#trader world

[milton-chamberlain]

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[voidkism]

quick drawing of my beloved wife <3

[sculkapologist]

ive just been meditating a lot lately on the actual scale of minecraft blocks compared to the player....... theyre big actually. everything's big.

[hamlets-ak]

it’s still early in this world, do you hear me ? ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: in which timothée wants you to stay

*18+, minors DNI, sexual themes & references, romantic dynamic, established relationship, consent

Orion’s gold sword scattered and spilt aloft dust from your dreams as your senses became conscious of the present.

The slow, steady beats of his heart echoed through your ears, spreading an incomparable sense of warmth and safety to your unsettled mind. You buried your head deep in the crook of his neck, refusing to face the blinding morning sun rays, and sank into the person who consumed your dreams and reality.

White auroral lights swam between tangled bodies, caressing any uncovered parts. You had to flutter at the feeling of your eyes drinking the day. Your cheek nuzzled closer, asking for refuge until your lips slowly found his soft skin.

Timothée was still lost between dreams, his eyes sealed, too tightly to let the light in, and his lips parted, breathing in the day. Sprawled out on his back, he had one arm around you, fingers resting on your shoulder, holding you throughout his sleep, afraid you’d dissolve into the night.

As you watched him sleeping, with his head tilted to your side and his chest rising and falling to the sound of his breathing, you wanted nothing more than to lick the sleep off his eyes. But he looked so serene, so peaceful and unbothered, you couldn’t help but keep staring at him like he was the most beautiful landscape.

The colours of the sun reflected on his face - and you wondered whether or not he could feel the light piercing his skin. A smile curled up on your mouth and you brushed a kiss on his neck before detaching from his body. Balanced on your elbow, with head resting on your shoulder, you observed him as time went by, drinking in every little detail.

You brought your fingers to his forehead, fiddling with a stubborn curl that concealed his eyes. Slowly, your gaze slid lower and you let your finger run gently to the small bump of his nose, tracing all the way down to his Cupid’s bow, and then lined the soft curves of his mouth.

Timothée grinned and his lips tried to catch your finger.

« You’re always doing that, » he rumbled from the deepest parts of his throat, bringing you a small smile.

« Because I know that’s what wakes you up, » you whispered and he peeked his eyes open.

« And you wanted to wake me up ? Cruel. » A wolfish grin appeared on your face as Timothée tilted his head and pressed a kiss on your mouth, the first of the day. « Good morning… », he murmured, voice still groggy and sleep-filled.

« Mornin’… » He turned around on his stomach and hugged you, burring his face close. « Slept well ? »

« Mmm... Better. »

« Better ? »

« Yeah... Because you’re here. » You laughed, truly happy chortle as he covered his smile on your pillow.

Hypnotized by the warmth, you stayed there for a while, feeling the sun gliding and soaking in your skin. Timothée simply gazed at you in silence.

With his breath against your skin, you fell into the heavy air your bodies erected. You held his shoulder tight and rubbed the smooth, glistering skin, fingers tracing the curves of his muscles and the slope of his nape.

« Timmy, » you said softly and tried to catch his cheek with your lips. As if knowing what you were about to say, he snuggled closer, bringing one leg between yours to keep you there. « Tim, I should get going. »

« I think you should stay, » he mumbled, his mouth falling on your neck, leaving wet traces on everything it touched. He idly cupped your cheek and turned your head in his direction to kiss you.

« I can’t. »

« You could… »

« I can’t. »

Timothée looked at you for a moment and then hovered over you, trapping you between his arms. He stared at you under a pair of furrowed brows.

« No ? » You shook your head as Tim pressed his lips on yours. « Come on, stay… »

Your hands sank into his hair and he leaned into your touch, letting his eyes seal in delight when you pulled back curls that were still tangled with the night. You smiled, pressing soft kisses on the edge of his mouth and Timothée bent his head for you, allowing your lips to explore his chin, his jaw, his neck. 

