#clothing - ls dresses

[cobrastrikes421]

The dress was a inspiration of the Witchtober event.

gothic architecture dress 🖤

[xjoonchildx]

kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

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Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.  

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather. 

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage. 

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand. 

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him. 

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside. 

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch. 

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes. 

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field. 

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends. 

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.” 

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours. 

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question. 

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over. 

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once. 

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course. 

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye. 

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers. 

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on. 

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment. 

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung. 

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target. 

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow. 

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind. 

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for. 

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance. 

There is no sign of Lord Jung. 

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale. 

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed. 

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men. 

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night. 

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it. 

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence. 

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts. 

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning. 

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze. 

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother. 

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time. 

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?” 

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts. 

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks. 

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty. 

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you. 

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks. 

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child. 

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?” 

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face. 

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you. 

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in. 

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse. 

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again. 

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin. 

In spite of the heat, you shiver. 

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution. 

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric. 

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else. 

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs. 

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too. 

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it. 

But can you reach it? 

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential. 

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be – 

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky. 

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing. 

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit. 

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows. 

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.” 

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn. 

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face. 

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.” 

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles. 

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage. 

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands. 

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room. 

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see. 

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous –  if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night? 

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale. 

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display. 

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.    

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away. 

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait. 

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action. 

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence. 

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?” 

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done. 

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it. 

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ” 

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air. 

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether. 

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

[mering]

design experimenting. two completely incongruent dudes

originally put this in the tags but it was getting long. having fun trying to figure out how to approach ls designs... key tenets:

1) wildly clashing styles of dress

2) costume elements. if someone is wearing historical clothing they are effectively larping like that says something about you. clown being a clown says something about him. etc. leaning into ballet costume/wrestling costume/theater/etc depending on the character in question because it's fun.

in relation to a bunch of people intentionally dressing up weird, wearing normal clothes also says something ("there is no c!mapicc he just hates you" etc). mapicc wearing whatever the fuck is also related to like, you know when he starts wearing diamond so zam will quit freaking out. sometimes he wants to look like the underdog, and it also has to do with part of mapicc and zam's conflict in season 4 being about... how do i put it. the same parts of zam's playstyle that make him a useful ally are the things he stubbornly refuses to change even when it would be tactically smarter to do something else. he hates that mapicc won't ever just build a base, but mapicc not living the way zam does is part of what keeps them from getting even for so long. mapicc doesn't need villagers because zam sets up villagers and then dies to him and that feeds him gear. zam has a set of rules for how to play fair in his head that mapicc does not ascribe to, mapicc can play "weaker" and still come out on top because he's "cheating" by zam's rulebook.

so mapicc's design is meant to starkly contrast both ro and zam in different ways. ro design choices feel self explanatory, he's always trying to dramatize and then it lands in the goofiest way possible so he needs to be a little over the top. at the same time he completely refuses to take things seriously when it's OTHER people's thing in question, so he's a mix of trying to give off a certain image some of the time but expressive and kinda mocking in body language. he has "mostly monochrome vaguely historical outfit design" in common with zam because on top of the literal monochrome skins, they both have a thing about trying the same tactics over and over again regardless of evidence against its efficacy, trying to return to something or preserve something which is impossible to preserve by nature.

3) leaning away from animal or monster elements common to mcrp character design because i wanna focus in on how someone would choose to present themselves through both clothing and...

4) how much of your human face/body you're choosing to reveal (sliding scale of abstraction; some characters appear more or less human at different moments). so you can have inhuman designs but it leans away from the organic towards the symbolic if that makes sense. this is sort of my visual shorthand for how lifesteal's roleplay works but it's hard to explain what i mean by that

[rfxiii]

this is probably weird? but franklin clinton & lamar X black female reader but like separate ofc

idk like just making her feel more confident n pretty 😭 IDKK

This is not weird at all and honestly a really cute ask! I love it. Tysm for the request! 💕

*TW: none

Franklin Clinton & Lamar Davis (separately) with a black, female s/o:

(I thought it may be easier to convey my thoughts via headcanons. But if you’d have preferred me to write scenarios for both the guys I’d love to do that too! Just send me a request! 💕)

Franklin Clinton:

I honestly feel like Franklin would prefer a black, female s/o over any other s/o. Especially if he knew her from his neighborhood or if they’d gone to highschool together. He’d enjoy the shared background and coming from the same place (unlike if he’d met a s/o from the Vinewood Hills. I feel like he’d have a harder time relating to someone who didn’t understand where he came from.)

If you did go to highschool together he’d occasionally bring up how he’d always been into you, how beautiful he’d always thought you were. Even though he’s embarrassed about it he’d even tell you about all the times he’d used to practice asking you out in front of the mirror before chickening out once he saw you.

You could be in your pajamas, fresh out of the shower, no makeup, or full face and dressed to the nines. It does not matter. He thinks you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen and he’s going to let you know. It doesn’t even have to have horny vibes or be about your body. He’s talking about your voice, your smile, your laugh, how happy you look in the moment. You’re perfect to him.

The perfect hype man. He wants to sit back and watch you do a fashion show for him when you buy new clothes, he wants you to proudly show off to him how good your makeup looks, and he wants to receive tons of selfies. He probably has pictures of the two of you saved as his home and lock screen on his phone.

You’re getting random compliments all throughout the day: “Damn, baby girl.. How’d I get so lucky?”, “Shit! We can’t go out tonight with you looking like that. I can’t fight off every guy in LS that’s gonna wanna steal you.”, “Have I ever told you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

He likes to lay in bed with you on lazy mornings, holding you from behind and pressing kisses to your shoulder while he lists every single thing he loves about you.

If you’re ever having a bad day- maybe feeling down or low on self confidence and you ask him if there’s anything he doesn’t like, or anything he’d change about you. The only thing he’d ever have to say is, “Babe, only thing I’d ever wanna change about you is that you’d be able to see you like I see you. Then you’d always know how beautiful you are.”

He’ll off-handedly brag about you to his friends. He’ll show pictures of you to Lamar and look so damn smug when Lamar complains about not having a steady girl to be with. He’ll make little comments about how perfect you are to Michael when Michael bitches about his home life. He’ll even occasionally bring you around the guys if he knows nothing crazy is going down.

He buys you things that remind him of you- different jewelry pieces, your favorite flowers, perfume, or candies, he’s even tried to write a song for you before (he keeps that a secret though. He’s too embarrassed to show you).

Lamar Davis:

You’re his home and lock screen on his phone and computer. He keeps a framed picture of you by his bed. He’s even got a picture of you in his wallet and in the visor of his car.

He loves you so much he may just go the Trevor route and get your name tattooed on him.

He’s constantly posting you on social media, raving about how beautiful you are and how everyone else should be jealous of him. He honestly feels like you’re the most perfect girl he could have ever pulled. He’s still in awe of how he ended up with you.

“Goddamn girl! Look at you!”, “You get more and more fine every time I see you!”, “Babe, please stop looking so hot and shit! You got me losing my damn train of thought everytime I see you!”- he’s full of silly, loud, over the top compliments that he has saved for when you’re alone, or shouted full volume in front of people. He loves you, you’re beautiful, and he’s going to let everyone know.

Loudly brags about you to everyone he knows. Even people who have never met you are convinced you’re a goddess by the time he’s done describing you.

He always has his hands on you, complimenting your body and how much he loves the way you feel against him. He could spend hours doing nothing but telling you all the things he thinks are perfect about you.

He fell over himself once trying to open a door for you before you could do it yourself. If you try to open your own car doors he’s gonna close the door just so he can be the one to open it for you again. He’s goofy as hell but he loves you more than anything and it’s always going to be obvious that he does.

[gaydelgard]

i literally cant think of any other cgs from any other stories that id even want to save. sad but true

actually LOL i have this one saved from LS&E

LMAO

i truly cant play more dracula till the march update cause i have to wait to play s1ep10 till i can save cgs from it to my favorites on my profile

cause obviously i need everyone to see this classic and know what my priorities are

and then shortly thereafter of course is this extremely good one

god look at it. the melodrama. unparalleled.

