#the main difference is that in polish there's an 'oh' sound in the middle and in english there's more of an 'ah'

[depoteka]

inspired by @something2believe's poll i wanted to know how my followers pronounce my name. arguably my name is quite international so there shouldn't be any "weird" versions of the pronunciation but i still want to know!

[littlest-w01f]

Light and Shadow

Azriel x blind!OC (Amita)

AZRIEL MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Azriel finally gets to have a conversation with the female always around Helion, the female that somehow makes his shadows go out of control in her light

Cw: Fluff, Azriel's shadows being a tripping hazard

part one - part two - part three

The sun shined brightly in the Day Court, Amita stood in front of the middle of her room, humming to herself as she combed her hair, her eyes glowing golden by her power, second nature to her as she used her light to detect where her dark hair was, everything important in her room was of darker shades, reflecting a little darker to her than other things.

Her friend, Akriti, the female who helped her drape her clothes came in, Amita knew by the scent that was her, polished wood on her, "Morning, Ak..."

"Morning," Akriti replied, standing in front of her, "I see you're still trying to do your hair," She smiled, moving her hand away.

"Come on, I'm sure I can do it one day." Amita groaned slightly, smiling a little as she was dragged to sit on the vanity table, Akriti beginning to do her hair.

"If someone can, my love, I'm sure it's you." Akriti began to braid her hair, looking into her friend's golden eyes, "But till you can, you have all our help."

Amita smiled, her head tilted to her ear in Akriti's direction, "What all is on plan for today? I heard something with the Night Court."

"Well, you get to spent all day with the sex that is our High Lord," Akriti sighed lightly but Amita caught it, "And lunch with the Night Inner Circle."

Amita cringed slightly, "Come on, don't talk like that about Helion, it's weird."

Akriti 'oohed', "I keep forgetting your lucky ass is on first name basses with him." She finished her braid, then watched her stand up, "It's so sad you can't see, if I was with him as much as you I would ogle his handsome face all day."

Amita rolled her eyes, used to her teasing, "Maybe that's why you aren't around him that much."

Akriti scoffed, trying to nudge her with her shoulder, Amita dodged her, "Come on, Am... You don't have to make me feel bad about it."

"Oh, but I did," Amita smirked, moving around, grabbing her saree from the edge of her bed, and offering Akriti the piece, "Now be a dear and put this on me, please."

"Well, since you said please, I guess." Akriti rolled her eyes playfully, helping Amita drape her saree, moving her around as if she were a mannequin and then pinning the fabric.

After Akriti finished up, she smiled, looking at Amita in the mirror, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." Amita smiled a little, only seeing her figure in gold, different shades of it all around, her light reflecting things in gold back into her eyes.

"Oh!" Akriti exclaimed as she moved around her room, looking for a box, "Helion got these for you, you need to wear these." She stressed as she pulled out four pieces of jewellery.

"What are those?" Amita asked, raising her hand to feel them up, "Jewellery..." She noted.

"Yep, very sexy pieces of it." Akriti moved behind her, handing her an armlet and two anklets, putting on the necklace herself.

Amita slit on the armlet and sat down to chain up the anklets, setting them design up by years of practice, trying to feel them up to guess how they looked.

Amita walked in the halls, halls that looked similar but she knew the path from her room to Helion's study and his private chambers by heart, while she was walking, her head held high as she strained her ears to catch any sound.

There was a little breeze of wind around her, not wind, she focused her eyes on a blob of darkness that had flown past her and decided to follow it, the darkness joined a few stuck to a wall. She gasped slightly, hearing a heartbeat.

"Hello?" She asked, moving her hand around in the darkness, gasping when a hand caught her wrist.

A rough voice answered back, a voice she couldn't remember where she had heard before, "You can see me?" A male, she guessed, let her hand go.

"Well, not 'see' see," Amita waved at her face and eyes, "But you're a... darkness?"

Azriel smiled seeing the female he had seen around with Helion almost at all times, "I'm Azriel, Azriel Shadowsinger."

"Of the NIght Court?" She asked curiously, "Are the rest of you here already..." She gave him her best glare, which looked adorable in the Spymaster's eyes, "Or are you spying on us? If that's the case, I'm going to have to tell Helion about it."

"No, no, darling," Azriel chuckled at her outburst, trying to not make a comment on how her glare was adorable, even if it wasn't directly faced at him, "I'm not here to spy, it's just kind of how I move."

"In a blob of darkness?" She stated curiously making Azriel bite his lips to stop from laughing as his shadows hissed in his ears at being called a 'blob' of all things, his shadows that we're buzzing about a moment ago when she had cast her light on them.

"You're making my shadows feel offended, Little Light." Azriel joked, smiled looking at her, "Also, no, I have colour on me, My lady."

Amita frowned, turning to face a whisp of darkness on his shoulder and said, "Sorry...? I didn't mean to offend you." In a soft voice, then turning back to the head of the darkness, "Well, I can't really see colour... And you appear all dark and shadow-y" She offered.

"No need to explain yourself, love," Azriel smiled, "It's quite alright."

Amita smiled a slight heat on her cheeks from all his nicknames, "Well, my name is Amita, so no need to call me all these nicknames."

"Why, Amita, then of course." Azriel gave her, what she could make out, was a bow, but not entirely low enough to be called one. "What are you doing here, walking the halls alone?"

"I don't really need help to walk around, I know my way." Amita smiled in the general direction of the shadowsinger, slightly making out his curious shadows reaching out to touch her nose or eyes, giggling slightly when Azriel apologized for them, "It's alright, they don't bother me. It's cute, really."

"That's impressive," Azriel hummed, not stopping his shadows from examining the female in front of him, smiling at the little chuckles she let one when one of them brushed against a ticklish spot, he finally took his time to take her in, the female he had wanted to approach in that High Lord's meeting years ago, she had been sitting beside Helion, a male who glared at anyone who even looked as if they were about to question her presence in the meeting, and now she stood in front of him, not scared of him in the slightest, laughing at his shadows that ghosted over her face and neck, wearing one of her signature white clothes, representing Helion with the Court emblem on the gold on her.

"We should get going," She said suddenly, "If you are here, then that means that the rest of your Inner Circle would already be here."

He nodded, taking the lead before hearing her yelp, he turned around just to see her tripping over some of his shadows, shadows that disappeared the second she looked back to glare at now nothing.

She scented night chilled mist mixed with cedar, something she stored in her memory as Azriel, her face lightly pressed against his chest. Azriel held her in his arms to keep her from falling, glaring at the unruly shadows that slid up his leg as if they had done nothing, he helped Amita back on her feet properly, after taking in the scent of her, warm sunlight, from the powers she used so much.

"I'm sorry..." Amita blushed in embarrassment, stabilising herself, "That usually doesn't happen, I don't trip."

"It's alright, darling." He smiled, still side-eyeing his scheming shadows, he offered her his arm, "May I?"

Amita smiled instantly, "Sure," She looped her arm around his and let her guide her, still looking down at her feet, blinking her powers to see something trippable in the clean hallways. While Azriel was sure he had never heard his shadows actually laugh in mischief before.

{General Taglist: @nox-ceur}

{Azriel Taglist - @fxckmiup}

[mysticeclipses]

Inky Threads

Chapter 1: First Encounters

Real World AU by @chez-cinnamon Welcome Home by @partycoffin

“Oh feathers, how did I end up in a situation like this?” Poppy muttered as she walked through the empty streets, trying to keep the various garbs Fionn had chosen as her disguise around her body. There was a mild heat wave going on in this small Idaho town, temperatures were getting closer to 85°F these days, making Poppy stand out like a sore thumb in all her layers while others were wearing tank tops and shorts. Just a moment ago, Poppy had been in the grocery with Fionn and all her neighbors when she spotted some oranges falling from a nearby stand, moving to place the fruit back where it belonged when everyone had suddenly disappeared, leaving her standing in the middle of the store in confusion. How could they have left so suddenly, and how could they have left without her? Dozens of thoughts were running through Poppy’s mind as she searched the shops lining the streets, trying to find one that was empty or mostly empty, which wasn’t turning out well in her favor currently. Every shop window Poppy looked through was rather full of people, and she wasn’t in the mood to have even more eyes on her after everything that had happened, so she decided to keep looking.

