#relativity falls ship challenge

[scribbleseas]

in love & in war, drabble 2: the one where you meet him

Description: Join Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, as he embarks on one of the most difficult challenges of his professional life: getting you to fall in love with him in order to become the next chairman of TransAtlantica— your father’s vast shipping empire.

Warnings: None, save for some explicit sexual content down the line! This is just a lighthearded series for fun! Think Bridgerton :)

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for the wait! I dropped this series premiere and academia decided to just become torture from then until basically now! But now I’m a bit more free to get some writing, and hopefully I can get my content consistent again! I’ve missed you all so much. I hope you guys like this drabble! I wrote it in one sitting so I will probably make some edits/additions down the line, you know how it is lol.

Also, if you would like to be put on a taglist for my fics, please comment and I will tag you for each update! Or if you only want to follow specific fics, you can let me know in your comment and I will make individual taglists for each fic :).

Happy Reading,

Dan <3

⇐ PREVIOUS DRABBLE | NEXT DRABBLE ⇒

Y/N Y/L/N

“You filled my entire dance card?” you lamented, feeling your resolve crumble as you scanned over the small piece of cardstock paper’s lineup of 20 names, each aligned with a planned piece from the ensemble: Lord Alexis Cuthbert, Mr. Nigel Crawford, The Honorable Geoffrey Wilson… The list included a plethora of noble lords and heirs to either significant corporations or well-respected aristocratic bloodlines.

“That is in accordance with the terms of the deal, yes,” your mother insisted, simpering at you while Daphne hooked long diamond teardrops in your ears, set in gold to match the thick necklace resting on your chest. “There were many house calls made about this specific inquiry, and they were all qualified young men.” By the tone of her voice, you could tell she felt she was doing you a favor.

But truly, meeting a man during a dance was excruciating. There was no respectable escape if the conversation was painfully dry or offensive. All you could do was pray for the ending measure of the music and make a swift exit.

You sighed, turning your attention back to the list: Mr. Jack Morrison, Lord Clarence Abery, The Honorable George Ackland…

“I understand. Thank you,” you surrendered, knowing fully well that there was no changing this list without disrespecting those on it already. You were fortunate that your parents were giving you the freedom to choose your suitor in the first place. Most of your peers had been betrothed since their birth, promised to a relative or a family friend as one half of a smart match.

Mr. Neil Gayton, Lord George Cuross…

You were the Earl of Richmond and founder of TransAtlantica’s only child. That was two inheritances—even if you couldn’t assume all control. Your positions should have locked you into a smart match from the start, but your parents decided to give you a chance at a love match, too. A chance at finding real love just as they did: through a cultivated list of requirements.

As painful and awkward the prospect was, it certainly wasn’t the worst outcome for a woman in your position.

“Lord Ciel Phantomhive?” your eye caught his name before you could properly descend through the list because you couldn’t believe it was there of all places. You knew the Lord Phantomhive to be incredibly private, skipping most if not all social gatherings and public appearances. The public rumored that he guarded his appearance closely because he was one of Her Majesty’s advisors and private investigators. You were most accustomed to seeing his name in stately cursive at the bottom of correspondences with your father and his associates.

“His butler called on his behalf the other day,” Daphne answered for your mother, smiling apologetically for interjecting. “He said he will be attending the charity ball tonight and wishes to meet you.”

“He is more than qualified and interested,” your mother said, “your father has always liked him.”

“Father likes his business strategy, no one knows him,” you answered, letting the dance card fall from your wrist limply. There was no merit in analyzing the names on it— you knew there was no escaping the evening.

Your mother rolled her eyes, unwilling to engage with your technicalities. “Come now. Our guests are trickling in. We should greet them with your father,” she offered her arm to you. You accepted, allowing her to guide you out of the suite with Daphne in tow. Whenever TransAtlantica co-hosted events at the Langham Hotel, your family rented the penthouse to finish preparations without having to make a commute from the estate.

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability. Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability, Ciel Phantomhive reminded himself with every step closer to The Langham Hotel’s grand ballroom, trudging through formalities and tepid greetings in the populated hall leading to it. It was the phrase he used to justify all of this unyielding frustration at each step: listening to Sebastian as he attempted to break down the confounding science of charming a young woman into comprehensible steps, and now, burdening his already-fraught calendar with unnecessary social appearances just to put himself in Lady Y/n’s path.

Unnecessary social appearances such as The British National Society for Aid and to the Sick and Wounded in War’s annual ball in partnership with TransAtlantica—one of many charitable foundations that the shipping company partnered with. TransAtlantica covered the costs of a lavish evening and invited their extensive networks of business moguls and the aristocracy to partake in raffles throughout the formal night. All proceeds went to the medical organization, and all publicity went to the company.

Until this year, Ciel was content with having Sebastian send his regrets to TransAtlantica alongside a hefty donation to maintain goodwill. But now, maintaining goodwill with this corporation and the family behind it would no longer suffice. He needed to make a personal appearance both at the ball and in the middle of Lady Y/n’s dance card. After Y/n cooly rebuffed him after moments of light teasing Sebastian made the appropriate arrangements with one of the maids to put Ciel.

While Ciel was well aware of the stubborn reputation proceeding her, few dared take such a tone with him. And for so little. Defensive, she was! Was it such a crime to be transparent about how it was careless to step onto a street without looking both ways? If Ciel hadn’t saved her at the perfect moment— even if Sebastian orchestrated the timing — she would have been hit!

“Find Lady Y/n when it comes time for your waltz,” Sebastian reminded Ciel as they entered the ballroom, “you are only on her dance card for a single number. The point is that you make a better impression this time.” The bloody butler prodded at Ciel’s lack of romantic finesse— a talent that a sleazy demon might have in surplus. Apparently, approaching her first and taking the time to see himself onto her dance card would prove Ciel’s interest in her.

“And of course, you must remember your apology, sir,” Sebastian’s words were coated in honey, the most obvious tell of his amusement. The prospect of his master having to express his regrets. “You bruised her pride,” he explained.

In response, Ciel sent him a fleeting gaze, heavy with irritation. Exhaustion after hours of coaching and correcting, endless explanations as to why Sebastian insisted that Y/n could never connect with him properly if he failed to acknowledge her grievances.

“I will,” he answered simply, clenching his jaw at the thought of verbalizing anything along the lines of ‘I apologize.’ He never had to apologize for his actions—not ones that were truly malevolent, and certainly not ones that were decently-natured. Although it seemed the exception was for the daughters of incredibly prominent figures whom he needed to charm. So much so that Sebastian had Ciel practice the series of words in front of a mirror.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

The phrase had Ciel’s shoulders relaxing into proper posture, his tense jaw relaxing with reluctance. He took a gradual inhale in, scanning the room for Lady Y/n. He found her in moments, catching her pale green gown and its gold accents shining in the warm chandelier light. She was engaged in a jubilant exchange with the wife of Selwyn Westley, the owner of a prominent watch company.

“Very good, my Lord,” Sebastian chirped, merely watching Ciel build his resolve. He’d seen the Earl tackle a number of more threatening offenses: vengeful angels, homicidal circus clowns, and corrupt monopolists with less agonizing. “There is absolutely no time to waste,” he added in reference to the rest of TransAtlantica’s suitors (they were longshot candidates, at best) as they readied themselves among their own servants. Several men’s eyes lingered on the small dance card that hung from Lady Y/n’s wrist, looking to secure a spot in the moments before the first dance started.

It was that particular thought that had the corner of Ciel’s mouth twisting upwards, satisfied. Courtship could never be left to chance. It was a strategy— a war. How could they hope to defeat him when they couldn’t even manage to get themselves in front of her?

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N

“And that’s when I told him: I think I left them in the carriage!” Inara Johnson laughed riotously, briefly touching your arm as you laughed, mirroring the young woman’s impish grin. She had been recounting a sordid story about her courtship with her husband since it seemed your mother was quite liberal in spreading the word about your season beginning. Even still, Mrs. Johnson was quite a breath of fresh air after you suffered nine suitors trying too hard to impress you.

“I can’t imagine what you could have done without a spare change of clothing!” You managed through laughs, ignoring the pinch in your cheeks after hours of simpering and entertainment. You were only about halfway through the merriment, the orchestra completing a lively movement to start transitioning to the first waltz of the evening.

You only had a few moments to find your next suitor: Lord Ciel Phantomhive.

“I should find my husband for this waltz! I certainly hope you find yours quite soon, my Lady, I’ll be looking forward to your wedding,” she chuckled, parting with you after a playful wink.

“Enjoy the night,” you nodded, unsure of how to start your search for a faceless man as Mrs. Johnson found Mr. Johnson in seconds. He’d only been paces away, engaged with your parents about something you couldn’t quite pick up.

You took another look at your card to ensure that Ciel Phantomhive was indeed your next dance partner, but just as your gaze caught his name again, the man who pulled you from the carriage approached you. The very one that you were content with never laying eyes on again.

“Lady Y/n, just the perfect timing. Were you looking to join this waltz now?” He dared to ask, his sapphire eye just as breathtaking as it had been, his lips turning in the same mildly amused manner. Trying to appear aloof. “Or were you uninterested in sharing your time with the likes of mediocre destitution such as myself?” he asked, repeating the words you threw at him.

Was he trying to get a rise out of you?

You felt your face warm from his attempts as you fashioned your falling expression into a sparking grin. The future-Countess-of-Richmond-grin that you relied on so much. There was no losing your temper in this environment without mortifying your family name.

“Unfortunately, my dance card is full,” you answered with false kindness, feeling the young man see straight through your pleasant deception. That was one of the only lines a young noblewoman had to tell a man to leave her to her lonesome; it was well-known by all of polite society. “Perhaps another time. Though I really do need to find my next—” you started, starting to take a step to walk around him, but he side-stepped in your path.

“—After I saved your life last week, I thought you might find time for a dance,” he interjected, causing the remnants of your Countess smile to falter. “That’s why I had my butler secure this waltz with you.”

Your blood ran cold, your smile finally melting off your face. He couldn’t be…could he? It would only make sense, you supposed. A person astute enough to even impress your father.

“I was scheduled with the Earl of Phantomhive,” you forced yourself to answer placidly. You readjusted your expression, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of visibly surprising you.

“Then you found me already,” Lord Phantomhive replied, all too satisfied. You didn’t even find him! He found you!

You failed to conceal your thoughts, judging by the condescending mirth in his grin. “Shall we?”

. . .

CIEL PHANTOMHIVE

“I— yes, I suppose we shall,” Lady Y/n cleared her throat, despite herself. She laced her arm with Ciel’s as he guided her to the center of the ballroom, more than certain that they were attracting attention, even if most people couldn’t connect his appearance to his name. The very reputation that filled a room enough to substitute his physical presence, most of the time.

Technically, he didn’t have to bow to Y/n because he outranked her, but as Sebastian insinuated, apparently Ciel needed to nurse her shallow pride.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

Taking Y/n’s hand, Ciel led her into the first steps of the waltz. She seemed more interested in studying him than starting a conversation, mechanically following the dance while her mind was elsewhere. He allowed her to dissect the performance he put on for her for a few long moments before speaking.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to extend my sincerest apologies to you, Lady Y/l/n,” Ciel said, visualizing the script that he and Sebastian formulated. He had to make the words seem genuine as if he’d given them enough thought to be considerate, but not so much that he was reciting them. He guided Y/n through a turn, feeling her back tense under his hand.

“I should have helped you find the man who took your things rather than demean you with quips that failed to land,” Ciel continued, taking her continued silence as a bid to continue. His skin crawled at his words, betrayal bristling down his spine. He didn’t apologize. It was fundamentally wrong. And yet, for TransAtlantica, he would. Perhaps this company was the Earl of Phantomhive’s only real love match. “I know I seem far from deserving, but I do hope for your forgiveness. If you give me the opportunity, I hope to show you that I can be,” he continued, fashioning a similar helpless frown that Sebastian used to appeal to frustrated women.

Y/n’s face was unchanged, the same politely engaged expression with clear notes of frustration layered beneath. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy—she was a petulant heiress unused to not having her way with people. She hummed, tilting her head as she took another moment to dissect his expression. The movement caused her long earrings to sway, drawing Ciel’s attention to the length of her neck and the complicated waves she had her hair styled in.

“You should have helped me,” Y/n agreed gruffly. “A proper gentleman would have, after all,” she mused.

Was the apology not gentlemanly enough? Ciel felt it exceeded expectations.

“I would…treasure the chance to prove myself to be a gentleman, then.” He answered, using part of a line Sebastian fed him. The demon did not have any foresight into the future, but after investigating Y/n with the intensity he would look into a criminal with, he had decent intuition regarding how these planned interactions would unfold. Sebastian accurately assumed she wouldn’t accept that apology.

“The chance to prove yourself?” Y/n repeated, her interest piqued at the proposition. Finally—a new emotion on her face besides detached politeness. “That sounds like quite the endeavor, my Lord.”

“It may very well be, should you let me accompany you on a promenade next week,” Ciel answered, watching her face redden. “If you might overlook my…” his mouth was drier than cotton, “deficiencies.”

He nearly choked on the word. Bloody Hell.

“Perhaps I might find time,” Lady Y/n answered, and Ciel’s heart soared for all the right reasons. He had a chance at the corporation, after all. It seemed acting was just as suspiciously close to lying as Sebastian had insisted.

Acquiring TransAtlantica is not an option; it is an inevitability.

. . .

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twenty-Two

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: hi… I’m back? Idk if anyone noticed I dipped lmao, but! Back with another update of this fic and it’s a deep one, left off on uneven ground last time so here’s me clearing that up:) sort of.

Warnings: emotions. <maybe not needed but like, lots of emoting so. Quite a few references to Matty’s past, drug-use/overdosing, previous acts of slight violent and the usual stuff w him and this fic I guess (all mentions are brief)

ALSO back and forth changes of pov between Mouse and Matty so keep an eye out x

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Thing was, waking up had never come very easily to Matty. Even as a longtime insomniac.

Sleep came and went in staggered stages. He struggled with falling into it and then struggled with staying there in that languid state. It was almost as though his body was held prisoner by his mind and the thoughts which seemed to forever war there.

The drugs had fixed that, mostly. Stopped his heart. His lungs. And then finally, his brain. Leaving him in this tranquil haze, floating somewhere in between everything and nothing, muting those militant thoughts, blanketing his rampage of never-ending emotions. 

It was the numbness that he had craved. The nothing.

By the time he’d been shipped off to his first stint in rehab, he was utterly clueless as to just how terrifying it could all seem without it. What with the crutch no longer there. Reckoned he still had scabs that wouldn’t properly heal from all the time he’d spent scratching in that tiny box room they’d given him. Never really sleeping and only ever blinking awake. 

It sort of felt like that now. Opening his eyes to find that the world had tilted sideways once again, the wall slanted and the television opposite morphed longways. He sniffed, feeling the heaviness that immediately encompassed his head as he fought to force himself up onto his elbows.

It was quick, the sudden pressure that ripped through the joints, and he hissed as he peered down to find that the skin had been shred to bits, now blotted with flakes of rusted blood that had to have come from the night before.

“Here.”

Matty blinked blearily, swallowing around a lump in his throat before casting his eyes up slowly to find a glass being shoved towards him. He took it, skin prickling at the sudden chill he was met with and face scrunching up in distaste. 

He didn’t move to take a sip though, even with how dry his mouth then seemed, instead rubbed at his tired eyes before he dropped his hand completely to find Ross already settled on the adjoining armchair. Matty realised a beat too late that he must’ve passed out on the man’s settee, just as a forlorn feeling settled somewhere in his stomach, the evident reminder of the promise he’d been given the morning before hitting him.

‘You can even head back here after if you want.’

He’d wanted. He was forever wanting when it came to her. But he could hardly even recall making it through Ross’s front door, let alone contacting her at any point last night. Brow furrowing over how much he would have had to have drunk. 

“Time’s it?” Matty forced himself to ask, voice more guttural than he was used to, grogginess seeping into the edges of it as he settled himself a little better on the settee. He took a small sip of the water, testing the weight it would leave in his lead filled stomach before taking a couple more larger gulps. He settled it down on the console beside him after and then chanced another glance over at Ross, who looked as much a state as Matty felt. “Hm?” He tacked on when he was met with a bland look.

“Just gone one.”

Matty’s brows shot up at that, before he slumped further into the settee cushions. His head now ached something awful and he felt flushed to fuck, sweat causing the back of his tee to stick to the curve of his spine. “Shit.” He muttered unhappily, the familiarity of a migraine already setting in.

The word was met by a drawl chuckle. And look- Matty had known Ross for far too fucking long not to automatically hone into the odd quirks or reactions the bloke tended to favour, which was why he was already frowning when he squinted back over at him.

Ross had since turned his head against the back of the armchair, enough so that Matty could now see the darker sheen that sat beneath his lidded eyes whilst Ross’s gaze flickered over him. He didn’t say a word, merely chucked Matty’s own phone his way.

Feeling his forehead pinch, Matty forced himself to grit his teeth against the flare of pain that shot through his ankle when the thing purposefully missed his open hand and hit the bone of his ankle. “Fuck’s wrong with you?” He snarled at the oversized twat, picking the poxy thing up before rubbing at the offended joint.