« I really can’t... », you whispered. He lowered his head to catch your lips.

« Come on, it’s nice... And snug... And you look pretty in the morning... », he mumbled as mouths merged and blended into one. « Just stay. »

Your fingers held him back for a moment. Maybe it was the way the sun lit his face at that partucular moment causing his eyes to squint, or his skin that felt so warm against yours and softer than usual, but suddenly he was very convincing.

A smile stretched on your face at his attempts to catch your lips and he chuckled, his breath coming out heavy, once you let him reach your mouth.

Still having you in a mock wrestling position, Timothée leaned down and bit the side of your lips, slowly following the tilt of your neck and your collarbones. His mouth dropped lower and lower on your sternum giving it soft-mouth bites.

« I want you so bad. »

He breathed in your aroma, tongue swirling over your chest, overwhelmed by your scent. Your neck stretched back by his kisses and you closed your eyes as Tim brought his lips to yours again, this time deeper with fevered, blazing desire.

« You want me ? », your tongue lolled out on a salacious kiss. « At 7h ? »

« Yes... Want me to prove it ? », Timothée murmured softly, a small grin hanging from his mouth as you stared at him.

His fingers moved to the crook of your neck and tipped your head on the mattress. He kneeled lower on your body, hot breath panting against your skin. His hands slid to your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

A ghostly smile appeared on his lips as he bit your navel and placed wet kisses over your stomach, letting them one by one vanish in the air. He held your hips tightly, squeezing every part of you helplessly while his fingers slowly wandered between your thighs making your whole body tense and your breath hitch in anticipation.

« Stay ? » You pulled his hair back, chest rising and falling heavily.

« Okay. »

« ‘Okay,’ you’ll stay ? », he bit his lips and lightly raised his brows. You nodded.

Timothée grinned at you all flushed, diabolically angelic looking, as he settled between your legs, shoulders rubbing your knees.

He kissed the notch of your thighs, lips going higher on the apex and you smiled, stretching your head to the side. Tim let out a sly chuckle, breathlessly bringing his fingers to his mouth. His head lowered to your skin and fingers slid inside you, slowly finding their way. You hushed out a moan, letting your hand fall from his hair to his shoulder, gripping the skin.

His lips trailed lower, following the traces of his fingers. Your mouth agape in a silent scream, feeling his breath so close, his tongue licking and sucking eagerly on everything it touched.

Timothée smiled at the soul-capturing sound of your quiet moans, hearing his name come out as a plea, a prayer, a curse. His hand shaped the path of your lower stomach, fingers dripping silver honey, before his tongue slid inside you, teeth biting softly layers and layers, and brushing soft kisses.

Between the obscene sounds of his tongue, you shut your eyes, too dulled to lift them, giving in to the feeling. Your back arched to the bed and he had to grip your waist to keep you down. You held his shoulder and gasped desperately.

The room suddenly turned too heavy and his groans surged electric bolts through you.

For a moment he stopped and you sucked in a sharp breath. He panted against you, his kisses coming out gentle and slow as he rested his mouth on your stomach.

« Why you stopped ? », you asked breathless. He giggled boyishly, hovering on top of you.

Tim touched the edge of your mouth with his fingers, sketching it, drawing it, and your lips parted with bated breath. He licked his fingers and kissed you. You licked his fingers and kissed him again, barely holding your tongues in your teeth, playing in corners where air comes and goes.

« And you wanted to leave… », his lovely silken murmur echoed through your ears as he rubbed his mouth to yours smearing kisses that made you smile.

« Don’t stop, » you inhaled him, tangling his fingers with yours and dragging them lower to your body.

He chuckled again, bringing his tongue to your lips and you tried to catch it, before he kissed you, softly and tenderly, no pressing further just soaking into each other.

You glided his fingers down as he lingered on your neck and your jaw. One leg wrapped around him, bringing him impossibly close.

