#from the lights to the set dressing to the game system

[margonaughts]

#gonna ramble in the tags #I understand why peeps ask for system variety #there are lots of systems that tell specific kinds of stories well #but the reverse is true too #5e does a *specific thing* very well #without spoiling the story #I want to simply say | *chose* 5e for this thing it does #not because it's the biggest or the easiest for the table or whatever other lazy reasons folks want to ascribe #the mechanics are a part of the story being told #that's always been true #it's still true here #DnD is the legacy of a certain kind of gaming #which came from the veneration of a certain kind of cultural lens #critiques of DnD and the stories told inside that system center on how the mechanics center those cultural perspectives #knowing that there's a wide world of systems to pick from #I just hope y'all trust that there's a point to this choice #and if you watch and think I'm trying to say something #you're probably right #and if you think I still could have made a different choice in the end #lemme know #| love being introduced to new systems

Tags by @quiddie

For those asking: It's 5e because Aabria is tired of playing nice and wants to kill some stoats

Hope this helps 😊

[vintagerpg]

My first encounter with Into the Odd was on a bookmark — the entirety of the rules system was crammed onto one included with my copy of Silent Titans. I’ve still yet to find a copy of the original 2014 edition from Lost Pages.

This is the revised edition from 2022, featuring gorgeous illustrative collage work by Johan Nohr throughout. I appreciate the use of orange on the cover (an under-appreciated color) and the book feels unusually good in the hand, like a book from an earlier era. The rules take up a bit more than a bookmark’s worth of space here, but not by much, honestly. I’ve no proof that the “Odd” of the title is a sly reference to Original D&D, but I’ve also got no proof to the contrary, and it seems appropriate: the system is recognizably D&D, but stripped utterly to the bone. Three attributes instead of six, doubling as saves. D20. Damage deplete hit points, then Strength, then death becomes a real risk. That’s basically it. This minimal framework is the basis for a whole sub-genre of light weight, short run D&D-ish engines, like Knave and Cairn.

Odd has its peculiarities. It is designed for a specific setting (that doubles as a meta commentary on settings, wildernesses, cities and dungeons) in which adventurers explore the underground in search of Arcana, which are powerful, largely uncontrollable magic items (there are no spellcaster classes, so Arcanum are the only option for magic). So, in some ways, it seems like there is only one way to play the game. On the other hand, Chris McDowall has hacked his own system to make Electric Bastionland, which uses the same basic framework without the magic and plays…completely differently. So maybe it really is all in the dressing…

[cutiecusp]

Forbidden Fruit.

Ex husband! Simon Riley x reader.

A text shapes your life forever. You just don't know it yet.

TW: mentions of cheating/divorce. Smut. PnV, pining, edging, power play, dom!Simon. Probably the smuttiest I've ever written.

You text your ex on a night out. He picks you up on his motorbike, feelings, and more ensure.

You swipe on your phone, idly killing time. You were out with the girls, celebrating a birthday. You post a few snaps on social media, and flick your phone off, the glassy screen reflecting your make up you spent forever on.

Straightening up your dress, you signal to the barman for another fruity potion. You were about three deep, and the vibes were immense. You felt the weight on your shoulders, but you paid it no mind as your favourite songs thumped over the speakers.

Cocktail in hand, body moving under the fluorescent light you dance with the girls, your cares and worries begin to hide at the bottom of your glass.

Your lipstick stains the straw as you finish your drink, you saunter over to the bar on your heels as you sit back to your seat.

Your phone notifies you of a reply on your latest selfie, you take it out of your bag, frowning as you focus on the screen.

'Look good enough to eat, doll. 💀'

Simon... your ex-husband, who you could never quite cut out of your life with one of his signature comments. You type a reply.

'Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest 🍑'

You put your phone away and dance to a few more songs before heading to the bathroom. Reapplying your lipstick and fixing your hair, you look at yourself in the mirror.

You see the shadow before you hear him. The smell of cigarette smoke and the cologne you brought him for his birthday fill your senses.

'Think it's cute to tease me, sweetheart? What, not getting enough cock as a free woman?' Simon says gruffly in your ear, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist, titling your head up to look in the mirror.

"How did you?-" You pause.

"The location of the club was on your photo, love. Didn't I teach you to be more careful?" He cuts you off with a rough kiss to the temple.

"Think you've had enough fun, anyway... text the girls, let them know I'm taking you home."

You can't find it in you to protest as he runs his hands down your sides. Simon was like a drug, addictive and powerful, and it was hard to get out of your system.

You take out your phone, and does what he says, before clasping your hand in his.

"One more night." You say, more to yourself than anything as he leads you out of the club.

His only response is a grunt as he takes off his long sleeve shirt and wraps it around your waist.

"No one sees you but me. Get on." He urges you onto his motorbike, clipping your old helmet on, securing the strap under you chin before pulling it so his face was close to yours.

"No more games, my mistake was signing those papers while I was deployed." He says softly.

"You want one more night with me?" He asks plainly, his onyx eyes dark with desire. You nod dumbly, mesmerised by his gaze on yours.

"Words, sweetheart. Tell. Me." He asks again.

"Y-yes, Simon. I want this." You stutter out. Your once sweet Simon had been completely taken over by *Ghost* his work alter ego who you'd heard so much about, but he never subjected you to until now.

He started the engine and lurched forward, forcing you to wrap your arms around his leather cut. Stifling a laugh, he sped off into the night.

Arriving at his flat, you set down on steady feet as you cross the road to his front door. You lean in to his shoulder, and allow him to escort you through the front door.

Your breathing heavy in your chest as you stop him from removing his helmet. You wanted the full fantasy.

"That's alright with me, love. You can look at your make up running down your pretty face in my visor as I ruin you." Simon smirks.

You blush as the effects of both his words and the fruity drinks take over your senses.

"Knees, love. Show me how much you want this." He commands, pushing your head down as you kneel in front of him.

"So pretty for me." He coos, as he steps between your parted knees.

"My boots need shining, you know what to do." His gruff voice sounds deeper through the helmet.

You look up at him, your reflection reflected in the carbon plastic, you poke your tongue out in a matter of mock defiance, before lowering yourself on his boot. Your sensitive core pressed against his laces as your rock your hips against the material, soaking your thin bikini bottoms. You let out a little whimper as the pressure feels so damn good against your needy folds.

"Good girl." Simon commends you, as he brushes your hair back from your face with his skeleton gloved hand.

You nod and rock your hips a little faster, chasing a high you know only he can give you.

"You feeling good, baby?" He asks, his hands in your hair.

With an affirming nod, you mumble out a thank you.

"Sorry, couldn't hear you. I know you could be louder than that."

"Yes, Si. Thank you... Feels good." You admit. You hate and love how he makes you feel. Your need bubbling up in your throat as you are ready to declare anything he wants, if he just lets you-

"Stop, love." He pulls your hair so you are looking up at his blank face, hidden by the helmet.

"When you come, I want it to be on my cock. Be a good girl and get it out for me." He strokes your jaw.

"Let's put this mouth to good use, eh?"

You fumble with his belt, eventually pulling it away and unzipping his jeans. You see his size, against the fabric and your mouth waters.

"Please. Si. Let me.." You beg, your eyes unable to look away as you take out his cock from his jeans.

Your mouth enclosed over the tip of his length, suckling and rolling your tongue over the sensitive flesh. You feel smug as you hear him hiss, pulling on your hair as he bucks his hips against your mouth.

"Fuck, love. I forgot how good you feel around my cock" He says, looking down at your face, your make up beginning to run down your cheeks as they hollowed in and out, as if you were putting on a show for him.

You let out an amused huff as you take him deeper, rocking your hips against his boot slowly as your mouth takes him to heaven and back.

Eventually, he pushes you down to the floor, off his boot. You moan at the lack of pressure against your clit

"Get on the bed." He orders, his body betraying his cool exterior.

"On your bloody knees, ass up for me."

You scramble on the bed, your legs jellified as you assume the position he requested.

"Gonna make you feel good, baby. You want that?" You nod, anticipation running through your body in waves.

You feel a sharp sting on your ass as he brings down his gloved hand on your flesh, wet with his own arousal.

"Words. Sweetheart." He repeats, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes, Simon. Make me feel good." You give him your permission, as he pushes your dress over your hips, tugging your bottoms down, exposing your wet folds to the air.

"Such a pretty pussy, love. She's been neglected, hasnt she?" He asks, running a finger through your sensitive flesh.

You mumble a yes, when another slap hits your ass.

"Louder, love. Hasnt she?"

"Yes. Si!" You agree, tears in your eyes at the sting of his hand on your sore skin.

"And I'm the only one that can make her feel better, isn't that right love?" He presses, his finger breaching your walls.

You rock your hips against his hand, almost chanting his name at this point, anything to relieve the pressure building in your lower stomach.

"Y-yes, only you." You slur, completely drink on emotions.

"No one like you, Si." You admit, as he pulls away from you.

"You want this?" Simon asks one last time.

You wanted to tear your own hair out. You were desperate for him to fill you up, make the ache go away for a little while, why was he hesitating?

"Fuck yes. Please, Si, please." You beg, looking into his helmet, your face wet with tears, your make up tracing lines down your face, your lipstick on your chin. To you, you've never looked messier, but to him, you've never looked more beautiful.

He lines up his hips with yours, pressing his length home, sheathing himself in your warmth. You both let out a hiss, as pleasure caresses your spine, and fleets over your body in waves.

You feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat as he pulls you back onto his cock.

"You like rough, sweetheart?" He asks through clenched teeth as his hips snap into yours, knocking the breath out of you with every thrust.

You barely manage to get out a reply as he picks up the pace, pushing your head into the pillow as he pounds into you from behind.

Your moans drown out his as he hits your spot over and over again.

"Keep making those noises for me baby." He urges as you feel the wave of an orgasm approaching.

He stifles a groan as you clench around him, your walls suffocating his cock as he feels you getting close.

"Gonna come for me, baby?" He taunts, as his pace is hard against your body.

Your eyes close tight as it hits you, a white flash behind your eyes as you reach your climax, your pussy tight around him as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, your toes curling in pleasure.

"Too much.." You gasp, trying to come down from the high.

"You have one more for me. Don't you?" He reaches over your hip and teases his hand over your puffy clit.

"Wanna come with you, baby." He insists, as you feel another orgasm rip through you, and you feel Simon stiffen, as you feel his spend inside you.

He rips off the helmet and pulls you down onto the bed, onto the bed. He removes his gloves with his teeth, and collects a little of your arousal on his fingers and licks them clean.

"You were right. It does taste sweeter."

A/N thank you all so much! This was a labour of love, totally wrote it at the bus stop, hoping no one would read over my shoulder. It's not been proof read, but I kinda love how bossy he is here.

@misshugs @frudoo @thevoiceinyourheadx @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @yesornowaitidontknow @shadowdark00

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader (& aventurine!)

summary: You get drinks with Aventurine, only to be interrupted by a rather cross Sunday. wc: 1.7k - cw for drinking, stalking... and heavy worldbuilding. oops! a/n: The guillemets «» are used to indicate Sunday's telepathy!

part 4 / part 5 / part 6 (nsfw) ---

Most bars and hostelries in Golden Hour had been established long after the rebellions has ended and the prohibition on alcohol was lifted. The Pendulum Speakeasy, however, was an exception. You had no reservations in believing that Aventurine had every inch of Golden Hour memorized—gambled at every table, met every bartender, sweet-talked every showgirl—so when he leads you to The Pendulum without even stopping to check for directions, it only feels fitting. "You go out drinking often, doll?" You shake your head bashfully, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "No, that's never appealed to me. Sunday took me to dinner earlier this week, but other than that... I just sort of like to keep to myself in my free time." You look down, knowing full well your outfit corroborates this—Other than the dress Sunday had delivered to you, the only things you can wear out are your work clothes. Fitted white pants, structured blazers, things of that sort. Aventurine's interest piques. "Oh, he took you to dinner?"

"Well—Yes," you concede. "-No? ...Yes. It was a work meeting." "Yes, but still. Never took him as the type." Aventurine wraps one arm around your waist, headlines flashing in his head: 'Stoneheart Missing After Scandal In Penacony', 'Rendezvous With The Family Gone Wrong'. He'd previously assumed that his plans would involve catching Sunday's ire somehow, but not yet considered to this degree.

Still, he surmises, he has faith in his odds. "Ah, but don't you worry your pretty little head about work tonight," he adds. "What I care about is you having fun." Finally winding the final turn into The Pendulum's alleyway, Aventurine thrusts his other hand into his pocket to pull out a small poker chip. You assume by the logo in the center and the golden sheen on its edges that Aventurine had stolen it—Maybe he'd slipped it into his sleeve after a game to take as a trophy. You'd heard of his exploits from time to time, and you can only assume the usual prizes of victory has lost their luster in his eyes. Perhaps he wishes to gamble for more unconventional things: Favors, promises, human lives. Aventurine knocks on the door, and a small set of twinkling Pepeshi eyes peers back at him from an open slat. You're sure the Pepeshi must be standing on a stool of some sort for them to be at Aventurine's eye level. "Are you welcome?" a squeaky voice asks. Aventurine smiles, flipping the poker chip in his hand up into the air one more time before catching it in his palm. "Very. 'Lady Arctus has saved me a table'." There was no need for any speakeasy in Penacony to still work on the password system—especially for one as well known as Pendulum's—but you assume that requiring it lent itself to some atmosphere. The atmosphere of a place like The Pendulum was its primary selling point, after all. When all of the drinks came from the same suppliers and every band played in whatever bar had an open stage, there was nothing else they could use to distinguish themselves but looks. Aventurine led you through The Pendulum by the hand, the two of you passing under a large chandelier decorated with fifty or some Halovian statuettes, each static crystal figurine draped in flowing cloth and ebulliently presenting sparkling glass bulbs of lights to the crowd of guests below them. The chandelier shook and twisted from the rumble of a car passing over the Speakeasy, sending an explosion of reflected rainbows around the room like a burst of confetti. As the two of you reached the bar, Aventurine lets you take your seat first, the barstool squeaking against the wooden floorboards. Once he takes his own seat, Aventurine raises his hand to call the bartender over. “An Interplanetary, if you may,” he asks. “And for my guest here—“ Aventurine looks back to you, his tongue tucked into his cheek as he stalls for your answer. “Pika White with an olive.” “Pika White with an olive,” he emphatically repeats to the bartender. Once the two of you are alone, he turns to add “My, how distinguished of you.”

