#and grey and and hooded and fairly thin

[rebelrainfall]

hmmm do i have an actual crush or do i just want to wear his jacket

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

Just a silly little drabble about Summoned!König bringing you some things back from home. He's nice, I swear. He's just also a bit out of touch.

Tws: Mentions of your mother having a heart condition

Story below the cut.

Unexpected Appearances of Softness

The dark hallways were pockmarked by shafts of light from the potlights in the ceiling, casting godrays that showered down onto the empty floors. Walking through, doors lined the halls, standing bravely at attention like the summoners that slept behind them. At the farthest end of the hallway, your door sat waiting for you. Open.

As soon as you saw the open door you felt your stomach drop. You wanted to run, but at this hour you risked waking up some irate summoners. Instead, you trained your eyes on the grey linoleum floors as you skirted down towards your open hell. With each footstep, you could feel your bpm rising steadily, your heart drumming in your ears like a marching band as you walked.

When you got to your doorway, you took a moment to settle yourself. Just from the doorway, nothing looked off. Taking a breath, you stepped through the door.

Your room was perfectly intact. Nothing seemed off in the slightest. You checked your washroom, and all your belongings were in place and untouched. Your room was similarly pristine, almost to clinical state. It was bizarre. Did you forget to close your door? No, you locked it when you left. So why was it so clean? In fact, now that you got a better look under the moonlight, it looked cleaner than before. Clothing you’d thrown into drawers had been neatly folded and set inside the cabinet with care. Your shoes were neatly lined up by the front door with military precision you’d never been able to drill into your head. It was eerily perfect in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

You looked around the room again and nearly spat out your drink when you saw your bed. It was perfect. What was disturbing though was the fact that the stuffies you left at home were now sitting at the top of the bed.

You picked up one such stuffy and examined it carefully. Who the hell would bring up these old relics? Who even had the ability to go all the way back home and come back to base, simply for the sole purpose of getting your childhood mementos back to you?

The lights flickered.

Ah.

“König,” you called out to the room behind you, “why did you get my stuffies from back home?”

A heavy scaled hand planted itself firmly on your shoulder as the thin cloth of the being’s dark hood drifted over you.

“Are these not to your standards, Summoner?” König’s pitchy yet guttural voice thrummed through his chest into your back.

You held up the stuffy by its arms.

“Did you see my parents?” you asked, ever so slightly hopeful.

“Your mother is well,” König patted your head, “your father screamed when he saw me.”

You snorted as you put the stuffy down, “You actually let them see you?”

“Their summons demanded that I make myself known,” König explained with a hint of bitterness to his tone, “and, seeing as I am a benevolent being, I simply followed their orders. Apparently, they thought I’d wait until your father had finished his shower.”

You knew you’d be getting a phone call soon for that. You could already hear your father ranting about how you needed to keep your summon under control, already knowing full well that controlling an avatar of chaos was a laughable thought. You wondered what he thought of your summon, considering how renowned your father's name was among the old brass he used to run with.

“Your mother passed out when she saw me,” König continued, “but she came to fairly quickly. Then fainted again. The second time she came back I ensured that she was in a comfortable chair and well cared for, I assure you.”

“You know my mother has a heart condition, right?” you sighed as you put your beloved plush bear back onto the bed.

“Of course I know,” König scoffed, “anyways, we were able to settle our difference once she was able to stay conscious,” König prattled on as he examined his iridescent claws, “she seemed uncomfortable knowing that you’re mated to me for eternity, but she did say that it was better than having your bones torn from your body and keeping your flesh alive.”

You turned to look up at your summon with a blank look. At this point, you were about to develop a heart condition too.

“Please don’t tell me you said that to my mother,” you glared up at your summon with as much ferocity as a wet kitten could muster.

König stared into the distance before he slowly met your eyes.

“I apologize, Summoner.”

You looked at him, then back at the stuffies.

“Why?” you sighed.

“Not all is wrong, Summoner. After she finished her insufferable wailing, she thanked me for not harming you. I’m surprised a human understood her place so well,” König took a half step back, “I will add for your peace of mind, she suggested I bring your stuffed animals to you.”

You paused, then nodded slowly.

“So what were you doing at my place if you weren’t getting my stuffies?” you asked.

“You left your entertainment device underneath your bedding when you last visited.”

You scrunched your face for a moment before understanding opened your features.

“You got my gameboy back?” you asked hopefully.

König simply took the ‘entertainment device’ from a pocket in his robe and passed it to you. You tried to turn it on, but it was out of charge. You supposed beggars can’t be choosers.

“So, my mom told you to bring me my stuffies?” you asked as you set the gameboy on your night table.

“She also asked me to bring you some ‘cookies’,” König held out a bag of smooshed crumbs and molten chocolate, “I forgot how delicate human treats are.”

You took the bag into your own hands and took a close look. If nothing else, you could probably mix this up with some icecream or something. They at the very least seemed to still be edible (a far cry better than the pizza you’d asked König to pick up for you last week, only to be presented a cardboard box full of ashes and embers. König had tried to bring another back, but that had gone even worse). If nothing else, König was learning how to transport baked goods a bit better.

“So, was that everything? You brought my gameboy, some of my stuffies and some cookies from my mom?” you looked up at König.

König sniffed indignantly, “Your superiors did not seem to believe a controlled black hole in your dormitory was an appropriate idol to chaos.”

For once in your life, you thanked the heavens above for the dorm standards.

König furrowed his brows, evidently displeased by the look on your face. You looked back at your gameboy and sat on your bed. You noticed the mattress was a fair bit more comfortable, another sign of König’s intervention. You picked up your stuffed bear again with a smile.

“Thanks König.”

The avatar faltered momentarily before regaining his stoic composure.

“Your comfort is paramount, Summoner,” he replied tersely.

You noticed that he seemed to be unable to meet your eyes, instead focussed on the posters plastered on your walls. You would’ve laughed, but you figured his ego wouldn’t be able to handle a weak summoner such as yourself laughing at him. At least, not out loud.

Your figured he knew, anyways.

AU Masterlist

[twofoursixohjuan]

describe your ocs eyes? colour, lashes, shape, are they hooded, do/would they wear eyeliner, eyeshadow, or mascara?

Hildebrandt's eyes are round, clear and bright blue, and her eyelashes are nearly invisible because they're just as ginger as her hair. They tilt down a little at the outside corners. She doesn't go in for makeup but has been known to add a straight streak of dark paint across both eyes if she's fighting and she wants to reduce glare. She's a bit short-sighted, and there are freckles on the skin around them. Her eyebrows are thick and curly and set quite low over the eyes.

Tippet has big, very round, light hazel green eyes that tilt up at the corners and stick out a bit. They're set quite wide apart and give her a gobliny sort of look. Her eyelashes and eyebrows are thin but quite dark compared to her hair and her pupils are large. She favours dramatic eye paint when she's dancing, in red and orange with a bit of green.

Athan has slightly narrow, hooded eyes which are a dark enough brown that it's difficult to see where the pupil ends and the iris begins. His eyelashes are fairly heavy. There's something inhuman in the shape and tilt that's a relic of his elven ancestry, and a few old, tiny scars around the orbital rim, because that's somewhere skin will split if you get hit hard enough, but you'd have to get very close to notice those. He's slightly long-sighted. He has been known to wear subtle, dark eyeliner and shadow, but it's less a regular thing and more for dressing up or presenting an image.

Aspen has dark red eyes with a lighter rings around the pupils, which are slit and dilate like mad if she's excited. Her eyebrows are dark and heavy, making her eyes seem smaller than they are, and there's a small scar through the right brow where she headbutted a zombie aged thirteen or so. Her eyelashes are quite thick. Her eyes catch the light oddly in the dark, giving an unsettlingly animalistic effect.

Talven has hooded, almond-shaped eyes which used to be grey, but have become more and more startlingly silver since he became a warlock. He has very long dark eyelashes which make his eyes look larger, and narrow brows. He's fond of dramatic kohl eyeliner, especially when he's performing, and he's very good at making his eyes expressive.

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

A prompt request: Torchwood Team goes undercover as LARP-ers

“I look,” Owen said, striding out of the tent and aiming a kick at a nearby bundle of belongings, which contained – if Ianto recalled correctly, and he was sure that he did, as he’d packed it – sleeping bags. Well. The next best thing, at any rate. “Like an absolute twat.”

“Do you want us to agree or disagree with that statement?” Ianto said, without looking up from the fire he was tending to; he knew what he’d see if he looked up, and he wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face. “Because I’m fairly sure that despite the apparel, you still have a gun strapped to you somewhere.”

“You would be correct, so you’re on thin ice,” Owen warned, and Ianto looked up at him and barely suppressed the urge to laugh. He was dressed in a green tunic, black trousers, an enormous grey cloak and calf wraps, and the outfit would have been dignified, perhaps even impressive, had it not been on Owen, and accompanied by a look of such murderous hatred that Ianto was reasonably sure that it could kill. “Don’t fucking laugh.”

“Yeah, no, it’s… very fetching,” he said with as much sincerity and composure as he could manage. “What are you again?”

“The beggar, apparently. I wanted to be a fucking healer but apparently there isn’t the scope for that, so I got this instead. What are you meant to be?”

“I’m a druid,” Ianto gestured to his long, hooded scarlet robe, and what he was mentally referring to as a ‘utility belt’, although he was sure there was a more technical name. It was far more low-tech than the Batman one that he was more familiar with, but it did have several vials of mysterious substances attached to it, so he was trying to move with care. “Apparently that’s the medieval version of ‘coffee boy.’”

“Lucky fucking you. Where are the girls?”

“I think referring to them as ‘girls’ is-”

“Not something you should do in our hearing?” Gwen said brightly, approaching the tent with Tosh beside her. Both of them looked unusually self-conscious, which was probably attributable to the long, intricately laced gowns they were sporting; Gwen’s was a bright shade of red that matched Ianto’s own outfit, while Tosh’s was a more subdued brown and covered with a cape. “Particularly not when I’ve got a dagger and a gun.”

“That’s a breach of historical accuracy,” Ianto deadpanned, and she plonked herself down beside him and thumped him lightly on the shoulder. “Guns weren’t invented until-”

“Excuse me,” Tosh added, sitting the other side of Gwen and staring into the pot that Ianto was currently ignoring in favour of winding up Owen, from which a strong smell of coffee was emanating. “Says the man brewing coffee in medieval England?”

“Wales,” Owen chipped in with exasperation. “We’re in fucking Wales, and it’s 2006.”

“We’re in medieval England,” Tosh repeated sweetly, and he glowered at her. “And Ianto is brewing a concoction that didn’t arrive in the country until the mid- to late-17th century.”

“Do you have your PDA on you?” Ianto asked, and she looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Obviously.”

“Then shut up about my coffee.”

“Why did I get the beggar but these two look half-decent?” Owen groused, chucking himself dramatically to the ground on the other side of the fire from Ianto and adopting a sulky expression more usually seen on teenagers.

“Aw, thanks Owen,” Gwen shot back. “Really sweet of you.”

“I said half-decent,” he retaliated at once. “And I meant half as in one of you. By which I mean Tosh.”

Tosh turned a violent shade of maroon that matched Gwen’s dress; the compliment had been surprisingly heartfelt. “I wanted to be a healer,” she mumbled. “But they said they already have one of those, so…”

“What did Jack get?”

Ianto bit his lip, unwilling to give the game away. “No idea,” he lied. “I don’t think he said…”

“Liar. I bet you’re going to shag him in it after this.”

“Owen!” Gwen rolled her eyes, then looked down at the bodice of her dress. “Although… I might have to take this home for Rhys.”

“Make sure you give it a good wash afterwards; we’ve got to return them. That applies to both of you. All three of you,” Owen noted, and Gwen threw him a dirty look.

“What applies to all three of us?” Jack’s voice asked, and the four of them looked up as one.

“Oh for fuck sake,” Owen exclaimed. “Really?”

Jack was stood in an almost cinematic pose, which Ianto strongly suspected had been chosen by trial and error to best show off his knight’s costume. His neck and shoulder plates glinted in the weak sun, his chain mail gleamed as he moved, and his navy blue surcoat was emblazoned with silver lions across the chest. An impressive-looking sword hung at his side, and Jack moved his hand to the pommel of it with a smirk, tangibly enjoying basking in his team’s attention.

Ianto would be lying if he said it wasn’t a turn-on.

[the-arcade-doctor]

Sonic.EXE in Jotaphobia's canon is a evil entity who was born in the depths of the abyss, the malicious force was fascinated with humans and their language, but most of all, Sonic The Hedgehog. He donned the name "X", since the tenth time he formed his dimension after the world of Sonic, it worked, all the other 9 times, it ended in burn marks on the entity's only form of flesh, eyes, resulting in bloody tear streaks it didn't even know it could produce, the tenth time was a success, he took the form of Sonic The Hedgehog, and made it one with himself after some experimentation, he did it, he forged a disk made out of a black glass-like material that held his twisted vision of Sonic's world, flowers grew eyes, grass withered, totems screamed and blood rained from the skies, it was PERFECT. He was ready to send his corrupted home down to the masses, except for one thing, he didn't know how to. He mulled over the idea for a while, teleportation? No, too sudden. An advertisement? Good idea, but the execution would be flawed and messy. He didn't know much about the human language just yet. Human. The word ate at him, and then, he got it. He'd take the form of a human. He cackled, relishing in his genius. He used his limited shifting abilities to turn into something resembling a human, this form was never meant to be perfect, it just needed to get the job done. Eyes slightly too big, skin papery thin. He didn’t look particularly trustworthy. It didn’t matter. He got to work, down on Earth, his time there was infinite but VERY limited, he could only walk in shadows, luckily, he was covered in the veil of midnight, he went to the place he got the code for Sonic in the first place, and knocked on the door.

A fairly unkempt looking human in his early teens answered the door. He wore a coat and a dirty hat. They conversed for a while as X offered the game to him as a "Sonic experience unlike any other.", he accepted after a quick back and forth.

The thing resembling a human vanished into the shadows as he left. He was going to enjoy the next however long this game lasted. The soon-to-be-victim started the game up, and began to play.

It started almost instantly, he played as Tails, some occasional platforming sections later, he had to traverse a spiky plain until he reached an arch gate made of dead Flickys and other such creatures. He walked through, and was instantly warped to a shadowy place, Sonic with his back turned was at the edge of the screen, a text box popped up

"HELLO. I WANT TO PLAY A GAME. WOULD YOU CARE TO JOIN ME?"

The scene changed to Angel Island Zone, albeit on fire.

A timer started ticking down, it reached to 0 and X began his chase. It was over with quickly.

"YOU'RE TOO SLOW. DO YOU WANT TO TRY ONCE MORE?"

Scrap Brain Zone, the player was now Knuckles. A quick journey to the right, and a boss fight initiated, X ran back and forth, ducking and dodging Knuckles' weak blows until he got bored and tore out his heart.

"SO MANY OF THEM, YET YOU'RE THE FIRST, YOU SHOULD BE HONORED."