Matty wasn’t offered up much of an answer though, what with Ross silently shaking his head at him. So he rolled his eyes in addition, lifting a finger up towards his face to rub at an eyelid before he finally managed to flip his phone the right way around and get a good look at it.

[HOMESCREEN]13:02

News 21 mins ago Back on a bender, Healy?The 1975 frontman was spotted out last night in an argument which quickly escalated and ruined a certain band member's birthday celebrations…

Twitter 28 mins ago Topic - music@/The1759: Matty captured in a deal gone wrong down in London?? Nahhhhh we all saw the relapse coming but this is just insaneeee...

BBC News - UK & World Stories 43 mins ago Matty Healy takes family bonding to whole new levels Hit singer spotted with girlfriend's son in an altercation whilst out in London earlier this month!

Messages 1hr ago Hann Ring me when you see this

The Independent 12:09 Singer, to the international band known as The 1975, was seen multiple times over the coming weeks in a variety of altercations that hinder his so-called sobriety, one of which was pictured and also witnessed by the young son of the frontman’s most recent fling. ‘Mouse’ as dubbed by her radio show, MouseOnAMic, has yet to comment on the behaviour concerning both her boyfriend and child, we continue…

News 11:44 This is how it starts! Matty Healy’s road back to rehab? Police were called in to break up a celebratory party held on the stretch of Soho in the early hours of this morning. Many faces were pictured amongst the masses, but most noticeably was singer Matthew Healy of The 1975, who was seen outside of a nearby club arguing with another man holding a bag..

Had you ever felt the floor just slip out from under you? 

Or maybe even the way that the Earth seemed to suddenly stop spinning, enough so that you could feel every little thing that was happening inside of your body? 

The swell of oxygen being forced out of your lungs. 

The rush of blood attempting to find the place of impact, susceptible to the sudden pain that’s been felt. 

Or even, the pulsing beat of every desperate squeeze your heart made in the very tips of your fingers?

There was a sudden sickness that clawed at the cage that bound Matty's chest together, thickening the walls of his throat and heavy enough that he had to inhale so deeply that the air demanded the bile to retreat back, back, back... Until his gut was the only thing churning and all he’d been left with as the most bitter aftertaste.

It was everywhere. Plastered all over Twitter, mentioned in every news outlet around for miles. Just there. Taking up the screen of his phone- and every other fuckers- without so much as a warning. Pictures, stories, accusations…

Evidence, a part of his twisted mind whispered.

But it was. A trail of wrongdoings which had led right back to that very day he’d spent with Teddy.

Teddy- 

God, how the fuck could he have been this mindless? This fucking blind. How had he messed up so badly?

It didn’t feel immediate, the way he moved to grapple his phone, scrolling in search of her name, for her contact, but it was. It was just instinctive. Thoughtless, how suddenly overwhelming the need to hear her voice was. To make sure that she was alright. Not wondering over whether she’d still be there waiting for him- no matter how heavy that thought now weighed on his dreaded mind. He simply needed her to be alright. And for Teddy to be none the wiser. For him to be okay. Just okay.

He remembered bits and pieces. It was slowly coming back now. An old face. Being offered something or other. He’d refused. He remembered he told the guy no. He’d been tempted, fuck had he been so tempted. But he knew better. Deep down. And he remembered saying no. Remembered pieing the guy off, having a light laugh, backing away. But then there had been a throw of hands, a split lip, the ringing crack of a jaw that had made his mind spin with flashbacks of Luke. Of the roof. Of his face hitting the cold empty pavement.

Matty could vaguely recall shouts and calls. George’s wide eyes. Ross’s hands gripping his arms. Hann already on the phone.

Tempted.

He’d been tempted.

It was that thought which played on an endless loop in his head whilst the ring of his phone echoed out into an otherwise silent room.

A flash of faces rattled across the forefront of his mind; expressions, voices, the need to please, a need to entertain.

She didn’t answer. The line went dead.

So he tried again.

Then a third time.

“Fuck.” Matty muttered breathlessly to himself, the panic in his voice breaking up the quiet that stretched between one ring and then the next.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t answer.

–

Thing was, I’d always known it had been coming. As pessimistic as I was.

But hope was a fickle fucking thing. It made me cut the tip of my tongue on the front of my teeth to keep from ruining perfect moments with thoughtless words. It found its way into the little things I had done and still did. It allowed me just a second to smile, for no other reason than simply being. Than belonging.

Because that was what hope did.

It was also the very thing which had forced me to let my guard down, for those walls of mine to slip. It had granted him entrance into the life I’d so steadily built for myself on rocky foundations and borrowed time. 

It had broken me so easily and effortlessly. Wrapped me up in nothing but an empty pang of regret that rang out for miles and miles.

I stared blankly up at the ceiling laid out above me, counting down the minutes until Teddy finally woke once more. Only this time it would be from the sun rising up over the overpass, rather than his mum slipping in to curl up beside him in the early hours of the morning when it had all grown too much. Her need to know that he was okay, her helpless guilt and the pain which had felt all-consuming.

I wondered over the times Matty had been in here with him, putting Teddy to sleep, laughing together, telling him drawn out stories and singing old melodies. I wondered what he’d been thinking in those dotted moments. If he’d been thinking anything at all.

I questioned how stupid I had to have been, how blind to not have seen it. The lies, because he'd done it so effortlessly. The web he had spun, just in an attempt to deceive me. All laid out before my fucking eyes. And he hadn’t even had the decency to tell me to my face. No, instead I’d had to watch it all unfold alongside the rest of the world.

My tongue licked over my lower lip which had since been bitten raw, having dragged it between my teeth in both panic and pity. Because even though I was angry, a bigger part of me still cared. Still continued to worry. Because oh, how I worried. And wasn’t that the most depressing part?

Here I was, concerned about him, whilst he was out doing whatever, fucking whoever, taking whatever. I’d seen the fucking pictures. I’d seen them all. Scrolled and scrolled until I’d come up to the last fuck-off headline. Until his face had morphed into somebody else, and then someone else’s after that.

The reasonable half of me, the half I was attempting to stamp down and drown out, also knew that what you saw online wasn’t always what it appeared. But still, it looked too much like my biggest fucking fear being brought to life to care enough. I simply wished to have him here, so that he could either explain himself to me or so that I could use him as an object to simply scream at. To rally against.

Because I couldn’t believe he’d gone and done the very thing I'd been so terrified of. That he had done it, and that he then had lied to me. That he had chosen to drag my fucking son into it. Into his fucking mess of a life! After-

After everything I’d given to him.

The thought made me question how much I was worth. How easily I could be tossed aside and shit all over.

A hand tightened around my wrist then and my tired eyes startled over to where a matching set now peered right back at me. Though these eyes were accompanied by a sleep filled smile and not haunted like mine.

I reached up to run a hand through Teddy’s soft curls, thumb brushing over his hairline before it trailed its way down the slope of his tiny nose. “Morning, lovely.”

My chest tightened at the hold Teddy found on my arm then, tucking himself up under it so that he could bury his face into the crook of my neck, those little hands of his coming up to clutch at the fabric of my shirt. I chuckled softly, unable to do much else with the surprise that coursed through me, and hugged him back.

“You okay?” I murmured into his hair, pecking the crown of his head and willing the tightness in my throat to go away. I wouldn't cry, not now.

“Sleepy.” Teddy answered me and I felt him smile against my skin when I chuckled quietly, dragging him even closer to me.

“You know what? Me too.”

His little hand started to gently pat my back then and it broke my heart that little bit more, “Stay here, ‘kay? Keep sleepin’.” 

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, enough so that I was too scared to even speak, so instead I merely nodded, hoping that he’d feel it and somehow know.

“‘Kay.” He repeated after a moment in a hushed whisper, fingers clutching at the back of my shirt, “Love you.”

I bit down on my tongue hard enough to warrant some bleeding, the taste of bitter metal slowly filling my mouth whilst I willed myself to be strong. To not cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him.

“Love you too, baby.”

–

He’d wanted to go charging over there.

Mid panic-attack, itching for a drink, or a fucking fix. Fucking anything to keep his mind from imploding the way it currently was.

He wanted.

He so desperately wanted.

He’d shucked on his boots without much thought, paying heedless wonder to Ross’s words, his desperate attempts to get him to listen. ‘Cause it was all for nought.

His chest burned with a fearsome ache that could light pyres. It was all that he could focus on to get him through the front door of Ross’s flat and out into the hallway. There was only one other door on his floor, on the far end. Though it was empty, Ross having bought it out, loaded enough now to not have to fret about futile things like neighbours. 

“Matt! For fucks sake, Matty!” Matty heard Ross stress before fingers were catching around his upper arm, the grip too tight, too overwhelming, stopping him in his stride.

Not even thinking Matty wrenched himself away, hard enough that it put a good distance between him and the bassist, pinking the skin of his bicep. His mind was working overtime, tick tick ticking. He was overstimulated and buzzing with an unfound energy that wasn’t unlike a bout of withdrawal shakes.

“The fuck happened last night?”

The sound of his own voice surprised him, forced his shoulders up and his gaze to widen, to hone in on the only other occupant that took up the narrow hall.

“What the fuck happened, Ross!” Matty demanded again, stomper now, inching slowly back over towards Ross and the still swinging door he’d just torn open. 

Ross was staring back at him, reminiscent of days Matty had spent denying his ever increasing drug use, or the multiple overdose scares they'd been forced through. Matty could feel his pulse jumping beneath his skin now, hands shaking to the rhythm of it, but he could not for the life of him take a breath, so focused on Ross and his unmoving form until-

“What didn’t happen, Matty?”

The sting came then. Not just the metaphor for the way Ross’s words had gone and slapped him across the face, no, the sting that threatened to close his throat and wet his eyes. What didn’t happen.

“I need to know, Ross. ‘Cause my head-” Matty raised a trembling hand, dragging the limb down over his face before he was just stood there shaking his head, “It’s fucked. My head's fucked and I, I can’t. I can't remember even getting here. Can’t remember leaving that fucking club or fucking curling up on your sofa! I don’t know what could have happened for me to have fucked up this much.”

A long pause dragged between them then, Ross watching him like an injured stray he wasn’t sure whether or not to lure closer and take home. Whilst the hallway continued on in its stoney silence, not a peep being heard from anyone or anything, only allowing Matty’s hard and fast breaths to break it up and echo out along the walls. Taunting him.

“You didn’t take anything.”

It was both the worst and best thing Ross could have said. Matty’s shoulders slumped with the weight of it and he dipped his head down between the bones of his collar in lieu of an answer. He hadn’t taken anything. But, maybe if he had then there would be a fucking excuse, a way to annul all of his shitty actions. The choices which had inevitably led him here.

“You didn’t take anything,” Ross repeated after antoher stretch of time, eyes flickering back and forth over Matty’s sad face, “but you did fuck off for a while after. Found you slurring and pissed beyond belief down some back alley of another club a mile off. You,” He paused there- stuttered with uncertainty in truth, but Matty fixed him with a terrified look, whole body ceasing with it. “You were with some girl, Matt. She was as gone as you but she said she’d only wanted to help.”

A girl.

Right.

Right, yeah, no that made sense. He’d gotten drunk, she’d just stepped in to help. He, he wouldn’t have-

“And that’s it? You’re sure?”

Ross continued to stare back at him for a second or two, then his body slumped with a sigh, “I don’t know, Matty.”

“You don’t know?” Was his incredulous retort, “What the fuck am I meant to do with that, Ross? Did anything fucking happen or not?” Matty demanded, thoughtlessly taking another step closer. Ross, true to his nature, didn’t move away, merely stood his ground.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” Ross reiterated with a sharp edge, as close as he’d ever get to shouting Matty knew. “You’re the only one who was, Matty. You go figure it out.”

Matty scoffed angrily, fisting his trembling hands at his side before they could lash out. “Yeah, and how’d you figure I do that then, hey?”

Ross took a breath, hand coming up to rub at his tired face. He shrugged and Matty could see just how exhausted he seemed with everything, with him. “All I know is you’d worked yourself up into a right state before you did your vanishing act, mate. Said something about Teddy, then about messing things up. I tried to talk some sense into you, I mean, we all did. But man, you were hellbent on fucking it all up completely.”

Ross’s throat bobbed and he looked off to the side, out of a nearby window that showcased the looming clouds above, before his gaze trailed back over to Matty’s defeated form.

“One second you were there, and the next you were gone.”

Matty couldn’t seem to find a reply to that.

Could only stand there. Questioning what the fuck he’d gone and done.

…

Hours passed, and then days.

Matty spent each minute trying to right his wrongs, to figure it all out. He’d called, he’d texted constantly. Basically barraged her with the little he had left to give. But heard nothing in return.

Hann had turned up in search of him later that afternoon he’d woken up round Ross’s and his entire life had been shot to shit. The man had practically boxed him back inside the flat and out of the hallway, forcing him to hole up there until the storm he’d created outside died down.

Not that it was much use. The storm only grew, more stories coming out, people stepping forward with fake tales and photoshopped pictures. Ross promised to talk to Mouse for him, but the most he’d been able to manage was an argument with Adi. Which hadn’t worked out all that well for Matty either as it turned out, seeing as how that had only proved to sour Ross’s already shitty mood, eventually putting the two of them on the outs.

Hann had tried too, attempting to contact Squeaks directly instead of through her mate. But had also come up with nothing. He’d been muttering away on the phone to Jamie since though, and Matty knew out of the five of them, it was probably him that Mouse would say something to. So Matty was avoiding him like the sodding plague, which was all too easy to do now that his phone was shattered to bits from a spiteful reaction to yet another unanswered call. 

He knew Jamie would tell it to him straight, see. That Mouse could just as easily end things through him properly rather than face to face, that’s if things hadn’t already ended between them.

So day three and Matty was basically bouncing off the walls, having already raided what little alcohol Ross kept in his flat the previous day and worked his way through the last of the smokes Adam had dropped round a couple hours before.

He was ticking with the need to move. To fucking escape the flat he’d been confined to.

He’d also had yet to hear from G either.

Which, Matty couldn’t lie was surprising. So when he wasn’t trying to talk his way out of the flat or make plans to set things straight between him and Squeaks, he was prying Ross and Hann for answers.

Not that it was worth the effort. Neither said a thing. Or well, they’d said the same thing, repeatedly. ‘He’s just busy.’

Busy his pasty fucking arse. If George was anything, it was a decent fucking mate. Even when Matty had messed up time and time again, he’d been there. Fucking found him that last time he’d been face down and coughing on his own bile, hadn’t he? G always came through.

Just not now, it seemed.

Matty’s head snapped up at the sound of the front door opening and immediately jumped up off the settee to round the corner to see just who it was. Then was all too quick to reel back, shaking his head in utter dismay as he walked his way back across the living room and out onto the balcony.

He heard a sigh sound behind him just as he wrenched open the door. “Matty...”

“I’m not doing this today.”

Matty threw himself down onto one of the deck chairs that had probably come with the place and cursed at the feel of dampness that instantly seeped its way into the burrowed joggers he wore. He tutted, sitting forward in the seat and reaching down to see that the chair hadn't managed to keep itself shielded from last night's rain. “Fuck sake.” He muttered under his breath but didn’t make a move to stand, figured he’d probably sat in worse.

He didn’t look back over either when the sliding door opened again and Jamie stepped on out to join him, though he did hollow his cheeks in irritation when said man tossed a pack of cigarettes into his lap and situated himself against the glass railing. “Gonna talk now?”

Matty merely opened the pack up, chucking the cellophane somewhere to the left of him and shaking two out. He stuck one between his lips and put the other back in upside down. Stretching out a hand, he used the other to tuck the pack into the band of his joggers, and then forced a snide smile when Jamie ultimately handed him his lighter. 

Two clicks and it was lit, he didn’t spare the man the favour of handing it back to him though, simply tossed it onto the end of the deck chair.

Jamie sighed once more, but Matty figured the older man was more than used to his ever changing emotions by now. Still, he knew he was acting the prick. It was just easier to be a prick and push Jamie away, than let the man fucking hurt him first. Not that he even would, it was just- Mouse, weren't it? Mouse and Jamie were mates, they spoke. They’d been fucking mates before even Matty had thought to even snag her number, before he’d attempted to even try to rid himself of the picture of her his mind had held onto. Jamie would tell it to him straight.

“She’s fuming.”

See?

Matty’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, catching on the front of his teeth and relieving the words with a sharp, albeit subtle sting. He swallowed thickly, eyes flickering quickly over to Jamie and then away again. “Like, bad?”

Jamie scoffed out a humourless chuckle and so in turn, Matty scowled, flicking the remnants of his fag ash out before turning to place the glare on the man.

“Yeah, as in on a scale from one to fucking ten, how pissed is she?”

With a heavy inhale- as though the question had been oh so demanding- Jamie looked up at the cloudy sky before eventually trailing his eyes back down again. “I don’t know.” Matty shook his head irritably, but Jamie just continued on, “But what I do know is that she’s messed up over it. Almost as bad as you, from the looks of it.”