[kittyit]

Its not a normal female experience to hate being seen as a girl by society this much, and to feel so trapped living as a woman. It's also not normal to hate men and trans people this much, do you think perhaps such hatred could come from jealousy? I feel like you might be a lot happier if you transitioned. Imagine dressing in men's clothing, and being called a guy by your freinds, imagine people who are attracted to men finding you handsome, imagine people complimenting you as you slowly look more and more like a cute boy. I feel like you'd be a happy boy, you'd be a sweet boy, you'd be a handsome boy...

sending forcemasc fetish content to random feminists is ftms posting their Ls unfortunately. your hypnosis kink is truly one of the most embarrassing and lowly forms of sexualizing violation and degradation. It's like on the same level as sending balloon popping fetish or something like. Cake smashing. I'm sorry this is so funny

[lizzisimss]

Cosy Outfits Lookbook

1: miiko-charlotte-hair(long-version), [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Unbalance Cropped Sweater, Elliesimple_fBottom_RibKnitTrousers, [AH00B]-HavenHair_Clips, [Mochizen CC] - Everyday Sneakers Female Vers

2: [AH00B]-MonetHair, serenity_LaFamaDress, {busra-tr} Clothes SET-94 (CARDIGAN) BD355 +HQ, [Jius]BowSnowBoots01, [IDAVALLEN] - WILLOW TIGHTS SET, CLUMSYALIEN [REN SOCKS]

3: [arethabee] charlotte hair, TS4_Cas_Yf_Plbsims_Yuri_Top_v1, MarigoldFBottomASummerShortsV2, [Jius]FlatSandals01

4: simstrouble_FemaleHair_Elaine, serenity_KayleTop, Pralinesims - DayAfterDayJeans, [Jius]CanvasSneakers03

5: [AH00B]-DuskHair, serenity_NinaCoat, Kumikya – Star Jeans, Madlen Tia Boots 2, Cement-yuHAT_CottageCasual_FishermanCap

6: [boonstow] lauren hairstyle, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Drawstring Waist Sweater Dress, serenity_BackToThe60S_MERGED (socks), Madlen Bonnie Boots, RidgeportMynxTights

7: serenity_af_EtherealHair_v2, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Cropped Turtleneck Sweater, CSxDSxOxT_Trillyke_Suri_Shorts, [boonstow] kawaii platform sneakers, [RIMINGS] Flower Point Knit Hairclip

8: simstrouble_FemaleHair_Sharon, Marigold - FTopVneckSweaterWithSleeveless, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Short Piping Pajama Shorts, Madlen Su Socks

Body: Pralinesims_Nails_Female_N27_SugarMilk, heihu-niunai_cleavageoverlay_mouthcrease, nesurii_lightitup-highlight,  Pralinesims - UltimateEyebrowCollection_MaxisMatch (N134 Jana), Pralinesims - UltimateEyelinerCollection (N18 Elysium, N44 VEOX), PYXIS - ToTheBone_Nosemasks, [ajduckie] Honey Skinblend

Makeup: Dyoreos – Be Bright Blush, [ d r e a m g i r l ] 3 D_l a s h e s_V6, JH [COSMETICS] EYELINER #117, LS - Chocolate Contour Palette (FRECKLES), LS - KYLIE - dreamy nude lipsticks, Pralinesims - UltimateEyelinerCollection, GPME - Nose Blush, GPME - GOLD Natural Lips CC11, Pralinesims - UltimateLipstickCollection, PS - BlushN29, RemusSirion - Lipstick_233-Proteomics, RemusSirion - Lipstick_234-Biallelic, RemusSirion - Lipstick_244-Mediator

Accessories: Pralinesims - UltimateEarringCollection, Sigrid - Necklace_F-EnriqueS4

[ratsoh-writes]

Masterlist 36

suggestive: *****

General

what donut would they pick? (pop roost artemis stitches papyrus star hilda salt gold orion)

SO is walking around in thigh highs (dt fs drf lens silex sails orion)****

the bath bomb has a secret (pop sans willow sails peaches)

SO takes him to a bodypainting festival. (coffee orion charm gears)

are you seduced yet?

SO wants a baby so they leave baby clothes everywhere (dt fs drf silex partner)

SO forgot to get dressed (nt ft grt)****

SO hates using doors

SO paints them (nt lf)

SO wears lingerie (lf us bt)****

kiss attack! (grt gt ul)

SO has the power of doors (ut us sf fsr fsg)

SO has a birthday present for them (df dt fs uw bt)

whats saved their life (sf bt bbt of)

pillow fight (butch cash coffee hook rancher)

SO gets a fake goat (ut uf sf ht ls)

they get isekai'd (honey red sans mal)

SO leaves a kiss mark on him (dt df hdt bbt ftt fs)

monkey paw (st os bbt)

tax audit (cash sails weasel lens red harpy willow captain lush papyrus)

his bro gets kidnapped by the fae

he finds a dildo in SOs drawer****

he rocks SOs world (df fs dt sails lens orion silex)****

he speaks backwards for a week (fsg fsr ot ft st)

alien invasion (marcelo kevin snow grt ht flt)

SO is a pastry chef

his recently divorced bestie is hitting on his brother

dragon SO (ul lf ls)

SO is a caretaker for their disabled sibling (ht hs hf)

SO plays a wallpaper prank (dt fs df bbt lens silex)

they cant find their shoes (oak edge sans helios maple mango finn rhythm butch pitch)

an engkanto moves in (ht dt)

what would they do on vacation

SO gives them an immortal pet (fsg fsr weasel gold pepper pop pluto)

their stardew spouse

clown nose (ul ls lf)

if SO was friends with his rival (sans red willow jupiter edge)

what flavor of donut do they choose (pop hilda artemis roost stitches papyrus star salt gold orion)

SO wears thigh highs (dt df fs lens silex sails orion)

hotdog bath bomb advertisement (pop sans sails willow peaches)

Side character/new monsters

esther feller and middlemist's special abilities

rusalka, malgoth, gleeko (middlemist esther and feller)

Worldbuilding

grimmtale gleekos

beauty standards in rusalkas and gleekos

The Mafias

kiss my *ss

[elderemorune]

What the f@&k is up with WWWY '24?

Alright, it's been awhile since I've posted, but here we go! A bit of preamble before we dig in; I'm starting a new project I'm calling "What the f@&k is up with..." where I talk about an event I attended (which I've done before) or something weird I learned recently and go a bit into it.

So let's get started, yeah?

This year, I took the very first vacation I've ever been on in my adult life. And what a first vacation to take! Las Vegas, shining jewel of the Mojave, played host to a massive emo music festival by the name of When We Were Young, featuring all of the biggest bands from when I was a child. My Chemical Romance was the headliner this year, but the act list was absolutely stacked with heavy hitters like Fall Out Boy, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, 3OH!3, Jimmy Eat World, etc.

Some short sad boy hours before we dive in. I was never allowed to be a part of this community when I was a kid. I wanted to dress like my friends and listen to the same music they did. I mean, shit, my friggin mom listens to My Chem, but when I'd ask for CDs and clothes, my parents always said no. This means that many of the big acts were groups I ended up missing out on, like LS Dunes, an emo supergroup not unlike CRX. (Wholeheartedly recommend them, by the way.) For me, this festival was a reclamation of the ties I wasn't allowed to forge in my youth, a reclamation of the little boy who wanted to be seen by everyone around him.

With that surprisingly lengthy preamble out of the way, let's do what I love doing most and talk about the music.

The first act we saw was Daisy Grenade. While most of the bands performing were doing full albums, Daisy Grenade wasn't able to do that because they haven't released a full length yet. Instead, we got a new release, How to Hide a Body, which I'm currently listening to on repeat because I am absolutely in love with them.

They performed several other songs, like Riot and Are You Scared of Me Yet, and their energy on stage was so infectious that I practically began crying with how overjoyed I was. They were so incredibly happy just to be there, at this massive festival, playing for all of us.

I don't want to spend forever talking about them, but I absolutely could. I've become so obsessed with them that I've been listening to their entire discography on repeat since we returned from the show! Top notch show from them, 10/10.

