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thedowntown500 · 2 months ago

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The term CyberPunk came from the imagination and heart of this man, below you will find the original Cyberpunk story, from whence all others followed.

Enjoy

Cyberpunk a short storyby Bruce Bethke

Foreword (written in 1997)

And you can bet any body part you'd care to name that, had I had even the slightest least inkling of a clue that I would still be answering questions about this word nearly 18 years later, I would have bloody well trademarked the damned thing!

Nonetheless, I didn't, and as you're probably aware, the c-word has gone on to have a fascinating career all its own. At this late date I am not trying to claim unwarranted credit or tarnish anyone else's glory. (Frankly, I'd much rather people were paying attention to what I'm writing now --e.g., my Philip K. Dick Award-winning novel, Headcrash, Orbit Books, �5.99 in paperback.) But for those folks who are obsessed with history, here, in tightly encapsulated form, is the story behind the story.

The invention of the c-word was a conscious and deliberate act of creation on my part. I wrote the story in the early spring of 1980, and from the very first draft, it was titled "Cyberpunk." In calling it that, I was actively trying to invent a new term that grokked the juxtaposition of punk attitudes and high technology. My reasons for doing so were purely selfish and market-driven: I wanted to give my story a snappy, one-word title that editors would remember.

Offhand, I'd say I succeeded.

How did I actually create the word? The way any new word comes into being, I guess: through synthesis. I took a handful of roots --cyber, techno, et al-- mixed them up with a bunch of terms for socially misdirected youth, and tried out the various combinations until one just plain sounded right.

IMPORTANT POINT! I never claimed to have invented cyberpunk fiction! That honor belongs primarily to William Gibson, whose 1984 novel, Neuromancer, was the real defining work of "The Movement." (At the time, Mike Swanwick argued that the movement writers should properly be termed neuromantics, since so much of what they were doing was clearly Imitation Neuromancer.)

Then again, Gibson shouldn't get sole credit either. Pat Cadigan ("Pretty Boy Crossover"), Rudy Rucker (Software), W.T. Quick (Dreams of Flesh and Sand), Greg Bear (Blood Music), Walter Jon Williams (Hardwired), Michael Swanwick (Vacuum Flowers)...the list of early '80s writers who made important contributions towards defining the trope defies my ability to remember their names. Nor was it an immaculate conception: John Brunner (Shockwave Rider), Anthony Burgess (A Clockwork Orange), and perhaps even Alfred Bester (The Stars My Destination) all were important antecedents of the thing that became known as cyberpunk fiction.

Me? I've been told that my main contribution was inventing the stereotype of the punk hacker with a mohawk. That, and I named the beast, of course.

[Note: If you want to find out more about the etymology of cyberpunk -- and quite a few other things, too -- take a look at Bruce's web page. Alternatively, why not just scroll down and read the story itself?]Cyberpunk

The snoozer went off at seven and I was out of my sleepsack, powered up, and on-line in nanos. That's as far as I got. Soon's I booted and got--CRACKERS/BUDDYBOO/8ER

--on the tube I shut down fast. Damn! Rayno had been on line before me, like always, and that message meant somebody else had gotten into our Net-- and that meant trouble by the busload! I couldn't do anything more on term, so I zipped into my jumper, combed my hair, and went downstairs.

Mom and Dad were at breakfast when I slid into the kitchen. "Good Morning, Mikey!" said Mom with a smile. "You were up so late last night I thought I wouldn't see you before you caught your bus."

"Had a tough program to crack," I said.

"Well," she said, "now you can sit down and have a decent breakfast." She turned around to pull some Sara Lees out of the microwave and plunk them down on the table.

"If you'd do your schoolwork when you're supposed to you wouldn't have to stay up all night," growled Dad from behind his caffix and faxsheet. I sloshed some juice in a glass and poured it down, stuffed a Sara Lee into my mouth, and stood to go.

"What?" asked Mom. "That's all the breakfast you're going to have?"

"Haven't got time," I said. "I gotta get to school early to see if the program checks." Dad growled something more and Mom spoke to quiet him, but I didn't hear much 'cause I was out the door.

I caught the transys for school, just in case they were watching. Two blocks down the line I got off and transferred going back the other way, and a coupla transfers later I wound up whipping into Buddy's All-Night Burgers. Rayno was in our booth, glaring into his caffix. It was 7:55 and I'd beat Georgie and Lisa there.

"What's on line?" I asked as I dropped into my seat, across from Rayno. He just looked up at me through his eyebrows and I knew better than to ask again.

At eight Lisa came in. Lisa is Rayno's girl, or at least she hopes she is. I can see why: Rayno's seventeen--two years older than the rest of us--he wears flash plastic and his hair in The Wedge (Dad blew a chip when I said I wanted my hair cut like that) and he's so cool he won't even touch her, even when she's begging for it. She plunked down in her seat next to Rayno and he didn't blink.

Georgie still wasn't there at 8:05. Rayno checked his watch again, then finally looked up from his caffix. "The compiler's been cracked," he said. Lisa and I both swore. We'd worked up our own little code to keep our Net private. I mean, our Olders would just blow boards if they ever found out what we were really up to. And now somebody'd broken our code.

"Georgie's old man?" I asked.

"Looks that way." I swore again. Georgie and I started the Net by linking our smartterms with some stuff we stored in his old man's home business system. Now my Dad wouldn't know an opsys if he crashed on one, but Georgie's old man--he's a greentooth. A tech-type. He'd found one of ours once before and tried to take it apart to see what it did. We'd just skinned out that time.

"Any idea how far in he got?" Lisa asked. Rayno looked through her, at the front door. Georgie'd just come in.

"We're gonna find out," Rayno said.

Georgie was coming in smiling, but when he saw that look in Rayno's eyes he sat down next to me like the seat was booby-trapped.

"Good morning Georgie," said Rayno, smiling like a shark.

"I didn't glitch!" Georgie whined. "I didn't tell him a thing!"

"Then how the Hell did he do it?"

"You know how he is, he's weird! He likes puzzles!" Georgie looked to me for backup. "That's how come I was late. He was trying to weasel me, but I didn't tell him a thing! I think he only got it partway open. He didn't ask about the Net!"

Rayno actually sat back, pointed at us all, and smiled. "You kids just don't know how lucky you are. I was in the Net last night and flagged somebody who didn't know the secures was poking Georgie's compiler. I made some changes. By the time your old man figures them out, well..."

I sighed relief. See what I mean about being cool? Rayno had us outlooped all the time!

Rayno slammed his fist down on the table. "But Dammit Georgie, you gotta keep a closer watch on him!"

Then Rayno smiled and bought us all drinks and pie all the way around. Lisa had a cherry Coke, and Georgie and I had caffix just like Rayno. God, that stuff tastes awful! The cups were cleared away, and Rayno unzipped his jumper and reached inside.

"Now kids," he said quietly, "it's time for some serious fun." He whipped out his microterm. "School's off!"

I still drop a bit when I see that microterm--Geez, it's a beauty! It's a Zeilemann Nova 300, but we've spent so much time reworking it, it's practically custom from the motherboard up. Hi-baud, rammed, rammed, ported, with the wafer display folds down to about the size of a vid casette; I'd give an ear to have one like it. We'd used Georgie's old man's chipburner to tuck some special tricks in ROM and there wasn't a system in CityNet it couldn't talk to.

Rayno ordered up a smartcab and we piled out of Buddy's. No more riding the transys for us, we were going in style! We charged the smartcab off to some law company and cruised all over Eastside.

Riding the boulevards got stale after awhile, so we rerouted to the library. We do a lot of our fun at the library, 'cause nobody ever bothers us there. Nobody ever goes there. We sent the smartcab, still on the law company account, off to Westside. Getting past the guards and the librarians was just a matter of flashing some ID and then we zipped off into the stacks.

Now, you've got to ID away your life to get on the libsys terms--which isn't worth half a scare when your ID is all fudged like ours is--and they watch real careful. But they move their terms around a lot, so they've got ports on line all over the building. We found an unused port, and me and Georgie kept watch while Rayno plugged in his microterm and got on line.

"Get me into the Net," he said, handing me the term. We don't have a stored opsys yet for Netting, so Rayno gives me the fast and tricky jobs.

Through the dataphones I got us out of the libsys and into CityNet. Now, Olders will never understand. They still think a computer has got to be a brain in a single box. I can get the same results with opsys stored in a hundred places, once I tie them together. Nearly every computer has got a dataphone port, CityNet is a great linking system, and Rayno's microterm has the smarts to do the job clean and fast so nobody flags on us. I pulled the compiler out of Georgie's old man's computer and got into our Net. Then I handed the term back to Rayno.

"Well, let's do some fun. Any requests?" Georgie wanted something to get even with his old man, and I had a new routine cooking, but Lisa's eyes lit up 'cause Rayno handed the term to her, first.

"I wanna burn Lewis," she said.

"Oh fritz!" Georgie complained. "You did that last week!"

"Well, he gave me another F on a theme."

"I never get F's. If you'd read books once in a--"

"Georgie," Rayno said softly, "Lisa's on line." That settled that. Lisa's eyes were absolutely glowing.

Lisa got back into CityNet and charged a couple hundred overdue books to Lewis's libsys account. Then she ordered a complete fax sheet of Encyclopedia Britannica printed out at his office. I got next turn.

Georgie and Lisa kept watch while I accessed. Rayno was looking over my shoulder. "Something new this week?"

"Airline reservations. I was with my Dad two weeks ago when he set up a business trip, and I flagged on maybe getting some fun. I scanned the ticket clerk real careful and picked up the access code."

"Okay, show me what you can do."

Accessing was so easy that I just wiped a couple of reservations first, to see if there were any bells and whistles.

None. No checks, no lockwords, no confirm codes. I erased a couple dozen people without crashing down or locking up. "Geez," I said, "There's no deep secures at all!"

"I been telling you. Olders are even dumber than they look. Georgie? Lisa? C'mon over here and see what we're running!"

Georgie was real curious and asked a lot of questions, but Lisa just looked bored and snapped her gum and tried to stand closer to Rayno. Then Rayno said, "Time to get off Sesame Street. Purge a flight."

I did. It was simple as a save. I punched a few keys, entered, and an entire plane disappeared from all the reservation files. Boy, they'd be surprised when they showed up at the airport. I started purging down the line, but Rayno interrupted.

"Maybe there's no bells and whistles, but wipe out a whole block of flights and it'll stand out. Watch this." He took the term from me and cooked up a routine in RAM to do a global and wipe out every flight that departed at an :07 for the next year. "Now that's how you do these things without waving a flag."

"That's sharp," Georgie chipped in, to me. "Mike, you're a genius! Where do you get these ideas?" Rayno got a real funny look in his eyes.

"My turn," Rayno said, exiting the airline system.

"What's next in the stack?" Lisa asked him.

"Yeah, I mean, after garbaging the airlines . . ." Georgie didn't realize he was supposed to shut up.

"Georgie! Mike!" Rayno hissed. "Keep watch!" Soft, he added, "It's time for The Big One."

"You sure?" I asked. "Rayno, I don't think we're ready."

"We're ready."

Georgie got whiney. "We're gonna get in big trouble--"

"Wimp," spat Rayno. Georgie shut up.

We'd been working on The Big One for over two months, but I still didn't feel real solid about it. It almost made a clean if/then/else; if The Big One worked/then we'd be rich/else . . . it was the else I didn't have down.

Georgie and me scanned while Rayno got down to business. He got back into CityNet, called the cracker opsys out of OurNet, and poked it into Merchant's Bank & Trust. I'd gotten into them the hard way, but never messed with their accounts; just did it to see if I could do it. My data'd been sitting in their system for about three weeks now and nobody'd noticed. Rayno thought it would be really funny to use one bank computer to crack the secures on other bank computers.

While he was peeking and poking I heard walking nearby and took a closer look. It was just some old waster looking for a quiet place to sleep. Rayno was finished linking by the time I got back. "Okay kids," he said, "this is it." He looked around to make sure we were all watching him, then held up the term and stabbed the RETURN key. That was it. I stared hard at the display, waiting to see what else was gonna be. Rayno figured it'd take about ninety seconds.

The Big One, y'see, was Rayno's idea. He'd heard about some kids in Sherman Oaks who almost got away with a five million dollar electronic fund transfer; they hadn't hit a hangup moving the five mil around until they tried to dump it into a personal savings account with a $40 balance. That's when all the flags went up.

Rayno's cool; Rayno's smart. We weren't going to be greedy, we were just going to EFT fifty K. And it wasn't going to look real strange, 'cause it got strained through some legitimate accounts before we used it to open twenty dummies.

If it worked.

The display blanked, flickered, and showed:TRANSACTION COMPLETED. HAVE A NICE DAY.

I started to shout, but remembered I was in a library. Georgie looked less terrified. Lisa looked like she was going to attack Rayno.

Rayno just cracked his little half smile, and started exiting. "Funtime's over, kids."

"I didn't get a turn," Georgie mumbled.

Rayno was out of all the nets and powering down. He turned, slow, and looked at Georgie through those eyebrows of his. "You are still on The List."

Georgie swallowed it 'cause there was nothing else he could do. Rayno folded up the microterm and tucked it back inside his jumper.

We got a smartcab outside the library and went off to someplace Lisa picked for lunch. Georgie got this idea about garbaging up the smartcab's brain so that the next customer would have a real state fair ride, but Rayno wouldn't let him do it. Rayno didn't talk to him during lunch, either.

After lunch I talked them into heading up to Martin's Micros. That's one of my favorite places to hang out. Martin's the only Older I know who can really work a computer without blowing out his headchips, and he never talks down to me, and he never tells me to keep my hands off anything. In fact, Martin's been real happy to see all of us, ever since Rayno bought that $3000 vidgraphics art animation package for Lisa's birthday.

Martin was sitting at his term when we came in. "Oh, hi Mike! Rayno! Lisa! Georgie!" We all nodded. "Nice to see you again. What can I do for you today?"

"Just looking," Rayno said.

"Well, that's free." Martin turned back to his term and punched a few more IN keys. "Damn!" he said to the term.

"What's the problem?" Lisa asked.

"The problem is me," Martin said. "I got this software package I'm supposed to be writing, but it keeps bombing out and I don't know what's wrong."

Rayno asked, "What's it supposed to do?"

"Oh, it's a real estate system. Y'know, the whole future-values-in-current-dollars bit. Depreciation, inflation, amortization, tax credits--"

"Put that in our tang," Rayno said. "What numbers crunch?"

Martin started to explain, and Rayno said to me, "This looks like your kind of work." Martin hauled his three hundred pounds of fat out of the chair, and looked relieved as I dropped down in front of the term. I scanned the parameters, looked over Martin's program, and processed a bit. Martin'd only made a few mistakes. Anybody could have. I dumped Martin's program and started loading the right one in off the top of my head.

"Will you look at that?" Martin said.

I didn't answer 'cause I was thinking in assembly. In ten minutes I had it in, compiled, and running test sets. It worked perfect, of course.

"I just can't believe you kids," Martin said. "You can program easier than I can talk."

"Nothing to it," I said.

"Maybe not for you. I knew a kid grew up speaking Arabic, used to say the same thing." He shook his head, tugged his beard, looked me in the face, and smiled. "Anyhow, thanks loads, Mike. I don't know how to . . ." He snapped his fingers. "Say, I just got something in the other day, I bet you'd be really interested in." He took me over to the display case, pulled it out, and set it on the counter. "The latest word in microterms. The Zeilemann Starfire 600."

I dropped a bit! Then I ballsed up enough to touch it. I flipped up the wafer display, ran my fingers over the touch pads, and I just wanted it so bad! "It's smart," Martin said. "Rammed, rammed, and ported."

Rayno was looking at the specs with that cold look in his eye. "My 300 is still faster," he said.

"It should be," Martin said. "You customized it half to death. But the 600 is nearly as fast, and it's stock, and it lists for $1400. I figure you must have spent nearly 3K upgrading yours."

"Can I try it out?" I asked. Martin plugged me into his system, and I booted and got on line. It worked great! Quiet, accurate; so maybe it wasn't as fast as Rayno's--I couldn't tell the difference. "Rayno, this thing is the max!" I looked at Martin. "Can we work out some kind of. . . ?" Martin looked back to his terminal, where the real estate program was still running tests without a glitch.

"I been thinking about that, Mike. You're a minor, so I can't legally employ you." He tugged on his beard and rolled his tongue around his mouth. "But I'm hitting that real estate client for some pretty heavy bread on consulting fees, and it doesn't seem real fair to me that you . . . Tell you what. Maybe I can't hire you, but I sure can buy software you write. You be my consultant on, oh . . . seven more projects like this, and we'll call it a deal? Sound okay to you?"

Before I could shout yes, Rayno pushed in between me and Martin. "I'll buy it. List." He pulled out a charge card from his jumper pocket. Martin's jaw dropped. "Well, what're you waiting for? My plastic's good."

"List? But I owe Mike one," Martin protested.

"List. You don't owe us nothing."

Martin swallowed. "Okay Rayno." He took the card and ran a credcheck on it. "It's clean," Martin said, surprised. He punched up the sale and started laughing. "I don't know where you kids get this kind of money!"

