#I had intended it to be shinier but it turned out quite well I think!

[kulapti]

Bookbinding of Wires got the best of him by TheBigCat @perfectlynormalbooks, June 2024.

Tiny book one for this year's Renegade Tiny Books Bang! Typesetting by the author, who collaborated with me to choose the colors and cover design for the book, which I bound. Lovely to work with you :D

Materials: Text laser printed on Hammermill "cream" archival printer paper. Covers and tapes made of two different colors of blue Verona bookcloth, with cover design painted on with gold metallic nail polish. The binding uses cotton thread coated in beeswax and archival PVA glue. Endpapers are marbled Italian paper by London-based artist Stephan Parenti (Peacock Paper studio).

I have successfully used non-structural endpapers on this, I forget what it's formally called, but anyway the pages are held to the cover by the tapes and stitching. Compare this to modern mass-produced hardbacks, which are usually held in by the endpapers: that's why many books can be accidentally torn completely out of their covers, especially if the book is thick.

[satorisoup]

Are you writing for Sugawara? If yes, can you write something where Sugawara is the (fem!)Reader's (if you're okay with that?) crush. They're out with friends in an izakaya and she thinks he's flirting with someone else (bc she has zero self-confidence, and why would he be interested in her and so on). And obviously she's sad about it but later she goes outside for fresh air and he comes to find her, somehow admitting his feelings (this is so self indulgent, I'm sorry, I may be getting more drunk than I intended bc my crush is flirting with any girl but me). Or generally any hurt/comfort with Sugawara if you write for him.

Sorry for this weird request, feel free not to write it, if it doesn't resonate with you!

Have a nice weekend.

#SUGAWARAS UNEXPECTED CONFESSION

#A/N : fun fact suga was my first favorite when i started watching haikyuu. dont worry this request isn’t weird at all, dont apologize. hoping things get better for you!

#WARNINGS : f!reader. cursing. alcohol mentions. angstish to comfort. aged up.

tonight was supposed to be an evening to celebrate. to wash away the worries and stress from work. to overcome exhaustion and fatigue for a few hours. to “stop being a hermit and live a little!” as shoyo would say.

so here you are, sitting at a nice table in a popular izakaya spot, your friends surrounding you. cheer and laughter, pink dusted cheeks from the buzz of the alcohol becoming prominent amongst their faces.

and you couldn’t miss the way sugawara chuckled lightly at something asahi had said, the small glass in his hands held by his fingertips, lifting it to his lips as he took a sip.

sugawara was nothing short of all you wanted and more. a silly high school crush carried throughout the years and turned into something more. a burning passion and adornment for him, some might call it love. and you couldn’t really deny it. however, you never really got the chance to tell him either. you remained close friends, spending time together quite often which you were more than grateful for, and you weren’t one to throw it all away.

ice dancing in your neglected glass of “something fruity”, per your request, you watched it slowly melt.

sugawara and a few others stood up to walk to the bar, waving down the bartender to order another round, and you stayed sat in your seat.

your gaze from your cup lifted to glance at him, and honestly, you really wish you hadn’t looked.

there stood sugawara and a random girl who must’ve took it upon herself to come and introduce herself to him. her hair bounced with each step she took and her lips shone from the pink gloss she had on. and sugawara was talking back to her. that casual toothy smile that you’d been admiring for so long was grinning at her, and her hand came up to dance her fingers along his shoulder.

you shouldn’t of felt so fucking bothered. you were hot, sweating almost. maybe it was the few sips of alcohol, or maybe it was the saddened rage that burned in your heart. you silently stepped out of your chair, leaving your bag and heading to the entrance to take a step outside. fresh air.

“so, sugawara, are you single?”

“sorry, but i actually have my heart set on someone already.”

you stood with your back against the outside wall, gaze to the floor. sugawara was someone you desired. someone you loved. someone you had spent countless times thinking about before you went to sleep. but he wasn’t yours.

self doubts had filled your mind more than once, and now wasn’t an exception. you couldn’t help but think. maybe if your lips were shinier, maybe if your put more effort, maybe if you had just told him in highschool you could’ve faced the rejection then.

your eyes stayed trained to the floor, almost not noticing the sudden presence at your side.

“y/n? what are you doing out here?”

oh. the universe really didn’t like you today, you supposed.

“nothing, koshi. just needed some fresh air.” you replied.

“oh okay. well why don’t you come on back inside? you’ve barely touched your drink.” he said, and you looked up to catch his eyes. a soft smile grazed his lips and he gestured his hand to the door.

“i don’t know, i think i might just go home. im not feelin’ the best.” you lied through your teeth.

“are you sure? i mean it’s not the same without you, you know.”

why did he have to be so god damn sweet. he still displayed a little smile on his face and you really just had to wonder why. why was he bothering to get you to stay. why did he care.

“that girl in there seemed to like you. you know you dont have to do this suga. just go have fun.”

you really didn’t care what was coming out of your mouth or how stupid you sounded saying it. you just wanted to go.

“i turned that girl down. i told her i had my heart set on another. so yes, i do have to do this. because it’s you.”

you practically choked on nothing as your eyes darted to suga’s. he held that kind smile, a soft hand held out to you, beckoning you not to leave.

“what exactly are you saying suga…”

“im saying i denied her for you. you’re the one my hearts set on. so please, if it’s mutual, come with me inside.”

suga stared at you with pure sincerity, corners of his lips never once faulting.

maybe the universe noticed your shitty treatment, or maybe it just wanted to mess with you for a bit of time. but it finally, finally listened to your heart.

“well, it took you long enough, koshi.”

[gifsbysimplysonia]

The Offer

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, unnamed female

Word Count:  1,357

Rating/Warning(s): PG-13 / cussing

Summary: Bored and annoyed, Lloyd starts up a conversation that takes an interesting turn

Author’s Notes: I am forever amused that Chris Evans villains inspire my creativity when I’m struggling to write. This came from a WRITING PROMPT POST FOR AUGUST 2022 from the.plottery on Instagram. Prompt is: write a short story that tackles a conversation between two characters in a hospital waiting room. I realized AFTER I wrote that anyone who has seen The Gray Man will think I borrowed parts of Six’s backstory for Lloyd, and maybe subconsciously I did? But I’ve just been convinced that Lloyd “ran away” to Harvard to play football for a reason, and the reason I presented in this story made sense to me because it gave him a way to relate to the person he is talking to. 

Many thanks to @jillybean1217​ for the graphic

He did his best not to engage the average civilian. It was against his absolute best judgment to do so here, of all places. Unfortunately, he could not concentrate on his fantasy football league because of her. More accurately, her incessant pacing. The shoes she had on made the most ungodly sound, and almost five minutes straight was enough.

"Do you think it's possible for you and your Payless Shoes footwear to knock the noise the fuck off?" To his surprise, her knees immediately folded as she sat on the edge of a chair directly across from him. It was impossible not to notice how her right leg immediately started bouncing as she nervously played with an unopened bag of candy so still, noise continued. He sighed. Considering where they were, her energy could very well be warranted but that didn't make it any less annoying.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" He didn't intend to ask because he didn't care. But his mind was already not where it needed to be for his league so he needed to pass the time some other way.

"Sister in labor." He snorted at her answer. "And the devil is on his way." He nodded, rubbing his hands along his pristine white pants.

"Yeah, kids are fucking annoying," he responded. Turns out his assumption of her meaning was incorrect. He only knew because of her abrupt humorless laugh.

"No," she followed up with, only to change her mind. "Well, yeah. But the kid ain't the devil, her boyfriend is. He threw her against a wall tonight and that's why…" 

One of her hands vaguely gestured to their surroundings. Inoffensive bland magazines and forgettable decor blended into the background. The hum of medical personnel having hushed conversations and the occasional beep of some kind of equipment thrummed around them. His attention back on her, he realized he hadn't properly seen her face, what with her relentless journey, back and forth, on a road to nowhere. Even now, her head hung down; he found himself staring at her crown.

"Look at me," he said. His voice, usually loud and dramatic, was calm but firm. She obeyed his command without hesitation. He spotted a few cuts across the bridge of her wide and crooked nose. Her lower lip was busted on the right side. And her cheek on that same side blossomed into a cacophony of color that did not belong on human skin. Well, maybe in his line of work but not on a civilian like her.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said dryly. Whereas he expected that comment to make her more self conscious, perhaps even make her cower, no luck. Instead, she sat up straight before sitting back in her uncomfortable plastic chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and even spread her legs. She was quite the contrast to him, sat with legs crossed and hands folded. Her chin was in the air. He smirked at her sudden defiance.

"I was just supposed to let it happen?" Her voice was slightly louder, but not enough to be a shout. Her eyes were shinier than they should be. He sighed. Dealing with an emotional female was not on his list of ways to have a good time. 

"Obviously not," he said with disdain, uncrossing his legs to mimic the way she was taking up space. He moved his elbows to his knees so he could lean towards her. "What you're supposed to do is kill the son of a bitch. That's what I did." 

He heard her gasp and saw her eyes widen ever so slightly. He concentrated on the feel of his roughened palms rubbing against each other. Still, flashes of the sick sound of a belt landing on flesh or worse, the crack of human bone breaking crept into his consciousness. 

"My mom never screamed though," he said quietly, really to himself. He smiled a sadistic smile as he shifted his gaze to her face. "She knew that's what the asshole wanted. So she never gave it to him."

"Didn't it get worse?" Her voice was genuinely concerned. It made him squirm. He sat up straight, loudly clapping his big hands on his thighs. 

"Of course it did!" His almost jolly demeanor was sarcastic. "Like I said…" He paused and winked at her which morphed her face from sympathetic to disgusted. That was better; more his speed. He sliced his hand across his throat and made an odd noise to reiterate how he handled that particular problem. And that, of course, was the jumping off point for his life thus far. 

"Is…" She leaned forward but didn't hang her head this time. "Is that something you could do? For someone else?" He laughed, leaning back and crossing his legs again. 

"Sweetheart, even if I could…you couldn't afford me." His tone was matter-of-fact and dismissive. That seemed to anger her but he didn't give a shit. He'd done his one act of charity. Now what he did, he did for money and luxury and this woman did not look like…

A black credit card in the name of one of the richest assholes in the city landed in his lap. He knew this man. He'd done a job for him once. He didn't like the man because he had treated Lloyd like the help. 

"How did you get this?" In reply, she removed a phone from her pocket and looked to be searching for something. Next thing he knew, he was watching the new money motherfucker lay into a female. It was unpleasant. He was thankful there was no sound to invite more ghosts from his past to visit. 

"That's my sister. The dumb ass got involved as his side chick and I haven't been able to get her away from him. And now?" She angrily swiped away a lone tear. "I can get into his account and get you however much you want, but it has to be fast, please…"

He cut her off with a sharp high pitched whistle through his teeth. She leaned back, cringed and mumbled something that sounded like asshole. He could care less. He was a man who abhorred all things boring and his night had just taken a turn in the opposite direction. He turned the card over and over in his fingers as he contemplated all the information he had just learned in a short time.

In his peripheral, he saw her leg start bouncing again. Good. He never wanted to be accused of being predictable. His index finger and thumb went to his upper lip to smooth over his mustache. He would have gone on pretending he had not made up his mind as soon as he had seen that video. She, however, stood up and was clearly about to start pacing again. No fucking thank you. He rose when she did and blocked her path.

"Lloyd Hansen, Hansen Government Services." He half bowed and spread his arms to his side, presenting himself as the savior he saw himself to be in the situation.

"I don't care," she said, suddenly breathing heavily. Her eyes were focused over his shoulder. He turned his head to his right and immediately clocked two men with $8 haircuts in scrubs and white coats…and shiny shoes. Those shoes were all wrong for hospital personnel. 

Not taking his eyes off of them, his left hand removed a knife from the front of his belt. She watched with bated breath as he expertly flicked his wrist to reveal a sharp blade. He turned back to her, closing his eyes and rolling his neck. He took a deep breath in through his nose and out the same way; she was so close that she saw the bristle on his upper lip move. When he opened his eyes, the playful sadism was replaced with intense determination. 

"Stay out of the way, jelly bean," he told her, turning around. "Time to go to work." At least they were in the correct place for these putzes to get medical attention, if he was feeling generous tonight.

[heliads]

Guns Blazing, Tides Rising (Part Five)

When Kaz Brekker announces that they’ll be working with a certain Tidemaker to help with the latest heist, Jesper knows it’s not going to end well. He and Y/N L/N have a fierce rivalry, although feelings may change over a night.

previous / series masterlist

a/n: it’s finally over 😭thanks once again to @underc0vercryptid​ for being my muse for all of this

It’s hard for Jesper to convince himself to leave the alley, to let his hands leave Y/N and return to their places by his sides. Inej and Kaz will be looking for them, that much is true. But there’s still a sound like a sigh trapped and rattling in his lungs when he leaves, a regret that he can’t quite excuse away with knowledge of what Kaz’s vengeance would mean if he found a single Dreg disobeying one of his most enforced rules.

