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juniper-sunny · 3 months ago

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The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 1

As a professional artist, you've made a career out of bringing works of art to life. The colors of Zaun are no exception, and your current commission is literally larger-than-life: a mural in the Undercity. But then you meet a young revolutionary named Silco who shows you a side of the underground that you've never seen before...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 3k

beta readers: @silcoitus @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Masterlist

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There’s color everywhere in the Undercity. It’s not that hard to find, but most people don’t care to go looking for it. But you’ve always been able to appreciate it in all its forms: dandelions straining through cracks in the concrete, eclectic graffiti in hard-to-reach places, pale weak lighting streaming through broken glass and ironwork…

Anywhere you look, there’s always a feast for the eyes.

There are plenty of artists from the Undercity, and you proudly count yourself among their number. But not many of them manage to cultivate a steady clientele; fewer still manage to attract the attention of wealthy Topsiders. They’ve sustained you for years now, since the beginning of your professional career. Making the transition from tagging crumbling stone walls with graffiti to painting on smooth, delicate canvas was a huge learning curve, but you make great money from commissions. And there’s a seemingly never-ending supply of wealthy Piltover families who want family portraits, individual portraits, pet portraits, portraits of long dead ancestors, portraits of them participating in historical events that they weren’t present at…

Whatever opinions you have of your clients, you keep them to yourself. They probably have their own issues with you since you were born and raised in the Undercity. But you wouldn’t give up your upbringing for anything. Certainly not the hallowed halls of Piltover’s art schools, learning to paint only in the styles of long-dead “masters” who romanticize poverty as an abstract concept, something to be studied and observed at a distance.

Today, your work brings you to the periphery of the Undercity, where Piltover’s largest bridge ends at the aboveground levels of Zaun. You’re working on your biggest commission yet, literally: a mural high on the side of a whitewashed gray brick building in the Promenade, the emergent layer of the Undercity’s glass and iron jungle. Still close enough to the surface to be touched by the sun, illuminated in the early hours on days with good weather. Your artwork is going to encompass at least two-thirds of the wall, over a hundred times larger than most other wall art in this area of Zaun.

The location has you nostalgic for those bygone days of your childhood, but the fresh air and warm sun are miles above where you used to run around in the lowly gutters, competing with your friends for the best real estate and vandalizing each other’s work, showing off who can paint the fastest and most elaborate pieces before Enforcers come stomping around. That’s when you’d all scatter like rats, only to do it all over again the next day.

The mural you’re working on is large enough to warrant the use of a scissor lift, which you’re standing on right now. Its highest extension brings you standing higher than the wall, level with the roof’s ledge. When you lean back and stretch as far as you can, a cool breeze trails through your fingers. You can’t help but savor the beautiful day for a little while longer before getting started.

Just as you lean over a yellow paint can to open it, the sound of running footsteps makes you pause. You lean over the scissor lift’s railing to look down at the alleyway below. It’s narrow due to the close proximity of other buildings, pipes and glass tubes rising above rooftops and wrapping around windows like fungi. You squint hard, trying to make out the source of the noise.

It moves so fast you almost miss it. A blur runs over the irregular stonework on the ground, coalescing into a shadowy figure that dodges and jumps around the landscape with ease, darting and almost flying on a deliberate path. Maybe it’s an avian Vastayan?

This area doesn’t see a lot of foot traffic around this time of day; you deliberately chose your working hours so you wouldn’t be disturbed. Still, it’s not unusual to see or hear people nearby. But what really gets your attention is when the thing ducks around your scissor lift and peeks out, using your machine as cover to look back where it came from.

You don’t know why you’re watching, but something compels you to. Compels you to defy the first law of survival in the Undercity: mind your own damn business. Or else.

For a moment, it doesn’t move.

Then, it looks up. Catching you staring at it.

No, not “it”—a man. Human, dark-haired with brilliant blue eyes, staring back at you in defiance and uncertainty.

He turns and goes down to his knees, crawling to a nearby manhole cover and lifting it, then jumping in. His movements are swift and graceful, no doubt thoroughly practiced at using this specific escape route.

Footsteps fill the air again. You turn away to look down the other end of the alleyway where the man came from. These footfalls are slower and louder; whoever they belong to, they’re wearing heavy boots and don’t seem to care about being subtle.

A pair of Enforcers turn the corner, navigating the debris and unsteady ground much more clumsily than the stranger.

“He can’t have gone far! Damn gutter rat…” one of them swears angrily.

They’re about to pass right next to your scissor lift.

You hold your breath as you grab two of your paint cans at random and pry their lids off as quickly as you can…

Perch them carefully on the railing…

Take aim…

And then—

SPLAT!!!

Your aim is perfect: the cans drop like bombs, crashing into the Enforcers’ shoulders and clanking onto the ground, spinning wild arcs of paint all over their boots. They’re both drenched in paint from head to toe, prim and proper gold and blue outfits stained in long drips of light pink and pure white, bright enough to be seen even from the great height you’re standing at. Just as you hoped, they stop their pursuit to shake themselves like mangy dogs, trying to swipe the paint off of their sleeves. One of them takes off their hat and whips it frantically up and down, splattering the nearby walls and your scissor lift.

You school your face from a triumphant grin into a serious, mournful expression as you lower the lift to the ground. The loud hum of the machinery drowns out their furious cursing.

“I’m soooooo sorry officers, I didn’t see you there!” you apologize profusely as you climb down to approach them.

“Dammit, woman!” one of them shouts, brandishing a paint-splattered baton at you. “What the hell—”

“If you want to be reimbursed for your uniforms, just let Councilor Salo know and he’ll cover the costs,” you smoothly interrupt the Enforcer, unbothered by his outburst.

The namedrop makes them pause. You pull your business card and a golden engraved crest out of your pocket. One of the officers takes them both, not bothering to look at your card. Instead, he carefully examines the crest, a pure gold and tacky letter “S” in calligraphic script, set in a delicate filigree of a leafy bush laden with berries. The crest is given by the Councilor to his contractors to give them free entry to restricted areas in Piltover. You’ve only ever used it so far to gain access to his gated mansion, but right now it’s coming in handy too: having Salo as a patron basically tells people that they shouldn’t mess with you unless they want to piss off a councilor.

“It’s genuine,” the Enforcer mutters to his partner and hands the crest back to you. He clears his throat and addresses you in a calmer, more formal manner. “And it’s not a problem, ma’am. We won’t bother the Councilor with something so trivial. Have you seen a—”

You gasp melodramatically, exaggeratedly widening your eyes. “Your uniforms! You need to wash them right away! Or else they’ll stain permanently!”

They glance at each other impatiently. “It’s fine. We’re looking for a—”

“And your skin! Did you get any on you?? It’ll stain you too!!”

That gets their attention. One of them tucks his hat under his arm, rubbing a gloved hand furiously at his pink-and-white cheek. You shove the other Enforcer with all your might, pushing him away.

“Scrub your bodies with tomato juice and then soak in onion peels! That’ll get it all out! But hurry!!”

They finally break out into a run, out of Zaun and towards Piltover where they belong. You snicker to yourself and toss the crest in the air. It flips over and over, casting bright reflections that spin dizzily on the walls as it catches the light. Those Enforcers won’t actually have to do all that to get the paint out of their clothing, but it feels like a small victory against the cruel arm of law enforcement who cause even worse trouble whenever they visit the Undercity.

You catch a glimpse of something twinkling on the ground. It’s the eyes of the man, still watching you from underground.

As you suppress the instinct to wave hello at him, he pulls the manhole cover back into place, disappearing into the sewers.

The next day starts off like any other, and you’re looking forward to getting more work done. But as you climb your scissor lift, a jolt of fear zaps up your spine. Prickles on the back of your neck crawl upwards to settle at the top of your head. It’s an Undercity instinct, a warning that someone you can’t see is watching you.

And they’re looking down at you like a bird of prey.

You dart into the shadows, crouching low against the wall. You take deep breaths to settle your nerves. The high ground gives them an advantage against you. If they have a gun, it’s just a matter of them pointing and shooting—

But then, just barely, you’re able to catch a whiff of smoke. It smells of cheap nicotine, and you look up to see a ring of cigarette smoke uncurling lazily against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.

The cigarette smoke is as good as a signal fire. If they wanted to hurt you, they wouldn’t make themselves known like that. Still, whoever it is, they know where you work and were waiting for you. That makes you wary enough to grab your sharpest palette knife and hide it in your pocket. It’s not a conventional weapon, but there’s no way you’re going to confront a stranger unarmed when you ask them to leave you alone. Your grip around the knife’s handle is tight as you punch the button to extend the lift to its fullest height. It brings you level with the roof and the person waiting for you.

It’s the same man from yesterday, now close enough for you to notice that his narrowed, suspicious eyes aren’t blue but turquoise, clear as the ocean and just as deep. He’s pointy and whip-thin, leaning against the roof’s ledge with crossed arms, a cigarette squeezed between the clenched fingers of a tight fist.

“What kind of person works for a councilor but won’t turn in a wanted man?” he asks, curious. His voice is low and smoky, a smooth baritone intonation rolling over gravel. It’s a beautiful voice, tempting you into lowering your guard. If you closed your eyes, you could be fooled into believing that his voice belonged to a Topside radio host or a curator giving tours in a museum.

“Just wanted to help a fellow ‘gutter rat’,” you reply, shrugging.

“And why would you do that?” His fashion is typical for an average Zaunite: his dark shirt is made of rough and well-worn fabric, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal wiry but muscled forearms. On his left shoulder is a leather pad, studded with brass buttons and stitched with metal wires, all highly polished and shining brightly in the sun, reflections dancing off them like flares. His left wrist is wrapped in bandages while a leather bracelet threaded with silver coins adorns his right wrist.

“Why not?” you ask. “Isn’t life hard enough already? We should help each other out whenever we can.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your statement with a reply, but instead raises an incredulous eyebrow. You let the silence continue as the two of you mutually size each other up. His high cheekbones and long, narrow and shapely nose are framed by straight hair, black as coal. It looks so soft, parting in the exact middle of his forehead to end in drapes around his chin. His skin is pale with an ashy undertone, a symptom of living long-term in the deepest guts of the Undercity where its denizens rarely get to enjoy any sunshine at all. His lips are thin, the irregular cupid’s bow longer on his right side than the left.

This man’s face would be an interesting challenge to paint.

“Now that’s not an attitude you encounter every day in the Undercity,” he muses. His eyes are especially striking. They gaze at you with such intensity, it makes you self-conscious of your paint-stained attire, a loose workman’s jumpsuit that prioritizes utility and comfort over style. He doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your painting materials, which you’re suddenly realizing are lying out in the open… He could get a good price for them if he stole them from you. Yesterday’s prank was a spur-of-the-moment decision; losing some easily replaceable supplies was worth inconveniencing the officers, but you suddenly regret painting a target on your back.

That’s why you have to keep to yourself in the Undercity. If you help a stranger, they could stab you in the back instead of thanking you.