And didn’t that just have Matty’s mind going down in a tailspin. He balled a hand up against his right thigh, letting his nails bite into the skin of his palm whilst his unblinking eyes casted themselves out onto the foggy sky rise of London.

A short scuffle sounded and then Jamie was sitting in the chair beside him, though he’d seemingly had the foresight to wipe it dry first. “Look, mate, it’s bad. But if you’ve done nothing wrong, then it’s something you can fix.”

“Nothing wrong?” Matty scoffed, the tick of his jaw keeping him from taking another drag of his cigarette. “Everything I do is wrong, man.” He let his head drop into his hand at that, the tremble of it more prominent now than it had ever been, “I can’t fix it, J. How can I? The fuck would I even start?”

The chill of the city air crawled up over the thin tee that covered Matty's shoulders, wrapping him up in it, but he could hardly feel a thing past the blur of thoughts that crowded the inside of his mind. Still, he shivered, jumping ever so slightly when Jamie’s hand came to settle on the top of his neck.

“Matty, listen to me.”

And that didn't help.

“All I’ve been doing is fucking listening! Listened to Hann, listened to pissin' Ross. Listened when they said not to go charging over there, to give her time, to give her fucking space! But they were wrong. If-” Matty hissed, rubbing at the sting that had settled behind his eyes, rubbing them raw, “If only I could explain! If I could just talk to her. I only want to make sure that she’s alright. To see her for myself.”

The breath of Jamie’s next sigh got swept up in the wind but Matty felt it all the same, but then the man’s hand tightened its hold on his shoulder and he felt Jamie dip his head in a gentle nod.

“I’ll work something out, yeah?”

And with those five words Matty’s head was snapping up, watery eyes honed in on his managers ageing face as though it held all the fucking hope in the world. And at that moment it fucking felt as though it did. Or it could have done.

“Yeah? Don’t fucking say it and then fall through on me, J. I can’t deal with that shit right now.” Matty told the man almost desperately, chest rising and falling aimlessly as he stared back at him.

Jamie simply chuckled, bracing himself with a smile. “When have I ever fallen through on you lot?”

[chahnniesroom]

tenderness | chapter 7: go ahead

[noun] /ˈtendərnəs/

1. the quality of being gentle, kind, or loving

2. the feeling of pain, aching, or soreness

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in a world where soulmates are rare and precious, you don’t know why the universe has decided to give you one. you never could have imagined that they would be an idol, and one that you worked with at that, or the challenges that would arise from your bond.

chapter word count: 5.8k

chapter warnings: injury, mentions of nausea/gagging, jealousy

a/n: i am not a doctor and i did minimal research on anything medical related

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

You arrive at the airport almost an hour before the members are supposed to show up and help to offload some of the luggage that wasn’t shipped directly to the arena. There’s already a crowd that buzzes to life when the company vehicles pull up. They quickly settle back down when they see that it’s only staff onboard, but you’re a little spooked by the number of professional looking cameras that had been pointed in your direction.

When the members show up, they pile out of the vans and line up to greet the crowd, before heading towards the security check-in. 

You’re impressed by how immune they are to the bright flashes, screams of their names, and having so many phones shoved in their faces. You follow at a sedated pace, not wanting to be captured in the pictures and videos, and wince a couple times when the security team has to step in and push away fans who have gotten a bit too close for comfort.

“Is it always like this?” you ask Eunsung in a low voice.

“Pretty much, I think today there are more people than usual.” He shrugs. “You’ll get used to it after a few more times. Probably when we’re in the United States then it won’t be the same, less fans but more people overall.”

You stare at the back of Chan’s head, covered both by a beanie and his hoodie, and try to imagine feeling as unbothered by the mass of bodies and cameras as he appears.

—

The flight to Japan is relatively unremarkable, it’s just over 2 hours which is enough for you to fall asleep, but not long enough to actually get some rest. Thankfully, Narita Airport isn’t as crowded with fans as Incheon Airport. There’s still a large group waiting at the arrival terminal, but you’re not as concerned as before.

 As much as you’d love to explore the city a bit, you’ve arrived so late in the evening that there’s no time to do anything but check in at the hotel and grab a quick dinner with your team before you have to head back. You’re tired enough that you don’t really mind, intent on saving up energy to enjoy yourself for these next shows.

Luckily, tomorrow isn’t a concert day, there’s a day of buffer before Friday, the first of the three concerts in Tokyo. There are more Japanese concerts, but they’re much later on and some of them haven’t even been announced to fans yet.

You spend the first day helping get the venue set up for the concert. It takes surprisingly long to unpack anything, and you’re exhausted by the time you’re in a car on the way back to the hotel.

When you unlock the door, Chan and Hyunjin both turn to stare, looking like deer in headlights. They’re clearly recording something, Hyunjin has headphones on and is carrying a portable microphone. You back away without saying a word, and close the door quietly behind you. 

You text Chan a quick apology for interrupting, then message Felix, asking if he’s busy. When all he does is send you his room number and a million exclamation marks in response, you make your way down the hallway. The boys have individual rooms, but they’re all clustered together on the same floor so it doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of his door. You take a moment to compose yourself. You’ve been trying so hard to not bother Chan, but it seems like no matter what, you’ve found a way to be a nuisance.

You end up spending the rest of the evening sprawled over Felix’s bed as he, Han, and Minho eat their way through a variety of Japanese convenience store snacks. You try a few of them, but after a couple with strange flavours that none of you can manage to swallow, play it safe by slowly emptying a packet of fruit jellies. 

—

Surprisingly, the first concert goes smoother than any of the Seoul dates. The Japanese staff are extremely helpful and organised, although you’re not even close to fluent in speaking Japanese. 

As you’re waffling between staying up to see when Chan comes back and just going to sleep without him, your phone lights up with an incoming text.

[12:24 am - received]

Sorry, lost track of time and forgot to let you know but I’m recording something with Sungie rn

I’ll try to be back soon, but don’t wait up

Sorry

At this point, you’re not surprised, just disappointed. You had heard that the members got more free time while touring and had stupidly gotten your hopes up that it would mean Chan would take some of that time to get proper rest. You keep telling yourself that you should trust him and that he’ll actually take care of himself if he needs to, but it doesn’t stop you from worrying about his health. You know that if you’re feeling effects from not spending enough time with him, then he must be too and that scares you more than you think it should. 

—

It’s almost like the day before went too well, because bad luck strikes in no time. A few of the managers and coordis have come down with something by the afternoon of the second concert, leaving the team dangerously short staffed. There isn't enough time to get any replacements, the only option is to divy up the responsibilities as evenly as possible.

Shortly before the start of the concert, you’re tasked with distributing the baskets of water bottles and hand towels around the edges of the stage for the boys to use as they perform. It’s nerve-wracking to peek out at the audience, you can hear their chatter from where you stand on the sidelines. Doors have already opened and many Stays are already seated, eagerly awaiting the show. You’re grateful for the mask that you had decided to put on at the last second as there are multiple people who look up as you walk on stage, a few of them even cheer as you set the little basket down near their section. You just bow to them and then quickly make your way off, sighing in relief when you are finally out of sight. You have no idea how Chan or any of the members could handle being in the spotlight with so many eyes on them.

By the end of the evening, you’re so drained from running around backstage and hauling various equipment, outfits, and accessories around. You get a couple of concerned looks from a few of the staff when a bout of dizziness forces you to put a hand on the wall for support. You wave them off and laugh, but are forced to take a minute to wait for the vertigo to recede. 

Luckily, you can hear the strains of the encore music starting and know that it’s an okay time to take a short break. You make your way to the staff room without a problem and pick over the leftover food. It’s only when you start eating that you realise just how hungry you are. 

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” Yonghwan walks in just as you take another bite and your cheeks flush as you have to chew quickly to swallow the food.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t have a chance to have a break for dinner until now.”

“Oh,” he falters. “I’m really sorry to ask, but do you know when you’ll be finished? We’re getting everyone ready to clean up.”

You wipe your mouth and stand up to throw away the remains of the bento box that you were eating, there isn’t much left in it anyway. The sudden movement is enough to leave you light-headed for a second, but you catch yourself with a hand on the table beside you and recover almost right away.

“I’m done!” you say brightly, relieved to see that Yonghwan is typing something on his phone and hadn’t noticed your brief lack of balance. “We can go now.”

—

Your late meal seemed to have done the trick, giving you enough energy to help out after the show without any problems. 

On the ride back to the hotel, you fish out your phone to find a few unread messages from Chan, first letting you know that he was doing a live in Minho’s room, then heading to the gym with some of the guys. You’re oddly touched that he kept you updated and also how he’s been going out of his way to leave your shared room available for you to use since that first night, even if it’s more inconvenient.

The room is still empty when you make it back, but Chan returns when you’re halfway through your nighttime routine. You pop your head out of the bathroom to greet him and hurry through the last few steps of your skincare, but by the time you’re finished, he’s already situated himself at the desk, hunched over his laptop with a pair of headphones on. As the days in Japan have passed, he’s unearthed more and more equipment from his luggage and it’s all spread on a couple tables in your hotel room. 

You bite back a sigh at the familiar sight and skirt around him to climb into bed. It’s close to 1 in the morning and you’re exhausted. The long hours you’ve been doing combined with the amount of running around required for each concert means that you’re sure you’ll pass out the second that your head hits the pillow. Already your arms and legs ache from the extra physical work that you had to do and you’re sure that you’ll be extremely sore tomorrow.

You know you’ve been running low on Charge, that it's one of the reasons why you’ve felt so worn out these days, but at the same time, you don’t want to interrupt Chan. You’re trying to respect his boundaries and honestly, you’re a bit wary of what his reaction could be if you asked him to stop for the day. Sure, he hasn’t snapped at you or raised his voice at all since that night in his studio, but you’re still hesitant to broach the subject.  

The light is still on, but there’s the rhythmic sounds of Chan working and the hum of an air conditioner that are making your eyes heavier and heavier. You give in, putting your phone onto the side table and nestle into the blankets.

Suddenly your alarm is chirping in your ear. You turn it off immediately, not wanting to disturb Chan, then sit up blearily, not sure how it’s already morning. 

You’re still so tired.

It feels like you haven't rested at all, even though Chan’s arm is still slung around your waist and your legs are touching. You rub the grit from your eyes and give yourself another second before getting up. Your vision whites out briefly and your muscles protest when you finally stand. When you stumble into the bathroom, you splash your face with cold water, hoping that it’ll help shock you awake. 

You’re reminded of when you were a teenager and forced to pull long hours to study for the CSAT. At that time, your brother had already graduated and was well on his way to becoming a doctor. While you were proud of your brother, his successes had always increased the expectations on you. He had excelled in science and your parents had been thrilled that he was following in your abeoji’s footsteps. On the other hand, you had set your sights on majoring in business, a degree that was more manageable, but still fairly well respected. 

That didn’t make things any easier, though. Throughout your schooling, your eomoni had always strictly monitored your grades and social life. She kept close tabs on your attendance at cram school, organised sessions with private tutors, and was liberal with her scoldings whenever you weren’t within the top students in your class. The pressure had been unbearable and the only thing that had gotten you through was the knowledge that making it into a good university would get you out of your family home.

You don’t know if it’s the time that has passed since then or some sort of influence from the soulmate bond, but you’ve never experienced such strong physical impacts from lack of sleep. Maybe life after university has spoiled you a bit too much. Prior to your switch to managing Stray Kids, you had gotten used to at least 6 or 7 hours of sleep each night, a far cry from when you were studying and lucky to get 5 hours.

You had been a little bit miserable all the time, but looking back, it had been a valuable experience. You had learned a lot about time management, prioritisation, and most importantly, how to ensure sleep deprivation didn’t affect your performance. 

—

Unfortunately, there’s no miracle that occurred overnight, and when you get to the concert venue in the morning, there’s still a significant number of staff who are unwell. It’s less than ideal, but at least the day before proved that the team will at least be able to survive the night.

You end up trailing behind Eunsung, tasked with retrieving cases that contain backup microphones that were somehow lost when everything was put away after yesterday’s concert. This area backstage is poorly lit and crammed with boxes and equipment that’s all shoved to one side so that there’s just barely enough space to have a walkway. It’s not a surprise that the microphones weren’t found earlier.

The case that you’re holding is heavy, and you have to lean to one side so that your body weight can aid in keeping you balanced. Ahead of you, Eunsung is easily carrying one in each hand, while your arms are starting to tremble from exertion. 

You’re suddenly overcome by another wave of dizziness, something you’re getting better at anticipating. You slow down to take a break and steady yourself, but the case that you’re holding clips the edge of some scaffolding at the same time that your foot doesn’t quite clear a bump in the ground where a bundle of cabling has been taped down. The microphones are dropped with a thud, you lurch to the side and close your eyes, bracing for impact. 

You don’t even feel yourself hit the ground. 

The next thing you know, you’re blinking back stars, shrinking away from a light that’s shining directly in your eyes, but a hand cradling the back of your head prevents you from moving too far. 

“What?” you try to say, but your voice comes out sounding warped. Your head is pounding and feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. The light turns off and you sigh in relief, it reduces the pain to a dull throbbing that seems to be in time with your heartbeat. Your vision is blurred and you can barely make out the face of the person that’s holding onto you. “Eunsung.”

“Oh good, you can recognise me. Do you remember your name?”

“Y/n.”

“Good. And do you remember where we are?”

“Concert,” you say. That part is easy, the music is so loud that you can feel the vibrations of the bass from where you’re lying on the ground. Even from here, there’s faint cheering that you can hear every so often.

“Do you know whose concert?”

“St- Stray… Stray Kids.” It would be embarrassing how long it takes you to recall the name of the group, but your headache makes it hard to think, let alone feel anything other than pain.

“Okay. What country are we in?”

After a moment, you finally remember, “Japan.”

“Perfect. Do you remember what happened?”

“Uhm. I was… tired. I fell.” 

“Great. Now are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Mmm. Dizzy I think.” 

You crack your eyes open and when the room spins around you, immediately retch. When nothing but bile is brought up, you remember that you've hardly eaten anything today. The concert has already passed its halfway point and you don't even recall stopping for a lunch break. The increased pressure from your gagging makes the pain in your head explode and it takes everything in you to keep the nausea at bay. At your side, Eunsung takes exaggerated breaths and you force yourself to follow them, feeling a little bit better once you’re able to breathe properly again.

“Okay. Seems like you might have a concussion, but I'm hopeful that it’s only a mild one. I’m concerned about the fact that you were unconscious, but it was only a few seconds and otherwise you don’t seem that bad. I really want to get you to an actual doctor, but first let’s get you sitting upright and see how you feel then.”

Sometimes you forget that Eunsung has done extensive safety training and doubles as a first aid attendant for the team. Now, it’s obvious. He’s clinical and calm, hands steady as they support your back and neck before lifting you into a sitting position. 

Even though he does it slowly, your vision swims and you start to list to the right, away from where Eunsung is crouched beside you. He’s quick to grab your shoulder and tip you back. You keep going until your forehead hits his chest and this time, he doesn’t try to correct you, just wraps his arm around you securely and lets you stay there.

“Y/n, how are you feeling now?”

“Hurts,” you say, turning your face towards Eunsung so that his body blocks out all the light. It had seemed so dim earlier, but now you can barely open your eyes without tears forming. Even that movement makes the ache in your head intensify and you let out a groan.

“Can you be more specific? Does anywhere hurt more?”

“Head.” You lift your hand and fumble, trying to pinpoint where the pain is coming from. Your fingers hit a tender spot and you immediately retract your hand, not wanting to get close to that area again. “Ow, there.”

“Good job. That’s here you hit your head, but it doesn't look like there’s any blood, which is a good sign. I’m going to get you some ice and try to get the swelling done.” At that you clutch at his shirt tightly.

“No no no, don’t go,” you say frantically.

“I- Okay. Are you still nauseous?”

“Uhm.” You take a moment to assess yourself, then confirm. “Not anymore.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to bring you with me and we’ll get you to a better place to rest. I’m just going to lift you up and I think I saw that there was a room close to here that would be good.” It sounds like he’s talking more to himself than you, and you’re happy to stay quiet. He guides your arms to loop around his head and then gently lifts you, one arm around your back and the other under your knees. “Y/n? Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you say faintly. “Just go.”

He takes a couple steps before you stop him, tugging at his shoulder.

“Wait! Oppa,” you say urgently.

“What?” he asks, panic leaking into his voice for the first time.

“The microphones. We need to bring them back too.”

“The- Y/n, who cares about the microphones! You just bashed your head against the side of a trunk so hard that you blacked out. You need medical attention right now!”

“But, the show,” you say meekly. “They need the microphones.”

“Yn- Okay,” Eunsung says with a sigh. He can probably tell that you’re not going to budge on this. “We’re going to bring you somewhere safe to rest. I’ll get some ice for your head. Then I’ll ask someone else to bring the microphones.”

“Mm, okay.”

He continues walking and you have to bite your lip hard to stop yourself from making any noise. Although you know he’s trying his best to be gentle, the slight jostling of each step just exacerbates your headache. It’s hard for you to track the time passing, but eventually he eases you onto a couch, reappears with ice, then collects you in his arms again to carry you to a company car.

