balls and the straps came up just below his flat butt. As expected it was far too big for him. So much so that it wouldn’t stay on properly without Henry holding it in place. But it was still super hot nonetheless. Causing his already stiff cock to pulse even harder with excitement as he used his free hand to jerk it.

He was already thinking of grabbing Coach Kent’s socks and cap to wear too… until a strange dizziness washed over him. He could hardly explain it as he started to lose what little strength he had before collapsing on the bed behind him. It was like his consciousness was being squashed down from the inside. That was the only way to explain it. But it wouldn’t matter as he soon faded from consciousness.

———

“Fuck sake! Why did this skinny nerd faggot have to find it first.” Henry shouted in frustration as he looked down and his scrawny body in disgust. Pawing at his non existent biceps and flat chest. Only it wasn’t Henry anymore. “I was sure I told one of the faggy jocks to check my office after I left!” Even his own voice was pissing him off now. Completely lacking any kind of real masculinity or power behind it.

Henry didn’t know it at the time but the jockstrap he’d stolen actually had Coach Kent’s very soul embedded into it. It was part of a sacred ritual that would allow him to take over the body of whomever wore the jockstrap. His plan had been to trick one of the younger closeted gay Jocks into taking it and putting it on but clearly things didn’t go exactly to plan. “I can’t do that fucking ritual for at least another ten years!” The coach vented in frustration.

The body snatcher looked himself up and down in the nearest mirror he could find. “Jesus Christ. I’ve seen chicks that don’t even work out with bigger muscles than this…” When he’d put his soul into that jockstrap he’d hoped to find himself in a new body that was young and strong. One that had potential to become a great athlete some day. Unfortunately Henry met only one part of that criteria. He might’ve been young but his physique was laughable at best. It was practically just skin and bone. And now that’s exactly what Coach Kent was stuck with. “Why did this pathetic little shit have to ruin everything…” He grumbled while gritting his teeth.

It was tough for him to adjust at first. Kent couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this puny but there was nothing he could do about it now. He was stuck in this imp’s body for the foreseeable future as infuriating as it was. However he had no plans looking like a thing for the next ten years so he did the only thing he could do to fix this fuck up. He got Henry’s skinny ass body into the gym.

It was embarrassingly tough at first for the once manly and imposing coach. Only being able to lift some of the smallest weights and having to set the machines he used to a light load. But despite that he pushed this pathetic worm’s body as far as it could go. He combined his efforts with a well thought out meal plan that he stuck to religiously over the next couple of months. It took some time but eventually he began to see some results in muscle gains that made him slightly less disgusted by his own reflection.

Those weren’t the only changes Kent had been making to Henry’s life however. In this time Henry’s friends had noticed a very sudden shift in his behaviour. He used to be a kind and timid guy that loved to talk about nerdy things with them. Yet one day he suddenly began acting crude, boisterous and talking like an absolute gym rat. Just like the dudes that would bully their friend group. In less than a week Kent had already cut ties with them after he started acting like a complete douchebag and calling them all a bunch of homophobic slurs. He didn’t want to be friends with a bunch of geeky homo’s anyway. Henry might’ve been a fag but Kent was as straight as a fuckin arrow!

Speaking of, it didn’t take long for him to have his straight orgasm. On the very first evening of being inside his new body, the coach first opened Henry’s laptop to find tabs upon tabs of gay porn open and in bookmarks. He was disgusted by it and was even more disgusted when his body reacted and got a semi for it. “Fucking faggot body…” He muttered to himself before swiftly deleting all the gay porn tabs with a strong grimace.

“Time to fix this broken dick.” He smirked before clicking on the search bar and pulling up the hottest straight porn he could find. It didn’t take long for Kent to find countless incredible videos of beautiful big breasted bimbo’s shaking their tits and fingering their wet pussies. Their feminine moans were like music to his ears. He glanced down at his cock as he started jerking it. “See? This is what you’re supposed to get excited about.” He said seemingly to no one but his own stolen dick as he returned his attention to the hot chicks on the screen. “Tits and pussy.”

The first few times he jacked off he found it tough to get fully hard due to his current body’s innate gay urges. Thankfully it got easier with each load he busted to the sight of huge tits. Almost like he was shooting out this body’s homosexuality in small doses with each orgasm. This of course only spurred Kent on more. Jerking off Henry’s once gay dick to the thought and sight of women every single night. After that it wasn’t long before the coach had fully conditioned his new cock to get incredibly hard at the sight of women and only women. He was proud to finally have a straight dick again that craved tits and pussy, like he believed all men should have.