Finally, the Doctor, it took place in the sky, the thunder boomed and the Egg Mobile had limited ammo. X eventually started flying after him, a few shots were tanked, then he got a hole blown in his face, it didn't do much though, Robotnik, and therefore, the player, was eventually slain.

"I WIN. YOUR SOUL IS MINE, TIMOTHY. THANK YOU FOR PLAYING."

His next victim, however, was very interesting.

Jay "Phobia" Parker. a 5’8, 17 year old boy wearing a black hoodie with a green “87” on it, grey sweatpants, and black shoes, under his hood lies a led visor displaying green animated eyes. Tan skin and blah blah blah, all of this doesn't matter.

Jay found the game at his doorstep, a very unkempt man walked away, disheveled.

He thought to himself about what this game was, and curiosity got the better of him...

Meanwhile, in the abyss, X was abusing his power on that poor soul he acquired, he discovered he had the ability to pilot his victim's corpses. Perfect for his next victim. One small issue, his dimensions were spilling, his digital world was cracking into another dimension. The Light was blinding. It was peaceful, calm, everything he hated. It didn't matter. As long as this next victim didn't avert from his path, it'd be fine. Following the light would not allow X to control his world as much as he could.

Jay booted up the game, and started playing as Tails.

The chase was on, Jay ran and ran, hopping over X at just the right times, until he reached a glitching particle of light, then the game froze.

"This has got to be the edgiest ROM Hack I've ever played."

X seemed.. Confused? No, Impossible, that's not how his game is played. It didn't matter, what's one buffer in the masterful craft he has built for all of humanity?

Jay kept progressing, munching on Cheetos like this was any other video game, X was FURIOUS, causing him to think erratically, causing in... Another victory for Jay???

This was UNFAIR, X thought to himself, livid. But it was nothing, this was NOTHING compared to the last act.

...Right?

X dodged and ducked through Robotnik's blasts, one thought lingered in his mind...

"WHY? WHY THIS ONE? WHY IS HE NOT AFRAID?"

Jay continued playing as normal, eventually running out of time in the level, the hedgehog didn't seem to go down no matter how many shots were fired.

X reclaimed his senses, and a message popped up on-screen...

"YOU."

"YOU'VE PLAYED FAIR, SO I WILL LET YOU OFF WITH A WARNING. WE WILL MEET AGAIN AFTER I FIND OUT WHY YOU AREN'T AFRAID OF M--"

Jay shuts off the game.

"Fuckin' weird ass fangame."

[learnplants]

Our first plant today is a tree called Alnus Glutinosa, but commonly called a 'Black Alder' or simply an 'Alder'! It's a tree that's native to the UK and all across Europe, excluding the extremes of the far north and south!

It's a very interesting tree as it absolutely thrives in swamp-like conditions! Most trees, if they're in waterlogged grounds, will soften and rot and eventually perish, but not the Alder! It actually does the opposite! It hardens! Better yet, Alders promote the growth of Frankia alni, a very beneficial bacteria since it's a nitrogen fixer, meaning it takes nitrogen from the atmosphere and traps it in the soil, which really helps other plants grow! In fact, Alders can help expand sparse woodland because of this relationship!

Go Alders!

Now, a bit of a description! The black alder is a great big tree! In perfect conditions, it can grow to be 28 metres tall (or 91 feet and 10 inches for any non-metric users!) and can live for an average of 60 years! Often, the bark is quite dark and usually fissured and grooved, and typically COVERED in lichen! The twigs are light brown with spots that turn red at the tops, and they're also sticky to touch! It grows in a conical shape, and due to it's deciduous, sheds it's leafs in winter!

Those leafs, vital to the trees survival, are typically between 3-9 cm long (1-3 and a half inches) and are dark green in colour and are shaped kinda like a heart!

They grow from purple-grey buds on a long stem and feel leathery, have serrated edges, and look shiny, because it doesn't have hairs like some tree leafs do!

Now, Alders do produce 'flowers', but not like you may know them to look! They are "monoecious", which is the technical term for growing male and female flowers! The female flowers are bulbous, green oval shaped catkins, typically in clusters of 3-8 per stalk! Male flowers are thin and long catkins, that are pendulous and usually measure 2-6cm long (about an inch to 2 inches) before they change colour from green to yellow! Alders pollinate through wind, and when successful, the female catkins will change and become brown and rather woody, and look very much like a cone! When winter comes, the cones open up slightly and release their seeds, to be carried by the wind or flowing water!

As is the circle of life, everything takes and gives! The Alder will take nutrients from the soil, and grow big! Due to this, insects, such as the caterpillars of the Alder kitten, the pebble hook-tip, the autumnal, and the blue-bordered carpet moths! Normally, this doesn't have an overwhelmingly negative effect on the tree, so it's nothing to worry about! In addition to the leafs, the catkins are able to provide a very early source of nectar and pollen for the bees, which desperately needs help! Also, the seeds are a food source for some birds, such as the siskin, the goldfinch and the redpoll! Also, because of the wet conditions they normally grow in, lots of mosses and lichens and fungi will grow on it! And the root systems provide a really good place for otters to nest!

Historically, Alder flowers were used to dye things green, and is associated with robin hood! The tree itself, when cut down for timber, would turn a deep orange and look as if it's bleeding, leading many to believe it's bad luck to walk past them on a journey!

The timber, because of it's soft and porous nature, has to be kept wet to be used properly, leading to many water pipes, sluice gates and even boats to be made of it! Also, a lot of Venice is built on alder piles because of this! Nowadays, it's used for wood veneers and plywood!

Unfortunately, Alders in the UK are at a risk, because a fungal infection is spreading across the country called Phytophthora! It affects most broadleaf trees and historically didn't affect Alders, but a recent strain has bridged that gap, resulting in root rot and lesions forming on the tree. Sadly, it means these old giants can fall and die but the warnings are fairly obvious! The leafs will grow abnormally small, and yellow, and will fall very early off of the tree, and sadly can kill the tree in a variable amount of time, some will go fast and some will suffer for quite some time!

Ultimately, Alnus Glutinosa is an amazing plant, living in an environment that would kill many other trees! So without any more delay, here it is, the Black Alder!

[gamekids-firewolf]

The rest of the main kids... just to round out the bunch.

One again, descriptions go under the cut

Damon Asheford (he/him)

Black hair, red eyes, diamond flick nose

Casual clothes: orange suit coat, dark blue tie, white button-up, brown slacks, black shoes

5 feet 7 inches, 17 - 18 years old, beauty mark beneath his right eye

Also known as "Omen" or "Kingpin"

Pompous and a drama king. A snake in a bed of roses. Oozes charm.

Game Form: uneven red horns, crooked teeth, forked tongue, claws, red vest, orange long-sleeved button-up, single thin red wing, red fur, devil tail, hooved feet

Niculaie Vladimirescu (he/him)

Black hair tied back with a red ribbon, red eyes, angular nose

Casual clothes: long-sleeved dark blue shirt, three necklaces, dark brown trousers, black shoes

6 feet 2 inches, 17 - 18 years old, tall and lanky

Also known as "Vampire"

Withdrawn and always trying to make himself seem smaller. Quiet and doing his best despite his broken heart.

Game Form: white cape with a red tail and ribbon, white vest, white trousers. Does not have arms.

Jonathan Wallace (he/him)

Black hair in his face, black eyes, wide hook nose

Casual clothes: white lab coat, light green vest, white button-up, purple trousers, black shoes

5 feet 7 inches, 17 - 18 years old, slouches

Also known as "Hyde"

Flat expressions and surly, but also flirty and dramatic. Two-faced!

Game Form: unused (mad scientist core)

Natasha Zima (she/her)

Brown-red hair up in a ponytail, green eyes, solid nose

Casual clothes: yellow scarf, light blue sweater, pink skirt, dark blue leggings, light blue boots

5 feet 6 inches, 16 - 17 years old, hiking legs

Also known as "Royalty"

Cheerful and expressive, wears her emotions on her sleeve

Game Form: grey bat wings, grey vest, grey skirt, grey boots, grey gloves, black bodysuit, bat clip in hair and buck teeth

Aglaé Desrosier (he/they)

Frizzed brown hair, dark blue eyes, solid nise

Casual clothes: pink sweater vest, short-sleeved white button-up, dark blue jeans, pink shoes

5 feet 4 inches, 16 - 17 years old, small but powerful

Also known as "Beauty"

Flat and disinterested. Always reading. Is actually fairly shy and easily flustered.

Game Form: brown horns and fur, brown vest, rose pin, skeletal and sinewey

Vektoria Ketxiah (she/her)

Flared out black hair, black eyes, angular nose

Casual clothes: white long-sleeved shirt, white gloves, white trousers, black shoes

5 feet 7 inches, 17 - 18 years old, shadow biology

Also known as "Thief"

Either really smug or annoyed in some way. Her eyes glow white when she wants to intimidate. She does still mimic, but it's less obvious.

Game Form: white scarf that can be used as a hood, black sleeveless shirt, white gloves, black fencer pants, white boots, white mask and silver key sword can be manifested

[fellomenking]

There was a commotion heard within the higher quarters of Leyendell. The sound of stone and marble cracking, the sight of dust being kicked up could be seen in the distance. A thin but murky gray fog was rapidly developing around the area.

As the dust began to settle, what caused the commotion became visible. Black and grey gnarled roots had shot up from the ground, now standing stiffly high up in the air in a circular formation. A small army of flies began to sprout from these roots and fly aimlessly around the roots.

Then a figure emerged from inside the circle of roots. A tall figure with pale blond hair, pale skin dressed in a dark waist robe with silver accents. He adorned a black crown of thorns that bore resemblance to the roots surrounding him.

He walked out of the circle of deathroot, looking at the immediate area around him; the area remained fairly empty and untouched, a stone tablet standing in the middle of the empty plot. The tablet read: In loving memory of Godwyn the Golden, a scion of the Golden bough. His life was taken here on the fateful Night of The Black Knives, his death triggering The Great Shattering.

@deathblightprince

It was an unanticipated catastrophe. One that occurred within the very walls of the capital of Leyndell itself.

Erdtree forgive him for his failure. He would be sure to inflict the necessary amount of lacerations upon himself. Double the amount for every life lost...

Seldom did the Grace-Given emerge from the shadow of the palace, bearing the veil to conceal his accursed form from the eyes of all those under his protection.

Ravens were sent out to deliver a message: that all forces are to be recalled to Leyndell.

With an army of troops behind him, Morgott himself marched down to the site of destruction. And he commanded that his soldiers search every residency for any surviving citizens, and evacuate them.

Cries of help.

"Over here!"

"Please! Help!"

"Mommy! Wake up! Mommy!"

So many cries... So many voices...

Erdtree forgive him. He was tasked to protect his people.

And he failed...

He failed...

... And yet the people still cried out their gratitude, to the soldiers who saved them. Cried out to him.

... But why? Why do they thank him when he failed them?

This...

...

... Was all his fault.

... Erdtree forgive him.

...

... Now was not the time to beg for forgiveness -- no, he was undeserving of it. But regardless, the important thing now was learning more of what could have caused this destruction.

Was it Rykard?

...

No. These roots smelled of death. Corpseflies swarmed them.

When the Grace-Given was certain all had been done for the citizens caught in the destruction, he ordered that the area be quarantined.

Something was terribly wrong.

There would need to be an investigation.

... A risk. A dangerous risk.

... But it must be done.

When a cancer is discovered, one must pinpoint its location, reach in, and wrench it from the host's bosom.

After a time, the Grace-Given called forth a few of his arborists and perfumers to study the roots, but urged utmost caution.

... He himself remained on site.

Hooded, and wearing a mask to protect himself from whatever contaminant there might be, the veiled monarch stepped deeper to investigate.

[icefang100]

Another set of (Warrior) cat designs for Mechanisms characters! This has characters from Tales Be Told (vol. I & II) and the fiction (namely “Cyberian Demons”, “The Story of the Toy Soldier”, and those involving Aurora).

In order of left to right in each row, the designs are for: Dr. Carmilla, The Aurora, the Angel, Bertie, the Moon Kaiser, Smooth Mickey, Billy Vangelis, One-Eyed Jack, and the Cyberian Czar.

All of the drawings started with the same base, then edited for fur lengths, scars, and expressions.

See below the read more for image descriptions and some notes on each design! Be warned, it’s a lot of text.

[Also uploaded to DeviantART]

[Image set ID: A set of nine digitally drawn headshots of cats. The features and edges of each is lined with black, while their markings are lineless. /End ID.]

[Image 1 description: A drawing of Dr. Carmilla as a cat with desaturated red fur (best described as coral, wine, and light plum). She’s smiling with teeth, and her upper canines extend out of her mouth. She has dark tabby, under eye, nose bridge, and false eye markings (on ears). Her inner ears, the area around her muzzle, and a small area bordering her forehead markings are lighter in color. Dr. Carmilla’s eyes are a dark red-brown, and her pupils are thin. Her pupil color matches the black of her nose. The under eye markings have three points, which nearly meet stripes extending from her cheek fur (which is of short-medium length). /End description.]

[Image 2 description: A drawing of The Aurora as a cat with moderate blue-grey fur (best described as shades of slate). She has a neutral smile. She has darker colored sparse tabby markings, nose bridge, over-eye markings (smooth hoods), and false eyes (on ears). Her inner ears, chin, and the center of her forehead markings are lighter in color. Aurora’s eyes are a vibrant blue, with dark blue-grey pupils matching her nose. She has moderately long cheek fur, and tufts at the tips of her ears. /End description.]

[Image 3 description: A drawing of the Angel as a cat with light yellow-ish fur (best described as yellow-leaning tan, sand dollar, and brown-grey). They have a neutral smile. They have dark tabby markings, nose bridge, and eye spots, and false eyes (on ears). The nose bridge and eye spots are connected, and their cheek stripes reach all the way to their eyes. Their inner ears, chin, and between the cheek stripes are lighter in color. The Angel’s eyes are pale blue with light grey (blind) pupils. Their nose is black, and they have fairly long cheek fur. /End description.]

[Image 4 description: A drawing of Bertie as a cat with bronze fur (best described as walnut, caramel, and amber). He has a neutral smile. He has dark ear tips, above-eye markings, under-eye markings, dorsal stripe (ends above eyes), partial muzzle markings, and cheeks. His inner ears, the rest of his muzzle, most of his forehead, and part of his ears are lighter in color. Bertie’s eyes are a moderate green with black pupils that match his nose. His left eye has sectoral heterochromia - a dull yellow spot in the upper center, and his cheek fur is short but fluffy. His right ear tip has a V-shaped chunk missing. /End description.]

[Image 5 description: A drawing of the Moon Kaiser as a cat with a desaturated calico fur pattern (wood brown, light orange, and cream). He has a sinister smile. His markings have jagged, frayed-looking edges. The calico patches are asymmetric, with most of the orange on his left side and most of the brown on his right. The Moon Kaiser’s eyes are yellow with dark, warm grey pupils matching his nose. He has long, scraggly cheek fur, as well as overgrown inner ear fur. His left ear is missing its upper half. /End description.]