Timothée touched the inside of your thigh and you let out a sigh of pleasure, as sun-kissed mouths chased one another. His fingers clenched deep in you, eyes measuring with utter acclaim and pride the way your head bent back and your mouth fell loose. He continued his ministrations with his fingers eliciting soft whimpers from you until he couldn’t breathe.

Timothée pulled out his hand, soaking and glistering, and slid it down to himself desperately. You pressed your mouth on his and he let a small whine as your fingers slithered replacing his hand with yours.

He groaned against your mouth with lips tasting like ripe fruit as you slid lower your fingers. You watched his blissful expression full of longing and pleading, the way his Addam’s apple moved while his hot breath fanned your face with struggle. He tilted his head back and your lips touched his neck, giving it small mouth bites.

A loud gasp abandoned your mouth and Timothée groaned hard when you brought him close, until you sank into each other’s warmth, until all the parts of your bodies were touching. He buried himself deep in you, tender skin brushing against the other.

With jaw clenched and teeth grinding, Tim brought his face to yours. He held your cheek lovingly as you smothered each other under the heavy mist of stimuli.

You merged into one, blending as you breathed, your mouths brushing in gentle struggle. Timothée lunged into you, every move full of reverence, every thrust sinking deeper and deeper with an irresistible momentum.

Your head tipped back on the mattress, face disfigured by the throws of passion as you slid your arms to his back, cradling his shoulder.

Bodies scraped the white sheets as you shifted and pushed at each other, knowledgable in the pleasure of the other, working together in perfect harmony.

Strained moans elicited in the air through lively movements and dark fragrance. Tim held onto you dearly, swallowed by the ambition to drive you off the edge. His fingers clammed your face tighter, lips desperately trying to catch your skin.

Your head fell back and chest expanded, demolished, drunk on pleasure. You revelled in his touch, in the feeling of his naked skin against yours, absorbing him whole as he sank into you.

Until tremors shook your body, until you trembled against him like a moon on water, and he as well reached the peak of his pleasure, the sweet feeling of suffocation wrapping its arm around his throat, and in unison, you climbed and lunged into the climax.

He collapsed on top of you, both still fogged-up, sweaty and in total disarray, sucking in together your breaths with an old perfume and a silence.

Timothée pressed his mouth to the side of your head before rolling off your chest to his back.

Panting heavily, you stared at the sun painting the ceiling, creating shadows that trembled above your heads.

Timothée twisted his neck and looked at you with a grin plastered on his face. You smiled feeling his eyes on you and smoothened your hair back before turning to him.

« Stay now ? » You chuckled breathlessly and streched your head to press a kiss on his swollen lips.

« Can’t. »

[raintailed]

HUGE group of icons i forgot to post. they were done in preparation for art fight, with exception of Seer's icons which i did a few days ago

In order from left to right, top to bottom:

Gardener, Dire, Dire (Freakface mode) Mirah, Razz, the Snake The Trader, Seer, Seer (while reading pearls) Skeeber, Hazyheart, Callisto Rawstpaw, Weaver Weaver (eldritch), Regulator

These icons are NOT free to use!

[rainbowpancake777]

Madness ...

[ao3-anonymous]

Fastest Growing Fandoms on AO3 This Week (02/20/2024)

Every week I pull data on how many fics are in each fandom and compare to the previous week, then calculate the percentage increase to determine fastest growing fandoms.  Since this naturally skews towards smaller fandoms, I have included the same data filtered to Over 1k, 5k, & 10k fics.

Overall:

Over 1,000 Fics:

Over 5,000 Fics:

Over 10,000 Fics:

Source: AO3 Fandom Dashboard

[toritelling]

Not me spending all morning figuring out perfect pieces for Heinrix transmog in World of Warcraft. Not sure about shoulders tho. The two on the top look much closer to original, but the other two are more Warhammer-ish. But I think the top right will be my final version.

