#*|* there is a beginning but rarely an end *|* :: open starter

[amidst-snow-and-ice-moved]

For: Open | Can be specified if asked Muse: Halrë Vatari

Halrë was almost two weeks late.

he was NEVER this late, not without sending a note with the reason why. it was the one order given by his King that had been non-negotiable and until now, had never been ignored. with the winter storms fast approaching, not many elves had the ability to traverse the Echoriad Range in that weather.

even though many of the Gondolindrim didn't like the mute blacksmith, concern was growing as he was one of their main plant gatherers. and it was to gather much needed medical herbs before some of the higher valleys became impassable, which is why Halrë had gone. for he knew the paths better than most.

worried glances were passed among the gate guards when the Great Eagles carefully dropped two very familiar, bloodstained swords at their feet. blades that very few had either the height or strength needed to lift. to have them brought back without any sign of the elf they were usually attached to, wasn't a welcome sight.

it was also news that quickly spread throughout Gondolin, which the guards had tried to prevent. Halrë was missing.

[amid-ice-and-snow]

For: Open (within reason) Muse: Elrohir Verse: Elfling years

the Elves of Imladris were calm, graceful folk, who were quite happy to remain in the safety of the Hidden Valley and stay away from any panic inducing issues. which worked from the start of the Third Age, until the year 130. when the Lord and Lady unleashed two identical mischief causing terrors into the world; also known as their twins, Elladan and Elrohir.

most of the time, their mischievous ways brought smiles and laughter, especially when the elflings pranked someone. but there were also moments when the twins were the causes of panic and fear. things could normally get resolved rather quickly though, usually their parents stepped in.

this time however, was different.

the Lady of the Valley had taken the older of the twins to visit her parents in Lothlorien. she had planned to take both but Elrohir point blank refused to cross the Redhorn Pass, so he stayed with Lord Elrond. most of the time, the small elfling was happy enough to play and sleep while his father worked nearby.

two hours was all the Lord had asked for. a request that should have been manageable yet instead, Elrohir's caretakers had managed to completely lose him within the first few minutes. almost two hours later, no one had been able to find him and panic was setting in. for the sunlight was starting to fade and there was still no sign of the elfling.

[dreamisols]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ COFFEE TALK

INTRODUCTION FIC TO 'THE ART OF REMEMBRANCE'

—the rare moments of free time allow you and your boyfriend to talk about anything and everything that comes to mind... at this point, you two might as well be the third division's free podcast! —wc: 1050; fluff but mostly crack —original canon, x fem!reader, you and hoshina are just silly, hibino leno and kikoru mentions, one cuss, general pov more or less, i advocate for silly unhinged dynamics —rimi's ramble: told myself not to rush the series but i wrote this in one sitting... my summer's gonna be spent writing about this man, buckle up folks! >:]

The Third Division considers you and Hoshina as their power couple. 

Charming looks paired with commanding auras, levels of strength that no one would dare go against, all topped off with endearing one-of-a-kind personalities. Two puzzle pieces that fit as if they’re made for each other.

Everyone within the division quickly accepted and supported your relationship with the Vice Captain. And with that support comes your status as the “local love team"—an inside joke and a makeshift badge of honor (if one could even call it that).

In their defense, there isn't even any sort of competition to begin with. You two are the only couple within the division.

Every member, no matter how long they’ve been in the Defense Force, holds high respect towards both of you. They trust you with a lot of things—the wisdom you both give to your members is actually useful, and your attack combos on the field are nothing to scoff at. 

Yes, they would trust you two with their lives, and yes, the way they’d say it might blur the lines of comedy and seriousness. There’s simply one thing that’s holding everyone off…

No one trusts the both of you with coffee. 

Ironic, considering it’s one of Vice Captain Hoshina’s favorite things. 

Another inside joke is that whenever a member enters the lounge room and they’re greeted by the rich inviting scent of brewed coffee, they will be tuning in to some sort of a podcast episode hosted by their one and only dynamic duo. 

No one session is the same. Sometimes you two end up talking about some story you read or some personal experiences. Other days, it’s just opening as many controversial topics as you both can while expressing your opinions in a lighthearted debate. One time, to the division’s surprise, you two started doing a deep dive into a conspiracy theory, complete with a whole digital presentation and proven statistics. 

It’s even more surprising how convincingly well put the entire thing was to the point even Captain Ashiro listened in with interest. 

The members found it pleasant, enjoyable even. A chance to hold more conversations about different non-kaiju-related topics thanks to you and Hoshina’s exceptionally random conversation starters.

All they ask is that you guys don’t open up a topic that might get you random looks at best, or—hypothetically—get the both of you canceled on the internet at worst.   

Today was one of those days, the team figured, when you and your boyfriend step into the (initially busy) lounge with matching porcelain cups. Hibino, Leno, and Kikoru were the ones present in the room… this marks their first time listening in on the two of you rambling.

“I don’t know, Soshiro-san, don’t you think that may be a little too intense?” you made a beeline and assumed your spot on the couch right in front of Kikoru, drinking from your cup the moment you sat on the soft cushion.

Hoshina follows after you and settles right by your side, “No way!” If he weren’t holding anything, you can envision the way he’d cross his arms and huff. He mimics your movements from a while ago, taking a sip from his drink before placing the cup down with a small ‘clink!’. 

A childish pout graces his lips as he stares right at you. “If you think hard enough, I’m telling ya, dicing those kaiju is just like makin’ intricate fruit carvings!”

May the gods give the juniors strength because what the actual fuck were you two talking about?

The room is radio silent. You and Hoshina continue to glare at each other as if you’re both in a mental debate. Which seems likely enough.  

Kikoru nudges Leno’s arm to get him to break the ice and the poor guy sputters. Hibino breaks into a cold sweat when he catches the way you and Hoshina sharply look at the three of them. 

“V-Vice Captain..! (Name)-san… go–good afternoon!” Leno prays his salute doesn’t give away the fact he’s shaking.

By record, this may have to be the oddest conversation they’ve heard in passing.

You flash the three of them a small smile and Hoshina does a small wave of his hands. Not even a second later, the man beside you jumps at the opportunity to find allies for his claim.

“You guys think that slicin' kaiju is like slicing fruits, right?”

Bless your soul that you’re stubborn enough to match his energy. “If anything, it’s more like carving wood! You have to be intricate about it!” 

Hoshina looks back at you like you’ve transformed into the kaiju you were talking about, “Wood carving?! Darlin’ I love you more than the coffee I’m drinking right now, but you’ve reached a new level of insanity!”

“Comparing anything to kaiju neutralization is already some form of insanity…” Leno whispers under his breath. “Let alone wood carving and fruit dicing…” Kikoru murmurs back in agreement. 

“Aww, you love me more than coffee?”

The immediate shift from a lighthearted argument to some sappy lovey dovey confession while talking about carving patterns on kaiju may be just as impressive as your combat prowess, the trio decides. 

