#which is about art thieves

[valtoiddd]

i gave puppet a provisional outfit in the meantime cause i wanna gatekeep him

translation:

"are those garments necessary when scrutinizing the shadows?"

"I don't want to underestimate the power of human cognition"

[apuff]

i made the laika's comet version of primrose :3

this comic turned me into a furry....i like anthropomorphic animals now...there is no saving me....

[texeoghea]

i keep thinking abt akechis unaddressed undiagnosed osdd swag

[extraneousdominomask]

The thing about video games is that it's rare for an equal amount of effort to have gone into, and for an equal amount of quality to reflect in, both gameplay and writing.

I rewatched Hbomberguy's video on Deus Ex recently, where he repeatedly describes the original as having "one of the best storylines in gaming history". With respect, uh, I kinda hope it doesn't? DX is a marvel of early game design, rightfully used as inspiration by subsequent developers, but the plot is an insane hodgepodge of conspiracy theory tropes ironed out into a workable Go Here, Do This framework. Sure, it features discussions on political and philosophical concepts never raised in a video game before (and rarely since...), but those are optional conversations in what is otherwise the same gameplay first, writing second design approach evident in, say, Halo.

Because by and large - aside from certain genres like point and click (Monkey Island) or puzzle games bordering on visual novels (Ace Attorney) - that's the industry standard. It costs a lot more time, effort and money to program passable-to-good gameplay than it takes to produce a passable-to-good script. The former non-negotiably requires hardware, training, and Q&A testing. The latter can be banged out in an afternoon by one guy who read one book one time. This is the industry context, and the reason in the very same video, Hbomberguy made a point of separating "good writing for a story" from "(surprisingly) good writing for a video game".

This is the specific thing that makes the Sly Cooper trilogy interesting, I think, whenever I have to explain the relevancy of my PlayStation 2 blorbo to someone who hasn't heard of him. Sucker Punch took pains from the beginning to have the gameplay reflect the storyline and vice versa, which was by no means a guarantee in 2002, or to an extent, even today.

...and it's also something that's evident in the divisive reaction to Thieves in Time. that's RIGHT motherfuckers first whINY TiT POST OF 2024-

I'm not sure I have ever, even in the post-release "Phantom Menace is good actually" era, heard anybody say that TiT was better written than the trilogy. I remember thinking it was fun in its zaniness, but comparing like with like for, say, the Neyla or Black Baron twists versus the Black Knight ""twist"", even at my most charitable there was a clear step down.

But that's the thing: for me and my college-educated media-crit Tumblr besties, the decline is unforgivable. For a lot of gamers? It's just a matter of going from "above average" to "average". It's not a dealbreaker.

Insofar as I see people talk about TiT, I don't hear anyone defend the the plot, the justice done to existing characters, the implementation of new ones, the mission structure, the rail-roading, the way the cutscenes so blatantly break the Show Don't Tell maxim, the humour, the racism, the sexism... any of it. Because like, who cares? PS3 Sly Cooper game. New levels with new graphics and new music. Jump and hit the O button.

From this perspective, a video game doesn't need good writing any more than a book needs good gameplay.

[homoeroticvillain]

my silly billies <3

[clamorybus]

trying to research historical vietnamese clothing lead me down a rabbit hole i wasn't prepared for

[aimfor-theheart]

to break first

|| mel medarda x reader, jayce talis x reader, viktor x reader || E/18+ || messy dynamics/hurt/comfort || wc: 6k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+

Your lovers are strange, demanding types.

a/n: idk man. but this revived my writing so. pls take it. dividers by @/cafekitsune

tags: messy dynamics, light smut/smut mentioned and implied, implied rough/hate sex, some hurt/comfort, ends on a hopeful note. not beta read/edited.

You've never liked Jayce much.

And you might just be the only person he doesn't like, either.

He plays nice, though, especially around Viktor. You think Jayce has teeth that he tries to hide, but you catch the flash of them from time to time. He smiles at you and it doesn't reach his eyes. It's just shy of contempt.

It makes your grin cheshire and sharp. You like watching him squirm. You like watching him wrestle with his distaste for you, try to keep his teeth hidden. Especially here, at this gala, all gold and sparkling and pristine, for all the world to see.

Bubbling rosé is bright and fruity on your tongue. You're shoulder to shoulder with Viktor, the two of you half-miserable together, stuffed into formal wear and ripped from your respective labs and studios. Which is why Jayce lingers; he's hovering in that annoying way of his. Bumbling a little. He's trying to make Viktor feel more at home but—

You have something Jayce doesn't.

Only you can do that.

You're Viktor's childhood friend, thick as thieves and twice as inseparable. You're an artist from the Undercity—a painter, a poet, a musician. An artistic genius, the world claims, an artistic savant. And one of the rare, lucky few who has been exalted and raised above your station to be paraded around Piltover like some trophy of success from their lowest. It's mostly Viktor's fault, you claim—the moment Heimerdinger found him, he also accidentally found you.

"Ah, if it isn't one of the most brilliant and groundbreaking artists of our generation." A smooth, easy voice floats through your thoughts. You turn your head to find Councilor Medarda, swathed in what could be a starry sky of silk and gold.

She's even more beautiful in person somehow; if you were to paint her, she'd be all easy, graceful lines, curved and long. A lily stem. The arch of a tiger.

"Just the person I was looking for." She muses.

"Me?" You balk, at the same time that Jayce gaps, "Them?!"

You swing your gaze to glare at him and even Viktor wrinkles his nose. Jayce tries to clear his throat, clear the mistake.

Councilor Medarda raises a brow at Jayce, but then her eyes flicker to you, honing in on you. Hazel and gold and reflective; a kaleidoscope of color. And with such—intensity. You feel it in her. Thrumming. "Yes, you." She says smoothly and she smiles in the elegant way of royalty; perfect and mysterious.

"Are you sure you have the right person, Councilor Medarda?" You joke, "you know I'm just—"

"I'm certain. And please—call me Mel. I'd love to commission you for several art pieces to be displayed in the council chambers."

Viktor whistles a little, impressed, though you can tell it's a little dry.

(He both rambles and rants about Councilor Medarda from time to time and you can never tell if he adores her or resents her.)

Jayce startles at this, but again, he tries to play it off. He places his hand on her lower back, "I didn't know the council chambers was looking to display art."

Mel allows his hand to remain, but she tilts her chin up and her eyes flash somewhat—quick, sharp. There's a silent conversation there that you can't decipher.

But you can tell there is something more than just coworkers happening between them.

"I'm looking to display art in the council chambers." Mel then says.

Jayce looks away, cowed somewhat, tail tucked between his legs in a way that makes you smile.

Mel drifts from Jayce's hands, offering her arm to you, "will you walk with me? I'd love to discuss what I have in mind."

If only to steal her away from Jayce, you finally peel yourself away from Viktor's side and the wall. Your shoulder, where it was touching his, goes cold. But Mel's arm is warm as you twine it around yours.

She draws you away from the scientists, into the fray of swirling, dazzling people.

You glance over your shoulder only once and catch Jayce's eyes, and let your smile curl into something a little smug, almost vicious; baring your teeth as if to gloat at his own, still tucked behind his lips.

***

"Mel's an artist." You say to Viktor, offhand. "A good one, too. You should see her paintings—"

Viktor sighs heavily, snatching one of the little tools that you'd been fiddling with out of your hands. "You sound like Jayce."

You wrinkle your face in disgust, reaching back for the tool and grappling with him a moment for it. You press all against each other, squabbling, before you win out and take it back from him. He stares at you, almost in some form of a glare and you stare back, watching his eyes, dark in the low light of the lab. He glances at the tool in your hands like he might try to take it back, and when he moves, you move faster, and hold it out of his reach.

"Are they together?" You ask.

He gives up on the tool.

Then, he lifts his shoulders in some form of a crooked shrug, eyes going skyward. "One can only assume."

"She's out of his league." You sigh, throwing your weight back in the chair in despair.

Viktor snorts at that, returning to his work, "I'm sure few are in league with Councilor Medarda."

