#i say as i hold a comically large sign

[artzykrowz]

Bribes u all to vote for Majorwood with these old doodles… oooo you will vote for Majorwood….

[zephyrchama]

"It's a little hard to walk like this."

You knew this situation was less than ideal for Beelzebub, but you needed him to put up with it.

That's why you assured him, "I'll move with you. Just act normal."

Beelzebub thought that was easier said than done with you crouched under him. He stood in place while you held on to his lower thighs, feet planted next to his and head held low. You had a plan.

Lucifer was mad. You knew he was going to start nagging and never let go when he eventually got a hold of you. Wandering around in the House of Lamentation by yourself was dangerous for now, so you needed a shield. Someone who could hide you from another demon's wrath. Who better than Beelzebub? He's big. He's kind to you. He will protect you.

This wasn't exactly what Beelzebub had in mind when he said he wanted to protect you. This wasn't the danger he expected nor the method of protection he came up with. You intended to cling to Beelzebub with your hands just above his knee and your legs locked around his calves while in motion, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He took three large steps forward, lumbering ahead with an awkwardly slow and comically exaggerated gait. You were really channeling the spirit of humanity's tree climbing ancestors.

Beelzebub was unsure about the whole situation and paused. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Just keep taking big steps like that," you instructed. "I know this will work. I can feel it."

All Beelzebub could feel was your body flush against him and the heat spreading across his face. Endless gluttony was the least of his worries. He kept wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles, even after they stopped audibly cracking. A fidget toy would have come in handy.

"What are you doing?"

That deep, condescending tone could only belong to one prideful demon. You let out an "eep!" of surprise and tightened your grip in hopes Beelzebub would abscond the two of you to safety.

"Lucifer, hi." Beelzebub was far too polite at times to be a demon. You bopped your head repeatedly against his leg in a universal sign meaning "get me out of here! Run!" But the Avatar of Gluttony only created more distance between his legs. He stood in place like an inflexible kid trying to do a split and tried not to think about where you were.

You hesitated to look up. Lucifer looked like he ate a bowl of rocks for breakfast that morning and washed it down with cold medicine. That is to say, he was not happy.

"Beel," he started. "I'm not in the mood for games. Either you join us for what is going to be a productive discipline session, or you hand them over. Now."

A ring of sweat began to drip down Beelzebub's brow. He did say he would protect you, but also, he had plans to get a new jersey with insulated mesh while they were on sale. It was the last day of the sale. He wanted that shirt. He didn't want to linger on the way you were touching him or how you'd willingly let him take you anywhere he desired. You clung tighter and his brain sprinted a hundred miles a minute.

"I have to leave now," he admitted. It was a good thing the two of you weren't able to make eye contact.

"Nooooo!" You bopped your head against him again, this time in despair. Beelzebub lifted his leg with you on it, like he was offering the sacrificial lamb for slaughter. All he had to say about it was a quiet, almost inaudible "sorry."

Lucifer praised his little brother, "you made a wise decision." You felt his gloved hands hook under your shoulders and sensed malice at your back but you refused to go without a fight.

It was a short fight. The slippery Avatar of Pride hit all your ticklish points, ones you didn't even know existed. All it took was one instance of weakness, a reflexive giggle, and within seconds you were in his hold. Lucifer dangled you at arm's length like a wet pet. You pouted.

Beelzebub's quiet creep out of the room didn't go unnoticed, but you had a bigger problem now.

"You come up with the most ridiculous ideas," Lucifer chided. The first of many nags. "You should know by now it's futile. You're coming with me."

His clutch on you shifted to a more secure hold against his chest. It made writhing around and trying to run away pointless, so you challenged him with more head attacks. All this light head shaking was making you dizzy, but you were a fighter.

"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed.

Your gaze snapped up. You smiled and made an innocent yet logical suggestion. "Let me go?"

"No."

Into the locked office with Lucifer you went.

[ruporas]

☀️

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. It’s two 3 panel comics that illustrates the same sequence. The first focuses on Vash. In the first panel, he’s in a hurried motion with a worried expression. In the second, he’s stopped, huffing a breath out as he’s scanning for Wolfwood (not pictured). In the final panel, he breaks out into a relieved smile, eyes lighting up with warm cheeks.

The second comic focuses on Wolfwood. In the first panel, he’s looking downwards to the right with a cigarette in his mouth, wearing a neutral expression. On his face are notable scratch marks to indicate him being in a fight prior. In the second panel, he turns towards the viewer, lifting his head as he notices Vash (as from the previous sequence). In the final panel, he smiles warmly with teeth and holds up a peace sign. END ID]

[ID: Sketchy black and white drawings of Vash and Wolfwood, continuing off the comic. Wolfwood’s back is to the viewer while Vash’s profile can be seen, now by Wolfwood’s side. He has a bright smile as he says to Wolfwood, “You’re safe!” Wolfwood responses, bearing a grin too, “Who do ya think yer talking to? ‘Course I am. Look, I got them alive.” He points to two figures who are tied up and have comically large head bumps. Vash looks to them with an uncertain expression as he says, “Oh! You did, huh… Are you sure they’re alive?” Wolfwood, with a more irritated expression, responds “What, didn’t think I could do it?” Vash says, “No, no! I knew you could!” and pats Wolfwood on the cheek and his head comfortingly. END ID]

[ryanmarshallryan]

Art Reflects Reality - A Prey's Birthday

Carter had been enjoying some community with some new friends of his local chapter of a gay rugby association. They played hard on the field, then they played hard afterwards, often partying or hanging out together, and always eating big.

Some of the guys accidentally came across some vore art Carter had drawn of himself getting swallowed, when it fell out of his bag one day after a practice.

“Hey this is good!” one said to Carter, who looked a bit mortified at the paper in another’s hands, “Don’t worry mate, you’re in good company.”

“No kink shaming here,” said another. 

“Sounds like a good way to get protein,” another said with a wink and a slap of their gut at Carter

After that Carter assumed the other guys had forgotten about it. But when it came to his birthday, he discovered he had been wrong. One of the guys who had seen the drawing, held out a large envelope to Carter, with “Happy Birthday” written on the outside. Carter opened it to find a very well done comic sketch of a vore scenario. In the art Carter saw himself being swallowed head first, by another one of the players during a rugby practice. There was another comic panel showing the aftermath and the pred saying “Sorry, I was trying to catch the ball, accidentally caught you in my throat instead!”

“Been meaning to get back into art for fun, so I decided to take some inspiration to make you something for your birthday.” Carter was speechless at hearing these words from his teammate.

The player went on, “Oh yeah and some of the guys have another surprise as well.” Just then five other players lined up and started lifting their shirts off over their heads and casting them aside, “If you’d like, feel free to choose a belly to lounge in the rest of the day.”

Carter looked puzzled. What could they mean?

The guys laughed, and one piped up “Maybe he needs a demonstration.”

“All right then,” said the artist player, who promptly stripped off his own shirt and walked over to the other who had spoken. Carter watched in disbelief as the artist was lifted off the ground and swallowed whole in less than a few moments by the other player, who sat down with a thump on a bench and began rubbing his gut.

“Oof, great, idea Carter, great idea,” he said, “Wanna rub?”

Carter came over and cautiously felt over the player’s hairy belly, with his mouth dropped in awe, “How did you do that?” Carter felt the prey player writhing around underneath the layers of fat.

The player gave a great belch, “It’s your birthday, mate. Feel free to watch and rub a gut… or if you’re adventurous… why not get inside one?”

Carter considered a moment. He heard a shout of approval from the artist prey, and decided it couldn’t be that bad in reality if there were no signs of pain. Maybe vore in real life could be fun. But how?

“Oh yeah, and don’t worry mate, we each got a whole bottle of Tums if it gets too tingly in there.” said one of the big bellied players jiggling his belly, “happy to have you be a snack to hold us over for your birthday dinner, but don’t wanna lose a player off the team to a digesting belly.”

Carter smiled and shrugged, “Ugh I wish I could choose all of you,” looking around at the bellies in front of him. One player had a round hairy gut, another more smooth with a low hanging gut. Another had one that looked like their gut was hard as a rock. He decided upon the last in the line, a player named Kai, whose round, flabby belly looked soft and cozy, roomy but still snug. 

Kai gave Carter a smile, and took his hands and placed them on Kai’s belly, “Wanna get cozy up in here?”

Carter nodded enthusiastically, and stripped off the rest of his clothes. The other players lifted Carter up in a fireman's carry, and tilted him downward into Kai’s waiting maw. Kai made quick work of Carter, swallowing him down into his fleshy belly with the ease of someone a pro at eating. Carter felt himself jostled around inside Kai’s belly, and saw the faint red light through Kai's shirtless belly fat. He could hear muffled talking and laughing, felt a jolt as Kai must’ve sat down, and heard a car rumbling. Carter felt around his enclosure and got comfy, experiencing his vorish dream for the first time in an unexpected birthday fashion.

Quite suddenly he felt Kai’s stomach muscles begin tensing and relaxing with intense force and thought that they might have waited too long. Carter felt a twinge of fear and arousal, assuming that Kai’s stomach was about to begin digesting him right now. Bracing for the stomach acid to burn his body, and the air to leave his lungs for good, Carter tried to let go of inhibition and relax into this final birthday adventure, when suddenly he felt himself thrust upward back through Kai’s throat and into the waiting arms of half a dozen players, who forcefully dried him off with towels and had him throw on some clothes.

Carter was both relieved and a little disappointed in his vore experience being over, but the fun did not end, the boys chanted a drinking song while leading him into a local bar. They ordered him a piece of cake, and continued singing joyous melodies of “he’s a jolly good fellow” and such, much to the annoyance of some other bar hoppers.

After a raucous chorus of another song, one of the other potential pred players leaned in close and asked Carter, “Had enough of being in a belly? Or still wanna try out the other guys’ guts?”

On his other side the artist friend leaned in close, “Reynolds is probably big enough to fit both of us if you’re looking to try some fun a little different.”

Within five minutes the crowd was chanting on Reynolds, who had swallowed the artist friend already, and was beginning to swallow Carter, headfirst.