Hibino breathes a sigh of relief and mumbles, “Those two fit each other so well… wonder if it’s a match made in heaven or hell…”

“We’re soulmates!” Hoshina corrects him, instinctively reaching out to hold your hands as if it’ll prove his point further. He gently laces his fingers with yours before glowering at Hibino, “You also called us demons with the whole 'hell' comment. Thirty push-ups for the three of you, ya hear?”

Leno nudges his senior’s ribs like he wants to end him right then and there. Kikoru was probably devising ways to successfully kill him on the spot. Hibino’s fighting for his life, but he still manages to catch the way you and Hoshina look at each other with mirroring lovesick smiles. 

If he manages to scrape out alive, maybe this coffee talk wasn’t that bad.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, but please don’t copy or repost my work! [edited: 062424]

[iomadachd]

Closed Starter for @alastors-radioshow

The other shoe had to drop eventually. There was always another shoe when it came to the Ghost Project. Ghouls and Papas came and went, but the Project kept moving along despite, or maybe because of, death and the passage of time.

Dewdrop hadn't expected that other shoe so soon. Even when Aether was released from his contract, Dewdrop still felt confident in his place within the band up until today. Why waste the time and effort of two failed fire summonings and an element change by banishing the Ghoul that was the result of it?

The blood-red envelope handed to him by a sibling knocked all that confidence down into the ground and into the catacombs where Papas I, II, and III lay below his feet.

Imperator so rarely sent these types of letters, and it was never anything good. The last red envelope had been for Aether. Letters before that... well, they had come after the event in question. Omega, Alpha, and the others hadn't had the chance to dread the end.

He doesn't bother to read it, and he doesn't leave it behind. He can't do that to the others. He tucks it into his shirt and slips out the door to take the long way to her office. He can put off the inevitable for a little while longer. Just five more minutes topside.

Rain gasps awake, magic thrumming through them screaming that something's gone horribly wrong. They've felt this before, and that had been bad enough. At first, they think it's just a nightmare, but the feeling isn't dissipating like a nightmare would. It's getting worse, and they can hear the others moving around, doors opening, and muffled words that sound just a touch too loud to be greetings.

It's not that they're bonded with the other band ghouls, they're not exactly a pack. It's simply that if you spend enough time around a specific set of people, you get a sense of what everyone feels like, and Rain's gotten comfortable feeling the other elements around them.

Stepping out into the main common room, the others have already beaten them there, in varying states of dress, but every single one is looking to see who doesn't join them.

Rain doesn't have a heart as far as they know, but they swear it breaks when Mountain realizes Dewdrop isn't with them because his howl is the most painful sound they've ever heard. They might still prefer it to the heartbroken expressions on Phantom and Aurora's faces when it's explained to them what's just happened.

They don't know how to process the idea of the band without Dewdrop. This whole time they've been topside, the band is all they've known. Yes, this year was the first big change, but it was still largely the same. Dewdrop is just... such a big part of it. He is... was their lead guitarist, the head of the Ghouls. He'd come into his own finally taking over fully after Aether had left.

How did they begin to cope with this?

Oh... oh no.

They step back, and then again, turning tail and walking towards Dew's room with purpose. They know who to tell, and who they have to tell because one of the others will be running to find Papa. They have to be the one to tell Alastor.

Rain still hesitates at the door, even knowing that Dew isn't there to be disturbed, and that hurts even more. They enter, and the bed is cold. The bed's never been cold before. Dew always has something in there to keep it warmed, if he's not in there himself.

It takes longer than they'd like to find the portal Dew uses to communicate with Alastor, and their hands tremble slightly as they hold it up in front of them.

"Show me Alastor, please..." they request, and they aren't even sure if it will listen to them.

It does, even though it's slow to do so. Maybe the portal knows what's coming as well, or it's just naturally slow. The relief that it does doesn't override all that they're feeling in that moment.

How does one inform a Prince of Hell that their consort has been banished?

They know who Alastor's expecting, so the surprise isn't unexpected, but Rain's eyes widen all the same.

"I... Dewdrop's been Banished to the Pit."

[mercurygray]

Hi Merc! How do you feel about prompt nr 16 (daybreak) for my Clubmobile girls? Doesn't have to be anything romantic if you're not vibing with it, just the girls

Thank you 💜

- your Fred Friend

I hope this works for you, Fred Friend!

Technically, it was Mary's fault.

Mission days were always early starts - 3:00 a.m. to roll out of bed in the old, crumbling mansion the Red Cross was renting for them, and pull the truck out from the shed to be on the road and catch the end of the 5:30 am run on the equipment shed with hot coffee and a mix of yesterday's leftovers and today's starter batch, usually too doughy as the oil came up to temperature.

It was cold out before the sun came up, and they kept the windows of the truck closed while they started the oil and heated the urns for coffee, the small space cramped but warm enough, with the four of them and the fryers going. Moods were infectious, in a small space like this, and Tatty seemed to have slept on the wrong side of the bed the way she was banging pans and slamming doors and grumbling about how she'd like to shoot the man who invented early mornings and gas stoves that wouldn't light.

Anyway, she was a little ridiculous, like early mornings had only just been invented and they hadn't been doing this for months on end, and Mary had started humming, and then Helen was doing it too, and by the time the tune got to Fred it had harmony and a rhythm section with the tongs and a measuring cup until Tatty turned around, blazing, and Fred could only grin.

"Oh, she kicked out my windshield," she started, still drumming along with the tongs, and the rest picked up, "And she hit me over the head She cussed and cried and said I lied And she wished that I was dead! Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down."

The coin could have fallen on either side, but Tatty, it seemed, had complained enough for one morning. She rolled her eyes and declared she was going to let the mess hall know they were here, leaving the three of them to open the windows, still laughing about their improvised jam session.

It seemed they already had a customer - or an audience. Captain Brennan was waiting in the half-light of dawn with a cup of coffee already in hand and a clipboard under her arm, uniform beautiful and crisp. (She was always well dressed, whether by habit or practice - all the girls said so. Not too many women could make the green and pinks look chic, but by god, would Marion Brennan try.)

"You're all very chipper this morning," the intelligence officer observed, waiting a respectful distance away as they rolled up the windows and started putting out the doughnut racks.

"Sorry, ma'am," Helen offered quietly. (Brennan intimidated her, for reasons Fred couldn't ever quite understand - but then, perhaps she was a little intimidating, with her beautiful hair and her rank and her surety about her station. And how many other women were walking around air bases with captain's bars and the complete trust of the C.O.? Brennan's word was law and her good opinion gold.)

Brennan chuckled, her smile rare and warm. "Why are you apologizing? It's good to see smiles this early."

"Get you a fresh cup, Captain?" Mary asked, gesturing with the pot she was holding.

"You may, Mary, thank you." Brennan shook the remnants out of her cup and onto the grass, and offered Mary the now-empty mug. "If we're being honest, I like your coffee more than I do the mess hall's."

"Isn't it a little early for you, ma'am?" Fred asked, leaning over the window holding the sugar shaker so the Captain could help herself. It was only the flight officers in the earliest briefings, pilots and bombardiers and navigators, and Brennan certainly wasn't one of them. (Any minute now they'd all be done suiting up, and those doors would open and the whole lot of them would begin the hike out to the trucks that would take them out to the hardstands.)

