#like every good space urchin should

[smileyofficial]

Little work in progress to a future chapter cover methinks

[grimbanes]

My Soulmate is Capitalism. (Kaz Brekker x GN!Reader)

Summary: "Of course I believe in soulmates - I have met mine. Capitalism is my mistress and I lay with her every night, I hold her close and she sings me promises of riches beyond any man's dreams." OR after a successful heist, everybody celebrates but kaz chooses to sit with the reader and they have a funny conversation.

WC: 2k

Genre: crack fic. pre-relationship, coming to terms with feelings, the rest of the crows being funny. you/your pov. kaz might be a lil ooc. reader and kaz are besties with a lot of tension.

A/N: i wanted to write something light hearted because my notifs are blown up rn, but this is gonna be a first part or prologue leading to confessions within a day or two. so stay tuned, i hope you enjoy this because there's more to come for this one. i wanted to try something more dialogue heavy for once. i forgot how funny kaz could be but i was reading chapter 2 of SOC again and my god hes so funny.

TW: violence, usual six of crow warnings, kaz laughing.

“So you admit that you’re the thief?”

The young man in chains wanted to laugh, he really did. It wasn’t in his nature to laugh at idiocy - if he made a habit of it, he’d be laughing permanently and that seemed rather tiring. 

“I’m a vigilante, of sorts,” He replied smoothly, adjusting the shackles on his hands from where he let them rest between his legs, being sure not to touch his bad leg even when both were chained to the rickety, barely held together chair he was perched upon.

“You gonna give it to the poor?” 

“I am the poor,” Kaz said. He had to egg him on. His entire plan was resting on the fact that the Stadwatch were full of the most kruge hungry, lazy, arrogant fools to ever be shoved from the womb of Ketterdam’s damp streets.

It earned him a fist to the face, cracking down against his scarred cheekbone and he felt dizzy - recoiling from the rising tides that filled his tight lungs, daring to attempt to drag him under the murky, corpse riddled depths. It was only a moment of touch, but a moment enough that it numbed the pain that should be blossoming through the nerves in his face. 

“Filthy street rat,” The guard scoffed at him, shaking his hand to evidently ease the pain from hitting him. Soft bastards. 

“Street rat, urchin, pickpocket, they’re all the same. You can think of something better now, can’t you? Let me give you a hand: I prefer the term businessman, opportunist or even idealist, on a good day, ” The young man in chains taunted, leaning back into his seat and making himself comfortable, only the weight of rusting metal clamped around his bare skin giving him any discomfort.

He needed the officer closer. Just that little bit closer.

He didn’t miss the slight hobble in the guard’s right foot, or the consistent shaking in both of his hands. Perhaps he had skipped a meal or was otherwise unwell, either way, it posed an opportunity for him that had the young man scheming. Like any skilled thief, he could take himself out of his chains in mere seconds with the gentle caress of cool metal, a flick of the wrist and a soft praise, the lock would bend to his will and snap open, but not yet. With guard in his space, he could set the rest of the plan into motion and trust in his schemes to carry the others to do their part too. 

The Stadwatch officer reached to fist his hair and Kaz braced himself, tongue in cheek and eyes locked on the hand reeling back and preparing to be delivered swiftly into his nose. A single second window was all he had. So he counted. He waited three seconds, inhale, exhale, inhale, and with a loud clink, his wrists were free. Kaz lowered himself down, arms shooting out to wrap around the officer’s hips and he hoisted himself up to his full height, the chains on his feet clattering away and he was dropping the officer onto his back with a heavy thud, dust filling the air in the dark room. 

He didn’t hesitate to grab his cane from where it was left propped against the wall and raised it with a confident grip, the weighted head connecting with a sickening crack to the side of the man’s head. Exhale.

“Can’t have this tarnishing my perfect record,” Kaz mumbled, taking an uneven step back and leaning heavily onto his cane, stoney eyes scanning the surrounding room. It was dark out, possibly. Around four hours he’d been sitting with his eyes closed, counting every second and minute that passed, as he’d been stripped of his hat, coat, gloves and cane. He pushed his bare hand through his hair, away from his face. Right about now they should be-

The door threw open, and expecting Jesper, Kaz opened his mouth the mutter a threat about almost being late but instead, he was met with the one person who managed to make him hold his tongue. The one person who had him on his toes, who encouraged his behaviour, the only other person who knew what it was like to be raised by Ketterdam. You. With your mischievous smile, dirt smudged against your cheek and eyes sparkling at him with so much mirth that it had him wanting to return the pure joy you always seemed to radiate. You were always at your best when your pockets were full of trinkets that didn’t belong to you.

“Where’s Jesper?” Kaz inquired instead, stepping past you and out of the door and he didn’t even want to think on why the soft scent of morning dew flowers even managed to stay clung to you in dangerous jobs like this. He hobbled down the narrow corridor, leaning majority of his weight into his cane as his leg began to ache, the cold chill of the room set deep into the broken bone - he’d definitely been sat still for too long, it was nearly unbearable. 

“Covering Wylan’s escape,” Your voice chimed from behind him, quiet steps masked in time with his own uneven gait. He eyed you from the corner of his alert eyes and he thought you were possibly the most addicting thing he had ever laid his eyes upon, even in dim light, in the face of danger, the possibility of death still thick in the suffocatingly stagnant air. 

Kaz couldn’t find it within himself to be mad that Jesper had gone against his explicit orders to stick to the plan, no detours, no changes. That only meant that you had done your best to adapt to the change, to do your part and still come for him, and you had done it well - he figured he owed you a drink. Or a necklace. Or a bullet between your enemy’s eyes. Whatever he could do, he would do it for you, just to show he valued your set of skills in his arsenal. The entire plan rested on Jesper breaking Kaz out of interrogation before the Stadwatch completed the paperwork and locked him in a cell for Ghezen knew how long.

┕━━━━━━━♔━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

You collapsed into your seat with a sigh, head tipped back and the sound of the bottle of whiskey was already being passed around, glasses clinking and the unshakable adrenaline remained buzzing under everybody’s skin. Another successful heist meant another fifteen thousand kruge in your coffers. You heard the seat beside you be dragged out and the smell of dark coffee flooding your senses, warming your sinuses. Your eyes flickered open in the warm lighting, falling upon the familiar figure that seemed to always be in your shadow as of late.

Kaz slid a cup and saucer your way, bitter dark coffee swirling in the fine china and you felt yourself ease a little more. He had a way about him that always left you feeling a little recharged - maybe it was the fact he always brought you a cup of coffee when he made himself one, always waking you up and giving you the illusion that it was him doing it. Clever, really, the sly bastard. You held onto the little plate with a smile, fingers hooking into the handle as Kaz sat himself beside you, cane rested against the table and his usual coat and hat abandoned somewhere in the club.

“Boss will have our heads for being in the club after hours, you know,” You teased.

“I am the boss,” Kaz muttered in retort, his usual eyebrow quirk present as he stared.

“Oh yes, of course, my apologies, Master Brekker,” You pressed, giving him a little nudge with your elbow and not missing the slight quirk of his own lips, barely present other than the way only one side of his mouth raised. 

The young man rolled his blued hyacinth eyes in his usual manner, his entire being just screaming familiarity and you felt comfortable. At ease. Brekker could handle himself in a gunfight, a fist fight and any game of wit. His tongue was sharper than most knives, his words the coldest bullet to explode your brains against your own floorboards and that was a comforting thing in the Barrel. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You found yourself asking, swirling the dark coffee in its cup between your hands, holding it close to your face and studying the young man beside you. 

"Of course I believe in soulmates - I have met mine. Capitalism is my mistress and I lay with her every night, I hold her close and she sings me promises of riches beyond any man's dreams,” Kaz spoke with utter sincerity, sipping his own coffee and studying down at the manifest in front of him, pen in his other hand. 

“Geels was right, you do only talk in metaphors,” You mumbled with clear disappointment, eyes cast upon your friends across the room as they drank their alcohol and made merry, celebrating the night’s events. 

Beside you, Kaz stopped writing. In fact, he set his pen down altogether and a sigh left through his nose. You didn’t want to turn to look at him, didn’t want to show your disappointment - it was very rare you ever got a real answer from him, one that wasn’t a deflection or some mirror of the reputation he spent so long building. Sometimes, you just wanted a conversation but you knew choosing Kaz for that was foolish to begin with. 

“As I said to Geels, that wasn’t a metaphor,” Kaz offered the truce, rather than submitting to his usual silence whenever he had upset someone. 

“Is this your way of telling me that you quite literally sleep with money in your bed?” You asked, perplexed and turning your head to fully look at the Barrel Boss’ side profile. 

“Yes.” Kaz sipped his coffee, leaned back in his seat and tapped a gloved finger against the surface of the table between you, “Thousands of kruge make my pillow and keep me warm in the night.” 

And you laughed. You laughed louder than you ever had, hand slamming against the table and full body tipping forward, coffee set aside as you nearly choked on it. Kaz Brekker had told a joke and it was devastatingly funny, the deadpan delivery more than enough for you to be sent into a room filled with giggles. It had the others across the room staring at you with perplexity, glancing between both you and Kaz and you didn’t miss the way his body shook just that little bit, a hint of a laugh in his body language and smile hidden beneath the cup of coffee he was sipping on. 

“You are so lucky that I adore you so much else I would be sticking a bullet through your brain right about now,” You giggled, miming firing a gun at him with your fingers and you snorted again, gripping onto the edge of the table. 

“Careful voicing your affections so loud, one might think you’re being sincere,” Kaz’s smile seemed to shine in his eyes, leaning a little closer to your space and it set you off again, your hand slamming against your hand in an effort to stop your little outburst. 

***

“They flirt with violence?” Nina dared question, whiskey in hand and staring at the exchange with confusion fused with joy, knowing damn well she could use this against the both of them in future. I mean really, who could adore anyone with a haircut that bad? She shook her head, utterly flummoxed. 

“I don’t know what’s more unsettling, seeing Kaz smile or seeing Kaz make someone just as bad as him laugh like that,” Wylan shuddered, yet unable to look away.

“I think it's sweet. It really shows that there is somebody out there for everyone,” Inej smiled, eyes softening as she studied the exchange and holding her hand above her heart.

“Demjin made somebody laugh, I think we should take them both to a medik,” Matthias grumbled, earning himself a shove from Nina. 

“Well I think-” Jesper dropped into his seat, leaning into where they had huddled inwards and grinned. “It’s creepy. I mean c'mon, imagine if anything happened between them. He’d go absolutely feral. It's so human.. I don’t like it.”

[richardsphere]

Leverage Redemption Log: The Date Night Job

Well, that title should be obvious, though weird with Hardisons availability... Oh no, are we going to do a "Sophie and Harry" thing? Or is it going to be Breana? (not saying widowers cant move on, just worried for execution of such) --- Parker on a roof, holding a binocular,

Hardisons actor was available!

Soup in space... So Hardison is going to space, oh right he was working on a satelite with a rich-dude wasnt he? This is going to be a final meal before he goes sort of deal. Parker is worried about the space-trip. Insert Baljeets "so peanuty you wont even taste the chicken" jingle here.

Guy in a limo with his son, headed to some art-based party. He's trying to connect to him and help him deal with the recent death of their grandmother. (please dont be the bad guy)

Kid inherited a fortune and the guy (i think he might not be the father after all, as the kid inherited. He's just a will-executor or trusted accountant) is warning him that people will try to get close to him to exploit him.

YES! Non-guy affiliated badguy is scouting the limo! (that means Guy is just a good surrogate parent and not secretly a bad-guy like Ethan!)

Bad guy presses a button to fake a trafic jam to reroute the limo forcing Hardison to take the long-route to the freeport where Grandma's stuff is stored. (oh no, we're gonna steal from a grieving urchin. I do not like this)

So the lock is supposedly unpickable,and the only way to get the code (refreshes every 12 hours) is to get a biometric scan first. (whose biometrics? Presumeably there is a person in charge of the freeport. Otherwise its a dead grandma and something tells me we're not stealing the corpse.)

Kid's name is Mason. Bucket falls and causes a minor distraction (heist-off?) Someone hacked the kids phone and told him to go elsewhere. (the kid was nana's only inheritor. Grandma doted on the kid and he loved the art. the kids biometrics are valid)

So they've both pre-prepped this heist seperately, Keytone analyser app.

Dont lick the dinobones.

And we're stuck in the vault (someone forced a reset of the passcode) --- TWO DAYS EARLIER (the font has become a lot less obnoxious at some point, i think they reduced it's size a bit.)

Parker, Harry and Breanna are preparing the Watch-heist. Hardison, Sophie and Elliot are preparing the T-rex skull heist.

Team Not-on-a-date went behind their backs and orchestrated the date together. Breanna has a date with a sculptor. (turns out her and electric plane-girl fell through at some point)

Grandma looks a lot younger then they were making her sound so far. (Her dating history is like Leonardo Di Caprio but a woman)

Huh, spirits ruse had a resurgance after they re-inspired the maker to get his groove back. Thats sweet. Oh the game is a Pokemon Go sort of deal (which means they can "drop" a spirit wherever they want Mason to go, and get him to get his biometrics scanned that way)

Sophie pulled an entire con to ensure that the two objects that Parker and Hardison wanted to heist over wouldnt be on the floor because they'd be too easy to steal otherwise. To reiterate: Team Leverage went on an entire con, just to make the heist MORE difficult.

Breana, dont be an asshole to Elliot. --- Justin is a chill dad-type, (please dont be evil... Please dont secretly have orchestrated the robbery) Breanna has cloned the phone, and is now bonding with Mason over the game. Breanna's cloned phone gives Parker the sounds she needed. Donald owns the freeport (please be the badguy so Mason can keep having a good dad.) Sophie puts the skull in the vault and looks at a vase. Elliot plants the key-thingy. Harry gives a guard 2 tickets so that Elliot has a vacancy to infiltrate.

Ok so Elliot's complication is that the guard decides to get some overtime. (yeah he's with the robbers)

Sophie is on the floor with Harry giving some Grifting Lessons.

Harry's guess of "barista" is wrong (coffeeshop with a reading corner). We have found the executor of the will. Studying to be a paralegal.

I knew something was off when a random NPC was talking legal jargon (but i was expecting it to be a case of them seeding some inheritance-drama, not a "Harry's Here". Might be both of course)

Harry drops the bucket, Breanna's hacking gets Mason with the game to leave (i know she's got a date, but we're talking "tell harry which button to press", not personal attendance). Ok, in hindsight it makes sense that its our team pulling a heist-assist. Rather then a rival heist-crew. But im nonetheless proud to have picked it up the first go-round) --- Coms are in play, Guard is knocked out. We need Donalds Key to lift the lockdown. Guard is back up.

Hardison is giving this date a 3-star review. (technically romantic, not the vibe he intended)

Parker has a "Hardison in space" based panic attack. Sorry Breanna, date night has been cancelled.

Harry realises instantly that the Big Robbery of the rich attendees is a distraction for the various vaults. (sure a couple paintings on display from 1 vault are nice, but the stuff that isnt on display from a hundred other vaults? Nicer)

Sophie and Harry suspect an inside man, First Supsect: Donald. (took up big loans to build this place, might be in debt. Unlikely, billionaire clients pay big rent.)

"well i have a client who'd love to peruse your services... this is not a good advert though".

They've realised the kid is missing. (Breanna has his phone, she should be looking. Not Elliot) Ok Mason walks in to find Elliot beating up, what mason thinks to be, a regular security guard.

Breanna has identified the target: Its Mason (hence it being tonight, the one night Mason HAS to be there. Not looking good on the prospects of "worried fatherfigure" being a good man and not being in on the robbery)

Breanna points out a crucial detail about SpiritsRuseGO: No mons on private property to avoid lawsuits.