“I could get used to this as a post game activity,” Carter suggested to the artist friend, as they squirmed around in Reynolds belly. Through the thick layers of fat, they could hear a chorus of “Happy birthday dear lunch meat! Happy birthday to you!” Carter never thought he’d be so aroused and excited to be called “lunchmeat” by a group of big men, but alas, birthday magic makes the strangest of scenarios wonderful and memorable.

[quarklynx]

remember the headcanon that Alhaitham was wearing hearing aids? we should bring that back i think Bonus:

✨reblog to help ur local artist✨

Alt text under the cut

A short comic, all drawn with a loose style in a warmly tinted grayscale. The first panel depicts Scaramouche from Genshin Impact, he is dressed in the attire he wears as the playable Wanderer character and is angrily gesticulating towards the viewer and looking down at them scornfully. He says, in all capital letters, "are you deaf??". The second panel is a view from behind the Wanderer, showing the viewer that he was yelling at the Genshin Impact character Alhaitham. Alhaitham is significantly taller than the wanderer, even with his hat, and has a neutral expression and stance. The Wanderer has an anime style anger mark above his head, and Alhaitham has a speech bubble that only contains ellipses.

In the first panel of the second image, the Wanderer and Alhaitham still face one another in the same poses, except for Alhaitham's right hand. His hand is moving in the American Sign Language sign for "yes", which is also plainly written out for the viewer in text. The wanderer's anger symbol is no longer present. The middle panel is a simplified silhouette of both characters facing one another, their profiles visible to the viewer. A large ellipses hovers above their heads. The final panel shows the Wanderer turning away from Alhaitham, tugging down his wide-brimmed hat from the front to cover his face. All that can be seen of his expression is a small smile and a bead of sweat. The Wanderer has a speech bubble, which says in lower case lettering: "ah. my mistake". Alhaitham is standing behind the Wanderer, his expression still mostly neutral as he watches the wanderer turn to leave, but he has lines below his eyes that show irritation. His arms are now crossed, and his left hand is holding a book open under the opposite arm.

The bonus image is a grayscale sketch of Lumine and Kaveh from Genshin Impact. To the left, Lumine looks frustrated, with her shoulders drawn up and her left hand pressed to her face while the other rests on her hip. The hand on her face is dragging the lower eyelid on her left eye down. Kaveh is slightly hunched over towards Lumine, and he is laughing so hard he's crying and spitting through pursed lips. He's holding his sides with opposite hands tightly, and looking towards Lumine.

[highhhfiveee]

mikey and his sunshine gf. need i say more

wc: 2.3k tags: sweetgf!reader +dickheadbf!mike, fluff, one moment of suggestiveness, mike curves his fuck buddy for the love of his life ♡ errors bc even though i proofread, i’ve been so fucking tired blegh a/n: i haven't written much fluff about sweetgf!reader and dickheadbf!mike, but once again, i feel like this is them!

sweetgf is super sweet to mike, and i know it may seem like you just love breaking him down and making him whiny and desperate for you, but you would literally grab earth in both hands and give it to him if that's what he wanted. 

you'd been in lots of relationships where you'd gotten fully invested, pouring herself in (foolishly and) wholeheartedly. they all ended with you in tears, disheartened and jaded with humanity. after your last relationship burst into flames over you asking for just one bouquet of flowers for your birthday, you'd never wanted to be with someone ever again.

that is, until mike.

you'd first seen him with a tiny, well-endowed blonde girl, standing in line for a comically expensive beer at a nearly saturday concert. they were one of your favorite bands, and something about seeing him there, sexy and brooding and taking up so much space in the crowded drinks line, fascinated you. he looked bored beyond comprehension, eyes shadowy under the dim overhead lights and arms crossed over his chest as his friend dashed up to the booth when it was their turn, her body wracked with the movement of conversation. 

he'd stayed back from her, a feet or so of space between them as she ordered, holding up a peace sign to signal two beers and flashing her ID. the vendor had to have said something off-putting, because mike rolled his eyes, a deep scowl set into his face as his friend was handed the beers, looking off into the distance. 

he'd caught your stare. you swore at yourself because how embarrassing was it for him to catch you like that? redness blossomed over your features, but you still couldn’t look away. you two maintained eye contact for a bit, just staringuntil a smirk creeped onto mike’s face. it was so small from where you were, but it still shined on you like a million suns. you returned his action with your own grin, all teeth and embarrassment, sheepishly looking down to the ground before your friend pulled on your forearm. you’d forgotten you were standing in the merch line with her, frozen where you’d stood.

“c’mon y/n! we gotta get our merch so we can get to our seats before they start!” 

you two were up in the mezzanine, front row seats protected by metal railings. you were almost at the end of the row, two seats left beside you, and you wondered if anyone would sit there. the concert hall had started to fill up more post opener, and you felt the jitters of seeing your idols living and breathing in front of you creeping around under your skin. 

you’d decided to put your merch on, sliding your arms and head through the respective holes. you met mike's smirk again when you'd finished, all of the moisture leaving your mouth. he was sitting in the seat beside you, his friend in the one at the very end. they both had their large beer mugs in hand, and you couldn't stop thinking about how mike could hold the monstrosity with just one, noticing that his friend needed both of her dainty ones. condensation trickled over his fingers.

the friend looked over at you with wide, friendly eyes, pointing at your shirt with a gasp.

"oh em jee, that shirt is so cute! i didn't even get a chance to look at the merch, the line was so long and i didn't want to miss the beginning of the show. how much was it?" she talked so quickly, not a single mistake made.

"$40," you mumbled, choking on your answer as you tried to shift your eyes away from mike. he'd begun sliding down in the seat, manspreading his legs. his knee grazed yours ever so slightly, and you worked hard to maintain your poker face. "uh, $40," you tried again after clearing your throat. 

"sick! hopefully there are some after the show. thanks," the girl smiled at you, sugary and beaming with pink lipgloss, before leaning towards mike's ear and whispering something to him. 

she'd giggled after, placing a hand on his thigh and a kiss on his cheek, and you'd concluded that she had to be his girlfriend, or at least someone he was seeing. it was disrespectful of you to keep staring at him, wondering how his hands would feel traversing every inch of your body. you finally wrenched your eyes away from him, focused on the stage. 

once the show had started, everyone was on their feet except for mike, and maybe a few other people that felt the same way he did. he was watching with indifferent eyes, leisurely downing his beer. there was a better show right next to him; you, or rather your ass, in his face, shimmying around to the up-tempo pop punk. claudia, his date-fuckbuddy-whatever the hell, had tried so many times to get him to stand up, but he didn't budge. 

he hated this kind of music honestly, but watching you having the time of your life, singing along to every lyric and note change, made him want to enjoy it with you. for you. you looked so happy, so lively, shouting words at your friend's face and bouncing along to amplified rhythms. your aura was so bright, and something about it made mike's chilly heart defrost.

after the band had done their "last" song, he'd whispered into claudia's ear for another beer. she'd bought his first one even though he'd offered to pay, and he decided that he would let her be as generous as she wanted to be. mike saw it as compensation, considering that fact that he'd had only come because she needed a ride. 

she'd nodded enthusiastically, taking off after giving mike another kiss on the cheek.

he turned to you then, reaching up to poke at your shoulder. you glanced back at him, grinning shyly. "you caught me staring at you before the show. quite the coincidence that you and your girlfriend had seats next to us." 

he shook his head, saying, "claud's not my girl, and yeah, i did catch you. no coincidence though. these were the seats on her tickets." he'd left off the part of the story where he'd seen you as he walked down the stairs of the mezzanine, asking claudia to switch seats because he "hated" sitting on the end. 

his smile beamed through the darkness of the hall, adding to the brightness around you once the lights onstage came up once more. they don't make you turn away from him, and you were staring at each other again. he stood to his feet finally, pulling his phone from his pocket and shoving it your way. "here. give me your number and we can talk more about it later."

you took his phone into your hands dumbfoundedly, typing out your number as the first chords of the encore song vibrated around you. you'd filled out your contact, adding two eye emojis to your name, before giving mike his phone back with another shy smile. "yeah. i'd like that." 

he danced with you for the final two songs. he didn’t think he'd ever had this much fun with someone other than abby.

claudia had run down the stairs after the house lights came back on, holding the new beer mugs to her chest. the moisture made her shirt cling to her boobs, and you could see all the eyes around that trained on her. 

"beer for you," she mused, trying to hand it over, but mike raised his hand, declining. "it's okay. didn't want it after all." 

claudia frowned, looking around at the masses of people moving out of the venue. "but mikeyyyyyyyyy, i missed the encore for it!" you shouldn't have liked that he sent her away so that he could enjoy the rest of the concert with you, but it ignited this feeling in you that you couldn't get rid of, warm and fuzzy in your heart and in your core,

"i'll pay you back," mike spat, unaware of your friend tugging at your arm again so that you two could leave and beat the traffic outside. you gave him a wave and a smile as you were hastily whisked up the stairs, and he'd winked back, a tiny, almost undetectable action.

mike was never one to text back on the same day he'd gotten a number. "later" was an ambiguous time to him, but this time, he felt compelled to send you a message once he'd dropped claudia off and let her down gently, a simple, "i just don't think we're compatible." he'd expected claudia to shrug it off, but instead, she screamed, cried, begged for mike not to reject her. it was sad to him, but confusing as well. they'd never ever been together, meeting on an app strictly for hookups. 