Y/N understands, that much is true. She’s become more involved with the Dregs as time goes on. She knows Kaz Brekker in the way that they all do- the Bastard of the Barrel isn’t one that you cross unless you wish to lose your tongue and your life. It still seems wrong to give this up, though, to let Dirtyhands keep walking all over him for the one thing that matters. In the end, they would have had to leave the alley anyways. This is just the first excuse that passes Jesper’s lips.

He manages to turn off his mind for a little while, convincing himself that it doesn’t feel harder and harder to leave, that he can be emotionless and cold. Jesper’s tone is clinical when he tells Kaz and Inej of the successful mission, his hands for once unshaking and firm when he hands over the list of names to Kaz. However, even his attempts at being fine and calm draw suspicion- Kaz hadn’t seen them rejoin the rest of the party when the guests relocated from the main hall, and he wanted to know why.

Jesper has spent enough time running with the canal rats for lies to spring easily to his tongue. There was a difficulty finding the safe, he says, they had to dodge some guards and they didn’t quite get there in time. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? They got in, they got out, and they weren’t the reason the alarms were sounded. Kaz raises an eyebrow at this, but he doesn’t press it. Jesper might be well and truly hallucinating, but he swears he sees a tinge of unrest in Kaz’s eyes, like the boy is haunting himself over the fact that he may have made an error, one that could have gotten his gang caught like a too-clever fox in a trap.

Maybe this shift in Kaz’s usual ruthless demeanor is enough to unsettle him, or maybe it’s the gnawing knowledge that Jesper keeps walking away from the girl he might love that drives him to leave the Slat once more. It’s early morning now, dawn with its rosy-fingered hues, but a lack of sleep has hardly bothered Jesper before, and it certainly won’t now. He thinks as he walks, stretching his legs as he paces mindless circles around the city.

Jesper can’t shake the feeling that he’s been running for too long. He’s used to it, but for some reason, it feels different now. He doesn’t like this constant leaving, this weight on his shoulders like he’s holding true to a lie that will one day spiral out of control. Jesper is used to living life on the run, to being flamboyantly proud of everything that makes him, well, him. The skulking around back corners, stealing kisses only after he’s checked and double-checked that no one is watching? It feels like a noose is tightening around his neck.

In the end, Jesper finds himself climbing up a rickety fire escape and stretching his legs out over the edge of a roof, watching the golden dawn start to turn the waters surrounding Ketterdam bronze with light. It is not long before he is joined by someone else, someone with answering steps and a reassuring smile tossed his way. Maybe she could tell from how they’d left that he was still lost in thought. Regardless, Jesper is happy to not be alone.

Y/N sits next to him, carefully swinging her feet over the edge. Her heels kick up against the brick. “I like this view. I like being able to see the water. It feels like I’m more connected to it.” Jesper turns his head towards her, watching the way the early morning air toys with her eyelashes, her face. “Is it easy to be a Tidemaker here? I mean, you’re powerful enough that people don’t try to trap you with indentures. Does it ever get easy in Ketterdam?”

Y/N laughs quietly. “Not at all. I still remember when I first showed up and stepped off of the boats. My parents wanted to send me away from the disaster that was the Ravkan civil war. They guessed it would happen long before it did, and assumed Kerch would be safer. They sent me over first, saying that they’d follow soon after.” Jesper can hear the inflections in her voice, the way she casts her eyes towards the water with renewed vigor. He knows this means that they never showed up again.

She clears her throat, voice stubbornly loud as if ridding herself of doubts. “I was terrified when I first got here. Nothing made sense. In Ravka, Grisha were feared, yes, and there were always traders or mercenaries or even drüskelle out for blood, but we had a home there. If you had a home, people rarely came hunting for you. I had no such harbor here.”

Y/N looks out over the streets as if she’s never walked them before, as if she’s once more a stranger to the coal-choked airways always drenched with a spattering of rain and misfortune. “I had a friend. A girl who came with me. She was an Inferni, made the mistake of trying to summon up a small spark to keep her warm. I watched them take her right before my eyes, and I didn’t do anything at all. I vowed from that moment on that I would never be weak again, never hide in the shadows like I did on that night.”

Jesper’s heard bits and pieces of the story from here. He’d learned the most about her before he even liked her at all, actually, back when they still considered themselves to be rivals. Jesper had told himself that he was just collecting information on an enemy to best take her down the next time they crossed paths, but there was more to that, wasn’t there? Maybe that was a sign that even then, when Jesper had convinced himself that the only thing they could ever have was animosity, he still wanted something more. That was a gambler’s luck, after all- always reaching for a better deal, a shinier prospect. She was his best capture.

Y/N glances over at him like she can sense his thoughts. “That’s when you entered the picture, actually. I stopped being scared to hide my powers and started using them in bloodlust. I took up jobs, found this one really annoying sharpshooter who kept getting in my way.” Jesper presses a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I think you can do better than just ‘really annoying’. Dashingly infuriating, maybe. Devastatingly attractive. A charming enemy who-”

Y/N cuts him off, laughing. “You’re awful. Utterly awful.” Jesper goes to protest, but she leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips that makes his heart swoop in his chest. Y/N raises an eyebrow at Jesper’s sudden silence. “Am I that good of a kisser? I don’t think I’ve seen you that awestruck in a while.” Jesper scoffs. “I can do better than that.”

He lets his hands find hers, lets the rising sun light the way his lips meet hers. They don’t leave the rooftop until the sun has fully ascended to its place in the sky, until the clatter of feet on cobblestones is the only reason for an exit. Not a gang, not its fearsome leader. Just the two of them, drowning out the whole world until there’s nothing left at all.

He is eventually found out, of course. All stories repeat themselves, all beginnings follow suit. When Kaz calls Jesper up to his office, he finds that he isn’t worried at all. Before, he might have felt his shoulders tense, hesitating at the door. When Jesper faces the oddly terrifying wooden paneling, however, all he can think about is the sun shining through Y/N’s eyes, the smile on her lips as his fingers laced around hers. If loving her is wrong, well, Jesper’s already been a criminal for quite some time. Why not add one more misdeed to the list?

Kaz waits for him in the office. He stands up, black gloved hands tapping on the familiar crow’s head cane. It’s all meant for a threatening display- Jesper’s seen this very posture used successfully on many a nervous trainwreck of a failed business partner or lackluster goon. However, Jesper’s still filled with the giddy rush of seeing his girl and he can’t quite force himself to care.

Kaz clears his throat, the metal hull of a ship scraping against jagged rocks. “Y/N L/N.” He doesn’t have to say anything else, just the name. Jesper nods. “Yes.” Kaz raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to deny it?” Jesper shrugs. “We both know your information is good. Yes, I’m seeing her.” Kaz’s fingers still on the head of the cane. “You know how I feel about that. It’s a weakness.”

Jesper should take it as a possible sign of insanity that he’s considering the path before him at all. He knows what Kaz expects of him- an apology, maybe, a promise that he won’t stray from the rules again, or at least not so long as they interfere with Kaz’s master plan for the Dregs. He’ll see Y/N out, do his best not to cross paths with her again. He might return to the gambling halls once more just to stave off some unsightly emptiness inside of him, and then he’ll be as good as gold.

Jesper, however, does not intend to do any of this at all. What good are the odds if he doesn’t have his girl? He’s stepped inside the Crow Club over the past couple of days. The rattle of Makker’s Wheel doesn’t have that same fervor, the excitement doesn’t spread over him in the same delicious rush. Simply put, it isn’t worth it. It isn’t a gamble worth his time, and Jesper’s lost mightier fortunes over lesser odds.

So Jesper shakes his head. “Not her. Not like this.” Kaz tilts his head just slightly, eyes calculating, looking for loopholes to exploit. “So you’d willingly break the rules?” Jesper leans forward. “We’re Dregs, Kaz. It’s what we do.” Kaz returns his level gaze. “Not like this. Tell me, what is it that makes Y/N L/N worth this much to you? You were enemies before, were you not? Is it the power? The chance that she may be like you?”

Jesper lifts a shoulder. “It’s not always about finding the best possible advantage, Kaz. We work well together. It was only a matter of time before it was more.” Kaz Brekker might understand. Dirtyhands does not. “Your goal was not to find some pretty girlfriend in the Barrel, Jesper, it was to complete the mission and move on. I knew from the second you held her bleeding body in your arms that this wouldn’t be worth my time or my energy.”

Jesper doesn’t realize he’s standing until he is. “Then say it. I’ve spent my time playing your games, Kaz, and Saints know I’ll keep on turning your tables, but not on this. We all break the wheel at some point. I’m willing to do it for her.” Kaz is silent for a time, a time that seems to stretch on into such an eternity that Jesper finds himself tapping his revolvers again, feeling that same itch for a fight. It’s well and good to go into a battle of the bullets and feel the adrenaline kick in, he could handle that. This, however? Waiting for Kaz to do something, anything? You can’t fight that, only wait for it to end. And Jesper’s never been particularly good at waiting.

At last, Kaz speaks. “Then stay with her.” Jesper almost thinks that he’s started hallucinating. “What?” Kaz inclines his head. “She’s good for you. You’ve been more focused.” Jesper stares for a second, then shakes his head, fighting back the impossible urge to break into manic laughter. “Honestly, if it takes you considering the potential business opportunities to approve of us, I’m not about to challenge that.”

Something almost like a smile appears on Kaz’s face. Jesper is most certainly going insane. “I’m not completely heartless, Jesper. You’re a useful sharpshooter.” Jesper’s eyes widen. “That’s practically a compliment. Do you need me for a heist later? I can’t think of anything else to cause this.” Kaz tilts his head in acknowledgement of this surreal situation, pausing for a second as if listening to a voice that no one else can hear.

Then he gestures towards the door, allowing Jesper to leave. As Jesper walks towards the door, though, Kaz says something else. “Inej just left the roof.” Jesper nods in understanding. “Look at you. Dishing out the compliments for your Wraith to hear.” Kaz’s brow furrows, and Jesper decides to leave the office now before Kaz decides to take back his approval of Jesper and Y/N and hit him with his cane or something else overtly Kaz-like.

Despite his best efforts, Jesper is still teeming with anxious energy after the meeting, so he goes on a quick stroll around the crooked alleyways of the Barrel to calm the restless ticking of his hands and legs. When he comes back to the Slat, however, he notices that his door is slightly ajar. Jesper enters his room slowly, relaxing at the sound of voices.

The window is open, showing the faint drizzle of the streets outside. Y/N sits on the floor next to Inej as both girls consider a makeshift target of a few rags at the far end of the room. Inej tosses a knife up and down in her hand, then flings it towards the target. She hits it in the center, to no one’s surprise. Y/N’s eyes follow the path of the blade, and then she extends her hand towards the window, letting drops of rain fly towards her palm. She curls her fingers around the water, shaping it into a perfect replica of the knife Inej had just thrown, then directs it towards the target to slosh around Inej’s blade, another direct hit to the center.

Inej makes a scoffing sound. “That doesn’t count. You got to control the knife instead of just throwing it.” Y/N shrugs absentmindedly. “You got to pick a knife, I had to make mine myself. I think it evens out.” Inej glances up towards Jesper, smiling slightly. Somehow, it comes to no surprise that she’d known he was there all along. “Jesper, come tell your girlfriend that she’s cheating at target practice.”

Jesper shrugs. “As long as you hit the target I don’t think you can cheat. Also, I thought I locked this door.” Y/N grins up at him. “That’s the unbiased support I love to hear. And your door was locked, we just wanted to go in so we did.” Jesper nods. “That clears up everything.” Y/N laughs. “Good to know.” Inej stands up, stretching, and goes to retrieve her knife. She goes to climb through the window once more then pauses, turning to face them.

“I’m glad Kaz let you two stay together. I certainly did my arguing for you.” Jesper frowns. “How long have you known?” Inej sighs exasperatedly. “Practically since the start. You two are terrible at being secretive, you know that?” She doesn’t give them time to protest, just slips out the window and disappears into the roofline before you could even blink.

Y/N walks over to Jesper, a half smile on her face. “I suppose she’s right. We haven’t exactly been the most discreet, have we?” Jesper shrugs. “Maybe not. But we don’t have to hide anymore. We don’t have to leave.” Y/N smiles at him now, a true smile. “I like the sound of that.” Jesper hums thoughtfully, leaning down to kiss her. “So do I.”

guns blazing, tides rising masterlist: @kaqua​, @amortensie​

[hailcyeon]

hiraeth | 08

When your cousin the Crown Prince calls in on a decade-old debt, you have no choice but to answer. You’re rewarded for your troubles with your nightmares finding new life, danger around every corner, and a fiendishly irritating bodyguard. As each new discovery unearths more secrets, you learn the true costs of your homecoming.