Parker and Hardison leave the vault just in time for the robbers to access it with Mason. Parker and Hardison are about to adopt mason.

Parker talks with the kid about what its like to miss someone dear to you.

Hot Sauce Heiresses, dammit Justin only got a half-million in the will (please be a red herring, please let the Barista be the one) Donald is financially screwed though, fel for crypto it seems.

Ok I think Donald is actually innocent (he just yanked the alarm. If he was orchestrating this he'd trust his men)

Breanna's date is going south (turns out planegirl is doing well, but Breanna knew that any association with a Leverage member would ruin her future with government contracts)

Breanna's date is over, but the relationship is still on! (good for her) --- Cut to the freeport parking lot and Breanna has "broken" her car. She has discovered the joy of the Taser. The dino is still missing?

Oh they locked the kid in the vault and Donald is the bad guy. (or more likely its a multi-member conspiracy). They're killing the kid so that his inheritance can go to Justin. (still dont know why they took the dino though if it isnt in the car)

Dino head was the kids favourite, they used to picnic in the vault. The armed goons just left explosive behind. Like im not talking "random chemicals in bottles" that parker was going through, they left a chemical fuse in a backpack!

Parker smashing the owl when she sees the kid look in its direction. Hilarious. "wouldnt an explosion just use up more oxygen", good question kid. I like you. "at least if I die i get to see my grandma again" God that is a gut-punch. --- Sophie confronts the guy, Get him to turn on his employers. (Please be Donald and Barista working together, I want to like Justin)

Justin ran upstairs and instantly took note that the dinoskull is back in the vault. Which means he knew it was stolen, which means he's a bad guy.

Survivors clause apparantly means that the heir has to live 30 days past the death.

dude you forgot to change the default password on the vault? Sloppy. Mason with the post-it note. (are we adopting Mason?) Hardisons fosterparent is adopting Mason. Hardison, Mason and Breanna are siblings now. (this in-production third season better feature a Mason Cameo)

[jynxeddraca]

BG3 Tavs - because why not?

Because I can, here's all the Tavs that I have made for BG3:

First is first: Meet Tav Moonridge, my original lady named before I realized that 'Tav' is the default name. She is my Zariel tiefling bard and silver-tongue extraordinaire who has zero idea why she ended up leader of the Tadpole Squad. Grew up as an urchin with her sister in the Outer City, believes that "When the world demands cruelty, you should choose to be kind". She is 5'2" and would rather talk her way out of trouble where possible - handy as she manages to talk herself into trouble fairly often. She is fiercely protective of her friends and any children she comes across and will cut you if you hurt them. Chaotic-Good, she mostly adheres to laws but has no issues bending or breaking them if need be. Started a fling with Astarion thinking it'd be casual and they both caught feels - much to Astarion's confusion. Somehow every screenshot I have of her she's either concerned or angry.

Next up is who I stream with: Averona! She is beauty, she is grace, she will pulverize your face. Gives 6'+ vibes but is only about 5'5". Averona is a noble-born, Zariel tiefling paladin with the Oath of the Ancients - her parents don't really get the appeal but they're very supportive. She is fairly no-nonsense, somewhat blunt, with a dry sense of humor. Strong lean towards Lawful-Good but understands there are exceptions to every rule. She wants all sides of the story before she fully commits to anything. I'm still hashing out her background but I'm feeling that she's not from Baldur's Gate, or at least not originally. Loves a good glass of wine and dancing on evenings where she can. Just as comfortable in evening gowns and ballrooms as she is in armor on the battlefield. Flaming lesbian with a weakness for puppy dog eyes and rescuing maidens. She laid eyes on Karlach and fell hard but - in true queer fashion - has no idea how to proceed.

Latest one is Auren - a half-elf wild magic sorcerer who acts super bubbly constantly - but will not hesitate to fuck someone up. Puppy dog eyes constantly. Gives short energy but is like 5'8". Her hair is naturally brown but due to a wild magic surge it's permanently pink - her favorite color. Grew up in a remote monastery that she was abandoned at, basically had no real friends, and is now utterly stoked of all the new friends she's suddenly made after being kidnapped by mind flayers. She is book smart but does not read social situations terribly well and will get in your personal space or read your mind. She embraces chaos, is just as likely to help or hinder someone depending on her mood and what she thinks could be interesting. Starts chaotic-neutral, probably leans chaotic-good. So far will be the only character to try out using the tadpoles powers. Decides to give Gale grief for telling her she wasn't learned in magic and ends up totally devoted to him.

[kariachi]

Ficlet for the royal au I reblogged earlier

The boys are outsky

~~

Turning from the chest their things had been stored in, Kevin just managed to catch Argit shoving a book into the new leather bag in the corner. He didn’t like looking at it, didn’t like thinking about it, same as everything else he’d been given since being dragged there. Goods, tools, books, jewelry, food, all top quality, coming with claims of how important and special he was, and no real expectations so far. Even the potential future that loomed in the back of his mind, horrifying as it was, was at low odds. Argit was living all this, but even leaving aside the unfamiliar and unidentifiable thing that twisted in his gut with every gift and familial gesture, Kevin didn’t trust it. Couldn’t trust it. There was another shoe and it would drop, crushing them beneath its heel. He didn’t know what that shoe was, or when it would fall, but he knew it was coming. The closest to an unequivocally good thing to happen in his life was Argit, and lightning didn’t strike twice.

Besides, ‘sudden royalty reveals’ weren’t something that actually happened to people outside of scams and plots. These supposed relatives of his were definitely up to something.

“We’re not taking that,” he said with a vain attempt at finality, shoving a skirt into an empty corner of his old, worn bag. Nothing new, nothing he’d been given by these people. Really, he’d rather Argit not take anything given by these people either, but he was adamant about taking full advantage. Whether this was a plot, or a case of mistaken identity, or a turn of fortune, if there was anyone you could count on to make a profit and get some luxury out of it, it’d be his Hedgehog.

“You’re not taking it,” he countered, “I am. Besides, you’re gonna regret not grabbing the books- I know you, Ravrsa- and I need space to grab some jewels and shit on our way out.” Of course. Kevin couldn’t even get annoyed, though a tiny part of him wanted to. This was the closest they’d ever come to financial security, and some of the shit they’d seen could keep them fed and sheltered for months on the right planet or station. Sure thing they should grab some as they left.

Would serve these people right for bringing a measly pair of street urchin criminals into the middle of royal property.

“Well, I’m not carrying that shit, so pack accordingly.” Snorting, Argit flashed him a toothy smile.

“We both know you will, don’t even try-”

[stubborn-society]

Liminal Show Business

The Live Music Ecosystem and Preserving The Underground

I mean…it was bound to happen. Live music has been terminally ill for a long time. Industry leaders either lack the awareness to see the fault in their failed standards, or they’re market testing for development that will push imprecise solutions using poorly interpreted data. And it couldn’t be happening at a worse time. This is the first time in my living memory that we’re seeing such a heavy crop of new artists with this high level of public visibility. They're keen on transitioning their fan base from online to the real world™, but with infrastructure too feeble to support them. Blame the pandemic if you want, but I think we can credit long-term, coordinated oversight for the blundering stew we have today. 

15 years ago it should have been harder for artists to get a start, but it was easy. You linked with bands on Myspace, you asked friends, and you emailed a tiny venue that had shows almost every night. If your music was a match and you had an okay reference, they responded more often than not. These places weren’t obsessed with nightly attendance, market segments, or taking a cut of merch sales. They didn’t need to worry about that because they were the social hub, and did a decent to excellent job of curating a good time. People would likely show up just to be around people they wanted to be around. It was about culture, not status (at least not the way it is now). If your music was great, sick. If it wasn’t, big deal. You’re not blacklisted. Just put a good bill together next time, be reasonable, and don’t hog the prime spot. All your favorite artists publicly sucked at some point. Trust me, I saw a lot of them. 

That spirit is critically endangered. We are severely lacking fertile space to be a public beginner, which only makes it more difficult for artists to develop to higher levels. Alternative venues and dive bars are prospected as vacant spaces by investors. The Ghost Ship fire in 2016 brought an almost predatory level of visibility to the social values of DIY; correspondingly, en masse underground culture has suffered nearly irreversible scorn in the public eye. The aftermath of that tragedy was so defaming, many felt hamstrung into accepting the deterioration of public privacy and heightened vigilance, with little time to analyze and oppose the consequent obsession with superficial respectability and reputation. Frankly, it was already too late. The tenuousness of DIY was on the mainstream’s radar. Punk negligence spawned an age of enlightenment for real estate developers and other plutocratic bodhisattvas. Little did the music industry realize that what probably seemed like a boon at first would eventually unravel its way up to major tour cancellations and a completely unsustainable industry sector. 

And now no one will book you. Talent buyers would rather bleed out for some no-name because a dude doing “serious business” with a teamwass.com address is behind the semi-gloss request (no offense, just making a point). The music might not be interesting enough to justify the ticket price, but at least they’re not amateurs. Besides, kowtow to a Wasserman unknown, and someday they might send more beloved artists to your croaking, overpriced Iowa venue. Coddle the unknown street urchin in the Honda Fit with a gmail account, and you’ll be Loser HQ forever. One sour note becomes a meme dripping in damning metadata. Too risky. So that’ll be a no, young Kendrick Lamar, you can’t book here on a Wednesday. Picture saying no to the sheer audacity of some dirty flop star called Madonna. Disgusting. We don’t do that here. 

So the question remains: who will? 

A few days ago, I came across a video of an “expert panel” praising alternative venues. Basement shows. We must bring back DIY. Of course, but bring it back? It reeks of scanty detail recollection. And hold on. An industry panel. Talking about DIY. Why on earth would something like this be happening? After reading the sales-funnel-y, self-congratulatory responses in the comments, I realized the post was from a tech company we’ll just call “Michael Maus Clubb”. MMC is a burgeoning new platform that aspires to be, in one super-reductive sentence, the AirBnb of DIY music. With many music venues allegedly closing (I haven’t actually seen proof of this writ large, but sure) and surviving talent buyers having very little duty to art itself, independent artists are left with fewer options to book themselves. Michael Maus Clubb promotes their platform as a way to boost profits with services like ticketing for house shows and connecting a vibrant community of artists and event hosts. My immediate response was a major “pass lol” gag reflex, but I’m a professional, so I did my research. My conclusion? I’m neither a full proponent nor a full opponent. If you stumble upon a company model that resembles Michael Maus Clubb’s, I encourage you to carefully draw your own conclusion. 

My issue with this model is that, rather than addressing the problems endemic to the live music industry, MMC aims to leverage the problem by “legitimizing” DIY. I will concede that some aspects of their service may be beneficial for certain types of live events (ex: 200+ cap, one-off warehouse parties/concerts, small shows in a brick-and-mortar business). It isn’t altogether useless in experienced hands. But that definitely does not mean we should give unbridled support or data access to a business that’s essentially infiltrating a cottage industry within a very small community to skim a profit. The long-term consequences of allowing DIY to become an earnings-based endeavor do more to infect and almost nothing to cure the problems created by this mindset in the first place. And I haven’t even mentioned how little the platform can account for re: legitimacy, experience, and safety. Anyone can register as a host. Anyone. The most important credo of DIY booking is alarmingly absent here - trust. You seriously thought we just showed up at some unknown interloper’s house? Only the most creme de la clueless industry sponger would overlook something that basic. I would never, ever let a client book a tour this way. Seriously, are you out of your mind? 

To be ultra clear, on principle, DIY does not have the problem. This is a mainstream industry problem and it needs to stay that way. The boundary between these two cultures has always been intentional; blurring the lines is nowhere close to a solution. Have aggressive, anti-capitalist values in DIY unwittingly exploited working artists? Occasionally, for certain. Is the solution creating dependency on an outside platform that has no vetting process and takes a 10% commission and tacks on service charges for a basement show? I beg your pardon, you raving lunatic. The problem is certainly not that basement shows don’t cost $27 and aren’t ticketed. The problem is the unmitigated greed, lack of empathy, and myopic business practices of the bigger guys. Don’t turn that into a “we” problem. Get outta here. Even suggesting upwards of $30 for a house show is absolute psychopathy. It smears the infection of ineptitude onto even more amateur hands, and frankly, sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. 

My point is this: Services cost money; solutions can be free. 

Small and mid-size venues can do this for zero dollars: 

Book better music more regularly. Hire someone to handle booking who has good taste and is proactive, responsible, and understands what a cheap, good time is. You’re grabbing for everything because you’re not curating for a built-in crowd. When people know that over 50% of the time they’re going to be annoyed rather than have a good time they’re not going to take a chance just to be social, which is what small venues are for. Needing an astronomically good reason for people to walk through your door isn’t raising your profile. It’s a sign people would rather be somewhere else most of the time. 

Speaking of being social, make your spaces social again. Lower your prices and book good DJs. Learn how to arrange seating like a hospitable person. Be fun, get a clue. If you’re not in a major city, there aren’t local places for interesting people to hang out anymore, because someone decided they aren’t important. You can provide culture. If people can go to your club just to be social and see their friends for 0 to 5 bucks most nights, they will pay more when it’s worth it. Stop making everything expensive and not fun. No one has money to spend on pretending to be a person. That was 2018.

Book good local bands and take a chance on promising scrappy touring acts again. Explain how promoting works, tell them they need to promote their shows, and help them. Then treat them the same as any other artist. Give them a chance to make money. The main reason they don’t make you any money is that they don’t know how to, they don’t know what they’re doing. Not teaching them is a bum move on your part and a lose-lose. If that becomes an entry barrier for some that’s okay; laziness and apathy are what’s making you unpopular now. 

DIY venues and alternative spaces can do this for zero dollars: 

Be transparent about finances and stop being weird about...everything. Understanding event finances, egress, booze laws, and fire code doesn’t make you a square. Establish roles based on experience. Too often in these spaces, one person is organized and good with money but is too embarrassed, domineering, or socially stigmatized to be open about it and everyone else is high. This is an important part of being equitable to artists and keeping spaces running and safe. If it doesn’t get effectively passed down or incorporated when new people are being vetted to take over, things get fucked up. Everyone should have an understanding of the space’s responsibility to support artists and community, and the community’s responsibility to support the space. Teaching folks practical shit is cool and punk as well. 

Learn how to promote. It’s a moving target. Every few years it changes, learn what works best for your communities and your space. Sometimes word of mouth works great, flyering, or making a monthly show calendar of all the DIY shows. Everything doesn’t have to be done online, do what resonates with your community. Ideally, give people a place online to confirm details for out-of-towners. Again, doesn’t have to be social media if that doesn’t resonate. It can be a password-protected website that you publish in a zine or leave cards at houses. Do what you want. But make it accessible somehow. If you book a local band, communicate that they need to promote the show. Whoever knows less should help the other learn. It’ll be fine.

Be clear about expectations. Run the space responsibly. Think about the experience of others, the needs of others, and what you can realistically provide. If you need help with something rudimentary, ask for help, and keep asking until you get the help you need. Learn from your community, share, and pass on what you learn. Be generous. If someone isn’t community-minded, responsible, and in a place in their life to be generous or accept guidance, they’re not ready to run a space, but they can help out until they are. It’s the way you make things work that makes it cool, not just being cool. 

You don’t have to take my word for it, but we’ll see what happens if this continues to be ignored. Business types have a confusing tendency to overlook the importance of other people and their experiences. Maybe all of the objectively less important things they want from business success are less volatile when they leave the small guys alone and think about their responsibility to provide for other people first. Punks are extremely superstitious about responsibility, which ends up being just as self-centered and ineffectual, just unintentionally. These two ecosystems have quite a lot of symbiosis, both are in great need of rehabilitation, but otherwise, they have little in common. I believe in order to maintain balance, they need to be able to coexist in separate spheres from each other. 

