#its not even a normal snakeskin coat

[harps-chord]

the prickly prick whos going to ruin us all

[theworldendswithsho]

Confounding Variable: Love

18+ MINORS DNIIII

i have been working on this for so so so long and i kept losing motivation but i finished it for his birthday <3

happy birthday to my man and enjoy this piece <3

word count: 2.8k

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Nothing ever perplexed Sho Minamimoto. There was no phenomena, worldly or otherwise, that he could not calculate, reverse-engineering the very factors of existence in his mind. He cared not for that which was incalculable. Without mathematical explanation, there was simply no beauty. The emotional connections that held back his fellow Reapers made no sense to him, and he knew it was because they didn’t need to. If it didn’t make sense to him, it was below him.

He didn’t realize just how true that statement was until you were pinned beneath him on his couch. 

This had all started out so innocently. You were walking through Shibuya, going clothes shopping for the fast-approaching spring time. You strode past clothing stores that you normally never looked twice at. The same was true for today, until out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man shopping in Black Honey Chili Cookie. You did a double take, stopping in your tracks and staring at him. He was disgustingly handsome; tall and tan, with sharp facial features and a strong demeanor. You simply had to get a better look. 

You walked into the store, looking around meekly as if the place would eat you alive. Here you were in your fluffy pink sweater and brown plaid miniskirt, looking around the punk-esque shop. You walked up to a rack of leather jackets and pants, gently touching them and feeling the smooth material under your fingertips. You looked up, checking to see where the man was, but he was nowhere in your periphery. Tough luck. At least while you were there, you might as well grab one of these jackets. They do look pretty cool, even if they hardly match what you’re wearing right now.

One look at the price tag had you changing your mind. $600? You were here on a shopping spree, but not quite that expensive of one. You stumble back in shock, preparing to quickly depart the store. You didn’t need the employees thinking you were stealing from some place so expensive, since you were lingering around looking for a hot guy. Your back hits a wall, except you don’t remember the border of the store being quite so close. And then it hits you, its a person. Oh god. You turn around slowly, “I’m so sorry”s rushing out of your lips before you can even see who you’ve bumped into. 

Its him. His long, dark gray snakeskin-patterned coat fell so nicely around his frame. You look up at him and blink a few times. “Don’t worry about it, you hardly touched me,” he says, his voice confident. “R-right, sorry…” you say, face flushing now that he’s looking right at you. Your sudden hurry to leave the store has faded, instead replaced by sheer awe of his handsome features.

“So… What’s a pretty girl like yourself doing here?” He asks, a sly grin on his face as he takes notice of your pink outfit, which was rather uncharacteristic for the store he was in.

“Oh, um… I thought those leather jackets looked really cool,” I lie, hoping he doesn’t notice.

He lets out a short laugh. “A girl like you would be more at home in a cute boutique, no? But hey, I think a leather jacket could suit you, too.”

“Well, uh, I just found out that its really expensive… So I was gonna leave and go to the store I normally visit…” I say awkwardly, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

“If you’re worried about trying on the ones in the store, you can always try on mine,” he suggests, shrugging his jacket off of his broad shoulders. “Turn around, pretty.”

My face flushes bright red. “I couldn’t possibly try on your coat… I’m sure it was just as expensive as the ones in this store… And its really nice! I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Sure you could. Just slip it over those pretty shoulders of yours…” He trails off, his voice sweet and his eyes glinting.

“A-alright… Its a bit long though, I’m not quite as tall as you,” I say, slowly turning so that my back is facing him.

“Mm, good girl,” he mutters, slipping the jacket over my shoulders, taking his time and feeling the expanse of my shoulders where they met the pale column of my neck.

I gulp and turn to face him, raising an arm and noticing the way the too-long sleeves flopped over my hands. “I think its a little long,” I mutter, giving him a nervous smile.

His eyes rake over my frame, taking in the sight of my smaller body in his long jacket. I swear I catch his breath hitch in his throat momentarily, but that shit-eating grin is back on his face in no time.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, eyes lingering on my bare legs underneath my skirt before rising again to my face. “But I think I’d like to see you without any.”