After what felt like hours, Poppy came across a small corner shop that looked to be completely empty of people inside, noticing the interesting name as well, ‘Devilish Designs’, how different. Stepping inside, the environment was nothing like Poppy had ever seen before, the store being just as different as the name was. The ceiling lights were turned down low, the ambiance being carried by a variety of softer string lights hung around, noticing that the bulbs were in the shapes of stars. A polished oak wood floor creaked gently under Poppy’s feet as she stepped farther into the shop, a small bell ringing above the door as it opened and closed, clearly a sign to notify the owner whenever someone entered or exited. Poppy couldn’t help but find herself walking around the store, forgetting why she had come inside in the first place, more interested in what was on display. The floor had many mannequins set up and dressed in what Poppy could only assume was hand-made clothing, a variety of designs and styles being shown, several of which she could see her neighbors in. Several shelves were spread along the walls, each having some sort of accessory as its main focus, the metal and jewels glimmering faintly in the gentle lighting. There were also some tables as well, sporting a variety of candles, incense sticks, sage, crystals, and many other things that Poppy had never seen until now.

Poppy was so caught up in taking in the shop around her that she didn’t notice some of her tail feathers slipping out from under her disguise, only realizing what was happening when she turned to take a closer look at some crystals and a loud crashing sound came from behind. When looking over her shoulder, Poppy realized her tail feathers had caught the leg of a table in the corner and had knocked it over, broken ceramic and wax now scattered across the floor. “Oh feathers, oh feathers, I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Poppy began to panic as she tried to clean up the mess, feeling that panic grow as she heard the faint sound of footsteps.

“Is everything alright out here? I heard something break” A voice spoke up as another door creaked open, a young woman appearing from elsewhere in the store. Poppy was too caught up in trying to clean up the broken candles, not realizing the store owner was in the room until a hand fell upon her wing, pulling her attention to the newcomer. She seemed to be shorter than Fionn, but not by much, especially taking into account the heels she was wearing. A head of curly black hair with several white streaks sat upon her head, accompanied by piercing green eyes and fair skin. A long black dress with sheer shoulders and flared sleeves covered her body, several chains adorned her waist that complimented her other accessories, and a wide brim hat sat upon those curls. Poppy had never seen anyone dressed in such a way, it was definitely unique and fit the aesthetic of the shop, her presence having a rather calming effect after what had just happened with the table of candles.

The woman seemed to take note of the broken candles and Poppy’s minor panic, stepping away for a moment just to come back with a broom and an empty container, guiding the broken pieces in Poppy’s wings to the container. “Just drop those into the container, I’ll clean up the rest of what’s on the floor, I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.” Her voice was gentle and understanding as she got to work on sweeping up the rest of the broken candles, glancing up at Poppy every now and then while she worked. Poppy didn’t expect the woman to be so gentle with her, carefully putting what was in her wings into the container, taking a step back so she wasn’t in the woman’s way while she cleaned up the mess. It didn’t take long for the broken candles to be swept up and carefully disposed of in the container, the woman brushing any remnants of ceramic and wax off the broom bristles before putting it away, cleaning her hands before she turned to face Poppy. “Well, now that we have that taken care of, may I ask what you’re doing in my shop? I thought I had turned the open sign around, but perhaps I didn’t.”

Her tone was still gentle as she headed over to the door, checking the wooden sign hanging from the door only to see that it had been turned to say closed, but she wasn’t going to kick out her guest for intruding with how nervous they seemed. “Ah, well, I came in to see if you have a phone I could use? I need to make a rather urgent phone call.” Poppy spoke up after a moment, her gaze continuing to follow the woman as she made small adjustments to the merchandise on display. “Oh, yes I do have a phone. It’s a rotary phone, but it should work just as well as any flip phone people carry in their pockets these days.” The woman stepped behind the counter and gestured to the ivory rotary phone sitting on the end of the countertop, her thumb pulling at the dial a few times before looking back at Poppy. “Hopefully you’ll be able to reach your desired person, Poppy Partridge.”

[everygame]

Space Invaders Part II

Developed/Published by: Taito Released: 7/1979 Completed: 04/06/2024 Completion: Able to polish off three waves counting shots. I could do better.

Not exactly by design but I’ll admit the last few weeks of Every Game I’ve Finished have been like “you should really buy exp. 2601 for context” and this week is even worse, because my article on Space Invaders there is such a banger.

However, in precis, I look at Space Invaders like Bishop looks at the Alien: I admire its purity.

I mean, there really is nothing like it. The heartbeat. The clean, immediate, graphics. You not simply against the machine, but your own ability to count shots to ensure you get the highest score. That beautiful Pepper’s Ghost.

Space Invaders Part II, which Tomohiro Nishikado pitched by writing “Space Invaders” on a big whiteboard and then adding an Y with two lines through it (this caused a lot of confusion in the office because the symbol for yen in Japan is generally 円 not￥and no one thought “Space Invadersy” was a good name) is therefore in an awkward position. Change too much, and the intense and specific flow is gone. Don’t change enough and it’s not really anything.

Of course, you have to remember the context of 1979. Everyone is still Space Invaders mad, and really all you need to do is offer people enough novelty to keep them playing. To this end, Space Invaders II offers a few things. Most simply, it allows people to actually log decent high-scores with their initials, making in the version for glory hunters, and adds some little interstitials which interestingly prefigure those that would be seen in Pac-Man not too soon after. In terms of play, however, the main changes are that there are now Space Invaders that split into two when shot, meaning that the formation can now have gaps (gasp!). Interestingly, this doesn’t happen until the fourth wave in the Japanese original, but for the US Midway release, titled Space Invaders Deluxe (guess they didn’t think it was different enough to deserve that II) you actually get to see this happen from the second wave onwards. And UFOs are slightly different: you can still count shots to ensure you get 300 points, but some of them blink on and off and can only be shot when visible, which weirdly gets you a flat 200 points in Deluxe but 500 in Part II.

And that’s not all! For the truly dedicated, you now get a 500 point bonus for the last Space Invader you kill if it was one of the octopus ones (the lowest two rows) and a 1000 point bonus if it’s the very bottom left one, requiring some creative shots (I certainly haven’t managed it.) Oh, and UFOs can sometimes drop new invaders into the formation, ruining everything!

It sounds like a lot, and it does actually significantly increase the mental load compared to the original, but in particular if you’re playing the Japanese original you’re going to have to be extremely good at Space Invaders to really notice most of it.

Which, to be honest, I don’t mind. If you’re used to playing Space Invaders, you slip into this like a warm bath, and for Pepper’s Ghost fanatics, the machine has an even more beautiful backdrop, where you’re now defending a wee moon base, your bases fitting perfectly on top. I mean for that alone I’m tempted to rate this higher than the original.

This really does manage to ride the line of being different enough, but not too different; it feels like exactly what it was intended to be: the version you upgrade to once you feel like you’ve mastered the original. 

Will I ever play it again? Whenever I see a Space Invaders machine, be it the original or Part II, I’m gonna play it.

Final Thought: Speaking of: I took a trip down to the Rochester Museum of Play to see their new video game focused expansion and sitting in the middle of their Video Game Hall of Fame, was an original Space Invaders cabinet. It was superb and practically worth the trip on it’s own. In fact, it made me fall in love with the “real” experience that after googling around I discovered that desktop toy maker MyArcade makes a tiny desktop arcade Space Invaders that marvellously uses the real pepper’s ghost technique for the screen, and I was so excited to pick it up for it’s honestly quite reasonable price until I found out that it doesn’t feature the 23-15 UFO shot timing, rendering it sort of pointless. Admittedly there’s also the Numskull quarter arcades Space Invaders if you’re absolutely determined for “the real thing, only smaller” but comes in at an eye watering $340 and I literally cannot imagine using those ridiculous wee controls. I guess I’m stuck driving to Rochester. Could be worse I suppose, I love a garbage plate!

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up digital copies of exp., a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

[whispering-jabberwocky]

Oh baby, my time has come!

I'm actually a huge name nerd and most (not all) of my brainchildren have a very meaningful names. Let's start!

Samir Rihh

He is my dnd character: rogue/wizard air genasi. We play in an fantasy setting inspired by India, Africa and Middle East. He was inspired by the tale of Alibaba and Forty Thieves.

First of all, his surname is, I think, morroccan and it means "wind". I'm not 100% sure since it was a wild google search some time ago, and I can't find this page anymore.

His first name was given to him after his great grandmother - Samira, who loudly and proudly banged a djinn for money. The name actually has two meanings, depending on a country of origin. In India it would mean "a light breeze". In arabic countries it means "companion in evening talk". Both match him pretty well, especially after heartfelt conversation with Lia during night watch.

Now, before he was using his bithname, he used a lot of nicknames. Our dnd party met him under "Nine". It was simple, he only got nine fingers at the time. I really wanted to play with someone with a weird nickname then. After he get his missing finger back, he began colling himself "Spectre", because that is what Tanit, our necromancer and his best friend, was calling him, after their first meeting in the desert. She saved his life, as he was stumbled upon a caravan she was traveling with, almost bleeding to deat due to his famous finger getting chopped off. His other known nicknames include "Dragonfly" and "Blackbird". Granted, all of them sound different to us, since we play in Polish.