It’s surprisingly fast getting you to see a medical professional. One of the Japanese staff accompanies you to help translate and the three of you are relieved when the doctor allows you to go home. He goes on for a while, explaining symptoms that you can expect and a recovery plan, but you tune it all out, trusting that Eunsung and the other staff member will keep track of it all. Before you know it, you’re back at the hotel where you force Eunsung to bring you back to his room.

“They said it was just a minor concussion, right?” you ask once you’re settled in bed. You feel remarkably better after having something to eat and drink and being able to spend time not moving. Your stomach has settled now that there’s food in it and your dizziness has subsided almost completely.

“Yes, luckily it’s not too serious. You had me really worried for a moment.”

“I’m sorry. This is really bad timing too. Did they say how long it’ll be until I can work again?”

"Normally, it'd be at least a couple weeks until you feel better, but with the soulmate bond? He said your recovery will go more smoothly. Could be half that, maybe even more depending on how much Charge you get."

"What if- what if I'm not getting enough Charge. It’d still just be two weeks right?” you ask, avoiding Eunsung’s gaze.

“Y/n,” he says warningly.

“I- Things have been busy. We’re both… busy,” you say weakly.

“How much less?” 

“My head hurts,” you say instead.

“Y/n-”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I want to sleep.” You turn so that you’re facing the wall. Moving again makes your head throb, although the painkillers that you’ve been prescribed are starting to dull the pain.

Eunsung sighs. “You can rest for now,” he says to your back. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You know you're going to have to move back to your room tonight, but the doctor advised you to have someone monitor your condition for the next while. Based on the past few days, you have no idea when Chan will be back, so it’s easier to just stay with Eunsung. You know how much of a hypocrite it will make you seem to have scolded Chan about resting when it turns out that you've also been neglecting your own health and you're already embarrassed enough. You don't think you can face him right now.

You were telling the truth when you said you were tired, but still sleep doesn't come easy.

—

Coming off stage, Chan feels great. The energy from the crowd, being able to see so many Stays, having a chance to have a lot of fun with the rest of the members, it makes all the long hours and sleepless nights worth it.

After handing off his mic and taking a final group picture, Chan searches for Y/n. He’s so happy and he wants to share this moment with her. A brief look around doesn’t yield any results, but Chan’s not concerned, he knows that even though the job is finished for him, the staff still have a lot of work to do.

He manages to catch Minyoung as she’s shoving cases of makeup into a large tub.

“Hey, just wondering if you’ve seen Y/n around? Had something I wanted to talk to her about.”

“Ah,” she says. “I haven’t seen her around, I think that something came up during the show.”

“Oh, thanks.” Chan’s mood rapidly sours, but he does his best not to show it. He checks his phone again, but there’s no new messages from Y/n. It’s odd, but Chan wants to give Y/n the benefit of the doubt and not jump to conclusions. It wouldn’t be the first time that Y/n got pulled away to deal with a different issue or was too busy to notice that her phone battery died, he reasons.

“We still have that dinner tonight, she’ll probably turn up there.”

“Right!” Chan had forgotten all about the dinner that was planned as both a celebration and a kick off for the tour. He feels a bit better knowing that attendance to the event is basically mandatory and the rest of the staff must be scrambling to get everything finished before then.

The restaurant that they head to has been fully rented out, so they don’t have to worry about being spotted. It’s crowded with staff, some being people that Chan has never even seen. 

When he hears a couple of coordis sitting at an adjacent table mention ‘Y/n’ and ‘soulmate’ in the same sentence, he’s instantly on guard and focuses on what they’re saying. If it was somehow found out that Y/n is his soulmate, it would explain her sudden disappearance. They would need to contain that information fast.

“They’re just so cute together, it must be so nice to have a soulmate,” one of them sighs.

“And especially one you work with, since we’re going to be travelling so much. I heard that they left early together today,” the other says conspiratorially, resulting in a gasp from her friend. Chan's confused, but keeps listening. “I wish I could do that, I think I would be fired on the spot if I even thought about taking a break during the concert.” 

“Oh! Someone mentioned that they did see Eunsung-ssi basically carrying someone out earlier, I guess it was Y/n-ssi. Lucky girl,“ the coordi says wistfully.

Eunsung? Y/n leaving early? It's not unusual for Chan to not be able to keep track of where Y/n is and he couldn’t be that obvious about asking around for her, but she’s never actually left without at least texting him before. It would explain why he still couldn’t spot her when he had glanced around the restaurant.

“Hyung.” Jeongin cuts off his train of thought. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Chan looks down to see that okonomiyaki that was in his plate has been subconsciously shredded by his chopsticks and has basically reverted back to its precooked form, just a pile of ingredients. Being on stage always requires a lot of energy and before this meal, Chan had been starving. He’s starting to regret the amount of food that he had scarfed down though, it has seemed to all consolidate into one big lump that now sits uneasy in his stomach. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just got full all of a sudden.” He pushes away his dish, the sight of the uneaten food is enough to make him feel a little queasy.

They’re interrupted by clapping and look up to see that a cake is being brought out, fizzling sparklers and a printed image of a tour poster decorating the top. Chan joins the group to take a picture, but can only manage to swallow a couple bites of the cake before he hands it off to Jisung who happily finishes it.

When Chan gets back to the hotel, Y/n still isn't in their room yet. He checks his phone again, but there’s still no notifications from Y/n. He sends off a message, asking if everything is okay then showers. When he checks his phone again, there’s still nothing. 

At that moment, Chan hears the familiar whir of the lock and he looks up at Y/n shuffles in.

"Oh, you're back already," she says, eyebrows jumping up in surprise when she notices him.

"Where else would I be?" Chan replies. Even he can tell his tone is more waspish than usual and Y/n pauses only a couple steps from the door.

"Uhm. Sorry," she says cautiously. "I just thought you might have been at the gym or something. You're usually out until later than this." Chan narrows his eyes at her response.

“We had the team dinner tonight.”

“Oh, was that today? I completely forgot.” 

"And where were you?"

"I- I wasn't feeling that well. I left the concert a bit early to get some rest." Now that she mentions it, Chan can tell she’s holding her body differently, more gingerly, like any sudden movement could cause pain.

"But you weren't here, where did you go?"

"I didn't know if I was getting sick. I was concerned about passing something on to you so we found a doctor that could see me on short notice. They said everything was fine."

"Oh," Chan says, starting to feel bad now. He shouldn't have paid attention to what the coordis were insinuating. "Sorry, I just-"

"Just wanted to snap at me?"

“You didn’t text,” he says lamely.

“Sorry. I wasn't thinking straight, I forgot to let you know.”

"I guess I was just worried," Chan admits. "I couldn't find you after the concert and you weren’t at dinner, I didn't know what happened."

"Sorry,” she says again, “Things were kind of hectic. I- I didn’t know that you would notice. And I really did forget about the dinner.”

“Wait, did you go by yourself?” Chan doesn’t know if he’s asking to see if there was any truth in the overheard conversation or because he feels nervous about Y/n out in a foreign city by herself. 

“No, Eunsung-oppa was with me.”

“Oh?” Chan tries to sound nonchalant. This whole conversation has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions and he’s ready to get off.

“He’s the one in our team that we go to for anything medical related. He does the first aid training and knows all the protocol for if we have to fill out paperwork. We also had one of the Japanese staff there to help translate.”

“Ah.” Chan’s an idiot. He feels like the worst person in the world. He’s so dumb for jumping to conclusions. 

“Yeah.”

"As long as you're okay. Come here."

Chan opens his arms. When Y/n walks into his embrace, they both sigh in relief.

“Feel better?” Chan asks.

“Yeah, I guess I was just tired,” she says, but there’s something weird in her voice. He pulls away slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah! Just- just had a weird day. And… I had a headache. But really, I’m fine now. I feel a lot better knowing I’m not going to get you or any of the guys sick. How was the concert?”

“It was good! Great, actually,” he says. Thinking about it brings a smile back to his face. “I know things are busy for you right now, but we’ll have to get you in the crowd for one of the nights! I want you to be able to see the show that you worked so hard on, it’d be a lot of fun.”

“I’d like that too,” Y/n says, smiling wistfully.

“I can mention it to Yonghwan, he can figure out logistics. We always have some tickets reserved in case we want to invite guests, they’re good seats. Maybe a little far back, but you’ll be able to see everything that way. One of the cities we’re doing multiple days might be best, I know the second show would probably be less busy for your team.” He stops himself when he catches Y/n trying to hide a yawn. “You must be tired, sorry I’m rambling. Go wash up, we can go to bed now.”

He releases her from their embrace and watches as she has to collect herself the second they break contact. She's obviously still not feeling well, but Chan bites his tongue instead of voicing his concern. He could see that Charging had seemed to relieve her symptoms and they’re about to sleep anyway. They’re going home tomorrow, but don’t have to leave until the afternoon so Chan’s looking forward to finally getting something close to a full night of rest.

—

Usually at airports, Chan tries to tune out all his surroundings. He’s aware of the occasional sasaeng that gets tickets to follow them into the departure area or even onto their flight, but knows better than to give them any attention. Today, he happens to sit right beside the two coordis that he heard gossiping last night. Trying to be casual, he turns off his music and slides off his headphones so that he can better hear what they're saying.

"-so glad to be heading back home. It feels like it's been forever since I've seen my boyfriend." He catches one of them saying.

"Ugh, at least you have a boyfriend. I haven't been on a good date in months!"

"Maybe you can find one at work too. Didn't Y/n-ssi and Eunsung-ssi meet at the company?"

"You're like, obsessed with them. I swear, one of these days they're going to find out you keep talking about them."

"Oh come on, if they didn't want people to talk then they wouldn't be so obvious about it. Look at the two of them now, you can’t say that they're doing a very good job of hiding that they're soulmates."

Last night proved why Chan shouldn’t give weight to any of their comments, but still Chan looks up from where he’s been pretending to read something on his phone. Eunsung and Y/n are sitting shoulder to shoulder, laughing at something on one of their phones. Something curdles in Chan’s stomach as he watches them. 

“It doesn’t help that Eunsung-ssi is so handsome. I’m sure he could have been an idol or at least a model with those looks if he wanted to. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off him if I were Y/n-ssi either.” The coordis both giggle at that.

Eunsung is tall, at least 180 cm, with broad shoulders, perfect double eyelids, and a stupidly symmetrical face. His hair seems to always fall in artful waves over his forehead and when he smiles, it reveals his even and bright white teeth. It’s true that he looks more like a stereotypical idol than Chan does, even after hair and makeup have transformed him into a different person. Chan doesn’t notice that he’s glaring until Seungmin nudges him gently.

“Hyung, any reason you’re practically burning a hole in the side of Y/n-noona’s head?”

“Huh? Y/n, no- I- just-” The pair laughs again, Y/n tilting off to the side as she closes her eyes. Eunsung reaches out to steady her with a hand to the shoulder and doesn’t remove it. Instead, he uses the contact to pull her closer so that she can lean against him. 

Chan forgets what he was saying. Seungmin eyes him knowingly. For once, he doesn’t make any comment.

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter | read it on ao3

[justasensitiveplant]

Carstober 2024 day 7: Fall

Niki is one of the bravest when it comes to rough seas, daring expeditions and impossible missions. If there's cash and a challenge, she'll make sure to one-up what you think she can do. One thing she absolutely hates however, is falling. The sensation is unnatural for a ship, and as a relatively small vessel, the vastness of the sea gets overwhelming... Not that she would tell anyone.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Asking

(Masterlist)

delta asks for something (yay!)

its not good (noooo!!!!)

set in between the massacre at lemuria and the assassination attempt at thales. brief but critical period in which delta is starting to have doubts and paris is (relatively) chilled out.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, mass death, descriptions of gore, nightmares, guilt, self loathing, attempted self harm, implied physical abuse, verbal abuse, comfort???)

===================

It had been a glorious day for Empire — and an exceptionally terrible day for Delta. It was not that today’s attack had been particularly brutal or challenging. It was practically indistinguishable from the others he’d carried out this month. It had gone smoothly.

It was the second sight that had gone haywire. It did that sometimes. Delta’s powers had always been unpredictable to a certain extent — not in their output, but in the way they affected him. The more he fixated on what he did not want to happen, the more likely it would. Today had been one of those times. As soon as the collar clicked off, he was able to see. Truly see, not just with the strange psychic feelers and the sixth sense they gave him. He could see everything in the target radius. From a mile away, he could see straight inside the planetary base. He got a very good look at the lives he was about to destroy. He was forced to keep looking for as long as the collar was off. He watched as their skin curled up and crisped from the heat of the blast, watched as their blood boiled, watched as it all gave way to dust. 

He’d crashed out as soon as it was over. It wasn’t dignified; he’d fallen asleep right in the transit. It was emotional exhaustion more than it was the typical psychic fatigue. Still, his handlers had allowed him to sleep it off for the rest of the day. It was a small reward for having executed the kill so cleanly. He gratefully accepted, climbing back into bed at the first opportunity. 

They were some of the worst nightmares Delta had ever had. He woke up drenched, unable to bring his own breathing back under control. He stumbled into the shower. The cold water helped to pull him out of the half-asleep state, but did nothing to remove the deep dread in his chest. He still saw it every time he closed his eyes. His own violence. His own power. His.

There was no chance of falling back asleep. He redressed in loose clothing, still desperate to cool down. He’d need to change the sheets at some point; they were still slick with sweat and occasionally blood. He didn’t have the energy to do it just yet. He stumbled out of his room, relieved to find the common areas of the ship mostly empty. It was a week night. 

He leaned his head against one of the ship’s large windows. There were no planets clearly visible. Just stars. He always preferred it that way. 

He needed to do something about it. Guilt was such a fresh emotion to him, newer than even empathy had been. It hurt so severely he almost couldn’t breathe. Not as bad as it would hurt to burn or to boil or to evaporate, to have your limbs severed and cauterized, to die fast or die slow. No, Delta would never hurt the way they did. He’d never even get close. 

He had only been free roaming, without any particular destination in mind. The Thorn was large enough to allow for that kind of thing. Still, his thoughts drifted darker, and his body seemed to accommodate them without any conscious effort on his part. Or maybe it was just muscle memory.

He knocked softly.

“Whaaaaaat?” Paris’s voice came through the door, already annoyed.

Delta slowly pushed it open, sliding through the gap. Paris was still up. To Delta’s surprise, he was sober. The morning’s hangover had been worse than usual; it must have had some kind of tempering influence. Paris glanced up from the computer screen.

“Oh. What do you want?” Paris leaned back in the chair, seeming to relax a little. Delta hesitated at the threshold. He pushed the door shut, starting to cross the room.

“Stop,” Paris said. When Delta stilled, he spoke again, “What is it?”

Delta’s voice came out low, totally inaudible. He hadn’t meant it too. He’d just frozen up.

“I can’t hear you,” Paris rolled his eyes, clearly losing his patience.

“Can you hit me?” Delta repeated.

Paris’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, gesturing to the spot on the carpet beside his chair. Delta moved to kneel. He was pretty sure an indentation was forming there.

“What did you do?” Paris’s tone was heavy with suspicion, not a small amount of worry. Delta lost his voice again, totally lost his nerve. He knew what he had done. Killed, again. The men and the women and the children and the animals. The soil that would never grow life again. A thousand times over.

“Delta, what did you do?” Paris gripped his hair, pulling his head back to force eye contact. His voice had an edge of panic to it. He was expecting the worst. Delta winced. This was a stupid idea.

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Delta said. He bit down on his tongue, keeping himself from what he’d wanted to say. Do you really need a reason?

Paris released his grip on his hair, letting Delta’s head fall back into a bow. He made a small, irritated sound.

“Can you stop wasting my fucking time?” He turned back to the computer. The panic left him. He believed it was nothing; Delta so rarely lied.

Delta stayed kneeling, keenly aware that Paris had not told him to leave. Minutes passed with only the sound of the keyboard’s clicking filling the room. Delta had to make a concentrated effort not to start crying. There wasn’t any release, nothing redemptive. He didn’t want to be hurt. He couldn’t stand the thought of it not happening. He was so tired.

It was a stupid idea. He pressed his forehead against Paris’s knee. The typing stopped. There was no sound at all for several seconds.

“God, you’re the fucking worst. You know that?” Paris’s hand touched against his hair again. It was much gentler this time. He brushed it back, smoothing out the mess from where he’d just disturbed it.

“I know,” Delta agreed for his own secret reasons.

The typing started up again, much slower this time. It had to be one-handed. The other pet through Delta’s hair — absent, soft, clumsy — as if touch was foreign to it.

[soopsiedaisies]

suffering will be your teacher

I don't think it's too late to share this one :)

Rating: E, for violence

Tags: Time Travel; Scarless Zuko; Zuko & Zuko's Crew; Jee has only had Zuko for a day and a half but if anything happened to him he would kill everyone on this ship and then himself

Summary: Zuko falls asleep on the evening of his official coronation, when he’s twenty-one-years old and has finally reached his majority. Zuko wakes on the morning of the Agni Kai with his father, eight years earlier. This is annoying for several reasons, like the fact that the War is still ongoing, that he has zero friends, and that Ozai is not in jail. It’s time to scheme.