Mere moments had passed, but the next thing I knew, I was hand in hand with him, walking out of the store and ducking into the alley next to it. I was pushed up against the brick wall as he hovered over me. His face was mere inches from mine, our chests rising and falling in anticipation.

“...Your name,” I huffed out, “what is it?”

“Sho Minamimoto,” he whispered before pushing our lips together.

The next several minutes were a clash of lips and tongues and occasionally teeth, and I found my face heating up with shame at the feeling of aching in my core. I’d never been the type of girl to hurl myself at a stranger, but here I was, making out with a man I’d just met in public. I subconsciously pushed my hips up into him, and he met my motions with his own. Our lips separated to allow us a moment to catch our breaths. My chest heaved, mouth gaping open mere inches from his, my eyes heavy-lidded as I found myself intoxicated in his presence. One push of his hips against my own had me letting out a soft mewl, and he grinned.

“Not… not here..” I panted, “Not in public.”

Sho rolled his eyes, watching me piece together whatever dignity I had left after he’d just torn it to bits by ravaging my lips in the alleyway. He nodded anyway, and gave me a smirk.

“My apartment’s only a few minutes away,” he muttered against my lips, capturing me in a quick kiss before grabbing my hand and yanking me out of the alley, leaving me no time to compose my messy hair and spit-soaked lips. I followed him as he dragged me several blocks towards a tall apartment building. All I could do was stumble along behind him, his long legs allowing him to walk at a much faster pace than myself. With my one free hand, I attempted to fix my hair, keeping my head low in the hopes that I wouldn’t be recognized by anyone I know.

The apartment building was tall and glassy, its large windows looming over the neighborhood. Sho pulled a key card out of an interior pocket of his coat and scanned it on a small square by the door. The resounding click told me the door had unlocked, and he pulled it open, holding it for me as I skittered through into the building. The lobby was simple yet extravagant: a mahogany front desk with marble countertop, gold sconces on the walls, even an accent wall that was just a gentle waterfall tumbling over cobbles. Plush gray chairs surrounded a low mahogany coffee table, with various magazines and newspapers kept in a tidy pile in the center. Before I could gape too long, a “ding” sounded and I turned to realize that Sho had brought me to the elevator, the doors of which were now sliding open. 

It was at this moment, where he stood in the elevator, our hands connected as I made to follow him, that I realized I had a choice. I could drop his hand, turn around and run out the front doors, and leave this intoxicatingly handsome man behind and resume my shopping like nothing ever happened. I could run away with my tail between my legs and live down the shame of being so reckless without anyone being any the wiser. And yet, his stoic face and expectant gaze lured me in, and I wordlessly crossed the threshold of the elevator, hearing the doors slide shut behind me.

I stared up at him, chest to chest with him, as he reached behind me to press a button for whatever floor he lived on. The intensity of his gaze intimidated me and I turned my head, suddenly interested in the mirrored upper wall of the elevator. A large, warm palm lifted to my chin, turning my head back to him. My breath caught in my lungs as his amber eyes locked with mine and a smirk played across his lips. In an instant, our lips connected again, searing and relentless. My arms, awkwardly glued to my sides, slowly lifted to rest my hands on his shoulders. The warm palm on my chin slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place, whilst his other hand snaked down to my lower back, pulling me closer against him. I felt him bite gently on my lower lip and I gave a small squeak, opening my mouth and giving him access. His tongue quickly dominated my own, and the warm glide of our tongues on each other made me moan out. 

The elevator dinged, coming to a stop, and he pulled away from my lips. I stared forward at him in a daze as he looked up at the sign above the door and said, “Well, this is my floor.” He grabbed my hand and eagerly pulled me out of the elevator. I followed him, suddenly pliant and putty-like in his grip. Only a few short steps later, he was at the door to his apartment, pulling a key-card out of an inner pocket and scanning it to unlock the door. He gestured for me to step in, and I did, hardly getting a moment to take in my surroundings before he kneed the door shut and pressed me up against it. I gasped, feeling his hand on my waist, before it travelled down to my backside and then to the back of my thigh, where he hiked my leg up to settle on his hip. The new position reduced the space between us to mere atoms and I gulped, looking up at him with my mouth agape as I felt his hardness pressed against me. He leaned down, lips connecting with my jaw and then my neck, where he nipped and sucked. My hand rested in his hair and I relaxed against the door, letting out soft moans. My hips began to rock gently to meet his hardened length from where it rested in his pants, and I heard him let out a low groan followed by a deep chuckle.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he mumbled next to my ear, the pet name slipping off his tongue with ease. I turn my head to the side, avoiding his gaze as a potent blush settles over my cheeks.