Following Daisy Grenade was LS Dunes, the aforementioned emo supergroup, comprised of Anthony Green, Frank Iero, Travis Stever, Tim Payne and Tucker Rule. Their show was, again, fantastic. I'm probably going to say this about every show we saw, but this one sticks out for a particular reason: LS Dunes actually inspired "What the F@&k is Up" when Anthony said "Being in a band is the very best thing" and an audience member shouted "Yeah, that's why you're in 12 of them!"

Here's where we finally get to the "What the fuck is up" part. After he said that, I took it upon myself to track this man down and talk to him. I asked about the band and about the festival. He asked if I was a reporter, so I told him what I was doing. "I'm gonna write about this on my fuckin tumblr when I get home, my man. You mind sharing some thoughts to go on a sadboy tumblr page?"

"Tumblr still exists? Fuck yeah dude!"

I didn't get his name, but I did get a quote from him! "LS Dunes is the group of misfits that brings all us lost souls together. Every member comes from a band we hold dear, and combines to form a Voltron of a supergroup!"

Frankly (hehe), I couldn't agree more! This show was my first exposure to them, but Frank Iero and The ... is a project that means a lot to me. Joyriding is a personal favorite song, and the music really saved me from a dark place, and if I've got a story like that, imagine how many others at this event did too!

So, since this was a big festival, there were cameras everywhere, and with crowd sizes being what they were, massive screens were erected on the stages to allow the people in the back to actually see the acts onstage. I'm bringing this up because partway through the set for LS Dunes, the camera ended up focused on Anthony's can of Liquid Death, which to me is both the MOST Vegas AND the MOST capitalist thing. Personally I find it amusing. The water brand meant to make weak men feel decent about being the DD sponsoring a big emo event? It sends me!

Let's talk about the community of WWWY. My wife has a minor sun allergy, so I'd gotten a parasol for her to help battle the Mojave. At first we were worried about bothering other attendees, but instead we shaded a small group around us and they offered to start taking turns holding the parasol when arms started getting tired! Once we whipped the shade out, this girl in the crowd handed us a beaded bracelet that read "2022", and this other guy near us, Jared, thanked us for the shade when it was his turn to hold the parasol.

I can't think of any other event that I've attended where this kind of behavior is even possible, let alone the norm! So big shoutout to Jared and Bead Girl! (BG, if you use Tumblr and come across this post, please message me with your name and I'll replace it! First name is fine!)

After LS Dunes, we decided to take a break. The next act that I wanted to see but she had no interest in was Red Jumpsuit, but their set wasn't for a little bit, so I fucked off to get some lunch. Got myself a gyro and some nachos for my wife. I thought the food was alright, but according to her it was much better than the food at Warped Tour. I also felt basic (sue me), so I got myself a Pumpkin Spice Latte. You wanna know what made this experience worth mentioning? They put the coffee in a fucking can for me. Just in case I didn't want it now, and was instead saving it for later.

Obviously I ripped right into it, but isn't this one of the most privileged things you've seen? I had to share.

After lunch had been consumed, I decided to make the trek to the Verizon stage where RJA was playing. Unfortunately for me, I get lost very easily and I could not find the stage for the life of me! I ended up missing most of their set, but I managed to catch their last song, Face Down, which is easily one of their more iconic hits. A bit dejected, I floated over to the nearby bar and ordered my fourth cocktail for the day when I encountered someone wearing a shirt I found strange.

This gal's shirt read "Avril Lavigne was replaced in 2003 by Melissa Vandella". Obviously I had to ask about this. Apparently there are folks that believe that in 2003, Avril Lavigne committed suicide in the wake of her grandfather's death, and Melissa Vandella had been trained to take over has her replacement. That was about all I got out of her before she fucked off to another show, so I went back to my table to get lost in thought for a moment and jot down some notes. Not long after, however, another couple walked by. The husband was wearing an Avril Lavigne shirt, so I grabbed them and asked if they'd heard of this insane theory.

I'll go ahead and use the names they gave me here, K-Dawg and D-Money. D explained that while he was familiar with the concept, K was really the person to talk to, and she broke down the entire theory for me. In 2003, Avril's behavior and looks changed a little bit, and instead of, you know, acknowledging that she was grieving, some fans decided that this was not Avril Lavigne and that she had to have been replaced by a body double, which is clearly the only possible explanation.

Speaking of, if it's not abundantly clear, neither party here believes this theory. Having done some further research into it since we got back, I can say with certainty that it's bullshit. Not that truth stops conspiracy minded folks!

After our talk, I asked if they'd mind sharing some of their thoughts about the festival, and here's what they had to say:

"My supportive husband brought me to the show to have me experience all of my favorite bands. The environment is amazing and the music is EVERYTHING! :) - K-Dawg + D-Money"

Around here is when we marched off to go see 3OH!3, another show I was quite excited for, but alas! Right before 3OH!3, tragedy struck. My wife got injured, and we had to leave the festival as quick as we could to get some help and some rest. Two gals, Noelle and someone whose name I didn't get, guided us to the exit and helped us get a ride back to our hotel, all without ever asking for anything in return.

Isn't this absolutely amazing? So many different people, from so many different walks of life, all here to experience this incredible form of connection? Total strangers, outcasts now grown, coming together to heal from the myriad traumas visited upon us by the real world! It's incredible, isn't it?

Speaking of different people, there were some other folks I spoke with around this time. One guy didn't want to give his name, but was happy to explain his shirt to me. It read "What the FUCK is up at Denny's?" so I asked. He explained to me that once upon a time, Blink-182 played a show at a Denny's, and that was all it was referencing. Below is that video he was talking about.

We also met several Las Vegas locals who were happy to shoot the shit about their home for a little bit, but one guy in particular really stuck out. He was wearing these awesome pink Converse and was just decked out head to toe in this very well put together outfit. Of course, I asked him what he was thinking about the festival, if he was having fun, and here's what he wrote in my little notebook; "Today is my 32nd birthday and my 30's are more fun than my 20's. Be gay, do crime! - Sean Paul, Las Vegas Local"

Of course, I didn't just talk to festival attendees, but I also spoke with servers and staff around the space. Since they were working, I didn't want to bother them much, but the general consensus that I heard from the people I spoke with was that the festival was doing way better than last year, that things were much more organized, and that working for this event was the most fun they'd had in a long time.

I even got to speak with the ASL coordinator, Allie for a little while! I asked what she felt about the show, what her favorite act was, you know, the questions I'd been asking everyone else around, and she said "My favorite act was def ADTR, I LOVE Jeremy! He was my Tumblr password in middle school, hehe. This is the life I prayed for!"

And it wasn't just her, but I also spoke with a member of the security team, Bryan. Dude was eating it up when Fall Out Boy was playing, just rocking harder than half of the attendees were. Dude was a one-man mosh pit! We danced together for a bit, and then I hit him with the questions too. "My favorite part of WWWY '24 is being able to experience the music that kept me alive through hard times and now getting to experience beautiful moments like this with new friends!"

The last person I talked to about the event was, of course, my wife. "WWWY isn't my first music festival - but it is, without a doubt, one of the most incredible musical experiences I've ever had. Even after making an emergency trip back to the hotel after getting injured, once we returned I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with excitement. So many of these bands helped raise me, you know? Not only dominating my mix CDs and playlists, but seeing me through my worst days. It's remarkable to see so many thousands of people gathered to celebrate this piece of music culture. It's a stunning reminder that we are never truly alone - we all belong somewhere."

And gods if she isn't right.

This festival was absolutely incredible, and I don't know if any future events will ever manage to be comparable to me. I mean, look at what everyone I spoke to had to say! And how willing the were to share those thoughts with me, of all people! All I did was tell them I'm putting this on my Tumblr, and suddenly we're having a full blown conversation about the most insane shit, and before I even realized it, it was time for us to leave.

I think coming into this community as an adult has been so amazing. This kindness, this togetherness, it reminds me that things were hard and that I couldn't do anything about it because I was Just a Kid. That while life was a nightmare, it doesn't have to be, and it reminds me of the good times that happened When We Were Young.

