#and that there is indeed time and space for them to have had a brief conversation

[the--highlanders]

thinking about the implications of jamie having had a massive fight with his brother the last time he saw him, and then never seeing him again until he died, vs. jamie having a massive fight with two in evil of the daleks, and then believing he'd been effectively killed by the dalek conversion. hm.

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part Three MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: noncon nudity, noncon touching, graphic depiction of injuries

It takes some test runs, but you eventually figure out your arm and shoulder are okay, though your collar bone likely isn't. You're lucky there - as far as you can feel, if it's fractured at all, it isn't compounded and you'd much rather heal a clavicle than a shoulder. Your cheekbone's fucked though; you can feel how it sinks into your face in a way it never has before, and blood pools in your sinus cavity, infects your saliva. It's likely going to need surgery, though you doubt your current ride is headed to a hospital. If you survive this, you'll end up with a pretty lopsided face, you figure.   If you survive this indeed, though.

You count distance in the taste of fabric on your tongue. As hours and miles pass, the cotton fades from heavy copper, to salt-lick piquant. The trailer heats with the rising sun, metal hull hotboxing you in. The tight space you're kept in is padded, probably for sound proofing though you're almost grateful for it, given how it prevents you from burning yourself on the corrugated siding.

It's hard to guess how much time passes. It feels like days, but the trailer does not go through a cooling cycle, nor do you die of dehydration, so you assume only a handful of hours pass. You spend them drifting in and out of consciousness, wishing you had enough wherewithal to try escaping. Unfortunately, with the heat and the dark comes exhaustion, and with the adrenaline crash comes intense pain so you do little more than catalog injuries when you can concentrate enough to do so. 

It takes some test runs, but you eventually figure out your arm and shoulder are okay, though your collar bone likely isn't. You're lucky there - as far as you can feel, if it's fractured at all, it isn't compounded and you'd much rather heal a clavicle than a shoulder. Your cheekbone's fucked though; you can feel how it sinks into your face in a way it never has before, and blood pools in your sinus cavity, infects your saliva. It's likely going to need surgery, though you doubt your current ride is headed to a hospital. If you survive this, you'll end up with a pretty lopsided face, you figure.  

If you survive this indeed, though.

Poor Ash. She may have been a pain in the ass, but no one deserves to go out like that. It's hard to stop the tears when you think of her but you try anyway, knowing full well that further inflaming your face isn't going to do anyone any good. You wonder why they kept you alive - why Ash didn't make the cut. Or, did, you suppose. Maybe they felt two victims would have been too difficult to deal with. Maybe they thought Ash, who was still able to get around quite well, would've been too much of a handful. 

Maybe you're trying to reason with hurricane season, as it were, find rationality where there was none. These men were motivated by something you'd never understand and perhaps it was best not to waste your efforts on it. Still, it's hard to move past Simon and Gaz's brief exchange. 

'For cap?'

'For all of us.'

The thought of being shared by them made your stomach turn, but the thought that there was another one - one they evidently often brought victims back home to - that was even worse.

'Captain,' you sneer. You can't help but picture some old geezer who couldn't pull his own victims anymore; real Texas Chainsaw shit. The boys would probably have to hold you down so he could wax poetic at you about what a good hauler he used to be, help him lift a tire iron so he could get his rocks off. It would be enough to make you laugh, if it didn't feel like the tire iron was already whaling on you.

Still, you suppose knowing your fate lies with an old man and his lackeys is better than the alternative; even in your current state you know a truck with a soundproofed false back generally spells human trafficking for anyone with the misfortune to find themselves stuck in one. Your prospect doesn't make you happy by any means, but you suppose the enemy you know is better. Even if that enemy is a group of known killers. 

It's not too long after the trailer starts to cool that the quality of the roads changes; long, smooth interstate giving way to potholed, winding highway. You grit your teeth each time you're jostled, groan every time you remember your jaw is actually your biggest source of pain. 

The passiveness with which you wonder about our whereabouts surprises you, but you're so exhausted you don't hold yourself too accountable for that. It's not until the truck slows to a stop that you sit up straighter, heartbeat hammering when the back up alarm confirms your fears that you have arrived at your destination. They let you sit for a while after. Long enough to get cold. There's the occasional sound of air brakes firing and you figure you're in some sort of lot. You try yelling for help a few times, but between the gag in your mouth and the soundproofing around you, your cries go unanswered.

At least you hope that's the reason. Otherwise this entire lot is filled with people who are in on this potential trafficking ring and Simon's words echo even more ominously in your ears. 

A quiet rattling form the end of the trailer tells you when they open the doors hours later. The truck engine roars to life seconds after, backing up the final few feet necessary to slam into the loading dock hard enough to make a gruff voice from within yell. 

It's unfamiliar, makes you steady yourself harder against the unknown quality of it. You figure this must be Cap, feel some small sense of satisfaction when the old, ragged voice matches what you'd pictured. You listen intently as pallets are cleared away, the loud clatter of the jack ringing even through your soundproofing. There's a lower murmur of laughter, the boys regaling the older man with a story you can't quite hear but can definitely infer. When the truck is fully unloaded, their heavy boots tread the short runway - Johnny's truck, then; you'd wondered who you'd been riding with -, their voices coming clearer as they draw near. 

"- banged up, but mostly from the crash," you hear Simon rumble. 

Johnny's next, his grating brogue echoing within the trailer, "Well, except her nose. We can thank Gaz for that one."

"She can thank herself for it," Gaz snarks back, and you would bite your tongue if you could. There's a beat of silence. You can almost feel the heavy gaze their silent captain turns on Gaz, prompting him to elaborate, "She ran. Not very fast. When I caught up, she tried bite me so I headbutted her a little."

"A little!?" Johnny cries, but is cut off by a gruff scoff.

"No way to treat our new guest, Kyle. Go on, make it up to her. Bring her out here."

You expect something dramatic, like a flood of blinding light or strong hands reaching in to yank you out. Instead, when the panel is pulled back, the indirect light from the building is mostly blocked by the row of bodies in front of you, and Gaz squats off to the side, body language friendly and inviting despite the coldness you can feel radiating from him. This man hates you, you can feel it. You remember how he wanted to kill you, wish you could tell him the feeling was mutual. Rather, you stare at him loathingly until he tires of your inaction, leans in to grab you by the zip ties that bind your feet and cuts them with a knife you didn't even see him pull. When he grabs your wrists and pulls, you resist as much as you're able but in the end you're no match and he pulls you from your hideaway with little more than a grunt of pain and annoyance when you elbow him in the ribs.

"Feisty one, is she?" the captain's low growl observes and you turn to the newcomer with fury in your eyes which stalls out when you take him in properly for the first time.

You're disappointed to discover he's not as old as you'd been expecting. Nowhere near, in fact. Mid forties most likely, early fifties at absolute most. And densely built enough to speak of a physicality far younger. None of them were small, but the captain still managed to look big among them - nearly as tall as Simon and just as broad as Johnny, though it looked a little leaner on him given his height. You think the worst part about him is how genial he looks. Like Gaz, he's a brand of handsome that comes with charm and approachability, and you wonder how long it will take for that facade to crack like Gaz's did. Worse, if it ever will.

Certainly, his voice is disarmingly sweet when he greets you, coos and calls you a dove. "Weren't lying were they, love? Did a number on the poor girl, Ghost."

Simon - Ghost? - grunts in acknowledgement, motions for you to step closer. You don't, of course, and get a sharp shove from Gaz which sends you stumbling toward the larger men, caught by a firm hand on your bad shoulder. You yelp, breath heaving behind your gag as Cap adjusts his grip, studying you by your hip instead as his eyes dart to Simon.

"Shoulder. Maybe collar bone. Happened when she flipped her car." When you flipped it. Right.

The older man tuts dissapprovingly. You try to swat his hands away but stumble without his support. He ignores you anyway, hand returning easily while the other reaches up to carefully grip the edge of the duct tape. "Can't be easy to breathe in there, can it doll? Not with that poor nose. Let's get this off, shall we? Easy," he soothes, voice a low pur. His task hurts like hell anyway, the sticky strip pulling your tender, swollen skin. He's gentle about it at least, murmuring sympathetically when you can't contain your whimpers. You don't judge yourself too harshly when a few tears slip through, but do very much so when his thumbing them away twists your stomach unexpectedly. 

It's just because you haven't seen tenderness all night, you reason, and resolve yourself against him, even as he removes the gag with utmost delicacy.

"That better, dove?" he asks when your breaths come quicker, deeper. It's like resurfacing after being submerged for too long, clarity coming to you like a cold breeze on soaked skin: this is a calm meant to put you at ease, but you will die here if you become complacent.

So when Cap tells you to call him John and asks what your name is, you spit at him, blood and mucus staining his shoes.

The boys go quiet, like a record scratch moment in an old b-movie. You stare up at John defiantly, waiting for him to scream at you, hit you - anything.

Instead, he just pulls a pocket knife from his pants, grabs your bindings when you go to flinch away. "You've had a long day, love," he starts as he slips the thin blade between your wrists. Your skin is tender there, rubbed raw from the tight binds. The cool blade feels sharp despite the care he takes to aim the edge away from you, never once letting it touch your skin. "You've had a long day, so I'm going to let you get away with that this time." When he pulls against the zip ties, they cut into your skin briefly before giving with a sharp twang. He pulls one of your wrists into his free hand, rubs the raw skin there with a calloused palm before taking the other wrist in his grasp and giving it the same treatment. "But the next time you misbehave will not go well for you. Understood?"

Of course, you don't listen. Fuck this guy for real, you figure. What's the worst he can do? Kill you?

This time, when you go to spit at him, he catches it against his palm, wide hand slapping over your mouth so hard you're breifly concerned for your good cheek. You gasp in shock and pain, nearly choking on your own spit. John steps closer, one boot knocking your foot wide to let himself between your legs. He's so close, if he moved his palm you'd be breathing the same air.

As it stands, you can barely breathe at all, nose flush against the fat side of his hand. His own breath fans across your skin, heavy and hot as a bellows. The quality of it is thick, humid. You're glad you can't smell anything because it feels like it reeks. 

"Simon, she give you a name?"

Ghost's uncomfortable movement is obvious in its silence. "Took to calling 'er Betty."

"Betty," John repeats, lips curling in amusement. "Like an old timey, proper little wife. That you, pet?" You wanna shake your head, fear for your sinus cavity if you do. "Not yet, eh? Gonna have to train you up first. Ease you into it." As if in demonstration, his body sags into your own, presence oppressive. "That's okay, pet. We'll start you off easy. Get you nice and clean, get you fed. In the morning, Kyle will help with your injuries and when you feel more like a proper lady, we'll try again, hm?"

You can't say anything, so you don't.

"But in the meantime, I can't let that kind of behavior go unchecked. Boys," he calls, eyes still boring into you. "Which one of you wants to help our guest clean up?"

The general din of excitement makes you flinch, eyes going wide as if pleading with the man who holds you so cruelly will do any good. When Johnny suggests they play rock paper scissors to decide who gets the honors, it's suddenly, belatedly clear to you that your murder would almost be a kindness. No, the worst thing this man could do for you would be to keep you. John sees it the moment you realize this. His grip eases, eyes softening in some gross perversion of kindness. He strokes your cheek soothingly when Simon goes out in the first round, smiles condescendingly when you flinch at Johnny's crow of victory. John tuts at you, but says no more as he turns you toward the Scot.

"All yours, Soap," he rumbles, pushing you not ungently toward the other man. "Spic and span, you hear?"

"Aye, sir. Thank ye, sir." Johnny's hands are much harsher than John's when he guides you from the trailer, giving you no sympathy when you flinch under the harsh warehouse lighting. You try to take stock of your surroundings as you're pulled along: spare, dusty racking; a forklift in need of repair. There are multiple loading docks, most of the viewports obscured by backed up trucks. One sits vacant and you briefly wonder if there's even more of these monsters waiting in the wings before you're pulled past a dank little office. You catch sight of outdated equipment - a rolodex, a CB - but it's the shadow boxes full of military honors that your eyes lock on the longest.

Of fucking course.

The door Johnny leads you out through is tucked off the side of the building. You stumble when he pulls you down through the door, feet unsteady where they kick up dirt. It's cold outside, colder than it had been in the dankness of the trailer. You can't help but shiver, bite your tongue as best you can when your companion takes that as invitation to draw you in close and rub a big, solid hand up your arm. 

"We'll have ye warmed up in no time, lass," he promises, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. This man murdered your friend with a crowbar and dragged her around like a slaughtered animal. You expect no kindness from him. 

He orders you to strip before turning to a small station built into the side of the warehouse. You do not strip, electing instead to take off running in the opposite direction, cursing as the gravel churns loudly under your shoes. Soap swears, his own heavy boots following at a pace you didn't think his burly body capable of. Your breaths burn your chest, each pull coming labored in your blind panic but you refuse to slow or relent, ignoring the flaming pain in your shoulder every time you swing your arm forward for propulsion.

Well, you ignore it until the ground comes tilting up to meet you, your body crushed beneath the considerable weight of one grunting, cursing Scot. You sob at the pain, or maybe the fear - hard to tell. When he levers himself off you, he wastes no time grabbing your ankle as he stands up, towering over you. If you were capable of stringing two thoughts together, you'd wonder if this was the last thing Ash saw: pale blue eyes gleaming in the low light, the cruelty that twists his face. Instead you wonder how likely your arm is to maintain full mobility after a night like this. 

Not very, you decide, sobbing in pain as he drags you back to the warehouse. He's muttering something above you, but you can't hear him over your own cries. When you kick at him futilely, he yanks on your ankle until you fear for it and you don't try it again. Not even when he gets you where he wants you, back under the wan outdoor lighting of the station he'd turned to before, crouching down next to you to rip at your shoelaces.

"Please, don't," you murmur instead, fear churning in your belly as he continues to strip you. You'd known it would come to this, known the moment the captain had mentioned something about a wife. It doesn't make it easier, doesn't make the prospect of the gritty sand underneath you any more comfortable, or your repulsion for the man above you any less sharp. "Please, please, please let me go. I could -."

"What? Suck me off?" Soap laughs harshly, "Think ah'm gonnae ge' tha' anyway, hen."

You were going to say keep your mouth shut, but you suppose that never works anyway.

The sound you make when he pulls your pants off is wretched, but the shriek he earns when he pulls a knife on you is worse. His laugh is mean, reveling in your fear for a moment before cutting your shirt from you with one deft movement. He's pulling you to your feet before you can really process why and shoving you against the metal siding of the warehouse.

"Stay there," he warns and you're unsure if his tone or the throb in your shoulder is a more effective threat. When he walks back toward the station he'd been after earlier, your gaze turns to follow until you catch sight of your own shoulder at the bottom of your field of view and you draw short, taking in the severe swelling there. You prod at the edges of the mottling, wincing at your own ministrations. 

Absorbed in your own injuries, you don't notice when Soap turns on the spigot, or when he aims the nozzle of the high pressure hose at you. He calls for you to hold your breath, but gives you no more time than that which is necessary to look up, confused, before he's spraying you down.

It's freezing, the flow hard enough to bruise where it jets against the fatty bits of you; feels like it might sheer straight through hide where your skin thins around joints. You gasp, get a mouthful of aerated hose water. Spluttering, you try blocking the stream with your hands despite it feeling like your palms are being struck by a thousand rulers.

"S'wha' we use tae wash the trucks!" Soap calls, cackling loud enough to be heard over the spray that engulfs you. You can't get away from it no matter how much you fold into yourself, catching the jet alternatingly on your hip, your ribs, your ass. It does a better job of indexing your injuries than you did, the blooms of pain where you accidentally turn a bruise toward it letting you know that the hip which took the brunt of the collision is sore, that there's a spot on your good shoulder where Gaz tackled you which smarts. Your knees and elbows are all scuffed up, dirt grinding in before being stripped away. You feel like you're being sandpapered down; buffed until you're gleaming despite knowing how the dirt he kicks up clings to your skin wherever the hose isn't actively being pointed.

Soap keeps it up for another minute or so, only turning it off when your shaking gets so bad you think you're like to fall apart. "Quit yer whinging," he warns, creeping closer as he adjusts the nozzle to another setting. "Jes' havin' a laugh, bonnie, no need tae get all bent outta shape."

You want to tell him you're not laughing, but a small voice in your head says you should be grateful he didn't turn that hose on your face, so you keep quiet to prevent him getting any ideas.

When he's close enough to touch, Soap reaches out and grabs your wrist, spraying your pebbled skin down with a softer shower of water that would set you at ease, if not for how cold it is. From your arm, the stream moves up over your head, mussing your hair beyond recognition before trickling down your battered face. Here, the cold water feels good against heated skin and despite yourself, you heave a sigh of relief, tilting slightly into the unexpected relief. 

"Like tha' hen?" he asks, and you hesitate briefly, wondering how much satisfaction you want to give him. He doesn't give you a chance to decide, ruining your brief moment of reprieve by reaching out and tweaking one hard nipple.

You squawk, swatting at him. Johnny laughs long and loud, letting the stream from the hose fall dead as he watches you fume, shaking.

"Look like one ah them wee doggies, lass," he chuckles, "angry cause ye cannae even bite properly." The bastard flicks your cheek, feigning a sympathetic coo when you flinch away. "Tha's righ', bonnie, nothin' ye can do tae fight back," he murmurs, gliding his fingertips against your cheek in a move he probably thinks is soothing. "Ye jes' remember tha', eh? Might keep you alive."

You swallow back the lump in your throat, eyes boring a hole into his shoulder because you can't stand to look him in his terribly cold eyes. When Johnny moves again, his touches are back to the easy, soft caresses from before as he hoses you down. He's surprisingly good at it, despite being armed with only a shammy and a gnarly looking bar of soap. At least he knows to avoid your hair once he realizes he'll need conditioner. That damage is already done, but you appreciate him not dragging his fucking fingers through it on top of everything else. You try taking the soap from him once but he just tuts at you warningly so you go back to shivering, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to preserve body heat and keep yourself marginally modest. You can't decide if he's being obstinately particular just to torment you longer or if he's genuinely just like this until he raises your good arm above your head and finds your armpit overgrown.

He grins, sending you a delightfully scandalized look. "See Ghost chose well. Cap's gonnae love ye," he chuckles, and you feel your panic heighten when you think of the threatening older man again. Soap notices. "No need tae worry, hen. You jes' keep bein' good fer us and Cap'll be good tae ye."

For some reason, you don't trust this man's definition of being treated well.

After getting you all washed up, Johnny marches you back into the warehouse where the other men gather around a small, dingy breakroom table pecking at microwaved burritos. They're laughing uproariously as you arrive, Gaz talking animatedly about a loading mishap back in Arizona. The noise drifts off when they spot you, eying you over like a scrap of meat. There's no covering everything and despite yourself, you're almost grateful when John stands, bringing you a blanket he had folded on the seat beside himself. 

"Feeling better, doll?" he asks, patting you dry with a gentleness you didn't expect from the big man. He frowns at the swelling of your shoulder, eyes darting between you and it with an exaggerated level of concern that makes you want to hurl.

You avoid his gaze, your own flickering around the room as you ignore John, trying to gather your resolve enough to appease him. It's a struggle until your eyes find Simon's, apathetic as always despite the disapproving set of his scarred mouth. 

"Yes, sir," you murmur, watching raptly as Simon disguises a quick nod as a glance at his plate. Your heart rate picks up, an impossible tendril of hope slithering up your aorta when John hums contentedly at your words.

"That's a girl, love," he starts, warm palm falling heavy on your back as he starts to guide you back through the warehouse. "Gaz, bring the soup. You're hungry, right pet?"

