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wzrd-wheezes · 6 days

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Game On - Sirius Black x Reader Smut

Request: what do you think of established relationship sirius black x fem!reader edging + desperate banging (maybe overstimulation done by who u choose to be the one that snaps first as a sort of “punishment” even tho they’re both in this together 💀)

sirius and reader share the same braincells and are in a very lovey-dovey relationship but one day they feel bored and want to try adding a little ✨spice✨ into their relationship, so they come up with this plan to shake things up a bit: they get dressed up to look their best and go to a club/pub/etc where they flirt with other people while looking at each other till one of them snaps and drags the other to a bathroom or another secluded place and desperately go at it with each other

AN - one thing i love about you guys is that when i ask for smut requests, i know that you'll deliver!! Also, if you guys would like, i can write a part 2/ alternat ending where sirius loses the competition and ends up in the same situation as reader…?

Warnings: this starts off fine but by the end gets pretty filthy. Nothing too weird but -contains: light bondage, edging, slight overstimulation. 3.3k words

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sirius asked as her zipped up his girlfriend’s dress. They were stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom, and he gazed at her reflection as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

“I’m sure. It was my idea after all.”

“I know. I’m just making sure.”

They had been inseparable since their school days, the two of them practically joined at the hip. Yet, within the comfort of their connection, a desire for something new lingered. It was something that they had mulled over countless times, the idea of injecting some excitement into their relationship. When Y/N mentioned the idea, Sirius readily agreed.

The agenda for the evening was a competition of sorts. They were going to head to one of the local bars, each of them going their separate ways upon arrival. It was a test of wills to see who would crack with jealously as they both flirted and danced with strangers.

“You’re going down, Black.” Y/N smiled cheekily, pecking him on the lips as she grabbed her bag and headed to the door.

“Game on.” he grinned.

The bar that they had chosen was heaving. From the moment they entered, they were enveloped in a kaleidoscope of colours. Neon lights danced across the walls, casting vibrant hues of pink, purple and blue onto the mass of people dancing. The room itself wasn’t very big, a bar lined one wall, and a large dancefloor took centre stage, tall tables filled the space in between. It was large enough so that Y/N and Sirius could distance themselves, but small enough that they could constantly keep an eye on each other.

They both headed towards the bar, eager to get a drink. Sirius went to one end, Y/N to the other. Y/N slipped onto one of the tall bar stools, resting her chin in her hand as she waited for the bartender to come and take her order.

“What can I get for you, gorgeous?” the bartender asked, leaning forward slightly. Caught off guard, Y/N felt a faint flush creep onto her cheeks.

“Surprise me.” she replied playfully.

His grin widened at her response as he accepted the challenge. With practiced ease, he made her a cocktail, his hands moving gracefully as he poured and mixed with precision. As he slid the drink across the bar towards her, their fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

Sirius was at the other end of the bar lounged against the polished surface; whisky glass perched in his ring clad fingers. His gaze swept across the crowded room planning his next move. As he sipped his drink, his attention was momentarily diverted to his girlfriend at the other side of the bar, engaged in animated conversation with the bartender. ‘Damn, she’s quick,’ he thought as a flicker of emotion crossed his features before he masked it with a playful grin, catching her eye and raising his glass in a silent toast. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before ordering another.

It didn’t take long for him to find someone to flirt with, as he scanned the room he locked eyes with a girl sat alone at one of the tall tables towards the dance floor. Grabbing his drink, he made his way over. Sirius flashed a charming smile as he approached the girl, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Mind if I join you?” he had already pulled out the chair before giving her time to answer.

“Depends,” the girl looked up, her eyes sparkling with amusement, “Are you planning on buying me a drink?”

“Of course.” Sirius replied with a mock-indignant tone, “What’s your poison?”

By the time Sirius headed back to the bar to buy their drinks, Y/N had already left. He glanced around for her, expecting her to be still chatting to the bartender, but she wasn’t there. Sirius frowned a little, scouring the bar for sight of his girlfriend as he waiting for their drinks to be made. He found her as he headed back to the table, she was sat directly opposite from him on the other side of the room. Her head was thrown back as she laughed at whatever it was that whoever she was talking to said.

As Sirius approached the bar to order their drinks, he realised that Y/N was no longer there. Confusion flickered across his features as he had half-expected her to still be engaged in conversation with the bartender.

Frowning slightly, Sirius cast a searching gaze around the bar, his eyes darting from one corner to the next in a bid to locate his girlfriend. It wasn’t until he got back to the table that he spotted her, seated across the room from him, her laugher ringing out amidst the lively atmosphere. A pang of jealously stirred within him as he watched Y/N interact with the man she was sat with. He took a sip of his drink, determined not to let her win their little competition.

As Sirius sat back down, the girl’s eyes lit up with amusement, her lips curling into a playful smile as she took in his arrival.

“Well, well, look who’s back,” she teased, “I was starting to think you’d abandoned me for good.”

Sirius chuckled, sliding into the chair opposite her with a grin, “Sorry about that. Had to navigate through the crowd of admirers just to get our drinks.”

“Well, I’m flattered you braved the crowds for me.”

Sirius let out an amused laugh, but he couldn’t keep his attention off of Y/N. Although the conversation between Sirius and the girl flowed effortlessly, each sentence punctuated with flirtatious banter, he spent every spare second eyeing up his girlfriend.

As soon as Y/N saw that Sirius had gone to sit with another girl, she knew that she had to take it up a level. There was absolutely no way that she was giving him the satisfaction of winning. After her short conversation with the bartender, another man had approached her and offered to buy her a drink which she politely accepted. He led her over to the table that he was sat on, and much to Y/N’s amusement, it was directly opposite from Sirius.

“You have a gorgeous smile, by the way.” the man said, reaching a hand out to touch her arm.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it?” Y/N smirked.

“I certainly hope so.”

As Y/N and Sirius found themselves engrossed in conversations across the crowded club, a subtle game of jealousy unfolded between them, each vying to capture the other’s attention. Y/N had really upped the flirtatiousness, laughing slightly louder than usual, leaving lingering touches on the man’s arm. She couldn’t help but look over at Sirius, her heart racing with anticipation at the thought of his reaction.

It was only when Y/N saw Sirius lean in a little too closely to the girl that she knew she needed to up her game.

“Wanna dance?” she asked.

He had introduced himself, but the name slipped from her mind almost as soon as he said it. Adam? Alex? Aaron. It didn’t matter much to her, to be honest. She wasn’t particularly invested in him, merely seeing him as a means to an end in her quest to provoke Sirius. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for his unwitting role in her scheme. Nevertheless, Adam/Alex/Aaron seemed eager enough to accept her invitation to dance.

As they moved to the music, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way that Sirius’s gaze lingered on them from across the room. With each movement, she could feel his eyes burning into her, a silent testament to the effect that she was having on him.

Feeling a surge of exhilaration, Y/N leaned in closer to her dance partner, her movements growing more playful with each passing moment. She glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with Sirius, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Sirius, quite frankly, had had enough. Still locking eyes with his girlfriend, he picked up his glass and drained the contents before turning to the girl (who he had now found out was called Jess) and asked her to dance.

“Fancy a dance then?”

“You don’t strike me as much of a dancer.” she narrowed her eyes at him skeptically.

“Guess you’ll have to find out then, won’t you?” he replied, extending his hand towards her.

Y/N and Sirius were now only a few meters apart, both dancing with their respective partners. With each playful twirl and flirtatious touch, Y/N felt a pang of jealously gnaw at her insides. Her jaw clenched slightly as she fought to keep her composure. As the music pounded, Y/N’s movements became more deliberate, each step calculated to catch Sirius’s attention. Just as she was sure that Sirius was near to reaching breaking point, she saw red. A fleeting look over at Sirius had revealed the girl’s hands tangled in his hair as she reached up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Sirius had laughed, his hand resting on her waist. With her heart pounding in her chest, she approached Sirius, tugging sharply on his arm.

“You win.”

“Well, I hate to say I told you so.” Sirius teased, his tone laced with playful arrogance, “But I did warn you that you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him as she grabbed a hold of his hand and led him out of the bar.

“You’re awfully eager to get home for someone that has quite a hefty forfeit waiting for them.” he mused, “you did remember that part of the game, right?”

“As if I could forget.” Y/N fumbled with her keys, trying to unlock their front door, “It’s all I’ve been thinking about all night.”

“Yeah? Did you get jealous, baby?” Sirius kicked the front door shut behind him, swiftly pressing Y/N against the wall, “You were trying so hard to get me to bite, weren’t you?”

Sirius had suddenly switched, his eyes darkening as he pressed himself against her. Y/N’s head was tipped back against the wall as he pressed sloppy, desperate kisses up the collum of her neck.

“You better head upstairs, you’ve got a long night ahead of you, gorgeous.”

Within minutes of being in their bedroom, Sirius had her naked, and spread out on the bed, her hand expertly tied to the headboard. He on the other hand, was fully clothed, save for his white dress shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest revealing the tattoos that adorned his skin. He stood at the edge of their bed, staring down at her cockily.

“Poor girl.” he tutted, “You wanted to win so bad, didn’t you? Didn’t want to be the one tied up and teased when we got home, did you? Was a silly idea from you, really, because you were never going to win.”

“I was close.” Y/N argued, “You nearly snapped first. ‘Saw it in your eyes when I was dancing.”

“Mhm. I didn’t like that he had his hands all over you. That’s my job.” Sirius said, “I almost feel bad for him –s pending his night talking to you when all you could think about all night was how good I was going to fuck you when we got home.”

Y/N whined, tugging against her restraints. Sirius just chuckled, kneeling down on the edge of the bed, nudging her legs open.

“That’s right, isn’t it? I bet every time he touched you, all you could think about was me. How I’d be making you beg for me as soon as we got home.”

“Sirius, please.”

“This wet already?” he slid a finger through her folds, “Were you soaked all night just thinking about me?”

Y/N groaned and nodded. She knew Sirius would get like this if he won and she would be lying if she said that she wasn’t enjoying every single second of it.

“Y-yes, Sirius, been thinking about you all night.”

He smirked as he pushed one of his fingers inside of her, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. He pumped it inside a few times before slowly adding another one.

“So eager for me.” he murmured, “It’s going to be a little while before I let you come though.”

“I know...” Y/N whispered, “Just, don’t stop. Please.”

Sirius didn’t need to be told twice. He had no intentions of stopping any time soon. Dipping his head down to meet the sensitive flesh, he licked a slow deliberate stripe over her clit. Y/N struggled, yanking against her restraints, desperate to weave her hands through his hair. When Sirius pulled away, her hips bucked up instinctively, eager to have his touch.

“How many times do you think I need to edge you before you go completely dumb for me?” Sirius asked, sickly sweet smile on his face, “Usually five does the trick doesn’t it? But tonight, you seem so desperate already. I don’t think it’ll take that many at all.”

“Please. Not five.” she whimpered, looking down at him pleadingly.

“No?”

Sirius sat up, raking a hand through his dark hair as he reached down into the box that they kept tucked under their bed. Y/N’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what he was searching for. She heard it before she saw it, the soft buzzing sound that filled the room. Sirius pressed the vibrator gently against her clit, resuming his previous position and sliding two fingers back inside of her.

“Good girl.” he cooed, “Feel good, baby?”

Y/N nodded, her head tipped back against the pillows, mouth slightly open. Sirius turned the vibrator up notch, causing a soft moan to fall from her lips. The girl’s hips rocked forward onto Sirius’s fingers, earning a smirk from him.

“Tell me when you get close.”

A few moments passed, the motion of her hips becoming quicker, trying to meet the rhythm of Sirius’s thrusts.

“C-close.” she gasped, her eyes screwing shut, “Can I come?”

“Nope.”

Sirius turned the vibrator off and removed his fingers. Y/N whimpered at the loss of stimulation, frowning down at her boyfriend.

“Don’t look so disappointed. You knew this was going to happen when we decide to do our little competition,” Sirius nipped at the skin of her inner thigh, making her flinch, “You picked the punishments, baby. You really thought you were going to win, didn’t you? Wanted to have me all tied up and desperate?”

“I’ll win next time. Just hated how she was touching you.”

“Next time?” Sirius cocked his head at her, “You’re very confident for someone who’s all tied up right now.”

“Shut u-”

Y/N didn’t get chance to finish her sentence as Sirius switched the vibrator on and pressed it firmly back against her clit.

“Remember your manners.”

Sirius continued his routine of playing around with the settings out the vibrator while simultaneously fucking his girlfriend with his fingers. He knew exactly what got her going so it was no surprise that a few minutes later she was thrashing around on the bed begging him to keep going.

“No.”

“Please, Sirius.”

“I said no.”

He pressed his fingers upwards, hitting her just right, getting her just teetering on the edge of orgasm before quickly switching the vibrator off and leaving her empty once more.

“Getting so wet for me, darling.” He held his fingers up so that she could see. Her wetness had coated his fingers and Sirius smiled proudly as he showed them to her, “Wanna taste?”

Before she could reply, he pushed his fingers passed her lips, now slightly swollen from her biting down on them. She groaned, taking them into her mouth and swirling her tongue around his digits.

“Dirty girl.” he said, taking his fingers out and guiding them back inside of her pussy. Just as he did before, her brought her to the edge again. And again.

By the fourth time she was denied orgasm, her skin was glistening with sweat, her hips bucking up erratically each time he threated to remove his fingers. Her lips were read and bitten, her breath coming out in short bursts.

“Sirius, please, please just let me come.”

He ignored her, lazily drawing circles over her sensitive clit with his thumb.

“Fuck. Sirius, please. God, I need it.”

“But you sound so pretty when you beg, baby. Would be such a shame if I stopped now...” he let his voice trail off, taking in her frustrated expression for a moment before continuing, “But, seen as you asked so nicely...”

He stood up and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it over his toned arms and removing it. Not quite being done with the teasing, he decided to take his time getting undressed, leaving his girlfriend laying tied up and needy on the bed as she watched. He neatly folded his shirt and placed it on the chair in the corner of the room. Smirking, he stood at the foot of the bed, deft fingers removing his belt and dropping it to the floor with a clatter, he shoved his trousers and boxers down and took his cock into his hand, pumping it a few times.

“God, you look fucking gorgeous.” he all but pounced on top of her, nuzzling his face into her neck.

It was as it something had switched in his brain, the teasing and tormenting now long forgotten as some primal urge took over. He needed to be inside her. His lips collided with hers, the kiss hungry and urgent. He undid her restraints with one hand, not even breaking contact with her lips.

He lined himself up with her entrance, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed his way inside. Their moans mixed together as he entered. Having use of her hands back, Y/N couldn’t wait to touch him. Her hands moving rapidly up to tangle in his hair. Sirius rested his forehead against hers as he thrust his hips, the chain that hung from his neck dangling in her face, the cool metal cold against her flushed skin.

“You getting close, love?” Sirius asked, feeling his girlfriend tense up around him.

“Y-yeah. So close.” she let out a ragged breath, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“Come for me, baby.”

Sirius increased his pace, driving her once more to the edge of orgasm, however, this time, he didn’t stop as she reached her peak, maintaining the steady rhythm of his thrusts as her orgasm came crashing down. She dragged her nails down his back causing him to let out a gruff moan as she convulsed around him.

“That’s my girl.”

“S-sensitive, Sirius. Fuck.” Y/N wriggled around on the bed, her body burning with the aftermath of her orgasm.

“Keep going, baby. You wanted this, yeah? Spent all that time begging me to let you come.” he taunted, “Want you to come again f’me. Want you to come at the same time as me. You can do that, can’t you?”

Y/N nodded quickly, grabbing the back of Sirius’s neck and pulling him down to kiss her. He smiled into the kiss, his hips snapping against hers as he chased his own high. His moans grew louder as she clenched around him, her hips rocking in time with his.

“Fuck, you feel so good. Always feel so good f’me.” he growled, “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna fill you up.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she rapidly approached her peak once again. She could feel Sirius growing closer and close with each movement. The roll of his hips started to stutter and he sunk his teeth into the flesh between her shoulder and neck and he climaxed. Y/N followed suit, once again wrapping her legs around him, drawing him as close as she possibly could.

They both collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed. Sirius reached over to brush her hair out of her face, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed lovingly at her.

“Good game?” he reached down to catch her lips sweetly with his.

“Good game.”

#sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black x reader smut #marauders era

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vaguely-concerned · 7 months

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Stray Gods Character Design Thoughts

In order we're going Pan, Apollo, Persephone, Eros, Aphrodite and a little bit of Venus! Disclaimer that I have no professional experience in character design at all, so these are only my vibes-based ramblings and observations purely for fun and because my brain simply won't shut up about this game haha. Also I will freely admit Pan probably gets the most attention in this because of who I am as a person and where my heart truly lies at the end of the day lol

PAN

Ok, first of all I have so many questions and they all delight me. This guy is the god of the wild places ("Where else would I be, but among the trees and the wild things?"), he lives in a magical garden on top of an office building... and he’s walking around everywhere in an expensive three piece tailored suit (when Freddie accuses him of being a sleaze in a cheap suit he protests mildly that his suit is anything but cheap haha). The cut of it is really carefully thought out and planned, but the bold colours under the grey coat and (studied I am sure) careless details like the tie also make it fun and playful. Which is pleasingly coherent with the general theme of his character in the writing too and I adore it.

This is not the point, I know, but I’m wondering how he makes that work just like. Practically now. Has Athena fixed up Olympus with in-house laundry service? And other sentences I did not expect to type out today lol. Ah well he’s wily I’m sure he has his ways.

I can't heap enough praise on it, this design is SUCH an interesting and elegant marriage of the immediately recognizable satyr features and thus animal symbolism with all its added pagan weight in a post-Christianity setting, and the sort of ‘man of wealth and taste’ imagery of the devil at the crossroads they clearly want to evoke, especially in his first scene. And partially through his mannerism there’s also an added element of like… eccentric but surprisingly competent college professor — just look at the way he carries himself whenever he isn’t putting on the charm or when he’s being guarded and self-contained. That little hands resting on his back pose exudes ‘nerd’ so deeply to me haha. (Incredibly fuckable nerd, to be sure, but still!)

you don't fool me buddy I know what you are. I know all the trouble you went to to get a book.

His body language shifts very quickly between wild playful expressiveness and a sort of nonchalant urbane detachment that borders on coldness sometimes, and it fascinates me. Especially since that more refined unavailable side seems to be something he’s deliberately cultivated, to some extent. When Grace calls him out on how boring it sounds to just let yourself go numb and distant to survive, he doesn’t deny that at all, only saying that at least it’s been quite effective.

Putting the rest under a cut to save people's dashes! I may, as they say, have gotten a tiny bit carried away.

Physically he’s not very imposing — he’s only a little taller than Grace, and the shortest of all of the love interests, which I find somehow very charming and also plays into him being more of a guile-based character. “Seeing as I am neither big nor truly bad, it behooves me to be wary of those who are both” indeed!