You flush, eyes down looking at the velvet carpets over the floor. “Oh, no, that’s just what I got used to ordering for lunch meetings. Back when I started out at The Family, the easiest way to get people to like you was to drink with them.” You laugh under your breath, commenting to yourself “You know what they say, ‘Penacony is just one big party’.” “Indeed I do.” Aventurine’s own gaze is caught by the gleam of the poker table in the center of The Pendulum, itself swarmed with a small crowd of betters. He leans in to you, pointing towards the table. “—How’s about I show those guys what a real game of poker looks like?”  Aventurine gets up before you can even truly answer, but you follow anyways, adding “I don’t think anyone here hasn’t seen one of your games.” He shoots back a smile. “They could do with a reminder.” … … … … Aventurine wins nearly 40,000 credits before finally backing out, and you can’t stop yourself from hanging your head low in embarrassment on his behalf as he howls with laughter at his own victory. While the group of incensed Pepeshi that lost to Aventurine mostly sent him his winnings digitally, Aventurine finds a way to slip an extra 100-credit bill or two into your back pocket amidst the chaos anyways. “What a scene,” he remarks to himself, taking a sip of his Interplanetary. “Wouldn’t be a night out without a good game, would it? You saw that one guys’ face when he saw I still had a straight flush.” You cradle your glass of Pika gingerly in your hand, smiling into it. Between it and the sweet sound of the trumpet from The Pendulum’s stage, your mind is drawn between too many things to respond with more than a good-natured sigh. That is, until a noise cuts through over the sound of the big band and the chatter lingering around the bar. « ♪♫♪♫♫♪ » "Did you hear that...?" you ask, almost speaking it under your breath. "Hear what?" The whistling was probably in your head. It was the same melody you'd heard the other night while at dinner with Sunday, after all. « [Y/N]? Is that you? » You whip your head around to find the source of the voice, only to realize you can't tell which direction it came from. Unfortunately, its owner makes himself known quickly enough. "Aventurine of the Interastral Peace Corporation," your boss says. "I'm not shocked at all to see you here." Aventurine leans over in his seat, putting himself between you and Sunday. Maybe even... shielding you? Still, there was nothing in his voice that makes it seem like he finds Sunday a threat. "Been a while, Feathers," Aventurine grins. "Had to make sure you're not working your staff to the bone." Sunday smiles in a way that almost looks forced. "Never," he replies. "Though, I should warn you. It's against policy for Oak Family employees of a certain rank to consume alcohol of any kind. As the law that upholds Penacony, we must never let ourselves be of ill-affected mind." "That's never been enforced, sir." You feel a sense of shame splash over you the moment you finish your sentence, clasping your hand over your mouth as if you'd just cursed Sunday in front of his mother, or even broken a child's toy. You look back up to him to see if he would take the correction in stride. "Perhaps because until now, it has not been necessary to enforce it." Sunday inhales, his smile squinting his golden eyes as he looks back down at you in what you could only fear was contempt. "I don't want to have to report one of the hardest working people in Penacony for such negligence in following the rules."

"Sunday." Aventurine has fully moved in to separate Sunday from you. "I'm the one who invited [Y/N] out for drinks. They're not the one you should be having problems with here," the gambler sneers. "And what does it matter to you if your beloved secretary spends an hour or two in other company? Scared they'll share a bit too much?" Sunday's smile drops completely. It almost feels crazy to say, but you start to wish he was back to that unprofessionally-touchy, overly-sweet self you were used to seeing. You were able to ignore it because you were used it to it: You're not used to this. "If you think you will achieve any of your ends through [Y/N], Aventurine, you are sorely mistaken," Sunday scowls. "My employees are not playing chips for you to leverage at your behest, especially not my secretary." His golden eyes seem to pierce right through Aventurine's own as he asks "Have I made myself abundantly clear?" "That you have," the gambler replies through grit teeth. "Just let me finish my drink in peace, Feathers." Sunday finally shoots a glance to you before exiting the bar. You push your drink away, having lost all desire to finish it. "Sorry, Venny. I didn't even consider..." "Aw, doll, don't sweat it. Just not your lucky day," he shrugs. "But I'd be a chump to let him walk all over you." His voice lowers to a mutter as he adds "—Fuck, where's Gallagher when you need him? That boss of yours needs a good kick in the pants. Maybe his pretty face, too, if the first doesn't hit him right." "Aventurine, don't." Aventurine sighs, his grip on his glass tightening. "...Sorry, doll, what am I thinking? Not awfully nice of me to being speaking ill of the handsomest, most powerful man in Penacony." He downs the rest of his drink in one fell swoop. "If he's still hearing me, I'll get the sweep from him for sure. Then I'll really need a drink."

--- a/n: Arctus is the 12th of the The Hours in Greek Mythology, so I thought a reference to her would fit well in a Moment that's apparently one before midnight. tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd @8x9d @ruruize @herrscherofprocrastination @khxii-i @moonsaver

[lo1k-diamonds]

💎Masterlist💎

All my writing can be found on ao3 and there’s no way I’m putting my gigantic stories here 🙈😅

That said, I’ll still put here the list with all my stories and links to find them!

[All my stories have angst - from just a misunderstanding to full-blown out-of-proportion fights 😋]

🔥 » SMUT | 📚 » multichapter | 🎀 » fluff [G- general/T- teen/M-mature/E-explicit]

Series

Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) >> [Masterpost] >> In this soulmate alternative universe, there are no marks, no strings, and no traces to guide them to their other half. But if they listen carefully, destiny is just around the corner patiently waiting to mix them in the soul palette and create universes - together.

SX Seoul >> [Masterpost] >> SX Seoul is a new club in Itaewon. Decorated with neon lights, its cozy and enveloping ambiance will have you living your wildest dreams. Each story is standalone - one per member!

RM 

Unique (E) 🔥📚 - OC x idol!NJ

Part 1: After overhearing something he shouldn’t have, Namjoon promises to make it up to the bride by keeping her maid of honor company during the rehearsal dinner party. What was supposed to be an unremarkable night became something so much more. [Tumblr]

Part 2: It’s a year later when Angie decides to visit Hyejin, both women looking to get away from their problems. But a certain group is just pausing their tour, and old feelings are rekindled when their paths cross.

Klartraum (E) 🔥📚 - OC x idol!NJ - AU » A story that follows Namjoon as he takes notes of his dreams of you in a dream journal.

Smoke Sprite (M) 🔥 - idol!Namjoon x So!YoON! - A short drabble about the song [Tumblr]

Closer (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » NJ x Reader » Namjoon and you were friends for years — he was your confidant, protector, and haven. You didn’t want to risk it, no matter what, but some things can’t be kept in the dark. [Tumblr]

Jin

Carnation (T)📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (1st entry)» OC x idol!SJ » In early 2018, BTS were at a crossroads: after working so hard to set foot in the music industry of South Korea, their sudden jump into stardom became something they never anticipated. Jin believed in his dongsaengs but was just as lost as them when his soulmate entered the picture. [1st chapter - Tumblr]

Break-line (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » Jin x Reader » You’ve been chasing dreams and medals ever since you can remember, with your best friend Seokjin by your side. You thought you had everything you could possibly want — until you find out Jin is keeping a secret from you. [Tumblr]

Suga

Call you mine (E) 🔥📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (3rd entry)» OC x idol!YG » A slowburn rejection soulmate story about falling in love with Min Yoongi. [1st chapter - Tumblr]

Sugar Rush Ride (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » YG x Reader » You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party. [Tumblr]

Too Sweet (E) 🔥📚 » You x Demon!YG » Coming from unabashed wealth has its perks — like never having to lift a finger in your life. When that suddenly changes, you end up at a crossroads: how far will you go to have everything you want? [Masterpost]

Stellar Behavior (E) 🔥📚 » Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader »  Yoongi has been in the police force for long enough to know that the system isn’t perfect, so when an injustice is about to put his protégé in jail, he has no other choice but to go to you. You’re the devil, but you’re hard to resist, and he needs to decide between falling into temptation or showing you that two can play the game.[Masterpost]

J-hope

Seeking the sunrise (E) 🔥📚 - Soul Palette (Soulmate AU) (2nd entry)» OC x idol!HS » No one needs a soulmate to have love, right? [1st Chapter - Tumblr]

Jimin

Dress (E) 🔥 - OC x idol!JM » After pining for years, she has reached her breaking point — and it started with a dress. [Reader version - Tumblr]

Like Crazy (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » JM x Reader » You let your desires run wild and things got too far while figuring out the choreography for Jimin’s next single. You thought it was best to pretend it never happened, but he decided to chase you, hoping to set things right. [Tumblr]

Down Bad (E) 🔥🩸 - Vampire!Jimin x human(f)reader » You find the cure to your clumsiness in becoming Jimin’s dance partner. But twirling in his arms risks more than just your heart, especially after he bites you. [Part 1][Part 2]

V

Love Crumbs (M) 📚 - OC x Office!Tae - Office AU » Quinn’s plans were simple: win that promotion and maybe have a little fun on the side. Taehyung was in love with someone else, but that wasn’t an issue. It’s a shame things are never really that simple.

A woman's best friend (E) 🔥 - Tae x (f) reader » When you met, you and Taehyung hit it off instantly, becoming the closest of friends. You thought he was off limits, meanwhile, he’s been begging for a chance to put an end to your friendship. [Tumblr]

Paramour (E) 🔥 - SX Seoul Series » Tae x (f) reader » You were born for the quick and glamorous life surrounding celebrities — they had their little dramas and breakdowns, and you were there to clean up the mess. But you have your own secret, and doing your job might get you in trouble with your paramour. [Tumblr]

Jungkook

Far Cry (E)🔥📚 - OC x idol!JK - Lost AU » After barely escaping captivity, Jungkook is lost in a jungle on an unknown island with an injured Namjoon and an amnesiac girl. {ongoing 💜} [1st Chapter - Tumblr] ➡ snippets

Standing Next to You (M) 🔥 - You x Demon!JK - MV based » JK is a lust demon — a powerful being that inflames desires at the simplest glance. That is his nature and all there is to his existence. Until there was you.

Bubbles (E) 🔥📚 - SX Seoul Series » JK x Reader » You’re back in town and your first stop in a night out with friends is a new club: SX Seoul. You had no plans, but when you see your ex, everything changes. - [Part 1] [Part 2]

How to Choose a Valentine (T) 🎀 - reader x idol!JK » Who knew the best company for Valentine’s Day would be a lovely Doberman? And who knew he’d get you a Valentine? Well, sort of. [Tumblr]

Be as it must (E) 🔥📚 » Alpha!Jungkook x Omega(f)reader »  It’s hard being an omega in a world where they've all but disappeared, but you're safe as long as you stay under the radar. What happens when you're found and taken to your boss, CEO Jeon Jungkook?[Masterpost]

[erisenyo]

"could you please come and get me?" I'm BEGGING🙏🙏🙏

For this prompt game! (And also this one!) (Andthis one too lol)

(Can be read as a follow-up to this)

“…and, like, everyone goes through phases!”

Hakoda hastily unfolds from his very undignified stretch at the muffled sound of Sokka’s voice, wincing at the protest of his sore back. Bato keeps saying he’s eventually going to value his posterior chain enough to stop taking red eyes no matter how cheap they are, and one day Hakoda is actually going to listen instead of making jokes about posteriors.

“—and sisters, you know? They never let go of anything no matter how old you all get, and they always take things too far—”

Hakoda glances again around the dim lit, tidy shop as if maybe the angle of the sunlight will have changed, vaguely pleased and surprised that Sokka is here so early as the faint jangle of the admittedly-huge keyring filters through the door.

It’s hours past when they usually open, of course, but judging by the timing of Sokka’s late-night-scarfing-down-dinner phone calls, he’s been working plenty past when they usually close.

“—not in a creepy way or anything, obviously. Just a joke. A bad one!”

Not that Hakoda was really worried. And he was right to now really worry! There’s nothing blown up, no scorch marks or tools missing because Sokka really needed a good shearing weapon for his robot-killing robot, no half-deconstructed engines and piling-up repairs because Sokka is sure he’s figured out a way to get more efficiency out of the whole system.

“—and that one is totally new, anyway. I had no idea it was even there! And so, um. High definition.”

Those this Audi sitting in the middle out of the shop, which is very out of place for Wolf Cove to begin with, let alone in Hakoda’s shop…

“And I mean, you know how sisters are!”

Hakoda does have some questions about that.

That Jesk kid better not be involved, or whatever his name was...

“Or—right?” Sokka’s voice is suddenly clear as he finally finds the right key to unlock the office door. “You—maybe? I mean—you—or—”

“Yeah,” a husky, raspy voice cuts in, faintly amused, and Hakoda pauses in surprise as he realizes Sokka isn’t on the phone. “I have a sister.”

Hakoda glances curiously through the office window as Sokka flicks the lights on, bright light illuminating the office and the break room and the car bays one by one, revealing his son—dressed for work, not starving, not injured, good—and the lean, black-on-black clad boy behind him, and Hakoda feels his eyebrow jump up in surprise.

Ah. He recognizes a pretentiously pre-worn designer leather jacket when he sees one. That would be where the car came from, then.

“And,” Sokka hurries on, darting nervously around the office as he wakes up the computer and sets down his coffee and Hakoda’s other eyebrow slides up to join the first. He can recognize Sokka’s cover-his-ass voice anywhere. “It’s not like I would recognize you out of context anyway without, you know. Or with, or—and so, like, it's not like I was being weird or anything, or like, trying to lock you in the basement or something, or—fuck.” Sokka scrubs his hands over his face before pasting on a bright, game smile and marching toward the car bays. “Yeah, I’m just going to stop talki—Dad!”  