You are, but Gaz doesn't wait for confirmation, falling in stride as John guides you toward the quaint office you'd caught a glimpse of earlier.

"Now, one day, you'll be able to stay up here with us," John promises, gesturing magnanimously across the dingy warehouse as if it contained all the gold of El Dorado within its rickety racking. "But until then, we're going to have to keep you below." 

Gait faltering, you glance up at the older man fearfully but he pays you no mind at all. "Don't worry honey, only temporary. And I'll have the boys visit you daily to keep you nice and stimulated, hm? Gaz," he barks before you can reflect too much on his choice of words. Kyle, evidently knowing exactly what's expected of him, places the soup bowl he's been carrying on the cluttered desk before moving some chairs, rolling the rug back enough to reveal a cutaway door in the cement slab.

You still, every muscle in your body tensing up when John tries to coax you along. "'S'not so bad, sweetheart, I promise. Come look, yeah? Think you'll have a nice little time if you just give it a try."

Like hell you'll give it a try, knees locking up so tight you look like a GI Joe when John guides you first down the stairs. It's cool, the descent marked by the wet gradient of the cement slab as you pass further underground. It's deeper than you'd expect, the dug dirt bottom damp under your feet when you alight on the landing. There's a short hall ahead, braced by rotted-looking timber. A lone door on the opposite end, braced on one side with a long line of bolts and locks. A single light hangs from the short ceiling, low enough you could smack your forehead off of it if you're not careful. 

"Had Simon come down while you were out, get it nice and ready for you," John brags. You doubt the room on the other side of that door could be made live-in ready even if Simon had been given three years to work on it, but you know better than to say as much. 

This time, when John prods you forward, your legs don't obey. "CanIsleepwithyou?" you blurt, a last ditch effort you're not sure you want him to accept.

But John just chuckles. "Eager, eh pet? Don't worry, you'll earn that right soon enough. Now go on, I'm sure you'd like some nice new clothes to put on, hm?"

Damn him, but you do, so you slink forward, ducking under the hanging light as you pass. The door creaks when you pull it open, weight heavy despite how meager it looks. It feels solid, unbreakable, and you notice quickly that you won't be able to barricade it if you have to pull it open. John does not notice your hesitance, following you into the room with a proud little smirk on his mustached face.

"Well, what do you think?" 

Not much. The floor isn't finished, just cold tile pressed into the dirt. The walls and ceilings are, though, and you briefly feel grateful for it until the batting on the door registers and you realize it's for soundproofing purposes. There's a bed in the corner, larger than you need yourself and made up in cutesy sheets with a strawberry motif. A pile of heavy quilts sits folded at the foot and despite yourself, your fingers twitch eagerly at the prospect of sleeping soon, warm and snug under all that weight. 

"We've got some clothes for you here," John continues. You get the feeling he doesn't need a lot of input so you stand there quietly as he opens a foot locker for you, tattered and olive green. Inside sit two neat stacks of clothes, battered looking but approximately the right size. You remember Johnny's comment about the Captain liking your pits and wonder if they always bring him back a certain type.

And if so, where they are.

"G'on love, pick out something you like," John leers, and you realize you won't be able to get away with waiting until he and Kyle leave to get dressed. 

There's a marked efficiency to your movements. Grabbing the first top you see, you briefly check the tag before doing the same with the bottoms at the top of the pile. Close enough for rock and roll, you figure, dropping your blanket to the cold floor and pulling the clothes onto yourself as quickly as possible. Kyle's eyes are heavy, John's heavier. Your skin crawls, the goosebumps which never really went away after your little bath returning with a vengeance. To your immense displeasure, John has to help you pull your bad arm through the sleeve and he tuts sympathetically when you whine.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'll bring you down some button ups tomorrow, yeah? You nod when he pauses too long, realizing you're not going to be let off the hook without a proper answer. You creep toward the bed when he hums in acknowledgement, but he tuts in warning again, nodding toward a little desk shoved off to the side of the room. You sit obediently, thanking him with a little murmur when he ferries the bowl of soup from Gaz to you. He hovers, watching raptly until you bring a spoonful of the room temperature meal to your mouth. 

"Good, right?" he asks, before you can even get a proper taste of it. 

You take your time swallowing, playing up the pain in your cheek as you try to suss out a good response. It's just microwaved soup as far as you can tell, but you figure saying as much won't garner you any favors. Instead, you hum appreciatively and shovel in another bite before John can ask you any more questions.

It works, mostly. John takes a quick lap around the room instead of standing over you, sighing now and again at whatever he finds while Gaz continues to stand in the doorway, evidently unamused. 

"It needs work, I'll give you that," John eventually concedes as you slurp at your meal. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until that sweet sweet MSG hit your tongue. "It needs work, but if you're good, we can spend some time down here fixing it up for you. Would you like that?"

You stall, spooning through some of the chunkier bits at the bottom of your bowl. It was kind of them to give you soup, you registered belatedly. Solid foods would have undoubtedly fucked up your mouth. Instead of answering, you ask John what would happen if you were to be bad and watch as his genial nature flips like a switch.

"Got a couple of news articles upstairs if you'd like to read 'em and find out."

Next>>

[seonghwaddict]

blue bird — choi san, jung wooyoung

in which one of the most dangerous men in the city approaches you with an offer, but how would you have known it would turn into something more?

mafia boss!choi san x fem!reader x mafia boss!jung wooyoung. genre. fluff, smut, mafia au. warnings. explicit sexual content minors dni, unprotected sex, dom!san, dom!wooyoung, sub!reader, slight corruption, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), multiple orgasms, threesome, fingering, reverse cowgirl position, pussy drunk wooyoung??, subspace??, cum swallowing, san is a little mean, wooyoung likes to tease, lots of teasing, hair pulling, slight degradation, dirty talk like a lot of it, brief begging, praise, overuse of the word pretty, pet names (doll, princess, baby, pretty girl, good girl, baby doll, pretty little slut). i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know. wc. 6.9k.

lilo’s notes. hiii happy new year everyone!! this is dedicated to @garlichoisan, surprise! i was your secret santa :3 i’m sorry but i completely forgot to write angst and couldn’t find a way to squeeze it in, please forgive me 😭😭 i think i got a little carried away with the smut, it’s probably not my best since i’m not very experienced in writing it but i hope you like it and this as a whole!!

　　　　　　　　　masterlist

choi san wanted you in a rather unexpected way.

not in a friendly way or a sexual way, but actually in a professional way. ever since he’d heard of what you, the so called “blue bird,” were up to, he knew you’d be a valuable asset. shortly after he heard about you, he was quick to tell wooyoung about what he had learned from idling in a bar he’d never been to.

it was an early morning. so early that the sun hadn’t risen yet, but that didn’t bother san. he preferred quieter, intimate spaces rather than the bustling clubs of grey city. as he sipped on his whiskey, the two men beside him got to talking. neither of them were very memorable, if anything they looked too similar; not intimidating in any way. still, he made a mental note of the guns attached to their hips. it was nothing very interesting, small talk from what he could tell. well, at least until they mentioned an odd name.

“did you hear what she did?”

“who?” one of them, the one with comically thick glasses, said as he blew out some cigarette smoke.

“well… ya know…” his voice lowered to a whisper, though in his drunken state it was less of a discreet whisper and more of a loud hiss, “the blue bird.”

he gave a sound of recognition. “wonderful heist, wasn’t it?”

“indeed,” he laughed, a deep chortle, “she was here tellin’ ricky all about it yesterday. flawless, flew in and out like a ghost.” he sighed blissfully, as if he had been there to watch you work.

now this. this is what caught infamous mafia boss choi san’s attention.

“more like a bird!” the bespectacled man nudge his friend with his elbow, a high pitched giggle leaving him. “get it? because she’s called bl-”

the friend held his hand up with a deadpan expression. “yes, i get it.”

the two men talked about you some more (“pretty thing she is, isn’t she?” “mhm, heard she’s actually quite sweet too. odd thing to hear about an outlaw.”), but san tuned them out again. with an important upcoming mission, he needed someone capable of doing exactly what these two men had described. he needed someone like you. preferably, you.

going off of what he had heard, he frequented that bar, hoping you’d happen to be there at the same time. he sat at the same seat at the same counter every night and always ordered the same thing. he noticed that after the first two nights he was there, no one really sat next to him. presumably because they recognised him and opted to avoid him instead of doing anything.

not that he cared, this part of town was known to be filled with people of the rebellious type; people like him who despised the government and would stop at nothing to take it down. if anything, they most likely respected him and his business. but alas, that doesn’t matter much in this particular story, does it?

wooyoung even offered to take turns visiting the bar, curious to see this mysterious person as well. but two weeks passed and no sign of you. most of the people there were the same every time he went, he was sure he would’ve noticed a new face at some point.

fortunately, his efforts became successful.

as usual, no one sat directly beside him, leaving one or two barstools between him and whatever other patron sat at the counter. or so he thought. the usual bartender passed him and came to a stop. confused and thinking the bartender stopped for him despite already sipping on his drink, san tilted his head. but it soon became evident that he wasn’t there for him, but rather for the pretty woman he didn’t notice sitting beside him.

“the usual?” the bartender asked, a crooked smile spreading on his face as he looked at you, his hands busy drying a glass.

san heard a brief chuckle beside him, prompting him to take a proper look at you. the first thing he noticed were your lips. plump and red, smooth lipstick. then the slope of your neck and shoulders, exposed by the thin straps of your silky black dress, jacket hanging by your elbows. the soft yellow-tinted lighting bounced off your rich skin and perfect hair in an almost hypnotising way. there was something enchanting about your aura, your posture, you.

he forced himself to look away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“yes, thank you.” you replied, nodding at the bartender as he turned to prepare your drink.

“one hot chocolate for our blue bird coming right up!”

blue bird.

this time san couldn’t stop himself from looking. so it was you.

the men from the other day weren’t lying when they called you a pretty little thing. you wore a silky black dress and a black fur jacket to protect you from the cold wind of the night. as his eyes roamed over you they got caught on your plump thighs. briefly, he wondered if they felt as soft as they looked but soon enough something else caught his attention. as you shifted in your seat, he caught a glimpse of the inside of your jacket, a quick glint reflecting from inside told him you were indeed carrying a weapon. he made sure to keep that in the back of his mind.

a man such as himself, wide shouldered and intimidating, was hard to ignore. if you didn’t notice him staring from the corner of your eyes, you were sure the heat of his stare would’ve burned a hole through your skin. needless to say, he had caught your attention as well, except you seemed to be better at hiding it.

once the momentary shock subsided, he smiled. the fact that such a dangerous person would regularly order hot chocolates from a bar was amusing to him.

noticing the change in expression, you glance at him. what the hell? seeing a man grinning at you was unsettling. a man with such broad shoulders who could probably easily overpower you. his face looked familiar, you realised, but couldn’t quite attach a name to it quite yet.

unsure of what to do and what this man may want from you, you turned away and engaged in a conversation with the bartender as he prepared your drink, all the while ignoring the man at your side. as soon as you finished your drink, you placed some cash on the counter and got up, swiftly walking out of the bar.

while your goal was to get away, you didn’t take the fact that he might follow you into account.

“don’t go yet, little outlaw, i’d like to talk to you about something.”

his voice was rather calm and even, but still left minimal room for discussion. you rolled your eyes before turning around with a completely different expression—eyes wide and innocent, lashes fluttering, eyebrows raised.

“you must be mistaken, sir, i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

he chuckled and took some steps forward and that’s when you recognised him. shit. he slowly walked over to you, speaking to you in that same calm voice with a sprinkle of cockiness somewhere in it. “playing dumb? really? for someone as smart as yourself i’d expect you to know that the 1 billion won bounty on your head doesn’t hide you.”

you sighed at his words, taking steps back to maintain the distance. there was no use continuing the innocent act, snapping at him, “what do you want?”

“do you know who i am?”

“of course i do, the whole city does. do you think i live under a rock?” you scoffed a laugh.

he dismissed your sarcasm, being used to having to deal with such cheeky mouths. “i have an offer.” when you didn’t reply, he continued. “help me and my… business partner with a heist.”

that was not what you expected.

“hmm… no, thanks.” you smiled up at him but nearly faltered as your back hit the wall of an alley you had unknowingly backed yourself into. you cursed yourself silently as he stood right in front of you, so close you had to look up to maintain eye contact.

“i wasn’t asking, darling.” he looked down at you, expression nearly sneering as he held an air of superiority about him. “you either agree or you’ll wake up behind bars tomorrow morning.”

“you can’t arrest me or turn me in, they’ll forget all about me since you’re the more wanted one out of the two of us.” you spoke matter-of-factly, a cocky tilt to the corner of your lips.

“i never said i would be the one to turn you in, little outlaw.”

“you know,” you hummed and moved your arms. his first assumption was that you were reaching for the dagger he glimpsed inside your jacket earlier, instinctively catching your wrists in his grasp as your words died in your throat and your breath hitched. he shifted his grip to place both of your wrists in one hand, holding them up above your head as his free hand nudged your jacket open, revealing the dagger.

he clicked his tongue patronisingly and fished it out delicately. his eyes shifted to yours, eyebrows raising in a silent question as he tossed the weapon over his shoulder. the metal blade clinked and echoed in the barren alleyway. he kept your wrists in his hold but lowered your arms, holding them at the height of your hips.

he leaned forward, speaking into your ear lowly as you suppressed a shudder. “you may continue.”

you glared at him and had the sudden urge to punch the shit eating grin off his face. “what’s in it for me?”

“um…” his face went blank and he leaned back to look at you, clearly not a single thought processing behind those cat-like eyes. “is there anything you want in particular?”

“protection.” you said simply, tilting your head.

“oh,” he nodded slowly, his brows furrowing in confusion but he kept his eyes on you. “but can’t you find that in any store?”

he felt a hit against his shin as you kicked him lightly. “ew not that. i meant… well, doing what i do, there’s a lot of people after me. you have the means to have some of your guys make sure i don’t run into any trouble.”

san nodded understandingly, loosening his grip on your wrists but not letting go. not that you minded. “that’s perfectly possible, yes.”

you exhaled, relieved. warm air fanning against his neck as you did so. “okay, then, i’m in. so what is it you need me to do?”

this time he released your wrists completely and took a step back, reaching into an inner pocket of his tailored suit and pulled out a little card with one hand as the other brought your hand up.

he brushed his hand over your closed fist, opening your fingers up to reveal your palm, placing the card in your palm before gently nudging your fingers to close over it. in a swift move, he turned your hand around and bowed forward, pressing a slow and soft kiss to your knuckles—eyes locked on yours as you stared back at him in bewilderment.

he lifted his lips, smirking at you as he straightened up, hands moving to the bottom of his blazer and tugging, stretching the wrinkles away. “i expect to see you tomorrow at dusk, little blue bird.”

with a wink, he turned on his heels and walked away. you watched him, listening to the echoing footsteps as he left the alley and disappeared around a corner, leaving you slumped against the cold brick wall with burning cheeks.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived at the address on the card choi san gave you. perhaps an underground bunker that looked nothing like the breathtaking estate you stood in front of.

the building was tucked within a small forest far from the outskirts of night city. the architecture seemed foreign and classical, a building you’d roam through whilst listening to tchaikovsky or chopin—not a building you’d expect to scheme against the government in. though, you supposed in some aspects it fit the aesthetic san had going on. sipping whiskey in a fully tailored suit, the smell of cigarette smoke and mint heavy in the air around him.

you walked up to the grand double doors, taking a moment to admire the intricate carvings before ringing the bell. less than a minute later, the right door swung open to reveal a stranger.

he wore wide dark jeans and a black and white plaid shirt, the top few buttons undone to reveal his chiselled collarbones and practically half of his torso. his black hair was slicked back with a few strands framing his face with the dainty square glasses he wore, some hanging silver earrings on display. he was, completely objectively speaking, handsome.

his eyes roamed over you, taking in your appearance before smiling and crossing his arms, leaning his side against the door as he pushed his glasses up to rest on the top of his head. you noticed a mole on his face—a small dot just under his left eye. “so you’re the little outlaw san told me about, huh?”

“yes, and you are?” you knew who he was, of course, but pleasantries were pleasantries nonetheless.

“jung wooyoung, but you already knew that.”

you chuckled and put your arms up in surrender, “oh no, i’ve been caught.”

his laugh was rather high pitched as he ushered you in. “come in, it gets cold at night.”

he led you through the house, stopping by what he referred to as his office but really looked like a sitting room with soft lighting and a desk to grab some rolled up papers before continuing the walk. the interior was just as beautiful as the exterior; intricate paintings and marble floors. wooyoung smiled as he saw the awe-stricken look on your face.

he led you to another set of double doors, pushing both of them open and stepping through without looking back to make sure you were following. now this was an office.

your jaw nearly dropped as you walked into the room, spinning a full circle to gawk at the various bookshelves that lined the walls and high ceiling that looked like it came straight out of the sistine chapel. a large fireplace cast a warm, yet still dark, glow over the room, making it look that much more impressive. a graceful vintage couch with two matching armchair were placed in front of the fireplace, a glass coffee table nestled between the seats and the source of light and warmth.

the floor creaked with every step you took, being made of dark wooden planks instead of marble.

you flinched as you heard san’s familiar voice snapping you out of your stupor. “pick your jaw up, you might catch flies.”

at the sound of his voice, you whipped around and glared at him after quickly pulling yourself together. he was sat in a leather chair at his impressive desk, wooyoung sat (balanced) on the arm of the chair.

you walked over and stood across from them in front of the desk. “it’s a nice house, are you two the only ones that live here?”

wooyoung took the chance to answer. “sometimes. there’s six others that are part of our… syndicate, but they stay in other places, surrounding grey city.”

“enough of that.” san waved his hand dismissively and leaned forward. as he did so, your eyes were drawn to his chest. he wore a white button up, though it appeared to be a bit tight judging by the way the fabric around the buttons strained every time he moved. your lingering gaze didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of them brought it up. “woo, the plans, please.”

the plan was set to take place the months after you had met with them for the first time. this gave you three to prepare, to memorise the layout and every detail about the building you’ll be infiltrating. for this preparation, you frequented their estate often—nearly every day—and spent hours with them. two weeks in, they offered you one of their guest bedrooms to stay in.

at first wooyoung got on your nerves, but soon enough you grew accustomed to his antics—the clinginess, the teasing. eventually, you even found yourself liking it and seeking it out.

san was slightly more reserved at first, more serious. but soon he, too, let down his guard. encouraging words, affectionate touches.

the more time you spent with them, the more you found yourself relaxing, letting them handle you with care instead of pushing them away like you used to with so many people before them. and eventually you, dare you say, began liking them.

you couldn’t deny the way san’s sharp snd perceptive eyes made you want to squirm under his gaze as he watched you bend over his desk to point something out on the building’s floor plan. you couldn’t deny the way his gentle commands (“do this for me please.” “come here, princess.”) had butterflies roaring in your stomach.

and wooyoung. while san was indeed quite physically affectionate, it was nothing compared to wooyoung. lingering touches and smooth words. sometimes you’d be grabbing something in kitchen and he’d come by, pulling you aside by your hips to grab something. later that day you’d offered to cook something up for dinner, but he only tutted and lifted you by your waist to place you on the marble island counter (“i don’t trust you in my kitchen, baby. just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?”). jung wooyoung was a flirt and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

two days before the heist, you walked into san’s office after waking up and not being able to find woo. in the time you’d spent with them, you had learned that san acquired the bigger and fancier office by winning a game of rock paper scissors.

as you opened the door, the cat-eyed man looked up from whatever he was working on, smiling as he watched you yawn and stretch on your way over to him. he gave you a once over; you wore an oversized shirt, the collar shifted and hanging over one shoulder, the end of the shirt ending halfway down your thighs.