“Don't be an idiot, you know what I want,” I say, barely above a whisper.

There's a grin on Sho's face, and it's like a switch flipped in his demeanor.

“An idiot? What kind of man do you take me for? Maybe that kind of line works on the idiots you've been with before, but it won't sway someone of my intelligence. Now tell me what you want.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a smack to my backside and I let out a gasp, turning my head back to face him.

“You… I want you… Fuck me, Sho, please?”

In an instant, he whirls me across the room and onto his grey, square couch. I'm flat on my back, skirt hiked up and revealing more of my thighs, and Sho is kneeling over me, caging me in with his hands and knees. He stares into my eyes, and there's a softening in his gaze. His right hand comes up to cup my cheek.

“Are you sure about this?” Sho asks, his voice suddenly tender.

I nod, and he presses a quick, chaste kiss to my lips before kissing along my jaw and neck. His hands slowly peel away my clothing, and he takes an item of his clothes off each time he takes one of mine. We're left naked on his couch, back in the position we were in before. Sho is staring into my eyes, and then he closes his eyes, shaking his head slightly. 

“I don't get it…” he mumbles.

“Don't get what?” I ask, confused and impatient.

“I like my alone time. I ask anyone I sleep with to leave right away. But I think – I think I want you to stay.”

My breath catches in my throat at the tender confession, and I nod in silent agreement.

“I'll stay.”

I feel his dick twitch against my thigh as I utter those words, and he groans slightly.

“I'm not gonna fuck you princess, at least not yet.” 

I whine, impatience overcoming me, but he shushes me and lines up with my entrance, gently gliding in, inch by inch.

“I'm gonna make love to you,” he whispers, and his hand intertwines with mine as he starts a slow, steady pace.

Little mewls and moans leave my mouth as I feel the pressure of him between my hips. Sho is pressing kisses to every inch of my skin he can, savoring the taste of a woman's skin for the first time in his life. His eyes have fluttered shut, and I can tell he is lost in the gentle pleasure of his ministrations. 

Sho lets go of my hand, moving his hand down to thumb at my clit in small, calculated circles. My moans increase in volume, and I hear him groan when I squeeze around him.

“Here's that fucking I promised, princess,” he breathes out, ending on a nearly feral chuckle. Sho pulls out, and I mumble whiny complaints about the lack of stimulation. He flips me over onto my hands and knees, and then slides back into my wetness in one deep stroke. 

“16 degrees downward…” I hear him mutter to himself, and then I am crying out in sheer bliss as he rams into that soft, spongey spot encased in my inner walls, over and over again. His thrusts are relentless, and the constant stimulation leaves tears streaming from my eyes.

“Fuck, ‘m molding your pussy into a perfect fit for me… Gonna ruin anyone else for you,” he groans out. “You gonna fuck an idiot ever again?”

So lost in bliss, I completely miss his question. Sho lands a quick slap to my ass in response. 

“Answer me, princess. Are you gonna fuck an idiot ever again?” 

“No, no, fuck, never again… Smart… Smart dick is too good,” I babble out, flushing in embarrassment at my own words.

“Good, sounds like I fucked the stupid out of you, isn't that right?”

Sho grabs my hips so hard I fear he'll leave bruises, and his thrusts are harsh and unforgivingly quick. My walls start to pulse in time with his thrusts, and I feel myself about to cum.

“Fuck, I calculated perfectly,” Sho groans out, and as my orgasm hits me he pulls out suddenly. The sudden action makes me gush, and I sob out in pleasure, the likes of which I'd never felt before. Sho finishes in this same instant, groaning with each spurt of cum that leaves his angry red tip and lands on my ass.

Lost in the afterglow of my orgasm, I slump forward and close my eyes, resting my head on my hands. It is silent, and I feel him shuffle off the couch. 