But what happened to the real Henry during all this? Well his soul was cursed to be suppressed and trapped inside his own mind. He could see and hear everything but had zero control over what Coach Kent did and said with his body. Kent was in the driver's seat permanently. Henry tried to fight it but there was nothing he could do. Only being able to watch and feel as Kent forced him to workout and be an asshole to his friends. Forced to be a spectator as Kent redecorated his bedroom by ripping down the Star Wars posters in favour of putting up posters of footballers and women in skimpy bikinis. The Coach even went as far as to sell Henry’s comic collection and figures to make money and room for some new weights and home exercise equipment.

“Maybe I can make something outta this shitty body and life after all.” Kent would comment, looking at all the changes he’d made for the better so far. He still had a long way to go if he wanted to transform Henry’s life into the alpha male jock life he’d wanted to relive but it was a good start.

———

Jumping back to the present, Kent had finally gotten his new body into pretty decent shape with some good muscle and size showing. He managed to fill out most of the clothes that’d been baggy on Henry before and some he’d even had to trade for a size larger. His biceps were showing at last and his pecs were starting to come in nicely. Henry's once skinny legs were now looking a fair bit meatier. Not to mention his back and shoulders looking noticeably broader, giving him a far more masculine build. Naturally he still wanted to get much bigger but at least now he felt as though he could look in the mirror and see a real man staring back at him.

In this time he’d even signed up to the college football team at the start of the academic year where he was able to make some new bro friends. Though it a little strange for a couple reasons. One being that most of his new bros were players that he used to Coach before the takeover. The other reason being that most of them also used to bully the old Henry and make fun of him and his former queer friends. That said they gave Kent a hard time at first. Not that Kent minded. If anything he was glad that the young jocks he used to coach weren’t going easy on someone they believed to be a worthless faggot. It showed that he’d done a good job at raising them to be real men as well. And it also meant that he’d have to prove himself to them.

The attitudes of the other jocks began to turn around sooner than he expected. Mostly thanks to seeing the sudden shift in Henry’s attitude to become a jock like them. It wasn’t long before they started to admit how they were actually pretty impressed by the gains he’d made and that he was maybe cooler than they’d originally given him credit for. Especially now that he’d stopped hanging around those losers he was with before. What had earned their respect the most however was how well Kent played on the field with them during practice. By all accounts Henry should’ve been a complete amateur but with Kent in the driver's seat he had decades worth of experience that allowed him to keep pace with the other jocks.

Once again through it all the real Henry was helpless as he watched himself be transformed into even more of a typical straight jock with everyday that passed. Being forced to watch himself become ‘bros’ with the other jocks that he detested. Fist bumping and bro hugging them whenever he saw them whether it be at the gym, football practice or elsewhere on campus. He’d even been forced to use the same kind of dumb brotalk that all the jocks used. And of course joining in alongside them as they hurled homophobic insults towards the types of people he’d have been great friends with before. It was torturous!

The most torturous part for Henry however was the way Kent saw Women. He constantly found himself disgusted at the way Kent used his voice to talk about ‘hot chicks’ to his new bros. Describing how fat their tits and asses were to them and how he’d wanted to bend them over rail their tight pussies. Henry was disgusted at hearing the words leave his mouth. He would never have agreed with objectifying women like this. Yet now he found himself unwillingly staring at the huge racks of any sexy babes around the campus and feeling his bulge growing at the sight.

Tonight however was the night both Coach Kent had been waiting for and Henry had been dreading. Since getting into much better shape, girls around the campus had begun to take interest in the new, confident jock on the football team. Noticing this, Kent thought it was about time to shoot his shot and landed the number of one of the art students Talia. She had a reputation of being one of the “hottest chicks on campus” so when the other Jocks heard they all crowded around ‘Henry’ while jumping and cheering for him. That certainly boosted Kent’s ego for the first time in a while since taking his new body.

After a couple dates, Talia was finally coming over to Henry’s place for the night and wouldn’t you know it before long the two began pulling off each other's clothes. On the inside Henry was cringing, wanting nothing more than for this to stop and take back control of his body and life. Unfortunately on the outside his cock was rock hard as Kent was busily sucking on Talia’s tits while massaging and fingering her pussy like a pro.