"mike, please. i really like you. i want to be with you." how the two of you had gone from casual fucking to her thinking she was in love, mike didn't know, but he just blurted out a fake remorseful, "sorry" before pulling away from her house. 

he didn't want to sit around wasting time. he had someone to text. 

the rest was history, really.

you'd expected mike to be an asshole through and through. he was aloof in this way that you didn't think you liked, and he'd reminded you of so many people you'd been with before, acting like caring about someone with your whole being (or at least some of it) was a waste of energy and time, but he'd proved you wrong.

you'd told him about your relationship past, and he decided that he needed to change everything for you. he took you on consistent dates, rotating between your choices and his, listened to you talk about everything and nothing, carried you on his back whenever you wanted, genuinely comforted you when you cried; he even woke you up on your birthday with breakfast and a bouquet of flowers, adding an extra flower for every year.

he was a dickhead sometimes, ignoring you or giving you his pitiful, patronizing eyes when you said something flighty or annoying you with his childish gripes when he was irritated, but you always softened him up, smiling or laughing or eyelash fluttering your way into making him relax, making him sigh and nuzzle into you. he loved hugging you tight, feeling your energy through your skin, rocking you and your pastel dresses back and forth.

you were so brilliant, shining so brightly on him that he couldn't help but cave in. mike loved giving himself to you, servicing you in any and every way; you never went unsatisfied with him. 

it doesn't take much for him to do anything for you, wanting to show you he cares, that he loves you. you were a delicate thing in his eyes, so perfect and celestial, a literal angel sent from heaven to be his. you and your gentle, loving eyes and soft, soothing caresses. you felt the same way, so deeply enamored with him in every way. he'd taught you so many things, so many things about yourself and your body, so many things you would only give to him. submission was shared between you, making you both soft for each other. 

you couldn't believe that you two had made it this far, a few years in and still going strong, though mike had never really gotten better at fully communicating when he's upset. he tries his best, you know, but you can tell he's having trouble when he comes into the house from picking abby up. she runs past you, yelling hi on her way to draw in her room. mike just huffs as he takes off his jacket and moves around the living room, mildly sulking around. 

you're painting your toes, and look up at his back with gentle eyes. "mikeyyyyyy," you chorus, watching how his shoulders slightly drop at your voice. "what's wrong?" he hated when anyone else called him mikey, but somehow, you always prodded at his soft spot, disarming him.

he faces you now, all pouty and irked and you make grabby hands for him, cracking a warm smile as he sits on the couch and scoots so you're in his arms and halfway in his lap. your perfume distracts him momentarily, and he inhales deeply, laughing as you swat him, trying to talk between your own giggles. "mikeee, stop. tell me what's wrong." 

"my sandwich," his tone is exasperated, nearly a wail. he closes his eyes. "no sourdough." 

"again?" you say, toning it with as much compassion as you could. you loved mike, but he was always disappointed by this sandwich. this place he went to never had sourdough apparently, and you believed it. you'd only seen him get it a couple times a month, joyous and cheery and the most excited that he'd finally gotten his favorite lunch treat. "why don't you do different bread again? which one did you do that last time?" 

"rye, and it's not the same. not bad, but not sourdough." 

"well, you don't have to let it get you down, baby." you stroke his arm, rubbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pressing your lips to his temple for a few long kisses. he sighs under you, his breathing even. "you'll get your sandwich. you always do." 

little did he know that you meant you'd make it for him personally every day, using his card to get the ingredients every time you needed to restock.

you'd have it prepared in a ziploc bag for him, and it didn't matter if you were at his house, or your own; there wasn't one day since then that he hadn't gotten his sandwich on sourdough, and a cute little note with doodles and wishes and fantasies from you, signed with "i love you the most" in neat, swirling cursive, your name, and three hearts. he thought your sandwich was better by a mile. 

you were one of his bright spots, his sun. his star. 

hehe cutie origin story (i am so tired, so eepy). hope you all enjoy this one <3 i love this dynamic and i think they're so fun to write about.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites

[natade-art]

[hands out hiyori ending up (temporarily?) at shimotsuki with weird 11-13 yr old girl drama] [does not elaborate] [leafs 

id: two series of sketches. one is a rough comic showing Kuina yelling at Hiyori, one panel showing the two of them side by side with Hiyori on her shamisen and Kuina holding a practice sword, with *trying to explode her with her mind* over Kuina. Her dialogue is “I spent so long trying to prove my dad wrong, that I can be a strong swordsman even though I was born this way, and then you come in and now he gets to point at you and say ‘this is how you should be, Kuina’. You’re ruining my life!! I wish you never came here”.

second image is a comic showing Momonosuke introducing himself at the end of Punk Hazard with his and Hiyori’s shared surname, a panel of Zoro labeled “not listening” and thinking “damn my tits look good in this coat”. Marked as four days later, Zoro is doing a handstand under a comically large weight and thinking “wait did he say--”. beside the comic is a picture of current-day Hiyori smiling and throwing a peace sign with the text “girls when they. girls when they become the ideal woman to scam and manipulate old men” end ID

[yesterdays-xkcd]

I love the title-text!

xkcd Loves the Discovery Channel [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[The comic is in parody of the Discovery Channel commercial showing various clips of people singing a song with the chorus line "Boom De Yada."]

[Megan spinning around.] I love momentum.

[Megan laying on floor tinkering with an EEE PC hamster ball robot.] I love to engineer.

[Beret Guy standing in bakery holding a loaf of bread in each hand, a sign with "PIE!" in background.] I love this bakery!

[Cory Doctorow in goggles and a red cape flying superman-style.] I love the blogosphere!

[Cueball running in a large hamster ball.] I love the whole world

[Depiction of internet sludge (4chan b-Random)] And all its messed-up folks.

[Cueball and Megan immersed in playpen balls.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[Mass of playpen balls with speech "I put on my robe and wizard hat" originating from it.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[Black Hat taking a present from a kid with a party hat.] I love your suffering.

[Diagram showing RSA fingerprint authentication between two people.] I love cryptography.

[Cueball and Megan in bed covered by a red sheet.] I love entangled sheets.

[Cueball hanging from a kite string holding a camera.] And kite photography.

[Map of the internet.] I love the whole world

[Cube with a red spider on top.] And all its mysteries.

[Two people sword-fighting on rolling office chairs.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[Classroom with two students and Miss Lenhart.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[Cueball saying "Barack me Obamadeus!" to another man speaking energetically at a podium.] I love elections.

[Cueball holding a schematic diagram of a transistor in front of his crotch.] I love transistors.

[Cueball and Megan in bed, Cueball saying "There must be taft slash fiction."] I love weird pillow talk.

[Cueball speaking to Megan.] I love your sister.

[Roller coaster with Cueball in the front car holding a chess board and thinking about a move.] I love the whole world.

[Beret Guy standing in the midst of leafless trees.] The future's pretty cool!

[Megan doing the MC Hammer slide towards Cueball.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[Cueball and Megan on an electric skateboard.] Boom De Yada Boom De Yada

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Hi, I was wondering if I could request a fic?

So where I work irl next door is a beauty salon and it's called Doll and Dash and has a comically large digital clock that you can see from the window when you peek in and has a gurney bed type thing I guess that is used for doing lashes. One of the big things is on a sign in the door it says and I quote "for the safety of our dolls we don't take walk ins" I find this salon to be very creepy

Anywho, I was wondering if you could write about a beauty salon that is a front for whumper to actually turn unsuspecting whumpees into real dolls. Including restraints, gags, non con drugs, and all the whumpy dumpy stuff.

Hi Anon! I would absolutely LOVE to write this for you! I hope I did it justice, here you go!

Dolled Up

Whumpee stepped inside the beauty salon. They had made the appointment about a week ago, and they were hoping the session would give them a confidence boost that, according to Caretaker, they sorely needed. As they opened the door, a bell rang and a beauty tech came to greet them.

“Hello hello, welcome to Dolled Up!” the tech said, smiling brightly, “what’s your name?”

“Whumpee,” Whumpee answered, “am I too early?”

“Whumpee, Whumpee…” the tech searched on their tablet, “ah! I see you right here. No, you’re right on time, come back with me please. Whumper is all ready for you.”

Whumpee shyly followed the tech through a door and into what looked like an operating room. Someone else approached them.

“Welcome, Whumpee,” the person said, “my name is Whumper, and I'll be taking care of you. Won't you sit down?”

Whumper gestured to a padded gurney. Whumpee had never been to a beauty salon before, so they supposed this was normal. They approached the gurney and sat down on it.

“So, um, how does this work?” Whumpee asked.

“Oh it's just as the name implies,” Whumper said, snapping on gloves, “can I offer you a drink? It's on the house.”

Whumper held out a glass of some kind of sparkling drink. Whumpee hesitated.

“It’s non-alcoholic, unless you'd prefer that of course,” Whumper giggled.

“Oh, in that case.” Whumpee took the drink and sipped it, “thank you.”

“You're very welcome, my dear.”

Whumper set about taking facial measurements of Whumpee. Whumpee tried to hold still, but they were getting very tired all of a sudden. They found themselves swaying to the side. Whumper slid a hand behind their back and gently lowered them onto the gurney, repositioning their legs so that they were completely laying down.

“There we go,” Whumper said, “now we can actually get started.”

“Wha…wha did you…?”

“Your eyes are stunning, and your hair is gorgeous, as is your complexion. Your attire however… it needs an overhaul. No doll of mine needs to dress like this.”

Whumpee should be panicking, and they were trying to, but whatever they had just drank was keeping them calm and pliant on the gurney.

“Assistant, please get everything ready,” Whumper said.

The beauty tech- if that was even their profession- nodded and locked the door. They went to a closet in the corner while Whumper started to strap Whumpee down to the gurney. Assistant came back with a tray of various materials and instruments.

“S-stop-" Whumpee pleaded feebly.

“Dolls don't talk,” Whumper said, tapping Whumpee's nose.

Assistant held Whumpee's mouth open while Whumper sprayed some kind of adhesive foam inside. It bonded to every surface of their mouth. Assistant then held their mouth closed while Whumper smeared a strong, clear adhesive over their lips.

“Mm! Mm!”

“Shhh,” Whumper said.

They wheeled Whumpee into the next room. It was a giant walk-in closet, filled to the brim with different clothes and accessories.

“Something to match their eyes,” Whumper said to themselves, looking at all the different racks.

They eventually pulled out a beautiful, lacy blue dress with matching Mary Jane shoes and hosiery. They also grabbed some blue ribbons and little lacy gloves. As they did so, Assistant took Whumpee's body measurements.

“That outfit should be a perfect fit,” Assistant said.

“I know it is,” Whumper said, “get them out of those clothes, won't you?”

Assistant nodded, wheeling Whumpee behind a curtain. They produced a body suit that was perfectly matched their skin tone. They removed the straps keeping them in place, then started to change them into the suit. Whumpee tried to resist, and in their drugged haze they also tried to remove the gag, but they were unsuccessful on both counts.

