#it was perhaps a bit ambitious of me but Oh Well

[pixel7777]

The First Worshipper: Ch. 1

The naughty version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

What if Astarion, grieving and haunted by the passage of time, became the first worshipper of the newly ascended God of Ambition, Gale, in a strange bid for connection, purpose, and perhaps just a little bit of chaos?

Story Completion: This work is fully written (~60K words) and mostly edited. I'll be posting at least 2 times a week, maybe more if the fancy strikes me.

Read below the break here or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post-Canon, Vampire Spawn Astarion, God of Ambition Gale, Immortality, Grief, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Endings (despite pretty much everyone dying), Explicit Sexual Content, Dual POV, 1st Person Astarion, 3rd Person Gale, Epistolary

Chapter 1

16 years "After Netherbrain" (AB)

[A letter written in elegant script on expensive parchment, waiting to be burned]

My dearest, most infuriating Tav,

I failed. Our little thief, our Mol—she's gone. Just like that. A knife in the dark, they tell me. Quick and clean, as though that's meant to be a comfort. She didn't suffer, they say. As if that makes it better. As if anything could make this better.

Where are you? You should be here. You should have been here to stop this. To warn her, guide her, protect her—all the things you were always better at than me. Instead, you left us. Left me to fumble through this alone, and look what happened. I didn't keep her safe. I couldn't...

Do you remember how you'd scold me for being overprotective? "Let her spread her wings," you'd say. "She needs to learn." Well, I did. I let her take over the Guild, let her play at being Nine Fingers' successor. I tried to trust in her abilities, just as you would have wanted. And now she's dead.

I should have locked her in that tower like I threatened. Should have forbidden her from the Guild entirely. Should have been the monster everyone already thought I was, if it meant keeping her alive. But I wanted to make you proud. Wanted to prove I could be the father she deserved.

I hate you for dying. I hate myself more for failing her. Our daughter deserved better than both of us—better than a dead hero and an immortal fool who couldn't save her.

The funeral's today. I don't know how to do this without you, Tav. I don't know how to say goodbye to our child alone.

Forever yours, even in my anger,

Astarion

* * *

I adjusted my black silk cravat, adorned with an obnoxiously large amethyst brooch, and swept my cloak back for maximum dramatic effect. The gathered mourners shifted uncomfortably in the grand hall of my estate.

"Friends, enemies, and those of you still unsure which category you fall into—we gather here today to honor our beloved Mol." I raised my arms skyward. "And what better way to commemorate her life than by dedicating it to our newest, most ambitious, and might I add, most absent deity?"

Karlach's jaw dropped. Shadowheart pressed her fingers to her temples.

"Oh great and powerful Gale, God of Ambition and Spectacular Fashion Failures, hear my prayer!" My voice echoed through the hall. "Your first and most devoted worshipper calls upon you to explain why you, in your infinite wisdom, allowed our precious Mol to die in an alley like a common cutpurse!"

"Astarion," Halsin warned, but I waved him off.

"What's wrong, old friend? Too busy rewriting the fabric of reality to notice one small death? Or perhaps you simply didn't care enough to intervene?" I spun in place, addressing the ceiling. "Come now, don't be shy. Surely the God of Ambition has something to say about this tragic waste of potential?"

The air crackled with divine energy, and Gale materialized in a flash of light, his expression thunderous. "This is not appropriate, Astarion."

Wyll muttered something that sounded like "here we go" while Lae'zel leaned forward with obvious interest.

"Isn't it?" I bared my fangs in what might have been a smile. "Then by all means, oh divine one, tell us what would be an appropriate response to your negligence."

Gale gathered his breath, but I wasn't done.  Not by a long shot.

"Oh mighty Gale," I drawled, prowling around him like a cat stalking prey. "Tell me, what offerings should I make to earn your divine intervention? Blood? Gold? My undying devotion?" I gestured to the gathered mourners. "Look at all these potential worshippers. Surely that's worth something."

Gale's divine aura flickered with frustration. "You know that's not how this works. The laws of—"

"The laws?" I laughed, the sound brittle as broken glass. "You're a god. What are laws to you? Or was that whole 'ambition' thing just for show?"

"Astarion—"

"No, no, let me finish my prayer." I dropped into an exaggerated bow. "Most illustrious deity, who watched our Mol grow from a street urchin to the finest thief in Baldur's Gate, who drank the wine she poured at Last Light Inn, who promised to keep an eye on her from on high at at her mother's funeral—where were you when she needed divine intervention?"

"I couldn't interfere." His voice carried the weight of celestial law. "Ao's restrictions—"

"Restrictions?" I spat the word like poison. "The great Gale, bound by restrictions? How disappointing. Perhaps we should find a more competent god to worship."

Divine energy crackled around him. "That's enough."

"Is it? Because I'm just getting started, old friend." I infused the last words with all the venom I'd been saving. "What good is having a personal god if he can't even save one little tiefling?"

"That's not how it works and you know it!" (Don't fucking tell me what I know.)

“You! You took her! And now you owe me, Gale. Personally.”

“I didn’t take Mol! She was mortal, Astarion. Mortality happens. It’s not some divine conspiracy!”

I waved dramatically at the crowd,“Oh, of course, just a coincidence that the only people I care about keep dying while you sit there glowing smugly in your celestial robes!”

Gale took in the crowd listening to all of this, and I gloated at his discomfort. Divine energy crackled around Gale, his celestial aura flaring with genuine anger. "You think I don't understand loss? I gave up everything I was! Everyone I loved looks at me like I'm a stranger wearing their friend's face!"

(Finally. There you are, old friend.)

"Oh, poor Gale," I sneered, circling closer. "Forced to become a god. How tragic." (Make it hurt. Make him feel it.)

"You're not the only one who's lost people, Astarion! You're not the only one who—"

"Do you know what it's like to have centuries stretching ahead of you, and the only thing you can count on is losing everyone? Do you? I stayed in Baldur's Gate for her. I could've left! I should've made them both leave with me! But no. She wanted to be here, and I—" My traitor voice cracked. "I stayed. And now she's gone. So yes, Gale, you owe me. You owe me this, you miserable excuse for a deity."

The divine light around him softened. (Don't. Don't you dare pity me.)

"Astarion." His voice carried centuries of understanding. "I'm here. I've always been here."

"Don't." (Please.)

"I know it's not enough. I know it will never be enough. But I'm not going anywhere."

I laughed, the sound raw and broken. "Until Ao decides you've broken too many rules and strips away your godhood."

"Then I'll be mortal again." He stepped closer, that insufferable compassion in his eyes. "And I'll still be here."

(Damn you, Gale. Damn you for knowing exactly what to say.)

"I hate you," I whispered, but there was no venom left in it.

"I know." He smiled, sad and gentle. "I know. You’re angry. You’re grieving. And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry."

Karlach's pointed cough broke through the tension. Right. We had an audience. How terribly gauche of me, letting genuine emotion slip through.

I smoothed my cravat, collecting myself. "Well. Since you did make the effort to show up, I suppose I can forgive your divine negligence." I waved a dismissive hand. "For now."

"Astarion—"

"On one condition." I raised a finger. "You must try harder at this whole godhood business. It's embarrassing, really. The God of Ambition should be more..." I gestured vaguely at his celestial form. "Ambitious."

Gale's divine aura flickered with what might have been relief. "I'll take that under advisement."

"Excellent!" I turned back to our gathered mourners with renewed theatrical vigor. "Ladies, gentlemen, and assorted creatures of questionable origin—in honor of our dear departed Mol, I hereby announce the founding of the First Church of Gale!"

"You what?" Gale's voice cracked in a most ungodly fashion.

"The Church of Gale," I repeated, savoring each word. "Dedicated to ambition, fashion disasters, and the memory of the finest thief Baldur's Gate has ever known. I think she'd appreciate the irony, don't you? Since it was ambition that took her in the end."

"You can't—"

"Oh, but I can. And I will." I flashed him my most dazzling smile. "After all, what's the point of being your first and most devoted worshipper if I can't cause a little chaos in your name?"

"And so, my darlings," I swept my arm in a grand arc, "let us remember my beloved daughter, my Mol, not as she died, but as she lived—clever, bold, and absolutely insufferable." A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Good. She would have hated a somber farewell.

"She once told me that respect was overrated, but a good story was forever. So tonight, we'll gather at The Copper Crown—" I paused, savoring (hating) the moment. "Which, as of this morning, is officially mine. A gift from our dear departed troublemaker, who apparently thought it amusing to make me proprietor of a thieves' den."

More laughter now, genuine this time. Even Gale's divine aura flickered with something like approval.

"The first round is on the house," I announced, then added with a sharp smile, "Though I expect you all to drink enough top shelf to make me regret that particular generosity. It's what she would have wanted."

I turned to the ornate coffin, carved with the symbols of Mask that Mol had secretly worshipped. "Rest well, my little thief. Try not to pick too many celestial pockets." (Rob them blind, darling daughter.)

The mourners began filing out, heading toward the bar in the Lower City. I caught Gale's eye. "Don't disappear just yet, darling. You and I aren't finished."

He inclined his head, that infuriating divine patience still radiating from him. "I know."

"Splendid." I turned back to the ornate coffin, my hand brushing against the edge as if touching it could keep her closer for a moment longer. "Rest well, my little thief. The world is poorer without you, but the stars... they’re brighter now."

I straightened, adjusting my cravat as if donning armor. "Come, my darlings," he called to the remaining mourners. "Let us drink, lie, and fight in her memory. She'd want nothing less."

* * *

From within his divine avatar, Gale watched his old companions gather at their usual table in The Copper Crown. He hadn't intended to be here.  His business was no longer with these few friends.  He had a wider scope to learn to manage.  But Astarion was Astarion.

You always did know how to yank my chain.  It seems divinity has not lessened your pull on me.

Ao would not be pleased.  Yet, here he was.

The familiar weight of mortality hung over the mourners like a shroud, despite their attempts at cheer.

Halsin raised his glass. "To Mol."

"To Mol," they echoed.

Karlach leaned into Dammon, her new heart humming steadily. "The forge is doing well. We've been thinking..." She exchanged a look with her husband. "Maybe it's time to fill that empty room upstairs."

Lae'zel scoffed, but her eyes held warmth. "Your offspring will be fierce." She adjusted her armor, battle-worn from the Astral front. "Vlaakith's forces weaken. Soon, all will kneel to Orpheus."

The conversation drifted to the former Shadow-cursed lands.  Now known as Brightbough Vale, Jaheira and Halsin were proud of its prosperity and eager to share the newest developments, but Gale's attention fixed on Astarion. The vampire's fingers traced the outline of a vial in his pocket. His declaration of worship had been classic Astarion theatrics, yet beneath the performance lay raw desperation.

Gale recognized the maneuver for what it was: a challenge, a demand for divine intervention. For divine attention. Astarion was trying to force his hand, to draw him back into mortal affairs when he needed to focus on establishing his godhood.

Still, watching his friend's careful mask slip when he thought no one was looking stirred something in Gale's newly divine heart. Perhaps that was Astarion's real power – the ability to make even a god feel human again.

Gale watched Jaheira lean forward to draw Astarion into the conversation, her weathered hands curled around her cup. "What will you do next, Astarion? You could come to the Vale. We have room, and the children would benefit from your... unique perspective."

Oh, that won't work at all. He'd drive the initiates mad within a week.

Astarion's lips curved into that familiar, deflective smile. "Thank you, but I think I'll stay in the city. The Copper Crown needs attention, and someone has to keep these dregs in line." He gestured at the rowdy tavern crowd.

There it is. The lie wrapped in just enough truth to pass inspection.

Gale observed the subtle tells he'd learned over years of friendship – the way Astarion's fingers drummed against the table, how his gaze slid past direct eye contact a moment too soon.

"Running a tavern?" Jaheira's skepticism matched Gale's own. "That seems... beneath your usual ambitions."

"I'm tired of Patriar politics." Astarion shrugged. "Besides, the Lower City has its charms. More interesting characters, fewer tedious social obligations."

He's planning something. The bar's just a convenient excuse to stay in the city.

Gale wished he could pierce the veil of divinity and pull the answers directly from Astarion's mind, but even gods had their limitations. More than he had realized, if he was honest. He would have to do this the hard way, and it would be hard. Whatever Astarion was plotting, he'd wrap it in layers of half-truths and misdirection.

Just like old times, my friend. Though usually, I could be there to help untangle your schemes.

Gale watched Astarion deftly steer the conversation away from himself.

"Speaking of the Vale, how's that temple coming along, Shadowheart? Still insisting on putting up those gaudy moon symbols?"

Shadowheart's shoulders tensed. "Selûne's symbols are not gaudy."

As the others engaged in the theological debate Astarion had provoked, he caught Gale's attention with a slight tilt of his head toward a quiet corner. He produced a bottle of Baldurian brandy – Gale's old favorite – and poured two glasses.

"Come down here a moment, oh divine one. I have a theological question of my own."

Gale shifted his consciousness to join his friend. Strange, how the physical world felt both more and less real now.

Astarion swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Tell me something. Would Mol be like Tav? Turning down resurrection?" His voice carried none of its usual artifice. "Because I've tried. With Tav. Multiple times. But she won't..." He knocked back the drink. "Well. You know how she is. Was."

The raw honesty caught Gale off guard. In all their years of friendship, Astarion had never spoken of Tav's death so directly.

Gale weighed his next words carefully. The truth would hurt, but Astarion had earned honesty. "I see more than I used to, but souls... they're complex. Most who find peace resist returning."

"Ah. Annual attempts too frequent then?" Astarion's attempt at levity fell flat. "I should space them out more."

The admission struck Gale silent. He'd watched those desperate rituals from afar, unable to intervene. Each failure had carved new lines of grief into his friend's otherwise ageless face.

"Don't look so shocked. We both know you've been keeping tabs." Astarion's fingers tapped against his glass. "Though I suppose proper worship requires some transparency on my part."

"What are you planning, Astarion?"

"Nothing that requires divine intervention." Astarion refilled their glasses. "For now, could we just... sit? Like we used to?"

The pull of the celestial planes tugged at Gale's consciousness – duties, responsibilities, the weight of divinity demanding his attention. But across from him sat his oldest friend, mask finally lowered, asking for nothing more than company.

Gale settled his divine presence more firmly into the moment. "I suppose the pantheon can wait."

Astarion tilted his glass, a sharp grin cutting across his face. "To making gods wait."

Gale shook his head, a trace of amusement softening his features. "And vampires who never change."