[Image 6 description: A drawing of Smooth Mickey as a cat with golden-brown fur (best described as mocha, dark copper, and sepia). He has a sinister smile. He has dark tabby markings, including cheek stripes that extend to the bottom of his eyes and around the inner edge into his eye dot markings. This ear tips and part of his nose bridge are also dark. His inner ears, part of the nose bridge, between the cheek stripes, and the center of his forehead marking are lighter in color. Smooth Mickey’s eyes are copper green, with black pupils matching his nose. His cheek fur is short but fluffy, and his right ear has a round chunk taken out of the inner edge. /End description.]

[Image 7 description: A drawing of Billy Vangelis as a cat with green-grey fur (best described as dove, charcoal, and dust). He’s frowning, and seems rather sad or resigned. He has dark tabby markings, nose bridge, borders of the muzzle, around his ears (creating false eyes), and above his eyes (covering most of his forehead). His inner ears, chin, between the eyes, and gaps in his cheek stripes are lighter in color. Billy’s eyes are a moderate grey, with black pupils matching his nose. His cheek fur is short but fluffy. /End description.]

[Image 8 description: A drawing of One-Eyed Jack as a cat with brown fur (best described as pinecone, brown-leaning rock, and brown-leaning oyster). He’s baring his teeth in a grin. He has dark tabby markings, false eyes (on ears), eye dots, slight over-eye markings, nose bridge, mustache, and part of his chin. His inner ears, between cheek stripes, and the rest of his chin are lighter in color. Jack’s has only one eye (the right), which is a vibrant yellow with a black pupil matching his nose. His other eye is an empty socket with two scars crossing over it - both the socket and the scars are a desaturated reddish color (with the socket being darker). /End description.]

[Image 9 description: A drawing of the Cyberian Czar as a cat with light blue-grey fur (best described as swan, smoke, and lavender grey). He’s frowning. He has a points-like coloration, with his face and ears (which have false eyes) being darker than his main body. He has darker under-eye markings, nose bridge, and ear edges. The eye markings extend downward as though they would flow into stripes without the cut-off of the mask marking. The Czar’s eyes are a moderate blue, with black pupils matching his nose. He has very long cheek fur. /End description.]

Some notes on the designs’ details:

I tried to make Dr. Carmilla’s eye and cheek markings match/mimic her makeup. Not sure if it worked, but it looks good enough to me, so

Aurora’s forehead stripe is meant to look like the... well, like herself, in ship form (as depicted on the TBT albums’ covers).

Bertie’s markings are meant to be reminiscent of a Greek soldier’s helmet

Also the heterochromia isn’t there for any reason, it just felt right

I just went ham with the Moon Kaiser’s design - I wasn’t sure what I wanted him to look like, but this sort of... scraggly, asymmetric look works well enough in my eyes

Though this design was mostly just going for what felt right without any planning, I did intentionally make his ears uneven as a nod to the line “The Kaiser just smiled, with his crown all askew” (the uneven-ness being close enough to an askew crown)

Smooth Mickey’s under-eye markings are sevens

Billy’s design is meant to be similar to Jonny’s for obvious reasons

The Czar’s design is meant to be similar to Nastya’s - again, for obvious reasons

[eris-the-phantom-thief]

Hana skated around, and tried to ignore the holes being bored into the back of her head. She served more food, drinks and ignored advances from various customers.

Honestly, many of the men at the bar simply weren’t her type. Many of these people, while not bad people (Most of them) had their vices… vices that she wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.

Hana attention shifted to the sound of the door opening. “Hm?”

“Hey Hana, got a table for five?”

“Leo! Hajime!”

In the doorway was five of her teammates from her dorm. Leo, Hajime, Jake, Finn, and Miguel. (Probably here for a guy’s night out.)

Finn was a tall,thin, and gangly guy. Soft white hair, pale skin, green eyes, a long thin nose, and a distinct tiredness to his face.

Despite this he was a kind young man. Always with his nose in his books or writing in his notebooks. Quiet, shy, bookish, but had an unmistakable sadness when he spoke.

He wore a simple black and white sweater, white jeans with his black suspenders down, and black boots. To finish his outfit was his father’s old black hat , and his mother’s old dog-tags from her time in the army.

Miguel wasn’t as tall as Finn, but was more sturdily built. He had a deep tan, soft brown eyes, high cheek bones, and black hair with the sides shaved in a sort of mohawk.Nothing over the top, nothing ridiculous, but it suited him.

Out of the team he was the eldest at 20, albeit just a year older than herself. Perhaps as a result of that, he did the best to be the mature one of the team. Always there to try to calm arguments, but wouldn’t take insult towards himself or the others. His true love was music though, always practicing on his flute despite his injured right hand.

He wore a jacket made of brown leather with his boots of the same matieral, worn out jeans, a tie dye shirt that had shades of blue, teal, and indigo. If one looked at him, they would probably assume him to be a guitarist in a rock bad, And yet he was a flutist. The thing that he had no matter what, was his red bandana tied around his neck.

Jake was as much as a chucklehead as he always was. Tall, yet stocky in contrast to his best friend Leo. Dark skin, a soul patch, black hair with and undercut. On top was bleach blonde hair with two black streaks. However, the thing that stood our the most about his looks was his eyes. One blue, and the other grey.

By far the most cheerful and outgoing, and he was always the life of the party. A prankster at heart, he always had a trick up his sleeve. In spite of that, there was a line with his antics. He may put a toe over from time to time…but always refused to cause deliberate harm…well. Unless you deserved it.

He wore a red sweater with a white hood and pocket, blue cargo pants, a pair of well worn sneakers, and his trident pendant.

Though there were two who Hana’s feeling were conflicted on. Not in a bad sort, but more in the vein of which was the one.

Leo and Hajime.

Hajime was tall and slender, but not as much as Finn. His hair was dark brown, and looked akin to the shell of a chestnut or perhaps one of those hitchhiker bristles that would hook onto your socks as you walked around. Piercing green eyes, and a thin face. He was cute.

He was sassy, intelligent, a computer whiz, but with a strong sense of justice. Quick witted, and was a bit blunt…granted when Hana was in the equation he would blush. Despite his fairly straightlaced appearance he was a talented hacker, there was no database he couldn’t get into.

He wore a black denim jacket, a dark green flannel shirt with a plaid pattern, and army green pants paired with red sneakers.

Leo, oh Leo. He was the shortest of the team, well save for herself. He had short blonde hair with an undercut. His ears were pierced, but sadly despite that most people only saw the scar on his face. The right side of his face had a large acid burn.

He was a bit prickly, stubborn, and had a mouth on him. It would be hard to see how him and Jake were best friends if you didn’t know them. He tended to dislike attention on himself, but was fiercely loyal, determined, and was a total softy. Especially when it came to Hana.

He wore a black blazer, purple button down shirt, purple scarf, and a pair of black slacks and loafers.

“Hey guys!”

“Coming up!” Hana skated over to get her another drink and soon had it placed down in front of her. When she sat it down she took a moment to scan Catherine.

Huh…I feel like I’ve seen her before…but where..?

Something about her…unsettled her.

But why?

She couldn’t quite out her finger on why. Either way, she couldn’t very easily vocalize it.

Not without risking her job.

This chick feels like a walking red flag… but I might as well just do my job and hope nothing freaky happens…

[seijorhi]

No Strings Attached

A commission for the lovely @hearteyes-candyskies, hope you like it bby! 💕

Bokuto Koutarou x female reader

TW Age gap, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic behaviour, nsfw(ish)

Three months ago, you would have laughed at the very idea of having a sugar daddy. 

Then again, three months ago you were still living with your boyfriend and had a steady paycheck coming in every week. You can blame losing the latter on bad luck and an asshole boss, but the former-

You knew your relationship with your ex was far from perfect, but coming home from losing said job to find him buried balls deep in your next door neighbour was a bit of a slap in the face. 

Needless to say, in the space of a few days you were out a job, a boyfriend and an apartment. Which, somewhat inevitably, led to you being six wines deep, slumped over your best friend’s bed, sobbing over the wreckage of the life you’d built, suddenly ripped out from beneath you.

You can’t really remember whose idea it was, only giggling drunkenly between yourselves as Misuzu set up your ‘sugar baby’ profile. “Shh, no this is gonna be great,” she’d said, hitting at the hands that tried to grab back your phone. “Meet some hot rich old dude, ride a little dick, let him shower you in cash; all your problems? Poof, sorted!”

And even with the heady, rose tinted haze of your wine fuelled inebriation, you knew that it was just a joke, a bit of stupid fun born more out of an attempt to cheer you up than a viable plan to get the tattered remains of your life back on track. Calling some old creepy dude ‘daddy’ and pretending to love him (not to mention the whole letting him fuck you thing) just for a little money wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

Plus, you were fairly sure that you weren’t what most people had in mind when they thought ‘sugar baby’. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, just dumb, drunken fun with your friend.

So when you woke the next day a little after mid morning with a head full of regrets and a pounding headache, the last thing you expected was to find a message from BigDaddyKou82 waiting for you, better sense told you to ignore it.

Honestly, you didn’t really want a sugar daddy, your love life was enough of a mess without throwing in a power imbalance like that.

You should have ignored the message, deleted it or shot him a quick reply politely explaining that you weren’t interested so you could put it out of your mind, and you would have-

If Misuzu hadn’t caught sight of the message first, snatching the phone out of your hand with a gleeful shriek. 

—

If you’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t do anything by half measures. So when he tells you he’s booked dinner for the two of you at an upscale restaurant in the city, you should have expected the package that’s hand delivered right to the door of your shitty little apartment. The dress is beautiful, expensive - though you could tell that just from the elegant matte black box wrapped in golden ribbon it arrives in. It’s exactly his style; short, revealing and just dancing along the edge of impropriety, not that that’ll bother him in the slightest. 

But it is gorgeous, and loathe as you are to admit it, it flatters you well.

It’s not the first time that he’s bought you clothes, your tiny closet’s almost overflowing with pieces he’s gifted you. He likes seeing you in the things he’s bought, sometimes a little too much, you think. But you’ve learned it’s better just to go along with it - he gets this wide eyed, beaming grin whenever he sees you dressed in the pretty things he’s bought you, and the sight of it never fails to make your cheeks heat, warmth curling in your stomach. 

The dress was not unexpected. The soft, lacy lingerie that comes in the accompanying box, on the other hand - that was new.

And of course, you barely have time to unwrap your gift when your phone flashes to life, an incoming call from the man himself.

“D’ya like it?”

The giddy excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and if you close your eyes you can picture the look on his face - golden eyes all hooded and hungry, that glittering, eager grin he wears when the two of you are out in public but his mind’s occupied with all the filthy, wonderful things he wants to do to you the moment you’re alone. 

Not that he’s ever that patient. 

“Um, it’s…” Fingers tentatively reach into the tissue paper, pulling the sheer, lacy bra out, warmth blossoming in your cheeks. The matching panties - a tiny scrap of lace held together with bows and thin black straps - really aren’t much better. Like the dress, the lingerie is clearly well made, probably cost more than your weekly rent, and the delicate set is arguably gorgeous (you can’t even argue his taste), but–

“You’re gonna wear it for me tonight, right, baby?” 

It’s not really a question; of course you will, because you always do. You would have thought by now that you’d be used to the gifts he showers you in. 

“Yeah, but Kou, you really didn’t have to spend all this money on me. Dinner’s enough,” you tell him, setting the lingerie back down. 

Dinner, and everything else for that matter. 

A chuckle echoes down the line. “But I like spoiling my girl. Like buying you pretty things,” his voice dips, “like tearing ‘em off you afterwards, too.” 

And despite all the apprehension curled up inside of you, a shiver of excitement runs down your spine. 

—

“So…” Misuzu pushes, leaning across the countertop with her chin resting on her palm and looking entirely too pleased at your discomfort.

“He… asked me to meet him.”

Her eyes widen, sparkling in delight as she gasps, “For dinner?”

“For a drink - one drink,” you clarify. You elect not to tell her that he’d initially tried to sway you into dinner, and it was you who’d talked him down to a drink. Truthfully, you’d probably feel more comfortable getting coffee, but meeting at a bar was fine.

One drink, and if things got awkward or he turned out to be a creep you’d be out of there in a heartbeat. 

“Oh my god!! My baby Y/N, all grown up and manipulating old, lonely men for money. I’m so proud,” she wipes a fake tear from her eye and bursts into a fit of giggles.

A crinkle appears between your brow as you frown at her, “He’s not even that old,” you grumble, “and it’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

“No?” she asks, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You know, for somebody who was so against me messaging your soon to be sugar daddy, you sure move quickly.”

She laughs at the glare you shoot her way. “You were the one who started this.”

“Mhm, and you were the one who didn’t stop it. Funny that, don’t you think?”

She looks like the cat that ate the canary; smug, glittering amusement written all across her face. And you hate, more than anything, that she’s right.

Because you’d meant to put a stop to it the moment you managed to wrestle your phone back from her. Afterwards, you’d blame the lingering hurt of having your heart broken, the insecurities and bitter humiliation that plagued you, the feeling that you weren’t good enough to stop your boyfriend from straying for making you so pathetically vulnerable and desperate for approval - but when you opened the chat instead of the sleazy come on’s you expected, his first message makes something inside of you flutter, warm and pleasant.

Holy crap, you’re beautiful.

Not exactly a sonnet from Shakespeare, but you can’t remember the last time any guy, much less your ex, called you beautiful. 

It didn’t exactly hurt that instead of the aging, creepy looking letch you were half expecting, the profile picture showed a rather fit, attractive man in a crisp, black suit with silvery grey streaked hair and an easy grin. Of course, it was a fifty-fifty chance that the pic wasn’t even him, or if it was then it was outdated or heavily edited, but it was enough to make you pause.

Enough to make you… curious, if nothing else.

But ridiculously attractive or not, you weren’t going to lead him on. If he wanted some pretty, simpering thing to fuck and throw money at, to call him daddy and be his sweet, obedient little girl - that wasn’t you. You’d explained that you weren’t really sure if this was your thing, that you probably weren’t what he had in mind, but surprisingly he hadn’t been put off by that.

Well what’s the harm in finding out for yourself? Maybe you’ll like it more than you think ;)

—

There were rules, when you started - lines you both agreed wouldn’t be crossed.

First and foremost, while it wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship - at least, not the kind you were used to - it was still a relationship of sorts, and there was an expectation of honesty in lieu of absolute exclusivity. You’d tell him if you were seeing anybody else, and Bokuto would tell you the same. Considering sex was on the table, it made sense.

You swore right from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to become financially dependent on him - you knew all too well that relationships were fickle things to begin with. That kind of dependency was half the reason you were in this position in the first place, and you wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that happen again. That didn’t mean that the arrangement wasn’t transactional. After a few initial meetings that went better than you expected, the two of you came to an agreement; a nice little sum of money he’d deposit weekly in your account in exchange for you being there when he wanted you. Dinner dates, skype calls when he’s travelling, spur of the moment weekends away in expensive hotels - whatever he wanted... within reason.