"We rob banks," Rayno said. Martin laughed, and Rayno laughed, and we all laughed. Rayno picked up the term and walked out of the store. As soon as we got outside he handed it to me.

"Thanks Rayno, but . . . but I coulda made the deal myself."

"Happy Birthday, Mike."

"Rayno, my birthday is in August."

"Let's get one thing straight. You work for me."

It was near school endtime, so we routed back to Buddy's. On the way, in the smartcab, Georgie took my Starfire, gently opened the case, and scanned the boards. "We could double the baud speed real easy."

"Leave it stock," Rayno said.

We split up at Buddy's, and I took the transys home. I was lucky, 'cause Mom and Dad weren't home and I could zip right upstairs and hide the Starfire in my closet. I wish I had cool parents like Rayno does. They never ask him any dumb questions.

Mom came home at her usual time, and asked how school was. I didn't have to say much, 'cause just then the stove said dinner was ready and she started setting the table. Dad came in five minutes later and we started eating.

We got the phone call halfway through dinner. I was the one who jumped up and answered it. It was Georgie's old man, and he wanted to talk to my Dad. I gave him the phone and tried to overhear, but he took it in the next room and talked real quiet. I got unhungry. I never liked tofu, anyway.

Dad didn't stay quiet for long. "He what?! Well thank you for telling me! I'm going to get to the bottom of this right now!" He hung up.

"Who was that, David?" Mom asked.

"That was Mr. Hansen. Georgie's father. Mike and Georgie were hanging around with that punk Rayno again!" He snapped around to look at me. I'd almost made it out the kitchen door. "Michael! Were you in school today?"

I tried to talk cool. I think the tofu had my throat all clogged up. "Yeah...yeah, I was."

"Then how come Mr. Hansen saw you coming out of the downtown library?"

I was stuck. "I--I was down there doing some special research."

"For what class? C'mon Michael, what were you studying?"

It was too many inputs. I was locking up.

"David," Mom said, "Aren't you being a bit hasty? I'm sure there's a good explanation."

"Martha, Mr. Hansen found something in his computer that Georgie and Michael put there. He thinks they've been messing with banks."

"Our Mikey? It must be some kind of bad joke."

"You don't know how serious this is! Michael Arthur Harris! What have you been doing sitting up all night with that terminal? What was that system in Hansen's computer? Answer me! What have you been doing?!"

My eyes felt hot. "None of your business! Keep your nose out of things you'll never understand, you obsolete old relic!"

"That does it! I don't know what's wrong with you damn kids, but I know that thing isn't helping!" He stormed up to my room. I tried to get ahead of him all the way up the steps and just got my hands stepped on. Mom came fluttering up behind as he yanked all the plugs on my terminal.

"Now David," Mom said. "Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? He needs that for his homework, don't you, Mikey?"

"You can't make excuses for him this time, Martha! I mean it! This goes in the basement, and tomorrow I'm calling the cable company and getting his line ripped out! If he has anything to do on computer he can damn well use the terminal in the den, where I can watch him!" He stomped out, carrying my smartterm. I slammed the door and locked it. "Go ahead and sulk! It won't do you any good!"

I threw some pillows around 'til I didn't feel like breaking anything anymore, then I hauled the Starfire out of the closet. I'd watched over Dad's shoulders enough to know his account numbers and access codes, so I got on line and got down to business. I was finished in half an hour.

I tied into Dad's terminal. He was using it, like I figured he would be, scanning school records. Fine. He wouldn't find out anything; we'd figured out how to fix school records months ago. I crashed in and gave him a new message on his vid display.

"Dad," it said, "there's going to be some changes around here."

It took a few seconds to sink in. I got up and made sure the door was locked real solid. I still got half a scare when he came pounding up the stairs, though. I didn't know he could be so loud.

"MICHAEL!!" He slammed into the door. "Open this! Now!"

"No."

"If you don't open this door before I count to ten, I'm going to bust it down! One!"

"Before you do that--"

"Two!"

"Better call your bank!"

"Three!"

"B320-5127-OlR." That was his checking account access code. He silenced a couple seconds.

"Young man, I don't know what you think you're trying to pull--"

"I'm not trying anything. I did it already."

Mom came up the stairs and said, "What's going on, David?"

"Shut up, Martha!" He was talking real quiet, now. "What did you do, Michael?"

"Outlooped you. Disappeared you. Buried you."

"You mean, you got into the bank computer and erased my checking account?"

"Savings and mortgage on the condo, too."

"Oh my God . . ."

Mom said, "He's just angry, David. Give him time to cool off. Mikey, you wouldn't really do that, would you?"

"Then I accessed DynaRand," I said. "Wiped your job. Your pension. I got into your plastic, too."

"He couldn't have, David. Could he?"

"Michael!" He hit the door. "I'm going to wring your scrawny neck!"

"Wait!" I shouted back. "I copied all your files before I purged! There's a way to recover!"

He let up hammering on the door, and struggled to talk calm. "Give me the copies right now and I'll just forget that this happened."

"I can't. I mean, I did backups in other computers. And I secured the files and hid them where only I know how to access."

There was quiet. No, in a nano I realised it wasn't quiet, it was Mom and Dad talking real soft. I eared up to the door but all I caught was Mom saying 'why not?' and Dad saying, 'but what if he is telling the truth?'

"Okay Michael," Dad said at last. "What do you want?"

I locked up. It was an embarrasser; what did I want? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Me, caught without a program! I dropped half a laugh, then tried to think. I mean, there was nothing they could get me I couldn't get myself, or with Rayno's help. Rayno! I wanted to get in touch with him, is what I wanted. I'd pulled this whole thing off without Rayno!

I decided then it'd probably be better if my Olders didn't know about the Starfire, so I told Dad first thing I wanted was my smartterm back. It took a long time for him to clump down to the basement and get it. He stopped at his term in the den, first, to scan if I'd really purged him. He was real subdued when he brought my smartterm back up.

I kept processing, but by the time he got back I still hadn't come up with anything more than I wanted them to leave me alone and stop telling me what to do. I got the smartterm into my room without being pulped, locked the door, got on line, and gave Dad his job back. Then I tried to flag Rayno and Georgie, but couldn't, so I left messages for when they booted. I stayed up half the night playing a war, just to make sure Dad didn't try anything.

I booted and scanned first thing the next morning, but Rayno and Georgie still hadn't come on. So I went down and had an utter silent breakfast and sent Mom and Dad off to work. I offed school and spent the whole day finishing the war and working on some tricks and treats programs. We had another utter silent meal when Mom and Dad came home, and after supper I flagged Rayno had been in the Net and left a remark on when to find him.

I finally got him on line around eight, and he said Georgie was getting trashed and probably heading for permanent downtime.

Then I told Rayno all about how I outlooped my old man, but he didn't seem real buzzed about it. He said he had something cooking and couldn't meet me at Buddy's that night to talk about it, either. So we got off line, and I started another war and then went to sleep.

The snoozer said 5:25 when I woke up, and I couldn't logic how come I was awake 'til I started making sense out of my ears. Dad was taking apart the hinges on my door!

"Dad! You cut that out or I'll purge you clean! There won't be backups this time!"

"Try it," he growled.

I jumped out of my sleepsack, powered up, booted and--no boot. I tried again. I could get on line in my smartterm, but I couldn't port out. "I cut your cable down in the basement," he said.

I grabbed the Starfire out of my closet and zipped it inside my jumper, but before I could do the window, the door and Dad both fell in. Mom came in right behind, popped open my dresser, and started stuffing socks and underwear in a suitcase.

"Now you're fritzed!" I told Dad. "I'll never give you back your files!" He grabbed my arm.

"Michael, there's something I think you should see." He dragged me down to his den and pulled some bundles of old paper trash out of his desk. "These are receipts. This is what obsolete old relics like me use because we don't trust computer bookkeeping. I checked with work and the bank; everything that goes on in the computer has to be verified with paper. You can't change anything for more than 24 hours."

"Twenty-four hours? " I laughed. "Then you're still fritzed! I can still wipe you out any day, from any term in CityNet'"

"I know."

Mom came into the den, carrying the suitcase and kleenexing her eyes. "Mikey, you've got to understand that we love you, and this is for your own good." They dragged me down to the airport and stuffed me in a private lear with a bunch of old gestapos.

I've had a few weeks now to get used to the Von Schlager Military Academy. They tell me I'm a bright kid and with good behavior, there's really no reason at all why I shouldn't graduate in five years. I am getting tired, though, of all the older cadets telling me how soft I've got it now that they've installed indoor plumbing.

Of course, I'm free to walk out any time I want. It's only three hundred miles to Fort McKenzie, where the road ends.

Sometimes at night, after lights out, I'll pull out my Starfire and run my fingers over the touchpads. That's all I can do, since they turn off power in the barracks at night. I'll lie there in the dark, thinking about Lisa, and Georgie, and Buddy's All-Night Burgers, and all the fun we used to pull off. But mostly I'll think about Rayno, and what great plans he cooks up.

I can't wait to see how he gets me out of this one.

Afterword

After I sold the original story in '82, I continued to work on the story cycle, publishing bits and pieces here and there throughout the 1980's. In '89 I pulled the major chunks together into the rough form of a novel, and to my surprise and delight I sold it, to a publisher who later regained his sanity and decided not to release it.

It took me five years to recover the rights to this book. By the time I finally did, everyone in the publishing industry assured me there was no point in pursuing it further, as the market had spoken with Godlike finality: Cyberpunk was dead. There was, I was told, no possibility that another cyberpunk novel would be commercially successful, and there would never be a successful cyberpunk movie.

The novel, Cyberpunk, is now available as shareware through my website at:

http://stupefyingstories.com/

--Bruce Bethke

� Bruce Bethke 1980, 1997 "Cyberpunk" was first published in Amazing Science Fiction Stories, Volume 57, Number 4, November 1983.

Elsewhere in infinity plus:

fiction - Expendables; The Skanky Soul of Jimmy Twist.

Elsewhere on the web:

Bruce Bethke at Amazon (US) and at the Internet Bookshop (UK).

Bruce's web page is packed with fun, fiction and more, and includes the full text of Cyberpunk, a novel based on the story which introduced the c-word to the world.

The alt.cyberpunk FAQ list starts out by acknowledging Bruce's coining of the c-word, and is full of background information and links.

Bruce's ISFDB bibliography.

#cyberpunk #CD Project Red #Bruce Bethke #Mike Pondsmith

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desirepathzine · 4 months ago

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Revisiting Just Kids

Patti Smith's first published memoir, Just Kids, has cemented its status as one of the greats. Enchantingly told, an endearing portrait of two artists, Smith and her lifelong twinflame Robert Mapplethorpe, coming of age in late 60s/early 70s New York, while also chronicling the legendary Chelsea Hotel.

Every time I go to an art museum, it's in the gift shop. Every time I see a BookTok video recommending memoirs, it's usually there. When Patti sang Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey at a concert a few weeks ago, the pinned comment referred everyone to read Just Kids.

Just Kids entered my life shortly after its publication in 2010, when I was twelve years old. I was a kid fascinated by punk, The Runaways were my favorite, but I knew that everybody I loved honored and respected Patti Smith, even though her music didn't really mesh with what I had going on at the time. But she was the godmother of punk and I needed to know what the big deal was. I had read a few of the more shocking and exploitative rockstar memoirs, perhaps a little too early for a largely very sheltered 12 year old. I was anticipating something with stories about life on the road, the dangerous life of making punk rock (I was 12, let her dream), and lots of stories about other legendary musicians and artists.

I picked up Just Kids shortly after my birthday expecting to be scandalized and fascinated. That's not the kind of book it ended up revealing itself to be.

Instead it was a sweet, poignant, minutely remembered, and very moving story about two people who were meant to experience life and art together. I wept openly several times reading it. Even at 12, not quite grasping everything I was reading (I would not look at a Mapplethorpe photograph for many years after reading this book, I was too young!) But it opened up the possibility within me that art was going to be something that I was going to live for too, and that it could happen.

I'm 26 now. And I'm about to move out of my childhood bedroom, something I had meant to do earlier in my life, but. It was 2020 when I graduated college and that didn't work out. I'm moving back to a big city, with a steady normal 9-5 to stay alive, but that's not what drew me back to the city. Art did, and does, and will continue to do so.

As I've been packing and sorting and paying too much money to do things necessary for my survival, I decided to do my re-read of Just Kids that I inevitably do every few years. I think the last time was in the twilight days of the covid lockdowns, when I was waking up at 2pm and going to bed whenever I could get my brain to quiet enough to let me rest. I remember reading it while rehearsing for my church's Hanging of the Green performance in high school, a fellow choir member chastising me for its back cover, which featured Robert and Patti kissing in a photobooth. I brought it with me on my last trip to New Orleans, but was too busy traversing the city to begin the re-read, so it sat in my backpack observing our hotel room quietly.

I finished it last night, sitting around boxes packed of everything I have accumulated in my life that is worth taking with me to the next chapter. The ending, with Robert passed and Patti left to tell their story, always gets me, but it really touched me in a way that felt like I'd finally grown into myself as an adult, as an artist, and as someone who was willing to do anything they could to create what they needed to create.

I have been anxious, afraid, overwhelmed; all of the big emotions that come with going out into the world on your own. Just Kids has been a balm on me, in many ways.

Because the book has been in my life for so long, there is an immediate sense of nostalgia when I pick up my old copy, the first paperback edition with the simple black and white cover, still somehow holding together despite all the places I've taken it and all the times I've read it. There is a comfort to its worn out pages. I know exactly where all of my favorite passages and photographs are, it is dogeared and loved. So as an object that has been in my life for so long, there is something comforting about seeing it in my backpack or feeling it in my hands again.

Just Kids also soothes my fears about going out into the world in a real way. It's not that nothing bad or strange or upsetting happens within the book, in fact many things do, but it is the fact that there is perseverance, friendship, romance, and magic in the world that can outweigh the fears and hardships of survival.

But mostly, it reassures me. Patti and Robert's devotion to their art, to each other, to pursuing their artistic heights, and to the community of friends that surrounded them and would support them in return, it's beautiful. I can get tunnel vision when going into a new task or situation. When I audition for a new show, I always think it's going to be me alone in front of a table of people who are there to judge me. I always forget about the camaraderie of those in the audition greenroom with you, of the stage managers that make sure your blazer collar is smoothed down, the ADs who make sure the water stays supplied, and that those people judging you at the table are just people at the end of the day trying to do what you're doing: create something great. It's been the same with moving and working: I picture myself alone at a desk and thrown into the waters of my new work. But that's not how it will be. There will be people. There will be community. I'm already connected to the arts community, as well as the musical subcultures in the city where I will move. I go to their goth nights, I go to exhibition openings at the museum, and there are at least two waiters at my favorite cafe who know my drink order when I stop by for the carb up for a night of dancing.

Art cannot be made alone. I will not be alone. Just Kids reminds me of that.

#patti smith #just kids #zine #essay #art #coming of age

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the-hype-dragon · 1 year ago

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about 200 pages into No Exit, which I bought last year after seeing the trailer for the movie adaptation

(this post is long and rambling)

let me preface this by saying I don't read a whole lot of thrillers because the genre doesn't impress me in general. I loved Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs but I consider those horror novels instead of just straight thriller novels. for all I know No Exit is a very typical thriller but if all thrillers are written like this I will just go on being unimpressed by the genre

iirc I remember reading some review saying it was like a Stephen King book... correct. Taylor Adams makes as many Thing of the Cultural Moment references as King does, which instantly makes the book very dated. it was published in 2017 (though my paperback is copyrighted for 2019, so I was under the false impression it was much more recent lmao). there is a Pokemon Go! reference early on, a reference to the 2014 Godzilla movie, and a Max Payne (!!!) reference much later, all delivered in a very "how do u do fellow kids" kind of way lmao

also in typical King fashion the villains are so over the top they're unbelievable and the writing is about as subtle as a brick to your face

case in point: the symbolism is very in-your-face and not very clever. the author also enjoys smacking you in the face with "revelations" that are just "see I did a clever thing, reader!" In one scene the villains are kidnapping a child, the dumb one is wearing a zombie mask and the smart one is wearing a werewolf mask, because get it, the dumb one is the other villain's minion, and the smart one seemed good at first but he's really a monster in disguise do you get it

one of them saying he wanted to be a magician when he was a kid would have been clever foreshadowing if it was not similarly bashed over your head how clever the author found it lmao

the main character is equal parts kind of clever and very stupid, but her few smart moments rely entirely on the villains being too dumb to figure out that she would do something to try and fool them. yes even the smart one is too dumb to figure out when she is obviously playing them

on the positive side this book can be really funny and I feel like Adams actually has a decent sense of humor... the only problem is there are also moments that are funny in a way that feels very unintentional

somehow I am supposed to believe two other characters don't notice how evil the villains are or that they are unaware of things like three characters being absent all at once, multiple times. they are all stranded in a rest stop during a snowstorm btw

there are a couple moments where it feels like neither the author nor the editor read real closely because the protagonist has a thought and two seconds later (literally, a page-and-a-half later) the villain says the same thing and she acts like this is a huge revelation. gorl WHAT

in perhaps another sign of the book's "age" (it was published in 2017!) one of the bad guys is a porn addict and we are supposed to find this creepy... while I agree with this we have unfortunately entered an age where calling out a dude's porn addiction is seen as a hate crime lmao

I like the middle-aged side characters, they are charming in a typical "embarrassing middle aged people" kind of way. I could tell the book is written by a man when the (female) protagonist calls the older woman "frumpy" lmao

since I still have about 200 pages to go however (and I haven't looked at spoilers) I'm still holding out hope that a really dumb story one of the villains told very early in the book has some pay-off later. he got his thumb nearly amputated in a door hinge when he was a child so here's hoping some freak door hinge accident is what takes him out!!!