[cyn-write]

A Double Date with Tweels~

Synopsis- Jade and Floyd decided the to take their partners on a double date! Which is great except they have never meet the other before and are extremely nerves about who the other is. It takes a certain kind of person to date a Leech, they should know! Their dating one!

Note - This is a tribute and fun crossover featuring @angrylilcyclops oc Milo! Go check out their stuff! They are amazing artist with cool Ocs! This is also a thank you for the beautiful piece I commissioned of Reyna and Jade, so I hope you all enjoy it! Info on the Ocs is here: Reyna and Mailo

Reyna was running late. She was still in the lab when Jade texted to say he was picking her in 15 minutes, and she was covered in pollen and animal gunk (don't ask). So in record time, she showered, found a decent dress, and her good lab coat. She was throwing her hair in a bun when the doorbell rang. She then realized a second too late that she forgot her glasses when she ran into the door frame. Now, not only was she late for a date, but a nice bruise was developing on her forehead. This is not what she wanted to look like for the double date.

She made it down the stairs in a rush before opening the door to the ever-smiling Leech, Jade. "Sorry, I got caught up in an experiment, and frogs' breath is really hard to get off of Prothetics." Reyna apologizes as she struggles to get her lab coat on.

Jade, being a gentleman, took the coat and helped her ease it on over her left arm prosthetic and smoothed it out from being. "I guess it's good I reminded you then." Jade Chuckled."You seem frazzled portabella?"

"I mean, I am a little frazzled. I'm just nervous. I have never been on a double date before, and add the fact that I haven't met Floyd Boyfriend, plus my lacking people skills." Reyna fixed her patched dress and smoothed her lab coat. "I-I just want to make a good impression, I guess." She turned to Jade and straightened her glasses."How do I look?"

Jade melted his business smile into a more genuine one, one that he saved for her and when they were in the mountain ls forging for mushrooms. He tucked away a stray strand of hair, "You look lovely, pearl." He held out his arm, "shall we?"

Reyna nodded and took her arm. "Where are we going to eat anyway?"

"A place in Town, We received permission to take you two to this lovely place by the docks." Jade explained.

"That sounds nice... Floyd didn't want to risk us cooking again?" Reyna asked knowingly.

"Precicly." ----------------------------------------------------------

Floyd was the last-minute king, which Mailo enjoyed most of the time, but not today.

"What do you mean we are meeting Jade and his girlfriend in 10 MINUTES!" Mailo rushed around Floyd's bedroom, getting ready for this surprise date. He managed to get his nicer clothes out of Floyd's closet before rushing to the bathroom. "I had no clue Jade was dating. What is she even like? How long have they been dating? What if she doesn't like me? Who even is she!?" Floyd was putting on his newest pair of sneakers and shrugged.

"Tetra-chan? She's a cute little fishy~" He stopped for a moment and thought back to the other day, "Just don't eat anything she offers ya. She is kinda like Jade in that way."

"How much like Jade is she?" Mailo called from the bathroom.

"Um... How do I put this?" Floyd stood up and leaned against the bathroom doorway. "She is a few stitches short of mad, but she's good with Jade. They both go off into the mountain and try to poison us with the stuff they bring back, they have a weird obsession with mushrooms, and I think she has tried to raise the dead a few times. But she's nice."

Mailo looked up at his eel and asked, "We're going out to eat, right?"

"Yeah, no way in the seven seas am I letting them cook." Floyd smiled and wrapped his arms around his little shrimpy. "Ready?"

"I guess so... do you think she'll like me?" Mailo asked. He was never usually this nerverous about what people thought, but this was his boyfriend's twins partner.

"Probably, who wouldn't like my shrimpy~" With a big kiss, Floyd left the bathroom to head out, leaving Mailo to wonder, what kind of person is Jade's girlfriend?

----------------------------------------------------------

Reyna and Jade made it to the restaurant first. Reyna was still fidgeting with her dress and glasses as she anxiously waited for Floyd and his date to arrive. They got their drinks and some complementary bread. Jade found his portabella's nervse to be entertaining.

"Is there anything I should know about Floyd's partner? Like his name or allergies? What if they are turned away by my scars or my prosthetic or what if I accidentally detach my hand and freak them out?" Reyna detached her hand as she said that.

"Well, you could ask him yourself," Jade nodded to the door as Floyd and a pale boy with green and purple hair came in.

Reyna jumped and fumbled to put her hand back onto her arm.

Floyd waved to his brother and Reyna as they came over. "Tetra-Chan! Jade-chan! We made it!"

Reyna and Jade stood up from their side of the booth, causing her to fumble. "Floyd, Mailo, I'm glad you made it."

Reyna stood close to Jade and fixed her dress. Jade took her hand and gestured to Mailo. "Reyna, this is Mailo Naiad, Floyd's boyfriend. Mailo, this is my girlfriend, Reyna Bouc."

Reyna was half grateful that Jade took care of the introductions as she outstretched her arm to Mailo. "It is nice to finally meet you, Mailo." She did with a forced smile, trying to hide the nerves. But she failed to realize that Jade was still holding her prosthetic hand that had detached yet again.

Milo stared at her handless arm but reached to shake it anyway. "Nice to meet you too, Reyna... Floyd told me a lot about you."

"No, I didn't. I never mentioned her until I told you about the date 20 minutes ago." Floyd said blankly as he looked at Reyna's detached hand with a wicked grin. He reached to take it from Jade, but being the good boyfriend, he moved it quickly from his twins' resch.

"It's fine, I- Oh Sevens! I am so sorry, I swear this isn't a common thing I-" she finally realized her hand was missing and took it back from Jade as she tried to quickly reattach it, but it wasn't working "come on you stupid peice of-"

"Allow me, Portabella." Jade calmly took the hand and attached it with ease.

Floyd was laughing out loud at the whole transaction. "Yeah! Let's eat!"

Reyna felt completely embarrassed and bit her lip. Jade patted her head and her gestured for her to go in first. She did and found herself across from Mailo.

After an awkward silence, Mailo spoke up. "So, how did you and Jade meet?" He asked.

Reyna got out of her head and nodded, "During Club hour! I just transferred to NRC, and I saw there was a Mountian Lovers Club. I really like forging and thought it would be nice not to go alone." Jade smiled as he recalled the day as well, "To my surprise, Jade was the only one in the room. I was really nervous since I am not the best with people, but after we started talking about mushrooms and things turned around! it wasn't long after we started dating."

"Two weeks afterward, to be precise." Jade added and held her hand under the table.

Reyna felt comforted by the action and started to relax a bit. "What about you and Floyd? How did you two meet?"

Mailo smiled and said, "We met when he dragged my friends away because the idiots made a deal with Azul."

"I heard about that! Ruggie is in my class, and he told me last semester he had to help out this magicless kid with an overbolt beacuse they treated his bosses sleep schedule, which is truly genius considering who his boss is." Reyna noted.

"That was me!" Mailo exclaimed, "I threatened to never let him sleep again!"

"So you're the one that has been dealing with the overblots? Next time to do that, would you mind getting me a blood and blot sample from the victim?" She took out a syringe and vial from her jacket pocket. "I have been wanting to reaserch the properties of blot, but I keep missing the events!"

Mailo rubbed the back of his neck and said, "I would like to, but I really don't want to be in one of those situations again. But if I think it may happen again, I'll let you know."

"Why do you have a syringe in your pocket?" Floyd asked.

"Never know when you need to get a sample! Jade was nice enough to give me a sample of mer-eel blood, scale, and hair to research, but I usually have to sneak the samples off of others..." Reyna commented and put the vials back in her pocket as the waiter came over.

After appetizers and small chit-chat, Reyna and Mailo had an easy back and forth.

"So in your world, you can use magic and turn into a siren, but here you cannot? That is fascinating!" Reyna exclaimed. "There must be a blockage or a dam of sort due to the mirror... you know, with the right elixir, we could probably unclog the blockage -"

"No. Experimenting on my boyfriend. Ya hear!?" Floyd said in his scary voice, but it just caused Reyna to pout.

"But -"

"NO."

Jade Chuckled, and Mailo laughed as well. "I appreciate the offer. And I may take you up on it later, but I would hate to bother you right now."