The thing is, despite his flaws - the little funks he gets into, his immaturity despite the age gap between you, the way he clings to you, mopes if you don’t pay him the attention he wants - you genuinely like Bo, he’s oddly endearing. Loveable, even. He reminds you a little of a puppy; eager for affection, bright and boisterous with boundless energy (and enviable stamina). He’s sweet and adoring and funny and he has this uncanny ability to make everything else fade away when you’re with him, to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room, beautiful and perfect and entirely his-

But that didn’t make him your boyfriend. 

You weren’t lovers, and whether it was in two weeks or two years, you both knew this arrangement had an expiration date. And because of that, there were no strings attached. At any point, either one of you could end it without an explanation - no questions asked, no feelings hurt. 

—

Truthfully, you don’t know an awful lot about Bokuto’s line of work, only that his position within the company is senior enough that he can move around his schedule pretty much as he wants, leaving him free to see you whenever he likes. 

Which wasn’t a problem when that was once or twice a week. 

“Sorry, Koutarou, you know I can’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

The petulant whine that echoes down the phone fills you with an odd sort of  guilt. “Why not? You said no on Friday, too,” he pouts. “I miss you, baby. Wanna see you again.”

You shove down the faint, flickering unease that nudges at your gut. You’re not his girlfriend, and you find yourself wondering whether or not he sometimes deliberately lets himself forget that.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you frown, “I told you I have work today. It’s too late for me to try and find someone to cover my shift, and if I call in again-”

You can kiss your job goodbye. You’re already on thin ice with your boss, and it’s not like new waitresses are hard to find these days. 

“Well… what time do you finish?” he asks, his voice thick with dejection, as if he already knows what your answer’s going to be.

You bite back a sigh, “Late. I’m on close again.”

The short silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “… I’ll come pick you up afterwards.”

This time you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes, “Kou, I’m gonna be exhausted, I won’t be any fun to be around.”

“Still wanna see you. You’re always working,” he grumbles. “Feels like you don’t have time for me anymore, baby.”

Slowly your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. It always comes back to this. “I need this job, baby. We’ve talked about this… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have the whole day off, I’m entirely yours.”

“All mine, hm?”

You smile, “All yours, promise.”

He hums in acknowledgement, not entirely happy, but temporarily placated. “Fiiiine. But I’m holding you to it.”

As if you expected any less. “I have to go get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you later,” he promises, and you hang up a moment later. 

When he said that, you assumed that both of you were on the same page as to what ‘later’ meant.

Three hours into your shift, you hadn’t expected to return from the kitchen to find a grinning Bokuto lounging in one of your booths.

“He asked for you specifically when he came in,” one of your coworkers tells you, shooting you a playful wink. “Didn’t know you were into silver foxes, Y/N. But I can’t say I blame you, he’s hot!”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter distractedly, glancing over your shoulder to check your manager wasn’t watching before making your way over.

The smile on your face is tight as golden eyes flicker towards you. “Bokuto,” you begin quietly, “what- what are you doing here?”

An odd look passes across his face at the use of his family name, but the smug grin remains. “You said you had to work tonight,” he says with a cavalier shrug, as if that explained everything. 

“Yes, because I’m working! Kou, I need this job, I can’t-” you break off with a huff, darting another glance over your shoulder. Thankfully, your manager’s busy berating your co-worker for a screwed up order and hasn’t noticed your absence yet.  

Taking advantage of your distracted state, Bokuto reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking back and forth along the back of your palm. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here to work, I get it, baby. I’m just here for some food, cross my heart,” he swears, drawing an imaginary X over his chest with his finger.

Gently tugging your hand back, you ignore the hurt little pout he gives you. “So you decided to drive twenty minutes across town just to eat here?” you ask, trying to keep the exasperation from colouring your tone. 

He shifts a little in his seat, cheeks flushing a dusty pink under your narrowed stare. “… Well, maybe I wanted to see my pretty girl, too,” he admits, “But I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Somehow, his words don’t fill you with confidence, but what are you supposed to do? Kick him out? Snap at him for coming despite the fact you told him not to? Taking a deep, steadying breath through your nose, you force yourself to relax. Bokuto’s not hurting anybody by being there, and so long as he keeps his hands to himself, so long as he behaves, it won’t be an issue.

He’s a paying customer, and you’ll treat him just like you would anyone else who walked through the restaurant’s doors.

Yet despite trying to reassure yourself of that, you can’t escape the niggling sense of unease sitting in the pit of your stomach. Even if he’s the perfect gentleman tonight, the perfect stranger, you’ve worked hard to keep your boring day to day life and the one you’ve created with him in nice, neat, separate boxes. Bokuto hasn’t met your friends or your family and outside of Misuzu they don’t have a clue about your arrangement with your attractive if somewhat clingy benefactor.

You don’t want them to know.

Him being here threatens that - it makes you nervous.

But you’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know that you can’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, and you definitely don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. It’s a conversation for another day.

Instead, you allow a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips, “You know the food’s pretty average here, you might be disappointed.”

Bokuto grins again, mischief sparkling in those golden eyes, and your traitorous heart skips a beat. “Yeah, don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he leans in closer, “I’m far more interested in what’s for dessert.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as he snickers. 

—

For the most part he keeps his hands to himself, but you can’t quite bring yourself to relax when you can feel those golden, hungry eyes burning a hole into your back as you move around the restaurant serving other customers.

You pretend you don’t see the scowling glower he sends to the harmless office-worker who spends a good forty five minutes flirting with you every time you go over to check on his table.

Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small army and stays until close, leaving a more than generous tip on his way out. 

It goes without saying that he waits for you to finish up. The moment you slip out the door, calling out one last goodnight to your coworker, he’s on you, pushing you up against the brick alleyway wall, hiking your legs up over his hips as his mouth attacks yours, greedy and eager, swallowing up any and all protests you might’ve had.

He doesn’t take you home like you ask, but back to his penthouse suite, and neither of you get much sleep that night.

—

You’re halfway through washing your hair a few days later when your shower head splutters once… twice… and stops completely. 

A blockage in the plumbing, your landlord informs you rather apathetically. It’s affecting the whole floor and it’ll take at least a day or two to get somebody out to fix it properly, leaving you without running water for the entirety of that time.

In hindsight, there were at least three other people you could have (and probably should have) called first, but he’s already answering the phone before the thought even occurs to you. 

And then it’s too late to backpedal. You find yourself grateful that he can’t physically see the way you flush and fidget, pacing around your living room as you awkwardly try to explain the reason you’re calling at ten in the morning. 

“Would, I mean, i-is it okay if I come over to use your shower? Just for this one time, mine kind of got interrupted this morning.” 

God, from the way you stutter, stumbling over your own tongue, you’d think you were asking him to marry you. You’ve spent the night at his countless times before, but asking for a favour, even a small one like this - maybe you’re toeing an unwritten line in the sand? Bokuto isn’t with you because he loves you, he’s with you because it’s mutually beneficial for both of you, because of an agreement. 

He wants fun, easy, not you saddling him with minor inconveniences. Calling to ask him to come save you, albeit from something as mundane as a lack of access to a functioning shower, feels like something you’d ask your boyfriend to do. 

Not your sugar daddy.

But just as you’re about to backtrack and apologise for interrupting his morning, he speaks. “What d’you mean? Just come stay with me till it’s fixed.”

He says it with such certainty, as if it’s the most obvious solution and for a moment you’re stunned into silence. “A-are you sure? I don’t want-'' Don't want what? To be an inconvenience? A problem? “I don’t want to be in the way,” you finish lamely.

Bokuto just laughs, “Don’t be stupid, baby, of course you won’t be in the way. Just swing by the office and I can give you the keys. Or I can just get you another set made? I don’t know, we can figure it out later. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?” 

And you have to admit, as apprehensive as you were stepping into his penthouse alone for the first time, showering in Bokuto’s fancy ensuite bathroom (which you’re fairly sure is bigger than your actual bedroom) is a hell of a lot nicer than doing it at home. The lotions he has are all expensive brands with french names you’ve never even heard of before, but they smell amazing and they leave your skin feeling all soft and silky. Even the shampoo he’s bought for you to use is far nicer than the one you have at home, though you’re secretly pleased that its scent’s similar - your favourite, actually. 

Did he buy them knowing that or was it just a coincidence, you wonder. You never thought to ask. 

Without work, or Bo for that matter, to occupy your time, you decide to take advantage of his gigantic TV, opening up Netflix and settling into his ridiculously comfortable couch… 

… And wake, a few hours later to the feeling of fingers carding through your hair and a pair of lips pressing against your cheek. 

Bokuto’s home, you realise with a start, and there’s drool on your chin. Face burning with embarrassment, you hastily wipe it away with the back of your palm and try to sit up, only for Bokuto’s hand to wrap around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“No, don’t get up, baby,” he says, easing down onto the couch beside you and shifting your head onto his lap so he can continue threading his fingers through your hair. “I like coming home to this.”

Still half asleep, curling up and nuzzling further into those warm, thick thighs of his, you miss the intensity of the adoration burning in golden depths as he coaxes you back to sleep.

—

The two of you are in bed, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm slung over your waist and knuckles brushing idly along your side, when Bokuto breaks the comfortable silence. 

“Move in with me.”

You tense in his arms, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, you’re almost positive that you misheard him. “I-I’m sorry?” You push yourself up onto your elbow, turning your head so that you can look at him properly.

But Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “Move in with me,” he repeats, golden eyes bearing down on you.

The expression on your face is frozen halfway between disbelief and hysteria, and you’re staring at him, waiting for that stupid grin to break across his face, for him to laugh and tell you how ridiculous you look, because of course he’s joking.

He’s joking, right?

“Koutarou,” you begin slowly, “Wha- I don’t… Why would you want me to move in with you? We barely- I mean, we’re not…” 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I? It makes sense. My place is bigger and nicer, and I like having you here with me. Feels right.”

It feels right??

“I-I can’t just move out of my apartment, Kou.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he huffs, “Why not? It’s a shitty apartment.”

“That’s not the point!” Knocking away the hand that reaches for you, you push yourself all the way up until you’re sitting properly. “I don’t want to move.” 

Owlish eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking. “Why not? It makes perfect sense for you to move in here with me. You wouldn’t have to work at that stupid job anymore for one,” he huffs. 

“Bokuto, I’m not going to quit my job,” you mutter. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Why, though?!” he explodes. “You don’t need the money, I’ve told you I can take care of you, whatever you want, baby, name it and it’s fucking yours. You don’t need to work and you don’t need that shitty little apartment!”

Like a crystal glass slipping from numb fingers, the fantasy you’ve convinced yourself you’ve been living shatters into a thousand jagged shards in the space of a single breath.

Oh, how naive you’ve been. How fucking stupid.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale deeply, “Kou, that’s not-”

Strong fingers grip your jaw, and your eyes shoot open as he tugs your face back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out, but it’s the intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, the blank expression-

“I love you.”

—

39 missed calls. 72 unread messages. 

Flowers, bouquets of roses, peonies and chrysanthemums piled up by your door between boxes of chocolates and other gifts you won’t bring yourself to open. 

Wide eyed, Misuzu gingerly steps over them, holding two steaming mugs in hand. “Holy fuck,” she murmurs, and for the first time since this stupid, awful mistake began, there’s not a trace of mirth to be found. “Y/N, I…”

But she doesn’t have the words, and you can’t blame her. 

“He told me he loves me,” you sigh. “He asked me to move in with him and told me he loved me, and I grabbed my clothes and all but ran.” You still can’t get the image of Bokuto’s face out of your head, the raw, aching hurt swimming in his eyes as you all but stumbled over excuses in your haste to get out of there. But he didn’t lift a finger to stop you, didn’t say another word.

He just watched numbly, hunched over against the headboard as you fled.

There’s a short beat of silence between the two of you as she sets down the drinks and collapses into the chair beside you. “And… do you love him back?” 

Exhaling loudly, you drop your face into your palms. “I-”

You like how he makes you feel beautiful, the filthy, wonderful praise he lavishes you in when the two of you sleep together, the way he touches you, fingers and mouth so eager to please as his cock fills you, inch by delicious inch.

You like being adored, treasured, and you liked Bo, but… you don’t love him.

That was never on the cards, that wasn’t what your relationship was.

Every line he ever crossed, every boundary he toed, you keep replaying them again and again over and over in your head like a never ending loop. You hadn’t even wanted this whole stupid sugar baby relationship to begin with, and every step of the way he was the one to coax you forward.

And you let him, swallowing down your doubts and your insecurities each and every time. You let him think that this was something else entirely… 

How had you not seen this coming?

“No,” you admit.

The hand that takes yours is soft, and when you glance over with eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, Misuzu squeezes it gently. “Then end it. Walk away.”

And with your head on her shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around you, you type out a short message to Bokuto. No strings attached and no questions asked, you’d promised each other that much when you’d started this mess. You wonder if it still holds true. 

I’m sorry. Clearly we were on different pages and want different things. I didn’t mean to lead you on or for things to go as far as they did, but I can’t do this with you anymore. 

You send it and block his contact, and when the tears come and painful sobs rip their way free, Misuzu holds you tight and murmurs soft reassurances. It’ll pass, all breakups hurt.

—

A week after your ‘breakup’ you get a notification on your phone that money’s been transferred into your bank account. 

For a moment, you think that maybe it’s an accident, a recurring transaction he’d simply forgotten to cancel (you doubt he’d even notice) until you click into the transaction itself.

It isn’t the sum itself that startles you - twice the usual amount - but the short note attached in the description.

I need to see you. Please.

You transfer the money right back into his account.

—

Without your weekly supplement from Bo, it doesn’t take long for you to come to the realisation that your current salary just barely covers rent and your bills, and if you want to eat anything other than two minute noodles in the foreseeable future, you’re going to need either more hours, or a second job. 

Thankfully, the timing works out well. When you go to your boss with your most winning smile to try and convince her of your plight, she simply shrugs and agrees, having had to let one of the junior staff go only a few days before. The one catch being that instead of working a mix of morning and afternoon shifts with the occasional closing thrown in, you’re now exclusively on close, five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday.

Mostly, it doesn’t bother you. The shifts are long and you always leave feeling aching, drained and barely human, but usually it’s quiet enough, and so long as you can get the last few lingering customers out early enough, the actual close runs pretty smoothly between you and the other staff. 

It’s not what you really want to be doing, but you’ve learned to make the best of it. This is adult life, and for the first time since high school, you’re supporting yourself entirely. It might not be the greatest job in the world, and there are absolutely days when you just want to throw in the towel completely, but there is a slight pride to that fact. You don’t need anybody in your life to coddle or support you, you’re figuring this shit out as you go along.

You just wish, sometimes, that you could do that without having to work until the early hours of the morning.

On paper, the kitchen closes at midnight and the last customers are supposed to be out within half an hour of that. Then, between yourself and another server, you can usually get the restaurant tidied up and closed a little after one. 