His voice is dry. A little brittle.

"I don't know what you have against her." You then venture, speaking more to the ceiling, returning to fiddling with the tool. It twists in your fingers, the sound of metal whirling and softly grinding.

"I have nothing against Councilor Medarda." He says too evenly.

"You know, I've never been able to tell if it's contempt or adoration you have for her." You continue, as if he hadn't said anything to contradict you. "But either way, she gets under your skin."

"She does not—"

"Are you jealous? She took your big, dumb partner away?" You press, twisting and twisting away at the tool.

"No—" Viktor says sharply, but it rings with a note of truth. It's not quite that then.

You pause. And then.

You crack your eye open, "I think she likes me."

Viktor pauses now too, metal clinking quietly with the sudden stop of his work again. He knows that tone of your voice. His face pulls; distaste. Frustration.

(Jealousy.)

His speech is slow as he tries to parse through what to say, "Councilor Medarda is charming and—"

"She invited me to dinner." You say and now you're watching him carefully, "at her personal suite. Just us."

Viktor rounds on you, "you're going to get yourself into trouble."

You can't help but smile, slow and amused, "I feel like it's good for the art—fool around with a politician—"

"You know, I have always wondered if you would learn your lesson," Viktor continues over your monologuing about drama and passion and politics, "—maybe this time, you'll finally learn it."

He snatches the tool from your hands and throws it down on his desk.

"I love learning." You chirp innocently and he shakes his head, face flushed with passion.

He looks at you again when he can, shakes his head some more, some of the irritation fading from his features. He never stays mad at you for long; doesn't have it in him. Besides, he causes his own trouble. Doesn't learn his own lessons. And when the dust settles, the two of you are still here, beside each other. The artist and the scientist, making messes, breaking things—all for some higher purpose only the two of you have ever understood.

(You've loved him your whole life. Sometimes, you think you carry half of the other's ribs inside one another. He must have twelve of yours, and you must have twelve of his—)

You lift your foot, nudging his calf beneath the desk with it, then up to place it in his lap. An olive branch, of some kind. Your affection is unsurprising to him and he sighs. He drops his hand to your ankle. He squeezes.

"She's going to eat you alive." Viktor finally warns.

"One can only hope."

A laugh startles out of him, rough and raspy, before it dissolves into coughing.

You lurch up to give him water, sitting near you, and bring the glass to his lips on reflex, like you used to as children. And on reflex, he drinks—he doesn't try to take the glass from your hands right away or push you away. Instinctively, you care for him, and instinctively, he lets you.

(You think you're the only one he'd ever allow to do this, born out of years of pressed side to side in the same bed, listening to him weather the nights. Born out of years of your love and stubborn care for him.)

After a moment, he lifts his hand and slowly replaces yours.

You hover over him. He sets the glass down. The water is almost gone. You'll replace it for him before you leave the lab.

He settles back into his chair, eyes returning to the pieces in front of him; all the odd metal scattered like little silver stars in front of him against a vast, dark sky. He picks up one, and then another, and tries to fit them together.

Then another. And another.

You watch him twist and turn, put the puzzle together.

He says, "Lately, I feel as if—" his fingers are careful, almost shaking, as he tries to create something of the scattered, broken pieces, "everything is quite fragile. And it's all just going to—" he presses a little too hard, and the metal all splinters apart, clattering back to the desk, "break. At any given moment."

After a moment, he looks up at you, still hovering over him, "I fear you're heading towards a breaking point."

You hum a little.

"What is it you scientists say?" You ask, running your fingers through his dark hair, thick and tousled. You twirl a strand around your finger, let it fall;

"It has to break first, before you can discover anything."

***

You'd say Mel Medarda is a wolf in sheep's clothing, but she doesn't feign anything so harmless or lost as a sheep.

You do think she's—

A little like Jayce, where she hides her teeth. But where Jayce irritates you because he's certainly trying to seem better than he is, or more harmless than he can be, Mel does so with intention. Mel hides her teeth to lure you closer. She doesn't pretend she doesn't have them; she waits until you're in range before you catch a glimpse of them.

And by then, well. It's too late.

You realize this over dinner, as she laments about what art she'd like from you and she's adamant about not censoring you.

(You're known for you controversy; whether in your physical art, your poetry, or music. Once pulled to the light of the Upper City, you refused to let them defang you. Where Jayce pretends he doesn't have teeth, you bare yours proudly, and sometimes wish you could tear the tender parts of Piltover open.

You strive to do it with your art. And while applauded in some vague capacity, you are also kept on a tight leash. Your patrons are warily supportive of you. Your commissions are strict. You're treated the way you think a wild animal is; with utmost care and fear and awe.)

In fact, her only rule for you, is to not hold back.

Which, given the growing tension between the Upper and Lower Cities, you realize this cannot only be from the goodness of her heart or for the integrity of art but—

You tilt your head and consider her.

"Am I a political move, Mel?"

She smiles in that enigmatic way of hers, her teeth flash, "isn't all art?"

You narrow your eyes, "perhaps. I wonder of it's effectiveness when it's employed by the people it often critiques." You lift your chin and pretend to be hurt—or perhaps, mask your hurt within dramatics to make it seem ironic, "and here I thought you really liked me—"

"I do." Mel assures, "I've admired you a great deal from afar. And getting to know you, your mind, it's—" she considers her words, "it's been nothing short of mesmerizing. Astonishing."

She sounds sincere. But you wonder if she always sounds that way.

She can tell she hasn't convinced you because you've never been able to mask your emotions well, so she leans forward and says, "unfortunately, everything I do is a political move, whether I'd like it to be or not. Both can be true—" she says, "I can adore you. And I can also need you to make a public point, wield you like my own elegant weapon."

"Artists make for disobedient weapons, usually." You say.

She laughs a little at that and agrees, "True." And then she lowers her voice, looks at you through the fan of her dark lashes in such a way that seizes you—arrests you, holds you right there, caught, in her heady gaze;

"But I don't need you to be obedient."

"I can never tell if you're trying to seduce me or persuade me." You blurt out, the words running from your mouth like a rabbit from a wolf. Your desire bursts from you like frightened birds taking to flight, like most of what you feel does, all of it spilling out of you in a gush of rawness.

She stands gracefully and again, you think of how you'd draw her—how you'd capture her in a poem or a song. The sharp curve of her waist, the predatory grace she carries effortlessly. You think her song is a croon from the deep part of your chest. You think her poem looks like an hourglass on the page and she slips from your fingers as easy as time does, too.

She rounds the small table to your side.

You look up at her. Your heart kicks up into a quick dance.

She brings the back of her knuckle to your jaw and gently—with all the carefulness in the world, strokes you.

(She touches you the way one does a bird, as if they know it's fragile. Perhaps as if they know it might fly away.

Or maybe she touches you the way one does an animal they're not sure of; will you bite? Will you lean into the touch?)

"Both can be true." She finally answers.

When she kisses you, it's fiercer than you're expecting; a lightning strike, a blow to the heart.

Your teeth come up against hers.

She gasps when you drag her further down to you, greedier than she's ever known, meeting her fierceness with your own, like the clashing of blades, or the destruction of stars.

And you think, if you don't want obedience, then I'll show you.

I'll show you.

***

"What are you playing at?"

Jayce's voice is a vicious little hush in the caverns of the council chambers. Mel has just left you after peaking over your shoulder to view the preliminary sketches.

You lift your head and blink up at Jayce slowly, dragging yourself from your sketch; from your world of art.

(It sets his teeth to grinding because Viktor makes that same look, when he's so deep into his work and Jayce disturbs him. It's a face he finds endearing on both of you, unfortunately. He imagines your minds are in heaven and he's selfish enough to drag you both back down to earth.)

"What do you mean? For the art piece?" You ask, glancing down at your lap, at the series of gestures and lines that you've been lost in. Maybe you're feigning innocence a little. But you want him to say it, if he's going to pick this fight.

Jayce's eyes flash like the too-hot part of the flame.

You have to bite back a smile.