#rambling #book thoughts

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dargeereads · 2 years ago

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“All I had were nevers before you. Now, you’re my happily ever after.”

Happily Ever Never, an all-new steamy Montgomery Ink Legacy novella from New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan is available now!

New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan returns to the Montgomery Ink world with a blind date romance between two unlikely strangers.

I love falling in love. Only I’m the worst at it.

My friends call me a serial first dater and I can’t blame them. All I want is a happy ever after, yet all I find are happy ever nevers.

This is my last chance. After this set up with my friend’s tattoo artist, I’m done. No more dating. No more chances.

If I don’t fall in love with Leo Johnson, I’ll give up on dating. Even if it shatters my dreams in the process.

**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

Fall in love today! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3paPLLv Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/happilyevernever Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/3ZEJrww

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/3H7efz0

Keep reading for a look inside Happily Ever Never!

Was it me? The common denominator was me. Maybe I just wasn’t good at first dates. Perhaps I needed to get over myself and ignore the NO column completely. After all, I was nervous on first dates. On the other hand, maybe my dates were, too, and that was why everything ended up going horribly wrong. In fact, the only first date I’d had recently that had been nice, albeit without sparks, had ended up being with my new employer—my friend currently in love with one of my best friends. That wasn’t awkward at all. “As for paying my half of the bill…I just want to get out of here. Not that I don’t love the food. You guys do make an amazing bisque.” “We do. Will we see you soon?” the hostess asked, then cringed. “With your friends,” she amended. I smiled, nodded, and waved, ignoring the twinge in my chest. She likely assumed I would be here again for another first date that would inevitably crash and burn. There was that one time the guy bailed on me. Or the time another had shown up with his four kids—which was fine when I assumed it was a childcare issue. But no, he’d wanted to go on a date with his wife, needed a babysitter, and thought I could do it since I was sitting alone at the next table over. There was the time the man showed up, grinned at me, and ended up arrested on a bench warrant halfway through the hors d’oeuvres. At another restaurant, my date had tried to grope me under the table before we could even finish introducing ourselves. Then there was the other married guy. And the widower who cried in my arms as I cried with him, holding him as the waitstaff walked around us, nervously wondering what to do. That one had broken my heart. I still talked to him and had even introduced him to his new wife, a soft and sweet woman who wasn’t the first person he’d tried to date after his late wife passed. I had been through my share of first dates. And I hated it. I got to my car and checked my phone for the time. “Six-thirty p.m. That’s a new record for me.” I rolled my eyes and started my car, heading out of the parking lot. With a sigh, I saw a familiar lit sign and smiled. I did not want to go home. I didn’t want to watch TV, read a book, or study the latest articles and research for my field. I didn’t want to prep for my day with Luke, the little boy that I adored and cared for during the day. I didn’t want to focus on my childcare management classes or the lessons I would be teaching at upcoming seminars. I didn’t want to do any of that. So, instead, I pulled into the parking lot of Montgomery Ink Legacy, turned off the car, and hoped to see a familiar face or two. Some days when I came here, I even brought Luke since he loved to see the man I knew would one day be his stepfather.

For More Information about Carrie Ann Ryan, visit her website: https://carrieannryan.com/

For More Information about 1001 Dark Nights, visit: Website: https://www.1001darknights.com/ Facebook: https://bit.ly/3ONzTtZ Instagram: https://bit.ly/3rTZdo3 TikTok: https://bit.ly/3G98oYh

#Carrie Ann Ryan #Happily Ever Never #1001 Dark Nights #release blitz

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thebibliosphere · 4 years ago

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Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites (an update)

Friends, vampire romancers, and monster lover aficionados…

I’ve got a fairly important update for you all. As I’ve mentioned many, many times, I’m struggling with the length of Phangs. There is simply too much book, and while I’ve made substantial cuts to the original manuscript, it’s been at the expense of many things I love and want to keep. Including my sanity.

To give you an idea of how bonkers the size of this thing is, the halfway mark is, at present, registering at over 700 pages on Kindle and the Apple store. Which is roughly, give or take, 500 pages in paperback. It is huge. And I’ve no idea how I created something of this size, and still not have all the things in it I want to include. So, to remedy this, and to avoid cutting out any more of the things I love, I’ve decided to split Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites into two books.

Regrettably, this means that the Ot3 doesn’t become firmly established until book two. It’s still heavily implied, and you get all three characters interacting together (read: flirting their supernatural socks off), but their relationship as a triad won’t be fully formed until the second book. Which is not what I want, and I know it’s not what a lot of you want either. But I need to be realistic here and do what makes sense for the narrative arc of the story, and also for my health. I thought with giving myself an extra month of wiggle room to keep working on things I’d be able to fix this issue, but truthfully, it’s not something I can fix. Not without cutting Nathan’s character arc and his development as a disabled character, and honestly, I’d rather scrap the whole novel than remove an iota of his arc.

It is extremely important to me to have a queer disabled, romantic lead who neither dies, nor is “cured,” and is still portrayed as lovable, sexy, and above all else, happy, while still experiencing difficulties and setbacks that comes from living with disabilities and chronic health issues. And Nathan is that character. He’s a deaf, disabled werewolf who uses mobility aids and wears a magical hearing aid who eventually learns to overcome the ableism and alienation he faces because of his injures*, both from the outside world, and from his family. It’s a huge part of who he is, and the narrative of acceptance and positivity that makes Phangs what it is. And I just... can’t lose that. I can’t. I’ve tried and I can’t.

I also just don’t want to delay the book any further.

You have all been incredibly patient and understanding in waiting for this novel while I scraped my health off the floor over the last four years. And while it’s perhaps not the exact thing I wanted to put out into the world, what Phangs was intended to be and what it has turned into over the last few years are entirely different things.

What started as a funny post on my blog, which was never meant to be anything more than something playful, has morphed into a fully formed microcosm. The plot and world building didn’t so much get away from me, as grow multiple extra arms and legs and sprint off the slab. And while that was happening, the character arcs were off doing their own thing. Becoming fully formed and nuanced behind my back. What should have been a trilogy now looks like it might be a five-part series. Possibly six.

The good news is that you’ll get book 2 much sooner than previously expected! The reason for this is that most of it is already written, I just need to take the time to restructure and edit things, as well as take a short hiatus to get my hands fixed up. Turns out typing over 4 million words in one year when you have Ehlers Danlos is really not good for your hands. (This is also why my inbox is still currently closed.)

But I still understand that many of you wanted this book purely for the Ot3 and that’s fine! The Ot3 still happens, it is set in stone. It’s just more of a slow burn than previously expected. And I get that’s not what some of you want or signed up for, which is why I’m letting you all know now.

So, if you’re disappointed and would like to cancel your Amazon pre-orders, I’m sorry to hear that, but I completely understand.

If you are a Patreon/Ko-Fi supporter, please know that you will receive the second book as part of your initial pledge. (This includes those of you who pledged for exclusive hardbacks, and some named characters who have been shuffled into book 2 to let them have more than a passing name drop.) I do not expect you to fork out more money for the story you have already paid for, some of you many multiple times over. Without you, none of this would be possible, and I still wouldn’t be here. Thank you for making this series possible and helping to keep me alive and paying for my medical bills.

Anyway, I am sorry for this wall of text. And I’m sorry if I’ve let any of you down with this news. The happy polyamorous paranormal triad is still coming. And you can take that last part however you like.

Also, for those asking, links to the Fluff and Fangs edition (without smut) will go up a few days after the launch of Flirting with Fangs (with smut) which launches on the 24th of November 2020. I’m not sure if Amazon will try to ding me for having two editions of the book up at once, so that’s the reason for the extra wait. Thank you for understanding, and for asking. Your continued interest in this kooky world I’ve created has kept me going, and I really hope it’ll be worth your wait.

Thank you for understanding, and again, I'm sorry if this is disappointing news to anyone. I did my best, but sometimes our best still falls short of what we would like. -Joy

#Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites #Hunger Pangs book #Phangs #Joy Demorra #Hunger Pangs by Joy Demorra #book updates

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yurimother · 4 years ago

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LGBTQ Light Novel Review – I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2

A Defining and Relentlessly Queer Work in the Next Era of Yuri

I have backed myself into a corner and see no way out of it. For I have already awarded Inori's I'm in Love with the Villainess a perfect 10/10 score for its stellar first outing. And then, upon seeing what Inori did in the second book, I regret my choice because I have no way to raise the bar on perfection as Inori did in her light novel. Indeed, it has taken me far too long to write this review. My mind is thoroughly exhausted after pondering what I read and accepting the honest truth: that that may very well become a defining work in the next generation of Yuri. For as much time as I spend diving into the Sapphic news of the day, I devote even more to looking to the next big movement of Yuri. If I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 is a signal of what Yuri's future holds, then we are entering an extraordinary queer era.

The story takes off shortly after the first book. At least for the moment, the commoner revolt is quelled, and Rae continues schooling alongside her beloved Claire. Storylines include a new transfer student rivaling Rae for Claire's affection and the girls going on vacation to visit their families. However, the story takes a pretty dramatic and welcome turn halfway through the book. Through a combination of luck and her expect negotiation tactics, a fruit of her intimate knowledge of Revolution's world and inhabitants, Rae is tasked with investigating corrupt nobles. This change allows Inori to take the world and characters further than in the previous book. While the first volume did an excellent job establishing the world inside the school, this entry ventures beyond the academy's borders into international relationships, the church's role and goals, and the dealings of various factions and political parties. It is appropriate progression and one that lends to the story's main arc well.

While all of these events occur, Rae continues her mission of protecting Claire from the inevitable new order. By the time the finale rolls around, it is so immensely satisfying to see all of her plans and strategies pay off. It carefully balances rewarding the reader's attention and keeping them engaged with new twists and revelations. As the story develops, Claire is exposed to more of the reality of common life through Rae and comes to appreciate her privilege and understand the realities of socioeconomic inequality, evolving from the arrogant young woman we initially met. This path has two effects on the story; first, it allows Inori to explore real-world economic disparity issues while still worldbuilding. Second, it ultimately continues the story of Rae's plan, as she wants Claire to be in the commoner's good graces.

These elements make for a fantastic story in a rich, developed fantasy world. However, I adore I'm in Love with the VIllainess not for its intricate magic system but because of the phenomenal LGBTQ+ representation. I was floored by a frank, open, and wonderfully thoughtful discussion of queer representation in the first volume. Few, if any, Yuri works have done anything similar, and it was honestly an inspiration for me, so much so that I awarded it a perfect score almost solely for that passage. However, Inori once again usurps her own throne, taking this forthright and deliberate queer content and turning it up to eleven!

It is almost easier to count the number of main characters not confirmed as members of the LGBTQ community. Figures big and small have their identities explored and revealed during this novel. Some began believing themselves to be straight and exploring their sexuality further. In contrast, others are comforted by Rae's fierce, outspoken, and brazen support and pride in her identity to come forward. One particular scene that comes to mind is when she scolds a pair of nuns for using religion to justify their homophobia. This moment was particularly satisfying to return to after the Catholic Church's recent disavowing of same-sex marriage.

The series even has a character struggling with gender dysphoria who is liberated from society's expectations thanks to a rather ingenious plan of Rae's and her friends, new and old. While not exactly an example of authentic transgender representation as we consider it, as the character's struggles with gender result from a magical curse, but the parallel is clear. Speaking of reality though, the volume grants some glimpses into Ohashi Rei's life, the woman that would one day wake up as Rae.

Rae's experiences with LGBTQ+ identity, set in the real world, are powerful and pull few punches. It is perhaps here that Inori gets most honest and tragic, as Rae painfully describing the ostracization and suffering faced by queer people, culminating in a trans man's suicide (the author thankfully does not describe the actual death). However, Inori balances this pain with the thrill and joy of discovery and accepting oneself, and finding kinship. It is writing that could only come from an author who had experienced these feelings herself, and they will be immediately understood and have a visceral effect on queer readers. I love these moments so much for their vulnerability and relatability. But my favorite part has to be the ending (skip to the final paragraph if you want to avoid spoilers and somehow have not seen the cover of Volume 3).

We finally come to the big queer happy homosexual ending, which is also gay, and my great Yuri goddess, it is perfect! After wading through a revolution and enough surprise revelation to last a lifetime, Claire and Rae settle down into their new life together. Although they cannot legally get married, despite their best efforts, they are absolutely wives. Their families support them, they love each other, and they even have kids! Yes, this unexpected and blissful development, the final gift of this volume, comes in the form of adopted children May and Aleah.

As I exclaimed upon the reveal of Vol. 3's cover, which features the mothers and children, "WE DID IT!! YURI FAMILY!! In Yuri, there are virtually NO stories about queer women raising a family with children together. It is a long dream of mine, the YuriMother, to promote such stories. To have one of the most profound and explicitly queer Yuri stories end in such a happy and new way brought me to happy tears. Except, this is not the end! There are two more volumes beyond this one that continue the story of Claire, Rae, and their children! There is even a very sweet and wonderfully sappy, tear-jerking, bonus chapter of the mother's bonding with the children and helping them recover from their traumatic past. And even become TEACHERS; I could just die happy in this Yuri paradise!

'We need to show we are prepared to live happily ever after, as a family of four. So, I swear to God: I will always love May, Aleah, and Rae.' When Claire said this, she broke out into a tremendous smile and I found myself once more overflowing with love for her. I held her close without saying anything.

Inori's I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 is precisely what an excellent sequel should be and everything I have ever wanted from a Yuri story. It appropriately raised the stakes in every way, expanding the world, flushing out its many factions and conflicts, and setting a new bar for queer representation and discussion in Yuri. Everything Inori writes feels so perfectly slotted together. Each set piece adds to the character development; each queer issue and identity showcased helps build towards the satisfying and exceptionally gay finale. It is a superlative weaving and integration of the priceless artifacts into an absolute masterclass of LGBTQ+ storytelling. I suspect that this is one of the opening works in Yuri's next era, and I cannot wait to see what follows.

Ratings: Story – 10 Characters – 10 Art – 4 LGBTQ – 10 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 10

Check out I'm in Love with the Villainess Vol. 2 digitally and in paperback today: https://amzn.to/39gE664

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

My sincere thanks to Jenn Yamazaki, Nibedita Sen, E.M. Candon, and the rest of the team at Seven Seas Entertainment for translating and adapting this light novel.

#Reviews #yuri #anime #manga #books #literature #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#queer #gay #lesbian #lesbians #girls love #gl #wlw #trans

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ikeromantic · 3 years ago

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First Day pt. 2

This is an Ikemen Sengoku coffee shop AU. Approx 1400 words. Nobunaga, the owner of Azuchi Cafe, hires a girl to work in his coffee shop alongside his other oddball employees.

Pastry Chef and little rain cloud: Ieyasu Tokugawa

Head Chef and irredeemable flirt: Masamune Date

Dining Room Manager and rule-master: Hideyoshi Toyotomi

Barista and most popular kid in your class: Ranmaru Mori

Barista and coffee disaster: Mitsunari Ishida

Accountant and walking bad-boy vibe: Mitsuhide Akechi

Grouchy customer with sexy-rich-class attitude: Kenshin Uesugi

Walking nerd-encyclopedia and corporate flunkie: Sasuke Sarutobi

I have never written a coffee shop AU and I have no idea what I'm doing. Yet I keep doing it. Seriously. I can't get this out of my brain right now.

First Day pt. 1

Nobunaga found it hard to concentrate with the girl there. His eyes kept seeking her out. His thoughts drifting to her when he was supposed to be focused on re-orders, contracts, budgeting . . . He glanced up from his laptop to see Ranmaru standing entirely too close to her. The barista was showing her how to operate the espresso machine, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

He might have said something, but the door swung open just then and in walked their most troublesome customer. Useugi.

Kenshin took in the cafe with a displeased glare. His good looks were offset by the miasma of violence and suppressed emotion that hung in the air everywhere he went. Despite his angelic features, heterochromatic eyes, and gorgeous platinum locks, he intimidated nearly everyone in his path. Everyone but Nobunaga and his cafe crew, which was why he kept returning to this insignificant coffee shop when he could have gone anywhere.

His personal assistant hurried in after him and quickly moved to one of the tables, pulling out a chair for his boss. “Sir?”

Uesugi sat with a slight grimace. “That took you .5 seconds longer than last time. Perhaps I should replace you, Sarutobi.”