Reyna smiled. "It's not a bother! I have always been fascinated by the relationship between magic and biology, so this would be a fun diversion from my other projects!"

Mailo kept the conversation going, "What are your other projects? Floyd mentioned you tried to bring stuff back from the dead, but -"

"Tried? I succeeded." She said blankly, "it is only on small animals, but I think I am close to bringing back a deer... well, if I can get the right ratio of frogs breathe and Deadmans shrooms."

Jade and Floyd smiled at their partners, talking happily and shared a few looks that only the other could decode.

This caused Mailo to pause, eating his trout, and gave Reyna a weird look. "Wait, that wasn't a joke?"

"Why would I joke about bringing animals back to life?" Reyna said and started reaching for ger wallet, "If you don't believe me, I have some pictures I can show you, there not dinner friendly but i think their cute. Well, that's what my sisters say. Anyways-"

"Nope, I believe you." Mailo said, putting a hand up to stop her from showing him the pictures, "It's just hard to believe at first... have you brought people back to life?"

"Oh, never. I swore to only revive being of lower intelligence." She said seriously. "The main reason for that project is to prove that there is the capability to come back with limited consequences to intelligence and magic ability. Now, I am working on limb replacements and revitalization."

"Are you trying to find a new arm?" Floyd asked and Mailo gave him a look of 'We don't say that!?!'

Reyna adjusted her glasses and shrugged. "I cannot say that isn't a motivator in my actions. But I really am curious if we can revitalize perfectly good organs from the dead before they decay completely to aid the living."

"Huh...." Mailo didn't really know what to say to that. "So you are kinda like a doctor?"

"I have all the knowledge and practice, just not the legal credentials." She said nonchalantly, "I'll get those once I graduate."

"We can get ya a job without one," Floyd said as he stole a bite of Mailo's food.

Jade nodded at his brother's comment and added, "Our father is always looking for uncertified doctors or certified ones. It's up to you, my dear."

Reyna shrugged and said, "That's sweet, but I think I'm going to get it. Then Doc won't just be a nickname, and I can get access to fancy lab equipment without having sis build it."

Mailo looked at the three confused, and Reyna patted his hand, "You'll find out soon enough. The only reason I know is because Floyd told me under the influence of mushrooms when I had to do 'unplanned procedures'.'" She air quoted and winked, hoping Mailo would get the message.

Mailo nodded as the twins gave their partners matching wicked smiles and chuckles.

Dinner came to an end, and as Reyna and Mailo went ahead to catch the cab, Jade and Floyd hung back.

"We picked good ones, didn't we?" Floyd nudged his brother in the arm as they paid.

Jade looked at the partners they managed to capture somehow and gave a more genuine smile, "We did, didn't we." He chuckled. "Mother and Father would be proud. We managed to get partners both organically and legally."

"Yeah, who knew." Floyd laughed, "They are weirdos, huh~"

"They have to be with us~"

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed, liked, and reblog!

[tmblrcolouredpaper]

Socks in Summer

Jisung/ Reader friendship, literal sleeping together, sleepover, warm summer night, sensory issues, inconvinient habits, caring friend, slight angst (?), fluff wc: 1113 not proof read

Jisung helps you to get through an annoyingly hot summer night more comfortably, partly sacrificing his own easy-going night's sleep.

It's too warm, you groaned, and Jisung's head snapped up, him jolting awake at the sound of your voice. He had no orientation, no idea what time it was and where he was. At his? At yours?

Wherever, he immediately turned towards you and manoeuvred his hand under the blankets and onto your body.

You were burning. He was surprised that you didn't become his personal night light of flames. The several sheets of blankets were hunched around you, layers of warm air that caused you to heaten up and sweat. Well, that you were affected by that in the warm summer night was absolutely no surprise.

Jisung peeled the blankets away, one after the other until he had you somewhat free. Your legs were still covered, but he focoused on your upper body first.

He placed his palm back onto your stomach and was met with burning hot radiation of your increased body warmth.

Too warm, you mumble again, clearly complaining about summer even in your sleep.

You had no chance to cool down when you were wearing long pants and socks, while you were insisting on all three blankets being there, just because. They needed to be arranged over you accurately, just as the pillows around you. It all needed to be tidied up and at its place for the sake of you falling asleep peacefully.

Jisung was used to you antics. Contrary, he was always draped over the mattress messily. Nothing was sorted. Nothing in his room was tidied up. He found himself to be quite comfortable regardless of his home's state. As long as he was home, he was fine. That was the only thing he needed to be at peace.

You, on the other hand, couldn't stand a mess. Even when a room didn't look tidied up, it had at least to be sorted enough so that the mess made sense. When piles of clothes on the floor, then arrange ls by either the freshness level, the type of clothing or colour, just- something classifiable.

You murmured again , incoherently, and Jisung sighed. He let you be most of the time, but when your habits caused you to feel more uncomfortable than they made you feel at peace, he interfered unapologetically.

He pushed your hair out of your face, damp strands sticking onto your forehead. 'Wake up', he pleaded sleepily and dragged the blankets further down, freeing you completely. You will hate him for it once you wake up, he was aware. Jisung repeated his plead louder, and to his luck, you shuffled and slowly awoke from your uncomfortable slumber.

He watched you turning towards him and unconsciously searching for the blankets, hands clumsily tapping around you.

'Na-ah. No blanked', Jisung chuckled, voice horse from sleep. You were whining and breathing heavily, and Jisung tapped onto your clothed leg.

'Outfit change', he simply announced and helped you sit up. No light was needed to see the necessary surrounding, and Jisung waited a few seconds, watching you rubbing your eyes in awe. He was convinced that you were annoyingly cutes person he'd ever seen.

Pulling on your fuzzy socks to take them off was easy. He just threw them somewhere in the middle of the room. Then he tugged on your long pants, but realized that there was no way you would just sleep without any.

'Take off pants and hoodie. I'll get you dressed in a sec', he mumbled, rubbing his face in annoyance, readyiing himslef, because oh boy, did he not want to actually get up to do anything right now.

The way to his closet was tiring. Every step felt heavy. He blindly pulled out some of his shorts and an oversized shirt. Once returned to bed, he pushed the clothes into your hands and kicked the bundle of blankets down.

'Hate summer', you said angrily, while putting Jisung's clothes and he hoped, you wouldn't get too caught up by the fact that you were now sock-less. You were already uncomfortable wearing short clothes, finding a sense of security in the feeling of being wrapped in fabric. The one piece that made the biggest difference between feeling safe and unsafe were socks, at least in your daily life. At night, you were sometimes fine without them. Most of the time, however, you were too overwhelmed by the sensory impressions that appeared when the layer of fabric weren't there to shield them away.

'We're did you put my socks?', you asked, a tiny tremble in your voice. Jisung sighed. He got up to find them, almost tripped when he picked one up and wanted to reach for the other k e with his back bent.

'Shit', he cursed annoyed and immediately heard a timid 'sorry'.

His heart sank. Yes, he was annoyed. He just wanted to sleep. He also knew you didn't do it on purpose. You were just trying to keep yourself as comfortable as possible, even when that meant that you rather sweat that wear temperarure appropriate clothes. You were his friend, therefore he took care for you, even when it was annoying, even when he didn't truly understand your mind all the time.

'Not your fault that I'm clumsy' he joked, trying to calm you down, before you could feel too guilty for being the reason for his disturbed sleep.

He crawled back, too lazy to actually walk and put on the socks for you, fently pulling the hems up to get rid of all wrinkles. After patting hour bare leg a few times to signal that he was done, he climbed over you to lay down again. His blanked found its way over your body, colder side facing you, and Jisung tugged you in loosely.

'You're a mystery to me', he heard you saying and asked why, eyes closed, ready to sleep.

'No blanket, nothing specific needed and you fall asleep. It's your superpower', you told him amused and made him smile.

Jisung swung one arm over you and patted your stomach. 'Transferring it to you'.