"You know what they say about early birds and worms. I need to review today's run with Major Bowman, after they've sent them all out so I can brief my team. And we have photos from yesterday's run to review and send on to wing."

"Those worms won't know what hit them," Fred replied with a smile. Another smile from Brennan.

"What worms now?" Colonel Harding appeared from the direction of the briefing hut, hat tucked under his arm, Jack Kidd following close behind him.

"The worms the group's going to bomb today, sir," Mary offered, holding out a fresh mug. "Coffee for you? Major Kidd, some coffee?"

"Thank you, Mary. Mighty kind." Harding took it and drank deeply before anyone could offer powdered milk or sugar, watching as Kidd stepped away to speak with Brennan.

The song was still stuck in Fred's head as she continued setting the mugs and doughnuts out for service, glancing up to see Harding's face in the dim of daybreak, watching the conversation between his XO and his intelligence captain with an expression that Fred thought she would call pride, and, in another space and a different light, perhaps something like love.

Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down.

[bluerose5]

Since I'm slowly but surely getting through the game and probably will wait til I get Astarion's full story before I write any fic, some starter thoughts on if he and Zevran met. Probably set within the context of BG3 because I feel like it's a more flexible setting to work with than DA.

Zevran still having pretty much his same background, working for an assassin's guild called the Crows. Maybe a powerful enemy of Cazador's knows not entirely of the ritual but that he believes Astarion is key to something. Puts out a contract. Most assassins aren't willing to anger the likes of Cazador or tbh they're in his pocket. Maybe there are even rumors that circulate in the shadows of his true nature. Either way, Zevran is the one that takes the contract for the same reasons as DAO. There's an ambush. Tav questions him. Tav recruits him. Astarion disapproves.

The expected sass and flirting occurs of course, but it soon turns into a situation of like recognizing like. They make it into an unsaid competition of sorts instead of taking any of it seriously, always trying to one-up the other. If any of the others complain, they both turn their words on them instead.

Zevran probably brings up their kills at first. When Astarion doesn't seem keen on opening up about what he did under Cazador, Zevran asks him about what he's done instead during his time adventuring, which he is more open to bragging about. Surprise, the two of them bond over tales of murders they've committed while the others listen in, some more disturbed than others by their flippant approach.

Yes, yes, have to bring up lockpicking! Zevran trying to show off on some tiny, little chest that's easy to pick. Meanwhile, Astarion is over here going, "Watch this." and picking every door and chest in sight. Zevran acts disgruntled but highly approves.

Likewise, any time they're in a populated area, they make a game out of it to see who can pickpocket/steal the most valuable items by the end of the trip. Tav is not amused if this ends up, on the rare occasion, alerting the guards and landing them in jail. Good thing they'd be more than happy to lead the jailbreak.

Any time they head out, both of them try to guess where the other has concealed any daggers. They switch up how many and where they keep them each time.

The first time Zevran happens to see Astarion's back —clearly he doesn't let just everyone see it or linger on it at least— rather than draw too much attention to it, Zevran probably makes light of it, says it's quite a display, and then draws attention to his own scars to make Astarion feel more at ease. Welcomes it when Astarion asks questions until they're both exchanging stories again, although their smiles are more wistful than joyous when they recount the torture they've endured at their masters' hands.

No, I'm not avoiding the obvious. Sex? Yeah, they probably had sex early on, but the instant Astarion grows distant, I could see Zevran withdrawing as well. Neither of them are stupid. Both of them are more perceptive than people give them credit for. That first time, honestly, probably felt "tainted" for both of them after the fact. They don't bring it up for a while really.

On another, similar note, the instant one of them brings up using sex or their body as a tool, all of it suddenly clicks. It's essentially the spiderman meme.

The pure frustration that comes up when the other calls them out on their bullshit because they know best when one of them is putting on airs rather than speaking his mind.

Whether Zevran lets Astarion drink from him or not, I'd say probably so. In the beginning, it happens only if there was something in it for Zevran to gain from the exchange. Later, he would be more open to it when he trusts Astarion, although he'd joke that he'd prefer it after a little charming and wooing.

I honestly could see them having a strong bond, romantic or platonic. Either one could work in my opinion. It, like any relationship, would just take a lot of work and effort on both ends. Both of them learning to simply exist with someone who understands them more than anyone else...

Seriously, think about them being comfortable around each other and getting all the hugs, cuddles, and kisses they can ask for. Need I say more?

[astrronomemes]

SLEEPING AT LAST: ATLAS I STARTERS (PART II)

a collection of lyrics from the Sleeping At Last album, Atlas I. change & alter as needed.

“We made our families proud, but scared at the same time.”

“We promised we’d be safe.” 

“Another lie from the front lines.”

“Lay your weapons down!” 

“They’re calling off the war, on account of losing track of what we’re fighting for.”

“Let the brokenness be felt until you reach the other side.”

“There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”

“We’re young enough to try to build a better life.”

“I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not.”

“Make my messes matter. Make this chaos count.”

“You taught me the courage of stars before you left — how light carries on endlessly, even after death.”

“How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.”

“I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time.”

“How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist.”

“If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster-child prodigy.”

“If brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece.”

“I’m only honest when it rains — if I time it right, the thunder breaks when I open my mouth.”

“I want to love you, but I don’t know how.”

“Show me where my armor ends. Show me where my skin begins.”

“The heaviness that I hold in my heart has been crushing me.”

“I’ve been worried all my life.”

“I’ve always been afraid of heights.”

“We will call this place our home.”

“Smaller than dust on this map lies the greatest thing we have — the dirt in which our roots may grow, and the right to call it home.”

“Some truths are sharper than knives.”

“No matter what category you fit into, truth has got its sights set on you.”

“If truth is north, then I am true south.”

“I can’t figure it out. God knows I’ve tried.”

“Some truths are sewn into our DNA.”

“Kids will be kids.”

“I want to remember how to feel like I did.”

“We’ll be just fine. I know that we will. I just know that we will.”

“Time moves slow when half of your heart has yet to come home.”

“I can’t get you out of my mind.”

[spoocys-glade-of-dreams]

{starter for @pktearsoftazmily for the CLH universe}

*It's been a few days since Lucas had his leg amputated. He had been given a makeshift crutch to use while Ramon has been searching the junkyard for scrap and parts to get a new leg fastened for the boy. Floyd has also made another supply run. He grabbed things like a collection of hard candies for Ramon to eat when he got a cigarette craving, as well as a few cases of beer. Ramon had been drinking and smoking a lot more lately, so the hard candies were a help when he got that urge. He would even share some of them with Lucas. Floyd also picked up warmer clothes and soft, fuzzy blankets for Lucas on Ramon's request. Lucas would also see his dad try to call Raymona constantly with his cellphone. Each time with no answer.

*Murfy has been on the laptop constantly. He has been in contact with one of his group members, a guy only known by the alias "Rain Dancer." He never shows his face in their calls. From what was gathered during these calls is that Rain Dancer was trying to get a hold of the mayor of his city and was scheduling a meeting. This meeting would determine if they would allow Murfy and the family to move into their city. Murfy explained that the city was a highly secure utopia, and a prime target for Eden. Eden just never struck them because they are too heavily fortified. There were peace negotiations going on instead but they never seem to work out.