The suit was adhesive on the inside, the fingers were sewn together, and there was just one single zipper on the back that only someone not wearing it could reach.

“Mmm!” Whumpee vainly tried to pull it off, but it was stuck tight.

“There there, pretty doll,” Assistant cooed, cupping Whumpee's cheek.

Whumper came back and fitted the new clothes onto Whumpee. Everything was somehow perfectly tailored to them.

Assistant applied makeup to their face, even going so far as to put lipstick on over the clear adhesive.

“Now, let's get you in your display case,” Whumper said.

Placing them back on the gurney, Assistant and Whumper took Whumpee down an elevator into an enormous basement. There waiting for them was a large box that looked like the ones old china dolls would come in, only this was big enough for a human to fit inside. In addition, the box had several padded cuffs inside.

Whumper lay Whumpee in the box. Whumpee could barely move enough to try and climb out. Assistant started fixing the padded cuffs to their limbs and torso.

“Mmm…” Whumpee protested.

“I think they're ready,” Assistant said.

“I agree. Let's get them packed up.”

The clear lid of the box was sealed shut. Inside the box there could be heard the gentle hum of a vent. It dispensed both oxygen and more of the drug into Whumpee's system. The box was loaded onto a rolling cart and brought into a storage room. Rows and rows of boxes lined the room, each with a very high price tag. Whumpee’s box was set down next to another “doll’s”.

“Don't worry little doll, we'll find the perfect owner for you,” Whumper said.

That was the last thing Whumpee heard before drifting off completely.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88  @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad

@sorry-i-spaced

[focsle]

have you written anything about tattoos? is that relevant? don't know how your niche lines up with generic "sailor" tradition, but wikipedia simply says on knuckle tats that deckhands may get "HOLD / FAST" as a charm to support their grip on rigging, and i thought that was kind of cute.

I haven't written anything myself, mostly cos if you throw a stick out in the internet you'll find any number of articles about the symbolism of sailor tattoos, like hold fast and pigs and roosters and swallows and all that!

In my narrow window (the middle decades of the 19th century), I don't see tattoos mentioned all too often, compared to late 19th and throughout the 20th century where they became more common. For instance, this register of seaman's protection certificates (which are admittedly limited in the scope of things, since they're only from a few specific ports) from 1796-1871 rarely list tattoos as distinguishing marks, beyond the odd mention of being marked with an inked anchor, eagle, or letters here or there. Here's a neat jstor article (if you have any more of your 100 free monthly articles to read with a google account) that goes into late 18th-early 19th c tattoos that has some tables and visuals. The research was also done using seaman's protection certificates, with the following stat:

"The SPC-A records start in 1796 and include tattooed men born as early as 1746. There were 979 tattooed men out of a total of 9,772 men whose records survive from 1796 through 1818.26 These men were marked with a total of about 2,354 separate designs."

So, not a large number, but also 10% isn't insignificant. The protection certificates while a reliable source, also only describe the man in one specific moment. I'm sure a few of those men who just have their moles and scars and crooked fingers listed eventually picked up a tattoo or two in their time. Most journal keepers perhaps didn't think it important to mention who had tattoos or what of, though the typical motifs of anchors, nautical stars, girls, religious & patriotic imagery, etc. were certainly a part of the visual language at this point. Whaler William Abbe who sailed in the 1850s, devoted considerable attention to describing the physical appearance of some of his shipmates. In one instance, he wrote about the tattoos of one 'Johnny Come Lately' or 'Jack Marlinspike' (Real name, John Hewes of Buffalo NY)

'from beneath this cap his face looms out - while beneath supporting his comical head is a bare neck and breast — hairy + brown —the upper timbers to a stout hull of a boat that boast a pair of arms all covered with India ink tattooings — the figure of American Liberty — Christ on the cross — an American Tar holding a star spangled banner in one hand + a coil of rope in the other — a fancy girl — + anchors, rings, crosses, knots, stars all over his wrists + hands — the memorials of different ports he has visited — for Jack has been in all kinds of vessels from a man of war to a blubber hunter — + has consequently been to many ports.'

From the logbook of another whaler who sailed in the early 1840s, James Moore Ritchie, he had a page of his drawings with prices included. This potentially may have been a tattoo flash sheet for his shipmates:

American whalers also noted the tattoos of indigenous people who had signed on to whaling vessels, particularly in the South Pacific. William B. Whitecar, whaling in the 1850s wrote: "Several New Zealanders in the respective crews of these vessels attracted my attention from the tattooing on their bodies" making mention of "figures on their face and breast".

I'm too sleepy to have a conclusion lol. Tattoos! They existed! Though perhaps not as ubiquitously as the pop culture sailor designs would imply, at least prior to the late 19th c.

[tallerthantale]

I think it's time to stop fixating on arguments with the active Good Omens fandom.

Yes, the efforts to keep Good Omens 3 that don't mention the allegations are immensely frustrating. But I don't think it's coming from people who disbelieve the allegations or don't care about them. I think it's coming from people who are taking it for granted that Good Omens 3 won't happen with Gaiman attached beyond IP holder. They think the only two possibilities are Gaiman removed as far as possible or outright cancellation. From their perspective it doesn't seem necessary to mention the allegations, they think Gaiman is already a full blown pariah who's career is in shambles.

That is not how these things work. The allegations still don't have widespread media attention, and he still has countless ongoing publishing deals. The bubbles we are in are very aware of the allegations, but those bubbles are largely made up of people who are terminally online. The wider world is still broadly unaware.

While I would prefer it if efforts to salvage Good Omens 3 consistently made their support explicitly contingent on Neil Gaiman's public sacking, I think there are more productive uses of time and energy then getting into flame wars about it. Overwhelmingly the Good Omens fandom is onboard with efforts to metaphorically launch Neil Gaiman into the sun. They are more allies than adversaries. Let them have spaces to keep talking about their blorbos, don't go into those spaces to accuse them of not believing the allegations or not caring about SA survivors.

Gaiman's ability to maintain wealth, power, and influence is far more connected to his public appearances and publishing deals than it is to a show's fandom that already wants him axed (but forgets that they still have to say that because they think it's obvious.) I don't like the organized 'stream the show more' efforts, but the IP residuals off of additional streamed views are typically very small compared to book sales.

If the goal is to take down Neil Gaiman's ability to use his career to access victims, the primary objective is shutting down public appearances. No convention appearances, no teaching workshops, no book signing events, no speaking engagements. I don't think those sorts of things are likely in the near future, as the current PR strategy looks like an attempt to lay low and avoid the Streisand effect. However, if things do start blowing over in the future, public appearances might start creeping back, and they can be met with in person protest.

The next objective IMO is no new TV / movie deals, no new publishing deals. The general public scandal will suppress new deals for a while, but it won't hold up if the story is only circulated in the fringes and then forgotten about. The methods of raising awareness need to focus on bringing the message to people who haven't heard about the allegations yet, and that's going to mean going real world about it. Leave stickers on power line poles, on bus stop shelters, on bookshop shelves, on shopping carts / trollies. Ask your local news media to cover the story.

The challenge target if those main objectives hold is cancelling current publishing deals. That won't just be about calling on publishers to drop Neil Gaiman, it will also be about calling on people to stop buying his work, so that the publishers have a capitalist justification for dropping him. Always remember, you are not appealing to their better nature, you are appealing to a spread sheet.

The target audience for the 'stop buying NG books and comic books' message is people who haven't heard about the allegations yet. It is not the terminally online wing of the Good Omens fandom, which is already in favor of not purchasing from him.

Current publishing deals are not an easy target. Boycotting efforts are notoriously difficult to organize effectively, and there are plenty of objectively terrible people widely known as such who still get published. Some thoughts I have on it are starting with foreign language publishers in regions where Gaiman isn't as commercially successful, or seeing if local book stores are open to not purchasing more of his books. Keep in mind though, as with any boycotting push, you are asking the most vulnerable people to make the biggest sacrifice. A locally owned small bookshop has the most to lose by not stocking a popular author. Stay kind and respectful.

Edit Note: A previous version of this mentioned a specific user. They have asked to be removed from the post.

[buckyegans]

The Rule ✮ Leonard Wolfman Wolfe

summary: Hollywood lets you know about the cowboy hat rule after seeing his RIO place the hat on your head.

warnings: language, some sexual implications? drinking, shenanigans

notes: y/c/s = your call sign. gender neutral reader! inspired by a jake seresin fic i saw on here but generally by the cowboy hat rule phenomenon from tiktok a while back

 “Y/C/S,” Rick Neven, Hollywood, greets as he plops down on the barstool next to you, beer in hand.

 You turn to him with a flushed grin, big Stetson lopsided on your head. It was comical. “Hey, Wood! Are you enjoying the party?” you asked, nodding to the bustling crowd of the O Club, all celebrating the success of the first mission as Top Gun graduates.

 Hollywood nods. “Sure am. You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he states, eyes flickering to the hat on your head.

 You laugh, placing your hand on the top of it, keeping it in place. “Oh, this? It’s Wolf’s.”

 “I know whose hat it is, Y/C/S. Did he tell you about the hat rule?” Hollywood questions, signaling for another round for the two of you.

 You shake your head, grabbing the beer. “No. What’s the hat rule? Cowboys can’t give people their hats?” you guess with a pink-cheeked grin, laughing at yourself.

 “No,” he smiles. “If you wear his cowboy hat, you must be riding the cowboy.” Hollywood states.

 You practically spit your drink out, covering your mouth before you sputter it everywhere. You fall into a fit of coughs, Hollywood quickly smacking at your back, Wolfman unfortunately appearing out of nowhere with a look of concern. “Woah, you okay, Y/C/S?” Wolfman asks worriedly.

 You nod frantically, flushing as you look at him. “Peachy,” you cough, wiping your mouth as you try and regain your breath. “I’m gonna use the restroom.” you say, speeding off before he can really say something.

 Wolfman snaps his head to Hollywood. “What did you say to them?” he asks.

 Hollywood holds his hands up in defense, shrugging. “The hat rule.”