I’m fairly sure he’s the character wearing the most layers. Even his hands are mostly covered by gloves. He partially covers up his eyes with the tinted glasses — interesting, as one of the features that most give his real nature away with their sidewise pupils, and the lenses are tinted purple as the complimentary colour to yellow, so it downplays just how bright they are. All together it’s very much a ‘well, he’s certainly got to be in there somewhere’ sort of vibe at times. (Since he also seems to care about his clothes quite a bit — he complains about scuffing his pants during the climb in the Medusa mission if you go the lockpick route — I have drawn the conclusion that getting him out of all of that must take quite a bit of time, no matter how much practice he’s probably put in over the years of meeting 'delicious people' lol)

It’s a design that manages to give, at the same time: animal-featured ancient god, deal with the devil, teacher, overtones of con man if you’re inclined to be Freddie-levels of uncharitable lol, eccentric rich weird uncle… there’s a lot going on here and somehow it all works haha. He isn’t wearing any jewelry at all unless you count the glasses, which now that I’m looking at the rest of the character designs in this game is actually fairly rare among them!

His eyes really are incredibly bright when uh naked as it were, though. I like the implication that he is aware of this and actually goes out of his way to downplay it, even when he’d normally be wearing glamour anywhere it would strictly matter for it to show. Between that, the meaningful zoom in on him at the Underworld when Apollo says that all the Idols can be themselves there even if they don’t look human, Pan claiming he’s been distrusted and side-eyed by the others basically since the beginning and seeming kind of frustrated and hurt about it, in his deflecting way, and the implication of a hierarchy among the Idols at least under Athena’s leadership in this stained glass painting (notably all the visibly non-human Idols/hangers on are at the bottom, and Hecate, Asterion and especially Medusa are the characters most affected and confined by the oppressive status quo Athena upholds)...

this one! sing it with me now EVERYBODY LEAVES THIS PLACE ALIVEEE ok we can move on

you know, some possible Subtext and Implications going on here, I’d say. (It is only potential subtext and implication, though, so, you know, take my extrapolations here with a grain of salt!) He certainly doesn’t do himself many favors with the persona he’s built up in regards to being trusted and included either, but his status as a little bit of an outsider does seem to precede that so I feel like it’s more of a response than the main cause. Along the same lines he gets much more testy about the Green route of ‘I Can Teach You’ than he does about you just not choosing him in the Red one, he takes that pretty gracefully. So it is the being deliberately kept on the outside and openly distrusted and dismissed that gets to him. (To be clear I don't think openly distrusting a strange guy showing up in your living room like that is at all unreasonable either haha I just think the nuances of his response are enlightening as to where he's really coming from)

this one isn't even to illustrate anything it's just because I love him so much and think he's pretty I'll be real with you all

Anyway I just keep thinking about how incredibly tender it would be if sometimes, when they’re in private, Grace takes his glasses off to see his eyes better and he lets her. That shakes something deep in my soul apparently. That fucks me up but like in a good way.

APOLLO

- Apollo’s style of dress leaves his navel helpfully exposed for the copious amounts of depressed gazing he habitually subjects it to. (I say this not entirely without affection.)

a crumpled tissue of a man

In keeping with his incredibly emo mode, there’s very little colour involved and he doesn’t take much care to present anything with care (look at the state of that shirt and tell me if Apollo has picked up an iron in the last forty years), BUT interestingly he’s not entirely open and unadorned, he does wear that network of jewelry across his chest and neck. Which I think is to show that the old Apollo is not entirely gone (“There he is, god of the sun”), even if he has been a sack stuffed with sad for a long time now. I wonder how many of these things are leftover preferences from being only Lucas — presumably the tattoos at least are from before he fished Apollo up from the sea? If I’m reading the vibes right on that, the blue of the tattoos and the gold of the sun… thingy he wears with the jewelry are the main splashes of colour in his design aside from his hair, and they’re both ‘leftovers’ from both his previous lives, surfer bro and solar deity recently fallen on hard times. Physically he would be tall and imposing, parodically built, except that he carries himself with all the confidence and panache of a damp depressed dishrag.

Also I can’t believe this guy is walking around everywhere in sandals. Apollo makes sad flip-flop sounds wherever he goes, including when he steps up during ‘The Trial’. That’s so amazingly pathetic (affectionate).

We can see from the photo with him and Calliope that he wasn’t always quite this much of a mess. Once, he did his shirt up a whole maybe four buttons and wore something that wasn’t beige!

Intellectually I acknowledge that it's a design meant to provide fanservice, even though I personally could not consider this guy in a sexual or romantic light if you gave me a thousand years to build up to it. (I've said it before but if he's anything to me, he is the incredibly fail father figure continually letting me down in tiny ways I never had.) Godspeed to the Apollo-enjoyers out there, though, Summerfall gave him those abs and that poor little meow meow energy just for you and it's your right to enjoy that

- Pan and Apollo also bring out some really interesting contrasts both as characters and designs when you hold them up against each other:

Once you scratch the surface a tiny bit Pan clearly has just as much self-loathing as Apollo (“If Athena had taken me up on my offer, the Idols would have been better off” uh. Okay buddy we’re gonna have to process that one together later what do you say), but where Apollo is completely helplessly open in his misery at all times, you need to unbutton Pan at least three layers until you get a honest or straightforward emotion out of him and I think that’s amazingly carried through into their visual designs. It's Good Visual Storytelling Brent

PERSEPHONE

- I’m fairly sure the colour of Persephone’s suit is supposed to evoke pomegranate seeds. See and judge for yourself I suppose:

She also has details on her coat that depict foliage and growing plants, but colour-wise they and the rest of the detailing is in the blue-green that symbolizes the Underworld and so death. Her jewelry is gold, which — and I’m about to do some reaching here, I’ll be big enough to own — could play in with Hades being the god of riches as well as of the dead/the underworld. Probably it’s because it works well with the colour scheme, but I’m going to pretend that it’s because even if she didn’t get the throne she did get that motherfucker’s hoard when she killed him <3 Love that for her. Her jewelry is more rose gold than Apollo’s yellow gold, too. Watch me go for even more of a reach: between the necklace and the watch, those round discs of gold remind me of the coins put on the eyes of the dead but like you know repurposed since she doesn't need them to pay the Ferryman. I never promised I'd be reasonable in this did I.

The short hair works real well for the butch vibe and looks amazing no notes, but I think it’s also a deliberate way to differentiate herself from her younger self — when speaking of Demeter’s death, she says that moment was also the final death of that young her, ‘that girl with the long hair who loved her gardens’. Clearly the Idols do a lot of reinventing themselves over the ages in more and less conscious ways.

She has a tattoo of what looks to be foliage and a skull across her left chest and arm. I really like that idea of her having the testament to both sides of her — goddess of spring, queen of the underworld — directly on her skin, under two layers of clothes that each represent those aspects. The one on her arm looks like stalks of grain tied together to resemble the bones of the hand/forearm, maybe? which is metal as fuck, needless to say.

She is TALL and scary and the staging always plays that up, Grace tends to look up at her like O.O. I love how sharp she is too.

Also she is incredibly hot but you don’t need me to tell you that you all have eyes I assume.

EROS, APHRODITE and VENUS:

- I love literally everything about Eros’ design except his hair. Not even the concept of the haircut and colours or anything, just the way it’s rendered. It looks like one strange flat cap I can’t quite make understandable in three dimensional space as hair in my head lol. Other than that it’s a banging design though, the delicate see-through material over the leather BDSM harness is genius. Choosing this form of sensuality and attractiveness for him to embody -- one that is so deeply queercoded -- also works super well. The warmth and vulnerability of his body language on top of it is *chef's kiss*. just. please define his hair a bit more and it's perfect haha.

- I'm not sure I have that much to say about Aphrodite’s design except that of course she is beauty she is grace etc., it takes a lot of thought to make such a simple design shine and by god did they do it she’s so stunning. Also interesting how her dark blues and greens with cool/silvery details contrast with Venus’ warm reds and pinks and… brass? Idk I don’t really understand jewelry haha. All warmth and soft romanticism, anyway, it looks nice. (Side note but I love Venus’ rose tattoo.) Eros and Venus have much more matching colour schemes and they both bring those islands of warmth standing around Aphrodite in her shimmering ocean coolness. (Which of course is something she has to deliberately put on before going into public these days, and is unselfconsciously glamorous in the way of an old timey Hollywood starlet, as the blue route of 'The Ritual' lampshades)

:') *whisper* everybody...

Venus is wearing pearls, which is pleasing considering her connection to Aphrodite (and the backgrounds of the 'Lost in a Moment' variant of 'The Ritual')! and both of her and Aphrodite's outfits go for a shoulderless look to great effect.

ETA: When the camera is close on Aphrodite you can actually see that she has dark circles under her eyes, only partially covered by the makeup :'( I didn't notice that before I played through 'The Ritual' on a bigger screen today

All in all I just want to acknowledge what a fantastic job the character designers at Summerfall Studios have done! There are some really fresh new takes on these mythological figures here, and it makes so much sense within the world the game presents without resorting to well-worn and tired iconography, I really do admire it greatly.

#stray gods #stray gods pan #stray gods apollo #stray gods persephone #stray gods eros #stray gods aphrodite #sorry about the varying quality of the screenshots I have done my best lmao #if there's anywhere you can get the sprites in high resolution I couldn't find it so uh well be gentle lol #it's SO hard to track down scenes where you see them all in full figure and decent clarity #stray gods meta #meta #i don't even know if this is coherent anymore but it IS out of my head which is what I needed it to be haha I am free!! for now

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

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{5} - To Tempt Fate - Yandere!Trickster Deities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Trickster AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Suspense

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Mingi)

Words: 3,496

Warnings: Depictions of anxiety (not the reader). This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I have an appointment soon, so I just wanted to post this before I had to leave! Anyways, I'm very excited for the threads to begin unravelling now as more time progresses!! I really hope you all look forward to everything I have in store! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

You don’t know how many times you had circled the maze yesterday. For hours, you traversed your way through specific paths, familiarizing yourself with its twists and turns. The last thing you need is to be running away from either another contestant, or one of the eight tricksters, only to reach a dead end. Your only hope is that the maze hasn’t shifted.

Surprisingly, you have no issues sleeping a few hours afterwards. The exhaustion settling into your bones had you passing out almost instantly, that small knife clutched securely in your hand.

The bed is more comfortable than you thought it would be. Given the way that trickster, of whom you’ve nicknamed ‘Ghost’ due to the colour of his eyes, was acting, you’re starting to believe more in the fact that they view you as ‘special’.

A chill runs down your spine.

Turning onto your back once more, you stare up at the ceiling. Based off of the way you’ve been keeping track of time ever since the other male, of whom you’ve nicknamed ‘Drakon’ due to the deep purple of his eyes, you reckon you have about one hour before the games are meant to truly begin. You still haven’t found a small bag to carry supplies in, but you can always make one out of your pillowcase if necessary.

Sitting up in bed, you rest the knife beside you on the mattress. Lifting your head, you glance at your reflection in the full length mirror.

Giving yourself a once over, you let out a sigh. You have some decisions to make.

One: you could barricade yourself inside of your room for the next twenty-four hours and see if someone happens to stumble across your little shack here. There seems to have been a box of food dropped off at the foot of your bed while you had gone out exploring, so you’re not worried about going hungry. Everything is nonperishable, and still in it’s original container, so you shouldn’t have to worry about someone having tampered with it. Still, you are dealing with tricksters, so it could be poisoned.

At least you have water.

Two: you could go out and explore the maze again to see if there have been any changes to the layout. This would allow you to get a better sense of the games going forward, but you’d have to be on the constant lookout for other contestants. Some might be too eager to start the bloodbath they have been enticed to partake in, while others might start screaming and drawing those types of competitors to your area. Both of which you’d rather avoid for as long as you can.

Three: you could go out and purposely look for other competitors. Not everyone is going to immediately go hunting for their trophy out of the gate, and you’re sure there are probably a few reasonable people around. Besides, if someone got dropped in, and they don’t immediately understand what the hell is going on, they’ll be completely scared out of their wits. Best to make yourself seem trustworthy to gain as many allies as you can.

If you can stop them from killing each other, the tricksters won’t have a game this year, and the blood will not be on your own hands. Besides, you can check out the maze this way for any changes; two birds with one stone.

Pushing yourself onto your feet, you steel your resolve. Looks like you have your answer. If you can align yourself with potential allies, then great! However, if you woke up in an unfamiliar place, were scared out of your wits and deathly confused, you would want at least one person to extend that same kindness to you.

Nothing is worse than being kicked when you’re down.

Twirling the knife in your hand, you move toward the bathroom to freshen up slightly. Like hell you’ll change into any of the clothes they got for you. After the encounter yesterday with Ghost, you know that that’s exactly what they’re hoping for, too.

Washing them might become an issue, but you’ve survived in the wilderness by yourself with only a knife to help you before. If you can do it once, you can do it again. You father didn’t teach you everything he knew about hunting for nothing.

The water feels cool against your skin as you wash up as much as you can. You’re a little hesitant about showering, or even stripping yourself completely naked for the moment. If you really have to, you’ll bathe in your underwear. Who knows what could be watching.

Adjusting your clothes, you manage to tuck the little notebook with your newly drawn map into the back of the waistband of your jeans. A pencil gets slid into your front pocket, along with a few pins, careful not to break the lead tip all the while. The small knife is held securely in your dominant hand, that string with your two keys and paperclip around your neck once more.

Turning towards the front, you take a deep breath once more.

Slowly, you move to unlock the door. It’s about time for the games to start, and from the way you hear a breeze rustling the leaves of the maze, you know it’s begun.

Swallowing the sudden dryness in your throat, you step outside.

The first difference you notice is how the area is now suddenly alive with sounds. The leaves rustle continuously, a soft breeze brushing through. There even appears to be bugs and small animals now in the area, of which were never there before.

Still, it remains as dark as night.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the smell of earth and nature to fill your lungs. The scents are stronger than yesterday, but that won’t be a hindrance to you at all.

Lifting your gaze, your brow furrows.

There, in the distance, appears almost a small protrusion above the one edge of the maze. An object that hadn’t been apparent before, even in your search of the area yesterday. Almost as if a building has appeared out of thin air.

The only things you did manage to come across yesterday were more of those little clearings with shacks in them. There are eight to be exact, four on opposite ends of the maze, designating where each survivor must first appear in the games.

Perhaps the first challenge is being able to escape these huts.

Yours seems to be the second closest to the one edge. The one in which you ran into Ghost yesterday is the furthest to the left, yours directly beside it with two more following in succession after that. If you get lucky, and move quick enough, you might be able to slip passed the hut before the person inside manages to escape.

You grit your teeth.

Sick bastards probably intend to let some of them starve, or suffocate to death inside those shacks.

You shake your head, you need to worry about yourself right now. If they can’t get out on their own, then they’re no use to you in fighting off anything or anyone.

A grimace crosses your features. The whole reason you stepped foot outside your own place once the games began was to help others if they needed it. Now, you’re thinking about just letting them die?

You’re not that much like that bitch. You’re not that heartless. At least, not yet.

Too many conflicting emotions begin flitting through your mind. Enough so, that you manage to shake your head again in hopes to clear them. Only, it’s in vain, your thoughts beginning to consume you.

Taking a step forward, you begin to enter the maze. Hopefully, focussing down on the task at hand will help to clear your mind.

Again, just like yesterday, you turn left to start. The familiar path of the maze greets you, and you find yourself almost breathing a sigh of relief the longer you traverse the grounds. At least the maze hasn’t seemed to have shifted in the slightest. Yet.

Reaching that first opening where that other shack rests, you spare a glance into the clearing. Of course, just like yesterday, you’re cautious. The last thing you need is a surprise attack by another contestant, or another trickster.

However, what you do not expect, is for a loud bang to sound from the inside of the shack as you begin to creep closer.

“Please,” the voice is desperate, strained from yelling, “is there anyone out there?”

You freeze right in your tracks.

“Please,” a broken plea as you hear a sniffle coming from behind the closed door. “Someone, help me…”

You blink, unsure if what you’re hearing is correct. Yet, at the sound of the sobs becoming louder the closer you get, you know that whoever is inside of that shack must be desperate. Faintly, you swear you can even make out the sound of scratching coming from within, as if whoever is trapped inside is attempting to claw their way out in vain.

Pausing right in front of the door, you take a low breath in.

“Are you alright?” Your voice comes out softer than normal, but still loud enough for the other person to hear through their sobs.

Immediately, it’s like they go still. “Is someone there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” you gently reassure them. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Oh, thank you,” a shuddering inhale. “Please, let me out of here. I- I- I swear I’ll be good and do whatever you want. Just please,” he sniffles once more, “let me out.”

“Do you know where you are?” You ask, crouching down in front of the door to examine the lock.

“No! It’s dark, and all I was told was that the games have begun.” He replies, a wail to his words. “What the fuck does that mean? Are you hear to kill me? Am I going to die? I don’t want to be a victim to someone pretending to play Jigsaw.”

You snort a bit at that. Yeah, that’s certainly one way to put it.

“I’m not going to hurt you, as long as you don’t hurt me. Okay?” You say, pulling out some of those pins from your pocket. “I know it might be hard to trust the words of a stranger right now, given the circumstances, but we’re going to have to believe in each other right now. I’ll tell you everything I can once I know I can trust you. Do you understand?”

A small pause where you can just tell that the male stuck inside of the shack is wiping at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good,” you nod. “Now, I have a few questions for you before hand. They are meant to help you, and I know they might be frustrating at first, but we both need to understand your situation fully. Tell me everything you can see inside the room with you.”

A moment passes by in silence. Then another, and another.

“I can’t make out anything, it’s too dark.” Comes his reply, voice small as if scared that’s not the answer you want to hear from him. “It’s cramped, and I can’t move my legs.”

You blink. “Are you hurt?”

“No!” Immediately, he responds before clearing his throat slightly. “No, I’m not. I promise. It’s just really cramped in here.”

“Alright. Do you have anything of value on your person?” You ask. “Like a phone, or a watch?”

“I have my watch, but no phone.” He tells you, and from the sounds of things, is calming down the more you talk with him.

“Is it analog or digital?” You ask, beginning to pick the lock holding him hostage in the shack.

“Analog.”

You smile faintly. “Describe it to me.”

“Well, my one brother got it for me for my birthday last year, and it has a brown strap,” he starts prattling off. “The face is white, and the numbers are gold…” he trails off. “Hey, why are you so interested in my watch?”

The lock clicks, and you stand back to your feet.

“I’m not.” Comes your blunt reply. “But you’ve stopped crying, haven’t you?”

The male goes silent, contemplating your words.

“It’s unlocked.” You say, turning the handle to crack the door open just an inch.