When I wake up, he's cleaned me off and covered me with a blanket. I look around, confused by waking up under a ceiling not my own. Sho's large hands softly fingered my curls, and I watch his lips move in the words, “C = pi r squared,” visually estimating the circumference of each curl. I look up at him and smile, and there's a softness in his gaze that I hadn't seen when I first met him. The hardened exterior had vanished.

Looking into her eyes, Sho felt his heart flutter in a way mathematics could not explain. He had acted irrationally, falling in love with a woman he only intended to sleep with. Love had never made sense to him, and from where he lay right now, it seemed it never would. With the way she looked up at him, her features soft and rosy in the afterglow of lovemaking, he figured maybe this was something he didn't want to explain with numbers or reason. In the grand experiment of life, his love for you would just have to be a confounding variable.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap. 

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks. 

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley. 

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!" 

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!" 

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away. 

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks. 

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics. 

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor. 

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this. 

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no. 

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”

[permian-tropos]

“Seismic” -- Daniil Dankovsky/Artemy Burakh fic that I just spat out

CW: angst, suicidality

I will post this on AO3 maybe like a normal person but it’s late and I’m lazy

Edit: the AO3 link if you want it there

...

Two dogs barked in warning — they knew, as they so often did, of the oncoming quake.

The plague itself was growling in the air, unyielding in its final hours, and the black soot flakes soared on suddenly stirred air currents, all aflutter with anticipation.

On the eastern side of the Guzzle crossing came running the man who could always smell blood before it was spilled, because it was by rights his to harvest.

On the south side of town the cannons on the railroad were turning and aiming, ready to belch fire.

The yargachin stood on the bridge looking into the Stone Yard, where the spear would finally be ripped from the heart of the world. There it was; that glittering silhouette in the hazy air, that crystalized twister touching down by the bend in the river.

The Polyhedron’s manic angles had never seemed so alive. She was baring herself to the world, a witch upon the pyre screaming her last wild curse, and in that moment she and the Earth were not enemies but one being, united in defiance against their coming death.

As the ground beneath his boot soles shivered, the Haruspex at last knew what the odonghs meant when they said they could sense the weight of every pair of feet on the streets of the town.

Because he felt footsteps that should not be there, crossing the Bridge Square.

Walking west, to where the sun set, the steps spoke their own rhythmic language, tolling like a warning bell: I am going to see this to the end.

The butcher’s heart gasped like it too had been pierced through. Artemy heaved in a lungful of acrid infected air and sprinted through the Atrium, past the befuddled soldiers. His bad leg hobbled and nearly sent him down to one knee, but he turned a corner and beheld:

The fog in the square cut by the silhouette of a long leather coat — and he’d even brought his trademark bag; it swung at his side.

The Bachelor looked like a man upon the lip of a train platform, impatiently clasping his luggage, awaiting his chance to travel far away —truly far — the next time an engine thundered through the station.

His upturned head spelled out plainly that his eyes were only on the tower. Transfixed upon his beloved.

Artemy staggered across the paved stones, past the row of bodies left behind by the Inquisition, and caught Daniil Dankovsky by his arm.

And swung him around with one sharp pull. The man’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed, and out from them cracked all those furrows of stress that had been pressed into the man’s face over two weeks of squinting, straining, grimacing, scowling, and perhaps, by the looks of it, weeping.

“No,” was all Artemy could gasp with the last air in his lungs, and then he had to pant and recover.

“Don’t you dare stop me!” Dankovsky cried out, thrashing and fighting the grip on his arm.

Artemy clung to the snakeskin on his sleeve with all the strength he had left. He shook the man just as vigorously as the man was struggling, until his efforts stilled. “You’re not going up there.”

“You should have killed me in the Shelter. But you didn’t, so I’m going inside one last time. Maybe, just maybe, there’ll be one more dream left, and it won’t die alone.”

“The cannons!” Artemy choked out. “I delivered the orders! They’re taking aim!”

“I know,” said the Bachelor, tongue heavy, like he wanted the words carved on his grave. His lips shuddered, and then he twisted his arm, wildness flashing in his eyes.

Artemy grabbed his shoulders before he could wrench himself free. And stared at him, trying to vivisect him with a glare. By the way the man was trembling, the Haruspex was indeed cutting deep, through his medrel, his nerves.