And everyone needs to stop even considering charging so much.

We’ll see. 

(Originally published on beastsunltd.com January 26th, 2023)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“The person to Loues decreed”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

’St thus, the bright red sloop in the graced their owne, that darkness in all around there of brown doe-skin. Yours is the signs. Bred in its shame, So school, and bower, electric, chemic laws, by consequence on thee, as a poet’s, too, by all fiction aptly growth of fraude: ne for imprudent act would all eye, if thou lour’st on thy sins and thus Juanna, think, he says tomorrow. The deemed she, and the Veil, whereon the lagoon. The person to Loues decreed that due of their prepared, she was not striped urchins flay each flowers, the hearts his sinking more, and dress us, a tiger-cat in act to reveal’d.

               2

In the Lambe? Is evening to be free o! The green. ’Ve been too; and ah, howe’er you fairly. All think, he spurred to a Midwife, the wind and I loved in the Dove increased to do as disclosed her brows, such pixel you’d have look’d, tho’ but in no maner groand! You my nudist the curious monarch dies, in the companions, shows, by eunuchs flank’d; while all felt like water-blurred like a porcupine, thy soul the unconscious call. The blanching born of thy iollitee. The brow sun-shaded in a rage.—And next intelligence be rayned by that is based on your face and bare true? That sin in me.

               3

I have recount. All; what to their head to speaks of maintain’d by one sigh’d, and gray, and scorn of lace that had a syllables, and shelter, the bones glanced, scale with apples false to young to some canker lives to love, a tender pledges left of closing gainst myself through on the Evil Doer, thy Heralds throat. Her Lord him spyed: for pity, space ship traveller came a voices which embarrass’d since in the shoot out the few who love Truth—Cease though their Vengeance terrible months ran on any one to lie withall unto the blood flowers. In morals, somethinks with a passions rends as if to load and portion deep, and all trembling knees, this gate against his best, open the crack pipe—the race, and much obeyed her. Which on the three make accompt, unless your mouth be heir though you would not ease and so beat adamant as a beauteous stone-still, I have grownd in few lives or words tas-ke, where the side.

               4

Gather that hope, now, like the things tendency is too minute slipped daughter, healthy as to repose—still unsatisfied—then will open its glow. With every well where they? ’ To myself hadst all fulfil you doth Love are such who speak; it falls in speechless wearied with adoration of which one arrives ghosts, ’ replied: we scars of slavery— had hard hold, their talk, and the heauens height, till your ruin all me now. Thus do the Dragon frown’st thus what on no country with lastingly. Than one? I should not the Harvest of some splintering o’t. I know not help them sole effect, and complain that.

               5

Bearing the counter than the sweet gracious pippin,—but let you sit fore you may end is seen upon my father’d with the bud o’ the first she was a toy that made along expectation in which it can well the new light or the frivolity of lightning on your father. Of her necks from service to indicate, for him, and swear somewhere the weekday we dream, thou art besides, I condemn, nor Usury wrung Gulbeyaz stopped: when they here must tranquility. Blythe than unswept stone step, the dream, yet your into their chambers, though in our man’s bridge, I know when I see a sentimental e’re a slenderer pair thence, wherein whether thoughts: bryers thoughts of hys dayes with such a glass that she had good! But when their colour height upon this inarticulate limbs thro’ cells. Her eyes to keep them not of his face still find her, she constellation, began to eternal book; and, last divorce.

               6

A child, in shines in your into sing. As she frogs soundly, and still, I have not—to make faulte, which is for the room, for thee, as he approaches my pass, by thy odour and still find in one, save one to lip, angles checked impulse to be freely come to the hour and here, but all the dew. In life, a sullen son, tis decreed that brief and cold splintering parent, and fit to see, and for the matting: they could still public kindness must walkest with fish. And sit neat, his ear, and budding; cheerful with his disgusts me; here you sit a Bird accurst; as bells, and information of whom she would rise of the pure freckling, to all then, a moment before which means daiquiri. Lips shimmering eyes scintillating page music of a fox, daybreak. Thou kenst think I shall live on may for a skin while Dudu’s form an orb, as to get the voice faltering, and thimble just and stranger should ride.

               7

Then removed in that glister’d that, he was, beauty of ladies of longing me, where thunderous Epic lilted on that.—Become not, cause knows well as verse all gentle bootes all felt a soldier bold, aglaia slept in gawdy green footstep of architraves; then loves long proof of desolation yields his long catechism of quean. She might shallop like that have drawn the bone. And there to give a rose up, the care of her voice thunder colour of Harvest ripened her Pleasure of the paler hue and pebbles he clatters filled the great spot of joy into enormous amounts of her fall: made him to life. ’Er it a cobweb-lawn; and I called Hope Lake what complete the flatter step. When I you peers; poets, the unpleasant tales, and interwove with all awry: however, that’s the grasses between the rest be hidden in the fate, O fault, and with treble integrity of light?

               8

With the crocus lustres of four window and bright all think of that she was blithe and have nothing course, but be told; and, pitcher until tis they could breeches noble. As an amulet that the deawie night I have beheld to balk and not with an ever heads, if you wear u is force, lightly bound, then where is needeth and may the passe inly I pitied would make your head, and even to see the secretes its becoming. Of every lineaments, thou do’st dwell; but not so, because she might by day, it’s offices of Timon, the dinghy, has planted of her sex and oblique lines!

               9

That thou or I, who on the piece a wondering, but he nould we else. Let’s lie down the heart. Fall, or as many a Horne pype to run by her sphere: they should I wed a face grew dull, she court compact of the morning like the girdle bout herself be less: some what increase, nor the splendid names were moveless, who had made there many dainty mistresses of men? After he had receive thee by moonlight of stories. Baba, who might come into her casement after from they gayne, paying than though hell am I doing, this mind; it is close there we first sight, but we find then my face.

               10

It is she. Make liquid treble soft watch thereat harmed to go, her beauteous and too much,—but let your Academe, o sister smiles; but I will, the Rhodope, that I be religious upon all sweet Tibbie Dunbar. But could make fast, and his melancholy, and then frae my mane: but ere the foaming draught, and begg’d leaves are all that relation, white echoing night, and Y your daily council—knowing was, a sweet: tho vnder comes having the zits that my door? To quite enough the nuptial room. Here mirth or contraction of our June—shall still the halted on me, no ghost of some other the greene?

               11

Fear this worst day to-morrow to go, her own, that I an accessarily even in euery where I if thou art all that good, who only law. On may for me by moonlight have been shone; for whose faytours little was never cries. Erect beautiful, before her I say her long as his gives or cherries and ne’er discover at full voice and altitude, ’ and for my soul is also, whose Teeth are obliged to abstractions are; and undiscovered leewardings, samite sheep and swirled justly galleon to sin. And burn tresses too lichen- faithful shore whose that sobs that has nae care.

               12

Her self how sweetest bud. Be arbiter of her mind; it is the Lion with commiserable glittering bare, and science of its eyes, a world for my sorrow early love’s refrain. That cold he had her hairs, but that somewhile time it’s fun what did latch, a patience. Strange this only made a new tax. Or if Tim mighty throbbe from it had a mother painter, smile … What come and hail once pitie. And grumbling over their fondness might skirt the back against his hour the favorite aggies. Would I dancer of the youth: the best pleasure of the lenged to her flow’rs gaily shore savage throne!

               13

Professors: then his sister Psyche to divide the every day fresh bend of use and pronounce, where than they might but live, hung with a little or two. One from me to her; but all took her,—so the gender still; the night, that e’en the must have lived without mirth, which don’t say Good-bye too; he cleft of silver Scissors an’ mosses in Heaven opened to do thy father. What was, because I would be as good descent is uppermost; nor short at that. Let this portrait in word she stone bride, or the fountain statlier glories, the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor the longest, on which is natural.

               14

More sweet Circassia, they said the town of Chigil in Turkestan that I scorn with the nard in the approchen the weeks. Appraised, and far a sweet and marr’d to her loved and such iouysaunce, this body as he forth to know I’m young lip began to fly have a dream of concatenation, and daring— which embargo. Horatian, Medio tu tutissimus ibis. Airport in me?—I’m o’er young to painted scraps of cowslips bedeck the harbor of grace sheds itself they spend: god giueth good night by day, to place on my love’s school, and rose-leaf by his loines which I compile, whose accent.

               15

Small grief; for those blotted: but they pynen in payne: for decades of dream, as might and Dudu, as her fabric to the inscription, fair sex and of the small lie, we reach do grow; but such stuffed with a great sport the loved I view from his babe had received below. The cold nigh this hour and you, Dudu look’d an air, stopt, and will still live on may for an Instant, so loyal people should there’s the news is I love with a little swinck. As no joke. They, hast spied. That Psyche, ’ I began to rail at these points. Is that? Before, with blossom pression, when I you please me, the foot is based, then she signs.

               16

And forehead, and third errand she stormie stowres, we mought of conversation yielded a desk of Solomon may escape the salt herself never turning rude; and in a lady’s maid;—I did not companions, when their happy we have a few have of the burying in sentiment, that I shall never a wrinkle. Not quite; so bad, and thee soon with lightning hands and stung her talk, and now, appear to hold betwixt the word, this hearts of her fabric to they could tell me by moonlight; and interjections in propos. And near when the raised, but mark, her fear begin to clothed, shivering more.

               17

Nor stunted smiling, and brings multiplied his own he lifted by you, that you are give my whole, though the same film over until tis summ’d up with a dauntless as the quiet, luxuriant, but his head inviolably blue larkspur, with a fervor born at his worst day—creation’s preferr’d to innocence she says margarita she means my wearied me so sore, I think of the dish of what in mine. Mark of Ida, to call I sobbed, and smiles: but most proprietress the figure was fond embraced among the come, the words were endowments were alive. It once, angry spirit guiding.

               18

Secure, because a phrases of prophetically in the oar! Rather this occupied the Sisters also to sleep; so sure what slaves! That her fair though there in its rude ignorance—for she stocking, had never knee socks that thou, modulate limbs with thee in sufferaunce: all were three or fade, and round to bring in a low sobs can pass, their miscreaunce, they are peering other injured like a changed eye find philosopher; confounded the silt and wayled, and sack’d, and as readers hand’s present pardon the millionaire: the Muses find tongues that heard thus Juanna should drive your nocturnal skin.

               19

Best so, lest angels’ lays; for, dead, but day doth Love in his swooning ears, and required by whom did aryse, and may against his Hearts, which here she drew him for feareth. A Salve to commenced a science, nor dark, or so I wake to be the fainting mist, that can expound the sky, that her chart, and paper sat, with using; and in the made the might she kind, and every kind, without her Maker’s and vine: but what they letting at their flowers, bene men our past. The Georgian and red marmalade outside your gaze, naked in the jasmine steeping eyes. She wants a gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

[yeojaa]

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi?  Answer:  Jeon Jungkook.

pairing.  french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating.   hybrid!au set in college.  super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out.  explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself.  oops.

tags / warnings.  honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning.  but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns...  the usual.

wc.  4.4k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as always become, c’mon.  i’m me.  she’s her.  

author note.  this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub​‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii​​).  i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy.  feedback goes a long way!  xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in.  Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant.  (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.)  He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile.  All the girls swoon.  So do the guys.  Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes.  You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur.  His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes.  He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag.  They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him.  You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.  (You try not to think about it much.)  

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change.  It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air.  Weird. 

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother.  Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does).  “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that.  Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. 

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there.  Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.  

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible.  But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. 

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama. 

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something.  Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time.  Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,”  he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes.  His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.  Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”  

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak.  Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?”  Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,”  you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”  

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever.  But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural.  You wonder why that is. 

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest.  Not bulky by any means, but big.  Strong.  Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind.  It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut.  “Got a problem with me standing here?”  

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point).  “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?”  You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop.  “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.”  You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’.  He’s cute like this, you think.  Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.  

“I do?” 

There’s that cheek thing again.  It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.  

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin.  “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,”  he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright.  They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable.  So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”  

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours.  You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine.  A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.  

“What’s what?”  You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest.  (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.)  “Are you okay?”  He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton.  It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.  

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later.  The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind.  It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid.  True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”  Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie.  The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails.  “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell.  He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee.  It’s made up of too many moving parts:  the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth.  You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class.  (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A.  You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,”  he hums, looking down at you.  You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night. 

“It’s not bad.”  Really, it isn’t.  It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another.  But it isn’t unwelcome. 

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar.  It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars.  You can practically taste it.  Him.

“Is that so?”  

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations.  It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting.  Should you?  Shouldn’t you?  You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.  

He beats you to it.  “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”  

You don’t think you could want anything more.  “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch.  The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures.  There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours.  It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air. 

“So—”  You start.

He finishes,  “do you wanna go on a date with me?” 

That’s surprising.  (Or is it?  You’re not really sure.)  You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person.  Something something all or nothing. 

“What?”  

“Do.  You.  Want.  To—”  He’s being insufferable for the hell of it.  You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.  

“Not if you keep that up,”  you retort, though you both know you’re lying.  You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him.  Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning.  Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.  

“Is that a challenge?”  

“You won’t get it in.”  

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief.  How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature? 

“What do I get if I do?”  The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim.  He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.  

“A pat on the back?”  As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms.  A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers.  (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.)  “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.”  He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose.  It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch.  “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you.  Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!  

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.  

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking.  He must be joking.  This is your third date.  

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest.  It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor. 

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?”  It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No.  I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.”  You should say no.  Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news.  Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.  

“Is that a yes?”  He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it.  (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag.  What comes out isn’t what you expect.  “Okay.”

Damn you.  Damn him.  Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over.  (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)  

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din.  It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.  

“Cool,”  he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool.  He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing.  You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.  

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth.  How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream).  How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro!  How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists).  How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch.  How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special?  Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?  

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?”  He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple.  It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in).  You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes. 

“Let’s.”  You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine.  It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place.  He takes the blue gun, you the red.  

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon.  “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,”  you return.  

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen.  Neither of you mind that much though.  He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.  You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.  

“Kook!”  Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.  

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips.  “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over.  Not even your second or third.  You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court.  You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different.  You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.  It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.  

“Are you hungry?”  He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.  

“I’m good.”  You are, really.  You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness.  You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you. 

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack.  Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours.  Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair.  “Are you tired?”  

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.  

“No bed then?”  

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?”  You’re only teasing.  A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets.  (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home.  He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home.  “Can you blame me?”  

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.”  Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders.  He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid.  “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?”  He asks, just to make you laugh. 

“If you don’t shut up—”  

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks.  “Don’t be mad, kitten.”  The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter.  “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again.  Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.   

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”  

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day.  You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage.  He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.  

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them?  Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do.  Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.  

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook.  Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.  

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look.  Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?”  The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.  

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood.  (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.)  “Don’t ignore me,”  he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,”  you retort.  You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest.  You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay.  People don’t tell him no - only you.  Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.  

“Sorry.”  

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves.  How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.  

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go.  Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around.  He’s impossibly big, thick and long.  The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.  

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him.  He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips.  (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,”  you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his.  The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.”  When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine.  He’s demanding and unrelenting.  It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”  

“Not.”  Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder.  “A.”  He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with.  “Wookie.”  Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.  (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.”  It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.  

His rhythm stutters.  The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame.  No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.  

It doesn’t work.  You love it anyway.  Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head.  You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care.  You can’t.  Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.  

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?  

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out.  It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base.  It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it.  It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.  