However, what you don’t expect is for the door to fling itself open almost instantly. Reflexively, you jump back, now eyeing the man that lays on his back on the ground as the door rests wide open.

He groans, eyes closed in pain. “Ow.”

“My bad, I forgot you were probably sitting against it.” You chuckle, dusting off your knees casually.

His eyes open, and you notice how sharp his features are. Though, that’s not what stands out to you the most.

The bright pink hair cropped short to his head draws your immediate gaze, and you can only quirk a brow in response. From the length of his torso, he also appears quite tall, too.

“Thank you,” he shifts his face towards you, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“Don’t mention it.” You shrug him off. “Can you stand?”

Slowly, the male nods, pushing himself to his feet in the next second.

You’re right, he is tall. Nothing you can’t handle, though.

“What’s you name?” Your eyes trail over his figure from top to bottom, and he has to suppress the pleasant shiver than wants to caress his spine as you do so.

“Mingi.” He breathes, heart pounding inside of his chest.

“Nice to meet you, Mingi,” you nod once. “Though, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

You move around him, inspecting what little you can see inside the now unlocked shack. Looks like there really is nothing of importance inside. All that greets you is a tiny enclosed space with four wooden walls. Not even enough room to lay down on the ground comfortably.

Turning back to him, you see him standing a little ways to the side, wiping at the dried tears on his face.

“Hey, it’ll be okay.” You smile assuringly at him before introducing yourself. “I know it’s terrifying, but we’ll get through this. Okay?”

He nods, almost vigorously. “Okay.”

“Leaving you by yourself is more dangerous right now than exploring with me, but I won’t force you to come with me if you don’t want to.” You begin to explain. “I-“

“I’ll come with you.” His response is immediate, almost eager, as he cuts you off before you can even continue.

“I won’t lie, you could die either way. These games are not meant to be easy.” You meet his gaze.

“What even are these games?” He asks, swallowing a bit thickly as he watches you pull out that small knife of yours.

“Death games. Insanity games. Whatever you want to call them.” You say, taking one final look around the clearing you’re in. “They’re a type of survival game, if you will. Either you hunt or be hunted while you attempt to find a way out. Only one is allowed to survive in the end, but not this time.” You meet his gaze once more from over your shoulder, smiling reassuringly at him. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Who, in their right mind, would do this to somebody? Why hasn’t anyone caught the people behind this?” He asks, frown tugging at his features.

You let out a sigh, motioning for him to lead on with your head as you reenter the maze. He’s a bit hesitant at first, but with a small quirk of your brow, he doesn’t argue.

“I’ll guide you, don’t worry. This is more of a precaution for me, than you,” you tell him.

“You’re the one with a knife.” He mutters.

“Exactly,” you hum. “So just follow my lead.” He shoots you a pointed look from in front of you. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, you freed me from my chains,” he turns back to face front, turning right on your command. “Least I can do is listen to you.”

You find his wording a bit odd, but relevant nonetheless. Either way, you’re just glad he’s being compliant for now.

“To answer your question, Mingi,” the male nearly shudders when you say his name, though it’s not in the context he would prefer. “The people behind these games are not regular people. In fact, they’re not even human at all. They haven’t been caught because they don’t want to be caught.”

“What do you mean?” There’s a certain tone of wariness to his voice which you have no problem picking up on.

“When is a door not a door?” You quirk a brow knowingly.

“When it’s ajar.” Comes his immediate answer.

“Exactly.” You respond.

“I don’t get it.” He shakes his head, pausing mid-step and causing you to almost run into his back due to how closely you had been following him. “What’s a riddle have to do with anything?”

“Sorry, long shot for me to think you would have understood that reference.” You chuckle. “No, just that there was a show I used to watch that had a particular season which dealt with the sort of inhuman creature these eight devils are.”

“There’s eight of them?” The surprise can only mask the fear so much.

“Yes.” You blink. “There are eight of them.”

“But what are they?” He presses.

You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as your spine straightens. “They’re tricksters. Powerful ones at that, too. Demons who love causing misery, and tormenting those that are unfortunate enough to get caught up in their games.”

“Tricksters? You mean like Loki?” His brow furrows.

“Worse than that.” You shake your head. “From what I understand, the only way to tell them apart from other contestants is their eyes. Each of them has a specific eye colour unique to their powers and personalities. The colours designate age order, too.”

“Do you know what each of them are?” He asks, beginning to continue through the maze at the sudden jerk of your chin forward.

“If you’re asking me if I know what they look like, I do not. Except for two.” You reply honestly. “I only know a few of their names, too.”

“They have names?” His inquiry is so genuinely curious, the corner of your lips twitch upwards slightly.

It’s been a long time since you’ve remembered what that has felt like.

“Yes.” You confirm. “Everything in this world does, even those forgotten by time.”

“Then how does anyone remember them if they are forgotten?” His brow furrows once more in thought.

“You just need to know where to look.” You share a look with him, something sparking behind your eyes that he and his brothers have not seen in a long time.

“How do you know so much about them, anyways?” He asks, casually glancing at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“There was a time where I was curious about the myths surrounding these games of theirs, and why the supposed victor always came back changed in some way.” You reply, shrugging him off. “It didn’t lead me anywhere.”

The way you curl in on yourself, even the slightest bit, has him backing off for now.

Little do you know of the anger bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin for you. He knows what happened. He knows what that bitch did to you to make you stop researching so excitedly about them. Research which you have never bothered to touch again.

“Well, whatever knowledge you still possess, I’m certainly glad to be on your team with it.” He grins, eyes crinkling at the sides.

His response catches you by surprise. So much so, that you end up freezing in your tracks, blinking at him in shock. No one has ever reacted positively to knowing you’ve spent time dedicated to learning about these tricksters. No one.

“You are?” Your voice is so much more tender, the uncertainty bleeding through in the way you suddenly feel so small standing next to him.

Mingi takes a moment to look you over, a sort of softness shining within his eyes that you don’t quite understand.

“Of course I am!” His grin widens. “Any knowledge is good knowledge, especially when I don’t have the slightest clue of what’s going on. I’m counting on you.”

You smile faintly, the radiance of his own expression managing to lift your spirits the slightest bit, even given the situation you currently find yourselves in.

“Knowledge is it’s own weapon, too.” He continues. “I think a lot of people forget that sometimes. That, or they fear what someone with knowledge can become.”

Your lips twitch slightly, shoulders relaxing even just the faintest bit. “You’re right.”

“Now, come on,” he shoots you a reassuring smile before he begins trudging forwards through the maze once more. “I think I see an opening up ahead.”

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milkstoner · 1 year

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turns out you cant show my art historian ass a picture of my anime boy without me going absolutely crazy over it. here we go

the boot is not only sexy but is used as a repoussoir, aka as a way to direct the viewer’s eye to the main composition. like almost a fourth of the image is occupied by that boot, and it is BLURRY, accentuating the perspective and establishing a real physical distance between you and malleus. it’s truly like, you wake up after tripping on a banana peel in front of him. in your daze you see the boot, then as your vision clears, you see malleus looking down at you in disapproval. he leans slightly so he can take a good look at you.

there’s a beautiful white light coming from above, from your right, but there is no way to know just how it got here; we are surrounded by stone and the framing focuses only on malleus. there are no windows in sight that could let a natural light into the room. truly, all you see is him, covered in a divine blue light, which undoubtedly has a comforting connotation; the light at the end of the tunnel, the angelic light a saint would see in their visions.

so you think you’re safe. you think he’s spared you, because he doesn’t look too angry, and because the unnatural light above him makes him look like a benevolent higher being. those of us who are observant, however, will notice the spindle of his staff glowing green and getting ready to ultimately throw a spell at you. in short, you will soon meet the same fate as miss aurora.

when you know the danger you’re in, you realize you’re trapped. everything around you is stone; nobody outside will hear your screams. they’ll only echo through the abyss of which he is law. but he warned you—not only does he use his staff as another way to separate you from him, he’s threatening you with it. he’s showing you his magestone as if telling you he won’t hesitate to use magic on you. whether your dazed mind realizes or not is between you and the great seven.

so he’s threatening you, but he does so completely effortlessly. look at how gently he holds his staff; there is no doubt that thing is very heavy, for it is… tall, but his fingers barely support it. it’s as if it floats in his hands. his palms don’t touch that staff. look at each of his fingers, starting with the right hand; only three fingers at most are making contact with what should be the heaviest part of the staff. that hand is directly below the enormous spinning wheel part. let’s look at his left hand… it’s literally caressing the shaft. his fingers are relaxed and the arm is comfortably resting on his throne. you can imagine him stroking the staff very gently… he might not even realize it, but he’s showing off his physical strength. if you were to hold that staff, you would have to use your strength, but he… does not. he doesn’t need to. and it really goes to reinforce the fact that he is a powerful, superior being, and that he needs just a little bit of magic, just a little bit of strength to get you on your knees and beg for mercy.

back to his face. GOD, what a fucking face… whew that sure is a face… hello, handsome… hey, i just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number. my god what a beauty. look at those piercing green eyes, colour of green chartreuse, fully intoxicating and contrasting with his deep raven hair. when you look into those eyes is when you realize you’re fucked. there’s something about how unnatural they look, how bright, how unapologetically magical they are that is fully ensorcelling. they glow the same green as his spindle; they contain the same danger. and yet those threatening eyes are so beautiful, framed by thick, dark lashes; you can’t help but admire them.

those beautifully defined lips, yes… tell me they’re not desirable. tell me they’re not tempting. the top one is thinner and darker, a purple, highlighting the cupid’s bow. that’s all i can say really those are nice kissable lips.

this card really perfectly evokes malleus’ sublimity. here, i mean sublime in its philosophical senses, particularly edmund burke’s definition. doesn’t this card look like a dream—a dream of danger, a dream of delightful horror? the blurriness of the boot evokes a confusion and separates you from the threat. you watch him in adoration, for he is gorgeous, though you have this unexplainable uneasiness, this anxiety. you don’t know what’s going to happen; in fact, the lighting has you thinking you’re not even conscious. you are struck by fear and attraction, a delightful horror. you’re at his feet, worshipping him, and you think it’s enough to make him take pity on you; and it just might.

#malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #twst #malleus twst #twst malleus

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j-eryewrites · 1 year

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The Blind Banker (Final)

Part 14 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: 10. k

Warnings: Guns, violence with weapons, violence with non-weapons, strangling, kidnapping, Sherlock is Sherlock, mentions of death, traumatic responses (let me know if I missed any)

*I woke up one day while writing this chapter and decided to be a poet.

There was no meowing. No incessant begging from Bjørn. In fact, it was quiet. Quiet was nice. Y/N snuggled deeper underneath the blanket. Her brow furrowed. The sheets were soft like they were when they had just been washed. However, Y/N knew for a fact she hadn’t washed her sheets. She dared to open her eyes. Her body went tense as she shot out of bed. Nothing was stranger than waking up in a bedroom that looked eerily similar to your own. The blanket was a different colour. There was a desk in the corner. A desk Y/N knew that she did not own. The closet door was open. A wide variety of men’s button-ups and trousers were present. They weren’t Jim’s. Her eyes narrowed on a purple button-up. In a wave of recognition, Y/N groaned and her face fell into her hands. She was in Sherlock’s room.

Just like the light seeped through the curtains, her memory of last night had come back to her. She was helping Sherlock. John had passed out on the table and it seems that she had passed out on the couch. Now, how she had ended up in Sherlock’s bed was a mystery. There’s no way Sherlock brought me in here, Y/N thought.

The warmth of Sherlock’s arms around her. Her head rested in the crook of his neck. The scent of him clouded her senses. A kiss on her forehead–a kiss goodnight. Y/N’s face went red.

No. You’re just missing Jim.

She tapped her cheeks and shoved the thoughts of Sherlock into the back of her mind. They, the thoughts, were just a product of loneliness. Jim had been gone a few days already. Jim.

Y/N started to feel up in the surrounding areas. Her hands searched for the familiar shape of her phone. That small rectangular object soon became like a lifeline in this modern world. It astounded Y/N how much power such a tiny thing contained: the internet, long-distance communications, and entertainment. Another groan escaped her mouth once Y/N realized her phone was not in sight. She’d have to get out of bed. The warm bed. It smelled like Sherlock.

No. Stop it.

With that, she pulled back the covers and jumped out of the bed. Every morsel in her body protested. A protest she refuted with her sanity on the line. She was just missing Jim. Her boyfriend. The magnificent Jim made her have butterflies. The gentlemen. The man who ceased to amaze her.

Her hand reached out to open the door, yet she found her hand hovering over the brass knob. It was a simple thing. Turn the knob and open the door. But the thought of having John just outside the door, or Mrs Hudson–Sherlock. Y/N’s cheeks burned and she was absolutely positive her face had turned a scarlet shade of red.

Against her better judgment, Y/N opened the door. It creaked open with the loudest screech known to mankind. She winced as the sound echoed throughout the flat.

“Good afternoon,” Sherlock announced from the living room.

Y/N gulped as she tried to straighten her thoughts. She could very well go back into the room and pretend she had never arisen from her sleep. A suggestion that her mind heavily agreed with, but Sherlock knew. He knew she was awake.

“Morning,” Y/N squeaked. She quickly cleared her throat, and her normal voice returned, “morning.”

“It’s the afternoon,” Sherlock corrected.

“Right, good aft–wait what? What time is it?”

“Just a little past four o’clock.” Sherlock chuckled as he heard Y/N reprimand herself for sleeping in so late.

Sherlock was still making his way through the crates. His finger carefully flipped through the pages. They flicked against each other before Sherlock shut the book, placing it in the never-ending pile.

“What’s a book that everybody would own?” Sherlock wondered. His mind tired from the stream of words that filled his mind. He was even sure he had a couple of paper cuts from all the books he had handled throughout the night, but that was a problem for a later date.

“Huh?” Y/N asked. Her mind was still groggy from her slumber.

“A book that everybody would own,” He placed down the newest book in his hand. His eyes instinctively flew to the woman in the room and his heart did a little backflip. Her cheeks were the perfect shade: rosy and sweet. Her hair was in a bit of a mess and her clothes were wrinkled, but Sherlock couldn’t help but think how overtly domestic the scene was. Her in his flat coming out of his room having slept in his bed. What was he thinking?

“I don’t know…maybe a dictionary? Bible? Harry Potter?” Y/N muttered.

Books. Right. The case. Sherlock nodded and ran over to his bookshelf and pulled out the allotted novels. His fingers found the pattern once again. “Fifteen. Entry one.” He mumbled to himself. His brow furrowed again as it always did once seeing the words. This time it was “add.” Not helpful.

“Well, I’m going to go shower,” she looked down at her outfit. “And change. And eat. Just everything…”

Sherlock nodded, paying her no mind. He flicked through the next book; it was Harry Potter. Same result. His last hope was the Bible. A book Sherlock wasn’t sure why he owned. He was in no way a religious man and never was. As he scanned page fifteen he recalled that he had used it for a case once. A serial killer had been using religious themes and reasonings. Sherlock didn’t think he had read a book as fast as he read the Bible. It took him twenty-three hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-three seconds. Then his eyes landed on the word, “I.” He closed the book with a thunderous thud.

Sherlock tilted his head. He couldn’t have slammed the book that hard. He opened the book once more to snap it shut. The sound was like the squeak of a mouse compared to the noise from earlier. The sound came from John’s room.

John emerged from his room. His eyes fell down to the pile of books that had appeared on the desk he called his bed last night. As if on cue, John’s neck was filled with a soreness. Just then he made a promise to himself to never fall asleep at that desk again.

“I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight,” Sherlock stated.

“Actually, I’ve, er, got a date,” John smiled.

“What?” Sherlock asked. He eyed John up and down. He was dressed quite nicely: a button-up and his beige trousers, the ones he only wore for nice occasions. Those occasions, Sherlock had noted, tended to dates with women.

“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun,” John commented.

Without missing a beat, Sherlock replied, “That’s what I was suggesting. You, me, and Y/N.”

“No, it wasn’t ... at least I hope not,” John mumbled. Sherlock’s idea of fun was chasing criminals and digging through the bodies at St. Mungo's to find parts to experiment with.

“Where are you taking her?” Sherlock asked.

“Er, cinema,” John replied.

“Oh, dull, boring, predictable.”

John scoffed. What did Sherlock know about dates?

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of paper. He unwrinkled it and handed it over to John who had a puzzled look on his face.

“Why don’t you try this?” Sherlock suggested.

John eyed his friend carefully. Sherlock seemed genuine enough. John looked down at the paper. It was a circus event. “Yellow Dragon Circus?”

“In London for one night only,” Sherlock said. His voice presented the event as if it was an Elton John concert.

John chuckled. “Thanks, but I haven't come to you for dating advice. Never have. Never will.”

_________

There was a knock on Y/N’s door and then a hiss from Bjørn. A combination that could only mean one thing–Sherlock.

“One second!” Y/N exclaimed. She hastily picked up the brown cat who was adamant about staring at the door. Bjørn crouched low. His ears perched back. He was waiting to pounce on the man who’d walk in sooner or later. But when he was lifted up from his defensive position, Bjørn meowed in protest. His meows only grew louder when Y/N threw him into her bedroom, the door closing behind her.

“Sherlock,” Y/N said. Her face was flushed from her struggle to place Bjørn away from Sherlock.

“Y/N.” He replied. He looked her up and down as she stood in the doorway. He frowned slightly. “Can I come in?”

Y/N’s eyes widened and shifted to the side. “Yeah, just come on–”

“I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight,” Sherlock stated.

“Oh, okay?” Y/N replied. “Where’s John?”

“On a date,” Sherlock stated.

“Right. Let me just…” She pointed to her room, where the tiny demon’s meowing had turned into a roar.

She hurried to her room making sure to take extra care to open and close the door. Bjørn hissed at her for thwarting his attempts to catch Sherlock. She profusely apologized only earning a glare from Bjørn.

“I’m going out,” Y/N explained.

Bjørn’s eyes narrowed and his tail flicked side to side. It was a judgemental look.

“What? I’m just going out with Sherlock.”

Bjørn made a warning noise. It was a mix of a growl and a hum.

“Don’t judge me,” Y/N hissed back at her cat. “I’ll be back tonight. I promise.”

Bjørn made one last attempt to sway his owner otherwise, before meowing in acceptance. Just this once Bjørn would allow it. Y/N chuckled to herself. She was talking to a cat. A cat who absolutely despised Sherlock.

“Right, I’m going to open the door. Don’t pounce on Sherlock.”

Bjørn meowed in protest.

“Bjørn. Please.”

Bjørn’s eyes narrowed before walking in a circle and plopping down on the bed. His furry brown head was tucked underneath his tail. Y/N smiled softly and gave Bjørn a quick kiss on the head followed by a small pat. “Best cat ever.” Bjørn purred in content.