Lanaya

She was my first dnd character. A wood elf druid, who is secretly a werewolf.

I must say, I did not do her justice. I had trouble playing her properly as I never really get a good grip of who she is.

She was raised in a pretty hippie elven society, where there was a druid in every family. Everyone knew each other, so nobody bothered with surnames. Therefore she doesn't have one.

As for her name i ripped it of from Dragon Age Origins, but also kind of meaningfully. In the game, Lanaya was a First to the Keeper of the Dalish clan, that the Warden may recruit to stop the Blight. However, the Dalish currently have problem with werewolfs attacking their camp.

Mash

Mash is my sweet baby warforged warlock.

The thing is there are some gender shenaningans about them. As his owner never gave him a proper name and called them simply Machine (Maszyna in Polish), they were officialy refered to using feminine pronouns and conjugation (maszyna is a feminine noun in Polish). However, since Mash in a concious being and wishes to be his own person, he uses masculine pronouns and conjugation, while talking about himself. He also calls himself Mash, instead of Machine.

Honorable mention of my FFXIV babies:

- J'lico Khat: she is goooone, but au ras are prettier, what can I say? She was my main miqo'te girl from Seekers of the Sun. Her name was 100% lore friendly, but also a huge troll, as it was a sorta phonetic way to spell "Jellicle Cat". You know, like from Cats the musical? I started playing in pandemics and it was the last movie I saw in the cinema at the time.

- Suiren Aijiro: us what J'lico has become. Did I mentioned au ras are prettier? Anyway, it was a bit of a spontanious decision, but I needed a nice, old-timey japanese name. To be lore friendly! And there is a character named Suiren in a comic I am making with my sister. So I stoled it. From myself. I feel kinda weird about it tbh. Primarly I came upon it in a manga Hibi Chou Chou (this is not a recomendation, this shoujo is bland). It means "water lily". As for Aijiro i took it from list of traditional japanese coulors. This one is white with a hint of indigo.

-Soren Wolpertinger: my beautiful bunny boy. Ok, so Soren means "strict, severe" and that's not a vibe, but I adore the sound of it. And Wolpertinger is a german cryptid - a creature with rabbit head, squirrel body, deer antlers and wings of a pheasant.

Now, I don't really know who to tag, as Vio already tagged everyone I know, who would be intetested. So feel double tagged! Spill the beans!

OC name meanings tag!

Stealing from @albatris :3

Rules: Search and post the meaning of your OCs’ names (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! Bonus if you can find something for their last name too

Emerald "Emmy" Acero:

"So, uh. Don't think I ever got the chance to give you my name. It's Emerald—" "—Like the gemstone?" "-Yeah like the gemstone. You can just call me Emmy though. Everyone else does."

Emmy's first name is pretty self-explanatory. His last name, Acero, is Spanish for Steel. His father, Orion Acero, picked it out when transitioning as a way to distance himself from his dead identity and any ties to Emmy's other father (whom has no idea he even is a father). Therefore, once Emmy was born, it became his last name as well. The only thing Emmy has even been told about his other biological parent was that he is a 'deadbeat musician' and that Orion didn't want Emmy to end up going down the same path.

OOC, Emerald was an import of my D&D rogue, Immeral (Immi), when I was invited to my first VtM game and had trouble coming up with a character thanks to Long Covid brainfog. What started as a modern clone of an existing character ended up evolving into his own being and is hardly recognizable from his D&D origins. The most notably being Emmy is an absolute heart of gold, dumb of ass. And Immi is a Lawful Evil dumpster fire. Which brings us to...

Immeral Ethanasath:

The character that would become one of my most replayed and AU'd to death (quite literally in most of his games) was a last minute randomly generated lawful evil rogue as a loyal subordinate for my buddy CerberusKnight's Conquest Paladin, Ajexs. Everything from his appearance to his subclass was randomly assigned in a scramble to have the character ready for a D&D one-shot. I had so much fun playing him I put him in a longform campaign to determine his origin story. Then COVID absolutely bodied me in mid 2020 and left me with less than stellar focus or creative function. I stopped playing spellcasters altogether because I couldn't keep up with the complexity and found it hard to create even new martial classes that didnt feel like cardboard cutouts. So I played Immi again. And again.

As for how he got his nickname, English is not CerberusKnight's first language and he had a lot of trouble pronouncing Immeral, often adding a 'd' to the end and accidentally calling him 'Immerald'. So we made it canon that Immeral loves nicknames because Common is also not his first language, so he told the paladin Ajexs that he could just call him 'Immi' as long as Ajexs let him call him 'A.J.' in return.

So of course, you can see where once I imported him to a 'human' setting, 'Immeral' naturally became 'Emerald'. I've only just recently gotten into a place of recovery where I can create new characters again, but I've been playing iterations of this disaster since 2019 and he holds a special place in my heart.

And as far as I know, the name means absolutely nothing and in canon, Immi picked it out himself when he hit a century old, aka elf adulthood.

Javier Andres Peña:

Emmy remembers the little message he found once he was awake again. Scrawled on a sticky note and left stuck to his cracked phone screen: Don’t walk home by yourself anymore, okay? —Javier

Javier, the Spanish derivative of Xavier, means 'new house'. Andres is a derivative of Andrew, meaning 'manly' or 'warrior' (hilarious, considering this man is the walking personification of toxic masculinity). Peña originates from 'de la Peña' or 'by the cliffside' or 'by the rocks'

I can't take the credit for this one. Javier started as a backstory character for Emerald (the one responsibly for Emmy's turning, specifically) created by that game's Storyteller. However, the original version of that game flopped horribly and I left it after being treated quite poorly by the storyteller and one of their players. Myself and two other folks from the game liked our character interactions so much we decided to split off and keep running the game, set in a new city. And of course, Emerald ended up reaching out to his renegade ex to escape one court and arrive safely half a country away.

Javier's role ended up being upgraded from a backstory character to a proper NPC by @zeeseal, but while sorting out Javier and Emerald's history, Javier ended up becoming our shared brainchild. Our beautiful disaster son. And of course, Emmy endearingly refers to him as 'Javi'.

I finally got a chance to play Javier as a true PC when I was invited to a game set in 1982 Melbourne Australia, as Javier's backstory included being turned in the 1980s and it seemed fun to explore what he was like before he became jaded with his new lot in unlife as an eternal 20something. I often poke @zeeseal for her input on how our terrible terrible son would react to certain things for the first time and the game has been a blast so far. Especially being American and playing an American character stuck with no home and no money in Australia with other Australian players/PCs and Storyteller.

As for tags, I'm sniping @bludoods, @whispering-jabberwocky @mayaminamoto, @sayonaramidnight, @raceofhearts and @ichithecupcake.

(And anyone else who wants to do it)

[longshotte]

Code Geass: Arthur on the Misty Streets preview novel English translation (Genesic Re;CODE)

Code Geass: Arthur on the Misty Streets

霧京のアーサー

Written by Kouhei Azano

Translated by Longshotte

Case 1: A Scandal Most Demonic, Scene 2

222B, Baker Street.

That is Conan’s current residence. As the north-south main street, Baker Street runs through the heart of London’s West End, with 222 overlooking it.

Opening the front door and ascending the stairs, Conan’s bedroom is located on the third floor of the building. The sitting room, dining room as well as his flatmate’s bedroom are all on the second floor.

Opening the door from the hallway, Conan entered into the sitting room.

“Ah, welcome back.”

“…Spare me the pleasantries.”

Lounging in the room was a girl, wearing an oversized shirt under suspenders that held up her trousers. She tosses her newsie cap into the centre of the table as her jacket hangs from the back of her seat. Her boyish fashion sense is supported by her hair as well, which is cut into a shoulder-length bob. At 18 years old, she’s only three years the junior of Conan, yet the appearances of the two betray that close gap. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her spirited eyes were fixed on him.

“Listen, Miss Hudson, no unmarried woman, no matter whether she is the landlady’s granddaughter or not, should be barging into a bachelor’s flat as often as you do.”

“Oh please, use my first name for once! Say it with me; M-a-r-y! If you keep just calling me Hudson, someone’s eventually going to end up getting confused.”

“…Again, you must stop acting so chummy like this.”

“You’re really still hung up on that? Why do you even care so much?”

“I am your elder. That is reason enough to care,” Conan replied with a sour look as he turned to hang his coat on the rack.

The spacious, aged sitting room was beautiful, and from a glance was obviously too much for a single working student in all aspects. Beneath the round table surrounded by a set of four chairs lay a faded carpet. In the middle of the room is a fireplace, along with two armchairs in front of it. Elsewhere is a couch large enough to nap on and two desks, one for writing and another for working. In addition to the furniture, bookshelves and cupboards of various sizes fill the empty space along the walls. Everything, seemingly, meticulously cleaned, arranged and orderly, just as Conan wanted.