“Sokka,” Hakoda greets him, giving the other boy—not a boy, Sokka hates being called a boy, he reminds himself—a curious look. “And…?”

“Oh,” the boy blinks, freezing a little. “Uh—”

“I didn’t realize you were coming back,” Sokka hops in, hurrying over. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to grab a few things from the house, see you and Katara a bit,” Hakoda assures him, reaching out to give Sokka’s shoulder a squeeze and offering a smile to the other boy as he trails Sokka after a moment across the shop floor. “Who’s this?”

“How’s Gran Gran?” Sokka asks as the boy hesitates, mouth half-open.

“She’s doing well, things are coming along,” Hakoda says, cocking his head to get a better look at the boy. He’s definitely familiar—not surprising, with those nearly-gold eyes and scar and the kind of cheekbones that Sokka loves to trip over—but Hakoda can’t quite place… “Are you one of Sokka’s college friends?” Shit, Hakoda should know those. He at least knows it isn’t…what was his name, Tamu? It’s definitely not him…

“Ah, no,” the boy says, shifting on his feet and flicking a quick look to Sokka. “Wh—"

“How long are you back for!” Sokka says over top of him, eyes wide with interest and that’s definitely his cover-his-ass voice again…

“Just a few days,” Hakoda says absently. Is it one of Sokka’s high school band buddies? They used to always be hanging around the basement and crowding into the kitchen. “I haven’t seen around town,” he says slowly, the sense that he knows this kid niggling at the edge of his thoughts.

“…No,” the kid agrees after a beat, equally slow.

“Yeah,” Sokka says quickly, voice coming out high. “He’s not from around here!”  

“This is your car?” Hakoda asks, because the kid might not look much like a trombone players but he does look like a speed demon.

“Uh, yeah,” the kid says, glancing at the sleek red lines where Sokka’s set the Audi out with pride of place dead center in the middle of the shop. “Sorry?”

“Sorry?” Hakoda blinks, momentarily distracted from the nagging familiarity of the kid.

“I broke down,” the kid shrugs, apologetic, and Hakoda can only give him a bemused look.

“It’s what we’re here for,” he says. And they’re certainly going to charge him for it, with a car like that—and Hakoda will be making sure he’s charged. He recognizes that look on Sokka’s face…

“Right!” Sokka says, overly bright. “Car repair!”

“A full-service operation,” the kid murmurs, cutting Sokka a sideways look.

“We strive to be,” Hakoda says proudly, giving Sokka his own curious look as his son chokes a little, blushing. Oh yeah. Hakoda is definitely making sure this kid gets charged.

“Car repairs!” Sokka says loudly, clearly powering through…whatever is going on. “We’ve had a lot of those! Want to—” he glances quickly around. “—the books! Want to see them? Or the—I can get you up to speed?” he suggests half-desperately. “On everything?”

Hakoda makes a vaguely affirming noise, listening with half an ear and mostly watching the kid who is in turn watching Sokka, looking faintly bemused by and more than a little curious about Sokka’s immediate, exhaustive, relieved, highly detailed account of the past month.

Maybe he’s a new teacher in one of Sokka’s art classes? He thought they were all old men by Sokka’s description, but this one seems like an artsy type. Though why he’d be here and not back in Republic City…

The kid gives Sokka another sidelong look through his lashes that really isn’t all that subtle to anyone other than Sokka, and ah, that could be a reason.

And he can tell Sokka likes his friend back from the fidgety, half-nervous, half-hyper way he’s shifting his weight and playing with his bracelets and rings and he better be fucking taking those off before work, Hakoda’s not trying to have anyone lose a damn body part inside an engine. At least the earrings are out…

Hakoda thinks, though, that he really would have heard of the kid if he’s following Sokka cross-country to keep him company. But then, maybe that’s why he has the persistent, nagging sense that he’s met or at least seen this kid befo—

“Oh!” Hakoda suddenly exclaims, snapping his fingers as realization hits. “I know you!”

“You—!” Sokka trips a little as the kid startles, giving Hakoda a half-surprised, half-cagey look. “You should really hear about theorderthatPakkutriedto—”

“You’re the boy from the poster over Sokka’s bed!” Hakoda says, triumphant and Sokka cuts off with a high, strangled noise, the kid opening his mouth and nothing coming out.

“The one where’s he’s all shirtless and oiled up?” Hakoda prompts when Sokka doesn’t say anything, pleased to have placed it. “Remember, you got that fancy photo editing program for it? So you could cut him out of the full shot and enlarge the size? And Bato took you to that special print shop in Whale Harbor to get it done out on the special poster paper?”

The kid slowly transfers his stare from Hakoda to Sokka, who is looking more and more like a deer trying to freeze to avoid the notice of an oncoming car.

“You know, for your eighteenth birthday?” Hakoda reminds him, concern fluttering in his chest when Sokka doesn’t immediately latch onto the topic like he always does. “Because you couldn’t find any magazines big enough to see from that far away?” He definitely isn't misremembering, he knows he isn't...right?

The kid slowly closes his mouth, eyebrow inching up higher and higher.

“And you’d filled up all your wall space, so you needed to move to other surfaces? And Katara said you weren’t allowed to put anything up in the shower?” No, he's definitely right. Hakoda had been quietly and intensely relieved by the shower edict enough to be sure.

“I,” Sokka finally says, mouth working, “I, uh.”

“Didn’t you recognize him?” Hakoda frowns, reaching out to feel Sokka’s forehead.

“Yeah, Sokka,” the kid—shit, Hakoda still doesn’t know his name though—says, pointed, “Didn’t you recognize me?”

“I…need to go now,” Sokka announces, suddenly fumbling in his pockets.

“What?” Hakoda blinks, confusion threading alongside his pleasure at finally placing the face.

“What?” the kid half-laughs, startled.

But Sokka just whips out his phone, already marching away, his face crimson and voice echoing off the high ceilings, “Katara? Yeah, I’m—yeah, I’m still in town. Yes, I know that you're on nights, I—yes, I—look, could you please come and get me?” A pause. “No, I—actually, yes. I need to go die now, please. Not here.”

Hakoda stares after Sokka as he finally shuts the office door behind him, bemused, scratching the back of his head and shifting his attention to the kid who looks like he doesn’t know whether to worry or laugh again.

“Well, I’m Hakoda,” he eventually offers, extending his hand and biting the bullet that it’s okay to not know this one’s name, they probably haven't actually met before, “I’m his father.”

“Zuko,” the kid says after a beat, accepting his handshake—strong grip, callouses, no eye contact but that’s okay considering he’s looking after Sokka. “I’m, uh. The guy from the ceiling?”

Hakoda huffs, half-amused and giving him another quick look—and then his hand a slightly harder squeeze. “Grown up a bit, have you?” A lot less oil, too. And a lot more clothes.

Same cheekbones, though.

“Uh—so has he? Since then?” Zuko hazards, glancing toward the office where Sokka is…screaming into a pillow, by the looks of it.

“One could say that," Hakoda says after a beat, thinking of Sokka’s last trip to Whale Harbor and the poster tube he’d come back with happily cradled in his arms. “But maybe not as much as you’d think.”

[holybibly]

Bunnies, I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to give you a little teaser of my upcoming work with Hwa. I'm going to raise the bar for fanfic writing by creating the most gothic and decadent universe possible. It's a vicious mix of Interview with the Vampire and Dracula, so if you don't like bloody luxury, I feel so sorry for you.

It has always been like this, and it will always be like this—people avoid the village that stands beside the sinister Gothic castle where, according to legend, a beautiful midnight somnambulist holds the guilty legacy of his bloodthirsty ancestors. Dressed in an ancient coronation robe, the magnificent prince of vampires sits alone in his dark, vast house, under the watchful eye of his mad and terrible ancestors, who stare at him from faded portraits, each of them prolonging their dreary posthumous existence through him. He spreads the tarot cards, tirelessly constructing endless constellations of indeterminate possibilities, as if a chance fall of cards on a regal, bloody velvet tablecloth could take him out of this cold, shuttered room and into a land of eternal summer and human warmth, erasing his heart's ancient sadness and allowing him to feel the love for the one who embodies both life and death simultaneously.

His voice is full of the distant echoes of long-forgotten love poems, like an echo that has resounded beneath the layers of the earth: "You have traveled to a place from which there is no return; you have traveled to a place from which there is no return. And he himself is like a dark dungeon filled with lonely echoes—a system of repetition, a closed circle. He is so handsome that his beauty appears unnatural; his beauty is an anomaly, a perfect defect, for in none of his hypnotic features is there even a suggestion of the poignant imperfection manifested in the imperfection of human existence. His beauty is the sign of a fatal disease; his blood is full of poison; and his black tears are the sign of the absence of a soul in him. 

The elegant hands of the beautiful denizens of darkness are the guides of the hand of fate. The nails on his hands are long and sharpened like steel daggers. These nails and teeth—beautiful, glistening in the darkness like snow under the light of the moon—are visible signs of his inescapable fate, which he so desperately tries to escape with magical powers. His claws and teeth have been honed by centuries of brutal wars and bloody orgies; he is the last descendant of a poisonous, barren tree that took root in a time when men worshipped blind gods and the forces of nature. 

As soon as the flaming sun sets, he rises from his luxurious bed and goes to the table, and sitting at that table, he plays his patient game until hunger awakens in him—an insatiable, scorching hunger that burns his whole being. 

[vexic929]

Karaoke Night

Caitlin and Hartley should've been besties so I'm fixing that~

Warnings: drunk shenanigans, Hartley being Hartley

"Do you have plans?"

Caitlin's question was blurted with a haste that told Hartley she hadn't thought about it before asking. He raised an eyebrow, turning to face her, and crossed his arms, tilting his head curiously.

"Why?"

Caitlin chewed her lip nervously. "You helped us with the Time Wraith so I thought-"

"You thought I needed a gold star and a pat on the head," he said dryly, looking at her over his glasses. "Snow, I don't need your gratitude, least of all in the form of off-key screeching and bad beer."

Caitlin sighed, shifting her weight between her heels. "I just thought it might be fun," she said, her voice dipping just slightly into something softer. "You like music, don't you?"

Hartley set his jaw but he couldn't argue. He did like music. He loved it. It was the one thing in his life that had always made sense, the one thing that had never abandoned or disappointed him - unlike his family, unlike Harrison. His love for music had been the first thing he'd ever shared with another person and it had been the first thing taken from him when the particle accelerator had left his ears a raw, unfiltered mess.

But Caitlin didn't know that. Not really. She knew facts. She didn't know the weight of them.

"Fine," he said at last, uncrossing his arms. "But if you drag me to some heteronormative hellscape playing nothing but top 40 I will be forced to cause a scene."

Caitlin's lips twitched. "Noted."

The moment they stepped inside Caitlin's chosen venue, Hartley stopped dead in the doorway, nose wrinkling in instant disapproval. It smelled of cheap beer and grease, filled with the kind of people who thought badly belting Journey was a personality trait. A television mounted in the corner displayed a football game. A football game.

"Absolutely not," he said, turning on his heel so abruptly that Caitlin nearly ran into the door frame trying to keep pace.

Caitlin frowned, heels clicking on the pavement as she rushed to catch up. "It doesn't seem that bad-"

Hartley interrupted. "Do you know how many more interesting things I could be doing with my night than listening to off-key renditions of Sweet Caroline while some frat boy named Chad yells at a screen? I could be alphabetizing my records. I could be stabbing myself in the eye."

Caitlin sighed and rolled her eyes as Hartley marched back out onto the street. "Fine," she said, arms crossed. "Where do you suggest, then?"

Hartley's first choice, a place called The Eighth Note, was everything the previous bar wasn't. The lighting was moody, casting the whole place in a dim violet glow, and the sound system was, at the very least, tolerable. The clientele was a mix of drag queens, theatre kids, and impeccably dressed professionals who knew the exact right amount of cologne to wear. A glittering disco ball hung overhead and the air smelled like citrus cocktails instead of sweat and stale beer.

"This," Hartley said, gesturing at the lounge with a flourish, "is an acceptable karaoke bar."

Caitlin rolled her eyes but didn't argue, instead making a beeline for the bar. Hartley followed, ordering something stiff and complicated while Caitlin got some ridiculous sugary mess that Hartley was fairly certain had more garnishes than actual alcohol.

The first hour was spent mocking performances (Hartley) and giggling at them (Caitlin). Hartley had an acute appreciation for music, which meant he had very strong opinions on just about everything, and he wasn't shy about sharing them, delivering scathing critiques worthy of a venomous music professor. He winced through a particularly egregious cover of Whitney Houston, clicking his tongue.

"Some people," he said, taking a slow sip of his drink, "should have their vocal cords revoked."

Caitlin snorted into her glass. "Oh, come on. It's karaoke. It's supposed to be fun."

"I'm sorry, do you like having your ears assaulted?" Hartley asked dryly.

"Well then, why don't you get up there?" Caitlin countered.

By the time Hartley relented and let Caitlin drag him on stage, he was several drinks deep, warm with the pleasant buzz of alcohol and the even more surprising buzz of genuine enjoyment. He hadn't expected to have fun. He certainly hadn't expected to get along with Caitlin Snow and yet here they were - her clutching his arm with tipsy enthusiasm as he flipped through the list of songs at the DJ booth.

Hartley scanned the list of songs with a critical eye, humming thoughtfully. "If we're doing this, it has to be something with actual musical integrity."

Caitlin, leaning heavily on his shoulder in tipsy determination, pointed dramatically at the screen. "Ooh! What about Total Eclipse of the Heart? It's dramatic, it's emotional, and it's a duet!"

Hartley shot her a withering look. "I will throw myself into the sun before I sing Bonnie Tyler in public."

Caitlin pouted, undeterred. "Fine, Bohemian Rhapsody?"

"Five and a half minutes of vocal acrobatics? Are you trying to kill me? Besides, nobody should be singing Bohemian Rhapsody other than Freddie Mercury," Hartley replied, flipping the page.