Without another word, Y/N left the room and accompanied Sherlock out into the cold evening air. It was a strange feeling just the two of them. Hardly, had they ever been alone, and when they were things tended to go sour except for last night.

Y/N thought of that night. She thought of how she woke up in Sherlock’s bed. An unquenchable curiosity filled her. How did she get into Sherlock’s bed?

“Sherlock?” Y/N pondered.

“Yes?” He replied with a raise of his brow. His eyes looked upon her as she was lost in thought. Her mind carefully thought through her next words.

“I remember falling asleep on the couch. How did I–”

“I carried you,” He replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Y/N couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, she quickly covered it up with a fake cough, hoping Sherlock hadn’t noticed. He did. “I always get a soreness in my spine when I sleep on that couch. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

It was a white lie. A half-truth. Yes, Sherlock did want to save her the pain, but in all honesty, he just wanted to hold her. To carry her figure in his arms. To smell her hair and perfume without being seen as a creep. Sherlock, in all honesty, wanted to pretend. Pretend that he could have that–have her. To pretend he wasn’t obligated to follow through with his genius status; to be normal and willingly dance with emotions. Something that entirely scared Sherlock and Sherlock wasn’t one to be scared. How could he have let a chemical defect in the brain grab a hold of him? Sherlock chalked it up to a moment of weakness. Never again would he indulge himself in such things. Yet here he found himself, with her, without John, pretending that once again they were not colleagues, neighbours, that she didn’t have another to call home. And then Y/N smiled at him. A sight that Sherlock could never tire of. He adored the way her lips parted and the way her eyes crinkled in the corner. He cherished how her cheeks grew a slight shade of pink whenever she smiled, something he had only seen her do. He liked how her eyes sparkled with emotion. Her face was so expressive and Sherlock could sit all day and night watching her. His eyes could observe every detail and still find something new and beautiful about her.

Sherlock tore his gaze away from her. His cheeks turned a shade darker than would be applicable to the chilliness of the evening.

“Thank you,” Y/N said.

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock responded.

Y/N exhaled and the air in front of her turned into a fog. The warmth of her breath fought against the cold, only to disappear in defeat. “Where are we going?” Y/N asked.

Sherlock sighed. He’d have to tell her. Tell her that they were going somewhere for the case. That, truthfully, wasn’t the case in the first place. He saw something she’d like. An event she'd like to go to as friends. Sherlock never knew he could hate a word so much. It astounded him that in all those hours spent flicking through books the most common word that was page fifteen, word one, was “friend.” Friend. Friend. Friend. Friend. It was a taunt. An unavoidable truth. But for now, it was enough.

“Out,” was all Sherlock said. Again a half-truth. A white lie to push off the inevitable, but for now, Sherlock would pretend. That’s all he could do.

_________

John was not taking dating advice from Sherlock.

Dinner was a success. Sarah and he talked about everything from work to their worst dating experiences. A conversation that was meant to be fun. However, somewhere along the candle-lit dinner and fantastic pasta, Sarah mentioned her worst dating experience involved a dinner, and then a trip to the cinemas. John paled on the spot and hurriedly excused himself to the bathroom.

John most definitely was not taking dating experience from Sherlock. Yet there he stood in a bathroom stall, his phone out, and finger frantically ringing Sherlock’s number.

In a hushed voice, John asked Sherlock for the number to the box office of that circus. He could practically hear Sherlock’s smug face as he told John he had already reserved tickets for him. John rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. Sherlock practically rubbed it in John’s face. Information about the location and time were exchanged, and John found himself thanking Sherlock. John had thanked Sherlock for the dating advice he did not take.

Within an hour, dinner had finished, and John was showing Sarah to the next course of their date, the circus.

“It's been years since anyone took me to the circus,” Sarah admitted excitedly.

The tone of her voice had made John smile. Maybe he’d start taking more dating advice from his friend. John thought about the idea and then brushed it off. This was a one-time thing. A moment of weakness.

“Right, yes! Well, it’s ... a friend recommended it to me. He phoned up.” John replied.

“Ah. What are they, a touring company or something?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know much about it,” John confessed.

Suddenly their path was illuminated by a scarlet shade of red. Hung above them were red lanterns leading up to the building John could only have guessed was their destination.

“I think they’re probably from China!” Sarah exclaimed.

John chuckled to cover up the tightness that had formed in his chest. “Yes, I think ... I think so, yes.” He was already thinking of ways to scold his friend if what he thought was gut was telling him was right.

As they entered the building and found the box office, John noted the vast amount of people there. It surprised him. A one-night-only event. An event that Sherlock knew about just so happened to be quite popular. His friend wasn’t known for the popular sort of events.

“Hi. I have, er, two tickets reserved for tonight.” John said to the box office manager.

“And what’s the name?” They asked.

“Er, Holmes,” John replied.

The manager nodded and riffled through the numerous envelopes behind the counter. Their finger came to a halt over one and quickly handed it over to John.

“Actually, I have four in that name.” The manager responded as they looked at John and Sarah.

John shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. We only booked two.”

Suddenly a familiar voice appeared behind John. “And then I phoned back and got one for myself and Y/N as well,” Sherlock explained.

John looked back at his friend in disbelief. Behind the consulting detective was none other than Y/N. The look on her face as she looked at John and his date then Sherlock meant that John wouldn’t have to bother reprimanding his friend. She’d already had that covered.

Sherlock ignored the pair of eyes that were glaring at him as he introduced himself to John’s date. “I’m Sherlock.” He turned around to Y/N, motioning for her to introduce herself.

The death glare she had been giving Sherlock moments before had evaporated into a polite smile. “Hello, I’m Y/N.”

Sarah looked at Sherlock and Y/N then at John. “Er, Hi.” She reached out and shook Y/N’s hand.

“Hello,” Sherlock smiled back. His fake polite smile.

“Are you two here on a date as well?” Sarah asked, unsure of where to take the conversation. It was clear to her the two people standing in front of her knew John.

Y/N’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth to correct Sarah when Sherlock cut her off.

“Yes.”

Y/N looked at Sherlock and tugged on his sleeve. “Excuse us…” Y/N said. Her tense voice betrayed her polite smile.

She dragged Sherlock down the hall, far away from John and Sarah. “You said we were going out!” She hissed at him.

“We are. Going out that is.”

“I’m not–Sherlock,” Y/N groaned. “We are crashing John’s date. It’s rude.” She then began to mutter to herself. Something along the lines of ‘why do I ever trust him with anything.’

She grumbled in frustration before setting her sights back on Sherlock. “Was this your plan all along?” Sherlock did not need to respond for Y/N to come to her conclusion. “Why are we here? Is it to spy on John? Or it is about th–”

“I thought you and John might’ve liked it. It is a Chinese circus after all. I was planning on taking just you and John, but then he had a date.”

Y/N chuckled at the response. “So you told him to take his date here?”

“Yes.”

“So this is not the case. At all?” Y/N asked. She had an underlying suspicion about the circus. The same one John had.

“No,” Sherlock stated. It was a lie, but Y/N didn’t need to know that right now.

Y/N eyed him carefully. “Sherlock, if you are lyi–”

“I’m not.”

He most definitely was.

Y/N sighed and placed her hands on her hips. “Alright. But if you are lying,” Sherlock opened his mouth to tell her once again that he was not. “Ah. Just let me finish. If you are lying, I will not speak to you for a week. That is a promise.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How are you supposed to get your job done then?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’m a big girl,” she immediately replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then agreed. He couldn’t go back on his word now. His word that he knew was a lie. A week with no words shared between Y/N and Sherlock. Not horrible. It could be worse, Sherlock thought.

_______

Y/N and Sarah had accompanied each other to the loo, per Sarah’s request. John and Sherlock stood awkwardly on the stairs near the entrance to the theatre. Couples and other attendees walked past them. John’s eyes followed them. His mind was in debate as to whether to voice his opinions or not.

“You couldn’t let me have just one night off?” John grumbled.

Sherlock had to keep up the act. John would most assuredly tell Y/N and Sherlock would be damned to let the truth slip from anyone’s mouth but his. A determination that was immediately thrown out the window the minute John had asked. “Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England …”

“... dressed as a tightrope walker. Come on, Sherlock, behave!”

Sherlock leaned down to John and in a hushed voice said, “We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place …”

“Fine. You do that; Drag Y/N along. I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.”

Sherlock sternly looked at John. “I need your help.”

“I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John could only stare at his friend in disbelief. “You are kidding.”

“What’s so important?” Sherlock asked. There was a sense of urgency in his voice.

John sighed. “Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. D’you want me to chase some killer while I’m trying to …” John was not going to answer Sherlock. “Why’s Y/N here?”

Sherlock went stiff. “If you need my help, then why is Y/N here? She’s capable enough–” John cut himself off. “Oh.”

“What?” Sherlock asked yet again.

“You didn’t tell her.”

“Didn’t tell her what, John?” Sherlock questioned knowing full well what he hadn’t told Y/N.

John rolled his eyes. “Right, Sherlock. You’ve got to stop-”

“Stop what Jo–”

“She’s taken, Sherlock! Don't think I noticed that bit there where you told Sarah you two were together this evening.”

Sherlock turned his head away from John. His jaw was clenched. At that moment, Sherlock regretted having taught John how to read people. It seemed John could see right through Sherlock. “She has a wonderful boyfriend who she likes a lot. She’s your employee. Not to mention she’s our land lady’s niece–granddaughter, whatever, I’m not quite sure. But Sherlock, you couldn’t have picked the–”

Suddenly Sarah and Y/N emerged from the corner. John immediately flashed a pained smile, hoping he just hadn’t outed Sherlock.

“Heyyy,” John called out.

“Ready?” John asked Sarah. She nodded. Then he offered her his arm and then guided her into the theatre, but not before sending Sherlock a warning look.

Sherlock and Y/N stood in the stairwell watching John and his date go. To say it was uncomfortable between the two of them as strangers passed them by, would be an understatement. It was as if the air turned into smoke, making it hard for Sherlock to breathe and even concentrate. He couldn’t help how his eyes fell on her hands which were fumbling with each other. He wanted to take a page out of John’s book. He wanted to offer her his arm and guide her in, but that expression John had given him told Sherlock otherwise.

So when Sherlock noticed a warmth at his side, he couldn’t help but gasp. Y/N’s arms hugged his own, holding him close. Sherlock blinked. Just the touch of her hands through his coat lit a fire in his body. When her quiet voice broke through his spell, to ask if they should go in, Sherlock knew he was lost. She sensed his hesitancy and took it upon herself to guide Sherlock in and Sherlock knew, he’d rather be lost at her side as neighbours, friends, colleagues, or as a man and his land-lady’s grand-niece, than to not be lost at all.

The two of them entered the performance area. There was a stage on one side of the hall. The red curtains were drawn with a thin layer of dust on them. In the middle of the room was a large circle. It was painted onto the worn-out floors. The room was lit by candlelight and lights from above that were so dim, one would think that they were not even on. Around the circle stood the guests. There were no seats in sight. Sherlock noticed John and Sarah on one end of the circle. John smiled as Sarah whispered something into his ear.

Soon Sherlock found himself standing a few feet away from John and Sarah. Enough space that Y/N deemed to be comfortable, but not so much that they’d have front-row seats to John and Sarah’s date. Sherlock and Y/N stood towards the back of the crowd. Y/N had to manoeuvre her position until she had a clear view of the scene in front of her.

All of a sudden there was the thundering of drums and YN couldn’t help the grin that appeared on her face. She was not going to let the guilt of possibly ruining John’s date take away from the experience in front of her. Then a woman with a heavily painted face and wearing traditional Chinese Opera clothing entered the circle. Y/N gasped at the sight. The colour and designs of the clothing astounded her. Sherlock chuckled slightly at her response. It was like watching a child on Christmas.

The woman raised her hand into the air and the drummer finished his song. Then she walked over to a large object in the centre of the circle. It was covered with a white cloth. A cloth that was quickly removed to reveal a gigantic crossbow. Just like the dress the woman was wearing, the crossbow was painted and carved with intricate designs. Next, the woman picked up a large arrow. The silver edge glimmered in the dim light. Her careful hands presented the arrow to the audience earning some awes before loading it into the crossbow. The woman reached into her pocket and withdrew a feather. She placed it onto the crossbow. Instantly, the arrow was released. It flew across the room lodging into a target on the other side of the circle.

While the other women and guests in the room gasped at the sight, startled by the sudden action, Sherlock found that Y/N only smiled. Her giddiness only grew. She turned to Sherlock and raised herself up on the tip of her toes. As a piece of instrumental music began to play, a new actor entered the scene, and Y/N whispered into Sherlock’s ear.

“A Classic Chinese escapology act,” Y/N said softly. Sherlock beamed down at her. His breath caught as she glanced up at him. She pointed to the actor who was now being chained up to the target the arrow was lodged in moments before.

She then pointed over to the crossbow. “The crossbow on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.”

Sherlock nodded taking in the information. He tried his very best to ignore the overstimulation his senses experienced being so close to her; Her smell, the sound of her voice, and the touch of her hand as she nudged him to look at certain aspects of the scene all drew him in deeper.

He ignored the addition of padlocks on the chains that held the actor. He ignored the cry of the warrior as he showed the audience his predicament. Sherlock ignored the build-up of the music and the crashing of cymbals. He was only focused on her. Something very bad. Horrific event. He was here for the case. He should be watching the scene or observing the people, yet he could not tear his eyes away from Y/N.

“Look,” Y/N exclaimed. She was practically jumping. Sherlock finally did look away. The woman had taken out a knife. Y/N had opened her mouth to explain when Sherlock interrupted her.

“She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl,” Sherlock whispered into Y/N’s ear.

“How d-” She began.

“I do my research,” Sherlock smiled. “Especially with things that those I care about enjoy.”

Sherlock didn’t notice the flush that appeared on Y/N’s face. He was too busy hiding his own. His words had betrayed him. His mouth had spoken out of turn. He forced his attention onto the display in front of them. The drums and erhu playing couldn’t have been loud enough to drown out the sound of his beating heart.

The Opera Singer does just what Sherlock had said – she reaches up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabs the knife into the bottom of the sack. The Sand began to pour out, grain by grain. As if on cue the warrior cried out once more. His body flailed in an attempt to escape the chains. As the sand continues to pour out of the bag, a weight attached to the other side begins to lower closer and closer to the crossbow.

Suddenly the warrior whips out one hand. John is watching the weight lower, and Sarah now looks nervously at it as it crosses paths with the sandbag on its way up. They turn to look at the warrior as he gets his other hand free and starts tugging at the chains around his neck. The weight is now only a few feet above the bowl and Sarah clings tightly to John’s arm, grimacing. The warrior cries out again as he pulls at his chains and the weight gets ever closer. As it almost reaches the lip of the bowl the warrior loosens the chains around his neck and struggles to free himself. The sandbag raises all the way to the ceiling just as the weight crashes down. The arrow flung across the room. There was a thud. The arrow had hit the target. The warrior was nowhere to be seen. There was a cheer and the warrior emerged. The crowd let out a collective breath. All was fine.

Y/N laughed along as cheers and applause filled the theatre. She hadn’t noticed Sherlock missing from her side. She hadn’t noticed Sherlock had to force himself away to the open stage door. He needed to clear his mind and focus on the case.

A wave of silence fell over the crowd as the woman raised her hand into the air. For the first moment in the night, she opened her mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider.”

Broken applause once again filled the air as the woman walked out of the circle. Suddenly a masked acrobat descended from the ceiling. His body rolled and swirled in the air as the silk red cloth around his waist unravelled. The audience gasped in excitement.

“Did you see that?!” Y/N exclaimed. She turned to face Sherlock only to find him not there. Her face fell slightly. She looked around the crowd. Her eyes scanned the room watching closely to catch sight of a head of dark curls and sapphire blue eyes. Yet there was nowhere to be found.

As the acrobat continued to amaze the crowd with high sky high feats, Y/N withdrew from the crowd. Her eyes were on the sudden wave that rippled out from the curtain on the stage. The red fabric danced out from a single point. A crack in the red wall. There was a feeling in her mind; a feeling that it was Sherlock. A feeling that this wasn’t for pure entertainment. A feeling that this was all for the case, as everything was with Sherlock. A feeling that told her she should have left when she had the chance. A feeling that told her, her cat was right.

A feeling that became all too real when she saw Sherlock fly out from underneath the curtain. His back came crashing to the floor on his back. The masked warrior from before was on top of him. A silver knife in hand. John, the closest to the scene, lunged at the man knocking him off Sherlock. The knife flew from the attacker's hand. Y/N looked around the room as the attacker set his sights on John. Her eyes found a broom in the corner of the room and she darted over to retrieve it.

Everyone else in the room fled from the scene. The attacker, having stunned John, turned back to Sherlock who now stood shakingly on his feet. The attacker at some point had found another weapon–a sword. His arms were raised high into the air and aimed at Sherlock. A killing blow, but not before Y/N whacked him with the broom. The man grunted out in pain and swung the weapon at her. She dodged the attack and lodged the broom in the man’s side with a bruising force. Stunned, she hit him again, successfully knocking him in the head, and labelling him unconscious.

Y/N stands up breathlessly. Her hand on the broom tightened, unwillingly to let it go. Her eyes were on the unconscious form of their attacker. Sherlock limped over to her. His hand covered her grip on the broom. His warmth begged her to release it.

“It’s over. We’re okay,” Sherlock whispered to her. She closed her eyes tightly. Her grip was unwavering. “Look at me…please.” He placed his hands on the sides of her face. His thumb rubbed circles on her cheek.

She opened her eyes. Those tear-filled eyes met Sherlock’s. He swore she leaned into his touch. He could swear time froze as her breath returned to normal. Soon, she nodded and dropped the broom on the floor with a clang.

Behind them, Sarah ran over to John. Her hands hovered over his body to make sure he was okay. John was able to subdue her worry and then turned to Sherlock who was now removing the attacker’s shoe. A black lotus flower was tattooed on the man’s heel.

Y/N couldn’t help the tear that slid down her cheek. Her eyes met Sherlock’s. They were sad and disappointed. She had trusted Sherlock. He knew. He let her trust him. He let her believe that they were just going out. That this wasn’t the case. He couldn’t help but question why she never knew. She should have known. She should have walked away. She should have broken the mirage and stopped him from pretending. She bit her lip and shook her head at him. The silence had begun. A week from now she’d speak to Sherlock again. Though there was a thought in Sherlock’s mind, that she’d never speak to him again. The look in her eyes said it all.

_____

“ I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted,” muttered Dimmock. He rubbed his face and grumbled to himself.

“Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong,” Sherlock explained.

Dimmock turned around harshly on his heels. His eyes bore into Sherlock.

“Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable.” John added.

“These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back.” Sherlock finished.

“Get what back?” Dimmock hissed.

Sherlock bit his lip and refused to reply.