You knew right from the moment you clocked on that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. The girl who’s supposed to be on close with you called in sick and your boss hasn’t bothered to replace her.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to close by yourself, but it’s still a pain, especially when the last few customers take forever to finish up and leave. 

One of the kitchen staff offers to stay back, his bag slung over his shoulder, hand already on the door handle but you just shake your head with a tired smile. 

“Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though,”

To his credit, he doesn’t immediately take the offered out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Without any help, it takes almost twice as long for you to finish up, and it’s a little after two when you finally flick off the lights and lock the doors.

Your feet are killing you, and all you can think about is sinking into your bed at home, burrowing into your blankets and sleeping for a week straight-

“Hey, baby.” 

Leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his broad chest and eyeing you with an unreadable expression, is Bokuto. 

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

There's nothing inherently threatening about him being here, but it’s the middle of the night, you haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and you don’t need to glance around to know that the car park’s empty. There’s nobody in sight.

Just you and him, and the few feet of distance separating you. 

“K-kou, what are you… what are you doing here?” 

He smiles at that, the way his name slips from your lips, but only for a fleeting second. It fades, and a cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“I missed you, y’know?” He pushes off the hood and takes a step towards you, “You didn’t call me.”

He’s always been bigger than you, towering over you looking like some Adonis with those rippling, powerful muscles of his. You used to like that strength, squealing in wicked delight when he’d hoist you up with a grin, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, your back shoved up against the wall so he could drive his cock deeper into ‘his pretty fuckin’ pussy’. 

But that was then. 

You’ve never been scared of his strength. Even that morning in the apartment, he didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or yell, he just… shut down. He wouldn’t hurt you, you know that.

That doesn’t stop you from skittering backwards like a frightened little bunny, your back hitting the wall.

The very moment you do, you watch as his eyes widen in surprise, hurt flashing for a split second-

-before they darken, his face twisting into a scowl, and you can’t escape the feeling you’ve made an awful mistake. 

Dread creeps its way up your spine, tightening like a vice around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your brain is screaming at you to run, adrenaline surging through your veins, but even as your heart races and your breathing spikes, you can’t seem to move your legs.

It wouldn’t make a difference even if you could - with your back up against the literal wall, Bokuto and his car blocking your only escape route, you’re trapped; a fact that hasn’t escaped either of you.

Paralysed in fear, you can’t so much as twitch as he takes another slow, calculated step forward.

Desperately, you open your mouth - to try and placate him? To apologise? Scream for help? - but all that escapes is his name in a choked, breathless whisper. 

“Bokuto…”

As he stares at you, he almost looks regretful.

Almost, if not for the grim determination resolving like steel in those golden eyes of his. “I love you, and I know you love me, too,” he says, closing the gap between you. “I’m doing this for us, baby.”

[pinkiepiebones]

I very much need to do graduate studies but I also need to articulate some thoughts.

This “ghouls are manufactured via a gruesome ritual,” personal-headcanon-divergent-headcanon I’ve been writing will be called the Halloween ‘verse for the sake of organisation. Beneath the cut is a comparison of my main headcanon ghouls versus the Halloween ‘verse ghouls.

Main Headcanon: Ghouls emerge from primordial ooze in Hell. They are fully formed- that is, they do not go through growth cycles. There are no newborns, no “kits“ as popular fanon likes. They have no genders. Ghouls simply come in to being when they are needed. They climd down a portal in Hell which leads them up to a portal in the basement of the church.

Being nameless, they are the lowest of the low in the heirarchy of demons. Their default forms are mostly the same- they all have a very dark, almost black skin that, upon close inspection, is pebbly, or perhaps shark-like. They all have cloven hooves but their legs bend like a humans. Their fingers end in curved black talons not unlike a bird of prey’s. Their hair is not hair, but actually akin to very thin feathers. Their faces are featureless grey “plates.” Their wings are mostly bat-like but do not conform to any sense of anatomy, as ghouls do not posess bones, muscles, organs, etc. Their horn and ear shape vary. Their tails are long and thin and fairly prehensile and the tips denote elemental affiliation. Each ghoul has some degree of control over their element. Earth ghouls all have an ability to influence the growth of plants, some can bid seeds to sprout just by holding them. Water ghouls can move water, walk and seim in it gracefully, even conjure it. Fire ghouls are immune to being immolated, some radiate heat, and and some can conjure small flames. Air ghouls are skilled at floating and hovering and can bid anything from a pin to a group of humans to float and fly as well. Aether ghouls have a deep sense of planetary alignment and are atuned to the mystic and metaphysical, some even help clergy choose tarot decks or crystals for spells.

All ghouls speak telepathically. Their speech causes most humans to feel great discomfort so they seldom speak to humans. Ghouls do not eat as they do not possess mouths, teeth, etc. All ghouls can use glamour to disappear their wings, tails, claws, horns, and ears. They can also shapeshift their surfaces to mimick human skin or the look of clothing. It takes effort and tome to learn to shapeshift more elaborate things, like mouths. Only the band ghouls and Special work on more elaborate shapeshifting.

Special Ghoul emerged from Hell like his siblings, but was simply built different. Satan himself may have had a hand in altering Special. No one’s sure. His telepathy doesn’t upset humans the way his siblings’s does, he chose to refer to himself as a male, and his shapeshifting ability appears to be greater than that of other ghouls. Special is the only ghoul to have taken an active interest in human cultures and the only ghoul to have fallen in love with a human- Copia.

🌕

Halloween ‘verse: A ghoul is a reanimated human corpse. A human, the “vessel,” is bound at the wrists and a black hood is placed over the head to obscure the face. If the vessel is a volunteer, they are allowed to remain conscious. If the vessel is a kidnap victim, they are usually beaten into unconsciousness or heavily drugged.

Once the vessel has entered the ritual circle (it used to be drawn on the floor, but frequent use has necessitated the need to hammer silver metal into the stone to create a permanent spell area), the face must not be seen again until the vessel has been murdered.

The vessel is usually drowned in a deep bowl of ice water, though some have been smothered to death with dirt or simply choked with rope or hands. It is paramount that, however the vessel is killed, no blood is shed in the process. The death must be bloodless for a succesful ritual.

Once the vessel is dead, the throat is cut for confirmation. After the throat is cut the hood is removed and the facial skin and muscles are carved off of the corpse. For a wholly successful ritual, the face must be peeled as one whole piece, not in strips or bits.

After the face is removed, a mask is applied. The mask is made of clay from the church grounds mixed with ashes from funeral pyres. The mask and the corpse’s flesh fuse and the corpse is commanded to rise. If successful, fire will light the eye sockets of the mask, signifying the union of the dead body and a demon. The corpse rises and is a newborn ghoul.

Finally, the ghoul must eat the face that was removed in order to create it. This stmbolises the complete death of the vessel and the destruction of that past existence. The ghoul can now be commanded.

Over the next several weeks the ghoul’s body will change to accomodate the demon residing inside it. The mask may alter, become more or less shiny, or growing horns, or gaining or losing features. Skin may rot or shed or drip off. The ghoul may seek to dig a hole and bury itself for a time. It might build a nest and climb in and light the nest and itself on fire. It might weigh itself down and sink to the bottom of the church lake. it might climb onto the tallest point of the church roof and spend days on its back up there, letting vultures tear at it and letting lightning strike it. It may steal elixirs and medicines and chemicals and crush gemstones and ingest mixtures of these things. These behaviours denote the ghouls elemental affiliation (Earth, Fire, Water, Air, and Aether, respectively). After anywhere from a few days to several weeks the ghoul will return, properly alligned to an element and fully ready to serve.

The ghoul can move and behave and speak as a human, but it has no memories of what it was before it was made to rise. The personality and voice and interests of a ghoul, therefore, are not the same as the vessel’s. Ghouls can talk, eat, drink, bathe, smoke, fuck, and so on… but they can never remove their masks. The mask is fused by Satanic magic to the corpse. It is possible to remove a mask, but it takes great effort and is to be done only in the most dire of circumstances as it destroys the ghoul. If a ghoul’s mask is removed the demon is dead and the corpse immediately decomposes to the appropriate stage- for example, if the mask of a ghoul of three years was chiseled off, the corpse of the vessel would deteriorate to the three-years-dead point.

Special Ghoul was the result of a botched ritual.

[jungshook69]

Love is a myth :: 01

DISCLAIMER: This doesn’t represent the members’ actions or the army’s actions in any manner it’s pure fiction. This is an original work, do not copy. The taglist is open if you want. Taglist is now closed.

WORD COUNT: 4.1K words

MAIN PAIRING:  musician! Yoongi X waitress! female reader

SIDE PAIRING/S: Jungkook X female reader ; Taehyung X female reader

GENRE: FWB! au ; Strangers to lovers! au

WARNINGS: Implied smut (Forgive me cuz I suck at writing it, no puns intended) ; Mentions of alcohol and smoking (I do not condone smoking) ; Profanity ; Mentions of infidelity ; Heavy angst ; Self loathing (Namjoon’s about to wack me in the head with his slipper) ; I apologize in advance if there’s any spelling errors.

SUMMARY: "You covered your bare form with the silk sheets beneath you, as you watched him walk out your door without a word." // "Love is a myth. All that existed between you two was pure lust." // "The last rule was if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off."

SERIES MASTERLIST: Trailer » Meet the cast » Chapter #1 » Chapter #2 » Chapter #3 » Chapter #4

STATUS: Complete

You lay on your bed, chest panting, as you tried to catch your breath. Your hooded eyes fluttered open to meet the familiar sight of a white ceiling fan rotating at a painfully slow speed. Your forehead and bare chest were lined with beads of sweat as you felt the mattress dip beside you. You turned your attention to his presence, as you were met with the sight of his bare back sitting upright, his hands working hard to put his white t-shirt back on. You watched as he pulled on his boxers, followed by his jeans and walked over to your side of the bed.

You covered your bare form with the soft silk sheets underneath you as you watched him come closer to you. No, he did not lean in for a passionate good bye kiss. No, he did not bend over and embrace your petite form against his warm chest, and run his calloused fingers along your naked back. None of that was part of what you both had come to terms with. Your curious eyes followed his movements as he bent down to grab his beanie off of the floor next to your side of the bed.

He slipped on his beanie and his jacket which was strewn across your chair, not moments ago. Without a word, you watch as the man’s dark figure retreated from the shadows of your bedroom. You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding, as soon as you heard the front door click. Being too tired to get up and wash up, you let your tired eyes take control, as you drifted into a deep slumber.

//

You awoke to the sound of a woman’s high pitched voice yelling, contrary to most people waking up to the sound of a disturbingly loud alarm. You immediately recognized the voice to be the sound of your neighbors engaged in a routinely loud domestic argument. Maybe this time her husband accidently burned an egg on the stove, or maybe this time her toddler broke a vase, the possibilities were endless. In your time living in your apartment, you had heard your neighbors engage in a variety of arguments. The daily bickering of your neighbors, your parents’ marriage, and a certain someone from your past, were the exact reasons why your take on love was the way it is now.

 Was love overrated according to you? Nope, that wasn’t the case. You just didn’t believe love existed at all. You believed that love is a myth.

 You had higher priorities in life, like maintaining a proper work ethic, to earn for a living. You were one of the lucky ones whose day didn’t start at 6 in the morning. Instead your job required for you to be present quite later, at around 11 in the morning. But, to be fair, your job extended further into the next day, as far as 2 or 3 in the morning sometimes. But you did prefer your current work schedule better, as you were kind of a night owl.

 You freshened up, and had a hearty breakfast composed of a buttered toast and some chai tea. Yes, unlike the people around you, you were one to prefer tea over coffee. You couldn’t count the number of times you’ve had this discussion with your colleagues. You soon got dressed in your uniform consisting of a tight white blouse, a black pencil skirt that hugged your curves, paired with classic black pumps. You didn’t forget to put on your silver ring with a black J carved into it, the one you’d taken off the night before, when you were engaged in a scandalous activity with a certain someone. You grabbed your purse and your warm grey winter coat, as you stepped out the door, ready to start your day.

 //

 The bus ride wasn’t too bad, although you wish you had enough strength to pull the window which was stuck, close, to stop the cold winter breeze from grazing your bare calves. But as soon as you entered the warm ambience of your workplace, your coat long forgotten, your mind focused on getting the job done. You walked across the rows and rows of empty tables and chairs, your heels making minimal noise against the rich carpet, as you made your way through a pair of steel doors, tying your apron around your waist. You grabbed a checklist attached onto a clipboard, and detained your responsibilities as the senior head waitress.

 “Okay, do we have the 5 kilograms of sundried tomatoes from Tony’s farm?” you’re sharp voice rings through the hustling and bustling of your colleagues. “Yes ma’am!” you here a response over the ruckus of boxes being unloaded. Doing inventory was a hassle, but you were determined to complete the responsibility laid on your shoulders. About an hour of screaming later, you were wiping off the sweat that had accumulated across your forehead. “Good job today guys, we did inventory, 30 minutes early.” You said, a small smile tracing your thin lips. Although you were stern, you knew how to appreciate your colleagues work. They all gave you small smiles as they headed off to freshen themselves up, to get ready for opening up for business in 30 minutes.

 You were in the washroom, touching up your deep wine lipstick, when the door flew open, followed by the click of heels against the marble floor. You caught her reflection in the mirror as you turned around and greeted her. “Hey Maria…” you said, not a trace of enthusiasm in your voice. If there was one person who you could stand the least in your workplace, it was Maria. Contrary to you, she was born with a silver spoon. She was the restaurant manager’s niece, and had been given a job here, despite her inexperience. You never had a problem with that, but it’s when she ran against you for the post of senior head waitress, you grew envious. But fortunately, the manager saw beyond just blood relations, and fairly granted you the promotion, as a result of all the blood and sweat you had put into it.

“Hey…” she mumbled, plainly as courtesy, and no real kind intention, as she walked towards the mirror and began brushing through the strands of her short black bob. Unbothered by her presence, you began to tie your long brown locks into a low braided bun and brushed your outfit free from any existing wrinkles. Your eyes drifted to the adjacent female’s form and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. You were pretty proud of how you looked. It’s just that you failed to be confident about your body, unlike her, who flawlessly flaunted her curves. Before you could overthink you left the washroom.

 //

 10 minutes left to opening time, you were setting folded napkins down by the pristine glassware and silverware on a table, when you heard the small bell chime, alerting you of someone entering the restaurant. You look up and immediately lock eyes with a man with deep brown feline eyes, his hair a pale mint green, contrasting with his all-black attire. Min Yoongi. The same man who was hovering over you last night, the same man whose throat was voicing your name out loud, the same man whose teeth had left evident marks on your body, multiple times in the last 2 months. You shifted your gaze onto the butter knife in your hand, and all you could think about was stabbing the man in front of you senseless, and then stabbing yourself, for doing what you did. But then again, lust was a dangerous greed in your mind.