“sleep well?” he asked, putting his pen down as you stopped in front of the desk. he’d woken up not too long before you, still in his sleepwear, hair tussled but somehow still perfect.

you nodded, your voice soft in your sleepy state, “where’s woo?”

“he went out to get stuff for dinner,” he chuckled as he heard the slight concern in your voice. he pushed his chair back slightly and patted his lap. “come sit here while i work, princess.”

you grinned and walked around the desk, claiming his lap as your seat. you leaned back against him, back pressed to his front. he kissed your exposed shoulder chastely and got back to work. you tried to look down at his papers to see what he was doing, but the way his unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist and shifted you slightly (in a way that accidentally made his thigh rub against certain areas) had your mind going blank, unable to focus on anything other than his touch.

though you couldn’t see it, san also had a hard time focusing. every time you moved, your ass brushed over his pelvis. it was clear he didn’t think it through when he told you to sit on him since now he was having a hard time holding himself back, a bulge growing in his sweatpants.

you shifted again, trying to find a position where none of his body parts rubbed against your core, and he sucked a sharp breath in. his hands practically flew to your hips to hold you still.

“princess, i need you to sit still or i might go crazy, okay?” he spoke softly into your ear, hot breaths brushing against your skin and making you shiver, a fact he noticed and made him smirk. maybe he was already going crazy, but just a little more wouldn’t hurt, right?

he kept his lips by your ear for a moment before moving down slightly, placing them just below your earlobe. it was your turn for your breath to hitch, tilting your head to give him more space. he nearly groaned at the subtle act of submission, burying his face into your skin and kissing his way down to the crook of your neck.

time seemed to slow as his hands tightened on your hips, he scraped his teeth along your neck before biting down gently, not enough to hurt but enough to elicit a breathy whine. when the sound left your lips, he froze.

when you noticed he wasn’t doing anything, you whined again and rolled your hips over his pelvis, dropping your head back on his shoulder. the action surprised yourself too. you’d had sex, of course, but it was never a necessity for you. even when the opportunity presented itself, you wouldn’t chase after it. yet here you were, wordlessly begging him to continue. what had these men done to you?

“is this okay?” he whispered.

you nodded immediately, turning your head to look at him. his breath nearly caught in his throat as he saw the look in your eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace—a silent plea for him to have his way with you, release the tension that’s built up over the previous three months. without waiting a second longer, he attached his lips to your neck again, a certain roughness to the way he caressed your skin with his lips and his tongue and his teeth.

you melted against him and let your eyes fall shut when you felt his hands slip shirt off, tossing it on his desk, and then rest against your bare waist, fingertips brushing over the skin making a shiver run down your spine. a voice that wasn’t his had your eyes flying open, your body freezing for a moment before you realised who it was.

“you two just couldn’t wait for me?” wooyoung pouted, leaning against the desk in front of the chair you and san occupied. san chuckled against your neck while you stared at wooyoung, dumbfounded, unexpected excitement stirring in your abdomen.

he looked from your face, to san’s smirk, and then down at the way your hips tried finding the right angle to grind on san’s lap. a dark chuckle left wooyoung’ slips and he leaned forward, hands coming to rest on your knees.

“need help with that, doll?” he tilted his head, a mocking pout gracing his lips as he cooed at you, one hand coming up to caress your cheek for a moment as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

your eyes practically twinkled as you looked up at him, pupils dilated as you nod helplessly. wooyoung smiled and patted your cheek affectionately, pecking your forehead again before sinking to his knees in between yours and san’s legs, kissing his way down your body. your eyes tracked him and his slow descent, breath held in anticipation.

“cute,” he giggled as he eyed your pink panties, slipping them off your legs and tossing them aside. he hooked your legs on either side of san’s, spreading them apart, looking up at you. “just relax, be a good girl and keep your legs like that for me, yeah?”

when you nodded, he kissed your inner thigh followed by a quiet groan as he noticed the arousal dripping from your cunt. “oh, doll, you’re so wet.”

“hm, is she?” san chimed in, one of of his hands leaving your waist to dip down and casually slide a finger through your folds; from bottom to top, applying more pressure the further he slid. you prepared yourself for his finger to get to your clit but, much to your dismay, he removed his hand just before he got there. you suppressed the urge to glare at him over your shoulder. simultaneously, wooyoung began leaving pecks all over your inner thighs.

san hummed and pressed another kiss just below your ear, whispering, his voice thick with lust, “all that and we barely even started. what a pathetic, needy mess, huh?”

the way he said it made it clear he expected an answer from you, but with how wooyoung ran a single finger through your folds, you couldn’t do much but shudder and nod. san clicked his tongue and snaked his hands further up from your waist just under your breasts, fingers brushing circles over your nipples. he waited patiently to give you more time to answer.

wooyoung’s tongue slipped out to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit and both your brain practically short-circuited. the combination of the feeling of his tongue and his wide, glossy eyes peering up at you from between your legs sending your mind reeling. he groaned as he tasted you, swearing in his head that he’d probably finish in his pants within five minutes. a sudden pinch of your nipples had you snapping out of your trance.

“say it, princess.”

“ah- i’m a mess.”

“and why are you a mess?”

you opened your mouth to answer but your own moan cut you off as wooyoung began circling your clit with his tongue. san’s lips backed away from your ear and he looked down at wooyoung, signalling for him to stop by holding up his flat palm. your chest heaved with heavy breaths as wooyoung reluctantly removed his tongue and leaned back just an inch, giving you a moment to recover.

“he won’t continue until you tell me why you’re a mess, baby.”

“because of you,” you whined, trying to press your hips closer to wooyoung’s face but to no avail as san moved his hands back down to hold you firmly by those hips he loved so much.

“good girl, that’s right,” he cooed into your ear, giving you a tender kiss. “you’re our pathetic needy mess, aren’t you?”

“your mess. i’m your mess.”

at the confirmation, san looked down at wooyoung and nodded. not even a second later wooyoung’s mouth was back on you. one of san’s hands stayed to control your hips and the other went back to massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples.

wooyoung’s pace was relentless. he ate you out like a man starved, licking up all the juices that seeped from you while he made sure to nudge his nose against your clit repeatedly. when his mouth wasn’t at your entrance, he had his lips wrapped around your clit, alternating between rhythmic sucks and prods of his tongue, one of his fingers teasingly circling your hole.

he swore he could’ve gotten drunk off your taste, finding the way you writhed in san’s lap so cute. wooyoung momentarily removed his mouth from you once again, watching your face as he tentatively pushed his finger past your entrance. he spoke, voice somewhere between a hoarse groan and a sigh.

“fuck…”

you threw your head back on san’s shoulder, suddenly aware of the hard erection pressed against your ass. you tried to rock your hips just a bit, wanting to help him, but his fingers tightened on your hips.

“keep being such a good girl and i’ll fuck you so good you won’t remember your name, but i need you to be patient. okay, princess?”

your breath hitches and you nodded at his promise, your attention being drawn back to the man between your legs as he added another finger. your breathing grew erratic.

“mmm, so tight.” he groaned, eyes fixated on the way his fingers disappeared into your before slipping out again, more and more of your slick seeping out with each thrust of his digits. wet sounds reverberated through the room as you let out a silent curse.

you thought your noises were kept to a minimum, too embarrassed to really let loose, but as soon as he curled his fingers in you—easily finding that spongey sweet spot—a proper moan ripped itself out of you. and then his tongue was back on your clit, not as firmly as you would’ve liked but enough to draw out more moans and whimpers.

at first, he took his time, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a frustrating pace, tongue only lightly brushing over your swollen pearl. but soon enough, he sped up gradually until he reached a speed that had you crying out and arching your back with every inch that he moved. all the while san muttered encouragement into your ear.

“mhm, you’re taking his fingers so well, princess.”

“can’t wait to have my cock in your tight little pussy. don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.”

“look at you, being fucked dumb just from his fingers. you can barely even keep your eyes open, huh?”

you thought you were controlling yourself well but the moment wooyoung added a third finger, the stretch burning just slightly though your wetness kept things moving smoothly, the moment san spoke all those filthy words in your ear, you felt yourself crashing over the edge. it all felt so good you didn’t even realise you were climaxing until you felt yourself shaking and stars swarming your vision.

a high pitched cry ripped through your lips, moaning wooyoung’s name as he takes his fingers out so he can slurp up your release, groaning against you. you tasted so good and if he could, he would have bottled up all the sounds you made to listen to them before bed every night. san planted tender kisses to your jaw and shoulder as wooyoung eventually removed himself.

he looked almost as fucked out as you, drunk of the juices of your pussy as he slowly got up. he took your face in his clean hand and eagerly pressed his lips against yours, making you moan as you tasted yourself on his tongue. the two of you made out slowly, sloppily, and he slowly trailed his hands down. tracing the curve of your waist before settling his hands on your hips, guiding them to grind over san’s length.

you followed his lead, arching your back to position your pussy right over his erection. that seemed to have made san lose all his composure, rasping out harshly, “woo, please lift her up for a moment.”

moments later, you were back in his lap, this time his long cock buried deep in your cunt. his hands guided your movements, his thrusts matching the pace of the roll of your hips. though he wasn’t able to see your face, fucking you in a reverse cowgirl position, he could image how fucked out you looked. cheeks painted red, glazed over eyes, swollen lips, messed up hair.

wooyoung separated his lips from you, chuckling against your mouth. you struggled to kiss him, san feeling so good in you that you had a hard time thinking straight. “does he feel good, babydoll?”

you nodded and leaned forward just slightly to attach you lips to his pretty neck, mindlessly kissing and licking your way down to his collarbones. wooyoung tilted his head back, another dark chuckle. he thought you were so cute—making sure to give him attention even though you were bouncing in another man’s dick. said man groaned and slumped back in the seat at the change of angle as you leaned forward, not pausing his movements once. ever since he first bottomed out in you he had trouble putting together sentences.

your fingers fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. most of them were undone anyway, he liked it like that when he wore button-ups, but you wanted it completely off. he noticed your trembling hands struggling and took over for you, ignoring the buttons and just pulling off the shirt. your eyes roamed over him, jaw slack.

“you’re so pretty, woo.” you whispered after burying your face in his neck again, any filter you had on your words completely gone.

“i think you’re pretty too, doll,” he chuckled into your ear. “so pretty getting off on me and sannie at once.”

you leaned back and looked him over, darting between his eyes and the erection straining against the trousers with pleading, half closed eyes. it didn’t take a genius to figure out what you wanted, making him coo as he understood you.

“oh, you want my cock? you wanna suck it? just one shoved inside you doesn’t satisfy you enough, huh, you pretty little slut?”

your head empty, unable to focus on anything other than the two men you were trapped between, you nodded. san groaned as he felt your walls clench around him.

“fuck- she likes that.”

“is that so?” wooyoung straightened up and grinned down at you, holding your jaw in his hand. “well, then, go ahead, doll, do as you please.”

at he sound of his permission, your hands found their way to his trousers, undoing the fly and letting them fall to the ground. you could already see the shape of it through his boxers, but didn’t pause to inspect it, hooking your fingers on his waistband and pulling it down to release him.

while his length was impressive, it didn’t look quite as long as san’s but rather thicker. compared to every dick you’ve seen, you decided jung wooyoung had a pretty one. the blushing tip leaked precum that you smeared around to stroke him slowly.

you looked up at him every time you tried something new with your hands, looking for his reaction—running your thumb over his tip, squeezing lightly as your hand moved down. no mater what you did, it elicited a deep moan from him. you looked entranced as you watched the way his eyelids fluttered in pleasure. you leaned forward (both you and san moaning and shuddering at the change in angle), pressing a kiss to his tip.

this new angle had san pounding against your sweet spot repeatedly without fail, making you suddenly feel like jello. still, you tried your best to focus on the task literally at hand.

wooyoung noticed your lack of concentration, threading his fingers in your hair and gently pulling to make you look up. he pouted at you mockingly. “can’t think straight enough with sannie’s cock stuffed in you? it’s ok, doll, you look so pretty and fucked out i could cum just from looking at you.”

you shook your head and pushed forward, wrapping your lips around his tip and sinking your mouth down on his length to the best of your abilities.

wooyoung groaned, “that’s it, doll, there you go. you can take just a little more, can’t you, pretty girl?”

eager to please him, you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. you felt him hit the back of your throat and pulled back, coughing around his length. he slipped his hand out of your hair and stroke your cheek, prompting you to glance up at him.

“you’re doing well, doll, just remember to breathe through your nose. i know you can take me just a bit deeper.”

you nodded at his words, swallowing a little more, and wrapped a hand around the rest that you couldn’t fit, stroking him slowly as you led your mouth get used to the feeling. truth be told, you hadn’t given anyone head before, completely relying on your intuition now.

“yeah, there you go, my pretty little doll. i knew you could do it.”

as you mouth worked on wooyoung, you felt that familiar knot tightening in your abdomen. san must’ve been close too, letting out a hearty groan as he gripped your hips tighter and thrusted up into you faster. every time he pulled you down and snapped his hip up to meet you, the lewd sound of his skin slapping against your and his balls hitting your clit had you whining against wooyoung’s cock.

he sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering before cooing down at you. “what was that, doll? i couldn’t quite hear you.”

you continued with the sucking and stroking until you thought it was impossible, repeatedly shaking too much to keep a steady pace. but you could tell wooyoung was close judging by his sounds and pulsating, and still wanting to please him, you kept your lips around his head as you hand stroked him as fast as you could.

moments later, his body tensed and he came into your mouth. the thick, slightly salty substance ran down your throat as you swallowed it all down. when you were sure he was done, you pulled yourself off him. wooyoung looked ready to pass out, leaning against the desk and staring up at the ceiling as he panted, catching his breath. silent curses left his lips as he squeezed his eyes shut.

now with wooyoung taken care of, you leaned back against san, revelling in the feeling of him pounding into you as you felt yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. you heard him gasp by your ear and you clenched down on him.

“f-fuck… i’m gonna cum.”

oh how san loves fucking you. loves the way your walls flutter around his cock. loves all the sounds you make that he was sure you weren’t even aware of. how you writhe and jerk and shudder and whine and moan and he could go on for days.

“please, sannie,” you whined softly, “please, fill me up, please please please.”

that was the last straw. the desperation in your voice has his stomach flipping and he came just as you finished your begging. a shiver ran down your spine as your body went limp. he kept himself buried in you as one of his hands slide down to rub quick and tight circles on your clit, quickly bringing you to an orgasm that had your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

once all three of you calmed down and got cleaned up, you found yourself relaxing on san’s lap again. this time, you were on one of the couches in the living room as wooyoung sat beside you. while you were in the shower, he cooked up some instant noodles, feeding them to you now.

a hand stroked the outside of your thigh comfortingly as you slurped down the last of the noodles, you recognised it as san’s hand. your legs still felt like jello and you cuddled into him as wooyoung got up to put the bowl away. you felt san press a kiss to the top of your head, practically cradling you.

“you did well, my little blue bird,” he whispered against the crown of your head and pulled you closer, “i could stay like this all day.”

“too bad because it’s my turn now.” wooyoung buckled as he returned, collapsing on the couch and snatching you of san’s grasp without warning. he stuck his tongue out at san as he held the back of you head and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, making you giggle.

san whined and reached his hands out to grab you again only to be swatted away by woo. “hey! no fair.”

“yes, it is fair,” wooyoung giggled, “you’ve had her on your lap long enough.” his best friend glared at him and muttered something under his breath as he looked away with his arms crossed.

“oh, you big baby,” you laughed as you turned your head to look at him. extending you hand to pat his knee.

san’s eyes flashed as an idea lit up in his head. he grinned as he wrapped his arms around both you and wooyoung. you weren’t sure how it happened but next thing you knew, all three of you were laying down on the couch, the two men sandwiching you lovingly.

you felt yourself blush and your brain going blank. wooyoung laughed at the expression on your face, leaning forward to kiss you until san reached over and flicked his forehead. they proceeded to argue about who should be able to kiss you more as you sighed contentedly. you realised there was no other place in earth you’d prefer to be in more than right here, nestled between the two men who you knew would take good care of you.

networks. @cromernet @blankjournal

taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @hee0soo

[max1461]

Max I have a linguistics question. And I will even free your chess ask from purgatory as payment. So there's this thing that goes around saying that US English pronunciations are more similar to old English than British English. Is there any truth to this, and how would we know one way or the other?

There is some kernel of truth in it that is getting exaggerated or oversimplified.

Let me start off by answering, in a general sense, the question "how would we know one way or the other?"

The Part Where I Accidentally (on Purpose) Wrote a Brief Introduction to Historical Linguistics

Phonological change (change in the pronunciation of a language) doesn't work in the way we might naively expect it to. I think that most people imagine phonological change as basically happening by way of each word in the language taking a random walk through pronunciation-space as time goes along. Like genes in a genome, randomly mutating. This is not what happens. Rather, phonological change occurs via rewrite rules, which find-and-replace particular sequences of sounds in a systematic way across the entire lexicon. For example, such a rule might replace a [t] sound with an [s] sound whenever it precedes an [i] sound. This will occur in all words in the language at once, in a uniform way. These find-and-replace rules are called regular sound changes, and they pile up over time, constituting phonological change.

This fact—the regularity of sound change—is known as the Neogrammarian hypothesis.

The above picture is an oversimplification. There are a variety of exceptions and apparent-exceptions to the regularity of sound change, and dealing with them is one of the major challenges of historical linguistics. But as a model, the Neogrammarian hypothesis is extraordinarily powerful. It is literally what makes historical linguistics possible at all. The upshot of the Neogrammarian hypothesis is that when two languages are related, their vocabulary won't just be "kinda similar" in some nebulous sense, it will demonstrate systematic, predictable correspondences in sound between cognate vocabulary.

Here's an illustration of this, a comparative table of some cognates in Polynesian (from Wikipedia):

If you look at any two columns of this table, you'll start to notice correspondences. Tongan and Niuean /k/ correspond to Samoan /ʔ/ (a glottal stop, written with a apostrophe). This correspondence is one-to-one. Samoan /s/ corresponds to Tongan and Niuean /h/, but the reverse is not true: some instances of Tongan and Niuean /h/ correspond to Samoan ∅ (nothing). Tongan /s/, on the other hand, corresponds to Niuean and Samoan /t/, but only before /i/. Etc. etc.

These are systematic sound correspondences, born of Neogrammarian sound change from a common ancestor.

Ok, on the left hand side you will notice a column that says "Proto-Polynesian". The words in this column are all marked with *, indicating that they are reconstructed forms. They are linguists' best guess as to what the original, ancestral form of these words would have been in the Polynesian languages' common ancestor. There are various ways linguists make these reconstructions. First of all, we can do it by sheer majority rule: if most of the languages in a family reflect a sound as X, and only one or a few reflect it as Y, then (all else being equal and assuming the tree is flat) it is more likely that the original word had X. Almost all these languages have /t/ as the first sound in "person" (row 1), whereas Marquesan has /ʔ/ and Hawaiian has /k/. Thus the ancestral sound is reconstructed as /t/.