However, if one were to look closely, they would quickly notice small bits chaotically tampered with across the room. Certain documents and files about to spill from their shelves. Distorted bits of scrap metal whose use was anyone’s guess, lined up together in a row, alongside junk that had clear uses, yet none of the ones that come to mind would explain why it would be laid out here. In especially poor condition is the work desk, which is stained with oil and scorch marks. Crumpled blueprints, copper wires, more metal bits, as well as various bolts, nuts and screws were strewn about.  Accompanying them, different tools like wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, as well as rulers, compasses, and even beakers filled with chemicals were set down haphazardly on the desk. In front of the desk was a scribbled note, pinned to the wall by way of a knife.

And, finally, there was the fact that the previously mentioned fireplace had been entirely ‘remodelled.’ As it burned, a low hum came from it. The mantelpiece was lined by polished gauges, with cords and pipes running through it like veins and vessels. These connected not only to the hearth, but to all manner of machines throughout the sitting room.

This all is the chaos that Conan’s flatmate leaves in his wake, as naturally as he breathes.

“…So, what of Arthur?” Conan then asked Mary.

In that moment between question and answer, from another door—the one that led to his flatmate’s room—

—Krakk!

It was a sound akin to something bursting.

Someone unversed with occurrences like this would have believed a pistol had been fired into the wall. While Conan hadn’t an idea of what exactly the cause of the noise was, what he did know was that it wasn’t uncommon for such a thing to come from the other room. He simply took this to be evidence of him being at work in his room.

“…The same as usual, then, I take it?” Conan took a seat within the chair closest to him with a sigh, tossing the newspaper in his hand onto the table.

Mary, noticing the paper, let out an “Ah!”, her lenses flashing against the light as she sat up.

Conan, realising his mistake, gave a pained frown.

“That article—! Hah, I knew you were looking into this, Conan!”

“Again with that familiarity—that besides, I simply had it because a fellow at university handed it to me.”

“But still, that means you at least—”

“—Not I, my colleague—”

“—Oh, come on, I know none of your other friends care about this ‘Jack the Knightmare’ and their antics,” Mary says, leaning over the table, smugly puffing up.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have to take an interest in this if our so-called renowned detective could bother solving it! That damnable Arthur Holmes!” Conan meets his gaze with Mary’s, whose eyes now have a burning vigour in them. Breaking from the stare of the landlady’s granddaughter, he glances back at the newspaper on the table.

‘Jack the Knightmare.’ The name given to the killer that currently stalks the streets of London. The found victims have been a variety of ages and genders, have no relation or contact with each other, and have no consistent times of death. Sometimes there is only one murder, and others there will be three bodies found in one night. No connection can be found between the locations they happen in, other than being within London and its suburbs. Therefore, they are classified as indiscriminate murders, with no known commonality in targets.

Yet, despite the victims having no links, the crimes themselves had several common aspects. Firstly, most of the murders are perpetrated during the night. Secondly, a knife is always instrumental in the killings. Finally, a mask is always found at the scene of the crime. It is for this reason that the killer is believed either to be the same person or a group working in tandem. As such, they have been given the common title of ‘Jack the Knightmare’ for their nightmarish acts. A truly bizarre criminal who has gripped gossip-loving Londoners with both fear and curiosity. And, of course, the tabloids were quick to pick up on this story.

“You know, we’ve been getting a lot of letters writing about it recently at the Strand. The editor-in-chief has been nagging me for days to get Arthur’s comment on what he’s gonna do about it. What in the world has he been up to!?” young Mary Hudson, reporter for Strand News, questioned. As the daughter of their landlady, she regularly takes advantage of her unique position to gather stories for her ‘Detective Column,’ which has since become incredibly popular.

“I can just tell you his comments myself, then. He’d either say ‘I’m not interested’ or ‘It’s a job for the bobbies.’”

“I can’t use that! I need something inspiring! Something befitting of a heroic detective!”

“Then I’m afraid you’re looking for something we can’t offer.”

“Still, I need to try! It’s what a reporter is supposed to look for!”

“A journalist is supposed to print the truth, not empty platitudes.”

Mary simply adjusted her glasses with a snicker at Conan’s frankness, not letting him get to her sentimentalist attitude. Correcting her was a fool’s errand.

The victim of the latest case was a young woman. The newspapers were all eager to report on her death, no doubt in part due to her good looks, as well as that her body was found near Primrose Hill. While nearby an upscale residential area, the fact that it has been the stage for murders and duels previously in the past has stirred the papers to gather any information about the incident that they can.

And—

—Krakk!

The sound echoed from the next room once more, and was now cascading. 

Brrr-ba-bum-ba-bzzzz.

Conan and Mary looked to each other, neither saying a word, and both with a face that told them that neither wanted to be the one to check on him.

And then, breaking that moment of anticipation,

—Krakooom!

A loud explosion broke through the air of the room, shaking the entirety of 222B, Baker Street. Conan and Mary both reflexively clung to the chairs they were in.

“Okay, isn’t this a bit much, Conan!?”

“Argh, that damn dimwit is too smart for his own good!” With the explosion still ringing, Conan rises from his chair and toward the door leading to the adjoining room.

But, no sooner had Conan reached for the knob than the door swung open from the other side, as if it was lying in wait.

And thus entered the dubious man himself. Wearing round, black lensed goggles, an apron outfitted with bulging and overflowing pockets, and leather gloves protecting both his hands. In his right hand he carries a curious metallic rod, and in his left a strange metal box, connected to the rod via a cord. Though they couldn’t see his eyes through the tinted lenses, his wide, satisfactory grin was plainly visible across his face.

“I’ve done it! My latest project!” he declared emphatically, stepping further into the sitting room.

As he slammed the rod and box down on the table, Mary quickly snatched up her cap.

Peeling away his goggles, he says, “This is a masterwork, if I dare to say myself. Go ahead, look for yourselves!” The young man—Conan’s flatmate, Arthur Holmes—had the same proud look a child would have showing off the favourite insect he had found.

“…How magnanimous of you to say after shoving it into our faces…” Conan says, faintly disgusted. “So what manner of device is it this time? From the explosion a moment ago, it seems even more dangerous than your usual fare.”

“‘Dangerous’? Perish the thought! As long you are acquainted with the controls, it is as safe as can be! Amusing to think how important safety and control is to a weapon, isn’t it?”

“‘Weapon’!?” Unease washes over the pair who were waiting. Out of the corner of his eye, Conan barely notices Mary silently backing away from the table.

“Quite so. What I’ve invented here is an electrified sword, in a sense. The box here is the power source, and the body of the blade acts as the electrode. The voltage it generates is enough to send a painful shock through anyone who so dares to touch the blade!”

“Fine, we understand how it's used now, but what I am asking is why you made it in the first place!”

“I’ve decided to dub it the ‘Electric Sword’, or ‘E-Sword’ for short. However, this is still in the prototype phase, my next step is to miniaturise the power supply and integrate it into the rod itse—”

“Don’t simply dance past my question!”

When Conan raises his voice to cut him off, Arthur simply lets out an “Ah,” and raises his eyebrow, looking a bit bored. “I had no particular reasoning behind this invention, or any of them, really. An invention is an idea, and an idea is akin to a revelation gifted by our insatiable appetites for knowledge. To seek meaning behind a revelation is nonsense, Conan.”

“That is to say you essentially made everything up as you went.”

“And let me repeat myself, it is not at all dangerous! In fact, it’s even less deadly than a normal blade. It would be quite difficult to die from it.”

“‘Difficult to die from it’… How encouraging. —Hold on now, why are you pointing it at me? And what was that switching noise I just heard!?”

“It would be faster to demonstrate than to explain, wouldn’t it?”

“Demonstrate it on yourself, then! And now it’s sparking! The sparks are flying all over! In which world do you consider this as safe!?”

“Oh, calm yourself. As long as the voltage is low enough, you’ll be fine— Well, that’s odd…”

“‘Odd’!?

“Wait, Arthur! Let me get my camera ready—”

“Mary, this is no time for you to play reporter!”

Conan and Arthur were locked across from each other, the table between them. As they squared off, Mary took out her folding camera, one of the latest designs made in the Britannian mainland.

Then, a knock came at the door.

“Mr. Holmes, are you there? There’s a visitor here looking to speak with you about the ‘Jack the Knightmare’ case,” the voice through the door says.

Hearing this, the three look at each other.

~To Be Continued~

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser​ for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime. 

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now. 

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life. 

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face. 

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself. 

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.  

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman. 

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found. 

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place. 

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody. 

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang: 

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance. 

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides. 

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep. 

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark. 

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover. 

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did. 

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly. 

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion. 