"Ooh! Spice Girls!" Caitlin suggested with delight as she spotted Wannabe on the list.

"I am nowhere near drunk enough for that." Hartley refused automatically.

Caitlin hummed in thought, then jabbed a finger at a title. "Oh! What about Take Me or Leave Me?"

Hartley gave her a slow, assessing glance. "You're suggesting we sing Rent. At a gay bar. Bold choice."

Caitlin grinned, nudging his arm. "C'mon, it'd be fun. Plus, it's a duet and I know you'll sound incredible even if I don't."

Hartley exhaled sharply, torn between his better judgment and the persuasive nudge of alcohol. "Fine," he relented. "But if you butcher this, I will disown you as a drinking companion."

The moment the music started, Hartley knew this was a mistake. Caitlin launched into the first verse with the kind of enthusiasm that could almost, almost make up for her utter lack of pitch control. She was loud. She was off-key. She was entirely too confident about both.

And yet - somewhere between Caitlin absolutely butchering the first verse and Hartley dramatically taking over the chorus like some Broadway lead who'd been born for the spotlight - something shifted. The crowd, half of whom were also pleasantly drunk, cheered them on. Hartley, against his better judgment, got caught up in the moment, his voice effortlessly soaring over Caitlin's chaotic enthusiasm.

By the time the night wound to a close, they were both tipsy - Hartley a little more relaxed, Caitlin a lot more giggly. They were leaned against the bar, enjoying a slightly pitchy rendition of a Cher song, when Caitlin had a realization.

"You know," Caitlin said, stirring the dregs of her drink with a straw, "you're not as much of an asshole as you pretend to be."

Hartley arched a brow over his glass. "How dare you."

She laughed, adjusting on her stool and nearly slipping off. Hartley caught her elbow automatically.

"I mean it," she continued, eyes glassy but sincere. "You act like you think you're above everyone but you care. You do."

Hartley tsked, downing the last of his drink. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Snow."

Caitlin shot him a grin, setting her glass to the side and digging in her purse. Her grin quickly turned into a grimace as she pulled her phone out.

"Oh god, is that the time? It cannot be two in the morning already."

"Two in the morning," Hartley repeated flatly. "Fantastic. How do you propose we get home then? You certainly can't drive in this state, and I-" He gestured vaguely at himself. "-refuse to subject myself to the horrors of the Central City late-night bus system."

Caitlin hummed, tapping at her phone. "We could call Barry."

Hartley let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh yes, excellent idea. I'd absolutely love to owe the resident superhero a favor. No thank you."

Caitlin frowned, swaying slightly on her barstool. "He's the fastest option. And he can't possibly be drunk."

"He's the most annoying option," Hartley corrected.

"Okay, then...Cisco?" She suggested brightly.

Hartley groaned, pulling out his wallet to pay his tab. "I stand corrected. Ramon is the most annoying option. Call the superhero."

Caitlin grinned triumphantly though it was short-lived. Hartley pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply through his teeth as Caitlin fumbled with her phone, squinting at the screen like it was a particularly difficult medical journal.

"Barry..." she murmured, holding the device precariously in one hand while she stirred the remnants of her cocktail with the other. "Where is he in my contacts again? I swear I didn't delete him-"

Hartley snatched the phone out of her hand before. "For the love of- give me that."

Caitlin let out an indignant noise but didn't stop him as he scrolled through her recent calls. Barry Allen. There. He hovered over the name, considering.

Calling Barry meant owing him, however indirectly, and Hartley loathed the idea of being indebted to someone he had no interest in keeping in his orbit. Barry was the sort of person who seemingly did things out of the goodness of his heart and that alone made Hartley suspicious.

Caitlin poked his arm with all the force of a slightly inebriated kitten. "It's the green button-"

"I know how to make a phone call, Snow."

Hartley sighed dramatically as he pressed the green button on Caitlin's phone, bringing it up to his ear. The line rang twice before Barry picked up, his voice irritatingly chipper despite the late hour.

"Caitlin? Everything okay?"

Hartley closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. "No," he drawled, "Snow is risking alcohol poisoning, which means, unfortunately, I have to call you."

A beat of silence. Then, "Hartley?" Barry sounded absolutely perplexed if not slightly worried. "Why are you calling me from Caitlin's phone?"

Hartley looked over at Caitlin, who had her face buried in her arms on the bar, giggling into the crook of her elbow. "Because she's currently too busy trying to merge with the counter," he said. "And because, apparently, you are our best option for a ride home."

Caitlin perked up at that, lifting her head. "Hi, Barry!" She called loudly, her voice slurring just a little. "Hartley and I are best friends now."

Hartley rolled his eyes but he didn't argue. "Come get her before she embarrasses herself further."

"Right, on it. Where are you guys? What about you?" Barry asked and Hartley frowned.

"What about me?" Hartley echoed.

"Do you need help home too?" Barry clarified and Hartley cringed. The last thing he wanted was to give the Flash his home address. Still, he had to admit, he was unfortunately much too drunk to find his way home on his own and Allen would be faster. He refused anyway.

"I can make my own way home."

"Really?" Barry asked and Hartley huffed out an exasperated sound.

"Yes."

"You sure?" Barry pressed.

"Obviously."

"Because it kind of seems like you-" Barry started and Hartley groaned.

"Oh my god, fine," Hartley snapped. "Yes, Allen, I am regrettably in need of a ride home. You can drop Snow off first, though, so the last remnants of my dignity can be preserved for an additional five minutes."

Barry arrived in a streak of yellow lightning only a minute or two later. Caitlin, now fully immersed in an enthusiastic discussion with the bartender about the molecular structure of alcohol, gestured wildly with her nearly empty glass. Hartley, slumped beside her with his arms crossed, looked ready to either pass out or commit a minor crime - possibly both.

Caitlin gasped dramatically, latching onto Barry's arm the moment she saw him. "Barry! Hartley sang Rent with me," she announced. "It was magical."

Barry snorted in amusement, slinging Caitlin's arm over his shoulder, steadying her as she teetered on her heels. In another flash of lightning, he and Caitlin had disappeared, only for Barry to return moments later in the time it took Hartley to blink. "Alright. Where am I taking you?" He asked, turning to Hartley.

Hartley hesitated, the momentary lull allowing his brain to catch up with the situation. He didn't want Barry knowing where he lived, didn't want anyone knowing, really. His apartment was a far cry from the lavish estates he'd grown up in and he had no interest in subjecting himself to pity.

Barry must have sensed his hesitation because he softened. "I'll drop you off wherever you want. No questions."

Hartley narrowed his eyes, searching Barry's face for any hint of condescension. He found none - just quiet sincerity, which was almost worse.

"Fine," Hartley muttered. "But if you tell anyone about this-"

"I won't," Barry assured him.

Hartley rattled off his address and had barely enough time to grumble something about "the absolute indignity" of needing to be princess-carried home before the world blurred into streaks of golden lightning and he was deposited, slightly dizzier than before, at his front door.

Barry, to his credit, didn't comment on Hartley fumbling with his keys for a solid ten seconds, nor did he say anything when Hartley muttered, "This doesn't make us friends," before finally shoving the door open.

"Noted," Barry replied, a little too brightly. "Drink some water, okay?"

Hartley shut the door in Barry's face.

The second the latch clicked, the apartment fell into blessed, glorious silence. Hartley exhaled, tipping his head back against the door as the night finally caught up with him. His ears were still buzzing slightly from the karaoke, the alcohol, and the general overstimulation of being around people but it wasn't unbearable.

What was unbearable was the way he actually had enjoyed his night.

With Caitlin Snow.

He still didn't like Allen. He still found Ramon unbearable. And he definitely still had a deep-seated grudge against Harrison and, by extension, S.T.A.R. Labs. But Caitlin? Caitlin was tolerable. Even, dare he say, fun.

Hartley was never drinking with Caitlin Snow again.

(He was absolutely drinking with Caitlin Snow again.)

[little-emerald-snake]

ayo for kinktober could you do Leander x f!MC cuckolding? I feel like he'd be into that. I mean that genuinely not like in a malicious way he would get off on having his girl get fucked and watching from the side

Cuckolding - Leander Prewett X Garreth Weasley X F!MC

I LOVE the idea of Leander being into cuckolding! This was a breeze to write, thank you SO much for the suggestion 💕

🔥NSFW 🔞 MDNI

Warnings: cuckolding, voyeuristic Leander, oral f receiving, fingering f receiving, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, aftercare

2k words

Leander had this fantasy for as long as he could remember. The fantasy of sending his girlfriend on a date with his best friend and them coming back to have sex on the bed right in front of him while he watched.

He didn’t know why and for the longest time he hid it deep within himself till one night while out drinking with a group of his old schoolmates, he admitted to Garreth that he’d had a fantasy that involved him.

Garreth was taken aback but didn’t shame his friend at all like Leander thought he might. Instead Garreth clapped him on the back and told him it sounded like a hot idea.

Leander stared, wide eyed at his friend, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn’t he opened and closed his mouth in confusion till he finally found the words. “You mean…you don’t hate the idea? It doesn’t…weird you out?”

Garreth chuckled, pulling his friend close to him with a smile. “Mate, you just told me you wanna watch me fuck your girl? Why would I be mad that you wanna watch me get hot pussy?”

Leander swallowed, finally allowing himself to calm down and laugh a bit with his friend. “I-I guess that’s true. So…you’d actually be down for it…if she’s actually interested?”

Garreth contemplated for a moment and even through the alcohol flowing in his system he shrugged. “Why not? Could be fun. She always has been a pretty thing. If it’s what you both want then let me know. Seriously.”

Leander did exactly that. Going home and confessing his fantasy to his girlfriend who also wasn’t opposed to the idea. She wanted to hear him explain it again once he’d sobered up but if it’s truly what he wanted then she saw no reason to deny it.

In the morning, Leander went over his idea with a fresh mind, telling her exactly what he wanted all over again, surprised to see she was still game for it.

He called his best mate and let him know that he was still interested, that they were both down. Garreth agreed and Leander created a group chat between the three of them. They planned out that next week Garreth would take her out on a date and upon arriving back at the house, he’d take her upstairs and they would do the deed while Leander watched.

The day finally came and Leander couldn’t contain his excitement. They’d gone to a simple but nice dinner where they knew they wouldn’t get recognized. Garreth had done exactly what his friend had asked, flirted with her and made her feel special all night.

Upon their arrival back at the house Leander went upstairs and sat in the chair in the corner of the room. He was already hard at the thought that at this moment his beautiful girl and his best friend were about to walk in and have sex in front of him.

They walked into the room, pleasantly surprised to see a dimly mood lit room all set by Leander. She took a glance at him in the corner and smiled when their eyes met.

Garreth gave him a nod before picking her up and tossing her down on the bed. She let out a surprised yelp as Garreth crowded over her, climbing over the top of her body.

He sat up on his knees, pulling her leg up and undoing the strappy gold heel she wore before neatly setting it down beside the bed and kissing a trail up her calf.

He gave the same treatment to the other leg, being careful to set her heel down nicely along with the other. His eyes locked with Leander’s, who was already palming himself and giving a nod to his best friend.

Garreth hesitated, lifting the light layers of her dress, a pretty pink one that ended at her knees. He lifted it, taking in the sight of her already naked below it. She blushed a scarlet red when Garreth’s eyes met her own. “H-he asked me to…”

Garreth chuckled, he’d have to thank his mate later for leaving the gift unwrapped for him. Garreth wasted no further time, diving between her legs and spreading them apart.

She turned away, eyes locking with Leander’s over Garreth’s shoulder as Garreth spread her pussy lips and licked a thick stripe through her folds. Her head tipped back as she let out a moan.

Garreth expertly rolled his tongue around her clit, avoiding direct contact. She moaned louder, her hips coming up off the bed in sweet agony as her cheeks burned hot.

She chanced a look down to Leander and bit her lip when she saw him stroking his cock, eyes hooded as he watched his best friend devour her pussy.

She couldn’t believe how good it felt, it felt wrong but she couldn’t deny that Garreth’s tongue felt like heaven and as his fingers caressed up her thigh and inched closer and closer to her throbbing core.

Garreth inserted two fingers, thick but sliding in easily from how wet she was. He finger fucked her, curling the tips ever so slightly till he felt the spongy texture of her g spot.

She choked on a sob that wracked through her body. Her pussy clenched around him as he worked his magic with his two fingers inside her, alternating between rolling his tongue just around her clit and lapping quickly over it.

With her feet planted flat on the bed, her legs shook, hand itching to grip a fistful of his hair and grind against him to seek the sweet relief she desperately needed.

She heard Leanders groan from the corner and her unfocused eyes met his. His eyes practically burned with lust and it tipped her over the edge she needed, crashing into the waves of her orgasm, pulsing around Garreth’s fingers while she arched up to grind against his tongue.

Hearing her cry out and feeling her clench around his fingers, Garreth looked up, smirking devilishly as he watched her pant and try to regain her composure beneath him, small fists still wrapped in the sheets.

He glanced back at his mate who was smearing his own precum across the head of his cock to use as lubrication. Garreth gave him a look and Leander nodded in return. A silent check in that he was still okay with this.

He sat up, gripping her hips and sliding her down the bed, closer to him. He quickly worked his pants open, letting his cock spring free. She sat up on her elbows getting a look at the size of him.

She whimpered softly, where Leander was longer by far, Garreth was thicker. Both of them had a ginger thatch of pubes, neatly trimmed. It made her mouth water.

Garreth spread her legs apart, slotting himself between her legs. Leander cleared his throat and both looked back to him with concern etched into their features. Leander simply smiled at them. “Don’t you want to take her dress all the way off? Get a look at her gorgeous tits? Maybe let her see your chest too?”

Garreth swallowed, eyes meeting hers in question. She was bright red but nodding as if she really was interested in seeing his body. Garreth helped her sit up, tugging the dress gently over her head and letting his eyes rake over her perky set of full breasts.