*It was quiet at the shelter, until the group could hear Ramon calling out to them in excitement. Bullfrog pulls the doors of the shelter open and Ramon runs through, almost tripping over himself. He runs all the way to Murfy and presents something to him. It was a prosthetic, straight from Eden's Military Redemption Program. Murfy let out a long whistle and grinned when he inspected the part*

"Holy shit, Ram. I was not expecting you to find such a treasure in the trash. A little banged up here and there. A bit of scorch marks, but those can come out with a good polish. I'm surprised. It's REAL good condition. Should be easy for me to fix up, no problem. Though if Mona were here, she'd probably get this done a lot faster than I could. I'm still waiting for Rain Dancer to get back to me, so I got time to kill. Ram? Bring me my tools, please."

*Ramon brings over a large toolbox and sets it down beside Murfy's mattress. Murfy puts on a pair of goggles, opens the lid of his tool box, pulls out a screwdriver, and begins working on the leg. - "How do you think it ended up in the junkyard?" - Ramon was curious. Why would this be in the junkyard of all places? Murfy didn't miss a beat when he responded as he worked - "Someone died, Ramon. These Military Redemption Program parts are usually built to fill a specific person's needs. When that person dies, they just rip the parts off of them and toss em. Though what has me curious is they usually make it so these are non functional to keep the poor people from reselling them or picking them apart for parts. This really is a rare find you got. I think Lucas is going to appreciate your hard work immensely."

[cheeriecherrymain]

Okay,okay,our lovely writer,what do you think about Viktor and an artist s/o who adores him and shows it through sneakily creating a life-size scuplture of him for the Undercity to remind them they have someone looking out for them,even if in Piltover?

I kind of meshed painting and sculpting because I....don't really know how sculpting works. I might doodle a shitty picture of this at some point though.

Requests are open my loves (both SFW/MSFW)

---

Viktor x Reader

-Viktor doesn’t realize at first where you’ve been sneaking off to. He knows you’re going somewhere, and every time he catches you, you say it’s ‘to work on art’. He’s a bit confused as to why you won’t just show him what you’re working on - you’ve shown him all your other works in progress.

-What’s so different about this one?

-Many things, apparently. For starters, you’re not working in your usual studio, surrounded by bright natural light and with access to every imaginable medium. He comes by to visit on one of his rare free afternoons, only to run into one of your artist friends, who informs him that she hasn’t seen you in a couple of days.

-Informs him that you packed up a bunch of paints into a backpack, and took off in the direction of the undercity.

-He starts worrying the moment he realizes where you are. He knows that not everything about his home is bad - knows that there are a lot of good people, who are smart and thoughtful and kind. People who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at you, and would leave you be to do whatever it is you’re doing.

-It’s the less than savory characters he’s stressed about. The select few who would take advantage of you, if the opportunity arose. The few who were beyond desperate, looking for an easy way to put a couple cents in their pocket.

-He doesn’t even know what part of the undercity you’re in, and he knows there’s no sense in looking. If he were to ask around, it would only draw more attention to you, and that’s the last thing he wants.

-All he hopes for is that you’ll go undetected long enough to come home to him, where he can hopefully talk some sense into you.

—

-You do end up coming home, late into the evening, smelling of pollution and paint fumes, covered in smacks of colour from head to toe. 

-You’re obviously startled when you stumble across him on the way to the bathroom, seated comfortable in your little shared lounge, reading one of the books you’d suggested to him. You freeze in the doorway, like a deer in headlights, as he glances up at you.

-You know you’ve been caught.

-You know he’s displeased.

- “I know what this looks like-” you begin, but he’s quick to hold a hand up to shush you. You bite the inside of your cheek, indignantly setting your hands on your hips.

- “You’ve been going to the undercity,” he states, bluntly. “You’ve been going to the undercity, unaccompanied, and without telling anyone. Despite the warnings I’ve given you about how unsafe it is there - especially for someone like you!”

-You want to argue with him, to push back against his nagging, even though you know he’s got a point. You know that you’re an easy target. Even with your old, paint-covered clothes on, you’re too pristine, too done up, to have come from anywhere other than Piltover.

- “I had a good reason,” you grumble, tactfully avoiding his gaze. “It was supposed to be a surprise, a whole thing, but…”

-You sigh, your posture suddenly relaxing and all the fight in you dissipating. Frustrated as he may be, you know that Viktor only wants you to be safe, no matter where you go. You know that if something were to happen to you - something you could have prevented, no less…it would ruin him.

-Tentatively, you hold your hand out to him, still covered in dried pigments. He eyes you warily, his gaze flicking up to your face.

- “I’ll show you what I’ve been working on,” you clarify, wiggling your fingers. “It’s mostly done, anyways. And better viewed at night. Now come on.”

-He takes your hand.

—

-An hour later, the two of you are carefully skulking through various alleyways, avoiding pipes and puddles and a multitude of leaks, glowing liquids of questionable origin and little heaps of junk. Even one or two people, most of whom pay you no mind.

-You practically vibrating with excitement, the closer you seem to get to…wherever it is you’re bringing him. Your fingers knit through his, carefully tugging him along in the dark, making sure neither of you trip and fall face first into the walkway.

-He’s just about to ask you if you’re nearing your destination, when suddenly, you stop. So abruptly that he nearly collides with your back, despite his casual pace. He frowns down at you for a second, before his eyes adjust a little more to the lack of light, and he’s able to follow your gaze.

-Able to see what you’re looking at.

-The walls, mostly, are what catches his attention first. Barely glowing where they start, almost seeming to appear out of thin air. They sweep and ooze forward on the flat surface, brightening as they grow thicker and thicker as they twist closer to their destination.

-He recognizes the painting style, of course - it’s yours. Your distinct line techniques, combined with the rough texture of your brush style. He’s able to pick out a couple of different mediums you’ve used, to bend and burst and haze the colours in such a way that makes it look like the tendrils you’ve created are alive.

-Curling around each other like wires, yet pulsing with light almost like they’re breathing.

-You tug on his hand again, pulling him further down the alleyway, moving slower than before as to allow him to watch your art twist and curve around the architecture it’s painted on.

-Until finally, you come to a clearing. Just as unkempt as the area you’d been, it’s an intersection of six different walkways, a jagged circle, about twenty feet in diameter. He glances around, his eyes following the tendrils down the walls and across the ground - all heading inwards from each different path.

-Until they convene in the center.

-Where stands a metal statue, abstract in nature yet welded and twisted so perfectly. Painted with love and attention, in much the same style as the glow that led you both here, only this time it’s so bright it’s nearly blinding.

-You’ve left out his features, leaving the shape up to interpretation and curiosity, but he knows. He can tell in the way you’ve shaped it, and in the way the metal man so carefully holds his creation.

-It’s him, and the hexcore.

-It’s vague, but he knows.