“Of course sir.” Sasuke Sarutobi’s expression of mild amusement didn’t shift in the slightest. He gave his boss a slight bow and headed for the counter. “One half-caf medium with exactly one pump raspberry and one pump chocolate, oat milk, extra foam, caramel drizzle and curls. And a shot of espresso on the side.”

Mitsunari doesn’t even blink. “Is that all, sir?”

Kenshin doesn’t turn, but a slight smirk turns his lips up at the corners. “Order for the entire office, Sarutobi. My treat.”

It takes several minutes to deliver the complex coffee orders. Everyone’s favorite everything, to exacting specifications. A light sweat breaks out of Mitsunari’s forehead, but he keeps smiling.

Ranmaru isn’t so sanguine. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Two and three-quarters pumps of peppermint? Half white chocolate drizzle and what?”

The girl laughs. “I didn’t know you could put so much in your coffee.” She begins to prep the first order, moving a little slowly as she tries to remember where each product is and how to work the machines.

Nobunaga tenses, ready for Kenshin’s inevitable outburst. Any delay would send him into a violent rant with threats of lawsuits and putting you out of business and blah blah blah.

Uesugi turns around with clear intent but when his eyes fall on the girl, they widen. “You . . . hired a woman? In a coffee shop?”

The girl gives him an over-the-shoulder smile. “Sorry about the wait for your drink, sir. I hope I got it right.” She puts the finishing touches on top of the foam and walks the cup over to Kenshin’s table.

His eyes get wider the closer she comes. “You -” He seems to be at a complete loss for words.

Sarutobi looks concerned. His gaze floats between the girl and his boss for a moment, unsure if he should intervene.

“Get out of my sight,” Kenshin mutters, but the demand is half-hearted. “Women are such a distraction. Completely unnecessary in business.” He throws an irritated glance at Nobunaga. “Did my competition tell you to bring this - this girl here today?”

Sasuke slips around to the girl’s side and pulls her out of the danger zone. “Sorry about the boss. He’s a little unstable. Stress. Childhood trauma. The usual.” He blinks awkwardly as if both eyes were trying to wink at the same time.

“Of course not,” Nobunaga grins. Something about Kenshin’s intensity always made him want to needle the man. “But then, if they had, why would I tell you?” His carnelian eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’m your competition.”

“I could put your little coffee shop out of business,” Kenshin growled.

“Try it and see what happens.” Nobunaga was standing now, his voice low and menacing.

Ieyasu poked his head out of the kitchen and frowned. “Is Nobunaga fighting with customers again?”

“Yep.” Ranmaru grinned.

Masamune peered out, grinning widely. “Somebody get the lass a mop. This is going to get ugly.”

The girl pulled away from Sasuke and pushed between the two angry businessmen. “Excuse me, but could you both sit down? I’m very sorry if I caused you any discomfort, sir.” She looked at Kenshin, met his cold stare head on. “You might think a woman doesn’t belong in business, but flats don’t pay for themselves.”

“Great. Will someone grab the first aid kit,” Ieyasu muttered.

Masamune chuckled. “The lass has got balls of steel.”

Mitsunari was poking around for a first aid kit for Ieyasu, but he looked up at Masamune’s comment. “Does she? I didn’t see her carrying any kind of ball.”

Ranmaru giggled. “Should I explain it to you?”

“Don’t you dare.” Ieyasu cut the pink haired barista off.

Kenshin sat heavily, the tension suddenly emptying from him. “Your boss needs to teach you how to speak politely to customers.” Then he turned away from her and began to drink his coffee.

Sarutobi sagged for a moment in relief. “You must be a half-elf paladin,” he told the girl as she stepped past him.

“I don’t know what that is.” She shrugged and gave him a lopsided grin. “I’m actually putting myself through school to be a fashion designer.”

“Ah, creative, beautiful, and brave.” Sasuke blushed, realizing he’d said that aloud.

“Hey, don’t flirt with her, you corporate flunky. She’s our new hire.” Ranmaru grabbed her arm and pulled her back behind the counter.

“That’s right lad. Take your to-go order and go.” Masamune frowned.

Ieyasu elbowed him. “Not that I care, but if she’d been assigned to help me with the pastries, she wouldn’t be out here where nerdy customers could attempt awkward pick-up lines.”

“I apologize,” Sasuke said stiffly.

The girl smiled. “Don’t worry about it! You’ll have to come back sometime and tell me what a half-elf paladin is.”

Her inviting expression only made the glowers of her co-workers more obvious.

Sarutobi made a dignified exit, leaving with the drink orders for his office.

Hideyoshi took the opportunity to take the girl aside. “I appreciate what you did there, but you shouldn’t be throwing yourself into danger. Are you ok? Do you need a break? How about you sit down and we’ll get you a tea.”

“I’m really alright,” she told him. “I mean, it was a little scary but he wouldn’t have actually hit me.” Her eyes widened. “Right?”

“You are clearly new to this city if you haven’t heard the Kenshin horror stories.” Hideyoshi sighed. “Just, from now on let one of us handle it. It’s barely your first day so stick to the easy stuff.” He led her to the breakroom and sat her down on a tatty old sofa.

The break room was a sacred space for the cafe employees. A spot to grab a drink or a bite to eat out of the customer’s prying eyes. Nobunaga kept it comfortable, with an old couch and a couple of overstuffed chairs. A set of shelves held antique tea sets and some paperback books. There was a tv on the opposite wall and some potted plants in the windowsill on the far wall.

Ieyasu brought her tea and a strawberry pastry. He sat down, wearing an expression of pure annoyance. “So what. Are you suicidal?”

“What? No!” The girl looked at the tea and then back up at the annoyed blonde. “I just don’t like it when people fight. Someone might get hurt. And it would be especially bad if I caused it.”

“So just an idiot then.” Ieyasu sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. Nobunaga doesn’t hire normal people.”

“You realize that includes you, right?” She giggled.

Ieyasu looked away. “Whatever.”

The girl quietly sipped her tea. That lasted until she took a bite of the sweet, crumbly strawberry pastry. “Oh . . . this is . . . this is really good!”

“You don’t have to sound surprised,” Ieyasu huffed. Despite his tone, he wore a slight smile. He turned his head a fraction to look at her.

“It’s just, strawberries are my absolute favorite and this is - you blended the flavors perfectly. Not too sweet, and the fruit is the first and last thing on my tongue.” She finished eating it with a happy sigh. “I feel like I could eat a whole pan of these.”

Ieyasu busied himself with picking up the tray. “Then you’d get a tummy ache and I’d have to waste my time making you ginger tea.”

She laughed. “You know, I think under all that grouchiness you must be a really nice guy. I can tell by how you bake. You couldn’t make such sweet things if you were really that sour.”

For a heartbeat, Ieyasu was struck speechless. His mouth opened and closed as crimson crept across his cheeks. “You just proved you're an idiot,” he finally managed, sounding more breathless than annoyed. He hurried out of the room.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen masamune #ikesen ranmaru #ikesen kenshin #ikesen sasuke #coffee shop au #fanfiction #fanfic #otome guys #otome #fluff

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bangtanfancamp · 4 years ago

Text

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again.

“Joonie?”

Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find.

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this.

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose.

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

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smmahamazing · 4 years ago

Photo

There's been a pep in my step today because......

It's MirSan day!!!!!

I'm so excited to finally share with you guys a fic that I've been working on since last October. It's gone through some big changes, but I'm proud of it. And EVEN BETTER is that I've teamed up with @eliza-faust-diary, who has created an amazing piece of art to go with it! I'm itching for y'all to see it! So I'll get off my soapbox LOL. Make sure you guys check out the MirSan Collection on AO3 and everything posted from @dayofmirsan!

Thanks to the mods for setting this up!

Summary: Miroku Kibe has been irrevocably in love with Sango Tanaka for years. His fear of rejection has always kept him from attempting to get to know her, but when he finds her all by herself at an engagement party, will Miroku take the chance he's given and talk to her?

Read on AO3 and FFN

"So anyways, we didn't find our way back home until the next morning, and we still never found her shoes again!"

Miroku attempted a heartfelt chuckle. Apparently, the last bit of her story was supposed to be some big finale, or a play on words, or an inside joke that he wasn't part of? To be honest, he hadn't been paying all that much attention. He had been trying to find a way out of the conversation for quite a while, but the girl in question ('Is her name Yuki? No….Yuca…..or is that the vegetable?') seemed to talk a mile a minute. And there had been no shortage of stories to tell, much to his disappointment.

"Well…" Miroku stuttered, trying to spit out a sentence that didn't involve trying to figure out her name. "I think I see….I'm just gonna….head over there."

It was probably the flimsiest getway he had ever used on a girl, but his brain felt like mush after sitting through too many of her idiotic stories, and Miroku desperately needed to isolate himself. There was only so much socializing he could do in one night and he didn't want to use up all the energy he could spare for some random girl he cared nothing for.

Miroku walked over to the kitchen and pulled out a fresh beer from the fridge. After taking a generous first sip, he lightly leaned back on the countertop and looked out into the living room. The kitchen was designed with an open room concept, with only a small bar separating it from the living room. From his spot, Miroku could oversee the rest of the party guests mingling throughout the apartment.

He recognized a couple of faces that he might have seen around campus over the years, but for the most part found himself amongst a crowd of people of which he didn't have an inkling of who they were. It didn't bother him much though, not when he could hear Kagome's boisterous laugh from across the living room. He let a small smirk don his face as he once again raised his drink to his lips for another sip.

Today was Inuyasha and Kagome's engagement party.

Miroku normally didn't go to shindigs like this, but over the past couple of years, Kagome had grown to be a very good friend of Miroku's, and he wanted to support her in any way he knew how. That, and Inuyasha practically begged him to come.

Engagement parties were not Inuyasha's thing. Parties in general would tend to put him in a foul mood, and Inuyasha did whatever he could to worm his way out of attending one. But all Kagome needed to do was give Inuyasha those big, soulful, puppy dog eyes of hers, and the next thing you know, he was front and center for the biggest event of the year - until the wedding that is.

Inuyasha didn't have many friends, at least not friends that he could proudly call his own. Most of the partygoers were mutual friends of both Inuyasha and Kagome, but Miroku knew that they only came to be on friendly terms with the surly hanyou because of his bubbly, outgoing fianceé.

Miroku's friendship with Inuyasha also fell under that category. He met Kagome during his internship at her family's shrine a few years ago - even though they all went to high school together - where they became fast friends due to Kagome's friendly personality, which of course led him to also becoming friends with her boyfriend-now-fiance - but Miroku could say with confidence that his friendship with Inuyasha had grown to something bigger than just being acquainted through Kagome.

Which was still a wild concept for Miroku to grasp. Miroku wouldn't say he was introverted, but he mostly liked to keep to himself. He was an only child to a set of parents who died when he was young, putting him under the guardianship of an old family friend - Mushin. Mushin did his best to raise Miroku, but he didn't really have a great idea about what it was like to raise a child, and Miroku learned early on it was better to grow up than just acting like the child he was.

In the end, Miroku had a hard time relating to most kids his age. He didn't watch the same type of television shows, play games, or collect action figures like the boys he grew up around. Others found him...intimidating, which led to a lonely childhood. But as the years went by, Miroku found that he began to care less and less about the whispered gossip that followed him as he grew up.

Miroku knew Inuyasha also had a rough childhood; perhaps that was the reason they gravitated to each other so easily. Not that they talked about it all that much. That was the great thing about their friendship, it didn't require a lot of talking.

His friendship with Kagome gave him enough of that. That girl really knew how to talk.

Miroku was shaken from his thoughts as Inuyasha sidled up to him, jabbing his fist into his shoulder lightly before leaning up against the countertop beside Miroku, his own drink in hand. "So, have you grown the balls to go talk to her yet, or are you gonna hide in my kitchen all night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my friend," Miroku answered, keeping his eye contact on anything but the hanyou beside him.

Because it was a lie. Miroku knew exactly who Inuyasha was talking about.

Sango Tanaka.

Miroku had been in love with her for years. Practically all his life if he was dramatic about it.

Miroku first met Sango when they were in high school. She was a "rough and tough" type of girl, known to play a variety of sports, depending on the season, and trained in a number of martial arts. Her family came from a long line of tajiya, and that was a title she wore proudly. Sango was loud, and opinionated, and didn't take anyone's shit. She never failed to go after what she wanted, and she gave it her all every time.

She was everything Miroku wasn't, and funnily enough, she was everything Miroku ever could have wanted.

He still remembered the first time he had ever laid eyes on Sango. It was the first day of high school, and Miroku had just walked into his history classroom. There had still been ten minutes before the bell was scheduled to ring, signaling everyone to start making their way to their first class of the day. Miroku always liked getting to his classes as early as possible so he could get the best seat.

When he was in middle school, he would always be the first one to enter the classroom, but not this day. Sitting in the front row was a girl, enraptured in a small paperback book. Long, velvet brown hair that went halfway down her back. She wore a faded pink long sleeved shirt that accentuated the natural muscle of her arms, and when she turned around to stare him down with those hazel eyes, Miroku was sure he stopped breathing.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Miroku didn’t know how long he had been standing there staring at her. It wasn't until she gave him a simple greeting that Miroku snapped himself back to reality. He responded with a small greeting of his own, choosing the seat right behind her. At that moment, Miroku knew she'd be the only girl for him.

They spent the rest of the time together in companionable silence. Soon enough, the bell rang and slowly students started trickling into the classroom. She didn't seem to have any friends in this class, which was all the better for Miroku. It felt like he could have a part of her without having to share with anyone else.

She didn't speak to him again after that first day. Several times, Miroku had attempted to work up the courage to talk to her - about anything - but he chickened out every time, and his fear of her reaction to him only grew worse as the years went by. The more he looked on at her life from the background, the more intimidated he was of her. Yet, it only made his fondness for her grow.

She was spunky. By the time they ended their first year, it was known throughout the school that Sango was not a girl to be trifled with. The biggest factor in that perception of her was the fight that year between Sango and another girl - Aki was her name? The girl in question was a real piece of work; generally thought of as "popular", but really, that was just a code word for the term "bitch". Miroku hadn't been there to personally see it, but the rumor was that Aki had been bullying another girl - a transfer from a religious school in the next city over - and ended up in a fist fight with Sango. Aki threw the first punch, but Sango made sure she'd throw the last, while simultaneously making sure everybody understood that bullies at Hiro High wouldn't be tolerated.

She was given a week's suspension for her part in the fight, but she ended up making a life-long friend in the girl she had defended, Kagome Higurashi. They were inseparable ever since.

Sango's sense of loyalty was both something that Miroku had a hard time grasping, yet something he desperately wanted from her. Despite his sometimes asocial mannerisms, Miroku hadn't been a loner in high school; he had his own small group of friends he would sit with at lunch, or work with on group projects. The term 'friends', though, seemed a little much to define the relationships he held with those people. 'Acquaintance' was a better term. They might all shoot the shit together every now and then, but he never let his guard down around any of them.

The Miroku Kibe that they knew was a fake, hidden by a well tailored mask. His friends were nice enough people, and it wasn't lost to Miroku that they trusted him enough with some of their deeper thoughts. But no matter how much he wanted to let them into his own heart, he always managed to pull back at the last second, placing another wall between himself and the world.

Miroku fantasized about letting Sango be the person to break all his walls. He was certain if anyone could do it, she could.

But there had never been a chance for them, Miroku's own cowardice made sure of that. Instead, he sat on the sidelines, watching Sango and Kagome grow into close friends. Eventually their group of two turned into three when Kagome introduced Sango to Inuyasha. He was the "new kid" their second year of high school, and Kagome had been tasked with showing him around and making sure he felt "welcomed".

Of course 'welcomed' meant showing the new kid where the lunchroom was and where the best junk food machines were, not getting caught making out in the janitors closet, but to each his own, you know?

And yet, here he was, almost eight years since their sophomore year, attending Kagome and Inuyasha's engagement party. Honestly, it had been of no surprise to Miroku to hear about their engagement. Inuyasha and Kagome were your textbook definition of "high school sweethearts". If Miroku believed in the whole "soulmate thing", he’d describe them as just that. They were polar opposites, like fire and ice. Inuyasha, the grumpy hanyou, and Kagome, the sweet girl next door.

Sometimes, Miroku could just gag from the cuteness of it all.

The couple that had been conversing with Kagome in the living room finally moved away, giving both Miroku and Inuyasha a clear view of the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio. Standing by herself, gazing out at the city below, was Sango. She was wearing a striped magenta shirt, the same color she wore on the day they met, with a pair of forest green pants. Even without all glittery jewelry or immaculate dresses, Sango was still the most beautiful woman at the party.

It was the perfect opportunity for Miroku to finally talk to her. All he had to do was walk up to her and start a conversation; nothing flashy or flirty, just small talk. He'd been doing it all night with random girls who felt the need to invade his personal space, so this should be easy.

The golf ball lodged in Miroku's throat said otherwise, as Miroku nearly choked on the beer he was drinking at the mere thought of trying to talk to her.

"Dude, you're being pathetic," Inuyasha said. Miroku finally turned his way to glare at him, but Inuyasha merely scoffed at him. "Don't give me that look, you haven't heard a single word I've said, too busy in la la land thinking about Sango."