He swallowed, his hands coming up to undo his buttons and pull off his dress shirt, then his undershirt. He watched in fascination as her eyes trailed over every inch of him. He was bulkier but still cut like a Greek god, something Leander had never managed to achieve.

He lined himself up at her entrance again, still shocked that Leander wanted him to specifically fuck her without a barrier. They’d both assured him she was on the potion so he went along with it, not about to argue with fucking her raw.

Garreth slid inside her soaking wet channel. For how wet she was, she was still tight like a greedy little vice around him and it forced a shiver down his spine at how hot and intense her pussy felt, clinging around him.

Leander piped up from the corner, the sound of him fisting his cock slowly just audible in the still silence. “She’s fucking tight isn’t she? Soaking wet and warm like nothing you’ve ever felt before?”

Garreth grunted, unable to deny that she was definitely the tightest pussy he’d ever had the pleasure to fill. She clenched around him and he let out something akin to a startled whine.

He couldn’t hold back, pushing all the way in and setting a steady pace of fucking her. She clung to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist, practically milking him dry with her cunt in the process. Garreth groaned. “Fuck, your pussy is so fucking good…”

Her and Leander moaned in tandem, her pussy clenched around him again and she felt him brace his arms around her, another grunt leaving him. “Oh baby, he’s not used to tight little pussy like you. You’re gonna make him blow like this. Why don’t you enjoy it for a bit, then ride him.”

She whimpered, reaching up to wrap her arms around Garreth’s neck as her pushed into her. His arms were already shaking but he grit his teeth and fucked her reguardless. She watched his abs flex and it sent ripples of pleasure soaring through her.

Garreth stilled, an uncertain moan leaving him. She felt him pulsing inside her like he was about to cum but didn’t feel him releasing. “Fuck. You’re gonna make me cum too quick like this…”

He pulled out, cock twitching desperately at the loss of her tight heat. He rolled to his back and she was quick to follow, straddling him and lowering herself down onto his cock.

He groaned beneath her, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was in pain. She looked back at Leander, still pumping his swollen and angry cock, hips bucking up to meet his hand.

Everything was turning her on so intensely she rolled her hips a few times before placing her hands on his chest and bouncing on him. She moaned, tossing her head back at the new angle of friction.

She was able to control the speed and intensity. His eyes rolled as she tilted her hips so the head of him would brush right against her g spot.

She was a mess in a matter of seconds. She rode him quick, falling apart at the seams as he thrust up into her, hands landing on her hips to hold her in place.

It was a race and both of them were tripping over their feet to get to the finish line. She was crying out, pussy soaking wet as she finally let go, Garreth following her right over the edge and filling her so full it leaked out of her around him and into his lap, down his balls.

Leander let out his own breathy grunt from the corner, cum shooting from his tip before slowly bubbling out and down his fingers.

She collapsed in a heap on Garreth’s chest. All of them spent and exhausted, trying to regain their breath.

Leander was the first, grabbing a rag to clean himself up before tossing her and Garreth a few. He tucked himself away before moving to help. Cum dripped out of her as she dismounted Garreth and laid back against the sheets.

Leander cleaned her up gently while Garreth took care of himself. Once they were cleaned up, Garreth got dressed and Leander helped his girlfriend into a robe. They said their goodnight and Leander promised they’d reach out in the morning.

He spent the rest of the night doting on her, helping her shower and asking her about things Garreth did that she liked and if she’d ever want to do this again. Surprisingly, all three of them agreed they’d be down to do this again, and eventually it just became a thing between them that happened on occasion.

[homestuckreplay]

This Video Game Ended The World. Now What???

Sburb (Skaianet Systems 2009) has capacities that go far beyond what a typical video game can accomplish – but it is still a video game, bounded by rules, mechanics, quests, non-player characters and programming decisions even while it is not bounded by a digital space. Asking what the end goal of Sburb is, what skills it is trying to teach its players, and what kind of person it is trying to turn them into could shed some light on not only the future of the story, but also what Homestuck is trying to say about video games’ role in the world more generally.

In his book The World Is Born From Zero (2022), video game scholar Cameron Kunzelman discusses his concept of ‘potential labor’ within science fiction video games – where a player takes on the role of a worker and performs the day-to-day specifics of their job in an economy that does not yet exist in the real world, but may exist in the future. He argues that when playing video games, ‘players are subjectivated by a process that encompasses them and demands that they interact with the game in a certain way lest they fail immediately,’ and in his case study for potential labor, VA-11 HALL-A (2016), that ‘[players] become subjects whose entire relationship to the world is determined by the interface we use and how it asks us to labor.’ I think that Sburb is demanding a similar kind of labor from its players, and that this framework is helpful for answering John Egbert’s question of ‘to what end?’

[a short one – only 2.2k words]

Metaphorically, Sburb is the Y2K problem. It’s the computer glitch that destabilizes the tenuous structure of the modern world we’ve built. In its main storyline, Sburb destroys planet Earth, which is ‘done for’ and cannot be saved. It transports the player to ‘The Medium,’ a space outside of time, and kidnaps and holds hostage residents of the player character’s house besides them. Within the Medium, forces of light defend endgame area Skaia and its ‘unlimited creative potential’ while forces of darkness attempt to destroy it. The player, along with their Kernelsprite, begins, influences and participates in a war between these forces. Doing so relies on the three core mechanics described next. The player is encouraged to ally with one of these forces, in John’s case the forces of light – however the forces of light are destined to lose, and the end state or win condition of the game is unknown.

Sburb has three core mechanics. These are 1) to deploy specific machines with the eventual purpose of learning ‘punch card alchemy’, a process that advances out-of-game captchalogue mechanics to create physical items from digital resources [server and client players both contribute to this process], 2) to build a house upwards (or potentially downwards) from limited resources and likely while obeying the general laws of physics in order to reach further game areas [server player is responsible for this process] and 3) to use the out of game skills of captchalogue decks and strife specibi to kill various enemies in order to obtain resources for the above processes and advance the player’s abilities and levels [client player is responsible for this process]. These three mechanics can be shorthanded as Alchemize, Build and Kill.

The genre of Sburb is highly debatable, as genres often are, but I believe it contains elements of both fantasy and science fiction. A player character entering a world unlike their own, filled with magical kingdoms and wars between good and evil, certainly reads as fantasy. However, a player character witnessing an apocalyptic event on Earth and using technology to escape the planet and to become one of a few representatives for their species, is more classically science fiction. Currently, I see the set dressing and surface message of Sburb’s story as closer to fantasy, while the deeper themes and questions the game asks are closer to science fiction. The game is currently essential to the future of humanity, or positions itself as such, and consequently is asking players to think about what that future might look like.

A huge unanswered question about Sburb is who designed the game, and why. While creators cannot directly control how a player will interact with their game or what type of person they will become from playing it, but they often have a goal in mind – an ideal player, and an ideal playthrough – that can be inferred from the game’s design. For example, original Dungeons & Dragons (1974) imagines a player who will solve conflict through violence and define their player character exclusively through numerically-based abilities. A player can instead use the game to roleplay as a medieval fantasy character, acting out how they might ‘realistically’ behave and respond to situations and placing their mechanical abilities within the framework of modern human psychology. This style of play is popular enough that it has been somewhat accounted for in later editions of the game, but does not exist in the original text.

So, who is this ideal Sburb player imagined by the unknown developer? Like in D&D, this player is somebody who overcomes problems and obstructions through violence and is rewarded with additional power and resources - a core mechanic of games throughout history, such as chess (1475), where a player can capture and remove the other player’s piece from the game board to secure an advantage for themself. This player is also someone who performs physical and material labor via a digital interface and purely mental exertion, which is already an increasingly important skill in the age of automation. Finally, this player is someone who has access to – in my interpretation of punch card alchemy, which hasn’t yet been explored in depth – technological power so advanced that it presents as magic.

Sburb's radical moves to change human existence mean that the 'potential labor' discussed above could become the real practice of labor in whatever is next for humanity after completing the game. In time, the Sburb player will probably be guided as to when and how to use these powers. But who benefits from giving people these capabilities? The game’s developers must either be extremely clever or extremely reckless, either placing strict restrictions on what players can accomplish with punch card alchemy and planning contingencies in case of cheat codes and bugs, or have failed to consider the possible consequences entirely.

Releasing this game is high risk, high reward. There is a chance that players will take the very real skills they have learned inside the game and use them to turn against the creators who are ultimately responsible for Earth’s destruction – but if the game works as intended, then its story of light vs dark, the role it places the player in with respect to these forces, and the ways it encourages players to use their alchemize, build and kill skills should shape the player into somebody who would not make that choice.

Another unanswered question is the nature of the Ultimate Riddle, the purpose that the player character is designed to fulfil in the game. I have two possible predictions as to both the nature of Sburb’s developers, and where the main storyline of Sburb will end. Both of these are based on movie posters found on John’s bedroom wall – existing works of science fiction that are known to have at least a small influence on Homestuck.

The first relates to Deep Impact (1998), and to the story of Noah’s Ark from Islamic, Jewish and Christian scripture. In these stories, an apocalyptic event destroys the majority of life on earth, except for a subset of humanity who are pre-selected by controlling forces due to their useful skills and/or strong moral character. These forces are then tasked with rebuilding the earth following the fallout of the apocalyptic event. In Deep Impact, the worst of the event is avoided at the last minute, but this is the situation being prepared for.

In this reading, Sburb may have been developed by a religious or political cult who are either playing God, or believe they are receiving messages from a higher power, intentionally causing a rapture-like event in order to reset humanity. Players are not pre-selected, instead, the game itself acts as a selection mechanism. The best video game players are believed to be the people who will most successfully rebuild the earth from scratch. These players will need building skills to create physical structures and civilizations, fighting skills to hunt for food and defend themselves from external threats, and alchemy skills (which likely draw upon the creative potential of Skaia) to create tools and machines, thereby developing faster than humanity did in its previous incarnation.

Here the Incipisphere functions as the ark itself – the thing protecting players from the conditions outside. Players stay here until they have completed the game and until the world has calmed from meteor impacts and is safe for humans once more. Due to the atemporaility of the Incipisphere, these two events will automatically sync, no matter the relative amount of time that they take. It’s possible that these things happen ‘years in the future, but not many,’ as the wasteland and Sburb technology in these sections of Homestuck suggest that these scenes could take place on Earth. It is also possible that the Wayward Vagabond has somehow escaped the game early, and arrived on Earth at a time before it is ready to rebuild.

The second prediction relates to Contact (1997), among other stories of alien and intergalactic societies. In this excellent movie, a scientist identifies transmissions that come from intelligent life elsewhere in the universe – a species which has identified humanity as ready for their first interstellar contact. Through decoding these transmissions, the scientist uncovers instructions for directly communicating with these aliens and advancing further towards entering intergalactic society.

In this reading, a species from beyond Earth, likely one who has already tapped into the creative potential of Skaia via their own technology, has provided humanity with the instructions for developing Sburb. The team of scientists and/or video game developers who decoded the instructions may not have known that the game would cause an apocalyptic event, but the aliens transmitting the message certainly did. By including the alchemy and digital building mechanics, this species has given humanity a way to speedrun technological advancement, at the cost of their species’ current home.

I highly doubt that this is a benevolent act, or a random act of violence. A species with access to the capabilities of Sburb wanting to annihilate Earth could do so without the complexity of the game. These aliens clearly want to maintain a small subset of human life, and are using the game to train humans to work for them, fulfilling the roles of builders and soldiers that must be necessary to their society, but that the aliens themselves either do not want to fill or do not have enough people to fill. The aliens have selected gamers as a culture to target, because many gamers are used to adapting to and working within the constraints of a set of rules and an ideological framework that they cannot challenge – a mindset that the aliens are expecting will transfer easily from video games into real life.

In either of these possible readings, the creators of Sburb are both selecting for and trying to constitute a specific type of human. Marketing the game to teenagers could also be part of this strategy, as designers may believe that younger, more impressionable players can be more easily molded to the human who alchemizes, builds and kills. Marketing the game in the United States could also be part of the strategy, as a late capitalist society which defines success through hard work already delivers the same values that Sburb hopes to reinforce.

If all this is true, then Homestuck depicts video games as a medium of limitless capability to reimagine the world, but one that can be easily exploited and used as a mechanism of control. Through John and Rose’s excitement about the game’s possibilities and through the power fantasies of alchemizing something from nothing, building an ideal home via simple button clicks, and overcoming problems through simple combat, Homestuck demonstrates an understanding of why technological advancement presents such a draw to humanity, and how dreams of an easier, more automated life let us get caught up in ideas of what technology makes possible. It is empathetic towards young people’s feelings of optimism and escapism surrounding video games, yet also highlights the dangers in this mindset.

Homestuck tells us that the direct and indirect effects of rapid technological progress can be severe, unpredictable, and lasting. It suggests that we should not deploy new technologies without first understanding what they are capable of and what they can and will be used for. It tells us that many of the forces governing futuristic technologies, such as virtual reality and artificial intelligence, are things we do not yet completely understand. And it reiterates that while there are plenty of people – or forces of light – who would take these technologies and attempt to use them to benefit humanity, there are at least as many forces of darkness who intend to destroy the creative potential of video games, taking their infinite and radical possibility and using them instead to produce soldiers and workers, indoctrinating them into the same values that our society already prizes.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Oooh! Hi!!

How are you?

I saw your 1.5k celebration post. First of all: congratulations!!! You're doing amazing!

I'd like to ask Romcom with Wally West. My idea would be something like going on a date and kissing under the rain or something similar.

Thank you in advance and take care! 🌼🌿

thank you sweetie! i hope i did okay since this is my first official post of wally west (i miss him so much in the yj universe😫) fem!reader (1.5k celebration)

for your six month anniversary, wally decided to take both of you to an arcade he used to visit frequently when he was younger. there was a mix of games from the nineties to most recent, there was a small bowling area tucked away in one corner and a snack booth in another.