- “You…made this?” he asks, so softly that you can barely hear him. He takes a few steps closer, trailing his eyes over every curve and detail of the sculpture.

- “I did,” you say, quite pleased with yourself. “I thought the undercity would do well to remember someone who’s out there, working his ass off to make things better: searching for answers and looking for ways to find peace.”

-You move towards him, linking your arms together as you come to stand by his side.

- “I know it’s not much,” you sigh. “I know that…my art probably won’t change anything. I know that a lot of people won’t know the significance of the piece, and won’t see the detail and the love that’s gone into it. But…it can offer them a little slice of light in this dark place, if nothing else. It can be a place where they don’t have to worry about the shadows that follow them. I hope.”

-He carefully hooks his cane into the crook of his elbow, and reaches up to cup your jaw, his thumb slowly tracing over the curve of your cheek, regarding you with the utmost admiration and fondness.

- “Thank you,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear. “You say your art won’t change anything, but it has. You have. You’ve made the world a little bit brighter, because of this.”

-His lips meet yours in tender expression, warm and gentle and familiar.

-You’ve made his world brighter.

[pestozsauce]

Malevmay prompt 1 - leviathan

“His Leviathan”

As much as Geno liked to deny it, he truly did love Reaper. When Reaper had first begun to court Geno it had been surprising, and terrifying. For starters, when Geno was younger and his mother was alive, all the way back before he had his own coat and there was no evidence of his true species except for his webbed fingers hidden by gloves, he was told the story of the harbinger of death. Well, he was told the story of the seven leviathans, but the tale of the harbinger of death always stuck out to him.

The harbinger of death, otherwise known as Reaper, is the fourth oldest leviathan according to the legends. In his leviathan he’s described as a huge terrifying being, appearing ghostly to some, and maddening to others, though in his mer form he was a skeleton with the tail of an orca mer cloaked in a black cloak. Geno was told that if he had ever encountered him, especially while in the form of a seal, he would be dead as fast as he could blink. He supposes that was one of the things to keep him out of the sea for so long.

Though years later, when any family or friends Geno would’ve cared about were gone, he turned to the sea, and that’s when he first met Reaper. The Antarctic, the place his mother was from, had been a cold and harsh place to adjust to, but he was getting on well enough, he had even found himself a nice cave that was halfway in the water he could stay. So over all, things were going fine, and this was coming from someone who tended to be pessimistic.

He had met Reaper while he was out hunting, it wasn’t a very good hunting session, he hadn’t managed to catch a single thing, most likely having something to do with the herd of seals that had recently traveled and settled nearby. Anyway, he had just chased some type of fish into a small cave, but the slippery little bastard had escaped right as they both reached the end of the cave, there wasn’t enough room for geno to turn around swiftly and chase after it, so he had paused and groaned for a moment before deciding he would just go back home for the night and try again with hunting tomorrow.

He hadn’t expected much else out of the night, in fact he hoped that no other events would occur through the rest night, but no, when he had shimmied around in the crevice, he saw no one other than the harbinger of death peering at him with a hungry look in his eyes. At first glance he didn’t recognize him, he looked like a regular orca mer at first. The first warning sign had been the fact that the other had been a skeleton, skeletons were rare, very rare, he still remembers how shocked his mother had been that both himself and his brother had been born as healthy skeletons.

The next warning sign had been the mer’s empty sockets, and then his black cloak that stuck close to his body. The harbinger slowly turned his head to the side, peering at geno as if he was planning out his death, and perhaps he was. That thought caused Geno to press himself close to the back of the crevice, getting as far away from the harbinger as he could, even if he knew it was useless. The harbinger opened his mouth, presumably to speak, but Geno cut him off with a deep, guttural growl. The harbinger froze, and then he began to laugh as what appeared to be a blue blush spread across his face.

“Wh-what the fuck are you laughing for?” Geno had hissed out, trying not to sound scared in the face of what's rumored to be death.

The harbinger did not answer, continuing to laugh at his scared form. Geno could feel the anger begin to well, after his mom died he had been told he had begun to gain a short temper.

“Stop laughing or- or I’ll bite you,” Geno had stumbled over his words in an attempt at figuring out what to say.

His threat had the opposite effect as the harbinger had begun to laugh harder, and when he finally did stop laughing, he winked at him slyly and said, “well I wouldn't mind that,”

Geno huffed, and decided that if he was going to die here, he might as well go down fighting. While the harbinger was busy drooling over his body, Geno shot forward, wincing as his bones scraped against the sides of the crevice walls and drawing red bone marrow. He opened his extendible jaw wide and went in for his target, he would’ve reached the harbingers neck had he not had his hand up. But Geno had at least managed to clamp his jaw around the harbingers wrist, he bit down as hard as he could, not stopping even as the others marrow filled his mouth and he felt bone crunch beneath his teeth.

“Woah,” The harbinger spoke, oddly enough, there wasn’t much surprise in his voice, more so amusement, “Didn’t think you’d take me seriously there,”

Geno growled at him once more, mind racing at what to do next, of course he had soon decided on booking it out of there since the harbinger seemed more content to awkwardly stare at him then actually fight back. After he had let go of the harbinger he had pushed him back the turned around and swam for dear life in a random direction. It had taken hours to get home after, fear of encountering the harbinger and the fact that he had gotten lost both coming into play.

But, when he had gotten home, there was a carcass in the middle of his home, an Antarctic fur seal which stunk of the harbinger. That wasn’t the last of the harbingers' gifts either, no matter how many times Geno tried finding new places to move, he always came home to a gift from the harbinger. It took him awhile to figure out he was being courted, and even longer to begin accepting the gifts and start talking to the harbinger. Reaper was much different from what Geno though he would be like, he was flirty and mischievous and liked to sneak touches or small kisses at Geno, but all it took was one flirty remark or heartfelt gift from Geno and Reaper was like putty in the selkies arms.

Though Geno had been getting used to ignoring his instincts telling him that Reaper would kill him, he almost ran and hid when he first saw Reaper's leviathan form. He had grown 10 times his size, making Geno barely the size of his hand. The white’s of his tail had turned a see-through teal, allowing him to see the skeleton inside, and his cloak hood seemed to completely hide his head from view, making his eyes glow white. But even as Geno shook as he stared up at his lover, the other simply scooped him up and laughed in that fond way that made Geno’s face red. And though Geno hadn’t, and would never, admit it to Reaper, it felt nice being cradled in his large hands, even if the other could crush him at any moment.

And that’s where he was now, cradled in his lover's hands. Reaper's body was halfway above the water so he could hold Geno up as they both gazed at the stars. He turned around and gazed behind him to where Reaper's head was resting on the ice below. He never could’ve expected to fall in love with a leviathan, and he never expected that same leviathan to fall in love back. In all honesty he had expected to be forcefully married by some sailor after getting his coat stolen, like his mother and most other selkies in tales he’s heard.

“You ok Gen?” Reapers asked in a whisper as his natural tone of voice was louder in his current form.

“Yeah Reaps, I’m just fine,” A soft smile came to his face, he truly did love the leviathan, his leviathan.