"And how long did it take for you to propose to Kagome?" Miroku tried to circumvent the conversation away from himself, but Inuyasha was far too stubborn to let Miroku off the hook.

"Nuh uh, don't even try and compare us, it's not the same thing and you know it."

"Inuyasha - "

"Look, we both know that Sango is going to end up being Kagome's maid of honor, and if I'm being honest, you're the only person I would trust to be my best man."

Miroku was taken aback by Inuyasha's statement. Being a best man….It was a role he didn't think he'd ever really get to play. He never let anyone in deep enough for their first thought of the person who would play a pivotal role in something as important as a wedding to be Miroku. Inuyasha refused to look at him now, obviously embarrassed at such a display of emotion.

"I...would be honored to be your best man, Inuyasha," Miroku said slowly, almost in a hushed whisper. This felt like such an intimate moment for them, and Miroku did not wish to share it with anyone who could easily eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Keh, whatever." Miroku wanted to chuckle at his abrupt change in demeanor. Perhaps this is why they could work so well as friends; while others might be put off by Inuyasha's rough temperament, Miroku was always able to let his constant mood swings slide right off his shoulders.

"Anyways, with that being said, you and Sango will have to see a lot of each other to help out with this damn wedding, and I need you with your best foot forward," Inuyasha stepped around him to grab two unopened beers from the fridge. He took the half empty drink currently in Miroku's hand and replaced them with the unopened beers.

"Don't fuck this up," was the last thing Inuyasha told him as he turned away from him to walk back towards Kagome, leaving Miroku to stand by himself in the kitchen holding two cold beer cans. The cans began to sweat from the change in temperature, causing Miroku to grip them tighter so that they wouldn't slide right out of his hands.

Miroku could feel his body start to perspire. He could only hope that the purple t-shirt he donned for tonight would be dark enough to hide the sweat stains that he was sure would start to show up under his arms. Miroku swallowed the lump in his throat, and after a deep inhale and exhale, started making his way across the apartment.

'Hello, my name is Miroku? And you are?' No, that's too forthcoming, he could be more suave then that. 'Ahh Sango. It's such a beautiful night out, would you care for a beverage?' Ugh, somehow that almost sounded worse than the first one. 'I love you, please bear my children!'

Miroku stopped just before the sliding glass doors and mentally slapped himself. He needed to keep his wits about him! Miroku was a handsome, cool guy; talking to a beautiful woman like Sango should be as normal as breathing. He could strike up a simple conversation with her, right?

For Inuyasha. And Kagome.

And for himself.

Miroku could feel and see the slight trembling of his hand as he used the two pointer fingers of his right hand to slide the door open. It was a cool night, and Miroku was greeted with a crisp breeze. He greedily inhaled the clean breeze that carried wafts of patchouli to his nose. Gods, she was his favourite scent.

Sango didn't seem to hear him enter the balcony, or at least if she did she had yet to make a move to see who was disturbing her peace.

'Oh god, what if she wants to be alone and I'm just here to annoy her?'

Miroku shoved his negative thoughts aside, determined to give her a good impression of himself. He stretched his neck from one side to the other, cracking it a little to release some tension as he took that one last step towards her, his back straightened but not locked up, his head held high in an attempt to look calm and aloof.

And then he fell.

He fell.

A weirdly high pitched yelp erupted from his throat as his feet twitched and scuffed across the cement floor of the balcony, pushing his body too far forward for his feet to catch. What sort of loser trips over his own feet? All he had to do was take one small step and he would have been golden. Instead, he was slowly tripping over his own two fucking feet, still keeping hold of the two beer cans, as if their presence was actually important in the grand scheme of things. The only thing that could have been worse would be to face plant right on her bountiful breasts.

Which he fucking did.

Miroku was sure he had never been so embarrassed in his entire life. It wasn't as if Miroku hadn't dreamt of this moment - nuzzling his nose in the warmth of her soft skin, peppering her bare chest with tiny butterfly kisses. But this wasn't a dream, it was reality, and Miroku's reality included him basically motorboating a woman who he didn't know personally and didn't know him on a very public apartment balcony.

'Just fucking kill me now…'

Miroku tried to lift himself up as quickly as he could. He really did, but for some reason he just couldn't let go of those damn beer cans. He clutched them as if they were his lifelines, putting more and more of his full weight on the woman under him. Luckily, due to all her training, Sango could probably lift two of Miroku, and was able to help steady him.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?!" She exclaimed, unfazed by where his head had been and more concerned about his own wellbeing. She had taken his face in both hands, trying to assess if he had taken any injuries.

"Uhhh…" Say something you fool! Miroku's head felt fuzzy with her face so close to his. He tried to tell her he was okay, perhaps impart a most fervent apology on landed directly on her chest, but he couldn't seem to form a coherent sentence no matter how hard he thought about it. He had never been so close to her to take in the gold flecks that made her cinnamon eyes sparkle, and he was quickly becoming lost in them.

Instead, he belted out a cracked, "Beer?", still holding on to those damn cans.

Miroku hoped the ground would open up a portal to hell and drag him into it at this point. There was no way she'd want anything to do with him after this fiasco of a first encounter. Well, technically their second encounter. Either way, Miroku was fucked.

He thought that anyways, until he heard her chuckle, her lips turned up in a soft smile. She acted like he said something funny, not in a 'I'm laughing at you' way, but a 'wow you're funny' kind of way.

It was like music to his ears.

"A beer sounds good right now, thank you," she said, taking one of the beer cans out of his hands once he was steady on his feet. Miroku couldn't believe it, he was doing it! He was actually having a conversation with her! She wasn't rejecting him and accepted his offering of having a drink together! Even though he made a total fool of himself, nearly launching himself and the drinks off the balcony…..launching the drinks….The drinks….

THE DRINKS.

"Wait, Sango don't - "

It was too late. Miroku had been too far in his own thoughts to think about the fact that he had shaken up the carbonated alcoholic beverages quite a bit during his tumble, and Sango had already flipped the tab into the aluminum can. The next few seconds felt like forever, played in slow motion. The can let out a faint hiss before a small geyser of beer exploded upward, the can continuing to overflow with foam. Sango let out a small shriek, covering her face as best she could as she became drenched in beer.

Miroku stood there, still as a statue, as he watched streams of beer slowly trickle down her face. Their movements had a soft quality to it, as if they were caressing the soft lines of her cheek, gliding down the line of her nose and outlining her plump lips.

It was downright cruel how turned on he could get in a situation that was probably embarrassing for Sango. He should be doing something, like running inside to grab her a towel or asking her if she was okay. Instead, he was staring - no, leering - at her like some kind of pervert.

The thought was enough to break Miroku from his thoughts. He had a reputation for being a lecher amongst the ladies, but that was a persona he didn't want associated with Sango. After all, she wasn't just any woman; she was someone he could see spending his life with. Which he actively did.

He lurched forward slightly, still unsure of exactly what he should be doing for her, but unwilling to just stand there. There was a small table with a couple of chairs pushed to the right side of the balcony. Miroku threw the arm that held his own beer in that direction, intending on setting it down to cover all his attention on her. Unfortunately, he wasn't paying enough attention to the can to make sure it was set on the table properly.

The can slipped from his hands, slowly making its descent, past the edge of the table, and straight for the ground.

Miroku barely heard the plonk of the can hitting the ground, nor the hissing that came right before the can exploded, twirling along the ground at their feet, covering them both with the sticky liquid.

In a feat that would have made the soccer team at their high school proud, Miroku used the side of his foot to kick the can straight through a gap in the bars of the balcony. The can continued to spew beer through the air as it made its descent onto an unsuspecting car parked on the opposite side of the street, the sickening crunch of the can cracking the windshield echoing off the walls of the buildings on either side of the road.

He didn't know what would have been worse, letting the can continue to douse them with beer or vandalize an automobile. Either way, he only hoped some God would have pity on him and allow the Earth to swallow him whole.

Of course, he could never be so lucky.

"Oh my...I am so sorry, let me get you a towel!" He said, spinning in place and practically barrelling through the sliding glass door.

It seemed like no one else in the apartment had any clue what transpired outside, too busy with the jovial nature of celebrating the engagement of two young people in love. It gave Miroku a small bit of relief, knowing that Sango was free from the embarrassment that came with the snickers and stares of being laughed at.

It wasn't enough to steady his shaking hands as he began rummaging through Kagome's kitchen cupboards, trying to find something big and deep enough to fill with water. Three cupboards in, Miroku found a large mixing bowl and began filling it with water, searching through more drawers to find the kitchen towels, practically grabbing the whole stack once he found them. Once he had everything, he carefully made his way through the crowd of people. By now, he started to receive a few weird looks from anyone who bothered to look towards him as he passed by, but no one tried to stop him or ask about what he was doing.

He ignored it all in favor of the woman standing outside. She was fiddling with the ends of her blouse that now clung to her form from the stickiness of the beer. He awkwardly pinched his knuckle before reaching for the door in an attempt to keep his eyes looking anywhere but her body. This was absolutely not the time for his philandering ways to make this woman hate him more than she probably does already. He could see the small movements of her shoulders as she shivered when a quick breeze hit her, and any lecherous thoughts he might have had drifted away as guilt began to constrict his chest.

This was obviously a sign that they were never meant to be. How could a sophisticated and beautiful woman like Sango be interested in a schmuck like Miroku? The man couldn't even do something as simple as handing her a can of beer, how was he supposed to take care of her?

Not that she'd want him to take care of her, or needed anyone to do so. She was strong, and smart, and so fucking talented; she could do anything she set her mind to. Miroku could only hope to be even half the person she was, and a woman like Sango didn't mingle with people as lame as Miroku.

He carefully made his way through the back door, immediately set the bowl of water and towels onto the small table sitting off to the side and pulled the chair out for Sango to sit in.

"I-I brought a bowl of warm water and some towels to wipe the beer off with. Here, you can sit here. If you want to anyways, or you can stand if that makes you feel more comfortable or…." Miroku turned his body away from hers, grimacing as his tongue continued to word vomit in front of her. He couldn't believe he was still finding new ways to completely embarrass himself in front of her.

But instead of a stern glare or a heated comment about him, he was greeted with a small but warm chuckle.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, taking the offered seat and one of the dry towels, submerging it into the water and wringing it out.

He couldn't stop from staring at her, watching the way the muscles in her hands grew taut as she squeezed the towel, or the way a few errant droplets of water would cascade down her arms as she rubbed the towel into her skin.

She was truly gorgeous. The setting sun made her positively glow, her freshly cleaned skin gleaming when the light hit it just right. She sighed contentedly as she continued to wash away the sticky substance, paying extra attention to her face and chest. Miroku pulled up the other chair and fumbled with one of the dry towels, keeping himself too busy to notice the way she ran the damp towel over her collarbones. The towel wasn't squeezed out as much this time around, and it was almost painful for Miroku to watch as several small rivulets of water ran down her shirt, molding around the tops of her breasts.

The sound of the water splashing as she dunked the towel back in acted like a slap to the face, reminding him he needed to keep his eyes to himself. Instead, he submerged his own dry towel halfway so that he could wipe off his own beer soaked skin.

"You seem familiar,"

Miroku paused. Despite the fact they were both sitting together, he hasn't expected her to want to talk with him. It was a question disguised as a statement, one that he wasn't quite sure how to answer. Not in a way that wouldn't make him seem like a stalker, anyways.

"I believe we went to the same high school,"

"You went to Hiro High, too? What a small world," she chuckled as she continued to stare at him. Her eyes widened slightly as a thought seemed to pass by the forefront on her mind. "Wait...didn't we have a class together?"

'Several,' was the first response to come to mind, but he didn't want to make it seem like he was keeping any sort of tabs on her over the years.

"Yes, I believe so. That's where I recognized Kagome when we first met,"

Miroku could feel himself beginning to sweat under her vigilant gaze.

"History,"

A confused look sprawled across his face. "Come again?"

"That's where I recognize you from. Freshman year. You were the kid that got to class almost as early as me,"

Miroku was stunned. They had shared a small handful of classes together over their high school years, but the one that stuck out the most for her was first period history during their freshman year? That was nearly ten years ago!

"Uhh….y-yes. With Mr. Myoga,"

"Sometimes, I don't know how we made it through that class," she laughed, remembering the long mornings of boring anecdotes and not enough energy to spare between the class.

"Well, someone as….aged, as Mr. Myoga had many stories to tell about the vibrant history of Japan," Miroku's lips curved up slightly. One of the benefits of being a flea youkai was living through each monumental event that made up the history of Japan. Although his method of teaching it was...lacking.

"He made the topic so boring! He preferred listening to the sound of his own voice more than actually teaching us about the subject. Honestly, it should be illegal to hold such a boring class that early in the morning."

"Fewer words could be truer," Miroku grinned, delighting in the easy smile that steadily grew on her face. She was so beautiful when she smiled. The edges of her lips almost seemed to touch the wrinkles around her eyes as she smiled, small dimples becoming noticeable on her cheeks as she talked.

It was obvious that Sango lived a very happy and joyous life.

"So, what's the story with you and Kagome? How'd you meet?"

Miroku never expected for Sango to take control of the conversation like she did. He expected that he would be the one to ask her a litany of dumb, intrusive questions about their friends engagement, the weather, or how her day had gone. And she would smile politely at him as he rambled, giving him simple, flat answers in an attempt to humor him.

Instead, she barrelled through, asking him a variety of simple 'get to know you' questions - What did you major in? Where do you work? What's your favorite color? Pepsi or Coke? - with the perfect opportunity for Miroku to turn the question back on her as soon as he answered. Perhaps she could sense how nervous he was around her. It was definitely easier than Miroku doing it all on his own, that's for sure.

It wasn't long before the both of them were laughing and joking around with each other. Part of him couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to Sango, although it wasn't a huge surprise. Miroku found practically every aspect of her life interesting and would gladly sit and converse with her for hours - eternity if she'd let him.

There was one thing he had to know; was she dating someone? It would be a devastating blow if she was, but after getting to know her for just a little bit, Miroku knew he needed her in his life. Even if he couldn't have her the way he truly wanted her.

Now all he needed to do was come up with a way to ask her that wasn't creepy or weird. Or intrusive.

'Just act….natural…'

"So, how have you and your date enjoyed the party so far?"

Nice. Smooth and natural.

"Oh, I didn't come here with anyone," she responded hesitantly.

"My apologies! I didn't mean to assume,"

"It's okay, I understand," Sango smiled, although it didn't shine through her eyes like before. She turned her attention to something off in the distance, wringing her hands together in her lap. Miroku suddenly felt a little selfish bringing the subject up at all.

"I hope I didn't upset you somehow. I swear on my father's grave that was never my intention,"

"What? Oh, no!" Sango turned back to him with wide eyes. "I didn't think that at all! It's just…" She looked away again, staring intently at her hands folded in her lap. "It's just...sort of a touchy subject for me right now. I've not had the best luck in the dating circuit,"

"Forgive me Sango, I have a hard time believing a woman as beautiful as you has a hard time getting anything she wants,"

Miroku's statement caused a pink blush to cover her cheeks.

"Yeah, well, that's just the problem, isn't it?" Sango mumbled. Miroku kept silent, watching the indecision flash across Sango's face, either caused by her deliberating her next words or whether or not she wanted to say something at all.

She looked up at him next, face still a little pink from embarrassment, yet she looked up at him with an air of determination. Her eyes were hard and resolute, but Miroku could see the tenderness behind it all.

"Most of the guys I've dated think I'm too assertive."

Miroku was unsurprised by this, but a part of him still had a hard time believing such a thing could be said about Sango. Her assertiveness was something to be cherished, not looked down upon.

"Sounds like most guys are just too insecure to handle you,"

Sango let out a small breath of laughter. "I'm sure they would all balk at the insinuation that they have crippling male egos. Much easier to dump me and go about their lives,"

"Well, that's just their loss, isn't it?"

Sango couldn't help but lock eyes with the mysterious man sitting next to her. She had heard that phrase before from a variety of people. It was always someone else's loss when she was kicked to the curb, and it always made her so angry whenever she heard it. It certainly never seemed like it was a loss to them; if anything, they acted better off. People usually said that to her in a veiled attempt to comfort her, knowing it was because of her own temperament that they left.

Sango always had quite the mouth on her, and unless she could learn to tame it, no man would give her any time of day.

Yet, she didn't get the same vibes from Miroku. He seemed truly genuine when he said it was their loss. As if it was better for her to be her rude, straight to the point, brash self instead of the meek, silent woman in the background most men wanted her to be.

Sango was truly intrigued by this man.

She wasn't lying when she said she remembered him from their shared history class. Although, he had been more of a background character in the story of her life. She could recall them sharing a few classes over the years, and she had heard through the grapevine that he was sort of a ladies man, but they effectively went different ways after high school, and Sango pushed back any thoughts of him to the back of her mind.

Then one day, he was suddenly thrust back into her life via her best friend since forever, Kagome.

It was nice to know that Kagome had a friend she could talk to about her work. Sango was the dutiful best friend, always giving Kagome the time and attention she deserved as she talked about her day, but oftentimes Kagome would get caught up in the history of an artefact or a traditional dance, which was likely to go right over Sango's head. Miroku became a sort of conduit for Kagome's ramblings, saving Sango from having to pretend to be as knowledgeable about the subject as Kagome, or ask a million questions.