But the man seems more interested in staring through you, scrutinizing you with such focus that it could put yesterday’s Enforcers to shame.

“Well, it’s fun to mess with Enforcers, too,” you chuckle at the memory. Staring back with casual indifference, you quietly readjust your grip on your knife. Another rule of survival in the Undercity is to never break eye contact with someone trying to intimidate you unless you want to be seen as weak. If he wants to start a fight, you’ll be ready to finish it.

“That, I understand all too well.” The stiff line of his lips quirks upward in appreciation before settling again into wary neutrality. He finally breaks eye contact, turning away to take a pull on his cigarette. You let out a low breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your eyes are drawn to the elegant, lazy movement of his hand as he puts out his cigarette, grinding it against the ledge. The wind carries away small brown flecks of ash in a sudden breeze.

His demeanor is stony, but not hostile. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking just from looking at his face. But he went out of his way to come here and find you, and that says a lot about his determination overriding his sense of caution. You didn’t get a good enough look at him yesterday to track him down, either to turn him in or demand a reward. He could have just as easily carried on with his own life on a path that never crossed yours again.

He must be really curious about you.

You don’t know why, but the feeling is mutual.

“You’re welcome for yesterday, by the way,” you smile at him, relaxing your hold on your knife. “Those Enforcers would’ve caught you if it weren’t for me. Although you’re so skinny you could literally slip through their fingers.”

His impressive façade cracks as he bares his chipped teeth, bristling and ready to attack. “I did not need your help. I was perfectly capable of escaping on my own.”

You thoughtfully stroke your chin. “Guess we’ll never know.”

He stands tall to his fullest height, towering over you, a dangerous challenge in his voice sharpening its edges into a threat. “What makes you think it would be a good idea to antagonize someone wanted by Enforcers?”

“Ooooh, the Enforcers want to lock up little ol’ you. You’re such a big baddie,” you tease. “If they had it their way, they’d have every single one of us locked up. You’re not special.”

He leans forward again, curling his hands over the ledge of the roof. “Perhaps I’ve done something especially terrible to warrant particular attention from Topside.”

“Let me guess,” you purse your lips as you examine him. “You pickpocketed some rich guy?”

He smiles slyly. “Worse than that.”

“Running an illegal Poro-fighting ring?”

“No.”

“Impersonating a councilor?”

“Not quite.”

You shake your head in bemusement. “What was it?”

“Seducing a Piltie noblewoman,” a mischievous twinkle shines in his eyes. “I all but rescued her from a cold and loveless marriage. Unfortunately, her husband didn’t seem to feel the same way.”

“Really?” you laugh again, more out of surprise than humor this time.

“No,” he winks. “I guess you’ll never know.”

“If I bump into those Enforcers again I’ll just ask them— not that I’d tell them where you are,” you add hastily. It was meant as a joke, but from the way he glares at you with humorless alarm it was clearly the wrong thing to say. “Besides, if you did seduce a Piltie lady, you’d be doing her a favor.”

He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what do you mean by that?”

You blush. It was something you thought when you first laid eyes on him properly, but it just slipped out while you were babbling— he’s handsome. “You’re probably better looking than her husband.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” his smile this time is accompanied by a soft exhale of amusement. He leans forward again, this time a slight slouch in his shoulders as he allows himself to relax. “I also owe you my gratitude for coming to my rescue. Thank you, madam.”

You wince at the word. He doesn’t look that much older than you, so there’s no need for him to address you so formally. “Please don’t call me that.”

“May I have your name then?” he asks politely.

You give it to him. He repeats it slowly, as if appreciating the shape of it. Something about the way he says it makes you want to step forward. The opportunity presents itself when he reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Silco.”

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 2

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

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weirdmarioenemies · 4 months ago

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Name: Peg

Debut: DK: King of Swing

This post is not about Donkey Kong himself. Sorry! It is about the peg he is currently swinging from. But Peg on its own is not very eye-catching, is it? We need a guy like DK here, for the brand recognition. With his help, Peg is gonna be a star admired like James Dean or Mr. Bean! Hopefully after this post, you'll all want to Get Pegged!

So, here's Peg. Sorry for the blurriness, this was cropped from the Japanese cover of the game. Believe it or not, no press kits seem to have included crisp, HD promo art of Peg! Imagine the world if they did that. They could have made sticker sheets, and you could have put them on your wall, and pretended Donkey Kong was awkwardly clambering on it. Now imagine doing that while a silverfish happened to be climbing on the same wall! It would be so exciting...

Peg is a very funny thing to me. Donkey Kong is a gorilla. He climbs. It's in his nature. So it makes sense to give him his own game focused on climbing rather than platforming. But the thing is, he climbs trees and grabs onto branches and vines. And this game is about Pegs! Like rock climbing hand/footholds! I like this game a lot, don't get me wrong. But I get such a kick out of it being about Pegs.

And there are so many Pegs. So many that they come in different colors, to make them more fun to look at! Which of these would you most want to Grasp? I like the blue one. You may note that none of these are red, like the artwork is, but maybe that's because of the GBA's initial lack of a backlight.

It does not stop at different colors of pegs, however! There are peg boards! Pegs with levers, at the ends of which are other pegs! Cracked pegs that crumble away into nothingness... and that brings us to my personal favorite peg!

GHOST pegs! These pegs have perished! They are only found in a haunted shipwreck stage, so that narrows down how they could have died. I'm sure a lot of them drowned, while others were cannibalized by other, desperate pegs. Maybe some were pried open by sea stars who then digested the delectable Pegmeat from within. Many possibilities! Wait, I haven't said what these pegs do! If one is grabbed, it will manifest a hexagon of pegs around itself, while any other ghostly pegs disappear. It is a fun but honestly extremely easy gimmick with no real catch, unless you are just oh so scared by these ghost pegs. I'm not. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of! But I'm not.

I am not entirely sure how I feel about the overall art direction of DK: Jungle Climber, since I really like the more unique spritework of King of Swing. One thing's for sure, though! Pegs and Peg Boards have never looked more natural! Now THESE are pegs that someone made and put there. Don't worry about it!

#peg #dk king of swing #dk jungle climber #donkey kong #donkey kong entities #donkey kong objects #mario #mod chikako

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buttercupagere · 2 years ago

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design your dream playroom prompts 📐

some questions to think about if you’re designing your dream playroom :)

🖊️ how big is it? small-ish, like a walk-in closet? medium, like a bedroom? large, like a living room? maybe huge, like a castle? be as creative as you want! it doesn’t matter if it’s unrealistic.

🖊️ what color are the walls? are they all the same color? are they lots of different colors? are there any decals on them, or a mural?

🖊️ what’s decorating the walls? framed pictures? mirrors? is there a sensory wall?

🖊️ what does the floor look like? hardwood, tile, carpet, foam playmat? if there’s a rug, is it shag, fluffy, or something else? what color is it? are there sensory tiles?

🖊️ describe the lighting. is it bright or dim? how many light sources are there? can they change color? are there fairy lights? ceiling lights? lamps?

🖊️ are there any windows? how many? how big are they? do they have blinds or curtains? what can you see outside the window?

🖊️ what storage is there? a toy chest? shelves? little bins? folding boxes? is there a ceiling net for stuffies?

🖊️ does the room have any fun features? a sensory swing? a fort? a play kitchen? a dollhouse? a pirate ship? a jungle gym? a mobile? a rocking horse?

🖊️ what kind of toys are there? stuffies, dolls, blocks, racecars, playmobil, fidget toys?

🖊️ is there a table? what does it look like? what do you use it for? slime, arts and crafts, legos, snacks? are there chairs at the table, or mats on the floor?

🖊️ is it a magical playroom? are there talking animals? toys that come to life? fairies that hang around and sprinkle pixie dust? is there a portal to another world? or a crystal ball that can show the future?

if you want, you can draw this playroom. or build it in minecraft, or out of legos. someday maybe it can become real!

#age regression #agere #agere game #playroom #playtime #age regression journal #journal #agere journal

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dejaonline · 1 year ago

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same space | shuriri x spoiled!black!fem!reader

Summary: you and shuri have a unique romantic history—the two of you have been bonded by an “arrangement”, but it’s been a good while since you’ve seen each other last. What happens when a routine drunk call + rescue reveals that it is no longer just the two of you.

Content includes: mentions of drugs and alcohol, swearing, semi-offensive insults.

Translations:

nkosazana- princess

umhle nkosazana yam- you look beautiful, my princess

Author’s note: ahh! Baby’s first fic! I am extremely nervous posting this, but i’m equally just as excited. I wanna say thank you to my baby boo @prettymrswright for all of her help and encouragement throughout the process. my tummy is achinggg (anxious girlies stand up!) but i cannot wait to hear what you guys think! thank ya’ll in advance for reading <3

Tagging some of my favsss: @prettymrswright @sapphicvqmpires @kisskourt @inmyheadimobsessed @pvnks0ul @vampzxi @quintessencewrites

Shuri took a deep breath, bracing herself for the chaos awaiting her just behind the heavy doors of the mansion. She could feel the music up through her arm as she pushed through the barrier.

She stepped inside and took in her surroundings. Glitter covered the marble floors, shimmering beneath the beams of light coming from one of the many disco balls hanging down from the high ceilings. A neon ‘Studio 54’ sign was mounted on the wall surrounded by vintage photographs and abstract art pieces.

To the left was a dimly-lit lounge with large, plush earth-toned couches and loveseats. People dressed in rhinestone covered jumpsuits and bell bottoms were socializing throughout the space, some smoking or sitting at the bar with decorated martini glasses.

The young royal ventured down a dark hallway to the right of her, following the sound of music emitting from the commodious ballroom. Colorful rays of light bounced off the walls and beneath Siri’s black boots, multi-colored tiles danced around to the beat.

The queen stood out amongst the sea of metallic gogo boots and fringe. Her slender frame was concealed beneath a black, oversized blazer and perfectly tailored pants to match. Her wandering eyes hid behind her favorite pair of black shades.

Shuri did her best to avoid getting sandwiched between a couple of inebriated bodies thrashing around her. She swiveled her head, attempting to locate you amongst the crowd until finally spotting you.

You were tucked away in a roped off section, attention focused on someone sitting dangerously close to you in the conversation pit. In the center sat a glass table, littered with empty liquor bottles, ashtrays, and assorted sizes of plastic bags. Your smooth, rich skin was covered in a sheer, floor length gown. Diamonds cascaded in detailed patterns across the fabric and tufts of feathers decorated the sleeves and hem, sweeping the silver open-toed platform heels on your feet. Your fresh braids lay parted down the center, hanging down to your lower back. You looked opulent and sexy in the iconic gown. The shimmer on your eyelids and glossy lips catching the light.

You sat with your legs crossed, one arm stretched out beside you and the other resting on your thigh while you sat back engaged in a conversation with a girl in a beaded mini dress. You watched her lips as she chatted about..stuff.