⇾ Pairing: Lee Jaehwan x Reader ⇾ Genre: Sci-Fi, Royal AU, Bodyguard AU ⇾ Word Count: 4.5k ⇾ Warnings: Mild swearing, descriptions of anxiety

He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember. 

The next morning finds you in yet another unfamiliar apartment. Your legs are jelly descending the stairs, and the three-inch heels on your feet aren't helping. There's a railroad spike through your brain in the form of a migraine, all the while you fight the urge to rub your eyes so you don't ruin Sora's hard work. Hakyeon is already downstairs, dressed impeccably as ever in a navy suit. He adjusts his cuffs, looking up with a frown as he takes in your stiff expression. 

"Are you feeling okay? I told you to eat breakfast." 

The click of your heels on the tiled floor— somehow even shinier than the one in Hakyeon's other apartment — rings out loudly as you walk over. "Hakyeon, I will throw up on this very expensive dress if you make me eat." 

He purses his lips and gives you a disapproving look. "Forgive me for thinking you need a little nutrition beyond caffeine and painkillers." He runs his gaze up and down your form, inspecting Sora's work as his eyes look for even a single thread out of place.

"The third-degree is a little creepy, Hakyeon," you say in response, irritated and tired. You were dragged to this decoy apartment at an ungodly time to meet Sora. Two hours of hair, makeup, and wardrobe later, you still don't feel ready to face the public, let alone the King. You rub your temple gently as if to massage out your headache. The coffee and aspirin you'd downed first thing in the morning have not only done little to help, but also seem to have turned your stomach to molten lava. 

Hakyeon has the grace to look contrite as he brushes invisible dust off your shoulder. "I hope you don't expect to speak to my father that way." There are no wrinkles or excessive folds to be found, as your new clothes have been tailored just for you, but he straightens out the sleeves anyway. You take this with all the patience of a doll, resigning yourself to only internal screaming. 

"She looks fine, I did a great job," Sora says as she hauls the last of the makeup cases down the stairs. “The King isn’t going to be fixated over her outfit anyway.” She'd instructed you to bring a few of the items you bought yesterday, and had arrived this morning with her own personal trove of beauty tools. Armored in a smart blazer and a dress cut just on the edgier side of conservative, your polished attire belies the true discomfort you feel. 

"I intend to speak as little as possible, actually." You swallow down the burn in your esophagus and fiddle with your sleeves as Hakyeon steps back for one last look over, making you feel very self-conscious. “I’m not good at your type of political subterfuge, you know that.” 

Hakyeon nods and checks his watch. "That's probably for the best. I’ve done what I can to take the situation out of his hands." You wonder what he means by that, but no explanation comes. “Still, you must be rock-solid in your defense. Why are you here, Princess of Asadal?” He bores into your eyes with his gaze, and you think Hakyeon has more of his father in him than you remember.

“To serve the King,” you answer mechanically. Your voice is less steel and more soft than you’d like, but you force your shoulders back and face your cousin, unwavering.

Hakyeon nods again, a quick decline of his chin, and turns to the door. “Then it’s time that we left.”

The elevator ride down is too quick for your liking, and before you know it you’re standing in front of a sleek, black limo adorned with the flag of Asadal. Jaehwan, your ever-present shadow, is leaning up against the idling car, hands in pockets and looking more formal than ever in his own dark suit. Sora turns around, carefully balancing the various makeup boxes she has, and takes your hand in hers. “I have to run to a photoshoot this afternoon, but I’ll be in touch. You’re gonna kill it, don’t worry,” she says with a last squeeze of your hand. 

“I’d prefer to get this over with as little violence as possible actually.” Your retort is clipped with a stiff smile. 

Sora leaves, and so does your general sense of bravado. If the events of the past few days have felt strange to you so far, this situation feels positively surreal as Jaehwan opens the door to the limousine for you and Hakyeon to slide in. You're sitting sandwiched between your cousin the prince and a man you hardly know, dressed to the nines in clothes so expensive they could pay a year's rent for your apartment back home.

“This is rather ostentatious,” you mutter quietly, moving your gaze around the luxurious interior.

Hakyeon shifts over to the opposite seats to give you some more room. “The aide insisted. Our entrance won’t be subtle, to say the least.”

This is not the most comforting thing to say, as your jaw clenches once more in anticipation. Jaehwan spares you a side glance, cool as the early morning air outside in his dark suit and upswept hair. 

“All right, Princess?” Jaehwan’s tone is neutral, the ubiquitous smile playing in one corner of his mouth. It only serves to irritate you further. You compulsively smooth out your dress and aim for a measured response.

“I’m excellent.” The hem of your dress has ridden up to mid-thigh over your dark tights, and though the exquisite tailoring means there’s nary a stray thread, your fingers keep rubbing the stitching. “No sleep, murderous uncle, not a problem. I am a-ok.”

Not quite.

Hakyeon places a hand over your clenched fist. Whether it's meant to be soothing or a warning, you're not sure. Nevertheless, you force yourself to take a deep breath. Your nerves are already frayed, but you can't afford to fall apart just yet. Not yet.

The ride to the king’s tower is spent in terse silence. You have been to the Assembly House over which the new administrative building was built, but so much of the city is unfamiliar to you that it may as well be an unknown route. Hakyeon's apartment is located in what seems to be a luxury residential area of the Capital, you realize, as you pass high-rise after high-rise, gleaming in the morning sun. These neighborhoods are separated from the business and administrative sectors by the Yuseong River.

The trip over the bridge does your nerves no favors. The limousine is insulated to all outside noises, but the rush of the river below sounds through your memories regardless. The western banks of the river are dotted with construction projects, workers already scrambling around the sites. It’s clear to you that these new buildings are meant to serve your uncle’s pet councilmen and others on the higher rungs of society, given how far they are from the cheaper parts of the city. Unable to sleep in your anxiety, you had done a little research on the state of the city nowadays. Street names and neighborhood designations can only tell you so much, but a quick glance at the housing markets clearly delineates the various strata of society in the Capital.

More interesting is the King's official seat as it draws nearer. In the dark of night when you first saw it, the tower looked like a single dark obelisk thrust up into the sky. Upon closer look now you can see it is actually three different towers circling each other and connected at the base, forming an elongated trident. The Assembly House had never been your favorite piece of architecture, with its dusty corners and old-fashioned facade, but you quite miss it in the face of the tower’s imposing presence.

The streets leading up to the building are lined with trees and fountains and more people than you think should be the case for an otherwise innocuous weekday. The gentle trickle of people escalates and promptly explodes into a thronging mass spilling off the sidewalks as the limousine reaches a stone slab etched with a very generic-sounding “Administration Headquarters” in gold. Your eyes widen at the crowds held at bay by metal dividers to create a path for the car. Had the citizens decided to protest after all?

You purse your lips and swallow thickly at the sight of several news vans and a thicket of flashing cameras. The crowd, initially standing around idly, is spurred into action at the arrival of the limousine, pushing against the barriers and craning over others to catch a better look. You don’t know what to make of the clamor, and Hakyeon answers your unasked questions. 

“The news of your return broke early this morning.” Hakyeon looks straight ahead, hands folded in his lap and voice betraying nothing. You know your cousin has many years of playing the imperious monarch on you, but in this moment you feel the gulf in experience particularly strongly.

“The paparazzi move quick,” you say tersely, trying to hide how much your breathing has quickened.

“The paparazzi had nothing to do with it,” interjects Jaehwan suddenly with a side glance toward Hakyeon.

You’re struck with a sudden sense of alarm as your eyes snap to your cousin’s. “Did you do something?”

“You were tailed yesterday.” Hakyeon’s face is stone, as impassive and unfeeling as yours is alarmed and shaken. “The King and his administration know of your presence, and it would only be a matter of time before the news spread. At least this way we can control the narrative.”

"Of course," you mutter. The anxiety is taking over your mind, so you default to anger. "Of course we were tailed."

“The King had a man following us around to every location we hit yesterday," Jaehwan adds unhelpfully. "He stopped sometime before we got back to the apartment, but it’s likely the King knows about that location anyway.”

“You were going to tell me this when, bodyguard?”

Jaehwan shrugs. “I’m telling you now.”

"This is nothing we hadn't already anticipated," Hakyeon hastily interjects before the two of you can start arguing.

In any case, you’re halted in your thoughts as the limousine passes through the official gates to the tower grounds, cutting off the bustling crowd from the kingdom’s highest administration. You catch a glimpse of a long set of marble steps before the view outside is swallowed by the walls of the tower. It’s hard to make out much beyond the dark tinted windows, so you settle for staring at the floor and counting your breaths. The ride continues steadily over the next few minutes, during which a stifling sort of silence has fallen over the three of you inside. The darkness of the tunnel you’ve entered is punctuated by the flash of guiding lights every few seconds, ramping up your already racing heartbeat.

“Don’t start hyperventilating now,” comes from your left in Jaehwan’s smooth tenor. You shoot him a glare, but the effect is rather diminished by the lack of light. 

Hakyeon's voice is quiet and steady as he says, "We're in the VIP tunnel. Flattering as the name may be, we're really just going through high levels of security. There is no access to the King's office from the public entrance." 

"What kind of security?" Somehow, focusing on the details helps you ground yourself to the moment. 

You hear Hakyeon shift in his seat slightly. “The usual scans, identification, some biometrics. Only the security team knows the full details, but I’ve gone through the checks several times myself.”

You suck in a deep breath and force yourself to let it out slowly. The car continues on for a minute longer before coming slowly to a stop. The door to your right opens suddenly to a man bent over in a deep bow. 

"Good morning, Your Highness. I trust your trip was comfortable?" 

Hakyeon steps out smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket as he stands. “Thank you, Ryu. The car was most appreciated.”

The man then extends a gloved hand to help you out of the limousine. Jaehwan hops out the other side without a glance back, and you have no choice but to take the offered hand. Gingerly you step out onto the concrete floor, balanced by the aide’s arm. The light is dim in the underground VIP garage. You make out a fleet of dark limousines very similar to the one you just exited, all adorned with the navy and gold livery of Asadal, waiting in the surrounding spots. Large vents and cold fluorescent lights are built into the ceiling high above, providing a cavernous quality to the garage. Your feet are illuminated by lights built into the concrete platform spelling out “Council Chamber and Main Royal Entrance”, with a small bay of elevators laying just beyond. 

“Welcome, Princess. It’s wonderful to have you back in the kingdom.” The aide’s ear-to-ear smile makes you think the sentiment is genuine, but you can only manage a small incline of your head in response. Hakyeon strides ahead to the central elevator, which opens at his approach without prompting. You follow along less confidently with the aide at your side, trailed by Jaehwan to your back. 

The elevator is large enough that the three of you can stand without touching elbows, but you still feel suffocated by the gleaming metal walls and the presence of the government official. Bespectacled and clad in a dove gray suit, he’s hardly the most intimidating man, but you are ever wary of strangers. Hakyeon absentmindedly checks his watch again while the aide fills him in on the details of the meeting. 

"The King is in with Magistrate Moon currently, but he's scheduled to be done by the time we clear processing. The princess's data shouldn't take long, but it's good to be thorough." 

"What do you mean, my data?" you interject. 

The aide starts as if he'd forgotten you could speak. "Oh, it's just simple protocol Your Highness—" He's cut off by a ding as the elevator opens to a brightly lit lobby. 

Despite being such a high-profile area, the lobby itself is fairly sparse. Hakyeon shuffles you through past a set of cushy armchairs and a table, which honestly feel like a decoy more than anything, into a blank white hallway. At the end are several full-body scanners glowing a neon green. Hakyeon strides through them proudly without pause, and you have no choice but to follow. Despite having nothing on your person to cause suspicion, some irrational part of you blanches as you walk through the scanners. Thankfully, you walk out the other side with no incident.

You let out an unnecessarily-held breath and are immediately shuffled into a side room. There's not a lot to the space save for a few monitors and seemingly medical equipment. The sting of antiseptic tickles your nose and the extreme sterility in fluorescent lighting gives you an uneasy feeling. Confused, you look to Hakyeon for guidance, only to be met with the passively smiling face of Jaehwan. Hakyeon is instead just outside the door talking to a woman in a white lab coat. If he senses your eyes on him, he gives no indication. The woman, however, turns and flashes you a smile, striding into the room with clipboard in hand. 

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she chirps with a quick bow in your general direction before shuffling off to some equipment on a far counter. You shift your feet nervously, glancing again at Hakyeon. He checks his watch again and joins you inside the room, leaving the aide outside.

“This won’t take very long at all, we have the entire process streamlined,” says the woman from the counter, pulling various equipment out of shelves and inspecting them. “My name is Dr. Yang, and I will be administering your locator chip today.” 

“My locator chip?” The words come out shriller than you intend, and you see Hakyeon wince out of the corner of your eye. 