It was a friendship that blossomed over the years, as they do when Kagome is involved. Kagome's stories started to involve more of Miroku and less of work, eventually even adding Inuyasha to the mix. Yet, despite all the talk, Sango had yet to meet the famed 'Miroku'.

Kagome always said good things about him. He was quiet with an old soul. He had far more wisdom than most people his age and he never backed down at lending out a helping hand. A real gentleman.

Inuyasha's only helpful comments on the subject were that he was a 'lecherous monk'.

Which led to some confusing ideas about the man.

She still wasn't sure what to think about him. She could tell he was nervous; it was cute, the way he stuttered and rambled. And despite the rumors of him being a ladies man, he never seemed to ogle her or make her feel uncomfortable - despite literally landing his face in her chest. Their conversations so far had been easy and fun, something she really hadn't felt with another person in quite a long time.

Miroku was in heaven. He didn't think he could ever tire of talking to her, or listening to her talk about anything. She was funny, able to pull a joke out of the most basic of topics. And opinionated. Miroku was always up for a good debate, and he was sure Sango could give him a run for his money.

He didn't know how much time had passed as they stared at one another, probably only minutes yet it felt like hours. There was a heat developing between the two - not a smouldering heat, like the sun, that enveloped your whole body, but a soft warmth, like a candle, that started in the tips of the fingers, working its way slowly up the arms to take root in the chest. She just...looked him up and down with those wide cinnamon eyes, not in a lewd way, but with a sense that he was something new, something she had never seen before.

Once again, Miroku was stunned by her beauty. She truly was a goddess among mortals. Was it considered excessive the amount of times he obsessed over her looks? Possibly, but Miroku didn't care. Sango was a woman deserving of unbridled attention.

This was it. This was his in. He was gonna be confident and suave and somehow convince her to go on a date with him. He was going to use everything he learned from all the women he's been with and use it for good. For Sango.

"Sango, I - "

"Hey you two!" The raucous sounds of the party inside became louder as someone Miroku didn't recognize leaned their head outside. "It's time to toast the newly engaged couple!" And without another look back, they disappeared back inside, leaving the door wide open for them to follow.

Miroku could have screamed.

Why couldn't anything go right when it came to Sango? Their whole ambiance was ruined now. She was distracted by the party inside, and now there was even more of a chance someone will try and come outside.

"Well, I guess we should be getting back inside," Sango sighed, slowly pushing her chair back to stand up.

"Sango, wait!" Miroku leapt to his feet. He just needed one more minute with her! He didn't want this opportunity to go to waste. "I-I'd really like to see you again. Can..I..can I get your number? You know, we can...make plans or...something."

Well, it wasn't his best bit of courting, but it was better than being a coward and not talking to her, he supposed. And if she said no? At least he would have a definite answer.

She looked at him for another moment before giving him a soft smile. "I'd like that," she said, holding her hand out for his phone.

Miroku scrambled for the device sitting in his front pocket, unlocking it and bringing up a 'New Contact' screen before holding it out to her with shaky hands. She tapped away, keeping the screen close to her face. She kept the phone to her face for a good amount of time, longer than she needed to if she was just putting her contact information. She pulled out her own phone from her pocket and waited for it to vibrate with a notification before closing out his own phone and handing it back to him.

"I'll see you around, Miroku?" Sango asked, so innocently yet Miroku we sure there was a layer of seduction there.

In a last ditch attempt to be anything but the loser he felt he had been all night, Miroku responded with confidence. "I look forward to it, my dear Sango,"

Sango departed after that, not before giving him a once over with her eyes and sporting what Miroku would describe as a 'devilish' grin.

That one look would carry Miroku into the next year, he was sure of it.

Miroku became deaf and blind when it came to the party inside, opening his phone back up and going straight to his messaging app. There would be time later for him to memorize her number - you know, just in case he accidentally lost it before they could set up a date - but he was curious to see what she texted to herself.

He expected to see 'Sango Tanaka' as the subject line, but was surprised to see a different name under the most recent message:

Slayer🍑😘

[Sent @ 6:15 PM] Next Friday, 7PM, Tanaka Dojo 📿

There was….much for Miroku to unpack here. The first of which was the nickname she gave herself. It was well known that the peach emoji was frequently used to represent one's derriere. Was her choice to use that particular emoji a coincidence, or was she privy to the fact that Miroku was indeed an ass man?

Especially when it came to Sango's gloriously toned and plump backside.

Miroku could have written an entire dissertation on why Sango chose that nickname if he had the time. Instead, he gravitated towards the message she sent herself. Normally people sent little one word messages, just enough to bridge the gap between cellular devices. Instead, it looked like Sango set up the details for their first date.

Their first date.

Just thinking those three little words left him feeling giddy, his heart pumping so heavily in his chest, Miroku could practically see the organ trying to rip itself from its fleshy prison.

Miroku finally looked up from his phone and gazed inside at the party. Just like earlier, the crowd of guests inside parted in just the right way so that he had a perfect view of Sango. She was leaning backwards against the kitchen counter, cradling a slender glass of something bubbly - probably champagne. She was standing by herself, a gentle smile on her face as she watched everyone gather around the Kagome and a slightly nervous looking Inuyasha.

It was like looking at a freshly finished puzzle. Every piece meticulously placed in just the right way, resulting in a release of endorphins just by looking at the fruits of one's hard work.

Sango was his puzzle.

There were still a few pieces to put together here and there, but the hard part was over with. Now was the time for Miroku to take those few random puzzle pieces and finish his work of art.

A life with Sango.

Perhaps he was a tad crazy for having such strong emotions for this woman, but who was he to argue with the pounding of his heart whenever he saw her picture or the butterflies in his stomach whenever she spoke. If his feelings for her were wrong, then he didn't want to be right. He would show them all that Miroku Kibe and Sango Tanaka were meant to be together.

Miroku closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket, resolute in the path he was about to take. Despite the loud, raucous energy of the crowd inside, Miroku could feel several pairs of eyes on him as he made his way inside. Not too long ago, Miroku might have been put off by the interfering actions of his friends, but now he could only feel thankful for them. Thankful that they would let him share even a smidgen of their spotlight, even just between the three of them.

The sounds of the crowd, the eyes of his curious friends, he ignored them all in favor of the woman standing by herself in the kitchen as he walked towards the bar to grab his own glass of already poured champagne. Sango looked up in his direction as he approached and offered him a warm smile. Miroku simply smiled back, leaning back against the kitchen counter beside her.

Sango deserved to have someone to stand by her - whether it be at the store or waiting for the bus, through bad times and good times, even at your best friends engagement party. And Miroku was going to be the one to do just that.

Because she was just the girl he had been looking for.

#dayofmirsan #day of MirSan 2021 #mirsan #inuyasha #its finally here!!!

48 notes · View notes

gukyi · 4 years ago

Text

the search | jhs

summary: your boyfriend, hoseok, decides you surprise you one afternoon and sends you on a scavenger hunt all around the city, marking the memories of your love.

{established relationship!au}

pairing: jung hoseok x reader genre: fluff word count: 1k warnings: none a/n: thank you to @theevangelist for commissioning this drabble and for donating to blm! this fic is just a reminder to me that i need to write more stuff for hobi because he is lovely and deserves it.

It starts with a note taped to your front door.

You plop the canvas bags of groceries down at your feet in curiosity as your fingers tug at the index card attached to your grody wooden apartment door, eyes narrowing as you read the scrawled lettering.

I hope this note finds you well. You are being sent on a quest by none other than your amazing, incredible, wonderful, generous, handsome, talented boyfriend. There is something good at the end of this, I promise.

There better be, you think to yourself. All you could think about while at the supermarket was how excited you were to come back home and fall asleep on your couch watching reruns of the Forensic Files.

First one’s easy. Return to the very place we first met. Where it all started.

You shuffle into your apartment, hands full and note between your lips, and drop off all of your groceries, making sure to put anything cold into your refrigerator before continuing. The moment you’re finished, you head out of your apartment and make a beeline for your local sushi restaurant. It’s several blocks away but your feet seem to be moving quicker today, pink index card clutched in between your fingers as you walk against the wind, hands crossed over your chest to keep warm. It’s cold today—or perhaps you just never dress appropriately—and you sure as hell hope that Hoseok isn’t going to send you on a wild goose chase outdoors like this.

When you arrive, Hoseok isn’t there (not that you were expecting him to be). Instead, you notice his good friend Jimin waiting in an empty booth, sipping on a soda.

You have a feeling he isn’t anticipating anybody else.

It’s hard not to think about this place when it comes to Hoseok. When it comes to who the two of you have become together.

“Hey, that’s my friend from dance,” Jungkook says to you, pointing to a man sitting a few tables away from you. He’s alone, but checking his watch often, like he’s expecting someone. “Hoseok!”

The man looks up and his expression bursts into a grin, happy and relieved to have been called over. At once, you notice his eyes, the way that they twinkle in the soft white light of the restaurant, like his own little sets of stars. He gets up at once, heading over to your table.

“Jungkook, what a nice surprise!” He says, making sure to turn and say hello to you as well. You’re frozen still, too nervous to say anything but too entranced to look away.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks.

Hoseok shrugs. “I was supposed to be on a date, but it looks like she bailed on me.” For what reason you cannot possibly imagine. Who would bail on someone like him?

“Damn, that sucks,” Jungkook says. “You’re welcome to sit with us, right, Y/N?”

Jungkook’s voice breaks you out of your trance, making you turn to him with wide eyes. Hoseok smiles at your fumble, chuckling heartily.

“Y-Yeah,” you sputter out. “Of course.”

Hoseok accepts happily, thanking the two of you for letting him crash your meal. He slides in next to Jungkook so you’re forced to look at him and his starry eyes, and he begins to smile.

“Am I in the right place?” You ask with an eyebrow raise, strolling up to Jimin. He jumps at your voice.

“Not too hard to find me, right?” Jimin poses. He holds out a blue index card between his fingers.

I knew you could do it. Hard to believe that so much would come from that one meal. You know, I’m actually kind of grateful to the girl that bailed on me. I think that, since our friend groups were so interlocked, we would have met eventually, but if she hadn’t skipped out, I don’t know if we ever would have made what we have now.

In any case, your next clue is this: my favorite book?

You thank Jimin for his time and promise to buy him a drink sometime soon as payment for sitting in the sushi restaurant, lonely and waiting for you to show up. The hostess does not pay attention to the fact that you arrived and left within five minutes, and you dart off to the next spot on your list.

It’s ten blocks in the opposite direction—god, couldn’t Hoseok have made this a little less intensive?—but you know that you’re getting close because the smell of coffee is wafting through the air, the wind blowing it towards you.

The bookstore is right next to you and Hoseok’s favorite coffee joint, a perfect destination for two nerds like yourselves.

You wander into the store, a crooked little thing, old white walls with peeling paint and random rugs scattered along the floor. Here, you and Hoseok could spend hours, browsing through the hundreds of books stored haphazardly on the shelves, some arranged in an order, and some placed wherever there was an empty spot. The books have long outgrown the store, but the owner still refuses to part with this near-shack. Something about the memories.

“I never knew this place even existed,” you tell Hoseok as he leads you through the winding passageways and uneven steps of this tiny little bookstore, so tilted and twisted it’s as if the place will fall apart underneath the pressure.

“It’s a secret,” Hoseok whispers into your ear with a giggle. “For only those who know exactly where to look.”

“I take it you read?” You ask. This is a strange place for a first date, but no stranger than any others you’ve been on.

“I bring a book with me to practice every day,” Hoseok tells you proudly. “Books are dreams turned to reality.”

“There are other ways to turn your dreams into a reality,” you tell him.

Hoseok turns to you, a gleam in his eye, interest piqued. “Really? How’s that?”

You whisper, a shout into the void, into the air settling between the two of you. “By doing them yourself.”

Despite the organization (or lack thereof) of the shop, you know exactly where to find what you’re looking for. On a small shelf that doesn’t match any of the others in the store is a collection of Charles Dickens works, and three paperback copies of A Christmas Carol.

You fish through the first two with no luck, but find a purple index card in the third.

Too easy for you, huh? I guess it’s no surprise that my favorite book is a children’s tale about Christmas. But I think that even adults can learn from ol’ Ebenezer Scrooge sometimes. I just think that Christmas, and the wintertime in general, is magical. And I think that we could all do with never forgetting the past, working towards the future, and living in the present. At least, that’s what I try to do.

Okay, last one: in a big city, stars are sparse and nearly impossible to see. But there is one place that we can go whenever we miss the Moon and her admirers.

You suppose that Hoseok has a method to his madness nonetheless.

There are four parks within the city, but you know exactly which one Hoseok’s talking about. It’s the one in the center, surrounded by skyscrapers and glass windows and street lamps. It’s small, barely the size of a decent parking lot, but it’s filled with trees and a giant fountain in the middle, and signs to keep off of the grass that nobody reads.

And when you arrive, there you see him, sitting on the lawn on a gingham picnic blanket, with a basket splayed out as he gazes up at the evening sky.

“I knew you’d know where to go,” Hoseok says when he spots you strolling towards him, fingers toying with themselves like a kindergarten love.

“Did you ever doubt me?” You ask him. It’s as if Hoseok thinks that you don’t think the same as he does, don’t treasure the same memories you share. “You know we’re not supposed to be on the grass.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hoseok says, pulling you down next to him and wrapping his arms around you. He leans in close, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. “And who’s going to stop me?”

“Stop,” you say with a grin, letting him kiss you again. “The stars are watching us.”

Hoseok smiles. Even if it’s only seven, even if you can’t even see the stars in the city anyway, they will never leave your side. Not when you can watch them in the eyes of the man in front of you, white glints twinkling, shimmering, sparkling. He is golden and beautiful. He is starlight. “I hope that they always do.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget that i’m still taking commissions!

#hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #hoseok scenario #bts imagine #hoseok imagine #bts au #hoseok au #w: the search

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years ago

Note

“What do you mean you don’t have anything?!”

“I mean exactly that, Shaw,” Pyro shrugged. “I passed the royalties on to Avalanche after I died, but then he died too, and he didn’t exactly make provisions in his will. Now all the rights have reverted back to the publishing company, so I won’t see a dime.”

Pyro scowled again at the article on his phone. Some director had picked up one of his novels for a movie project, and the flattered excitement he felt had quickly soured with the realization that he would get absolutely nothing out of the project. Getting a movie adaptation was a god-damn dream-come-true for any author, but why couldn’t it have happened back when he was alive?

“Yes, that is a problem with these resurrections I suppose,” Sebastian was musing. “We must preserve our secrets, yet those that have been declared legally dead must jump through a great number of hoops to regain their rights and property. Yet another practical issue that the Council has completely ignored while setting up their great mutant utopia.”

It was especially difficult for Pyro, who had died such an extremely public death. A meaningful death, even, although Pyro had his doubts. Everyone knew that novelist St. John Allerdyce, mutant terrorist, had died saving Senator Robert Kelly, and now both he and the senator were great big bloody martyrs for the cause of mutant rights. Which meant that St. John Allerdyce could not appear alive again. The Council had made a special decision on that just for him. He could run around publicly as a blond Australian fire-wielding mutant named Pyro, without so much as a dye job or a fake mustache, but he couldn’t go to Harlequin and demand the back payments he was owed, or even jump on Twitter to give his opinions on the movie development of his own book. Fucking ridiculous, really. It wasn’t like people wouldn’t figure it out.

“Well, to hell with it,” Pyro sighed. “It doesn’t really matter, my original contract didn’t include movie rights or anything like that. I mean, if I was still ‘alive’ I could have renegotiated the contract, and made a big public stink about it if they refused to give me anything. They’d probably toss me some money just to shut me up. But it still would have been a fight for it.”

“Yes, of course,” Sebastian gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’d have an unfavorable contract, but your literary agent certainly didn’t do you any favors.”

“Yes, yes, I get it, Shaw!” Pyro snapped. “You’re the big smart businessman, and I’m a moron who’ll sign anything without reading it, yeah? I get it! Look, I signed that contract when I was around twenty, okay? I was happy just to get something published. I was writing to survive back then, and I was banging out the kind of cheap paperbacks that people read and throw away. I couldn’t even imagine a movie adaptation. I just wanted to get paid.”

“Typically impulsive and short-sighted,” Sebastian sniffed. “Well, if you do start publishing again – I assume the Council will allow it if you use a pen-name – be sure to run the contract by me before you sign anything.”

Pyro gave Sebastian a suspicious look. Admittedly, he was thinking about publishing again. In fact, he was currently reworking a horribly self-indulgent fantasy that Shinobi had thrown together into something actually readable. (And by “reworking,” he meant that Shinobi had given him a character and a few plot ideas, and Pyro was writing every word.) And although it rankled him not to put his own name on it, he was starting to think they might have a profitable hit on their hands.

“Why, Shaw? Why on earth would you want to help me with something like that? So you can take a cut for yourself?”