[summercourtship]

𝖍𝖆𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖞 '𝖏𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖑𝖘𝖊𝖓' 𝖏𝖔𝖍𝖓𝖘𝖔𝖓 𝖝 𝖋!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 18+

I started writing this in fall 2020. At it's most ambitious, it was going to be a multi-chapter fic but that obviously didn't and won't happen so here: have it reimagined as a one-shot. You might be able to tell where it would have expanded into a larger story, but I tried to condense it. If anything that is here is eerily similar to something else I've written, it's because I've probably taken it from this draft lol. Also TBH I'm trying to not be as explicit in my sex scenes because I just feel more comfortable writing that way. Which seems like the opposite of a goal: for years, I've been trying to become better at writing super explicit scenes and now I'm trying to reel it in and make it (hopefully) match the rest of my prose. IDK. Happy Halloween!

brief summary: A one-shot about being stalked by your coworker who is also the serial killer terrorizing the town. warnings: slightly dubious consent due to threat of death, stalking, horror themes, knife play, PIV sex, some dirty talk | word count: 4025

danny 'jed olsen' johnson masterpost | read on ao3

You smell him before you see him. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and the unspecific musk of his cologne. On anyone else, you’d hate it. But with him, it’s become an almost comforting scent, indicative of one of your favorite people’s presence. When he rounds the corner and comes into your view, you can’t help the tiny smile that crosses your face.

“Hi Jed!” You chirp as he comes to a stop in front of your desk, placing his coffee on the corner of your desk to free his hands as he rummages in his side satchel bag. He gives you a smile in return, pulling out a thin file folder and flipping it open. 

“Here are those photos you wanted me to get,” He hands over a small stack of pictures, all developed and ready to go. Last week, you asked him to take the pictures on a whim, thinking you might just have to go down yourself with your crappy hand-me-down camera and snap a picture for the article you’re working on. But, to your surprise, he agreed quickly. 

The article isn’t anything special- in fact it’s quite the opposite. A filler piece for the middle section of the paper that no one really read. Despite this, you couldn’t bring yourself to bullshit the article, and still put forth an unnecessary amount of effort into the piece. No one would read it now, but perhaps it could be added to your portfolio for when you finally left this town. 

The photos are good- which isn’t a surprise considering who took them. Everything Jed did seemed to turn out well, even when he didn’t try. You wonder what he looks like doing something he’s actually passionate about.

“I didn’t think you’d have these ready so soon!” You say, flipping through the four pictures he handed over. You’d have to choose one- you’re lucky they’re even letting you include a picture in the meaningless article. “I mean, aren’t you busy with Ghostface?” 

He gives a small exhale, like he’s laughing at his own inside joke. “A little bit.” He pauses. “Maybe I wanted a break to go take some pictures of the duck pond in the park. Riveting stuff you’re writing about.”

“Excuse me, but the purported existence of an otter in the duck pond is very important news. Would be front-page worthy if there wasn’t someone else taking up the headlines.” You laugh before stopping for a moment, thinking about what you just said. “Oh my god, I’m sorry. People are dead and I’m making jokes about an otter.” 

“Don’t worry about it, everyone copes in different ways.” He smiles down at you. “Especially when you have no idea if you’re next.” 

“That’s morbid, but fair.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You don’t notice how his eyes flick to follow the movement. “Anyways, thanks again for the pictures. I will have to find a way to repay you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He smiles again, different this time. This is the smile that makes your stomach swoop and your heart skip a beat. Your face heats and you stop thinking for a second, but you press on.

“No, please-” 

“I wouldn’t want to put you out like that. Times are hard.” 

“I- okay.” You sit back, looking at him. He nods and starts to leave, but the part in you that insisted on somehow repaying him took over and you were speaking up once more.

“Jed!” He turns and looks back, eyebrows raised. “Um, at least let me take you out for coffee? Just as a thanks, not repayment.” He thinks about it for a moment, your heart racing as you wait with bated breath for his answer. If he didn’t say yes, you’d never be able to look at him again. You might have to leave town immediately.

“Sure, but let’s make it a date instead.” He gives you a tiny smile and a wink that you barely register, before turning and walking away. Giddy, you sit back in your chair, trying not to hide your face in your hands. Instead you focus on the pictures, flipping through them to distract yourself from the newfound excitement in your veins.

____

Despite the fact that there was a masked stalker-murderer prowling the streets of your town, you felt no fear walking home. Maybe it’s a remnant of your teenage “nothing can hurt me” years. Maybe it’s just your stupidity rearing its ugly head at the worst time. 

Or maybe you just like the thrill of it all.

You had listened to the warnings- check behind you when you walk, keep an eye out for anything abnormal, lock your windows, lock your doors, don’t hang out places alone. However, you followed them a little haphazardly. You didn’t engage in any behaviors that could be misconstrued as inviting danger into your life, but you also didn’t necessarily allow the paranoia to get to your head.

If you did, you might have died from sheer terror and helplessness. Or perhaps you would’ve been more careful, and would’ve definitely noticed that you had already unknowingly disregarded the warnings.

Someone was following you.

And they had been following you for a while.

____

You wake up suddenly. It’s like that sometimes- not gently, or gradually. You’re just... awake. Brain racing to catch up with your surroundings, you sit up. No clock around, but you’d hazard a guess that it’s somewhere around 3AM. Running a hand through your hair, you sigh, the dream you’d been having already disappearing from your memory. Plopping back onto your pillow, you close your eyes and wait for sleep to come back to you.

It’s funny how the air conditioning can sound like someone breathing, deep and slow. You vaguely register that something isn’t right here, but sleep takes over before you can linger on that thought. 

__

The best coffee shop in town is a small, cluttered shop off of the main road. It’s tucked away between a barbershop and a vintage store, far enough away from the main street that any tourists wouldn’t come by it. (Not that there were many of those now that a serial killer prowled the streets at night.)

“You okay?”

You look up from where you’d been staring into your coffee, even though it was probably too late in the day to be drinking it, the sky already darkening with the approaching evening. But your body was thick with exhaustion for reasons you weren’t quite sure and you needed to finish another pointless article when you went home. Jed had his own coffee, so at least you weren’t alone in your desire for evening caffeination. 

“Yeah, I’m just… trying to not psych myself out about everything going on. The news says it's good to be careful but I know I’d just end up taking it too far and becoming paranoid.” 

“No one knows how to deal with this.” He says, simply. You only nod in agreement and take a sip from the coffee. 

A breaking news report on the TV in the corner of the room catches your eye. GHOSTFACE STRIKES AGAIN screams the caption at the bottom of the screen. You silently nudge Jed and direct his attention towards it. For a moment, it looks like the echo of a smile crosses his face, but it’s gone before you can truly absorb it. His face is stony, and he looks back at you. 

“Are you gonna write about that?” You ask. 

“Tomorrow.” 

“What number is this?”

“Six.” He answers without hesitation. You force yourself to take a deep breath to try and calm the beating of your heart. Every time the news breaks, it feels like the first time. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to hearing about another brutal murder, and maybe that’s a good thing. It means you aren’t desensitized to it yet. You only realize that Jed is watching you carefully when he asks, again: “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Why are you so worried about me? You could be next too.”

“I think I can handle it if it comes to that.” He took a sip from his coffee to hide his smile. If you found this odd, you didn’t remark on it. “At least let me walk you home tonight.” 

You stared at him, unsure why you were suddenly uneasy, why an alarm was going off somewhere in the back of your head. Then you decided that it was stupid. You knew Jed. He took pictures of the duck pond for you. Hardly anything to be frightened by. 

“That would be nice, thanks.” 

___

After a week of waking up in the middle of the night, you were certain there was something else going on that your body was trying to tell you. When your eyes open, once again barely past two A.M., you sit up in your bed instead of trying to go back to sleep right away like you normally do. The shadows in your room seemed deeper tonight, your curtains blocking out most of the light from the street. 

You stare into the corner, hoping that the shape manifesting in the darkness was just your eyes playing tricks on you and you could go back to sleep. But you knew better. Slowly, your eyes adjust to the low light and you’re able to make out the dark figure standing in the shadows. 

“...Go away.” 

Slowly, with the creak of leather, the figure shook its head. You take a careful breath, trying not to let your fear show. But it must be palpable in the air, there's no way it wasn’t. 

“What do you want?” 

The headlights of a car driving by shined into your room for a brief second, illuminating the figure and the mask he wore like a bolt of lightning struck down outside. It only confirmed what you had been afraid of since you’d woken to see a dark shadow in your corner, as his mask was barely visible in the dark room. 

But it seems that Ghostface has, indeed, marked you as his next victim. 

You move, bolting out of bed. He must want to give chase because he lets you fling your door open and run down the hall, his steady footsteps following you. But he catches up to you quickly, his body slamming into yours and pressing you against the wall, his arms wrapping around your front. Before you can begin to struggle, the thin edge of a blade is pressed against your throat, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You can only respond with a choked cry.  

The hard length of his body presses against your back, a firm barrier between you and your freedom. He adjusts slightly, allowing you to feel the other hard length pressing against you, though you can only barely feel it through the layers of his outfit. But you know it’s there. 

You exhale shakily, and you don’t know if it's from fear or your own arousal. (Or both). 

His chest hits your back as he breathes, standing still with you as your mind tries to catch up with everything that has happened in the past few seconds.

“Let me go.” You whisper. His arms flex around you, squeezing slightly. “Please.”

To your surprise, his grip loosens. 

“Call the cops and I’ll skin you alive.” He hisses in your ear, his voice rough from the modulator he’s using. 

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing frozen in your hallway, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why wasn’t your blood splattered on the walls, why did he let you go?

Despite his warning, you did consider calling the cops. But really, what would they do? Ghostface was gone. There was no evidence aside from the thin line of red on your throat where he’d pressed the knife, and even that was fading quickly.

Instead, you return to your room, curling under the covers and staring at the wall until the room brightens with the dawn. 

___

You had no idea if Ghostface continued to watch you. You were certain he was. You’d come home to things in obviously different positions. It was like he was taunting you, begging you to do something about it.

You simply put the objects back where they belonged and continued about your day.  

___

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?” Jed asks, a few dates later when you’re sitting on your couch with him and perched on the edge of the cushion, your muscles tense like you were about to take off running, and he seems so understanding in that moment that you almost blurt out what has been happening for the past two weeks. But fear takes a hold of you, and instead you simply shake your head. 

“No, no. There’s nothing.”

___

The second time you actually see Ghostface, you’re barely prepared for it. You knew, deep down, that he’d be back at some point and yet you were still surprised when you arrived home to an open window, your sheer curtains fluttering in the hot wind as the humidity from outside filled the room. 

You drop your bag, staring at the open window like it was a rabid animal that was going to attack. Then, slowly, you turn your head to the corner, where you can feel his eyes on you. 

Even though you can’t see his eyes through the mask, you can feel the moment you make eye contact with him. 

Ghostface starts walking towards you and you don’t know why you don’t move. The door is right behind you and yet you stand there, watching as he approaches you with slow and measured steps as the streetlight from outside glints off the knife he holds loosely in his hand. You swallow thickly. 

Then, when he’s only a step away and after you’ve had ample time to turn around and run away, he grabs the side of your head, his gloved hand threading through your hair. Finally, your brain catches up to your situation and you struggle against his hold. You vaguely register him shushing you from behind the mask but your heart is racing too fast in your ears to really pick up on it. 

As a response to your thrashing, he places the flat edge of the knife against your cheek, a silent threat that stills your movement. You stare at him, stuck between his knife and his hand. (You should’ve run, why didn’t you run?)

He clicks his tongue, the noise distorted by the voice modulator in his mask as he shakes his head.

“Be good for me, won’t you?”  

Something shifts-- maybe it’s the wind from the open window or maybe he leans in a fraction closer but you suddenly catch a whiff of his scent. He must’ve been covering it up with a heavier cologne in his previous visits, because you would have easily recognized this from the first visit. Stale cigarette smoke, coffee, and an unidentifiable musk of his (usual) cologne.

It’s like being dunked in ice cold water after a warm day in the sun. You stare up at Ghostface, your brain quickly piecing together all the things you hadn’t consciously picked up on. The coincidences, the hints, the tiny behaviors that reminded you, always, of someone else. 

You pull yourself out of his grip, and you don’t know if he expected you because you’re able to make it halfway across the room on shaky legs before he grabs you again. Your legs buckle beneath you at the force of his body against yours and he follows you to the floor, roughly turning you over so you’re laying on your back with him perched above you. 

Heart racing, you reach up and yank his mask off, too quick for him to react. You blink at him, confirming what you’d just figured out. What you’d known, really, this entire time.

“Jed.” 

For a second, his face is blank. Then, he starts to laugh, pressing his weight down on your body when you start to struggle again. 

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out. Was hoping you wouldn’t, really, but.” He shrugged. “Does it make you feel better, or worse, to know that you weren’t actually cheating on me?”

“I never did anything with Ghostf- you.”

“But I know you well enough to know that you wanted to. I felt how you pressed back against me that night when you first noticed me in your room.” He leans down, getting in your face. His eyes are so cold, not at all the eyes of the Jed Olsen you knew. Was that even his name, or was that a lie too? “Did you want Ghostface to hold you down and fuck you? Was Jed not cutting it out for you? You needed the big bad serial killer, didn’t you?” 

He places his gloved hand over your throat, noting how your breath catches. “Of course you did.” His hand moves down, laying over your left breast. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to actually touch you. It’s only then you notice the rhythm he’s keeping with his other hand, the one that’s still resting on the side of his leg. He’s feeling your heartbeat, though his eyes are locked onto yours. 

“I didn’t. I don’t.” 

“You say that, but-” He peers closer at your eyes. “Your eyes are telling me something else.” He leans back and smugly offers his explanation. “You know that eyes dilate when you’re sexually aroused.”

“I-” You swallow, falling silent. What can you say? Any denial would be a lie. He continues to look down on you, face passive. 

“I don’t want to kill you.” He interrupts your silence. Then he’s quiet. Thoughtful, almost. A glimmer of the Jed you knew coming through in his hesitation. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh-”

“But I can’t exactly let you go on knowing who I am.”

“...I won’t tell anyone.” He raises an eyebrow, looking like he might burst into laughter again. “Promise.”

What power did you have to promise something when you were the one under him, the memory of the edge of his knife still cold on your cheek? 

“Who would you tell?” He said, causing you to furrow your brow. “You think that Jed Olsen is my real name? I’ve thought through everything before you or anyone else could even try to.”

“But-”

“Why would I let you go, when your death will be so…” he leaned down again, his hips rolling slightly against yours. It’s achingly difficult not to press up against it. “...delicious?”

“I don’t want to die.” 