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

[pedros-mustache]

Wait... WAIT okay hold on w a I t. Can you just imagine.... I’m back on this yoga!Din shit (who am I kidding, I never left), so imagine this is sometimes after their first, shall we say, interaction. Imagine—

Another man comes into the class for the first time since Din’s started taking it. Some other guy struts in, and of course— because it’s her job— the yoga instructor puts her hands on him and adjusts him and touches him, and Din knows— rationally— he knows he shouldn’t be jealous; it shouldn’t make him angry, but it fucking does. He’s simmering under his skin as she trails her hand across this other man’s wrist, like how she’s done to him—he can almost feel the ache of it on his own— how she coos pretty nothings into his ear. This asshole even has the audacity to make her laugh. He’s rolling up his mat and is saying something that must be goddamn hilarious and makes her laugh— and fuck, what a sound it is— And AND AND can we just imagine... how he fucks her after. The raw possessiveness of it. Fucking her into the mirrored wall and making her beg for him. I just I’m sorry I gotta go bye- can u please elaborate THANKS THANK YOU

anyway, here we go. this is part of the yoga!din world that erikka has dragged me into kicking and screaming. find the other thoughts under the yoga!din tag on both our blogs! we are straying into plot with these so beware of us both

warnings for: slight degradation, jealous!din out the whazoo, slight dom!din too i guess idek (18+ only get out of my house)

he’s slow to approach after class ends. 

he always bides his time, tries to catch a few minutes with her before her next class bustles in, perfectly coiffed and bedecked in pearls like they aren’t about to spend the next hour with their asses in the air. it’s in those few moments—those precious few moments—that he tries, really fucking tries, to make a good impression. since the first time he fucked her on this floor, he’s wanted her—wanted her pussy, yes, but now it’s more.

now, din just wants her.

he thinks the guy hanging back at the front of the classroom is named ralph. maybe rob. din wasn’t really listening when she introduced the new addition to the five-fifteen beginners yoga class. he was too focused on not going crosseyed with a sick, possessive rage. 

the entire class he watched her. like a fucking hawk intent on its prey, he watched her. which, on its face, is not altogether different from any other night. he watches her so he can transition from pose to pose without falling over; he watches her so he can lift or stretch a limb without throwing out his back. she’s his teacher, first and foremost, and the yoga has helped soothe his irritated muscles and the consistent roiling pit of anger in his stomach. 

but he also watches her because she’s glamorous, cheeky, downright fuckable. she know it, too; he’s sure of that now. she knows how good her ass looks in those tights, and she knows that if she bends forward just so he gets a full glimpse down the front of her tank-top. he knows that she hovers her hand over the dip in his spine for a reason. sometimes—most of the time—she doesn’t even touch him, but it’s just the heat of her palm hanging over his body that makes his face screw up tight and his mind falter in concentration. 

three times he’s had her sprawled out beneath him, that effortlessly smug look on her face replaced by the perfect circle of her mouth when she hits her peak. she may be in control for the sixty minutes of class, but the moment she turns, slick water bottle in hand, cocking her head slightly, eyes gleaming with want, he’s the one in charge. she knows that, too.

tonight, din watches from the back of the room while ralph—rob?—new guy takes his time. his fingers make firm indents in the soft, squishiness of his mat. they’re laughing—probably about something stupid, something din doesn’t understand, like seven dollar smoothies that taste like grass. his jaw hardens when she leans in and touches new guy’s elbow. 

there’s part of din that thinks she could simply be urging new guy to the door. her next class starts in fifteen minutes, and the old biddies like to be early. the other irrational, totally consuming side of din thinks she’s doing this on purpose. always playing a fucking game.

he stands from his crouch and shoves the sweaty mat under his arm. he’s not in the mood, not tonight. his bare feet slap on the polished floor, and he watches his shoulders expand in the reflection of the mirror.

“can i talk to you?” 

new guy’s head snaps to the side at the sound of din’s hard, unyielding voice. he’s shorter than din, not by much, but enough that his eyes have to tilt upwards. 

new guy huffs. he glances at her then back at din. he pushes away from the wall where he’s been leaning the last five minutes, nonchalant, greedy. “we were just—”

she glances at the clock hanging over the door, tilting on one foot nearer din. he can smell the sweat clinging to the back of her neck. “actually, chris, i need to freshen up before my next class.” with all the grace of a royal, she touches new guy’s arm, offers him a dazzling smile that leaves din’s lungs struggling for breath. “you understand? i’ll see you next week.”

chris (nowhere near close to rob) nods and hoists his tote bag over his shoulder. his gaze slides to din. his eyes narrow—slightly, but enough for din to notice. din notices everything.

“see you next week, man.” chris slaps din’s shoulder, his bravado clearly failing in the charged energy bouncing between din and her. he tries, though; that has to count for something, and din is never one to snort at resilience in the face of defeat.

chris leaves. the door shuts with a soft click behind him. din turns to her, but she speaks first.

“i wasn’t lying, din. i gotta freshen up.”

“okay, i’ll come with you.”

she arches a brow, bent at the waist to pick up a hand-towel from the floor. “i wasn’t really inviting you.”

“i wasn’t really looking for your invitation.”

her chest lifts on a hard inhale. the curve of her bra—dark blue—peeks out from beneath her gray tank-top. he blinks, holding her stare.

with a hard swallow, she turns on her heel and opens the studio door. it’s cool in the hallway, so unlike the cloistered air of the studio after ten bodies have huffed and puffed in awkward positions for an hour. the air-conditioning almost chills din’s hot blood, but when she turns, gives a wave to chris, hovering by the front desk, he nearly melts on spot, blood gone to lava. 

he grabs her elbow and squeezes. “get in the bathroom.”

down the hall, past the main office, empty now. past the small kitchenette; the light above the sink flickers. the single bathroom at the end of the dark hall. she turns the knob, slowly, slowly, always a fucking game.

impatient, din smacks his fist against the weak door. it swings open on a whine, and she falls inside when he nudges the small of her back with his opposite hand.

“din, my class—” 

he shuts the door, locks it, flicks on the light. god, this place is a wreck. all the court would pay for, considering. cracked coral tile covers the floor and half the walls. the single light fixture barely illuminates the room. a small basket of toiletries on the back of the commode do little to take away from the twenty years of grime clinging to every surface. 

din doesn’t care. this place—it brought him to her.

still, he’s vibrating with something unnameable. he wants her—badly. his cock is hard already, straining against his basketball shorts. but it’s more than that. he doesn’t want her touching new guy or any guy that’s not him. her touches, her smiles, her laughter—it’s his. he wants it to be his.

but he can’t very well tell her that. not with his past.

“i don’t care about your class.” it’s the honest to god truth. he doesn’t care, not tonight. “come ‘ere.” 

taking her elbow in hand once more, he pulls her back from the center of the room and twists. her back thumps against the door, the door itself loose in the frame, and he looks up. that could prove a problem. he might be a jackass, but he knows her: she’s private about this. the old ladies in the hall don’t need to hear how hard she moans when she creams on his cock.

he meets her eyes, sees the ever-present challenge there, and it snaps his resolve in half. always a fucking game. he’s tired of the game tonight.

with one hand grasping her elbow, pinning her to the door, he slides his palm down the front of her leggings with little preamble. his fingers are long. he finds the apex of her cunt with ease, and he slips one finger through her folds. he glances down.

“shit, you’re wet.” he swirls his middle finger through the juices coating her pussy. so fucking sticky. “did he do this to you?”

she lifts her head from the door, eyes hazy with desire now. the challenge is gone. “what?” her breathy voice, so similar to the tone she uses in class, used now because his finger is knuckle-deep in her cunt makes his cock throb.

“i said: did he do this to you? did he make this fucking wet?” withdrawing his finger, there’s a squelch, and she bites the inside of her cheek, chest flushed in shame. din replaces the single finger with two.

“who? ch-chris?” 

din scissors his fingers. she stifles a moan with her bottom lip and grabs his shoulder. “don’t say his name.”

“i—holy shit...” her head drops forward when his thumb circles her clit, his fingers pumping in and out and in and out at a leisurely pace.  

removing the hand clutching her elbow, din frames her face with his palm, thumb on one side of her jaw, pointer finger on the other. he holds firm. “i asked you a question: who made you this wet? you sound like a fucking whore, feel like one too.”

“it wasn’t...” she shakes her head as her hips begin to grind down, down, down against his fingers. “wasn’t him.”

“then who?”

“you,” she gasps. “oh fuck, right there.” 

din stills, drops his hand from her face, straightens his spine. he slides his hand from her warmth and stares at her, dumb, mute, ears ringing. “what?”

it’s her turn to be pissed. she frowns, squirming against the door. “why did you stop? i was gonna—”

“what did you say?”

maybe it’s something in his tone, or something on his face, but her expression clears, and she stops writhing. she tilts her head in earnest then says, “it was you, din. i’m—fuck, i’m always wet around you.”

he blinks.