But there are other, more sophisticated tools that can be used. For instance, we know a certain amount about what sorts of sound changes are likely to occur and what sorts are not. Thus, for instance, an /s/ is reconstructed as the first sound in "grey haired" (row 2), even though the majority of languages have /h/. This is because we already know that s -> h is a fairly common sound change (and indeed corresponds to a known phonological process found presently in many languages—debuccalization), whereas h -> s is a much rarer change (in fact, I suspect wholly unattested), and corresponds to no known phonological process or phonetic explanation.

Finally, we can rule out reconstructions when the sound change needed to create them would not be a function. Consider, for instance, that the majority of the words in row 3 have no consonant sound at all before the final /e/. But the reconstruction features a consonant /h/ there. If we posit ∅ as initial instead, we have to come up with a sound change that explains how the /h/ got there. ∅ -> h doesn't work, because that would put /h/ everywhere! How about something like "∅ -> h between two vowels" (linguists would notate this change as ∅ -> h / V_V). That would work, but we see other instances of adjacent vowels (e.g. in row 4) with no /h/ between them, so that can't be it. Maybe "∅ -> h between /a/ and /e/" (∅ -> h / a_e). We can't rule this out on the basis of this chart, but we probably could by looking at more vocabulary.

And so on, and so forth. In general, we want to posit the simplest set of sound changes possible, in which the changes themselves are as probable as possible, in order to explain the data. These putative changes can then by checked against all sorts of outside observations, such as

descriptions of pronunciations in historical texts

past loanwords into languages whose phonological histories are already known with confidence

epigraphic data from archeology (not very applicable to Polynesian, unless we decipher rongorongo)

newly collected data from modern languages in the same family

evidence from rhyme schemes or alliteration schemes used in poetry composed in the past

etc.

to see if they hold up.

The Part Where I Answer Your Question

Ok, right. American English and "British English" (I assume this means Received Pronunciation) are two related language varieties. Thus, they share systematic sound correspondences, and we can try to reconstruct their common ancestor. Also the British Isles have produced an extraordinary number of texts in the past thousand years, including poetry and actual linguistic descriptions of various dialects at various points in time, which we can check these reconstructions against.

But actually you don't need most of that to identify a few ways in which (most) American English dialects are more conservative than Received Pronunciation. For one, Received Pronunciation has dropped /r/ at the end of a syllable (in English dialectological jargon it is "non-rhotic"), whereas General American English hasn't. There are some associated vowel changes too. One way or another, the /r/ is plainly original: elision of /r/ is more common and phonetically plausible than insertion of /r/ in a bunch of specific post-vocalic positions would be, /r/ is written in the orthography, historical descriptions of the language talk about an /r/ sound, etc. etc.

In other ways RP is more conservative. For example, GenAm has deleted /j/ (the "y" sound) in a specific phonological environment ([+coronal]_u) in words such as tube, GenAm /tuːb/, RP /tjuːb/.

Is "American English more conservative than RP" overall? I don't really think so. Certainly it has preserved a number of salient features that RP has lost, such as syllable-final /r/ and (in some dialects) /hw/ in words like what, and so on. But there's other senses in which RP is more conservative. And this is not even to mention the other dialects of Britain, which are manifold and much more diverse than the dialects of America. As to the strict question of the relative phonological conservatism of GenAm and RP, I think someone with more detailed knowledge of English historical phonological would have to come in and answer. Perhaps @yeli-renrong can comment.

[emptyultimatum]

SWEATER WEATHER

Avenger AU Loki x fem!reader In which Loki and his girlfriend (you) clash cutely over weather-appropriate clothing.

Loki raised his arms above his head, the shoulders in his scarred back rippling with muscles. His shirt lay on the floor, stripped off and sweaty from his work out. Facing the window, admiring the view of New York, he groaned as he stretched, pulling, reaching. Crrck, pop, crack! 

“Ah, that feels better,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders to settle them. He shook his black curls out of his bun, pulling the hair tie onto his wrist absently. “Darling, where are you?” 

She slid into the room, beaming absurdly at him, arms spread wide. “Look at my sweater.” 

It was July, and a heatwave was rocking New York with a vengeance. Signs sagged in the heat; cars were dangerous to the touch; the sun bounced off glass buildings with such aggression, Loki felt as if his eyes were being burned alive. Thank Odin for sunglasses, which he wore regularly. 

And despite this all, his girlfriend decided to buy a sweater. An overlarge, shapeless, lumpy grey sweater, which had sleeves so long they flopped over her hands like bunny ears. 

“You can’t be serious,” Loki said, staring at the sweater. 

She grinned. “I’m so serious. It’s so comfy.” 

She did look comfy. Absurdly comfy, in fact. The kind of comfy that winter and hot chocolate and fireplaces heralded. And the way that the tops of her thighs stuck out from the bottom, round and plump… He felt a strong urge to pull her onto the bed and cuddle into her for the next week or so. 

But then Loki remembered the hundred-two degree high they were predicted to reach today. 

“Take it off,” he said. “You’re going to melt.” 

“Tony can pay for AC,” she waved him off, bouncing to the thermostat and cranking it low. “Ahh. I love it.” 

He gave her a disbelieving chuckle. “You’re utterly ridiculous. It’s the height of summer, darling, and you bought a sweater.” 

“That’s the best time!” she argued. “Off-season sales! I got this for thirty bucks.” 

“Thirty bucks?” 

“The original price was fifty-eight,” she said stubbornly. 

Loki prayed to his mother. “At least put it in storage until the proper climate arrives.” 

“That’s in months,” she waved him off, sweater sleeve flapping. “I wanna wear it now.” 

“Of course you do.”

“We should make hot chocolate. I’m in a hot chocolate mood.” 

“Naturally, in summer, hot chocolate is a must-have.” 

“And watch Frozen!” 

“This must be some sort of joke,” he pleaded. “What insanity drove you to this? It’s a damn ninety-eight degrees!” 

She cackled. “I like sweaters.” 

“You don’t even wear them!” Loki cried. 

“Now I do!” She climbed into their bed, snuggled under the covers. The AC was properly blasting now, sending cold gusts of air down his sweaty, post-gym skin. She patted the space beside her, smiling up at him. “Come cuddle. It’s cold.” 

“And they call me the Mad One,” he muttered, climbing into the bed. She giggled, putting her arms around him, snuggling him into her chest. 

“Perfect,” she sighed. 

Perfect indeed, Loki smiled into her sweater, feeling its soft fibers tickling his cheek. She was warm, soft, and plush. The perfect place to rest his head, to ease his worries. 

They lay silently together, hearts beating in sync, the summer sun gleaming through their window as the AC pumped cold air into the room. She sighed, pleased, snuggled in her sweater. 

“We do have a mission brief in a few moments,” Loki murmured. 

“I know,” she said. 

“And you’re going to wear the—”

“I’m going to wear the sweater.” 

Loki hid his smile in her chest. “We’d best alert Stark, then, so he might prepare the room temperature for you in advance.” 

“How considerate,” she smiled. “You’d do that for me?” 

“Darling, I’d freeze the world twice over if you wished for snow.” 

She beamed at him, pure and unabashed joy. “Well, it’s a good thing I only want you.” 

Loki’s heart fizzled, his skin tingling with the closeness of her. 

“And hot chocolate,” she added. 

He laughed, and brought her in for a kiss. 

[cloudcountry]

the kissing experiment

Genre/Tropes: Practice kissing?

Summary: The Leech brothers request something of you. Won't you help them learn what kissing is?