“None of you do.” He tutted. His hand that had been laying on your breast moves to the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling the fabric up to expose your stomach. You shivered at the feeling of leather on your skin, goosebumps trailing after his fingers as he slid his hand back towards your breasts. 

“Front clasping bra.” He says under his breath, raising his eyebrows at you. “Were you expecting company?”

“No.” You glance down. You could offer an explanation like oh, it’s almost laundry day or I just like this bra, but you stay silent. Watching as he unclasps it.  

Jed- though that isn’t his name, is it?- removes his gloves, tossing them somewhere in your living room. You start to turn your head to see where they landed but he grabs your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him again. 

“Stay still.” 

It’s then that you notice his knife, back in his hand, and watch, with bated breath, as he drags the tip over the skin between your breasts, not hard enough to even sting. Down, under where your skin creases, back up around the right breast until he lays the blade flat against you. Your chest is rising and falling quickly with your breath, though you try to control it for fear of being nicked by the knife. 

“Are you going to kill me?” 

He hums, tracing the point of the blade around your nipple and watching as it hardens. 

“Tell you what-” He moves the knife to the other breast. “-we can postpone your death.”

“And what do you want instead?” You ask, as if it wasn’t obvious from the way he was dragging his blade across your exposed chest or the obvious erection pressing against you when he rolled his hips. 

“I think you know.” He raised his eyebrows. Was there a choice? And even if you did have a choice where the option wasn’t death, would you choose any differently? 

He pinches your nipple, prompting a shaky acceptance from you. “Fine.” You barely bite back a please before he slides down your body, his hands running down your chest to the hem of your pants. The knife returns to cut off the button (unnecessarily) and he roughly pulls your pants down your legs, his nails scratching your skin. 

He slots himself between your legs, now with only the thin fabric of your underwear and his clothes separating him from you. Even that doesn’t last long, as he takes the side of your underwear and rips through it with the knife before doing the same to the other side, ripping the fabric away from your body. 

Leaning back, he starts to fiddle with the many belts and buckles around his waist. You watch, your legs falling apart slightly. His eyes drop to your core, his tongue darting out to lick his lip at the sight of your wet cunt. 

“For someone who seemed so averse to this, you’re pretty wet.” He comments. Before you can respond, he’s pushing into you, having pulled his cock from the complicated trappings of his outfit. 

You groan at the intrusion, the slight pinch of pain before you adjust as he continues to push into you. He gives you barely a moment to breathe before he pulls out and begins thrusting back into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts as he fills you, his cock thick in your cunt. You can only whimper in response, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

He pulls your leg up, placing it over his shoulder as he continues to fuck into you, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper inside of you. You curse, throwing your head back. You’re certain that you’ll have a rash on your back and ass from the carpet rubbing against your skin but the bursts of pleasure from his cock and his fingers are enough to distract you from that for the moment. 

“Come on, cum on my cock-” He grunts, his hips rutting down against you, his fingers pressing harder against your clit as he practically bullied your body into orgasming for him. Your back arched, hands flying to pull him down to you. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his cloak, scratching against the leather as he urges you on with whispered praise and degradation. 

With a final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you, low curses hissed through his teeth. 

You lay, chest heaving as he pulls out, wincing at the sudden feeling of emptiness. The sweat that covers your skin begins to cool. 

“Remember what I said last time about calling the cops.” 

You don’t respond, only clipping your bra back together and pulling your shirt back down over your chest. After all, what could the police do at this point? There were very few signs of a struggle in your apartment. And, as you found out the next day, Jed had gone out after and killed someone else. At best, the police wouldn’t believe that it had actually been Ghostface in your apartment. At worst, they’d think you were in on it. 

And, when you went into work the next day to find a dark polaroid picture of you, asleep, from a few weeks ago- before you’d even asked Jed to take those pictures of the duck pond- with a red heart scrawled at the bottom, you began to think that maybe the worst assumption wasn’t that far off anymore. 

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Hiiii since it’s my birthday really soon, can I get Hu Tao, Yae Miko, Chiori, UMP45 and Makoto from P5 celebrating readers birthday?? Maybe a surprise party?!?!?!?!

(Genshin Impact/GFL/P5) Hu Tao, Yae Miko, Chiori, UMP45, and Makoto celebrating Reader's birthday

Oh god, I hope I'm still on time for this.

(Hu Tao) "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Hu Tao pops out of absolutely nowhere and scares the hell out of (Y/N), but she is beaming with energy.

Despite the fact the clock had just struck midnight, and S/O was in their own room.

(Hu Tao) "Soooo, what do you plan on doing? Got any cake for today?"

(Y/N) "Hu Tao, I'm trying to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning...Actually, how did you even get in my house?!"

(Hu Tao) "Details we can discuss after your birthday plans! Now, what do you want for today? I can try my best to get you a good sale!"

(Y/N) "Well, it's not a coffin or ghost, I'll tell you that much..."

(Hu Tao) "Wow, buzzkill! I guess I won't treat you to Xiangling's today after all!"

Hu Tao is definitely the type to throw a surprise party, though it's not much of a surprise since she appeared in their bedroom.

Later when it's actually a humane time of day, she invites them over to her home to celebrate properly!

She still wishes they could've had the celebration late at night though, Hu Tao had a lot of jokes planned...

Normally, Yae is supposed to do a formal recital of wishing a pleasant birthday.

But to hell with that, that was boring.

Yae decides to wish (Y/N) a happy birthday in her own way.

(Yae) "(Y/N), I expect to have a good meal today."

(Y/N) "Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you?"

(Yae) "Perhaps, but surely you don't plan on going anywhere mundane to eat for such a very special occasion, right?"

(Y/N) "N-Not if it's going to bankrupt all of my Mora!"

(Yae) "Oh come now, I do not eat that much."

(Y/N) "Wait, why am I paying for you on my birthday?!"

(Yae) "Well, thank you for offering! You're such a kind soul!"

(Y/N) sigh

She doesn't really host a party for (Y/N), at least not by herself. But at the very least, she'll make it a damn entertaining day, for better and worse.

Oh, (Y/N)'s birthday. Neat, Chiori supposed.

(Chiori) "Yes yes, happy birthday and all that."

(Y/N) "Hah, calm down there Chiori, you're getting a bit too excited."

(Chiori) "I hope you don't expect me to have cake and balloons ready to spring out at you."

(Y/N) "Frankly, I'd be more shocked if you did."

(Chiori) "At least you understand that part."

Bluntness aside, Chiori handcrafts (Y/N) a nice present before their very eyes.

A handmade gift could speak more than a million bought gifts ever could.

As much as Navia would disagree with her.

(Y/N) has better chances of Chiori throwing them a surprise party as they would surviving a lightning strike from the Raiden Shogun herself.

45's smile seems to soften when (Y/N) enters the dorm, though it was nearly pitch black.

(UMP45) "Well, you took your sweet time coming back."

(Y/N) "45? Why are you in my-"

UMP9 leapt out from underneath the table as the lights came on. HK416 was leaning against the wall while G11 was face first on the same table, sleeping away.

And in the middle appeared to be a cake that looked...ambitious, to put it kindly.

(UMP45) "Happy birthday.~"

UMP9 blew on a party horn, the small paper unfolding and making a small doot noise as her arms extended in joy.

HK416 simply shrugged and grunted, and G11 was still comatose.

(Y/N) "T-Thank you guys! You didn't really need to-"

(UMP45) "Not really, but I figured it'd be fun to celebrate something special with you."

Her smile only seemed to grow when (Y/N) joined her, watching the chaos unfold as UMP9 tried to cut a cake, despite the fact the knife was getting dangerously close to G11's unkempt hair.

(UMP45) "Thought I'd bring the squad along to have fun too. Clearly it's working better than I thought."

(Y/N) "This is already so chaotic though!"

(UMP45) "Exactly."

Makoto is caught off guard when (Y/N) enters the room, holding a small cake with a candle in it.

The cake itself seemed terribly made, as it looked like it'd crumble if one simply stared at it for too long.

(Makoto) "U-Um...Welcome back! I tried to make something for you myself and...you see how that worked."

Makoto sighed but (Y/N) laughed, giving a comforting hand on her shoulder.

(Y/N) "I appreciate it, still. But hey it smells really good!"

(Makoto) "And the taste...?"

(Y/N) took a bite out of it, and smiled, turning back to Makoto.

(Y/N) "Honestly, not bad! I'm not dead yet!"

Makoto chuckled as she sighed.

(Makoto) "Well, I suppose that's good reassurance."

Makoto would fail instantly at a surprise party, mostly because she'd spend too much time to get it ready, only for (Y/N) to walk in way too early.

[zippidi-dooda]

Dunno if this exists yet, but someone needs to write stories of twst clubs x reader, where members slowly become more attached and possessive of Y/N, could be mild or bordering on yandere actions, platonic or romantic. Includes all clubs, even the single member ones. They can also be set in the current NRC timeline or in the future or as a whole different AU.

Here's some examples and ideas to fuel you to start,

"Basketball Club × Reader" - Be ready to go pro with this ambitious group, Jamil, Ace, and Floyd. An unexpected turn of events is sure to ensue if the time is right, or wrong rather, but rest assured that you'll soon be set back on track by the level headed of the members. You say you don't like the spontaneity? Don't worry, me neither. But if I can, then I'm sure you could also find it in your heart to forgive and just go along with it, yes? Oh dear, don't you seem out of it today. Here, let us help. Just follow my every instruction ... yes, just like that ... it's good to know you're the most cooperative of us ...

"Pop Music Club x Reader" - Have fun jammin' out and sharing crazy stories with this energetic trio, Lilia, Cater, and Kalim. You'll always feel welcomed and noticed here whether you know how to hum a tune or have never touched an instrument in your life. Just enjoy the tea and spill your darkest secrets whenever you'd like, this group is patient and remembers every last detail, you'll never want to leave. Though, if the thought does cross your mind, you'll need to announce your upcoming absence so we can throw a goodbye party. But, maybe you shouldn't. We'll just remind you of all the good times you'll miss. For one last time, we'll laugh and joke about how horrible and destroyed your life would be without us. We know everything about you, even the diabolical. Why, if your secrets were to be spread through magicam like wildfire, it'd close so many doors for you, no one would ever look at you the same. You don't want that, right? It'd be best to just stay here with us where your peace of mind is secured, right? You're free to go, but please don't forget us. And don't forget that all it takes is one push of a button to push your life downhill ...

"Spelldrive Club x Reader" - Soar through the skies as you chase your victory alongside this competitive bunch, Leona, Ruggie, and Epel. You train hard everyday, but there's still time to get together during breaks, the chipper of your group bonding over your mutual desire to crush the competition as your captain snoozes. Other, bigger, teams want to recruit you which is a great opportunity. You're honored. And you should be, but don't you know you're the most valuable member of the team? We couldn't make it without you. Not to mention, we'd be heartbroken to see you leave. These guys are too proud to say it, but deep down you know it's true. Those other guys may be better against teams we haven't been able to beat, but they'll never support you as much we do. You wouldn't want to lose the people who love you most, would you? No? Ah, I'm glad. Don't worry, we're sure to win someday, just stick with us and you'll never have to worry about disappointing anyone again ...

"Equestrian Club x Reader" - Gallop through endless fields alongside your law-abiding yet tender companions, Sebek, Silver, and Riddle. Rest assured that with these three you'll have bushels of fun, but more importantly, you'll always be safe. Always. Perhaps a bit too safe ... but there's no such thing, right? Just follow our instructions quickly and obediently, quietly, and you'll never have to worry about the risks of riding through the wilderness again. We promise not to let you get hurt. If it takes being restricted to only the land visible to us, so be it ... hm? Oh, my apologies, I am simply running my mouth. Pay it no mind. Ah, hey, not that way. Why? Well, we haven't quite explored there yet and we'd rather not risk endangering you or the poor horses. Perhaps we can take a look at it tomorrow and see if it's fit for a trot, yes? I agree, now why don't we head back, I can guide your horse for you if you'd like. Just sit back and relax, you're safe with us taking the reins, I promise. The most safe you'll ever be ...

"Track & Field Club x Reader" - Live life fast and furious with this driven pair, Deuce and Jack. You'll always be encouraged to push your limits with their helpful hollers. You won't be upset long with their optimistic cheering. But make sure you show up for every meet, if not, they'll worry about you. They'll go looking for you. And they will find you. Hey, we haven't seen you around lately, is everything okay? Is now a bad time? I'm sorry, but we really missed you yesterday and just wanted to know nothing bad happened. Why don't you come join us for lunch tomorrow, we don't have to practice. We'll get you whatever you want, promise. Wait! You ... weren't planning on leaving me behind again, were you? Good. Ya had me worried for a second, haha. So, we'll meet up at 2:30? Great. Afterwards we can just hangout. And if you want to go for a quick jog again we'd be more than happy to. We've always been faster than you, though, remember? But, don't worry, we'll go easy on you if you ask. Just don't bolt when we're not looking so we don't have to worry and chase after you ... again ...

"Film Research Club x Reader" - Get ready to make strides in the acting business as you perform and work behind the scenes with model and tech genius, Vil and Ortho. Just make sure you aren't so distracted by the applause and spotlights that you forget to read the fine print of your contract. You wish to quit? I'm sorry, My Dear, but I'm afraid you've agreed to work with only us for xxxx amount of years and we need you to play this next lead in order to ensure our film trumps Neige's. Don't worry, we know all the right tips and tricks to secure perfection, just read the script as directed. Exactly. As directed ...

"Science Club x Reader" - Slip those safety goggles on and hold your breath as you run experiments with this curious pair, Trey and Rook. There's nothing better than getting your hands on new and exciting material. Not exactly sure why you're here? No worries! Not all of us are either, but we have fun here. Any experiments you've heard of you'd like to try? Only illegal ones? No problem we can get our hands on the items needed just tell us what they are ... a funny joke? No. I'm dead serious ... we've done plenty before ... ahaha! You look so frightened, lighten up, no one's died ... yet ... hey wait don't give that look. Sorry if that was too much. We're careful enough to keep things safe ... unnoticed ... what's that liquid? Oh just some juice for a friend using the fruits in here, would you like to try it? Here, have a sip ... what's that? It burns? Ah, I see let's write that down. What else are you feeling? What? Using you? No way, we'd never do something so cruel ... you're simply helping us learn as our lab partner ... oh stop that, no one else is here ... now tell me before things escalate ... what other sensations are you feeling ... fascinating ... it's different compared to last time ... too bad you forget after you wake up ... it's why we have to keep doing this ... over ... and over again

"Board Game Club x Reader" - Roll up thise sleeves and bring your a-game as you play with these competitive gamers, Azul and Idia. Have fun and forget the days worries as you make you way across the mat, never will these two give you a boring game. Though that doesn't mean we can't take things up a notch ... What say you we have a little wager? We beat you xx amount of times and you do us a little favor in return? I promise there'll be no foul play. You could ask a favor of us too if you win. In fact we can sweeten the deal even more if you're game ... no? Oh, don't tell me you're scared you'll lose ... you're not? Good. Then there's no issue making a harmless bet, yes? How lovely ... now, why don't we all sign this paper to ensure no one chickens out when they lose ... oh don't worry it's nothing serious, just a sheet of rules, standard club ware yes? Yes ... now right on the line ... good job. You agreed to sign this freely remember? Right. So don't go back on you word later ... nothing good comes of cheaters ... trust me ... I take care of all of them ...