"It's just for security purposes," he says quickly in a low voice. "It's necessary for being in the VIP parts of the building." 

"It's very small," the doctor reassures. "You won't feel a thing!" 

You swallow roughly and take a few steps back. "Hakyeon, could I speak to you for a moment?" You wait for him walk closer before mouthing, "What the fuck?" 

He glances at Jaehwan, who has also joined your little enclave, and crosses his arms. "I know you don't like it, but there's no other way to speak with the King."

You snort. "I didn't want to meet with him in the first place if you remember." 

Hakyeon purses his lips and exhales an impatient little sigh. "I know, and I know this whole thing is a mess. There are certain concessions that just have to be made. Security is tight around here; we all have a tracker to monitor our movement around the building." To make his point clearer, he extends his thumb. Jaehwan says nothing but absently scratches his left wrist. 

"This is some insane surveillance state nonsense, Hakyeon," you hiss. You weren't expecting to just prance into the King's office, but the idea of having his influence literally implanted in you? Your skin is crawling without anything even having happened. It monitors your location at that? Not to mention what else could be in there that isn’t being disclosed to the public.

“Our last royal family died,” Jaehwan chimes in an almost singsong way. You meet his eyes with a glare that does nothing to budge the pleasant look on his face. “Counter measures had to be taken.” 

Somehow Jaehwan’s stern look behind his sunny smile rattles you more than Hakyeon’s impatient pushing. You hold their gazes for a beat longer before looking down and swinging back around to the doctor. We’re not done talking about this, Hakyeon.

To her credit, Dr. Yang has maintained the utmost professionalism through your little meltdown. She stands next to a leather stool holding a tablet in one hand, patting the seat gently with the other. You stride over, head held high as you can, and sit down delicately. You can just touch the floor with your toes from this height, and you grip the edges of the seat with your hands, feeling as if on the precipice of something you can’t walk away from. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” starts Dr. Yang, handing you the tablet. “The chip is microscopic and is only inserted into the topmost layer of the epidermis, so you won’t even feel the insertion. The shallow location is so that the chip can be removed through your body’s natural shedding of its skin cells, meaning there’s no hassle to dig back in there when you’re done here.”

Pain is hardly the thing you’re worried about. You swipe down through the extensive legalese on the tablet, which seems to be a permission form of sorts. There is no option not to grant it. “What’s the purpose of this chip, just to monitor my location?” you ask while signing your name with the attached stylus. 

The doctor nods. “It follows your presence through the building, and only within the building. There are additional forms to detail your identity and security clearance, but of course you don’t need any sort of verification on that front, Your Highness.” She ends her sentence with a tinkle of a laugh, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

You hand the tablet back, wishing you could examine the system yourself. Undoubtedly it’s a database keyed to the individual chips, but you wonder what tech they’re using to detect the trackers throughout the building. And how much interference they could handle before they fry. Dr. Yang returns, having deposited the tablet on the counter, with gloved hands and a metal pen. 

“Now, as I said, the chip is inserted in the first layer of skin, for which we’ll need a particularly dense area so it stays put for the time being.” She tears open a packet of antiseptic and smiles. “If you’ll please extend your index finger?” You've got half a mind to offer her your middle finger instead, but you grit your teeth and uncurl your left index finger. A quick swipe of the alcohol-soaked wipe later, she presses the pen to your finger, cold and solid.

“Wait.” You take your finger back, clenching your hand into a fist. You look up, eyes darting to Hakyeon’s. Impassive as he is, you think you see some hint of guilt in his gaze, and dark circles under his own layers of concealer. Jaehwan, for his part, simply looks on boredly. 

“Is something wrong?” Dr. Yang has taken a step back and is looking at you with concern. 

You swallow, throat very dry all of a sudden, and shake your head. “No, it’s fine.” You extend your finger again, the nails of your other hand digging into your palm. “Go ahead.”

The doctor clicks her tongue and opens another packet of antiseptic. “You have no idea how many people come through here with a serious fear of needles,” she says, wiping down your finger again, even more gently than the last time. “All these big Councilmen, afraid of a little poke!” She chortles to herself and presses the pen down. 

True to her words, you feel nothing. 

You hop off the stool as soon as she pulls the pen away. The nausea from this morning has returned with a vengeance, which it tends to do when you indulge your anxiety rather than dissipating it. The doctor bows in goodbye and before you know it, you are ushered out the door by Hakyeon.

From there it’s a short walk to another bank of elevators. “That was very quick, wasn’t it?” starts the aide. “We’re a little ahead of schedule, so I thought perhaps we could show the Princess around the Council chambers and then—”

Hakyeon cuts him off abruptly. “Thank you Ryu, but that won’t be necessary. I think we can take it from here. Please send the alert upstairs to let them know we’re coming.”

The aide blinks. “The King is likely still in his meeting, Your Highness, if you’ll—” 

Hakyeon halts his speech again with a swift raise of his hand. “I’m aware of the King’s schedule. Be on your way.”

The ease and confidence with which your cousin addresses the aide is weirdly comforting. Hakyeon is Crown Prince. Hakyeon can handle this. You are just playing a part, but Hakyeon, he's the real deal. 

The aide makes a quick bow and disappears down a side hallway. Hakyeon wastes no time in calling down an elevator, and before long you’re ensconced in tense silence again. You feel eyes on you, but resolutely look forward. In the shiny metal of the elevator doors you see Hakyeon’s reflection turn to face you properly. “Doing ok?” You flick your gaze to him for but a second. Your jaw is starting to hurt from grinding your teeth so hard, and you keep compulsively rubbing your thumb against your other fingers. “I’m—” comes out in a rasp, your throat bone-dry. You swallow and try again. “I’m fine.” Hakyeon’s eyes don’t leave your face, and Jaehwan is now looking at you with an expression somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” you reiterate, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “It just—” you start, then stop. It just terrifies me. It just makes me want to rip off my own skin. “It got too real,” you say quietly. Jaehwan chuckles, a soft gust of air through his nostrils and the crinkling curl of one corner of his mouth. 

Your glare at his reflection is cut short when the doors suddenly open to blinding light. This lobby is much busier than the last, with people scurrying to and fro, disappearing off into more elevators and hallways. As Hakyeon leads you into the mess, you notice several people stop right in their tracks and make very low but very quick bows in your general direction. You get a cursory glance out the glass walls to where the rest of the city sprawls before Hakyeon stops before what seems to be the main elevator, all chrome and gold leaf. A press of his palm to a nearby touchpad opens the doors to reveal elegant carpeting and crystal-studded walls. You roll your eyes at the predictable opulence.

Following Hakyeon into the elevator, you turn around only to find that Jaehwan hasn’t joined as usual. You blink. “Where are you going?” “Shh, secret mission,” he says in a hiss. The last thing you see before the doors close is Jaehwan’s grin with a finger pressed to his lips. 

What secret mission? You feel the tug of gravity as the elevator glides upward and furrow your brows. “You put Jaehwan on some other task?”

Hakyeon rolls his eyes. “He’s being dramatic. He’s just gone to talk to some old friends at my suggestion.” 

You’re well aware of who Jaehwan’s old friends are. “The Swords are loyal only to the King,” you say, on edge again at the remembrance of Jaehwan’s involvement in the special forces. 

Hakyeon ignores your statement in favor of some last-minute pep talk. “I know you must be feeling apprehensive, but I have full trust in your ability to sway my father. I’m positive you can assure him you’re not a threat, and it won’t be hard, since you’ve been away for so long. You’re hardly a scheming politician after all, and—”

“I get it, Hakyeon.” You cut off his rambling, nerves raw and screaming. “Play nice, or die.” The elevator opens again to two guards — Swords, speak of the devil — and an otherwise empty hallway. They bow as Hakyeon exits, the barest hint of a frown on his face. You follow, trying your best to match his confident strides. Think simpering sycophant thoughts. Should you pretend to be happy to see your uncle? Grateful to be back in your— no, his kingdom?

The hallway turns a corner and leads to the most nondescript wooden doors you’ve ever seen. The double doors are handleless and flanked by four-foot tall ceramic vases holding each a cascade of orchids. You can’t see any physical indication as to the importance of these doors, but your heart pounds harder with every step forward. As if sensing your hesitation, Hakyeon stops just short and turns to you.

“I’m not going to lie and say this will be easy,” he starts. His gaze is too difficult to hold, so you turn your eyes to a blank spot on the wall just behind his ear. “But this has to be done, for better or worse. Are you ready?”

No, you think to yourself. In what world could you ever be ready to face the instigator of all your nightmares?

“Yes,” you say.

Hakyeon gives you a quick, terse nod and raises his hand. He raps his knuckles against the wood of the door twice, the beats ringing out in the quiet hallway.

[merryfortune]

Forever Lost Child

I’ve decided to crown this fic my farewell to Vrains piece. The finale broke my heart and then put it back together again. It was wonderful. I look forward to the next iteration of  Yu-Gi-Oh but Vrains has a very special place in my heart

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Word Count: 1.9k

Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

  Using only a name, they were able to track down his final resting place. No one was bold or brave enough to reach out to the family directly, instead, they relied on underhanded means to ascertain where the grave would be located. Then, they all agreed on a date and now, said date had arrived and there was no turning back; minds couldn’t be changed or disagreed upon as they had made a promise.

  So, the five of them gathered outside the cemetery. Between each other, they murmured exchanges of placid greetings. Yusaku, Takeru, and Jin had arrived as a group whereas Miyu and Spectre had made their way to the spot individually. It was weird to be altogether, and yet incomplete, as they were when they were as a group.

  It was an unusually warm day with a breeze. It seemed unusually appropriate given what they knew about the person they were visiting. And in such weather, they were all dressed appropriately in their nicest clothes and as appropriately as one could be on a hot day to visit the grave of someone they knew intimately and yet, not at all.

  To begin with, as they stared down the gates until someone – Spectre – pushed it aside so the others may pass, it was easy to be solemn. Once they passed through, uncertain of where they were going save for a name and a subsection, it became difficult to maintain a façade. It began with Spectre, who made insensitive comments to peers who couldn’t care less. After he, it was Yusaku who took solace in being able to quieten Spectre; scolding him for his aforementioned sensitivity and then to Jin who took glee in being able to scold Yusaku for being so one-track minded about this sort of thing. Takeru, however, took it all in stride, happy to listen to their different perspectives. At least until it then wound around to Miyu.

  To cope with this strange grief and mourning, Miyu’s bravado began to show even though it was apparent by the wobble in her lips that she was going to be the first to break. But, instead, she pushed that weakness onto Takeru. He was an easy target for her teasing, especially in a cemetery on such a hot day; murmuring and whispering to him that even though it was completely and utterly bright out, now was the perfect time for supernatural phenomena to take place. Including and especially the appearance of ghosts. And even though she could not have made it more obvious that it was all in jest, Takeru cowered at her talk regardless. But she found it unsatisfying, so she soon quit.

  After Miyu quit teasing Takeru and after Spectre quit making his inopportune comments and after Jin and Yusaku were able to nit-pick about said comments, it was like a black cloud had come over the group whilst they wandered through the cemetery. Yet, the sky itself was cloudless. As they continued through, a creeping sadness entered their veins, their thoughts, and it was Jin who found the gravestone they were looking for.

  It looked like every other in the area, though perhaps shinier. Recently cleaned, it seemed as it shone so brightly in the reflective sun. And burned incense scraps remained as well as some flower petals from dried and discarded bouquets, long carried off in the wind. The other gravestones around it, to commemorate the lives of yet more strangers, were darker in comparison; not quite as well loved. It was strange seeing the tall post to commemorate the short life of this boy. It was harrowing to stare down and each of them stared it down, memorising the curves of the sculpted calligraphy and the way it portrayed the name.

  Miyu was the one who broke such an unrelenting, clinical gaze first. Her eyes sealed shut and her jaw slackened. She bawled. Completely and utterly without inhibition with jagged, broken sobs which hiccupped in the otherwise still air. The boys listened to her, feeding off her open misery and gaining catharsis to that as they evaluated their own emotions in front of this gravestone.

  Yusaku licked his lips. “Someone should… We should, um…”

  Miyu continued to bawl and as Spectre was closest to her, she decided to cling to him. He made a sour expression, no doubt because her face was on his breast and she was a snotty, wet girl, but he placed a protective hand on her shoulder whilst she hugged him tightly. But Spectre relented regardless; his stern, annoyed expression softening to something akin to regret but it could have been petulance. He had been huffy all day as he already had to show some consideration today by bringing respectful flowers and now, he had to deal with this.

  “Look, over there, we can, um,…” Jin mumbled, his voice was a louder outburst than he had intended and that made him feel awkward but he brushed it off as best as he could; he pointed to a faucet and bucket they could use. They were located beside the next block of gravestones.