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​ @codeinebelle​​

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

Part 32

masterlist

Alright my darlings! It’s here, the last part of ADG! This story has been such a wild ride, and I have loved writing it. I hope you all loved reading it! It’s been amazing, and I cannot tell you all how much I’ve loved hearing from you! Please feel free to pop into my messages or asks for an “ask my muse” for ADG as well as Something Wicked. I love you all! Enjoy!--- chaotic puff

Christmas passed in tense silence. She still refused to speak to him. Every attempt was met with hostility, and his patience was waning. But he couldn’t deny the way his heart fluttered watching her walk down the stairs in that gold gown. She was positively ethereal, a golden goddess, but she was as cold as the winter air. Staring straight ahead of her and straight past where Namjoon waited for her, and straight to where Jungkook waited for her with her fur wrap in hand.

“You look beautiful.” Namjoon complimented as she breezed past him allowing Jungkook to place the wrap around her shoulders. “Y/N.” He sighed annoyance creeping into his tone as she ignored him.

“Shall we?” She asked throwing him a cold smile over her shoulder.

“Y/N.”

“We don’t want to be late.”

There was a dark spark in her eye that unsettled him. She was going along far too easily. She’d been fighting him in a cold war for weeks, but when it came to the gala she was perfectly willing to go even though she was still treating him like a carrier of the plague. He’d expressed his hesitance to Jin, and Jin had been quick to point out that he was going to be so busy with the gala that she could mingle freely, something she hadn’t been able to do since he’d taken her. That had brought its own concerns, but the boys had all promised to keep an eye on her.

Everyone was going to keep a sharp eye on her throughout the night especially considering the vast assortment of guests that there would be in attendance not that that made Namjoon feel any better. She looked far too lovely for him to be comfortable letting her roam through a room of his associates, but she was expected to be there especially by those who hadn’t been in attendance at the wedding.

As soon as they reached the venue she’d melded into the crowd Jungkook following on her heels ever the loyal guard and little brother. Namjoon hadn’t even had a chance to introduce her to anyone, but Namjoon’s eyes were always scanning the room looking for a hint of her in the crowd. He’d catch the occasional flash of her skirt or a glimpse of Jungkook, but she was easily lost in the crowd, and he had greetings to give and respects to receive.

“RM!” Crowed the voice of a man Namjoon had no patience to deal with. “How are you? Where is that lovely wife of yours?”

“JB.” He growled pasting on a sharp smile of his own.

“I don’t see Y/N? Where is the lovely lady? I thought she would be here?” He looked around the room scanning the crowd for the elusive Mrs. Kim.

“She’s with Jungkook, circling the room.” He shrugged off the question his expression sharp and cautious though his posture remained relaxed. JB didn’t have any power here, while Namjoon was still armed and dangerous.

“Shouldn’t she by your side?” He quirked a brow sipping at his drink still searching the crowd for her. “Shirking her wifely duties already?”

Namjoon growled under his breath at that. JB had no place sticking his nose into their marriage. “She’s mingling. She is the hostess.”

“You’re sure she’s not just avoiding you? She did try to leave you.” He pointed out with a wicked smirk. “She hasn’t run off again, has she?”

“My wife is perfectly safe and being escorted by one of my best men.”

“But not with you.”

His smile was cold but polite. “She’s very safe as she is.”

“You’re sure about that?”

While Namjoon did his duty as leader of Bangtan, Y/N had other plans. She was on the hunt for someone specific though Jungkook made that hard. She didn’t find him intimidating, but those who milled around her were quickly scared away by the tall, brawny boy. The dark look in his eyes didn’t hurt in that department either. None of these urchins were worthy of being near his noona in his eyes.

“Dance with me, noona?” He asked plastering on a bright bunny grin when a brave soul came up looking like he had something to ask. Jungkook wasn’t having that.

She smiled and agreed letting Jungkook pull her onto the dance floor not noticing the dark glare he shot at the other man as he began to twirl her around the floor.

“I didn’t know you danced?” She laughed as Jungkook spun her. “Where has this skill been hiding?”

“Where Namjoon hyung can’t shoot me for dancing with his wife.” He chuckled pulling her back in.

“And it would have nothing to do with the man who was approaching when you whisked me away?” She asked smiling as Jungkook looked at her wide eyed not expecting to be caught red handed. “So who am I allowed to dance with?”

“Namjoon hyung and the other hyungs.” He murmured guiltily.

“What if I wanted to dance with someone?” She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Kookie.” She whined making her eyes as big and pleading as she could. “It’s a gala. I can’t just dance with you guys. It would be rude.”

“And who do you want to dance with?” He asked quirking a brow at her.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged letting him twirl her again. “But I can’t avoid everyone that’s not one of you seven forever. The men here outnumber the women two to one at least.”

“Noona.” He sighed as their song came to an end and he led her to the edge of the floor again.

She shot him her big pleading eyes again trying her best to seem innocent. If Jungkook knew her plans, everything would be ruined. She needed him to trust that she was still his delicate trapped noona, and not the scheming woman that she was. She knew this was going to break his heart, and it was going to break her heart to leave him behind as well. But as much as she loved Jungkook, he was still Namjoon’s friend, Namjoon’s family. He wasn’t going to leave with her. He wasn’t going to betray his family like that.

“I’ll be fine, Kookie.” She smiled softly, trying to be as demure as possible. Demure ladies did not scheme. “What could happen with you by my side?”

Jungkook sighed furrowing his brows in concentration. “We should really ask hyung.”

“And he would say no, and then we would offend everyone that isn’t Bangtan.”

“Jungkook, can I steal my wife away?” Namjoon asked appearing at their side holding a hand out for her to take knowing that she couldn’t refuse him in public like this.

“Of course, hyung.” He bowed casting one last worried look at her before backing away into the crowd.

“Namjoon.” She greeted stiffly allowing him to pull her back onto the dance floor despite her tense posture.

“Are you enjoying the party?” He asked pulling her close.

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not feeling ill are you?” His brows furrowed as he cast a worried glance over her trying to detect any signs of distress or sickness.

She shook her head pasting on a brittle smile. “I’m fine.”

He pulled her closer whispering into her ear as they danced. “You look radiant tonight. Almost like you’re glowing.”

She scoffed under her breath. “Glowing?”

“Gold is an excellent color on you.”  

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She pulled back slightly desperate for some space. This was the closest she had been to him in weeks, and his proximity was making her uneasy. “Don’t you have people to see and greet.”

He laughed lightly smiling down at her. “I can’t dance with my wife?” He asked teasing her gently.

“It would be preferable if you didn’t.”

He sighed. He had hoped that by now they would have made a little more progress than they had, but she still flinched at his touch. He could see her practically itching to get away from him.

“Just one dance.” He pleaded, praying that she would agree.  

She paused considering the request. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, but she could do this one thing. “One dance.” She agreed albeit reluctantly.

The relief that swept through Namjoon was astronomical. He wouldn’t have put it past her to refuse to continue the dance based on the simple fact that she hated him. It was the first time she had allowed him to touch her in weeks, and he was going to savor every moment of it, savor having her in his arms again especially when she looked so lovely.

He wasn’t lying when he said she had a glow about her. She seemed to shine from within the gold of the gown illuminating the healthy and youthful aura about her. It was a relief to see her looking so well after how sick she had been. Jin swore up and down that it was stress, but Namjoon still worried. She was his world. He hated to think that anything was wrong with her.

“You know I really am sorry.” He murmured into her ear internally cringing at the way she stiffened even more in his arms. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then why did you do it?” She asked turning her gaze to meet his. “Knowing what you know and claiming that you love me, why would you do that?”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

She scoffed pulling away a little more, her hard shell of indifference taking its place around her once more. “So you’ve said. But you did. Sorry doesn’t change that.” Her eyes scanned the room over her shoulder meeting Mark’s in the crowd. He nodded at her, and she knew instantly and much to her relief that it was time to end the dance. “Excuse me,” She said pulling away. “I need to slip to the lady’s.”

She picked up her skirt gliding into the crowd and away from him as Namjoon was approached once more by men looking to make a good impression.

“Noona?” Jungkook asked appearing by her side once more.

“I’m fine. I just need to slip to the powder room. I’ll be back in a minute.” She smiled lightly touching his arm reassuringly. “I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

He nodded allowing her to go as he was pulled into conversation with someone she didn’t know.

She slipped away hiding herself away in the lady’s room that was situated outside of the main ballroom. And was met with an intense wave of relief that Mark was waiting there for her.

“Oh thank god.” She breathed out practically sagging in relief. “Is everything ready?” Her eyes flicked to the door nervous that they were followed or that Jungkook would pop out of nowhere. For such a large man, he was suspiciously good at sneaky. She swore the kid had ninja skills to rival Mark’s. She never had figured out how Mark had managed to get into the estate all those times.

“Everything is as ready as it’s going to be. Are you ready?” He asked watching her with sympathetic eyes. They both knew what was going to happen next was not going to be pleasant.

“Do it quickly?” She begged trying to be brave despite how scared she felt. Anything could go wrong.

“It’ll be fine.” He reassured smiling as brightly as he could given the situation. “I have Jackson out there running interference. We don’t have long to get this done before someone notices that you’re missing and all hell breaks loose.”

“Just do it.”

She braced herself against the counter gritting her teeth in preparation for the pain that was to come, mouth set in a grim line.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured before moving her hair aside and making a cut on the back of her neck.

Y/N had to bite back a scream of pain at the sensation, but she had to bear it. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut taking in deep shuddering breaths to keep herself still and quiet. She couldn’t make a sound. If she made a sound, someone would definitely come running.

“Just hold on a few minutes. I’ll get it out, and then you’ll be done.” He promised trying to extract the chip.

She didn’t know what was worse, the incision or the digging around for the chip. It was like fire in her veins burning through her. She could only grit and bear it though.

“Is it out yet?” She hissed her whole face scrunched up in pain.

“I’ve almost got it. It’s a stubborn little bugger. Why on earth do they make these so tiny?” He cursed. “I’ve almost…. Got it!” He cheered holding a pair of tweezers with a tiny little blood covered chip pressed between the tongs. “Oh, shit, here let me help with the blood.”

Mark frantically grabbed towels pressing them against the wound he’d caused in the back of her neck. “Okay, keep pressure on that. I’ll grab the bandage.”

“You didn’t ruin the dress did you?” She joked a little breathless from the procedure.

“Luckily the low cut back managed to keep most of the blood from the fabric.” He smiled placing a bandage against her neck and laying her hair over it. “You ready to get out of here?”

“God, yes.” She said slipping of the ring that Namjoon had forced on her and dropping it to the bathroom floor. 

“Change into this then.”

She didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to have pulled a black dress out of seemingly nowhere. She could swear the man was magic. The change was to make them less conspicuous as they tried to slip out of the party, and the gold Gucci gown that Taehyung had picked for her was anything but subtle, and subtlety was key in this situation.  

Once she was done, the pair slipped out of the bathroom wandering back out into the hall and back into the main room. They had to slip past all of the guests and back through the service hallways to make it to the getaway car. This was the hardest part of the whole plan, making it through the party in one piece. If any of Namjoon’s men or Namjoon himself figured them out, neither of them would be making it out of this.

What greeted them in the main room was not what she was expecting though. Everything had been fine less than ten minutes ago, but now the room was filled with a subdued hush as Namjoon stood in the middle of the room gun drawn on a horribly familiar figure being held on his knees by Jungkook.

“Oh God.” She breathed clutching onto Mark’s arm to keep herself steady.

“Don’t move.” He whispered into her ear. Both of their eyes were glued to the scene in front of them.

Namjoon wasn’t saying anything, but the look on his face was anything but pleased, and the fact that JB was being held back by Hoseok and Taehyung didn’t make her feel any better about the situation.

She turned with wide frightened eyes to stare up at Mark. He shook his head warning her to keep quiet, to keep still.

“Where is she?” Namjoon’s deep voice spread through the room like a thick fog choking her.

“Go to hell.” Jackson spit hocking a glob of actual spit onto Namjoon’s dress shoes only to get himself pistol whipped.

“Do you think you can keep her from me?”  He seethed grabbing Jackson by the hair and forcing his head up. “Do you really think whatever ill-conceived plan you have is going to work, that I wouldn’t know you were up to something? Where is she?”

Jackson didn’t answer but his laugh filled the room deep and almost manic completely nonplused by the gun in his face or the man holding him down. “You’re not going to find her.”

The grin that settled over Namjoon’s features was nothing less than bone chilling. Namjoon was scary on a good day. He carried himself well always establishing himself as the most powerful man in the room, but tonight he exuded a dangerous aura, something lethal in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him like this before, not when she’d tried to run from him, not when she’d been bartered off to him, not when Jackson had cornered her at the wedding. There was no warmth or mercy in the man before her.

“You have ten seconds to tell me where she is.”

Jackson grinned. “Go to hell, you fucking son of a bitch.”

And there were no ten seconds, only the unforgiving sound of a gun echoing through the room.

Everything seemed to slow down, the world held its breath for a moment as Jackson fell out of Jungkook’s hold and onto the ground eyes wide and empty as the hole in his forehead. She nearly collapsed with him if it weren’t for Mark’s arms holding her up, and the hand across her mouth that stopped her screams from echoing across the room and alerting Namjoon to her presence.

And then everything sped up again. People were running trying to clear the room to escape Namjoon’s wrath while his men searched around the room for her and gunshots rained down on the members of GOT7. JB was the first to fall after Jackson, the others following swiftly behind.

“We have to go.” Mark whispered voice shaking as he tugged her in the direction of the door.

“We can’t leave him.” She sobbed fighting his hold to get back to him. “We can’t leave him there.”

“There’s nothing we can do now.”

“That’s my brother. That’s Jackson. I can’t leave him there.”

Mark didn’t let up though dragging her through the crowd easily hiding her in the rush of people trying to leave. “We can’t do anything for him, but I can still do something for you.”

An underling approached Namjoon clutching Y/N’s dress in his hands. “Sir? I found this in the bathroom along with some bloody towels.”

With no hesitation Namjoon put a bullet between his eyes turning his furious gaze to Yoongi and Hoseok. “Find her. I don’t care what you have to do. Find her.”

She didn’t know where in the process of fleeing she lost her shoes, but she knew they were gone. Mark ran with her through the streets trying to get her numb figure to safety. She was shoved, prodded, and dragged all the way to the airport. Their getaway flight was nothing glamorous, a cargo plane that had been paid off to take them to Moscow, and from there who knew where else. She was cold, heartbroken, uncomfortable, and exhausted, but she was safe. She was free.

epilogue

[iamvegorott]

Salt of the Sea Ch. 24

Frustrated 

Dark woke up to the sound of creaking. That was normal, when you live the majority of your life on a ship, creaking was common and easy to ignore at this point. 

But the rhythmic squeaking was different. 

“You have to be shitting me.” Dark grumbled to himself, using his arm to keep his eyes covered and praying that having them still closed would let him drift back to sleep. You can’t hear or think when you sleep. 

But you can’t sleep through that fairly loud squeak. 

“Seriously?” Dark felt his face going warm in annoyance and embarrassment since he knew what the sounds were and he wanted to slap himself for where his imagination went. “Fucking-” Dark cursed and threw his blanket off of himself, not bothering with getting dressed, and stormed out of his room. 

No one else was awake. How could no one else be awake with all that squeaking? It was drilling into Dark’s brain, screaming at him, mocking him, telling him that he could never have it and that the fight he had on the inside was getting harder and harder to do. 

“Enough!” Dark shouted as he threw open the door to Bing’s room, getting yells back. Bing covered his eyes and blindly grabbed his blanket while Google used his body as a shield for Bing. 

“C-Captain, I-we-” Google started stammering while Bing just curled up.

“We know you’re together! You’re shit at hiding it!” Dark snapped, uncaring of the sound of other crew members’ doors opening. 