“Oh my godddd…” Talia whined lustfully. “Where’d you learn how to touch a girl like that?” She asked between bated breaths. Going on to imply that no other guy she’d been with had been nearly this good at pleasuring her.

“Dunno.” Kent shrugged with a sly smirk. “Just instinct I guess.” He answered playfully before burying his face between her tits again, of course not revealing that in reality he had many decades worth of experience.

Henry’s protest became more and more frantic as things started to heat up. He was begging for it to stop when Talia wrapped her lips around his cock and began to stop but the only things that left his mouth were the soft grunts that the Coach let out. But when the busty college girl laid herself out on the bed, legs spread eagerly, Henry was reduced to screaming ‘NO! NO! NO!’ Over and over again. But his protests fell on deaf ears as they always did. Completely powerless to stop Kent as he their cock up with Talia’s slick entrance. And for the first time in his life, Henry felt himself plunge his cock deep inside a wet welcoming pussy.

“Fuuuuuuckkkk yeahhhhhhhh…” Kent growled at the familiar feeling. Also enjoying the subtle differences in how it felt fucking with a different cock to his previous one.

Henry tried his best to fight against it. To rebel and protest but nothing worked. He couldn’t even stop himself from moaning internally at the feeling of being inside a pussy. After all he could still feel all the same pleasure as Coach Kent pumped in and out rhythmically while groaning out in Henry’s noticeably deeper voice. The thrusts grew faster and more aggressive as the two changed positions a couple times. It wasn’t until Kent had already fucked Talia so good that she’d orgasms all over his dick that he could feel a load welling up in his balls. Something Henry was terrified about. Yet, a few more powerful thrusts and a long groan later, Henry found himself being forced to do something he never thought he would. Pumping a tight pussy nice full with his thick potent load.

In that moment something changed. The Coach was still in complete control but suddenly the real Henry found his mind linking up to Kent’s. Like the act of breeding a woman had left them both in such bliss, whether the real Henry had wanted it or not, that it allowed them to become truly intertwined. After that Henry found himself in a daze internally as Kent’s very soul weaved itself around Henry’s, corrupting him slowly but surely.

‘Maybe I like pussy after all…’ Henry would soon start to think, oblivious to what was happening to him. ‘Maybe being a football jock isn’t so bad…’ Tye corruption would spread as his old sense of sense began to dwindle. Little did he know that soon his individuality would be wiped without a trace. His consciousness would become like a mirror to Coach Kent’s until Henry was more than happy to go along with anything Kent had them do. Whether that be sports, joining the fraternity and fucking busty bimbo’s left and right.

And after that Henry would be consumed entirely, leaving only Kent and his new body…

#male body theft #identity theft #male possession #male takeover #nerd to jock #gay to straight #breeder tf #mental change #forced possession #unintentional #plan gone wrong #mental corruption #middle aged to young adult #possession by clothing #coach #magic

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mayamidnightmelody · 8 months ago

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Art of Bill Medcalf

William Edward (Bill) Medcalf (1920 - 2005)

Bill Medcalf was totally ahead of his time with his pin-up art! 😍 Like, imagine these super cute paintings from back in the day that are still iconic AF today! He was all about capturing these bombshell babes in their element, rockin' those retro vibes like nobody else. His style was on point, blending realism with a touch of fantasy, making you wish you could step into those scenes! 🎨

Each painting by Medcalf is like a glimpse into this fantasy world where everything's glamorous and sassy. His babes are always so confident and playful, showing off those killer curves and making you go, "Wow!" He had this knack for detail, every brushstroke making these gals look alive and full of personality. 🌟

One thing you can't miss about Medcalf's work is how he nailed those vintage vibes. Think about it: those retro hairstyles, the fashion that's now back in trend, and those smoldering expressions that say, "I know I'm hot." It's like stepping into a time machine where beauty standards were all about class and sass! 💃

His drawing style? Flawless. The way he could capture the human form, especially the female figure, was legendary. Smooth lines, delicate shading, and colors that pop like they're straight out of a modern fashion mag. It's like he painted these pin-ups to be timeless, always keeping them fresh and relevant. 🖌️

And let's not forget the themes he explored! From beach babes soaking up the sun to sultry sirens lounging in luxurious settings, Medcalf covered it all. He knew how to make art that speaks to your soul and your sense of style, no matter what decade you're in. 😎

Even today, Medcalf's paintings are poppin' on social media and inspiring new artists. People are still vibing with his style because it's not just about the beauty, it's about the attitude. His work is like a mood board for confidence and self-expression, reminding us to own our uniqueness and flaunt it! 🌈