Come on, you think wildly, say it. Let's fight. Here in the chambers, where you try so hard to be their golden boy.

"What are you trying to get out of Mel?" He asks and it makes you laugh outright, because he's dancing around what he really wants to ask.

Your laugh echoes in the hall, bouncing off all this marble and gold. It's out of place here, too loud, too free.

"The better question is what she's trying to get out of me." You say, "do you think I have it in me to manipulate the Mel Medarda?"

He goes quiet at that.

"Are you doing this to get back at me?" He asks after a moment and it's so close to what he wants to ask, so close to what he really wants to talk about.

"She kissed me first." You answer. "Have you had this conversation with her?"

You can tell by the shadow of uncertainty that passes over his face that he hasn't. You stand, easily setting your sketches and pencils aside, and drift nearer to him.

"Oh," you hum, "you didn't know. She didn't mention some plan of seduction to you? Maybe she really does like me."

He rounds on you so sharply that you are genuinely surprised. You gasp when your back hits the wall and he's got you caged in, a snarl on his lips and you finally get to see those teeth of his—

"You just always have to push me, don't you? In all the years I've known you, you've only ever tried to get under my skin. I tried so hard, for so long, for Viktor's sake to get along with you." He says lowly and distantly, you think, does he cage in Mel like this? With his big arms and broad chest? Or does she have him on a tight leash, underneath her?

"This time, I didn't mean it. Surely, you understand—" you say slyly, "when she comes onto you like that, all honey-voiced and half-lidded. She's hard to resist, isn't she?"

The grip he has on your biceps tightens to a point of pain—he'll bruise you. You'll be tender there, where his big hands gripped you, and it only makes you smile.

"Stop it." He snaps.

But you can't help yourself now, because once you've got something between your teeth, you've never been able to let it go;

"I just want to know if she kisses me the same way she kisses you? Does she play nice with you? She's quite fierce with me—"

When Jayce kisses you, it's a crush of aggression.

You laugh into his mouth wildly as he shoves you harder against the wall, teeth mean in the tender part of your bottom lip so that your laughter melts into a groan of pain. Of pleasure.

You claw at his back and wonder if Mel does, too.

You fight and hiss and snarl, show him your teeth when he sinks his into the fluttering pulse at your throat. You try to draw blood. You think he tries to bruise.

And well, you always wanted to see his teeth—

Just never thought you'd end up with a ring of their mark on your neck.

***

You're not really sleeping—nights are long. Days are longer. You're in the studio too much. This art piece is strangling you, wrestling with you and you're losing. Your lovers are strange, demanding types. Jayce comes to you at his lowest, and Mel at her highest. She licks the wounds Jayce leaves on you, purrs about how good you're being for her, goads you into putting up more of a fight that she likes to quell. She asks, have I stolen your bite? Are you going soft on me? Until you try to wrestle with her, too.

Mel subdues you the way snakes do—constricts and tightens and puts all that pressure on you until you just burst.

Until you go slack in her grip.

Jayce takes his anger out on you and he's not so cunning or delicate as her. You think Jayce struggles with you the way he must with his hammers, with high heat and all his strength.

Your art is starting to look like pieces of them; brutal and brilliant and cunning and beautiful. Tricky to capture, even more difficult to mesh together.

You're covered in paint when Viktor comes to visit you, frustrated with the canvas in front of you, which you think you'll end up scrapping again.

(This is the fourth one. You've been trying to fit all the components and pieces together but none of it's working, all of it's a mess. Splintered apart on the canvas. It looks like a disaster on the page.)

"Have you eaten?" Viktor asks as he comes to stand behind you. He gazes at the canvas n front of you.

You sigh heavily. "Have you?" You return.

He snorts at that, "No. I'm coming from the lab and thought I'd check on you—Mel mentioned you were here."

He pauses and then, "that you'd been here. For awhile now."

You hear the layers in his voice; the worry, but then the—

Irritation? Disdain?

"Are you asking me to dinner?" You say instead, dashing the canvas with a sudden great, horrible X. It's your meager attempt at some sort of joke or flirting, but your voice is perhaps too thin for it. You stare at your canvas, now dripping with that great X, the paint slipping down and marring it further.

When you turn to look at Viktor, he regards you warily. He glances at the canvas you've just ruined, and then back to your face.

He takes in your appearance; your disheveled hair and the paint all over your clothes and skin. And then his eyes skip down to your throat, to your arms. All marked up and bruised, unhidden and worn proudly here, in the safety of your art studio.

"Should I be concerned?" Viktor asks instead and you've always loved his bluntness. His lack of tact is like coming home. It's a relief, when you're constantly with Mel and Jayce lately, who talk in riddles and niceties and flowered language that hides their intentions or feelings.

There is a bitterness in Viktor's voice that you know well, too.

"About?" You prod.

"I'm no fool." Viktor answers, "I know you're sleeping with Councilor Medarda."

"Is that all you know?" You return, tilting your head.

"Is there more to know?" Viktor asks, eyeing you.

"Jayce hasn't said anything?"

You watch a strange shadow pass over Viktor's face as he slowly comes to the natural conclusion that you've lead him to. He's right, he is no fool. And then you watch his eyes catch fire, catch jealousy.

"I warned you—" he starts, suddenly.

"And I told you, it's good for the art—" You joke.

"Obviously it isn't!" He snaps, gesturing to the canvas behind you, ruined and glaring at your back. And then he heaves out a rough, agitated breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Do you ever think of consequences?" He demands.

"Sure," You say, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"You know, they are my colleagues. What am I supposed to do if—?!"

You laugh at that, enough that it startles him out of his beginning tirade. He comes up short and his shoulders bunch with tension as he glares at you.

"Is something funny?" He hisses.

"Your colleagues?" You repeat, "that's all they are to you?"

"Well—yes, technically." He stumbles on his words here.

"Are you jealous, Viktor?" You ask. "You don't have to be."

"I'm not jealous—" He refutes, even as his cheeks grow ruddy. And for a moment, you could be twelve with him again, his face flush as he looks at you after you'd kissed him for the first time because he'd never kissed anyone before. Or twenty-two and drunk, kissing one night under the stars when you felt so lost and disorientated in the Upper City—just wanted to feel like yourself again.

Or now, at thirty-two, staring at the man you've loved your entire life and whatever mess you've made out of everything.

You reach out and touch his cheek, glowing with color, and at first he winces away, but when you persist, he relaxes. He presses his cheek to your open palm and looks at you; raw and frank and so Viktor that you can't help the faint smile that touches your lips. Even as he frowns at you.

"What are you meddling with?" Viktor murmurs, turning his face into your cupped hand. You feel the faint brush of his lips, a little dry, and soft. Warm.

"Apparently our political landscape." You respond and that at least gets a laugh from him. You feel it against you and some spark shimmers through you, shudders and opens itself to you.

(Your desire for Viktor is something always with you, ambient, perhaps dormant, that always resurfaces like the great fins of some horrible, huge monster in dark waters. Your desire for Viktor is a symptom of your love. You've never know what to call it except that, except his.)

"Have I upset you?" You ask now as his laughter fades, and with it his amusement.

He sighs deeply and you feel his breath against your skin. You draw nearer. He leans back onto his crutch only slightly, only for a moment, before he allows you further into his space.

"I don't—" He struggles for the words before admitting, "yes, somewhat. For some reason."

"Are you feeling neglected?" You ask and try very hard to keep your amusement out of your voice, lest you irritate him further. He's always had a jealous streak in him, even as kids. If you made another friend, he would pout until you draped yourself over him and showered him in your attention again.

Even your previous relationships had bred some sort of jealousy in him; he's never liked any of your partners.

(It's so endearing to you that you have to tuck your teeth into your own lip and hum a little.)

You lean towards him, ducking your head so that your nose dips to brush against the line of his jaw. You feel his body shudder more than you see it. His breath goes tight. Your eyes flicker, a flash in the sun-spun light of your art studio;

"Do you want me to kiss you the way Jayce kisses me?" You murmur, your lips hovering over his. You watch his face gutter, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His breath goes shallow.