[on-till-morning]

Mr Brown's Ensemble at the Ball

I think this officially marks the moment I've moved from obsessed to completely unhinged. It was only a matter of time. Welcome one and all! Here I loose my mind over the fact that Mr Brown is seen revived in line for the coffee shop wearing his outfit from the Dirty Donkey, NOT his outfit from the ball. But to back up, let's start here:

There's already been theories about how Mr Brown's outfit at the Whickber’s Street's Ballroom Meeting resembles Crowley's from when they met at the pub because Mr Brown has a pash on Aziraphale (also infamously blogged about here). Just as a reminder (in case anyone could forget) I'm referring to this outfit...

And the fact that Mr Brown shows up at the ball in a turtleneck and vest and jacket much like we see above, however with the vest and jacket in tartan that looks suspiciously similar to dear Mr Fell's bowtie.

I had headcanoned that Mr Brown dressed himself like this at the ball on purpose to catch Aziraphale's eye, but upon latest rewatch I caught this:

The next morning, Crowley brings Mr Brown back wearing the exact same outfit that he was wearing from the other day at the Dirty Donkey:

Aaaand this is where I completely lose the last shred of my sanity to this show. Does this mean

Crowley noticed Mr Brown dressing like him and did not care for it and deliberately brought him back in the outfit he'd seen him in before??

The outfit was miracled, and when Crowley brought Mr Brown back from the dead (have we confirmed officially that he died? I can't remember) or from whenever he’d been in the demon’s clutches, he brought him back in his pre-miracled outfit, either on purpose or because the miracled outfit had disappeared upon death/whatever happened to him?

Furthermore, if Aziraphale is miracling the outfits, then he miracled Mr Brown's ballroom ensemble to both look like Crowley's usual outfit AND complement his bowtie?!? SCANDAL!!! Jk, we all know Aziraphale only has eyes for Crowley which leads me to speculate that...

The ballroom outfits were not chosen by Aziraphale, but instead his magic allowed each person to create their own outfit of choice from their subconscious/imagination that would make the event feel more special or perhaps more romantic for them. Has anyone else done a meta about this already? I only remember reading one getting into lapels and allegiances from the ball outfits. However…

If his outfit was miracled and he was revived in the pre-miracled outfit, it seems odd that Mr Brown would have been wearing the exact same outfit from a few days ago. I don't think we've seen any of the other Whickbar street characters wearing the same outfit on a different day, although there are a potentially suspicious amount of extras that do. Does this costume repeat have anything to do with the extras wandering around in the same outfits? Otherwise…

This brings me back to the theory that Crowley made a choice to revive Mr Brown in what he had previously seen him wearing regardless of what he had gone to the meeting in. Maybe because his memory of the previous night was faulty? Or, going back to option #1, he simply did not care for Mr Brown stealing his and Aziraphale’s looks.

For those still reading, let it not be said that I left any stone unturned. Here is Mr Brown entering the bookshop. This is shot in what seems to be the exact same way both Nina's and Mrs Sandwich's entrances are shot, where we see each of them already wearing the changed outfit from the first glimpse we get of them standing outside the door.

One could extrapolate from this that his outfit was changed like Nina's and Mrs Sandwich's, but we don't actually see him walking up to the bookshop beforehand, so I couldn't definitively say from his entrance alone if he came to the meeting dressed this way or if this is his miracled ensemble.

Thanks for joining me on this unhinged adventure!

[eywaseclipse]

If anyone has Twitter I highly recommend checking out this account. Here’s the video where Jon Landau himself confirms that the wind traders are the clan we will meet in avatar 3.

[sculkapologist]

Was suddenly possessed with the desire for a lil set of profiles for everyone in the Corrupted World minecraft AU!! you can probably tell by their names that these guys started life in the Bendy fandom, but then we got really carried away with MINECRAFT LORE...

the Basic Premise of Corrupted World AU is that when a bit of code gets corrupted, or degrades over time, the world replaces that code with something similar -- a corrupted bit of grassland will be overwritten by the code of nearby grassland. This works fine for most things, but there's nothing else like a Player in the world of Minecraft.................... these little bits of encroaching mob data have been mostly benign, until Joey's curiosity stretches the world to its limits, and the world's corruption becomes more aggressive.