"Gargoyle Studies Club x Reader" - Prepare to learn each and every random tidbit about each little stone as you explore the ruins with this wise companion, Malleus. Everything may go in one ear and out the other but this voice just so dreamy that you don't mind the rambles, right? But please do make an effort, no one likes a dimwit who can't tell the difference between a grotesque and a gargoyle. But, oh dear, it looks like you really are getting tired. Don't worry, I know how to care for my own, you can slumber for the next century safe at my side. I promise to be here when I let you wake up. At least then we won't need worry about those pesky mortals who wrestle your time from me. Hm, what was that ... you feel disoriented ...? Oh you needn't worry, that's a standard effect ... you won't feel a thing in a moment ... trust me ... your dearest friend ... I'll always be watching over you ...

"Mountain Lovers Club x Reader" - Embark on cozy and informative hikes through the mountains with your knowledgable partner Jade. But beware the trained smiles and pre-packed lunches, you may end up a little further out than planned. Oh, don't worry, the place I had in mind is just a little further along, I promise. You trust me, don't you? Good, then everything should go smoothly. Hm? You're not feeling well? Ah, perhaps you ate something you shouldn't have ... I do hope you were taking note of those wilderness survival tips I gave you ... though, they may not be of much help to you underwater ... hm? Oh, I wasn't saying anything of importance, don't mind me. You did say you trust me, yes? I'd like to find out just how much ...

Honestly, I had a lot of fun writing these ideas, even though I did forget about them for a while.

[cyberdragoninfinity]

Hm, I see you like yuri and aporia quite a bit.. :3 how do you think they'd react to each other? (It can be in your au too if you want :33)

The boy has eyes like a greedy dragon and a smile like a maddened cannibal as he examines Aporia's claws with delighted fascination. "So this is what it looks like to become one." The smile grows wider, hungrier. "We really are the same."

"I fail to see the similarity." Aporia huffs, recoiling his hand. The child simply snickers in reply, disappearing into the tangled curtain of wires and cables plugged into his back and arm ports. He reemerges a moment later on the other side, having to crane his neck to meet Aporia's gaze, even with the great and powerful Embodiment of Despair sitting ever so gingerly on the ground.

"Then maybe you should look harder, Aporia. We may as well be twins!" says the boy, leaning against Aporia's knee and giving him a fiendish little grin. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. We've both been parts of a whole, haven't we? Well, I suppose I still am, unfortunately I'm still trying to collect all of my pieces, but you… you did it. You reunited as one and unlocked your true power. I have to admire the efficiency! You make it look so easy." His smile twitches, sliding into a grimace as he glances at the cables and cords around them. "I would admire the rejection of humanity too, if you weren't so dedicated to being a machine." A disgusted sniff. "Why on earth would you want to become some cold metal Thing when you could just embrace your divine flesh and become a creature of true organic destruction instead?"

Aporia narrows his eyes. "You cannot fathom the divine touch that's had its hand in making me," he rumbles, a warning tone. "A holy machine is an existence beyond your very comprehension, little one. I exist unbound by useless, distracting emotions; I have no need to be a slave to things like your juvenile yearning for chaos and destruction!"

That earns him a nasty little glare. "Come now. My name is Yuri."

Something flickers in the corner of Aporia's mind. He pushes it back, hastily. Leans down as much as he can to bare his ever-sharp fangs at the boy. "Hmph. Another thing then, Yuri--you and I are nothing alike. Our goals and situations are night and day." He speaks slowly, syllables taking a particularly prickly edge. "The Three Emperors of Iliaster were made to become me. They're androids. They were built from my despair, built with reunification intended… and I stand as the sum of their parts. They merged into one by their own accord, for the good of completing the Circuit and saving the future. It was their decision. They wanted it."

Yuri matches his bared teeth with the lazy glint of his own devilish fangs. "And you think we don't?" he purrs. "Please. I know how badly the others are yearning to be one. They're desperate for it! I'm just the only piece ambitious enough to make it happen."

"Ambitious." Aporia snorts. Ambitious the way a vampire sinks its teeth into your neck, sure. "Perhaps that's the crux of how we differ, Yuri. My pieces weren't hunting each other."

"My, my. That's an awfully accusatory tone you're taking."

Aporia has had enough feelings for ten lifetimes. A hundred, even. His Z-one crafted mechanical makeup dutifully seals every distracting, useless emotion away, at his own insistence. And yet he's all too aware of something very close to frustration digging its barbs into his brain. Dancing around with that flickering something that's refusing to stay out of sight out of mind. "The Emperors are… were… a unit. A shared existence. Allow me to point out that you and all of your pieces have your own separate lives. Had, I should say. And it seems you won't rest until you've ensured the complete and utter ego death of every last one of them." He sits back, letting cables slacken. Hums. "My pieces weren't so eager to annihilate one another."

"Oh? Then why don't they come out to play?" Yuri quirks the second most ridiculous eyebrow in the room. "Ah, that's right, they can't! They don't exist anymore! Not in a way that matters, anyway. It's just you now, isn't it?" He purses his lips, smirks. "So presumptuous of you, old man. Acting like I'm the only one here annihilating people. Though I suppose "people" is hardly an applicable term, in your case."

Aporia clenches his jaw. "That's completely different."

"So you agree then? That your little--what did you call them? Emperors? How adorable--you agree that they aren't people." That increasingly irritating smile splits into a vividly vicious grin. "Just spare parts necessary to becoming whole. They may as well be gears and screws." A giggle, starting small then blooming into a full blown cackle. "Though I guess they already are!"

"Enough!" Aporia bellows, snaps forward to swat Yuri away like a meddlesome housefly. He ducks out of reach, though, nimbly grabbing hold of a particularly thick braid of wires and shimmying up it like a climbing rope. With a pounce he lands on one of Aporia's pauldrons, still laughing as he settles into a precarious crouch.

"Awfully cranky for a so-called emotionless machine, aren't you?" Yuri snickers. "Admit it, we're far more alike than different! All I've done is just accelerate the same process you went through. You wiped your Emperors from existence to become yourself again, and when I absorb my last two stray fragments, well, then it will be my turn." His turn to hum now, as he admires his nails with a thoughtful frown. "Honestly, why bother dying on such a morally righteous hill over something that's such a simple matter, anyway? It's just mutual exclusivity! Our pieces weren't born--ahah, created, to be separate forever, don't kid yourself. We've always been the ultimate end goal."

His gaze snaps up, meets Aporia's scowl with snake-split pupils. "And the only way our lives get to truly flourish is if theirs reach an end." Something wicked sparks in those violet, inhuman eyes. "But I think you know that. Don't you, Aporia?"

What a truly… aggravating little insect. So adamant, so filled to the brim with blistering venom and malicious glee. Clinging to arrogance a little too tight, like a shaky hand grips a rapier. This boy with a truly nasty smile and an even nastier laugh.

It would be clawing its way through Aporia's emotionless walls, lighting a flame of exasperated fury inside him right now, if it wasn't so familiar.

Isn't this precisely what you would do, if you were that age again? Postured, plotted, picked at sore spots, just to see a reaction? Fought feverishly with any adult who'd dare try to argue with you? Defended your choices, one of the few things left still well and truly your own?

For a moment as Aporia stares Yuri down he can almost see a flicker of long red hair, a wild, gleaming green eye. It's all certainly what Lucciano would do, isn't it? Right down to the hysterical madman cackle. If he focuses, Aporia can access every inch of his components' memories within his circuits and systems, see all of the child Emperor's schemes and outbursts and chaotic leanings. And while Lucciano was a despair-driven, exaggerated facsimile of his childhood, Aporia needs only glance at those memories for mere seconds to see the true shades of himself within them, the lonely child from a future he now hopes will never come to pass. The lonely child who screamed and sobbed and lost the ones who loved him most. The lonely child who never truly stopped being afraid.

It's like gazing at a painting and all at once understanding it, suddenly seeing the 'how' and 'why' in every brushstroke. The despair of losing those who love you… maybe Yuri was spared such grief. Maybe he wasn't. Either way, Aporia can't fight the pang of sympathy that awakens and pushes through the cracks in his "emotionless" walls.

He's just a kid.

With a sigh, Aporia shifts, an uneven motion that almost-but-not-quite shakes Yuri off his shoulder. "I do admit," he says finally, slowly, "If I was the more foolish sort, I would almost believe your vicious resolve about all of this was quite the display of compensation."

That rattles Yuri out of his self-satisfied staredown. "What--!" he spits, bristling like a particularly ornery purple cat. "What are you getting at? I'm not compensating for anything, you miserable bag of bolts!"

Aporia doesn't flinch. Just sits, watches him.

An uncharacteristic redness creeps onto Yuri's face. He crinkles his nose, bares his teeth, before the thickening silence can grow too great. "Answer me!"

"Mm. It's nothing important. You simply remind me of someone." Aporia looks away, diverts his attention to the thick braids of wires plugged into his arm. Runs the back of his claws along their dull sheen. "He spent a very long time being scared and alone, too."

"Hah!" The laugh is high and loud and knifepoint dangerous. "And just what is that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm some sniveling little scared-of-the-dark toddler? Shaking in my boots, trying to hide behind my other pieces, so the big bad monsters don't get me? Please! I am the monster, Aporia. And I am not scared."

Aporia slowly turns his head to look back at Yuri. He can almost feel a pitiful smile playing at his lips. "You admit to the loneliness, then."

The glower he receives in response could burn a wheat field to cinders, but Aporia's mechanical senses are too fine-tuned to miss what comes before: a single split second of eyes going wide, mouth twitching into a mortified wince. A child caught with a thieving hand deep in the cookie jar. Aporia's turn to prod at a nerve, it seems.

It still comes so naturally to him after all.

"Hmph. Perhaps placing my admiration in you was a very stupid mistake." Yuri hisses finally. He tears his sour gaze away and, quick as a viper's strike, leaps from Aporia's shoulder back to the ground, cape fluttering behind him. "Fine! Stay on your high horse. I don't care." He turns, flashes a mean, toothy smile. "Just remember which of us obliterated more souls to be here." The smile quivers, coils once more into a grin just short of diabolical. "If we want to count machines as having souls, anyway. But, ah! That's a moral quandary for another time. Either way, hopefully I'll be matching your record soon!"

Yuri crows and cackles like it's the funniest joke in the world, and the wires and hardware that were once Lucciano thrum with a wave of kinship so strong it nearly re-acquaints Aporia with nausea.

"Ahh, well, anyway. This has been oh so… fun," Yuri's lip curls with disdain. "But I really must be going. I am terribly busy, after all. Do think of me when the world's in ruins soon, won't you?" His eyes cut one last noxious pink inspection over Aporia's hulking form, and he smiles almost sweetly. "Enjoy your rust. Ta ta!"

Then, with a flick of his wrist and a flourish of his cape, the boy is gone, turning on his heel and marching off to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what. Aporia sits in the silence of his cord and cable jungle for a moment, letting their charge course through his inner mechanisms, his beautiful heaven-touched form. He sighs again. Of course it's a fool's errand to get Yuri to see their differences, to understand the merits of shedding the human for the powerful and perfect machine. He knows the adamancy in one's opinion only a child can hold with such vicious gusto. Sometimes it's truly the only thing you have, at that age.

Somewhere inside him a child who will never exist again yearns for a friendship that will never be, and Aporia can't help but wish Yuri a safer, better future than he himself will ever know.

((WOW I AM SO SORRY THAT THIS TOOK LITERALLY LIKE 3 MONTHS TO GET TO, ANON i got so inspired by this i ran off into the woods and had to write a fic about it. :,)

I loooved loved loved thinking about the way these two Certified Danaguys would react to each other... the fact that theyre honestly kind of similar is making me a little sick in the head i must say. something something reuniting into one, embracing a divine individual identity (in organic and mechanical flavors,) plant vines vs power cables... never mind the fact lesterlucciano and yuri are definitely the same breed of sadistic cackling 12-14 year old little fucker and would probably get along like a house on fire.

there's a bit in tag force 6 on Aporia's route, where he comments on how he never got to have a normal childhood/play with other kids growing up, and how lucciano has that same desperate aching for connection with other people. i just definitely think he'd be able to see a similar loneliness in Yuri too, past the nasty venom. traumatized child recognizing traumatized child Big and a Lot. wahhh

tysm for this ask! got me writing again which is a big deal for me :3

(meanwhile in kansas au i think they would lock eyes at the beauty supply store when yuri is shoplifting mascara. aporia wont snitch tho <3)))

[average-transdalorian]

Oh god I’ve hit Characters with my analysis beam again

(Aka, my thoughts on Turn A’s “the world isn’t quite ready for me to begin an Industrial Revolution in a skirt” scene, by way of analyzing Lily Borjarno and Guin Sard Rhineford*)

*Yes I understand that Lineford is technically the canon transliteration, I just find Rhineford to be a more evocative name

So! This is the interaction in question

Seems simple enough; Guin wants to be a titan of progress, thinks violating the social norms around clothing would get in the way of that, and Lily tells him “fuck social norms, I, a woman, will lead as I am,” right?

Well. Mostly.

The thing is, Guin’s missing half of the conversation. Lord Guin Sard Rhineford is the ruler of the region of Inglessia, and seems to have inherited both that title and a strong industrial base from his father, or perhaps his grandfather. How the family obtained such rulership is left to the imagination, but, given their apparent closeness with the Heim family, their industrial strength, and Guin’s habit of personally tinkering with and repairing his car (a hobby unfit for a well-bred gentleman, given the dirtiness involved in it), it seems likely to me that they are new money. Guin himself is incredibly ambitious, with a stated motivation of wanting to become president of Ameria, which at this point seems to be several disparate regions, each presided over by their local nobility. He has a keen mind, and changes his plans on several occasions so that events will shake out with him having more power than before (confounding the negotiations with the Moonrace in the 2 years before they land so that he can gain more by negotiating in person, claiming ownership of the Willgem, the Earthers’ only spacecraft, striking an alliance with Gym Ghingham in order to obtain technological blueprints from the Moon, and a military force with which to conquer the Earth), and is rather straightforward, only using the slightest bit of deception in his tactics, for things like getting Loran and the Turn A on the Willgem as he ditches Kihel, Dianna, Lily, Sochie, and assorted others. That straightforwardness is half of what makes the above conversation more complex than the surface reading would indicate.