“you make me so hot and bothered. it’s completely unprofessional, but, shit, you always—” she shakes her head, and a lock of hair falls in front of her her eyes. he resists the urge to tuck it behind her ear. “i can practically feel you stripping me with your eyes all class, and it should piss me off, but it makes me so fucking wet.”

“i thought you—” he snaps his mouth shut, unsure of where the sentence might lead. 

for a simple moment, a long moment, he stares at her. she stares at him. in the hallway, he can hear her next class shuffling about, making tea in the kitchenette, gossiping and chattering like old crows. 

he grabs a fistful of her tank top and yanks her forward. she doesn’t have time to gasp before he’s swallowing her surprise with his mouth. her hands fumble on his shoulders, his hips, the waistband of his shorts.

“don’t have long,” he huffs.

“it’s enough.” she pushes his shorts down as he wiggles the tight band of her leggings over her ass.

his tongue smoothes over hers, gentle and soft, as he lifts from beneath her ass and pushes her back against the wall. he kisses her as deeply as he can, says everything he can with his lips. he hopes she understands.

when she wraps her manicured fingers around his cock, he almost shatters. he mouths over her jaw, down her neck, sucking on her pulse point.

“be quick,” she whispers, lining the leaking head of him at her entrance. 

tonight, he won’t have a problem with that.

face hidden in the crook of her neck, he slides to the hilt of her in one easy thrust. she threads one hand through his hair, grips the thick strap of his own tank with her other hand. her legs lock around his back.

“so fucking tight,” he mutters. 

“fuck, din.” 

he drags his cock out before slamming it back in her pussy. her back thumps against the wall, her cunt gives another wet squelch, din sees stars. 

it’s a quick tumble. din hardly removes his cock after that initial thrust. short, snappy thrusts, his pubic bone brushing against her sensitive clit. she clenches down hard on his length, her breasts bouncing against his chest as she holds onto his shoulders for support. she’s gasping, whining in his ear. he’s talking, unaware of his own words.

“hate when you play that game, girl. your mine. this pussy is mine.” he grinds his cock upwards, and a sliver of a moan falls from behind her lips. “you know that right? say it. say you know it.”

she nods, and when he squeezes her hips, she breathes out a hurried, “i know it.”

“shit fuck, you are tight.”

“for you, baby. just for you.”

din cums. he would be embarrassed, but the orgasm rips through him like a shockwave, quick and devastating. he bites down on her shoulder to keep from crying out. she removes the hand gripping the curls at the base of his neck and finds her clit, rubbing frantic circles over the swollen bud until she too must bite her tongue to hide any evidence of her pleasure. din’s cock stirs when the warmth of her cum gushes around his length.

she laughs at that, smooths sweaty hair away from his forehead. “no time.”

din wants to kiss her, but he doesn’t. he only kisses her when they find another after class, desperate for a quick fuck. his window has closed, but his lips tingle with desire.

they’re quiet as they return their clothes to rights. she runs a paper towel under the sink, smoothes it over the inside of her thighs and the outer-shell of her pussy. she catches him staring in the reflection of the faded mirror.

“they may be old, but i know they know what cum smells like.”

din huffs.

they walk side-by-side to the door of the studio. the clock hanging at the opposite end of the office reads near seven. she’s late, but only just.

at the door of the studio, she turns. her mouth opens; he leans forward, heart hammering in his chest. someone inside calls her name when she cracks the door open, half-inside, half-protected by his bulk, his warmth.

she looks over her shoulder at the sound, and the look on her face—that vulnerable look, the one he’s never seen before—fades. “see you next week?”

din nods. “yeah...” a lump rises in his throat. “next week.”

[ggukkiedae]

❝𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕦𝕡❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ hannah meets up with one of her close friends to catch up; alternatively: the fox and the quokka meet again

⇢ set in mid april 2021

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. feedback is highly appreciated!

Hannah shook her head fondly as she watched Yoonmi race down the hall towards the recording studio frequently seen on vlive. She and Yeonjun exchanged amused looks as the young girl excitedly entered the room, yelling the name of her older brother.

“Come on,” Yeonjun placed a hand on her back and sped their pace up, “or else Chan hyung’s gonna use us not being there as an excuse to stay longer.”

She scoffed at that, following Yeonjun regardless. “Please, he’d drop everything for Yoonmi anytime, and you know that.”

Yeonjun’s laugh was the only response she got as they entered the studio. The door opened immediately as they arrived in front of it, revealing Yoonmi dragging a chuckling Chan away to probably her manager’s car.

“Looks like they’ll be gone for a while,” Changbin laughed from the inside before nodding at her with a smile and turning to Yeonjun. “Let’s go before Wooyoung and Haknyeon decide to make us pay for being late.”

Yeonjun nodded and stepped out with Changbin, ruffling her hair on his way out. “See you in a bit, Hannah.

She glared at him a little before turning towards her friend who remained cleaning up the studio. They haven’t been able to see each other since their promotions overlapped. Or since the award shows, actually. “Hey, quokka.”

“Miss foxy,” Jisung playfully bowed at her before continuing to gather up his stuff, “long time no see. You hungry?”

“Always,” she playfully rolled her eyes at him, “or have you forgotten already?”

“Not when you and Yongbok have been constantly sending each other desserts. No cookies recently?”

“Yoonmi makes the best cookies, and she always sends some over to Chan hyung for you guys. Felix told me.”

The betrayed look he had on his face when he realized this made her laugh. It dawned on her that, though Chan may have told Felix to let the others get some cookies whenever they want, Felix must have kept it a secret. He loved Yoonmi’s cookies, so it was no surprise.

“He never told us!”

“Come on, let’s go eat.”

The two friends found themselves in the JYP cafeteria, food paid for with Jisung’s credits. He had a whole set of food in his tray, which was quite a drastic difference from her single bowl of salad. He frowned when he saw her tray.

“Just a salad?”

She shrugged. “We’re in the middle of promotions, so I’m dieting.”

“Nope,” he placed a plate of pasta on her tray and some extra side dishes, “your boyfriend and members are gonna kill me if I don’t feed you. Our food’s all organic, anyway. It’ll be fine. We’re sharing side dishes, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes but followed him to an empty table. They settled across from each other and began digging in. The conversation carried smoothly, as if they didn’t have a solid four or four months of not seeing each other. It switched from the food to normal catching up to preparations.

“Your comeback’s really good, by the way,” Jisung noted. “I listened to the whole album. Really good. You worked on lyrics, too!”

“Just a bit,” her tone was humble as she moved the salad around on her plate. “I thought it was fitting since it’s our first full album, so I did my best. Sorry for bothering you for help, by the way. I know you’re pretty busy with Kingdom.”

“Please,” he shook his head, “I needed the distraction. We were so caught up on preparing for the show, so I needed to forget it just a little.”

“How are you guys, by the way? I’ve seen your past few performances.” A teasing smirk made its way up to her face while she looked up from her food to meet his eyes. “I liked your cover of I’ll Be Your Man. Very impressive high notes there, mister main rapper. Very desperate.”

Jisung snorted and tossed a little sausage from their side dishes onto her plate. “Shut up, you know the performance is supposed to seem desperate.”

“What’s coming up? The collaboration stage, right?” She took a moment to recall the last episode’s ending. “It’s a shame that you guys aren’t working with The Boyz. You, Eric, and Sunwoo rapping together would have been cool.”

“You’re friends with Sunwoo?”

“We’ve met, but you already know I talk to English line the most.” She jolted up straight upon remembering something, startling Jisung into hitting his leg against the table. The boy curled in on himself a little, making her laugh. “Sorry about that. Did you hear? Changmin oppa invited me to co-host your sports day!”

That was the reason why she had been in a meeting the day before right after their schedules. She didn’t expect that she’d be brought straight to the company right after her schedules with NCT Dream, much less did she expect that she’d be meeting with a few higher ups and some Mnet staff alongside her senior for a cameo.

Jisung raised an eyebrow at her. “What? You’re coming to watch our sports day?”

“Co-host, but yeah.”

“This is gonna be so funny,” he laughed. “You know that, even if you have a boyfriend now, Juyeon hyung has an idol crush on you, right?”

“Stop!” Her hand went to her forehead in embarrassment. “Eric always mentions it whenever we talk, I swear.”

The smirk on her friend’s face sent a chill down her spine. “But there’s also Seonghwa hyung and Chani… Oh my god, man! What is it with you and these older guys, huh?”

“One more word out of your mouth, Han Jisung, and I’m telling Chan oppa that you had a crush on Yoonmi.”