“just one more try. i can feel it,” wally was hunched over a joystick attached to a claw machine trying to win you a stuffed bunny. it’s been fifteen minutes and this was his seventh try.

you stood behind him with your palms caressing his waist under his flannel, “love it’s alright. i have plenty of plushies from previous dates.” moving to rest your chin on his shoulder as you eyed the slow move of the flimsy silver claw.

“but this would be special since it’s our anniversary. could write the date on its tag so you’ll always be reminded.” he leaned in closer, you worried his eye sight might fail with all this squinting. “plus i… almost… got-“ the bunny was caged in its grasp and hung shakily in the air. you both held your breath as it was dangling over to drop off, then it was free and a bright you win! sign was lit on display.

“told you!” wally spun around so he could hug you tight around the waist and give you a spin. you squealed in delight with your arms secure along his neck, “wally!”

he set you down after three full turns then remembered to grab the prize. “ma’ lady,” he bowed as he presented the soft pink plushie. it was dressed with a bow tie, you can forgive him for taking awhile.

a palm to his right cheek as you pressed a kiss to the left, “thank you, my love. do you wanna get some milkshakes from down the block?” letting your thumb sweep along his freckled skin.

“absolutely. i’m starving.” him and that fast metabolism.

walking hand in hand down the mostly empty sidewalk there was smile conversation passed between you, wally giving you small updates about how the teams doing and you mentioned to him about a cousins wedding that you were invited to and asked if he wanted to be your plus one.

“of course. gotta let everyone know that you’re a taken gal. plus i wanna see you all pretty and sparkly.” his own lips on your cheek as you waited for the crossing light to change.

and then there was a loud rumbling soon followed by a bright light. “no way,” you heard wally mutter. and then heavy, fast rain from the sky descended upon you both. you were drenched within two minutes.

“let’s get-“ “wait.” you stopped wally from pulling you in the direction of dry cover. you smiled with your eyes closed up at the darkened clouds, a joyous feeling growing in your chest.

“baby, we gotta get inside.” wally sounded concerned and that was a rare emotion to appear. “you were sick for a week last month, your immune system needs more rest.”

“i know, worry wart. but-“ you looked at him with a giddiness settling in your pupils, “since it’s our anniversary i have one request that you can’t say no to.”

“if it’ll get us out the rain, absolutely.”

that made you grin cheekily, “can we have a romcom movie kiss in the rain? please? i’ve always wanted one. be the best boyfriend ever and grant me this one lifelong wish.” trying to bat your lashes as a flourish.

wally rolled his eyes put then led the both of you into the pouring rain, the fast raindrops smacking at your head. “bet we’ll get sick.” “oh, you’ll be fine mister speedster.”

wally rested his hands to your hips and you cupped his cheeks with the biggest grin on your face, “happy anniversary.” you practically shouted to be heard over the pounding.

you felt wally squeeze your hips and then he leaned his head to yours. your slippery lips meshed together, the thunder noises drowned out as you let yourself get swept away in the special way only wally west can make you feel.

after a good moment of indulgence wally was the first to pull away, “can we go inside now? you’re starting to feel like killer frost.”

[canarydarity]

WIP TAG GAME HELLOOO I have to- I HAVE TO- ask about moon big but what if Jimmy was there. I am staring at you with such big eyes. please please share more

moon big but waht if jimmy was there my beloved....

hi theo <3

thats an au ive,,, had around for a whiiiile, and every few months when I wanna write but nothings seeming to work I resort to adding a few paragraphs there. It's a special one to me </3

these are the first few paragraphs which i adORE,, even if the fic in its entirety is never finished and its a more casual kinda project, I go back to read these quite a bit

Jimmy held his hand like a lifeline; like saving grace, like hope anchored to a cliff edge above and fear dangled below, like salvation depended on his strong grip and mercy was promised in his not letting go. He always did that when he was scared.  Tango’s hand was slowly turning purple where it rested in Jimmy’s lap; pins and needles as good a comparison as any to the prickling uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the rest of the room, the crowd like mannequins sitting still besides the occasional awkward shuffle, the rest of the barn they used to conduct town meetings some hasty set dressing; the folding chairs, the music stand they repurposed as a podium, the twinkling lights they strung up as impromptu replacement for overhead lighting, it all came across like a bad department store window display—if department stores had started selling small-town mentalities and existential dread and neatly packaged arrangements of apathy.  “Hello? Nothing, really? No one’s going to answer me?” Tango said, not bothering to hide any of his frustration at all. He ignored the warning that was Jimmy squeezing his hand tighter, selfishly pretending the loss of feeling due to Jimmy’s tight hold was preventing him from interpreting it as such. Too bad, Jimmy should’ve thought about how ineffective his usual method of getting Tango to behave himself would’ve been rendered before he made Tango’s hand go numb.  (It was an unofficial-official system of sorts—one of Tango’s many patented inventions. Maybe they weren’t so good at words, but they were good at holding hands. A tight grip—a hand-numbing level hold—meant Jimmy was afraid; a quick squeeze when otherwise relaxed was cautionary, the light tug you gave a dog’s leash when another dog wandered its way; hand-holding turned finger-fidgeting was for nerves—and so on and so forth. It was a good system, Tango’s favorite.)

The fic starts at an emergency town meeting addressing the moons sudden increase in size, and when there are less answers than he'd like to the question what are we going to do about it? Tango decides to take matters into his own hands. Jimmy just wishes Tango had consulted him first.

We alllll know how moon big ends. Tango goes to the moon, Tango does not come back.

moon big but waht if jimmy was there :)

[petite-guignol]

bringing this over from twitter because nobody is reading twitter anymore lmfao and i figure the long version is more likely to be interesting to people here

(the OP is responding to some film account's description of something in an upcoming Avatar movie, not that it really matters but that's the context in case anyone was curious)

putting this under a cut because, as is apparently customary for me, the long version is like. really long.

the elemental theming for different nations in FF4 is not very strong and we do not see much of Damcyan anyway but i do think it has a pretty interesting angle on what a "fire kingdom" looks like

the crystals mostly serve as a metaphor for stewardship of the land and the people on it. the earth crystal in Troia is probably the most on the nose about it but that's kind of my read on the whole deal. various fantasy settings, particularly video games, have had different variations of what a "fire landscape" looks like, and a lot of times its inhospitable. (FF5 always makes me laugh here because Karnak, the fire crystal city in that game, just has literal open flames straight up raging in the streets, presumably all the time. the people there are actually distressed when the fires go out. but i digress) Damcyan is a desert, which is kind of a harsh environment comparatively but both naturally occurring and perfectly habitable, a place one ought to care for and not just a big empty wasteland.

Besides being situated in the middle of a hot, bright environment there's a vague aesthetic connection to fire. edward dresses in bright red and gold, with anna in a yellow dress and sometimes bright red hair. the DS version puts sunbursts on the castle walls and a lit candle on their flag, and maybe this is just me overthinking it (this whole thing is tbh) but the SFC version of Damcyan castle features these weird clusters of extremely tall towers that almost resemble smoke stacks or something. at any rate Damcyan is at least slightly more clearly "fire themed" than Fabul is "air themed", for example.

the elemental connection is again mainly metaphorical, in the associations people have made with the classical elements. water is knowledge, air is discipline, earth is abundance, and so on, which means Damcyan is indeed supposed to have the figurative qualities of fire

which are...

well, again we don't see much of Damcyan. in-game, their prince is a bard (and in the DS version they also have a lyre on their flag). they have soldiers but are clearly not intended to be read as militaristic in any way. the castle has a dungeon, which is full of treasure chests largely containing hats. it has the first healing pots you'll come across in the game. it's the only country on the surface besides Baron that seems to have anything approaching modern tech, and its a civilian vehicle that helps you get across the desert. the area's signature boss monster produces a healing item and is supposed to be docile despite its terrifying appearance.

Edward himself is primarily known for his beautiful voice and is a healer, mechanically speaking. the first thing we learn about him is that he eloped with his lover against her father's wishes, and while the game on its own doesn't really give any context for his apparent habit of wandering around in disguise, it's very easy to read his behavior as impulsive. he's extremely emotional, to the extent that it actually bleeds into the battle system. so he's "fiery", in a sense -- seemingly always in the throes of some volatile emotion or other -- but in a way that's essentially the opposite of aggressive

the primary quality of fire here, i think, is compassion -- warmth and light, music and love and healing. it's a harsh world out there, but here in the firelight even the monsters are tame

plus, a little bit of "hey, can't you use fire to do metal smithing? what about a combustion engine? wouldn't that make you like, fabulously wealthy?" thrown in there for spice i guess

(actually, if you want to combine poet-kings, the vague tech-y overtones of the place -- including Edward functioning as a sort of proto-Chemist -- and the guidebook stuff about Damcyan having gotten extremely rich off trading and idk Rubicante, you could probably make a good argument that "fire" also serves as a general emblem for "civilization," but that's neither here nor there and this post is already long as fuck)

[frightt]

GOD. the makeup and accessories system in Infinity Nikki is such a breath of fresh air from Love Nikki's system

(no i have not played Shining Nikki so I'm sorry if anything i mention here already was fixed in SN).

Thoughts Below

Of course with LN being a 2d game it has its limitations (and there's stuff to be said about letting players choose what layer they want accessories to be on) so creating any sort of outfit that uses a lot of accessories is bound to have some overlap/clipping. While there is places for you to be able to dress up with the sole purpose of looking good (Competition, Starry Corridor), the player is mainly creating outfits for the sake of story progression or other scoring events (like stylist arena). And god, uhm, most people in comp just use paid/complete sets. But that's another thing and I will not rant about that one today. I'm sure every LN player has tried to just make a cute little outfit and "oh that veil would look so good but GOD the overlap. that is horrible".

They've taken so much time and put so much care into IN to make sure that the accessories DONT look bad when you wear them with other things and certain hair styles. gone are the days of your pigtails sticking out of your hat. I've probably spent at least an hour just going through the different accessories and hair combos so i can see what changes from each one.

Some favorites of mine

[Image ID: Three screenshots of the Infinity Nikki character customization showing the different placements of a small flower hairclip. The left depicts Nikki with a hairstyle that has a side ponytail, the hairclip is placed on the character's front right side. The middle depicts a hairstyle with two low pigtails, the hairclip is placed towards the front center of her head. The right depicts a bob hairstyle, the hairclip is placed on the back left side of the head. END ID]

Also to note is that this hairclip gives some of the pony/pigtails little bows (visible in the middle screenshot)

And a hat one too

[Image ID: Two screenshots from the Infinity Nikki character customization. The bottom shows Nikki with the low pigtails style. The top shows her wearing a hat, no pigtails visible. The hairstyle item used in both images is the same. END ID]

Its just so good!!!! the attention to detail!!!!!!

AND GOD DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE MAKEUP. Firstly the ability to pick and choose different mascara, eye colors, eyeshadow/blush, lipstick, and eyebrows!!!!! LN's makeup system was HORRIBLE. Another, kind of, issue of the 2d design, although I'm SURE they could have done better. For those who have not played LN, the makeup was all one item and had the foundation/skin color built into it, thus applying a makeup would use the foundation color for your face. Setting a light skin color and a dark makeup is. not good. and even then LN does not have very diverse makeups (at least not ones easily accessible to players). They have a 'diverse' range of skin tones you can collect for free (which they only put in like 3 ish years ago? maybe?) but most of them are shades of grey for some reason. I've never seen anyone in Comp or SC take advantage of this, but during the main story or other scored events it can be. annoying. when Momo is unintentionally telling you to do blackface because you need a good lively score.

IN does not do this to you. thankfully. They give you 3 skin tones off the bat. technically 4 if you include the skin tone if you don't select any, which is just slightly darker than the White skin tone. And as far as I can tell there is no way to set your face to a different shade than your body. The "base makeup" item is essentially eyeshadow and blush. Makeup seems to be just a fun little thing you can do, since it's not connected to the completion of any sets or have any stats attributed to it. (The skin colors also do not have any stats, which is good). (There is makeup that go with certain sets, but they are not required)

Other little things I really appreciate is a rework of the tagging system. So glad that some of those tags are gone, and it makes sense that they would slim it down a bit. I do understand why they also reworked the stats system, but I do also miss it. <- That all being said, I have not gotten to any stylist battles yet so I do not know exactly how the tags or stats impact the gameplay

That is all for now! If I said something that seems incorrect please let me know :)

[clown-friend-gt]

Pecking Order (Old Version)

More superhero stuff! I wanted to introduce a new character, Wren, who is one of Trevor's best friends besides Addie.

For a bit of background on this one, both Trevor and Wren are in what's called "Corrective Custody," which is basically juvie for teens with superpowers. Trevor is there because he accidently hurt a classmate with his newfound strength, and Wren is there because they have a tendency to get in fights, which only got worse after they got their powers.

Inmates in Corrective Custody can have their time reduced by joining the Future Heroes Training Program, which both Trevor and Wren end up doing later on in the story.

Edit: This is the old version of what is now chapter 12 of my story "Up, Up, and Away." I'm leaving it up just cause, but it's no longer canon. You can read the new version here! (although you should read the chapters that come before as well)

************************************************************************

“Time for fresh air,” a voice called over the P.A. system.

There was a short, harsh buzz as the light above the cell door switched from red to green. The door slid open. Wren tore their gaze away from the ceiling to glance that way, before sitting up and swinging their legs off of the bed. They regarded the door for a moment, trying to decide if they wanted to go outside or not. Before they could make up their mind, one of the guards dressed in white popped their head in the door.

“C’mon newbie. Time to get outside for a bit.”

Wren regarded them disdainfully for a moment before replying.

“Do I have to?” they asked.

“No, but I promise you it’ll be more interesting than sitting here staring off into space,” the guard replied.

After mulling it over, Wren shrugged and got to their feet. They walked past the guard and joined the other “troubled youths” filing out of their cells. They were all led down the halls until they eventually came to a set of double doors. The group crowded around them until a guard pushed their way to the front and unlocked the doors with a key card, letting the restless inmates push their way out themselves.

As they crossed the threshold, Wren squinted at the sudden change in lighting before their eyes adjusted. They followed the flow of the crowd out into the yard, then wandered off to stand on their own.