His hand stayed there, some weight on you working like a weighted blanked, summer edition. You on your back, properly and arranged fell asleep with a smile on your face. Jisung, in his stomach, spread all over the mattress with his hand grounding you fell asleep forgetting the night's interruptions. There was no need to be annoyed. Being a support to his friends was a default setting he didn't know of.

When he would wake up in the morning, wondering about your attire, you'd tell him what happened and he would shrugg it off, forgotten and not caring about his supposed efforts as long as you were fine.

[bdbriggs]

Two Truths and a Lie - FAHC

(holy shit guys I wrote a Fake AH Crew fic for the first time since 2020) It was always going to end this way.

The end is the true beginning.

It begins with a card.

 Two truths and a lie. The lie is not the one you expect.

Michael idly flips the card between his fingers. It’s a pretty thing, creamy white with golden script, bright white lace-like designs sprawling across the length of it. Two words on one side: be there. An address, date, and time on the other. What Michael should do is throw the card out and pretend he never saw it, pretend that it got lost in the copious junk mail that plagues his apartment mailbox. He should stay on the far, far side of town on that day and time, avoid sticking his nose into whatever is going on. He should expect that it’s a trap, a setup, a bad fuckin’ idea.

He should do a lot of things. Curiosity and cats, and all that, but here’s the thing; nobody ever remembers the end of that saying. Curiosity killed the cat, yes, but satisfaction brought it back.

Sue him. He’s curious.

And why shouldn’t he be? An inconspicuous little business card lands on his welcome mat. Solicitors leave pamphlets and business cards and shit by his door all the time—this one shouldn’t be special. The golden script, though. That makes him pause. Makes him consider. Makes him weigh his options carefully.

And in the end, there’s really only one thing to do.

See, gold is a recurring theme in Los Santos. It’s nothing out of the ordinary considering the millionaires, billionaires, movie stars, models, gold diggers, yada yada—the city is full of rich folks and folks wanting to be rich. Every third guy on the street has a gold watch. Every other lady has something gold—a ring, a necklace, whatever. Movie stars and gang leaders and girls dressed to the nines—they’re all flaunting golden jewelry, exotic cars, fancy clothes.

So why, then, did the color gold become such a tell in the city’s underground?

Michael can’t pinpoint the moment it started. Spray paint, metal plating, smoke, and ink. Something dripping gold sunk its fingers into the city in a way Michael’s never seen before. And while he hasn’t been in Los Santos overly long, he can tell you it’s not the norm. It wasn’t like this in Liberty City or in Jersey, certainly, and it wasn’t like this when he first arrived in LS. The city was gritty. Grey. The pollution is so thick you can feel it between your teeth, like grit after a fight or soot from an explosion. The cement buildings are grey, grey like the fog over the ocean, like the bleak alleyways and bleaker lives of the average people who live here. The first touch of gold was like a breath of fresh air in comparison.

Something stirs in the city of saints, and Michael wants to be there when it wakes.

 Jack’s cleaning up shop when she sees it. A little white business card, fluttering in the cool breeze provided by one of three fans she’s got spread in her garage. Every time there’s a heat wave, power cuts out in her neighborhood. There’s little to do besides power up the generator, grab a beer, and settle down to work on her cars. Machines are easy. People, less so. It’s for this reason Jack owns a garage—people drive cars, sure, but they don’t pay her to talk. They pay her to fix.

It’s odd, then, when this little white card flutters towards her, skipping along the floor with a bounce in its step that Jack hasn’t seen in years. This city has a way of beating people down. Even the lucky ones like her have fallen on rough times, and the golden script on the card is therefore what catches her attention.

Four words: I have an idea. A location, date, and time on the other side. Jack considers the card carefully before slipping it in the pocket of her shorts.

It’s a bad idea, is what it is. There’s no reason she should go looking for trouble. Times are hard, even for the lucky ones like her. But the gold script gives her pause.

There’s been a shift in the city, these last few years. Jack has lived here long enough to have felt it. It’s no different than a little rolling earthquake; the rolling sensation means it’s far away, but it shifts the ground and everything on top of it. Sometimes things fall, and sometimes the walls or pavement crack, but life goes on around the reminders of that little split-second event.

The evidence remains, however. Something has settled into the city, cracking the pavement and the walls, and slowly the cracks have filled with gold. Kintsugi, it’s called, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Few people would look at the withered and broken city of saints and deem it worthy of repair, but something has. Gold slithers into the city like snakes, and it leaves its mark on things. An influx of exotic cars. Looser lips at the bar by the racetrack. The wealthy place bets like never before, on cars, on racers, and Jack notices.

If she has a chance to see where all this gold is coming from—why shouldn’t she?

 Jeremy’s lip curls up into a snarl when a waitress brings them a drink with a business card underneath it. She’s already disappeared back into the throng of the club, or they would have called her out on it. Jeremy lifts their beer in one hand and flicks the business card with the other, watching as it twirls away with a flash of gold.

Wait.

Jeremy reaches out with the toe of one boot and slides it back to their chair, picking it up carefully and quickly. The card itself is white with lacy designs spread across it. On one side is a time and location. The other side reads, Nice job out there =) Bored yet?

It draws an honest-to-god snort out of Jeremy. They take a sip from their beer and tuck the card in their pocket.

Not many people know what Jeremy does. Rimmy Tim is a fair bit different from Jeremy, with the wild getup and crazy colors and loud vehicles. Rimmy Tim just finished a job up in Sandy Shores, their fists deployed against a handful of rednecks with guns and drugs. Jeremy, on the other hand, because that’s who they are tonight—Jeremy has a job as a pizza delivery person and two clueless roommates they’re lucky enough to count as friends.

So who in the world figured out that Jeremy is Rimmy Tim, and vice versa?

It should be upsetting. It is, to a degree, but not in the way Jeremy would expect. Whoever sent the business card clearly wants something. The location and time are evidence of that. And Rimmy Tim just had a spectacular time with a drug bust. It’s more than likely that whoever is behind this wants their particular skillset. But why approach Jeremy, when Rimmy Tim is plenty easy to find on the frequent jobs they take? Why go through the effort?

The gold inscription on the card calls to mind a particular golden gun. Rimmy Tim has only seen it a few times, and never the person wielding it. It’s small. Silenced. And the hands holding it never miss a shot. The golden gun means a swift end to whatever opposes it, and not in the way that a bullet means death. No; that golden gun stops gang wars in their tracks, assassinates the most corrupt politicians, brings genuine fear into the eyes of the LSPD.

Jeremy sips their beer and steadies themself. Whoever is behind that golden gun is worth standing beside. Things in Los Santos are about to get interesting.

 Trevor stares slack-jawed at the wallet in his hands. He’s got half a mind to chuck it off the pier and into the waves below, because it’s way too good to be true. Muggings don’t usually score him one thousand dollars. Either his unfortunate victim was loaded, or this is a setup. He shuffles through the bills quickly, and ah-ha! There’s a little white business card nestled between them.

Want more? It says in smooth golden script. The other side simply lists an address along with a date and time.

Trevor definitely should throw the wallet off the pier. He does, upon further consideration, but only after tucking the bills and card into his pocket. He may be an idiot, but he isn’t stupid enough to pass up what appear to be ten real hundred-dollar bills. After a quick scan of his surroundings, Trevor steps back into the crowds and blends right in. His victim is a quarter mile up the beach, and the LSPD have already given up their search for the mugger. Unfortunate, really.

Could his so-called victim have been the person behind the gold and white card? He wasn’t anything special looking. Messy brown hair so light it bordered on dark blonde, expensive sunglasses, nice clothes. One of Los Santos’ elite, or more likely the kid of one of Los Santos’ elite. Some rich shmuck with more money than sense who poked his nose where it didn’t belong. At least, that’s what Trevor understood from looking at the guy, and his intuition is rarely wrong. See, Trevor’s good at figuring people out. He’s good at finding what makes them tick, at learning how they move and act, and he’s even better at using that knowledge against them. Muggings are easy, then; give him a target, and he can have them all figured out after a few hours of observation. This guy was no different.

So why, then, is Trevor so unnerved by the presence of a little white business card?

The golden script gets his brain going. He pulls out the card again and turns it over and over in his hands, studying it. It’s high quality. The golden text is actually engraved into the creamy white paper, and a textured finish has been added overtop the card in a pattern akin to lace. Someone spent a pretty penny to make this card.