  “We’ll handle it then.” Takeru said and he shot a sympathetic look at Spectre who rejected it with a roll of his eyes. Though, his hand betrayed him as he had begun to pet Miyu who was still bawling on his chest.

  So, between the three of them, they got to work. Yusaku filled the bucket with Takeru whilst Jin, with a dour smile, removed the remains of flowers and incense already on the altar. After that, Jin stepped aside and let the other two clean. Spectre watched and bit his tongue. That’s not how he would have done it, but his attention was elsewhere, comforting Miyu.

  Spectre especially had to bite his tongue when Yusaku and Takeru awkwardly decided that they ought to let this gravestone – and consequently, the spirit of – know who they were. What they were to this boy, now passed on. And their connection to his subsequent death. Their musings, so sweet and polite, were not how Spectre would have enlightened this monument to this person, but his experiences weren’t universal. And especially not within his peer group. If they could be called that at all, in his opinion.

  “We’re sorry about what happened,” Yusaku mumbled whilst he scrubbed, “the other Ignis are really sweet, we swear.”

  “Mm, Flame’s really nice! You would have liked him.” Takeru said, deciding all on his own the likes and dislikes of this stranger who they could wrought however they felt, based on what little information remained of him online or in accessible memory.

  Jin’s lips twitched as he listened to the two of them exchange conversation directed at the marble whilst they cleaned. Soon, they were satisfied. Miyu, in the meantime, had calmed down enough to face her fears and how they congregated. She smiled weakly, murmuring a greeting and even an apology for being rude. Spectre made no such gesture, instead watching the scene as though he were uninvited.

  “I’ve still got the incense and stuff.” Takeru said. “And Spectre, you should give him the flowers.”

  “Understood.” Spectre quietly replied.

  Takeru shuffled closer to Jin and Spectre slotted in. He placed the spider lilies on the altar and made sure to leave room for Takeru so he could light the incense. He easily set up the spikes of incense but screwed around with the matches for longer than need be. But, soon enough, a flame was sparked, and the dry smell of the cemetery had to compete with the smell of vanilla and something else. Something smoky.

  After that, it didn’t feel like there was much else to do. Strangers were strangers no matter how intertwined their pasts were.

  Takeru lifted himself to his feet. Jin and Yusaku followed suit and the five of them found themselves in a line as they clustered around the boy’s gravestone. As strangers. And as something far more intimate than friendship. Thus, fingers intertwined. Interlocked and slipped through personal boundaries which existed differently outside of this place in the cemetery.

  Jin, to the far right, and Spectre, to the far left, were the bookends. Miyu, who still clung quite close to Spectre in her grief, took his right hand. Takeru took her left whilst Yusaku took Takeru’s right. With Jin being left with one hand empty and one hand full of Yusaku’s. And together, they silently looked onto the gravestone, shining in the sunshine and withstanding the warm breeze. Again, both were far too appropriate based on what they knew.

  Each of the five found it confronting to be as they were. Securely interlocked with one another, yet so alone in their thoughts, in their heads. Mortality had always been on their minds. Yusaku, Takeru and Jin, honestly not thinking they would ever grow to be the ripe old age of sixteen and yet they had and were finding the courage inside of themselves to do something good with the time that they had. As compared to Spectre who wanted to remain in those six months as a child eternally yet, since he had not, aspiring to live to the same age as his darling Ryoken-sama sans one day because he couldn’t think of anything worse than having to outlive his master. And then again, compared to Miyu who aspired to live as long as she could, to prove the doctors wrong and to grow out of the sense of her mother’s well-meaning smothering.

  Yet, the gravestone in front of them, was a stark reminder that accidents happened. Life existed in randomness, a sort of entropy one got used to until something dire or radical happened. Though, his death wasn’t accident. It hadn’t been a quirk of chaos. It had been planned. But, the sentiment of the alienating sense of death could happen any time, anywhere, and to anyone remained underlying.

  And that evaluation of their mortality was enough to break them all down. Yusaku was the first to cry out of the five of them. His tears streamed down his face with a rare vulnerability from him as he had spent so long trying to be strong and, for some time, had succeeded in it, at least publicly. Miyu bawled openly once more whilst Spectre shed reluctant tears, hiding them despite the futility of such a thing. Takeru who’s sobs were choked up and of tears which burned hot as they streak down his face, hideous in how twisted it became whilst grimacing. Finally, there was Jin who cried like some faint spirit with his tears more akin to omens than droplets of water and salt with a palatably unreadable expression, so blank and yet so revealing.

  Eventually, the five were content in their mourning. They had shed their tears and made themselves known to the gravestone. And thus, they bid the gravestone bittersweet farewell. As they turned their back on it, lingering close to one another with the sense that they would never truly feel complete. They were the victims of the Lost Incident and they were supposed to be six – not five – and therefore, one of them would always be lost. And none of them liked that sentiment or how it was an omen for the future because sooner or later, five would become four and four to three and three to two and two to one and then, the unthinkable.

  But, for now, such grim matters did not have to be heeded as for now, they were five and their dear, unknown friend who was permanently the forever lost child.

[lottabank]

name: evelyn charlotte banks nicknames: charlotte , lottie , lott , char , charlie , charmander , etc. but she no longer goes by evelyn in this lifetime age: twenty three physically , sixty seven biologically sexuality: panromantic / sexual pronouns: she / her , cisfemale  species: vampire sign: gemini spotify: here pinterest: here

hello moon beams and star shines , this is late but i’ve just been busy with work ! i’ve got the time to try and finish stuff now , so i’m gonna work on trying to do my daughter’s intro. if you’d like to plot feel free to hmu via tumblr im or ask for my discord bc i’ll gladly give it. i also play rune ( shadow graced human ) so yeah it’s snottie back at it again , anything you want to know about me or lottie alike hmu or just read below to find out more about my sweet serial killer vamp princess

── the high council is prepared to hear the story of EVELYN CHARLOTTE ‘ LOTTIE ‘ BANKS , a VAMPIRE while noted as a WANDERER. we might of mistaken them as MADELAINE PETSCH. appearances may be deceiving, with immortality being so common among supernaturals. this being has walked the earth for NINETY years, and their face reflects an age of TWENTY THREE they’re a CITIZEN of estonia and will be residing in TALLIN.

during their stay of the harvest they shall work by day as a STRIPPER to blend in with the mortal crowd. however, at night you might find them as AN ESCORT / ASSASSIN. they’re UNHAPPY about the harvest, however, they plan to please the high council.

PERSONALITY.

vampire beauty queen , primadonna , self-proclaimed princess. this darling girl has always loved attention , luxury , all things beautiful and transitioning to the darkness only heightened that love. so much so that she will do just about anything to satisfy her own wants or needs. lottie is ruthless , verging on sociopathic. she is delicate , but she is dangerous. she is by no means unfeeling though , nor incapable of love. she can be sweet , she can be soft , she can be pink cheeks and bright smiles just as she can be bloody lips and deranged laughter. she is genuinely kind , loving and gentle unless your death would make her happier than your being alive.  

ruling planet: mercury — the planet of communication body parts: shoulders , arms , hands element: air good day: fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , adventurous bad day: restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , overwhelmed favorite things: cell phones , fast cars , trendy clothes , obscure music , guitars , books , clubbing least favorite things: small-minded people , dress codes , authority figures , silence , routines secret wish: to have all the answers how to spot her: mischievous twinkle in her eyes,  humming , talking with her hands where you’ll find her: taking pictures , behind the bar , in a chat room , playing devil’s advocate keywords: communication , collaboration , synergy , cleverness , wittiness , inventiveness ,  ingenuity

charlotte’s energy circulates in a quick and frenetic way , witty wordplay and dynamic dialogue are her forte. she is great for brainstorming and socializing , but craves “ twin flame ” and kindred spirit energy and is always up for an intellectual meeting of the minds. 

under the influence she can find herself with the gift of gab , talking and conversing with others for hours hopping from pop culture trends to deep political topics. beware of when she becomes a “ gossip girl , ” as she can crank up the rumor mill. as renowned dr. bernie siegel says , “ we have the ability to cure with either ‘ words ’ or kill with ‘ swords. ' ” 

the essence of charlie’s energy is fascinating , original , resourceful , charming , wise , and adventurous. some negative manifestations can devolve into more restless , distracted , two-faced , judgmental , depressed , and overwhelmed energy. 

lottie has a tendency to ride the roller coaster of life , spiraling skywards one minute and plunging into lows the next. if you can keep up with her vibes though , you’ll have one hell of a thrill !

charlotte exhibits great creative synergy , instantly connecting people to each other. always inclined to spend time with friends and focused on changing the world one idea at a time.

a little bit older and wiser , more flexible and comfortable with change than others. she can “ chameleon ” herself to fit into a variety of situations. 

can come across as clever and quick-witted , eager to dish out the juiciest pieces of news and happenings to their friends via text message and social media. in case that’s not enough , she’ll probably send you a snapchat story for good measure.

lottie loves fast cars , trendy clothes and any wacky gadgets or games they can tinker around with. part of the fun ( and curse ) of this fiery red head is that you’re never quite sure which personality you’re going to experience. will it be the vivacious , pun-dishing jokester or the snarky , mean-spirited critic ? if you’re willing to see fifty shades of crazy , she’ll color your life in thrilling ways !

BACKGROUND.

evelyn charlotte banks was born june fourth , 1930 and was given the dark gift in the early fifties ( so you’ll definitely notice some call backs to that time period ). she has grown and developed and adapted throughout time better than most , but you can take the sock hop away from the girl but not out of her. she remembers her life before , but doesn’t dwell on nor even really miss it.

she grew up in your rather classic straight lace upper middle class suburban family and community with her perfect nuclear family. the town they lived in was small , close knit , and everyone knew everyone but especially who evelyn’s family was. 

she was in a lot of pageants growing up and was even platinum blonde for most of her human life , because she was so afraid her red hair would keep her from being successful.

when she was eighteen years old with big shiny dreams of silver screens , luxury , and eyes all on her was all she could think of. she left her family and their small generational hometown in georgia for bigger , better things in none other than hollywood. 

she was on her way ,  so desperate to be in the movies and be like marilyn monroe but shortly after is when she became ensnared by darkness and evil.  she wasn’t very successful at all in the beginning so , she started wearing tighter , shinier outfits when she was on stage when suddenly she started getting actual recognition. 

she wasn’t acting like she had intended , but it turned out her voice was good enough to land her plenty of lounge singing gigs in multiple joints. it was one particularly dark , seedy , dangerous joint that only opened once the sun set completely and closed upon the sun rise that she finally started to get propositioned to do so-called ‘ film gigs. it was also in this place where she met him for the first time. 

( tw: cult ment. ) her maker is very old and before she ever knew he was anything more than a handsome older gentleman she was fully under his control. he was something of a cult leader who for the most part glamoured his ‘ followers ‘ , but that was never necessary with charlotte. she was thoroughly and completely in love with her maker , she even ‘ married ‘ him and lived on his compound.

( tw: rape ment. , assault ment. ) it wouldn’t be for a few more years that he would finally turn her ,and only after he found her brutally beaten and raped for nothing more than a snuff film. her maker found her on the verge of death and wasted no time in saving her life by bestowing his dark gift upon her. 

( tw: murder ment. ) to say that lottie felt indebted to and fell in love with her maker to the point of obsession was an understatement , she would do anything and everything he asked of her including murder not in the name of feeding.

( tw: death ment. ) the films she was in were kept in the dark underbelly of the industry and no one was none the wiser , not to mention everyone thought she was dead after her last film.

so , she eventually did make her debut in film and was even on the silver screen finally. this only lasted for as long as she could get away with not aging before eventually she disappeared off the radar with her maker. the two traveled far and wide for a long time , but eventually went their separate ways even though lottie wanted nothing of the sort her maker commanded she live her own life without him now.

( tw: murder ment. ) she has since become something of a murderer ?? she prefers to call herself an assassin but it’s rare anyone actually pays her to murder anyone. you could even call her  a serial killer if you take into account that her victims are almost always men of the unsavory variety , but she has two sides to her personality and it’s not like she’s full maniac.

ETC.

if you know what yandere means she fits that description very well , and if you don’t know what it means well:  a common term in otaku fandom , a yandere is a person ( usually female ) romantically obsessed with someone to the point of using violent means to get them in their arms. often can be seen featured with a sharp weapon and a psychotic grin.

pretty much she comes off as this sweet , lovely , beautiful woman with lots of talent but in reality she can switch that off in an instant and literally kill you without any hesitation if it benefits her or someone she loves.

anyway she has been in estonia for only a bit now , but how long is flexible. she probably likes the scenery and the supernatural presence , but she’s honestly not a country mouse at all. 

also not that she needs money , but there is very little she loves more than attention and money. she works at a club as live entertainment on occasion , singing or stripping or bartending or occasionally doing , mostly for the attention but also if she’s in need of money.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Nurse Café - Chapter 1/6: “You’re Not Supposed to Drink Coffee This Late, Sir”

NEXT CHAPTER

Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There's, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

Wordcount: 1.5K words

Notes: C'mon, the occasion was too tempting for me not to title this fic after the real banger that is Susumu Hirasawa's masterpiece, "Nurse Café".