They looked around at the area they now found themselves in. It was a grassy field about half of the size of a football field. There were a couple of benches strewn about that were quickly claimed by various groups. To one side, there was a small basketball court where a game was starting up. Sidewalks bordered the court, field, and the side of the building. The entire area was enclosed with a tall fence topped with barbed wire.

Wren felt the tell-tale feeling of people staring at them. They scanned the yard to find the source and found several. Some people quickly looked away when Wren met their gaze, some just stared them down. Some wannabe tough guys even sneered when their eyes met, and Wren had to fight the urge to roll their eyes.

Looks like I won’t have to look too hard to find trouble, Wren thought to themselves. They began to try and come up with a plan to establish themselves so that the others would know to leave them alone. Their attention was quickly stolen, however, when they felt a familiar prickling sensation at their fingertips.

Looking down at their hands, Wren could see a light frost beginning to cover their fingertips, typically a sign that their powers were active. Their gaze strayed from their fingers to the strange cuffs strapped to their wrists. The little light had switched from yellow to green without them noticing.

Wren considered the fence again. Their powers would make it easier for them to scale it. But then, one of the guards watching them would reactivate their cuffs, right? They had seen them use the devices they kept at their waists to activate them before, so the guards surely had that capability. But then, why turn them off in the first place?

What’s that old trope in prison movies? Wren thought. First thing you do, find the biggest guy, and start a fight so that no one will mess with you? Suddenly all of the eyes on them made more sense. Was that what everyone wanted to see?

Wren wasn’t really one to start fights, but ever since they got their powers, they had no problem finishing them. That was what had landed them in special custody, after all. But that was against a bunch of stuck-up losers with no powers, could they really hold their own against other people like them?

Best plan I’ve got right now, they thought to themselves, scanning the yard again. They looked past the posers glaring at them to pick their target. Their gaze landed on a boy laying back in the grass, basking in the sunlight. He was at least twice the size of a grown man, if not more. Besides that, there wasn’t anything particularly threatening about him at first glance.

Maybe he’ll be a pushover, a sarcastic voice in their head chimed in. Either way, he looked like their best option right now. They marched over, letting more of their power flow into their hands to prepare for the fight to come.

Trevor lay out in the sun like he always did. The warm sunlight helped to ease the aching of his growing pains somewhat. It was a nice, warm day that day, and if no one came to bother him, it might turn out to be a good day. But soon after he closed his eyes, it became clear that wouldn’t be the case.

A shadow crossed his face and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. He kept his eyes shut and pretended not to notice. Maybe they’d leave him be.

“Hey, ugly!”

Suppressing a groan, Trevor opened his eyes. Someone was standing over him, blocking the sunlight on his face. At this angle, with the sun directly behind them, he couldn’t make out who it was, or whether it was someone who tried to pick a fight with him before.

He sat up, ignoring the way his ever-stretching muscles ached in protest, and turned to face the newcomer. It was someone he didn’t recognize, with white hair that turned brown at the roots and pale skin. They glowered at him with deep brown eyes. He couldn’t tell if they were a boy or a girl.

He knew how this would likely play out, but he held out hope that he could be wrong. Maybe this person just had really, really bad social skills.

“What did you just say to me?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

Meanwhile, Wren stood stiff as a board. They weren’t short by any means, but this guy was taller than they were, and he hadn’t even stood up yet. Nevertheless, they couldn’t back down now. They stood their ground.

“You heard me,” they responded cooly.

Trevor sighed and slowly got to his feet. He watched the new person’s head tilt back as they stubbornly held eye contact. They stood like that for a minute, a silent standoff going on between the two.

Then Trevor promptly turned around and walked away as hastily as he could, trying to escape the situation.

Without thinking, Wren shot a beam of ice from their hands. In the blink of an eye, a cluster of ice sprang from the ground at Trevor’s feet, surrounding them and holding him where he stood. Wren glanced nervously at the nearby guards, but they, like everyone else, were simply watching the show.

Wren didn’t get much time to think about that fact before their focus was drawn back to the sound of ice crackling. With a grunt, Trevor pried one foot from the ice, then the other. Wren’s eyes widened. They’d ended plenty of fights that way. They’d never seen anyone aside from a professional superhero break free of it.

Trevor turned to face them again, his gaze a little harder this time. Wren crouched into their best fighting stance. One hand extended in a fist before them, the other cocked back, shaped into a claw and surrounded by the cool mist that accompanied the use of their powers.

Trevor rushed forward faster than Wren expected him to, grabbing their fist in his hand and engulfing it. As Wren briefly struggled against his iron grip, he closed their other hand within his grasp. He had them trapped.

What’s this guy trying to do, crush my hands? Wren thoughts raced. Thinking quickly, they focused as much of their power as they could into their hands, trying to get them freezing cold. If they could get their hands cold enough, he should be forced to let go.

Trevor gritted his teeth but didn’t relent, his grip tightening slightly. His gaze was intense, and Wren barely kept themselves from breaking eye contact.

Wren began to panic as they felt his grip tighten; their emotions began to make their control falter as the air began to freeze around them.

Suddenly, a voice yelled, “CASTILLO! HANDS OFF!”

Trevor let go immediately, backing up and raising his hands above his head to show he wasn’t resisting. Wren stumbled forward slightly when he let go, but quickly righted themselves. The lights on their cuffs flashed red, and began to stick together like they were magnetized, just like they had when Wren first got them. Looking at their opponent, they could see his cuffs had done the same.

A few guards headed over to make sure the fight was really broken up. One pulled a walkie-talkie from their waist to report the situation.

“Director, we have a fight in the yard,” they said into the walkie.

You’re just telling them this now? Wren wondered.

“Copy that. Status?” a voice on the other end said.

“Two detainees, subdued,” the guard replied.

“Roger. Bring them here.”

The guard put the radio back on their belt and turned to the two.

“You two. Main office. Now.”

Wren rolled their eyes. Trevor trudged off ahead of them towards the doors inside, seeming to know the way by heart. The guard with the radio turned to follow, and a second guard pulled Wren by the arm to join when they lingered behind for a second too long.

Trevor had to bend over to get through the doors, then straightened out once he was inside the hall with taller ceilings. His irritated pace quickly put him ahead of the others, who had to do an awkward half-jog to keep up. After a few hallways and a few more turns, they all arrived at their destination.

At the end of the hall stood a door with a placard on it. Near the door were two chairs, like the kind you’d see outside of a high school principal’s office. Trevor slumped against the wall, coming to sit next to the chairs that were too small for him.

“You two wait here,” one guard told them, before they both filed into the office. As the door shut behind them, Wren stepped closer to inspect the placard.

“Director Douglas” it read.

Wren idled by the door for a few more awkward seconds, then chose to sit in the chair closest to the door, and farthest from Trevor.

A little more time passed, and Wren began to regard the cuffs on their wrists. Then, they looked at Trevor with a bit of curiosity. Other than keeping his wrists stuck together, his cuffs didn’t seem to be affecting him much.

“Does that turn off?” They asked him.

He didn’t answer for a second, but then he shot them a look from the corner of his eye. “Does what turn off?”

“Your, uh,” they looked him up and down, “power.”

Trevor didn’t answer for a moment.

“Nope,” he looked back towards the wall. “I’m stuck like this.”

“Is that a power?” Wren wondered aloud, “Just—being a giant?”

He simply shrugged. Then, after a bit, he spoke up, “Technically, my power is that I’m always growing, just really slowly.”

Wren stared, trying to see if they could spot this change he was claiming. When they couldn’t tell any difference, they asked, “Really?”

“Yes,” he replied shortly.

“Always?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Even with the cuffs on?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

Wren thought for a moment. “Wouldn't that hurt?”

Trevor was briefly caught of guard.

“Yeah. It does," he muttered under his breath.

“…I’m sorry,” Wren said.

“Now you’re sorry?” He snapped, finally meeting their eyes again.

Wren looked away, somewhat ashamed. More time passed in silence. Finally, Trevor broke it again.

“Are your hands okay?” He asked.

“What? Uh…” Wren looked down at their hands. Other than the frost slowly melting off of them, they were fine. “…Yeah?”

Trevor gave a curt nod, seeming to relax slightly. “Good. I worried—” he cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“You were worried?” Wren snorted. “About what, hurting me? Do you know what the point of a fight is?”

Trevor scowled. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be a lot worse off than you are now. I just wanted to stop you.”

“…Oh,” Wren said quietly.

What is this dude’s deal? Wren wondered to themselves. They didn’t know whether to be scared of this guy or to feel sorry for him.

Eventually, they decided they should at least return the favor. “Are your hands okay?”

“What? Oh…” he trailed off, inspecting his hands.

He tried to wiggle them around so he could look at his palms, which had a weird cold-burning feeling. The cuffs stopped him from moving too much, so he pulled against them with all of his might. They separated, and he flipped his hands over, so when the cuffs snapped back together, his palms were up.

Trevor continued his inspection, oblivious to Wren’s shock at his casual display of strength.

His palms still had patches of ice here and there from where Wren’s hands had touched his. Underneath, those spots, the skin was red and slightly swollen. He looked up at Wren again.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me see?” Wren reached out to grab Trevor’s hand, and, when he hesitated, they added, “I can’t use my powers right now, don’t worry.”

Looking at his hands with concern, Wren said, “Huh. Looks like it could be frostbite.”

“You’ve seen it before?” Trevor asked. Wren looked at him as if to say ‘duh.’

Trevor swallowed. “Right.”

Wren let out a deep sigh and let his hands go.

“Man I’m—I’m sorry. About earlier. I don’t know what I was trying to prove.”

Trevor shrugged. “I get it. You come here, you want to seem tough, so you go for the big guy, right?”

Wren cringed at how cliché it sounded out loud. “I mean, when you say it out loud, it does sound pretty stupid.”

“Yeah well, you seem sorry enough, I guess, so, apology accepted.”

“Thanks,” Wren replied with a slight grimace.

Before they could start sitting in silence again, Wren piped up.

“I’m Wren, by the way.”

“Trevor,” he replied.

Trevor seemed perfectly content to sit in silence, but Wren couldn’t help but to try and fill it.

“Hey,” Wren said, to keep the conversation going, “How did you do that thing earlier? With your cuffs?” As if to demonstrate, they tried to pull their own cuffs apart, to no avail.

“Oh this?” With some effort, Trevor pulled his cuffs apart again to flip his hands back over to the way they were before. “Yeah, something about the cuffs’ ‘limited ability to maintain control over supplementary abilities,’ whatever that means.”

He did his best air quotes, which was tricky with the cuffs on.

“Basically, I’m naturally a lot stronger than the average person, so even with the cuffs on, that doesn’t fully go away.” He finished with a frown.

Wren nodded along to his explanation. “Cool,” They added at the end, not picking up on his slight shift in mood.

After that, Wren ran out of things to talk about, so they let silence fill the air again. Trevor did his best to try and keep his hands warm while they waited. Finally, they were called into the office.

The director, a middle-aged white man, chewed them out for a bit, lecturing them both on “maintaining the peace” and their “special responsibilities” and so forth. Wren rolled their eyes as much as possible to show their displeasure. At the end, they were both given a week without time outside, during which their cuffs would remain on ‘red mode’ as much as possible.

“But that’s not fair,” Wren protested. “I started it, and Trevor barely fought back.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Director Douglas stated. “At this Juvenile Special Detention Center we have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to fighting.”

Trevor sighed, expecting this outcome.

************************************************************************

During that next week, Wren didn’t see Trevor much. They had to see the nurse to confirm that like they said, they weren’t hurt. Then they had to visit a counselor to talk about feelings and shit. Not their thing. Much to Wren’s indignation, they still had to attend some classes while they were imprisoned to “maintain a standard of education.” Between all of that, they began to lose hope of seeing someone they actually got along with.

To close out their punishment, the same counselor from before had the two meet up and make up, which was easy since they had already done some of the apologizing. Didn’t make it any less awkward, though. Then they were free to go. Well, as free as they could be here.

Their second time out in the yard began like their first. They trailed out with the crowd, then made their own way out into the field. On a whim, they decided to look for Trevor. Spotting him laying down away from everyone again, they began to make their way over.

As they passed by a bench full of people, someone grabbed their shoulder to stop them. Flipping around, they were met by a sneering face.

“Going somewhere, new blood?” the guy asked.

Wren wrested their shoulder from his grasp. He was about their height with straight black hair. His right wrist was in a cast. They snorted at him.

“Why yes, prison extra number two, I was. Got any more cliché lines of dialogue to spit at me first?”

Someone on the bench, presumably the other guy’s friend, snickered at that, but stopped when the person in front of Wren glared at them.

Turning back to them, he said, “There’s an order to things, around here. And we need to figure out where you stand.”

Wren raised their eyebrows, unimpressed. “Is this really necessary?”

The guy gave them a wicked grin. “I’m afraid so, snowflake.”

That pissed Wren off. They squared their shoulders, doing their best tough guy imitation.

The other guy formed his non-broken hand into a claw, and electricity began to spark from his fingertips.

Their mind began to kick into high gear for the upcoming fight. But before they got too far with their strategizing, a shadow was cast over the kid’s face.

“Will,” a tired-sounding voice came from over Wren’s head. “Can’t you lay off for once?”

Looking up, Will grew tense, then he scowled. “Back off, Castillo. It’s not your fight.”

“How’s your wrist?” Trevor sounded calm, but his voice had an edge to it. All eyes seemed to gravitate towards the cast on Will’s arm.

Will tried to hold Trevor’s gaze, but he backed down soon enough. The sparks coming from his hand died off slowly.

“This isn’t over,” he said to Wren, then turned around sharply to join his friends over on the bench.

Wren turned to face Trevor, but he had already started to wander off. They worried that now that the fight was off, he was done with them. But after a few steps, he turned back and hesitantly asked, “You coming?”

Wren grinned and followed him over to his spot in the grass. They sat next to him as he laid out in the sun, chattering about skateboarding and movies they liked and nothing in particular. Trevor nodded along as they talked. Finally, it seemed, he got one good day.