"Or would you prefer Mel?" You murmur, just before you close the distance and kiss him with a certain fierceness, a meanness that you don't usually have with him. He stumbles back a little with the force of it and your hand that had been holding his cheek, slips into the hair at the nape of his neck.

A groan startles out of him when you tighten your hand into a fist and pull.

You part from the kiss, panting a little, and he looks down at you, eyes molten gold and burning.

You're about to kiss him again, when he murmurs, "I want—" he swallows hard, "I want you to kiss me the way you do—I want—"

You press back into him instantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought, with the notion that his desire, his jealousy—

You kiss him like you always have, overeager and desperate and messy. You urge him backwards, towards your workbench, all cluttered with paints. His crutch clatters against the ground uselessly as you grab for each other. You knock over a jar of brushes half-haphazardly placed on the floor.

You're overwhelmed with the thought that his jealousy might've been for you, too.

When he braces his hand against your work bench, he knocks over a cup of paint. You laugh into his mouth as you paw at his stupid, perfectly buttoned vest. When he touches you again, he stains you blue—and later red and violet. Burnished gold and paint so silver it makes the stars look dull.

A mess, he tsks, impossibly fond, as he looks at you and himself and the work space.

At all that you'd done.

***

"You've been pulling strings," Mel says as you lay in her lap, letting her pet and stroke you. Her fingers dance over the ridge of your brow.

You blink up at her slowly, eyes fluttering. "Shouldn't that be my line?" You ask.

"I'm not naive to the way you've been pulling our strings." She muses, fingers tumbling into your hair. She's gentle here, careful as she cards her way through your hair, her fingers nimble.

"Pulling strings is a far too sophisticated thing to call it." You snort and lean into her touch like a cat, preening a little.

"What would you call it?" Mel asks and the smile she wears is less of a mystery to you now, and you can tell there's a fondness to it.

(She does really like you—she is really being sincere, you've learned.)

You think about this for a long moment; you toy with saying a fucking mess. Or digging my own grave. But neither feel quite so full—while true, in many ways, there leaves little room for—

Well, this.

The way she holds you. The cat's curl of her smile, pleased and mischievous. Her fingers, gentle and coaxing, urging you to unfurl and bloom.

Or Viktor's rasping laugh that you can pull out of him. The fondness you hold for him like a pearl held inside a clam, growing and glowing. The way you drape yourself all over him, and he accepts it as easy as the day accepts the sun, or the night accepts the moon into its skies.

And even Jayce and the strangled back-and-forth that the two of you dance; it's still yours. It's still his. And the way he cups your cheek admist the violence or how he let's no one speak ill of you in front of him.

(Or the way Jayce and Viktor's minds work together, or how tactical Jayce and Mel can be; sharpened like daggers and twice as pretty. Or the creativity you pull out of Mel, allowing her to see the world like a boundless piece of art. Or the way Viktor's science influences your art; how your art influences his science. The fierceness you bring out in Jayce—the passion he brings out in you.)

It doesn't quite account for all the parts that make you burn and grow and shake out your great, big wings to fly.

Finally, you say, "it feels like I'm trying to find the melodies and harmonies and how they mesh—or the composition of a painting, or the feeling of a poem, but some of the words are still missing. It feels like when I chase art and try to break it open, to reveal what it wants me to learn—or show me."

"Have you figured it out yet?" She asks and she's genuinely curious, almost quiet in her desire to know.

At that, the door creaks open and there are several hushed whispers before Jayce suddenly strides into the room with all the false confidence in the world. Viktor looks sheepish behind him.

You sit up sharply, trying to detangle yourself from Mel.

"I told you they were here—" Viktor hisses to him, "and we shouldn't—we shouldn't be here."

Jayce isn't listening, though, and he's clearly inflating himself to get out, "I've come on important business of the council."

Mel raises her brows and throws you a sideways glance. She then says, "then come in, Councilor, since it's so important that you've come to my personal quarters. Unannounced."

Jayce at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish now, too. You can't help the laugh that springs out of you.

He throws you a dark look before clearing his throat.

"Councilor Haskel and Salo are seeking to strike down the art deal." Jayce announces and your heart drops a little, sinks in your chest.

You look at Mel. She purposefully keeps her face a mask of coolness. She rolls her shoulder briefly, which is your only tell of irritation or concern.

"Come in, Jayce." Mel finally says, "and you, too, Viktor. Shut the door behind you."

Both wander into the space and it's such a surreal moment, all four of you, for once, in the same room, that you can't help but laugh again.

Mel sighs in a way as if to say, I suppose this would happen eventually.

Jayce and Viktor can't quite look anyone in the eye and they both take uneasy seats int he living room.

Again, you feel like laughing—you're not sure what all the trepidation is for. Each of them have you seen you naked; you have seen them naked.

"What's their angle?" Mel asks, ignoring both Jayce and Viktor's shyness.

Jayce clears his throat, "they don't think it's worthwhile to support an artist from the Undercity at this time."

You wince and Jayce adds, "their words, not mine."

"Well, that won't do." Mel tsks and she suddenly moves to stand, graceful as ever, her robes trailing in a wave of silk and the smell of lillies. She likes to pace when she's thinking, and she pads over the window, to look out at the city.

Eventually, she says, "we'll need a grander plan. Something they can't refuse."

"What are you thinking?" Jayce asks.

She turns and all around her, she's doused in gold light, glowing in the evening sun as if she was born to it. "Perhaps combining some science with it." Now she looks at Viktor, "something symbolic to the current advancements with Hextech, perhaps."

Viktor looks at you, then back at Mel, "I can do that."

"Jayce, I need you to talk to the other Councilors and be sure they're not swayed by Haskel or Salo." She then adds, "and I want more publicity around it—and around our artist and scientist."

Our artist.

Our scientist.

"Ah—" Viktor starts, "I don't want to be in the public eye."

Our, our, our.

"It'll put pressure on Haskel and Salo if the people are behind you both, too." Mel presses gently, though her gaze has softened on him; she's sympathetic to his desires.

To assure him, you chirp, "I can do all the talking."

"Not sure that's our best idea." Jayce remarks.

"I am certain I can name several worse ideas of ours." You quip without thinking, and then you toss one of Mel's throw pillows at him; the beautifully embroidered one that's likely far too expensive and made from the rarest threads.

It hits him with a dull thud. And for a moment, he's shocked. The room is silent.

Still, your heart sings our, our, our.

But then Viktor snorts, before breaking out into his low, soft chuckle. And then the twinkle of Mel's giggles, coupled with your own laughter that bursts from your chest like a bird taking to flight.

And Jayce watches a moment, all of you laugh and smile, and if you could paint him in this moment, you would—

A little awe-struck. Tender around the edges, burnished gold. Breath stolen from him.

(Oh, he does really like you, too. All of you.)

But then laughter rumbles from him, too. And the tension slips from all of you, drains from your bodies with each bubbling sound.

And all of them together—finally together—are the melody you've been looking for, the words you couldn't place. The color on the canvas that finally brings it all together.

It's all the broken pieces like a mosaic, finally put together to create something whole.

And it's all ours, you think, the sun a flare of light and beauty bursting through the room, bathing all of your favorite people in it's gold and glory;

It's all ours.

[spaceytrash]

It's painful when your fav movie review podcast hates one of you favourite movies :(

[sim-berry]

I'm Tired.

I totally get why many simblrs don't want to name and shame and want to avoid drama, but I'm not one of those simblrs. If I see some bs I'm going to call it out. I only have a few followers (who are lovely and sweet) anyway, so it's not like I'll get a crusade against me. So that's exactly what I'm gonna do, because I'm pissed right now.

I know I don't have a big blog so it's unlikely many will see this, but if you do, please reblog it. Spread the word about creators who have stolen content so that people can stop downloading their cc and supporting them.