Your liquor induced arousal was immediately redirected once you caught sight of the slim figure looming behind the stranger.

“I hate to cut you off baby, but my ride is here.”

You eyed Shuri from head to toe, lingering on the bit of exposed chest behind her blazer. You leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on the girl's left cheek before standing to take Shuri’s awaiting hand.

She pressed her palm against the small of your back, steadying you.

“You okay to walk, nkosazana?”

You looked to Shuri with big, pleading eyes and she took the hint. She wrapped one of your arms around the back of her neck and scooped you up into her arms bridal style.

The two of you made your way back to the entrance. You were highly intoxicated and giggling in Shuri’s hold, your head pressed against her chest. You caught a whiff of her signature scent, the mix of sweetness and musk that you recognized as Tom Ford Vanille Fatale. You bought it for her a while back and it had been her favorite ever since.

Meanwhile, Shuri was playing it cool, trying not to make it obvious how happy she was to have you this close again. She cracked a smile at how easily tickled you became at her praise.

Although the noise level had significantly quieted down, Shuri whispered into you again.

“You look beautiful, my love.”

Another giggle escaped you and it was music to Shuri’s ears.

“Thank you, shuri bear”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that, y/n” Shuri huffed before letting you down, her still wrapped around you until the swaying ceased.

“Oh, by the way, this is Riri.”

Shuri softly tapped on the tinted window, prompting the stranger to roll it down.

Riri sat stone-faced and unamused. Her sharp jaw clenched in annoyance before she threw an uninterested two finger wave your way. She still had not looked in your direction, but your gaze locked in on her. She sat slouched in the front seat of Shuri’s Maserati Quattroporte, wearing a baggy denim jacket over a tight fitting white crop top with matching baggy jeans.

Your attention focused on the neat star design braided into the side of her head and the joint tucked behind her ear.

Even drunk, you could sense that she didn’t like you. Or at least she didn’t care much for you. She didn’t even know you, how could she not like you?

“You good, Cher?”

Riri’s low voice pulled you from your thoughts and you tightened up immediately, flipping your braids back and straightening out your dress. You wouldn’t let her see you sweat, but can admit you were impressed she caught the reference. You threw on a fake smile before bending down to reach her level.

‘You’re in my seat, Riri—“

Before she could respond Shuri snatched you away from the window.

“Hey watch the dress!” You shouted.

Shuri pulled you around to the driver’s side pushing you up against the side of the car. You yanked your arm out of her grip.

“The fuck was that for?”

Shuri stepped closer to you, the front of her body touching yours.

“Riri is my girlfriend, she’s not riding in the back.”

You stared blankly at Shuri as your thoughts began to race again.

Girlfriend? When did this happen? How did this happen?

It seemed Shuri could read your mind.

“We can talk about this later. Just sit in the back and be good for me, please? Riri likes to fight.”

Shuri opened the back door, helping you inside. She was about to close the door, but stopped to pop her head back inside the vehicle, taking your chin between her thumb and index finger.

“Play nice” she whispered

Your eyes followed Shuri as she hopped back into the front seat. The engine purred to life and the three of you were off.

You stared out the window at the star lit sky, watching the lavish residence disappear from view, thinking back to the last time you had seen Shuri.

Four months ago the two of you were inseparable. Showing up to parties together, showering each other with gifts, sneaking away to private islands. It may have seemed extravagant to others, but it was a lifestyle the two of you were accustomed to.

You enjoyed your time together, but both parties especially enjoyed the freedom that came with not committing.

It was no secret that you and Shuri had undeniable chemistry. She would do anything for you, go anywhere with you.

The reason you weren’t in Riri’s position was because you didn’t need to be. Girlfriend or not, Shuri was never really out of reach. Your history ran deep and you had been through a lot together. Somewhere down the line, friends became more and things became romantic.

You both saw other people, nothing serious. Shuri usually had a few girls on rotation. It didn’t really bother you because she would abandon whomever she was using to occupy her time with to be with you.

It was one of the things you loved most about her. She was kind and attentive, kept you in check, never let you get lazy or unfocused.

On top of that she really knew how to f—

“-uck is she back there daydreaming about?” Riri snapped.

“She does that a lot” Shuri laughed.

“You wanna hit this or not? Don’t got all night.”

Riri held the lit joint between her fingers, pointing it in your direction.

“Thanks.” You replied dryly

You took it from her, then began to examine the bubblegum pink rolling paper.

“You roll this, Riri?”

“Yeah. Problem?”

You didn’t miss the small smirk that crept upon her face as she awaited your response.

“You used my rolling papers.” You stated matter-of-factly.

Your voice came out more shrill than you intended.

Shuri cut her eyes to you through the rear view mirror. It was a look you had come to learn was a silent warning.

“You left them behind the last time you were over, nkosazana”

You looked back over to Riri, who had now cracked a full blown smile. She watched in amusement as you took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

You blew a path directly at her with the remaining smoke, letting it drift around her chiseled face and creating the illusion of her sitting among the clouds.

Her gaze had yet to leave yours. She was studying you: the way your nose scrunched up in annoyance, how your plump lips seemed to always sit in a permanent pout, and fixating on the way your chest increasingly rose and fell.

Maybe it was the weed or maybe it was the fact that Riri was stunning. Her eyes were intense as they bore into you, it made you nervous. It also made you extremely horny.

The car finally rolled into Shuri’s garage. And although you felt a suffocating heaviness in the vehicle, neither you nor Riri moved. You both knew better than to touch your own door handle.

Shuri went for your door first. You stepped out and pushed right past her, leaving no room for conversation. The clicking of your heels echoed throughout the vast garage as you stormed off, hips swaying beneath your dress.

The couple silently watched your figure stride past the rows of parked vehicles and vanish behind the door, making your way inside the house.

Shuri sighed deeply, carefully contemplating her next move. She grabbed Riri’s hands and kissed her knuckles before guiding her inside.

Inside, you made a b-line straight for the kitchen. You swung open one of the cabinets just above your head, snatching a wine glass from inside before slamming it shut.

Shuri was leaned up against the wall, right next to the small space that housed her impressive wine collection. Her eyes traveled down to the glass in your hand and she rolled her eyes, turning to grab the handle.

She disappeared inside, a look of contemplation on her face as she scanned the rows of bottles. Finally, she reached for a 1973 Chateau Montelena Chardonnay. She sauntered toward you, sending you a cryptic smile before heading right for the same cabinet you were just abusing.

In her hand she held two more wine glasses.

“I taught you better than that, y/n.” She teased.

Shuri made her way into the living room and you followed behind.

Riri sat alone on one of the couches, her hand rested over her face.

Shuri stood before you two, looking as beautiful as ever, oozing with charm and sex appeal. She set two of the glasses down, prompting you to add yours to the mix. You jumped at the ‘pop’ of the cork, anxious to have the glass back in your grasp.

“I think we should play a game, get to know each other a little better.” Her accent was thick, but it was no match for the tension in the air.

“And why would we do that?” You questioned.

The last thing you were interested in doing was learning anything about Riri. You felt you had gathered enough information about her from the ride to Shuri’s place: her name and the fact that she has a nasty attitude. Which is rich coming from you.

“Because, princess,” Shuri paused as she filled each glass. “If I’m going to keep both of you in my life, I want you two to bond, learn to get along.” She passed one to Riri, then you, before picking up the last for herself.

Before she could take a sip, her kimoyo beads hummed to life, signaling that someone was trying to contact her.

“I’ll be right back” was all she said before rushing out of the room.

Silence once again fell upon the house. You sipping from your glass, Riri staring you down from across the room. She was the first to speak up.

“So, what escort service did she find your ass from?”

You choked on your drink, appalled at the accusation.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, Keebler elf?”

You were trying to keep your voices down, afraid Shuri would hear from wherever she ran off to.

Riri stood up from her seat, coming face to face with you.

“There’s no way someone would be desperate enough to cling onto someone with a whole ass girlfriend the way that you do without getting paid for it.”

You stood your ground, pushing your upper body up to meet Riri halfway, mere inches away from her face.

“And you’d have to be one dumb bitch to think that title has any meaning.”

“Y/N!”

Before you could register the end of that exchange, Shuri grabbed you up for the second time that night, dragging you down the corridor and into a guest room. She slammed the door behind her, shoulders raising and dropping as she breathed heavily.

Stupidly, you opened your mouth to defend yourself.

“Shuri, that’s not fair, she was being awful to me—“

“I do not care! That is my partner, you do not speak to her like that. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. You’re lucky she even allowed you to step foot in our home!”

Our home. Your throat tightened at the sound. You were starting to feel sick.

“I should have told you earlier, I’m sorry.”

Shuri kneeled in front of you, taking your hands into hers.

“I met Riri a while back, when I went on that trip to Massachusetts.”

“That was six months ago.” You were trying to keep up with the timeline of events that Shuri was explaining to you.

“Yes. We kept in touch, nothing serious.” She peered up at you, waiting for your reaction.

“Go on.”

She cleared her throat before continuing.

“Of course you know, I got this place here in New York to be closer to you. But then I had to return home for a while.”

Things were starting to add up. You remembered having to say goodbye to Shuri, how much you had missed her over the last 4 months.

“Riri came to help me in the lab and we grew to enjoy each other's company. Not in the way that I’m used to, this was real. We made things official and when all the chaos settled, I asked her to return to the city with me.”

You were speechless for a moment, taking in Shuri’s words. You didn’t find yourself being angry, you had no right. The two of you were never exclusive and until a few weeks ago, you didn’t even entertain the thought of it. It had never bothered you that Shuri preferred an open relationship, but hearing that she was serious about Riri struck you to your core.

“Does she know?” You whispered.

“About us?” You nodded in response.

“Yes, I told her up front. My love for you never ceases. No matter who I am with, no matter where I go. You may not have chosen me, my love, but I will always choose you.”

Classic Shuri, girl always had a way with words.

“So how does this work?”

“Riri doesn't care for monogamy, that is how this even works in the first place. We’ll have to set some boundaries, of course, but I believe that we can figure this out. You just have to trust me, okay?”

It was a lot to consider. To say that you and Riri were at odds was an understatement, and establishing mutual tolerance would take some work. But you saw how much this meant to Shuri.

“I missed you, Shuri” you said honestly. Fatigue began to overcome you, and Shuri knew she didn’t have much longer to converse with you.

You laid back onto the bed while Shuri removed your heels. She covered you with a blanket and bent down towards your face. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

“We’ll talk some more in the morning. Get some rest now. Did I already tell you how beautiful you look?”

“Yeah, but you can tell me again.”

A big smile broke across Shuri’s face. She placed soft kisses on your cheeks, one after another, and lingered as she made contact with your forehead.

“umhle nkosazana yam”

It was the last thing you heard before sleep carried you off.

#shuri x reader #shuri x riri #shuriri x reader #shuriri #shuri x you #shuri x y/n

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pilot-boi · 5 months ago

Note

Imagine: Jaune is a semi-decent artist and spends his time drawing and painting, usually his friends. As a result, many of the denizens of the Ever After immediately recognize Team RWBY due to the colorful portraits of the Brave Knight's friends, and the tales he told of them.