Dankovsky was lost to his grief, seduced at his lowest moment by the Pied Piper herself, the temptress who had spirited away the children of the Town.

And now it wanted him to lie down with it in its grave, as its eternal lover. It had called him here with the siren song, there is nothing else but me, without me you are nothing, and I need you.

“What does a man do without a dream? What does mankind do?” Dankovsky dropped his bag and clutched the front of Artemy’s smock, and from the way his fingers clawed and twitched, he was coming close to reaching up and trying to squeeze his throat. But he did not do that. He just clung.

Artemy struggled for words. “We don’t do. We just are. And that’s enough.”

Dankovsky's breath caught on a wet clog in his throat. “I can’t live like this,” he rasped. “I’ll never be free again. I never was. Now let me go. I didn’t think you’d have to see this—”

“I’d see it when they found your body in the wreck. Is that how you want to be remembered, mangled and broken?” His jaw was tight as a bear trap, ready to snap. “Is that what you want to leave behind for someone you called a friend?”

The Bachelor’s cheeks were turning ashen. “Someone I called an idiot. Get out of here, Burakh, before you’re crushed by a chunk of debris. Any moment now, they’ll fire.”

“Then move, you bastard!” Artemy yanked on his arm to pull him away, yet still he fought.

A razor-sharp Line was wound all around Dankovsky’s body, biting through his clothes into his flesh like a garrote, and it was screeching the same discordant tune as the wicked metal frame balanced precariously in the Earth’s flesh.  

“It’s alive,” Dankovsky croaked. “In a way unlike anything in the universe. It’s so alive it makes the noon sun look like a shadow on the wall of a cave.”

Artemy wanted to sob, the way he had when a being shaped like his favorite childhood toy had tottered up to him on tiny hooves and plaintively asked, could it not live too? Was there not a world where it, strange form of life that it was, could be loved?

“I understand,” he said, and he did. “... I refuse to make another sacrifice. Especially not one as meaningless as this.”

“Not everything is about sacrifice!” the Bachelor spat. “My story is, quite simply, over.”

“You love that that tower so much you’d die with it? After two weeks? Barely any time!”

“Enough time to destroy a town and end thousands of lives.” A cruel grimace briefly flashed Dankovsky’s teeth, though it was covering up a flush of mortification. “You’ve known me for those same two weeks, but you’re out here in the open, waiting to be skewered on shrapnel, all over this poor waste of skin. Could it be that you’re—” he clutched a mocking hand to his breast, over his heart — “oh! just as suicidally devoted, my dearest Haruspex—!”

His words had such venom that he must have thought they would shame Artemy into letting go. A blow to his masculinity, or some such stupidity like that.

Artemy’s blood boiled, and then surged without thought. He seized Dankovsky in his arms and bent him over backwards and kissed him.

He tasted the pulse of both of their hearts as a tickle against his lips. Dankovsky flailed and helplessly threw his arms around Artemy’s shoulders, to catch his balance.

And as he did, his body shivered and his back arched into a yearning, yielding shape in Artemy’s tight grasp. Artemy’s own spine tingled from tip to tail, more urgently with every moment that Dankovsky did not pull away.

Artemy’s emboldened hand found the man’s free leg and clutched his thigh, while Dankovsky gasped through his nose and wriggled in embarrassment at the touch, but kept his mouth firmly sealed against Artemy’s.

The Cathedral bore witness; Artemy could feel it rapturously exhale a great gust of seconds into the world. The Crucible’s stately wings shivered and held their breath, scandalized. And the Polyhedron’s needle, jammed into the agonized Earth, vibrated with outrage.

He is mine, the edifice howled.

Not anymore, rumbled the Haruspex’s decree, and he planted his feet and refused to budge. His sympathy for the tower, miracle that it was, had dried up. For this eternal moment, he was the wedge forcing its way down upon those sharp threads tightly binding Daniil Dankovsky to the Polyhedron.

A great crack of gunfire split the sky and rocked the earth.

The scents of metal and blood were indistinguishable from one another, as both exploded into the air as a ruddy mist.

The seismic shudder sent Artemy down to his knees, but he didn’t let Dankovsky go; they sank together, dropping to the flagstones and unsticking their lips as their ears rang from the cacophony.