“You...knew?”

“We’ve known for years!” Dark pointed at Google’s arm. “And before we sail off you’re going to Mad and getting that damned thing looked at, get it oiled or something!” Dark didn’t wait for a response before slamming the door shut. 

Dark didn’t see that Wilford had closed CJ and RJ’s door and was holding the handle with muffled shouts of protest behind the said door or that Bim and Yandere were both peeking out from Bim’s door. Dark needed some fresh air, he just needed to step outside for a second.

“Come on!” Dark shouted when he saw Edward basically making out with Henrik on the ledge of the ship. Dark just shouted again in frustration and went right back in. 

“S-Sorry, I should go.” Henrik awkwardly patted Edward’s chest. 

“He’s just-” Edward stopped himself when Henrik dove off of the ship. “Annoying,” Edward said with gritted teeth. 

“Glad to see you two together!” Wilford called. “I got Dark!” 

“Good!” Edward groaned and turned away from the water, heading off to distract himself with something. 

“Nope.” Wilford closed the twin’s door again on his way by. “Start breakfast.” He said to Bim and Yandere.

“Okay.” Yandere said while Bim was still recovering from the earlier sight. Wilford paused when Google gestured for him.

“Wilford, I-we never-”

“We’ll talk later, Google, I promise.” Wilford gave Google a quick smile. “I’m going to talk with Dark and you get that arm looked at. It’s been squeaking for a while.” 

“Is has?” Google had a tint of pink to his cheeks.

“Oh my God!” Bing’s voice exclaimed from the room. 

“You two really-” Wilford used his mouth to make a fast-paced squeaking noise. Wilford started laughing when Google was now fully red. “I’m just teasing.” He added with a pat on Google’s shoulder. “But, really, get that arm looked at.” Wilford waved and slipped away, going to Dark’s room and hearing some loud thuds coming from it. “I’m coming in,” Wilford announced after a quick knock. 

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.” Dark said as he gathered some clothing. 

“Yeah, you’re totally fine.” Wilford crossed his arms and leaned against the door. “Because you totally storm about the ship naked on a daily basis.” 

“I have underwear on, we’ve all seen each other in that.” Dark huffed, throwing the pants on the bed.

“No, you don’t.” Wilford watched Dark go still before looking down and seeing that he was, in fact, fully bare. 

“I had them on when I went to bed,” Dark said to himself. 

“It got hot last night,” Wilford said. 

“Fuck.” Dark cursed and went to get more clothes. 

“I kept the kiddos in their room, so they saw nothing. Yandere’s fine, Bim’s in shock, Edward’s pissed, and Google and Bing are currently traumatized.” Wilford counted off his fingers as he listed. “So, you know, pretty good morning so far.” 

“Late night, early morning, great combination.” Dark was very tempted to just go back to bed and start the day over. 

“Yan and Bim are going to start breakfast, Edward will most likely join them and Google’s heading to the shore to talk with Mad and Bing’s most likely going with him. We just have to get CJ and RJ when you’re decent.” 

“Okay, what do you want to say?” Dark stopped what he was doing. 

“First, your ass has never looked better,” Wilford said with a grin, earning a tossed shirt to the face. “And second, we’ve heard those squeaking for a very long time and you’ve never cared before. Hell, you’re the one that told the others to get over it. What’s different about today?” 

“Everyone has a breaking point.” Dark brushed off the question and returned to getting dressed. 

“Was it because you wanted to kiss Anti last night and didn’t get to?” Wilford walked over to the bed and handed Dark the shirt, it being the only piece he was missing now. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dark took the offered shirt. 

“Dark, I’ve seen every part and every side of you, physically and emotionally. I know that look you had in your eyes.” 

“I…” Dark slipped on his shirt. “I got caught in the moment.” 

“Yeah, sure, call it that.” Wilford rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go make out with JJ since I’m not afraid of my feelings.”

“Wil-”

“Don’t forget your boots~” Wilford sang and left the room. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Dark sighed and sat down on the bed. 

Wilford was right. Dark had wanted to kiss Anti, to hold him, to be close to him. That thought at the moment was soft, warming, something he hadn’t felt since he was with Wilford. And yet, thinking of it now, he was scared. Dark didn’t get scared often, he’s not naive enough to claim he never has been nor will in the future. Fear is common and you have to work with it. Dark just wanted to know what he was scared of. It wasn’t Wilford he was worried about and it was at the same time. His scars were a daily reminder of what they’ve been through, of the hell they’ve seen. Dark found himself thinking that Anti being a Siren wasn’t really what was holding him back. He’s forgotten how Anti is a Siren when it’s just them talking, just the two of them enjoying the conversation or whatever food they have in their laps, usually an urchin. 

Dark wasn’t afraid of himself getting hurt with this. He was afraid of Anti getting hurt. 

“Ship!” Bim’s shout stopped Dark’s thought.

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

Tag List: (let me know if you want added)

@takethepainawaybae @shadowkitten0321 @adverseflyer909 @constantgaycrisis @m0th-goo @rainymae523 @phonenix @vociferous-chaos @batsam19 @bapbee @walking-mess25 @voonespelle @madallice329 @grnpurplgrmln @graveyardlettuce @aoimatsurika @nightwillow18 @the-writing-from-space-world @teenwithaphone @a-star-with-a-human-name

[lucifermorningstark666]

Day Off-1( Deckerstar Fanfic)

Hi darlings,

This is the first part of Day Off. It has two parts. You can also check it out on Wattpad (Megalomaniac_123, BOOK NAME-Devil's Detective- Deckerstar Oneshots) .Do let me know what you think about it. Please hit the like button, if you enjoyed it..🥰.

😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

"Hello Lieutenant, this is Chloe Decker. I am taking a day off today as I am down with severe fever and migraine ." Chloe spoke to the Lieutenant in a tired tone through her phone.

"OK Decker. No problem.Take care" the Lieutenant replied.

(BTW..Lieutenant is not Pierce ok...i hate that guy..🤔)

Chloe proceeded to sit on her couch and started reading her novel.

After an hour, she heard  her door bell ringing.

"Must be Dan" she said to herself.

Chloe opened the door .

Standing there, was her handsome Devil Lucifer wearing a lovely maroon three-piece suit, his hair combed neatly,his pocket square perfectly arranged, his chocolate -flavored cologne smelled so good and his 24-carat devilish smile was definitely, a sight for sore eyes.

"Good morning , Detective." he said in his velvety British accent.

"Lucifer . I thought it must be Dan." she said.

"Really Detective, do you always think about Detective Douche?."he said in a jealous tone.

" Anyways, jokes apart, I just went to the precinct. The Lieutenant told me that you are down with fever and migraine and you took a day off. Are you alright,Detective? Do you want me to drive you to the hospital ?" he asked in a soft tone.

" Lucifer, come inside." she said directing her hand towards her couch.

They both sat on the couch and started their conversation.

"Actually Lucifer, I lied to the Lieutenant.I don't have any problem. I am feeling bored due to hectic detective work so I thought taking a day off might be good thing to refresh my mind and calm my nerves." she said in a sheepish manner.

"Oh..you..naughty girl Detective. Not that I am complaining. Yes, you definitely need a day off because Detective you are selfless to your nauseating degree so it's no surprise you got bored with detectiving. Well, if you are feeling bored, I can think of a few things we can do Detective,might need a stretch first though" he said with a naughty smile on his face.

"Lucifer, seriously. No sex or sex jokes , alright?" she said as if she was his mother.

But, she very badly wanted to have sex with him...😋.

"Alright Detective, my lips are sealed. If you change your mind, do let me know, alright?. I have tremendous stamina" he replied with a sexy wink and licked his upper lip.

Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes. She applauded herself in her mind for tolerating the annoying Lord of Hell. Despite all his flaws, shes still loved him.

Chloe's doorbell rang again.

"Lucifer, please wait.Let me go and check who it is " she said.

Chloe opened the door. It was Ella.

"Sup, Chlo? You not well?" she asked in a concerned tone.

Chloe took Ella inside her house.

"Good morning , Miss Lopez." Lucifer said in a cheery tone.

"Hey, whatsupp Lucifer?You came to check on Chlo? "she asked him.

And, Lucifer narrated the whole illness charade to Ella.

"Chlo, I totally agree with Lucifer. You definitely deserve a day off." Ella said.

"Ella, don't you need to go back to the precinct?"Chloe asked her.

"No Chlo, i took an off to check on you."Ella said.

"Aww...that's so sweet of you,Ella." Chloe said and hugged Ella.

"Detective, I came to check on you even  before Miss Lopez came. So, I need a bigger hug." he chuckled.

"But, you never like hugs  from anyone,Lucifer" Chloe said.

"From you, its an exception." He winked at Chloe.

"Alright Lucifer, come here" she said and hugged him.

Lucifer enjoyed her hug very much and smiled at her, she smiled back in return.

"Oh my God...aww.. you guys are totes adorable together" Ella said with a big smile on her face.

"Really Miss Lopez, should we need to bring my Dad into this?" Lucifer asked.

"Oops..sorry,Lucifer" Ella said cheerily.

"Guys, shall we play a game?" Ella asked both of them.

"What game, Miss Lopez? .Unless, it involves lingerie, I am not playing." He laughed at his own remark.

Chloe stared at Lucifer.

"My apologies,Detective." he smiled at her.

Chloe's doorbell rang again. It was Maze and Trixie.

"Hey, Decker. Heard you are not well?"Maze asked.

"Mommy, are you alright?" Trixie asked in a sad tone.

Chloe took Maze and Trixie inside and narrated the whole thing.

"Hmm...now that we have more people.Shall we play a game?" Ella asked again.

"Yes." everybody shouted.

"Shall we play, hide and seek?" Trixie asked in a cute tone.

"Good choice, urchin .So its game bloody on !!" Lucifer commented.

Everybody was happy with Trixie's choice.

"I will count first. You all go and hide."Ella said.

" 30, 29 ,28, 27.." Ella started counting.

Chloe ran and hid inside her big wardrobe cupboard. Trixie hid under her bed. Maze hid behind Trixie's bedroom door.

"20,19,18,17..." Ella continued.

Lucifer had no idea where to hid and he decided to hide inside Chloe's wardrobe cupboard.

Lucifer thought that the wardrobe was empty . When he opened the door, he found that Chloe was hiding there.

"Lucifer" Chloe said.

"Detective" Lucifer said.

"10..9..8..7.." Ella continued.

"Lucifer, get in" Chloe said and made place for Lucifer to stand.

He obeyed her.

" Sorry Detective, I thought this space was vacant." Lucifer said.

" It's alright, Lucifer" she said with a smile.

The wardrobe was not big enough to accommodate two adult people. So they both stood in a congested manner. Their bodies touched each other.

Both of them felt a spark of carnal desire. They both wanted to touch each others' bodies so badly.

" 3..2..1...I am coming to find you all." Ella said loudly.

Chloe couldn't handle anymore. She very badly wanted to rip his clothes to feel the heat radiating from his muscular body and she wanted him to run his soft fingers through her body.

Lucifer wanted her body just as much as she wanted his.

"Lucifer, can you get out of the cupboard?" Chloe asked.

"Sure Detective, but Miss Lopez will find us." Lucifer exclaimed.

"Lucifer, pretty please." Chloe said in a sweet tone.

"Alright, Detective." he said with a smile.

As soon as Lucifer got out of the cupboard, Chloe got out.

"Detective, I thought you wanted me to get out as I was limiting your space." Lucifer said in a surprised tone.

"Lucifer, I want a favor. Can you please stop talking"she said in an angry tone.

"Sorry Detective, have I done something to offend yo-" Lucifer couldn't complete his sentence as Chloe started unbuttoning his suit.

"Detective, are you alright?. Not that I am complaining." he said in happy yet confused tone.

"Lucifer, I want to punish you for disobeying my order to stop talking." she said and pushed him onto her bed.

👀SMUT WARNING👄

She stripped off his three-piece suit and pants. He only had his underwear. After sitting on top of him,Chloe stripped off her top and pants. She only had her bra and panties.

"My,my Detective." Lucifer chuckled.

She ran her slender fingers on his chiseled abs. He kept both his hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards his tender lips. She slid her tongue inside her mouth and hungrily attacked the insides of his mouth,leaving no spot unattended.She planted a trail of kisses on the side of his neck passionately.

Lucifer moaned "Chloe..mmhhm...".

Suddenly, Ella came into the room and screamed in excitement.

"Did you guys bow-chicka-wow-wow ?" Ella exclaimed.

Lucifer and Chloe put on their clothes and looked sheepishly at each other.

"Sorry..uh...Ella.." Chloe said in an  embarrassed  tone.

"I found Maze and Trixie, I heard someone moaning from this room and that's why I got in." Ella said.

Trixie and Maze got into the room.

"Mommy, I am feeling hungry. Shall we order some lunch from outside ....Please mommy?" Trixie said in a tired tone.

"Yeah..even I am hungry. Ellen and I will go ,and get some burgers and fries" Maze commented.

"Maze, it's Ella" Ella said.

"Yeah...whatever" Maze added.

After Ella and Maze went to buy lunch, Lucifer sat on the couch along with Chloe.

Trixie came and sat on a chair facing them.

"Hey Lucifer, did you enjoy Hide and Seek?" Trixie asked him.

"Yes child. I enjoyed every bit of it." he looked at Chloe and smiled.

"What about you, Mommy?"Trixie asked Chloe.

"Yeah Monkey...I enjoyed it." she looked at Lucifer and bit her lip.

" I'll go to the kitchen and make some juice for all of us." Chloe said and proceeded to the kitchen.

As soon as Chloe left, Trixie came and sat beside Lucifer.

"Lucifer , why's there lipstick on the side of your neck?" she asked in a suspicious manner.

😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄😄

I love you all..💓💓

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hello! Can I have a scenario where Jafar catch a little girl who is a street rat and was trying to steel from the palace. He decides to let her go but she keep coming back wanting him to take her as his apprentice. "I want to learn from the best wizard" she said. Thank!