“You misunderstand me, Allerdyce, as usual. It’s the principle of the thing.” Sebastian gazed back at him solemnly. “I believe in a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. It irritates me to see people cheated out of what they have rightfully earned. And you have earned a great deal of money for your publishing company. I can’t say I understand why your books sell, they’re sloppily written tripe, but they do sell, and for that you should be properly compensated.”

Sebastian’s lips curled up into a shark-like smile as he continued talking.

“Of course, if I did advise you on a contract, I would be acting as your agent, and I’d expect compensation for my labor. Perhaps just a small percentage of any profits from book sales, adaptations and related merchandise.”

“Piss off, Shaw,” Pyro scoffed.

He’d find someone else to ask.

(Come to think of it, wasn’t Stonewall a lawyer? And a literary aficionado? And enough of a sucker nice guy that he’d do it for practically free? Pyro made a mental note to talk to Louis next time they went back to Krakoa.)

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azvolrien · 3 years ago

Text

Two Months

This is another little Asta-and-Roan vignette series, this time featuring the run-up to their wedding. Maybe a bit shorter than the last couple, with only four relatively short segments, but it gives a little more detail to some stuff that, while it’s been part of the setting inside my head for a long time, hasn’t really come up on the page before.

---

15th of Messis – Two months to go

Auchtertan Public Library

Auchtertan was a small town – only a couple of thousand people called it home – but it drew custom from dozens of small farms up in the hills and tiny fishing harbours along the coast of Loch Gorm, people who either could not or did not want to make the long ride up to Duncraig, and so it had far more on offer than some of the bigger towns nearer the city did. Market stalls were set up in the town square every weekend, forming a loose ring around the ancient carved stone in front of the temple, but even during the week the grocer, butcher and baker were well-stocked. The post office was constantly bustling, there was almost always smoke rising from the bathhouse’s furnace chimney, and the library above the beach boasted two storeys filled with books on all subjects.

Roan padded along one of the rows on the first floor, running her hand over the spines of the books on their shelves, to the desk Asta had claimed below one of the windows overlooking the sea.

“Were the librarians able to give you the forms?” asked Asta without looking up from the slim paperback lying open on the desk.

Roan laid the forms on the desk beside the book and sat down opposite her.

“Good, good,” said Asta, still without looking up. Roan smiled and propped her chin on one hand, taking a moment to just admire her new fiancée. At this hour of the morning, the sun hit the library window at exactly the right angle for Asta to glow in its light. It drew out the warm gold of her skin and the black-tea chestnut brown of her eyes, and cast enchanting bluish highlights on her deep black hair. One lock had escaped her ponytail, falling forwards over her face. Roan reached out to tuck it back behind her ear, trailing her fingertips gently over Asta’s cheek.

Asta finally glanced up from the book. The sun caught her eyes, turning them a beautiful reddish amber for an instant. “What?”

“I like seeing you in your element for a change,” said Roan. “You do love your books.”

“Yes, I’ll have to have a browse in their fiction section before we head home,” said Asta, turning her attention back to the book. “I’ve been meaning to find something new to read of an evening.”

“Has that one been useful?” asked Roan.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Asta. “It’s a very comprehensive guide to marriage in the Sea Lochs. It’s actually a lot more straightforward than I was expecting – things would be more complex if we needed to arrange a temple service or book a venue for a big reception or get the registrar to come to us, but since we agreed we don’t need any of that, essentially all we have to do is fill out these forms telling the registrar that we want to get married and confirming that we’re both of age and of sound mind and so on and so forth, post them up to Duncraig, and they’ll get back to us with an appointment to actually go and get married.”

“You don’t have to… I don’t know, get your House’s permission or anything? I don’t know how it works with the nobility.”

Asta glanced back up and shook her head, smiling. “I would if I was in the core family or just outside it, but I’m so minor a branch of House zeDamar that I doubt I even qualify as a leaf. The only reason they would arrange a marriage for me would be if they wanted to emphasise how unimportant my potential spouse was to them.” Her smile faded and she cast her eyes back down at the pages. “Besides,” she muttered. “House zeDamar abandoned me when I needed them. I don’t owe them anything any more. I’d even give up the name if I could.”

Roan leant over the desk and kissed her forehead, bringing the smile back for a moment. “Can you not?”

Asta shook her head again. “It’s not allowed. If you’re born to a noble house, you’re a part of it for life – and if you weren’t, you can’t claim the name through marriage or adoption. Which I suppose at least saves us any arguments over who’ll be changing their surname.”

“‘NicBruide’ isn’t really a surname anyway,” said Roan. “Let’s get these filled out – they can be in Duncraig tomorrow if we get them posted by lunch.”

---

13th of Sanguis – One month to go

Dun Ardech, just inside the outer wall

Asta knelt in front of the little shrine beneath its wooden shelter and lit three small cones of incense, one in front of each pewter god-figure on the flat slate altar, then clapped three times to draw the gods’ attention.

“Mighty Voynazh,” she murmured, and laid a small beaker of wine before the god of war. “Great Siraki.” She placed a sprig of rowan-berries in front of the goddess of commerce and the protector of travellers. “Blessed Kura.” An ear of wheat for the goddess of agriculture and fertility. “Grant us your protection and your guidance.” That much was a standard invocation. Asta fell silent, considering what else to say. Whatever prayers her parents had offered during their engagement, they had never told her any of them. What was one supposed to say at a time like this?

“I… am getting married.” Well, that was a start. “We received a letter from the registrar in Duncraig. They have availability in the middle of Gracilis. It’s sooner than we expected, but we decided to take it.” She lifted the beaker and poured the wine out on the ground before the little statue of Voynazh. “Mighty Voynazh, keep the shadow of war far from our doorstep,” she went on quietly. “Whether a blessing from Torravon is the same as a blessing from you or not… Please, let us live in peace, and make it so Roan never has cause for battle-madness.” She crushed the rowan-berries with a mortar and pestle, then tipped out the resulting paste on the flat stone before Siraki. “Great Siraki, clear our path on all our journeys; grant us safe passage over land and water, and be generous in the markets.” She picked up the wheat and rubbed it between her fingers so the grains scattered on the altar. “Blessed Kura…” She paused. “I suppose this is where newly-betrothed people would usually ask you to bless them with children, isn’t it? I suppose that would take divine intervention for Roan and I, at least without involving a third party in some way. But they never featured in our plans anyway, so… Help the hens to lay, keep the vegetable garden going, and I think we’ll be content.”

The wooden chimes hanging above the shrine clicked gently and spun in the wind; the galloping horses carved around the top chased each other in circles. Perhaps that was an answer. Asta straightened her back and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply as she listened to the wind rustling gently through the trees and the waves lapping against the rocks outside the wall. A couple of the hens wandered over to take charge of the wheat.

After little while, Asta got to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked without turning around.

“Couple of minutes, maybe,” said Roan. “I was wondering if I should chase the hens away from your offering.”

“No, they’re fine,” said Asta. “I think Kura takes everything she can from it fairly quickly.” She did have to step in to set the statue of Voynazh back upright when one of the hens knocked it over.

Roan picked up the hen, tutting in amused disapproval. “That’s probably heresy, you know,” she said to one beady yellow eye.

“From a chicken?” asked Asta.

“Henresy, then.”

“Yes, they are known for their schismatic temple practices,” said Asta as Roan put the hen down and shooed her back towards the coop. She closed the shrine’s shutters and turned the little wooden bolt to secure them.

“It’s not too late to try and arrange a priest for the wedding, if you want,” said Roan, chasing the other hen off for good measure. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one in Duncraig who’s free.”

Asta shook her head. “I’ve never liked having a go-between – if I need to speak with the gods I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” She paused. “Roan?”

“Mm?”

“Do you believe in the gods?”

“Are you calling off the wedding if I say no?”

“No, of course not. I was just wondering – I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pray. There wasn’t even a household shrine until we built this one.”

Roan didn’t answer immediately; instead she pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back, watching the hens.

Asta went on. “There was a wizard I knew in Stormhaven who didn’t. Believe in them, I mean. I asked him why one day, once we were on good enough terms that he wouldn’t take it as either an insult or a challenge. He just shrugged and said he’d never encountered a good enough reason to.”

Roan nodded thoughtfully. “I… believe that they exist in some shape or form, aye. Granda raised me on tales of the fearsome goddesses of the Sea Lochs – Torravon, the Cailleach, the Storm Hags – and I reckon I’ve seen enough of their work. I’m just not convinced they pay any attention to us.”

“Maybe not.” Asta smiled and brushed her fingers through the windchime. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to try and stay on their good side just in case.”

---

11th of Gracilis – Three days to go

The City of Duncraig

It was mid-morning by the time Pardus set its paws on the Kingsferry Bridge. At a gallop, the construct could have covered the distance between Dun Ardech and Duncraig in less than a day – and had done so more than once – but they hadn’t wanted to rush the journey and so had broken it at a coaching inn at a village halfway up the coast.

Roan’s arms tightened around Asta’s waist. “I haven’t been back here in a very long time,” she said, her voice subdued, as Pardus strolled along the bridge. It was a spectacular piece of engineering: four towering stanchions of concrete and steel supported dozens of seemingly slender cables – each one thicker than Roan’s arm in truth – which in turn supported the roadway itself, high above the surface of Loch Gorm. At the far end loomed the city of Duncraig, creeping down the steep, rocky hillside from the crag-top fortress of the High King – now the seat of the Imperial Governor – to the hundreds of docks and jetties along the edge of the water.

“Nor me,” said Asta, steadfastly keeping her eyes on the city, refusing to let her gaze drift to Castle MacArra atop the ridge on the other side of the loch. “Not since I came back through the portal from Stormhaven, and I was only passing through then; I didn’t stop to look around.”

“I never wandered all that far from the university when I lived here,” admitted Roan. “Chances are you probably know the city better than I do.”

They rode up through the city streets until they reached Siraki Square, the wide granite-paved marketplace up against the cliff face below the fortress. The market itself was not yet open, though the stallholders were setting up in the stone-built booths around the fountain at the centre of the square. Around its edges, would-be customers killed time in other shops or waited at pubs and cafes. Roan eyed them with distinct wariness as Asta reined Pardus in outside the four-storey hotel that took up almost one whole edge of the square. Flags hung from a row of poles jutting out along the façade of white marble, displaying the rampant bear of the Empire, the dragon ship of the Sea Lochs, the striking wildcat of the monarch of Loch Gorm, and the castle-and-mountain of Duncraig itself. Above them, tall glass windows looked out across the square to the fortress, while the rooms on the other side would gaze down the loch towards the distant sea.

Asta double-checked the letter from the hotel, nodded firmly to herself, and dismounted. Roan followed her a second later, casting another wary glance at the square behind them.

“We’ll check in just now and leave our bags in the room,” said Asta, unstrapping the suitcases from behind Pardus’s saddle. “Then we can maybe go out for an explore, find somewhere to have lunch…”

“Aye, that sounds like a plan,” said Roan absently, lifting one of the bags under one arm and hefting the other onto her shoulder. “I… Never mind.” Asta gave her a searching look, but did not press her.

Their room overlooked Siraki Square from the second floor. It was not lavishly decorated – the walls were painted a plain, warm cream colour, their only extra adornment a small painting of a stag hanging on the wall above the bed – but the bed was wide and soft with a heavy feather quilt, a pair of comfortable armchairs and a small coffee table were arranged by the full-length window, and the bathroom was equipped with a long tub of enamelled cast-iron. Hinged wooden shutters – currently folded back against the thick stone wall – could swing across to block the light from the windows, while thin linen curtains could be pulled over to soften their lines.

Roan placed the suitcases carefully on the floor behind the door, straightened up to roll her shoulders back, and flopped face-down on the bed. “Give me a few minutes before we head back out,” she said, her voice rather muffled by the quilt.

“You can’t possibly be tired already,” said Asta, kneeling beside her. She pulled back the hood of Roan’s sealskin cloak so that the skull rested between her shoulder blades. Roan turned her head slightly to look up at her out of one eye. “You, of all people? It’s not even lunchtime yet!”

Roan made a noncommittal sound.

“Well…” Asta lay down so they were face to face. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves if you’d rather stay in here.” She grinned, poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth, and slowly ran one finger down Roan’s nose to her lips.

“Tempting,” said Roan, smiling at last, “and for more than one reason. But I’m sure there’s a museum or something you want to visit.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to push the matter if you didn’t want to, but I did see a poster for an exhibition on aquatic constructs-”

Roan laughed, rolled over onto her back, and sat up. “Sounds good. Let’s have a look.”

The market outside was in full swing by the time they walked back down to the hotel entrance. There wasn’t a single stall without a queue of waiting customers, and the crowds had spilled out from the cafes and shops to mill around in the square itself. Roan took one step over the threshold and froze at the sight.

Asta looked back over her shoulder. “Roan?”

“I…” Roan’s eyes were wide and staring, her pupils dilated despite the bright sunshine in the square. Teeth bared, she groped blindly for the doorframe and clutched it, the tendons on the back of her hand standing out like wires.

“Hey! Hey.” Asta caught her other hand and reached up to stroke her cheek. “It’s all right. Look at me.”

Roan closed her eyes hard for a few seconds, pressing her lips together and breathing heavily through her nose, before she obeyed. Her pupils had shrunk back to a more normal size, but her eyes were still wide and her breath still trembled.

“Come with me,” said Asta. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

She led Roan out of the square and down a series of side-streets until they reached a gate in a waist-high iron fence. It was only locked by a simple sliding bar, clearly more to stop animals than humans, and they walked through into a steep-sided ravine lined with dense bracken – now mostly dead and brown for the winter – and tall pine trees. The path of packed earth and scattered bark zigzagged down the slope until it levelled out by the shallow, swift-flowing river at the bottom. Asta sat down on a wooden bench by the river and patted the seat beside her. Roan lay down on her side on the bench and rested her head in Asta’s lap, closing her eyes.

“I used to come here on the weekends, or when I had an hour or so away from Lady MacArra’s office,” said Asta, stroking Roan’s hair. “It was quiet, a good place to read – I’m not sure if even many life-long residents of the city know about it. South Craig – Lady MacArra’s house – is just downriver of here, down at the seafront.” She paused. “I knew you didn’t like crowds. I never realised you were afraid of them.”

Roan took a long, deep breath in through her nose and slowly let it back out through her mouth. “I’m fine with thirty, forty people,” she said without opening her eyes. “A bit more if there’s enough room for them to spread out, like at the market in Auchtertan or out on the island. But when there are hundreds all close together like there were back there, it… It feels too much like a threat. And that doesn’t mix well with battle-madness, however well I have mine under control.”

“No, I suppose not. Gods, if Duncraig bothers you this much, you would hate it in the Imperial City.”

Roan just nodded without sitting up. “Never felt any urge to visit it. Don’t think that would end well anyway.” She turned onto her back to look up at Asta. “Did you ever want to go back there?”

“There’s nothing left for me in Kiraan,” said Asta. “Just a lot of memories, and the good ones are too tangled up with the bad. I do miss it sometimes, all the places I grew up with… but no, I never wanted to return.” She brushed Roan’s fringe back out of her face and leant down to kiss her forehead. “We can go back to the hotel if you want.”

Roan took another deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t want to keep you cooped up all day. I’ll be all right if we can avoid the crowds.” She sighed and sat up. “So, did those posters say where this exhibit of yours is?”

Asta smiled. “It’s at the Marine Museum down at the quayside. Don’t worry, I know a few shortcuts that’ll get us there without any crowds.”

---

14th of Gracilis – A few hours to go

The City of Duncraig

Roan carried her plate back to the table. “I’m not sure about hotels,” she said as she sat down. “I don’t like hearing strangers moving around nearby at night. But it is nice to have a breakfast we didn’t have to make ourselves.”

“They lay out a good one here, too,” said Asta, checking over the day’s itinerary in her notebook. “So, our appointment at the registrar’s office is just at the back of five and then we have dinner in the evening, but the day isn’t too busy up until then. Did you have any plans?”

“I booked us a tub for a couple of hours at that huge bathhouse near the university. You know the one I mean? Our slot starts at half-ten, so we can find somewhere for lunch afterwards.”

“Oh, is that where you vanished to when I was in the library? You were oddly evasive about that.” Asta added it to her notes, then glanced up, frowning. “There’s a bath in our room here.”

“Aye, but it’s not very comfy. Not for two people, at least.”

“True. Well…” Asta reached back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, rubbing her fingertips against the raised cords of old scarring.

Roan caught her reluctance immediately. “It’s a private tub,” she assured her. “No one has to see your back. Not even me, if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, I’m used enough to you seeing it,” said Asta with a small smile. “So, two hours at the bathhouse, maybe another two for lunch…”

“If we make it a very leisurely lunch.”

“Then that still gives us two and a half hours in the afternoon.”

Roan scooped half a fried egg into her mouth and swallowed. “I… have a couple of things to take care of then,” she said. “But I’ll meet you at the registrar’s office.”

“Will you be all right by yourself?”

“I… will manage.”

Asta silently searched Roan’s eyes for a few seconds before she nodded. “Five o’clock sharp, then,” she said, giving Roan’s chin a little shake between thumb and forefinger.