Author's Comments: hi this is an arospec ace person writing about people kissing. it was a fun little (AWKWARD) experiment so the title also applies to me!!

~~~~~

There was nothing you could think of that would have prompted the Leech brothers to ask this of you. Maybe they found out about your attraction to the both of them, or maybe they were just using you as a silly little plaything to experiment on until they got bored. Maybe it was both. Whatever led them to your dorm this late in the afternoon didn’t matter now, as they were standing right there on your porch, awaiting your response to their proposition like a hunter that had just cornered their prey. A chill went down your spine as they continued to stare, lips stretched into wide grins that couldn’t have looked more sketchy if they tried.

“You...want to experiment with kissing?” you ask, flabbergasted at the unexpected question, “Why in Twisted Wonderland would you ask that? And to me?”

“Come onnnn, Shrimpy. It’s a yes or no question.” Floyd giggles, tongue poking out from between his teeth, “We don’t have all afternoon. you know.”

“Indeed, Floyd is right. It would be a shame if we came all the way here with our humble request only to receive an unsatisfactory answer.” Jade sighs, eyes sharp as his expression fills with mock sadness.

“I never said no.” you mumble, eyes darting to an uninteresting crack in the floorboards to avoid looking at either of them, “I was just asking my own questions.”

“Oh?” Jade hums, index finger pushing your chin upwards until you make eye contact with him again, “I take it that means you’re interested?”

“Maybe I am.” you shoot back, the desperate urge to catch them off guard after coming to you with this ridiculous proposal flaring up.

It works. Floyd cackles beside his brother, eyes narrowing as he stalks closer. Jade looks surprised for a brief moment before chuckling politely, letting you go with a gentle brush of his thumb against your cheek.

“Well Little Pearl, it’s only natural to seek out the object of one’s curiosity, is it not?” Jade coos in a voice as soft as a fuzzy, comforting blanket, “We only want a bit of your time. Won’t you offer us the pleasure of practicing land dwelling affection?”

“Yeah Shrimpy! Don't be mean.” Floyd snickers, shoving his face closer to yours and his brother out of the way in the process.

“Besides...we know you’re interested.” Jade chuckles, taking your hand as if it was made of glass, “We’ve seen the glances you send our way. We’ve seen you staring at the Lounge. You’re hardly sneaky, Little Pearl.”

“And that’s why Shrimpy got caaaught!” Floyd laughs, nuzzling your cheek as his arms snaked around your waist.

“So what do you say?” Jade leans closer, thumb stroking the back of your hand.

“There’s no need to guilt trip.” you lean back, the proximity of the Leech brothers almost suffocating, “You already know my answer.”

“Oh, but we don’t. You could turn us away and break our little hearts!” Floyd quips, pulling away from you just to cross his arms and pout.

Finally free of Floyd’s grip, you back up a bit. They allow you a bit of space, but still stand tall on your front porch, an immovable wall. Shaking your head, you sigh deeply. It’s almost exhausting when they decide to play these games, teasing you as if they aren’t painfully aware of your interest in them.

“If it’s kissing you want, it’s kissing you’ll get.” you say, beckoning Floyd closer.

He bounces right over, looking like a puppy about to receive a treat. You cup his face gently with your hands, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. The touch lingers for a few beats as the tension from Floyd’s shoulder melts away, his wound up attitude ebbing away like the tides of the Coral Sea. The second you pull away his wide eyes crinkle at the corners, all of the excited energy he had before rushing back into his body.

“I got a kiss from Shrimpy!” Floyd cackles, brushing the spot you kissed with his gloved fingers. His sharp teeth are on display as he sticks his tongue out at Jade, wrapping his other arm tightly around your waist again.

“Floyd, be nice.” you sigh, coaxing Jade closer by opening your arms, “Jade, c’mere.”

“Oh? Feeling bold, are we?” Jade coos, swooping into your arms without hesitation.

Instead of answering, you hook your finger under his tie and pull him closer. His body thumps against yours, and if it weren’t for the grip Floyd had on your waist, you’re sure you would have fallen over. Jade looks surprised at how quickly you’d yanked him, and you tried not to let his shock make you too smug. They were known to turn things on people just when they had the advantage (and you knew that better than most people.)

“Can I kiss you here?” you ask, swiping a thumb across his bottom lip.

“By all means.” Jade sighs, leaning into your touch.

You slot your lips against his almost immediately, grabbing Jade’s shoulder with your free hand. His hands find their place on your waist, and he kisses you back with a force that’s powerful, yet gentle. You can vaguely hear Floyd whining beside you, his incessant tugging on your shirt doing nothing to dispel the haze you find yourself in. Jade’s lips are soft—softer than the gentle beams of sunlight caressing your face as the day slips into darkness.

He’s warmer than them, too.

With a shuddering gasp, the two of you part. Eyes wide and lips plump from the kiss, you slowly let your finger slip away from his tie. Jade chuckles at your state, lifting your hand to his lips, and you can do nothing but watch as he presses his lips to the skin while staring holes into you.

“Thank you for that experience, Little Pearl.” he murmurs, kiss-bruised lips still brushing delicately against your skin, “It was most delightful.”

“Heyyy, Shrimpy! I said, don’t forget about me!” Floyd huffs, yanking you more and more insistently towards him, “I want another kiss!”

“If Floyd gets another, I would appreciate another one as well.” Jade smiles, tilting his head as you turn your attention to his brother.

“Yes, yes, sure.” you say, attempting to placate them.

Except it doesn’t work entirely, because Floyd is still grumbling and tugging. You would rather not have him tumble into a bad mood, so you turn to him and yank him into you by the undone tie, just like you did with his brother.

Floyd is far more all consuming, his teeth clinking painfully against yours. You wince but he doesn’t get softer, instead opting to giggle and press his hands into your waist. With the way he holds you and kisses you longer and longer and longer, you’d almost think he was jealous of Jade for taking so much time with you. The thought makes you want to roll your eyes, but you’re unable to spend much more time in your own head as his nails dig into your side and you’re thrown back into reality. That reality being that one of his hands has found its way to your hair, his nails scratching the back of hand in just the right way and for once you actually find yourself relaxing. It’s a beautiful juxtaposition that leaves you smiling against Floyd’s chapped lips.

You pull away with a soft pat on his shoulder and a smile. He smiles back, tongue poking out from between the rows of sharp teeth, but for once you aren’t on edge. Floyd looks so excited, his expression reminding you of the look he has when he dances.

“That was nice, Shrimpy.” Floyd laughs, running his tongue along his teeth, “Gimme another one.”

“Patience, Floyd.” Jade murmurs, whisking you away from his brother, “It’s my turn.”

“No fair! But I want another kiss!” Floyd pouts, reaching to snatch you away.

You sigh, shaking your head at the sibling rivalry unfolding around you.

Oh dear, what have you done?

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Old words unspoken ‘til now: Neuvillette; heartwarming, spoilers from his story quest, 0.7k

Imagine you were a history and literature enthusiast in the world of Teyvat. You collected books -old books- and you tremendously enjoyed the archaic language written between the dusty covers. The terms used, the odd sentence structure as well as the punctuation were all hindrances to the common person. With phrases slightly off-putting to the contemporary palate, one could hardly persevere through a single page.

Yet you, on the other hand, would read these books aloud with flair and drama, causing strangers to raise a brow and your closest friends to share a knowing smirk. As you walked along by Palais Mermonia, quick on your feet to run a commission, you heard a word you'd only read in the book located on the third shelf away from your fireplace.

The word? An insult. The equivalent of calling a person a buffoon.

Of course the one receiving the insult was oblivious to the fact that he was indeed insulted, as if it never occurred to him that it could be anything but a compliment. But as you listened to him wail and complain about how a certain Melusine failed to meet his petty expectations, you understood the drama that had reached your attentive ears.

The great Monsieur Neuvillette was understandably upset.

You had never forgotten the spectacle. You tucked it into a corner of your memory, next to the lines of an obscure but cherished theatre script written centuries ago. The single word brought you back to a different world that separated you not by space but by time. Old Fontaine, with all its flaws, also contained stories of bravery and love in its pages.

Then when you happened on a rare chance to greet Monsieur Neuvillette himself in person, you seized the opportunity for an experiment. A harmless one of course.

You quoted a line from your favorite play.

It was a typical form of greeting when directed to a respectful gentleman such as him. But the archaic saying revealed a brief shock in Neuvillette's eyes, just as he received the completed commission from you. He continued on with business as usual, not thinking much of your words. Yet when another sentence flowed out of your mouth, he could no longer ignore his heart. His smile could hardly be contained at hearing the equivalent of his mother tongue, the mode of words when he first lived among humans. Your intonations brought him back to his early days with Vautrin and Carole, of small gatherings and outings with those he cherished. A warm soupy aroma had wafted from the kitchen of Vautrin's mother and young children had giggled with the handful of Melusines he first brought over.

And without knowing, Neuvillette replied you. He replied in that old Teyvat language, with idioms and speech patterns he scarcely spoke ‘til now.

Your eyes grew wide, and then were replaced by an even wider grin. With glee, you spoke to him the language you only read from books, almost a little bashful from the excitement in your own voice.

He asked where you learned to speak that way and you spilled out your vast knowledge of centuries old literature, those cherished tales of characters you loved. In turn, he gave you insights into the settings and culture at the time for each of the stories you shared. And mid conversation, you couldn't help but feel the urge to write them all down.

As the people walked by you outside the Palais Mermonia, you continued to speak in a way that was unknown to the expanse of the current human world. It was awkward at first for Neuvillette, not having conversed this way in so long. But the more he spoke, the more natural it felt, and the words and phrases on his tongue made themselves home in him once again. The place in his heart that was long forgotten was brought to the surface for him to enjoy once again. It was a marvel to behold how a mere few phrases had uncovered this abandoned treasure.

So when the day was done, and the hours had passed from the moment you'd shared your good-byes, Neuvillette once again reflected on his former years. They were painful memories, but there was great joy in them as well. And you had just gifted him with a warm experience he couldn't have foreseen. An encounter that led out a forgotten part of his being.

A place he called home.

Thanks for reading! This was pretty different from my usual writing style and format, but I hope you enjoyed it.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Crazier Bastard's Chapter 299

New title - 38. I'll Bet On You

Brief summary: Great elder elf gets scared of Clopeh's expressionless eyes. Clopeh carried Cale on his back as the butler guided them to a room. Clopeh asks Mold to send the video he took to Cale's group. Unconscious Cale finds himself in a dark space and then suddenly enters the game world.

===========

Today's Clopeh was his serious self. His expressionless eyes even scared the great elder who felt that Clopeh was a dangerous madman at that moment. He only smiled once before carrying Cale on his back, not caring about the blood still dripping on his back. And when he met eyes with Exion, he told the dragon that when Cale wakes up, they would have to give whatever Cale wanted.

As for his legend-spouting self, he did tell everyone, "It would be foolish, indeed, to turn away from this marvelous sight." This referred to the wondrous changes Cale had done to the WT. But afterwards, he muttered softly, "A hero's sacrifice. It's not a legend, it's just a tragedy."

I guess Clopeh still had some sense to consider Cale's sacrifice as tragic, and not praise it as being legendary. However, this die-hard Cale fan also noticed that 1st Bishop Mold had secretly recorded a video of what happened. And guess what he asked Mold to do? He asked Mold to send that video to Cale's group, namely CH and Raon, and to the people in the black castle... What? Why would you do that, Clopeh? Do you want them to wreck this place? 🤣🤣🤣

As for what happened to the WT, it seemed like what happened in the mindscape was also seen outside. Everyone felt Cale's nature APs and the power of the saint's golden eye. They also saw the water circling the tree and rising to the sky, and got a glimpse of the source of the world appearing in the sky. And all the flowers in the back garden withered before blooming anew. It was the WT's death and rebirth.

So it was no wonder that everyone was shocked. 1st Bishop Mold became hopeful that Cale could save this world from destruction and also change the pope's mind. Erza was too stunned to speak. The great elder was in awe. And 3rd Star Exion seemed to have made a decision. His actions afterwards seemed to imply that he had chosen to side with Cale's group.

Cale wanted to be a slacker, but even in his rest time, he had to work. 😂 Just like the past times when he fainted, he woke up in some kind of space. It was a dark space where a lone single light shone. The light was the golden eye of the saint, so Cale understood that this was how the "digestion" worked.

But a strange thing happened when he touched the golden eye...

A bright light washed over him, and soon, Cale could see the darkness disappear and a new space appear. And then he froze. [Raise your own precious Absolute God!] [Welcome to New World, the new world!] [Would you mind telling me your name, you who took your first steps on this land?] "Eh?" [Tutorial Quest 1. Set a nickname] Cale was genuinely puzzled. …Did I just suddenly, out of nowhere, enter the game world? "What the hell?" [Are you going to use the nickname "What the hell?"?] Damn it. Cale felt his irritation begin to rise.

HAHAHAHA 🤣🤣🤣🤣 First of all, that game world was really named "New World"? 😂😂😂 And then that nickname... 🤣🤣🤣 But why did Cale suddenly enter the game world? If Alberu used Taerang as his medium to enter the game, was Cale's medium the golden eye of the saint? Why was that? Was the saint from Earth 3?

Ending Remarks Clopeh's seriousness was nice to see, and Cale's sudden entrance to the game world was surprising. Now I'm excited for Cale to join Alberu in his game quests. I guess Cale would be the hero in the game too, huh? Raise my precious absolute god? Nah, Cale would be here to kill that absolute god. 😂

[shadowbriar]

James Potter - Don’t Buy Me Flowers

Pairing : (F/M) || James Potter x Reader  Word Count : 3k Warning : None I believe. Prompts : "I’d marry you right this instant.” Prompt request is still open. You can find the link to the prompt list here. Notes : Mixed this prompt request with the song Don’t Buy Me Flowers by Lolo Zouaï. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

James' eyes were glued on her. An unconscious smile decorating his face, cheeks slightly pink from admiration. She was sitting a few rows in front of him, giving him the safe distance to steal glances yet now have grown to rather resent the space between them. 

Don’t ask him what happened cause he wouldn’t be able to piece the words together. She’s always been in his classes, after all. All James knew is that he couldn’t peel his eyes off of her now. As if she’s stunned him with a love charm or had spiked his morning drink with a love potion. He wouldn’t be complaining either way if such a scenario really did occur.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall called for Merlin knows how many times. The only thing snapping him off of his daydream was a nudge from Sirius. James looked up, meeting the Head of Gryffindor’s eyes with a sheepish smile “Would you please tell the class exactly what I have explained for the last twenty minutes?”

James cleared his throat, being caught red handed now for not paying any attention, “I- Something about transfiguration?”

“Indeed.” Professor McGonagall said with a displeased tone “Perhaps if you would keep your eyes up front instead of gazing at your own peer, you could elaborate more than ‘something about transfiguration’.”

The whole class giggled, including her.

James, who was embarrassed of the stunt he pulled, now feels rather proud to have put a smile on her face. He grins as he steals a glance at her, hoping he doesn’t look as chaotic as the state of his heart at the moment. If only she knew she was the peer McGonagall was talking about.

The class continues with James who still couldn’t avert his gaze away from her. He watches her, mentally taking notes on the way she would tilt her head to the left when she’s trying to understand McGonagall’s words, or the way she taps her quill exactly three times on the inkwell before starting to write her notes, or the way she would mumble the words as she write on the parchment paper. Everything she does seems to be the most mesmerising thing James could ever witness.

Some time during the lesson, she turned to her shoulder for a brief moment. Their eyes met and she showed the slightest hint of smile before turning back to face McGonagall, afraid to put the boy in more trouble should she be caught. She didn’t know it then but those 7 seconds would serve as the blessings for his dreams to come. His heart swells, cheeks warm from the sudden rise of temperature around him.

“You might want to cover your face there, mate.” Sirius whispered “You’re looking as red as our house crest.”

“Shut up, Pads.”

—-

James huffed as he lifted the pot of Venomous Tentacula. A prank went wrong at the Greenhouses and just to his luck, or lack thereof, James was the only one caught of the four Marauders, earning him the punishment of cleaning up the mess and moving the plants from one Greenhouse to another. With every bead of sweat forming on his forehead, the vexation he has for his best friends only grows deeper. James couldn’t wait to get back to his dorm and hex each one of them.

Yet all the anger he feels evaporates to thin air as someone enters the greenhouse.

“Merlin!” She yelped, not expecting to meet someone “You scared me.”

James gulped, completely not believing his eyes. Perhaps the lack of food in his stomach has made him hallucinate. He’s been there working his arse since the sky was still bright, after all. There’s no way she would be here in the Greenhouse, especially at these late hours.

“Earth to Potter?” She says again, snapping her fingers “What are you doing here? Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, right. I’m good.” He says fast, trying to compose himself as he dusts the dirt from his hands “Detention.”

She nods, “I see.”

“What are you doing here?” He asks this time, noticing a bouquet of flowers on her hands “Couldn’t be detention, I’m sure.”

“No, not detention.” She says with a smile, walking to the back of the Greenhouse to get an empty pot and some soil “I wanted to repot these flowers. Would be a pity to let them die.”

“But aren’t they already dead?” He asks with a raised eyebrow “I mean they’re cut from the stems, it’s only a matter of time till the petals dry and fall.”

“Well that’s why we’ve got wands, isn’t it Potter?”

James feels his cheeks heat up as he sees her smile. This is the most interaction they’ve had all year and exactly what did he dream last night to have such an opportunity to come? He could hardly remember the wrath he held to his friends nor the ache in his muscles after all these hours in the Greenhouse. A minute with her would do to charm his mood back to its default sunshine mode.

“A little bit of water and let’s hope these sweetness can survive.”

“What did you do?” He asks as he watches her water the pot now “With your wand and everything.”

“Some simple spell to help it grow its roots. They don’t always work so they would need extra care for the next few days.” She explains, eyes still glued on the newly planted flowers “I truly appreciate it when people would give me flowers, but I’d be lying if it doesn’t stress the living out of me.”

“You get plenty of flowers?”

“No, not plenty.” She answers with a smile “I’m not as lucky as Evans.”

James turns red. Just perfect. The girl he’s madly in love with now just has to know about his past failed attempts for his past crush. Well of course she knew, the whole castle knew just how big of a fool he was last year to have chased for the redhead’s attention. If only he could turn back time and slap his own self to sense.

“Well, I better get going now.” She says as she walks herself outside, smiling “I’ll see you around, Potter.”

—-

James waited in the Greenhouse with a smile plastered on his face. The plan was in motion. A whole week has passed and she hasn’t realised that he was the culprit responsible for placing a bouquet on her dorm every single morning.

It all started when the urge to kill the flowers she planted that night brewed inside his heart. The said plant was thriving in its pot, colours of its petals were vibrant and the leaves were the greenest he’s ever seen in a plant. Part of him was impressed at her skills for reviving it, but a bigger part of him hoped that she wasn’t as proficient because then she had no reason to come to the Greenhouse.

And that means no 10 minute lovely chats at night.

He wanted to ruin the innocent plant, rip its leaves or simply knock it off of the table but he couldn’t bear imagining the sad and disappointed look on her face when she finds out her plant has been messed with. Would she be able to forgive him if she knew he was the one responsible for such a catastrophe? No, he couldn’t take that much of a risk, not with the limited interaction they have just yet. He wouldn’t want to gamble their delicate relationship, his heart wouldn’t be able to survive if she ended up hating him.

So he decided to take the lighter way, to give her just a light stress that would hopefully turn into a blissful exchange for the both of them. He knew that she could revive the flowers, there’s really nothing to lose to his scheme. One of these days he hoped that he could make her fall for him, make her see that he’s not that bad of a lad to date.

“Evening.” She greets, breaking his train of thought as she enters the Greenhouse “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” James answers shyly, lifting the pot of Screechsnap he was holding “Still moving these pots from one place to another.”

“I never knew the Professor was one to hold grudges.” She says as she walks to the other side of the Greenhouse “Most of the time students would only get a three day detention, a week at top. Yet you’re still here after, what, two weeks?”

James’ cheeks were warm. Truth be told his detention has ended days ago but he can’t really tell her that now, can he? Where else would they have their pleasant exchange if not here at the Greenhouse?

“Here to pot another flower?” He asks instead, trying to divert the discussion “You’ve been getting a handful of them lately.”

She looks down to the bouquet of flowers in her hands, smiling lightly, “Yeah, I wonder who they’re from. The sender never left any note so there’s no telling who my secret admirer is.”

“Is that so?” He says, faking an intrigued expression “So you have no idea who it is?”

She shrugs as she puts the flowers to the pot, starting her spell, “I have some possible names.”

“Names?” James raised his brows “How many possible lads are there?”

“What, you think you’re the only one with quite a fanclub?” She teases, smiling at him with such mischief “You’re not the only beautiful person in this castle, Potter.”

The boy went quiet. He knew that his face was red. He tried to calm himself, tone down the fast beating of his heart but what exactly can he do when she just complimented him? She did say that he’s one of the beautiful people in the castle. How does she not expect him to have his stomach flipped in giddiness?

“I have to say, though,” She continues “I wish that this person would just come forward or maybe give me a note on their flowers. Trying to revive them stresses me out. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I fail.”

“Come on, you’ve successfully revived each one of them. Surely the bliss of getting flowers overcomes the stress of reviving them.”

She shrugs, “Perhaps.”

He watches as she tends her flowers, watering each of them as she hums to some song. James could feel his heart swells tenfold, threatening to explode in bliss. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact of how blind he had been to only just noticed her. Merlin knows just how much he regrets not getting to know her sooner. Imagine the much time he could've saved had he known her since first year. They would have already been married by now.

James had never tried to impress anyone as much as he’s tried with her. He even checked out the thickest herbology book from the library, just so he could find a topic to talk with her. Though when the time comes, it only further proves his limited knowledge of such a topic as she keeps on correcting his faulty trivias. At least he made her laugh. A win is a win, he reckons.

“Did you know,” James began to speak, making her look up and face him with a smile “That Niffler’s Fancy was once used in replacement to coins due to its gleaming copper-like leaves?”

She shakes her head, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Is that information credible?” She asks with a giggle, placing the watering can down “Because last time you told me Belladonna was used by ancient wizards to help with stomach problems when in fact, the plant is poisonous for human consumption.”

James smiles sheepishly, “That one was a mere human error, this one was real. I read it earlier in one of Remus’ books and even wrote it down on my palms, see?”

She walks closer to him, taking his hand and reading the writings on his palm. James had never felt such intense sensation than when their skin met in contact. She was oblivious to the frivolity he was in, as always, which in a way is a good thing because he wouldn’t want to weird her out with his heavy feelings for her. James has always been known to be a very expressive person when it comes to his feelings and oftentimes it only causes discomfort to the other party. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, he was born to love proud and aloud, James Potter.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give this one trivia the benefit of the doubt.”