Your boi is working on his big-ass Arc-V fic project, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do and writing a nice little sickfic. AKA: I'm bursting that fandoms's door like I've always done, which is with a sickfic nobody wanted but me (and maybe my friend @nehamerchant123 who got me into this mess in the first place) (btw go check her cake business, she’s working on her cardd page for it)

I've been into this game's characters for a whole three weeks but I am not giving a shit I am doing this. I also don't know anything about colleges at all in any part of the world, I don't even know the Sorbonne because I've been there like thrice and it's always been in the same parts anyway (to be fair, I'm not even attending it yet lmao) It's very self-indulgent so it's short and split in two, I dunno, I may combine the two chapters some other day. It's probably also OOC, but whatever yeet

AO3 version available here.

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On second thought, his life may have been a mess, lately. For someone who liked organization, keeping a pace and thinking everything thoroughly to reach as much perfection as possible, he sure had allowed things to get messy without meaning to. To be fair to himself, problems had started piling up suddenly and at an incredible speed, to the point he didn’t know in what order he should have attempted fixing them: should he prioritize taking care of his grandmother who broke her leg not too long ago, his studies increasing in volume or his club duties, even if his leader was getting on his nerves with his weird, nonsensical shenanigans?

At first, he tried managing everything at once, but after some weeks of pulling almost-all-nighters, he decided to seek alternatives. It didn’t quite work out as planned, but at least, he had found a way to survive the storm for now: the local coffeeshop’s espressos. For someone who used to be so on-the-nose with his health, that was a strange choice, sure, but being friends with people like Subaru Ahehoshi made one adaptable and needing to find solutions quickly, if just temporary.

Not that he didn’t hate relying on coffee in the first place.

 His new routine, solidified by a couple months spent tuning it to maximize time use and task efficiency (albeit it was still a bit stiff, like he had always been), consisted of doing the most he can, not fall onto his bed and immediately find sleep before getting woken up by his own anxiety, and continue on his day by getting a cup of coffee in the same café, each time, to the same cashier. It was always the same order in the same place at similar hours of the evening, which gave it a sense of comfort he wasn’t against in times where he wasn’t sure how he should have asked for help. All of what he was doing is stuff he was supposed to be doing by himself, after all: he shouldn’t have needed someone else’s help for that, didn’t need to bring them through the mud with him (even if Isara had offered to help him, he had always declined: Isara may have very well been the only man he knew that had constantly been busier than him).

His grandma has told him before to lay it off, to let her do her thing and for him to focus on himself. While he intended on forcing himself not to barge into her life constantly, he quickly found himself doing it again even after her scolding: he just couldn’t not worry over it, he had to check if she was doing fine and if she was getting the hang of things. Ah, how thick-headed he’s been!

(In a way, maybe he put himself in that mess to begin with. Should have applied his own advice and tasted his own medicine).

 With a presentation dooming over his head for the next week and more drama club shenanigans, he had gotten backed in a corner: it was either researching for the entire night or risk getting an awful grade that’d sink his results to the bottom of the sea. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he had gone for the first option, albeit he was starting to think this may not have been the greatest idea he had ever had. (Actually, far from it). Still, that presentation wouldn’t write itself on its own, so he went for it and spent a night or two working on that while occupying his daytime with taking care of his grandma (who’s soon out of having her feet stuck in some cast, thank God for that) and club business and other college-related catastrophes strolling around in his life.

It was with a pounding headache and stumbling feet that he made it out of his flat and into the campus, heading straight for the café he always got his precious cup of coffee in (he was hesitating to put aspirin in the cup itself, but that sounded like a terrible idea, and he had left his aspirin tablets in his flat anyway), ignoring the gazes around him (it was easier to do when his sight is half-blurry to begin with). Once he was done with that necessary loss of time, he’d be able to come back to his actual work and that until he’d be finished with it. If he was productive enough, he should have been done with that presentation’s slideshow by the time 5AM hits.

 He entered the café, heard an unfamiliar bell ring immediately as he opened and closed the door, and went straight for the counter like a drunkard entering a tavern. He didn’t care about it in the slighest: he pulls out his yens from his pocket, slams them on the counter and asks, in a groggy voice he doesn’t like to hear to himself, “hello, I’d like an espresso, please”, with the least charisma he could have mustered because he was that tired and he just wanted to be over with that damn presentation already.

It was only when he rose his eyes to face the barista that he realized he had entered the wrong café, right as he faced a high school classmate, friend, and probably something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on, whom had never worked at his usual café. He didn’t say anything, but gulped and swallowed his pride back in, and payed for his espresso by pushing the coins anyway (Ahehoshi would have jumped on the counter to get them: they were undeniably shinier than they should have been).

 “Good evening, sir, thank you for com…”

Silence.

“Hokuto, is that you?!”

That voice was no mistake: this was Anzu, from the Management course. This was going to be painful…

“Ah… Yeah…?” Oh God. What was he supposed to tell her? That he didn’t even know where he was walking anymore? That this was all a giant misunderstanding on his part?  “Yeah.”

“I’m not used to seeing you around here? How are you?”

“…Fine.” Something was missing. “I hope you’re doing well too.”

That wasn’t really good dialogue. Not that Anzu picked up in it: she was probably too busy trying to do her job.

“Here you go, Hokuto…” She put his cup on the counter and picked his coins. “You’re sure you should be drinking that at this time of the day? It’s late and you’ll have a hard time sleeping if you drink that now.” Then she muttered to herself: “looks like you’d benefit from a good night’s sleep too…”

“Thank you, have a goodnight.”

 He picked his cup and went to a table, legs feeling faint. There was nobody still around in the café: clearly, unlike his usual 24/7 place where there always was someone living in the night (the Sakuma brothers trying to avoid each other but finding themselves in the same place and Hajime taking part-time jobs were the firsts to come to his mind), this was a daytime place and he was all aone, stuck with his pounding headache and Anzu cleaning before closing. He had something like fifteen minutes to drink his fuming coffee and get out of there, but even his hands felt sluggish and unresponsive.

Maybe he really wanted to throw that presentation out of the window and just sleep for the next three days. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore anyway.

 After a few moments, he watched with bleary eyes and eyelids closing on their own Anzu walked to him and sit on the opposite side of the table, staring at him with an expression he couldn’t really read, before her hand arrived on his forehead. It was cold, unnaturally so, and he wondered if she didn’t have blood circulation problems like he was worried he could have had before. Yet, despite his rising concerns, he still let himself lean into it, too tired to really pay attention to how he was behaving. That was bad, awful even. He needed to gulp his coffee, so he did, burnt his tongue and throat, and was about to pack it when he noticed she was still staring at him.

“I… I need to go, is there something wrong?” He asked, hoping this would be enough.

“You…”

Huh. Okay.

“I’m leaving now, I’ll let you close the sh—”

 Black dots appeared in his sight as soon as he got up and he felt his body plunge forward, hand slipping instead of grabbing at the table, vision blurring until all he could feel was hands wrapping themselves around him and faint, muffled sounds resonating in the distance.

It was all over, wasn’t it? He couldn’t move nor feel anymore, right? What a way to end his rush… What way to finish the evening that he was supposed to finish his presentation on… That was his way to go? Huh… Not like he could resist against his own body finally turning on him.

 He had failed in a dramatic fashion, that was for sure.

And, to be honest, he kind of hated it.

[cateringisalie]

Renegade Aeris x Cloud Week 2019 Day 1

Some of this was inspired by (no longer on Ao3) ‘Gossip Finds’ by icyboots - which, somewhat fittingly, turned out I had misremembered a number of details in the interim. Written for the prompt ‘OG Reminiscence’ and ‘One Scene’ (and not, you know, going with my original stranger impulse of something set in space in the far future onboard a ship named the OG Reminiscence): an AU of some sort:

The memory was oft-visited. This meant in turn that it was no longer authentic, or perhaps more accurately, it had acquired embellishments, edits, given a shinier veneer than the real. It was all too possible that rather than a singular version of the event in question, it was fragments of many different occasions, or perhaps mostly from one night with highlights for another. The recall and revisiting of the memory changed it over time. Impossible to prevent.

No matter; it remained one of Aeris’s favorites. The trip to the Gold Saucer had been part of a birthday celebration. Most likely hers, but even this detail was unclear. That was more the result of the alcohol than anything else. The Gold Saucer was nominally an amusement park and to that end felt focused on a younger audience than Aeris’s twenty-two years accounted for. This was not quite correct. While the big attractions were family friendly (rollercoasters! Arcades! Overly gothic hotel!) there was amongst, beside and beyond those activities others intended for a more mature audience. Certainly the Chocobo Races while entertaining for the youngsters had its area set up specifically for wagers. Battle square was barred to anyone below eighteen – and few kids would ever find something of interest in amongst Dio’s massed collection of trinkets and artefacts. Plus there were bars – were Aeris and friends had spent a good majority of their time before crashing into the theatre. In retrospect, and in the clear light of day, what was supposed to be happening in the theatre had a lot of question marks over it. Aeris was clear enough on what she did, where she had gone, how she wound up involved and the aftermath. But surely something was wrong? Had they somehow crashed some event while drunk they were not supposed to? Not a thing to dwell on again. No memory of disappointed, angry adults and bawling kids as a result. But then- No matter. The attendants had asked for volunteers and Aeris thought it sounded fun. She was ushered up from the crowd and backstage to the cheering of her friends. Did she have lines? She’d said something that sounded right. Maybe improvised. Maybe not. Either way she was taken up into the rafters and clipped into a harness alongside a bulky guy wearing a cartoonish dragon costume. Below the play carried on to much raucous laughter from the audience. Another volunteer was on-stage – and from this vantage point – out of sight. He seemed to be taking this all about as seriously as Aeris; not at all. The cast did not help matters, leaving obvious loop-holes in his responses and actions. “Seek out the one who can help you!” Boomed a voice over the loudspeakers. “Hey.” “I, um. Are you sure I, a mere knight, are the one who can help you defeat the Evil Magical Dragon King?” “Yep.” The audience chortled again. The man behind her murmured something; before she could parse his words, she plummeted to the stage alongside him, the harness not offering much of a break. Warm and bright out in front of the lights. To the back and right of the stage was a man dressed as a wizard looking off-stage while a woman with a headset mouthed instructions at him. Towards the front was a knight in tin-foil armour holding an exaggerated, uncomfortable pose of absolute horror. And right before her was a man with spikey blond hair and blue eyes. He grinned. “Now, brave Sir Alfred, defeat the Evil Dragon King!” A voice boomed. The blond man pointed at himself. “Yes, you!” The man shrugged. The wizard turned his attention back to the stage. “Um, the power of love will surely best the Evil Dragon King.” The man met her gaze and smirked. Ah, a setup then. Hard not to feel a thrill as he walked towards her. This was a play, but by implication- Aeris’s friends were screaming their support from the audience. “Oh, oh Alfred, you came for me.” Corny line but about in keeping with everything else. ‘Alfred’ halted in front of her; she looked up. “Sorry princess.” “Why, Sir Alfred, what can you possibly have to apologise for?” This was fun. “Well.” ‘Alfred’ scrubbed at his hair. “Just, now standing here, seeing the two of you, I think I prefer the Evil Dragon King.” ‘Alfred’ leant past her to kiss the cheek of the costume. Aeris fault to hide her giggles even while she swooned. And here again a point where memory felt it must be fallible. How was it possible or plausible that the actors had prepared for this situation? No sooner had ‘Alfred’ completed his smooch when the Evil Dragon King was hauled up out of sight – and for a woman in a pink tutu to descend in his place. “Why, thank you Sir Alfred! You have broken the dragon’s curse. Come, now we can live happily ever after.” The former-Evil Dragon King twirled her way off stage, followed by both ‘Alfred’, the wizard and the knight. “Alas, the Princess was forgotten about by her knight.” Aeris grinned, folded her arms and assumed a stern expression. An angry foot stomp gained her a new wave of applause, and both the players and ‘Alfred’ returned to take a bow. Aeris caught ‘Alfred’’s arm after. “Thank you for that. I had a lot of fun.” ‘Alfred’ grinned and there was some unimportant small-talk for a while. She learned his name was Cloud, and waved her friends off to their own devices when they grew bored. She and Cloud carried on talking, each trying to make the other laugh more. They meandered through the Gold Saucer, wasting a few gil on the chocobo races, on the arcades. The evening passed in a blur and one thing inevitably lead to another. Making out became more passionate. Passionate kissing demanded more privacy. And once in private, clothes were an impediment soon dispensed with. And perhaps there could have been more there. If the night in question had not been Aeris’s last at the Gold Saucer. If transport was not arranged for so early the next morning. If she had not snuck out and not disturbed Cloud when her PHS rang and her friends hurried her to catch up or be left behind. What would it have been like to be left behind? Another branch not taken in the ever diverging reality of her life. That was enough. Aeris relaxed and lowered the sphere from beside her head. Captured within the crystalline structure was her memory of that night as of her last recall. A shame the capture could not have been made before. When the memory would have been truer. But did that matter? To relive was a delight and now she need not fear a failing memory as time passed. There were other memories to retrieve but- For now, something else. Aeris carefully laid the materia sphere in its container and headed for the garden.