 Wolfman groans, flipping his friend off. “You are such a dickhead, Hollywood!” he says before moving down the hall you just disappeared down. Wolfman leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling as he waited for you.

 When the door open and you walked out, your face heated up at the sight of Wolfman, waiting for you. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks.

 “Yes,” you breathe as he towers over you. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you question.

 Wolfman sighs, smiling softly. “Because of the damn hat.”

 You let out a shakey exhale, nodding. “I definitely did not expect that.” you admit. “But, I haven’t taken it off yet, have I?”

 Wolfman blinks at you. “What?” he blurts.

 “I said,” you said, swallowing your caution. “I haven’t taken your hat off yet, Wolfe.”

 Wolfman breaks into a large grin. “What are you sayin’, Y/C/S?”

 You shrug, tipping the hat at him. “Just trying to follow the rule, cowboy.” you wink, turning to walk towards the exit.

 Wolfman stands in the hall, frozen for a moment. Quickly regaining a bit of sense, he’s hot on your tail. “Hey, wait for me!” he’s yelling.

[alittledoseofchaos]

Part Of A Work In Progress

Marinette burrowed into a soft blanket as the news played on a very large TV. She lazily turned up the volume as the video switched to be infront of a semi-demolished building. A woman in a purple pantsuit waved her arms to get the attention of someone. Soon, Ironman landed infront of the cameraman.

"Mr. Stark! You just saved tons of people from a burning building, how do you do it?"

"Like he does everything, with narcissism." Tim muttered from Marinette's left. She blinked at him. A round of hums in agreement came from all Waynes and Wayne-adjacents in the room. She watched in a mixture of amusement and fascination as the comments slowly escalated.

At one point Jason put his book down and joined the people on the couch in mocking the hero. Marinette knew for a fact that Cass hadn't been holding a "Ironman's a JERK" sign at the beginning of this, but she was now. Steph was burning a shirt with the Ironman symbol. Damian was standing on the back of the couch, monologuing about how he was a disgrace. Tim was standing on an armchair, how he got there she didn't know, and was somehow agreeing with Damian while insulting him? Duke was chanting 'burn the hierarchy' as if that was something perfectly normal. Marinette is pretty sure Babs was recording this; most likely for blackmail. If it wasn't for the mischievous smiles on their faces, and their night-time activities, Marinette would be worried she was living with supervillains.

"Mr. Stark, people are saying that you are living proof that superheroes could reveal their identities without danger to their loved ones, do you agree with this take?"

A suffocating silence filled the room as all those present fixated on the screen. Marinette swore none of them were breathing.

"That is completely false. People I care about have been put in danger, and that's with all the tech and money possible."

Marinette watched as they all did a double take. She could practically see them all rebooting. Not long after they shook off their shock and continued on.

Jason returned to his book. Damian climbed off the couch and used a cup of water to put out the growing flames. Tim pulled off his jacket and mopped up the excess water. Cass folded up the sign and slipped it between the couch cushions. Dick, who had been watching this all unfold, shook his head fondly. Steph gathered the popcorn that was spilled in the anarchy. Duke went back to writing in his handheld notepad.

At this point Marinette's eyes were comically large, and she couldn't fight the laughter that came bubbling out of her. Everyone's eyes whipped to Marinette, almost as if they forgot she was there; except Cass because she's Cass. Nobody did anything until Dick started laughing too. Noise filled the room, but this time because of laughter and jokes rather than criticisms.

That was how Bruce found them later, all except Damian laughing. When asked what was going on, they all just fell silent and exited through different entry points. Bruce blinked. Looking around the now empty room, he decided that he was better off not knowing the cause of the newest burn mark on the coffee table.

[gpuzzle]

Ramona Flowers Twice Removed

Based off a small discussion with @centrally-unplanned (shoutouts homie)

One of the less obvious things about Scott Pilgrim is the way in which it has an underlying running arc with Ramona that's significantly less explicit than Scott's arc (except in Book 5). Ramona has to confront all of Scott's exes, and how they reflect on her the same way that Scott's exes reflect on him - and that's one of the more clever things that BLOM does in the comics.

The first one is Kim, Scott's High School ex; Kim is in a lot of ways a parallel to Ramona. Scott's pet name for both is very similar (Kimmy, Rammy); both of their last names are largely biological (Pine and Flowers). Ramona's head glows while they're watching the Lucas Lee movie, which in turn mirrors the Scott vs Simon Lee fight and the Knives-Ramona fight smashed together; the Simon Lee fight particularly sticks out as that's when it glows hardest. Scott also obviously lies and about how "he doesn't even remember his high school girlfriend" - and corrects himself to "girlfriends" to make himself look cooler; Ramona's lie comes later, when she's saying she didn't dump him for any cocky pretty boys (Todd). That entire arc gets resolved on the personal level by Scott introducing Ramona to Kim. The resolution between the two is just "hey, he can still hold a friendly relationship with one of his exes", which Ramona is utterly unable to do up until that point.

The next one is Envy, whose parallel to Ramona happens at a number of levels, from the superficial (both share the middle name initial V, but Natalie gets a cool menacing nickname, and Ramona gets to be a motorhome - obviously a sign of Ramona being way less "cool" than Envy) to the obvious (both of them are mercurial people, Envy out of ambition and Ramona as a self-defense mechanism). Ramona has to wrestle the girl that is mentally torturing Scott and who has moved into fully incompatible territory with him; but she also has to be honest to Scott and admit she just dumped Lucas for Todd with zero hesitation. The thing that brings their fight to a halt is the two pseudo-bonding over a terrible ex; and this Hyper-Scott character in Todd - but also in Scott being willing to intervene in Ramona's side during the Ramona vs Natalie fight and make it clear that no, he's not using her as a rebound to get with Natalie.

After that, it's Lisa, and this one is testing Ramona's faith in Scott not to cheat on some random girl he was connections to, and with whom he might have cheated before. Ramona's entire arc is this perpetual fear of Scott cheating on her, and in this arc she does - she makes out with Roxanne off-screen! Ramona is terrified of some influence from the past, however no-strings-attached it is, taking Scott from her, and she's not realizing that - and it's projection from who she is, in a sense.

On volume 5, we finally arrive at Knives and the confrontation that Scott did do the cut-and-run thing, but it was dumping someone else for Ramona, and Ramona now has to deal with the fact that Scott cheated; so it triggers her temptation to get moving again; that "real life is waiting", to quote one of the Twins. That Scott isn't perfect when it comes to that, and that he's going to fuck up - but he's also not better than her, because her two exes here are guys she two-timed. But she can't reconcile that at the present time, so it triggers her defense mechanism - escape.

Volume 6 has Ramona confronting herself entirely off-screen - the last of Scott's exes. And that she too hasn't been perfect; she admits as much, and comes back for herself - and Scott, though she can't fully admit it until she gets The Power of Love. She has to want to change versus the one who sees things going poorly and bails as soon as possible.

I think especially because we don't get to see Ramona through Volume 6 until she comes back, that's not made sufficiently explicit as a running arc. Which is understandable; it's hard to do the Vol. 6 narrative well while also showing what Ramona was up to and making that arc more explicit.

[dell-amor-te]

“The Hare, the Crow, & the Unhappy Marriage”

Word Count: 5,906.

Warning(s): Spoilers for what’s been revealed in pre-released content, canon-typical combat depictions, no beta but I try my best.

Pairing: F!Rook x Lucanis Dellamorte. 

Summary: Lucanis takes on a major contract and makes an acquaintance he’ll never forget. (Also known as “the Lucanis and Nöa pre-canon cringefail meetcute that won that poll forever ago that I finally finished.”)

🐦‍⬛ Read on ao3.

9:51, Dragon.

Minrathous, the Thalsian Estate.

“It was a lovely service, Magister Thalsian. A perfect coda for the loss of a titan of our empire. Worthy of a man of your father’s standing.”

She stood still and poised like a marble statue in the moonlight gardens, waiting for any sign of life from the younger man standing before her. His black-clad back remained affixed in her direction while he stared up at an actual, imposingly tall marble statue that was carved in his father’s image.

Larger than life, much like the now deliciously departed Festus Thalsian, Sr.

His living junior always seemed small next to his father, but the statue’s towering height made the discrepancy almost comical.

Once she was certain he would not answer to her first statement, she cleared her throat, making another: “I imagine, as the newly appointed representative of one of the Imperium’s oldest and most respected families, you must be feeling quite proud somewhere underneath your grief.”

A beat, a reconsidered addendum to follow, but not a misstep.

“Somewhere amidst all that grief, of course.”

Nothing still.

Now she was growing impatient.

Again, then.

“I—”

“What do you want, Magister Renata?”

“So formal, my lord.”

Zara smiled easily, taking the break in his silence as her invitation to come stand at his side in the looming presence of his father’s cold and impassive homage. He gave her a not-so-veiled look of derision before his face turned down once more, his tired eyes further fatigued by dark circles under them.

She took a chance to take a proper look at the statue. While the flesh and bone Festus was already ashes stuffed into a gauche urn and shoved on a mantle somewhere in the grand Thalsian estate, this monument would remain in the family’s private and labyrinthine gardens; his perpetual company would be the other members of the family tree who had been so honored.

Forever able to give his son those same withering glances he always had.

“He looks as proud as your father always did of you.” Zara lied smoothly.

“Again: what do you want, Zara?”

“Tut, tut, Festus. Is it so wrong to want to offer you my condolences in person?”

“It is when the funerary services were a private family affair.” His reply was as stiff yet spineless as his current stance.

“I almost married your uncle.”

“But you didn’t. How did you manage to secure an invitation?”

“Oh, I still see him every so often.”

Festus sighed haggardly.

“Really, I’m hurt, Festus.”

“And I’m still left wondering why you’re here. You must want something. You always do.”

Zara chuckled. “See, you do know me.” She said, though it brought Festus no pleasure to be so praised.

To wit, then.

“Your father’s death creates a power vacuum in the Magisterium that having a son and heir to take his seat will only quell for so long. Your father cast quite a large shadow.”

“And we all know I don’t have what’s needed to fill it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She chided with practiced gentleness.

Not here, anyway.