Also, here are some ficnotes under the cut, if you're interested in some of my reasoning in regards to how the Agni Kai went in this universe. It's a bit spoilery but not if you've read chapter 1:

I’ve received a small handful of comments being shocked and/or delighted by Zuko deciding to burn Ozai the way Ozai burnt him: hand over the face like wiping away a tear, and then just going to town with their natural flamethrower ability. Whether this would be seen as in character or not, I wrote it in because I think it’d be in character, and I suppose that’s a rather important bit of writing lol. 

You can probably interpret it as Zuko perpetuating his family’s violence, or suddenly being okay with being goaded into a fight. But here’s the thing: he’s not okay with it. I’ve tried to hint at Zuko being disgusted with himself post-burning, yet simultaneously satisfied—because, hey, he’s back to fight-or-flight mode. He’s gone from the relative comfort of a palace filled with people he’d show his soft underbelly to, to the metaphorical viper’s den that was the palace when Ozai still ruled. Despite it having been a few years for him, Zuko still knows that it’s dangerous to be there, and that he cannot, under any circumstance, show aspects of his natural personality that may be deemed as weak. He’s the Prince and kindness, or mercy, will be punished. And he also doesn’t want to be burnt again—he’s not going to take that challenge lying down. 

So Zuko takes a risk. He fights back and uses his own experience to get his father to his knees. He burns Ozai before Ozai can burn him, despite the detail that harming the Fire Lord is probably illegal. And yes, like Azula told him, a simple burn on the shoulder would’ve been enough… but with someone as dangerous as Ozai, it’s better to incapacitate him. Ozai clearly doesn’t care about fighting fair and nobody would’ve stopped him either: in the show, Zuko went on his knees, refused to fight, and begged for mercy, but Ozai burnt him anyway without any sort of protest from anyone there. Zuko was in an inescapable and incredibly violent situation where the only way out was violence from his side. It’s an easy choice at that point, I think. 

Additionally, it’s also a revenge fantasy come true. I do believe that during the confrontation between Zuko and Ozai in Day Of The Black Sun, Zuko would’ve considered killing his father for a moment—or at least harming him. He doesn’t because it’s Aang’s responsibility to do so, and because killing your dad at age 16 after a lifetime of loyalty is kind of…. hard, but I’m certain there was a brief moment he thought about it. And burning your father instead, in the exact way he burnt you in another life, with him on his knees instead of you? Possibly a little bit satisfying. Zuko was granted a chance and took it. 

So, he’s scarless (if you have trouble imagining it: think of his face in the flashback of The Storm, plus his Fire Lordly face in his fever dream in The Earth King). I can hear people go like, “But Soopsie, that’s not our Zuko! The scar is a very important part of his character!”, and that is very fair. But keep in mind that he’s a 21 year old man who only occupies the body of his thirteen year old self, and he’s actually older than the Zuko of the show. I also think it’s not the scar which makes Zuko Zuko, but rather the mental/emotional scarring that lies underneath. Ozai still very much burnt him. There’s just not any physical proof right now. 

(I also don’t need to do any physical character design for this, which is a plus. He’s a lot less recognisable rn)

[voxofthevoid]

WAIT LMAO I NEED TO HEAR THE TEA ABOUT SUKUGO NOW! i'm not fond of the ship either, so i'm curious to hear your thoughts

Ngl, I did crack up at how this landed in my inbox a handful of minutes after that post popped out of my queue. Also looping in @zyukan since you wanted to know too. Never change, y'all.

The tea isn't particularly scalding, just my take on canon events, but negative thoughts/assessment regarding sukugo to follow, so people who like the ship probably shouldn't read further. Unless you're into that, I guess, but then don't come bitching at me. There's also some relatively positive references to satosugu.

Initially, the ship was something I tried out during my exploratory phase in JJK. I thought I might like it but quickly realized I really fucking didn't. Granted, that applied to all non-goyuu Gojou ships because I'm a man with a pattern. Anyway, after that, sukugo was off my radar until the Shinjuku Showdown, at which point I got soured on the entire dynamic.

It's partially the framing, partially the execution, plus how these interact with what makes a dynamic shippable for me. There are moments of levity in the fight, and both parties (well, mostly Gojou if we're considering the explicit text of the fight) are having fun, but I could sense absolutely no connection between them despite the narrative trying to frame it that way. The repetition of Yorozu's words falls flat in that particular fight; it's there in her and even Kashimo's fight against Sukuna—that desire to reach him to fulfill themselves, one way or the other. In Gojou vs. Sukuna, the same is stated by the narrator, but I don't see/feel it. They're both focused entirely on themselves, even as they're enjoying the challenge.

Outside of the narration, whenever we see Gojou's and Sukuna's own thoughts, it's focused on either victory or external factors. The other person isn't anything more than an obstacle. After the fight, Gojou's happy he died a fun death and clearly respects Sukuna for his power and skill, but his focus there is on the fact that he went out the way he wanted. Sukuna praises Gojou immensely, but it's the same kind of praise he gave Jogo after he killed him—not the same extent, since Gojou warrants more respect and admiration, but both the driving factor and manifestation are fundamentally the same.

I'd say the lack of any genuine connection there is best illustrated by how there's no little chitchat between them after Gojou dies, the way there was between Sukuna and Jogo as well as Sukuna and Kashimo. That's explicitly presented as "the rare phenomenon of connecting with a sorcerer during the height of battle," and you'd think Gojou and Sukuna would have that given how much they pushed each other during the fight, but nope, it's just some slice and dice and then buh-bye.

Granted, none of this is a lack of shipping fuel—quite the opposite, given how the ship has taken off after that fight. But it's shipping fuel that's entirely antithetical to what I find appealing in a pairing.

In that linked post, I said I prefer even satosugu to sukugo, and I'd say the salient difference is that satosugu is a ship I was neutral about but ended up disliking due to fandom, while sukugo is a ship I was neutral about but ended up disliking due to canon. The former is ultimately ignorable, but the latter really isn't. Canon does a great job of presenting Gojou and Getou as two people who loved each other, and I enjoy poking at satosugu in my own fics, either when referring to Gojou's past relationships or even as part of Gojou/Yuuji/Getou. With sukugo, even that little spark is not there—I wrote an entire threesome scene with goyuu and sukuita, and Gojou and Sukuna didn't touch except in violence. I love Sukuna as a character while disliking Getou, but when it comes to ships, satosugu is more interesting than sukugo. I'll be avoiding both ships religiously, however.

[kon4ka]

Challenge: Drawing D&D classes - Topic 8 - Priest

🌪Priest Valkur of the Storm Domain🌪

Race: Kenku (Raven) Origin: Sailor

📘 Backstory: He was kidnapped by pirates as a child to be sold to a thieves guild, but the child seemed too frail to the customer and the deal did not take place. He would have been thrown out into the cold if the daughter of the Duke, who was in charge of thieves and pirates, had not intervened and wanted to “buy the bird.” You could say he was lucky, he stayed to live in the port city as the girl’s personal servant, errand boy, and then friend. After some time, the Duke was executed, and the Priest and the girl fled with the pirates and pirated for a long time, gathering strength in order to take revenge and capture their hometown.

✒ Character: Relatively good character for a kenku, considers himself indebted to the people who raised him. Cunning, calculating and cunning, cautious and suspicious of all unfamiliar people. For a long time, like everyone else, I dreamed about flying and the lost spark of talent, but after a while I found myself realizing the plans of my friend, receiving instructions from her and using skills that she did not have.

Speaks mostly in her voice (to everyone except herself at her request). He enjoyed sea adventures, and his skills more than once saved his own skin and the skins of the entire crew, for which he was chosen by Valkur as a priest. Together with his girlfriend, he often changes teams and ships, going on all sorts of adventures, She is driven forward by curiosity and a thirst for research, and by his duty as a priest to protect sailors and affection for her. He still wonders why God paid attention to him despite his damned race.

🪢 Skills: Knows a lot about shipping, at different times performed almost all existing roles on the ship, is familiar with bureaucracy and politics. It's almost impossible to get him drunk. He can scream like a fire siren that “he can even shout at a ship on the horizon,” according to the statements of the teams that sailed with him.

✨ Features: Falls for glitter, but knows when to stop. Uses his fallen feathers to write. Loves to dress up colorfully. Smooth and almost waterproof feathers.

RU

🌪 Жрец Валкура Домена Бури🌪

Раса: Кенку (Ворон) Происхождение: Моряк

📘 Предыстория: Его в детстве выкрали пираты, чтобы продать гильдии воров, но ребенок показался заказчику слишком хилым и сделка не состоялась. Его бы выкинули на мороз, если бы не вмешалась дочка герцога, который вел дела ворами и пиратами, пожелавшая "купить птичку". Можно сказать ему повезло, он остался жить в портовом городе личным слугой девушки, мальчиком на побегушках, а потом и другом. Через какое-то время герцога казнили а Жрец со девушкой сбежали с пиратами и долго пиратствовали, собирая силы для того, чтобы отомстить и захватить родной город.

✒ Характер: Сравнительно неплохой характер для кенку, считает себя обязанным людям, что вырастили его. Хитёр, расчётлив и коварен, осторожен и подозрителен ко всем малознакомым. Долгое время как и все грезил о полётах и утраченной искре таланта, но спустя время нашел себя в том, что реализовывал замыслы своей подруги, получая от нее инструкции и применяя навыки, которых у нее не было. Говорит в основном ее голосом (со всеми кроме нее самой по ее просьбе). Ему пришлись по душе морские приключения, а его навыки не раз спасли его собственную шкуру и шкуры всей команды, за что был избран Валкуром в качестве жреца. Вместе со своей подругой часто меняет команды и корабли, отправляясь во всевозможные приключения, её гонит вперед любопытство и жажда исследований а его долг жреца по защите моряков и привязанность к ней. До сих пор недоумевает почему бог обратил на него внимание вопреки его проклятой расе.

🪢 Навыки: Знает многое о судоходстве, в разное время исполнял почти все существующие роли на корабле, знаком с бюрократией и политикой. Его почти невозможно споить. Умеет орать как пожарная сирена, что "даже на корабль на горизонте докричится", по заявлением команд, что с ним плавали.

✨ Особенности: Падок на блестяшки, но знает меру. Использует свои выпавшие перья для письма. Обожает наряжаться пёстро. Гладкие и почти непромокаемые перья.

[astarab1aze]

➥ Shipping Guide: Section 1 - Faith, Furie, Hydre, Kaede, and Loux

Note: All of my muses are complicated and not necessarily rigid adherents to what I'm outlining in this post. Much of the time, they'll be relatively easy to do things with given that a lot of them can manage their work/life balance and/or emotions well enough for them not to impede on any romantic interests (mostly). That being said, however, they are not without their caveats as several of them have the potential to be incredibly toxic by nature, or depending on the plot, and - inevitably - your muses will get swept up in their bullshit if they stick around. It's long, but in alphabetical order and informative, so it should be helpful as a guide when deciding on who to ship with (if that's what you're looking for).

Faith M, 28, chaotic good, cat-shifter, male, homosexual, soft power bottom

high libido, won't be with someone who won't have sex with him often enough

still needs someone to remind them he is worth more than that sometimes

will tend to your every need and ignore his own, from eating to laundry to sex

sunk cost fallacy's himself into staying in toxic/bad situations

focuses exclusively on the person he's with when he's with them

faith is not a difficult person to like, let alone love, usually. he's genuine and sweet and won't hesitate to tease or dote on his partners, smother them in softest affections and maybe a few more climaxes than they know what to do with. he's so so attentive, tender and loving in everything he does for them, often without question. moreover, he quite easily falls in love - easily impressed, easily wooed - but make no mistake, if his trust is broken at any time, it's literally impossible to earn back. knowing this about himself, he chooses never to trust in the first place, which is naturally much easier said than done; even the barest of minimums, something he's not and never has been used to, are enough to tip the scale. his perception of love and romance is almost entirely informed by the life he's lived, and trashy erotic romance novels, so it's distorted, commodified, and still in need of a little work.

i don't want to understate the need for understanding, patience, and affirmation with him. this is incredibly important to him; he wants to be loved and respected, but his perceptions of all of that are behind, so he doesn't really know, quite, what this means. it's important to be careful with him at times, though he isn't so breakable as he used to be.

he tends toward big personalities, mean, mischievous, friendly, powerful, all kinds - just, big ones. eccentricity, if you will, but also the darkness and light he sees in that. he likes complicated people, people that take him, at the same time, no time at all and all the time in the world to figure out, a challenge. he has a variety of physical and sexual preferences that are a bit more vast and nebulous, so appearances do not usually matter to him - it's 95% of the time personality and natural chemistry. he isn't so shallow as to hinge is affections on someone's looks, generally always finding his partners attractive. redheads, brunettes, blonds, salt & pepper, silver fox, hairy, short, big, small, older, Monster, human, etcetc doesn't matter. it's just how he is.

sexually speaking, he is sometimes inordinantly pushy, though this is rooted in insecurity, negative self-esteem, and hints of both jealousy and the territorial behaviors common in shifters. but aside from this, he aims only to please and be pleased, to tangle himself in another person for hours and love, love, love. he's flexible in terms of what exactly happens, rough, gentle, or otherwise, and typically won't complain should a more dominant partner up the ante; but he is, for the most part, very vocal and insistent on what he wants, how he wants to be touched, where it's okay to touch him - very noisy, about this and when his partner's doing a good job. in this vein, he's very loving and attentive as well, and very, very prone to teasing his partners for eternity then giving oral sex. just be aware.

Furie N, 26, neutral good, werewyrm, male, bisexual, soft switch

absolutely not receptive to romantic advances...for a time

proximity, quality time, and a little boundary pushing are key

he will probably never make the first move, otherwise sorta traditional

low & slow sex drive, self-conscious of his anthromorphic parts

anxious, self-sacrificing, opportunistic, stoic, devoted, protective, bashful

furie doesn't have too many preferences aside from being more interested in women than men. ultimately, it's not very important what the gender of his partner is, though there are certain aspects he's attracted to, it just depends on the person: soft, angular, muscular, slender, dark hair, light hair, moral ambiguity, etc. he's not necessarily drawn to anything specific, sort of repressed, suppressing his hopes and desires for the sake of his beliefs - which he has felt less and less connected to over time, despite being an important member of the clergy. he's complicated and somewhat contradictory, less forgiving than he expects others to be, distrustful, opportunistic, and unreasonably cold; protective measures, keeping people at distance so as not to drag anymore people into his mess and end up getting them hurt or worse. it's next to impossible to sway him, so what he needs above all is prolonged proximity and persisitence.

he can be incredibly cold at the start, distant and unfriendly, even rude, and may even do anything he can to avoid a prospective partner, but with time, he slowly but surely becomes very protective in his own ways, and will develop a bit of separation anxiety when the other isn't around. wouldn't go so far as to say he's clingy, but their absence will be felt. constancy is the surest way to provoke a response like this from him, to slowly tangle into and influence his life, change his mind on some things, open him up. and in return, he is fiercely protective, the sort to endlessly pine and establish daily shared habits; unfortunately, there are other obstacles that may impede any progress with him, as he is terrified that by finding new love he will be replacing his ex-fiance, who was tragically killed. this plays a much larger part than you'd think, but we're not here for that.

in terms of sex, he is somewhat traditional and requires the good old fashioned foreplay most of the time in order to really enjoy it. that being said, he tends to tease his partners for hours and will go so far as to edge them, deny them release, and generally build a lot of tension before persuing climax. whatever makes it more intense and fulfilling for both parties. on the other hand, he can be...surprisingly receptive, and honest. open to what his partners want, and what they want to do to him of have him do to them. facing each other is a must for him, handholding too. and a respect for his space & autonomy - no means no, and he can and will revoke his consent if he feels too overwhelmed. however, there are occasions he will only encourage -ahem- bad behavior, if you catch his drift. it's okay to take advantage of him sometimes, depending on who his partner is.

Hydre B, ??, true neutral, divine hydra, male, bisexual, (service) dom

cannot and will not mate with anyone that can permanently die

needs partner to be just as cannibalistic & masochistic as he is

extraordinarily subtle with romance despite his gestures

partners will become visible parts of his constellation

opportunistic, gluttinous, loving in incomprehensible ways, lazy, violent, greedy

hydre's a bit of a can of worms unto himself and is very particular about the sorts of partners he's willing to romance and be romanced by. he will not waste any time trying to woo any humans or mortals, period. there are no exceptions - prospective partners must be divine or some flavor incapable of true death, because much of his affection and love is inherently starved, consumptive. he will literally eat his partners, it's sort of non-negotiable. the reason for this is that he wants to be as close to them as is physically, magically, and emotionally possible, sharing in blood, flesh, and other carnal activities in order to make this explicitly clear. he wants to eat and be eaten, to feel his beloved running through his veins, for them to feel him, and to sort of stew in the mess they create together. simmer in blood, guts, and gore, and heal, snap back into shape as if nothing had ever happened to begin with, and then doing it all over again. or, on occasion, he's just happy to hold his partner in his mouth, a bit like a dog would an egg.

he doesn't really have a 'type' beyond this - as long as his prospective partner is physically capable of handling him, then he's ultimately satisfied. truly, it comes down to whether he can be handled. he doesn't need to be worshipped, praised, prayed to, or anything of the sort - he just needs to be withstood, weathered. earning his affections is a slow process and he won't easily give them up, but when he does, his partners still may not readily know what it is he really feels for them. for this reason, he tends toward intellectual types, those who can parse his gestures and unspoken thoughts for what they are. traveling to places only he has the power to take them, conjuring their heart's desires, showing them grand sights and his home, before it was destroyed, gathering them into his arms and adding them into his constellation- he's sweet, in his own, dramatic nightfolky way, despite his proclivities toward cannibalizing his partners.