Enter Lily Borjarno. Daughter of Lord Borjarno, and heir to the region of Luzianna (well, as far as I can tell. The wiki insists that she is the youngest of 13, but I also recall the show suggesting that she’s heir apparent, so perhaps she’s his favorite as well), Lily initially seems to be an effusive young woman, who is good-natured, although maybe a bit petty. And that’s not necessarily incorrect; that rather does seem to be her own personality more than a mask she wears! However, that impression belies the keen mind underneath, one easily capable of subtle political maneuvering, and also noticing (and double checking) that the Zacktraegar seemed to have some semblance of gravity. Lily is very clever, and easy enough to dismiss as a silly and spoiled noblewoman, which gives her the potential to be delightfully dangerous. Take, for instance, one of her earlier interactions with “Kihel” (Dianna in disguise); in what seems to be a fit of whimsy, perhaps prettily driven by “Kihel”’s apparent closeness with Guin, Lily pushes “Kihel” into working as a nurse in one of Luzianna’s field hospitals. This seemed to be a little bit mean-spirited when I first watch it, but looking back, it’s more clearly Lily testing “Kihel,” finding out where this potential-ally’s limits, moral sense, and work ethic all lie. “Kihel” passes the test with flying colors, and the two (three, technically) seem to be friends from there on out. The point is, Lily was subtle. This matches with the way the Borjarno family seems to be old money, in contrast with the Rhinefords; their mobile suits are named after the family, the Duke is thank god I double checked, I was combining two entirely separate characters in my head. That would’ve been embarrassing. Erizona has a Duke, not Luzianna, and the military dress uniform I was about to go on a tangent about belongs to some other guy.

Cough. Anyways. The way Lord Borjarno interacts with his people compared to the way Guin interacts with his suggests to me that the Borjarno family are well-bred and can be considered old money, which matches with the land they have too. Luzianna has plentiful fertile farmland, while Inglessia contains much rockier soil, and likely would’ve struggled to find economic importance as anything beyond the ports within until the Rhinefords’ industrial power came to be. As old money, the Borjarnos would be more used to the subtleties of noble politics, and Lily truly grasps subtlety well. This is the other half of that conversation’s complexity.

Let’s take a look at it again, shall we?

Here, Lily starts by asking a question in a rather sideways manner. While the words are about a skirt, she’s really asking Guin “if you love Loran as much as you claim to, why are you trying to force him to conform to your wants in a partner?” Guin’s answer reveals three things.

1. He values gathering power (in this case, being the sole leader of industrial development) over his other desires, something which is entirely consistent with his characterization thus far

2. He places Loran’s wants and needs in a relationship below his own (something which Lily likely already gleaned from his continuing to call Loran “Laura,” despite that persona having been retired at this point, but which she probably appreciated confirmation of)

3. Guin missed the metaphor entirely. Guin’s response is almost entirely a non-sequitur when taken as a response to Lily’s real question, and of course it would be! Guin, while capable of deception, is a rather straightforward man, of course he misses Lily’s subtly hidden question!

And knowing this, Lily decides to drive home a point that Guin will also miss. “I’ll govern Ameria in a skirt!” She says, and while this is a proclamation of how she plans to break the status quo and take a position of great power as a woman in the equivalent of the 1920s, it’s also a declaration that she won’t abandon the things she loves at the altar of political gain. She won’t leave behind her skirts, her hats, her parasols, or her friends, and will instead bring them forward with her, because she well and truly loved them.

And Guin misses that point.

And Guin ends Turn A Gundam with none of his resources, influence, or allies, save for an odd girl whom he doesn’t particularly like, while Lily ends Turn A Gundam with the influence they both had at its beginning, and new friends, allies, and technology besides.

[eldritch-spouse]

What happened with original Icons? You know, Asmodues, Mammoth, Satan, etc. Where are they? Are they dead? Are they ancestors of modern Icons?

(Your aimless questions attract the attention of a humble historian, who, maybe out of pity, or perhaps out of loneliness, sits beside you. His posture is mildly concerning.)

" I can tell from the names alone you're the Christian type, right? You must be. "

(He nods to himself.)

" Do me a huge favor. It grates on my nerves having to listen to these fables getting perpetuated for endless centuries -Even my old man wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, may Dorem be kind to him- Forget everything you heard about the sins and the originals. "

" It's all wrong. All of it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how bastardized the history of this planet and its annexes has been. By your kind specifically. You erased history! It's miserable! You've been living your little lies for a shameful eternity... I guess I understand why. "

(There's a huff.)

" You couldn't even get their names right... "

" Of course they're dead! Do you even know the rulers of today's Perdition? Dead and burned to a crisp, their ashes too probably bathe the grounds of the Rings modern demons walk upon -Oh, the Fragmentation Wars were something truly spectacular- I wish I had been there myself sometimes. "

" Listen kid. Even we have difficulty putting it all back together, thanks to all this damage being constantly spread. I know demons who are more disconnected with their past than you- At least you know there's Icons out there! I've met some fucking skid marks that think 'Satan' is still bumbling around... "

" I'll tell you right now, three of 'em got nothing to do with the originals. Vorticia, Livius and Kalymir. "

(He tuns to face you better.)

" You know how Wrath is, right? Any nut can just have a go at the King, and if they win, they rule. Kalymir doesn't have a single royal bone to him. And that fucker's got a lot of bones... "

" Vorticia is an impeccable Queen, if you ask me. She's better than whatever the fresh fuck Gluttony could have got stuck with, but we're mostly positive she comes from adjacent families. Close to the court, y'know? "

" And Livius... It's a bit hard to tell with all the massacres in Envy's royal lineage, though you can probably safely bet that he was a cousin of the last prince. An ambitious cousin, eh? They say 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer'- I don't think it worked out that well for him. Keep Livius ten feet away from you at all times, those hands reach far. "

" Don't worry about any of that though. If you ask me, us history enthusiasts are going to have some bright days ahead, now that there's two whole highers settled on the surface. "

(A tail can be heard swatting beneath long, weathered robes.)

" Two of them, you hear me? You and I? We're going to bare witness to a new age! Aren't you excited?! "

" We're talking about THE Goddess Miara and the Plaguemaster -You don't even know who those are, you poor idiot, it's not your fault- And I just know they're in contact. I know it! "

(The demonoid coughs, scratchy voice cracking.)

" Anyway. We should talk more sometime. "

(You get the feeling he wants company really bad.)

[kissesandarsenic]

Your werewolves just gave me an idea. I'm not very practiced at writing out my fantasies so I'll just put some points of interest and ask for a trick to see what I get back. I'm Frankenstein's monster all big n dumb, made from different parts of different people, and get stimulated by electricity.

Limits are no scat, no necro unless it like brings me back to life. That's it. Trick

A scorned scientist has spent years researching and collecting the perfect parts to assemble you in their eerie and glorious estate.

You'd have a hard time pinning them as a scientist at first glance. But despite their many... eccentricities, they are in fact, a genius. A genius that is taking on their most ambitious creation to date.

Everyone in the field says they're crazy, that what they're attempting is deranged and goes against God. But they don't care. It can be done. It will be done. They're just perfecting the science of it. Taking their time. Stewing.

And then one fateful night, in the middle of a freak storm, lightening strikes the laboratory and you are alive.

Strange, confused (and a little bit dumb, but we love a Himbo) you. Sure, there's scars all over you and there's some mixing and matching in skin tones of your different parts. But you're beautiful, absolutely perfect. Your creator is so proud and utterly obsessed.

You see they didn't just create you as a vanity project. Oh no, you were always set to be of more use than that. A companion, if you will. Perhaps the term creation-with-benefits could be used here.

In order to get you "ready" you have to be stimulated by the same stuff that brought you back to life. The harder the shock, the longer that gorgeous thick cock of yours will last fucking your creator stupid.

You develop a tolerance for the pain, because as well as being a genius, your master has an insatiable last and will chase you around the house, platform heels and all, to get their fill.

But it's not all bad, sometimes they have guests over. New people to "play" with and marvel at your strength and physiche. One thing's for sure, despite your grievances, you'll never have to complain of boredom while you're here.

Trick or Treat Ask Game! Send in a fantasy with a "Trick" or "Treat" attached and I'll elaborate on it!

[glyphknight]

**Hey, friends. What are you planning to do this Apogee Solstice?**

Essek: Knitting furiously to distract me from the temptation to do something very ambitious and stupid and wonderful and I wonder what possibilities...? Maybe we can make a time-warp demiplane and finally learn the secrets of the Lux…no no no! Help Caleb. I’m just helping Caleb. But we could probably look into a few things together. That should be fine…right…?

Yussa: Oh, I am 100% making my own time warp demiplane. *is already casting*

Ludinus: Releasing a god-eater that haunts the moon so I can kill all the gods. This will definitely go exactly as planned and not have any massive collateral damage. And if it does kill a bunch of innocent people or ruin the world as we know it it’ll be worth it. Even though I’ve left a long trail of accidental collateral damage over the past century alone, the face-eating red moon leopard will definitely not eat my face because I am a genius. No, I am not being manipulated. That is preposterous. I refer you to my previous statement regarding my genius.

Astrid: Tapping into my inner Laerryn-meets-Portia to learn some great arcane feat for myself and make my mark on history and also situate myself to take over the Assembly if Ludinus ever gets his face eaten off by some metaphorical or literal magical face-eating leopard. Also spying on literally everyone. (But that’s just a Tuesday for me.)

Caleb: Ja, well, I had wanted to study Leylines and perhaps make a new rainbow castle on another plane for my friends, but I guess I’m stopping all these ****ing wizards now.

Allura: I am also stopping the wizards. *sigh* Kima, I’ll be home late…

Planerider Ryn: I did my part. Got turned into a statue. Think I'm gonna vacay in the Astral Sea for a bit.

Eadwulf: *somewhere, holding a very powerful mysterious glowing MacGuffin that just revealed itself with the coming of the Solstice* *stares at it* Ja, cool. *pockets it*

[ruthplaysthesims]

Logan Slater Goofball • Clumsy • Cheerful

"O-Oh! Hey there! I didn't know we had guests over.. Pardon the mess. What brings you here? Oh? You wanna know about me? and the others?? Of course. Well, I try to get along with all of them... but I don't seem to get along with Xander and Launce. Maybe because I accidentally spilled Launce's "special juice" on Xander and he had to be in the hospital for the night... I swear it wasn't on purpose! There was a banana peel on the floor. Darius? He's AWESOME!! He taught me how to play football and taught me how to score a date... I was stood up... But that's okay!! Where a door closes another one opens. Well I hope you have fun. Gotta go! There's a new pizzeria I've been wanting to try. Byeee!!"

Darius Johnson Active • Romantic • Loyal

"Yoo! What's good gang? What brings you to this corner? Logan sent you here? Bless his heart. I was about to go hit the gym but I guess we can hang out for a bit. Glad you're here by the way. How you feelin'? Me? I'm alright. Life is good. My relationship to Logan? He's a cool dude. A little clumsy but that ain't gon stop me from being friends with him. Heard he got stood up.. I felt bad, so I took him to get some noodles. What? He said I was awesome? Aww. I wish the others could see what I saw. But hey, their opinions can't change that easy soo..."

Alexander Huntsman Genius • Hot Headed • Ambitious

"And who is this? How'd you get here? Logan let you in?! That darn leprechaun!! It's because of him my face is tattered like this!! AND NOW HE'S LETTING STRANGERS INTO OUR HOME?!!... Whatever. At least that other buff jerk will keep him away! I'm moving soon anyway.. What do you want?! Oh. I see. Well people that I let in my circle call me Xander. You call me Alexander, got it?! good. Now if you'll excuse me. I have some things that are worth attending to."

Launce Alastair Snob • Perfectionist • Loves Outdoors

"Who dares disturb me? I am in the middle of making a potio- erm, a concoction.. but you seem to have interrupted me. Perhaps I should turn you into a frog... or a gnome. Mr. Whimsy has been feeling quite lonely you see. sigh, I cannot tolerate these goons.. my relationship with Xander is merely that of a mentor and a cunning apprentice. I could care less about the others.. Friendships are nothing but a joke. In life, dearest, you must learn to use your head. For the heart can lead to nothing but deceit and malice. I hope you take this to heart. Farewell for now "

A brief into to the boys

[akitasimblr]

DAVID HARPER, ERNEST HARPER, QUEENIE HARPER & ALANA WEST-HARPER - FOR @flocy-sims LEGACY

i am sending you the twins david harper & ernest harper, queenie harper and alana west-harper for your legacy, let's hope they behave! more about them below.

david is a rebel. He does not have a determined direction; he goes where the wind takes him. It’s easy to find him crashing at his sister or twin brother’s house after some crazy night in san myshuno. He will settle eventually, just not sure when. He is not drawn to romantic relationships, it actually requires a lot of friendship and intimacy (and not strictly in the physical sense) for him to fall for someone. David does not believe in love at first sight, for him love has to be nurtured and cared for in the long run. He’s not a one-night stand kind of guy. Right now he still lives at his parents’ house in Britechester and after much parental pressure he finally got a part-time job as barista. You can say he is not the ambitious type. He loves a good laugh and a bit of mischief to color our lives. He is a geek for video games and he - might - indulge in some hacking as well. Which reminds me of a story he usually boasts about of when he got inside the landgraab’s system… oh! wait! that’s a secret!

ernest is an acclaimed musician. He has an identical twin named David. He is a virtuoso pianist and violinist and plays in the worldwide known Simsonian Orchestra. Ernest loves all classic and baroque music and it’s hard to find anything he loves just as much. For an outsider, Ernest has an enviable life, he has achieved professional realization, he travels all around the simlish world with the orchestra, he does what he loves but Ernest Harper is a sad, unhappy soul. He had his heart broken and he has never been able to fall in love again. He has been a loner. Ernest has a timid, gloomy character. But Ernest’s gloomy soul hides the most tender, sensitive and loving character, if only one knows how to break his walls…

queenie was born amongst the rich and famous society of del sol with both of her parents being renowned actors. she was always very pampered as a kid and everyone thought she’d follow her parents’ example and become an actor. but no. her tastes and talents led her to another branch of the movie industry: designs and wardrobes.  queenie has an exquisite obsession with anything fashion related and she is brilliant at what she does.  sweet queenie might be vain and perhaps too self-conscious of her public image; but she’s a kind soul with the patience of a saint. mark my words, this girl knows how to keep a secret, she’s the best confidant you’ll ever find, if only you show she can trust you. 

alana west-harper is the mischievous kind. she got that from her dad, i bet! alana is an expert in all fandoms you can think of. even those underground, alternative, sketchy fandoms no one knows about? well, she knows! alana is the ultimate geek. alana went to foxbury university to study villainy and oh my watcher! she graduated with honors. i expect great things from this girl... like worldwide robery kind of greatness, you know? but don't get me wrong, she is not evil, okay? she just likes to do things her way. and sometimes 'her way' does not exactly mean lawful... but hey! she gets things done in the end of the day!