John sighed. “...We don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Dimmock gasped in disbelief. “Mr Holmes …I’ve done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime.”

Sherlock’s silence said it all. Dimmock sighed and collapsed into his chair. His hand worked hard to remove the stress lines that had already begun to appear on his face.

This case was going to be the death of him.

________

The comforting sight of 221B was not a comfort at all. They all held a collective sigh of defeat when they entered Sherlock and John’s flat. Sarah was still in tow and, to Sherlock’s surprise, so was Y/N. Though not a word was shared between the two of them as she brushed by him to brew some tea.

“They’ll be back in China by tomorrow,” John groaned.

“No, they won’t leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous,” Sherlock said. His voice was tight. He refused to give up. Instead, he focused on the photos on the wall. Their yellow code bared at him. “Somewhere in this message, it must tell us.”

Sarah looked around the room. Her coat was still on. “Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it,” she told John.

John turned to her. “No, no, you don’t have to go ... You can stay.”

“Yes, it would be better to study if you left now,” Sherlock uttered. He looked back at Sarah and John. His eyes noticed John’s glare. He couldn’t handle any more anger tonight. “Kidding,” Sherlock smiled in his fake manner. “Please stay if you’d like.”

Y/N scoffed from the kitchen. Her hand removed the tea bag and tossed it into the trash. Sherlock lowered his eyes to the floor. Sarah looked nervously toward Sherlock and Y/N. She caught Y/N’s eye and smiled awkwardly.

“Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?” She asked.

Sherlock closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “Oh, God.”

John smiled back at Sarah and entered the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find it almost empty apart from a couple of bottles, and a can containing an eyeball lying on a shelf. He sighed.

Y/N peered over her shoulder at John. “Hey,” She whispered. “Take out. On me.” John smiled and tried to refuse her offer but quickly gave in knowing Y/N wouldn’t let him. He watched her as she stepped out of the flat to call the take-out place. He noted the way Sherlock’s eyes followed her before returning to the photos before him.

“So this is what you do, you and John, Y/N. You solve puzzles for a living.”

Sherlock bit his lip. “Consulting detective,” He corrected.

“Oh,” Sarah replied before backing away from Sherlock. She strolled over to John who sat in the kitchen. He continued to frantically look through the cabinets making a mental note to task Y/N for getting groceries for which he made sure she’d get a pay raise.

John cracked open another cabinet and found a small bag of cheese puffs. He quickly picked a clean bowl and poured the puff into it.

Suddenly the cheerful voice of Mrs Hudson popped into the room. John felt a wave of relief wash over him as the woman carried a plate of snacks with her.

“Thank you so much,” John said. His voice was full of gratitude towards the elderly lady.

Mrs Hudson smiled and waved her hand dismissing them thanks. “I’ve done a punch, and a bowl of nibbles.” She explained before placing the tray on the table.

“Mrs Hudson, you’re a saint!” John muttered.

“All Y/N she came down and told me. If it was Monday, I’d have been to the supermarket!” She continued.

“No; thank you! Thank you!” John repeated.

Mrs Hudson quietly excused herself, allowing John and Sarah…and Sherlock some privacy.

As John and Sarah snacked on the treats Mrs Hudson provided, Sherlock continued to examine the photos.

“So these numbers – it’s a cypher,” Sarah stated.

“Exactly,” Sherlock said. His voice was tight.

“...And each pair of numbers is a word.” She continued.

John and Sherlock looked at Sarah in astonishment. “How did you know that?”

Sarah chuckled. She walked over to the photos on the wall and pointed to the photo. “Well, two words have already been translated, here.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. There were indeed translations. “John.” Sherlock beckoned. “John, look at this.”

John walked over to Sherlock.

“Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it!” Sherlock exclaimed. He pulled the photo close. “NINE” “MILL,” He read.

“Does that mean ‘millions’?” John asked.

“Nine million quid. For what?” Sherlock asked. He walked over to the coat rack and pulled on his coat and scarf. “We need to know the end of this sentence.”

“Where are you going?” John wondered.

“To the museum; to the restoration room. Oh, we must have been staring right at it!” Sherlock answered.

“At-at what?” Sarah questioned Sherlock.

“The book. The book – the key to cracking the cypher! Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.” Sherlock explained and without another word he had left 221B.

________

John and Sarah were quick to start up a conversation after Sherlock’s disappearance. A reason for Y/N to re-emerge from downstairs. She entered the room and told John and Sarah that takeout was on the way, before laying down on the couch.

John was worried that he’d replaced Sarah’s candidate for the worst date. In his Johnly manner, he found a way to apologize for the night only to have it turned into a bonding moment for the two of them.

“Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quiet night in just-just what the doctor ordered.” Sarah joked.

“Ha-ha-ha” John smiled back.

“Er, I mean, I’d love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much.”

“No, okay. You’ve got me there,” John replied.

Their laughter was cut off by knocking from downstairs. John stood up to go fetch the door only to have Y/N commanding him to return to Sarah.

“I’ll get the take-out,” She muttered before sending John back to Sarah. John was ever the gentleman but sometimes Y/N really wished John knew how to take help every so often.

She heard John and Sarah fighting over who set the table. A problem she wished to have instead of the manchild she called her boss. With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair. It was a mess, to say the least. From sleeping in late that day to having fought a man with a sword with a broom was not her idea of “going out” as Sherlock had put it.

Soon her steps came to a halt at the door. She turned the knob and swung it open. She doesn’t bother to take notice of the hooded man in front of her. She doesn’t notice there is no food in his hands as she rummages through her pockets for her wallet.

“Sorry to keep you,” She apologized. “How much is it?”

“Do you have it?” The man in front of her asked. He had a thick Chinese accent.

Y/N’s blood turned cold. “What?” Her voice trembled, praying that she had heard the man incorrectly.

“Do you have the treasure?” The man asked. His voice was low and threatening like a growl from a dog.

Y/N could only freeze as she saw the man remove a pistol from his side. Her lungs ceased to breathe and her vision turned black as a painful impact hit her head.

______

The door to 221B slammed with a force that shook the walls. Sherlock ran up the stairs. In his hand was the translation of the code. “John! John! I’ve got it!” Sherlock rejoiced.

He ran into the kitchen of his flat. The table was set for dinner. The punch and snacks Mrs Hudson had brought up earlier lay untouched. The table is empty of its occupants. He turned around to look in the living room. “John the cypher! The book! It’s the London A to Z that they’re using…”

Sherlock feels his face grow cold. The triumphant smile on his face falls. John wasn’t there. Neither was his date. Sherlock became utterly aware of how quiet the flat was. There was no shuffling of paper, no giggling, nothing.

Then Sherlock finds himself wandering down the stairs and towards a door. He finds himself listening in. It’s too quiet there as well. Sherlock knows he shouldn’t open her door. Sherlock knows that Y/N would be furious for him breaking into her flat again. But it was better for her to be mad than to not be there at all.

Sherlock’s worry only grew as he scavenged the flat for any sign of her. Nothing. Sherlock’s lungs collapsed as the air grew tight. He quickly reached into his pocket. His phone called the number and finally, he heard a noise. A buzzing from the other side of the living room. It was her phone. Sherlock’s mind began to run wild.

No. No. No. No. No.

The memory of the museum. The utter terror at the sound of the gun from the distance. The deadly sound from the room in which she was last seen. The image had pictured to find her flashed in his mind once again. Sherlock gasped out in pain.

No. No. No. No. No.

He isn’t sure if he’s saying it out loud. His thoughts and words merge into one. His only thought was her. He ran out of the flat and froze in his step. He scolds himself for not having seen it sooner. Along the hallway was that sickening yellow spray paint. The depiction on the wall was enough to break Sherlock. He bit his lip to muffle the cry.

He had broken the code. He knew what it meant. DEAD MAN.

There was no John. No, Sarah. But worst of all, no Y/N.

The words burned into his brain alongside the image of her lifeless body.

No. No. No. No. No.

He could still save her, Sherlock told himself. Still, save them. He gripped his hair tightly. The pain shook him from his terror just long enough for him to focus. He pulled out the translated photo once again.

“NINE MILL FOR JADE PIN DRAGON DEN BLACK …” Sherlock read. “... TRAMWAY.”

His eyes widened as he muttered the word “Tramway” once again.

Sherlock’s focus dissipated as a fog clogged up his mind. His watery blue eyes threatened to spill out. His hands crinkled the photo tightly. “Oh, Christ,” he whimpered.

Think! Sherlock, Think!

The tramway. He needs to find the tramway.

Sherlock rushed upstairs with a speed unknown to man. His eyes scoured the shelves landing on the folded map of London. He scurried over to the dining table. The map tore as his hands scrambled to get it open. Once it lays flat, Sherlock takes a finger and hunts for the tramway.

“There.” He slammed the table. Without another word, he’s gone. Fear fills his body. A fear that if he says anything, thinks, breathes, and doesn’t put every ounce of his will into finding them–to finding her, that they’d be gone. Sherlock would be all alone again. His heart, mind and soul were torn open for all to see. The man who’d let everything he cared about to get stolen away from him. Sherlock would be damned if he ever let that happen just like he was damned for loving her.

______

***

There was a dull ache. Not the needles and pins kind of ache, but the ache as if the world turned upside down and inside out with no warning. Y/N’s head throbbed as light from a nearby fire lit the room. Except, she wasn’t in a room. It was cold and wet. The walls were curved as if she was in a cave. Everything was dark except the fire in, what Y/N could clearly see, was a dustbin.

“Y/N?” John whispered.

“John?” Y/N winced as she tried to look around for the noise. Just behind her sat John and Sarah. Both of whom were tied to chairs. It took Y/N a moment to realize that she always was confined to a chair. Dark rope coiled around her ankles, wrists, and torso like black snakes.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

Y/N flashed him her best I’m just peachy face, but then realized her friend couldn’t actually have the pleasure of seeing it. “Does it look like I’m alright John?” She closed her eyes and tried to yank her wrists out of their trap.

Before John could answer another appeared. A clear and commanding voice echoed off the walls.

“A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket,” a woman’s voice recited.

Y/N raised her head to the voice. She looked strangely familiar. The tracksuit she wore and those sunglasses. It was the woman who had been taking photos of her and John all over London.

The woman approached Y/N and held up her chin. Behind her, Y/N could see two men. Their build reminded Y/N of the performers at the circus. The woman frowned slightly at the sight of the dried blood on Y/N's head. She tsked before moving to John and Sarah. As she left Y/N’s side, the two men replaced her. They whipped the chair around to face the other direction. Y/N could see John and Sarah clearly now. Out of the three of them, only Sarah was gagged. She was terrified. Her eyes were red from crying and her hair was tangled up.

“A Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes,” The woman explained.

John looked up at the woman confused. “I ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes.”

The woman smiled humorously. “Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.” She reached down and picked up John’s pockets. “Tickets under Sherlock Holmes’ name. A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yeah, he gave me that to look after,” John explained.

“Debit card in the name of S. Holmes,” The woman continued.

“Since when did you–?!” Y/N muttered.

“After the row with the chip and pin machine!!” John replied frantically.

The woman looked between Y/N and John.

“I realize what this looks like, but I’m not him.”

“We heard it from your own mouth,” stated the woman.

Now John was really confused. “What?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone ...” She repeated back to him.

John groaned. “Did I really say that?” John chuckled weakly as Y/N looked at him in disbelief.

“I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression…” John tried to say, but the woman silenced him with the raise of her pistol. He leaned back and closed his eyes prepared for the shot to fire. It never came.

“I am Shan.” The woman introduced herself.

“You’re ... you’re Shan,” Y/N muttered under her breath. “我有话要对你说.” (I have words to say to you.) Her anger from all the pain Shan had caused seethed through her voice. Y/N thought of Soo Lin. She thought of all those victims whose blood was on Shan’s hands.

Shan only offered Y/N a glance before turning back to John. “Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?”

She lifted her free hand to cock the pistol. Shan smiled and pulled back the trigger.

“No!” Y/N screamed.

Shan only chuckled. The barrel was empty. “It tells you that they’re not really trying.”

Then Shan motioned to the men behind her and one of them scurried to her side. He presented her with a clip. The metal of the bullets caught the light of the fire. Shan wasted no time loading the gun and cock it. The weapon found a resting place near John’s head.

“Not an empty gun. There are bullets now.”

“Okay,” John whispered.

“If we wanted to kill you, Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive…Do you have it?”

“Do I have what?” John questioned.

“The treasure.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John confessed.

Shan turned away from John and walked back over to Y/N. She looked at the men who nodded in understanding. Moments later the crossbow from the circus appeared. The arrow was already loaded. I would prefer to make certain.

“Everything in the West has its price, and the price for her life …” She lifted Y/N’s head to the light. “ ... information.”

John’s eyes widened. “No. Please–”

The men lift up Y/N’s chair and place her in front of the crossbow. She can’t help the sound that escaped her mouth. It was a cry. A plea. She’d had her life put on the line too many times. Each time Sherlock was there. How she prayed that Sherlock would come. The feeling of safety that came from his arms. Tears spilt down her cheeks as many thoughts flew about her mind. All the if’s that came if Sherlock couldn’t make it in time. All the if’s that came if the arrow lodged its way into her heart.

“Where’s the hairpin?” Shan demanded. “The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West, and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr Holmes, have been searching.”

John looked at Y/N’s frantic attempts to free herself from her bonds. “Please. Please, listen to me. I’m not ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“I need a volunteer from the audience!” Shan exclaimed.

“No, please. Please,” John begged.

“Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.” Shan patted Y/N on the head. Then she walked over to the crossbow. A silver knife glimmered in the firelight. It was raised into the air. The sharp blade had pierced its way into a sandbag. Just like the display at the circus.

Grain by grain the sand fell. The weight lowered closer and closer to the crossbow. Every second was an inch closer to death. Y/N’s skin began to burn. The snake-like rope rubbed against her wrists. The delicate skin broke, but the pain was nothing compared to what awaited her.

“Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion in a death-defying act.”

“Please!” John cried out. He was crying as he fought his own bondage. Desperate to reach Y/N before it was too late.

“You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends.” Shan complained. She walked over to Y/N and placed a black origami flower on her lap.

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes!” John screamed.

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Shan enunciated.

“You should, you know,” A voice thundered. It echoed off the walls and silence fell upon the group.

Y/N gasped. She knew that voice. She’d know that voice anywhere.

Shan spun around. She darted around the room to look for the source.

“Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him,” Sherlock stated.

Y/N couldn’t the shaky sigh of relief she felt. Sherlock was here.

Shan raised her gun defensively.

“How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?” Sherlock asked.

“Late?” Y/N trembled.

Sherlock felt his throat clench up at the sound of her voice. “That’s semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.”

“Well?” Shan asked.

“Well …” Sherlock chastised. “... the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.”

Suddenly Sherlock burst out of the shadows. There was a bang, as he knocked over the dustbin with the fire. The light snuffled out. Darkness took over.

Y/N could hear Shan’s breaths getting heavy. She could hear the trickling of the sand as it continued to spill out of the bag. The darkness triggered something in Y/N. Once again she was in the cabinet in the museum and the room chained to the heater. Fear overtook her body. Darkness and death had something in common they would disappear at the sign of light. Now all Y/N could do was pray that her light–Sherlock would free her.

Y/N cried out at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder.

“Shhh. It’s me.” Sherlock whispered.

“Sherlock…” Y/N whimpered. His hands trailed down her arms and found her wrists. His fingers made quick work of the bonds on her wrists. His hand moved up to find the rope around her torso when he was yanked away from her.

“Sherlock!” Y/N shrieked.

There was a gagging noise. Sherlock was being strangled. Once again his lungs began to scream. It could have been from the lack of oxygen. That vital compound his brain needed to pump the blood and fight back. But that was not the case. Every molecule in his body screamed out for her. The grains of sand piled higher and higher. The weight was ever closer to the crossbow. The arrow was just moments from stealing the place in her heart that was meant for him.

By some will of God, Sherlock was able to knock his attacker away. He scrambled back over to Y/N. His hands were a little bit less calculated and sure as he reached to undo the knots. Again Sherlock is pulled from her. The struggle for her life as well as his continued.

John observed the struggle of shadows and the gleam of the arrow. Sherlock wasn’t going to make it. John groaned as he did his best to stumbled forward. A mixed effort of carrying and dragging the chair across the floor to Y/N.

There was a thud and John fell to the floor. Sherlock grunted. Sarah whimpered. Y/N sobbed. Her body had given up. Her arms no longer flailed. The chair no longer creaked. Her mind was already made up. The arrow would become a part of her. Staked into her heart, next to her love of records and her stubbornly perfect cat.

Suddenly there was a grunt from beside her. John had freed his foot just enough to kick her chair to the floor. Y/N cried out in pain as her arm bared most of the impact. The weight dropped. The arrow released. Its path changed from Y/N’s heart to Sherlock’s attacker’s chest.

Sherlock was on his feet and next to Y/N within the blink of an eye. His mind was foggy from the lack of oxygen. His hand ripped off the rope that tied her to the chair. In an instant, he wrapped his arms around her. Her body pulled flush against him. His head was buried in her neck. His hand was around the pulse point on her wrist. He could feel her heart beating. Frantic, but alive. She clutched onto Sherlock. Her grip made no intent to let him go.

“It’s all right,” Sherlock soothed more for himself than the woman in his arms. “You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over.” His free hand found its way up and down her back in a comforting manner.

John groaned out in pain beside them. Sherlock looked down at his friend. A grateful look flickered in his eyes. John nodded and smiled softly back up at Sherlock.

“Mind if you…?” John croaked. He looked down at his tied hands.

Sherlock nodded and began to pull away from Y/N.

“Don’t go!” She whimpered. Her grip tightened on his shirt causing wrinkles to form in the fabric.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned back into Y/N. His lips found the crown of her head. “Just going to untie John.” He whispered into her ear. A moment later her grip was loosened. Soon John was free and by Sarah’s side. She hugged him once she was freed.

“Don’t worry. Next date won’t be like this,” John murmured. Sarah laughed. It was a sob-laugh.

Y/N was back in Sherlock’s arms. She snuggled into his side. Her grip once again demanded his presence, but Sherlock didn’t mind. For once he didn’t have to pretend. He didn’t have to pretend she needed him as much as he needed her. He didn’t have to lie to himself to hold her close. So he sat there on the floor of the cold and wet tunnel. His body was safe and warm, as he rocked Y/N back and forth. Praying to god that he would never have to pretend again.

________

Life had seemed to die down for the occupants of 221B Baker Street. Their lives once again became arbitrary: the daily newspapers on the table for Sherlock to read at breakfast, John scrambling out of bed to get to work at the clinic, Y/N plating some eggs and bacon, Mrs Hudson making tea, and Bjørn collecting all the love and pets he could get from those he did not despise.