Zara clapped her hands together. “You are more than capable of rising to his heights, Festus. He and my father began their time in the Magisterium together, if you’ll recall. Neither one of them was anything more than we two are now when they began.”

Festus studied her with wariness, like she was an asp—a shining smile hiding fangs ready to strike. While she may have been missing the fangs, she certainly managed to hold the same venom and sharp tongue.

“True enough. But my father had exploits no other mage in our family could hope to replicate. So grand that they made up for his few shortcomings.”

Such as the fact that neither of the sons he produced were born Dreamers.

Zara closed the gap between them, heels clicking authoritatively against the cobblestone. “Then why not show our peers why you’re the heir to the Thalsian name?” She challenged.

“We all know why. It’s certainly not because of my own merit.” Festus snorted, looking to the memorial statue again for a moment.

“And why can’t it be?” Zara asked sharply, shoving one perfectly painted nail into his chest, right into his very heart. “Because you’re going to show them that you’re capable of righting even your unimpeachable father’s wrongs. What could be a finer tribute to his legacy?”

Festus’ brow twitched.

“I’ve had the pleasure of reading some of his notes on Dreamers and the ancient elves, you know.” Zara informed him. “He was onto something with those experiments of his. I know you know that—he mentioned you in his writings.”

“Yes, but if you’ve truly read them—and I won’t even question how—then you know he abandoned them.”

“Yes, because he lost his two prized lab rats. Or should I say lab rabbits?”

“You could say that. But it would be incredibly on the nose of you.” Festus’ own nose crinkled in distaste. “They weren’t just prized. You must have seen the records and ledgers, too. He almost bankrupted our family on purchasing hundreds of different brutes over the years. They were the only two who weren’t only viable, but exceptional.”

“Indeed. His golden goose and lucky rabbit. What’s the elven for that again?”

The younger mage’s spine stiffened with a sharp intake of breath.

“This is a moot point.” He said quickly. “The mother was killed by my father.”

“But the little rabbit escaped. Obviously.” Zara scoffed.

He scoffed right back.

“Come now, Festus, surely you don’t take me for a fool.” She crossed her arms, resolute. “Elves might not be rare in this city, much as we all like to pretend, but elves who bear those savage markings are rare indeed. And I doubt it’s a coincidence that this one goes by a moniker that happens to match the name your father gave her when he came into possession of her.”

Festus set his brow. He wouldn’t indulge her.

“Glower all you like, but I know you must be aware of her exploits.”

“Oh, and what makes you so confident?”

“Because the Magisterium won’t acknowledge what’s happened. A rogue rattus ran about, a runaway, stealing others property and setting it free? And no one can seem to catch her? And then she vanishes into thin air? You know as well as I how our colleagues love their gossip, and they won’t even dare to speak of her. They’re embarrassed.” She nodded. “Just as you keep quiet. Because you habor some sentiment for your lost pet.”

Festus’ cheeks burned red, catching as quickly as a wildfire from a firebolt gone awry.

“You’re hardly the first man in this city to get a little too attached to one of the family pets.”

“That’s quite the accusation to make without any sort of proof.”

“Is that right? Tell me, isn’t that locket you refuse to let leave your neck made of ironbark? Or am I mistaken?”

She, of course, was never mistaken.

Festus said nothing, confirming her suspicions without so much as uttering a single syllable.

“It has her portrait inside of it, no doubt.” Zara spoke in a disinterested tone, picking at one of her nails with another nail before strolling away from the statue.

She kept walking until she reached the balcony overlooking the rest of the gardens below, draping her back against the cool stone of the baluster, the cape attached to her gown lying tastefully of the smooth barrier. She smiled knowingly when she turned to find Festus close at heel, absently fiddling with the locket in question.

“You’re proposing I get her back and continue with my father’s plans.”

It wasn’t a question.

“This world needs Dreamers. More importantly, the Imperium needs Dreamers.” Zara mused, smiling as if he had missed his own joke. “And it should be the Imperium who brings them to life.” She heaved a dispassionate sigh. “It’s a pity that such pristine breeding must be tainted so by lesser, wild blood, but we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good of Tevinter.”

Festus met her at the balcony at last, his arm supporting him as he leaned in and considered her words. He never had managed to learn how to read her. She remained as lost to him as an esoteric tome from eras bygone and best left forgotten. And yet he couldn’t stop trying to understand.

If not an understanding, then at least to twist to his advantage.

“She may be persona non grata throughout the Imperium, but people will catch on if I or my men go hunting her bounty, no matter how we try to spin it. And then there will be no Dreamers. Do you intend to offer my men aid?”

“For the right price, of course, darling. And believe me, once payment is confirmed, I’ll happily use every tool in my arsenal to help you. In fact, I’ll have a new shiny toy soon enough, if all goes to plan. And once the blade’s been honed, I’m certain there won’t be anything standing between you and your little rabbit’s sweet reunion.”

“I’m sure that price tag must be hefty. I did mention my father’s spending habits nearly bankrupted our family, didn’t I?”

“Oh, but who can appraise the priceless gift of acclaim that will accompany being the man to reestablish the Dreamers in the bloodline of the First Dreamer himself?”

“You, I’m assuming. Or you think you can, anyway.”

“It’s a trifle, truly, in comparison to having your precious little—”

“Zara.”

She heaved a sigh. “My father has designs to marry me to some cadet branch from a particular family—one who has recently joined with those traitors, the Lucerni.” At Festus’ pointed look, she waved a dismissive hand. “He’s desperate, and he’ll see the contract through even to them for the sake of creating alliances. Unless someone can make a better offer, of course…”

“And you’re short of suitors.” Festus assumed.

“Not if a certain newly-minted magister puts in his bid. I hear he’ll be plagued with marriage offers come daybreak. And won’t all those pesky marriage interviews keep him from his true passion—his studies?”

It was a grim prospect, one the more introverted Festus didn’t relish.

Zara moved in closer, her breath warm against his cheeks as she whispered in his ear. “Besides, this potential Dreamer will need a more…tamed mother, won’t they? One who won’t ask questions or betray the existence of her sweet husband’s…” Her head bobbled as she considered the best phrasing. “Well…less-than-appropriate mistress?”

Festus hid his repulsion for the woman hanging on his arm under a thinly-veiled feint of consideration. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought of her everyday since her unfair escape from his family’s estate. Dark-bright eyes oft haunted his dreams. They haunted his waking hours, too. It was a lie he kept close to his chest.

What he wouldn’t give just for the chance of seeing her again…

“It’s traditional for my family to marry at the end of the year, during the holiday festivals.” He informed her. “Now, would you like to share this plan of yours with your fiancé?”

Zara smiled knowingly.

…

The memory played again and again in his mind.

I’ll never forgive you.

I understand.

Lucanis Dellamorte sighed.

The toes of his boots hung off the edge of the rooftop by mere centimeters.

Below him, the city of Minrathous danced at its full tilt. Lights of magical-illumination. Bursting pubs. Beggars in the gutter. Unaware of his presence, and yet Lucanis knew better than to let his guard drop. He certainly couldn't while he was here, not while he was in unfamiliar territory.

Vyrantium was one thing. Minrathous was another beast entirely.

But his target was here, and so he had come.

His target.

Zara Renata. Newlywed of Magister Festus Thalsian, the junior of a recently deceased father. A brave match that could see the Empire forward for generations with the heights they could reach together.

Unless Lucanis got to work, that is.

Little was known about the Thalsian family almost in spite of how well-known they were. What was known beyond their names and prestige was limited to what its members allowed outsiders to know. They were prideful, ever seeking more power and power beyond. This fact was likely not helped by their connection to the first recorded priest of Dumat. The lack of any other concrete information about the family as a whole—not to mention individual members—was frustrating for Lucanis.

He hadn’t been able to fill even a full page with what paltry intel he had been able to gather before journeying to Minrathous. In a perfect world, he would have had another week to do some more footwork, perhaps even a day or two to observe the Thalsian estate before he ever crossed the threshold.

But the world was not perfect, and Lucanis had not been consulted on setting a date for this particular wedding.

While the Thalsian family remained obfuscated, the Renata family was much more prone to chase the spotlight. They were a moderately affluent house, but this union would no doubt do wonders to elevate their standing in the Imperium.

The last time he had crashed a wedding, it had ended with the father-of-the-bride dead before Lucanis was mysteriously spirited away from the festivities.

Even as unfamiliar as Minrathous was to him, Lucanis was able to follow the interconnecting alleyways easily enough. A fancy manor in this city was much like a tree in a forest or sand on the beach, even with the special occasion being held at this household. Lucanis was able to find the Thalsian estate with little trouble, and without detection.

The serpentine crest wrought into the black-iron gate of the estate confirmed the proud owners of the home. Sneaking inside undetected amidst the sea of well-wishers and wedding guests was one of the easier maneuvers Lucanis had executed in his time as a Crow.

And so he found himself in much a similar position as the one he was in out on the streets, tucked up and out of the way on a makeshift perch. Rather than a seedy and rain-slicked rooftop, he found security behind a granite-carved serpent, an eave mounted high about the festivities below, stuck in an indefatigable vigil over the decorated and gilded ballroom.

He was charming in a disarming sort of way, Lucanis could see that much from his current vantage point.

The magister’s smile was ostentatious. It wanted your attention—no, demanded it. It was bright, flashy, like vibrant scales that warned potential prey of poison lurking in the body of a predator, just waiting for the one foolish enough to fall to its charms.

It certainly didn’t help that his looks would appeal to anyone.

“You’re sure it’s secured?” He asked with minimal movement of his lips—Lucanis just barely made out what he was saying to his new bride.

Zara Renata offered a much more practiced, poisonous smile as she made to meet her groom. “Of course, darling. She’s downstairs with the rest of the wedding presents.” She said, lip movements less covert than Festus’.

Festus stiffened then, but nodded with a certain eagerness that Lucanis found raising his hackles. The shine that overtook the magister’s eyes did nothing to set Lucanis at ease. There was a hunger—an affection, if it could truly be called that—that had been missing from every moment spent with his bride, even while he bound himself to her.

The bride herself, however, did not share Lucanis’ offense.