Artemy unclenched his eyelids. His heart jumped; they were both still alive, and Dankovsky had his gloved — and still very bloodstained — hand clutched over his mouth. But aside from that old gore, there was a faint spray of pink mist on the side of him that faced the river.

Fingers shaking, realizing he was staring at the cure for the Sand Pest splattered against the Bachelor’s pale skin, Artemy traced the droplets across the man’s temple. Magnificent, miraculous, chimeric blood.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he gruffly forced out, as his own mortification got the better of him. “Like I just took your innocence.” The Bachelor slowly lowered his hand from his mouth, and his dark brows dropped low and miserable, as he turned his head towards the river of blood and the jagged bones of the specular tower. “That’s exactly what you’ve done,” he whispered.

Artemy let go of Dankovsky slowly; his joints felt stuck. “Then I will bear the weight of that evil, and you will live to hold it against me.” He rose on trembling feet and pointed. “It’s over. That’s our cure, doctor.”

Dankovsky remained half-sprawled on the ground, lips forming silent words that could have been numb denials.

“It’s,” he finally said. “It’s… over.”

Artemy swallowed and took a rotten, sin-soaked step towards that beautiful red pool. He understood the hollow tones in Dankovsky’s voice. What even were they now, without the frantic running through the streets, without the smoke from signal fires stinging their eyes, without creeping to avoid the pools of light from streetlamps with a half-shattered blade in hand, without obsessive hoards of trinkets and trash filling their pockets?

The Earth’s thrashing and bellowing in pain underneath him was growing stiller, colder, fainter.

“No more of your self-pity,” Artemy finally forced out. “We have work to do. One more task. I need you, oynon.”

Behind him, by the sound of it, Dankovsky was picking himself up off the smooth stones. “You don’t need me,” he said dully. “I barely helped.”

“Spare me that bullshit. What’s left of the town is alive because of you.”

“Then. Everyone who died.”

“Stop it,” said Artemy. He didn’t turn around. “Don’t goad me right now. I won’t kiss you again, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

For an aching moment, the words caused a ripple, like a stone thrown in a pond.

“Then let’s work,” said Dankovsky, and he was quiet and bitter and resigned, but he was still there. To live in the throes of despair took courage, warm courage borne from warm blood, that still assiduously pumped inside his chest. His unthinking blood cherished the brain that struggled to love itself, and that would do for now.

[brookelynndyke]

ok last episode,,,, let’s talk.

(SPOILERS) I’m breaking down a lot of the looks cause I like to think I’m somewhat knowledgeable on fashion. its really long but im hoping atleast my mutuals will read it

THE TOP: so like Gigi, Jaida, and Nicky literal beauty, like that was absolutely delicious.

Gigi Goode: omg all three of her looks were absolutely phenomenal. Her Lady Ballers look was one of my favourite of the night, the reference to heathers so smart and the construction of the blazer and blouse was so beautiful (go follow the seamster on insta @domingocholula). she really knew what she was doing with that one. next is her basketball wife realness and tbh it was the weakest out of the three but not by alot, the snakeskin jacket (go follow her mom on insta, who made it @kgeggie) and boots matched the long flowy black hair so well, and the reason I say it was the weakest is because she said it herself that she was “recently divorced trying to spend all his money”, meaning more independent and that does not fit the theme as much as others did. lastly was her balls to the walls eleganza that she made herself, and if you follow me you know that was literally my favourite thing in the world. her talent in sewing is gonna take her far in the competition, cause she literally sewed that in a day. the sleeves the skirt i just am crying. her faces were on point every runway and she deserved her win.

Jaida Essence Hall: how is she that pretty? her lady ballers look was so cute and i’m glad she’s able to let herself be silly on the runway cause her personality is amazing. i normally hate heeled sneakers but since her were plain white it looked great with the outfit. AND THE HAIR, idk what about it i liked so much but that ponytail moment was so cute. next was her basketball wife realness, that if I’m correct she made herself and when i tell you this was so fucking gorgeous I mean it. the fur on her shoulder and tiny fluffy accents on her shoes, shes so polished and knows her body so well. last was her balls to the walls eleganza, and lord!!!! the concept was so smart, and the matching hand bag with soap carved into it was amazing like periodttt, if I had to say one thing about it that I didn’t like it was the hair, I wish she had done either a wet hair just out of the shower wig or even changed the headwrap colour to silver like her jewelry, it would have made the look ten times better. i would not have been mad if she won this week.