One of my favorite creators, Toys of Dukeness, has just deleted all their poses from Patreon and stated that they are leaving the Sims community. Their poses have been STOLEN by other "creators" who have locked them behind paywalls. Keep in mind Toys gives their poses out FOR FREE and they've been STOLEN and put behind paywalls! They're making money off of shit that isn't even theirs! How disgusting is that?? And now they don't even feel welcome in the community that they've given so much to.

And it's funny because I just saw a post from the amazing @simmireen (who makes many of my favorite poses) calling out THE SAME CREATOR for stealing their poses!! Simmireen's poses are stunning and she is kind enough to give them out for free, and she's had her hard work ripped off by an early access paywaller. The same one who drove Toys out of this community: simsulani.

This is a screenshot taken from Toys of Dukeness's post (read the whole thing here) that specifically calls out two of the thieves:

If this keeps happening, more of our wonderful cc creators are going to leave simblr. And I don't blame them one bit. Why put hours, sometimes days, of work into creating content when it's just going to be stolen and profited off of by someone else?

And when those creators do eventually leave, do you know what we'll be left with? Scummy perma-paywallers and early access creators who use minority groups to make money. (As a member of the LGBT I can't tell you how fucking sick I am of seeing "Pride Month Collection- Available to the public on June 30th🥰")

We can't let that happen. We need to support and show love to the creators who allow us to have beautiful cc and amazing poses in our games. I can tell you right now my stories would be nothing without simmireen's and Toys' poses. And they aren't the only creators who have had their cc stolen. We're on here about AI stealing art all the time (which is a totally valid argument, don't get me wrong), meanwhile actual humans, fellow simmers, are stealing content right under our noses, right this moment.

I am TIRED of this. Our content creators are being driven off this site and out of the community entirely because their work is being stolen. Storytellers, including myself, have also had their storylines stolen. I once saw someone take my entire NSB Gen 2 storyline, with even the quotes being copied and pasted! If you don't have creativity, then don't make content, that's okay. What's not okay is STEALING from people who have worked hard on their craft, ESPECIALLY if you're making money off of the stuff you stole.

Again, please reblog if you can. And feel free to share some REPUTABLE creators so simmers know who to download from rather than the thieves. They're the ones who need to be driven out, not the hardworking creators. And anyone who is afraid to vent about this on main can come into my anon and rant all they want. We as a community need to stop this.

-Coco xoxo

[andromeda-aim]

Finished persona5 royal with a friend and i'm continually losing my shit over how much the game hammers home to the player that Akechi's life is the most persuasive bargaining chip that Maruki had to convince Akira to accept his false reality. Beyond the lives his friends were living, nothing changes for him. His family never apologies for sending him away, his classmates still make snide comments about his criminal record, not to mention this is still a world that had him tortured and nearly killed in an interrogation room not too long ago. His life is virtually identical, which can imply that Akira has made peace with what has happened to him. None of that changing would ultimately give him his happy ending or ideal world. Akechi being alive is what gives Akira his happy ending, the person who a literal fucking god of control pitted against him. Because at the end of the day, Akechi doesn't see him as the delinquent with a criminal record, or the savior leader of the phantom thieves. Akira is the product of a cruel unjust game, like himself, strung along by happenstance. Neither boys became strong because they wanted to, this world molded them into weapons to fight each other and see who could make a victim of the other. Akira needs Akechi for his ideal world because to look at Akechi bleeding out in Shido's palace, hear his ragged breathing from the other side of that wall, and pause, is to realize that it could have been him there instead. Which is to say, "I am thou, and thou art I."

[sendou-shiki]

⚠️Please share !!

⚠️I need your help !!

▼spoof art thief▼

［　https://www.tumblr.com/shiki-2p　］

Not content with X, the spoof art thief also stole art from tumbler!

Moreover, the text is erased in a crude and shoddy hand. Look at this unnatural part.

If it is the person in question, there is no need for such a small trick.

They are insidious thieves who block and run away as soon as they become inconvenient. Everyone, please continue to ignore any suspicious messages you receive from this thief.

I have already reported it several times, but the management does not seem to intend to move.

Therefore, we need your help! Apparently, third parties can also report the incident by using this method, which I have posted on the X.

Illegal use and content → impersonation

If you can't report it, just block it. Please tell your friends who are liking and reblogging!

To protect my friends around me. Please share this blog, related blogs, and lots of my art!

［original art］

In the thumbnail, the ID of the original artist was incorrect.

The correct ID is @sendou-shiki

［Related Blogs］

Sorry to interrupt your hashtag.

Thanks for reading this far!

千堂しき

[taylor-titmouse]

The Masson Circle Collection (18+)

OUT NOW!

Even killers can fall in love. Set against a backdrop of early 70s Europe, The Masson Circle is a collection of illustrated queer romance novellas between assassins, thieves, and the criminal mastermind at the middle of them all. Originally released between 2020 and 2021, these three stories have been remastered with revised text, 30 brand new illustrations, and an exclusive bonus story. This collection is roughly 69k words.

All three stories contain some violence, references to alcohol, and explicit sexual content and images. They are intended for adult audiences only. Comes in DRM-free PDF and EPUB formats, and includes an image gallery ZIP containing all book illustrations, plus all the sketchbook content included in the original releases.

Daffodils

Retired assassin Ezra Platt loves his wife, Tessa, more than anything else in the world. For the first time in six years, the two are both in town for their anniversary, which means it has to be made special. What do you get the woman who is your everything, especially when she's an assassin herself? Perhaps the answer lies in Ezra's memories of meeting her...

18.2k words. Features fem dom, face sitting, and pegging.

Carnations

The Duplessis is hosting its biannual masked bacchanal, and art forger and thief Leonard Lacroix has been hired to empty its safe. Infiltrating the classy gentlemen's club is easy, but when he runs into an old flame, getting out with all he wants is not. 

17.4k words. Features gay sex in a private office. Contains the use of a homophobic slur.

Laurels

French couturier Mathieu Masson is a man with one foot in the underworld, the one to call for anything from a killing to a Caravaggio. But when a new client demands what he can't give, he has only his bodyguard, Jean Martin, to lean on. 

16k words. Features a trans male lead and tender lovemaking. Contains some queerphobia, and references to child sex abuse in a character's past.

This collection also includes Narcissus, Dianthus, and Sweet Bay, each an extra short story connected to their corresponding book, from the perspective of the love interest. Narcissus explores Tessa's memory of her and Ezra's first night together. Dianthus recalls the time Lionel and Leonard fooled around in a professor's office in college. Sweet Bay takes place just before Laurels' epilogue, as Jean and Mathieu settle into their partnership and open up about themselves. Sweet Bay contains discussion of child sex abuse in a character's past.

Read it today!

[justporo]

Opening chests - A guide by Astarion Ancunín

As someone who's been merely seen as a body to use in the worst kind of ways, Astarion enjoys being needed for just about anything else.

You first noticed this when the rest of the party struggled to open a promising looking treasure chest which you all hoped would contain some direly needed riches - or at least something to make for a good dinner.

You were just about to step in and offer your expertise when Astarion made an entrance.

“By all the gods above and below! You bunch call yourself adventurers and can't even pick a simple lock such as this?” he exclaimed as he strode over with a swagger and a viciously teasing smirk. Gale moaned. He knew just like any of the others that Astarion was about to be insufferable when he put on a tone like this - more insufferable than usual that means.

“All these books and not a single one to be useful, just as always? Am I right - oh great Gale of Waterdeep?” the vampire barked back at the wizard's annoyed reaction.

Gale just pressed his mouth into a thin line, not willing to hand his pale companion more opportunities for snide remarks.

“I could always smash it with my axe,” Karlach chimed in and immediately grabbed for her martial weapon and took an enthusiastic step towards the chest.

Astarion threw out his arms to hold her off: “NO!” The tiefling just shrugged and casually hammered her weapon into the ground and leaned against it - an impressive show of her strength.

“My dear Karlach,” Astarion began “your uhm… enthusiasm is deeply appreciated.” (The sarcasm in his voice told another story. But Karlach still beamed at him) “But stuff like this is in need of a little more finesse,” the rogue finished and wiggled his long fingers.