Some basic notes on everyone under the cut!

Jack is an old player whose code changed so slowly that he honestly can't remember a time when he wasn't a little sheepy. A peaceful, friendly guy who loves to explore and makes contacts wherever he goes -- moving from village to village, build to build, to bring items he's found in his travels to trade and sell, sounding his own broken goat horn to announce his wares. Thanks to Jack, the world's far-flung players might be able to start to connect again...

(design by Mochi and Shazz, character by Mochi)

Sammy is a grumpy and strangely cautious player who keeps to himself ever since he escaped from an Ancient City..... changed. He was once an adventurous builder with an exacting sense of aesthetics, but now he's just trying to survive quietly with his sheep. Afflicted with painfully sensitive hearing and infected with sculk, he hides in an underground, wool-insulated home out in the hills and lives the most pacifist life he can manage, avoiding any death that could spread the sculk in his body.

(design and character by Shazz (me!))

Henry was always driven to look out for others, and when he died defending a village from attack, the grateful villagers helped to revive him the only way they knew how. He kind of wishes they'd just let him respawn... not realising some glitching armour had scrambled his health too badly to come back normally. In any case, Henry's gotten attached to the village... becoming more protective of the people there... almost unwilling to leave.

(design by Maf and Shazz, character by Maf)

A bit of a loner with a strange sense of humour, Norman often lingered near the ocean and didn't notice the little changes like not needing air when his water-breathing potions should've run out... until the corruption of his code made it sort of impossible for him to return to land. That's alright; he's perfectly happy to hassle the others when they wander into his territory.

(design by Shazz and Boo, character by Thren)

Wickedly clever with a knack for experimentation, Susie was left stranded in the Nether a long time ago and was determined to thrive even in that hellish domain -- and thrive she did. Now she's gotten a bit of reputation even on the Overworld, both for a mastery of potions and magic, and a cruel willingness to take what she wants.

(design by Boo and Thren, character by Thren)

Ever since Joey defeated the Ender Dragon and heard that conversation between two mysterious voices, he hasn't been able to let go of the idea that there is something more beyond this world of blocks and code -- but this charismatic dreamer has been prying at the world's secrets well before that. He convinced Susie to join him as the first to explore the Nether, talked Sammy into delving into an Ancient City with him, and tried to get Henry to join him in his quest for the End, gifting him code-modified armour that was better than anything his old friend could get. For some reason, though, they all lost contact, and Joey found himself alone in the End, where more code experiments in a land where only one mob is really prevalent had... an effect on him....

(design and character by Boo)

Pete isn't a player at all, he's a villager... but one day he found himself outside of his village, suddenly realised how big the world is, and couldn't resist the urge to explore. He's close with Jack, and has joined up with him on some expeditions to aid his own work as a cartographer. Without the ability to respawn, though, it's significantly more dangerous for him, and the two of them MAY have poked into some evoker magic looking for an alternative...

(design and character by Thren and Mochi)

Linda is deeply interested in the world's history, curious what sort of people or ancient players must've once populated the ruins, and she's also an experienced crafter with a penchant for metalworking. While the world of Minecraft has no real concept of monogamous relationships, she's settled with Henry as her one-and-only... which works out now that he's partially made of metal. Linda hadn't experienced any code corruption until data replacement became more aggressive, and it's still subtle for now. But it's handy to be able to touch things that are burning hot without taking damage!