Jaune healing arc in the Ever After because he gets really into therapy painting

Boy is still deeply sad and lonely, but he works through his trauma by turning it into something beautiful. It allows him to let go of his pain by understanding that sometimes letting go IS the right thing to do

It starts out just as Jaune desperately trying not to forget his family’s faces (and yes, I’m including RWBYNRO in family). He doodles them everywhere, describing them down to the minutest detail to anyone who will listen. It’s why he moves in with the Paper Pleasers to begin with

Art supplies he can literally pick off the trees

He draws his friends day in and day out. They start out terrible, of course. Stick figurey doodles of the people that mean more than life itself, and they’re so awful, such a terrible representation of his family that he crumples them and throws them across the hut that he’s slowly building

With the too slow increase in his art skills, Jaune focuses more on the colors

The exact shade of orange for Nora’s hair, sourced from flowers in the Jungle Acre. Metallic flecks of silver for Ruby’s eyes bartered from a merchant in the Garden Acre. Grasses mashed in a make-shift mortar and pestle for the green of Ren’s clothing

And so on

He tries not to think about how if the shade of the Nora flowers was a touch lighter it would match Penny’s hair perfectly. He tries not to stare at the green crystals glowing serenely next to the Ruby silver putty on the merchant’s table and how they look like Penny’s eyes. He tries not to wince when the green of Ren’s clothing is a touch too warm, too close to Penny’s dress

Eventually his walls are plastered with drawings and sketches of his friends. The likenesses are uncanny, he has nothing but time to hone his skills

But none of Penny

The first time he draws her is after Alyx and Lewis. It’s a horrible likeness, he can’t seem to get her face right no matter how he tries. She always seems to be looking at him, judging, pitying

But eventually, her eyes seem to turn caring, her smile less accusing

And Jaune heals

#rwby #jaune arc #penny polendina #mine #asks #anonymous #art therapy au

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 1 year ago

Text

A promise kept

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 8

Prompt: Idiots to lovers

Rated: G

Tags: Childhood friends to lovers; Mistaken identity; Fluff; Modern AU if you squint

CW: none

Notes: @house-of-the-moving-image and I came up with this while bouncing ideas for another drabble and fell instantly in love with the idea. Be sure to also check out the precious art they made!!!

The bars of the jungle gym creak but Steve doesn’t lift his face from his hunched knees.

“Hey, big boy, don't cry.”

“‘m not crying. Go away!”

This is ridiculous. He's almost eight, and eight-year-old boys don't cry. Not even if their only friend in the whole world just told them they're moving away to live with their uncle.

They don't even know each other’s names. Names don't matter when you're eight and you're both at the park and looking for someone to play with.

So Steve is big boy.

And his friend … well, Steve mostly calls him his dragon.

It's because of this game they have. Steve is a king and the other boy his dragon and the jungle gym their castle, and every day, they have a new adventure.

Except now, there won't be any more adventures.

“Oh? But how am I supposed to give you this?”

Steve lifts his head, goes a bit cross-eyed at the flower that's hovering right in front of his face.

“What would I want with that?” he snaps. “Flowers are for girls.”

His dragon chuckles as he joins him on his perch. The playground stretches out under them. Their kingdom.

“But this isn't just any flower. It's magical.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Magical?”

“Yup!” His friend's face breaks into a grin, two teeth short. “As long as you keep it, I'll always make my way back to you. It may take a while, but I'll find you eventually.”

“Promise?” Steve murmurs. There's a lump in his throat and it comes out small and quiet.

“I promise.” The other boy winks and tugs the flower behind his ear. “That I'll find you, and that I'll always be your dragon. And now, my king … how about one final adventure?”

The colors of the jungle gym are faded with age. Like the pressed flower in its frame on his bedroom wall.

“Oh hey, Steve!”

Steve looks up from the book in his lap to find a familiar someone next to their picnic blanket.

“Eddie, hi!” He smiles, even as his stomach drops. “I … what are you doing here?”

“Steve?” Will asks, ogling Eddie's tattoos and wild hair with large eyes. “Who's this?”

“Oh, erm …” Steve runs an awkward hand through his hair. “My friend Eddie. He just moved here. Eddie, this is Will and El, the kids I babysit?”

“Of course,” Eddie dips into a bow, which makes the twins giggle. “Steve has told me all about you.”

“Do you want to sit with us?” El asks. “Steve is reading the How to train your dragon books to us.”

“Fuck yeah, I love dragons!” Eddie cheers. Only he doesn’t sit on the blanket like a normal person - he perches himself on the steps of the jungle gym and hisses, pulling a silly face and mimicking claws with his hands. El whoops and claps while Will smiles shyly. Steve needs to swallow against the memories that threaten to crawl up his throat.

“Was it alright to invite Eddie?” El asks. They've finished reading for the day and she helped Steve get snow cones. “You said he's your friend, but you seem sad when you look at him.”

Steve sighs.

“It's okay,” he says, because how do you explain this to a seven-year-old?

How do you explain I only met him a few weeks ago but I really like him and it confuses me because it seems like I've known him forever because he reminds me so much of someone I used to know and I'm scared because it feels like I'm betraying that person even though I'm sure they've long forgotten about me?

Will is up on the jungle gym when they round the corner, beaming from ear to ear and talking animatedly with Eddie, who is gesturing up at him from the ground.

“El!” he calls out when he spots his sister. She smiles and clambers up to join him, handing over one of the dripping snow cones. “Eddie has the best ideas. He just told me about this game he used to play as a kid. Did you know the jungle gym could be a castle and we could be kings and dragons? What do you want to be? We could-”

“Steve?”

Someone touches his shoulder and he flinches back into his own body. Eddie’s voice is full of concern, and okay, that's probably because he just dropped their snow cones. They're forming rainbow-colored puddles in the grass.

“Stevie, c'mon, talk to me! You're freaking me out here!”

He snaps his head up.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Eddie smiles. His eyes are large with worry. Large and brown and crinkling at the corners and so familiar and Steve's an idiot. “You just zoned out there, I thought-”

“It's you,” Steve mutters. His hands are shaking and his eyes are stinging and then the next thing he knows is that his arms are around Eddie’s neck and he's sobbing into his shoulder. “Holy fuck, it's really you! You're my dragon!”

“Wait, what?” Eddie pulls back, smile wide and incredulous. His fingers wipe away Steve’s tears, trace the shape of his cheekbones and jaw. “You're- Shit, really? I knew you looked familiar, but I thought there was no way-”

“I was feeling so bad!” Steve blurts, chest heaving with what might be sobs or laughter, and who cares really, when he found his dragon again? “I was so scared to fall for you because-”

“Oh?” Eddie’s grin isn't missing any teeth, but it's still just as brilliant. “Are you now?”

“Huh?”

Eddie chuckles. “Falling for me?”

Steve feels himself flush, even as he gives a shaky nod. Eddie’s eyes are soft as he pulls him in.

“It's okay, big boy. You don't have to be afraid of anything while I'm around.”

“This is really weird,” El whispers from somewhere above them as their lips meet. “I don't think they understand how being friends works.”

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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sassenach77yle · 7 months ago

Text

What are ye laughing at, a nighean?” Her father loomed out of the night, smelling of horses. “Everything,” she said, scooching over to make room for him to sit beside her. It was true. Everything seemed suddenly bright, the candlelight from the windows of the Big House, the fireflies in the grass, the glow of Roger’s face when he told her his desire. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers; it fizzed in her blood.

Jamie reached up and fielded a passing firefly, holding it for a moment cupped in the dark hollow of his hand, where it flashed on and off, the cool light seeping through his fingers. Far off, she heard a brief snatch of her mother’s voice, coming through an open window;

Claire was singing “Clementine.” Now the boys—and Roger—were howling at the moon, though it was no more than a pale sickle on the horizon. She felt her father’s body shake with silent laughter, too.

“It reminds me of Disneyland,” she said on impulse.

“Oh, aye? Where’s that?” “It’s an amusement park—for children,” she added, knowing that while there were such things as amusement parks in places like London and Paris, these were purely adult places. No one ever thought of entertaining children now, beyond their own games and the occasional toy. “Daddy and Mama took me there every summer,” she said, slipping back without effort to the hot, bright days and warm California nights.

“The trees all had little sparkling lights in them—the fireflies reminded me.” Jamie spread his palm; the firefly, suddenly free, pulsed to itself once or twice, then spread its wings with a tiny whir and lifted into the air, floating up and away.

“Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daugh-ter, Clementine . . .”

“What was it like, then?” he asked curiously. “Oh . . . it was wonderful.” She smiled to herself, seeing the brilliant lights of Main Street, the music and mirrors and beautiful, beribboned horses of King Arthur’s Carrousel. “There were . . . rides, we called them. A boat, where you could float through the jungle on a river, and see crocodiles and hippopotamuses and headhunters . . .” “Headhunters?” he said, intrigued. “Not real ones,” she assured him. “It’s all make-believe—but it’s . . . well, it’s a world to itself. When you’re there, the real world sort of disappears; nothing bad can happen there.

They call it ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’—and for a little while, it really seems that way.”

“Light she was, and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine.”“And you’d hear music everywhere, all the time,” she said, smiling. “Bands—groups of musicians playing instruments, horns and drums and things—would march up and down the streets, and play in pavilions. . . .” “Aye, that happens in amusement parks. Or it did, the once I was in one.” She could hear a smile in his voice, as well. “Mm-hm. And there are cartoon characters—I told you about cartoons—walking around. You can go up and shake hands with Mickey Mouse, or—” “With what?” “Mickey Mouse.” She laughed. “A big mouse, life-size—human-size, I mean. He wears gloves.” “A giant rat?” he said, sounding slightly stunned. “And they take the weans to play with it?” “Not a rat, a mouse,” she corrected him. “And it’s really a person dressed up like a mouse.” “Oh, aye?” he said, not sounding terribly reassured. “Yes. And an enormous carrousel with painted horses, and a railroad train that goes through the Rainbow Caverns, where there are big jewels sticking out of the walls, and colored streams with red and blue water . . . and orange-juice bars. Oh, orange-juice bars!” She moaned softly in ecstatic remembrance of the cold, tart, overwhelming sweetness. “It was nice, then?” he said softly.

“Thou art lost and gone forever, Dreadful sor-ry . . . Clementine.”

“Yes,” she said, sighed, and was silent for a moment. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and wrapped her hand around his arm, big and solid. “You know what?” she said, and he made a small interrogatory noise in reply.

It was nice—it was great—but what I really, really loved about it was that when we were there, it was just the three of us, and everything was perfect. Mama wasn’t worrying about her patients, Daddy wasn’t working on a paper—they weren’t ever silent or angry with each other. Both of them laughed—we all laughed, all the time . . . while we were there.” He made no reply, but tilted his head so it rested against hers. She sighed again, deeply.