James nods, agreeing with her.

“You know, since you’re so full of herbology knowledge,” She says teasingly “Why don’t you come and help me tutor the second years this weekend? I’m sure those kids would flip to know that James Potter is not only skilled at the quidditch field but that he also has a charming wit.”

James had to bite his lip hard to suppress himself from combusting. The compliments she’s throwing at him tonight, though served in a casual and probably meant nothing for her, was making him fly through the clouds. Couldn’t she tell that he’s going mad?

“Sure, of course!” He answered cheerfully, nodding eagerly like a puppy “I’ll see you then.”

—-

Watching her with heart eyes, James wasn't sure what his hands were doing to the Mandrakes. Honestly he couldn't care less. In fact, he hoped to ruin them somehow and receive another detention. Anything just so he could spend more time with her. Well not precisely with her, seeing that their interaction is still as limited as ever, but close enough to study her. That much would suffice for his throbbing heart for the moment.

"You're going to have yourself killed if you continue picking their leaves like that." She commented with a giggle "If the Professor knew you're harming their precious plants, they'll have your head."

James grins, amused, "Will you tell them that I'm the culprit?"

"Maybe."

She walks past him with a teasing smile, a pot of Fluxweed plant on her hands. James could catch a sniff of her perfume, something he always craved to smell each morning when he woke up. His eyes were trained on her, not even trying to make it subtle as he grins even wider whenever she catches him staring. She would only shake her head, biting in the smile that’s threatening to decorate her face. James could only hope that he’s not making her uncomfortable with his apparent affection. 

He should have known that going to help her tutor the second years would only be the death of him. There would be no way out of these feelings for the years to come, he’s sure of it. Watching her patiently explain and help the kids to take care of the plants only made him fall deeper into her magnetism. He couldn’t help but to think of how wonderful of a mother she would be.

The mother of his children, he hopes.

James blushes at the thought. How could he imagine having a family with her when he hasn’t even gathered the gut to ask her out? Compared to his previous attempts with Lily, James has been much more quieted down. He figured that one of the reasons he failed on his last endeavours was because of his strong and blatant ventures. Sirius says that girls like her would prefer boys who are more discreet, who would approach in the most gentle and soft way that made her heart flutter. And who best would understand girls, and boys, if not Sirius?

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” She remarks, staring at him with an apologetic smile “I’m sorry if the tutoring bores you.”

He gazes back at her eyes, feeling drowned in the alluring force that made him blurt out his mind, "I’d marry you right this instant.”

She blinks, looking baffled at his sudden confession.

“I- I mean-”

“We are only seventeen, you silly!” She giggles, playfully pushing on his arm “Besides, we can’t get married. Even if I wanted to.”

James frowns, the slight heartbreak evident on his face, “Why not?”

“Because of my secret admirer.” She answers with a teasing smile “Unless you’re that boy that has been sneaking into my dorm each morning to give me flowers, I don’t think it would be fair for us to get married.”

His expression changed to a sheepish one, biting the grin on his face, “How long have you known?”

“Since the third flower. You think I wouldn’t notice the cut plants at the back of the Greenhouse?” She replies with a smile “Also the Professor told me your detention was over weeks ago. You really had no reason to stick around at night unless you had other intention than to move pots around.”

“I wanted to buy you flowers, truly.” He confesses, feeling embarrassed about the lack of effort “But getting to Hogsmeade daily was quite a bit of a task.”

“No, please don’t buy me flowers.” She says fast “They’ll only give me headaches.”

James nods, smiling as he walks closer to her and places his hands around her waist.

He studies her face, finally getting the opportunity to see her up close. Godric, just how beautiful can someone be? Everything about her just bewitched him completely. For once he finally could see that the heart eyes he had been throwing at her was not one sided. She too is drowned in the pool of admiration for him.

“So are you going to kiss me, or-”

James didn’t let her finish, pulling her for a sweet kiss. The moment their lips met, he could physically hear the wedding bells ring in his ears. He’s finally met her, the one he would spend the rest of his life with. And thank Merlin that they met at such a young age because this means that they could spend more time together, just the two of them.

“I hope you know how to cure headaches,” James says as they break the kiss “Because there wouldn’t be a day where I wouldn’t shower you with flowers from now on.”

[inviisiiblelee]

Alastor & Rosie in a tea party setting, gossiping about anything really up to you, please!

REQUESTS OPEN

———

Rosie was always an incredibly gracious hostess, as far as Alastor was concerned. Before his disappearance, they'd often meet up just like this, Rosie having put together a little table by a window for people watching, tea glasses and pot ready and happy to share. It had been so long, and after the events of recent times, he really wanted to feel a sense of normality again. He arrived right on time, as always, and Rosie welcomed him with a big smile and open arms. They shared a brief hug, before the both of them settled themselves.

“Alastor, it feels like it's been ages!”

“Believe me, Rosie, I feel exactly the same. It's good to have real company for once.”

“Oh, you. Please, help yourself before we really dig in!” And he was happy to, finger foods galore and with the most pleasant of crunches. Nothing quite like a little bone marrow for lunch, indeed. She poured him a nice cup of tea, and he added a dash of cream to it before leaning back. 

“So, tell me, honey, how are things?”

“Insufferable, as usual,” came Alastor’s response, with a widening smile. 

“Oh, do tell, darling!”

“Things at the Hotel are just as miserable as you'd imagine! Charlie is just as fervent as ever, trying to get new patrons, and now that Lucifer is there—”

“So that really was him?”

“Yes, yes, he's chosen to stay there for the time being while he helps. Not that he's doing that much, anyway.” 

“He does seem a little empty-headed, doesn't he?” Her comment earned a laugh from Alastor, and some of the tenseness in his shoulders slipped away. 

“I am so glad you agree, Rosie. I've been doing my best to curb them all, and they're all terribly intrusive. Even Husker has been acting quite clingy."

“Really? He's always been a little protective, but clingy?”

“Exactly! After the end of the battle, he insisted on following after me and staying far too close. Even striking out didn't really deter him.” 

“You poor thing, you deserved plenty of space and rest on your own time!”

“Precisely my thoughts. I am fine, but he even sent Charlie checking up on me. It's been such a nuisance! So it's much nicer to be able to come out here.”

“Well, I am always happy to have you, you know that, Alastor! We all love you around here.”

“Oh, I know. If I could spend more time here, I would. But, please, enough of my silly tirade, how are things in your realm?” Alastor took a long drink of his tea, a delightful chamomile. Rosie grinned back at him, taking a drink herself.

“Things are lively as ever, of course. Susan has been less of a pain, all things considered, you might even be so lucky as to avoid her on your way out. The folks here are fairly happy, although there has been some talk of visiting the hotel from some, they've taken nicely to Charlie, as expected.”

“Naturally. I'm sure she'll be happy to have them in any case.”

“There have been a few sightings, though, of Vox and Lucifer both around these parts.” Alastor raised his brows. “They're both taking to spending an odd amount of time with Susan, I think she's developed some attachments. Whether she likes either of them, I have no real idea, I avoid them all.”

“That's probably for the best. Lucifer is infuriating to share breathing space with, and Vox has become quite the nuisance.”

Rosie peered at him for a long moment, but she brushed on to a new topic. “People have been saying something interesting, though, about someone unsavory coming in!”

“Oh? That sounds interesting, who?”

“Well, you didn't hear it from me … but they're saying it's you!”

The two laughed together happily, and Rosie shared more mundane little stories for his entertainment. She had many from the last several years that he hadn't heard, and he found himself happier than he'd been in some time.

[scarletwritesshit]

✿ Jiyan x F!Rover ✿ Forget-Me-Never

“You asked to meet me here, love?” Jiyan said, looking down at Rover sitting in a patch of the field free of Emortia flowers.

“Come sit down,” Rover said, patting the clear space on the ground directly next to her.

Jiyan sat down beside her, careful as to not accidentally step on any of the Emortia flowers. They were growing in a fair abundance, but Jiyan saw no excuse for carelessness. Harming one would be akin to damaging the memory of his fallen comrades, and every fallen petal shatters a part of his soft heart.

“Was there something that you needed to see me for?” he asked.

“Actually, yes, there is. I briefly mentioned us watching the sunset together beside the flower we planted, and I was hoping that you’d join me after all,” Rover said.

“I appreciate the thought, but you need not make time for me, personally.”

“I insist, Jiyan.”

Jiyan smiled softly in understanding, accepting her offer of a brief moment of solitude together. He had arrived just in time to watch as the sun slowly crept behind the mountains, a lingering orange glow illuminating the two of them and the field of flowers in which they resided. Rover ran her hand softly over the grass on her side opposite of Jiyan, feeling for the stem of the seed that they had planted together. When she felt it brush against her fingers, she lightly cupped its tiny leaves, feeling how strong it had grown in such a short amount of time.

“Our flower has been growing quite well,” Rover said.

“You’ve been watching over it this entire time?” Jiyan asked, somewhat surprised.

“Of course. Raising one of your favorite flowers is like taking care a part of your soul, and I couldn’t possibly disregard something of that importance.”

 “I…I see,” Jiyan said, blushing, “you must be rather knowledgeable of flowers to be caring for it so well.”

“I know you are, especially. I can’t let you down, so I must see that it grows properly.”

Jiyan did not refute Rover’s words, as he did indeed harbor a great love for herbs and flowers. He gently held one of the Emortia flowers in his hand, handling it delicately as to not accidentally snap it out of the ground or damage even a singular petal.

“It still has yet to blossom, but you still wanted to see me out here so soon,” he said, admiring the blooming flower in his hand.

“Well, Jiyan, sometimes, you talk about yourself dying a little too much,” Rover said. “It worries me. A lot.”

“The possibility cannot be eradicated. I lead the troops from the front, therefore making me a highly prioritized target. Should the worst case scenario come to fruition, I want to leave no ends left untied.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Jiyan. I don’t want you to die. Just hearing you talk about it hurts me greatly.”

“I apologize,” Jiyan said, looking away, “but I would rather not leave you unguided in the event that we part ways without another word shared.”

Jiyan’s words stung Rover’s heard, bringing her on the verge of tears. She understood where he was coming from, and making such preparations was ultimately wise, but she did not want to consider that outcome regardless. She couldn’t imagine no longer having Jiyan by her side. He was perhaps the first person that she truly felt comfortable entrusting her life to, at least ever since she regained consciousness. Losing him would mean losing a part of herself as well.

Does that man ever not think about his plausible death? she wondered.

“I suppose you are right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I still want to think about it regardless.”

“I hardly want consider it myself, love.”

The silence between the two of them became deafening as the sun was sinking further behind the mountains and below the horizon. He wasn’t sure what to say, as Rover looked as if she would burst into tears should he say a single word. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that what was left of the was sunlight illuminating Rover’s hand resting on the grass beside him. He laid his hand on top of hers, gently sliding his fingers under it and holding her hand as gently as his strength would allow him to.

Rover looked up at him, the setting sun reflecting in her inquisitive, citrine-tinted eyes. Embarrassed, Jiyan looked away, his hand tense and frozen in place. Rover attempted to hook her thumb around his and gently rub it to signal that he was fine, but Jiyan still refused eye contact. He was proceeding cautiously, despite his most forceful moves being gentler than a flower petal drifting along the river.

“Is this why you invited me out tonight? Because you were afraid that you would never see the setting sun with me?” Jiyan asked.

Rover nodded her head. “…also had something that I wanted to give to you.”

Jiyan finally turned to look at her and watched as she used her free hand to shift through her pocket. He was ready to accept being shaken off at any moment, but Rover kept his fingers firmly planted to the ground, as if she were afraid that he would suddenly slip away. After a few moments of digging, she pulled out a stem consisting of many tiny blue flowers, just barely visibly in the last of the daylight that lingered.

She held them out to Jiyan, and he accepted her gift of tiny flowers. He held them in his palm out of fear of accidentally damaging them, as they looked even smaller and more delicate in his large hands. Jiyan held the small stem between his fingers and held them up to his face, leaning his head in and closing his eyes. They had no aroma, yet he breathed deeply as he held them close.

“Please,” Rover said, “let these serve as a reminder that there’s people who depend on you to stay alive. Never forget that there are people out there praying for you to not succumb to death’s loveless embrace.”

“These are most lovely, Rover,” he said.

He wasn’t admiring the flowers, though. In fact, Jiyan’s eyes were shut tightly.

“Never forget that I love you, I’ll be waiting for you, and I want you to live to see countless more flowers like the Emortia bloom before us.”

Jiyan still wasn’t saying anything, or even sparing Rover a glance. She noticed that his red eyeshadow trailed down the side of his face. Was he attempting to hold back tears this entire time? Jiyan was clenching his jaw and holding the flowers rather close to himself, seemingly in agony trying to repress his feelings.

“Jiyan,” she said, tearing up herself, “…I don’t mind it if you cry.”

Jiyan practically collapsed into Rover’s lap, his feelings breaking the instant she stopped speaking. He was trying to hold himself up in order to avoid toppling her on accident, but that was proving to be rather difficult with tears streaming from his eyes making him weak. Rover guided his head down into her lap comfortably, assuring that he did not accidentally crush any of the flowers.

Rover took the back of her hand and wiped off the smeared red eyeliner along the side of his face. She wished that she had comforting words to offer him, but perhaps, this is something that he had been needing for a long time.

“General,” she said, trying to not tear up herself, “I hope that tears of blood shall never have to be shed for either of us.”

[thelordofgifs]

Congrats on the milestone! How about Maglor or Maedhros and jewellery, from the worldbuilding prompt list?

Digging up this old prompt for @maedhrosmaglorweek day 3! Have both of them.

"You will jingle as you walk," says Maedhros, "they will hear you coming for miles."

Maglor laughs, and tosses his head so that the dangling silver earrings chime. "A poor minstrel I will make, if my jewellery plays more music than I! No, Nelyo, these will not do." He removes them carefully, and lays them aside in the growing pile of precious metal heaped upon the side-table.

Maedhros, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor of his chambers in Himring, watches him with a faint little frown. "You must choose something," he says; "you cannot go to the feast dressed as plainly as a Vanya monk."

"My songbird's voice is adornment enough," Maglor says blithely, "and anyhow I did not come here to pick out my own gems. We must make some progress on deciding what to bring as gifts."

From the chest Maedhros draws out a long string of pearls, meant to be draped three times around the neck for the full effect. A souvenir from a summer Maglor spent in Alqualondë, long before the light of the Trees went out, or indeed before their father took it into his mind to preserve it. Maglor chose the pearls himself, going up and down a hundred beachside stalls to pick out those most perfectly round and white, and had Finrod his cousin teach him how to string them on a thread of silk before presenting them to Maedhros. How lovely they had looked set against his brother's fair skin; they had seemed almost to glow.

"These – these stones," Maedhros says, hesitant, "we could gift them to the envoys of the Sindar, perhaps."

Maglor swallows. "They are pearls, Nelyo," he says, keeping his voice light. Maedhros blinks at him, and he explains, "They come from the sea, from oysters. We used to get them from the Teleri." He pauses, and then, when Maedhros still looks bewildered, adds, "I do not think it good politics to gift them to the kin of those we slaughtered, whether or not they know of it."

Maedhros' face darkens. "You are right – Nolofinwë's host will murmur to see them, besides." He gives the pearls another troubled look and then sets them aside.

No use, Maglor has learned, in dwelling on these missing spaces in his brother's memory. They frustrate Maedhros enough as it is: and it is nothing personal, Maglor knows, that he has forgotten the pearls were a gift from Maglor. Their Enemy has taken from Maedhros things far more precious than the recollection of a trinket. It does not sting, that Maedhros does not remember.

Maedhros has turned his attention back to the chest before him. These are all his personal jewels, salvaged from their father's house in Tirion in the brief hours they had to pack before setting out on their ill-fated march. In the years of his captivity Maglor would indulge himself, sometimes, and open the chest, and admire the treasure within as though he were yet a fanciful child trying on his brother's baubles; and he would tell himself that he would hear Maedhros' laughing voice at the door any moment now, saying, Are you going through my things again, little magpie?

Maedhros does not much like to wear jewellery, these days. He says that it chafes against his skin, and on darker days that it puts him in mind of chains; occasionally he will consent to Maglor pinning back his hair with a bejewelled clip, or to an unobtrusive pair of earrings, but all his fine gold necklaces and ornate jewel-encrusted bracelets are useless now.

"Too few gemstones," he says now with a frown; "they were more marvellous than the metalwork, and would be better received."

Maglor thinks with some regret of a fine set of rubies his father had made him for his two hundredth begetting-day. Like all the house of Fëanor's best jewels, they were locked in the vault at Formenos, and stolen by Morgoth when he ransacked it.

"I know not how things are done in Doriath," he says, "but in any case the Mithrim Sindar are not over-fond of jewels, much like their Falmari kin. I do not think we need worry that our gifts will seem poor to them; in truth they will know not what to do with them. They wear flowers in their hair oftener than gems."

"It may be different in Doriath," Maedhros argues. "Findaráto says of Menegroth that the very walls are studded with jewels. Perhaps a gift of our own best would go some way towards earning Elwë's favour."

Maglor frowns. "Think you he will come himself, then?"

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, "but even if he does not we must not seem to be ungenerous. Many of those in Nolofinwë's host will be searching for any excuse to name us so." He passes his hand over his eyes, looking tired. Maglor only arrived yesterday, but he has his suspicions about how long his brother had gone without sleep before that. "We must choose presents for them too—"

"You gave Nolofinwë a crown," says Maglor; "surely he will be sated with that!"

The jest makes Maedhros laugh, as it would not coming from any of their other brothers, edged as it would be with resentment or mockery. Maglor is awfully, selfishly glad of that.

"Come here," says Maedhros, "you are distracting me. Help me choose what to give our own kin, at least."

Maglor settles on the floor beside him. "This for Findaráto," he says, picking out a necklace of sapphires that Maedhros never much liked in the first place, "it will go well with his eyes."

Maedhros favours him with a smile. "Well chosen," he says. Then he finds a very fine emerald, set into the front of a copper circlet but easily prised free, and examines it thoughtfully. This, Maglor remembers, is a relic of their father's first experiments with the art of capturing light; it does not shine with a light of its own as do the Silmarils, but catches and magnifies all the daylight coming through the window in a most pleasing manner, reflecting them back in every shade of green imaginable. Maedhros sets it aside, and when Maglor casts him a questioning look blushes and says only, "For Finno."

The next piece Maedhros draws out of the chest is a golden bangle, from Fëanor's filigree phase: the metal worked into the shapes of trees and flowers and leaping horses, studded all over with tiny gems in a multitude of colours. Their father was in a good mood, when he made this, Maglor recalls. The precision of the work appealed to him. Perhaps it was that more than the loveliness of the finished product that made Maedhros fond of it.

"You always liked this one," says Maedhros, his eyes warm now with recollection. "The number of times it turned up on your dressing-table, after I had spent hours searching for it! Here." And he slips the bangle onto Maglor's wrist.

Maglor tenses, forces himself to relax, and takes it off again. "I do not want it," he says, "thank you, Nelyo."

Maedhros blinks at him. "I cannot wear it," he says, "not a bangle, it will be – too tight." He shudders briefly and then masters himself. "You might as well take it, and then someone can have use of it."

You do not want him back, Celegorm spat once; all your mourning is performance only. You are quite content to sit here wearing his crown and playing dress-up with his jewels, in truth.

"I do not want it," Maglor says again.

"Káno," Maedhros says, very gently. He tilts Maglor's chin up to examine his face. "What troubles you?"

But how can Maglor tell him, I am not now the child you knew in Valinor, the little magpie who so loved to be adorned? How can he say, I too was sated with a crown? He cannot unburden himself to Maedhros, who so depends on him to be merry and bright and unruffled. He has lost the right to do so.

"It will get in the way," he says, "when I play my harp." Then he summons up a smile and says, cheerfully, "Five cousins yet to choose gifts for, and then you promised you would let me practice my new Sindarin songs after we dine! We had better hurry." And he turns back to the chest before Maedhros can object.

[calitsnow]

Let’s talk about Hong Lu’s poster

Summary:

Introduction

The paifang

Where is Hong Lu?

The reality of Hong Lu

{Skip the introduction if you’re only interested in the analysis of the character of Hong Lu and his poster}

I/ Introduction

Today I would like to offer you an analysis of Hong Lu's character poster. Although it is difficult to know what these character posters seek to show, apart from presenting characters, it is clear that each of them possesses clues about the sinners’ past and especially where the character represented comes from.

For example, we could see the pallid whale destroying the Pequod on Ishmael's poster, although it was easy to make the connection with Moby Dick, the poster also showed us that Ishmael had a history with a white whale and was a survivor of a shipwreck.

I am not sure if all the information is equally valuable according to the posters because, for example, Sinclair's poster is quite enigmatic and does not really show a specific event or place, or at least I do not recognize it.

But that does not stop me from believing that what is depicted behind the sinners is supposed to be related to the sinner, yes, but also, I think, related to a wing or place in the city that was important in the sinner's past.

I even wonder if the moment/place represented is not supposed to represent the place where the sinner decided to join the company.

Why do I say this? Well, you can see behind Rodion's character a casino setting, whereas her ego and space generated by the golden bough were affiliated with a world of ice. So why does Rodion's poster show her in front of an environment reminiscent of a casino? Perhaps it is to evoke her love for gambling as well as her ability to bluff and her desire for money, but if we look at Rodion's photo in the identity archive menu:

We can see Rodion in an outfit we have never seen her in before, an outfit that closely resembles what someone might wear at a casino. We have never seen how Rodion was recruited by Limbus Company, but if we follow the logic I just proposed, Rodion would have been recruited in a casino.

This logic seems credible and yet doubtful when we look at the case of Yi-sang.

For the moment, Yi-Sang is the only sinner whose recruitment by Limbus Company we know:

We know he was coming out of the laboratory where he was held by Gubo, the same laboratory we can see behind him on his poster.

But here's the catch: this is how Yi-sang was dressed when he met Faust VS versus what Yi-sang looks like on his photo in the identity archive:

But hold on! I may have an explanation for this difference:

Yes, in the first image, Yi-Sang is not wearing his scientist coat, but he is indeed wearing the gray shirt, and I think Yi-Sang was indeed dressed with his coat initially, I think he just took it off in the left image.

So yes, it sounds like a lame excuse, but look at how Yi-Sang was dressed before this scene (when he was held captive).

Boom, there it is, that scientist coat. Yi-Sang was indeed dressed as he was in that laboratory when his photo for the company was taken.