(design by Shazz, character by Thren and Maf)

Fixing Sammy should be easy enough, Joey thought. Some of his data was corrupted by sculk -- if they can find that lost data in the code somewhere, it just needs to be reintegrated with Sammy. Attach it to an eye of ender, replace one of Sammy's eyes with the eye of ender -- simple! A complete Sammy! ...the lost data itself had other ideas. This strange construct that collected around the eye Joey provided is a mix of Sammy's lost data, garbled junk data, and -- he claims -- the remnants of an Ancient Player from the days when end cities were populated, before everything went so wrong and Minecraft's world became so lonely. His speech is glitchy and garbled, struggling to describe a Game and Code and a True Player that he believes must reset a world that has been "running too long." In lieu of a username, this apocalyptic anomaly goes by "the Prophet".

(design and character by Shazz)

[undercover-witch]

Rogue Trader: I'm ready to fight for the sake of the known universe and I'll take no criticisms.

Abelard: Lord Captain, I would nev-💀

[raintailed]

Brand new refs for both the Trader and the Snake for Art Fight :]

Trader lives in the Southern Regions (near Fifth Act) and looks for scrap metal and other valuable materials to trade to scavengers.

The Snake, a strange creature with traits of both garbage worms and overseers, watches over and assists the Trader.

Notes transcripts under the cut!

Butterfly, "The Trader;" they/them, vi/vir, she/her

optional whiskers

green markings glow

has small patagia

short muzzle

ploofy mane

sticks scrap metal etc in tail fur

The Snake; it/its, she/her

tail gradient: #bcd4cd, #83a3a7

halo: #10121c hard light 80%

can have words or symbols above head

can hold objects too

(eyes turn red when angry)

body glows like an overseer: #bcd4cd

size comparison (Trader is 3'5")

[rainbowpancake777]

Who's child is this ?!?! Why it's following me ?!?!

[rats-and-robots]

Spoilers for Marazhai's 'True' romance path, I pretty much just transcribed his lines up until a point.

---

Garion’s cackle echos through the hall… and only distant yelps and screams respond. It fades as his head falls back, chest heaving. Gore cakes his coat, mats his hair, makes his mechanical parts grind. His eyes remain wild, basking in the buzzing rush that remains.

Marazhai stares at him. His wounds are stinging. Places where nails have left little trenches in his skin as they desperately try to fight him off. The one stab wound from a broken pipe. Endless bruises. All of them are but pitiful whimpers for his attention when compared to the sight before him as Garion's eyes slide shut.

“Magnificent…” Marazhai's voice comes quietly, yet Garion's eyes slide open and his head rolls lazily to one side as he acknowledges the drukhari. A noise escapes him, a questioning one, and Marazhai happily explains, “No feast we have ever had on this ship has been so… perfect.” He tilts his head and steps towards the man, “I think back to my best raids and the memory of them pales in comparison to what transpires when we... share this ecstasy with each other.” Garion straightens up with a small smile on his face. The madness still doesn't leave his face. And why should it? He turns to face Marazhai completely, giving him his full attention as he listens.

“When we first began… I thought this was all a little game.” He reaches a clawed hand out, and Garion considers it, eyes narrowing, but he allows Marazhai to cup the side of his face in the hand, “A chance to stave off the boredom of being among the mon’keigh by sharing the true passions of the Aeldari with one of them. I thought your mon’keigh heart would quickly flounder under the weight of my truths and you would flee–and then I would have a new reason to torment you…” Garion laughs quietly, clicking his tongue and leaning into his hand. His eyes dart away for a second. Desperate to have his eyes back on him, Marazhai continues, “And yet… here you are. And I see in your eyes the same obsession that drives me… Incredible.” Garion's eyes search the distant wall, and then slowly move up to look at him. Something has changed in those eyes, and it almost makes Marazhai apologize. For what, he does not know. Has he overstepped a line? He can't think of one–

“Is that so?” Garion's voice interrupts his thoughts and his eager eyes hold their focus on that of the Rogue Trader. The human pulls his face away from the touch and he spins to turn away, going up onto a small platform not far away, skipping all three steps in one smooth motion. His eyes stare at their domain, at the bodies they've piled up. And now there's something thoughtful in those eyes. Marazhai tilts his head, moving to follow, but staying on the lower platform. Garion enjoys being taller, and Marazhai finds it suiting to be looking up at him. He waits, patient and unwilling to anger the man by interrupting whatever thoughts he has by speaking again.