You watched all of this as you crossed your arms over your chest. The lock really wasn't that big of a challenge. You could have probably done it in the middle of the night, with no light source and drunk out of your mind. But Astarion was keen to make a show of it seemed - and by now you were too interested to watch it play out as your less roguish companions watched.

Astarion produced his thieves tools out of his pocket with an artful flip and a wink he aimed specifically at you. You grinned at him. Despite his sometimes goofy or weird mannerisms and the cheesy lines he dropped on about everyone ( but especially on you), you couldn't helped but to be charmed by the vampire.

Astarion made to get to work.

“Now watch,” he exclaimed cheerfully “and take some notes,” he finished dryly with a pointed look at Gale who just threw his hands in the air at another unneeded jab towards him.

It was merely the blink of an eye and suddenly the lock made an very audible a click and fell to the dusty ground.

Astarion jumped up again almost as quickly as he had kneeled down in front of the chest. “Hah!” he exclaimed, twirled around to the party and made an obnoxiously gracious bow.

Karlach clapped, honestly impressed.

You just smirked.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

Gale immediately went to open the chest and- “It's empty,” he declared. “What a grand treasure you have revealed to us, oh great Astarion of Know-it-all,” the wizard spat. “It was all for nothing.”

The glance the vampire threw at Gale couldn't have been more sharp had he used his dagger on the wizard. “You all got a great learning opportunity. You should be grateful!” Astarion answered and pursed his lips

“Learned what exactly, Astarion? We could see nothing,” Wyll commented dryly, earning another dagger glance.

Astarion clicked his tongue and strode off as the others seemed to have lost interest in the damned chest now that it had proven worthless.

“Don't come to me again then, crying for help,” the vampire snarled as he walked off, shoulders slumped a little. There might have been just the tiniest tinge of hurt in his voice.

“No one asked him,” Gale muttered. But now he earned sharp looks from the others too.

“What?” the wizard asked offendedly looking around the others.

“Every once in a while even a Know-it-all like Astarion deserves a little praise,” you said as you looked after the vampire. “The next time he opens a lock up for you, you better give him a little pat on the back. We all should, actually,” you closed and then went to go after Astarion.

The others muttered in quiet agreement.

And in fact, from there on out, Astarion became the designated lock picker of the party. And you were happy every time you saw Astarion's ruby eyes sparkle a little with pride when you asked for his help.

[o-sachi]

Cowboy, Pirate, or Samurai? pt. 2 ₊⊹ Blue Lock Chars.

ଳ how the blue lock boys respond to, “would you rather be a cowboy, pirate, or samurai?”

ଳ characters; rin itoshi, sae itoshi, shidou ryusei, michael kaiser, alexis ness, hiyori yo, kiyora jin

ᯓ Rin Itoshi - Samurai

He'd find the question a bit stupid because is his answer not obvious? "Too noisy," he'd say about the pirate and the cowboy. Rin's more of a lone wolf—moving in silence and always planning his next move. I don't see him choosing anything else aside from the samurai. Also, I have a feeling he's not too fond of water, especially the wide and deep waters of the seas that pirates have to traverse. He looks like the type to have motion sickness, but he's too prideful to admit it.

ᯓ Sae Itoshi - Pirate

Have you seen that one official art? I mean... I think Sae has the qualities to be the leader of a ship. Our idea of that has probably been influenced by Jack Sparrow or Luffy—both having loud and vibrant personalities. But even though Sae is more of the silent and brooding type, he has the potential to be a good leader if he wanted to. Canonically, he is also a strategist which is something very useful to commandeer a ship. And as we can see in the main story, it's easy for him to get people to follow him purely through his reputation and skill.

ᯓ Shidou Ryusei - Pirate

Unlike Sae, Shidou will probably choose pirate entirely due to Jack Sparrow. He has seen the Pirates of the Caribbean once and vaguely remembers thinking, "He just like me for real," about Captain Jack Sparrow. So upon asking this question to him, the eccentric pirate was the first thing to come to mind. Oh and if he hears Sae's answer then he's just likely to copy him regardless of what he might initially thought.

ᯓ Michael Kaiser - Cowboy

Out of the three choices, cowboys seem to be the ones that are cherished by their people. They're viewed as the hard working heroes—fighting off thieves or whatnot in exchange for little to nothing at all. Kaiser probably imagines what it would be like to be needed by the people—to be loved by them. He might not be too interested in the whole saving-the-public part of being a cowboy, but he can't pass up the opportunity to be revered as the hero of the people. I love you, Kaiser :((

ᯓ Alexis Ness - Pirate

He'd grumble when asked about the question. "Why are you only giving me lame choices?" he'd retort. Obviously, he'd rather be a wizard. What's the point if you can't do the unthinkable? But he digresses. Pirates aren't magical in any sense, but they're the closest to doing the impossible. They travel far and wide over dangerous seas, collect treasures, and plunder other pirates' bounty. Plus, their bodies are built different to adapt to the tumultuous waters. When you put it like that, pirates seem to be in a different realm compared to the cowboy or the samurai. Even after that tangent, however—he'll still make it clear that he's choosing wizard.

ᯓ Hiyori Yo - Cowboy

"Cowboys have pistols, right?" Well, he's sold. It hardly matters that samurais have katanas or that pirates have literal canons—Hiyori thinks those aren't practical at all. Besides, we can't really blame him for being largely influenced by the shooting games that he plays back at home. He's quite confident that he'd win in every standoff he'd find himself in. Sure, he has never tried it in real life, but if he's hitting no-scopes in game then it should be the same thing, right?

ᯓ Kiyora Jin - Samurai

He probably doesn't really care for being a pirate or a samurai—like he doesn't see anything appealing about it. With that being said, does his replica katana collection and extensive knowledge of the Shinsengumi entice you? Well, it should. I dunno... but Kiyora seems like the guy that's super into swords for no other reason besides he thinks that they are "rad." He has definitely played sword fighting with his siblings when they were younger. He may or may not have pretended to be Okita Souji when he was a young lad.

[🐟]: Should I do the other characters?

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

o-sachi © 2024

[backinmyphase]

Who will you be tonight?

Synopsis: In the night you try to get the 'King of thieves' behind bars, while in the day the thieve is celebrated by the whole world- even by the little boy you babysit and his annoying uncle Sukuna Ryomen.

Pairing: Thieve! Sukuna x Detective! Reader

Warnings: fem! reader, pet names, a bit of cursing, crimes, maybe a bit ooc Sukuna

Word count: 3.2k

"There he is! Get him!"

Sirens were playing, alarming everyone in the building that the danger was near. Danger for the lovely diamond that was trying to be protected. That he was hear.

The king of thieves.

Tonight would be different. The reign of his crimes would fall down. His cockiness finally biting him back. The big diamond you were assigned to finally safe.

"I have to say, Mrs. Detective…" your client Mr. Suzuki spoke. "We have to thank you. The work is flawless, like always."

Mr. Suzuki was trying to get this thieve, who called himself a king, for a long time. The treasures in his possession being bait for the cocky bastard.

Just like you were trying to get him for a long time.

"It's not flawless if he gets away." you narrowed your eyes as you watched the screen. "So save your gratitude for later."

The diamond was a big one. Called 'the blue ocean' it was one of the most beautiful diamonds you have ever witnessed. And you have seen many, since you tried to protect them from him.

The diamond was on a pedestal, behind glass. On each side of the pedestal a police officer. Ready to strike the thieve. But that wasn't your work. No your plan had something else in it.

"The pedestal has a sensory of the weight, which is on it. Is the diamond removed, even just slightly moved, a sleeping gas will be released." you muttered for yourself.

"We did like you said-" Mr. Suzuki started but you raised your hand to hush him.

"And since he will come through the roof like a madman…" you finished your thoughts. "We stationed many guards there. And even if he got the diamond, he will be trapped inside the room, because of the sensory."

"Impressing, like always." Mr. Suzuki nodded.

The cameras showed the lights in the room flickering. The guards looking around, but there was nothing in sight. No one in sight.

"And you really don't want to be mentioned by name when we write about our victory?" The business man looked at you confused.