But here's the second little hiccup: we don't know how much time separates Yi-Sang's escape and his encounter with Faust...

But if what is depicted behind the sinners is not toward the place/moment where he was recruited by Limbus Company, then I think the place depicted behind the sinner is still a place/moment that shaped the sinner and convinced them to join Limbus Company.

II/ The Paifang

After this brief analysis that raised many questions, I would especially like us to keep the idea that what is depicted behind Hong Lu is related to him and the wing (or other place in the city) where he comes from.

Let's continue:

To make the understanding and analysis of the poster simpler, I decided to divide it into 6 zones:

Red: character

Dark blue: background area with tall buildings —> the city / what is behind the paifang

Purple: Paifang

Light blue: distorted and highly colorful area / portails

Orange: what surrounds the sides of the paifang

Green: the ground and what is in front of the paifang

Even if sometimes I won't do it, I will now also use this color code to target specific areas of the poster when needed.

Well, first of all, I'm going to talk about the purple area, which is everything related to the Paifang, which is a very important element of this poster:

This Paifang, which looks like it's made of (red?) wood, seems to be surrounded by tall walls as we can see in the orange area.

So it seems that this Paifang is the only entrance and exit between two spaces. Indeed, if this Paifang is surrounded by walls and (assuming) they extend over a long distance, we can quickly conclude that this passage is the only one that could allow someone to enter or leave a closed space (we will come back to these ideas a little later).

Returning to the Paifang, it seems to perfectly fit the definition I found of a Paifang: "A Paifang is a traditional Chinese architectural structure in the form of a portico or arch, usually placed at the entrance of important places such as cities, temples, or properties. These symbolic gateways are often richly decorated and serve as monumental entry points."

I think the main idea to remember is that this Paifang is a gate/a means of passage, and I think it is the only gate allowing travel between the two spaces it separates.

But what does this gateway separate? Well, I think we have an answer with the inscription in the middle of this Paifang:

Indeed, what is written in the middle behind Hong Lu is this: 境幻虚太 (Jing Huan Xu Tai), we can recognize 4 distinct characters:

境: Realm

幻: Illusory

虚: Void

太: Great

But what is most surprising is that this phrase is actually written backward; indeed, in Chinese, it should be written 太虚幻境 (especially when we know what this combination means, especially in Dream of the Red Chamber), and here it is written as if it had been reflected in a mirror. We know that mirrors play a very important role in Limbus Company, but we will come back to this idea of a mirror a little later.

{Update : I was informed that the ordering of character written on the paifang is actually correct for traditional Chinese writing and for when the characters have to be placed horizontally (especially when you have to write on a space which does not really allow you to write in the vertical like on this paifan). The fact remains that the name of Hong Lu's weapon is therefore written in backward, so why? I don't really have an explanation now... and I have to admit that I still like my first analysis and I still think it is (a little) relevant in a way, so I invit you to keep reading (while keeping this in mind)}

For now, I would like to return to the meaning of what is written on this Paifang; indeed, once the combination of these 4 characters is reversed, it refers to a very important place in Dream of the Red Chamber: "Illusory Land of Great Void" or "Land of Illusion".

We can therefore conclude that this Paifang overlooks the "Land of Illusion" and separates/is the gateway between these two worlds, which are the "Land of Illusion" and, I think, the city.

Which is reminiscent of its “equivalent” in the novel since in the novel there is also a mention of a gate which separates the world of illusions from the rest or at least which indicates its entry point

{Side note: Strangely, this is not the only time that "太虚幻境" appears on the poster since it also appears just at the bottom right, and yes, "Land of Illusion" is also the name of Hong Lu's weapon, but that's not all! It is of course also the name of his EGO.

We can therefore see that the "Land of Illusion" is used to define many things related to or belonging to Hong Lu.}

In the novel Dream of the Red Chamber, The Land of Illusion is a domain where illusions and fantasies come to life. However, despite its enticing and enchanting appearance, this fictional world is also fraught with dangers and traps as it can lead individuals into deceptive illusions and prevent them from perceiving the truth.

However, a very interesting analysis of the Land of Illusion parallels this place with the Prospect Garden, which is the garden where Baoyu lives with his cousins and servants. It is the setting for many events in the novel and is also a haven of peace cut off from the rest of the world where its inhabitants can indulge in their idle and luxurious lives.

When Baoyu first visits this garden, he feels like he has been here before, and indeed, this garden actually reminds Baoyu of the place he visited in his dreams: the Land of Illusion.

A fantastical literary garden devoted to pleasure and love, which recalls the hero's dream of love and evokes in him a sense of the uncanny, will lead the reader to realize that Prospect Garden is the Land of Illusion. Eden, emptied of humanity, may remain a pristine ideal.

The Prospect Garden becomes a Buddhist allegory of experience. It blooms and withers with the ebb and flow of human desires and longings, but it is also a fictional world, imagined, the stuff of dreams.

The Prospect Garden is the earthly manifestation of the Land of Illusion, just as Baoyu is the physical earthly reincarnation of the stone.

III/ Where is Hong Lu?

After discussing what The Land of Illusion is and what this Paifang separated or rather where it leads to, it's time to ask a question: on which side is Hong Lu on his poster?

The Paifang already gives us an indication of this: since we can read "Land of Illusion" backward.

So I think we can deduce that Hong Lu is currently on the side of the "Land of Illusion" because if we follow the theory that the writing on the Paifang is reversed because Hong Lu is in a mirror world, then it's easy to guess that on the other side (the non-visible face) of the Paifang, we could read "The Land of Illusion" written correctly because this Paifang does lead to the "Land of Illusion."

To support this assertion (that Hong Lu is on the side of "The Land of Illusions"), I invite you to look at the dark blue area.

We can see tall buildings bathed in a red/black color; I think this modern aesthetic and these colors are supposed to remind us of the city, whose red color is often associated with —> just look at the map to notice this.

But that's not all: the color red is associated with the red dust by which Buddhism refers to the earthly realm, which contrasts sharply with the luxury brought to mind by the vernacular use of red.

Red dust is a symbol of the impermanence and transience of human life in Chinese philosophy.

It represents the reality of life as transient and ephemeral, reminding individuals that everything in this world is subject to change and disappearance. This notion is often used in Chinese literature and poetry to express the human condition and the importance of fully living each moment, knowing that nothing is permanent.

Red dust is used to talk about our world and our existence on it, which is but a short-lived illusion filled with suffering, to talk about the mundane world.

In Limbus Company, this world of Red Dust, this illusory world, is the city, and this bubbled paradise is "The Land of Illusion."

But how do we know that Hong Lu is indeed walking on the water of what I have been calling "The Land of Illusion" all this time?

Well, a clue might give us the answer; I invite you to look at the green area.

We can see that Hong Lu is walking on water, which already evokes the notion of "reflection" and this idea that The Land of Illusion is a mirrored world of the world of red dust, as is "The Land of Illusion" in the novel, but that's not all.

I will have to step away from Hong Lu's poster for a moment to look at an image present during the Limbus Company launch trailer.

Although nothing I'm about to say has been confirmed, I don't think it's too farfetched to say that we can see in this image a past version of Hong Lu, before he joined the company when he was at home, probably the Jia family manor (or at least its version of LCB).

What's interesting about this image is the color of the sky: this blue fading towards turquoise. We've seen it elsewhere before:

And yes! I am convinced that this blue space we can see in the cutscene of Hong Lu's EGO is supposed to be the sky from his home. And what is Hong Lu's EGO called? Land of Illusion.

Furthermore, I think that this blue sky is meant to contrast with the red sky of the city. Thus, the separation between the two is even more accentuated, as it was with the Paifang that clearly separated the two realities.

So, I believe that we can conclude that Hong Lu lives in the Land of Illusion.

This idea that the world in which Hong Lu lived is "The Land of Illusion" is emphasized by another detail: the reflection of the moon in the water.

In Buddhism, the image of the moon in the water is often used as a metaphor to illustrate the illusory nature of reality or the nature of conditioned existence. This metaphor is often associated with the practice of meditation and understanding the nature of the mind.

The moon in the water appears clearly and distinctly, but it is unstable and transitory, as it is subject to the movements of the water. Similarly, in daily life, what we perceive as reality is often changing, impermanent, and conditioned by multiple factors.

This metaphor thus emphasizes the importance of recognizing the illusory and impermanent nature of reality and not attaching to appearances or transient phenomena. In summary, in Buddhism, the image of the moon in the water is used to illustrate the illusory nature of reality and to encourage the practice of meditation and the search for the true nature of the mind.

I think that this image of the moon in the water is meant to make us understand the true nature of the place where Hong Lu walks: it is The Land Of Illusion, which is nevertheless Hong Lu's reality.

IV/ The Reality of Hong Lu

Indeed, I will now delve into an explanation, and I will try not to get confused. For this, we must now look at a very important excerpt when analyzing the novel Dream of the Red Chamber:

"Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true; Real becomes not-real when the unreal's real."

This idiom is not just written anywhere in the world of the novel; it is located on the Paifang serving as the border and gateway to the Land of Illusion, and there is a good chance that it is also on the Paifang that we see behind Hong Lu.

This idiom makes us understand that reality is actually fiction and that fiction is actually the real world. It invites us to reverse our perception of realities and to consider what is called "real" as false and what is called “false” as real.

Here, I think, it is about understanding that Hong Lu's reality, which is (in) the Land of Illusions, is actually a fictitious and false world. Where the city, which is an unknown and completely foreign world to Hong Lu, which could be seen by him as a fictional world that is not real, is actually the real world, whereas the world he considers real is (his home) actually a false world.

To be honest, I cheated a bit because even though the reflection of the moon in the water is used to evoke a world of illusion for Buddhism, and even though I think it can indeed refer to the fact that Hong Lu is on the side of the "Land of Illusion", I think above all that this reflection is meant to make us understand that this world where Hong Lu is located has an illusory nature of reality + a nature of conditioned existence.

This brings me to talk again about Prospect Garden, which I think is the place where Hong Lu grew up but is especially the place from which Hong Lu must escape.

Prospect Garden is, as mentioned earlier, the Land of Illusion materialized in the real world and is therefore a domain where illusions and fantasies come to life, that is, a place where Baoyu bathed in luxury and idleness.

In "Dream of the Red Chamber," Jia Baoyu is often faced with symbolic choices between staying in Prospect Garden, which often represents the materialistic world and earthly pleasures, or setting out in search of spiritual enlightenment. His journey to enlightenment often involves leaving the illusions and distractions of the material world represented by Prospect Garden. Thus, it is often suggested that to achieve enlightenment, Jia Baoyu must move away from Prospect Garden and seek a true understanding of himself and the world around him.

At the end of the novel, Jia Baoyu (the figure who is supposed to have inspired Hong Lu) realizes the illusory nature of his life and realizes that Prospect Garden was only a world where he was trapped by the illusory pleasures of life, and that is why at the end Jia Baoyu decides to break with his previous life and leave the garden (as well as the rest of his family).

I think we are going to go to Hong Lu’s home to realise that he was literally living in a bubbled space and we will go to the Land of Illusion which, I think, will also be the Prospect Garden.

And the fact that the words are reverse like if they were reflected in a mirror helps, I think, to support on the idea that Hong Lu's world/reality is a reflection of the real world but where everything is distorted/inverted (a symbol I also think of Hong Lu's ignorance and his strange vision of the world) and that this illusion glass will break little by little

We also have to remember the sentence

"Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true; Real becomes not-real when the unreal's real.

And remember that what is true is actually false / wrong according to this. So maybe, if this idea from the novel is kept, the world where Hong Lu is living is just a big lie where everything is just a smoke screen and that Hong Lu is living in denial, prefering to accept this illusion so that his world / vision of reality or truth is not shattered.

So, I think that Hong Lu, during his chapter, will have to understand that his reality is not true and learn to leave the land of illusion to find the truth because it seems to me that one of the theme of Hong Lu will turn around the theme of truth and reality.

[satoshy12]

Constantine and the Cherub"?"

John Constantine sat in the House of Mystery, next to him was a baby cradle, and he poured himself a glass of whiskey. It had been a busy night so far, but he knew that could change in an instant if the child woke up. And the demonologist, is ready to take a break, even just this tiny one. 

As he returned home, he found the infant who owned a part of his soul, and John had no idea who’s backing the tiny infant. 

But he was aware that it must be a fairly powerful person because he had sold his soul to numerous, related beings. Additionally, he had sensed the being that had seen to his needs be done before departing.

And somehow Danny is involved, prompting John to be instructed in the letter to keep the child, whose name is Daniel, safe. As stated in the warning, if a vampire, robot, or a flock of green vultures tries to kidnap Danny, just send them away. It doesn't matter where they go as long as the baby doesn't see them.

He observed that Danny's appearance would change when he sneezed; at the time, he was just a baby with black hair, not white hair. John believes he can handle it as long as it doesn't happen in front of others.

As he took a sip of his drink, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Zatanna. He hesitated for a moment before answering. He knew that when she called, it usually meant trouble. 

"John, we need you at the Watch Tower," she said as soon as he picked up. "There's something big going on."

John sighed. He knew he couldn't ignore the call. As much as he tried to distance himself from the superhero world, he knew that they would not leave him alone.

"I'll be there," he tried to whisper and not wake up the infant, and put down his glass. "What's the situation?"

Zatanna filled him in on the details as he made himself ready to get a Zeta-beam to the Watch Tower. It seemed that a powerful artifact had appeared in a city and had cased chaos. The Justice League had already taken it with them, but they needed John's expertise to know how to deal with the situation.

John's mind raced as he tried to think of a plan. He couldn't leave Danny alone, but he also couldn't ignore them otherwise they would come. He decided to bring the baby with him, hoping that the Watch Tower would be a safe place for the child. Put on his coat, and took Danny in his arm, and got Zeta-beamed. 

As he arrived at the Watch Tower, John was greeted by the rest of the Justice League. He could sense their surprise when they saw the baby in his arms, but they didn't say anything. 

John quickly looked at the artifact as Danny started to wake up .

Bruce asked, "Why do you have an infant with you?"

John:" You have no idea, i am struck with him, after I returned home he was inside my house. A note telling me to take care of him and... he owns a part of my soul."

Wally began to chuckle like Hal: "John Constantine, The Hellblaser lost his soul to a baby; I can't wait to see the faces of your foes and other allies! Hahahaha!"

Dinah moved cautiously toward Danny "Who is adorable?" You are a little cherub, indeed." Danny looked around and saw he was in space, which made his already adorable disposition even cuter. He also slightly twitched his little nose.

The Heroes grinned as they saw the baby's happiness as John showed him the window and Dinah promised John she would take good care of him. He will discuss what they discovered while it.

John quickly realized that the Thermos was a prison that they could open and seal in the same way. As they were able to use the Thermos to trap the creatures, the bottom did not lie, but who would construct such a prison?

 "Ah-choo!!" 

A few seconds later, he just heard a yell: "John!!"

John:"Oh, no." 

They noticed Dinah returning in a sprint: "This child is not typical; his dark black hair has vanished, and he has changed his appearance. He now sports a white hair halo! Nothing brief but cute! He appears even cuter when he is dimly glowing!"

Clark Kent:" May I ask what you think he is, Constantine? He's not a human, is he?"

 "Well, all I know is that he is not malicious." John: "I have no notion what he is."

He observes the heroes' glares at him.

John explained it to them: " Buggers, I'm referring to his species, not his personality! I don't even know what to think what race it can be, Hell. Feel free to think of name for his race as i was not able to find a existing one, he can be just a new species. Please refrain from using the terms similiar sounding to Cambion or Demon."

Dinah: "He is a little Cherub, then. Yes You are, you are, you are. I'm going to go give him food since you will be preoccupied with this."

A select group of Heroes without any knowledge of magic remained with her to spend time with young Danny when Dinah departed. Only John, Zatanna, and Batman remain in the rear.

"Okay, Who will tell her," John said as he blinked his eyes, and saw Black Canary leave.

Zatanna: "Don't you dare."

A/N:

Yes i have the sneeze idea form Lauch Dragon Ball just Google biblically accurate angels Cherubim

[gallusrostromegalus]

so if AEIWAM has Rukia starting off as lieutenant, what's the justification for sending her to the Living World at the beginning of the story?

(in the manga, she doesn't get the lieutenant's position until after the end of the Soul Society Arc, even though everyone agrees she's the obvious candidate for it. the position is left vacant after Kaien Shiba's death, with the actual duties being split between 13th company's two 3rd seat officers -- whose names ofc I don't remember, but one of them is Isane Kotetsu's younger sister?)

(I seem to remember Rukia initially not actually having *any* officer's seat because Byakuya wanted her kept away from the more dangerous missions. which is why she's on bog-standard Hollow patrol at the beginning of the series)

(idk if this throws a wrench in your worldbuilding, but you've got a whole construction site going on so what's one more trip hazard? 😅)

About four months before the canon series begins:

-----

Ukitake probably would have been less upset if he'd received the message at the office. Or in person.

Instead, the message had been delivered to him by private courier at his home, right in the middle of dinner. Interrupting his dinner after a long day was enough of a reason for Ukitake to read the boy the riot act, but the sheer- What the hell was he thinking? Was he thinking at all??

He squinted at the letter again. Technically, it was only sent to him on the order of "The Kuchiki Clan" so this could, theoretically, be the nonsense of several different people, and not necessarily Byakuya specifically.

"Best to go address them collectively." He sighed, folding up the letter, sticking it inside his robe, and getting up.

"Sentaro? Kiyone?" he called from the hallway, putting on his Captain's Haori, as this was Official Business. "I need to step out for a bit, you two are in charge until I get back."

"Sir!" Sentaro saluted with enough force that he winced from hitting himself in the head.

"Let me come with you!" Kiyone said cheerfully.

"No, this is a private matter. You stay here and make sure the Division doesn't catch fire." Ukitake said, tying Sogyo No Kotowari to his belt. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but the average mule could learn a thing or five about stubbornness from Byakuya and a show of force might be necessary. He waved to his two third-seats, and stepped out the door.

It wasn't a long walk, but the cool night air gave him some time and space to think.

Someone in the Kuchiki clan had filed a Legal Injunction to prevent the promotion of one Rukia Kuchiki to any seated officer's position. It had arrived less than an hour after Ukitake had sent in the paperwork to finally fill his long-open lieutenant's position, and Rukia wasn't back from her patrol in the Rukongai, so it wasn't Rukia who had told them. Someone was keeping a much-too-close eye on the 13th's operations, and interference like this was dangerous as well as disrespectful.

There was a brief pause at the front gate of the compound where the new guard attempted to rebuff Ukitake by saying he needed to have an appointment.

Hm. I actually am angry. Ukitake decided, as the little prick went on about the importance of security to the clan. He turned away from the guard, squared up in front of the gate, and with a moment's concentration, he kicked through the bar and both doors to the gate neatly off their hinges, quietly enjoying the way one of them cartwheeled over the grounds and around the main building until it came to a stop with a loud splash inside the koi pond.

"Ah. Ukitake-Taicho is on his way to the main house." The guard said over his communicator as Ukitake strode into the compound, having done a very sensible about-face. "Perhaps open the main doors for him."

Indeed, he watched the servants scramble to open the main doors to the house, the maid taking her post to greet him and the others scuttling away at speed to not be on the scene, one of them going so far as to dive into a nearby bush.

"Welcome Ukitake-taicho." Bowed the maid. "The family is currently at dinner."

"Oh good I can speak to all of them!" He beamed, breezing past her and any pretense of etiquette and striding into the family home.

There was an ominous rustle of blossoms in the courtyard.

"I love him like a son, Senbonzakura, but he's behaving rather badly and needs to be corrected." Ukitake explained, not breaking his stride save to give the zanpaktou a sideways glance. "-Unless this is somehow Ginrei's tomfoolery, in which case your master will probably turn him inside out before I have the chance."

Satisfied, the ancient tree stilled.

"Thank you." Ukitake nodded, turning down the hall and came to the dining room, whose doors seem to have been surreptitiously left open rather than risk the wrath of his foot.

"Jushiro," Byakuya spoke calmly as though this were no more than a social call. "-this is a surprise."

"It is a surprise!" Ukitake agreed, voice strained as he tried to keep his tone lighthearted, tossing the legal injunction onto the table. "-I thought you all knew better than to try to tell me how to run my division!"

Byakuya, two of his uncles, a spare cousin and a handful of houseguests all stared at the letter.

"Sorry to interrupt dinner, but the letter only designates that the directive has come from a clan member so I'm not entirely sure whose nonsense this is." Ukitake explained, hands casually on his hips as he waited for an answer.

Byakuya took a sip of water, set his glass down, delicately dabbed his lips dry, and then stood up. "It is my directive, and no-one else's." Behind him, Ginrei reached over to swipe the document from the table and read it at speed. "I think that I've been quite reasonable, given the circumstances."

"Would you like to elaborate on your reasoning here?" Ukitake asked, a sentence that most people recognized as a giant red flag to about face on whatever they had been doing.

If Byakuya had a spiritual animal though, it was probably a Bull, and he interpreted the red flag as a signal to charge. "Given the paucity of heirs the Kuchiki Clan possess, as the head of the family I cannot allow any member to be exposed to an unnecessarily risky position. I am perfectly content for Rukia to be a shinigami but I cannot condone the additional risk of being a seated officer, let alone a lieutenant."

"Are you INSANE?" Hissed Ginrei, staring bug-eyed at his grandson.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." Byakuya huffed.

Ukitake pressed his hands together in front of his face and sighed deeply. Ah. Yep. That's what I thought.

"Captain Kuchiki." He said, tipping his hands forward for emphasis. "Do you want to step out into the garden with me?"

"Not particularly. I am in the middle of-" Byakuya began and Ginrei grabbed the entire tablecloth in both hands and pulled, ripping the entire meal from the table with a loud shattering of dishware and even Byakuya flinched at the severity of the display.

"OH HOW CLUMSY OF ME." he snarled at his grandson, sauce dripping off his kimono. "Why don't you take our guest out to the garden while this gets cleaned up?"

"...Yes." Byakuya muttered. "I understand the Koi pond has a new architectural feature."

Out in the garden, it was darker, calmer, and easier to speak freely.

"Do you remember the oaths you took when you joined the court guard, and the additional ones you took as captain?" Ukitake asked as they stood in front of the Kio Pond and observed the actually rather aesthetically pleasing way the door had managed to land mostly upright with one end buried in the mud at the and then tipped just enough to be caught by one of the carefully placed standing stones in the middle of the pond, fish gumming at it excitedly.