Roan caught her hand and gently kissed the backs of her fingers without breaking eye contact. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

After a long, relaxing soak in the bathhouse’s steaming, floral-scented water – “I’m very fond of our little bathhouse at home,” Asta commented, “but you have to admit it smells a bit eggy.” – and a lunch that was indeed leisurely in a neighbouring café, they split up outside the gates of the university. Roan gave Asta a quick farewell kiss on the forehead – as much for her own reassurance as Asta’s – before she pulled up the hood of her cloak, squared her shoulders, and strode away. Asta watched her until she had disappeared around a corner, then sighed and returned to the hotel. There were a few things of her own she needed to organise.

Much to Asta’s relief, as the afternoon wore quietly on she received no word of anyone going berserk in the street and getting either injured or arrested. Five o’clock approached; Asta donned her new blue dress, gave her hair – loose from her usual ponytail – one last careful brushing, and took several slow, steadying breaths in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn’t usually bother with makeup, but for the occasion she had added some pinkish polish to her nails, a subtle shading above her eyes and a hint of a deeper red around her lips. Finally she put on a pair of earrings, each one a plain gold hoop about an inch across – a little showier than the simple cuffs or studs she usually wore, but not to the point of discomfort or distraction.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to her reflection, before she picked up her satchel containing her purse and the ring box, draped a woollen shawl around her shoulders against the chill of a Gracilis evening, and left the hotel. The sky was almost fully dark, but the streets were busy and well-lit and it wasn’t a long walk to the registrar’s office.

Like most of Duncraig’s buildings it was a stern construction of grey stone, with a short but impressively broad flight of steps leading up to double doors of sturdy oak, but the windows showed a welcoming gold light from the offices and meeting-rooms behind them. Asta waited at the foot of the steps. A bell chimed somewhere, perhaps from one of the city’s temples. Five chimes. Asta bit her lip, glancing up and down the street and wondering how long she should give it before she started getting worried. She had no fear of Roan getting cold feet, but if something else had happened…

“I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, not quite five sharp, I know.”

Asta smiled; a tension she hadn’t really noticed until it was gone fell from her shoulders. She turned towards Roan’s voice and her jaw dropped.

Roan gestured down at herself, grinning. “How do I look?”

She still wore her usual cloak, plain yellowish-tan trousers and tough leather boots, minus her gaiters for a change, but one of her afternoon tasks had clearly been to pick up a new tunic. The fine woollen cloth was dyed a rich blood-red, trimmed around the hems with intricate patterns of interwoven vines with strange creatures – birds, dragons, even a water horse – hiding amongst them, all embroidered in varying warm shades of yellow and orange. It was still sleeveless and knee-length like her everyday tunics, but was split into two wide panels front and back, slit up the side from the hem to her hips, and was tailored to accentuate her bust and her waist. A strip of red-and-gold cloth had been tied around her brow, keeping her hair out of her face. Perhaps she had had someone see to that, as well – it had been unbraided and allowed to flow in loose waves down her back, brushed until it shone like polished copper.

“Great gods,” was all Asta managed. “I – gods.”

“Not often I render you speechless,” said Roan. Her grin widened. “Not without the use of my hands, at least.”

“Roan!” Asta blushed and looked away, but she was still smiling.

Roan ran one hand down over Asta’s hair, combing her fingers gently through it. “You look perfect, mo chridhe. Utterly perfect. Oh, I almost forgot – these two are Kirsty and Erik. They’ve agreed to be witnesses.” She jabbed a thumb at the two people who had been standing behind her.

Asta gave them a polite nod, returned by both of them, before a flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down at Roan’s left arm. There was a bandage of some odd, faintly shiny material wound securely around it just below the elbow. “Your arm – are you hurt?”

“Hm? Oh, that. No, it’s fine – I’ll show you after the ceremony. Shall we?” She offered Asta her other elbow and they walked arm-in-arm up the steps. A clerk met them just inside the doors and led their little group through to one of the offices, where the registrar had already laid all the relevant paperwork out on his desk.

“Wedding party of zeDamar and MacBride?” he asked.

“NicBruide,” corrected Roan, her tone suggesting it was not the first time she had encountered this error. “But aye, that’s us.”

The registrar glanced down at the forms. “Yes, I apologise – I misread.” He cleared his throat. “We are here to witness and register the marriage of Asta zeDamar and Roan NicBruide. Have you written any personal vows you’d like to say or shall we proceed with the standard version?”

“I… have a few words,” said Roan. She turned to face Asta and clasped both of her hands between her own. “Asta zeDamar. I… I have spent a lot of my life alone. I’ve never made friends easily, not as a bairn or as an adult. Sometimes people would come into my life, but… sooner or later they all left. Because they had to. Because they were afraid.” Her voice trembled. “Because I sent them away.” She released Asta’s hands and held her shoulders instead. “You are the only one who ever came back. That alone would amaze me every day if nothing else did – and believe me, much else does, from the strength of your heart to the sharpness of your mind, every single day since that night you first showed up on my doorstep. You’ve put up with me for longer than anyone but my grandfather. You are the best friend I have ever had, the most trusted ally of my heart, and the love of my life, and I can’t bear to spend one more day of that life without being married to you.” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand.

Asta reached up to wipe the not-quite-shed tears away with her thumb. “You saved my life,” she said, “and I mean that in so much more than the purely literal sense. Yes, you treated my wounds and rescued me from the people who wished me ill – but more than that, you made sure I had the time and space and help I needed to heal, in that heart and mind you love so much as well as physically. Nobody has ever understood me – has ever listened to me – the way that you have. You make me happier than I’ve ever been before just from being your own kind, capable self, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” She pushed herself up on her toes to kiss Roan softly on the lips.

“That part comes later,” the registrar reminded them with a smile. “Do you have rings?” Asta fished the little box from her satchel and handed one ring to Roan.

“Silver,” commented Roan, holding the unengraved band up to the light.

“Gold felt a little too much like brass,” said Asta quietly, rubbing her throat with one hand. Roan just nodded, understanding immediately.

“Asta Irina zeDamar,” said the registrar. “Do you assent to marriage with Roan NicBruide?”

“I do.” She slid the ring she still held onto Roan’s finger.

“Roan NicBruide. Do you assent to marriage with Asta zeDamar?”

Roan placed the other ring on Asta’s finger. “I do.”

“Then I pronounce you married.” Roan didn’t wait for any further instruction and swept Asta right off her feet in a long and thorough kiss.

“Well, then,” said Asta, resting her forehead against Roan’s. “There we go.” Roan just grinned and kissed her again.

They all signed the forms to render everything properly official and left the building, bidding farewell to Kirsty and Erik at the bottom of the steps.

“Do you really not have a middle name?” asked Asta as they strolled back to the hotel together.

Roan shook her head. “I’m just Roan.”

“It suits you, somehow. Very straightforward. You were going to tell me what happened to your arm?”

“I was, wasn’t I?” She carefully loosened and unwound the bandage from around her arm. “The cloth is spelled and treated with a special ointment,” she explained. “It helps to quickly heal the skin without fading the ink.” Bandage removed, she held out her arm to reveal a dark blue, five-pointed star inked into the soft skin of her inner forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. Inside its crisp outline, each segment of the star was decorated with similar knots and spirals to the rest of her tattoos. “I get them to mark important occasions, remember?”

Lost for words for the second time that evening, Asta reached out with one hand, but pulled it back a hair’s breadth before her fingers met Roan’s skin. “It won’t smudge or anything, will it?”

“No – it won’t be fully healed yet, but the bandage moved things along enough that the ink is set.”

Asta smiled and brushed her fingers against the star. The skin around it was still a little pink and swollen from the needle, the lines of the tattoo a little raised, but it would settle back as it healed the rest of the way. “It’s very neat work.”

“Kirsty’s, as it happens,” said Roan. “She’s my tattooist. Erik, now, he’s just a random man who had some time to spare.”

Asta had to laugh. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. Although… You do know that the origin of my name doesn’t actually have anything to do with stars, right?”

“I do, but ‘divine beauty’ is a lot trickier to make a tattoo design of.” Roan smiled and ran her fingers through Asta’s hair again. “However well it suits you.”

Asta leant against her side with a smile, winding one arm around her waist as they walked, and said nothing.

Roan laid an arm around her shoulders. “Our table at the restaurant won’t be ready for another hour and a half, ish.”

“Oh, no.” Asta half-closed her eyes, her smile growing a little more suggestive. “However will we fill the time?”

---

What did you think she had in mind?

Roan has had her star tattoo in a few pictures I’ve drawn of her, but this is the only time the personal meaning behind it has actually been pointed out. ‘Asta’ is a diminutive form of the name ‘Astrid’, which does indeed mean something like ‘divine beauty’.

#az writes stories

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hireath24 · 5 years ago

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Everything wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant Part Three

Disclaimer: This is part three and will continue from pages 97 to 150. Part one can be found here. Part Two can be found here. Part four can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 99: Saying ‘wine will make you feel better’ really gives off the wrong impression when this is a book targeted at young kids. I mean, it’s written for the YA genre which is typically categorized for ages 12 and up.

Page 101: I’m so fed up of people talking badly about Nesta. Having Amren say ‘That’s if she shows up sober’ when she has walked in to see Feyre, Cassian and Azriel all drinking wine? Feyre and Cassian being ‘drunk’? Double standard! Unfair!

Page 102: So Elain managed to become a seer with the cauldron, right? So… Are there other people - sorry, Fae - who are seers? Why does the cauldron affect people in different ways?

Page 107: Amren was turned into a High Fae in the last book, which means that she no longer has to drink blood as food. But why did she ever have to drink blood? I don’t think it was ever explained. Why?

Page 108: Elain asks Amren if she could have taken on a male form and Amren replies with ‘Before, in my other form, I was neither. I simply was.’ Was that supposed to be SJM’s cheap shot at adding some gender diversity? Because I would have loved to see Amren be this non-binary power house asexual dragon but who has time for that but she uses she/her pronouns throughout the entire series and this is the only mention of her being able to switch between genders.

Page 112: ‘…A few drunk revelers spotted us and fell silent. Felt Rhys’s power, perhaps my own as well, and found somewhere else to be for a while.’ Why would they want to find somewhere else to be as soon as their High Lord and High Lady show up? Why are they showing fear at the feeling of their power? Aren’t Feyre and Rhys supposed to be the good guys? This reads a lot like the people of Velaris are scared of them…

Page 115: ‘Gentlemales’ GENTLEMALES. GENTLEMALES. GENTLE FUCKING MALES?!?!?!?!

Page 116: ‘Indeed, some people were turning our way.’ This is just… This word is useless in general but in this book? I don’t think it was edited properly.

Page 118: ‘A scene. This was about to become a scene in the worst way.’ SJM does this quite a lot in this book. These little two sentences where she says something and then expands on that something. It was used twice before already and I didn’t write it down because I thought it was just a writing choice but… it’s a poor one. It feels like a way to get the word count up somehow and, quite frankly, it’s bad writing.

Page 118: Feyre is annoyed that Nesta is asking for her to pay her rent? How else does she suppose that Nesta should pay for her rent? She had a home that was taken from her back in the human world (that was taken from her because of Feyre, mind you) and all she asks is that Feyre pay her rent because she doesn’t have a job in fairy land? That seems pretty reasonable. Feyre shouldn’t be mad.

Page 121: ‘But those were her deaths to claim.’ Why does everything have to be paid with death? I think it would be a lot more empowering if Mor would meet with those who wronged her, say something about them and her and just walk out of their lives entirely? SJM should start preaching forgiveness a little bit more but, hey, that’s just my opinion. Plus, this is really making Rhys seem like a bad ruler. Wanting to kill his enemies? No.

Page 122: ‘Keir is coming soon, isn’t he.’ Yeah, no, this wasn’t edited.

Page 122: ‘When.’

Page 125: ‘Az has a list of kingdoms most likely to cross the line.’ I’m wondering why the Night Court is in charge? Why does Rhysand get to decide which kingdoms and courts cross the line? Why does he get to decide where the line is?

Page 126: As I said for Page 118, Rhysand says: ‘Tempting. So damn tempting to tell…’ See what I mean?

Page 126: If Rhysand deals with conflict by fighting fire with fire, then his court is going to fall apart. Why is he allowed to get away with attacking Tamlin the way he did? What are the basic rules of the court - any of the courts? Surely the people wouldn’t want an insufficient ruler so do they get a say in it? WHY ARE THE HIGH LORDS ALLOWED TO ACT LIKE BLOODTHIRSTY BEASTS?!

Page 126: ‘Too long. She’d been cooped up within the borders of this court for too long.’ Wow, once you tune into it…

Page 127: I really want to make one thing clear. Not every piece of dialogue has to have a tag attached to it. Sometimes things work much better if you just use ‘I said’ or ‘he/she/they said.’ At least then it would mean less lines such as this ‘I laughed again. ‘Certainly not Amren. Not if we want peace,’ I added.’

Page 127: Also, Rhysand ‘want(s) peace’? Bullshit. Not seven paragraphs ago did he laugh about Mor wanting Tamlin dead and a page ago he was tempted to tell ‘the High Lord of Autumn that his eldest son coveted his throne.’ Do not think for one second that Rhys is a level headed ruler. SJM has a tendency to tell us that he is rather than show it.

Page 128: ‘…Even the wine I’d returned home to drink couldn’t dull.’ Teaching young, impressionable people that alcohol might solve some of your problems. Great. And what - Feyre can say this but Nesta can’t drink?

Page 129: ‘Decadent - it felt decadent…’ I really wished I had never picked up on this.

Page 129: Feyre keeps complaining about the amount of work she has to do but here she is shopping with Elain? When her people are scared, heartbroken, without a home and in mourning after the war?

Page 129: ‘So different. This place was so different…’ ON THE SAME FUCKING PAGE?!??!

Page 131: So I guess that nobody ever told SJM that a character description goes beyond eye colour, hair colour and clothes?

Page 133: ‘I might ease that grief, make the pain less.’ Feyre’s powers allow her to do that? When, why, how and fucking what?

Page 134: ‘I was lucky - so tremendously lucky.’

Page 134: Rhys was dead and he was brought back to life, right? It wasn’t like with Feyre’s death where she was still slightly conscious because she could hear what was going on, no. No, with Rhysand’s death, he really was dead. But he was brought back to life and somehow… feels nothing from this? I would love to see if there are times where his body becomes slightly misty and ghostlike, if his veins turn black under his skin because they had stopped working during that brief moment of death. I would have loved to see something other than just him feeling a little bit tired!

Page 134: ‘How.’

Page 135: I’s very clear to me that, for whatever reason, SJM wanted Feyre to be able to paint but she has no idea how to write about it. Whilst Feyre is painting, we only read about her need to create and what the end result looks like. Even during her process we hear nothing about light and perspective and I’m not a painter but there’s a true science behind it. And where is she getting the paints from? Rhys was able to give her some with his magic but from where?

Page 138: It disgusts me that Feyre thinks that she can solve the people of the Night Court’s problems by teaching them how to paint. These people went through a war! And before that it was Under the Mountain! Painting and creating art in general can help with recovery from mental illness and trauma and PTSD and depression and everything else, but there comes a point where therapy is needed. Memorials are needed, ceremonies are needed. How are people supposed to paint what they feel when they can’t understand what they feel? It’s bullshit and, really, quite a childish thing to even suggest. How is this a ruler?

Page 139: Why do jigsaw puzzles exist. Why are they called jigsaw puzzles. SJM is not a high fantasy writer.

Page 140: ‘Good thing indeed.’ You guys know how I feel about this word by now, right?

Page 140: ‘Indeed, each seemed like a different decade.’ So the fashion changes with time, does it? Great! Tell me more. Tell me why and how and when. Also, indeed.

Page 143: ‘The females bring their jewellery. I bring my weapons.’ But Cassian is a feminist, right? Yeah, no, guys, it’s alright. He’s a feminist, it’s all fine.

Page 146: ‘You being too drunk to climb the stairs last night.’ I’m really not okay with the amount of casual drinking in this book - and not only that but the way it’s treated. Nesta is shamed for it, Feyre mentions that even wine can’t help her, Rhys makes jokes about his friends being drunk. It sends a really bad message.

Page 147: ‘Illyrian baby indeed.’

Page 147: I’ve said this before but someone should really tell SJM that every scene in a book should further the plot. This has been three pages of bickering, useless drivel about a bed being too small for Cassian and cheap jokes about alcohol. The entire thing could be cut and the story wouldn’t change.

Page 148: ‘Indeed, as Feyre emerged from the kitchen hallway…’

Page 148: ‘Strange - so strange to see…’

Page 149: ‘Indeed.’

Page 150: ‘Mor was instantly on her feet, offering - insisting on wine.’ This is just teaching kids that you need alcohol to be able to have a good time! Which isn’t true in the slightest! And it’s wrong on so many levels - especially insisting that everyone has wine! Peer pressure?? SJM deals with sensitive issues so badly (see what I said in another post about Rhysand and sexual assault) that it’s… It’s hard. Yikes.

#anti sjm #anti sarah j maas #anti feysand #anti acofas #anti acowar #anti acomaf #anti acotar #anti feyre #anti rowan #anti rhysand #anti rowaelin #anti cc city #anti crescent city #anti tog #anti aelin #my post

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