Credits:

Undertale - Toby fox

Leviathantale - Skumhu

Genos sans - LoverofPiggies (aka CrayonQueen)

Reaper sans - I couldn't find his creator :(

[deathfavor]

starter call for @furiaei

If I could bring you to a beautiful dream just once...you would definitely choose me... When will she ever learn her lesson? No one chooses her other than for gain. Serpent's head falls back against the acrobatic hoop hanging from the ceiling, her gaze staring at the blank, grey walls. There's always new sinners showing up these days, rarely a moment she even gets to see much less speak with the chief. Chief promised...but in the end, it was just another empty promise like others who had sold her lies of happiness. Marv wasn't destroying her anymore, but sometimes she almost wished....

Her head turns towards the door as it slides open to grant someone permission. Her eyes widen for a moment, recognition immediate as she spots the other sinner. She's supposed to always be smiling as a performer, but the idea of performing seems exhausting at the moment. But Mya's eyes notice her and Serpent musters up a thin smile in greeting. Mya is one of the few who aren't afraid of her and she understands.

" The Chief didn't catch me. " She speaks up quietly, her head falling backwards again and her eyes lifting to the ceiling. The voice that she uses isn't her entertainer voice, but her real voice. " Before, you mentioned about Chief arresting me. They didn't succeed. I gave myself up. It was tedious hiding. But more importantly I thought..." Her voice falters, wavering.as she reflects on it. " I thought they would help. Finding my happiness...They were so convincing. " Her hands squeeze together, hard enough her knuckles turn white. It feels stupid looking back on it now. How desperately she now claws to do a simple magic show or go out like the other sinners get to. ( She's too dangerous , she's heard the guards talk. ). The real world has always been misery, but this is a cage more akin to the family at the beginning of her life.

The performer intentionally falls with grace like an eagle's death dive before she flips and lands gracefully on her toes. Years of experience make the act seem as effortless as breathing. But her attention is on Mya. " Is it so wrong that I want others to be happy? That I want to be happy? " There's a desperate edge, tucked into her words, a hand trying to grasp for proof she's not so wrong to want to be happy. " All I'm fed are lies. I never learn. " Serpent laughs, the noise a rattle in her throat as she looks to the side. " I'm a monster even here. I guess it wouldn't be a very good story if the monster won, huh? " She turns back with a smile, her voice raising in pitch to an eerily accurate cheerful tone despite the obvious pain in the words.

[amidst-snow-and-ice-moved]

For: Open Muse: Elrohir Verse: Lost in the Mountains

there were many places within Arda where Elves could be found; a run down tavern in the toughest part of Rhovanion wasn't it. yet that was exactly where the missing youngest son of Elrond's could be found on a regular basis.

working part time as a bar tender and a bouncer, when things got too rowdy, very few of the folk had any issues with him. his elvish features remained hidden by glamour and cloak, so only those who could see through it would know the difference.

'Rowan', or Ro as the men called him, was a mystery but he didn't remember his past. no one cared and no one asked. however there was a silent agreement to keep his presence hidden from the knowledge of the Elves.

something that could be hard, given the proximity of the main route between Imladris and Lothlorien. they managed it though, until the day when he was needed to run the bar on his own.

[amid-ice-and-snow]

For: Open Muse: Elrohir Verse: Finding my Own Way

"They won't turn you away. No matter how long it's been. Lord Elrond wouldn't do that to one of his children. After all, Strider here has a tendency of vanishing for longer and he's still allowed in."

the aforementioned Dúnedan Chieftain narrowed his eyes at Himeinior for the teasing but didn't say anything. both of the Rangers were focused on their companion, aware of the uncertainty that had built.

"I know that Himi but.. I broke promises that I made to both my father and my twin."

"That wasn't your fault, Elrohir. We should have been more prepared and we weren't. You tried to warn us of the dangers of being as unprepared as we were and we got caught. It's been nearly two years; I think they'll be more glad to see you alive."

silver eyes shifted away from the two Dúnedain, studying the Valley that he called home. he was quiet for a few minutes, before glancing over at the gentle shoulder squeeze. silence said alot and in this case, the Men knew what he didn't say.

at first, no one really recognised the third figure with Estel and Himeinior. but murmurs of, "Is that Elrohir?", quickly made it's way inside of the Last Homely House. ensuring that all would soon know of his arrival, including the Lord and family.

[timelessxmemories]

OPEN STARTER ;; Professor Hojo.

TIMELINE ;; Final Fantasy 7 – Before the Plate is dropped.

PLACE & TIME ;; Shinra HQ, Lab 09, 8:10 Pm.

SHIPPING PREFERENCE [PLATONIC / ROMANTIC] ;; Multi-Ship, Open to any, romantic relationships must be of age, and preferably female due to Hojo being straight canonically and as a muse itself, platonic relationships may be any.

TAGS ;; @cupid-beatricereden , @ghostlyeye , @ask-liam-and-co + anyone else who would like to join.

A man in a lab coat stands at a machine, seeming to be fumbling around with a control panel of sorts, a michevious and unknowing grin plastered on his face as he hums in delight, seemingly proud of himself as he steps away from the machine, grabbing his clipboard and a pen, writing on a piece of paper attached to the clip-board. He mumbled to himself as he wrote, shaking his head and seemingly crossing something out, a scowl appearing on his face as he sighs in frustration, placing the clipboard down on the desk with a frustrated look on his face as he stares up at the machine, the machine which held Jenova inside of it. The 'mother of all living things' or so they say.

He steps away from the machine, closing the door to it as he steps into the main room and heads towards his desk, sitting down and writing a few notes down on sticky papers. It was fairly quiet this evening, just him and his thoughts. But still, it was too quiet. Too quiet for his liking. So he stands up and adjusts his lab coat, beginning to wander the Lab, the heels on his shoes clicking with each step he took, and with each step he took, he heard nothing. Not a single thing. He sighs, walking back to his desk and picking up a photo. It was a photo of him, his previous wife, Starlight, and their daughter, Lock. He smiles sadly at the photo, it wasn't a sinister grin he usually gave, but rather, a genuine smile. One that's rare to see on this man's face.

But his brows quickly furrow at the painful memory of having to put an end to his wife's life involuntarily. The way she begged and pleaded to Hojo to let her live. The way her cries and sobs rang out, causing his head to fog and everything to become suddenly much louder. The memory of having to keep this hidden from his daughter for so very long. The photo in his hand crinkled a little with the way his grip tightened, tears threatened to fall from the man's eyes but he quickly shook it off and put the photo back in its place, shaking his head firmly.

[roleplayfinder]

Hi all, I am a 30+ F and am looking for some new 25+ long-term OC partners to play the male OC for a few romance concepts I have either written starters for or pondered on (I am open to listening to other ideas as well). All the characters in the stories will be 18+. I love stories with Adventure, Fantasy, Drama, Action, Angst, obviously Romance and am fine with NSFW and others themes we think may work for our story.

My concepts are below. If you are interested, feel free to message me and tell me a bit about yourself. I’m all ears to hear about characters you would like to use and we can see if our visions and characters align. (Please no real face claims. I’m not a fan of using photos of real people or well-known characters.)