Kaede S, 26, chaotic good, sorcerer, male, bisexual, bratty/soft sub

mentally & emotionally hard to manage due to responses to trauma

willing to put up with abuses of all kinds just to feel loved for a moment

mostly resistent to romantic advances, occasionally very receptive

mid-high sex drive, won't be with anyone that won't have sex with him often

affectionate, monogamous, overprotective, reactive, tsundere

kaede is somewhat difficult to romance despite how... open he sometimes is to prospective partners' advances. he isn't above one-night stands or paying for sex, generally tending toward non-committal relationships to prevent distraction from his work - even though genuine long-lasting love is something he desperately wants. his life is dangerous and he doesn't want to unnecessarily drag anyone into his mess, especially given the non-zero chance he could be killed at any time and therefore end up getting his partner hurt as well. he isolates himself to protect others, however naive and self-harming this actually is. so it's difficult to get him to relent long enough for anything to really happen. that being said, it's not always this way and there are times he's very easy to convince. there's no special reason, it would only depend on his mood at the time. but in such cases, he's bashful and cutely enthusiastic, interested and present, hoping for more but not expecting it or even necessarily trying for it (but not saying no to anything either).

he does have particular tastes and is unashamedly shallow about them - if privately so - preferring those with blonde, silver, or white hair and light eyes, toned and maintained physiques, and strength of character with a dash of amorality for flavor. he gravitates toward people who are strong and bright in personality, those who can understand why he is the way he is, trauma and all, who are patient and persevering. he wants to be loved by someone who can meet him at his level and love him despite all the trouble he finds himself in or the frequency with which he disappears. consider him a sort of house cat who went outside once and hasn't been able to return home since. he needs to be properly courted, perhaps even in a traditional sense, and trust is of utmost importance to him. exceptions to this exist however and it's not entirely unlikely for him to have relationships with toxic people, as has been the case before and is something that should be treated with care. he still has some extreme responses to things due to prior traumas, though they are few and far between of late and not super likely to manifest until children aer involved (much anxiety here, he becomes something of a panicky, overprotective helicopter mom).

he's flexible in terms of sexual intimacy, given that he can be rather kinky and accepting of boundary-pushing experiences, masochism, among other things. he's somewhat prone to riding and performing oral, taking charge and throwing some attitude a lot of the time, though he's really mostly a complete pillow prince outside of that. what he wants most is to be shown love that mirrors his own, intense, sweet, and genuine. he wants to be loved, to spend his days with his partners rolling around in bed, ignoring the twist and turn of the world around them. he craves intimacy, comfort, acceptance, someone willing to put in the work to love him. he's receptive to charm and wit, silly jokes and thoughtfulness, and is the type to bring flowers with him to every date as a gift. he will share all his drinks and snacks, and generally seek to touch his partners in some way. he is also earnest and fairly stubborn if he's fallen for someone, sometimes a bit obsessive but most times just- wanting to be with his partners because they're not going to hurt him like everything and everyone else (hopefully).

Loux G, 28, chaotic neutral, fox-shifter, male, bisexual, service switch

needs someone with high libido, no exceptions

the best boyfriend you'll ever have, also the worst person you'll ever know

will probably lie about himself to his partners, forever

changes himself to suit his partners' tastes, depending on the relationship

aims for the 'boring' life, won't change current trajectory for anything less

loux is naturally incredibly flirtatious with just about everyone he meets, so it's not difficult to get something started with him since he's so flexible. he doesn't really have a type per se, but he gravitates toward people with strong personalities and a litany of similar baggage to his own, barring some occasional romances with the mousy 'good girl/boy' types, bears, and dwarves. he likes people who are true to themselves, no matter what kind of people they are, and will seek them out. the only thing he doesn't really like is when prospective partners do certain things or ask certain questions about him that aren't easy for him to answer; prying into his past is sometimes a surefire way to lose him, especially early on, as it isn't something he's comfortable with talking about in any capacity. this doesn't mean he won't ever share - it means he needs time. likewise, he doesn't expect his partners to share every detail about themselves with him and generally won't ask either. not because he doesn't care, but because he sorta kinda feels he already knows the answer, so he chooses instead to comfort them in all the ways he knows how rather than risk bringing them any further distress. this doesn't always work, but it's his preferred approach.

as a boyfriend, loux is honestly one of the best anyone could have. he's attentive, playful, and willing to do anything to prove he loves his partners. he's not afraid of making himself look a complete fool just to get a laugh out of his partners, or to break the law by making use of his magical abilities to show them new sights and take them away to someplace unique and wonderful, or to shower his partners with grand and special expensive gifts, or to pretend to be ignorant or stupid about certain subjects so his partners can be handy or school him. but he's terrible with voicing his feelings, utterly incapable of bringing himself to be selfish in this way. for all his confidence, he's emotionally fragile in strange and complicated ways, sometimes impossible to understand or be careful enough with; partners won't always know right off when they've upset or hurt him, they're sort of the only people who can avoid his more extreme emotions. he just won't express them around them, or will avoid doing so at all costs on a subconscious level. his love is incredibly stubborn however; by no means is it flimsy or easy to break. he is persistent and patient, and does put in real concerted effort to better himself for his partners.

he is also, as we all know, hypersexual on top of an already high libido. trauma related or not ultimately doesn't matter, as the fact remains: he greatly enjoys sex and cannot directly or properly communicate his true feelings, finding it to be good enough middle ground for reciprocal expressions of love. that's what it means to him, to have sex with his partners. i love you, in the intensity of his touch. it's hard to think so, at first, given that such a proclivity toward physical intimacy could come across as shallow and smarmy, but this is how he knows best to show his partners he loves them deeply without having to say it out loud. he attends to every need and will alter the shape and state of his body to suit any fantasy his partners could have, always giving, servicing them. tenderly, roughly, needily, slowly, whatever, doesn't matter. whatever his partners want, he's happy to give. all the time, quite literally. it's not just sex, but physical touch in general he uses to communicate. constantly just touching his partners is both for comfort and a means of reinforcing what he admits through sex; holding hands, running his fingers through their hair, keeping a hand on their hip, ass, thigh, or back, cuddling, hugging, kissing, so on and so forth are musts. he wants to touch his partners all the time, forever, and won't compromise on this.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Curious Diversions

Author’s note: This was written for @au-roulette’s 2024 challenge! This is my Ren Fair AU fic! I hope you enjoy it. AO3 link here

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @i-am-a-dragon34

warnings: thoughts of conquest, please ask me to tag if something bothers you

Summary: Trai lands on a world full of mortals to decide whether or not to bring it under the protection of his warband.

Trai had been sent by his warband leader to explore the only potentially living world in the far-flung star system that they had come across. From initial scans of the world, there were certainly at least one if not multiple civilizations upon the world that lived there. From the amount of pollutants in the air, Trai was expecting that the world was semi-industrialized, and perhaps had very limited space-faring capabilities. There was certainly an irritating amount of space-trash that orbited around the world, just above the point at which the space trash would fall into the gravity well of the world. He had picked a relatively less-inhabited portion of one of the large land-masses. The area was populated enough that once he landed he would find mortals relatively quickly, but not so densely populated that his ship would be immediately spotted and potentially swarmed by curious, terrified and/or hostile natives. Especially if this world was inhabited not by humans, but xenos. Apart from the abundance of water - which could be seen from space - there were quite a few untapped resources upon this world that would be a significant boon to the warband... Not in the least bit were the roughly eight-billion mortals souls who called this world home...

Which was far less than a world like this could sustain, if they were concentrated into the correct Hive Cities, but much more than the meager numbers that the handful of feral and death worlds they'd come across in their recent travels and liberated them from their backwards ideals and into the worship of the true gods in the ways of Chaos Undivided. Higher tech level worlds like this were tricker to take over, as the arms and martial forces that they could bring to muster were often wary and unwilling to submit to new masters without at least one or a half-dozen bloody and wasteful battles. Still, his Legion when they had followed the Corpse Emperor had been able to get many worlds to come into compliance with their silver tongues alone, and when met with initial resistance, a swift and devastating show of force brought even the haughtiest into compliance. 

Trai was certain such tactics would bring this world into compliance with the warband. These mortals would be liberated of their false gods and fearful ideologies, and he and his warband would gain the resources this world had to offer. An excellent bargain in his mind. 

The Word Bearer meditated silently until his drop pod once more landed with a thud of metal on dirt. He waited another moment as the resulting shaking from landing stopped before standing up, stretching and leaving the pod, the door opening automatically as he drew in close. 

A small frown appeared on his face as he noted that he had landed not in the forest clearing he had intended, but in part of the large, grasslands next to it. The rolling hills did hide his drop pod from the nearby mortal settlement, but given that it was already mid-morning in this hemisphere, there was a good chance that he had been spotted at this distance by one or more of the mortals who lived there. Hopefully they had assumed that his drop pod had merely been a falling comet or asteroid that had landed nearby and was thus nothing important to immediately investigate. 

~

It did not take long for him to arrive at the nearby settlement. He paused, a small frown appearing on his face and he removed his helmet, just in case the sensors were glitching or were being fooled by some sort of technical illusion. Trai rubbed his eyes and activated one of the minor blessings that he had been gifted by one of The Four, the ability to Truly See through any deception or lie - magical or otherwise. It made his eyes glow with a holy red light and burned viciously, but... His surroundings stayed the same. Trai turned off the truesight before he closed his eyes, waiting until they healed to open them. 

Before him stood a brown painted castle wall that stretched a good hundred feet or so in one direction before taking an abrupt, ninety degree turn and continuing onwards. He could hear the sounds of mortals, music and laughter within the castle walls. Trai followed the castle wall until he found an entrance - which was wide open, with no gate or door of any kind in sight. There were several mortals dressed as knights on top of the battlements, though their armor did not look like metal, despite the way it shone in the light of the midday sun. It was too flexible and too light to be metal... or proper armor for that matter. The spears that they carried also appeared to be made out of some sort of painted foam, rather than anything that was actually damaging to a human being.

And there was a line of humans as they made their way into this strange castle. Some were dressed in plain cotton or linen shirts and pants. Others were dressed in very shiny and fancy fabric, obviously affecting nobility though the eagerness with which they talked with those around them belied their fancy dress. Others were wearing different kinds of material that was pretending to be metal or leather armor, but was clearly nonfunctional to Trai's expert eye. Still others were wearing cloaks of false-feathers and crowns of fake-flowers woven into their hair, carved or painted wooden staves in hand. 

Trai could taste the pollutants in the air. He could see a crude aircraft flying high in the sky, it's design and likely carrying capacity speaking to the true technology level of this world... Indeed, the very neat, tiny stitching on many pf the mortals clothing, the plastics and the evenness of the metal clasps and fastenings spoke to a greater amount of automation than a civilization that they were... pretending? To be could ever hope to match, unless they were trading with a far more advanced civilization. He knew that different parts of a world sometimes had differing levels of understanding of both the warp and technology... But this seemed startlingly extreme. The Word Bearer was fascinated by  what he had discovered and walked over to the group of mortals.

It did not take long for his larger than normal form and glorious armor to be spotted by them. But rather than being struck by transhuman dread at seeing a space marine - or the instinctual terror of seeing a *Chaos* Astartes such as he, the mortals peered up at him with open curiosity and earnest glee on their faces. Several teenage mortals from their size and slightly awkward way of moving rushed up to him, calling out to him in one of the local languages, the tongue flowing beautifully if incomprehensibly. They gestured to his armor, to his weapons, voices lilting in curiosity. 

Trai shook his head, a rueful smile appearing on his heavily tattooed face "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't speak the language you're talking in."

The handful of teenage mortals chattered rapidly to one another for several minutes as several of the adults came wandering over. He could hear the awe and delight in their voices as they marveled at the sight of him, which made the space marine puff up and preen just a little. He was indeed a glorious creation and servant of the dark gods, and their clear joy and awe of such was gratifying. 

One of the mortal teenagers pulled out a small, handheld device, pressing a button and interacting with the screen for a couple of minutes, a small frown of concentration on their face. They then held up the device, clearly gestruing to Trai's lips a couple of times.

"Do... Do you want me to talk? I'm not certain what that device of yours is supposed to do. Is it a kind of auto-translator?" If so, that was an incredibly handy device to have, though he was unsure if he would be understood. While all of humanity had once come from Terra, and the languages that the mortals spoke on the many worlds that they had settled were once languages that had been spoken upon that ancient world, millenia of lingual drift had made conversing with worlds that had little to no contact with the corpse-emperor's imperium difficult. 

The mortal teen pulled the device back, clearly reading something on it. Their eyes lit up and they interacted with the device for several more moments before speaking into the device clearly and a little bit slower than their normal cadence. They pressed something on the interface of the device and a robotic sounding voice started to speak "My communication device has a translation feature on it, yes. Your armor and weapons look so cool and really detailed! How long did it take you to make them? I thought I had one of the more intricate costumes at this fair, but wow. Yours is really amazing. May I see your sword closer?"

"It took me many months to get my armor the way I liked it, and I do maintenance on it frequently, to keep the carved litanies intact. You may see my sword, but I'm not sure that you can lift it. It probably weighs more than you do. If you do not mind, I am... A stranger to these parts. Would you care to explain this fair you mentioned?"

"You're not here for the historical fair? It's not like there's much around here but the fair for a couple of miles, unless your automated vehicle broke down... and I'm not sure where else you might be going dressed like that. Unless you're headed to one of the Paper Entertainment Conventions? You do kind of look like a mechanized robot fictional character of some kind. Your tattoos are really cool too! Are they just on your face?" The teenager asked through the little translation device, moving a little closer to Trai, showing not an ounce of fear or anxiety as they approached.

... This world must truly have not had any contact with the corpse-god's Imperium. Which was fantastic for his warband, although he would need to talk to Amadus, the leader of the warband before revealing more of why he was really here. But for now... Why not indulge their questions a little and get a bit better of an understanding of the nature of the mortals soon to be under his protection? An indulgent smile appeared on his face as he said "I have tattoos all over my body, as a matter of fact. What is this historical fair about?"

"It's a way for us to explore a different time in our world's history, sort of. Mostly it's an excuse to camp with a bunch of other people, eat different foods, drink different drinks and look at the crafts that others have made to sell! Also to see different kinds of demonstrations. The big ones today are a demonstration on how medieval canons worked at mid-day and a fire-dancer after dusk. There are smaller events as well, learning how to tie different kinds of knots, swordsmanship exhibitions. Sea shanty competitions, stuff like that. I've been going here for three years now, and the entertainment changes from year to year, but it's always a lot of fun. And it's an excuse to dress up differently than normal, too!" They gesture to the colorful outfit they were wearing, beaming proudly at their creation. It looked like they were wearing a dress of differently colored leaves in different shades of brown, yellow and orange. They were also wearing a cloak of fake feathers and had a hand-carved wooden staff that was nearly as long as they were tall. they were also wearing a mid-sized leather pouch, from which the translation device had come from.

"The handiwork on the dress is remarkable, and did you make that bag yourself? I know a couple of cousins of mine who would kill for the ability to make leather stitching that small and even." Trai asked earnestly, allowing himself to be drawn into the mixed group of teens and adult baseline humans, able to communicate with them through the translator. One of them was kind enough to pay his entrance fee as they showed him around this charmingly anachronistic representation of a medieval space. It was far cleaner and less terrified and desperate as such worlds tended to be, but he kept that bit of information to himself. There was no reason to ruin their fun. 

Trai spent several pleasant hours interacting with these mortals, learning more about their larger culture as well as their individual passionate interests, genuinely fascinated by each of them. He stepped away when they were all distracted by the demonstration with the canons to inform Amadus about what he had found on this world, and the initial receptiveness with which he had been treated by the locals - though none of them were any sort of ruler. From what he had learned, this world was ruled by several dozen large nation states that did not get along with one another, often getting into border skirmishes and proxy wars in weaker nation-states for resources and to prove who had the best weapons or some similar sorts of nonsense. An overt invasion would likely unite these nation-states against them, which would prove to be annoying. But they did have a couple of Alpha Legionnaires in the warband... and it had been some time since they'd stretched their particular sets of skills. Toppling the world order and gaining control of a single world was well within the capabilities of the pair of them, particularly with the rest of the warband ready to help as needed. 

It may take a couple of decades, but in the grand scheme of things, that was not long for an Astartes. Besides, with the absolute mess that the Imperium of Man was, there was little chance that they would be noticed by any of the corpse-worshippers long before they had this world in thrall. 