 You walked away to a table farther away from the entrance, while your eyes carefully watched as he uncovered his guitar from the case, and began setting up a mic on the center stage, right under the spotlight. “Hey, do you need help setting up?” you heard Maria ask him. You caught from the corner of your eyes, her figure bending over to his seated one on the chair, her hand landing on his shoulder. You were pretty sure his unwavering gaze was fixed down her shirt. “No I’m good.” He huffs and gets back to working on the speaker settings for his performance. You let whatever feeling was building up in the pit of your stomach subside as you left the two, making your way back into the kitchen.

 //

 Before you knew it, the whole day had gone by with you running in between tables, jotting down orders on your little notepad, and running back and forth between the loud and chaotic kitchen and the quiet and luxurious ambience of the seating region. This was your life, maintaining a calm composure, fit for a classy 5-star restaurant accompanied by casting several missed glances at a certain musician playing a beautiful rhythm.

 You placed a martini at a table with a family of 4. You observed the man to be wearing a rich tuxedo finished with a neatly tucked pocket square, the woman was adorned with elegant pearls and dressed in a midnight blue gown, a small girl, embezzled in what appeared to be her mother’s gold jewelry and dressed in an obnoxious pink frilled dress. A small boy of around the age of 5, who was seated right next to where you were standing, cast you a nasty glance as you watched his hand topple the glass, spilling all the contents onto your skirt. You audibly gasped, but remembered to lower your voice and not make a scene, luckily your skirt was black. The woman at the table said nothing, her eyes fixated upon her rich manicure, while the man glanced your way and muttered a small “sorry”.

 You were used to being treated this way. You were used to seeing families like this, all adorned with a picture perfect image on the outside, while you knew that their souls were writhing on the inside. You whispered a small “its okay sir” and worked on cleaning up the mess at the table. The small girl reached out to pick up a napkin and just as she was about to hand it to you, probably to help dry your skirt off, you felt her mother’s cold glare harden on her daughter, as the small child dropped the napkin and sheepishly returned her gaze back onto her lap. You sympathized with this little girl you barely knew, because you too were once in her place.

 Your parents were just like the many families you had encountered at your job over the years. They maintained a perfect image on the outside while no one knew the hell they put you and themselves through inside the doors of your home. You remembered every time your mom had scoffed at you for helping someone with a lower status than yours. You remembered those endless nights of bickering when your mom and dad had lectured you on how you couldn’t let your proper image waver when you had told them that you wanted to pursue your true passion of playing the piano. You remembered the night that you watched your father slap your mother across her face in his study, the talk of divorce ensuing. You remembered being frightened and packing your bag, stuffing a roll of cash in it, and jumping out the window and escaping.

 You were jolted back to reality as you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders. Maria’s disgusted face appeared as she whisper-shouted in your ear, “What do you think you’re doing? Stop day dreaming and get back inside the kitchen, I’ll take their order!” You were about to correct her for the manner in which she talked to you, her superior, but decided to do yourself a favor, and leave the room before any more humiliation could follow. Although you remained unaware of a certain pair of eyes sharply watching your movements.

 You entered the bathroom and worked on getting the stain off of your skirt. As soon as you were done, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your attire still remained remarkably presentable, but the dark circles etched below your eyes, were beginning to uncover from underneath the heavy concealer. Your eyes drifted towards the empty bathroom stall behind you, and you couldn’t help but form a tiny smile. You remembered the time, a week ago, when you and Yoongi had occupied the stall in a very risky endeavor in between his 10 minute break, and had almost been caught by the head chef, who had come in there looking for you.

 You knew what you and Yoongi had was toxic, but so was your whole take on love. Everyone from your parents to your neighbors and just about everything in your life had convinced you, that true love didn’t exist. You only believed that a greed called lust existed. And all you thought was that you needed relief for the same. About 2 months ago, when you were getting drunk off your ass for getting promoted, you had run into Yoongi. He had been playing at the restaurant, alternating between piano and guitar, for just as long as you had been working there. He had always caught your eye, and if you were being brutally honest, you loved watching him do something that you couldn’t do, play piano.

 No sooner had the words “Wanna get outta here?” been spoken, you had ended up, about 20 minutes later, squirming underneath him, grasping his shoulders and moaning shamelessly, your cries contained inside the walls of his bedroom. What was commendable though was that you both had managed to keep your word so far. You both had devised a set of rules, no cuddling, no sweet goodbye kisses after doing the deed (making out before doing the dirty wasn’t counted), no going on dates, consent was always necessary, no leverage, meaning you both were free to engage in personal affairs with other men/women as long as you promised to remain safe, and the last impending rule being, if anyone of the two of you caught feelings for the other, the deal would be off. You knew these rules sounded ridiculous, like you were writing your own constitution, but it was necessary for a relationship, where you both were doing this purely for relief, for lust.

 You shook off your smile, and headed out of the washroom. You continued doing your chores, till it was finally closing time. The rest of the hour until midnight passed by as you and your colleagues worked on going through the gigantic pile of dishes. Of course it wasn’t part of your job but you’d rather spend time here with your colleagues than sit alone in the darkness of your humble abode. You also didn’t want to deal with any sort of unnecessary feelings arising, when you saw Yoongi leaving the room, Maria clinging by his side.

 “Hey wanna join us for a beer?” said Mark. He was one of the few kind friends you’d made at this job, along with his girlfriend Jackie, and another girl Maya. “Sure what have I got to lose?” you say, grabbing your coat. Before you knew it, your 3rd beer bottle was hooked to your lips, as you gulped the liquid down, drowning your worries.

 “Man, Maria’s a bitch huh?” Jackie spoke up. You loved her spunky personality, and she was straight forward like you. “Yeah lol” you say.

 “Don’t be so mean Jackie…” Maya speaks up, only halfway through her first beer bottle. She was shy and timid, contrary to Jackie, but she was too pure for this cruel world.

 “You’re just saying that because she’s never been mean to you.” Jackie stated matter-of-factly. “Amen” her boyfriend Mark said clinking his bottle with her’s.

 “I never saw her be rude to you though” Maya says innocently. “Does her shoving her chest into my boyfriend’s face on purpose in front of me count?” Jackie says rolling her eyes and scoffing.

 “I swear I was so freaked out.” Mark said laughing. “If it weren’t for Jackie ‘accidently’ shoving her face into the cake, I don’t know how far she would’ve gone to seduce me.”

 “That was the best day of my life.” I said laughing. “Guys don’t be so loud, she’s right there” Maya whisper-yelled.

 Everyone’s eyes turned to follow Maya’s line of sight and the image before you made your heart clench involuntarily. You watched with disgust, as you saw Yoongi’s tongue literally down Maria’s throat, his hands running up and down her form.

 “She won’t be able to hear us bitching about her over the loud music anyways so it doesn’t matter…” Jackie said breaking your gaze away from the pair. “By the way, guitar guy is hot innit?”

 “Yeah he’s pretty cool, he has good taste in music based off of the songs he plays” Mark says. You were not surprised to see that Mark didn’t get jealous over his girlfriend calling another man hot. You only wish you were so secure about your relationships.

 After a moment of silence excluding the loud club music you spoke up, “I think I’m gonna head home now guys” you said looking at your watch. “It’s 2, holy shit!”

 “Yeah we should get going too actually…” Mark said, getting ready to lift Jackie up. “Maya how’re you gonna get home?” you ask, genuinely concerned.

 “Oh actually… my boyfriend is gonna pick me up…” she said timidly. “You have a boyfriend?” Jackie yelped.

 “Yeah… see you guys…” she said rushing out of the place before any questions could follow. You bid Mark and Jackie goodbye, not wanting to wait for the war of tongues that was yet to ensue. You glanced over once again only to find a certain pair missing. You tried to suppress the unbeknownst feeling bubbling inside you, as you headed home with a heavy heart.

 //

 You weren’t too drunk as you had a high tolerance for beer. You decided since your apartment was only a few blocks away, you would walk. You were used to walking on the streets alone at night, as your job required for you to stay back quite frequently.

 Along with the familiar click of your heels on the concrete, you heard a periodic scruff of shoes on the concrete behind you. You turned around to see a man, head hung low, hood covering his face walking at a pace similar to yours. To be honest, you weren’t afraid of things like these. At least that’s what you told yourself to brace your inner coward self. But living alone all these years, basically living with just scraps from when you were 16 years old and had escaped, had prepared you for a lot of conditions for the best. You decided to walk faster, the streetlights casting a warm yellow light across the two of you, highlighting the game of cat and mouse you were playing.

 About a minute later, the steps of your apartment came into view, which gave you some new found confidence. You halted and turned around swiftly and yelled, “You gonna follow me up to my apartment or are you gonna make your move any time soon?”

 The man walked a few steps forward and uncovered his hood, revealing his pale face under the moonlight, his shocking green hair catching your eyes. “Min Yoongi…” you said rolling your eyes.

 You ignored the man and went up to the steps leading up to your building and took a seat. You watched the man linger not far behind you and finally make it to you, as he stood beside you, laying an arm on the rails. “Why were you following me?” you said, obvious annoyance laced in your voice.

 “It’s 2 in the morning… I felt like taking a walk…” he said nonchalantly.

 You huffed and fished out a cigarette and a lighter out from your purse. Lighting it, you brought it up to your lips and took in a huff of smoke. You leaned your head back, letting out the puff of smoke into the night sky, your head feeling light. “Seriously why’re you here? Do you want sex?” you said rolling your eyes.

 “Not everything is about sex Y/N…” Yoongi spoke up, his deep raspy voice sending an untimely shiver down your spine.

 “Between us it is…” you say softly.

 “It doesn’t have to be…” Yoongi replies almost too immediately.

 “We made the contract mutually you dumb fuck” you say huffing in another breath from the cigarette in your hand.

 He walked around you and took a seat next to you on the cold steps his hand extending forward. “Who said we can’t talk like normal friends?” he says as you knowingly pass your cigarette into his willing hand, watching him, as he took a puff too, before crushing it underneath his boot.

 “Sure” you say sarcastically rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you have your hands full with a certain friend already” you scoff.

 He raised his eyebrow at you only to have you roll your eyes again. “Maria seems like a pretty good friend… ya know how she lets you shove your tongue down her throat, anytime you want.”

 “Ahhh… So you were at the bar huh?” he says, although you remain suspicious of the fact that he knew of your presence beforehand.

 “Yeah, and I for a fact know, that no one can be friends, without any pure intentions of lust hidden behind it.” You state.

 “Then what about Mark?” he says looking at the empty street before you both.

 “Yeah he’s the only male friend of mine, without any intentions.” You scoff.

 “You never know…” Yoongi murmurs.

 “He’s dating Jackie for Christ’s sake!” you say annoyed, clearly understanding his tactic.

 “Oh…” he says an unnoticeable trace of guilt hidden in his voice.

 “Were you seriously trying to make me jealous by hooking up with Maria in front of me, just because you thought me and Mark had something going on between us?” you ask in disbelief.

 His silence confirms your suspicions. “Oh lord! Were you dreaming when Jackie and Mark got caught making out in the store room?”

 “Hey, I don’t know what the hell goes on beyond those steel doors okay? I get in, play music, and get out… I don’t have a social life at my job like you do!” he huffs out.

 “I’m sorry…” you say, although it hurts your pride.

 “I’m sorry too, for the whole Maria thing… call it even?” he says giving you a small smile.

 “You don’t have to be sorry… it’s part of the deal… you can engage in personal affairs with anyone else, it’s your choice… I have no say in your life…” you say staring at the ground.

 “Well I’m sorry for following you like a creepy stalker… I was just making sure you got home alright… call it even now?” he says a small giggle leaving his throat.

 You didn’t try to question why he was worried about you walking home, because you knew that argument wouldn’t lead anywhere sensible. “Call it even.” You respond looking into his eyes, returning his smile.

 The gaze grew uncomfortably long before you spoke up, “I should get going…” You stood up brushing your skirt. You didn’t know whose cursed soul possessed you, but your heart took control of your actions before your head could stop you, and your hand landed on his shoulder before you pulled him in for a short kiss. You backed away to meet his wide eyes, which was expected as you, the strict rule enforcer, had gone back on the rule, ‘no sweet goodbye kisses’.

 “I-I’m sorry I’m drunk…” you blabbered.

 “No it’s okay… I didn’t mind…” he mumbled out the last part, too soft to hear.

 You panicked and immediately tried to draw attention away from your actions. “Eeeww I just indirectly kissed Maria.” You whined.

 Yoongi broke into a loud laugh “Ayy I made sure to rinse my mouth off before I followed you here”.

 “Oh… were you expecting to sleep with me?” you ask confused.

 “N-No not at all… I know you’re tired tonight.” Yoongi said rubbing his neck and backing away. “Well I should get going… friend” he said smirking.

 “Alright, see ya… friend” you said returning his devious smile with a smirk of your own. With that you went up to your apartment and went to bed with a not as heavy of a heart as you expected.

«Previous :: Masterlist :: Next»

A/N: Don’t forget to follow @jungshook69​ for more content:) You can check out more works of mine here. Have a great day:)

TAGLIST: -

[silcrow-story]

Salvage III

The Past Peripheral

Dana walks upstairs just as soon as she’s sure June’s left, tries not to catch her eye as she walks by. Her hood’s back up, her tears have dried; she appears as composed as she can.

As she opens the door to her apartment, she becomes acutely aware of how tired she is. She’s been awake for just shy of twenty-four hours; she flips her phone open to check the time, make a mental note of it. 09:03. She’ll need to make it through to sunset, yet.

She can hear Nadia pacing back and forth in her room; the walls aren’t all that thick, and it’s not such an unfamiliar sound. She marks a pang of sympathetic worry in her chest, sets her cup of coffee by the sink, and walks to the far end of the kitchen, turns left at the window, steps into her room.

Once she’s at rest, face-down on her air-mattress, sleeping back spread half-open, she tries to clear her head of all thoughts of the present and future as yet haunt her. She likes to slip into the past when no-one’s looking; if she’s careful and she keeps her hands steady, there’s nothing can hurt her there. She’s had no such luck with the present. Fuck it, she thinks, the cutting-room floor can have the rest, and lets a neatly edited memory wash over her, envelop her like an autumn wind.

Another equinox, and 1500 leagues away; a shallow field awash in mid-afternoon sunshine. It’s not really all that far from civilisation – indeed, it’s within an arm’s reach, if she cared to, but she doesn’t, and for the moment it’s a world apart. Not quite warm, not quite cool; not still nor silent but subtly alive.

It’s a shallow scene, but for now it’s enough to get lost in, as the amphetamines in her blood dissolve into inactive metabolites. Only one or two ghosts here, she thinks, and only shadows to fight. It was a simpler time; she doesn’t even mind that particular cliché. She can’t hear Nadia’s pacing anymore; maybe it’s the two sets of walls, maybe Nadia’s taken a moment to lie down herself, maybe Dana’s simply sufficiently sequestered in reverie. It’s alright like this, she thinks. And it is, for the moment.