So yeah, Bill Medcalf wasn't just an artist. He was a vibe curator, a trendsetter of his time, and a total legend in the pin-up scene. His legacy lives on through every cheeky smile and every perfectly painted eyelash. Cheers to keeping art spicy and iconic! 🎉

#bill medcalf #artist profile #pin up

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filthyf1 · 2 months ago

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A Long Short Time

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

content warning: MINORS DNI (18+); Porn WITH Plot, cunnilingus, blowjob, unprotected sex, slightly tipsy sex?... Not entirely healthy relationship dynamics….

summary: Daniel and you broke up two months ago. He comes back to get the last of his things…. And the rest is history.

word count: 5k

author's notes: AHHHHHH this was so nerve wracking.... it's been so long since I've written anything so please let me know your thoughts!!!

____

Two months. A short time that felt like a millenia to you. The apartment felt emptier than usual. He wasn’t there often before, but it was more than never. Life felt slow and tedious, and you weren’t exactly adapting well.

It had been two months since you and Daniel broke up. That felt like such a silly and simple way to explain it, but that’s exactly what happened. It was and then it wasn’t. Four years and it was over just like that.

Daniel was let go from VCARB after the Singapore GP. The fans could tell something was wrong from his interviews, and their guesses were spot on. He’d known it was the end and given it his all, understanding that it wouldn’t be enough. His whole life came to an abrupt halt, just like that. What was the point of contracts in the first place? It felt like a crime to let him go before COTA, and yet…

Just as his career came to a screeching halt, your relationship did as well. The comfort you thought you could give was simply not enough. Nothing you could say or do could make it right. It made sense even if it hurt. What do you do when the thing you’ve worked for your whole life gets pulled out from under you? Some people cope and move on, collect the pieces and figure out how to go forward. Some people burn the rest of the world around them and crash.

What began as trying to comfort him turned into an all-out shouting match and ended in the door slamming behind him.

“I can’t do this! What the fuck would you do?”

“I don’t know! Lean on my friends? Family? My fucking girlfriend, maybe?”

“Well, nothing like this has happened to you. You just get to sit around and be pretty. Life is so fucking easy for you.”

That last one stung - his sharp words certainly hit their mark. You played the conversation over and over again in your head for the past 60 days, trying to think of an alternative ending.

The movers eventually came and took his things, leaving both the space and your heart wide and empty. And that was how the past two months went. Your apartment was small, but when a whole other person’s things were removed, it felt much too large.You got to see him unwind and find himself by his own posts and his friends’ on social media. The news outlets were fucking annoying. Apparently, one of the most interesting things to report on was an F1 driver’s relationship status. And the paparazzi had exactly as much sympathy as you expected. You were sure there were at least a dozen photos of you crying floating around on Twitter, Facebook, etc.

It was your turn to feel stuck. You felt like the last four years were a waste. What were you working towards? It was upended so swiftly and easily. You saw Daniel regaining the light back in his eyes while he attended sporting events and went dirt biking with his friends. You sat in your flat drinking wine and looking at the city lights contemplating what could have been.

There were things you wanted to accomplish that you put on the back burner and now regretted never pursuing. Maybe once you got your spirit back, you’d go after the fashion degree or write that book that always sat in the back of your mind. Just a little bit more groveling…

What really hurt was finding things the movers missed. Little things here and there that you knew he would miss, a helmet here, a jersey there. So instead of burning them like a lot of people might, you gathered them and put them in a box. You put your big girl pants on and sent him a text, hoping it would still go through, and let him know he could pick it up whenever he was back in the city. And to your surprise, not only did the message go through, but he answered. It was the only thing you’d heard from him since he left and unfortunately, you clung to it.

It was another Friday night that wine was your companion. Your friend had visited for a few days for some gossip and retail therapy, but unfortunately she had left earlier that day and you let the loneliness seep back in. The riesling helped dull it a little bit. You were halfway through the bottle, feeling the pleasant buzz settle into your muscles.

Music swept through your apartment while you danced and cleaned things here and there when your phone dinged on the counter, interrupting the melody you were currently feeling. Thinking it was your friend who forgot her lipstick on your counter, you swiped the message open without a second thought. Once you read it, however, the blood drained from your face and you looked on in horror.

Be there in 20 if you’re still awake.