[hupla222]

Episode 75: Extra Thoughts

I said plenty of stuff last time and yet I still find there's stuff that I missed. Oh well, it's to be expected. Yesterday was a huge episode for sure.

Anyway, the first thing I want to touch on is something I briefly mentioned last time, that being Gibeon's mental state. Maybe I'm just pessimistic but I don't believe the Laquium is fully to blame for Gibeon's evil behavior. It may have made it worse but I don't think it caused it. Seems to me he had always been ambitious and looking for power and the Laquium amplified that. Perhaps that simply the effect it has on people, not Pokémon but people. Enhancing and perpetually amplifying certain traits and possibly life spans as well. Either way I do hope we won't see Gibeon being reformed within the show. I'd like to have at least one other unredeemable bad guy since Amethio, Coral, and Sidian are certainly able to see the light. With Spinel and Chalce on the other side, I'd just like to see it evened out, you know?

Something else I failed to humor was if anything presented here effected main big theory (surely some must have been a little curious). I'd have to say that nothing is different about my theory. Nothing in the flashback disproved anything nor did it confirm anything, the theory stays the same. And the Spinel bit only did a bit of confirming for me since I had previously said he doesn't consider Sidian a threat to him (in fact he seems to actively disregard him and look down on him with contempt), relative of Gibeon's it doesn't matter. Poor boy is too much of a follower to ever be a threat to this maniac. So, yeah, I still believe in brothers theory especially since we have yet to see Gibeon's son or even his wife(?) / baby mama.

Another thing, I finally have some explanation for those crystal things the Six Heroes keep giving Terapagos. Seems like they are memories that the little turtle gave them, imbued with some of his power. Perhaps to remind them of their friend when he sent them away. Still not sure if that's what made them huge though, Moltres looked pretty big there. Speaking of Lucius, I'm not sure what to expect when the gang reached Laqua. I don't think he'll be dead, they couldn't summon him at the Crystal Pool after all. But who knows what sort of state he'll be in. I'll just continue running with my theory that he'll be enclosed within the crystals like I had before this episode came out. But I have to ask, was it really necessary for him to be in the dome with the Laquium too?

[breelandwalker]

hi, i'm currently potted plant witching as well (just planted my first crop of veggie/herb/flower seeds & got some more containers & soil today for more planting this weekend) and i would love to know more about your garden this year; would you be willing to outline your plans? any special herbs or projects? Thanks!! <3 love your blog!

🌿🌿🌿 HYPERFIXATION ACTIVATED. 🌿🌿🌿

OH I HAVE SO MANY PLANS, LET ME TELL YOU.

This is the first year that Ragnar and I are doing actual work and sweat equity with the yard at our new place. Last year things were just too chaotic and we didn't have the time or the energy to do much of anything. We trimmed occasionally and I harvest some wild plants, but that was about it.

This year, it's Go Time.

Last weekend, I finally busted out the gorgeous barrel pots we got for Christmas and spent my April market earnings on potting soil, garden tools, and seedlings. When we lived in the apartment, I had a pretty hefty window garden with herbs and flowers and a few vegetables, so I'm eager to recreate that in an outdoor space where the plants can really thrive. (I mean, I grew cherry tomatoes and three kinds of peppers in 10" pots indoors and they got pretty big, so I can only imagine being outdoors will go even better with fresh air and rain and pollinators.)

The potted garden has Napoli tomatoes, poblano and cayenne peppers, green sage, and rosemary, along with something I've never tried growing before - blueberries! I'm planning to add additional pots and more herbs later on, but I felt like this was a really good start. If I can manage it, I want to grow a huge planter of nothing but spinach and sweet basil so I can make pesto this summer.

We've also started clearing and tilling a space out in the yard proper for a raised-bed garden. Nothing too big or ambitious, just something we can try some larger veggies in. We're hoping to try the Three Sisters model with hybrid corn, snap peas, green beans, and kabocha pumpkins. I was also hoping to put in napa cabbage, but there are quite a lot of slugs in the yard when it rains, so perhaps not. I'm toying with the idea of planting some late crops for fall and winter harvests as well. I have sugarplum visions of strings of peppers and braids of garlic hanging in our kitchen with many jars of preserves and sauce in the pantry.

We might also try some other fruits if things go well, maybe raspberries or grapes, but that's more of a Next Summer project. The fence and the ground around it needs some work first and we don't want to overdo things the first year. (I'd really love to put in a little serviceberry tree, but that might be pushing things a bit with regard to space.)

There's also a side garden that's in need of some TLC where I'm vaguely tossing around the idea of climbing flower vines (clematis or morning glory or trumpet flower maybe? something local) and maybe some ground cover in the form of periwinkle. There's also a downspout that really needs a rain barrel, so that's next on the list.

There are sections of the yard that we've deliberately left wild as well, hoping to encourage native plants and pollinators. The clover patches are massive and produce lots of four-leafers and blossoms, so the bees are having a field day. There's also wild dogbane sprouting up now that the vetchweed is cleared and wild plantain (aka white man's foot) starting to come in along the walkway. If I have my druthers, I'll be planting more wildflowers this summer.

Have some pictures and tell me about your garden!

[maegorsbignaturals]

WHAT WERE CERYSE HIGHTOWER, ALYS HARROWAY, TYANNA OF THE TOWER, ELINOR COSTAYNE, JEYNE WESTERLING PERSONALITIES!? WHAT WERE THEIR PERSONALITY, I DON'T CARE ABOUT MAEGOR I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THEM! I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM, NOT MAEGOR HE'S ALREADY KNOWN! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIS WIVES (Besides Rhaena, she's known but the other wives aren't!!)

I think that is one of the saddest parts of F&B, that GRRM did not focus a lot on their personalities, despite being clearly inspired by Henry VIII and his wives. Besides Rhaena and perhaps Tyanna, there is not a lot we can say for the rest of Maegor's wives, i mean, we really never get a reaction of Alys about being called a whore all across Westeros, neither we get one of Ceryse about Maegor taking a new wife. Like, yes, she was offended, her uncle demanded for Maegor to return with her and eventually she went back to oldtown, but despite that? Nothing. I mean, PERHAPS, we could say she actually stepped down his feet and actually talked back at Maegor, and she died when one of Maegor's kingsguards tried to cut her tongue. But by the way their relationship looked by that moment i doubt it, but if we take this rumour this might mean Ceryse was someone that spoke up her mind when something was not of her like. From Tyanna we can say she is tricky, ambitious, and clever, she did not doubted to throw Alys under the bus when she saw in her an obstacle to have Maegor's favor over her. But Elynor and Jeyne? They have no other personalities than being Maegor's sorry wife Number 1 and Maegor's sorry wife 2. AND IT INFURIATES ME!!! I really would like to know what was the personality of the woman who SUPPOSEDLY killed Maegor while being nineteen (and a mother, on top of that). Jeyne's aportation to the story is literally dying in childbirth so Maegor could think "Okay yeah something is fishy in here". Not only they deserved better than Maegor but they deserved better ON WRITING.

I really like the idea of Ceryse being like this highborn noble lady really well-educated. Not only she is fine in arts and embroidery and do her praying like the good niece of the high septon but she also is really interested in history of Westeros like she knows every king an queen's name from the reach before the conquest, and she is also deep dives into philosophy. Like i really like her to be a bit stoic but not in the sense of all sternity, but like, oh well, my husband left me for a girl that is younger than me and said it was thanks to my sterility, well, crying and screaming and tearing my hair apart is not going to work so i should ask for the help of my family (Her uncle, Aenys, and Alyssa), and when that not work then i should go back to my home where i have some real power still.

On Alys ooooh Alys is quite the difficult topic because i really like her being the older daughter of Lord Harroway so pretty and beautiful and perhaps a bit pampered for her own good trapped on her little fairytale dream of a prince in shinning armour at her feet, BUT lets remember F&b is not a 100% reliable source and maybe, just maybe, Alys was not so comfortable with the arrangement and being called whore on every pulpit of westeros. But yeah, i think the closest to how alys may have been is the first one, perhaps a bit pampered but cheerful, naive at some extent because she never thought -nor her family at there- that she would be queen of westeros at some point. Perhaps all the deal with Maegor was a chance of once in a life time she and her family had and well, you really tought she was going to let it pass?

Jeyne is like, really, really shy! A bit simple minded but sweet, altough she is a constant wreckage of nerves while she founds herself on tense situations. I like to think she, Rhaena and Elinor had a pretty good freindship or at least a partnership while they where on king's landing because her trauma is a really specific taste of trauma that who other person other than them could understand them? Elinor on the other hand,,, i really like to think she has been always one second away from killing Maegor, probably not her first rodeo in this of getting married with men twice her age against her wishes.

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 3 Here

Part IV

Thickfreakness

“Who is the bloke with the tats?”

Pots and pans were banging together in the background. Feyre was ‘cooking’. Every Sunday they had lunch at one of their homes–dad’s Soho mansion, Nesta’s Notting Hill flat, Elain’s Russell Square Georgian manor, or Feyre’s bohemian Camden loft. 

“Okay, I want to make salmon en croute,” Feyre announced boldly and Elain’s heart fell at the words.

Her younger sister wasn’t what one would call a ‘cook’. And she knew that about herself. Yet it never stopped her from experimenting–wildly–in the kitchen. 

“Fey, that might be somewhat ambitious,” Elain cautioned her.

“Why? How hard can it be?”

“Perhaps it’s not difficult, but it is somewhat time consuming and requires a decent amount of prep. Why don’t you go with something easier, like Shepherd's Pie? Or a nice fish pie?”

“Nooo, it’s so boring,” Feyre moaned loudly. Elain chose not to remind her that salmon en croute and fish pie were basically the same thing in essence. 

“Okay, well, if you want to venture the en croute route, then good luck!”

“But what if I don’t do it right and it all falls apart?” Feyre whined.

“That’s why you should do something simpler. And no, Fey, I am not going to cook Sunday lunch in case you fail,” Elain warned.

“Ugh, Ela-aaaii–nnn,”

“No. Make fish pie. That’s it.”

“Don’t try to weasel out of the question! Who is the guy with the tats holding Piggy?”

“It’s Piglet. Not Piggy.”

“And?”

“He is a client,” Elain said calmly. 

“What kind of client?!” Feyre pressed excitedly. “You usually don’t have clients with tattoos! And that arm!” she gushed. “What does he do? Tell me! Come on! Is he hot? He is hot, isn’t he? An arm like that is attached to a hot man. And Piggy sleeping like that on him. Aww. Aww. Aww. Piggy never likes anyone–I don’t even think he likes me! I pet him and he looks like he is suffering. But the sexy arm bloke–Piggy is sleeping on that arm like a baby. Do you know the story about the scars? I bet it’s something incredible! Like he was saving a baby from a burning house. Or maybe he flipped a car over to pull a granny out of a burning vehicle,”

“You seriously need to calm down,” Elain interrupted her. “I am growing concerned for you. And for my sanity.”

“I demand you tell me!”

“He is an athlete,” Elain relented just a bit. 

“I knew it! A footballer? A rugby player? What is he?”

“A sumo wrestler,” Elain teased, only to throw her sister into a complete tizzy.

“I hate you! Can you set me up with him?”

“No,” Elain said immediately. 

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?” Feyre demanded.

“You aren’t his type,” Elain cut her off. This conversation irritated her. She didn’t want to think of her sister and Azriel Night. Just no. Azriel was a headache, but he was her headache.

“What is he looking for? What is he like?”

Elain exhaled, thinking about the question.

“He…well, he is the most annoying and impossible man I’ve ever encountered. He is by far my worst client, and I’ve dealt with some doozies,” she complained loudly and passionately. “He is so rude and, and…he is just no good.”

“No good?” Feyre repeated. “That’s what you managed to come up with? No good?”

“He is no good. He is not articulate. I asked him what woman appeals to him and he says ‘pretty’. He isn’t taking this seriously at all. He is probably wasting my time, but I have no choice but to work with him. He signed the contract–which I had hoped he wouldn't. And now I am stuck with him. 

“Anyway. I am going to find him the best possible match–someone he wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to and then he’ll be out of my hair! Forever. And he also made comments about my body!”

“What kind of comments?”

“Said I had nice breasts.”

“Oh, that’s the worst! When a man tells you that you are beautiful and have a nice rack,” Feyre fake-sympathised with Elain. “That is tough.”

“Gah. Quiet. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

There was more clatter in the background and finally, after a string of curses, Feyre said,

“You are certain you want to find him the best match possible?”

“Of course!” Elain cried. “I take pride in my work.”

“Oh I know. Only I’ve never heard you talk about any client at length and neither did you ever get so passionate about how much you hate them.”

“It’s because I do hate him!” Elain insisted, before relenting and correcting herself. “Well, I don’t hate him. Why would I hate him? I am just exasperated with him. His whole persona is…just ugh,” 

“Is he a yob?”

“No. Nothing like that,” Elain disagreed. “He isn’t walking around in a tracksuit with a shaved head. He dresses nicely. He is definitely not…”

“What?”

“Well, he thinks that I am posh,”

“You are posh!” Feyre laughed. “We are pretty darn posh, Elain. Daddy is a Knight, remember?” Elain sighed and murmured, “how can we forget?”

“And then the Duke of Velaris,”

“We are not discussing that.”

“Well, then you are posh to him, especially if he is a boy from the East End.  And I reckon he isn’t posh to you?”

“He is from the East End. There are traces of Cockney in his speech. And it doesn’t matter…I don’t care about any of that. Professionally speaking, I don’t make distinctions based on someone’s origins or class.”

“Nevertheless, he doesn’t sound like your normal client,” Feyre said.

“He isn’t. He is difficult and everything with him is a challenge.”

“Well have you considered that maybe in the end, the reward will be great?”