It was one of these fine mornings when Y/N was making breakfast, John sat at the table drinking his tea, and Sherlock read the paper that all seemed at peace. There were no cases. No murderers on the run. Just John, Sherlock, and Y/N. As it always seemed to be. The case of the blind banker far behind them with their pockets full from the check Sebastian had written for Sherlock, and the mystery of the hairpin solved. The vow of silence was long forgotten.

Sherlock smirked as he read the front page of the news. “Who wants to be a million-hair,” He read to the group.

John chuckled. “Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on the assistant’s bedside table every night.”

“Van Coon didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him,” Sherlock muttered. His hands found the warm cup of tea Y/N had placed in front of him earlier.

“Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat. Right, hubby?” Y/N said as she placed down breakfast. She sent John a wink earning a groan from him.

“Not this again.”

“It’s better than you holding up a can of beans,” Y/N retorted.

Sherlock smiled at the two of them. After their laughter subsided and thanks were given to Y/N, they began to eat their breakfast. Sherlock played with the eggs on his plate. His fork barely missed the opportunity to pick up anything worth substance.

“You mind, don’t you?” John asked Sherlock as he stuffed his mouth with bacon.

“What?” Sherlock questioned.

John put down his fork. “That she escaped – General Shan. It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen.”

“It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. We barely scratched the surface,” Sherlock sighed.

“You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it,” Y/N added.

“No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book,” Sherlock explained.

Their arbitrary routine began once again: Sherlock picked up the newspaper, John ate his breakfast, and Y/N looked out the window. The morning sun filtered through the window. The sound of sirens was heard in the distance. London was very much alive.

Y/N thought of Sherlock’s words. He was right. They had barely scratched the surface. They had scratched the surface of something that, she thought, was meant to be left alone.

__________

In a room somewhere sits Shan. The only light in the room was the screen of her computer. Her image appeared on the screen next to a blacked-out box. It read “No image available”.

“Without you – without your assistance – we would not have found passage into London. You have my thanks,” Shan spoke to the computer.

‘M: GRATITUDE IS MEANINGLESS’ The computer typed back. ‘M: IT IS ONLY THE EXPECTATION OF FURTHER FAVOURS’

“We did not anticipate ... we did not know this man would come – this Sherlock Holmes. He had assistants. A man and a woman,” Shan explained. Her face flashed with concern. “And now your safety is compromised.”

The computer beeped.

‘M: THEY CAN NOT TRACE THIS BACK TO ME’

“I will not reveal your identity,” Shan promised.

‘M: I AM CERTAIN.’

Not another word is uttered from Shan’s mouth. Her body lay on the floor of the dark room. The computer screen had gone black. A bullet hole in the head of Shan.

______

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cookieeks-art · 1 month

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A while ago I got this idea that it would be neat if Edda post wayward got a pet pigeon, and then this whole thing spawned from that bcs, hey fun opportunity to take a shot at attempting Art Nuevo. I say attempt, because though I did look at the art of Alphonse Mucha for this (I specifically used Zodiac (1896-7) and Feather (1899) as references one I moved to work on my tablet), I didn’t really go all out with the stylistic choices and as a result got something more vaguely Art Nuevo inspired then, you know, Art Nuevo.

I still think I like the result though.

I also wanted to take this opportunity to thank those who’ve said nice things on my art, since I really appreciate those comments even if I don’t always reply to them, in which case this is a thank you and a I’m sorry.

[ID in alt and under cut]

[ID:

A digital drawing of my oc Edda (A pale chubby woman, with deep eyebags, brown hair and grey eyes), dressed in her muddy dark red work robe that is buttoned up to the left side of her front like a lab coat, plus a pair of light brown gloves and leather boots. She’s smiling, leaning against the arm of a tree, one leg crossed over the other, and holding up a pigeon. Across from her is another tree and a greyish blue is visible behind the trees. The sight of her surroundings is cut off by the insertion of a large circle at the top part of the image. The circle contains eight more visible circles with symmetrical designs, the biggest one placed just behind Eddas head, and the rest in a half-moon shape around it, the biggest of those placed behind the pigeon. The largest circle has a pattern of a knife between two leaves in the middle and a pink flower in between two leaves at the edge. The shape is filled in with red tones. The other circles has a pattern of two different feathers and a seed, and is, safe for the brown seed and purple feather, coloured in grey bluish tones. The background outside of the circle and Eddas surroundings, which are all bordered with gold, is a reddish light grey. The whole image looks slightly grainy, with the background covered in small spots with lighter colours. In the corner is a signature reading “Cookieek”.

End of ID]

#red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #edda #fanart #oc #oc's

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homosexualtransexual · 7 months

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okay i was thinking about this meme earlier and it really ground my gears bc its like... not true?

like first of all ik this is a little hyperbole and Not Exact but i still wanna talk about it a lil.

so like first of all the concept art i think this is based off is very early when elsa was the villain and looked a lot different to anna and anna looked the same but her silhouette was different

and it does look cool and i do love it but this doesn't fit the direction the film went it so they changed it.

and you wanna know what much later concept art looked like?

kinda exactly like the film. bc the concept art changes. and its the same for other disney films.

here's some tarzan early concept art vs the later ones

the beast looks like a completely different species here than the completely different species he is in the later ones.

and like ik the frozen one is more dramatic of a change but the point is they all change for reasons and so does the plot and the actors and the script and everything changes.

but also like idk if Frozen is the film you wanna go for when you're talking about boring character design. so lets go through elsa and anna's journeys (just frozen 1 bc its 3am and im tired i just can't sleep until i finish this rant).

so the first time we see elsa and anna are at 7 and 5 years old respectively. as you can see, they both wear clothes simmilar to clothes theyre gonna wear later in the film. elsas clothes, hair, and colour scheme are very similar to what she transforms into at the end of let it go: hair braided and a very simple light blue dress. anna's look reflects her at elsa's coronation: a green dress with her hair tied back.

if we look at elsa at her coronation, it's very different from what she wears from the rest of the film. it's still got shades of blue, but they're all much darker and it contains 2 colours she will never wear again in the enterity of the franchise, let alone the film: black and purple. it's also the only time that she wears something that covers her from neck to toe. in addition, her hair is pinned up. to me this represents her repression of her power at the fear that she can't use them or she'll hurt someone or worse: anna.

lets move on to what anna wears at the coronation. its like a final evolution of the same dress she's been wearing the whole time. this shows that she hasn't really had to repress and can continue being her true self at the coronation. im gonna move on quickly because theres something more exciting that happens to anna's look very quickly

SHE'S WEARING A MORE CORMFORTABLE AND SLIGHTLY BLUER VERSION OF ELSA'S CORONATION DRESS! AHHH I LOVE THIS DESIGN SO MUCH EVEN HER HAIR IS DOWN HOW CAN ANYONE HATE THIS FILM'S CHARACTER DESIGN.

okay lemme calm down

its like a tactic when you're finding someone to ask yourself "what what they do?" you put yourself in their shoes and try and see things from their point of view. anyways anna is doing that with her clothes and its might be my favourite costume from the films? she wants to find elsa and help her and isn't scared of elsa even so much that she wants to be her. it's just so good. anyways moving on

THIS iconic masterpiece. what the discourse is all about. like obviously it's less extravagant than the concept art but first of all the details? the snowflakes coming up from the dress? my girl just learned how to make dresses and already made a masterpiece with ICE! but then also this is representing her being someone who she couldn't have been since she was 7! imagine that! having to repress who you are, not being able to explore yourself and your abilities because you're scared it could hurt someone. and if elsa wasn't taught to be scared of her powers she wouldnt have tried to push anna way and freezing her heart and i just went far off topic.

but anyways this is like kinda why i hate this discourse bc yeah the original wouldve looked cooler but cooler doesnt mean better for the film and i also might have a small special interest in frozen who knows

#concept art #discourse #frozen #elsa #anna #long post #disney #character design

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hebuiltfive · 7 months

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Thundertober Day Twelve: Hospital

The days are going by so quickly. Day 12 is here already! Almost half-way through! I wrote from The Mechanic's POV a couple of days ago, so I thought I'd give Havoc a go. Since we know so little about her (and Fuse) most of this is based on headcanons I devised whilst writing. If I had more time, I'd probably go into a lot more detail. But, for now, I hope what I wrote works. (See end for a bonus note).

AO3 here

Days: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven

Warnings for: Hospitals and mentions of past trauma. Havoc’s plans are rudely interrupted by International Rescue… again. Tagging: @thunder-tober @skymaiden32 @idontknowreallywhy @mrmustachious (just going to put it out there that if you want to be tagged in any future Thundertober pieces, or future pieces in general, let me know and I'll tag you too!)

Hannah hated hospitals. She absolutely hated them. The way the clinical smell of hand sanitisers and bleach seemed to get up her nose and linger for eternity; the way the florescent lighting pierced through her eyes and felt like it was burning a hole into her retinas if she dared look up at one; pristine uniforms discarded on chairs that lined the walls that were synonymous with the institutions. All of it was a cold reminder of her past.

It was all unnatural, at least to her. It wasn’t a place where people always got better. Most hospitals contained a morgue for a reason.

She had managed to push past her fear. She had to, if she didn’t want to face the wrath of The Boss again. Clarence had already left her, off on his own pursuit of supplies from the upper floors of the wing. Even in a hospital that was abandoned Hannah had to remind herself to breathe. It didn’t help her all that much. The impersonal aura seemed to cling to the doors and walls. The very essence of the building itself seemed drenched in the stench of anti-septic and latex gloves. The quicker she got what she came for, the quicker she could leave.

Equipment was strewn around the corridors. As she stepped over cables and and fallen ceiling plaster, she wondered how much still worked and how much was a lost cause. It didn’t matter. Even if she had been a fixer instead of a destroyer, she wouldn’t have had the time to check whether she could repair those instruments or not. Her job was simple and it was on a time-limit. The GDF would only be diverted by their little distraction for so long. Her job was to pick up items that The Boss had asked for. The scanners and machines that go ping weren’t on the list and so, they were left in the dust.

The wing she was scouting, a pain management clinic, appeared to be endless. The wards were far apart from one another which made no logical sense. Long passageways led onto more hallways. There were remnants of colourful strips along the linoleum flooring that once had directed patients to the different departments that were housed in this specific building. Hannah didn’t need to try and follow them, which was probably a good thing given the state some patches were in. If she had to rely on them, she would have become lost incredibly quickly. Luckily for her, her scanner contained all the information she needed to know about the layout of the hospital, but that didn’t stop her from occasionally glancing down at the purple strip every now and then to see if it concurred.

Eventually, around half an hour after leave Clarence in the entrance, Hannah found her ward. The hospital had only recently been abandoned, which meant it was a prime spot for scouting for supplies. What The Boss wanted the supplies for were beyond her knowledge, and Hannah knew better than to ask. She threw off her backpack and placed it on the nearby bed, open and ready to be filled.

It seemed others in the area had already been scouting the place as the broken cupboards looked to be already empty for the most part despite the hospitals recent closing date. To her surprise, there were still some orange tubs left in the side cabinets and IV bags still sealed hanging from the stands.

Carefully, Hannah began to fill up the rucksack. Her haul wasn’t as impressive as she had anticipated, and she began to hope that Clarence had had better luck on his ward. The bag was only half full. Knowing The Boss, he wasn’t going to be happy. Then again, he probably would have found some fault even if she had filled the bag up. It was rarely a win-win situation when it came to him.

From the hallway outside, she briefly heard a scuffle of shoes. At first, Hannah told herself she’d imagined it and that her paranoia was playing with her mind. She packed up the rest of the bag and swung it over her shoulder, ready to leave and get as much distance between herself and this infernal hospital when two figures burst through the ward’s swing doors. Hannah paused.

When she and her brother had caused chaos at the nearby quarry, they had foolishly not thought about the ramifications of them being involved. The duo’s only goal had been to keep the GDF busy and it had seemed like a solid plan at first, but now, seeing a member of International Rescue standing in front of her, an injured man hanging off his shoulder, it seemed like a very big miscalculation on their part.

It was one she would make sure she would not make again.

“What are you doing here?” Hannah eyed the door. If she was fast enough, maybe she might be able to make a break for it.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Scott Tracy replied, lowering the man from his shoulder onto one of the nearby beds.

Hannah ignored the grunts and groans from the wounded man. “Those aren’t clean.” She found herself warning him. “It’s not very sanitary.”

Scott gave her a look. To her credit, she didn’t cower. Hannah never cowered. In fact, she straightened her spine and stood to her full height. It was nothing on International Rescue’s commander, but it still made her point; that she was able to stand her ground.

“Why would you care about that?”

Hannah observed him as he began looking through the cabinets, ignoring the way the man on the bed was rocking in pain. Blood smeared across his face, his frayed shirt and had even stained Scott’s blue uniform. “I don’t care. I was just making an observation.”

“I’m guessing we have you to thank for the mess down at the quarry?” He asked whilst frantically searching the cupboards that Hannah had already looted.

She gripped the strap of her rucksack a little tighter and offered up her best mischievous smile. “Impressive wasn’t it?”

Scott didn’t seem to hear her, instead slamming one of the cupboard doors closed with a suppressed yell. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” He breezed past her, seemingly forgetting her existence or just actively choosing to ignore her presence, and returned to the injured man on the bed. “I’m sorry, Ketan, but we’ve got to look elsewhere.”

“I-I-I can’t.” The man whimpered, struggling against Scott as the latter tried to lift him again. “I-I-It… Hurts. C-can’t…”

“You have to!”

For all that International Rescue were — mainly a very large thorn in her and her crew’s side — she had to give credit where credit was due; they never gave up. Part of her thought it admirable. Part of her thought it foolish. If she was in his position, there would have been no question as to what she would have done.

The man wanted to be left to die?

Fine.

She wouldn’t have even showed up to help rescue the trapped workers down in that quarry to begin with.

But, watching Scott be persistent with Ketan, watching him continue to fight for the other man’s survival, hit home for a moment.

Perhaps it was the venue in which they found themselves currently, but Hannah watched Scott battle Ketan for the man’s own life in the same way she watched those nurses battle for her mother’s life all those years ago.

She refused to admit she was being soft, or that she even had a good bone in her body. She wasn’t a hero, for God’s sake, and to even think of herself that way led to utter disgust building in her gut.

Yet, she still did it.

Hannah lowered the bag, opening it and retrieving the goods she’d pilfered earlier. She laid them out across the bed next to Ketan’s. Scott’s eyes were on her, Hannah could feel them boring into her back. She refused to look back at him.

“Take whatever you need.”

Scott moved to her side, most likely to examine the meds she had just willingly given to him, but it still made her flinch away.

She wasn’t a good person, but she had just done a good deed and it took every ounce of self-will to not start doubting herself. Every part of her screamed to change her mind, to repack that bag and run. Going back to The Boss empty handed was a ridiculous idea, even more so given the fact she’d just aided his greatest enemy in the process, but Hannah didn’t have the strength to listen to those fears today. She was tired of being scared of the ramifications of dealing with The Boss. At least this way, Ketan had a chance of survival in a way that her mother hadn’t…

She tried not to shudder. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Than—”

“Don’t!” Hannah picked up the rucksack and tucked it under her arms, retreating away from Scott before he could finish that line of gratitude. “Don’t thank me.”

And then, without looking back for fear of feeling, she was running.

Quick end note to say that this was a lot longer (double the length) when I first wrote it, so if you are interested in hearing more... Well, this is one of the pieces that might actually get expanded at some point.

#thundertober 2023 #thunderbirds fanfiction #five fics #havoc #scott tracy #thunderbirds are go

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borninwinter81 · 2 months

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You ever get the feeling that sometimes the universe thinks the time is right for a specific project?

Earlier this week, heavily inspired both by @rattusrattus3 and their collage box youtube tutorial, and the gorgeous corvid boxes posted by @korva-the-raven, I decided to make something similar myself. THE DAY AFTER that decision was made I found this wooden chocolate box in a charity shop for £1.99. It could not be more perfect for purpose.

I had been thinking the collage part would be difficult as I "don't really keep interesting bits of paper." As it turns out, the hell I don't.

That same evening I found this stash in my old art folder. I thought all I had in there were a couple of greetings cards.

Of particular use were the William Blake and Exploring the Gothic art exhibition guides. These are both really high quality prints and contain some gorgeous artwork. Thankfully I have a paper guillotine so I could cut out the pictures really neatly.

This is what I ended up with. I could make several boxes just from these!

Korva's boxes have individual compartments made out of matchboxes which are also decorated. I don't have any matchboxes, but then I recalled that I know how to make an origami box - I had a friend in school who was Japanese and her mother taught me. So, what if I was able to find some nice paper and make small boxes to go inside? Again, the universe provided...

These are from a pad of scrapbooking paper, 24 double sided sheets, 30x30cm (12x12 inches) for £4. Very thick and high quality and excellent for making sturdy boxes that are fit for this purpose. I didn't love all of it but these designs are beautiful, and I will have more than enough for this project and tons left for the future 😁

I thought to save it looking too "busy" I would just use one plain colour and one floral. Since the internal boxes need to be quite small I thought a smaller print would work best, and paired that with a plain purple. I used the guillotine again to cut the paper into squares that were the right size (after a trial run with some cartridge paper to make sure they would fit) and...

This box is super easy to do, probably why I still remember how to make it after being taught at the age of 5! Here's a tutorial.

Meanwhile the outer box got a couple of coats of black acrylic paint.

Then it was time to decide how to arrange my collage pieces. I quickly came up with this for the inside (Edgar Allan Poe themed, the large picture is an illustration to "The Raven" which is super appropriate for a corvid box, and the small one in the top right has lines from the poem "Lenore"). I'm still unsure about whether I will also do the base as its going to be covered most of the time anyway. I may just line it with more of the floral paper.

The outside was harder, but I've gone with some anatomical drawings, plus a couple of space-fillers which look pretty.

The edges are a little narrow so I'm not going to collage those for now, but I might see if any of the charms from my shiny things box would look good glued onto the sides instead.

Unfortunately I can't finish it just yet, as the only thing I haven't been able to get is modge podge - every shop I went into said "we used to have that but don't stock it anymore". So I ordered some online and I should have it within a few days.

Then all I'll need to do is decide how I want to fill it, I have lots of items to choose from 😁

Huge thanks to those who inspired this, it has been a project that I've absolutely loved, and I'm going to be on the lookout for more nice boxes so I can make another, I still have plenty of supplies!

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take-taker-taken · 1 year

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Taker smut time as The List continues, this time with wax play (also please see safety notes at the end)…

The List - Wax Play

You open the bedroom door to be met with dozens of flickering candles, set in clusters around the room - the bed is turned down… all the way back, actually, you notice and there’s some kind of pastel-coloured translucent sheet laid out on it but in the low light you can’t tell exactly what it is.

“What’s the occasion?” You ask, leaning back against him and wriggling slightly as his strong arms wrap around you.