Ah, yes. This short-lived crush her friend had on her other friend which amused her to no end every time he’d talk to her about how Yoonmi’s lyrics hit different, how her on stage persona is captivating, how she’s adorable in BTS content, or how her rap is unmatched by any other girl idols. Jisung, like many other fourth generation idols (and some from third generation) had fallen for the international sweetheart, and she made sure to tease him about it whenever given the chance.

Jisung groaned, “Of course I tease you about other’s having a crush on you, but you can’t tease me about people liking me.”

“Hey, if it means anything,” she began, “I used to like you the slightest bit back in late 2019 when we did those collab stages. Nothing much, it died as soon as it started, so don’t get too cocky.”

The slightly astonished look on her friends face made her remind him that it was a momentary thing rather than a prolonged crush. This, of course, didn’t stop Jisung from poking fun at her.

“Aye, I’m so telling your boyfriend,” Jisung laughed.

She gave him a pointed look. “Nothing is kept a secret in our group, and he’s in the same unit as one of the people most overprotective of me.”

The 00-liner wisely kept his mouth shut, making her laugh. A silence passed between the two before they silently agreed on not speaking about these infatuations ever again. She finished the last of her food before rummaging around her bag and pulling out a small bottle. It was something she didn’t use often, but prefered whenever she didn’t have to promote. Black nail polish.

“I brought this, by the way,” she mentioned as her phone started ringing. “I don’t know why you asked for it, but here you go.”

“Nice,” he took the bottle, “now answer your phone while I finish my food.”

The familiar face on her screen brought a subconscious smile to her face the moment she got her phone out of her pocket. It was her none other than her boyfriend, Liu Yangyang. She chuckled a little before answering the phone.

“Hey, Schnucki. I’m with Hannie right now. Jisung, say hi.”

She brought the phone closer to Jisung’s face, where he awkwardly greeted the boy on the other end of the phone. The awkwardness made her laugh and take it back. Maybe she should have waited until after he swallowed before making him say hi.

“Me again!”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Yangyang asked her with the slightest hint of concern in his voice. “Renjun told me you skipped out on the food your manager got you guys on the way home.”

“Hwang Injun, that snitch.” Her mumbling was easily caught by Jisung who snorted in amusement. She lightly smacked his arm from across the table then went back to her conversation. “I just ate dinner! JYP Entertainment’s special organic food is pretty filling, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” his voice sounded relieved. “How long are you gonna be there? Will you be back too late? You still have an early start tomorrow.”

She chuckled at her boyfriend’s questions. Ever since their jacket shoot, her schedule had been filled with preparations for NCT Dream’s comeback. Yangyang had been texting her good morning everyday without fail and constantly checking up on her to make sure she was still functioning properly somehow. For some reason, she found this endearing about him. He usually wouldn’t seem like that type of boyfriend, but he is.

“I’ll be here until Yoonmi finishes shopping for her future nephew and Yeonjun oppa comes back from dinner with the 99s. Hannie’s taking care of me, don’t worry.”

Jisung’s scoff from across the table made her send him a pointed look.

“Could you put me on speaker?”

“Hold on.”

One more warning look was sent towards Jisung as she placed the phone on the table. Jisung looked at her curiously before turning towards the phone.

“Yangyang?” he called out cautiously.

“Hi, Han,” Yangyang greeted. “I know we only spoke a few times, but I hope it’s not too much to ask to take care if Hannah?”

“No problem, bro,” the Stray Kids member nodded despite the fact that the WayV boy couldn’t see him. “We’ll just be here in the company, there’s a bunch of places to lounge in and a lot of food.”

There was a laugh from the other end of the phone. “Thanks for taking care of my pet fox.”

“Excuse me,” she interjected, making the two boys laugh, “I will sheer your hair off your head, you sheep.”

“Kidding! Anyway, Han, you’re Hannah’s friend, so I’m trusting her with you. As a friend, right?”

Jisung chuckled. “Of course. No need to worry.”

Hannah snatched up her phone and turned speaker off before the conversation could get any longer. “Is that it?”

“I’m at the dreamie dorm right now, so I’m expecting cuddles when you get back.”

A slight chuckle escaped her lips as she playfully rolled her eyes. “As long as you’re out of the dorms by 1:30am at the latest, okay?”

“Of course, babe.” The wink was evident in his voice, she didn’t even need to see him to know he did. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“See you later, Schnucki.”

With that, she hung up her phone and looked up to find Jisung looking at her with a teasing smile. “What?”

“You’re so whipped,” he drew out. “Honestly! The smile on your face says it all. It’s different from when you’re talking to your members or your other friends.”

“My smile?”

Looking back on it, Jeno did mention that there was something different in the way she looked at Yangyang. Donghyuck mentioned it as well while jokingly whining about her not giving him as sweet of a smile. Even Yoonmi told her that she sometimes catches Mark smiling at her the way Hannah smiles at Yangyang. Was it really that noticeable?

With a shake of her head, she picked up the black nail polish bottle once again. “What do you want to do with this?”

“Could you paint my nails?”

[tossawary]

Chapter 26 “ What You Want” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Oh, this got so long, though. I was like, “An opportunity to wax poetic about Moshang dynamics and characterization? An opportunity to talk about why my interpretations of Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are Like That? SIGN ME UP.” 

-

【Beginning next mission stage.】

【Death of the Author - Part 2: The Secret Basement of Shang Qinghua.】  

【Mission objective: place the Weeper’s Eye on the pedestal.】

Shang Qinghua slowly sits up on his sofa. He stares at the pop-up window for however long it takes his brain to roll over completely.

“I don’t have a fucking basement?” he says finally.

- 

AN: I have been waiting to use “I don’t have a fucking basement?” for months. Also, it’s been years for him, so Shang Qinghua is a little oblivious, BUT I would like to point readers all the way back to some paragraphs from Chapter 2. 

Excerpt from Chapter 2: “A Horseshoe Nail”:  

Shang Qinghua considers the point loss. What are his excuses character motivations here? Why is his unmerciful System not completely skewering him for this?

He is the servant of a demon lord, Mobei-Jun, the future Northern King, so he has a greater investment than most cultivators in the future of the Demon Realm, so it’s not unreasonable for him to seek out any bastards of Tianlang-Jun without handing the demon baby over to a righteous sect. He’s also a Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, so it’s not unreasonable for him to be interested in any rumors of the whereabouts of Su Xiyan or what happened to her, for political leverage or whatever. The character of Shang Qinghua originally was and still is a spy - on top of being a shameless coward willing to cling to anyone’s thighs and then stab them in the back, in order to stay alive or advance himself.

There are plenty of magical artifacts in this world that might give a power-grubbing weakling like Shang Qinghua an insight into the future. As Peak Lord of An Ding, Shang Qinghua is, in fact, in a pretty good place to get his greedy hands on one of these magical artifacts. Isn’t that what a good spy and overall ambitious snake would do?

 Especially a spy serving a demon lord extremely likely to get fed up with him and kill him at some point? While also serving a righteous cultivation sect extremely likely to execute him for eventually betraying them? Of course Shang Qinghua would obviously want to know how to save his own ass from these ticking time-bombs! And how better to save his own ass than shamelessly clinging to the golden thighs of the protagonist, who will one day conquer every other demon lord and all righteous sects?

Following Luo Binghe means being on the endgame winning team!

Shang Qinghua looks over the pop-up window’s numbers over again, in regards to the loss of points. True, how exactly he tracked down Su Xiyan’s half-demon baby when the Huan Hua Palace Master failed is a bit of a plot-hole, but the rest can be easily explained away with a bit of creativity!

Oh, the rest of the cultivation world didn’t know Su Xiyan was pregnant? Well, Shang Qinghua is a slimy, sneaky spy, who would of course guess that a female cultivator might suddenly disappear like that for months-on-end due to a secret pregnancy! And given that Su Xiyan’s reputation had been linked to a passionately self-destructive Tianlang-Jun… Okay, he can feel the anti-fan rage at that mildly sexist line of thinking, but it stands! It stands!

Now, Shang Qinghua just has to… actually decide… whether or not he wants to take the point loss, in order to save the life of his protagonist son’s adoptive mother, Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua, my darling fool of an Author God, your System is listening to the things you say and think. 

I have been WORKING here to foreshadow where I’m going with this story. I’m pretty sure that every single endgame plot point has shown up and is now in play in PINTWILF. Shang Qinghua, due to situational awareness, is dealing with too much in-world shit to narrow things down easily, but it’s all there! It will hopefully not seem as though I’m pulling things out of nowhere in the next and final part (Part 4) of this fic. 