Elain chuckled and said, “I am not sure what constitutes ‘great reward’ in this situation. Pawning him off to some poor unsuspecting woman who doesn’t know what she is getting herself into?”

“The women you work with usually can handle a complicated man,” Feyre reminded her. “They are man eaters.”

Elain sighed. 

“Give my love to Piggy,” Feyre chirped. “I’ll see you on Sunday!”

“Good luck with en croute. And it’s Piglet. You know, you are like Az-,” she stopped abruptly, catching herself right before she blurted out a client’s name. 

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. You are just like my new impossible client. He refuses to call Piglet by his name!”

Feyre laughed at that. “What does he call him?”

“Pinky. It’s not Piggy or Pinky. It’s Piglet!”

“I actually like Pinky! I think it’s a good alternative.”

“Ugh, maybe I will set you two up. You fit right up.”

“Ooohh yeah! I am ready when you are.”

Elain snorted at her ludicrous sister and threw “bye, you nincompoop!”

“There is an old lady dying somewhere inside of you!” Feyre yelled back.

Elain leaned back in her armchair. It’s been a long night. A long week. 

Feyre was right. Elain was an old lady. It was Thursday night and she wasn’t at the pub or a bar. She wasn’t hanging out with her girlfriends. She was alone, in her office.

She ran her finger over the phone’s screen, bringing it to life. Clicked on the Photos. And clicked on the one that she kept staring at for the past two days. Azriel Night, his expression softer than usual, looking down at Piglet in his arms. 

She had cropped the top of it obviously, before posting it on IG. It was only Piglet in the circle of muscular, tattooed arms. She titled it simply ‘Making New Friends’ #puglyfe #Pigletthepug and the photo received 368K likes, and over 55K comments, mostly about whose arms these were and who was Piglet’s ‘new friend’. 

She should’ve deleted the photo from her phone.

She should have. There was absolutely no reason to keep it. It served its purpose, it was all the rage on Piglet’s page and there was no further use for it. Her finger had hovered over the delete button for two days now, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. Why? Because Piglet looked so good and comfy? That had to be the reason.

She was definitely going to delete it tomorrow.

-

It was Friday night, and Elain was ready for some pampering. At least this was her excuse for not going out on a Friday night yet again. But she had a busy week and she was owed a little time to herself. 

It was half past eight, and she just sunk into her favourite armchair in her bedroom with her e-reader. Piglet was on the bed, with her phone propped for him, dog videos playing with the sound low. Whenever he liked what he saw, he emitted a satisfied growl, which resembled a cackle. Therefore, even though she was immersed in her book, his angry growl got her attention, because it was followed by the distinctive ping of FaceTime.

Who the hell was FaceTiming her at this time? Also, she rarely video chatted with anyone anyway. 

She stretched, almost falling out of the chair, but managed to grab the phone, almost getting her finger bit by her disgruntled dog. 

“Hell-...o,” her voice died as she was faced with none other than Azriel Night. 

He looked like he was in bed, his face sharp and as handsome as ever, but not as tense as what she was used to. The man’s appearance was both his blessing and his curse. He was outrageously good looking, his face both elegant and perfect, but also typically inscrutable and emotionless. He was not a good person to read facial cues off, and that made it difficult for Elain to understand whether he was serious or not, pleased or displeased, happy or angry or sad. 

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match

Find me a find

Match me a match!”

Azriel sang to her. 

Her mouth was hanging open.

His voice was…nice. Husky. Sexy. And he sang well, which literally made no sense whatsoever. But he did?

“A girl’s night in, I see?” he asked, smirking. “And here I thought you’d be hitting the clubs. Bumping and grinding,”

“No one says ‘bumping and grinding’ anymore,” Elain told him. 

“Yeah, I know. But I just brought it back and made it cool again,” he announced nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you ringing me on a Friday evening? How did you even get this number?”

“Ms. Archeron, you gave me the number,” he reminded her. 

“No I didn’t!”

“No, you most certainly did.”

Thinking back to the last time he was at her office, Elain recalled what had transpired and cringed inwardly. She couldn't believe that she gave him her personal number!! She never did this. She always, always gave her clients her business number and never picked up on the weekends.

“Fine,” she admitted her oversight. “I gave you the number. Why are you ringing me?”

Azriel made himself comfortable against the pillow, and it stuck Elain just how intimate this was–both of them on camera, in their respective bedrooms, late at night. This was highly, highly irregular.

“Couple of reasons really,” he said casually. “Firstly, I know my schedule for next week and therefore, I wanted to book your time,”

“You make it sound like I am a hooker,” she winced, wrinkling her nose.

“Naw. You’d make the worst hooker in history,” he chuckled and Elain gasped at the audacity of her words. “Maybe as a matchmaker you are managing, but as a hooker,” he tsked. “No chance.”

“And why is that?”

“You challenging me on that, Ms, Archeron?”

“Simply curious.”

“Easy. You like things done your way–obsessively. You are a control freak,”

“Oh, back to insults I see,”

“I ain’t insulting you, matchmaker. Just stating facts. And a hooker’s job is to do the things that the client tells her to do. So there is that.”

“Oh, phew. I am not terribly broken up because according to Mr. Night I won’t make a successful prostitute.

“Besides this odd conversation, anything else?”

He thought for a moment and then grinned, exposing his perfect teeth. He looked so handsome when he smiled it was unfair. Unfair to all men.

“Guess what I am doing?” he teased.

“Lounging about, by the looks of it,” Elain shrugged. She feigned indifference, but Azriel could see through it–she was curious.

“Take a guess,” he encouraged her. “Come on. Humour me!”

Elain bubbled her lips and finally said,

“Probably eating or drinking something.”

“Yes!” he nodded and then reached and showed her two biscuits.

“Are those the same ones?” she gasped.

“Sure are!” he winked at her and then stuffed both in his mouth. Chewing with comical energy, he chomped and said, “nom, nom, nom’.

At that, Elain burst into laughter, like she couldn’t help herself.

“You are mad!” she cried. “I can’t believe you are still eating these!”

“Why? they are really good,” he insisted. “Delectable. And I think you might have to bake some more for our next meeting.”

“Or is that so?”

“It is so.”

“I suppose I should,” she conceded. “I can’t believe that you just pulled a ‘nom, nom’...So you wouldn’t have to drag them with you all over the country.”

Azriel paused, looking at him, slightly perplexed.

“Do you know where I am?” he asked at last.

Elain thought for a second, then simply told him, “Manchester”.

His face dropped and he glared at her in shock.

After a long pause, where she enjoyed his surprise and confusion, he finally asked, “How do you know?”

“Arsenal is playing Manchester United tomorrow–in Manchester. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Wait. Are you telling me that you like football?”

“Is it really so far-fetched that I might?” she inquired, relishing in her victory. 

“Wait a minute,” he even sat up in his bed, staring at the phone. “Wait. What is your team?” he demanded roughly. “And if you say Chelsea…Well, I don’t know what I’d do, but it would be something bad!”

She laughed. 

“You are mental.”

He didn’t react to the insult, other than asking roughly,

“What. Club. Ms. Archeron?”

“Tottenham, if you must know. With Arsenal not far behind. You ought to know that the Duke of Velaris,”

“Oh yeah, Granny Elain’s hot piece on the side,” Azriel chuckled, “what’d he do?”

“Being a military man,” Elain said, ignoring his quip, “he helped in the formation of Arsenal with the armoury workers. Better that they played ball than got drunk on gin.”

“So I am indirectly connected to your Duke? Captaining his team?”

“It’s not his team, and he isn’t my Duke, but he did love my gran.”

Azriel considered it and then murmured, “the plot thickens, doesn’t it? So, my stats that you rattled out the first day? You knew who I was? All that info?”

“Of course,” she shrugged. “I mean, the height and the weight I got from the roster. But I knew your background and who you were.”

“Well, well,” he complained, “that doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“What doesn’t?”

“That you know all these things about me, and I know very little about you.”

“That’s not unfair,” Elain argued. “That’s normal. I need to know things about you, but you don’t need to know anything about me.”

“I beg to differ. Like, I don’t even know what your success rate is? In your matchmaking? Maybe you're piss poor awful? I doubt it, but what if,”

“I am not piss poor awful, Mr. Night. I am very successful.” With some pride in her voice, she added,  “I’ve worked with 88 couples. You are my 89th client. Out of the 88, I’ve had, so far, 81 marriages.”

“Shiiit,” Azriel whistled.

“3 couples did not work out, unfortunately. The rest are still dating. I am quite good at what I do, Mr. Night. I’ll find you a fine wife.”

“Ughehhh,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Wednesday afternoon, are you free?” he asked instead.

“Why? Is that when you are available?”

“Yes. But I’d like to take you out,”

“Mr. Night,” she started immediately, but he interrupted her,

“Not a date, Ms. Archeron. Calm the fuck down. You ain’t my type,”

“About 5 days ago, you literally said that you wanted your wife to look and act like me. Make up your mind, Mr. Night.”

Azriel laughed.

“You got me there. But really, I am not asking you on a date or anything preposterous like that. Just wanna get out of the office. I have just the place.”

“Just the place…”

“Yeah, I am betting my bollocks that you’ll love it!”

“Keep your bollocks. Let me see,” she looked up her calendar on her phone and said, “I can do 3 pm, if that works for you.”

“Perfect! I’ll pick you up.”

“What shall I wear?” she inquired, now very interested in where he was planning to take her.

“Clothes. Pearls. Your usual posh shit.”

“Posh shit. Got it.”

He continued, “Now, the other reason I rang,”

“Which is?”

“Would like to say ‘hello’ to my mate Pinky.”

“No one by that name here,” Elain said firmly.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Lemmie talk to the wee lad! I bet he missed me.”

“I doubt it.”

“What was he doing when I rang?”

“Watching videos,” Elain told him reluctantly.

“His doggie videos?”

“That’s what he likes.”

“He also likes me. So let us have a chat.”

With a dramatic sigh, she brought the phone closer to Piglet’s face and heard Azriel exclaim,

“Hey big lad! How are you doing?”

Hearing Azriel’s voice made Piglet actually raise his head and his tail wiggled.

“I missed you. Do you have a pretty bow on?” Azriel continued, her voice all sing-songy and cooey. Elain dipped the phone a bit and Azriel saw Piglet’s bow, which was a chequered tartan today. 

“Ohhh, you are handsome!”

Bark. Piglet barked in agreement.

“I had a client from Scotland today,” Elain explained. “He loved the bow.”

“Scotsman also needs a wife?” Azriel asked.

“That’s why people come to me. They either need a husband or a wife.”

“Did Pinky like him?”

Elain looked back at the phone and told him, “He doesn’t really like anyone,”

“He likes me!” Azriel protested.

“Only.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Piglet doesn’t really trust humans. I think he knows that the previous family didn’t want him because of his leg and that when he was hurt, they abandoned him. And after that…well, I don’t know if he understands the concept of death, but I feel like he knew that they didn’t want him alive anymore. That they left him behind and would never come back for him. 

“So he doesn’t really care about humans. He tolerates them, but he only loves me. And the only other person he ever responded to willingly, is…”

“Who?”

“You.”

Azriel didn’t say anything to that.

Elain stroked the dog’s back gently, looking down at him, seemingly having forgotten that Azriel was still on the phone.

“Put him on, will you,” he requested again.

She jerked out of her thoughts and then put the phone in front of the pug.

“You be good,” Azriel ordered him gently. “Take care of Ellie, alright? Remember, lad, you are the man of the house. I trust you to protect our girl when I am not there.”

Bark-bark.

“That’s right. You get me. Miss you, mate. Put Ellie back on the phone.”

Elain just gawked back, unable to form any words. What the HELL was that?

Ellie?

Protect?

OUR GIRL?

What in the world?

“We are kindred spirits, Pink and I,” Azriel decided. “He sees me. And I get him.”

“What?” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around everything that she just heard.

“I know about abandonment too…and Pinky recognises that,” Azriel said easily. “You know, when I was 8 years old, my father lost a game of cards. He didn’t have the money to pay, so he offered me, as a consolation prize. The men who played with him–well, they decided that it would be fun to light my hands on fire and see how long it would take for them to burn. And burn they did. When someone finally heard my screams, they rang the emergency services.

“My father and my step-mother never came to see me in the hospital, before I was moved to a foster home. So like I said, I know about abandonment.”

Elain was so shocked, she gasped in horror, staring back at him.

“He knows what it’s like not to be needed,” Azriel added softly and then winked at her. “Enjoy your beauty treatments, matchmaker. I’ll see you on Wednesday. Also, you better root for us tomorrow. G’night.”

With that, he clicked off, leaving Elain bewildered and emotionally destroyed.

-

He would never, ever, ever admit this to anyone, including himself, but Azriel Night was slightly intimidated by Elain Archeron.

She didn't exactly threaten him physically, but psychologically, there was something about her that made him…nervous. Unsure of himself. And he wasn’t a very confident man to begin with. Elain had noticed his self-esteem issues almost instantly–one of the very few people who did–and that made hiding himself from her even more complicated. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her, but she made him want to be better. Present the best version of himself. He still yearned to be himself in front of her, because as strange as that was, she seemed to accept him. But he wanted to be someone she enjoyed dealing with. She was judgy, but she didn’t judge him. He annoyed her because he didn’t take her and her work seriously–which he didn’t–but despite their head-butting, Azriel wanted her to like him…Oh Jesus. He sounded like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover even to himself. 

Why?

She was a pearl-wearing weirdo who had more complexes than she had cardigans. Why did he care what she thought about him? Why?

But he did.

So before he picked up the phone and FaceTimed her, he actually did some push ups. He knew that she had one soft spot–her dog–and he was fully prepared to use Pinky to his advantage. He had the biscuits all prepared, ready to spring them up on her at any moment. But he sure didn’t expect to be talking football and finding out about that side of her. And then getting excited about that…like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover. Nevertheless, he had all these topics prepared in advance, so he could have a smooth conversation with her…and what he didn’t expect to do was to fuck it all up and tell her about how he got his hands burnt. Absolutely unnecessary. Totally inappropriate. He should’ve stopped when things were funny and light, and when she looked surprised and frazzled and adorable (his favourite look on her). But he went ahead and destroyed it all like a damn sledge hammer. What was wrong with him? Everything. That was the simplest answer. Everything.

He sat in his boxers on the bed, his head buried in his hands. 

It rained outside and he wasn’t looking forward to the game tomorrow, because the weather promised to be abysmally bad and he’d have to run for 90 minutes in the pouring rain. Oh joy. 

Therefore, when his phone rang, Azriel jumped, startled.