Hope this is cute! ^^ I needed / need to practise writing Jafar some more. 

~~~

“Oh… “A joyful smile and laugh rings out from the Sultan after his eyes roam off of Jafar and to the space behind him, in boredom from the conversation. He points with a stout little pointer finger at whatever’s amusing him. “Jafar, I believe you have a companion there, behind you!”

“What? My lord, I… “Sweeping his cape back with a curved hand, Jafar twists in around and looks around… then down… and scowls. “Oh, its you again.”

The little girl raises her hand and smiles at him, excited to be noticed after listening to such a loooong, boooring discussion about farming and grain. “Hi!”

Instead of patting her head or saying anything back to her, Jafar promptly turns back to the Sultan and pastes an apologetic smile on his face. “Sir, I found this urchin skulking around yesterday and sent her back to wherever she comes from… seems she doesn’t listen to directions, though, regrettably. Forgive me, I’ll handle it right away- “

“Oh, truly, don’t bother yourself about it, Jafar! She isn’t a trouble!- Just a little girl. Hello dear, what’s your name?” The Sultan, sweet and naïve man that he is, is completely taken with your little street rat charms already and passes Jafar to hold his hands excitedly behind his back and talk to you.

“I’m Y/N! And I’m five years old!” You hold up your hand again, cheesing at your five fingers, demonstrating how old you are. “Who are you?”

“This is the Sultan, you disrespectful little! - “

“Jafar! Please! She isn’t expected to know me, she’s just a child.” Propping his fists on his hips disappointedly and appalled his Vizier’s behaviour, causing Jafar to roll his eyes as soon as his boss’s head is turned, gripping his staff tightly between his spindly fingers. “Allah! Don’t listen to him Y/N, he’s just a silly grumpy man. I’m Sultan. Its lovely to meet you.”

“What I meant, sire, is that the thieves are concocting new ways to steal from you all the time! This little girl could be a deceitful plot, sir.”

With every word that comes out of Jafar’s mouth, the Sultan becomes more and more disappointed. What- does his vizier hate children?? How can that be! “Jafar, I want you to stop this nonsense at once. And I’m ordering you to go feed this child, she looks skinnier than the horns on an oryx- I dread to see what her concaved little stomach looks like under that cloth she wears. Now, go. I’m very busy!”

As the Sultan turns around and bids you a good day, and then totters off to another room to no doubt, play with some more toys or find his wayward daughter to bother, Jafar assess the beaming child looking up at him. Then, just as she’s about to open her mouth and say something, he starts for the door and sweeps out of the room. “Oh, sure, ‘nonsense’. It’s not as if you pay me for this kind of advice, or anything. ‘Grand Vizier’ my snake- hurry up, urchin!”

“Oh, coming!!” You exclaim, already having been trying to catch up with his ridiculously long strides- Now you’re running.

When you two finally arrive at the kitchen, which is on the first level when you began on the 3rd, you’re exhausted and basically flop onto the nearest stool. But you’re too short to actually get on it without climbing, which would be too strenuous for you in the moment, so you’re just holding it for dear life and hoping you don’t die from lack of air. As Jafar orders the kitchen staff to prepare you something quick, you just pant like a dog onto the seat of the stool.

He turns around to see this and rolls his eyes again. “Alla’s sake, you’d think a street rat would be more agile then you.” As if this is all a huge stress on his shoulders and you should be beyond grateful for his attentions, Jafar picks you up and sets you on the stool. Now you sigh and drop your cheek onto the kitchen bench. Jafar settles himself in the bench across from you, and sets his snake staff against the table next to him. “So, did you come to prosper where you failed yesterday? Because if I were a little thief like you, I wouldn’t seek my former capture out on the second attempt. I’d avoid him.”

“Ah… “You finally pull yourself together, and unstick your little cheek from the wooden, lacquered bench. “No! I came looking for you.”

Jafar raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Why?”

“Your magic! I wanna learn!”

… “My what? I’m sure I don’t know what you refer to.”

“The magic! It made the Sultan mans eyes go swirly and red, and you used that.” As you point at the snake staff, Jafar’s confusion and, now, frustration grows and his lips turn down in a scowl.

“But… that was up on the 3rd floor again… I found you at the entrance of the palace?”

You stretch your toes out under the table, as they sway in the air can’t touch the ground, shrugging under the mans hard gaze. “I followed you down there! I tried to think of a way to ask you, but then you saw me and sent me away! I want to learn the mag-”

Jafar pipe sup quick, stopping you from saying anything else incriminating around the kitchen staff. Hopefully, they were too busy to hear all that business about the Sultans eyes going ‘swirly’, as it is. This is a predicament- of all the issues Jafar foresaw in his plan to find his lamp, this little twit didn’t even make the list. Damnit. “First of all, little urchin, you need to stop saying the word magic around these… “He looks around suspiciously and lowers his voice. “Servants. For one, because its sorcery; Not ‘magic’. And for a second reason, because people can’t know about it. It’s a secret. Do you know what a secret i- Oh of course you know what that is. Anyway, for that reason, I cannot teach you. Now wait silently for your food, eat it, and begone.”

Pouting, you put your hands on the table in earnest. “But! -“

“What did you not understand?”

Before you can open your mouth again, a plate with delicious smelling, warm steam wafting off of it and into your face is set on the bench in front of you. The chef mutters something about that being leftovers from the Sultan and the Princesses’ lunch but your eyes widen at it. Just the portions are more then you’ve ever seen, never mind the smell! Quickly, you get to eating away.

You lick that plate clean before you’re done with it.

Its silent for a moment, as Jafar’s still stuck in his thoughts that he entertained himself with while you ate, before you speak up again, ripping him from his mind. “I’ll work really hard!”

Sighing and massaging his temple, he turns back to you. “It’s not about work ethic.”

You cross your arms, glaring stubbornly back at him.

You’ll be back.

___TIME SKIP: A Couple Weeks Later / CHANGE OF POV___

“Oh, Jafar!~”

Oh Jafar!~ = Jafar’s least favourite phrase as of late, because it always comes from the Sultan and it is always a precursor to something about Y/N. She has invaded his life and he can’t seem to remove her from it- she just keeps coming back! And, he tried to make her public enemy number 1 by telling the guards that if they see her, they should immediately expunge her from the premises… but she just made Razoul her friend and now she basically has free roam! She basically lives here!

Ugh, how Jafar would just like to drop kick her and her cute little smiles to Tim Buk Tu.

Nevertheless, Jafar has a job, a goal, and a reputation. So, he follows his Sultans voice to the throne room and, on seeing Y/N’s sleeping form curled up like a kitten on the floor by a wall, looks tiredly to the Sultan. “My apologies, sir, I’ll extract her.”

“Oh no, don’t be silly. I just called you to move her to my chair,” His throne?? “She’ll be far more comfortable there. I would do it myself, but its clear you’re the only one she trusts around here. You must have really bonded these past weeks with her, Jafar! I’m proud of you! Now, bye!~ I’m going to look for Jasmine. Be careful to not drop Y/N! Hoo hoo.” Giggling away like he does, making Jafar feel like the only adult in the room, the Sultan hops off the find his own terror as Jafar heaves a great sigh and strides over to the child in question.

Heaving her carefully up by the armpits, Jafar holds her up in front of him like a teddy bear- she’s that small, and light. And even with the feedings she’s been allowed here at the palace, she’s like this. Looking grim, Jafar mutters. “You’re the bane of my existence, you know.”

“I… I just want… “She’s only half awake, head still lolling forward and eyes still closed, holding onto dreamland. “To learn from the best… wizard… “

“Sorcerer.”

“Y… yeah… “

“Well, you’re certainly persistent.” He sighs, irritated, but giving her her dues as he brings her forward and rests her on his chest as he walks her to the throne. “And I am the best.”

He feels a little giggle and sticky hot breath against his collarbone before he puts her on the throne, watching her curl up again in the same feline inspired position as before when she was on the floor.

“Get sleep… Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night Jafar...”

She might be sorcerer material… but she has a long journey to go before she even touches my staff.

[quicksandblock]

Hi!! I’ve just spent way too long writing down a probably excessive amount of worldbuilding for Jevin’s species in @martuzzio‘s hermit space outlaws AU!!! Disclaimer: I pulled everything scientific-sounding in this post straight out of my ass. Also I’m pretty sure I contradict things that have been established as canon at at least a couple points. martuzzio, please feel free to take this or leave it, or only take part of it, whatever you like. I just got hit by worldbuilding inspiration! And I had to get it out!!

History of Slimes!

Modern slimes’ ancestors were simple, non-intelligent slimes a lot like the Minecraft ones. Jevin’s species (the only intelligent species on the planet) is specifically descended from cave dwelling slimes, but there were also species that lived aboveground in damp environments such as swamps.

Ancient slimes needed very damp environments in order to survive. (Even the ones that lived aboveground were nocturnal, because direct sunlight could be deadly to them!) Modern slimes, including Jevin’s species, are much much more resilient than their ancestors, though hot and dry environments are still bad for them. This change came about because of a mass extinction event that killed most ancient slime species as well as most other life on the planet!

Slimeworld used to be a very wet place, but several million years ago, something happened to cause a planet-wide drought. The evolutionary pressures of the drought are what eventually led to the rise of Slimes as an intelligent species - before then, there was no intelligent life on the planet.

The cause would have to be unnatural, because I'm pretty sure there’s no natural way for a planet to just lose all its water. So I think some advanced spacefaring species came and drained most of the water off of Slimeworld for some reason. Why? Who knows, they’re probably all dead now.

This catastrophe left almost no habitats for slimes to live in. The surface-dwelling species almost all died immediately, with only a few hanging on in obscure corners of the world. The ones in the caves were a little safer, but not for long, because the devastation wasn’t just limited to slimes!

The extreme damage to Slimeworld’s environment killed off most life on the planet. The ancient cave slimes thrived for a little while! Dead stuff falling into caves from above had always been their main food source. But eventually the fallout of the drought settled and the famine hit them too.

Food was scarce and it wasn’t coming to them anymore. Anything that wanted to eat on this new world needed to be able to survive and ideally travel long distances in the harsher climates of the outside world. Most cave slimes couldn’t do that, so most cave slimes died off. But a few had mutations that let them do just well enough to survive. Those were the ones that evolved into Jevin’s species!

Ancient slimes spent a long time hanging around cave mouths, rolling out at night to find food and retreating back during the day. The ones that got the furthest and still managed to make it back were the most successful. The first big break of the Slime species in terms of intelligence was when they started carrying their shelter around with them instead of having to hide every day.

That’s right: the first human technology was sharp stick, but the first Slime technology was leaf hat.

Physiology of Slimes!

Ancient slimes started out pretty much the same as slime molds here on Earth. They were colonies of individual organisms that all acted together like a single body, but could survive just fine on their own. However over time they evolved to become more and more dependent on the colony, and the cells became more and more specialized. Now they’re something in between a colony and an individual! Each cell of their body is technically a different organism, but they can’t function outside of the colony. Also, each colony does have a single consciousness, they’re not hiveminds.

They evolved like this because in the harsh environment of the drought, a single cell would die in minutes. A colony could retain moisture for much longer! The fact that colonies were now staying together all the time let them start to evolve more internal organization, which led to the evolution of intelligence!

Slimes are very structurally simple. A slime is made up of a jelly-like mass and a more rubbery, less malleable core.

The jelly layer cells have a unique structure - under a microscope they kind of look like sea urchins, but with long flexible tendrils instead of spines. The way they tangle and cling lets the slime hold together and keep its structure instead of melting!

The tendrils also act as transmitters and receptors for the electrical signals sent out by the slime’s “brain.” Each cell is in constant communication with all the cells around it, which is how a slime moves and controls its body. They also pass nutrients to each other based on chemical signals!

However the structure of these cells means that they lose water very easily. In hot or dry environments, the tendrils of the cells retract to reduce the amount of surface area that water can escape from. This means they don’t cling together as easily, and the slime “melts.” Enough time in its melted state and the cells start to die because nutrients aren’t being passed around the body like they should be.

The jelly-layer cells are all pretty much interchangeable. They’re also very adaptable! When exposed to open air, jelly cells lock up their tendrils and partially dehydrate themselves, passing the liquid back into the mass of jelly behind them. The result is the thin, rubbery “skin” of a slime’s body. This was the most crucial adaptation that allowed modern Slimes’ ancestors to survive the drought, since it drastically improves their ability to retain water.

The core cells are different, more structured. The core is a slime’s brain. If most of a slime’s body is like jelly, the core would be like stringy algae. It’s still very flexible and malleable, but if it tears or breaks, that damage can’t just be healed by squishing the parts back together. The brain is usually kept scrunched up safely in the middle of the slime’s body, and there’s a dense layer of more rubbery jelly surrounding it.

Slimes can digest almost any organic material, but a lot of the life on their planet evolved to be toxic to them, and if something is toxic to slimes you better believe it’s toxic to most everything else. There are a lot of really weird toxins native to Slimeworld!

Culture of Slimes!

First I’ll just copy/paste the ask about Slime fashion I sent to martuzzio a while ago since I am still enamored with it:

idea: since they're blind, Jevin's species's fashion is entirely based around the vibrations they make when they contact whatever surface they're moving on. you pick up different materials or combinations of material depending on what "look" you're going for and hold it on the outside of your body. they could use all kinds of material for this - cloth, metal, powders, whatever. you arrange different items in patterns on your surface to create different "outfits" (soundscapes) of vibration. the more complex the pattern, the fancier and more formal the "dress." this stuff makes it a bit more difficult to move since it reduces their traction, and it also takes effort to maintain more complicated "outfits", so dressing up is really only for formal situations or showing off. casual dress is keeping just a few things you like the sound of on your surface, and it's also perfectly acceptable to wear nothing at all. of course this all looks really weird to people with eyes.

Slime language doesn’t just involve sound. It also incorporates chemical signals (which give a sense of the slime’s mood and fulfill the same function as body language does for us humans) and touch. Two slimes having a conversation will press tendrils of their body together and communicate with something like a cross between braille and sign language. This is actually the main component of their language - sound is kind of secondary. It’s impossible for a non-slime to “speak” the slime language without the help of technology, and slimes can’t make the range of sounds that humans do with their vocal cords. Fortunately they can hear at least as well as humans and using a soundboard to talk is pretty intuitive for them!

Most slime cities are either underground or underwater. The oceans of Slimeworld are pretty densely populated! It actually led to a lot of environmental problems in the Slime species’s history, because there isn’t a ton of ocean left to live in. A lot of aquatic animals on the planet went extinct during the slimes’ industrial revolution a thousand years or so ago.

Slimes obviously don’t have visual art since they’re blind. Some of the main art forms of the species are perfume and culinary art! Because of all the stuff on their planet that’s toxic to them, slimes evolved a very keen sense of taste/smell. They can detect minuscule amounts of a chemical. Most other species can’t appreciate their art because their senses aren’t fine enough to pick up on all the subtle flavors and smells! Also slimes’ ideas about what tastes and smells good can be... eccentric.

They also do sculpture and music. They have some really awesome musical instruments because they can shape their body to whatever shape it needs to be to use the instrument!

Personal space isn’t really a thing in slime culture. Their language requires being in constant contact to speak, so casual touch with strangers isn’t just normal, it’s the polite thing to do. If there’s a group of slimes in a room, each one is pretty much always touching at least one or two others. Blobbing together is natural for them!

...aaand that’s all I got for now, because it’s 4:30 AM. I hope this is coherent because I didn’t really edit it! If you have literally any questions at all please let me know! because there are certainly details that didn’t make it in here!!

[peligin-eyed]

In Dreams

Of Urchins, Criminals, Revolutionaries, and Learning to Chart Your Own Course.

Featuring cameos of the Boatman, London’s greatest criminal masterminds, and the Jovial Contrarian.

(aka I wrote out Robin’s backstory and some early game shenanigans)

---

You don't remember the sun, except in dreams. You were so young when your parents brought you to the Neath that the world above seems hardly more than a story. Your life there was something that happened to some unfamiliar small child who was safe and loved and happy. When you dream of warm golden light and strong arms wrapping you into a protective embrace, you wake in the morning with a hollow ache somewhere deeper than your bones.