“Jemmy won’t get to go to Disneyland—but he’ll have that. A family that laughs—and millions of little lights in the trees.”

A breath of snow and ashes

Season 7 episode 2 “The Happiest Place on Earth”

#outlander #outlanderedit #the frasers #outlander starz #outlander series #jamie fraser #outlander fanart #samheughan #jamie&claire #jamie and claire #claire fraser #sophie skelton #brianna fraser #brianna mackenzie #jamie&bree #outlander books #outlander book #outlander season 7 #outlander 7x02

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sixosix · 1 year ago

Text

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness.

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

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strawberryfloofs · 7 months ago

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Lights Out (CG Sun and Moon x Little Reader) (part 2/3)

“Oh new friend! I almost forgot! Here in Superstar Daycare, we don’t have many rules, but the most important one is to keep the lights ... .ON” He spoke upbeat for the whole sentence, dropping it at the last word. You nodded, not exactly knowing what that meant, but if you didn’t know what it meant, then there’s no way you could break it! That’s what you thought, atleast. Brushing that off, you quickly became bored now that arts and crafts was over, and you still wanted to have playtime, so you chirped, “Sunny! We pay hid an seek?!” The sun-themed animatronic was more than ecstatic to play hide and seek with you!

In fact, he started counting right away, urging you to find the bestest hiding spot ever! So as he counted down from 10 (he went extra slow for you), you glanced around the daycare for potential hiding spots.

The ballpit? No…it would be too loud n hard to stay still in…

The jungle gym! But… it'd be lots of climbing- and you feel a little too tiny to get to the top…

How about….

Your eyes darted around the daycare, but you couldn't find any other good spot until your eyes landed upon the security desk. It was a pretty good spot AND wasn't too far, so you began running towards there, silently praising yourself for picking such an awesome spot!

You quickly ducked behind the desk and peaked your head over, still seeing Sundrop kneeled down with his hands covering his eyes

“And 10! Ready or not, here I come!” Sundrop beamed, quickly skipping towards the play gym.

Part of you kinda wished you didn't pick this spot because it's so boriinnggg! I mean, it's just some tiles and buttons and grown up stuffs here! There's no way Sunny would check here either, and you kinda wanted him to find you- it's more fun that way…

Pouting and full of boredom, you started to fidget with a couple things there and snoop around. There was a bear box thing of Freddy attached to the wall, and when you opened n closed it, it was so funny because Freddy's mouth would open! After playing with that for a while, you peaked over the desk to see where Sun was.

He was inside the play gym, crawling through the tubes at the almost tippy top! You were sure he'd realize you weren't there soon, and maybe come this way! You hoped…

Using the desk to help you stand up, you noticed another Freddy head thing, but it didn't open to reveal anything like the last time, this time it had a button! Curious to what it did, you pressed it.

Suddenly, the daycare lights turned off and you started to tear up from the sudden switch.

“Unny? I didz acciden…not meaned to” You tried to speak in a loud voice, scared about what would happen.

Time-out? Lines? No playtime? Would Sunny be mad at you?! It was a mistake! You didn't know what that button would do.

But Sundrop never replied to your shout, and you couldn't even see him anymore. Peeking over the desk, the sun-themed animatronic was nowhere to be found…

Maybe this was your punishment, you thought, him leaving because you broke the only rule.

Thinking this, your back slumped against the security desk and you began to cry.

Mechanical sounds could be heard from above, followed by a deep, raspy voice, “Naughty, naughty…”

“Naughty children must be found…” A moon-themed animatronic spoke.

He appeared to have a blue cap with stars on it, as well as his pants. He looked like Sundrop, but there were no sun rays. Even though the daycare was dark, you could tell the color difference.

But he only added to your cries

You weren't a naughty child…you thought

It was an accident, it wasn't intentional. Not on purpose..

You could see the lunar-themed animatronic float around the daycare, and you tried to silence your cries but they only grew louder- until he turned around in your direction.

Moon slowly tilted his head and let out a sinister laugh, floating down towards you, “I've found you~ It's time to get punished…” He said as he landed in front of you.

#agere post #sfw agere #agere #agere community #fandom agere #age regressor #agere blog #agere imagines #agere sfw #agere imagine #agere story #fnaf agere #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #daycare attendant #moondrop #sundrop

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lovable-chica · 3 months ago

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Pollie🦜

Bio

-Age: 16

-Accent: Spanish and British

-Voice Headcanon: Frida(From Hilda)

-Condition: ADHD and Teething Disorder

-Likes: Sodor, Engines, Trees, Her Jungle, Friends and Family, Pizza, Sugar Cookies, Cheering People Up, Someone having a better day

Dislikes: Dark Jessy, Anna The Wolf,Jessy.EXE, Brats, Bird Seed, Bird Poop, Someone have a bad day, Peanuts

🧡❤️About Her🪶

-Pollie is the only parrot on the island despite having a family and the younger and more active twin then her sister

-She’s can also be a bit short-tempered like Abby and starts having a tantrum and swears like a banshee much to everyone’s shocked or concerned

-She Suffers from Teething Disorder or Teething Problems that makes her have a hard time keeping her mouth close sometimes when she isn’t talking or anything, and has a hard time keeping her swear words to herself when someone is bullying her so she uses violence to get them to stop

-Is a Fan of Talking Tom and Friends and finds the show very funny and entertaining, her favorite episode is “The Famous Monster”(Mine Two)

-Holds A Grudge against Jessy’s Exe Friend Anna the Wolf like Abby and Amber, even Dark Jessy

-She secretly has wings that can magically turn walls into her favorite colors, also besties with Pastel Jessy

❤️Close With: Pastel Jessy(This Is @jessythebunny’s myself version oc), Rosie, Molly, Emily, Marion, Hannah, Henrietta, Percy, Amber(Oc), Abby(Oc), Suzi(Oc),Sweetstar(Oc), Rosepuff(Oc), Thomas, Edward, Henry, Glynn, Alice(C1 Engine), Toad, Ryan, Luna(Oc),

🧡Goods Friends with: Gator, Samson, Harvey, Arthur, Neville, Murdoch, Millie, Oliver, Duck, The Scottish Twins, @jessythebunny’s oc Jenny, Green Arrow, Rebecca, BoCo

RosePuff

Bio

-Age: 15

-Accent: Valley Girl and a bit British

-Voice Headcanon: Millie Mouse

-Condition: PTSD

-Likes: Candy Fish, Cake, Sugar, Cookies, Puppies and Bunnies, Hot Chocolate, Art, Pokies, Sushi, Her Room, Her Tablet, Friends and Family

-Dislikes: Smelly Garbage, Diesel 10, Someone yelling at her, Nuts, Grown Men that are rude, Enemies, Badness, Liars, Getting Seasick

🌸About Her🎀

-The Only Pegasus on Sodor

-Works With Arthur at the fishing village and also lives there with him

-Is Best Friends with Sweetstar, they both meet when they were both 6

-got abuse by her mother when she was 5 after her father died in an unknown accident, I’ll make a video of where her mother comes back

-That is the reason why she had PTSD, Arthur helps her to let go of the past and forget about it

-Rosepuff looks up to Arthur as a brother figure and secretly likes him, and pretty much gets flustered when he spoons on her on the bed(I ship her with him ok?)

🩷Close with: Arthur, Ryan, Sweetstar(Oc), Edward, Rebecca, Rosie, Nia, Emily, Oliver and Toad, Thomas, Percy, Amber(Oc), Suzi(Oc), Abby(Oc), Henry

❤️Good Friends with: James, Molly, Neville, Harvey, Darla(Oc), Donald and Douglas, Duck, Luna(Oc), Murdoch, Whiff

Sweetstar

Bio

-Age: 15-16

-Voice Headcanon: Melody Mouse

-Condition: Autism and ADHD

-Likes: Engines, Angel-Cake, Stars, Magic, Flying, Princesses, Cheesy Music, Her Flower Crown, Being A Little Pure Cutie

-Dislikes: Liars, Bullies, People who are sad, Simps, Diesel

✨About Her⭐️

-Sweestar and Lime are the only Alicorns on Sodor

-She sometimes has a hobby of being a bean when trying to get out of trouble

-Best Friends with Rosepuff and Percy

-She never knew her parents so she’s current living with her young-adult aunt and uncle

-She knows that Mia has a crush on Murdoch so they both have a turn on crushing on him, mostly Sweetstar becomes very shy, embarrassed, timid and flustered around him because she can’t admire how handsome he is, and Murdoch is secretly doesn’t mind it

-Everyone loves her fluffy hair and sleeps on it(I’ve seen this line on two TTTE Refs, ok)

💙Close with: Percy, Thomas, Rosepuff(Oc), Pollie(Oc), Suzi(Oc), Rosie, Murdoch, Harvey, Molly, Arthur, Amber(Oc), Hannah, Isobella

🩵Good Friends with: Henry, James, Toby, Flynn, Belle, Millie, Henrietta, Oliver and Toad, Duck, Donald and Douglas

Amber

Bio

-Age: 14

-Voice Headcanon: Helena Albright

-Condition: PTSD

-Likes: Makeup, Thomas, Percy, Being A Beautiful Husky, Her Phone, Friends and Family, Helping Others(Even in Engine Form), Being Sassy, Sodor, The Northern Lights, Pop Music

-Dislikes: Taking About Her Past, The Lost of Her Parents, Her Enemies

🪽About Her🐾

-at 11, Amber and Suzi wakes up one morning to see that they’re parents didn’t wake her up, she then goes downstairs to find the clock said 10:20 am this confused them and went into their parents bedroom to find them dead and covered in blood, both girls broke down in tears to find them laying there lifeless, Amber didn’t know the hospital number at the time so she and Suzi hesitated and got they’re things and left, Amber checked her phone for a place that her mother once told her, and she found the place she and her sister wanted to go, Sodor! The Girls sleep in a mail train for 4 days until they arrived on Sodor, The First Engine They meet was Rosie and told her everything that happened which shocked the Pink Engine, she later introduced them to Thomas and had been living on Sodor Since.(Sorry if Amber and Suzi’s backstory sounds rushed)

-Lives with Her Mom’s Sister who is Amber’s Single Aunt and Older Adoptive Sister Abby

-Swears A Little then Abby, and suffers from PTSD from her parents deaths

-Sometimes sleeps with Thomas at Tidmouth Sheds

🩵Close with: Thomas, Percy, Rosie, Molly, Rebecca, Emily, Suzi(Oc and Sister), Sweetstar(Oc), Abby(Oc and Older Sister), Neville, Donald and Douglas, Oliver and Toad, Duck, Skiff, @jessythebunny’s oc Marina, BoCo

🩵Good Friends with: Arthur, Bertie, Terence, Trevor, Edward, James, Toby, Henry, Gordon, Stepney, Hannah

Suzi

-Age: 14

-Voice Headcanon: Ellila-Jean Wood

-Condition: Ophidiophobia and PTSD

-Likes: Percy, The Northern Lights, Engines, Cake, Pizza, Fries, Bluebells, Friends and Family

-Dislikes: Ghosts(Expected Ghost Jessy), Seeing Diesel 10 with Percy

🐾About Her⭐️

-She Strongly Dislikes seeing Diesel 10 with Percy and starts chasing him with a bat and Abby in the background is like “What the hell?”