“And what next? After all of this? What comes then?” Garion finally speaks, turning back to him. His eyes are hard, stern, questioning him like a prisoner.

“Next?” Marazhai can't help but gasp softly as he thinks of all that will come of all their nexts, “Eternity.” He steps forward, towards the stairs but stopping at them, no further, “Many eternities, formed from the moments we experience as we forget ourselves together in a bloody haze…” Garion walks closer, his eyes staring hard into Marazhai’s eyes, searching for a lie, for a crack, and Marazhai smiles, knowing he will find no such thing, even as he stops at the top of those stairs, “Each moment is worth centuries when your obsession is shared by your equal.” He reaches forward again… but Garion does not move towards it. He tilts his chin up– away, even. And it takes all of Marazhai's willpower not to chase after it. Not to take one of those steps and grab him. But he knows better than to–

“Eternity? Surely you could become boring within an eternity.”

Marazhai flinches. His hand twitches. Confusion slips across his mind but he doesn't speak it. He lowers his hand and tilts his head to the side, baring his brand obediently, “I will take great pains to avoid such a fate. And I will begin… right now.” Is… is Garion still playing? Was he wrong in thinking that Garion is also desiring an end to the game? What is he doing?

“Hm. I see.” He abruptly turns away, “I don't think I'm interested.” 

Marazhai knows agony in all its forms. Or he thought he did. “What…?” His voice is a trembling gasp, “No…” This agony is new, and this one he does not enjoy. He snarls and ascends the tiny rise with a single stride.

“Did you not hear me, Marazhai?” Garion snaps, and it makes him falter. He spins on his heel to face the drukhari, his lips peeled into a grimace, “I am done playing with you.”

Marazhai's voice rises, sharpens, but still it trembles, “No, you cannot… you cannot… abandon me!” The steel of Garion's expression changes, but Marazhai is too panicked to read the new one that sits there, “We are bound by the ties of possession!” He shakes his head, denial, anger, and unadulterated fear shake his voice, “It may have once been a game, but after all you have been through in my charge… after the branding…!” His voice cracks. The tremors of his voice have spread to his jaw and he clenches it tightly to cease them.

There's suddenly a blade on his neck. Garion's hand is in his armor, pulling him into it. That blade. That blade that had once been his, that carved countless enemies and victims of the Reaving Tempest, now pressed against a pulse point. Pressed against the brand. A twist of his wrist and it would be flayed off his throat, removed and revoked... But... The Lord Captain doesn't move.

Steel-silver in Garion's eyes swim like mercury, and it searches. It searches his expression. Searches him for any sign of lie or misdirection. Anything.

“...you're serious?” The two words are only barely audible over the beating of his heart in his ears, but they are heard, “You… this…” Garion's words start and stop and start again, and then the fluid hardens to cold metal; Garion's expression teeters on rage, “But how can I know this isn't yet another part of your game?!” His teeth bare to the hot air between them, blood smeared across their yellowed planes, “Everything is a game, a test, you beat at your cage to see if you can bend the bars, are you trying now to whine so softly so I'll let you out??”

Marazhai falters. Garion doesn't believe him. After everything… he sees now the distress in the man's eyes. Desperation. He wants this to be real… but he's terrified it isn't. Terrified to fall for a trap that isn't there.

Marazhai doesn't speak again. He just presses his neck deeper into the blade, blood welling up around it. Steel eyes jump down to the weapon, to the blood, and Marazhai feels the blade retreat by a mere fraction of any measure.