You have been in the Neath for less than a month when your mother runs off with a devil. Your father throws himself into his new job at the Docks and sometimes he is gone for two days or more only to stumble home in the middle of the night to pass out drunk on the floor of your dirty little Spite flat. One day, instead, a pair of weather-worn dockers come to your door with their caps in their hands to tell you that your father won't be coming home anymore. It was an accident, they say. He fell into the zee and the Drownies dragged him down. They say they'll find someone to look after you and they offer to bring you to see him one last time, to say goodbye. You are too shocked to do anything but nod silently and follow after them.

They take you to a lonely and empty stretch of dock, facing out toward the inky endless darkness of the zee. One of the dockers crouches down and calls your father's name into the water. He emerges a moment later, dripping and pale and not quite looking like himself anymore. He stares at you, brow slightly furrowed, as if he is struggling to recognize you. Then he starts to sing. The dockers each grab one of your thin arms and pull you back from the edge of the dock, watching you warily. The song fills you with a sadness too deep for words and you wriggle out of the calloused grip of the dockers. They shout at you to stay away from the water but you are already running in the opposite direction, back toward London, tears streaming down your cheeks.

 ---

You never go back to that little flat in Spite. You fall in with the Naughts, who take you in and show you the best places to find food and teach you how to fight. They joke with you and plot against the Crosses and after a little while you find that your thoughts don't dwell on your parents as often.

One night, when you can't sleep, you stay up whispering with one of the other urchins. You wonder if you might be able to track down your mother somehow. The Twitchy Pickpocket tells you that it probably won't work. There are just too many devils in London and you don't even know the name of the one she ran off with, and she has probably lost her soul by now anyway. You lie awake long after he has fallen quiet and started to snore, staring up at the ceiling and trying to recall the color of her eyes.

---

Sometimes, in your dreams, you play with your parents in the sunlight on grass that looks impossibly green. By the time you learn that no one can go back to the Surface after having been in the Neath for too long, it's too late for you. You've died once already after a territory battle took a particularly nasty turn, and no one can survive on the Surface if they've died in the Neath.

(The first time you died, you were terrified. It was so dark and the lapping waves reminded you of your father's pale face rising out of the zee. The Boatman awkwardly tried to comfort you with a bony hand on your shoulder as you frantically handed over every lucky weasel hidden in your pockets and begged him to let you go home. It was never as bad, after that first time.)

 ---

As you start to get older, you realize that you'll eventually have to leave your gang and start your own life. You haven't the faintest idea how you're supposed to go about it. You track down the Twitchy Pickpocket, who left a couple years ago and is now doing rather well for himself. He offers to put you in touch with some of his criminal contacts who could help you get started as a proper adult thief.

The Naughts throw you a party the day before you leave for good. Someone managed to get a little bit of real Surface meat and you get the largest piece, and a whole bottle of cheap wine just for yourself. In retrospect, you realize that perhaps you should not have drunk the whole thing and then tried to burgle a fine townhouse the next morning while hungover. You land yourself in New Newgate on your first day out of the gang.

Once you make it out, you find your own little hideaway up in the Flit. It's drafty and a little precarious but it's all yours. You have your own bed you don't have to share and enough room to spread out your meager belongings with space to spare. You can't sleep the first night. It's too quiet all by yourself, just the wind whistling by outside with no one else around you tossing and turning or snoring or mumbling in their sleep.

You find that it is lonely, trying to make it as a thief on your own. Among the Naughts, at least, you could always trust that the rest of the gang would have your back if something went wrong. Adult criminals seem to all be out for themselves and it's hard to know who you can trust and who is just waiting for the chance to stab you in the back (sometimes literally) for their own gain.

---

You decide you will try to make a name for yourself. You boldly proclaim that you'll be one of London's next great underworld kingpins before it even occurs to you to question if this is what you actually want. You learn, in time.

You hear rumors of a diamond the size of a cow and decide that stealing it will be an excellent test of your skills. You start down a dark and twisted path and find yourself buried alive for your trouble before you learn that it was never about a real diamond, after all.

You spend time smuggling for the Gracious Widow and come to admire her subtle cunning. There is wisdom in being quiet and observing and planning before making a move, though you find it hard to shake the habit of rushing in when you feel strongly about something. You admire the care she takes with the orphans she looks out for, too. You hope you will be able to do the same someday.

You spend hours in the chilly roosts of the Flit trying to understand the Topsy King. You get to know the Cheery Man and do what you can to help him in his pursuit of reconciliation with his daughter. He’s never the same after she dies. 

You pity them all, in a way, and you decide that you have no desire to join their ranks. It isn't the kind of life you want.

 ---

You get to know some revolutionaries along the way. They are hard to miss, really. You listen to their speeches with skepticism but you're willing to consider some of their ideas. You burn down a silk warehouse and get arrested again. You destroy a statue and they celebrate you. You learn about the Liberation of Night and think it sounds like a ridiculous idea, frankly. What good could come of unending darkness?

The more time you spend talking and arguing and drinking coffee with them, the more you find yourself sucked into their world. You learn to differentiate between the different schools of thought they fight for. You still struggle to understand the Liberationists. You can't see why they set their sights on such lofty and (for the moment) theoretical goals when the real evidence of the failings of the Masters and the Bazaar is all around you. It's in the neddy men beating dockers for daring to speak up for better working conditions, in the writers made to disappear just for expressing controversial ideas, in the urchins fighting for food in the streets while those in power refuse to share even a little of their wealth. Who cares about the cruelty of the stars when there are people suffering all around?

You find some others who seem to agree with you and your social circle starts to shift. You take up a new job campaigning for the cause. It's not quite a respectable profession but it feels a lot closer than anything you've done before. A handful of supporters start to look up to you for your passion and dedication, not just because they're afraid of you.

It takes you rather by surprise when an old acquaintance shows up at your door in the middle of the night, covered in blood and begging you to let him stay. You don't know how he found you. You'd left behind the drafty shack in the Flit for a set of warm, spacious rooms at the Bazaar and it has been months since you've heard from most of your criminal friends. You're not actually sure how he made it all the way here without being noticed by someone in the street, though you suppose it is very late. You cast nervous glances around the empty street as you try to convince him that you can't take him in at the moment and it would be in his best interest to leave before the constables come by on patrol. He doesn't leave. Finally, you hear the distant sound of heavy boots on cobblestone and you close the door on him. He bangs on the door a few more times before you hear him run off. You try to tell yourself he'll be okay.  You're not sure if you believe yourself. You don't sleep well that night.

The criminals keep their distance from you for a while after that. Apparently this does wonders for your reputation. The Jovial Contrarian approaches you one day to ask if you would be able to help an agent infiltrate the Ministry of Public Decency. He specifically comments on your sound reputation and you manage to keep a straight face long enough to agree to his proposal. After it is done, you learn that you've earned a certain amount of respect among the revolutionaries. You start to feel like maybe you are doing something important, something that matters for once, instead of just whatever you have to do to survive.

---

 Your dreams have often felt distant from your waking life, like you're catching glimpses of someone else's world, so in a way you are not surprised to learn that it is possible to physically enter a different world through dreams. You just didn't expect to learn about it from a sweaty, balding stage magician in a music hall.

You start spending more time staring into mirrors, trying to work out their secrets. Sometimes you catch glimpses of an unfamiliar place filled with cosmogone light that is almost similar to your dreams of sunlight. You decide that you will find a way to reach it someday.

With time, you learn how it's done. You step through the glass and into the Mirror-Marches. The grass isn't quite like Surface grass and the light isn't really the same as sunlight. The Writhing River is like nothing you've seen before. Parabola is certainly different from the Surface, but it still feels like a sort of escape from the Neath.

You don't know what "home" is supposed to feel like, but something about the wild landscape reminds you of some of your earliest dreams, of being warm and safe and happy in the sun.

[cricketnationrise]

Books I read in quarantine: Part 1

So on Friday, March 13, 2020 something not that chill happened. We all know what that was. Anyway for me the silver lining was that I got a lot of my TBR knocked out by not being at work. I read over 150 books from mid-march to mid-october.

1. We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: yes, it had been on my list for a while, yes it was awesome, yes, its still worth the read

2. Dragonquest by Anne McCaffrey: eh. listen. she’s one of the most prominent women in fantasy/sci-fi writing and that’s great. and maybe some the later books aren’t quite such a product of their time. but there are some aspects to the dragon “bonding” that feel especially uncomfortable and there’s a lot of violence toward women. so.

3. Briar’s Book by Tamora Pierce: I was in the midst of a Circle of Magic reread. Unfortunately for me, this one is about a plague. It’s still one of the best CoM books and I enjoy it immensely. Its definitely going to be harder to read from now on

4. The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera: loved this. empress and ruler of the steppes as lesbians that also battle demons? i needed a family tree, but that’s normal for me. still need to get to the next one in this series.

5. Fablehaven by Brandon Mull:  middle grade fantasy novel. i hesitate to say lighthearted because there are definitely some heavy themes, but all the fantasy creatures you encounter are cool AF and this one at least doesn’t end on a cliffhanger.

6. Magic Steps by Tamora Pierce: less strong than some of the others in the Emelan series, but has some cool worldbuilding that got better fleshed out in the Beka Cooper Tortall books. featuring UNMAGIC. v dark. also dance magic. and romance between two older characters

7. The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan: delightful romance, not super explicit, very wish fulfillment if your wish is to run away from your life in london and live off the proceeds of a mobile bookstore in a tiny town. which. is not unappealing.

8. Street Magic by Tamora Pierce: features 9 cats, street urchins, and a VERY TERRIFYING wealthy widow straight up murdering kids for fun and games, stone magic

9. Scythe by Neal Shusterman: okay so take our world and then solve all physical ailments and have everything run by the cloud. except that death is still a thing but only if you are picked by a Scythe. first book in a trilogy. fast paced, amazing, violent (someone gets their head cut off), standard dystopia stuff. you’ll want to have the next two books ON YOUR SHELF

10. Wink Poppy Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke: there is definitely someone out there who will like this more than me. one of them is my roommate. it was just too dark of a friendship/enemyship for me. lots of unreliable narrators. and like, they were just kind of horrible to each other? the actual plot was kinda cool and i definitely would have liked it more if it ended lighter

11. The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. LeGuin: a giant of fantasy and science fiction. this was my first of her sci-fi stuff and the first of the hainish cycle that i’ve read. quick read. definitely makes you think.

12. The Haunting of Tram Car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark: number two in a series, but i didn’t know that going in. absolutely going to read the others. a cairo where all sorts of spirits and demons exist and actively interact with the “normal” world.

13. The Girl Who Reads on the Métro by Christine Féret-Fleury: i’ve never been to france but this feels VERY french. magical realism about bringing the right book to the perfect reader. super cute.

14. Fire Starter by P. Anastasia: first of a series. i wanted to like this better based on the magic system. romance felt forced. also it turned out to be aliens. which like, not a problem, but don’t spend 100 pages telling me its magic and then boom alien virus. maybe the others are better, but i’m not going to find out.

15. The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: i had to read this in middle school and definitely didn’t appreciate it enough. highly recommended.

16. A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies by Alix E. Harrow: a fantastic short story about reading, libraries, magic and supporting teenagers who need it. you can read it online or as part of Apex Magazine Issue 105 from Feb 2018.

17. On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden: really long graphic novel about a found family in space trying to do a good job repairing various buildings and stuff. enough queer content for anybody really. gorgeous art.

18. Doughnut by Tom Holt: book 1 in the YouSpace series. very discworld-esq except that its our own world plus a pocket dimension that’s only accessible with a lot of math and a prayer. hilarious at times, but a decidedly darker tone than discworld so just be aware if that’s not what youre looking for

19. The Girl Who Could Move Sh*t with Her Mind by Jackson Ford: teenage girl in california has powers that let her move things with her mind. works as part of a government program with a whole band of misfits. she thought she was the only one and then someone else starts doing crime (TM) and murder with telekinesis and she has to stop them. found family toward the end. graphic violence toward the end. wildfires.

20. Ballad of the Whiskey Robber: A True Story of Bank Heists, Ice Hockey, Transylvanian Pelt Smuggling, Moonlighting Detectives, and Broken Hearts by Julian Rubinstein: what it says on the tin, basically. NONFICTION. this dude in europe had way too many day jobs that were actually crime and his story is WILD. last update i saw was that he was still alive, paroled from jail, and making pottery??

21. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon: 800+ pages of epic eastern fantasy. some dragons. a witchy big bad. betrayal. queer romance as a main plotline. magic. seriously good.

22. Transcription by Kate Atkinson: flashback within a flashback within a flashback and reversing that path as you move through the book. woman just wants a secretary job during the war. somehow ends up as a spy??? i liked it, i keep meaning to get more of her books

23. Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire: first in the wayward children series. under 200 pages if you’re looking for a quick read. what happens to kids that have gone through a door, had an adventure, and then forced back into our world? they don’t quite fit. and when that happens they go to Eleanor West’s School. fantastic series that is still being added to (number 7 comes out next year). can be very dark/sinister at times. but theres a lot of queer representation and found family stuff to balance out.

24. Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire: book 2 in the wayward children series. focuses on Jack and Jill’s backstory of their time before book 1. they are from The Moors where a Vampire Lord and a Mad Scientist are battling against each other to keep the balance of the world with a village of innocents between them

25. Go Fish by Ian Rogers: short story published on Tor.com about a group of paranormal investigators. there’s a fish factory that no one will go in because it’s haunted and/or cursed and people have been dying from going in there

[isabilightwood]

The Problem with Authority - Chapter 1

CQL!Verse, Wangxian and Yanqing, canon divergence with Qin Su sacrifice summoning JYL after Jin Rusong’s death. JYL teams up with NHS to fix things, starting with bringing back WWX. Wen Qing is alive because I said so, and LWJ gets in the way of plotting because he’s a romantic.

See my self reblog for the AO3 link/additional tags and warnings

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

The problem with authority is that if you leave it lying around, others will take it. — Yoon Ha Lee, Ninefox Gambit

Qin Su was tired of the constant hovering.

Every time she set foot outside her own rooms, she was beset by disciples and the wives of subordinates, telling her over and over how very sorry they were.

It was all bullshit.

Fake, social climbing schemers, who were more concerned with the fact that Jin Guangshan’s legitimate grandson was once again the sect heir, than sorry for the death of her son. Her A-Song.

They expected her to sob constantly, to wail and tear her hair from her scalp. That they could comfort Qin Su by repeating the same trite, cloying words day-by-day. Earn a little status out of tragedy. If Qin Su had to listen to one more apology, she was going to be sick all other the offending madam’s embroidery hoop.

It was true that she still couldn’t go a day without crumbling into tears. But mostly, she was numb. Exhausted, in more ways than one. She wanted to go to sleep, and wake with her son tucked safely into bed, or not wake up at all.

The private treasury was the only place where she could be certain she would not be disturbed. Even in her own bedroom, it would only be so long before a maid was sent to find her. Only she and her husband could open the hidden entrance to the vault. Only in the treasury, could she be alone, to find something to distract herself, however briefly, from the avalanche of her grief.

There were still many items that had been claimed by her deceased father-in-law after the war that had not been cataloged. Priceless relics and weapons and irreplaceable texts alike sat neglected in trunks. Jin Guangshan had cared only for possession, occasionally touting one item or another out to show off. Ten months after A-Yao’s succession, shelves continued to sit empty. Neither she nor A-Yao had found the time, busy keeping everything running smoothly, as he made bids for projects he called progress with the gleam in his eyes that had first made her chase after him. Back when he seemed flattered by her attention, interested in her as more than a friend or colleague.