[fairytail-whathesays]

okay but I NEED to know your orga/laxus relationship headcanons, nsfw, etc. (if it's okay with you ofc) because this is the best ship that nobody talks about

Oh babe we need more like you in Fairy Tail fandom

So I talked about godslaying magic here, in this post about Zancrow, and wrote it as having a lot to do with how psychotic and violent Zancrow is. I also happen to believe proto-dragonization has a lot to do with exacerbating the effects of Laxus' burgeoning mental breakdown that had its tipping point in the Fantasia arc. I also wrote that those negative effects feed into themselves the more the godslaying magic is used.

This poses problems for both of them, especially Orga, who doesn't have purely elemental lightning magic to fall back onto like Laxus, and is highly incentivized to use his magic frequently by the hype that sustains Sabertooth.

I think they'll have enough ease getting along just due to chemistry in their personalities, but needing help doesn't hurt, nor does:

These two probably bonded very very quickly. Not only were they all but flirting in the leadup to their GMG fight, but they both have a love of music that is very noticeable, like their punk aesthetics, and are very lowkey otherwise. Can Orga sing? Debatable. Will he be a hell of a lot of fun at karaoke? Yes.

I think their first fling happens relatively early into their friendship. Honestly a bit of a speed record for friends-to-friends-with-benefits. It was a natural course for them--they are the ultimate masc4masc fuckboi hookup.

And maybe it's through that fling that they discover something pretty useful; Dragonslaying magic and "godslaying" magic (corrupted/cursed dragonslaying magic) have an inherent opposing quality, almost like a positive and negative charge.

And by fighting each other and kissing each other, and just being around each other, they can temper their internal magic's discharge-like backlash that causes brain degeneration. Doctor approved!

No really they probably went to Porlyusica and she told them to keep hanging out.

This would also handily explain why corrupted brain degeneration isn't affecting Chelia either, since she hangs out with Wendy so much.

It's a slow thing, but that friends-with-benefits angle slowly deepens for them, especially with Orga, who originally thought of Laxus as just a very powerful mage in a powerful guild. Laxus may be something of a thug, but he's also well-read, introspective, and respects history, and it makes Orga want to improve himself.

Their fights get brutal. Not even arguments, because they rarely have them, but their sparring matches pursued just for fun. They are both very competitive, and unused to being challenged on an even footing. Orga actually being able to hurt Laxus makes up any difference in their power easily.

Laxus ends up with significant extents of lightning scars. Yeah yeah, Laxus with lightning scars, we've all seen those posts--but consider that a) Orga feels horrified when he sees them later and b) Laxus has to shout them down because he actually thinks they look sick as fuck and he loves them. They're dark, too, black like Orga's lightning before they fade to normal a few days later, so it's like getting more tattoos.

I like to think that Orga has a deeply-hidden romantic side. He's probably into cooking, has an instagram where he posts the supermodel equivalent of foodinsta, looking oh so delicious. He likes to write lyrics, too. Laxus gets into that stuff--he could sit for hours and watch Orga pore over a set of verses he wrote himself (and maybe even help) or watch him dither trying to make a three-hour meal for two people (and help because he feels guilty).

Orga's nickname in Sabertooth is "big bro" by the young'uns, or "uncle" when they feel like disrespecting him. When he officially becomes a thing with Laxus, this also extends to him, and much like they do with Cobra, Sting and Rogue slap Laxus with the big bro label.

When you spend that much time around another person, both because they heal you physically and because they heal you socially, you start to learn them. Every little intimate detail. For Laxus and Orga, that means not only learning each other's scent, but learning each other's "scent" (how they appear when being picked up via electroreception) and even how the other's lightning tends to sound when far away.

The instas go wiiiiiiild babey. The thirsty gays were already congregating around the two but when they start appearing in each other's stories??? Absolute hoe madness in the comments. The twinks are dying. Someone send help. Modeling contracts are flooding in. Constant requests to start an OF together.

Laxus is openly bisexual and Orga is openly gay, but neither one of them has ever been huge or loud about it. But they do go to their first Pride together, and it's a great experience for both of them. Orga in particular feels like he's being rewired in the best way being there.

You'll just have to send a separate ask for the ns/fw part bc it's long enough to be its own post and I also got

filthy with it

[heroictoonz]

Febuwhump 2022 Day 10: "How Long Had It Been?"

Ships: Ben & Dexter & Steven

Warnings: N/A

AO3 L!nk in the Comments!

It was night when the doors to the lab opened. Light wafted in from the hall. Dexter’s eyes squinted with a frown at the sudden glare against his computer screen. With a groan of annoyance he whipped around in his seat to face the intruder. As usual he fully expected his pink clad elder sister. Her inquisitive ways always causing him nothing more than annoyance. Doubled with the fact that she could never keep her hands to herself. Though, in their older years there was a better respect for boundaries, she still had a bad habit of falling back on old ways.

Instead, Dexter was not met with the wide and curious eyes of his sibling, but instead, the mixed expressions of both Steven Universe and Ben Tennyson.

Steven Universe and Ben Tennyson were both odd in their own respects. Dexter could not lie in his fascination of their respective ties to extraterrestrial life. Steven, a half breed of human and an alien race called Gems and Ben, wielder of the Omnytrix, a device able to reform his DNA into that of multiple alien species. Yet, even past his scientific curiosity he would be willing to go so far as to call them his friends.

Their presence was not nearly as much of an annoyance as Dede’s; however it was still a hindrance to his work. He gave a sigh and leaned back into his chair. Rubbing at his eyes from under his glasses before giving them both an exasperated look. “What is it?” he questioned.

Steven’s eyes darted towards Ben before turning back to Dexter. He held a sad expression. No. Maybe sad was not the right word. Steven was always a very emotional man; Dexter noted. His face tended to always show off his thoughts like a clear window to his mind. A myriad of emotions constantly littered the hybrid’s features at any given moment. The idea of his heart living on his sleeve was incorrect, Dexter believed. Instead, it was much more likely that the letterman he wore almost religiously was made from the very thread of the man’s own soul. However, the amount of emotions all at once could also be a challenge to read. Instead of just one thought or feeling, everything was on constant display. Picking out what Steven was showing off was like deciphering a code in some cases.

Ben however, was a bit easier to get a read on. As his emotions tended to be relatively simplistic when they presented outwardly. Though, with his history, Dexter doubted his emotions were anything simple. But, when Ben was open with them they were much easier to understand. So, Dexter turned to the other in this case, hoping a better answer would lay in his features.

Ben’s own face showed a type of frustration. One that seemed intertwined with another emotion altogether. However, Dexter was not sure if he recognized it very well. Though, it was a similar one to whatever was entangled in Steven’s own furrowed brows.

“I read many languages,” Dexter began again with a huff. “Silence is not one of them.”

Steven frowned at that before finally speaking up, “When was the last time you slept?”

The question caught Dexter off guard. Slept? That was easy, he… Oh. Well, he knew he had taken some sort of a rest at some point. He vaguely recalled napping some odd number of hours ago. Even so, what did it matter? And of what concern was it to Steven or even Ben? He shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I sleep like a child nightly,” he lied. “Now if that is all you need-”

“How long has it been since you ate?” Ben stepped in next. “Like seriously ate. Like an actual meal.”

Dexter frowned at him in annoyance. What was this? An interrogation? “I do not know what it is the two of you are getting at, but my well being is of no one's concern but my own.”

Suddenly a buzzing sound started up as the gentle blue light fuzzed into existence behind him. Computress’ voice spoke, “It has been approximately seventy-two hours since Dexter’s last meal aside from coffee drank at 6:47am this morning. In the last four days he has slept approximately seven hours total.”

Dexter snapped to look over to the AI with a frown. “Betrayed by my own computer,” he grumbled to himself.

“Seriously, Dex?” Ben sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. Dexter registered what seemed to be disappointment both in his voice and expression.

“And this is why we’re here!” Steven declared with a smile. “You work yourself way too hard and we’re gonna make you take breaks from here on out.”

“Starting now,” Ben added on as Steven grabbed Dexter’s hands and pulled him from his seat.

“Hold it!” Dexter hissed out and he yanked his hands back. “Who do you two think you are? Barging into my lab and telling me what to do. I can take care of my own well being and it is of no concern to either of you.”

It was Ben’s turn to glance at Steven. That expression Dexter couldn’t pin down had returned to both of them. Ben then shook his head and replied, “We’re your friends, Dex. We’re always gonna be concerned about you.”

“Especially when you’re close to working yourself sick,” Steven added.

Dexter’s form straightened with a realization. That emotion in their faces. The one he had ignored due to the inability to name it. He suddenly realized what it was. Worry.

Dexter looked from the other two then back to his work. As if reading his thoughts, Computress’ voice buzzed back to life. “All current work has been saved under the proper files. Any new Fuse research has been sent to Mandark for peer review and his response is estimated to arrive sometime tomorrow morning. This means you are free for the rest of the night.”

“So,” Steven said with a smile. “You can relax for a bit!”

“Honestly, you deserve to. You do a lot,” Ben continued. “Maybe a bit too much on your own.”

Dexter gave a sigh. “Fine. I will rest for the night.”

Ben and Steven smiled at each other in success before each grabbing one of Dexter’s hands, leading him out of the lab.

[springcrafter]

I cannot believe I have to ask this of people (nobody here that I know of, otherwise you'd be contacted personally, but I've seen enough). Please don't trivialize this war by bringing fandom attitudes into them.

This is serious. I can speak for the Jewish Israeli side of things, that the foundations of everything everyone here ever believed are being tested in a degree unseen in our country's entire existence. I cannot tell you what I believe and what I don't anymore - this is existential to degrees I cannot compare to any event other than 9/11 and many of you are too young to remember that. Life as we knew it doesn't exist anymore. I will not pretend to speak for the Palestinian people because I'm not Palestinian, but I know them to be facing horrors beyond most people's understanding, particularly in Gaza.

This is no joke, and no talking point. This is an ongoing conflict that radically challenges the status quo for every involved side; too many of the chips have yet to fall, and personally I don't believe anything I'm told beyond the barest irrefutable facts. Misinformation and propaganda are rampant on both sides, and that's an insult to the truth and each and every victim. It gets worse when people with zero stakes in the matter get involved and turn our suffering into yet another point of debate to virtue-signal and boost their ego and pretend they're better than the person they're talking to.

I've had to see people with my own two eyes treat this as a shipping war or as another partisan issue to fight with your uncle over on Christmas dinner. Attempts to "pick" aside or to "help me convince [relative]" or "how can I rebuke [point]?", basically twisting reality into knots to make it fit your Western little heads.

Major yikes. It's bizarre and invasive and borderline appropriative, to think of our issues on your terms, and try to shape cherry-pick these narratives to suit your set of morals. These are Middle Eastern peoples (check Israeli demographics and my Ashkie DNA if you think I'm pulling that out of my ass) with our own cultures and sets of beliefs, and a conflict with an incredibly unique history and reason to be.

(For example, something I wish people understood is how diametrically opposed the notions of pikuach nefesh and jihad are. Pikuach Nefesh is Judaism's most important tenet - human life comes before everything and anything and it is our duty to do whatever it takes to save a life. Jihad is, as explained to me by several Muslim people, is a pillar of Islam and encompasses the idea of martyrdom, or basically that there are things worth dying for, and things one must die for. These principles factor on how both sides deal with warfare and it's a fascinating thing to talk about - but you'd never know if you only care about this war to boost your ego).

So what I'm about to say below goes tenfold if you're from the wealthy Anglosphere or the seat of a former European empire, because the state of the Middle East is your leadership's fault and you, yes you, have been doing absolutely nothing to hold your elected officials accountable. You also benefit directly from the instability in the region your countries caused (by keeping us powerless, yours are more powerful) and you have the privilege to sleep safe and sound and know war never will come to you. So here it goes:

Bringing selfish and trivial attitudes into a very real issue that affects real people that isn't you is a complete moral wrong. If you don't have a direct stake in the issue (ie. Israeli, Palestinian, or descendent of either) and have the absolute privilege of not having experienced war yourself (ie. lived in an active war zone for real personally in unequivocal terms) please take several steps back and a goddamn seat. This is not about you, your need to virtue-signal, and your feelings.

[extra-vertebrae]

Picked up Pikmin 4 earlier in the year and just finished it this weekend. I recently grabbed the Pikmin bundle off of the eShop since I had never played the first, and replayed Pikmin 3 in anticipation for a continued story. Held off on replaying Pikmin 2 because it sits as a genuine watermark for me from back in the GC days, and I didn't want to set up a bar for disappointment.

Unfortunately, I was a little disappointed in 4. I was really hoping that we'd get some answers on the recurring appearances of the Phantasms, or something about why every time these diminutive people visit earth, their ships blow up in the atmosphere, guaranteeing a crash and encounter with the Pikmin. Assuming engineering incompetence isn't the reason, I always held the idea that Pikmin are ultimately a least a partially parasitic species (in part inspired by the existence of Bulbmin) that requires some level of external intervention / action to survive, and are, to a certain extent, the reason Olimar and others repeatedly crash land on the planet. At the end of Pikmin 3, the credits show the Pikmin watching the sky as the Koppaites leave, only to immediately turn and head away as a falling star - likely another pilot - streaks to earth. The Pikmin understand what they're seeing to enough of a degree that they anticipate help - help that they need and ensures their advancement up the local food chain.

Anyways, narratively P4 didn't provide much in terms of answers, which is a shame. The game itself is good! I did find the boss / treasure reuse to be a little... disheartening? I'm personally not fond of "memory lanes" / "'memberberries"; the trend of rehashes of Green Hill and Chemical Plant Zone in Sonic titles have absolutely soured me on stuff like this in games. Difficulty wise, P4 felt... easy overall. However, to be fair on this aspect I did make relatively liberal use of the Rewind function in a few areas. I did really like the Dandori challenges; these were really great - I absolutely sunk quite lot of time into getting platinum scores. I would love a Challenge aspect that is the caves + treasures + their bosses, fully respawned, with or without a timer. Clearing out a floor is pretty easy and it's really unfortunate that there's no reason to go back afterwards. The final cave is easily the best in the game, and I wish there were more caves like it. The Empress Bulblax encounter in that absolutely tiny room was Good Shit(tm) and the final boss was A+.

I want to be as fair as possible, though - P4 feels easy because I started with P2, and there are aspects to P2 that are rightly improved on in P4. There's lock-on, there's charge, no instant hazard death outside of bombs and pits. These are good changes for the series overall. Also, Oatchi is great.

Also, really, really happy with Piklopedia is back! Really missed it in P3, also stoked that if you want, you can replay any boss on the spot. Outside of narrative, my only true gripe is the best upgrade for Oatchi being locked to, essentially, after the game is finished, when there is no reason or true chance to use it.

Hoping that P5 might have more on the Phantasms. In P2 the Phantasm is a very interesting gimmick that put the purple Pikmin to proper use. P3 rose a lot of questions about the Phantasms - it felt like it wasn't an "accident" or some kind of afterthought that the Gold Phantasm was the final boss. The Phantasms technically only appear as a memory lane encounter in P4. I suppose we'll see in... 10 years? In the meantime, I'll replay P2 - see how rosy those glasses really are, and maybe try a sort of "minimum Pikmin" run for P4 to spice it up for myself.

[cherryspikes]

You know you love me

‧₊˚ 📸 ✩ ₊˚ Multiple ships - EAH Gossip Girl AU

⭒ desc: After a rat infestation shuts down the school, students from Nottingham High get transferred to different schools all over New York. Sparrow and his friends ended up being part of the unlucky few who were sent to Ever After Prep. Being thrust into the world of the disgustingly rich felt like diving in head first into a pile of rocks. Tensions between the students were high enough, but after an anonymous blog starts spreading gossip it all rises to another level. Secret relationships, millions of dollars, and nosey teenagers were already a recipe for disaster. But it seems someone is trying to make every student's life a living hell.

⭒ content: this is a story with a full plotline!! you do not have to have seen Gossip Girl to understand but there are some references that are funnier if you have. mentions of drugs and alcohol. - THIS IS NOT A FULL RECREATION OF GOSSIP GIRL - its eah characters in a gg inspired universe with reimaginings of iconic gg plotlines.

⭒ wordcount: 3,171

cross-posted on ao3 !!

⭒ note: i'm currently working on cross-posting all the works I'm working on to this blog and i'm working on the second chapter of this so stay tuned!!

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Devil Wears Pointe Shoes

Once upon a time, in the far away land of Manhattan, New York. There was Ever After Prep, a school for the ultra rich kids of the highest of high society. Founded by Wilhem and Jacob Grimm in the 1700’s, the school is just as pretentious as you'd imagine it to be. 

The building has a castle-like structure, making it stand out against all the modern office buildings. A testament to its insistence on upholding traditional values and promoting what they believe is the best of the best. Which usually included relatives of the school's alumni, making it hard for anyone else to enter. 

The school's website is a showcase of pure gloating with pop ups of all their achievements everywhere. Sports trophies, sold out plays, they had a team for every single niche hobby. It was pretty much guaranteed that if there was a competition for it, they’d win it. 