“You wanted to try playing with hot wax didn’t you, little girl?”

Your head falls back against his chest as you try to look up at him, instantly feeling your stomach flip at the thought of a scene. “That’s a lot of wax…”

He strokes a finger over your exposed throat and then dips his head and bites the side of your neck before saying, “It’s not all to use on you. Regular candles aren’t always safe to use for this. They melt at a much higher temperature - I’ll be using the soy wax.”

As your eyes have adjusted to the dim light you now find that you can make out some colours… there’s a lot of black and purple and how do you just know that those are the ones he’s going to use. You really have no idea what this is going to feel like, but you’re incredibly excited by the prospect and turn around in his arms and smile up at him.

“Where do you want me?” You ask playfully, stroking your hands from his shoulders down to his hands.

His demeanour changes slightly and he holds himself straighter as he pushes you gently away from him. “I want you naked, on your knees right there, waiting quietly until I come back.”

Your stomach flips at the quiet but firm order and you drop your gaze and reply, “Yes, sir.”

He waits while you strip out of your clothes and sink to your knees and then takes some time to correct your posture to his liking. He gently pushes against your lower back while simultaneously urging your shoulders back until you’re ramrod straight. Next, he nudges your ankle with his foot, a silent command to pull it under yourself properly.

“Gonna do a whole scene with you about positions and posture,” he says quietly in a tone tinged with humour and you bite your lip as you look up at him.

“I’m sorry, sir - I’ll try harder.” You really mean it, too.

He strokes over your hair and smiles. “Don’t worry little girl, it’ll be fun; lots of opportunity for correction.”

You smile back, amazed briefly at how you now, for the most part at least, feel at peace with your desires. He turns and leaves and you take the time to look around the room properly, noticing that some candles sit in traditional holders while other flames dance from slightly larger containers that you can’t quite make out now that you’re lower down. The space is warm to the point where you don’t feel cold despite your nudity and that’s largely down to the sheer volume of candles that he’s employed.

You’re not sure how long you’re alone for, but when he returns his hair is tied back, he’s changed into a sleeveless t-shirt and he’s holding a small black box. Your eyes rove hungrily over his arms - you adore everything about him of course… but especially his arms. He takes a seat in the easy chair in the corner and looks you over, a slight frown coming to his face.

“I didn’t adjust your posture for fun, little girl - smarten it up.”

Now that it’s been highlighted, you realise that you’re slouching and leaning slightly to one side from where you were looking all around the room. You quickly do your best to recreate the position that he put you in earlier and feel relieved when he gives a small nod.

“Seems like you really do need a little bit of learning time on that, doesn’t it?” He says, referring to his earlier comment about a scene based around positions.

“Yes sir,” you reply softly, hoping he’s not too cross with you.

“We’ll talk about that later,” he says. “Now, I need to cover a couple of things with you. Like always, I’m going to start slow and if you don’t like what you’re feeling then you tell me.”

You nod - he says this every time you try something new and at this point it makes you want to roll your eyes but deep down you know it’s because he’s responsible. What he says next though, does take you by surprise.

“Once the wax has gone on and dried, it’s gonna have to come off again. I’ll be able to use my hands but I think it would add to the atmosphere if I use this.” So saying, he opens the small black box and takes out an ornate-looking knife. “I wanted to check with you first rather than spring it on you when you might be a little spaced out.”

“Is it sharp?” You ask, reaching a hand out and then drawing it quickly back again as you realise he might not want you to touch.

“It’s sharp enough,” he says. “I’ll be careful and if you don’t like it, just say the word.”

You have a picture in your mind’s eye of you laid out on the bed, him above you with the blade pressed to your skin and it makes you shiver in the best way.

“I’d like you to use it. Please, sir.” You tag the honorific quickly on to the end so that he won’t scold you for forgetting.

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth and he stands up, handing you a hair tie from his pocket. “Clip it up, as well - make sure it’s all off your neck and then I want you face down on the bed.”

As you get on to the bed you realise that the pastel-coloured sheet was a shower curtain and you do your best to settle carefully into position so as not to rumple it too much. He steps up alongside you and strokes a large hand down your back.

“I’m going to start small,” he comments and then you gasp and flinch as your back feels peppered with spikes. “How was that?”

You take a moment to consider. “I’m not sure, sir… it faded really fast.”

“A little more, then.” There’s a note of humour in his voice and before he’s even finished speaking there’s the sharp, hot pain again - stronger this time - and you hiss and arch your back. “Looks like you enjoyed that, little girl.”

You let out an affirmative little whimper as the initial sharp burn dulls to a comforting warmth and then with a roll of your shoulders confess, “It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

“I can make it hurt a bit more,” He says, stroking a hand over your butt. “The closer the wax is to your skin when I drop it, the more painful it’ll be.”

“Please, sir…?” Your eyes are closed, you feel safe and an aroused warmth is spreading through you. Sometimes you want to film the two of you together so that you can see him from other angles - really learn how he reacts to your playtime.

“Seeing as you said ‘please’,” He comments and then you feel a line of fire down your spine that seems to go on and on, making you cry out quietly for its duration.

The feeling takes longer to fade this time and you pant softly but haven’t quite recovered when it happens again and then a third time has your hands twisting into the sheet as your cries become louder.

“Remember your colours,” He says quietly and you take instant comfort in the words. You don’t actually feel the need to call, but it always makes you feel protected - that little reminder that he’s looking out for you. The next few minutes are back to peppering little darts of heat all over and you start to wonder whether there’s any untouched skin left on your back.

“Want me to take a picture of this?” He asks suddenly and your eyes open. “Otherwise you won’t get to see it.”

“Yes, sir - please,” You answer eagerly and you see him set a purple candle down carefully and then hear a cupboard open and close.

“Keep still now,” He says and then there’s a flash followed by the click and whir of a Polaroid camera. He snaps a few shots and then his hand engulfs the back of your head, nails scratching gently over your scalp. You moan and push back against his hand as you moan happily from the contact.

“Ready to turn over, little girl? Give me a fresh canvas to work with?”

With an eager little sound you roll over and reposition yourself, arms stretched out to either side like a sacrifice - it feels apposite in the current atmosphere. He hums low in appreciation and then climbs on to the bed and kneels astride you, stroking over your skin with his fingertips. You bite your lip against a squeal as he brushes across your ticklish underarms and then let out a moan as he pinches lightly at your nipples, teasing them into tight, proud peaks.

“Gonna cover these in a little while… it’ll hurt, though.” He leans down and kisses you, teasing your lips apart as his body covers yours, his clothes rough against your skin. He breaks the kiss and then speaks softly against your lips. “Think you can stand the pain for me?”

You nod as best you can and whisper back, “Yes, sir… I like it.”

“Mm, I know you do.” He kneels back up and traces your lips with two fingers, smirking down at you as your tongue darts out to lick over the digits. “My little pain slut.” He gives a final quick pinch to each nipple and then climbs off you, crossing to the set of drawers and picking up a fresh candle. Returning to stand beside the bed he contemplates you for a moment and his close scrutiny has you spreading your thighs, just a little.

“I don’t want it to splash while you’re face up, so I’m going to hold the candle nice and close. If it gets too much then you know what to do.”

You wriggle slightly in your impatience but nod your agreement before looking up at him pleadingly. “Please, sir… please keep going.”

He smirks again and tilts the candle ever so slightly, gaze flicking between his target and the pool of wax. Your eyes are riveted on the dancing flame and then he finally tips it all the way and you hiss as the hot liquid lands on your shoulder and dribbles down before solidifying. He mirrors the action on the opposite shoulder and then moves the candle, trickling a hot line across your collar bone and down underneath your breasts and then back up to join with the original splash.

Your chest rises and falls with increasing speed as he swaps out to a black candle which he holds close to your stomach and then tips in a messy pool on to your skin. It’s the first time he’s used such a large amount in one place and with a pained gasp you start to lift yourself up only to be met with a heavy hand on your sternum and he pushes you back down.

“Keep still, little girl. Nice and still and take it for me, like a good little pain slut…”

You feel a rush of moisture at him stepping up the domineering attitude and settle back with whimper as he picks up yet another candle and does the same thing again. It’s less of a shock this time and although you cry out, you don’t move and so he sets the candle back down and then rewards you with a kiss.

“There’s my obedient girl. You ready for the finale?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod and grip handfuls of the sheet as he moves away, wishing that you knew exactly what he was planning. The patches of heat on your stomach haven’t dissipated yet but it’s a delicious gentle burn and your hips roll involuntarily.

He comes back over and is holding two tiny white jugs - at least, they look tiny his in huge hands; the image would probably be funny if you weren’t otherwise distracted. He stands over you and indicates the two containers.

“D’you want one at a time little girl, or both together?”

“Both together, sir - please.” You’re not sure why you answer that way, or so quickly, but it seems to please him and he nods.

“Stay nice and still for a second - wouldn’t want to spill them,” He says with a wink and a small huff of laughter at his own joke before climbing carefully on to the bed and straddling you again. He settles some of his weight on your hips and you’re fairly sure it’s intentional. “Ready?”

“So ready,” You breathe out and then the breath gives way to a scream as he takes you at your word and up-ends the vessels right above your breasts. Melted wax gushes from the spouts in thick, heavy streams and he criss-crosses them once or twice, mixing up the colours before dropping them, empty, on to the cover sheet. Instinctively you try to sit up but he’s already leaned forward and captured your wrists in his hands and is pinning you to the bed.

“Such a brave girl,” He says quietly as he watches you thrash beneath him. “I know it hurts baby but that was so good - so proud of you, taking all that for me.”

As the initial shock and pain fades, the feeling of his physically overpowering you comes to the fore and you moan and push against his weight. He laughs at your attempts, low and devious, before giving you a quick kiss.

“We’re not done yet, little girl - it’s time to take that wax off.” He releases his hold and rolls off the bed, collecting the empty jugs and setting them to one side.

“Please will you take a picture first, sir?”

He smiles and nods, fetching the camera and snapping a couple more photos, flapping each one in the air before putting them down out of harm’s way to develop. When he turns back around he’s holding the knife and your heart skips a beat as he advances.

“Still OK?” He asks quietly and you smile and nod.

“Green, sir.”

Bending over you, he drags the tip of the knife gently across your skin until he reaches a patch of wax on your stomach. He taps on the hardened patch a few times and then works the edge of the blade against the wax; you almost don’t dare breathe as you feel the cool steel rocking against your skin. The feeling as the patch is broken free is strangely pleasing and without thinking you move your hand to touch the newly-uncovered skin.

“Ah ah!” His voice is loud and he catches your hand in his own. You lift your head to find him looking down at you with what’s almost a glare and you bite your lip.

“Careful while I’m using this, little girl.” He indicates the knife and you nod contritely.

“Sorry, sir; I didn’t think. I just - I wanted to see if the skin was hot under the wax.”

His expression softens and he guides your hand back to your stomach. “It is,” He says. “Probably not on your back anymore but the wax was thicker here.”

Curiosity sated, you move your hand back out to the side and he resumes work to remove the wax from your stomach and shoulders before urging you to turn over. You look down questioningly at your boobs but he just throws you a smirk. “Saving the best ‘til last, little girl.”

The feeling of the blade scraping across your back is wonderful and you hear the small drops of dried wax hitting the protective sheet with a sound like gentle rainfall. After a while of working with the knife he runs a hand across your back, dislodging loose specks - you’re practically purring at the treatment and then he lands a couple of hard smacks on your backside, making you giggle and squeal.

“Back over, little girl - you know what comes next.” Once you’re on your back again he straddles you one final time and covers your breasts with his huge hands and squeezes. The wax gives way and he brushes large chunks off to each side and then picks up the knife again. With a devious smile he holds the blade to your throat and watches as your pupils blow wide and you lick your lips.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” He strokes the blade gently down to your boobs, working it against the remaining wax. “Maybe I should work something like that into a scene,” He adds as he flicks off a few more pieces and tweaks a nipple with his free hand. “What do you think? I could kidnap you off the street at knifepoint… throw you into my truck and make you do all kinds of things…”

You whine in the back of your throat. “Oh god, yes please sir!” He laughs low and it sends shivers through you.

“Mmm, dirty little girl,” He says and leans down and kisses you. “We’ll talk about that another time.”

He places the knife carefully to one side and then stands up, giving you a brush down with his hands before urging you to sit up whereupon he brushes you down again and then lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom, setting you gently down on to the tiles.

“Get a shower started while I go clean up,” He says, stroking a thumb over your cheek.

“Then can we talk about you kidnapping me?” You say with big eyes, catching him around the waist.

“Not tonight,” He says. “I’ve got other plans for you tonight, little girl. One of which involves holding you up against the shower wall and fucking you until you see stars. So get that shower started…”

TTT

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NOTES.

If you’re going to do wax play, then for the love of all that shines use a drop sheet - unless you especially want your sheets / carpets / floors ruined.

I wrote this to have eleventy-billion candles around the room… this actually isn’t very smart. Fire is dangerous and caution should be practiced at all times.

General all-purpose / household candles often aren’t really suited to wax play due to the higher melting point, or chemicals that might be in them - if you’re starting out then you should probably avoid.

Dropping wax from a height means it can splash so be mindful of the recipient’s eyes.

Didn’t write it into this scene but if you’re layering wax on, bear in mind that the skin will keep heating underneath it and burns can occur so again, exercise caution.

You might have seen / read stuff where the Dominant uses a flogger to ‘whip’ the dried wax off… yeah - that’s a brilliant way to ruin a flogger. Removing it in the shower? Excellent way to block your drains. Most of it will come off with gentle encouragement from fingers but in a pinch for any stubborn bits - reach for a plastic card i.e. credit card. Blades can of course be used but again - safety first and for goodness sake be careful!

If you’re thinking of doing wax play in a hotel… be aware that candles can raise a room’s temperature quite significantly, even if there are only a few. Concentration of heat, plus any smoke from extinguished candles could lead to the hotel’s fire alarm being triggered. I suppose whether you care about this or not depends on your tolerance for embarassment and how you feel about inconveniencing an entire building.

#the undertaker #undertaker #taker smut #dom!taker #this character lives in my head rent free #taker x reader #The List #Undertaker fanfic #TTT The List

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ouranbutworse · 2 months

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Anime-Manga Comparisons, episode 11.

I just sat through ten episodes of the english dub and then Crunchyroll took that privilege away through premium, so lol. Anyways, we’re up to episode 21 of the manga! Thing really get out of order here lol.

I actually really like the establishing shots of characters running around outside, Kirimi provides us some context and has an adorable voice, and we see the fatass cat dozing in some purple flowers (Kyoya connection? lmao)

There’s a few times in the manga that they refer to Tamaki as having light brown hair, but honestly I couldn’t imagine him being anything other than a blond bimbo. I’m glad they changed it. Also I assume Kirimi is blonde in the manga since they say Tamaki and Nekozawa have a ‘foreign flair’, so it strengthens his connection to her if they have the same hair colour.

Since we already had the blond, hoodless Nekozawa reveal in the beach episode we don’t get another moment of confusion over who he is, so he just enters the club as usual and everyone figures it out immediately. We also see the maid and the butler again, finally named. They’re called Kuretake and Kadomatsu, and I think they’re in love <3

Instead of Kyoya whining about sibling relationships being shit, in the manga he instead points out that Nekozawa has always taken an interest in Tamaki, possibly idolising him because he’s his sister’s ideal image of a brother. Also instead of Nekozawa escaping the room Tamaki gets Mori to grab him and contain him, like a true creature.

Just like the Shiro ep, Renge appears to train Nekozawa in the anime, but it’s Tamaki who trains him in the manga. They both do the exact same job, I wonder if they’re actually the siblings here. Also, the mannequin the twins use from the anime is a cute callback to the first beach episode (do I call it the “beach” episode, or what?) since it’s the same one, and also a callback to the physical exam episode with the wig; in the manga it’s a ragdoll of her instead, which is also pretty cute. Kirimi comes in with her cat plush that’s the size of her, which we never get to see in the anime.

Nekozawa also doesn’t get over his light fear immediately, he’s instead just inspired by Tamaki’s interaction with Kirimi and we see a little montage of him doing better in his training, and then he shines the light on himself. Sashimi still gets freaked out by it, though.

That fatass cat is actually a small, scraggly little cutie pie in the manga (Not that sir chonksalot isn’t adorable, of course! But I think it adds to the humour that she’s petrified of what appears to be a fluffy little kitten.) and Nekozawa runs out to save her. He, tragically, does not jump from a window on the top floor of the school, which would appear to be pretty damn high, from an image of the school. Actually, I think it works better in the anime. It’s meant to be over the top dramatic, so why not have him fling himself out of a window to protect his sister from a cat that’s not even going to attack her?

Finally, Manga Nekozawa offers to cast a spell as a thank you, and it still upsets Tamaki, and then Kirimi calls him a liar and he cries. A happy ending for all!

Episode 11… over, nya!

#ohshc #manga tag #comparisons series

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nightingaletrash · 4 months

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Now that I've watched the Bakura vs Bonz duel, I think I've figured out why the insistence on turning the Rare Hunters' death threats into shadow games feels so flimsy. (yes this is just an excuse for me to talk about the shadow games vs the death games shhhhhh)

First off is that it doesn't work with the lore: none of the Hunters have the power to turn a duel into a shadow game because its the Millenium Items that make shadow games possible. Without their power, it's just not possible, and adding a purple cloud doesn't change that. I really doubt that Marik goes around and 'blesses' buzz saws and bits of glass to give them access to the Shadow Realm in very specific ways.

Second, the death games are all about the illusion of power, whereas the shadow games are based on real power; if you put Marik and Arkana next to each other and ask an outside observer to pick who they think is more dangerous, they'd probably go with the guy who locked a kid in shackles and threatened to cut off his legs if he lost a card game, because that's a very extreme measure and it gives Arkana a lot of power over that kid. But Arkana's power starts and ends with his power over Yugi. It's contained to his stage, just as all the other Rare Hunters only possess power over the stages they construct. Yet their power is only as real as their abilities, which are very limited, and so they build in safeguards to protect themselves. Parachutes and hidden keys, means of escaping their own death traps in the event they lose because they know that their power is so limited. That's why they rely on theatrics and death threats. It's a projection of power, to make themselves look and feel more powerful, all while plotting a way out should their intimidation tactics fail to overwhelm their opponent.