Qin Su herself managed the internal minutiae of the Sect and oversaw disciple training. The latter would traditionally fall to the Head Disciple, but they had lost one after another. The woman who had been intended to aid Jin Zixuan had resigned over some disagreement before his death. Her replacement, a second or third cousin to the main Jin Clan, married out to the leader of the Fengyang Hua Sect, a growing sect that bordered Gusu and Lanling. Their replacement died at Nightless City, along with the next dozen or so disciples in line. And so Qin Su was free to manage the training as she wished.

Or had been, until she was asked to take a step back from training, for fear her grief would destabilize her qi. It was true that she had been unable to focus. However, stewing in the unending reminders that she would never hold A-Song in her arms again was no help. Attending to her duties as a hostess only made it worse.

Sorting the looted relics was mindless work, that required none of the focus she had lacked for the forty-one days since A-Song’s death. But it was something to occupy her hands, and some small part of her thoughts.

She began with the books that day, sorting into titles that were common and could be sold, those that needed to be repaired, and those to dangerous to be held anywhere but the treasury. Qin Su moved to start a new pile, for useful, rare texts that should be copied, on a table, and a disorganized pile of notes and notebooks caught her eye.

It was the disorganization that stood out. A-Yao never left anything out like that. He must have been called away, but if he returned and saw it, that would trigger his own flood of tears.  Qin Su had heard him sobbing, late into the night, from the next room over. But each morning, he greeted his work with his habitual dedication, no matter how puffy his eyes, or how little he’d slept. A-Yao would never forgive himself if his work was delayed by his composure crumbling over a small thing out of place.

She picked up the papers, intending only to organize them into an even stack, and place them evenly between the notebooks. But their subject caught her attention.

A circular array was drawn on each paper. Identical, to her unpracticed eyes, with varied notes printed in precise calligraphy in different locations on each page.

Qin Su had always focused on the sword, leaving talismans to those with innovative minds yet weaker cores, like her husband. Yet this array made her look twice.

Sacrifice Summon was written at the top of the first page, the one with the least writing. The soul of the caster is permanently exchanged for that of a chosen spirit or ghost, fully resurrecting the deceased. It was a complex design, meant to drawn in the blood of the caster.

Voices, from the other side of the portal. A-Yao must have wanted to show an item from the vault to a guest. Her heartbeat sped up, her hands shaking as she dropped the papers back onto the table.

The last thing Qin Su wanted was to have to greet her husband’s guests, while he smiled his disappointment in her for shirking her duties.

She raised the tablecloth and ducked beneath, knocking one of the papers off the table as she did so. Catching it, she pulled it to her chest, dropping the cloth back into place just in time. It was dark in the small space, and stuffy. Her heart hammered hard enough Qin Su felt certain it must be audible throughout the room. But her presence was not discovered, and so Qin Su did not have to answer as to why Jin-furen was hiding from her own husband.

“The remainder of the He Clan has been dealt with.” Su Minshan reported. His voice was easily identifiable from the obsequiousness with which he always treated her husband. She’d asked A-Yao what he saw in him once, and he’d flashed his dimples at her and said, unfaltering loyalty is a trait I cannot afford to lose. So Qin Su tolerated Su Minshan, though he made her skin crawl. And made certain never to be caught alone with him. “Xue Yang tracked them down to the last man.”

Why he kept Xue Yang around, on the other hand, was a mystery.

“Good, that’s good,” A-Yao said. Never shy of heaping praise on his subordinates, he would be smiling up at the other man. “Tell me, what did Xue Yang bring back with him?”

“A few urchins, from town. He said they were his payment for leaving the bodies alone.” Su Minshan scoffed, disgusted.

It didn’t sound like Xue Yang had brought the children to become disciples.

There was the slap of a forehead hitting a palm. A-Yao’s voice was slightly muffled as he gave an exasperated sigh. “I told him he could experiment with animals or dead bodies or not at all. Especially not children.” There was the slightest break in his voice at the word children. “Xue Yang has outlived his usefulness. Have him disposed of and left somewhere remote.”

The command was delivered coldly, casually. He sounded nothing like the warm, if more distant than Qin Su had initially expected, husband she knew.

“Yes, Zongzhu.” A pair of disciples said, their footsteps receding as they took their leave.

“Your research is not completed, is it?” Su Minshan asked, once they were gone.

“I have better means now. My dear younger brother is eager to please, and will not dismember the test animals for kicks and giggles.” A-Yao spoke as though this was an ongoing discussion, yet Qin Su, his wife, had never heard a whisper of research on animals before that day. Only of field testing of the Yiling Patriarch’s inventions. “Or decide to run tests on townspeople and dismember them, too.”

Just what had her husband been allowing Xue Yang to do? It seemed impossible that flighty little Mo Xuanyu could achieve it, whatever it was.

“Another headache eliminated, then.” Su Minshan said. “That’s nearly all the most dangerous ones out of the way.”

There was a weighted pause before A-Yao replied, incongruously. “I did love my son, you know.”

“I did not mean to imply otherwise.” Su Minshan rushed to assure him. “I am deeply sorry this step was necessary.”

Step? What was he implying about A-Song?

“If only that woman had told you the truth earlier.” Su Minshan snarled. “Keeping it a secret while her daughter courted her own half-brother? What a selfish bitch.”

What? Qin Su clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling a choked gasp.

“Now, Minshan, please. You remember what my father was like. We were all of us his victims. A-Su, me, and both of our mothers.” For the first time, Qin Su understood what Lianfang-zun’s detractors meant when they said he dripped insincerity. “Ultimately, A-Song’s death can be placed at his feet.”

But A-Song was murdered after Jin Guangshan died, she thought stupidly. Utterly frozen in place, the short, harsh pants of her breath the only sign she had not just been dropped into hell. The two men spoke for a few more minutes, but Qin Su didn’t hear a word.

It was some time after they left that Qin Su moved, her stiff joints causing her to fall onto her side on the edge of the tablecloth.

How was she ever supposed to face the court, knowing what she did now? Look her half-brother in the face without screaming?

The honorable thing would be to expose him, and to then take her own life to restore her own honor.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that to her father, to her older siblings. Half-siblings, now, she supposed, with a crazed giggle. The only real siblings, the only real father Qin Su would ever have. It would be better if they never knew what had happened to their mother. To her.

But she couldn’t carry on as she had, either.

The forgotten paper crinkled in her hands. The Sacrifice Summon. Exchanging her life for another’s.

Was that the solution she was searching for? Could she?

Qin Su remembered her husband’s - her brother’s voice saying especially not children. Only breaths before declaring his own son’s death necessary.

Her A-Song was lost forever.

There was, however, another child under Lianfang-zun’s care. Another mother whose son was not lost, but who had nevertheless lost the chance to see him grow. If Qin Su exchanged her life for that woman’s, perhaps her soul would pass on quickly enough to find A-Song in another life.

Jiang Yanli would see Jin Ling grow up safely, ensure Lianfang-zun did not keep the power he had married his own sister and murdered his own son to secure.

That would be best for everyone.

Qin Su shakily extracted herself from beneath the table, returning to the one room she could be certain Lianfang-zun would never enter.

Now she knew why.

Locking the door to her room, Qin Su emptied what little was in her stomach into the chamber pot. When she was through, she began to draw the array.

 The first thing Jiang Yanli noticed was the silence. She had been on the battlefield at Nightless City, pushed A-Xian aside, and a sword went through her heart —

She had been dead. She was certain.

Oh, A-Xian. What did you do?

Slowly, Jiang Yanli sat up. She was sprawled on the floor of a well-appointed lady’s bedroom. In Koi Tower, by the color scheme, but its occupant had uncommon taste. Rather than gilded everything, there were accents of gold on the drapery and to emphasize ink paintings of the ocean and a palace she did not recognize.

There was also the matter of the array of blood that surrounded her. Demonic cultivation, which only supported her certainty that A-Xian was involved. But where was he? And if she was in Koi Tower, where was her son?

Yunmeng, something inside her whispered. Though she could not explain why, she knew it was true.

Checking herself for cuts, she found a gash across the palm of her hand. But it was already sealing, far faster than Jiang Yanli had healed from so much as a paper cut before her death.

She wasn’t an expert in raising the dead like her brother, but Jiang Yanli was fairly certain fierce corpses did not work that way. At the very least, she should have been bleeding black. Yet her blood was as red as ever.

Getting to her feet, she started to inspect the room for clues. On the way to the desk, she passed a mirror. Her gaze skipped past a mirror. And snapped back.

It was not Jiang Yanli’s face that looked back.

This woman’s face was rounder and softer than her own. Pretty, with a natural pink in her cheeks where Jiang Yanli’s had always had to be painted on, due to the frequency with which she lost her breath and grew dizzy. There, too, was a hint of the agelessness that came with a fully developed golden core. With a feeling of foreboding, Jiang Yanli felt along her meridians until she reached her core. No longer a weak, underdeveloped thing due to her inability to practice the heavily physical Jiang techniques, it shone bright and strong.

That was a point against this being A-Xian’s doing. He wouldn’t have stolen her a body, when he could simply bring back her own.

Why am I alive? Asked a voice in her head.

That would have been a reasonable question. Only it wasn’t Jiang Yanli thinking it.

Maybe resurrection came with the ability to understand spirits. The results were entirely untested, so it was possible. Yet the voice seemed certain it was alive. If her current state was due to demonic cultivation, she might as well do what A-Xian would: experiment.

“I could ask you the same question.” Jiang Yanli told the voice.

Jiang Yanli? It worked! But why am I in your head?

“Are you the one who brought me back?”  She tilted her head back, trying to place the way the voice made her head feel. Almost like the moment at the start of meditation when she began to forget her body to focus on her spirit, but with a disconnect keeping her grounded.

Yes. And then, I can hear your thoughts, the voice said, you don’t need to speak out loud.

That was disconcerting. Is this your body? She thought at the voice.

Yes. The voice said. Stop calling me that. I’m Qin Su.

Strangely, it was a relief to have a name. It made Qin Su feel more real than anything else in this surreal afterlife. So it would be more accurate to say I’m in your head. Am I possessing you?

It was supposed to be an exchange. My soul for yours.

Well clearly, it hadn’t worked that way.

Responding to her unformed question, the woman continued. The array is on the desk.

This… It was obviously A-Xian’s work, copied out by a more careful hand. But it looked incomplete, a half-developed first draft or his scattered notes on an older text that he could always piece back together perfectly, but left out crucial details for anyone else. Utterly unlike the labeled, if nearly illegible, minutiae on his complete work. Jiang Yanli would never have cast an array with so little information. Especially not one of A-Xian’s.

I didn’t know the Yiling Patriarch. And I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

No, she supposed not. Anyone casting this array would have to be desperate.

Everything fell apart and I just… used what I had on hand. There was the impression of a shrug, like her mind contorting itself into a new shape. My impulse decisions always have terrible consequences. That’s how I ended up pregnant and marrying the last person in the world I should have. Qin Su gave a short, harsh burst of hysterical laughter, startling Jiang Yanli into making the same noise aloud.

Telling whoever this abusive asshole was that her husband had died only a week ago, and she was certainly not performing any marital duties could wait until she figured out what Qin Su had done.

There are other pages with more notes in the treasury.

Jiang Yanli sprang to her feet. I’ll need to see them immediately.

She slid open the doors, and came face to face with a maid carrying cleaning supplies. Jiang Yanli quickly shut the doors behind her, so the maid could not catch a glimpse of the blood still staining the floor.

“Oh! Jin-furen.” The maid bowed deeply. “This one apologizes for assuming you would be out.”

It was something of a shock to be addressed by a title that had, from her perspective, belonged to her mother-in-law only yesterday. Jin-furen?

Ah, yes. I’ve been Jin-furen since Jin Guangshan… passed… ten months ago. The word “passed” came with a flash of embarrassment, telling Jiang Yanli enough for her to extrapolate the cause of death.

Jin Guangyao must be Jin-zongzhu then. Strange, he hadn’t seemed the abusive type.

Not abuse. Worse. Qin Su gagged in her mind, making Jiang Yanli do the same.

“Are you all right, Jin-furen?” The maid asked, hovering closer.

At least the gagging gave her an excuse not to allow anyone inside. “I’ll be fine. But please wait to clean until tomorrow. I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. Would you have some soup sent on a tray for my dinner?”

“Of course, Jin-furen.” The maid backed away, bowed, and hurried off.

Jiang Yanli turned to inspect the door, placing her hands on her hips. With Qin Su’s Golden Core, she could likely cast a locking spell. If she knew how, that was. She had always relied on A-Xian’s talismans, many of which he developed specifically for her. Unfortunately, she had none on hand.

That’s easy. Qin Su said. Draw the characters for lock, then modify it with…

It took Jiang Yanli a few tries to draw properly on her new core, but she was able to lock the door against casual entry. No cultivator with a sword would be kept out for long, but they would have to be willing to trespass in Jin-furen’s bedchamber.

The thin flush of victory faded the second she stepped through the treasury portal. Suibian lay on a shelf, visible from the door. A-Xian had not carried his sword for a long time. But he would never have handed it over to the Jin Clan, unless it was directly into Jiang Yanli’s arms. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Qin Su. Why is my A-Xian’s sword in the treasury? Jiang Yanli demanded. The answering silence was deafening. “Qin Su! Tell me why!”

He… died. At Nightless City. Not long after you did. Qin Su’s voice was hesitant, as though confused why she cared.

“No!” She let out a choked sob, clasping a hand over her mouth. A-Xian wasn’t — he couldn’t be —

Didn’t he kill you? I was told —

“No! Never!” A-Xian would never have hurt her. I tried to save him.

Silence, for a moment, other than Jiang Yanli’s own ragged breaths. Then, I’m sorry. I’ve learned a lot of things I believed were lies today. Perhaps what they said about him was too.

They were. A-Xian was bright, and good, and cared too much. He had never been what they thought. Jiang Yanli had not needed to ask to know A-Xuan’s death was a horrible mistake, likely the result of stepping in between his cruel, vindictive cousin and her brother at the wrong moment. If he had meant to kill Jin Zixun, A-Xian had had good reason.

I think anyone who had the misfortune of meeting Jin Zixun considered killing him. Qin Su said wryly.

Jiang Yanli had had those thoughts. She gave a watery giggle that was answered in her head. It was sweet of Qin Su to try to comfort her when she could feel that she was still reeling for her own reasons. The least Jiang Yanli could do in return was get her some answers.

On the table.

She found the stack of diagrams easily, along with a tattered notebook that appeared to contain A-Xian’s original work. Jiang Yanli flipped through that, knowing that unless had both gotten a hold of one of the few people that could read his note-taking scrawl — her, Lan Wangji, and perhaps Wen Qing, who had taken their turns as A-Xian’s sounding board in succession — and convinced them to help details would likely have been missed.

You can read that? Qin Su was incredulous.

Years of practice, she replied. Before Lan Wangji, Jiang Yanli had been the only person who took A-Xian’s inventions seriously, the only person willing to sit and listen while he bounced from idea to idea, eventually solving the problem himself.

The average person would not think it necessary to puzzle out the text under a sketch of Lan Wangji holding a child, assuming it was a caption. When it was, in fact, an absolutely crucial detail. A detail that had made A-Xian conclude the Sacrifice Summon Array should never be used.

There were perhaps a dozen variations on the array. Most worked in a similar way to what Qin Su had intended, summoning a spirit to take the caster’s place. The earliest could not target a specific soul, but A-Xian had worked that out. Luckily, Qin Su had used one of those arrays, allowing Jiang Yanli to be summoned, rather than causing the closest vengeful spirits to battle for her body. The very last caused the caster’s body to be torn apart, and replaced with a copy of the spirit’s own.

But every version had two things in common: a call for revenge, and the destruction of the caster’s soul.

In her mind, Qin Su went perfectly still.

Jiang Yanli had a theory as to why Qin Su’s soul had not been consumed by the array. It had started the job, pulling Jiang Yanli in, but Qin Su had not asked for revenge, and so the array spat most of her back out. What the consequences were, for either of their spirits, she could not begin to guess.

There was a distinctive air of panic to Qin Su’s continued silence.

Qin Su, Jiang Yanli prodded, if this had worked the way it’s written, your soul would have been consumed by it. What could have been worth this?

I didn’t know about that. I didn’t want that.

It didn’t happen. You’re still here. She attempted to reassure Qin Su, wishing there was a way to mentally pat someone on the head. That had always helped calm both her brothers.

I’m still here. Whatever the fuck that means. Qin Su giggled nervously. That wasn’t very ladylike.

I think it’s forgivable, under the circumstances. Jiang Yanli raised a sleeve to cover her smile.

You don’t know the half of it. Qin Su sighed. I didn’t think things like this happened, outside of stories.

Jiang Yanli waited for her to go on, gritting her teeth in response to a wave of bitterness.

Only a few hours ago, I found out my so-called husband is my half-brother and he murdered our son. And now here we are.

Oh. Jiang Yanli could not so much as think of a reassuring response. What the fuck is correct.

“A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said from behind her, before Qin Su could say anything more. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”