It was FaceTime.

He had her under ‘Cute Matchmaker’ in his phone, and she was calling him now. Not even ten minutes after they hung up.

He exhaled and pressed the button.

Before he could say anything, make a joke, or tease, he was faced with Elain’s tear-covered face, her huge, cartoonishly enormous round eyes wet and brimming over with tears. She’d removed all her little beauty patches that she had clearly forgotten about when they were speaking before. Now, it was just her pale, beautiful and grief-stricken face.

“Why did you tell me?” she sobbed. 

He was taken aback and was at a loss for words. He watched her wipe her eyes with her first, but tears just flowed out of her eyes in little rivulets.

“How…how,” she hiccuped, “could they…why? How could they…you were eight…”

She choked back a sob and all Azriel wanted to do was beg her to stop crying, explain that it was over twenty years ago and that it was the past, but he also knew that it would cheapen the emotion of her reaction.

“It’s not human, to do something like that,” she wept. “To take a little boy and maim him like that…Why?”

“People do cruel things all the time,” Azriel’s voice was hollow. 

“But…but…” she gulped in the air, snot and tears mixing together on her face.

“I am sorry,” Azriel said sincerely. “This wasn’t my intention. I didn’t mean to upset you,”

“I can’t believe that something so awful happens in our world,” Elain admitted naively, “it’s incomprehensible.”

Worse things happened in this world, and Azriel had seen many of them, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure whether Elain Archeron, matchmaker to the rich and powerful, the little delicate pearl-wearing oddity was very adept at living in the real world. She existed on a different plane: enigmatic and sincere in her nature, maybe a little too innocent, but that’s kind of what attracted Azriel to her. Why, despite finding her difficult and mystifying at times, puzzling and irritating he relished in her uniqueness.

“Bad things happen,” he only concluded with general vagueness about his statement. 

“I can’t accept that,”

Azriel wanted to argue, tell her that she was being glib, that it wasn’t a matter of her acceptance and that she needed to accept that some people were born in shit, lived in shit and died in shit. That children were abused and that often, parents were the ones who abused them. He wanted to tell her to get her head out of her arse and face the world in all its ugliness.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He made Elain cry, and it made him feel like a massive arsehole for some reason. Instead of laying harsh truths on her, he wanted to protect and shield her from those very truths. This was a girl who rescued three legged pugs from certain death and then put bows on them. 

“Will you stop crying?” he asked gently.

“No, I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About how horrible it was.”

She sniffled and trembled, and he watched her and Pinky as he rubbed his head against her arm, trying to comfort her. The dog whimpered sadly, not understanding why she was so upset. 

Azriel thought frantically, trying to find a way out of this mess, until something popped into his head. Something that he and Cassian used to do when they were in the group home, to make themselves feel better about their lives.

“Can I make it all better?” he requested quietly.

She looked at him, blinking over her tears.

“How?” she wiped her face again.

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“Ha!”

“Don’t argue with me, woman,” he ordered sternly. “Get your arse in bed, and under the blanket.”

She glared at him suspiciously, not understanding what he wanted. 

Prodding her over the phone wasn’t exactly easy, but he nodded and said, “Come on, lass. Don’t be stubborn. Under the sheets you go.”

The phone wobbled and jolted, but he knew that she followed his directive and in the next moment, she was holding the phone to her face.

“Turn on your side,” he instructed.

She dared to roll her eyes at him, but did as he told her.

“Now what? How is this making me feel better?”

“Ms. Archeron, be quiet for one sec and quit making a fuss. Trust the fucking process.”

“Remember how we discussed language?” she cocked a brow at him.

“Remember how we discussed not being annoying and bossy all the time?”

“We never discussed that.”

“We are discussing it now.”

“Is this sexting? Is this what we are doing?” she suddenly popped her head up from the pillow and stared at him in horror.

Azriel attempted to smother a laugh, though it came out as a loud snort. 

“Do you have any idea what sexting is?”

“Yes, talking sex stuff on the phone. And if this is your idea of making it all better, this is a hard pass. I am not sexting with you.”

“No sexting. You are not my type,” he reminded her.

She only scoffed in indignation at his words.

He quickly added,

“Unless you really want to do some sexting with me. I am quite good at it,”

“No doubt,”

“Good at dirty talk. I’ll understand. No judgement. If the ginger bloke isn’t hitting all the spots–which I am guessing he isn’t since you are home alone with your dog on a Friday night–then I can help out…relieve some tension. No strings attached.”

“You are obsessed with the ‘ginger bloke’ as you call him,” Elain pointed out. 

“More like fascinated with what man would date you?”

She winced at his words and he immediately realised that he didn’t say the right thing. Not at all.

“So in your mind, I am so undateable that only the most odd and deranged man would grace me with his merciful presence?” she whispered and a sad tear rolled down her cheek.

“I am sorry! That’s not what I meant,” he pleaded at once. “I didn’t say it right…”

“No you didn’t,” she concluded. “I am sorry, Mr. Night, but I am tired and upset and your idea of making me feel better isn’t working. Good night.”

“No, no,” he exclaimed quickly, attempting to salvage the situation. “Please. Just stay on the line for a second. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to know who you chose to be your boyfriend? What does he have that no one else’s got to make you fall for him? Is all. That’s all I meant.”

“You are brutish and aggressive and rude,” she told him, sniffling.

“I know,” he confirmed.

“You are supposed to argue!”

“Why argue if it’s the truth? Now. Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yes.”

Elain closed her eyes. 

“Think about it, but not too long. And then describe your ideal day,” he urged quietly.

“I don’t know what my ideal day is,” she argued softly. 

“Well, create it for me. Create it in your mind. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be with?”

She thought, her brow furrowing and a cute little line appearing between her brows.

At last, she told him, “In London. I want to be in London,”  her eyes were still closed. “I want to wake up and it’s quiet, but I know that I am in the city. I don’t linger for too long, but I do take the longest shower, with like…10 shower heads!”

Azriel smiled at that, but didn’t comment, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“And then I dress in something very comfortable–joggers maybe, or a nice tracksuit. Soft and loose. And then, I would go downstairs and there would be breakfast. A full English–fry bread and beans and black pudding. The whole deal. And I would eat it all. All the sausages and all the eggs. And I’d drink all the tea too. And once I am done eating, the door would open and in would come Piglet, and behind him, my husband. And he would…”

She stopped talking.

Azriel waited.

There was more to her dream than just devouring a full English. There was something that she was apprehensive about sharing, but wanted him to know. 

Azriel knew people–he could read them fairly easily, and Elain wasn’t exactly complicated. But he was the captain of his team, and he had to operate and adjust all the time throughout the game, reading his teammates’ moods and needs. 

So as he waited for Elain to say more, he already suspected what it would be. 

“He’d be pushing a pram,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “With our children in it.”

“He is good, this husband of yours,” Azriel commented simply. “Makes you breakfast. Takes the dog out. Minds the children.”

“He loves me. And I love him,” she murmured.

“What’s he look like?”

“He is tall.”

“Anything else?”

“No. He is tall.”

“How many children?” 

“Four. I mean, two when I think about it. But eventually, four. Why do you want to know?”

“Four is a good number,” he approved. “What else? Tell me more.”

“I think I’d like to go to Portobello Road Market and get lost in the crowds and find fun things there to buy.”

Not what he expected, but alright. He leaned towards a fancier store. Not fucking Portobello Road Market. 

“Piglet loves it there,” she added. “He loves crowds. And then we can stop by my sister Nesta’s house and have lunch. Or no…no, no,” she shook her head vigorously. “I want something else!”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“I want to go to Greenwich, to the park. I love that park and the observatory. And the views,”

“You’d be looking at where I live,” he smiled.

“What? Where do you live?”

“Canary Wharf.”

“Ohhh,” she whistled softly. “Fancy! You are a footballer, I guess it makes sense. It’s either that, or Primrose Hill or a big pile in Surrey or something,”

“You are right.” Azriel was amused. But she wasn’t wrong.

“So, we’ve gone all the way from Bloomsbury, to Notting Hill, to Greenwich…Where to now? After the park? What did you do at the park by the way?”

“Played with Piglet. With my husband.”

“Uh-uh. And?”

“And then we need to go to a pub because I’d be tired.”

“Legit.”

“Get a couple of drinks…”

“So your ideal day is travelling around London and eating?”

“Basically yes. I love eating so much,” she admitted dreamily. “Afterwards, I want to have tea somewhere too. At a nice place. Maybe at the Goring.”

“Are you still wearing your tracksuit? And hauling around your dog and kids?” Azriel teased, and she stuck her tongue at him, in a very unlady-like gesture, and un-Elain-like reaction. 

“You are messing up my dream day!”

“Sorry. Just trying to picture you in your very comfy joggers at the Goring. What else then? Where are we finishing this day? A swanky restaurant? A bar?”

Decisively, she said, “no! We’d go to my favourite place.”

“I am waiting here with bated breath, Ms. Archeron. What is your favourite place?”

“G Kelly, Mr. Night. I get a meat pie with small liquor and mash and apple crumble with custard.”

“What the fuck do you know about G Kelly?” he gaped at her through the screen. 

“You are so rude. I like what I like, Mr. Night. Leave me alone. And my husband will love it too!”

“I mean, I love the place, but come on,”

“What does it have to do with you?”

“Aren’t you marrying me? I am tall. I can make babies. I’ll take Pinky out.”

“You are unhinged,” he said flatly. 

“Tell me that you are at least considering it?”

“Marrying you? Hardly.”

“Don’t you want your own bit o’rough?”

“You are not a bit o’rough, Mr. Night. You are a multi-millionaire who lives in Canary Wharf. As I said before, you need to get out of your own head. You are adored by millions and you play for one of the best teams in the world. Yes, you grew up rough, but that’s all behind you,”

“Is it?”

“It is. I grew up as a normal child and I was exposed to many different people and places. I am not as posh as you think.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You feeling better, Ms. Archeron?”

She considered it and then nodded, “I am. Thank you. This was surprising, but it did the trick.”

“I know. Well, sleep well then. I expect you to watch the game tomorrow and root for us. And for me.”

“Oh, is that an order?”

“Yeah, it kind of is. We’ll be discussing it on Wednesday. Don’t get in trouble meanwhile.”

“Oh, I’ll do my best,” she promised, hiding her smile.

“‘Night, big lad,” Azriel called out loudly. “You be good too.”

Piglet was already asleep. 

-

The more you know…

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday!

I've tried to mostly post excerpts from unpublished stuff for WIP Wednesday, but I'm kinda running out of bits that work out of context. So instead, have an out-of-context excerpt from chapter 4 of (Love) Triangles. I've decided it's not spoilers actually because it's Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent meeting at basically-a-gala and like. Of COURSE that was gonna happen this chapter. Come on now.

He hadn’t expected to see the cute reporter from the bar last week at tonight’s event; Kent’s name hadn’t been on the guest list. But there he was, standing by himself in a secluded corner, frowning at something on the other side of the room. Bruce followed his gaze but only saw an unremarkable selection of attendees and the canapé table. To all appearances, the man was just staring into the middle distance, looking frustrated and mildly queasy. Most likely, he was feeling out of his element here, Bruce thought. He certainly looked it, hunched over by the wall in a cheap, rented tux that was clearly two sizes too big.

Bruce felt himself frown. It was frankly criminal that he managed to hide that ridiculously perfect body under such unflattering clothes. It honestly felt like a waste. Just like the first time they’d met, Bruce was hit with the irrational urge to tell him to stand up straight and give him the number of his tailor.

Hm. He seemed to be turning into Alfred at the ripe old age of 29. Maybe the man had a point about diversifying his social pool.

But still, disappointing wardrobe aside, Kent had been a more than pleasant temporary distraction. Pleasant, and shockingly…vigorous. Kent had certainly seemed satisfied as well, and thoroughly enough that he didn’t so much as stir while Bruce made his way out of the suite after he’d fallen asleep.

A pleasant heat curled in Bruce’s belly at the memory. The encounter had been playing on his mind in the intervening week, more than he’d expected. Now wasn’t the time for anything like that, but…perhaps if he played his cards right tonight, Kent could be persuaded into a repeat performance?

It was certainly worth a try.

He slid a hand into his pocket and sauntered over. “Clark!” he called out brightly.

Kent blinked as if startled and looked over as he approached. His blue, blue eyes widened in shock. “Bru— Mr. Wayne?” he stammered.

“Oh, Clark, I thought I finally got you to call me Bruce!” he said in mock dismay. He smiled then, slow and wicked. “Several times, in fact, by my fond recollection.”

As predicted, Kent flushed. Bruce had quickly discovered during their first meeting that Kent was an easy blusher, which made teasing him very rewarding. He edged a little closer, just a touch more so than was friendly, and said lowly, “You know, I’ve been thinking about you all week. How's my favorite reporter been getting on? Well, I hope?”

He expected Kent’s initial surprise to resolve into a bashful smile. But instead, those captivating eyes hardened and his mouth twisted into a frown. “I think I’ll stick with Mr. Wayne, thanks,” he said coolly. “I’d like to keep things professional, if possible.”

Bruce’s grin faltered.

Hm. Maybe aiming for a repeat performance was an ambitious plan after all.

He stepped away to give the man his space back, palms up in a gesture of easy surrender. “Of course. I didn’t mean to get…you know. Overexcited. I take it you’re here for business rather than pleasure?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Wayne,” Kent said, in a tone that suggested that the amount due was a little over none, “this isn’t exactly the kind of place I’d come to for pleasure.”

“A pity,” he said lightly. “I find it extremely rewarding to mix the two myself.”

Kent huffed. “And here I thought you were on a strict diet of the latter.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the bitterness in his tone. It wasn’t exactly an unfair comment, but…

“Honestly, Clark, I don’t know why you’re acting so sore all of a sudden,” he said with a polite frown. “I mean, if either of us was gonna be sore after that night, I really think it should be me, with the way you—”

“Bruce,” Kent hissed, eyes wide and scandalized.

“Hm. So we’re back to Bruce now, huh?”

Kent let out a soft groan of frustration. His gaze darted around the room as if expecting the eyes and ears of the assembled guests to be on him. Seeing that the other guests were, on the whole, more preoccupied with depleting LexCorp’s catering stock and pretending to enjoy mind-numbing small talk, he returned his attention to Bruce. “Mr. Wayne,” he said stiffly. “Could I speak with you in private for a moment?”

This wasn’t exactly the exit from the party floor he’d been aiming for, but Bruce was nothing if not adaptable. Facing off with a former lover would work just as well for the cover. He smiled his most charming smile, just to the left and down a bit from obsequious. “Lead the way.”