Someone with more money than sense.

Trevor considers this. Considers the fact that this job was a setup, and not an ordinary mugging. His judgement of character is rarely wrong—but perhaps he saw what was meant to be seen, and not what was truly there.

He smiles and whistles as he walks back to his apartment. It’s not the end of the world; he’ll just have to get a second look. And he has a convenient little card that gives him such an opportunity.

 Matt is going to scream.

Something’s wrong with his tech. And that’s decidedly not normal. He’s built eighty percent of this stuff himself. He knows his computers and his network better than the back of his hand. Nothing should ever go wrong with it to the point he can’t fix it.

Matt curses under his breath and locks his door. His roommates are home and he’d really rather not have them barge into his, uhm, gaming setup while shit’s going haywire. His lights turn off suddenly, plunging the room into darkness. Matt flicks the switch on and off a few times—no power. And it’s odd, too, because he can hear Jeremy and Trevor playing a video game in the living room. The apartment itself still has power.

It’s just Matt’s setup that doesn’t.

The thought sends an icy chill down his spine. He’s compromised. Someone found his location and managed to out-hack the hacker. Names and faces flit through his mind along with hastily cobbled-together escape plans. Who could have figured him out? Honestly, the weakest links in the chain are his roommates, but he’s been so careful and neither Jeremy nor Trevor have seemed off lately. And they’re perfectly fine in the next room, arguing loudly over Halo.

So who…?

Without warning, the printer comes to life with a godawful clattering sound. Matt shrieks and whirls around to face the offending machine. Fuck, he needs a new printer. If that thing made his whole goddamn side of the apartment short out��

But no, it appears someone is fucking with him after all. The printer happily slops ink on the fake ID he’d been in the middle of designing, spitting the card out with a horrid rattling scream. Matt picks the card up with shaky fingers and flinches when the lights flick on again, allowing him to read what’s been printed.

Lovely little place, it reads in golden ink. The other side lists a day and location.

The computer flickers back to life along with the rest of Matt’s tech. All of his screens should be displaying CCTV footage, but each individual camera’s footage has been replaced with a stylized sunglasses emoji, gold lines stark against a black backdrop.

Matt sits down at his desk and smiles sharply at the screens. Game on, motherfucker.

 Jack scouts the area from her Entity. It’s a nondescript little building up the Great Ocean Highway, well outside of town. She pulls into the nearby gas station at sunset, buys a soda and some snacks, and settles in for a stakeout. She doesn’t plan to go in, but she plans to see who does. She’s got a gun in each of her thigh holsters, a full tank of gas, and a pair of sharp eyes that miss nothing.

The sun sinks below the waves and casts a lovely pink hue across the sky. The light fades slowly to purple, then grey, then the inky blue of night. Stars wink into existence. The time stamped on the white business card in golden script fast approaches, and one man approaches the building across the highway on foot.

 Michael eyes the run-down building by the side of the highway as he approaches. It’s old and worn and grey, and from the looks of it, nobody’s been living or working there for a long while. The windows that aren’t boarded up have been shattered. Headlights from the highway illuminate a sea of glass on the concrete foundation. The back corner of the building is nearty tucked into the hillside with a high concrete wall with thick barbed wire warding off any attempts at break-ins. He can’t see inside, but Michael would bet money that there’s no easy way into that back corner from the inside, either.

And Michael has never been the lockpick kind of guy.

He hefts his rocket launcher with a grin, aims, and fires.

 Matt’s in.

Despite being abandoned for twelve years and eight months, someone has kept a CCTV camera running in a little decrepit building on the coast. The building itself used to belong to some loan servicing company that went out of business. Everything useful seems to have been stolen from the building, according to LSPD reports responding to break-ins. Except—Matt found plans, blueprints for a room in the back of the building. It has no entryway.

Seems like someone had something to hide.

Matt watches the camera like a hawk for days leading up to the date printed on the card. Nothing changes until five minutes prior to the printed time, when an explosion rocks the building and debris tumbles down the hallway. Through the opening provided, a solitary figure slips inside.

 Trevor slinks through the shadows and into the previously sealed room. Someone had blown it open from the far side, causing the rest of the wall to cave in. It allows Trevor to get inside easily. The explosion was a surprise, yes, but Trevor knew there was a possibility of others being here, of this being another part in the setup he’s allowed himself to walk into. The thousand bucks he got the other day will keep him and his roommates fed for several months, easy, but if there’s more…

Well. Trevor knows people. And he knows how to keep them away from his score. Whoever fired the rocket will wait for a response before entering. The woman staking out the place at the gas station has a loud car that he’ll hear long before it approaches his position. And the buff guy with the gun and parachute backpack crouched high on the hillside above will have to get past both of them in order to get down here. Unless—unless they’re teamed up. Shit.

A thump on the roof has Trevor regretting every decision that led him here. He pulls out his pistol and backs himself into a corner, surveying the room around him. Nothing stands out, no briefcase, no vault, no treasure. Nothing to hide behind. He grits his teeth and flicks off the safety.

 Jeremy’s pretty sure they’ve got about thirty seconds before the guy with the rocket launcher reaches the building. So, they do the most stupid thing and jump in ahead of him, hoping to secure whatever’s in the sealed room and make a stand inside. Maybe not the brightest idea when they’re up against a rocket launcher, but they’re banking on the hope that rocket-launcher-guy wants this score as badly as they do. Jeremy dives into the room and eats a bullet with their vest.

“Oh, ass!” Jeremy shrieks. They scramble further into the room, away from rocket-launcher-guy, only to roll out of the way of a second shot. Fuck, oh fuck, the gunman is inside the room!

An engine roars. Heavy footfalls in the rubble outside draw closer, closer, and Jeremy swallows thickly. Rocket-launcher-guy comes into view with his own gun in hand, and while it briefly points at Jeremy, it quickly trains on the gunman further in the room.

Fuck. Jeremy whips out their own pistol and points it at the gunman, wincing at the realization that a CCTV camera is pointed directly at the commotion. Not only that, but there are more footsteps making their way through the building.

Oh, they are so fucked.

 Jack’s glad she brought multiple guns. She trains one on the tall and thin gunman in the corner of the room, and one on the garishly colored guy crouched in the rubble to her right. The man who’d blown the building open snarls at her, and aww, isn’t that cute?

“What the fuck is going on here?” Jack demands. “What’s the big idea?”

The gunman in the corner shrinks in on himself. Poor guy has three guns trained on him at the moment. Jack doesn’t envy him.

“Fuck!” the guy blurts. “I came for the score! Jesus Christ, you guys can have it!”

The gunman to Jack’s right freezes. “I’m sorry, Trevor?!”

Trevor, if that’s his name, points his gun at the walking fashion disaster. “Jeremy?” he demands.

As if by some unspoken agreement, both of them move. Trevor points his gun at Jack; Jeremy points their gun at rocket-launcher-guy.

“Dude,” rocket-launcher-guy says. “Which of you told me to be here? This is confusing as fuck.”

Nobody answers.

Rocket-launcher-guy does a double take. “Wait, seriously? Then who the fuck was it?”

“Wasn’t me,” Jeremy says. “But I bet you it’s whoever is watching through the CCTV camera.”

Jack looks over her shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a camera pointed right at them. Shit.

“Nope,” a distorted male voice says through whatever shitty intercom system was left in the building. “I also would like to know what the hell is going on.”

Jack lowers her guns. “Did none of you send the business card?”

Rocket-launcher-guy lowers his own gun and fishes a white card out of his jacket pocket. “Not me,” he says.

Jeremy and Trevor lower their guns and pull out their own white cards.

“I got one, too,” the guy on the intercom says. “Someone used my printer to print it out.”

Jack holsters her guns and frowns. “What was the score, anyways?”

Trevor shrugs. “I dunno,” he admits. “I mugged a guy with a grand in his wallet, plus the card. I figured there’d be money in this place.”

Jack fishes out her own card and shows it to them. “That’s not what mine said.”