She’s casting a sidelong glance at a ghost as a cloud passes over the sun. She’s rarely lonely in these memories, the ones she’s set aside as outposts of retreat. The grass is green but drying as the season starts to turn; it’s dying, and it goes without a fight. And yet, and yet, despite it all, the witch-hazel in seed alights on some soft breeze, borne on by thin white strands that seem all to few to bear the weight of new life. New life was all around, then, even in the face of winter’s coming on; perhaps, then, there is new life now, despite cruel summer that she knows comes hence – it’s a notion that’s easy enough to entertain, from the safety of this scene.

But the present moment intrudes, like a knife between two ribs, and the set falls away and Dana tosses and turns ‘til she’s left alone on the sound-stage, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, and there’s a crack in it as ever. Behind her eyes, and above, and out, there extends some black corridor, the lights therein having burnt out at once in maybe a dozen frames between them. A dozen frames duly lost, disposed of, swept away.

Two hours pass in relative quiet, and relative peace; while she can’t quite fall asleep, Dana can at least rest her eyes, and let the redness fade, and breathe.

~

In the room across the kitchen, Nadia’s stopped pacing, although her racing thoughts have yet to slow. She’s given June her number, and she’s said she means to get back to her when she’s sorted all this out, and she does. It took her a full minute after June left to realize that she hadn’t even thought to look at what, besides her name and address, might be written in the notebook to which she’s still holding on so tight.

And so she lay out across her bed, and hesitating only slightly, opened it to the first page, and found it entirely blank.

She hadn’t been sure what she expected; it wasn’t that much of a letdown. And now, as she reclines again, she almost wants to keep looking, press on. The longer she lets the thought linger, the more she supposes there must be something in there, after all, that the book mightn’t’ve come to her under such circumstances for nothing, and –

– and so she gives into the temptation, and takes a look at the second page.

Which second page is blank as well, but that’s to be expected. She doesn’t stop before turning to the next one, and the next one, and the next, the pages tumbling one by one, a mid-tempo cascade. A crescendo, tense and off-kilter. A page, and then another.

~

Christopher doesn’t want to think about death, as he passes the gas station, heading west-southwest, walking as fast as he can manage without really exerting himself. He doesn’t want to think about death, but it’s an inevitability when he’s out walking around this time of day. The song that’s playing isn’t that much help; the singer’s pleading desperately that someone might remember him, hanging on tight to his only hope, and Christopher wishes he couldn’t relate quite so much as he does.

He’s lived in this college town for several years now; it’s been several years since he’s been a student. He doesn’t think all that much about his two brief semesters of study at the university these days; he’s had other things on his mind. Though he’s held his ground, this town, his almost-home, for so significant a fraction of his life, his mind remains cluttered with images – places, voices, memories, some his own and others not. He knows this gas station, and a few others; the convenience stores, most all of them; St. Peter’s Hospital and its blessed, damned emergency room; much of the college campus, the fountain, the sculpture; the stairway up the hill, from 19th Avenue to 20th; the list goes on.

So, too, does Christopher go on, past a grocery store and an apartment complex and the high school and its baseball field, and another apartment block, and finally the traffic light at the intersection where he crosses the parkway to stand kitty-corner from the State Archives. He’s been walking toward the sunset, but now he turns away, and sets off uphill, toward his final destination. He’s got an appointment to make, and he knows it; he exhales sharply, raises his hood, and tries to let his music drown out the passing traffic.

The trees rise tall around him and the soft, slow song surrounds him in a tenebrous indigo haze, the swelling sub-bass a premonition of the twilight impending. The clouds are perforated, now, punctured as to let stray beams of early evening light pierce through and dapple with marbled shadows the ground beneath the boughs through which they pass. Nonetheless, the atmosphere, the signs of imminent rain, all have yet to pass. The singer’s deep in love and fear, and feeling trapped, her voice arcing from a dark half-whisper to an empassioned cry as she pleads for her beloved to see, to bear witness, to notice her if only as an afterthought. Christopher pretends once more that he’s not in her shoes – it’s just a song, it’s just a nice song – and sets his own shoes to the pavement, and presses on; the branches of impassive evergreens above sway on, and shatter all kaleidoscopic his thin shadow.

~

Hours earlier and just a block or so west-southwest, June’s leaving Nadia’s apartment, trying to gather her thoughts. It’s fairly early yet, all things considered, and there aren’t many people about; in her going back she passes just one figure, furtive in a hoodie, face freckled with the falling rain from whence she’s stepped, which figure stands still briefly before walking by, wordless. June’s too preoccupied to pay her much mind.

She’s only slept an hour or so out of the past twenty-four; she had to rise well before dawn to make on time the spot that Christopher’d prescribed. She knows she needs to get some rest, but she’s still thinking, about Nadia and the notebook and how she’d not once opened it, not once. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

It’s still on her mind as she unlocks her own apartment door, blue-grey, cold steel handle, brass key. It’s all but underground, apartment 20, room D; her room’s only window looks out on the rocky embankment and shallow depression in the hillside into which the complex as a whole is wedged. She imagines it’d make most any other tenant a bit uncomfortable; the lack of natural light in the morning, the proximity to the sidewalk and the parkway’s traffic overhead. June doesn’t mind, really. She takes some strange comfort in her room’s position – it’s surrounded, and so in some implict sense protected. Once she’s inside, door locked behind her, overhead light switched on, she surveys her room and all her scattered thoughts at once.

Her room’s only slightly cluttered, but all that’s scattered around gives the impression that there’s more clutter than is actually present. Clothes are strewn across the floor; the desk beneath the window’s covered in stray papers, and the several spiral-ring notebooks from whence they’ve been torn. Her laptop’s still open on her bed; the battery’s running low. It’s become a bit overwhelming, June realises for the third time this week, having so much up in the air. So many diversions, and Nadia, and Christopher, and whatever’s in that notebook only amount to one more. One more cul-de-sac, one more dead end…

Her train of thought careens into oblivion as she notices she’d been wondering about the contents of the notebook for the first time. It wouldn’t have been right to look, she thinks, so why am I regretting it now? It’s really Nadia, if anyone, who needs to know.

June takes off her glasses and closes her laptop and tumbles into her twin bed. She can’t remember the last time she’s had a good night’s sleep, and so she closes her eyes, and wonders briefly if there’s anywhere she ought to be right now. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her; sleep, first, and then dreams.

She doesn’t realise she’s dreaming at first; the feeling is real, even if the setting isn’t. She’s lying down on something, hard metal, brushed steel, bleachers. It’s a soccer pitch, and it’s late at night, but there’s something different about the sky here. It’s vast, and as close to black as blue can get, and there are more stars than usual – so many more that it’s striking first, then more captivating with each passing moment.

As she watches this foreign starfield, June gradually becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone. There are a few ghosts there with her – perhaps two or three, their faces half-turned away from the camera in shadow. She doesn’t recognise them quite yet, and she doesn’t feel especially obliged to. The stars wheel above her, and she begins to notice the planets among them; first Venus, then Mars. It’s spring, she decides. The air smells like spring. It’s Aries season, and she can tell by the nip in the air that she’s up north. Up north, and west of somewhere; she’s too fascinated by the fractals forming from the depths of the firmament’s parabola above.

She gets to her feet, eventually, and feels dizzy, feels like she’s falling, and that’s when she realises it’s a dream. She doesn’t want to wake just yet, though, so she holds on tight, and stands straight and tall as she can, and stays a while longer.

~

Nadia’s still in her room, flipping through page after page. She’s not really sure what she’s looking for, at this point. Some indication, perhaps, that the book was hers, or that it wasn’t – surely, it was left where it was for a reason.

Around the twenty-first page she begins to notice marks – not words or letters, just faint pencil-strokes. As she sees the first her breath catches in her throat; the mark itself bears no significance to her, but its presence there does. Someone was here before, she thinks, and shivers at the thought. This wasn’t just something I’d lost and forgotten; somebody gave this to me.

Of course she wonders why, but at this point that question seems far out of reach. What could be the use of wondering why, when it’s not even clear yet just what it is that’s happening. She’s begun to feel altogether out of her depth, and the water-line only rises higher and higher still as the stray pencil strokes begin to articulate themselves into shapes, lines, symbols, and then, at last, numbers. Coordinates, Nadia realises, then, numbly. They’re coordinates. 4*.***, -12*.*** . The datum doesn’t carry any significance to her, on the face of it; she’ll have to look them up later. It’s the implication of their presence that gets to her; the idea that she’s being directed, being by some unseen force guided unto a destination. Just like June was, she thinks, and shivers again, and closes the notebook. Would it be more senseless to go, or not to, she thinks. Is this ‘Christopher’ the one behind it all, or is he being strung along, just like we are? What is there for me to lose? What, if anything, might I stand to gain?

There are far, far to many ambiguities for her comfort. She’s got to work tomorrow, got other things to attend to; she hasn’t, after all, much time to invest in this sort of game. But regardless of what it could mean, regardless of its potential to be a scam, a fiction, a trick, it’s not so easy a thought to let go. Open questions have a way of doing that, of worming their way into a consciousness before their intrusion is even noticed, of quietly yet constantly. A mystery is a vulnerability in the mind’s defenses, a slowly spreading crack in the walls and ceilings, a stray pencil-mark on a white blank page that renders itself with time entirely indelible.

Nadia knows what she has to do, and so, reluctantly setting her notebook aside, she opens her phone – it’s early evening, now, perhaps a quarter to seven – and dials ten digits, holds it to her ear, lets it ring. The rain’s stopped, outside, and there’s a gap in the clouds just broad enough to let through the window, obliquely, the pale glow of some thin sunbeam.

~

When Dana arrives at the lookout, Topher’s waiting, and she breathes a sigh of relief. It’s a beautiful sunset, over the bay, and it’s in plain view; naturally, he’s staring at his shoes. He hasn’t noticed her yet, or if he has, he’s given no indication, so she ascends the wooden tower to join him, and they stand there in silence for a moment as the red-gold radiation of the sun – not quite below the tree-line – cascades about them.

Eventually, she turns away from the sunset, looks straight at him. “I hope you’ve not been waiting too long,” she says, and she mostly means it.

Christopher takes out his earphones, shakes his head softly. “Nah.”

After another moment, he says, “Do you suppose they’ll make it?”

“Nadia has the coordinates. Nothing for it but to wait,” Dana replies. They’ll come, she thinks. He can’t think we’ve left that much up to chance.

The sun has descended all but entirely into the Pacific by the time June and Nadia pass beneath the arch of rock, walk among the trees, and glance up at the lookout, freeze when they see the figures there, silhouetted in civil twilight.

~

Hours earlier, June is still lingering in the dreamscape, walking a campus in too many layers of clothing, passing a facade of sheet-glass and aluminum. What’s beyond is all a blur of green and gold, and so she looks closer, turns to face it properly, and allows the blur to articulate itself into something vast and strange.

There rises within that strange greenhouse some titanic plant, a primordial mass of pure life, a vital, verdant relic of another age. The trunk that forms its core is one with the vines that twine about it, and the ruddy blooms that sprout thence, and the roots that seem in their writhing to set the loam in which they’re stuck to shake like something breathing – all these, and more, and stranger parts, are one being. For all the shock of its immense and bizarre form, it evokes in June more respect than revulsion; it is a thing of this Earth, no alien, no stranger. She doesn’t approach, but merely stands, looks on, her upward gaze almost supplicant.

The dream, as dreams so often do, lets the scene seem not as strange as in the waking world it surely might. And so, anaesthetized to the intrinsic anomaly of that great tree’s existence, June lets the time slip by just looking, admiring, inquiring – identifying all its tendrils’ avenues and leaves’ expanses – and at peace.

Then from the metal eaves perhaps five meters overhead there blows a wind, a warm gust from the exhaust-fans, and it rushes to subsume her psychosoma, like a flood. There is a trepidation, a murmur of spring, a stench of mould and compost, and then a fresh, sweet taste, like strawberries and sugar; the world ripples, the ghosts and their faint voices leaving first, and then the greenhouse and its denizen, and then, alas, June, and she is awake.

The call comes but a minute or two later; June’s surprised it didn’t wake her. She picks up, and it’s Nadia; she’d known, somehow, it would be.

Nadia says hello, and says she was looking through the notebook, and asks if she’s free to come over, because there’s something she wants to talk about. June’s only a few doors down, and curious as ever; so, despite the fact she’s only just awoken, she says she’s on her way, and hangs up, and steps outside.

The air is crisp and clear, the clouds shot through with early evening warmth, as June enters the parking lot, and tries to clear her head. The endeavor doesn’t go far, and it only takes her a moment to decide against it; she’d rather have less on her mind going in, she reasons, as she starts up the two flights of stairs to Nadia’s apartment. She’s trying not to wonder what she’s walking into; in this effort, at least, she is successful.

Having reached the blue-grey door, and facing the number 12 in cracked black plastic stuck thereto at eye level, she knocks for the second time that day.

~

Dana wakes up slowly, despite never really having slept. Her bags are packed, and she’s ready to go, more or less. She flips her phone to check the time – 6 minutes to 7 in the evening. She was making good time before; now, alas, she’s running late. Topher must be there already, at this point, she thinks, and is only just stepping out the door to her room when she’s stopped in mid-stride by a knock at the door.

Before she can decide to dart back inside her room, or to answer the door, Nadia’s stepped out, crossed the kitchen, noticed her standing there. Dana glimpses the notebook she’s got clenched in her right hand – is June here already? I s’pose we won’t be waiting long, then…

And then Nadia’s opened the door, and June is stepping inside. She seems surprised to see Dana standing there, across the kitchen, by the bright blue folding chair and tense, and unsure what to do. Dana’s not quite sure why, but she hopes June doesn’t recognise her from earlier; June cocks her head, adjusts her glasses, tries to decide whether or not she does.

“Oh, hi! You...you must be Nadia’s roommate,” she says, with as much xeniality as she can manage through what’s left of the haze of dreams about her head.

Dana cracks a smile and says she is, and she’s sorry, she was just on her way out and didn’t mean to interrupt; it’s an evident affectation and she knows it, but June and Nadia step aside, and Dana leaves, and sets off to where her associate waits.

Moments later, in her room, Nadia’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading off coordinates; June just stands and listens, wide-eyed – no less confused, and no less curious.

“...and so I looked them up, the coordinates,” Nadia says, almost breathless, livelier than June’s yet seen her, “And they’re like, right here. At the lookout in the arboretum. Did – did Christopher or whoever it was mention anything like this?”

“He didn’t say anything about- no. He didn’t say much at all, really, and I hadn’t had the time to ask, and I didn’t look. Didn’t look in the notebook, I mean.”

Nadia hunches over a bit, looks down at the dusty beige carpet, furrows her brow. A moment, still and taut, goes slowly by; June feels awkward, but she simply stands, and waits, and another moment goes by. Then, at last, Nadia raises her head, and looks June dead in the eye, and says exactly what she was hoping to hear.

“What say we go check it out?”