“I must admit, she’s prettier than I expected. I can almost see the appeal. Almost.” Zara told her newly-wedded husband, hooking her arm in his. “She shouted something at me in that blasted tongue of theirs. So uncouth.”

Surely they didn’t mean…

Lucanis cursed the magisters under his breath. Both of them—for good measure.

Though his mind immediately set to lecturing him, reminding him that he had a job to do and his window to do it and get out was closing with each step the couple took toward their marriage bed, his heart and legs rallied all the stronger. He left his serpentine perch with a soundless leap, heading into the first corridor he saw with a descending set of stairs, mindful of each step.

His gut lurched with each repetition in his ears of those words as they played over and over again in his mind.

Wedding presents. Wedding presents. Weddings presents.

He heard Illario’s words in his ears, too, ringing like a warning bell, tolling and warning him away from a course he was already on.

We’re not heroes, cousin.

Lucanis kept close to the ancient stone walls. For all the variations in façades, Tevinter homes above a certain degree of nobility and prestige all had similar layouts. Wine cellars often masked more nefarious rooms—holding cells. Often barely distinguishable from the house servants’ sleeping quarters, though they sported chains and shackles the quarters did not.

The sounds of the wedding party slipped away from him as he neared the false wall of casks, and a hushed conversation filled his ear instead. He knelt down behind the end of a row of casks that acted as the mouth to a slip of hallway leading to the unlit cells beyond.

His brow twitched as he listened in.

“Oh, hush, Strife! I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

“Didn’t you say those things were untested? What if you tip off the whole damn household?” A man’s deep cadence questioned.

Whoever he was, Lucanis could hear the years in his voice. The certainty was unusual, raising Lucanis’ eyebrow. Most caught up in the slave system of Tevinter didn’t sound so confident, especially if they had years under their belt.

“Please. I can hear the band playing from here, which means they might as well be deaf up there. Besides, the mister and missus should be making their way to the marriage bed by now. Now stand back, will you? Just in case.”

The second voice was distinctly feminine, sporting an accent that sounded slightly Nevarran to color her words. It was clear she was well-acquainted with the man she spoke with, given the familiarity in her tone.

In the low light of the pocket hall, Lucanis couldn’t quite make out what was happening, and he certainly didn’t come to terms with it until after it had happened. A bright flash of light—completely soundless—exploded into the air. Unprepared, Lucanis flinched away, pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes to alleviate the discomfort.

It took everything in him not to curse aloud.

Beyond the wall, the conversation continued.

“Ye of little faith.” The woman declared smugly. “I tell ya, people in this town are too obsessed with figuring out how to use magic to stop time, or turn it back, or how to manipulate people using their own blood. A little bit of creativity, and they’d actually be a threat.”

“It’s not little faith in you, brains. It’s little interest in having your old man turn me into a walking dead man if he finds out I let a Thalsian get hands on you. Again.”

“Good thing I’m going to kill Thalsian, then. Two Thalsian’s, now.” A pause. “You know that’s not what my father does, right?”

“Don’t try to explain it to me again, please. It’s weird.”

“Only in places that aren’t Nevarra.”

“Yeah, which is everywhere else in Thedas. Come on, let’s liberate our fellow man and get outta here.”

“After y—”

The pair went quiet.

While Lucanis blinked away the after effects of the shocking surprise, his vision still a colorful daze as though he had looked directly into the sun, a pair of thighs wrapped around his neck. The Crow cursed that time, shifting his focus on getting this unseen person off of him.

His hand instinctively went for one of the knees, hoping to disbalance and then sling his assailant off of him. Instead of loosening grip, their knees closed in, ankles locking for extra security.

He couldn’t catch his breath. If they had half a mind, no doubt they could twist their lower half and take his neck right along with them. At such an angle it would be unlikely to kill him, but he still didn’t relish the thought of a neck ache or the accompanying headache.

He just had to catch them by surprise.

And so Lucanis struggled to his feet, balancing precariously with the added weight on his shoulders.

And then he let himself fall backwards.

His piggybacker made a tactical decision to protect themself from injury—rather than keeping a hold on him and risk hurting their own back, their legs released his neck, allowing the attacker time needed to roll out into a safer position just before they both hit the marble floor.

“Bloody shem!” The woman’s voice was warm against his neck.

The woman from the cell, he saw now.

Before either of them could make another move, laughter echoed off the stony walls.

“Take it easy on the poor guy, Nöa.” A tall, muscled elven man, the owner of the male voice Lucanis had heard, chuckled amicably, standing over them in their entangled heap. “I don’t think he’s interested in hurting either of us.”

Lucanis said nothing, only offering an easy smirk in reply once his coughing subsided and allowed him to. He rubbed at his neck absently.

“Oh, forgive the mistake—I saw a figure in black and my brain assumed Thalsian guard.” The woman, Nöa, chuckled easily, offering him a hand up as soon as she was back on her feet.

Lucanis considered the outstretched gloved hand for a moment, before accepting.

“Sorry for trying to choke you, by the way.” She added quickly. “I usually buy people dinner before I start wrapping my thighs around their neck.”

“No, no. I don’t mind…”

Strife snorted, and despite the smug look on her face, the woman blushed. When he realized what he had said, Lucanis cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” He asked instead.

“Hm? Oh. Fancy meeting a friendly here. You’re not to Festus’ tastes, so you must be a gift for the new madame of the house.”

“What? No. I came to help you.” He shook his head. “No.”

Actually, he had come to kill the new madame of the house and her new husband. But here he was. He could almost hear Illario berating him. It was a harmless enough lie, since he knew she was also keen on seeing the sun set on the world with two less magisters in it.

The woman put her hands on her hips, head cocking to the side as she studied him, rounding him like a surveyor. “Hm. You’re obviously not with the Shadow Dragons.”

Her left eye glinted with a mischievous light, its prosthetic partner seeming to reflect the same sentiment despite its inorganic nature.

“Neither are you. Obviously.” He said pointedly, standing straight up as she circled him.

“Oh, and that accent.” She all but crooned, leaning in closer when she rounded back to face him. “Antivan, right?” Conspiratorially, she posited: “I’d wager you’re a Crow, then, given your ensemble? I’ve always wanted to meet a Crow.”

Lucanis’ brow betrayed him by bunching up, belying his bemusement.

What in the Maker’s name is wrong with her?

Before he could do more than open his mouth, she raised a hand to keep him quiet.

His lips pursed.

A pair of Thalsian’s estate guards passed by, but now before the shorter woman had pulled into an alcove, her taller companion already back behind the wall. Lucanis would have protested, but his focus was squarely on the two guards.

The woman’s hand held him in place, pressed into his chest, before her eyes darted to him, then to the guards.

They were drunk, by the way they laughed and hung on one another—unaware. No doubt they had imbibed on their lord’s wedding wine. They didn’t even notice that the elves tucked within the cages held onto doors that were half-open and slowly, carefully closing.

“And then what did he say?”

“Well, he goes—”

Before the guard could finish their tale, Lucanis and the woman moved as one. They both closed the gap carefully. Just before they reached the pair, the woman muttered something—a spell—under her breath.

The pair quieted, then stilled. Lucanis prepared to end the guard on the left with a clean twist of his neck, but the woman stopped him. It was curiosity, not mercy, that stayed him. He watched as she put a rag to the man’s nose.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and then he crumpled to the floor.

She gestured for Lucanis to let go of his quarry, and she repeated the action with the rag.

“Yeah, just like that. Big, old breaths. Really take in those heady notes of felandaris.”

“It’s a paralytic, but I added in a little extra surprise.” Nöa told him. “They won’t remember a thing.” She folded the rag back into her breast pocket. “Totally harmless to the touch, but works a wonder once it’s inhaled.” She explained. “I don’t mind killing where it needs done. These guys are barely more than slaves to the powers that be, though. Might even be indentured.”

Lucanis hummed curtly. She was much more…exuberant…but the way she spoke of the chemical reminded him of Viago. While he could picture her with a similar deadpan, he couldn’t conjure up a Viago so lively, even in his imagination.

“Well, now that that’s settled, you can shake a leg” Nöa nodded her head toward her companion, the man she called Strife.

She stared at him expectantly.

“Me?” Lucanis had to keep his composure. “I don’t know Minrathous well enough to get them out of the city. You clearly do.” Lucanis said. He gestured toward the man with a sweeping arm.

“No can do. I have business here with Thalsian.”

“And I have business with Renata.”

“Alright, you two, that’s enough. This is getting a little too hot for my tastes.” Strife stepped in between them, separating them with his body.

“I assure you, you’re in no danger from me.” He looked from the elf to the shorter, somewhat elven woman. “The only one I’m here to kill a magister.”

“Well, so am I.” She insisted.

“Crows don’t abandon contracts.”

“He’s mine.”

There was so much conviction in her words that Lucanis found himself frozen.

“I’ll get them out of here.” Strife decided at last. “Nöa, do what you have to do—but if it comes to it, let ‘em take the Crow.” He smirked at Lucanis before turning back to his companion, staring her down seriously as his hand found her shoulder. “You get yourself out of here, that way I don’t have an angry necromancer using me for anatomy lessons because I let his daughter get herself nabbed.”

“Your skeletal structure would be very good for articulation lectures.” Nöa mused.

“See, that’s the kind of strange stuff you’ve gotta stop saying.” Despite his words, the man chuckled fondly. “I better be seeing you back at base.

“Jumper’s honor.” She signaled him off with a small wave before turning to Lucanis. “Shall we go ruin a marriage?”

Lucanis followed her, even if he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he was following her into. He studied her as they slunk back up the stairs. There wasn’t a hint of tension in her shoulders. If it wasn’t for the surreptitious nature of their movements, he would have thought she belonged here.

“How do you know where to go?”

“Who says I do?” She teased.

“Your body.” He said.

“Ser, that implies you’re paying attention.” She hummed, pleased. “Like what you see?”

Lucanis didn’t answer, which made her laugh—quietly, mindful of their situation.

“Let’s just say I’ve spent more time in this house than I want to think about. Thalsian and his bride will be in his chamber. Which will be in the west halls. It’s a whole private suite—belonged to his father before he croaked.”