"I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Citizens of the Soul Society against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the Court Guard and None Other, that I take this obligation freely, without any compulsion, reservation or secret purpose, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter." Byakuya recited easily.

"Good, good- um." Ukitake rubbed his hands and grimaced as he tried to figure out how to put this "-That bit about 'allegiance to the Court Guard and None Other' You understand what that part means, right?"

"That I have sworn loyalty to the Court Guard and nobody else." Said Byakuya, still confused.

"Right. Right- you understand how 'Nobody Else' includes your own family, right? You're Captain first and Kuchiki second, and an injunction like this looks like the head of a Noble House interfering with the running of the Court Guard and that a hell of a lot like Sedition." Ukitake growled the last word.

Byakuya's eyes widened and he was silent for a long moment. "...Ah."

"Gods help me if Yamamoto had seen this- you understand why we have these rules, right?"

"The warring clans era-" Byakuya started.

"-was still going on when I was a boy!" Ukitake yelped. "It's not long gone-!"

"-Least of all for the Captain-General." Byakuya nodded, wincing. "I. Have made a mistake. I will withdraw the injunction immediately."

"Thank you." Ukitake sighed.

"Thank you also for your. Discretion." Byakuya said, carefully eyeing Ukitake.

"He won't hear about it from me." Ukitake put his hands up in disengagement, the major crisis averted but still- "Look. Is this about how I run my division or is it about you and Rukia?"

Byakuya watched a particularly round red carp swim by, knuckle between his teeth, before answering. "...The Latter."

Ukitake nodded slowly, and took off his captain's Haori and undid Sogyo no Kotowari from his belt, folding up the coat and setting it aside on the ground, sword atop it. "There. My Official Business is concluded. May I speak to you as a friend?"

Byakuya glanced up at him and nodded, turning to face his longtime friend-

The crack from Jushiros backhand rang out through the night loud enough to startle the fish.

"How DARE you disrespect Rukia like that? Do you think she's stupid? Weak?" Jushiro snarled, wide eyed and furious.

Byakuya didn't react for a moment out of shock. Some of his colleagues always had violence on the table as an option (Unohana could reassure someone they would be alive for a long while yet in a way that make one's blood run colder than a january morning), but coming from Ukitake was a nasty surprise, like being bitten by a previously friendly dog. Byakuya's cheekbone reddened and Jushiro tried to pretend his knuckle wouldn't be bruised in the morning, but eventually Byakuya closed his eyes, turning away from him.

"...No."

"Then what's this about?" Jushiro demanded.

"She has to do a tour in the living world to be a seated officer." Byakuya spoke quietly. "-And even someone like Kaien Shiba was killed by a Hollow."

"I know." Jushiro sighed, rubbing his brow in frustration. "I know." he repeated, softly this time, dropping his hand and grimacing.

Byakuya looked sideways at him, eyes shining.

"Believe me- I've done everything I can to prepare her for this and then some. She's as ready for this as anyone can be." Jushiro tried to reassure him. "...But you can't keep her locked away from the horrors of the universe. That'll kill her more surely than anything she might face in battle."

Byakuya sighed, rubbing his face, but nodded. "No. You're right." He mumbled, looking exhausted. "She needs to go, and I have no right to stop her."

Jushiro opened his arms, offering Byakuya an embrace, and to his surprise, Byakuya stepped in, leaning heavily on his friend's shoulder.

"It hurts." Byakuya mumbled.

"I know. Gods above, I know." Jushiro sighed, rubbing Byakuya's shoulder. "Can you believe what you just said?" Byakuya nodded into his shoulder.

"As in, can you believe it right now?"Jushiro asked, pushing Byakuya back upright and holding him by the shoulders. "Because Rukia is going to be here any-"

"NII-SAMA! NIIIII-SAMAAAAA!!" Rukia almost shrieked with joy, bounding through the house behind them and sliding onto the porch with such force that she actually slid right off it and into the garden lawn, quickly recovering and sprinting for them. "GUESS WHAT?! UKITAKE-TAICHO JUST NOMIN- oh hey Ukitake-Taicho! What are you doing here?" She started and stopped.

"I lightly misjudged your arrival home, but don't worry, I haven't told anyone yet!" he smiled cheerfully.

"Oh- Um- Ukitake-Taicho nominated me to be his Lieutenant!" She beamed, all brightness and joy at Byakuya. "This means I can finally take my tour of duty in the Living World! I know, I know it's a serious responsibility but- Oh come on! It's so cool! I'll get to see what's been going on in the human world- there's that magical Cocola Juice that Kira tried that almost cured his depression, and building with the Tests Of Skill Renji saw-oh! Maybe I'll learn how to drive an Automobile like Momo did!"

Byakuya managed to smile softly at her as she rambled about the other wonders of the living world, and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm very proud of you." he said, and meant it, even if he was holding back the and I'm absolutely terrified for you.

Rukia sniffled, eyes welling up with tears. "R-really?"

"Of course. You've grown into a fine shinigami. Hisana would be proud too." he smiled gently, opening his arms.

Rukia's lip wobbled, and then she tackled him for a hug, sobbing into his chest. Byakuya stroked her back as she babbled her apologies about being so excited but she's waited AGES for this and she wanted Hisana to see and-

Byakuya looked up at Jushiro as she cried, looking on the verge of tears himself. Jushiro squeezed his arm to reassure him before putting his own hand on Rukia's shoulder. "Rukia! This is a happy occasion!" he teased.

"Sorry, Ukitake-taicho." she sniffled, almost rubbing the tears away on here sleeve before stopping and pulling out a handkerchief, a habit Byakuya had spent the previous forty years ingraining into her.

"Why don't you go tell Ginrei the good news and I'll see if the kitchens can whip up something celebratory?" Jushiro smiled and Rukia nodded, bolting off, nearly sliding off the porch again, and calling for her adopted grandfather.

"Thank you, again." Byakuya whispered. "I had been exceptionally foolish. If the injunction had gone through- even without the captain-general's reaction- ...I would have terribly hurt her."

"Yes. Yes you had." Jushiro nodded. "But I'm glad I caught you in time, for both your sakes. Let's go see about getting Rukia some cake, or should we break out the good sake?" ***

The following morning, Byakuya awoke to a bright light and a piercing headache.

"Nii-sama?" Rukia called softly, and once again, Byakuya was forced to wonder what God had blessed Rukia with an apparent immunity to Hangovers.

"Rukia?" he groaned.

"Can I ask you something? Well. Two things?"

"Sure, just- ow. Come in and close the door after you?" He groaned, sitting up. Six AM, barely four hours since the party had wrapped up. Rukia entered, shutting the door against the early morning light and sitting down beside his bed.

"I- it occurred to me while I was cleaning up and I couldn't sleep, but- I promise, I won't be angry, but I need to know-" She sighed. "It's been one thing or another preventing me from doing my required tour of duty in the living world for AGES, and- You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?" Byakuya was silent for a moment. "Some of it, yes." He admitted.

"...Why?" She asked, sounding pained. "I- I promise I've trained and studied as hard as I can-"

"If something happened to you, after I promised Hisana- I- I don't know what I would do!" He snapped, entirely too distraught for this hour of the morning. "I'm sorry, Rukia. You're my sister and all I have left but it was still wrong of me to try to hold you back, just because I was scared of losing you."

Rukia stared at him, stunned, before she tackle-hugged him again, slamming him back into the bed.

"...I love you too, Nii-sama." She mumbled from the middle of his chest. "-But you are so STUPID sometimes!" she groaned from his chest.

"My Apologies." he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "It's genetic, so you need to watch out for it too."

Rukia tipped he head up, squinting at him.

"That is. A Joke." he smiled down at her and she groaned, rolling off his chest to lie next to him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, enjoying her presence while he could.

"What was the other thing you wanted to ask?" he said after a few moments of pleasant silence, the morning chorus of birds starting to sing.

"Oh yeah!" Rukia sat up, gesturing out in the general direction of the gardens with her thumb. "What's the front gate doing in the Koi pond?"

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 15!!!

Okay, this is gonna be a long one, but I promise it's important. There was just a lot that I had to get in here. Also we had our first ever tie! So I chose between the two. Alright, let's do this. Enjoy!

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The bar in question is rowdy and rustic. The crowd that has already gathered is loud, probably drunk, and honestly makes you wish you had some anxiety meds with you or something because the button in your pocket is a single thread holding you together when you could really do with a rope. You look over to Aziraphale, who’s grimacing at the scene. Oh good, so you’re not the only one who isn’t a fan of this place. You notice Crowley studying the bar – no doubt trying to get a sense for their selection.

“Over there,” Anathema shouts over the noise. You follow her pointing arm to see Sardis, already at a table and waving you over. Well, at least you definitely have a space to sit. That’s something.

The four of you approach Sardis who waves you into the seats around him with an enormous smile.

“Welcome!” He says grandly, “To my favourite place this side of town.”

“Your favourite place,” You repeat with skepticism, “Is a dive bar?”

“Oh not just any dive bar Little Moth,” Sardis winks as he speaks, “The best karaoke bar this side of the bayou. Personal opinion, of course. But I am an angel after all so feel free to take that as gospel.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. You chuckle uncertainly. Aziraphale shakes his head. Anathema rolls her eyes. Crowley looks like he could vomit. Basically, Sardis is the only one amused. Once he finally stops laughing, he looks around at you. “Such sour faces, my friends. But of course you have, I’ve forgotten my manners! Let me get you some drinks before the festivities start.”

“The festivities?” asks Aziraphale, “I’m sure you don’t mean...”

“The karaoke, of course!” Sardis smiles before leaving the table with a wink. “Be back in a sec!”

“I am not singing,” Crowley states firmly.

“Nor am I,” Aziraphale frowns.

“We may need to consider it,” Anathema says after a pause, “He has information that we need, and we may have to play his game to get it.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly…dislike him...but he's weird,” You, the dimensional traveler, observe.

“Oh absolutely weird,” agrees the witch.

“A very weird one indeed, yes,” affirms the angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Weird as all fuck,” confirms the demon.

Sardis returns carrying a tray with five drinks and lays it proudly on the table in front of them.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I took my best guess,” Sardis announces as he hands around the drinks, “Sherry for the angel, whiskey for the demon, margarita for the witch, and I played it safe and got you a sangria.” He lays the alcohol in front of each of you. You take a sip and holy crow is it ever delicious. “’S that good, Little Moth?” Sardis asks you as he takes his own seat. You nod, and his smile grows. “Good, glad to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly, Sardis,” Aziraphale ventures, taking a sip of his sherry, “Now, perhaps would you mind telling us what you know?”

Sardis laughs again. He laughs a lot, you notice. Probably having the time of his life with all of this.

“What I know is that I’m not saying anything about Jesus until you sign up and sing me a song.”

Honestly, you need to take a deep breath at that. The irritation is building. First he wouldn’t say anything until you came here, and now he won’t say anything until you sing for him. He keeps changing the goal posts on you. Anathema had said you might need to play his game to get information from him, but you honestly didn’t think it would feel so...condescending.

Anathema’s phone suddenly starts ringing. She pulls it out of her pocket, and you briefly notice the What’s App logo and Newt’s face lighting up the screen. After a brief apology, she excuses herself from the table and leaves the bar. Well. Lucky her. You sigh and stand.

“Yeah okay fine, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” Crowley asks. His question has bite, but you’re sure it isn’t anger – he just doesn’t want everyone to end up leaving him with Sardis.

“I’m going to sign up,” You say, “Sing a song. Karaoke, right?” You look at Sardis, who nods appreciatively.

“There now! Little Moth gets it!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both gawk at you, but you’re already turning and beelining for the sign-up table.

Now here, dear Reader, let’s take a moment to talk about the Anxiety Loophole. In ordinary circumstances, you’d be lucky to talk to a crowd and sound normal about it (not to mention the possibility of nausea and such), but the Anxiety Loophole is a magical and gracious thing. In a situation where there is something that must be done, and everyone around you is too scared or embarrassed or anxious themselves to do it, suddenly it becomes possible for you. You may never dream of asking for your food to be sent back at a restaurant, but if your friend needs more ketchup and is too nervous to ask for it, you will put the chef in a headlock if you have to in order to get it for them. Or, say, if an angel and a demon have expressly stated their discomfort with singing in public, and another angel with vital information demands a performance before telling you said information, signing up for karaoke suddenly seems like a piece of cake. Besides, you figure, most of the people in the room are drunk. So you pick something easy, something loud, something most people here probably know already. That way, they’ll do most of the work for you, and then you’re singing with them, instead of for them. Are you a genius? Yes, yes you are. Take the praise, Reader, you’re going to want that confidence in a few minutes.

You return to the table, having put your name and song on the list, and take a seat (and a very large sip of your sangria).

“There,” You declare, “Now how about we talk about Jesus while we wait for my name to be called.”

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Crowley asks. You look to Sardis.

“I am if he is.”

Sardis’ eyes widen in surprise before he smiles again. “Oh, I most definitely like you, Little Moth.” He leans his chin on his hands. “Tell me, what has Metatron had to say about you?”

Oh good. You’re actually getting somewhere.

“Nothing good,” You admit with a frown, “He tried to turn me into salt once, and then trapped me in a bathroom and tried to manipulate me.”

Sardis hums and nods in affirmation. Then he turns to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“And tell me, what have the two of you done about that?” he asks them. The both of them practically jump in surprise.

“W-well,” Aziraphale starts and stops.

“Ngggk,” says Crowley.

“Well you see, it’s a bit more complicated than…”

“So nothing then,” Sardis concludes.

“Wait,” You say, “That’s not fair.”

“Have you given Little Moth any way to defend or protect themselves?”

“They don’t need to!” You all but shout, “They’re with me basically all the time!”

But Sardis doesn’t seem to hear you. He stares at the celestials with an offended glare. Neither Aziraphale or Crowley seem to know what to make of it, but he doesn’t give them much of a chance to before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to you. You take it from him, worried that if you don’t he might get upset with Aziraphale and Crowley and really it’s the Metatron’s fault, not theirs. Put the blame in the right place. Your hands are starting to shake a little as you look at the card.

“Oh!” You exclaim, relaxing a little. Actually it’s not all that bad. It’s a punch card of sorts. It reminds you a little bit of Furfur’s card from the 1941 minisode, but instead of being a Miracle Blocker, it’s a Miracle Enabler numbered 1 to 12. You notice that each number is perforated – meant to be torn off so that you don’t need to carry around a hole punch. Clever, actually. You show it to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, “That really is clever. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that the idea never came to me.”

“Huh,” Crowley adds, helpfully.

“Yeah,” says Sardis, “You probably never had to think about things like, what if they ever turn off your miracles Up There. Probably helps that your only mention in the Bible isn’t about how shit you are.”

You look at the card thoughtfully for a minute. You think about all the genie questions you’ve seen online.

“Go on, Little Moth,” Sardis coos gently, “Try it out.”

You glance at him and then back at the card. Well he’s not giving you any hints about how this thing works, so probably best to just follow your instincts. After taking a second to think, you rip off the number 1 and make a wish.

The number has disappeared from your fingers and reappeared attached to the card.

“Oop,” Sardis says, “Looks like that didn’t go through. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to make it so that I could do miracles without the card.”

Sardis starts to laugh. “Oh you have a clever mind! I like the way you think!” His laughter continues for a moment before he calms himself, though you notice it takes him some time. Then he shakes his head.

“Listen,” he says to you, “Humans just can’t do miracles. For you to be able to do them without the card, you would have to change your entire species. And this little thing just isn’t built for that sort of miracle. Try again, something smaller this time.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you stare back at the card. Something reasonable that wouldn’t need a big change in order to work. Oh, wait a minute. You rip off the number 1, and make a wish. Suddenly, you notice that you are holding a second Miracle Enabler, full up.

“There you go, Little Moth,” Sardis sighs approvingly, “Now that’s how you do it!” The first card goes in a place you can easily reach – your jeans pocket, perhaps. The second one you fold up and place in your sock. For emergencies.

“What did you mean about your mention in the Bible?” Aziraphale ventures, apparently sensing that he isn’t in trouble anymore. Sardis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you read Revelation?” he asks.

“Well yes, of course,” Aziraphale replies, “But I don’t recall it saying you were...well...bad.”

“Shit, Angel,” corrects Crowley, “He said it calls him shit.”

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” Sardis quotes, “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” He shakes his head. “Does that sound like a glowing report to you? No, see, I invited that asshat John over for brunch one time, okay? ONE. He gets the runs, blames it on the bacon. Next thing I know, I’m getting hate mail, supposedly from Jesus, with passive aggressive notes about people who haven’t soiled their clothes. Yeah, no, I know exactly whose message that was.” He huffs angrily and sips his drink.

“So….” You interject cautiously, “You stayed down here because...oh, because Heaven endorsed it?”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirms, “I’m just a minor angel – ha, barely that. More of a guardian. They don’t care about me as much as the message.”

You nod, Gabriel’s trial coming to mind. It’s all about the message.

“We know all about that,” You say gently, “They threatened to erase Aziraphale’s name from the Book of Life. Well, anyone really, who uh, helped Gabriel escape judgment.” Sardis raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh yeah? What did that bureaucratic ass do?”

“He fell in love with Beelzebub and said ‘Nah’ to Armageddon Part 2.”

“Psh, oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Sardis says, taking another sip, “Not that any of them could erase anyone. Not really. You need to know someone’s true name for that.”

“Hold up,” says Crowley, “The Book of Life isn’t actually real?”

“Oh, it is,” says Sardis, “I know it for a fact. You see, one of the things of being an Original Angel of the Church,” he says the title mockingly, you notice, “is that you end up with a gift. Something to give the worthy when they ascend. Mine happens to be knowing everyone’s true name.”

“Wait a minute, wait,” You say, “That’s...that’s...”

“I know,” Sardis says, “Look, it’s like this. Most books that you read, the words are 2-dimensional, right? The Book of Life sort of has more than 2 dimensions to it. And it records everything. Now look,” he takes a packet of coarse sugar, “This is a soul,” he opens it and pours the chunks onto the table, “Each soul can be different people throughout its existence, and the Book, for accuracy purposes, records your name in whatever life you're living,” he picks up one crystal, “on the first dimension,” he places it on top of the paper pouch, “and your true name on the dimensions that lie underneath.” He sits up triumphantly. “So before you can actually erase anyone you need to know their true name, and before you know that, you need to know how to read the Book, and before that you need the gift to be able to perceive the different dimensions.”

“Which you have,” Crowley concludes. Sardis nods.

“Which I have, yes. Unfortunately, I also have the misfortune of never being able to be anywhere near the Book of Life. So I’m basically the angelic equivalent of a dolphin who knows all the secrets of Super Mario. I know it, but fat lot of good it does me. Or will ever, for that matter.”

You’re about to say something else, but your name gets called to the stage.

Oh. Oh right.

Oh shit.

You walk up to the stage and take the microphone uncertainly as the intro music for Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off starts to play. You chose it because you know some of the actions to it and I mean, the lyrics are so simple that you’re hoping the drunk crowd will start singing along with you.

“I stay out too late,

Got nothing in my brain,

At least that’s what people say,

That’s what people say,”

A random drunk person in the back cheers.

“But I keep cruisin’

Can’t stop won’t stop movin’

It’s like I got this music in my mind sayin’

It’s gonna be alright”

The entire bar claps three times. Oh wow.

Basically, your plan works. They all can’t help but join in for the chorus, and you end up having a lot of fun with it. Their enthusiasm is so validating, and after a minute or two you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol or if they actually think you’re good. You just sing the song and you have a fabulous time of it. Honestly, it's hard to have a bad time singing and dancing to that song. You forget about saving the world, you forget that Crowley and Aziraphale are watching you, everything just fades away for a few minutes except for the lyrics on the screen in front of you and the energy of the people in the bar. For a few minutes, you’re just having fun, and that’s the most important thing about this, dear Reader.

When the song is over you return to the table. Anathema is finally back, and you notice she’s finished her drink pretty quickly. Good thing you ate before coming. Sardis is clapping for you.

“That was excellent! Great job, Little Moth! Here, have another one on me.” He waves his hand and a second sangria appears IN A FISHBOWL. Oh...Aziraphale and Crowley better cover you later, a hangover while one world-saving duty would suck.

Anathema clears her throat.

“So,” she says, you notice her voice shakes a little. Probably because she downed that drink so fast. “About Jesus.”

“Ah yes,” sighs Sardis, “The prodigal son himself. Well, I will tell you that he is here, though not in this city. Came down in a plane and everything.”

“Ha!” You say, pointing triumphantly, “I told you!”

Sardis chuckles. “Yes, what a day that was. Landed in Los Angeles thirteen years ago.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Los Angeles,” says Aziraphale, “Well that’s awfully on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” You say, “So he’s an adult then, right? Not a baby?” You’re hoping. Your fingers are crossed that maybe he arrived in the states when he was a toddler, or a small kid.

“Oh no, not a baby, but not an adult either,” confirms Sardis.

“Don’t say it,” You beg.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks like he’s on alert. Even Anathema looks a little unsure what to make of you.

“Okay actually just say it,” You decide, “How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Oh shit,” says Anathema.

“Is he at least one of the nice thirteen year-olds?” You ask hopefully.

“Well,” says Sardis, “He’s definitely white this time, and his family is rich so, what do you think.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale interrupts, “But, ah, what exactly is the problem here?”

When, dear Reader, was the last time you were around a 13-year-old boy? The age when they are all about proving how masculine they are, the age when they like to play rough in places where they really shouldn’t be playing rough, be mean for no reason other than because it makes them feel like a badass, jump and hoot and holler and laugh at anyone with sense because they get a kick out of adults getting angry with them. There is no force more annoying or enraging than a 13 year old, of any gender. But now add privileged and spoiled to that and you have a force to be reckoned with. You briefly relay this to Aziraphale.

“So,” You conclude, “The person who we need to convince to save the world, the person who needs to take this seriously or everyone dies terribly, the person who we need to care, has all the makings of the one person who is the least likely to care on the entire planet.”

“Ugh,” Anathema groans, “Why did they have to do it like that? I thought Jesus was supposed to be all about the outsiders and being kind to each other and things.”

“Well,” suggests Aziraphale, “I suppose that was probably the first time around. This time, they’re probably a bit less concerned about the, ah, morality of the whole thing, and more concerned about the messiah bit.”

“Right,” Anathema says with a disillusioned sigh, “And the fastest and easiest way for anyone to become a messiah in this world is to be rich, white, and male.”

“Cutting corners, I believe humans would say,” concludes Aziraphale.

Sardis nods, a frown upon his face. The previously cheerful angel isn’t laughing anymore as he raises his glass and says “To the world.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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