Okay…. Okay. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were very much not sober enough for this. The bottle of wine looked on in amusement and you glared at it, as if it wasn’t your choice to partake in the first place. That still didn’t stop you from chugging the rest of the glass in front of you. Maybe it would help you to be more relaxed or cool in his presence. You glanced at the clock on your oven.

11:20PM.

Late, but not ridiculously so. You wondered what exactly he was doing in the country. But that wasn’t really any of your business anymore.

It was fully in your right to deny him, let him know it was not a good time to stop by. Your sober self needed 3 to 5 business days to prepare for this, but your tipsy self wanted him to stop by now. Your chest ached at the thought of seeing his face again in person. You craved it desperately. Against your better judgement, your fingers sent out a quick, “Ok.”

Oh, God, what were you doing?

Simply put, you fucking missed him. There was no denying or getting around it.

“Fuck, this is happening,” you breathed to yourself. You ran a hand through your hair, a nervous mess. You ran to the bathroom to do a once over; you looked as much a mess as you expected. Hair everywhere and eyes slightly glassy from alcohol. You swallowed hard, trying to fix things, but gave up after a minute or two.

Sitting back in your kitchen, you nursed another glass of wine. There was no going back now, so you might as well commit. A knock came a few minutes later, causing you to jump in your seat.

“Fuck,” one more for the road.

You approached the door slowly like a victim in a horror movie. One last hesitation, and the door swung open and there he was.

He stood tall, not at all bowed under the pressure he had experienced so recently. His hair was longer than you remembered, the curls so perfect and tangled it hurt. They weren’t yours to run your hands through anymore. You were sure you looked sad and pathetic, and he stood in front of you looking healthy and radiant, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked damn good.

A breathy, “Hi,” was all you could muster. You immediately kicked yourself internally. So much for keeping your cool. Daniel gave you a once over that made you feel hot inside and self-conscious at the same time.

“Hi,” he gave a soft smile and you nearly melted. It was such a stark difference from how your last conversation ended. You stood in silence for another few seconds, taking him in. This was how you wanted to remember him.

“Fuck, uh, sorry, I don’t have your stuff here,” you shook yourself out of the trance. “Do you… want to come in for a minute?” You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not. You didn’t have a great track record with exes and them visiting your place of residence.

“I’ve got the time,” he said.

You’d be lying if a plethora of less than innocent thoughts were running through your head. He looked better than you remembered, and the feelings were still there, ready to be unearthed at a moment's notice.

He took everything in. The air felt heavy with unspoken tension and you wondered what he was thinking. His eyes settled on the empty wine glass and less than full bottle.

“Been drinking?” He asked and a smirk settled onto his lips. His facial hair was growing in, and you’d be lying if your mind didn’t wander. Beard burn was a hell of a drug.

“Yea,” you said sheepishly, a hand running through your hair to dispel your nerves. “There’s whiskey if you want a drink. I still have your favorite… I don’t really drink it…” You trailed off, not really expecting him to accept. You thought he would be itching to leave as soon as possible, the weight of the last conversation heavy on your mind. To your surprise, he opened the cabinet that he knew very well and grabbed the whiskey. He grabbed a glass (that cabinet never changed either) and poured himself a double.

“Cheers,” he held the cup out. You poured the rest of the wine into your stemmed glass and clinked your glass against his. You paused, watching him down the glass, his Adam's apple bobbing and a single droplet of whiskey dripping from his lips and trailing down his neck. Sinful thoughts flashed across your eyes, but long gone now were the days where you could lick it away. You averted your eyes quickly and drank your wine in one swift gulp. Anything to distract you from the images circling through your head.

“You’ve been doing well - at least from what I’ve seen,” you placed the wine glass down in the kitchen sink and Daniel followed suit. The heat of his body was heavy behind you, his arm right next to yours. You fought everything in you to fight freezing. Surely, he wasn’t doing this on purpose? You didn’t have much time to contemplate as his body was gone in the next moment.

He leaned against the kitchen counter - his arms propped his body up and you chose to avert your eyes from his toned form. Two months was clearly not enough time to stop those thoughts from clouding your mind. Was it you or did he just look you up and down?

“I’ve been… okay,” he didn’t elaborate, but the silence explained enough. Maybe it was easier to put on a smile for the camera.

“You still miss it,” it wasn’t a question.

“Every day,” he nearly whispered. His warm brown eyes held yours for a second too long and you wondered if you were still talking about racing. You cleared your throat, not totally sure how to address that.