"Not in a million years." you shook your head. "I don't want people standing before my door because I destroyed their Thieve romance fantasy. I want to stay anonymous."

It was a crazy world. The tabloids reported the failed attempts of capturing the infamous king of thieves like he was a genius. And the people loved this mysterious man who vanished right in front of the officers.

Your walkie talkie made a sound. "He was seen near the art collection, but since then he vanished." The inspector Mikaru spoke. "He could have gone through the vent there, we will station some guards outside the office of Mr. Suzuki."

"Wait." your mind was running wild. "He could, but that isn't the only possibility."

You heard him grinding his teeth. "But that is the only way out of the gallery. You know that, little Mrs. Detective."

"I do." you looked back at the screen. "But that's just if we think he really went in there. He is a master of disguise. The police man who told you that, could be him. So don't change our position. The top priority is the diamond."

After a couple seconds of silence he sighed. "Yes, Mrs. Detective." The connection broke up.

You had him. The last months of humiliation were finally finished. Tonight would be different.

"What is going on there?" Mr. Suzuki pointed at the second screen, which showed the roof. The guards there running towards something, or someone but you couldn't see what. Then the camera turned black.

"He is on hunt." you smiled to yourself.

"Listen up!" you activated your second walkie talkie again, that was connected to the guards near the diamond. "He is coming. Be on guard."

You broke the connection and watched the last screen.

And then the lights went out. Only darkness and shadows were visible as you knew that he was in there. But he could try like he wanted. He couldn't leave with the diamond.

"Come on…" your voice was not louder than a whisper. "Get him!"

The lights went on again. The guards laying on the ground, the sleeping gas having affected the room. The locked door still untouched. But behind the flawless glass the diamond wasn't in sight.

"NO!" you shook the screen before you. "THAT CAN'T-"

"A smart plan really."

And you knew it was that arrogant asshole, when your walkie talkie spoke again.

"I see the princess has decoded my message rightfully. But next time you have to try harder."

"Oh don't worry I will get you." your teeth were pressed together like never before. "Just wait and see."

"If you say so." His deep voice chuckling. "Till next time, My Lady."

With that the connection broke. And you knew he had escaped right in front of your nose. Again.

"Fuck!"

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

"And like always the great thieve escaped!" yuuji jumped as he read the tabloid that trended right now.

The little boy was eating those stories up, what wasn't surprising. Many people loved the story of an 'elegant' criminal.

"I think that's enough of screen time." you took the IPad from him, as he whined loudly.

"But I haven't read the interviews yet!" the six-year old hated reading, but if it was about his 'idol' he was practically begging you.

"I don't think that's necessary." you hated to deny the boy, what wasn't ideal since you were his babysitter, but you couldn't keep talking and thinking about yesterday. About your failure.

"Please! I will clean my room! Or… Pay you!" yuuji jumped up and down as he followed you. You laughed as you placed his IPad on the closet so he couldn't take it again.

"You should clean your room regardless. And your parents pay me already." you tried to ignore his puppy eyes. "Let's go to the park instead. We can go for hot chocolate!"

His face lit up. "Okay-"

"Why not let him read the article?" Like always Sukuna interrupted your session of babysitting his nephew with a cocky smile. He went down the stairs and stood there with such confidence you wanted to smack him. "I see no harm."

"Shouldn't you be in your own apartment?" you raised an eyebrow at him. "I heard you finally got a job."

He gasped. "I always had a job! And why do I have to hear that from the babysitter?"

"I have another job too." you narrowed your eyes at his remark. "And you didn't answer my question."

He tilted his head. "Neither did you."

You felt your face heating up, because of the anger that came up when you thought back to yesterday. And your usual banter with Sukuna just made your frustration worse.

Of course he was a fanboy too.

"I want to go get hot chocolate!" yuuji pulled at your hand impatiently. "Can we go??"

"Yeah, get your jacket. It's cold outside." you smiled at the little boy as he hurried to the wardrobe.

"Why not let him read about the king of thieves?" Sukuna kept pestering you as you took the spare keys.

"He had enough screen time for the day. I'm not getting paid for letting him be on the IPad the whole day." you shook your head. "Now why are you here?"

He raised an eyebrow at your obvious excuse. "I couldn't make it home yesterday so I slept here. My brother still has a room for me when I stop by."

"You sure you have a job? Or are you just selling drugs?" you backed up a bit. "Because you look a bit high."

"First of all." he followed you to the wardrobe. "Selling is still a job. Secondly I would have to buy them to be high, not sell them. And no, sweetheart, I don't sell drugs on the street."

"No, he is a good painter!" yuuji practically spawned next to you out of the sudden. "He is really good!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Oh is that so?"

Sukuna shook his head as he petted yuuji's head a little bit harsh. "That's just a hobby."

"Well whatever it is, it's not important right now." you took yuujis hand. "We have a café we have to go to."

"Why can't Uncle Sukuna come with?" yuuji looked up at you confused.

"Yeah, why can't I come with?" Sukuna tilted his head again with this smile.

"Because I'm sure he has things to do." you opened the door. "Now let's go, Yuuji."

"Do you have things to do?" Yuuji didn't move, just looked at his Uncle.

"No, nothing."

"Then can he please come with us??" yuuji now pulled your hand and you made this time the mistake to look at his puppy eyes. "Pleeeease?"

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"He is so cool! His cards are so fancy and how he is tricking the detectives is so cooool!!" Like usual when you were babysitting when Sukuna was around, Yuuji gushed over the so called 'king of thieves' .

"I hear you kid. It's really impressive how the police officers can't even get him, even though he tells them when and how he will do it." Sukuna took a sip out of his black coffee.

"He doesn't just tell him. He makes riddles that confuse the police, they are not that stupid." you hated this dumb gushing over a criminal. A. Criminal!

"That's so smart!" yuuji clapped with those big eyes that you couldn't be mad at him. He was just a kid who found it exciting.

"Well, the press would say otherwise." But you could be mad at the adult here, gushing over the criminal. "They are not talking nice about the police."

You wanted to smack the smile from his face. "Well, if you mean all the tabloids, yes they are not talking nice. Like always."

The hot chocolate here was really good. You always took Yuuji here, he loved it. It was nice seeing him so sincerely happy. Yuuji was like the little brother you always wanted.

"Oh, they are talking nice about the Detective who helped the police. Something along the lines 'The only competent person there' and 'Police would be doomed without'." Sukuna glanced at Yuuji, who burned his tongue.

"Really? Are they that smart?" Yuuji looked up shocked, his face red, because of the slight burn.

Before you could say something, the man surprised you. "Oh they are!" Sukuna looked smugly at his nephew.

"Some say the police only knew that the king of thieves would come, because the detective solved his riddle!"

"That's sooo cool!" Yuuji's eyes became un normally big again. And you would never admit it but it felt nice to have them talking about you like that.

"You know awfully a lot about this whole case." you couldn't help the little smirk that stole itself on your face.

"Well I do work at the police, sooo…"

"You do?!" you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Sukuna? Working in the police department? That doesn't add up.

"Yeah. In the administration, so I'm not a police officer, but still." he shrugged and looked at his watch.

You didn't really know Sukuna. He was the younger brother of your client. In short you were only the babysitter of his nephew. But Sukuna made his way into your sessions regardless and even this wasn't the first time he came with to drink coffee.

The only thing you were certain of, was that he was a big fanboy for that arrogant bastard of a thieve.

The first time you met him was not your best hour. It was the day after your first failure of capturing that thieve. The times after, the 'king of thieves' always taunted specifically you in his notes.

And while you tried to swallow your pride and take good care of yuuji, Sukuna showed up. And Yuuji wanted to talk about this really super cool thieve that was in the media.

Not your best moment.

"And you don't think he is a little bit cool?"

You shook your head and tried to not let your destain show. "He is a criminal for God's sake! Why should I start to admire him, just because he escaped? That's such a stupid reason."

"I see your point." he laughed a bit. "But he did bring the jewel back, so I see no harm."