Lucanis said nothing, pausing when she reached back a hand, holding him in place. She barely reached her head around the end of the corridor leading back to the main ballroom. Then she swore under her breath.

“Venatori.” Nöa told him, turning around to face him with a thoughtful hum.

Her hand didn’t leave his chest.

“Wouldn’t that just ruin the good Magister Thalsian’s name if it got out.” Lucanis noted, raising an eyebrow at her.

She met his gaze. A wolfish, understanding smile struck her features.

“After you, my lady.”

Nöa hummed, pleased, before reaching down and pulling a simple dagger from her belt. It looked like little more than a letter-opener, but she held it with certainty.

“So, were you all invited, or are you the hired help for the night?”

“That mark on her face! It’s the Hare!” One of the agents cried.

“Well, fools! Do your duty. Just don’t kill her—Festus wants her alive.” He sneered, lips twitching. “No doubt he’d prefer her face untouched, too. Her pretty little friend is fair game, however.”

Lucanis glowered, readying his own choice weaponry. “I’ll go left.” He told Nöa, practically growling.

Nöa said nothing, setting to work on the right side of the small troop.

They worked quickly, methodically.

Whoever these Venatori agents were, the spellcasting couldn’t match either of their opponents for speed. Nöa had uttered spells and conjured fire before they could get out more than a syllable. Who she didn’t burn, she stabbed.

Lucanis, meanwhile, showed his foes what a Crow could do. They may as well have been a training exercise compared to contracts he had taken. Forfex came to mind at once, along with a slew of names he couldn’t remember.

“And then there was one.” Nöa said, panting slightly as she leveled her gaze at the magister before them.

“Magister Iranicanus.” The portly man bowed dramatically, unfazed by the efficiency with which his men had been dispatched.

Lucanis wondered if it was pride or sheer arrogance. With magisters, sometimes there was hardly a difference.

“Never heard of you.” Nöa said dryly, stalking toward him.

“How dare—”

With a muttered but committed spell, Nöa had the man frozen, though Lucanis couldn’t see any signs of frost or fractals on the man. She swaggered toward the magister, unfazed, surveying him with a critical glint in her eyes.

Then, she used that particular dagger from her belt to create a simple but deadly cut along the path of his carotid artery. It was precise. Almost surgical. There was no pleasure in it, only a sense of necessity.

Justice.

Within seconds, whatever magic she had used on the man disappeared, and he fell to his knees, then to the floor. Dead at her feet, bleeding freely even after life had left him. That blood trickled down the steps of the altar that had been used to bind two magisters earlier that evening. Now it acted as the resting place of another.

“Well, this was fun.” Nöa decided at last, smiling once again.

Lucanis blinked in surprise, stunned by the sudden feeling of her lips against his cheek for the briefest of moments. He stared at her, eyes wide and lips pursed.

She laughed, no doubt inspired by the look of shock on his face. “What? This poor altar deserved to see at least one proper kiss today. And I’d say you’ve more than earned it.”

“You call that fun?” He asked, still stupefied.

“Well…” She drawled out harmlessly. “At least a magister died today. Right?”

Lucanis sighed. “Now, what do we do about Renata and Thalsian? The whole household will be on alert now.”

“I—”

“Well, don’t just stand there! After her!”

“Like I said.” Lucanis said with absolutely no satisfaction in his voice.

He heard the woman speak in a language unfamiliar but not unknown to his ears: elven. If her tone was any proper indicator, she had cursed.

“Thalsian.”

She reached for a dagger tucked against her waist.

Lucanis grabbed her wrist, shaking his head firmly.

She waved her hand at the door, eyes wide and incredulous.

This was the whole point.

“It’s too public.” Lucanis hissed.

She huffed, frustrated.

“Come on, we need to go.”

“I thought Crows didn’t abandon contracts.”

“We don’t. But we retreat when we know it’s necessary. You can try again if you get out. Not so much if you get killed.”

They were both running out of time.

“Fine.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on, there’s a window with a trellis just up the grand staircase. He never locks it. We can get out through there.”

Lucanis didn’t argue—not with her plan and not with her authority over his hand.

They bounded up the stairs quickly. Nöa climbed into the deep sill of one of the overarching windows, unlatching it and pushing its heft frame open before giving Lucanis a hand up. He joined her, but not before the doors below opened with a resounding crash, tailed by the march of Thalsian guards.

“Hey, Crow. What are you doing?”

He looked over his shoulder, then back at her.

They would follow too easily if he didn’t buy her time.

“Hey, hey!”

He shut the window, ramming one of his daggers into the lock so she couldn’t pry it open. And slammed a fist against the outside of the window, horrified.

He offered her a small smile, and then he dropped out of the sill.

It didn’t take long for those rushing footsteps to reach him.

At least Illario hadn’t come with him, after all.

“Well, well, well…”

It wasn’t Thalsian who had come, after all.

“If it isn’t the Demon himself. This isn’t Vyranitum, you know.”

Lucanis froze, keeping his back to the witch he knew stood behind him.

First the attack on the ship, now this.

The magister ran her fingertip along his chin. “Hello, Master Dellamorte. I’ve been oh so eager to meet you. Seems like someone else gave you a warm greeting, too.”

Her fingertip traced upward to his cheek, removing lipstick red as blood. He knew the cut on his cheek was bleeding, but it took a moment for him to realize the witch now had access to his blood.

Access to him.

“Or was it a bitter farewell, hm?” Zara chuckled, the sound malicious and melodic. “You let the little beast escape. My husband will be disappointed, but, well…that’s not my problem.” She clicked her tongue. “But what to do with you, darling?”

He couldn’t move. Not his hands. Not his legs. He couldn’t lash out. The only thing left untouched by the tendrils of her blood magic was his eyes. She wanted to see his fear. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I do hope that little act of chivalry tasted sweet while it lasted, Master Dellamorte. And I do hope she was worth it. Though, I suppose one good turn deserves another. I won’t tell my husband she was here. Fair enough?”

Lucanis closed his eyes.

He thought of Illario, and of a summer spent chasing after pretended-wyverns in the mud.

And then he thought of nothing at all.

[fandomfanservice]

The Sign Ep8, had sooo much packed in, so this fan needed a night’s sleep to fully process what they learnt. So here is an usually long (for me) string of random thoughts and comments:

The first one is more of an ongoing reminder that Doc/Prince will be a douche bag for eternity. He can’t be redeemed, sorry, not sorry. I don’t know if nagas have ears but I want to shout, sign or sky write “His Just Not Into You”😡😡 😡😡Oh wait I forgot he doesn’t care 🤬🤬 (douche)

The monk is always watching (awks but also what a save) and he is a relative/respected elder, cool. 😵🙏🏿📿🫨🫨🫨😮‍💨

Phaya’s D put Tharn into the best & deepest night’s sleep EVER, cause what the actual Tharn!!! Wake the F up and hold him (more to come on that point)🫣

Yai, is the captain of this ship and we are just here for the ride and to cheer with him.🥰🥰🥰😂🥰🥰🥰

This team of specialist cops don’t do anything by halves, they will comically lose a boxing match to placate their partner/loves or ask them to move in after one night. (Yes I know it was quite a night, refer back up to the point about Tharn’s much needed sleep) 😜

Sharing clothes is something they need to do, mostly works in Tharn’s favour and Yai doesn’t have to see that again🥹😂

Tharn & Phaya have a long, complex, beautiful but tragic history and they need to break the cycle.✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅ However why does this mean they can’t follow simple instructions? Always watching Monk clearly instructs - “Don’t go near any large bodies of water!!” A few moments later…. Phaya & Tharn being soulmates near a large body of water (yes, I know they were there on a case etc but come on😫😫😫). So you’re telling me none of these highly trained and qualified cops checked a MAP!!! Followed by then maybe swapping which location they investigated? 🤔😒🧐. Now we have to wait a week to suffer the angst of the fallout😩 (stay strong)

Phaya - how did you seriously forget already that Tharn and Wansarut are the same person/soul?! Have you had too many bumps to the head or is it because your oxygen deprived?

Sister I hope you moved on from the Prince/Doc douche bag after all that? Please say you did?!

The last but great learning which all the above pale in comparison to, is how irked the fandom was that Tharn didn’t hold Phaya after the “bad dream”. Lord people just didn’t get why..

It’s funny to see the first takes (live reactions) on the night after:

There was the obvious we will claw your eyes out for more kisses

go beyond delulu for some more pink and purple lighting and

stop Tharn from running away and hiding. We need affection and happy boyfriend/soulmate era

What we initially thought we got was, if you are not hugging, holding and squeezing your soulmate after a bad dream, followed by some more of the best pink and purple lighting we have seen in awhile, like why are you even here Tharn?! (affectionate but also confused)

A few parts later….

The Fandom take after the past lives part (I loooooooveeeeedddd this whole part sooo much), anyway the reveal completely shifted the night after take to:

screw kisses (to an extent),

pink and purple lights not needed (for now, there is more to life right?!) and

hugs and holding after are so last year!

You gave him your last breath and soul to protect him, even now. You kept your promise in a convenient yet stylish necklace. (Don’t mind us losing our minds over here)

Tharn you may have just reinvented romance and our expectations of what should come after some pink and purple light shenanigans 🥹😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥹🥹🥹🥹

This whole episode series is a masterclass in many aspects that I haven’t even touched upon cause my brain tends to run emotional and silly first. Anyway I have seen and read so many wonderful analyses from other in the fandom, keep them coming they are appreciated.

For this week this fan needed to remember in all the tension (so many high stakes end of week BLs right now), there is always a reason for every reaction and action (most of the time). May not be your first choice or desire but it will truly, madly, deeply mean something.

So to close, next week Phaya let’s try this again, wake up asap, stop Tharn from leaving you (stay calm), yes Tharn is your soulmate the same one (time to share what you know?!), you can’t get rid of Doc douche bag his immortal (sucks when your enemies prosper), never take that necklace off (it’s designed for efficiency and effectiveness, just requires wearing), avoid water unless you have said necklace on (we know you like it 😉🫣). Got it?! Great, I look forward to you only taking at least three of those solid and clear instructions to heart next week. We do love you but you got to meet us halfway dude!!!

Looking forward to learning some more next week.