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - COMPANIONSHIP AND LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS.

The night air in London held a hint of chill, and the city's streets buzzed with the energy of a typical Friday evening. Inside the cozy confines of their flat, Marc Spector stood by the window, looking out at the cityscape that stretched before him. He was deep in thought, replaying the game plan for the night ahead in his mind. It was the night of the congratulatory party for the British Museum tour guides at the local pub in celebration of the successful Ennead exhibit opening. Steven Grant’s fellow tour guides, Aleah, and Mira, were gathering there, and Marc couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Beside him and reflected in the nearby dress mirror, Steven Grant was going through his own preparations inside their shared headspace. After surrendering control to his British alter, Steven finally stepped forward and stood before the full-length mirror in their shared bedroom. A look of concentration was displayed on his face as he deliberated over his outfit for the evening. The two men shared a unique existence within the same body, and tonight, they had to ensure their charade remained intact. It was a delicate dance, a masquerade of identity.

"Remember, Steven," Marc said, his voice echoing within their shared headspace. "We've got to stick to the plan tonight. Recap everything to me, from the top”

“Our aunt’s sick for tonight”, Steven started, opening his closet to go through their newer wardrobe. 

“Correct. And?” Marc urged, prompting Steven to recite the next set of alibi they came up with.

“I will be going early to tend to her in your stead”, Steven nodded, his brow furrowing as he further contemplated his clothing choices.

“That’s right. And after that?” Marc gestured once more as his hands circled, urging Steven to go on. 

“You will be coming after I leave. To keep her company”, Steven finishes, his mind settling on a checkered navy blue blue collared dress shirt, which he paired with a chocolate brown sweater and gray chino pants.

“Very good, Steven”, Marc nodded approvingly of Steven’s commitment to their ‘twin brothers’ charade. “Let’s get going"

Steven nodded, finally placing Marc's own clothing—a gray hoodie, denim jacket, and blue jeans—neatly arranged and placed in his backpack for the switch later in the evening.

With their preparations complete, they left their flat and made their way to the local pub located within the vicinity of London's bustling streets. The pub, known as Philomena's, was a popular spot among the museum staff. It was an inviting place, with dim lighting, wooden interiors, and the comforting hum of conversation filling the air.

As Steven entered the pub, he was greeted by the warm smiles of his fellow tour guides who were patiently waiting inside. Aleah, with her ebony black hair cascading down her shoulders, was the first to spot him. She waved him over and said, "Steven, you're looking sharp tonight."

Steven smiled politely and replied, "Thanks, Aleah. Where’s Mira?”

“She just went to the loo to touch up”, Aleah nodded in understanding and gestured towards the others. "We've been waiting for you, everyone's excited to celebrate."

Just as Steven was about to engage in further conversation, Aleah exclaimed, "Speak of the devil, Mira, we’re over here!" She waved happily at the direction of the restroom doors, and everyone turned their attention to the recent newcomer.

You finally made your presence known as you entered the pub, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. All eyes were on you as you made your entrance. The latest change in your wardrobe choices has not gone unnoticed. You had opted for a one-shoulder black tank top that showcased your graceful neckline, white pull-on trousers that accentuated your long legs, and black leather sandals that gave a hint of sophistication. Your hair was tied in a high ponytail, emphasizing the elegant beauty of your facade even more.

Steven and Marc couldn't help but be awestruck by your presence along with the rest of your company. You were a vision of confidence and allure, and your transformation left everyone momentarily speechless.

"Wow, Mira!" Aleah breathed out, breaking the silence. "You look very stunning."

"Thanks, Aleah”, a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks as you approached the group. “You look lovely tonight as well."

The compliments continued to flow from the rest of your companions, and you gracefully accepted them, your smile never faltering. Steven marveled at how effortlessly you moved through the attention, and it occurred to him that you were the perfect foil for their charade.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Mira”, Steven couldn’t help but say, eliciting a sweet chuckle from your end.

“You look so dashing yourself, Steven”, Mira smiled knowingly, her eyes searching at the back of Steven’s figure, expecting to see his twin brother. “Where’s Marc?”

With everyone now present, Steven felt the need to address their situation. He leaned in closer to you and spoke in a hushed tone, "That’s actually the thing, Mira. I’m afraid I need to leave a bit early tonight. Got to tend to our sick aunt at home."

You looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly. "Oh, I hope she's okay. Of course, go take care of her. I’m assuming Marc will be keeping me company later, yes?"

“That’s right. He looks forward to making it up to you”, Steven nodded appreciatively, while Marc heartily agrees within their shared thoughts. "Thanks for understanding. Let's not spoil the celebration, shall we?"

“Yes, we shall”, you smiled warmly, and with that, the mood lightened as you gestured to the bartender next. The group settled around a large table, and you took the initiative to order the first round of ale and beer as your welcome treat to everyone.

As the night progressed, laughter and lively chatter filled the air. Tales of the morning's successful tours were exchanged, and the atmosphere brimmed with a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie. Everyone was especially cheering for Steven and Sarah, the career shifters of the museum tour guide bunch who had taken a risk and been rewarded handsomely for it.

“To Steven, Sarah and all of you”, you raise your glass to toast your tour guides’ successes, and everybody else follows suit. The clinking of glasses, the merriment, and the shared stories created a tapestry of celebration that enveloped them all. Despite the complexity of their shared existence and the need for secrecy, Marc and Steven found solace in this moment of unity and joy together with you.

As the night wore on, the pub echoed with the harmony of shared laughter and the promise of good times to come. In this ephemeral moment, the boundaries of their individual selves blurred, and they were simply a group of people, sharing a drink, celebrating their achievements, and cherishing the bonds of friendship that held them together.

As the hours passed and the clock struck an hour before midnight, the numbers of tourists and locals alike in the pub began to dwindle. Your tour guide co-workers wished you and your fellow colleagues good night to embark on their respective weekends. Steven had also wished you a good night, promising that his twin brother will soon be here to join you and Aleah. 

The evening had cast its gentle, amber glow over the city of London as Steven Grant made his exit from Philomena’s, venturing forth into the bustling streets. The cool breeze carried with it the whispers of autumn, a gentle reminder that change was inevitable, even for a man as enigmatic as him. 

“Good luck, mate”, Steven whispered to himself, wishing his American alter the best of luck as he finally surrendered control of their body to Marc Spector. It was a seamless transition - one that they are both used to by now.

After his British counterpart’s quick escape from the pub, Marc made his way to the nearby hotel where he would change his own clothes for the night. With each step that he took, the anticipation gnawed at him, coiling tightly around his heart. He knew what awaited him, who awaited him, and the realization sent shivers down his spine.

In the lobby, he swiftly changed out of Steven’s attire that he had worn for tonight and into his own casual clothes - a simple grey hoodie, denim jacket and blue jeans. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his collar, trying to regain some semblance of composure. The weight of anticipation bore down on him, a sinking feeling that threatened to pull him under. Marc had no choice but to face this moment head-on, to confront the woman who had captured his heart. 

As he made his way back towards the pub, his own nerves threatened to betray him. Marc knew that he couldn't afford to appear anxious or uncertain. He needed to be the Marc Spector that Mira Batala-Carter remembered, the confident and charismatic man who had once been her close confidant back on their last meeting.

You watched as the last stragglers bid their farewells inside the pub, currently seated on a bar stool at the front of the house. Your secretary, Aleah Santos, was the last of your evening company to be leaving you soon in solitude. The warm glow of the pub's lights illuminated her face, casting soft shadows across her features. She had been with you for years, a loyal companion who had become like family.

"Are you sure you'll be okay getting home on your own, Mira?" Aleah asked, her concern evident in her voice. "I could have Bill pick you up and drop you off."

"I'll be fine, Aleah”, you smiled at her reassuringly, appreciating her concern. “You don't need to trouble Bill, it’s the weekend for God’s sake. Besides, I need some time to myself tonight."

“Just be careful, okay?” Aleah hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on you as she leaned closer, making sure that only you could hear her next words. "Tonight's the new moon, and as Mayari’s avatar, you will have an especially weak physiology at this time."

“I know that, so stop fussing, okay?” you nodded, understanding the implications of tonight’s moon phase. London could be a different city on nights like these, with shadows and mysteries lurking in every corner. "I'll be cautious, I promise. And if I couldn’t afford to drive home, I’ll stay at the local hotel"

“Sure, you big spender, you”, Aleah chuckled despite her worries, pulling you into a brief embrace. With a final nod and a reluctant smile, she gave in to your wishes. "Alright, then. Take care, Mira. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call."

“Happy weekend, Aleah”, you thanked her, and as she made her way towards the exit, you watched her disappear into the London night. Alone once more, you signaled the bartender for another round of beers, wanting to savor the solitude that allowed you to collect your thoughts.

As you took a sip of your dwindling beer, a sudden interruption startled you. Another hand reached out, snatching the glass away from your grasp. You turned, surprise and a hint of annoyance starting to paint your face, only for that expression to melt away as you locked eyes with the intruder. A familiar American man stood before you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

"Y'know, it's not safe to be drinkin' all alone, darling", he chided with a deep, suave Chicago accent that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Always gotta have company”

A wide grin spread across your face, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Marc Spector had returned, and you couldn't contain your joy. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat and pulled him into a bone-crushing, tight hug that left him utterly surprised.

"Marc!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine delight. "I can't believe you're here!"

Marc chuckled softly, returning the embrace, the warmth of your body pressing against his. "Surprised, are ya?"

“Are you kidding?”, you shoved, elbowing his torso as you playfully scowled at his direction. “You still fucking owe me coffee that you’ve promised ages ago”

“Sure, sure. My bad!”, Marc doubled over at your light punch to his gut. But he couldn’t help but grin as he saw an identical one growing larger on your facade. “Lemme make it up to you, alright, baby?. How about the next round of beer, on me?”

“Suit yourself, Spector”, you chuckled, blatantly ignoring the endearment that slipped out of Marc’s mouth, feigning ignorance as you started ordering another round of ale and beers. You both settled back into your seats, and Marc couldn't help but smile serenely as he looked more closely at you. It had been far too long since he had allowed himself the pleasure of your company, and now, under the gentle embrace of the London night, he was determined to make the most of it.

The pub's atmosphere seemed to shift as the two of you caught up, the days apart melting away with each shared story and reminiscence. The laughter flowed freely, punctuated by moments of quiet reflection. It was as though time had stopped, and the world outside the pub ceased to exist. For a brief moment, Marc Spector felt like he was home.

"I’m glad to see you again, Mira," Marc began, his voice laced with a touch of nostalgia, "I've missed this. I’ve really missed you."

“I’ve missed you too, Marc”, you smiled, a mixture of emotions swirling in your eyes. "It's been too long since we last saw each other, you know. I actually thought you were actively avoiding me or something."

“Touche, you’ve been avoiding her indeed”, Steven couldn’t help but snicker at your comeback from the reflective service of the bar table, prompting Marc to lightly shake his head at his mental twin brother’s quips. “Like a plague, I might add”

“I never meant to do that”, Marc sighed, tentatively placing his palm over yours as he held your right hand, his thumb slowly circling the inside of your soft hands on full display as he meant to soothe your stormy thoughts. “It’s just… I couldn’t really find the time back then, no matter how I tried and how bad I wanted to see you. But I’m here now, right?”

“Yeah, you’re here”, Mira smiled serenely. “I mean, it’s alright if you were really avoiding me before. I know you just came from a divorce, I… I know how hard it is to form a relationship again after so much that has happened to your life.”

Both he and Steven from their shared headspace were silent as they collectively allowed you to voice out your inner thoughts. Allowing you to let them know and vocalize how you truly feel.

“I know how that feels more than anything, Marc”, you continued, mimicking Marc’s earlier actions as your soft fingers traced the inside of his palms, eliciting a soft, almost inaudible sigh of relief and longing to escape his lips. “So you don’t have to explain yourself, okay?”

“Thank you, Mira”, Marc said, the sincerity in his words palpable as his grip tightened on your joined hands, your half-full beer glasses completely forgotten as he got lost in your hazel brown eyes. “You don’t know how much your words mean to me”

His next action surprised you as he brought your joined hands to his lips, gently kissing the back of your hand as he looked deeply at you, breathing out his next words softly on your skin.

“With you, Mira”, Marc whispered, never letting go of your soft hand. “I’m willing to try again. No matter how long it might take me”

Steven Grant’s face suddenly popped in the forefront of your mind, prompting your gaze at Marc’s to briefly falter. You remembered all too well how your heart thundered beneath your chest at the intimate moment you shared with his twin brother earlier that day in the quiet confines of the staff room. Your recent recollections briefly lingered to your late husband’s as well, your heart still mourning Darius Carter’s death even though quite a substantial amount of years have already passed. 

But instead of hesitation and doubt populating your entire being, a strange sense of calm and quiet realization hit you in slow waves. He wouldn’t want you to wallow yourself in grief and sorrow forever.

He would’ve wanted you to be able to find happiness.

“I know it’s too fast, I just got divorced, for Christ’s sake”, Marc’s voice briefly pulled you out of your reverie, him mistaking your silence as a refusal as he internally started to panic (to which Steven tried his utmost best to calm him down). “But I can’t really help how I feel. I… shit, I’m usually better than this–”

“Calm down, Marc. I swear, you and Steven are more alike than I thought”, you shook your head lightly as soft laughter escaped your lips. “Believe it or not, you and Steven are very important to me.”

“You’re important to me too, Mira”, Marc nodded, kissing the back of your hand once again as the rest of the evening finally wore on. The pub’s patrons slowly dwindled even further, but the conversations between you and Marc grew more intimate, the shared history between you two a tapestry of emotions and experiences. It was as though you were picking up right where you had left off, despite the short amount of time that had actually passed.

As the clock neared midnight, the city of London outside the pub seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the arrival of the new moon. But inside, in the warm embrace of the pub, you and Marc found solace in each other's company, a reunion that felt like destiny had intervened to bring you together once more.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

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