“...you would let me kill you? Now?” The man's brow furrows, “You have a Kabal at your behest. You are not bound here. If I were to turn you away, abandon you, you are still an Archon. You have power. Servants. Endless torture for your every whim...” Disbelief makes the metal soften again, but slowly, as he stares at the tiny rivulet of blood that slides down the blade, “...why?”

“...I don't like repeating myself.” Marazhai wants it to be a hiss. It refuses to be one and is a whisper instead.

Garion's eyes snap back up to continue their search. The silence drags on for a moment more. Then, so quiet that even Marazhai wonders if he hears it, comes a whisper; 

“...this wasn't supposed to happen…” 

Marazhai's face tenses in confusion, a question plays on the flesh of his lips before Garion repeats himself, louder, pressing the blade until Marazhai is almost certain his life will be bleeding out into the Prince of Pleasure's throat in the next second. 

“This wasn't supposed to happen!!!” 

Garion's eyes begin to water and Marazhai scowls at that, “No one else! There was never supposed to be anyone else!” Garion yanks the blade away from his throat and throws it to the ground, it bounces and disappears into some corner of the blood-caked room.

“You're supposed to be a pet! Nothing more!!” The hand in his armor doesn't leave, instead yanking him closer, their foreheads clashing painfully as Garion's eyes become silver fire in his demands, tears flowing freely. 

“Why?? Of all cruelties you've inflicted on me… of all wounds you've carved into my flesh, this one is by far the worst. How dare you…”

Marazhai nearly flounders, confused, lost, and stranded without explanation, “What–”

A hand fists in the metal and yanks, pulling on the prongs so deep in his flesh and sending pain shooting through his chest before–

“I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you!!” 

The sentence is all but a roar, but Garion deflates once it's said, “…It should have stayed a game… I should be gutting you. I should be casting you into the cold void. But I'm not.”

Marazhai's jaw is tighter than a steel trap around thrashing prey. Hell, his own throat feels caught in such a trap. A snare. A thin steel wire–like the long cut bleeding freely in his neck–cutting off his air and keeping him silent.

“...prove it. Prove to me that it isn't a game any more.” Garion hisses through his teeth, barely moving the clench of his own jaw. Another word is trapped behind his teeth, but it will not come out.

“How?” His knees fold under him as he pushes the word past the snare, kneeling in front of the man, “Tell me, anything, and it shall be done.”

Garion stares at him for a moment, looking down at him again.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“...” Garion hesitates. Marazhai's gaze is still. Certain. He would slit his own throat then and there, if only the man would ask… and there is no question in his mind. No doubt. No wondering how he ‘fell’ this far. He's here now. There is no reason to questioning his place in this world. This is it. This is where it always should have been. The collar has been on for years and it's not going anywhere now.

“Kiss me.” Marazhai flinches a little at that, but before he can even start to do so, another word comes out of Garion's mouth. The word trapped now loosed into the world. A word that falls out like molten metal pours out of a crucible, burning his throat as it comes, white hot and falling like slag to the ground, “Please.”

There is no further thought. Marazhai's hands are grasping the sides of Garion's head and not a breath leaves either of them until the burn in their lungs is hotter than the molten flavor of the kiss. Garion brings out the teeth first, hissing in a breath in the briefest parting. It's Marazhai who breaks it last, a laugh on his tongue.

“Shall we continue? Elsewhere…”

“Oh, temptation tells me to take you here and now, Marzi… yes. Go. Flee, my pretty prey. Before I change my mind and mix our blood with those who don't deserve it.” Metal claws hook in his armor and Marazhai lets the human yank him to his feet and shove him backwards. Marazhai laughs, a mad thing, and nearly stumbles down the little steps before darting off through the lower decks.

Behind him, Garion growls, a gutteral roll of his throat. It sends a shiver up his spine. The sound of heavy, metal footsteps following him quickens his step like a whip on his flank.

The chase has begun again. The usual end to their Feasts... But this one, oh, this one will be different.

As will all the ones to come.