Rocket-launcher-guy crosses his arms. “So there’s nothing here? Well, that fuckin’ blows.”

“Aww, Michael,” a new voice coos. Jack whirls around and has both guns up and aimed at the newcomer before he can blink. “I wouldn’t say there’s nothing.”

Jack hears the sounds of guns being raised behind her, but the newcomer seems completely unintimidated. He leans back against the wall of the hallway, arms crossed loosely over his chest, smirk on his face. He’s got messy brown hair, a blue dress shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He’d look completely uninteresting if not for the golden sunglasses, the golden gun holstered at his hip, the golden watch on one wrist.

“You’re the guy I mugged,” Trevor says. “Who the hell are you? And what do you want?”

The golden boy grins. “I had this idea,” he says. “There’s this lovely little place that’s never successfully been broken into. I’ve robbed every other bank in the city. I’m bored. I want more. And I need a crew if I’m going to pull this off.” His grin turns sharp, menacing. “Will you be there?”

 Los Santos has a way of beating even the most stubborn and resilient of its citizens down. It’s easy to get lost in the grit and grey of the city, what with the pollution and fog and bleak concrete everywhere you look. But something, someone, looked at the city and saw an opportunity. A fresh start.

The end is the true beginning. And it was always going to end this way.

 The true beginning, then, was not with the card.

[godisasimp]

Spoilers for 6.4/6.5 outfits

HoHE

> gacha pyramid (9.8k cristals)

> is delayed will come out in 6.5

> opinion : it's pretty and even if I dislike Elysia/HoHE story wise I would be lying if I said i didn't like her design, so I'm gonna take it. 8/10

HoFlamescion

> no info on how to obtain Spending event reward (32k cristals)

> comes out in 6.4

> opinion : they're giving her less and less clothes also the hair looks goofy (in a good way) I think the shade of red they chose looks nice, wouldn't buy if it's B-chips or cost cristals. 5/10

FR

> no info on how to obtain free from event

> comes out in 6.4

> opinion : her hair looks like two very small cow (?) ears that is very cute, the dress looks a lot like her regular dress (with one side being very long) which is nice, but I think it could have been shorter, idk it looks odd to me, I wouldn't go out of my way to take it if it isn't free. 6/10

SN

> no info on how to obtain Free after completing chapter 35

> comes out in 6.4

> opinion : YES LOOK AT HOW PRETTY MY BABIES LOOK !! I absolutely adore this outfit, the ribbons are *mwah* (I love ribbons) and the flower crowns are just adorable and "Seele" with the white dress is cool since they usually put her in darker clothes and the red leggings contrast very well, I would absolutely spend money on that outfit if I have to. 10/10

LS

> no info on how to obtain, but burst seems to be affected slightly. B-chips

> comes out in 6.4

> opinion : SHE HAS A SMALL RABBIT ON HER HEAD this is the cutest thing I've seen holy shit, the dress fits her well and changing her blue to red and the dress to brown and the white accent is nice, also she has a small flower on her head. But she has a small rabbit on her head, idk if I talked about that and, like seele, I need that outfit just for the rabbit. 10/10

> burst : no model change for the sword

> edit : new pics added, some SFX shown

To have a better look at the outfits :

[paperstorm]

I would really like to thank the LS wardrobe department for crushing the game this season! Tarlos has never looked so good and we're 8 episodes into the season without a single hoodie in sight! The one thing that drives me batshit crazy in this fandom is writers only dress TK in a hoodie and sweatpants. This season is proof that he DOES wear actual clothes!

They’ve both looked so good!!! And I’m happy to see stills in some future episodes of TK back in his wild patterned shirts.

[catchingbigfish]

find the word tag!

thank you, @dotr-rose-love! my words are fly, suggest, perfect, and book! i'm tagging @words-after-midnight, @thecatsgrave, @charlesjosephwrites, and @ls-daydreams! (as always, no pressure, and anyone who would prefer not to be tagged can always let me know if i mess up!) your words are dare, rule, crisis, star, and surround!

i'm pulling from so it goes again! quick reminder the story deals very explicitly with death, pregnancy, and birth; the snippets today very explicitly reference death (book) and there's a mention a pregnant body (perfect).

fly

“Did you ever have to read Camus in school?” she asked. “What? No. Absolutely not.” “Your loss,” she said, sticking the tip of her tongue out, lost in thought. “Do you know anything about him?” Isaiah shook his head. “When do you think I snuck off to read Camus?” “He said Sisyphus was happy,” she said. “Or we must think Sisyphus is happy.” She looked up to the ceiling, trying to remember. “We must imagine Sisyphus is happy because he has a purpose.” Isaiah looked dismayed. “I think I’m good,” he said slowly. He wandered around the stack he was at to join her. She squatted on her heels and looked up at him. “How about Madame Butterfly? Weren’t you in theatre?”

suggest

Instead of jumping straight into speaking, Marisa blew out air and put her finger to her lip. Finally, she said, “That’s the problem. I don’t know.” Ali continued staring at her, still chewing. “It’s a really good offer,” she relented. “Good pay, good benefits. It seems empty. It feels, like, I don’t know. Like I’ll move out there and wither away in the suburbs, creating some bullshit, hollow life based on what my coworkers suggest I do, and wind up unhappy.” She took a page out of Ali’s book and began creating a huge bite of food, hoping Ali would feel pressured to fill the silence. She wasn’t. She had finished chewing, but she kept her gaze steady on Marisa’s face. She continued to wait, and when it became obvious Marisa wasn’t going to open her mouth, she sighed.

perfect

“I want a healthy baby,” the woman told Marisa at their first appointment. She had invited Marisa to her apartment, a nice loft in the city’s center, but quite loud for an infant. There were soundproofing decorations already dotting the baby’s nursery, which was done up like it was in the sky: the decor on the walls mostly looked like clouds, which was probably the best soundproofing decor Marisa had encountered. The floor was covered in a plush blue rug, ceiling and walls painted the same shade. They sat in the nursery while discussing the woman’s plans. The one window in the room cast beautiful, golden sunlight on the wall across from it. It was east-facing, which meant a gentle and natural wake-up. The woman was dressed in yoga clothes with a perfect, protruding pregnant belly already resting on her lap and her washed out blonde hair in a top knot. Sitting on the exercise ball across from Marisa, she looked like a mom already even though this was to be her first.

book

“I’ve met you so many times,” Death said. “I’ve been there for you so often. Haven’t you begged me to come?” She walked to the window and put her bony hand on the windowsill, turned at a an angle, looking out into the dark. “I was only coming to give you what you’ve been asking for.” Marisa felt her legs begin to twitch, not moving enough, but she urged her body to wake up, to flee. Death turned to the empty desk and began rifling through it, hands landing on a notebook, a piece of paper, and a pen. She turned and walked back to Marisa. She laid the paper on the book, and the book on the bed in front of Marisa. Death walked back to the window, sitting on the windowsill, bony leg crossed over fleshy leg. Marisa looked down and saw the pen in her hand.

[mynewswingset]

Happy Hour

Our next venture was a LS Happy Hour/Bar Takeover. I learned about it through one of the LS sites we joined.

I spent the afternoon getting ready. I typically dressed in conservative work attire or workout clothing so the process of getting ready was enjoyable.

I started with a hot bath, shaving everything that needed shaving.

Next I applied a mildly scented lotion. I had a little bit of a tan so I was soft and glowing a little bit.

I did my hair and make up and then slipped into a lacy navy blue bra and matching panties. I eventually put on a low cut, form fitting dress and strappy wedge sandals. I felt good. We drove to the event.

We arrived fairly early. We checked in with the organizer. A few people mingled. Unfortunately no one really approached us. We grabbed drinks as more people arrived. For a while we sat at a table for 8 hoping others would just join us but I leaned very quickly that new people are avoided and this particular group is very cliquish. I am 100% not that way and am usually the one to try to include others. I will never not do that and even more so in that setting. We were all “new” to something once. It might save someone else the new kid jitters we had that night.

We ultimately ended up going home without really connecting with anyone or any couples. No conversations or anything more. I am willing to give it another try though.

For the few of you who follow me, do you have suggestions? Feel free to comment or message me.