[lurkingcrow]

Apparently I find inspiration in the weirdest of places, I feel the need to share this ridiculous idea with you all. Now, I won't say this is the happiest of universes, as much as I would like a universe where Obi-Wan is still the first to hold the twinsonly because Padmé is doing her best to crush her husband's prosthetic hand, this is not one of them.

Instead, we are faced with the prospect of Obi-Wan Kenobi (he's not yet Ben, it's still too soon, the grief too raw), in his hermit hut on Tatooine, desperately trying to work out what to do with himself. The life of a hermit is quite simple, and while he spends a considerable amount of time communing with the Force, it is still something of a shock to go from running half the Republic war effort to lying low and scaring away the occasional group of raiders from the area around the Lars homestead.

He gets antsy. His needs are minimal, and routine maintenance only takes so long. He needs something to keep himself occupied, to stop himself from obsessing over his own failure, or constantly checking on the small but bright Force signature at the edge of his senses. But his resources are rather limited. 

The idea comes while he is checking on the welfare of the Bantha herd that seems to have adopted him. They shed a considerable amount of hair, and the nights are cold out here in the Wastes...

On his next trip to town Obi-Wan procures some necessary equipment and advice - the old matron smiles at him as she outlines the basic techniques, amused at his stubborn insistence on learning for himself rather than simply selling the raw materials. A day later Obi-Wan has collected a enough Bantha hair to begin experimenting.

Carding the hair and spinning it into yarn takes a lot of practice, but eventually Obi-Wan thinks he has it down. His first attempts are somewhat lumpy and uneven in texture, but they will do for now. Similarly, while wood is scarce on Tatooine bone is in ample supply and he soon has a service pair of matching needles. Now comes the tricky part.

It is slow going but Obi-Wan finds the repetitive motions draw him into a kind of moving meditation. Bit by bit the simple blanket begins to take shape. It is not much to look at, but it is warm, and it is made by his own hands.

Over time he improves, and while selling his leftover yarn the old matron offers him suggestions for more complicated pstterns. Obi-Wan listens eagerly, open for new projects to keep himself busy.

Which is how he ends up standing in front of the Lars homestead holding a large knitted bantha. Beru is the one who opens the door, and he manages to politely ask after her own health before offering her the stuffed toy with the explanation that it is a gift for Luke. His first birthday is coming up after all, and he knows it's not much, but birthdays are important and...

Beru takes pity on him and bundles Obi-Wan inside with the promise of tea and the chance to give Luke his present himself. Owen might not be pleased when he comes home, but Beru knows a man desperately clinging to anything for stability when she sees one. She keeps up a light conversation, showing him her own needles inherited from her mother, inquiring about the Banthas he got the wool from and was he familiar with this or that stitch? Obi-Wan leaves calmer and more settled than he has been in a very long time.

Later he realises just what Beru did and finds himself immensely grateful. He makes her a scarf, the weave transitioning from pale cream to deep russet and back again, in thanks. He intends to leave it on the doorstep for her, only to run smack bang into Owen Lars leaving to check on the outlying vaporators. Angry words ar exchanged until their argument gets the attention of Beru who puts her foot down and makes them talk out a truce. Obi-Wan agrees not to engage in any sort of force related funny business and Owen will not grumble about Obi-Wan visiting occasionally for a bitch and stitch session.

(Obi-Wan wonders at the prospect, but it turns out complaining about uncooperative vaporators and scheming merchants while methodically adding row after row to the fabric is not all that dissimilar to the gripe sessions his men conducted while undertaking routine weapons maintenance. The memory is bitter, but not as painful as it once was, and Beru's amicable company makes it even less so.)

Beru is delighted by her scarf, and Luke loves his Bantha. Even Owen grudgingly admits that the decorative rug was very well made. But it's not until Beru remarks about all the compliments she's had regarding the toddler's adorable Tooka onesie that Ben realises he apparently has a talent for this sort of thing. He agrees to let Beru take a few samples with her to market, and soon he finds himself earning a small income from his creations. Everyone knows that if you want something special, something durable and warm, you talk to Ben Kenobi. No one knows how, but his wool is always softer, his patterns more intricate than other options.

It's strange, to be admired for talents completely unrelated to his time as a Jedi, or General, but Obi-Wan, no Ben Kenobi finds himself rather content with the current state of affairs. His meditations with Qui-Gon are are progressing well, the Banthas are looking sleeker and shinier than ever, and he has even been experimenting with the use of his knitting needles in combat situations. Best of all though, he has a good friend in Beru, one who is not afraid to tell him and. He is being an idiot by taking on too much.

And every night Luke Skywalker goes to sleep surrounded by his love from head to toe.

****

And that is where the silly idea formed from that comic panel of Obi-Wan and his Banthas, and the photo of my nephew in a knitted fox onesie leave us! I hope you enjoyed this jaunt into the world of the mad knitter Kenobi and his fibre crafts of great reknown. And yes, he has worked out how to utilise them in self defence, and the Hutts are STILL mystified as to how exactly certain employees of theirs ended up stunt up from the top of the palace gates inside some of the itchiest and most difficult to untie sacks in existence without having seen or heard anything suspicious... 😀

[yuhdongsaeng]

office parties and painful memories

pairing: yoongi x reader word count: 2.4k     → listen i don’t know what this is. i can’t defend it. i have no idea. this is a shitpost. this is a circus of a fic. the worst. the absolute worst. i don’t know what this is. it’s specks. yeah, specks.

The first time Yoongi sees you, you’re standing by the piano with his mother in your navy blue dress and red shoes that sparkled so brightly that it always looked like you were walking on stars. He didn’t know yet, but he’d grow to love the bouncy pigtails that rested on your shoulders and your big eyes, which were filled to the brim with wanderlust and a childlike curiosity.

“Yoongi plays the piano?” you asked his mother, shyly tracing the bars of white and black.

“He’s very good, too.” she confirms, smiling empathetically before turning her head to the doorframe, meeting the deep, shy eyes behind raven locks. “Yoongi, you’ve come downstairs. This is Y/N, her family just moved in next door.”

His eyes only meet yours briefly before panic bleeds into his dark eyes.

All girls had cooties.

But not you.

There was a fair chance that going to the party wasn’t a good idea. The mere knowledge of the full tub of ice cream in your freezer taunted you endlessly as you went through dress after dress, annoyed huffs and sighs parting your lips ever so often.

The understanding of seeing him had crawled through the web of thoughts in your head, and you wondered how your heart could still speed up, how it could still twinge at the sight of his name on a table card.

It had been quite a while, after all.

Dress after dress slipped through your fingers until the specks of navy appeared.

”It sounds absolutely dull, doesn’t it?” Yoongi doesn’t make eye contact with you, but looks as though he’s studying the stars intently.

“I like to hear it.” you smile, re-adjusting your head on his shoulder before closing your eyes peacefully, knowing that all the stars above you will still be there when you open them next.

“It’s rotten.” He spits. “The words are pale in comparison to how I’m feeling.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was mad. Perhaps he was, a little. You contemplate opposition, but exhale instead before humming.

“Say it.”

There’s a brief pause before you hear his lips parting, and the words fall like silk from his tongue.

“I love you.”

You stay composed in your little flat until you realize it’s time to pick your shoes, and the red heels are the first to fall out when you finally open the closet.

The fluttering in the internal archive of memories is almost overwhelming as you reach the one of a nervous Yoongi standing on a small bridge as he awaits your arrival.

“I got you these.” he almost stuttered, and your heart fluttered at the sight.

Granted they were much shinier then, but as were many things that weren’t anymore. Life had dulled, and it seems that your mother was right about shoes being a parting gift.

But you were sure Yoongi didn’t intend to mean it like that.

There’s a metaphorical noose that tightens around his neck whenever you tell him you love him, is what he’d spill through lingering whispers, his eyes comfortably hiding behind a thick fringe.

“Love,” he’d say. “It’s terrible, and I can’t breathe.”

You’d hum lightly in response, partially to humor him and partially because your words weren’t painted in the colors of thick, tan rope, at least not intentionally. It was 4AM now, dawn tiptoeing around the world before it dared show.

“But I chose the color of it,” he’d continue when he saw how the veins on your lids looked like lightning. He almost lost himself when your fingers almost intertwined with his and a yellow spark reflected off the parts that touched. “Perhaps I chose the fabric, too…”

This time, you didn’t reply. Instead, your gaze fixed on the yellow spark, and you wondered how the two of you could emit electricity. However, you believed you could. You’d just seen it, you thought. His lip stretched sadly with a slow blink and he sighed before letting his bones rest besides yours. It was late, after all.

“Sometimes I even think I tied it myself.”

The clock was ticking down.

His name almost sounds unfamiliar when you first hear it all those years later, and a momentary whiplash of heartache journeys down your spine as you raise your head to see the lips who dared carry his name.

“They haven’t been together for a long time now.” Jin spoke to some blonde a few feet from you, a blonde whose nose never belonged in your business. “It’s odd that you’d mention it.”

It irked you, and you almost lifted yourself from the wall you were leaning against, but restraint kept you at bay and a pathetic sigh parted your lips. It was not your business anymore, it seemed, when it finally dawned on you that your love with Yoongi was no longer just art, but a museum to anyone interested.

The annual anniversary parties at Big Hit had not been very eventful for years now, but courtesy was courtesy and if you ever forgot, your dad would be sure to remind you of the importance of a good reputation within the firm. Bang Sihyuk had raised his glass in your direction once or twice by now, and your sips had fractionally enlarged with each polite cheers – Bang Sihyuk getting more and more blurry in the process.

You must’ve looked pathetic, standing against the wall, finishing your fifth glass of exquisite red wine (it all tasted the same to you, though) in your uncomfortable clothes, but navy looked good on you, and if you were going to be pathetic, you were going to be beautiful, too.

Your eyes kept rocketing towards Jin throughout the night no matter how many times you forced it away, perhaps hoping to hear his name again.

He looked beautiful in his suit, but his shoelaces were untying.

Yoongi realized he could want you so bad it hurt him when he walked in on you that one night, restlessly spread across the field of silky whites in nothing but lingerie, which lazily clung to your hipbones. He felt it piercing in his jugular vein when his gaze landed upon your bra, folding and lifting in all the places it was too big. His breath hitched when he continued his journey down your waist and a slow burn spread across his breastbone, and he almost considered stopping. Turning his gaze. He didn’t dare imagine what your elevated hip would emit, how the pink lace almost got a voice and the whispers turned to spiders down his spine.

However, mostly of all, and he hoped he could evade this part; it was the momentary flash of sparks in your eyes when your gaze lifted to him as he shut the lights off that really hurt him.

The steps towards you were erratic and frantic, yet he kissed you carelessly - but the ashen skin was merely a cover for the consuming Christmas tree that was growing inside of him.

“Yoongi,” fell from your lips in your own dazed manner, and although you breathed into his mouth, it travelled down his throat until it reached his ribcage, and began pounding from the inside out.

You needed to stop, he thought, biting into his tongue to prevent him from spilling all the light out from his chest. Your eyelashes needed to stop resting on your cheeks so mockingly, if Yoongi was going to have any chance to make it out alive.

He glances up towards you, your gaze follows, and he wonders how you could feel it so differently. How love could be a congealing matter to you, a solid, tangible point, which you could mold and discipline to your liking – yet to Yoongi, it was a consuming liquid that radiated everywhere within him until you filled up all the empty spaces of his body.

Finally, a shaky hand made its way to your hair, and he brushed a few stray curls away from your complexion.

“Yes, my love?” he asked in a strangled, asphyxiated voice, making sure he didn’t slip any of the love that boiled through his blood and filled him to the brim.

It was a nervous manner in which the words left your mouth, fear lathered like a film on top of your skin.

“We’ll never survive this if we keep this up.”

He kissed you then, perhaps to shut you up and perhaps simply to savor the taste of you. Yoongi had come to realize how far your mind and heart could wander, because you were quite obviously elsewhere, whilst he was right there.  

It was heated and your bra was coming undone.