“Things ended pretty poorly, huh,” you averted your eyes. Now was not the time to let your tears get the best of you. Your last argument was the elephant in the room and you’d explode if you avoided it for another second. There was a tightly wound bundle of resentment, pain, and anger in your stomach. You were mad at him for walking away. Mad that he seemed to get over things pretty damn quick while you were still fumbling for a grasp on things. Mad that he walked right back in like nothing happened.

“You could say that again,” he said simply. You went to speak again but he cut you off. “I’m sorry for the things I said.”

Your eyes shot to his. He wasn’t really one to open up and talk about things like that. He tended to take things out on the track and work through them that way. He didn’t have that anymore though, so maybe he found talking was easier these days.

“Thank you,” you said roughly. Blinking rapidly to stop tears from coming forward. What were you supposed to do now? You never stopped loving him, but you were feeling so many other conflicting feelings at the same time. Daniel made a move as if to come forward and comfort you, then thought twice about it. He was obviously feeling a lot of things too. He cleared his throat.

“So, you said you put everything in a box?” He looked around. If things were heavy before, they weighed a ton now.

“Um, yes, your stuff is in the hall closet. I put it in a box for you - I’m not sure it'll fit in whatever car you drove, but you can always send someone to pick it up for you,” you over-explained as you walked towards said storage. Were you delirious or was that his body heat on your back? This time it did not disappear.

You slowed, turning to face him. He was as close as you suspected, his strong frame standing over you. His pupils were blown, his breathing slightly accelerated. You’d be a fool to deny that his scent was intoxicating. The same cologne and musk you remembered that was distinctly Daniel made your head spin. You swallowed hard and Daniel’s eyes flickered down to your eyes then your throat.

“Daniel?”

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed out, his voice deep and husky. Your heart pounded hard in your chest. You wanted this more than anything. You wished he’d just kiss you already. Your body ached to feel his against yours again. It had been so long. You were both suspended in time, your eyes locked with each others’.

“I missed you, too,” you replied. He looked relieved at that, like he thought you had moved on. As if you’d ever be able to do that.

“Yea?” He was even quieter that time.

“So fucking much.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I wish you would.”

Whatever dam was once there broke in an instant. Daniel surged forward and his lips enveloped yours. You couldn’t help the groan that leaked from your throat. You missed this so much it hurt. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. His other hand found the back of your neck and his fingers wrapped into your hair. His body was hot against yours, your skin searing wherever it touched his. He backed you into the wall without his lips leaving yours once. You eagerly reached your hands to his hair and pulled on the curls you missed so much which earned you a groan in return. You fit together like two puzzle pieces.

You gulped in air as he moved his attention to your neck, his facial hair scratching you in the way you remembered. Words couldn’t describe how much you missed this. His leg parted yours to push against your clothed cunt and pin you to the wall. God, if he thought you were moaning like a whore now… He suckled hard on the soft skin of your collar bone and your fingers tightened in his hair.

Things were complicated, sure, but this was here and now. Right now you were feeling pretty damn good for many reasons and your present self didn’t care much about the potential consequences. Daniel was a man starved and you were an oasis in the desert.

“Take me to the fucking bedroom before I strip you here,” you barely got out.

“Can do,” he replied between pressing kisses up your neck. “Not that I would entirely mind…” His strong arms moved to loop under your thighs and lift you up easily. He took a moment to hold you against the wall and kiss you again. His need was as evident as yours; you could feel him straining against his jeans. His tongue was hot and furious against yours and you feared being fully consumed by him.

Your body temperature was running at one-thousand degrees and you felt like you were about to burst. Daniel’s tongue was wet and insistent against yours and you drank him in. Soft groans echoed from him and you could barely handle it. He carried you to your room, placing you softly onto your plush bed. His body was heavy upon yours, barely holding himself above you. You took the opportunity to roll your hips against his, eliciting a moan from both of you. You wondered if he was with anyone in your absence and then quickly pushed that thought away. It was none of your business, and you chose to believe the answer was no based on the way he was acting.

Your hands trailed around each other; you missed the feel of each others’ bodies. Something told you that neither of you would last long. Already you feel yourself soaking through your panties.

Barely able to tear himself from you, Daniel managed to rip his shirt off. He looked just as good as ever and your mouth watered at the happy trail disappearing into his pants.

“See something you like?” He grins evilly.