Concept 1: In the Kingdom of Zerith, if you aren’t a human, you are an outcast, used as a military force, and dwell in the outskirts of the kingdom. The only way out of this life is if you can prove to be of value to the royal family. If you are deemed worthy due to your combat and or magical capabilities you will be appointed as a guardian to an official or member of the royal family. (This is judged through a trial and very few succeed.) Female guardians are rarely chosen due to the fear that they may seduce those in power. My OC Seii wants to change the way the world works and wants to free all the Noirine (half humans) and get rid of the oppressive system. After her parents pass away from illness she trains for years and attempts the trial and passes. She is appointed/selected as a guardian to one of the princes (your OC).

Concept 2: The princess has pushed off getting married both because of her duties but mainly because she is secretly in love with her guard/protector. Tired of the delays, her father has announced an arranged a marriage between her and a rumored to be very stubborn and unlikable prince from a neighboring country. Her guardian has been just that since childhood yet secretly she has loved and cared about him since they met. She however believes he only sees her as a duty (this can be true or not). There are only a few months to find a way to get out of the marriage, or disappear. (Your OC can be the protector, or this could have a fun twist and the prince becomes her lover.)

Concept 3: My OC is a Ninja/Assassin trained since she was 8 to defeat the warlords who make up the enemy forces (whoever we decide).

During a mission while undercover she learns her village has been destroyed by the clan that she works for. Following the men who destroyed her village, she finds they also killed her family along with those who did not escape. Pushing her feelings aside, she believes the only way to get her revenge is by pretending to know nothing and remain loyal to them. One day she is on a mission and returns but finds there has been a surprise attack on the clan by the enemy forces and a particular warlord is said to be the one leading the battle (your OC). As she observes and remains hidden, she witnesses him kill one of the men who destroyed her village. Noticing that he does not see a hidden assassin aiming for him she kills the assassin without the warlord noticing until after the fact but he does not know who took out the assassin.

Her goal is revenge and she only has herself as a weapon. After careful consideration she concludes that he and the enemy forces are her best chance at revenge so she secretly begins to steal info. She finds numerous ways to anonymously gets the info to the warlord OC. He obviously will investigate who is providing the info and will likely figure it out. My OC is eventually caught stealing info by her clan and imprisoned and suffers various injuries.

The last bit of info she provides him with leads him to where she is held (coincidence).

He ends up saving her as she will benefit him due to how much she knows about the clan.

Concept 4 (trigger warning): I’d like to do a mafia RP of some kind with my OC having been kidnapped and held hostage by a mafia leader. I’m open to concepts on this one, but my initial idea is to have my OC be a hostage and initially very shut down and afraid. During a meeting gone bad between the leader who has her and another leader (your OC) one of your men decides to take advantage of the situation and takes her away during the escape. At some point your OC finds out about this and discovers where he was keeping her. (He is not a fan of taking/harming women and children) My OC is in poor health and he decides to help her and plans to return her to her everyday life, but feelings start to develop between them.

[lansplaining]

(found this in my drafts and I’m not sure if I’ll keep going with it or not, but I liked this opening, so here is the beginning of a silly women’s soccer wangxian AU) 

There is simply no question about it, in the end. Lan Zhan gets a masters, partly because her uncle thinks she should and partly because it buys her another two years of playing time. Maybe if she had a realistic shot at the national team, the conversation would be different, but competition for keepers is brutal, and the current starters are still young. Lan Zhan will be the skip generation: too old, by the time the current set retire, not to be overlooked for the promising up-and-comers a cohort below her. 

“This new league…” says Lan Huan gently, but Lan Zhan shakes her head and rolls her eyes and says in her uncle’s voice, “Even the top salaries for players who aren’t on the national team aren’t enough to live off of. And it will just fold like the last league.” 

Neither of them point out that generations of players have made do while working other jobs. But they are Lans. Lans do not make ends meet: Lans succeed. Lans are not struggling semi-professional athletes, they are sensible, elegant things that pay well and do not raise eyebrows at parties. It is at 22 that Lan Zhan realizes sometimes, generations of success are upheld by quitting before you can fail. 

“You can still play recreationally,” says Lan Huan, who plays the flute in a community group and is the best player by an embarrassing distance, with a sad smile. 

So Lan Zhan turns to the thing she always liked second-best (besides music; as Lan Huan has demonstrated, that does not count) and becomes a statistician. 

+

Wei Ying’s problem has always been that she doesn’t ask enough questions. She just does things. Waiting for explanations is boring, and they rarely succeed in changing her mind anyway. Does she know what Uncle Jiang and Aunt Yu would say about her entering the college draft for a brand-new, likely-to-fold-like-the-last-one professional women’s soccer league instead of focusing on her studies? Well, she can guess. So why listen to it out loud when she could already hear it in her head? She just has to see what will happen. 

What happens is, she’s picked near the end of the first round. First-round draft pick Wei Ying. It’s a phrase the Jiangs’ friends can understand, and so they give their grudging blessing, not that Wei Ying needs it, since Aunt Yu assures her they’ll be providing no financial assistance anyway, so what exactly did she stand to lose if she defied them? Contact with A-Cheng and A-Li, maybe. Best not to risk it, since she doesn’t have to. 

What happens is, she probably should have cut ties with the Jiangs back when it would have been easy, since it happens anyway, and is messy and hard until she makes it easy by asking to be traded to a new team and getting a new phone. And then she tears her ACL on said team’s shitty turf pitch and then the team folds at the end of that season and blah blah rehab, blah blah medical debt. It’s supposed to be impossible to lose track of people in the modern world, but it turns out it’s pretty easy. 

She ends up on a new team eventually and her sisters track her down, and after A-Li gets married she ends up in the same city and Wei Ying lives in her big sister’s spare bedroom to save money on rent and it’s all pretty great. And then she gets traded, because that’s what happens when you don’t have a national team contract to give you a bit of leverage, and she gets ready to do it all again: new apartment, new friends, new part-time job. 

“Are you sure it’s worth it, Yingying?” A-Li asks worriedly as Wei Ying shoves her stuff haphazardly into her backpack, because they’re running late and she just found a whole drawer she forgot to pack and A-Li offered to mail it but honestly it’s mostly underwear and she’s gonna need that. “Zixuan could help you find a job here.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wei Ying says, shoving a thong into the side pocket of her backpack alongside some spare shin guards and deciding to just hope it doesn’t fall out in public. “I love this.” 

+

Lan Zhan has been living in her big sister’s spare bedroom for two weeks while Lan Huan spends a few months helping establish a new branch of her company in Ireland when she is forced to break their pattern of weekly video calls. 

“There is someone coming,” Lan Zhan says. 

“I… see?” Lan Huan says uncertainly. 

“A soccer player. They said you signed up to host a player for the season and she is on her way.” 

Lan Huan’s eyes go wide. She searches through her emails and finds it, shares her screen so Lan Zhan can see: the email a week ago asking if she’s still interested in hosting a player, the affirmative reply she sent in what she now recognizes was a jetlagged daze at 2:15 AM GMT. 