The students are even more self-absorbed and cocky – not to mention, judgmental as hell. Manhattan’s elite love to boast about how great EAP is. Those who didn’t attend were very much looked down upon, no matter how much money you had. So it’s no surprise that parents and students rallied up when they found out their exclusive school would be hosting students from Nottingham High School for their second semester. 

Nottingham High has been EAP’s rival ever since it was created. A public school with great extracurriculars and professors that received basically the same education as the ones in EAP, started to sound a lot better to most parents in the city. So when some Nottingham students were transferred to EAP for the rest of the semester, students took it as a call to arms. 

Ever After students made their opinions on Nottingham very clear. They weren't like them, so they didn't belong. They branded them as outcasts and excluded them from student events. But even in a castle flooded with snobby, rich teens and only a couple exchange students from Nottingham, the small group stuck together and made the best out of their situation.

Sparrow Hood quickly made a name for himself. 

A punk guitarist with a loud personality easily challenged EAP’s atmosphere. He focused on having fun and broke a lot of rules. He was open about how he hated the megarich students and they hated him back because his band would crash events to get more exposure.

His main enemy? Apple White.

Apple basically ruled the school. Most if not everyone at the school saw her as an angel. She was at the top of her class, participated in several extracurriculars and had at least 1,000 hours of community service. But Sparrow didn’t fall for any of that crap. He saw through her act and knew that in reality she was just like everyone else. Immature, kind of selfish and without a clue of what they’re doing. The only reason she was seen as an angel was because she’s Snow White's daughter.

If people from Nottingham hated the rich, they hated Snow White even more. She was probably the worst governor New York ever had. All her rules made her rich friends richer while everyone else got their leftovers.

Sparrow hated them. He hated them and their Dior suits. He hated their fine china. He hated their long ass limos. But after the rumors that they were involved with their school's infestation spread, he hated them even more. He hated the hypocrisy of it all. They spoke about helping those in need while judging them for seeking refuge in their part of town. 

Apple represented all of that hypocrisy to him. She swore they didn’t have any problems. They didn’t hate each other, they just disagreed from time to time. But Sparrow knew that deep down she saw him as a threat. She represented everything the rich stood for and he was beginning to take her down. 

But she tried her best to ignore him. Deciding she had other things to worry about. 

“You guys wanna go to Beanstalk later?” Sparrow asked, while dumping his books on the table. 

Lunch time at EAP was insanely different. It was better that's for sure, but it was more expensive. Even with financial aid, paying nearly $20 for lunch everyday was insane. 

“Can’t, I got practice.” Hunter replied. “Already missed two this month, and Daring’s already looking at me weirdly.” 

“Please, I’ve literally never seen Hopper even pick up a bow.” Sparrow rolled his eyes. “If anyone needs to be kicked out it's him.” 

“Yeah, but Hopper’s daddy funds the Athletics program. It’d be a grave mistake to lose him.” Hunter said, mocking what he had overheard the coach saying once after practice.

As annoying as it was to have Daring and his lackey controlling their every move, Sparrow didn’t want Hunter to lose. He knew how passionate Hunter was about his sports and he didn’t want to ruin his chances of being in a good team. Even if that meant having to overcompensate while the rest did the bare minimum. 

“I can’t either.” Ramona chimed in. 

“Oh my god, are you serious?” 

“I’m sorry! I have to pick up Cerise, the train comes in at 4.” She defended herself. 

“Okay, I’ll just go with you and we can go to Beanstalk after!” Ramona immediately rejected the offer. “Are you crazy? I’m not taking Cerise to a bar.” 

Sparrow pouted. He knew better than to argue with Ramona. She always got the final word. Especially when it came to her sister. He laid his head on the table, bored out of his mind. He dreaded the rest of the day. He only had Music and English left, which were his favorite classes.  But none of his friends made it to his section yet, of course, Apple and her friends did. This day was going to be awful. He tried to take a nap in order to kill time and distract himself. But as if God wanted to personally punish him, there she was. 

He audibly groaned when he saw her blonde curls bounce into the room. She waited in line, typing something on her phone while her friends talked. They all wore the signature EAP uniform. Black skirt, white button up, red and yellow tie. They all accessorized their outfits to fit their style, but it seemed like every girl wanted to be Apple so they all just wore different variations of the same shoes and bags. Sparrow hated the uniform. The gold was too shiny and the red was too deep. His white button ups always ended up with food stains by the end of the day and the black blazer made him feel restricted. At least they could customize them. He already gave up some of his music, giving up his fashion was a different type of sacrifice. 

When they all first arrived, they got weird looks because of their style. Sparrow especially. He decorated his blazer with a ton of pins and wore his tie unknotted. He wore baggy jeans that caught your attention because of their green tint and whenever you saw him in class he was doodling on his combat boots.

Suddenly, everyones phone in the room started ringing. Sparrow’s face scrunched up in confusion. His phone didn’t ring. He turned to Ramona and read the message she got. 

  TO: Ramona Badwolf Hood

         (ramonabwh@nhs.edu)

  FROM: Apple White

            (applewhite@gmail.com)

  Subject: Welcome Party!

    Dearest EAP and Nottingham students, 

These past couple of weeks have been hectic, to say the least. But in order to relieve some of the stress and get to know each other a little more, I’ve decided to host a dinner party to kick off and welcome all new students joining us this semester. 

There will be free food, live music and tons of chatting! Let’s take this opportunity to relieve some stress and get to know each other! Hope to see you all there!

Friday, January 25th 7:00PM - 11:00PM 

Spellbound Ave. 

79th street PL87

7th Floor Room 705

When at the gate just say your name and the room number. 

        With Love, 

        Apple White &lt;3. 

“Wow, okay. So she says there's no problem between us but she doesn’t invite me?” He straightened himself up.

“Well, it’s not like you even want to go so…” Hunter asked. “Yeah, but still!” 

Laughter interrupted their conversation. The sound, unsurprisingly, came from Daring and Apple’s group. Daring was standing on their table, acting out a scene till he fell. Causing their laughter. 

Hunter glared at him. “You know, I heard Kitty telling Maddie she thinks he caused the infestation.” 

“Who? Daring?” Hunter nodded. Ramona laughed. “I don’t believe that. He’s too dumb.” 

“I mean, causing a rat infestation at your rival school is a dumb thing to do.”

“Fair point.” She acknowledged. 

The bell rang. Sparrow groaned loudly. “God! I can’t handle the rest of the semester at this fucking school. I’m actually going to drop dead in the middle of chem.” 

Ramona awed at him while petting his back. “Chill out. It’ll be July before you know it. We can crash that dinner party if you want.”

Sparrow’s hopes got up and he responded a little too loudly. Loud enough for Daring and Apple to hear him and his friends laughing as everyone else left the cafeteria. Sparrow and Daring made brief eye contact as he glanced up. Sparrow winked at him and he rolled back his eyes. He walked away, Apple following him shortly.  ________________________________________

Ramona wandered the halls looking for the nearest bathroom. Even after 2 weeks of being in the school, its size still managed to confuse her. All the doors looked the same and the halls seemed to get more narrow every day. Having finally found it, she pushed the white door open. She put the hall pass down on top of the sink and stared at her hair in the mirror. She didn’t really have to go to the bathroom, she just needed an excuse to not listen to the teachers loud ass microphone anymore. 

She was deciding whether or not she should put her hair up when she noticed it. She noticed smoke coming from the disabled bathroom stall. It wasn’t fire smoke so she didn’t worry, but then she noticed the smell. Someone's smoking weed. 

She was going to leave the bathroom and let whoever was in there be, till she realized it was one of the rich kids. She could see her perfectly polished heeled mary janes from under the stall so now she was intrigued. She turned on the sink and pretended to wash her hands. She then walked to the door and opened it, but let it close without walking back. Then the stall opened. 

What a fucking surprise. Ramona had only been at the school for 2 weeks but never in a million years would she have guessed that Justine Dancer skipped class to get high. The ballerina didn’t notice her until she walked towards the sink. 

“Oh you have to be kidding me.” Her hands went to cover her face. A flush of embarrassment and worry rushed through her. This cannot be the way she gets caught. 

“How’s it going, Dancer?” Ramona stepped closer. She felt confident – cocky even. She finally knew how Daring felt whenever he caught Sparrow smoking near the bleachers. “Where’s your hall pass?” 

Justine turns towards her. Looking up to stare at her blankly. “What?” 

“Oh, yeah. Well there's this rule that you can’t walk around during classes without a hall pass. I thought you knew.” Ramona’s condescending words annoyed her. She was starting to get angry.

“Yeah, I know what the fucking rules are okay? Unlike you, some of us actually care about our future.” Ramona wasn’t having fun anymore. She struck a nerve, but unluckily for Justine, she doesn't back down very easily. 

“Well, you don’t really have to worry about that. Your mom’s just going to end up doing it all for you anyways.” 

“Well at least my parents actually amounted to something!” She immediately regretted her words. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t…” Justine hesitated. She realized what she had said and she hated herself for it. She didn’t mean any of it but she didn’t know how to apologize. She knew that having a bad day wasn’t an excuse but the Ramonas words paired with her failed audition that morning really made her want to explode. 

“Justine and Ramona! What is all this ruckus?” 

They both turned to see Madame Baba Yaga next to the door. Justine froze while Ramona stood her ground. 

“I caught her playing around with illegal substances.” Justine looked at the tall girl, mouth agape. 

“Ms. Dancer! Is this true?” 

Justine blinked and quickly looked down at her feet. She sheepishly nodded, not daring to look at her teacher. 

“Well, the very least I can say is that I’m disappointed in you. Headmaster Grimm and your parents will be hearing about this. You have detention after school. Both of you.”

“Both? What for?” Ramona complained. 

“For disrupting other classes and missing part of your own. Now get back to class!”

Madame Yaga stood near the door with her arms crossed till they both left the room. Once they did, they glared at each other before returning to their classes. 

“Fucking asshole.” Ramona muttered to herself. ________________________________________

The train station was loud and crowded like always. It didn’t really bother Sparrow though. He was used to it by now. Years of living in the city and going to punk shows made it so he barely noticed loud noises. If a bomb exploded in the city, he probably wouldn’t know until it hit him. He looked around the station, trying to find something he hadn’t seen before. Everything looked the same. Same green ceiling, same yellow lights and the same old ass clock in the center. Till he saw it.

A head of white and black hair that most, if not all teenagers, in New York could recognize. 

Duchess Swan was back in the city.

Duchess was known for being a total bitch. Even those who knew nothing about the Upper East Side had heard about her. She was seen as an out of control party girl that lived life like there was no tomorrow. There were countless rumors of her doing drugs, sleeping with celebrities, stealing from designer stores, etc. Yet somehow, no story was crazy enough to take her down. She came from a long line of old money so her professional opportunities never ceased. Even though people thought of her as a disaster waiting to happen, she still had tons of friends, she had a captivating aura. Her charismatic personality was comforting and her glamor was desirable. No one truly knew if the stories about her were true and the mystery made you want to know more. Her character in general was alluring and you could easily be charmed by her. 

Sparrow knew this from personal experience. He had fallen down the rabbit hole back in his sophomore year and after the spell wore off, his interest in the ultra rich lifestyle wore off too. However, it might’ve been coming back. Even though he was tired of his life revolving around the upper east siders, he wanted to know why she disappeared for almost a year. What made her comeback? He wouldn’t have been at the station if it weren’t for Ramonas surprise detention, what if this was a sign? He wanted to talk to her. Actually, nevermind. Why bother? She probably didn’t remember him. What if she did?  

He moved his arms around a bit, trying to calm himself from the million thoughts running through his head. He knew it was dangerous to deal with the devil, but life was getting a little bit boring. Maybe it was time to spice things up a bit. 

“Sparrow?” A voice asked behind him. He turned to see a familiar head of black hair covered up with a red hoodie. 

“Hello, little red riding hood!”  

“Shut up. I need to touch up my roots.” The girl rolled her eyes, holding the hood in place. Sparrow used to tease Cerise a lot when they would visit each other during the holidays, but now that they were going to live together it was going to be a lot worse. She was not looking forward to it. 

“So, where’s Ramona?” He tried to help her grab some of her bags, but he failed. The weight of the bags surprised him. He had forgotten how fit she was. She was all grown up. 

“Oh, I thought she told you. She got detention so she won't be out of school till 5:00.” 

Ramona's sister hummed, slightly disappointed. “Hey, wanna get a banana split from Hatter’s?” Sparrow comforted her and she excitedly replied with a yes. 

They caught up with each other while walking out of the station. Sparrow spoke about how unbearable it is to attend Ever After and Cerise told him about her recent competitions. As they laughed about how Ramona managed to get herself detention only 2 weeks into the semester, the bags Sparrow carried bumped into someone. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” The girl said. Sparrow looked up and he gulped as soon as he realized who he was talking to. White and black hair, lavender streaks. 

“No, don’t worry – I was the one who bumped into you.” He helped her get the things she dropped and she just kept apologizing. Was this really Duchess or did she have a twin he didn’t know about? After the awkward exchange was over, he turned towards Cerise. A wide grin occupied her face. 

“What?” 

“Nothing…” she shook her head, still smiling.

“What?”

“I said nothing!” She laughed.  ________________________________________

e-blast #1: Welcome home!

2/8/07 - 5:30PM

Evening upper east siders, Gossip Girl here. Your one and only source to the scandalous lives of Manhattan's elite. A lot of rumors have been spreading after the whole Nottingrat disaster and I was getting tired of having to explain the same things over and over again to those who don’t pay enough attention. So I thought, why not make something to document it all? However, as my name suggests, gossip about everything and everyone in the UES will be discussed here. So you all better start watching yourselves because if you think you’re safe, you aren’t! Don’t believe me? Well I have the biggest news ever. Spotted at Grand Central, bags in hand (kind of): Duchess Swan. That’s right, the queen is back! But who is this? Unfortunate Nottingham student, Sparrow Hood, seen head over combat boots over New York’s signature it girl. Poor Lonely Boy, longing for what he can’t have. If only she knew who he was. 

[ click to view foto ] 

Believe me now? Welcome home D! Hope you enjoyed your trip, can’t wait to hear all about it. 

                                                                                                                                            - XOXO, Gossip Girl

[sleepymushrxxm]

@lycankeyy now your worldbuilding makes me want to flesh out my penillian ideas. Wtf.

I don't have any good drawings on hand right now but here's some incoherent unedited ramblings

These are just adding onto or tweaking the things we already know about them.

Background.

Penillians used to be an aquatic prey species. The species evolved rapidly to the point of outcompeting the others around them, and they quickly wiped out most of the creatures that once hunted them. The have become the ruling apex species of their planet, and only kept around the species that benefit them. Any magic or abilities they have are not their own, including their major shape-shifting abilities. Most normal Penillians can do is change the shape of their jaw, frills, spines, and horns. Which leads us into our next topic,

Physiology.

The reason many of them have frills and spines was to protect young Penillians from attacks to the throat by the creatures that hunted them, and they never fully devolved them, as well as the frills once behaving similarly to fins or gills. They have small horns that are mostly useless. The reason the species grew to the size they did is the increased amount of oxygen in the air, similar to the reason insects grew so big in the Cambrian period. They are covered in gray scales, the ones around their chest and forearms practically impenetrable by any means. Their tusks are often curved inwards or downwards, though may curve similar to elephants. This is known as the Emperor Gene, and causes changes in the facial structure and bones. This may cause difficulties in young Penillians, and most often don't survive past adolescence. Those that do are often revered. Their tusks are often adorned with jewels and decorative items.

Penillians are mainly carnivorous, but are technically omnivores. Their large teeth are sharp and serrated like a shark's. They are a top-heavy species with long arms and shorter legs, with a long finned tail. Their eyes behave very similar to a cat's.

Penillians heal incredibly fast. Their brains are wired to survive longer periods of time in the case of oxygen deprivation, and they can hold their breath for long periods of time, even after losing their gills. Their bones are denser than most other species. The inside of their mouths are purple like their blood.

(sorry for the shit quality I drew this with my finger on my phone-)

Society.

There are different factions of Penillians on their planet, but they are ruled by a false oligarchy, simply a cover-up for a dictatorship or a monarchy. The ruler typically wears a twisted silver and ruby crown, a resource that is incredibly rare on their planet. In order for a new leader of the group of the wealthy few to be chosen, a "royal" challenged must be declared by a relative, usually by an offspring or sibling, with some exceptions. Peace treaties with the Penillians are rare. They rarely wear anything (please, at least put some pants on....), but they usually wear cloaks to formal events, which are also rare. Some cloaks are thicker than others, but those are usually reserved for ship pilots. Cold vacuum of space, y'know?

Their laws are strict, and the death penalty is more common than one would think.

Planet.

Their planet used to be lush and covered in large oceans. However, after most species were wiped out, the world began to die. Plants and animals alike began to perish and fall into extinction. The reason they had their sights set for earth was because it was similar to what their own used to be, with more natural resources. The planet they live on is functionally dead, and would completely crumble if it weren't for them. The Penillians are a necessary evil, if you will.

Any questions? You have a question? No. DEATH BLAST