And this is where the Bakura vs Bonz duel comes in. Whereas the Rare Hunters make their death threats very overt, Bakura's threats are very subtle despite his being so blunt. He doesn't state his intention to send them to the Shadow Realm... because he brings them there immediately. Its evident that when the duel begins that the environment has changed in a way that it doesn't in the death games. The colour palette has changed and the characters comment on the fog, and those visual cues are enough to clue in the audience to what has happened. Bakura has made this duel into a shadow game, and the world has changed to reflect that. But Bonz doesn't realise he's in a shadow game because he has no idea what that is; he thinks the only stakes are a place in the Finals. Only as the duel nears its end does Bakura reveal what the stakes really are and what they stand to lose. And those stakes go both ways. There is no built in loophole for him, no pre-planned way out if things go south. You win or lose in a shadow game, and while Bakura certainly has power here, there is an element of control that he's surrendered for the sake of terrorising and condemning some guys. Yet he doesn't fear it, doesn't fret about it, because he's got full control of the situation thanks to the power imbalance between him and his opponent.

And that's what 4kids really screwed up when they turned every threat of death and violence into 'being sent to the Shadow Realm' because its not meant to be some random threat that anyone could pull out of their hat and could happen to anyone. It's not something anyone can do just because they know about the Shadow Realm. It's about how even the most extreme of mundane threats still pale in comparison to the threat of something that can be barely understood.

tldr; while 4kids really watered down just how much of a threat the Shadow Realm is, the people who actually play shadow games are operating on a whole other level from the guys making death threats.

#nightingale rambles #yugioh #look. i know it might not have been intended by the og writers.#but look. the death threats feel extreme until you see bakura sending some guys to hell #then you realise that he's playing on a whole other level from marik's goons #and while it probably wasn't intended as a commentary on power this is what i've taken from it #did i ever expect that i'd be writing meta on yugioh? no. am i? fuck yes.#i've just started the yugi vs bakura episode so there'll probably be a bunch for me to add to this soon #because i know the finals are almost all shadow games thanks marik and bakura <3

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greens-multiverse · 4 months

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[after - almost six months, holy fuck - here's part two of my end-of-anniversary-crystal songfic about abe and azure journeying to the bottom of reality/excuse for a lot of expository flashbacks about my season 2 myth arc headcanons. part one, which contains most of the setup, is here. our song being ficced is still the ai girl and the deep heart sea; tonight we're on the first full section, 'reincarnated girl rho.' this... turned out much longer than i expected]

so if you did go diving into the depths of the substructure-sea, what would you find just below the surface? easy: the physical world

you might think we live in the physical world, but that's not entirely true. human bodies exist in the world of atoms and forces, but human minds, like the minds of anything sentient enough to dream, belong to the lower layers of the noos. that's the term for the blanket of ideas and memories and stories we sophonts collectively lay over bare reality, the landscape of thought that gives everything meaning. up here, a piece of stone could be the last remaining artifact of a lost civilisation, or a source of energy that could power a city for generations, or the mark of the one true king. down there, it's just a collection of molecules

still, as stark as it might look with the haze of imagination removed, the topmost portion of the substructure is pretty similar to the world we know. the stars spin and the elements flow and people and animals act just the same, though if you didn't know how our home layers work you'd never guess why. and even if you do, it's hard to impose the framework of narrative over them for very long without the support of the noos. down there, nothing could be or means or implies anything; it just is

which isn't to say travelling through it would be exactly like going for a walk in our home layers - it might, if you were going for a walk across it, but if you're going down through it things get very strange very quickly! the philosophers also say that time is a direction, much like up or forward, and they're fairly close to right. going through the topmost layers of the substructure feels like plunging through entire timelines, events thousands of miles and dozens of years apart all flashing past your eyes at once. it's like experiencing dozens of scenes from the same story all at once, all without any context to tie them together or any subtext to give them meaning. but if it's a story you played a part in, you might be able to follow along, just about

it's pretty easy to find yourself reflecting on it

sunlight zone

Azure, the girl who returned

down here, I can see everything

as we drift downwards, time and distance fall away, and all that ever was blurs together, like disconnected clips of an absurdly long video. it's as if in the final death throes of this tiny shell of a world, the strings holding its timeline together have snapped, and the whole arc of its short history has tumbled into my hands. I feel like I could see anything, anywhere, if only I knew how to sort through the heap. I can even catch a glimpse of its ever-fewer potential futures

the back of my right hand shines a familiar colour I still cannot name. Abe's hand in mine crackles with haze, purple and white chasing each other around his crumbling skin. beneath it, I can just about see the beginning of a vast, eternal structure

the further we descend, the closer everything draws to us. it's becoming hard to distinguish discrete events, everything running into everything else. soon, I realise, the only moments I'll be able to perceive at all are this world's approaching end, and its distant beginning

but I don't need to look to see all the parts that truly matter. ever since IT came, I've remembered everything I've ever witnessed in perfect clarity

IT was far too unstructured to be called an 'entity' there was no one who understood what IT was or why IT had come into existence so they called it 'Missingno' or 'the glitchhaze' or 'OLDEN' some even called IT 'Altair' as if IT were a god

I did not witness ITs entire emergence, of course. the formation of the confluence called OLDEN began before my world was created, before his, perhaps even before the true reality all the worlds of the haze are mere shadows of. whatever ITs source, IT came to impinge on that reality, chewing it up, piece by piece, shredding order and logic and spacetime until only a formless haze of glitches remained. there was nothing anyone could do to stop IT. even the gods could just barely slow IT down

and yet, so I'm told, there was no malice in IT, not then. ITs bites at the edge of the universe were random, almost exploratory, as if IT didn't know what it was, or even what IT was. everything IT touched collapsed into haze, but that haze did not lash to corrupt everything it could reach or sink beneath the surface of reality to poison it from within. most often it disappated, and even when it lingered it reached out tentatively, inquisitively, even playfully. whether IT was curious or hungry or simply lacked enough of a mind to want anything at all, no one knew, but IT wasn't trying to destroy our universe in the beginning

but by the time IT came to my world, IT had changed. IT had learned how to hate

IT came to a world wracked by change and uncertainty and shredded it apart with a brilliant vicious light since no matter what all would someday return to the void why not cut short this farce of a universe and bring an end to ITs own suffering?

my world was nothing. a bubble within a bubble, a tiny simulation created as a last bastion from the corruption. but limited as I knew it was, insignificant as I knew it was, it was mine, and I fought hard to free it from those who would harm its people. I defeated each gym leader, I tore apart Team Rocket, I ascended the Indigo Plateau to claim the title of our world's first champion. ten settlements, twenty-five routes, a hundred and fifty-odd species of pokémon, and I stood above them all, the strongest trainer between the impassable mountains and the waters that trailed off into nothingness. I swore to protect them from whoever and whatever might seek to harm them

I was so young, then. so naïve. so arrogant. despite everything I had already learned, it never occured to me SOMETHING might come that I could not fight

IT came to my world at dawn. by the morning's end the ocean was a writhing mass of corrupted matter, advancing northwards in an unstoppable deluge. by mid-afternoon, the plains were choked with haze, towns and forests collapsing in on themselves faster anything could flee, faster than most could even notice. by nightfall, all that was left of my world was a mountaintop, and a temple, and me

I had begun the day determined to fight IT until the breath left my body, but by this point all I could do was sob. I had lost all my allies, all my pokémon, all my hopes as city after city fell and nothing we could think of so much as made IT flinch. they had relied on me to save what they could not, take revenge where they could not, and I had failed them all. despite everything I promised on the Vermillion dockside, I hadn't been able to protect anyone. all I had left was despair

I'm not sure why I had been allowed to escape. perhaps IT meant to save me for last

IT came slowly up the mountainside, chewing the horizon as if savouring each bite. I watched it from the empty doorway of the temple, unable to muster the energy to flee any further. for the first time, but not the last, I sat and waited for the end

then the space just in front of the doorway flickered, and Abe stepped through a crack in reality and out into the snow. we had known each other for some time now, he who designed my world, I who tracked him down and demanded to know why. I had seen him teleport across the world through his unknown doors many times before, but I was still somewhat surprised to see him alive. so quietly for a moment I didn't know if he heard it, I croaked out his name

he was just as shocked to see me here, I could tell by how quickly he spun around. his breath caught for a second, and he mouthed, "I'm sorry." then he turned to face the approaching chaos, and his shadow blossomed into an infinity of fractals

the beginning of the battle between the last of the fossil gods and IT was, I am told, like nothing ever seen by living eyes. unseen it remains, for I did not watch it. I moved further into the temple, behind enough walls it seemed unlikely I would be impaled by debris, and there I curled up and waited for the storm to pass. there was nothing I could do against IT I had not already tried a thousand times, and besides, what difference could a single powerless human make in a clash of the divine?

all around me, the earth, the walls, even the air shook. I could not even begin to interpret the sounds - the crackling, the tearing, the rattling - erupting from the temple's entrance, but soon enough I saw cracks drive through first the stonework and then the empty air. I knew my world was finally dying, and, despite my youth, despite my pride, despite my fear, I felt strangely relieved. a gash in spacetime snaked through the halls towards me, shedding glitches, leaking a brilliant, terrible light -

and from a direction I was not watching, something pierced the back of my right hand

I instinctively jerked my arm back towards me, but as soon as the impact sight came into view, I froze. there was no blood, no pain beyond the initial shock, not even a wound. there was only a sliver of dark orange stone barely larger than my fingernails burrowed into my skin, faintly humming. I had just enough time to take in the sight before the tear in the universe reached me and glitches overwhelmed everything

everything, that is, except me. the stone walls melted, the air collapsed, the world around me crumbled into a thick morass of swirling, chattering, ever-changing decay, but I remained just as I was. even when the haze lanced out at my body directly, the force I had seen rend through buildings and mountains and people alike in mere seconds slid off my skin like a passing rain. the space (if one were to call it that) around my head shifted rapidly between water and wood and viscera, but I could breathe more easily than I had in hours. through the flickering, crackling haze, for the first time I saw the back of my hand gleam

I did not know, then, that the miniscule stone shard tinting my skin an impossible colour was the last remaining fragment of an entity older than the gods. at the end of the battle I was sheltering in the temple from, IT aimed a dart of pure haze right at the core of the only fossil god still alive, the Dome. but for whatever reason such a being might do such a thing, the Old Amber leapt into its path. the impact made the packed-together rock at the heart of their being burst into a thousand infinitesimal pieces which flew off in all directions, shattering against the mountain or evaporating upon contact with the glitches. but somehow, through a series of coincidences and just-right circumstances, one shard slipped through it all and landed in me

was this planned by the Old Amber, or mere happenstance? I still don't know, and I doubt I ever will. but whether there was a purpose behind it or not, from that moment on the glitches could not touch me. a whole world could dissolve into haze around me, and I would keep my form, and my identity, and my memories. no matter how much time passed, no matter what happened, I remained myself

but all that I discovered later. then and there, curled up in that crumbling temple at the end of everything I'd ever known, I dazedly watched half a dozen tendrils of corruption pass through my body harmlessly before I realised I was not, in fact, dead. I reached out for one of the few remaining patches of wall and slowly got to my feet, and just when I'd found a stable footing my world finally snapped open and I tumbled head over heels into the glitchhaze. I fell for what seemed a thousand years through light and texture and shrieking, repetitive sound, and none of it so much as pulled my hair. the shock had faded from my mind enough I was beginning to wonder why

then my back slammed against solid ground. it knocked the breath out of my body, and when I inhaled I tasted air once again. the surface I was lying on was wet, spongy, and stable, at least as far as my arms could reach. when I pried my gummed-shut eyes open, the first thing I saw was a dazzlingly blue sky

it was a fairly typical early hazeworld fairly early on in its development. no tree was yet tall enough I could not step over it, the largest animals were barely bigger than mice, and the pokémon were still amorphous clouds of spirit, not coherent enough to create physical forms. even once it had fully matured, its sky never changed from that brilliant blue, and its dirt squished like jelly rather than crumbling. the worlds of the haze were only ever so real, and this one was even less so than mine had been

but in that moment, all that mattered was that it was

yet there was one whose existence ITs haze could never erase I was "Vega", lodestar inviolate, she who saw everything

that grassy clearing caught in an eternal morning was not alone in the glitchhaze for long. as some consequence of its battle with IT, the Dome created handfuls, then dozens, then hundreds of these tiny worldlets, little pockets of order billowing in the haze. each new hazeworld was just a touch more real than the last - a sky that dimmed and brightened again, soil that could be broken up to plant whatever fruit you pleased, water that cycled from stream to lake to cloud and back; a little larger, a little more self-sufficient. soon they were detailed enough humans could live there, and they built settlements, then cities, then regions. and then, slowly, step by stumbling step, they began to reach out across the haze to each other

I had long mastered the art of travelling through the haze by then. Abe, who had also survived that last battle, had to travel between worldlets through broken warps and bizarre glitchmancy tricks, his unknown doors writ large, but I could simply walk off the edge of one world and stroll through the glitches to the next one. not that it was ever that simple, of course; navigating the endlessly shifting landscape of the glitchhaze was more art than science and more luck than either, and I seldom arrived in the precise world I was aiming for even when I didn't spend months lost in the wilds of the haze. but it was never dangerous, not for me. out of everyone in existence, I alone travelled the haze without fear

the people of the hazeworlds grew used to Abe and I passing through their regions. we both got into the habit of telling them stories; he of the worlds that lay past their borders and the ways they could be reached, I of the worlds that once were and how they had been destroyed. we taught them what the haze was and that there were others like them beyond it, and they taught themselves how to send things through it; first information, then objects, then living beings. soon the haze was home to a great alliance of worlds, interconnected by hazeships and databeams and a dozen kinds of interworld teleportation, fighting back the glitches wherever they could, always searching for a way to defeat IT forever. Abe and I they revered as gods, the ones who had shown them the nature of reality and bestowed upon them the power to change it. with our teachings, they so fervently believed, they would restore the universe

Abe helped them whenever and however he could, but I seldom did. I could never muster the will to do much more than pass on my stories, never shake the feeling that no matter what anyone did, reality had merely been granted a stay of execution. why, I still cannot say; perhaps my mind was as trapped in that moment of despair as my body, and just as my hair never grew no matter how many decades passed me by, my heart never lifted out of that black pit. or, perhaps, I simply never managed to overcome my grief. all I could bring myself to do was sit on the outside of that glorious dream and half-heartedly hope it would be fulfilled

alas, it was not to be. no matter what they tried, no matter how they struggled, in the end there was nothing we mere humans could do against ITs hate. one after another, the worlds of the alliance were overcome and fell, and the links they'd forged between them became vectors for the very corruption they'd been made to fight against. over the course of its long defeat, the alliance grew desperate and cruel, but even that was not enough, and once it finally broke the surviving worlds of the haze were left completely without protection. once upon a time a world was not considered stable unless it was completely free of glitches, but now even the most substantial were strewn with impossibly stretched landmarks and holes in reality that opened into infinity. even Abe, as immortal as I was but for somewhat different reasons, began to mutate, his form and his memories slipping away a fraction more every time he crossed the haze, until all that was left of him was a barely sentient heap of glitches, marked out from the rest of the corruption only by the occasional flash of purple

but I? I remained. no matter how many worlds crumbled around me, no matter how long I spent lost in the haze, my self was preserved. even in that final barely coherent, violently unstable, utterly corrupted mockery of a world, where no division existed between human and pokémon and language had degraded into loud, garbled noise and time had broken in a way impossible to put into words, I had not changed one bit since the day my world died. in my customary seclusion, I watched the strands that held together this final world quietly fray, and I wondered whether, once all existence had been devoured by IT, I would finally be permitted to cease

isolated as I always was, she nonetheless tracked me down. a girl with blue hair and red scales and a wide, fanged smile, whose eyes were tinged the faintest purple and whose voice carried a muted echo of thousands more. like so many residents of the haze before her, she and her allies had sketched out a wild, one-in-a-million scheme to restore the lost worlds and bring the battle to IT. I didn't believe they could do it - there? then? at the end of everything? - but for the very last time I gave them my stories. I told them everything I knew, fully expecting that it could never make a difference

some time after that (in a manner of speaking) the last world abruptly shattered. the slow rot that had been eating away at it since before time had broken suddenly surged, and pillars of pure corruption burst out of its husk of a sky. as the ground beneath my feet dissolved into glitches for the very last time, the shard in the back of my right hand vibrated so fast it became painful. through the haze and the light, I thought I saw my left hand begin to melt -

and I sat in the Champion's Chamber of the Indigo Plateau, on the same plastic folding chair my world's Lance had taken to calling my throne, so many long years before. the stitching on the jacket I had left dangling on it the day my world had ended pressed into my back

it took me so many long seconds to comprehend where I was. it took me several more to realise I could still move. my heart hammering, my body shaking, half-convinced that if I moved too quickly this dream would burst like a bubble, wholly expecting Koga to burst in at any moment and announce that something was eating the sea, I got to my feet. I took a few dazed steps, and my shoe tapped against something on the floor

I looked down, and I saw pokéballs

what can I say about what happened next? my charizard wrapped my tail around its body and held me close as I cried. his scales rustled, solid and alive, radiating a warmth that drove my grief to the edges of my soul for the first time in an eternity of loneliness. with every pokéball I opened, every old ally I reunited with, every step I took in a world like so many others I had passed through but in its details unmistakably mine, it receded a little further. how it came to pass, I suspect not even the gods could say, but the people of the last world of the glitchhaze had brought back the first. they had brought me home

the story of that reborn world is not one I am equipped to tell. as much as I tried to keep a grasp on events, from the moment we discovered there was a new land beyond the once-impassable western mountains I played at best a peripheral partin the saga of ITs final defeat. but I was once more part of it; so longer a silent, sobbing witness to a fate I could not change, but an active participant in an impossible, glorious miracle. I fought where I could, and I laughed when I could, and though my sorrow never entirely went away it became easy put it aside for a few moments and bask in the beauty of this dream-made-reality

and yet, as wonderful as it was, it was not perfect. there was one person missing. I scoured the world in my search for him, both the tiny region we had grown up in and the new lands blossoming into existence all around it, fully convinced he had to be out there, restored along with everything else. but I never found more than a shadow. there was one time… but that was not him. I have been told over and over again that my best friend still lies at the bottom of the Cinnabar Strait, as dead as this world once was, and will soon be again

but that cannot be. he was a host of the Voices, and even when all of reality was on the verge of being devoured by glitches, they were as immune to the corruption as I. somewhere, somehow, he must still exist, if not in body then in spirit, if not within this universe then without it. and though logically he could be anywhere in the infinite nothingness outside reality, I know - somewhere, I think I always have - where he is. for so long I thought him unreachable, but no longer

wait for me, Evan. I'm coming to save you

and as for THAT which declared everything I had l ever loved and all we dreamed together no more than a useless charade what would I say to IT? … come on we've still a long road ahead

#twitch plays pokemon #mitzi fic #mitzi writing #azure #abe #old amber #and this remains not not about #olden #approaching four thousand words! i was not expecting the sections to get this long #i can't promise the next one will take less time to come out. it's almost certainly gonna be narrated by the voices #and they're always Fun to write #i decided azure talked like she'd swallowed a thesaurus very early on and had a lot of fun writing her #and i have decided who exposition guy is!#layer 2: the stream

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