-They only diesels that Suzi like are BoCo, Bear, Mavis, Derek, and Daisy, because they are friendly then the rude ones

-Best Friends with Cartoon Jessy and Finds her funny and cute like Percy

-Often Does Pranks along with Bill and Ben

-Likes to Pick Bluebells with Stepney and See The Northern Lights

-Sees Stepney, Percy and BoCo as her Big Brothers

💜Close with: Percy, BoCo, Bear, Rosie, Thomas, Amber(Oc), Abby(Oc), Sweetstar(Oc), Bill and Ben, Luna(Oc), Molly, Edward, Rebecca, Cartoon Jessy, Ghost Jessy

💜Good Friends with: Mavis, Daisy, Toby, Hannah, Henrietta, Carly, Nia, Gator

Abby

-Age: 15-16

-Voice Headcanon: Indica Watson

-Condition: ADHD and Neurodevelopmental Disorders

-Likes: Duck, Rock Music, Swearing, Donald and Douglas, Oliver and Toad, Her Friends and Family, Cookies, Popcorn, Pizza, Movies, being in her room

-Dislikes: Oliver getting jealous of her being flirty with Duck, Thinking Oliver will try to kill her for flirting with Duck, Being Yelled at, not being good enough

💟About Her💟

-Is Amber and Suzi’s Older Sister, and Duck’s Close Friend

-Will Sometimes Flirt with Duck that makes him nosebleeds like crazy(@jessythebunny Abby likes Oliver Two and don’t let his jealousy get the better of him)

-Calls Duck “Duckie”

-Likes Seeing Duck blush when she kisses him, and cuddles him for fun

-She has strong Scottish accent and swears a lot, and very proud of it

-Her Catchphrase is “SCOTLAND FOREVER”

-She and Hannah like to caused trouble together and always gets away with it

💜Close with: Donald and Douglas, Duck, Toad, Oliver, Percy, Thomas, Rosie, BoCo, Bill and Ben, Bear, Mavis, Edward, James, Dark Jessy, Cartoon Jessy

💜Good Friends with: Murdoch, Molly, Rebecca, Gator, Arthur, Neville, Old Slow Coach, Toby, Henrietta, Hannah, Big Mickey, Cranky, Carly

#thomas and friends #oc artist #snowy taking about things🎀🌈#ttte amber🐾#ttte suzi⭐️#ttte abby💟#ttte pollie🦜#ttte sweetstar 🩵⭐️#mlp sweetstar 🩵⭐️#ttte rose puff🎀#mlp rosepuff🎀#Also Redesign Them A Bit!

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alaydabug2 · 7 months ago

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@sparklenarniawizard

Broken heart/Broken mind

Chapter eight

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

Fourth grade:

"I'll race you!" Keefe shouted and raced off to the swingset.

"No fair!" Sophie told him.

They had gone to the park for the afternoon together. It was packed with people. Keefe's parents had just dropped him off at Sophie's house and left to who knew where. They did that a lot. Not that either of the kids cared. They liked spending time with one another.

Although, Grady and Edaline always had a concerned look on their face every time Keefe would get dropped off. They'd give each other a look, then try to find something fun for them to do.

As Sophie was running, she realized she was heading straight for a little girl. Her eyes widened, but it was too late to turn around. She attempted to slow her speed, but she knew it was useless.

She slammed into the girl, and they went tumbling. Sophie sat up and dusted herself off.

She helped the girl up. She had brunette hair and near teal eyes. Sophie didn't even know it was possible for them to be that color.

"Sorry," Sophie scratched the back of her neck. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You're ok." The girl smiled at her.

It wasn't until then that Sophie realized something different about the girl. She could notice peaking out of her jacket, that there were faint, but definitely noticeable, white lines on her arms. The lines also seemed to go up her neck. One of them even curled up to her face and in front of her ear. They were scars.

She was about to ask about how she got them, but was unsure whether or not she would be uncomfortable.

She decided to keep her mouth shut, instead introducing herself. "Hi, I'm Sophie."

"I'm Biana!" She glanced back at a group of boys on one of the jungle gyms. She rolled her eyes. "I keep trying to get my brother's attention, but he keeps ignoring me. Do you want to play?"

"Sure! We can go over to the swings with my friend." They started to walk over.

"Who's your friend?"

"Keefe."

"What about me?" Keefe asked as Sophie and Biana walked up to the swings.

"I ran into her--"

"Litterly," Biana giggled.

Sophie laughed at that. "And I was saying that the three of us could play together."

"Ok, great!" He hopped onto one of the swings, and the girls followed.

They talked for a little while before Biana asked, "What grade are you guys in?"

"Fourth," Keefe told her.

"Me too. What school?"

"Foxfire elementary."

Biana seemed to be confused by that. "But... I've never seen either of you around."

"Ohhh, we're in a different class!" Sophie explained."

"I get that. But I still would expect to see you in music or art or something."

"No, I mean we're in a different type of class. We both have health issues, and we're in a special class with other people with medical problems in case something goes wrong. It's so the teacher has a better eye on us if something ever happens. There's only, like, ten people in our class. We're on a different schedule than everyone else."

"Oh, ok. That makes more sense."

They continued back with their other conversations until Keefe asked Biana, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what are those lines on your arms and neck."

"Oh, these?" She took her jacket off to reveal that the lines went further up her arms and shoulders. "I was in a car crash last year. The windshield busted and I got caught in the glass shower."

Sophie and Keefe's eyes widened. "That's awful!" Keefe said.

She just shrugged with a smile. "I fine now. I like them. Shows I survived it." She looked down at her arm and traced one of the lines.

"Oh..." Keefe murmured. His eyebrows scrunched together.

"What?" Biana asked. She looked uneasy.

"Nothing, just," he reached up to his chest, "I've got a scar, too."

She grinned, "That's cool!"

He shrugged. "Not really."

Sophie frowned at him. "For the last time, yes, it is!"

"What's it from?" Biana tilted her head.

He didn't make eye contact as he pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal the top of the scar. "Surgery."

"That's cool!" Her face lit up. "I should introduce you two to my friends! I don't know when your recess is, but if it's the same, I'll have you guys meet. You could start hanging out with us."

"That'd be great!" Sophie exclaimed.

The rest of the time at the playground, they spent the time discussing different things about their hobbies and lives. An hour later, Biana had to go. She said her goodbyes and left to the gate with who had to be her brother. They had the same striking teal eyes and dark hair. Sophie could hear her brother asking a bunch of questions about who she was talking to as they walked to the parking lot.

#keeper of the lost cities #kotlc #kotlc sophie foster #kotlc keefe sencen #sokeefe #fanfic #Broken heart/Broken mind

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

Text

JOYRIDE

— corruption in tokyo brings two partners together again to seek retribution while also fulfilling their desires🚦

ハリー

Midnight in Tokyo.

The city transforms into a neon jungle once the moon takes the stage. Illusionary indigo and hot pink advertisements scale the sides of skyscrapers, their vibrant pixels reflecting off the slick thoroughfares bestrewed with puddles. Cosmopolitan emporiums attract visitors like clusters of moths drawn to a flame, ranging from luxury retail stores to vintage boutiques that line the sidewalks. Many diverse eateries sit snugly in the passageways—the limited seating is where conversations are struck with writers and poets alike. Whimsical art sculptures placed in hidden spots showcase Japanese culture, and the expressive pieces greet tourists from around the world.

It's an urban utopia straight out of a futuristic fantasy.

Digging deeper into the complex metropolis, right in the heart of the infamous Kabukicho District, is where nightlife is most vivacious. Foreigners flock to clubs and bars for ritzy entertainment and exuberant thrills. Alleyways conceal doorways to more private establishments, their explicit thresholds exposed by flickering arrows that guide those who dare to enter. It's sinfully atmospheric, with the smell of smoke and sex lingering past the brick walls lit by dangling paper lanterns.

The vicinity is two sides of the same coin. In the daytime, families wander through a maze of honorable restaurants and hotels, but at night, the devil comes out to play. Risqué signs lead to unlawful pleasure. Curtains cover hostess clubs of endless inebriation. Intimate shops are out in the open to pique the interest of innocents.

However, on this rainy November night, Harry Styles seeks only one unholy cove. He doesn't need to be lured into it by silhouetted street hawkers. Ignoring them is easy when the red light just around the corner holds his true desire.

As his polished dress shoes clack against the wet pavement, a black umbrella looming over his head, he fishes into his trouser pocket to snag a piece of chewing gum. He unwraps the aluminum, pops the green gum into his mouth, folds the rubbery substance using his tongue, stretches it between his two front teeth, and then bites down on it with his back molars. A refreshing burst of spearmint hits the back of his throat, crisp and cool. He begins whistling a catchy tune he heard on the metro subway the other day, the trill echoing off the narrow walls surrounding him. The new graffiti on them catches his attention. Considering the city strictly prohibits street art, it's a rare find, so he admires the esoteric visuals before they're removed by patrolling police.

Taking a sharp left, the top of Harry's shadow reaches his destination before he does. He stops in his tracks and breathes in the hazy air. Smoke seeps under the rusted garage door, and the muffled bass coming from inside is a straight injection into his veins. The Japanese script, emboldened by neon red, spells out the name of the strip club.

ジョイライド

JOYRIDE

Guarded by a towering man in a black suit and maroon tie, it's the only barrier left. Luckily, Harry is well-versed when it comes to sneaking into elite establishments. He shakes his umbrella out, the droplets creating ripples in the asphalt pools beneath his feet. A step under the hipped awning saves his expensive clothing from becoming soaked. His long, houndstooth blazer of a dreary gray color and a dotted scarf wrapped once around his neck make him blend in nicely with the darkness.

Harry clears his throat and politely bows to the daunting watchman. "Kobanwa," he greets, hiding the gum under his tongue out of courtesy. (Good evening.)

"Kon'nichiwa," says the man with a reciprocated bow. "Anata no mōshide wa nanidesu ka?" (Hello. What is your offer?)

Opening the breast pocket of his blazer, Harry plucks out three bills. He unfolds the creased paper one by one, revealing the printed face of an esteemed writer and a five-digit number representing a hefty amount of yen. His desire is worth significantly more, but he'll undoubtedly be spending the rest of what's tucked in his wallet for reasons that will never be publicly disclosed.

"Sakura," Harry says with unwavering eye contact.

He only needs to say a single name for the man to stare back in challenge for three seconds. He then takes the yen and inspects it for possible counterfeits, his nimble fingers flipping the banknotes over with a particular procedure. After an anticipatory moment of crinkling sounds and drowned-out electronic music, he raps a rhythmic knock on the garage behind him. It instantly lifts with a grinding creak, the smoke releasing from underneath and crawling up Harry's legs like ivy on a brick wall.