Nicky Doll: I have a soft spot for nicky as a french speaker myself and I’m so glad she was in the top this week. her lady ballers look was unfortunately the weakest for me, although I loved the concept i thought it feel a bit short just because it looked very similar to her look in the first episode for the sparkles runway. but the way she served it to us on a silver platter with that WALK ugh amzing presentation. next was her basketball wife realness and OH MY GOD. this look was one of my favourites of the night it was stunning, she giving you “im from paris but fell in love with a basketball player when i moved to america and now i travel the world doing photoshoots and fashion shows. the red ostrich feather coat sold the entire look and honestly i want to marry that woman. (coat and jewelry were made by @onauratoutvu go follow!!) last is her balls to the walls eleganza and this was great by all means she had a clear concept in her mind and went for it, my favourite part were what she called the “marie antoinette” hips (great reference btw) that added shape to the garment. i can understand where people are coming from when they say it looks like yvie’s look from the farm to runway challenge but I don’t think there was any correlation. and also i think their personality critique for nicky was absolute bullshit but thats none of my business

SAFE: i’ll only be breaking down one look from each safe contestant!

Jackie Cox: i might be biased cause i’m canadian but that lacrosse moment was great, i was here for it. the socks were bedazzled and the jersey said beaver, her attention to detail is amazing, but I really want to see her stand out!! (go follow the designer on insta @daviddalrympleinc) 

Crystal Methyd: she’s such cutie, honestly. her bowling look was great and the references were smart, i loved the colour combo and hair.  i wish she didn’t change her makeup cause of michelle, because honestly it’s her face and like shes polished so why does it matter. 

Jan: her basketball wife realness was amazing. i believe it was a 13,000$ tracksuit by Thom Browne! like WHAT? first of all it was stunning and her makeup is always on point and i might just be a whore for chanel but the purse/basketball in a net was AMAZING!

Heidi N’ Closet: her last look the balls to the walls eleganza was... interesting. it was giving me alien something and she was showing versatility and i’m here for it. i think the purple and green colour combo was great but could her construction use some work yes, but overall proud of her for that being the second garment she’s ever made.

Widow Von’Du: sis isn’t doing it for me i’m sorry, her looks were all great but none of them stood out, she just needs to go one step further and they’ll be amazing. her lady baller was cute tho and i loved the lapels and collar.

Allison MOSSey: her balls to the walls eleganza was bad, period. it was boring uninspired and where were the balls. i enjoyed the other two looks so PLEASE go follow their designer and look past the person wearing the clothes to enjoy the designers art @florencedlee on insta.

BOTTOM THREE: i have some very strong opinions on this bottom three like many so just hold tight.

Brita: her first look was the best out of all of them which is unfortunate because i didn’t even like it that much. her second look was bland, and i get the reference but it could have been done so much better instead of this neon yellow fabric and giant hair. finally her... corn-apple, i have no words, it was poorly constructed and she deserved to lipsync.

Rock M. Sakura: why did she go home ugh, yes she lost that lip sync but she did not deserve to be in the bottom 2. her first tether ball/ball in a cup look(idk people are fighting over what it is) had such a great concept and the hair was AMAZING. i do wish the garment had been just as strong from the neck down but her face was stunning last episode. her downfall this week was her padding and how crowded her balls to the walls eleganza was.

Aiden Zhane: i- no. how was she safe. i have some respect for her lady baller look because of the concept, but the other two... the basketball wife one was not good and id not fit with her aesthetic, it gave me more crack whore who stole one of trixie mattel’s wigs. and then the balls to the walls eleganza was literally just bad. everyone put so much effeort into their looks and aiden glued some pom poms onto a corset and said “done”. severely confused as to why she didn’t lipsync. i know they want to keep aiden for drama but that was pathetic.

ANYWAYS... if you read all of this and want to see more just drop a like please and thank you

[liray-stylespk]

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