[bookbornexiv]

the sea at the bottom of the sea

(wol and hythlodaeus check out azem’s apartment. warning: unedited and full of shadowbringers spoilers up to 5.5, despite which i clearly retained absolutely zero knowledge of any lore)

You heard it sitting on the docks south of Wright, a fishing rod in your hands and sea-spray salting your dangling feet and the mad cries of gulls in your hair; a story told through mouthfuls of sandwich by one dock worker to another, drifting to you like a thin thread of destiny over the pounding heartbeat of the sea in your ears and in your bones. You were thinking about fish and other such things, you had your eyes half shut to better feel the sun's warm kiss on your face. To better ignore that you should probably be actually doing or preparing for some important duty right now instead. To better forget that there was something you came here to remember.

"There's a sea at the bottom of the sea, and another sea at the bottom of that sea, and another sea at the bottom of that one. But below all of that, if you swim hard enough, you might see a city..."

You can see it now on the back of your eyelids, the shadows of spires and spirals like arms unfurling to welcome you, that city at the bottom of the sea. But you know it's not really a city, that the tale-telling dock workers are right. What looks like a city is just another sea, emptied of water and filled instead with memories so fluid, anyone could be forgiven for thinking them the real thing.

And you find yourself wondering, what's at the bottom of that?

*

You find, without much surprise, Hythlodaeus waiting in the lobby of the building when you eventually locate it. You fold your arms as you crane your neck back to gaze accusingly into his masked face. You really could have used his help three or four bells ago, at the front desk of the city council, or at any of the departments they eventually relayed you to like a ping-pong ball. At any of the points in time which you found yourself explaining over and over again, to a different face wearing a very slightly different mask, that you didn't have any identifying documents, you didn't have any legal or law enforcement credentials, but all you wanted to know and didn't see the harm in them telling you was Azem's mailing address. A PO box would have been fine. Finally, your patience wearing thin, you had to withdraw and hide in a back alley to surreptitiously make some coffee biscuits on your portable stove, craft a cute little paper box to put them in, and then - wearing your most winsome smile and the Amaurotine robes you'd kept from the first time you'd been run around doing errands here - rocked up to the concierge of the first residential building you could find, intending to say you had a cookie delivery for Azem but you'd forgotten the unit number exactly. To your crestfallen surprise, the lobby is entirely empty of staff and residents alike, and only Hythlodaeus is there, beaming at you in your cleverness.

"I didn't do anything," you say.

"Azem was always moving. When you're never in town and very charming but also very bad at arranging for bills and rent to be paid on time, you can't keep a place for long," Hythlodaeus explains. "Landlords get fed up and somehow Emet-Selch or I would end up with the eviction notice, we'd have to come around to make sure everything was safely put away in storage for the time being... Azem never even remembered how to get to any of them either. You're doing better. Very impressive."

You give him the box of biscuits. You're not sure how he's going to get any use out of them, but he looks delighted anyway, and tucks it carefully away somewhere in his robes.

"Shall we go up? You'll need me to press the lift buttons. You can't reach them."

You also end up needing his help to reach the lock on the apartment door, which you are completely unsurprised to find out he has a spare key to. For a moment, as he fumbles with the stiff lock, you find yourself backing up a little bit, holding your breath, as if that locked door were a rock over the mouth of a volcano already in the throes of an eruption. Later you'll ask yourself why you were so nervous, so anxious, what you were thinking you might see when he opened that door. For now your mind is a blank - one that, mercifully, remains so as Hythlodaeus wiggles the doorknob free and pushes the door open. "Welcome!" he says, brandishing one long arm gracefully to usher you in. "Watch your step. And your hands."

You don't take a step towards the open doorway. "Watch out for what? For cubus? Did Azem keep cubus as pets?"

"No, no, I mean it might be dusty. I don't remember if anyone arranged for weekly cleaning."

You finally let go of that long breath you had been holding. Dust you can deal with. You are the Warrior of Darkness. The Warrior of Darkness. The Warr- You clear your head, nod gratefully at Hythlodaeus and step past him, into the apartment.

It honestly is a bit of a disappointment. If you hadn't known the occupant of this unit to be a person of fairly major importance and influence on, like, an international scale, then you might have thought it pretty neat in a sterile, showroom kind of way. High ceilings and big glass windows and sleepy beige and grey accents on sleek and featureless furnishings, generic abstract paintings alongside boring black shelves on the walls, and lush plastic plants scattered about as if the designer had run out of ideas and just slapped a wall planter here or a flowerpot there to hide chipped varnish or distract from a glaringly empty spot. It isn't particularly dusty, or at least, the recreator of this physical illusion had neglected to include it, so it couldn't have been a terribly integral part of the experience. You wonder vaguely if Emet-Selch - if Hades - had been tempted to improve upon the reality of the past, even for just a little. You imagine him sneezing violently as he walked in, lifetimes ago, planets ago. The hood flying back off his head, him stomping around irritably resolving to do something about it. Does this count as doing something about it? Leaving the dust out of his recreation of a place he would have had absolutely no reason to come back to? Had he been tempted to come back to it?

"I don't know," Hythlodaeus says, as if he can read your mind. "I mean, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering if - if a memory of Azem might be here." There are more closed doors, leading out from this main room; there's a sliding door to a balcony, but you don't see anyone on the other side of that at least. "If everything was remembered into being so faithfully, so perfectly, then surely, you think, one of the most important people in this city should be here too. How could one of the Fourteen be forgotten? By another of the Fourteen, no less?" His masked face tilts to regard you in a way you want to interpret as tenderly, even though you can read absolutely nothing from its smooth, blank surface. "You're free to look. I'll just dust everything a bit and check the bathrooms. You know there's always a pipe leaking or something when you're not around to see to it."

He leaves you, disappearing into a small room which, you assume, is not hiding a snoring recreation of Azem, since he makes no startled exclamation. You think you know him well enough by now that he'd pop back out again, all excited, and wave you over to come look at Azem, if he'd found anything. If he'd found his new, old friend.. You breathe a little easier and muster up the courage to step forward, poke at a stack of books that looked like they were lifted out of the box they'd been stored in and plonked down upon a low shelf to never move again until the next time Azem forgot to settle the rent. You can't actually reach most of the stuff in here, but there's nothing that you actually feel worth taking a second look at, let alone trying to climb the bookshelves for. No portraits of loved ones, masked or unmasked, no trinkets or souvenirs one might have expected of a constant traveler, nothing that looked like a notebook or journal or even a grocery list. Nothing personal. It looks and feels like a place that had been carefully arranged to look homely and welcoming, but in reality is no one's home. You do eventually climb the coffee table and stand upon it, looking around, trying to imagine yourself about ten times taller, to no avail. No skull-splitting flash of light, no rush of memories, no sense of deja vu assaults you as the Echo had seen fit to do everywhere else. This place doesn't mean anything to you. Perhaps it never had.

You sit on the table, shoulders slumping a little, and wait for Hythlodaeus to come back. He looks at you, goes to the kitchen and re-emerges with two cups of tea, although the cup he plonks down in front of you might better serve you as a bath than a beverage. You sit on the balcony together and eat the coffee biscuits, Hythlodaeus pinching each one delicately between thumb and forefinger as one might pick up a grain of sand, and craning his neck back as he lifts it to his mouth so you never quite see the face below his mask. When you look down into the box and find it empty, Hythlodaeus says they were delicious. You remember making six biscuits and you remember eating six biscuits. But you don't mention it. It has been such a peaceful afternoon.

"Did you find what you were hoping to find here?"

You shrug.

"I suppose we can't always find what we set out to find," Hythlodaeus says. "But sometimes, you know, you find something you absolutely weren't expecting or even thinking to find. Sometimes it's something you had no idea could even exist. That's what Azem always said traveling was like, you know? It can happen even at home, but I suppose when you're on the way to somewhere else every day, it happens all the time."

You point out that that unknown 'something' could be something as bad as it could be nice. But, you concede, it's probably better to be prepared for it to be bad, while hoping for it to be nice. Otherwise, you can't imagine that anyone would ever want to leave one place for another.

"That is something Azem would say," Hythlodaeus says with great satisfaction. "You know, I think we never quite managed to meet up here and have a chat like this. It's nice to be able to sit here and talk nonsense together at last."

You look at him, wondering if a crack might have appeared on his mask somewhere, if something in this city is programmed, triggered, coded to unravel the minute someone finally acknowledges who you are and who you were in the same breath - the new old you, the old new you. You can't say in words what exactly you're expecting. Perhaps you'll hear your true name, Azem's true name, perhaps even spoken in Emet-Selch's voice rumbling from the speakers in the walls, from the waves high above the city's spires. Perhaps you want the city to crack and crumble and fall to pieces around you, only to reveal the true city at the bottom of this remembered city, the city at the bottom of the bottom of the bottom of the sea. Perhaps all you want, every time you return here, is to truly be home.

"I'll finish your tea, if you're not going to drink it."

Hythlodaeus puts the cups away when he's done, wipes the crumbs from the empty box and deposits it gently in a massive bin. You make a mental note to come back and check on it later. Can a remembered garbage disposal or recycling system actually dispose of very real cardboard, made from real pulp from real branches you cut yourself, a world away - fourteen worlds away? - in the quiet forests of the North Shroud?

"Did you know Azem wasn't going to be here?" you ask him, later, when you've taken the lift back down to the building's lobby. He is poised to see you off, standing at the exact spot he was waiting to welcome you in, long limbs arranged in exactly the same position. You wonder how much longer this simulation of Amaurot, sundered from its creator, will stand, can pretend to function, pretend to live. Is it beginning to loop things to conserve resources? Is that even close to a guess at how this place works?

"I wasn't sure," Hythlodaeus replies. "We didn't open any of the other doors, after all. And Emet-Selch complained about Azem being absent almost as equally as he complained about Azem... Perhaps he felt it was more true to memory not to recreate Azem in Amaurot. Perhaps he was stubborn enough that he didn't care and did it anyway... In the old days I'd have offered to bet on the outcome. But these aren't the old days any more and anyway, you're here."

"I am," you agree. "But I gotta go."

He lifts a hand to wave you goodbye. For a moment your heart leaps to your teeth, but it's not the same way you remember Emet-Selch waving at all. But it's also, excruciatingly, bone-meltingly painful and endearing and wonderful all at once. You don't want to stop looking at him, and you don't want to leave. And yet, and yet, and yet, you find your feet turning and then you're facing the doors, walking out into the emerald light of the sea-sky over Emet-Selch's Amaurot.

*

It turns out there really is a city at the bottom of the sea at the bottom of the sea, but it's not your city any more.

[liarsweapon]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒  .

full name.     Lady Cassandra Dragana Dimitrescu / Princess Mallymkun Rosalie Morae nicknames / aliases.  Cass, Cassie, Huntress size.  5′10″ age.    Unknown, already fairly older than average humans prior to transformation. Post transformation has been over 70 years.  zodiac.    aries spoken languages.     Due to her mother wanting the girls well versed, she’s fluent in: English, French, Slovakian, Slovene, Russian, and many others. 

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒  .

hair colour.   Dark brown eye colour.   mismatched: Right is fully silvery grey, and she’s nearly entirely blind in that eye. Her left is a golden shade. Despite her partial blindness, she has worked around it to develop near perfect aim. skin tone.    Ashen pale, nearly looks dead, if not for the deep red of her lips.  body type.     in humanoid form, she looks thin, but she’s actually quite muscular. When she’s the swarm of blowflies, they’re mostly round, with razer sharp teeth.  voice.    surprisingly soft given how domineering she is.  dominant hand.   left posture.   proper, due to her mother.  scars.   cadou infection point in her head, which remains permanently bruised and visible, except when covered with her hood or her hair. Her collar-like choker covers a thickened, though nearly entirely faded due to her rebirth, scar from her past life. She’s dotted in multiple scars from her past life, but wouldn’t be able to point them out to you. She can’t see them. she doesnt remember them.  tattoos.     most have faded once she was transformed. She used to have runes dotted along her skin, though not tattoos, they looked enough like them to pass. Her witchy mark on her forehead is much the same: not actually a tattoo, but most would assume it to be. It’s not as fully formed as Bela’s is, but it is close. Looks primarily like a rose wrapped around a dagger, in front of a dusted moon.  birthmarks.   none most noticeable features.   See nearly anything above. 

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃  .

place of birth.  Past life: Castle of the House of Spades, rebirth: Castle Dimitrescu hometown.   see above siblings.    prior: Miseris Moraj, twin brother but she doesnt remember him. Who she knows now is only Bela (older), and Daniela (younger)  parents.   former: vas moraj the white knight, and feina morae, queen of spades. she knows neither of them. |  now, only knows her mother, Countess Alcina Dimitrescu

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄  .

occupation.   huntress, Lady of House Dimitrescu current residence(s).     House Dimitrescu close friends.    Adrian, her sisters, Alice, she doesn’t really have friends.  relationship status.   lol financial status.  mom’s rich driver’s license.    doesnt know what that is criminal record.   literally a mass murderer vices.    curiosity

𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄  .

sexual orientation. pan is most likely, but she struggles with emotions preferred sexual role.   domineering in all situations, but could maybe let someone else take control in that case. maybe.  libido.     unknown turn-ons.   someone caring for her unconditionally, someone who wants to slaughter with her that isn’t her family, someone who’d be okay with her stabbing them and tying them up, tbh turn-offs.   men that act like they know better than her, literally anyone who tries to tell her what to do that isn’t her mother.  love language.     despite everything, she wants that closeness she’s heard in stories. she wants to know what it means to be loved unconditionally by another she isn’t related to. she likes to make things for others, and lets the warmer, caring side of herself show. however rarely, she does have a sense of concern, and wouldn’t let her family hurt someone if she truly cared for them. though, it takes a lot to get there.  relationship tendencies.    the first sort of relationship she had in her past life was literally the older brother of the guy she was super deeply in love with, and he viewed her more as an object than a person. only helped her escape the first time because he didn’t want the prince she was going to be forced to be with to have her, not because he wanted her freedom either. the second ditched her for another girl after she had given up that freedom to keep him alive. she doesn’t have a good track record. given she doesn’t remember either of these situations, nor has she had a relationship since the transformation, it’s unknown how bad they’d be now. But likely she’d be the worse one now. 

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒  .

character’s theme song.     Pre rebirth: Lost Again by R/achel Rose M/itchell, and I/vy by T/aylor S/wift. Post rebirth, Fill The Crown by P/oppy hobbies to pass time.    Leatherworking, blacksmithing, she likes to do things with her hands. Even if she struggles to really see them. She used to sing and care more for music, but her voice in song has some emotional power connected to it now, and she doesn’t like using tricks to win a fight.  mental illnesses.     oh sweetie  left or right-brained.    probably right? phobias.   isolation, losing her family, losing a fight self-confidence level.     she’s overly confident in her ability regarding just about everything, a drastic change to her past life. 

tagged by   : @folkesange 

Tagging: whoever wants to do it tumbs lost it twice already its so much shorter now than it originally was cries ( will tag now that I think a bt it: @hallucineugenics @dimitresca @greenherb @ekcn @rapoarte @redflds @terrorgone​ @thunderbringer​ n anyone else interested!