"Anata no norimono o tanoshinde kudasai." (Enjoy your ride.)

Harry gives the man a fixed smile and then enters his paradise. Weeks of lousy business trips that required him to globetrot across continents have led to this. Tokyo always has something sensational in store for him. He comes back to the sleepless city time and time again for the unpredictability.

Disappointment doesn't exist here—escapade does.

The metal stairs leading to the underground club are grungy and steep, so Harry uses the shaft of his umbrella as a makeshift cane to traverse down the dilapidated steps. Every footfall ends in a squeak until he reaches the velvet carpet at the bottom. Thumping music loudens, the scent of cigarettes grows stronger, and the beat of his heart pounds faster in anticipation.

Red curtains are suspended in front of him, and distant chatter that eclectically ranges from foreign to familiar dialect echoes from behind them. Harry sets his umbrella by the nearby coat rack, then takes his scarf and blazer off to hang them next to a pristine suit jacket. He takes a glimpse at his own suit. It's black cashmere with a contrasting white button-up underneath and a silk tie. He adjusts the collar, tugs on the lapels, and swiftly unclasps the single button. With a final ruffle of his flattened hair and a crack of his neck, he's ready for total immersion.

Pushing the curtains aside, he crosses the threshold. There's no turning back now.

The seductive ambiance immediately invades every one of his senses. There's red everywhere. The spacious room holds the key to subliminal distraction, from the ruby wallpaper to the vermillion leather booths. It's a sub-rosa room where players can have fun after dusk. Every soul that wanders in leaves with a newfangled perspective on the divine beauty of women. At least that's what Harry left with the first time he traipsed in as a fresh face from Europe, a wax-sealed invitation in his hesitant grasp.

He wouldn't call himself a loyal customer, per se. He's not dependent on the half-empty glasses of Yamazaki malt whiskey presented to him on serving trays, only to be respectfully declined. Nor does he come for the puffed cigars and joints perched between persuasive fingertips and lips.

No, it's the stage in his peripheral vision that he floats toward. It's where his desire lies.

His Sakura.

She's on the round stage amid her nightly performance, one leg hooked around a silver pole protruding from the middle of the platform. A red spotlight shines down on her contorted body, her limbs reaching out like the slender branches of a cherry blossom tree. Her long hair is snaked into six braids, four twisted up high and two tinier ones falling over her forehead. The audience of men, some standing close and some sitting in booths, piercingly whistle over the loud music while throwing wads of yen at her as she spins into an upside-down position with ease, gripping the pole using just her ankles. It gives everyone a full view of her leather bodysuit, the glossy black material with cutouts revealing peeks of smooth, brown skin.

Harry stuffs a hand in his pocket and lingers at the back of the club, where no one can pester him with invasive questions about his intentions. They don't understand. He's not here to 'get some,' as they often assume. Sure, he'll leave the place feeling satisfied, but they don't know he gets to take home the woman they're currently fawning over.

Her pole dancing performance nears its end, with a final layer of smoke hovering over the circular platform. The mystique she exudes as she slides into an effortless split is tantalizing. Harry swallows thickly as his hand curls into a fist, every fiber of his being practically itching to be alone with her. He never grows tired of watching her, yet he's utterly addicted to what happens in their designated private room.

The red spotlight switches to a bright white, and his Sakura smiles dazzlingly while collecting the bills thrown her way. Harry smirks and applauds, then pushes off the wall to give her his own special offering. This part seems to always occur in slow motion for him. His eyes are locked on her as he waits until she catches his hypnotic gaze. He weaves through the crowd while chewing on his now flavorless gum, mumbling apologies when he bumps into people's drunken sways until he finally reaches the stage. Slightly opening his suit, he reaches into the interior breast pocket and pulls out a plucked cherry blossom. Technically speaking, he breaks the law every time he acquires the pink symbolism of human existence, but it's of little consequence to his morals. He has much worse crimes under his belt.

Harry gently holds out the blossom amidst the flying yen, a pastel pink delicacy in a sea of brown riches. The following moments play out like a scene in a movie. Time seems to freeze as he homes in on the sound of her high heels clicking closer. He steadily looks up, taking in her tall legs and heaving chest. She tucks a few yen in the tight seam of her bodysuit, then provides him with her undivided attention.

"For me?" she mouths over the deafening music.

His lips break into a wide smile at the sound of her euphonic voice, which he so longingly missed. "Always for you."

Bending down, she takes the cherry blossom from him and brings it under her nose. Her eyes flutter as she smells the fragrant flower. It's flattering that no matter how often she's received one, she still sticks it behind her ear like she does now.

The surrounding men marvel over her, but they'll be distracted soon enough. Two more poles emerge from the stage, and a group of stripper girls come out to continue the regularly scheduled show. Harry doesn't lose focus on his Sakura, simply backing away slowly and jerking his head toward the VIP rooms. It's a drill he aims to follow through with zero problems arising. Almost everyone here is a stranger, so that means they cannot be trusted in the slightest. It's why he doesn't speak to them. If any outsiders find out about the dirty business he deals with on the side, it's a downhill slope into deep trouble.

Harry stops at the opposite side of the room and faces another security guard, but this time, it's one he knows quite well. "Ryōji," he says while bowing. "O-genki desu ka?" (How are you?)

Ryōji bows and withdraws a small gold key from one of the ten hooks behind him. "Okaeri nasai," he responds. (Welcome back.)

Welcome back, indeed. Harry quickly glances around and then places a heavy hand on Ryōji's shoulder, leaning in so no one else can hear him. In English, he murmurs, "We've got another one out back. Do you think you can get some men to handle it before sunrise? I'll have the money sent to you by next week."

The deep inhalation Ryōji takes always makes him nervous. A dreadful silence passes before he says, "Yes, sir. Any special instructions?"

Harry gives him a friendly pat on the arm and takes the key. "Just the usual. She already took care of the hard part."

"As you wish."

With that, Harry gratefully nods and then walks into the back area, where several red doors, some open and some closed, present themselves in a semi-circular fashion. Steering to the right, he throws his gum away and goes to the door with a black '七' on it.

Lucky number seven for a joyride in heaven.

The room is a perfect size, with curtains hanging over the walls for a more intimate experience. Two velvet couches are placed on either side, and a table with glasses and a bottle of an unknown alcoholic drink sits nearby. And, of course, a red light emits from the low ceiling.

Harry gets comfortable, tugging on his pants legs and sitting on the plush couch. Precious time ticks by, the songs slowing into more sultry beats as he waits. He checks his diamond-encrusted wristwatch—it's half past midnight, yet he doesn't feel tired. Maybe it's the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Only the mysterious aura of Tokyo can give him an electric charge like no other.

At last, Desiree struts into the room and daintily falls sideways into his lap. Her stripper name is Sakura, but her real name is used when she's alone with him. She jumps right in and holds his scruffy cheek, kissing all over his face as the red lipstick she wears stamps evidence on his flushed skin.

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear.

Harry holds her waist and rolls his hips for some relief. "It's all my fault, isn't it? I've been so busy."

Desiree takes the key from him and quickly locks the door. When she returns, she straddles him and says, "You came back to me, though."

He nips her neck, short and tender. "I got your text message and flew straight here."

She grips his chin. "That message wasn't about seeing me."

Harry swallows thickly, his throat suddenly parched. "We don't need to talk about that right now," he murmurs.

"But it will be dealt with?" she asks, her eyebrows dipping with concern.

"Yes, my love."

"Okay." She gently passes her thumb over his eyelashes like they're pages of a well-loved book. "That's all I need to hear."

Harry distracts himself from the dangerous subject by twirling one of her braids around his pointer finger. "I like it when you wear your hair like this, Desi. So pretty."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. I've gone far too long without you."

She begins loosening his tie. "Tell me what you need."

Sifting through his brain, Harry contemplates his options. The club doesn't allow actual intercourse inside its perimeters, so there are limited, albeit creative, methods that are used. Desiree once told him that the strippers are given a manual of all the diverse ways they can please a customer. There was a specific one he heard her briefly mention in passing. At the time, he was too shy to ask for more details, so he went home and researched the term. Needless to say, it sounded worthwhile.

"Can I have the... red light special? Is that what it's called?"

Desiree smirks and remarks, "That's new. You've never asked for that before."

He blushes with a lackadaisical shrug. "Sorry. Being edged just sounds really fuckin' good right now."

"Why are you apologizing?" She pushes lightly on his chest so he can comfortably lean against the couch. "Relax. Let me take care of you."

Harry couldn't possibly argue, especially when she doesn't waste any time and starts with a green light. Gripping his shoulders, she smoothly rocks into his body with quick movements. His hands knead her ass, the bodysuit bestowing the perfect amount of skin for him to grab. The tension in his muscles eases as she applies pressure to his growing bulge, every perpetual grind making him harder by the minute. His eyes and neck roll back, and he forgets why he was ever stressed hours prior and instead succumbs to the satisfying ache she provides him.

"Oh, my God," Harry moans, spreading his legs further apart. "Fuck, Desi, you feel so good. I'm all yours."

She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips counterclockwise. The switch has Harry gritting his teeth. Shuddering, he opens his mouth and pathetically whimpers while running his hands up her clenched thighs. He feels hot—sweaty, sticky, and salaciously hot. He's burning in a blitz of fiery passion.

The yellow light is when Desiree slows down, still grinding swivels over his pelvis. The throbbing of his cock ceases, and the buildup disappears momentarily. Her back arches as she uses her height over him to palm him with her hand. Leisurely, she squeezes where the head of his cock is through his pants, and a sensitive tingle rushes down his spine as he bites down on his knuckles to suppress his pleading noises.

"Does that feel nice?" she asks, kissing his slack jaw.

Harry's face crumbles in submission. "I need to come. I can't take it anymore."

Red light. He knows he asked for it, but when she stops moving and stands before him, he reaches for her absent touch. "No, come back. C'mon, please. Stop playing around."

She ignores him and kneels on the ground. With one finger, she trails it up his inner thigh until it reaches his covered cock. She fondles the length of it, erotically squeezing in all the right places while looking at him with eyes of a rich brown color. He often dreams of her mouth puckered around it, her wet lips and hollowed cheeks making him fall apart.

Suddenly, his tie is removed, and Desiree holds it up. "Are you ready?"

"I'm so close," Harry breathes out. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he adds, "You're so gorgeous; do you know that? Got me... shit, I'm absolutely aching for you."

She stuffs the tie in his mouth and finally straddles him again, riding his thighs to bring him to his peak. His moans are muffled against the fabric as she gives him a lap dance, her body rolling to the R&B music from the distant speakers.

It doesn't take long for Harry to come; a damp spot forms on his pants shortly after. Every part of his body feels light as he spits his tie out, breathing heavily. He really needed this.

"Ready to leave this place?" he asks, touching himself until he's soft and able to walk.