“Shut the fuck up and take my pants off,” you sigh. He did not need to be told twice. Your pants were removed in a flash leaving you in your underwear and shirt. The shirt was quickly removed after. Lucky for you, it was nearing laundry day which meant you had only your skimpiest and laciest underwear leftover.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Daniel sighed.

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry…”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he leaned back in and placed soft kisses down your torso. His hands pawed your chest roughly, pinching your nipples between his fingers and causing you to keen into him. He came back to place one more kiss on your lips and captured your bottom lip between his teeth to nip at the soft, swollen skin. You rolled your hips into his again but this time he caught them and pushed his own into you to fight back. Everything with him was a delicious push and pull.

He edged back down, but not without placing wet kisses along your torso on his way there. He grabbed the band of your underwear between his teeth and pulled them off. His eyes held yours as he did so and you felt the blood rush to your cheeks. The man knew how to make you blush, that was for sure. They peeled back from your dripping pussy in a way that was almost embarrassing. You didn’t miss when he took the panties and shoved them into his back pocket.

His lips ghosted over the inside of your thighs and drank you in in a way that made you light headed. You wanted nothing more than him to put his fucking mouth to work. He could sense your urgency and gave a cheeky chuckle.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this as much as me. I’ll suck your dick if you hurry up and eat me out,” you threatened.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His mouth was warm and the pleasure shot deep through your core as soon as he ran his tongue over you.

“Fuck,” you barely managed. Your head hit the mattress - Daniel held you tight and didn’t allow an inch for you to squirm. Your legs draped over his shoulders and your toes curled as he worked on you. The wet sounds that came from your cunt were sinful; when Daniel paused for air and to smile at you, you could see his chin glistening. He was relentless, moaning into your folds and your head started swirling. “Daniel,” you gasped and one hand clawed at his shoulder while the other held tightly to his hair. “I’m not gonna last - if you keep doing that I’m gonna come.”

“Good,” he barely pulled back. Now that he had that information, he didn’t hold back and within a minute you were writhing and moaning underneath him as white hot pleasure coursed through you. He alternated between sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit. His strong arms barely flexed to hold you down as your hips rolled against his tongue. He only relented when your hips stuttered as you became overstimulated. You were gasping and swearing. It was way too long since you’d felt like this. He pulled back, but only far enough to place more open-mouthed, sloppy kisses along your thighs. He let you recover and kissed his way back up your body on your hips, your stomach, your breasts, and finally your collarbones and neck.

“Sooooo, you said something about getting my dick sucked?” He asked and completely evaporated the heavy mood. You couldn’t help the laugh that exploded from you and you hit his shoulder weakly. He fell back dramatically on the bed, holding his shoulder in mock pain. “You wound me, woman!”

The light humor was nice, but it made your heart ache. You missed this so much and you realized that this ended with Daniel walking out the door. This was all a moment of passion after time apart. He’d take the rest of his things and go back to his life and you’d go back to yours. Instead of wallowing, you chose to shove it to the back of your mind and enjoy the moment that was happening in front of you. You put the smile back on your face and turned your attention back to Daniel. You kissed him deeply and softly once and ignored the slightly confused look on his face.

You pushed him back into the bed and he propped his head up by putting his hands behind his head, and you swallowed hard at his flexing biceps. He still wore his jeans so you palmed him roughly through the thick fabric which earned you a look that could kill. You licked a stripe over the coarse hair that sprouted up his stomach. He was hot and salty with sweat and you craved to take him into your mouth.

Removing his belt slowly, you teased him; how much could he take? To your surprise, he was exceedingly patient and looked down at you with a disgusting smirk. You pulled down his jeans and wiped said smirk off his face by placing a feather light kiss over his clothed cock. He smelled hot and musky, and you couldn’t wait to strip him completely. The pants and boxer briefs came off together and got tossed somewhere along the rest of the clothes on the floor.

He was just as you remembered. You suppressed the whine that built in your throat. He was already cocky enough; he didn’t need to know you missed sucking him off. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, the rest taken care of by your hands. Another thing he didn’t need to add to his ego was his size. He was heavy and warm on your tongue with the sting of bitter saltiness from the precum that leaked from his swollen, red tip. A deep groan came from him and you looked up to see his head thrown back and his bottom lips caught between his teeth. A small ego boost for you too.

You dragged your tongue from his base to his tip. Following the thick vein that ran up his length, you took him in again and hollowed your cheeks. He couldn’t control the groans and moans that spilled from him and one of his hands came down to wind through your hair and hold it up.