“I’m so, so, sorry,” says Lan Huan. “If you can give me until Monday, I can call them and figure something out.”

“She is arriving today,” Lan Zhan says. “You do not mind if I give her your room?”

“No, of course not,” says Lan Huan. “She’ll be exhausted, she can’t just sleep on the couch. You can put up with it for a weekend, can’t you?”

“Of course,” says Lan Zhan, trying not to sigh. It isn’t-- well, it is Lan Huan’s fault, but-- not in a way where Lan Zhan can really blame her. “You didn’t mention you had signed up for this program.”

“Oh, yes.” Lan Huan looks sheepish. “I have season tickets, actually. And then Mingjue told me they were looking for host families and I thought it sounded fun… that was before you moved back to town, of course, and then the season started and they hadn’t reached out, so I forgot about it. We can go to a game, once I’m back, if you’d like…?” 

It all makes sense, now. Lan Zhan cut soccer firmly and completely out of her life once she stopped playing. It makes sense Lan Huan took that to mean it was a topic she should not mention. Lan Zhan sometimes forgets how fragile her older sister thinks she is. 

“Mn,” says Lan Zhan. “I will check in on Monday. I should make sure I have things prepared for the weekend.”

“I’m really sorry,” Lan Huan says again. “Try to be nice. It’s just for a weekend.” 

+

“Her name is uhhhhh…” The nice blonde-haired lady who picked Wei Ying up from the airport flicks through her phone once they’re stopped at a red light. “Anne! Anne Lan. Ha, it rhymes.” 

Wei Ying suspects that in fact it doesn’t, but she doesn’t say so. Instead she says, “Awesome. I’m looking forward to meeting her.” 

“Season ticket holder-- oh wow, since the team started, eight years, that’s nice-- non-smoker, no pets--”

“Oh, good,” Wei Ying says. She doesn’t mind cats, but a blanket ‘no pets’ seems simpler. 

“Really good location. You could probably walk to the stadium if you wanted. Or bike, but the coaches’ll probably try to talk you out of that, kind of dangerous…”

Wei Ying is incapable of not holding up her end of the conversation, even though she’s exhausted from the flight and absolutely starving. She almost convinces herself she’s struck up enough of a rapport to ask the lady-- Tessa-- to take them to a drive-through, but then they pull off of the freeway into a residential area, and Tessa says they’re almost there. Wei Ying flips down the mirror on the sun screen to see if there’s anything she can do about, like, her face, and then decides it’s a lost cause and flips it back up again. 

“Oooookay,” says Tessa as they pull in front of a lovely little powder-blue house on a lovely little residential street. The houses are all Victorians of varying sizes: this one is tiny, a cute little dollhouse of a place with a postage-stamp yard and a flowering dogwood tree. “You want me to come in with you, or…?”

“Nah, nah, I got it,” says Wei Ying, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder as she opens the door. “My flight was already late, it’s almost dinnertime! Just pop the trunk for me and I’ll get my bag. I’ll see you at the match tomorrow?” 

“Yep!” says Tessa brightly. “Everyone’s really looking forward to meeting you. Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s anything you need.” 

Tessa pulls away and Wei Ying drags her stuff up the steps and onto the little porch. She thinks maybe the clunk-clunk-clunk of her wheelie suitcase on the perfect little steps will draw attention, but the door’s still shut when she reaches it, so she rings the bell. The curtains are drawn across the front window, but the lights seem to be out. Hm. 

“Forgive me,” comes a low voice from behind her. “I was delayed at the store.”

Wei Ying turns, smile ready. “Anne? Hi! I-- woah. No.” She stops. “Shit. I know you.” 

Lan-- Lan-- Lan. 

“Lan Zhan!” She breaks into a brilliant smile. “Do you remember me?!” 

Lan Zhan tightens her hands around the handles of her grocery bags. “Wei Ying.” 

+

So, back up. 

Lan Zhan plays for Stanford, Wei Ying for USC. Wei Ying is the bane of Lan Zhan’s life. Wei Ying breaks Lan Zhan’s first streak of clean sheets, and Lan Zhan never forgives her. She doesn’t know if Wei Ying ever thinks about her, but she thinks about Wei Ying, how she can make sure this preening, recklessly fouling, defense-neglecting midfielder can never score on her again.

Lots of people probably think about Wei Ying that way, Lan Zhan assumes. She’s a talent, someone whose name comes up, someone who is considered a future national team prospect, a future Olympian, a future star. 

Then she saves a penalty from Wei Ying, and she can at least rest confident that Wei Ying is occasionally thinking about her, too. 

+

Obviously Lan Zhan can’t have known that Wei Ying was talking shit to Jiang Cheng just that morning about how she’s never missed a penalty, about how it’s all about confidence, about how she has an unbeatable technique. 

Even worse, Wei Ying can just tell from the way she’s seen Lan Zhan play and the things people say about her that if she had known, she would have tried even harder to save it. And God, fine, it was an amazing save-- she guessed right and fucking leapt, full-stretch, and palmed it down to the ground then crumpled herself on top of it in that keeper defensive posture that honestly Wei Ying finds so cute even when it’s depriving her of the chance to at least score on the fucking rebound and preserve some of her dignity. 

So yeah, after that, she’s out for revenge.

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“This is insane,” says Wei Ying once she’s settled on the couch. “You go by Anne now?”

“My sister’s English name,” says Lan Zhan. “This is her house. She signed up for the program. I only moved here a month ago.”

“That’s perfect!” Wei Ying cries. “We can explore the city together. I actually almost came up here for college, but my family wanted a bigger name for my degree. And USC was awesome, to be fair. Or, wait, did you grow up here?”

“No,” says Lan Zhan. “Seattle.” 

“West Coast lifer! I’ve been in Orlando ‘til now. I know,” she adds, though Lan Zhan is almost certain she did not make any particular reaction. “But my sister was living there, so that was nice. I mean, if I got married to someone and then they made me move to Florida, like, that would be a deal-breaker. I’m so excited to have seasons again.” She spreads her hands and beams. “Your turn. Where have you been since Stanford?”

“I-- remained at Stanford for my master’s. I then took a job in Silicon Valley. I now have a new job here, with the city.” 

“Shit,” says Wei Ying. “So you’re like… rich, hot, and successful. Good to know.” 

“You are a professional athlete,” Lan Zhan cannot help but point out. “You are also successful.” And hot, she does not say. 

“This is so great,” Wei Ying says, ignoring this entirely. “I love people, but I was getting a little freaked out at the idea of living with just some complete stranger, as a favor, you know? But this is amazing!”

“You should shower, and put away your things,” Lan Zhan says, completely overwhelmed by the idea that Wei Ying does not consider her a stranger. What constitutes a stranger if not a woman you played against a handful of times nearly ten years ago? “You must be tired. I will start dinner.”

When Wei Ying has disappeared into Lan Huan’s room, Lan Zhan types a very quick text: Do not worry about contacting the team. I do not wish to inconvenience them or the player. I do not mind if she stays. 

She sends it before she can change her mind.