Desiree kisses him, her tongue delving into his mouth, before nodding. "Are you taking me on another joyride?"

Harry smirks and wipes off the lipstick stain she left on the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Full throttle, baby."

——

デザレイ

The first thing Desiree sees when rounding the corner of the alleyway is a parked Kawasaki motorcycle.

The rain has let up; only a light drizzle is now falling from the starlit sky. People still pass by with umbrellas, minding their business. The lights outside are stimulating, with signs above casting fuchsia pink and Prussian blue hues over her and Harry's faces. The air reeks of gasoline and smoke, and vehicles are racing past to hop on the expressway. It's a city of nocturnal souls who get off on cheap thrills, and she couldn't help but get hooked on the appeal. Night crawling on a high-speed bike through the neon streets is the most thrilling adventure she can imagine.

Harry rents out a different motorcycle every time he visits. When they first met, he told her he owned a marketing firm in London, so he had the money to afford such luxuries. The first time he walked into the club, she thought he would be like everyone else—a drunk and lonesome man needing attention. However, he was actually a man of innocence who stumbled upon an underground scene he wasn't expecting. She saw the intrigue in his eyes and taught him how her world worked. She let him choose what he desired without taking advantage of him. She trusted his intentions and let him see every side of her, saintly or sinful.

Their journey leads to the eager way he's looking at her now, one gloved hand holding out a helmet and the other gripping the motorcycle's handlebar.

"Ladies first," he says with a playful smile.

Desiree tightens the belt on her blood-red leather coat and puts the helmet on. It rubs uncomfortably against her hair, but she's not one to place beauty above safety precautions. She then hikes a leg over the back seat, and Harry does the same motions while straddling the front seat and starting the engine. It rumbles to life when he squeezes the clutch, and he attractively revs the engine three times.

"All good?" Harry calls out behind him, using the back of his shoe to kick up the kickstand.

She wraps both arms around his waist and props her chin on his shoulder. "So good."

Reaching back to squeeze her thigh, he speeds into the fast lane. For the next twenty minutes, the brisk wind blows in her ears, and the feeling of flying overtakes her entire body. She spreads her arms, and Tokyo comes alive just for her, blurry colors whooshing past as they accelerate through traffic on the winding expressway. They ride out of the district and towards Marunouchi, where the Shangri-La Hotel is located. With five stars and eleven floors of pure splendor, it's the best place to have a late-night rendezvous.

When they eventually pull up to the hotel, a rectangular building made entirely of glass panes, Harry parks the motorcycle and kills the engine. Desiree carefully removes her helmet and fixes her hair the best she can. Her makeup feels tacky against her skin, but the cool air of an autumn night is refreshing. She looks over to see Harry do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. He sheepishly grins at her and rolls his eyes.

"Hurry up," Desiree says through chattering teeth. She bounces on her heels, feeling the ache travel from her ankles to the tips of her toes.

"All right, all right," Harry mumbles jokingly, holding his hand out. "I'll have a word with Raijin about the inadequate weather."

"Studying Japanese deities, are we?"

Interlocking her numb fingers with his, they head inside the lavish lobby and take the elevator to the seventh floor. The ride is quiet, and exhaustion finally catches up to them. After six beeps, a more prolonged one sounds, and the doors slide open. They walk down the narrow hallway to the back, where the suites are located. Harry swipes his key card and twists the door handle to go inside, Desiree following closely.

The suite is as tidy and stylish as one would expect from a businessman staying there. Two designer-brand suitcases are stacked in the corner by the running air conditioner. A housekeeper must have cleaned and organized his belongings. Crisp white sheets on the king bed look quintessential for bundling up in.

Desiree removes her heels and flops on the firm mattress. She blearily watches Harry open the mini fridge by the door, hearing the clink of beer bottles. Her assumption proves correct when one is thrown beside her, yet her body has no energy left to open the cap and drink the bitter liquid.

Harry takes off his suit jacket and button-up, then sits against the headboard and spreads his legs on either side of her sprawled-out body. He takes a swig of beer, his jawline sharp and his throat bobbing. His bare torso, decorated with tattoos, looks like the perfect pillow, so Desiree shimmies upwards to lay her head on his abdomen. She listens to his subtle breathing.

"So, how'd you kill him?"

Well, that's one way to initiate a conversation. Desiree snaps her eyes to his, staring at him a little funny due to her position. "Katana," she answers casually. "Quick and easy."

He hums, sets his beer on the nightstand, and then delicately untangles her two front braids. "Made a mess, huh? Ryōji's men won't be too happy about that."

She fidgets with one of her loose acrylic nails. "They've dealt with worse cleanups."

She knew what she was getting into when she decided to work in Tokyo's Red Light District. There's no way to sugarcoat what goes down in the alleyways. It doesn't feel like a crime to her if she's getting rid of the bad guys. It's justified in her mind.

Harry moves his hands to undo her bigger braids. "I know," he says softly, "but it's getting riskier. And more expensive on my end."

Sighing, Desiree replies, "Asphyxiation is so boring, though. I like my swords."

"Desi, I'm serious." He tilts her head to look at her straight on. "It worries me when you do those types of killings, and I'm not here to handle the outcome. What if something were to go wrong?"

She frowns. "We're a team. You flew out to me without hesitation when I told you my plan."

"Yes, but you act on impulse sometimes," he says, putting her elastic ponytail around his wrist. "I can't always do that with my job. You're lucky I was available."

"So, you only came to help with the repercussions? Not to see me?"

"You know that's not true. If it was, I'd be on a plane back to London right now instead of spending the night with you in Tokyo."

"Just making sure," she says with a hidden undertone of insecurity.

Once all six braids are out, her hair frizzy and free, Desiree sits up and takes her suffocating coat off. Underneath, she has a more comfortable outfit that she changed into before leaving the club. She internally debates whether she wants to go through the hassle of taking everything off, but before she can thoroughly weigh her options, Harry reaches over to open the nightstand drawer, pulling out something crinkly.

"I, uh, bought some makeup wipes," he explains while fidgeting with the package. "I didn't know what brand you use, but it's coconut, and I know you like coconut rum. There's no correlation, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

Desiree is speechless for a moment. This is the first time he's done something like that. "Th-thanks. Can you help me take it off?" she says quietly.

"'Course. Scoot over."

She takes one side of the bed and sits cross-legged in front of Harry as he plucks a wipe. He folds it into a compact square four times and then hovers it over her face. His gaze wanders a bit before he starts gently swiping under her eyes.

He speaks up again once the air conditioner clicks off. "Can I ask, pray tell, why you killed him?"

Desiree breathes out a laugh. "Funny," she says as he scrubs the pigmented blush off her cheeks. "I remember when you couldn't even stomach asking me that question. Now you do all the dirty side work."

Harry shrugs. "You're a bad influence."

Sage advice from two people who dabble in reincarnating as a more sadistic Bonnie and Clyde: It's remarkably more fun to have a loyal partner in crime than to be a lone outlaw.

"Let's see," she muses with a dramatic flair. "His name was... fuck if I know. All I was told was that he was a gang member who lured young girls in and brainwashed them into committing crimes around Shinjuku for money worth jack squat."

"Jesus. What about the other gang members?" he asks, wiping her smeared lipstick off.

"I'm not too worried about them. They would never suspect that a stripper at Joyride killed one of their own. They'll probably assume it was another gang's doing."

"That's a relief." Harry yawns and tosses the dirtied makeup wipe into the nearby garbage. "All right, I've had enough killer talk. Shall we get some sleep?"

Desiree grins tiredly and touches the smoothness of her bare face. "We shall. My body aches."

Stripping takes a toll on her joints and muscles, especially since she incorporates performance art into her dancing. Untreated strains and torn ligaments have been left in the past due to years of training, but residual pain still lingers each night when she steps off the stage.

Once they're comfortable under the sheets, Desiree curls into Harry's warm chest. "When do I have you until?" she asks reluctantly.

He wraps an arm over her back and says, "Tomorrow night."

She recounts all the times he's had to catch a red-eye flight immediately after they arrive at the hotel. Tonight, she's lucky she got him a little longer than usual.

"It's better than nothing."

Harry scrunches her hair and leaves a long kiss on her temple. "You can always come back to Europe with me," he murmurs. The scent of beer wafting through his breath is mouth-watering.

Desiree shakes her head solemnly. "I can't. I belong here."

"I understand." She feels him smile before kissing her head once more. "A cherry blossom should stay in Japan, right?"

"Very clever." She closes her eyes. There's an elongated pause of internal reflection before she continues. "Listen, I don't want you to feel trapped. I don't want you to feel like I'm using you."

Harry rubs the sore muscles around her shoulder blades. "I don't feel that way. I chose to get involved with how you live your life. If I'm being honest, I quite enjoy the danger of it."

It's easy for him to say when he only has to deal with the business side of it. A pipeline of recruitment occurred where Shyla loosely hired Harry to hire men who would dispose of the dead bodies she threw in the dumpster behind the club. No one dares roam that haunted alleyway, which makes it the most adequate place to safely hide a killing. Then, he pays them handsomely in cash for successfully completing the treacherous deed.

Desiree cups his cheek and whispers, "Please... just tell me if it ever gets too much and you want out. I'll find someone else."

"It's never too much when your intentions are good."

It's not enough. His safety is her top priority.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," she says sternly. "Give me the red light, and I'll go to Europe with you. You can show me Buckingham Palace and that stupid clock—"

"Desi," Harry interrupts with a thumb against her parted lips. "I will tell you if it gets to that point, okay?"

She takes his large hand and holds onto it like it's the last time she'll ever touch his skin. "Promise me."

"Yakusoku." (Promise.)

His spoken oath doesn't mend the problem she has with herself. There's a constant battle whenever she thinks too deeply about what she participates in. She questions whether it was a mistake to get involved in cover-up assassinations and bring Harry into it. He used to be innocent. Someone who discovered the darker side of Tokyo is now stuck in the whirlwind of her immoral faults. Did she make him into a brand-new person? A monster? One that knows her crimes and prevents them from becoming exposed?

Is it wrong that she fell for him in the process?

She can never tell him. No, that would complicate things beyond the boundary lines she drew for herself long before she met him. There are too many risks when feelings are a factor—risks of turning on each other if there are relationship issues. Then there's the plain and straightforward risk of barely seeing each other in person. It's all too poisonous of a pool to dip her feet into. Her guard is up, and it's not coming down for anything or anyone.

However, as Desiree drifts into a dreamland, she realizes her guard is lower whenever Harry is around. With his fingers soothingly scratching up and down her aching spine, she doesn't feel the uncertainty that always clouds her mind when he's not beside her. It clears when she awakes to the smell of brewing coffee and room service breakfast on a cart before she can even open her eyes. It gnaws at her boarded-up heart until the pieces chip away. What's left is a vulnerable girl who seeks refuge but can't leave a place of fortune and frisson. She's a moon in broad daylight.

Does she want to be saved? Or does the red light call her name for a reason?

——

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