The firmness of Jin’s voice rings through your thoughts as you sift through the archives of memories titled ‘Yoongi’, not once stopping to realize how misplaced you were at the event. Your internal journey down memory lane trickles to a halt when his voice emerges again, and you glance towards him to see the same blonde in front of him. There’s a slight recognition that she might be in PR.

“He really loved her,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, as if the weight of the words were too heavy for him – perhaps they didn’t belong in his mouth to begin with. “It shocked us all.”

She plastered a sympathetic smile, stretching her ivory skin and the wrinkles around her eyes suddenly show for the years that have passed.

This time Jin sees you, standing against the wall across the room, your navy blue dress making you look uncannily elegant. He blinks twice to make sure it’s you before his eyes widen in the color of shame, and his gaze automatically strays. You lift your lips in a tight line before bowing your head towards your glass, acknowledging exactly how awkward the situation was.

It’s odd how old friends can become strangers again, and you wonder if the opposite process can happen twice.

You take another sip of your wine, with which you’re reminded to pour yourself another.

“I’m just trying to let you know that he isn’t good for you.”

Perhaps you had heard the words one too many times for your blood to boil, and instead you sunk into your slouched position in defeat. You didn’t necessarily believe it, but fighting your own mother was never the easy route.

“Yoongi treats me well, mom.” you reiterate with your fingers crossed beneath the dinner table.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart. His plans don’t align with yours.” she stresses the last syllables as if she didn’t know the stabbing pain she inflicted.

You hoped that your silence would be enough to end the conversation, but it only induced a continuation.

“What are you going to do when he debuts? When he’s too busy to text you even once a month?” she raises her eyebrows in question. “When the only thing he can do for your family is send monthly checks to cover the bills?”

Your brows furrow and you tell her the only thing you know to be true.

“We love each other, mom.”

The heart doesn’t forget the love it once held. You’re still unsure at what point in the night you learned this, or perhaps you just accepted it, but it became clear when you started playing with the thought of greeting Yoongi upon his arrival, and you realized you’d sprint to his embrace a thousand times, in a thousand lifetimes.

The sulkiness was beginning to weigh on your shoulders, and you put the glass away to disrupt your string of tipsy thoughts. Yoongi was a memory now, a love that once were but was not anymore.

Your eyes had paced to Jin again when you realized you didn’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

He had just finished shooting the music video for Fire when he put the fire between you out.

“I guess not.” was what he replied when you asked him if he loved you, his voice more baritone than you had ever heard it. You barely recognized him, but truthfully, it was the first time you’d heard him lie, too.

Yoongi pretended that he didn’t end a lifelong string of love, pretended that he ended a relationship like any other young man could and would – but the heart never forgets the love it once held.

The thing is, Yoongi didn’t know love when it wasn’t embellished in your name.

His eyes burned like hell as the tears begged to be released, but he never granted them a pass.

“So it’s over.” you almost raised your voice in question, a slight disbelief painting your face as the features of the love of your life became muddled, less recognizable.

Yoongi merely swallowed before bumping his shoulder into yours when passing.

He would’ve combusted had he stayed another second, and he knew within himself that it was a fire he had to put out – no matter how terribly wrong he was to do so.

You don’t quit on the people you love, and it was Yoongi’s regret to carry.

It was lackluster. Life was lackluster. Your navy dress, the wine, Jin and the blonde. Lackluster. All was lackluster but the memories.

He climbed the flight of stairs with a heaviness, his fingers tapping his thighs in anticipation. He hadn’t seen you for a while now, but he knew you would be there – Jin made sure to text him so.

Was he wrong to feel excited? Was he deserving of the butterflies that bloomed in the pit of his stomach?

He wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t, but he couldn’t stop it once it started.

There was no doubt in his mind when he saw you; you were the one even when he could only see your back. His eyes only briefly met Jin and the dreaded blonde from PR he’d been avoiding since he stepped foot in Big Hit.

He wasn’t deserving of your voice, nor of your eyes. He couldn’t have you look at him even for a second, he knew this much. He almost left before he saw you turn, and he convinced himself he could steal a single glance – just one, and then he’d go.

Nobody knows, but you know, and Yoongi knows.

Your eyes meet and it all unravels.

[r52lily-blog]

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[thatguysamaniac-blog]

In roughly a week a swathe of 30-40 somethings are going to relive and re-start a habit in a bid to re-misspend a misspent youth. There is a swell of hype in niche pockets of the Internet as people get more and more excited for the launch of World of Warcraft Classic. But why? Why is there the familiar toot-toot of the hype-train on the horizon for a product that is over a decade old, has a newer shinier iteration currently out and available to play, and a product that held marmite-like, positive and negative criticism when it was out. Just to clear things up I have bought my ticket (ed: and a train drivers hat, matching t-shirt, undies and socks and the special edition coke cans) and I am on the hype train! I am genuinely looking forward to Classic, but my goals and approach are going to be massively different to it, as will it be for much of the community. So I'm gonna play a little bit of devils advocate here... Upon launch many, many people will just be diving in for the pure nostalgia of the game, and very few of us will (ed: should) spend the amount of time and effort that we previously had done in the original WoW. Especially since because of our demographic, most of us are now grownups* with grownup commitments. Being an adult aside, and just comparing current WoW and Classic WoW, part of what I have seen about why Classic has such a following, it that current WoW (retail) sees a bit of backlash in regard to how it plays nowadays, it is considered "dumbed down", the game has streamlined, homogenised, and refined itself to large degree making interaction minimal, levelling, dungeoning and raiding are all infinitely more accessible, and faster. The game has become easier, where, in classic, you would have to learn an individual enemy boars moves so you know how to kill him before he killed you, now you kill several boars, and don't even have time to read what moves it did on you. Where you used to chat to your guildmates or just general chat and group together and adventure your way to a dungeon, it has now been replaced by a couple of button presses followed by a teleport to the dungeon entrance. In short the game has become more of an action fantasy RPG, than an MMORPG. This is in part Echoed by my friend and fellow WoW classic returnee Joldrath: That being said, as we are all grownups* with grown up commitments, is Retail actually just the game we need for our hectic lives?! Is it WoW for adults? The game is so refined that it now sectioned off up into bitesize chunks, rather than the infamous 16-hour junk food stuffing, poop-socking sessions. As with most things on the Internets nowadays, hype lives in a bubble, and a select few loud voices are the ones that get heard. Does Classic exist just for these voices? Does this only exist for private server people? Is it just for streamers? The private server community and the streamers go hand in hand and the tin foil hat theory is that Blizzard just wanna cash in on this... Private servers have been running for years, and streamers sit on their ad revenue, when Blizz ain't even getting a subscription. Will Classic just be a way to regulate private servers will it be World of Warcraft: public private server edition. Probably. The thing is the WoW from 2004 did not have the influencer/content-creator machine to work with, but it did have a lot more eccentricities, character builds and fun to be had in that fashion, that in all honestly it is going to be a great place for content creation! 15 minute bites of "Look at this build kill this thing" or "10 Paladins take down Ragnaros".  But is that the reason the folks diving into nostalgia want to play it again? Probably not. For me, part of the nostalgia was that this game was emerging, new builds were coming out, people discussed strategies and new patches brought all sorts of shenanigans with them. WoW was a sandbox playground allowing for meta-gaming of all kinds and involving everyone in the community. With WoW Classic we are getting the final patch of WoW, we are getting  "phases" where content is opening up but nothing more, and I think that may be a drop off point for a lot of people, "what's next" is very much a thing in WoW hence the plethora of patches, content and expansions that's essentially kept WoW going and with a few other games created the Games as a Service Hellscape we now live in. What we are getting is a little slice of life, a snapshot of WoW as it existed for maybe a few months (?) and a few things will cycle around it. Yeah, don't worry,  I hear myself "Finally, WoW Classic, what's next?", but that is definitely a thing, and I'm sure it's not just me, I wonder what the hook will be to keep people on if there is nothing around the corner... or is there? One hot topic is, what will happen after the phases? simply a reset and start the phases again? there is debate that based on it's success will Blizz just dive into The Burning Crusade and so on... Or it is also speculated that there could be some horizontal development continuing development but keeping the lvl 60 WoW classic experience, Could we see Death knights join us at lvl 60 or could we see Paladins on the horde side? Maybe some pandas could join the fight? Could we see tweaking to see viable Ret-lol DPS?!?? There was also a suggestion that WoW Classic could potentially enter seasonal play, akin to that of Diablo 3 with buffs and effects and such at lvl 60, changing up gameplay. Personally I would love to lift a couple of the non-gameplay elements from modern WoW, Specifically the overhaul to the character models to make them prettier, and hand-in-hand, I heart my transmogging and would love to allow collecting those looks at lvl 60 be made viable (without the masses and stacks of bank room being used up by mats you need to just go to a dungeon in Classic). In any case I do hope there are plans post final phase, given the world we live in for the effort/time we have made with our lvl 60 this time round, it would be nice to have new challenges and change-ups to actually look forward to. So do we need WoW Classic? Based on my grumpy contrarian ramblings above: all we are getting is a non-updated game intended for private server veterans and content creators that due to its time sink qualities will mostly be inaccessible to the commitment-laden nostalgia crowd that actually want to wallow about there! What is the pull to bring people back and, and then stay back? I am fully a part of the mid-life-crisis-got-commitments-nostalgia crowd, I got shit I need to do! I actually spend my evenings with loved ones rather than skulking in "my mom's basement". I cook food rather than picking away at luke-warm kebab on a Molten Core run etc etc. So why should I look forward to a game known to be a time-sink when I can a similar dopamine hit from Retail or even just any other game. Jesus fucking hell, Richie Who's a Debbie Downer! Ha, well unfortunately much of the above is true and quite honestly when this was announced, I immediately thought and realised this was going to be hyped behind a lot of rose-tinted glasses and to echo my parting statement from this post after the announcement, I was always going to play it, just to dip my toe-in at the very least. WoW was arduous, it was not an easy game. And I had to ask myself a few hard questions like: Why do I want to play that grind again? Can I find the time to play again? Do I even want a faithful recreation of that game from 15 years ago? What do I want from another WoW experience!? And Boom! that was the question that re-ignited my passion to play! Personally I love the Paladin class, I played my Blood Elf Paladin at from the first expansion onwards, but in WoW I (badly) played a Mage. I think what I want from WoW Classic is... Drum roll... ...wait for it... ... "Redemption" ... ... ... geddit? Cuz redemption is the name of a paladin spell?... ...Fine whatever, geez... I want to experience the original paladin or play WoW Paladin: Classic Flavour. I wanna do the Paladin Horsey quests (at least the alliance version), I want to do the multitude of Paladin-ish quests in the game, the Scarlet Monasteries and the Scarlet Crusade through Hearthglen, and on to getting Exhalted with the Argent Dawn. And so I realised that I have almost set myself a Goal, a path to go through the game with My goal will simply be lvl 60 hitting the iconic Paladin quests along the way. As much as I have had a grumble about what WoW classic is and if we need it, but it cannot be denied that when WoW came out it was so impactful on everything (media, games, etc), and perhaps this resurgence of Classic can rekindle some of what sparked that zeitgeist. Wow is old, and that cant be denied, just have a look at her face, her non existent nose, and the world is the same, jagged polygonal models, scenery with seams etc etc. However most of the time it can be very beautiful, Each zone has a different flavour, musical theme, and atmosphere, and its hard to any parallels that rival this even today. And it's Huge, yes you can argue that today its huger, with all of the additional zones being added in, but in all actuality because of the addition of flying mounts the world is just so much smaller. Recently I had a chat with Thatguyer, Doppelganger, discussing about how that leap from 16-bit to 3D was so impressive and awe-inspiring, but nowadays you can almost feel like you are just playing an N64/PS1 game, just with smoother graphics. What is the next leap in games? Where do we go from here? logically it should have been VR/AR, but is too much of an ask for the consumer, despite it being forced into our eyesockets. I would argue that mainstream MMO machine of WoW was a leap at that time, moving to online play but at the same time generating community spirit was a massive turning point for games. The traction it gained led the way for the online console experiences and ultimately the community based games we see dominating the Twitch-osphere. Is there more that revisiting this monolith can change/teach the new generation of people who think playing computer games is a job? As the hype-train has been getting ever closer to its destination, I have had to change my news-getting methods, where I used to haunt/feature on WoW Insider, it is now a shadow of it's former self. I have been looking to Podcasts, Reddit and even joined Discord. In particular I wanna give a shout out to countdowntoclassic.com and a big shout out to the shows host Josh on @count2classic who has kept the hype train running with interviews with Class leaders, the original designers and generally great WoW Classic content! It has been a bit part of what is making me excited about Classic! Anyways right, I guess see you in Azeroth? Love and Seal, Judge, Rave, Repeat. Richie X *Grownups absolutely use the word grownups, we're definitely not three cats in a trench coat, fake nose, glasses and a hat. No sir.

http://www.thatguys.co.uk/2019/08/wow-classic-do-we-need-this.html