"Maybe you see no harm." you gritted your teeth. "But that doesn't make it right. That thieve is just an arrogant asshole who makes himself feel better by showing how much he can do. How much the security and police suck. Instead of fixing anything, he let's himself be celebrated."

After that Sukuna was a bit taken back you could see that. But as you saw his almost smug smile you knew that he didn't understood you.

Yeah, your destain did make it through that day. And since then Sukuna always talked about this thieve with Yuuji when he came by. Trying to get a reaction out of you.

And to know that he works at the police? Even though he was such a fan? Hard to believe. But you somehow did believe it, just because he looked so serious about it.

"We should head back." you looked at the watch on the wall, while Yuuji whined.

"Nooooo, please no!" he looked at his uncle. "Unc, you would like to stay, right?"

Sukuna smiled apologetic at his nephew. "No, I have to go too. And you have to listen to your babysitter Yuuji."

Yuuji didn't look thrilled. His cup of hot chocolate long empty he frowned. "I have to go to the toilet." he mumbled and stood up.

"Okay, but no locking yourself up there!" you called after him. You gave the employee a sign that you wanted to pay, and packed your things.

"So, what do you have in mind for the rest of the day?" He leaned a bit forward and had this smile again.

"Well I do have something to do after I am done babysitting, if that's what you mean. But I don't have to tell you what it is." In fact you had to solve the new note that came in.

That thieve brought the diamond back this morning with a note. A new riddle and challenge especially for you.

"What, you have a date or something?" he didn't smile so smugly anymore.

A date? You couldn't help but laugh a bit at that. "No, I wouldn't say that."

"Well I have to get going." Sukuna stood up while taking his things. "And good luck. I think Yuuji locked himself in the toilet."

"What?!" you looked at the toilet door and hurried at it. "Yuuji, get out at this instant!"

Sukuna only laughed as he left.

"But I want another hot chocolate!" you could hear his pouting.

"Maybe some other day, Yuuji. But it's late and if you don't get out you won't get any for a week." you tried sounding as mad as possible. "So come on!"

A very guilty looking Yuuji came out of the bathroom and got finally ready to leave. "Okay, sorry.."

"It's alright, just don't try to force anything. Talk to me, okay?" you gave him his jacket from the tall wardrobe and went to the cashier.

"We were on table 3. Can I pay now?"

But the cashier smiled at you knowingly. "The handsome man that sat with you two already that, don't worry."

Oh, did he?

"Can we go and watch the show where they talk about yesterday?" Yuuji pulled impatiently your hand and you couldn't help but smile.

"I guess we could."

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"I'm sorry for all the difficulties we give you." The police officer that gave you the note that evening seemed really ashamed.

"It's not a problem." You weren't mad at those poor officers for the difficulties that he was giving you.

The police department was almost empty as you made room in your office. The same in which you were yesterday. All the things still in place, the screens, the walkie talkies and your notes.

It was a mess.

"Alright, concentrate." You looked at the small piece of paper. "Let's get this over with."

Dear Ms Detective, I hope you are not too mad, but this isn't the jewel I hoped it was. The blue is beautiful but I think My lady deserves better.

Your favorite Thieve.

Now this wasn't like the riddles before. No it was just straight up taunting. There was no hidden message, nothing that could tell you when and what he would steal next.

He was messing with you. That entitled asshole was messing with you.

"Rhhhhhhrr…"

"AH!" the sudden rustling behind you caught you of guard. And as you looked back you saw your second walkie talkie making noises.

Was one of the officers trying to reach you? Why over that thing when there was no mission?

"Hello?" you spoke into it and the rustling stopped.

Maybe it was just a technical issue with the old thing and you should swap it out. You looked back at the note. If only you could just see right through him-

"Hello. Have you gotten my message?" You couldn't help but look at your walkie talkie in horror. "I hope you are not that mad."

You knew it was that thieve. He still had the walkie talkie from yesterday. And now he was speaking to you. The criminal was speaking to you!

"I have gotten your taunting, yes." you tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. "And there is no riddle for the next time. You tired of stealing?"

The chuckle that came after that was so familiar. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no I don't have any riddle right now."

This was surreal. Why was- "Why are you speaking to me?"

There was a couple seconds of silence after that. If only you could hear his real voice. But the bad quality of the walkie talkie made that really hard.

"Well," he stopped again, but even though it was so bad quality, you could still hear his smirk. "I wanted to ask you out on a date."

"What?!" all nonchalance was thrown out of the window, you were caught of guard.

"Maybe next friday? I like it when the moon is high up. And I haven't danced in a long time…"

"What are you talking about? Why, what, why??" you were so confused and you hated that your face was growing red.

"What's your answer?"

What the hell was he trying to achieve right now? Why was he telling you-

Wait a second.

Next Friday was the Exhibition of the Suzuki concern. And the old with juwels set heels of the princess Saiko are there. Her old dance shoes.

Called the love dancers.

"You mean in the exhibition?" you couldn't help but smile. It was so nice to understand his games.

"Well, I was thinking of that, yes." he sounded satisfied.

"Then the game is on."

"So it's a date?"

"Oh, shut up."

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[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Moon (pt. 3)

Lunicurrent - related to changes in currents that depend on the moon's phases.

Luniform - moon-shaped.

Lunula - something shaped like a crescent or half-moon; especially the pale area at the base of the fingernail.

Mooncalf - a fool, dolt, monster, or aborted fetus.

Moonglade - the bright reflection of moonlight on a body of water.

Moonraker - the top-most sails on some old sailing ships.

Novilunar - of the new moon.

Plenilunar - of the full moon.

The Moon...

Is the Earth’s only “natural” satellite.

Is moving away from the Earth.

Is 27% the size of the Earth.

Orbits the Earth every 27.32 days.

NOTES

There are 2-5 lunar eclipses yearly.

You would weigh 1/6th of your Earth weight on the Moon.

We only ever see half of the Moon at a time, even at “full moon”.

The light reflecting off the Earth and onto the Moon is called “earthshine” or “earthlight”.

In many languages, as in English, the word for “moon” is cognate with the word for “month”.

It takes the moon 29.53 days to cycle back to the same “visual” phase. This is called a “synodic month”.

A lunar calendar is a calendar based on cycles of the Moon's phases (synodic months), in contrast to solar calendars based on the solar year.

The Moon illusion is an optical illusion which causes the Moon to appear larger near the horizon than it does higher up in the sky.

Sometimes it’s possible to see the moon rabbit, or the shadowy face of the Man in the Moon created by lunar maria.

In the northern hemisphere, when the Moon is waxing, it resembles a letter “D”, and when waning a letter “C”. In the southern hemisphere this is reversed.

About 40% of the Moon is never visible from the Earth. This is referred to as the Dark Side of the Moon, even though it isn’t always dark.

Every month or so, the “old moon” sets for the last time as a sliver in the eastern sky. For about 3 days it travels invisibly alongside the sun until, magically born anew, it appears on the third day at sunset, on the western horizon. This course not only sets the moon in direct opposition to the sun, it also gives rise to various resurrection myths in which the hero spends 3 days in the underworld.

IN THE ARTS

In some myths, the lunar deity is represented as female (Greek, Chinese), while in others it is male (Mesopotamian , Germanic, Japanese).

In mythology, the moon deity is sometimes a friend, ally or consort of the sun deity, and sometimes their enemy.

In many mythical stories, a simple character mistakes the reflection of the Moon for a round cheese.

The Moon is the 18th card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot. It represents the mysterious terrain of the Shadow self, illuminated by the guiding light of the conscious.

Shakespeare calls the moon the “moist star” because it creates the tides, and also casts it as inconstant (because of its phases) and thieving (because it steals its light from the sun).

Georges Méliès shot the first science fiction film, Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon) in 1902.

The Lunar Society of Birmingham, consisting of eminent 18th century intellectuals, was so named because its members met on nights with a full moon. The moonlight made their journey back home easier and safer.

Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was originally titled, Sonata quasi una fantasia, and only acquired its popular name after his death.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ The Moon ⚜ Word Lists