“Look at me,” he commanded. Bold of him, but you had to admit you missed this possessive side of him. You obliged him and looked him dead in the eyes but did not pause your ministrations. You let him push his hips into your mouth to fuck your throat. You were out of practice and gagged once before holding it back. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you loved it. You swallowed around his length and his hand tightened painfully in your hair. His hips thrusted against his own will and his eyes squeezed shut. “Okay… okay, stop, or I’m not gonna make it to the main event,” he breathed heavily. Still got it, you thought smugly. You released him but not before placing one last kiss on the crevice between his crotch and his thigh which earned you a satisfying twitch.

You climbed up, settling yourself on his lower stomach. This was one of both of your favorite positions. Daniel loved seeing you above him, riding his cock and finding the exact right spot that got you off. It was a position that allowed you both some control and he liked being able to see your face. You scooted back and grabbed his length, ready to position him and sink down when he halted you by catching your hips in both of his hands.

“Fuck, I didn't bring a condom,” he sighed and paused. You almost lost your mind.

“I don't fucking care,” you moaned and pushed against him. “And I'm still on the pill.”

“You didn't stop it?”

“Just be glad I didn't and fuck me already, Daniel,” you whined. You knew adding his name would be the cherry on top of a cake he couldn't deny. He took the head of his leaking cock, swiping it through your folds to collect the excessive wetness there, and pressed himself into you slowly. The stretch ached deliciously. It had definitely been awhile. Daniel hissed between his teeth as you sunk down on his length inch by agonizing inch.

When he was fully inside of you, you took a moment to adjust. You steadied yourself with your hands on Daniel’s chest, and he grabbed your wrists to pull you back down to him. Your lips met his in a surprisingly tender kiss that stirred things in your chest that you were having trouble keeping buried. You blinked away tears for the second time that night, but this time a warm hand came to cup your cheek and stroke the skin there.

Whatever happened tonight, you hoped you and Daniel talked after this. He brought you so much joy and comfort. His warm brown eyes held yours as if to say everything would be okay.

“Okay, I’m fine. You can start moving,” you breathed out and began rocking your hips. He listened and held your hips to guide you up and down on his cock. He felt just as good as you remembered. Maybe better. The room was filled with the harmony of your moans and the wet, rhythmic slaps of your hips meeting each other. There was no sweeter sound.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he moaned. “So fucking good for me. So tight and fucking soaking. All for me,” his hips snapped to meet your movements. Him calling you baby lit a spark in your belly and spurred you on.

“Faster. Fuck me faster, Daniel,” you whined, desperately chasing your high. He complied and moved faster and harder. He stuck his two forefingers in your mouth and you sucked on them, your tongue swirling around the digits. You looked at him through your lashes and he groaned deeply. You felt deeply in your soul that only you two could have this effect on each other. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing deeper and faster, and you knew he was nearing the edge. You decided to spur him on, wanting to hear his sweet sounds and see the beautiful face he made when he reached it. You beared down on him, squeezing him and matching his rhythm.

“You’re so good, Danny. You make me feel so good,” you could barely get the words out.

His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to maintain his composure. Sweat beaded on his brow and shined on his chest. One hand left your hip to rub quick circles on your clit to give it right back to you. You were so sensitive from earlier that the effect was immediate. One hand flew to muffle the sounds coming out of you, but Daniel ripped it away. He wanted to hear every sound uninhibited.

He held on until your orgasm crashed over you. You hoped you wouldn’t be receiving a noise complaint from your neighbors the next day, but would understand why if you did. Your thighs shook and you couldn’t control how you rutted against Daniel like a crazed person. That was all he could take and his hands tightened painfully into your soft skin. He bit his lips hard and his eyes screwed shut. His hips hit once, twice more before slowing. Was that a whine coming from him? God, that sound alone could make you cum again. You reveled in the bliss, slowly moving your hips to ride it out.

The room was quiet for a few minutes after, save the heaving breathing coming from both of you. Finally, you pulled yourself from Daniel, a soft sigh coming from him. You were battling yourself on what to do next. Now that it was over… What came next? Maybe you would take a hot shower and then he’d be gone with his things when you emerged. That was usually how this kind of story went, right? At least he wouldn’t be around to see you fall apart.

You made a start to get off the bed, but a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. You were pulled back down. Warm arms wrapped around you and then you were laying against his overheated body, your legs draped over his like nothing had ever changed.

“Don’t go,” he said into the top of your head.

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