-

“This makes me look crazy, bro,” Shang Qinghua  complains to the System. “It really does. I already have to be careful about talking to the secret, world-controlling system that lives in my head and this? This is not making me look any more stable! Where did this come from? Where the fuck did I even get it?! ”

Oh, things are coming together in Shang Qinghua’s head and he doesn’t know if he really likes the picture. On one hand, it’s always nice to actually have someone or something to blame for things beyond the fucking System. On the other hand, he really doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to sleep at night with a full-length, polished silver mirror with an ornate golden frame under his house. 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua, have you noticed that you’ve stopped losing points for continuity errors and plot holes? Shang Qinghua, you know that the people in your life have noticed that you know too much. They’ve just decided not to question you about it because you always look like you’re going to faint when they do, then you laugh and change the subject. 

But now Shen Qingqiu is on to you and he’s not so easy to shake. 

(Plus Shen Yuan! They’re terriers, SQH!) 

- 

He turns away from the mirror, only for a second System window to pop up in front of him. Only… the design of this one is different. Familiar, though! It takes Shang Qinghua a second to place it as Peerless Cucumber- as Shen Yuan’s Transmigration System.

 【 Users cannot be injured, killed, or trapped inside the looking-glass! The user will not be able to touch or be touched by anything inside the looking-glass! The user will be returned from the looking-glass within thirty minutes, unharmed! A substantial point reward is attached to this bonus mission. 】

“Right,” Shang Qinghua says.

This second pop-up window then shifts colors and is ruthlessly closed before his eyes. Ah, wow, Shang Qinghua kind of feels like he just saw someone get murdered here.

“...How many points?” he asks finally, reluctantly curious.

- 

AN: Having the Systems fight is so much fun. My setup here in PINTWILF has it so that there’s a main Worldbuilding System that does its best to maintain the world, then each transmigrator has their own personal Transmigration System managing their case. 

This is so the Worldbuilding System can maintain the world without the presence of transmigrators, and so the personal Systems can potentially follow their transmigrators into another world. All the Systems interact with each other in order to try to manage things and there are... issues.  

Look, the thing about simulated (or managed) realities for me is... someone coded the thing (or did some equivalent of coding the thing), and whether or not this thing in question is the world or just the System, if there are multiple entities trying to manage things, there’s going to be fuck-ups. You can’t have two cooks in the kitchen without points where the two cooks get in each other’s way at least a little bit. If there are multiple Systems, then you’re going to have friction, and that friction can be funny. 

Inspired by me trying to run two heavy art programs on my computer at once and being like, “Oh, boy, please don’t burst into flames while duking it out in there. Oh, man, you two were NOT made to operate together, huh?” 

- 

He knows he’s right when he walks away from some kind of important-looking procession, stepping into the next room at the same time as someone else, who looks directly at him and doesn’t look away. Shang Qinghua freezes in the doorway and doesn’t let himself stare so much as he can’t stop himself.

 “Oh, no,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

There’s a man standing in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, with an ageless youth, but a sharp gaze and no youthful roundness to his features. His curly black hair has been cursorily held back from his face by a golden ornament, but is otherwise loose, and he wears his ornate red and black robes well and correctly, but like a man with a hundred more.

The man flicks a strong hand at the doors behind Shang Qinghua, which slam shut with a bang, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

He smiles unkindly. “Shang-Shishu,” he says, like he’s tasting the title, considering tearing it apart with his teeth. “So it's true. How curious.”

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen this face before, but he’s never seen it like this. The man looks like an emperor. He looks like a god. The red mark of the Heavenly Demons burns like a crown in the middle of his forehead.

Shang Qinghua takes an unwilling step back.

“What are you afraid of?” the original Luo Binghe says, still smiling. “We’re only talking.”

- 

AN: I tried to make this meeting mirror Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe’s first scene in Part 3 of the fic, in which we finally meet the Luo Binghe (Shang Qinghua’s nephew) who is going to interact with the PIDW plot. 

Excerpt from Chapter 18: “The Inevitable Plot”: 

The restaurant is closed when Shang Qinghua lets himself in. The tables in the dining room are still packed up, lit by dim light through shuttered windows, and the only sign of another person are the chopping sounds coming from the brightness of the kitchen. Shang Qinghua stops in the doorway and lets himself stare.

There’s a young teenage boy standing at the counter, thirteen going on fourteen, still not yet near his adult height (taller than Shang Qinghua, a fact he's still not prepared to face), still carrying a youthful roundness to his features. Shang Qinghua has seen him like this a hundred times before: curly black hair tied back, a kerchief covering his head to keep it out of his eyes, a slightly yellowed matching apron neatly tied just the way his mother taught him, and intent on the work in front of him. His hands are quick, the knife sharp and sure, and the movements of food preparation work slide right into each other like he’s done this a thousand times before.

When did the boy get so big? It didn’t happen all at once; it snuck up on them, hiding dastardly in plain sight! Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew barely came up to his waist. Fuck, Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew couldn’t walk. What is this? Who allowed time to pass like this?

Luo Binghe scrapes the chopped vegetables off the board and into the basket beside him, before putting down the knife and turning around. He smiles.

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen that before.

“Uncle,” the protagonist says fondly. “You’re here.”

- 

“Let’s talk,” Luo Binghe calls out, cajoling now. “Stop running and speak to me and perhaps old hurts can be forgiven. All that condonation and betrayal is so far in the past now. This lord can be merciful, Shang Qinghua. Just speak: how many things have you been hiding...?”

- 

AN: This is PIDW Luo Binghe, by the way. 

Once I realized I was going to have a room full of fortune-telling devices, I was like... “Ooh! Bing-Ge scene! I should have a Bing-Ge scene!” Because, like, that’s the curse of SVSSS transmigrator protagonists who trip into caring about Luo Binghe, baby! 

- 

Shang Qinghua takes some deep breaths to calm his poor, weak heart, and nearly falls to the floor anyway! But he catches himself!

And then a large, cold hand wraps around his arm to steady him. It’s the cold that keeps him from lashing out and probably breaking his own hand. Instead, he looks up, heart still pounding in his ears, into the frowning face of Mobei-Jun.

“Oh, you have the worst timing,” Shang Qinghua breathes.

Mobei-Jun’s expression twitches and he lets go.

“No!” Shang Qinghua chases the hand with his own, catching it before the man can get too far. “My king, I’m so glad to see you! Thank you for finally coming! I have so much to say,” he says quickly. “I-”

Before he realizes that he’s essentially holding Mobei-Jun’s hand for no reason now - ah, now that’s something he never would have dared to do like twenty years ago - and carefully drops it. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the panic still racing through his veins. And then promptly realizes that Mobei-Jun is here. The demon lord is here in this secret basement.

- 

AN: Moshang in this fic is... hmmm... a little weird sometimes, because a lot of it has been happening in the background. A lot of it has been unspoken until Shang Qinghua’s breakdown and until now. 

Shang Qinghua isn’t actually as scared of Mobei-Jun in this fic as he is in SVSSS, and I hope that comes across. When he had his breakdown, part of it was fear, but a large part of it was also actually anger. Shang Qinghua was afraid of how the System had changed his life, but he was also angry about this loss of control. Yes, he was terrified of Mobei-Jun because he didn’t know if it was still his Mobei-Jun, which brought lots of old memories and old anger to the surface, in which Shang Qinghua was kind of like, “How dare you think you get to freely touch me after the things you did and never apologized for?” 

BUT the status quo in this world, before the World Update, is one in which Mobei-Jun touches Shang Qinghua’s hip without SQH flinching. It’s one in which SQH and MBJ drink and relax together. It’s one in which SQH isn’t afraid to reach out and grab MBJ’s hand, because he misses MBJ. 

They’re so close, they just need to actually talk it out. 

- 

Shang Qinghua glances at the ladder and the open hole in the floor. “Ah, my king, did you… climb down here looking for me?”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun answers, looking around with sharp eyes. He doesn’t seem to be very impressed with what he’s seeing. “...What is this place?”

“My, ah, my basement,” Shang Qinghua answers, leaving out the part where he didn’t even know he had one until about an hour ago. The System is determined to make him look like a bit of a madman, huh? “It’s just… just some artifacts and tools. I don’t… I don’t really come down here a lot…”

Mobei-Jun finishes studying the room, then stares at him again, his gaze more piercing than ever.

“The future concerns you this much?” he says.

Shang Qinghua is totally prepared to deny everything, but the phrasing of that cuts off every story he might try to tell. He glances around the room, full of these broken, desperate, stolen things. It’s… reflecting.

“...Yes,” he admits, hoarsely. Then coughs. “I… my king, we should… talk.”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun agrees.

“But, ah, not here? I don’t… like it here.”

“Yes.”

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is one of the people who has noticed that Shang Qinghua knows more than he should. And now, thanks to this secret basement, Mobei-Jun has an explanation for why Shang Qinghua knows more than he should! 

If you don’t know about the System element, then this basement is actually pretty in-character for the new Shang Qinghua of PINTWILF. 

He is so scared of the future. He’s invested in the story now. 

- 

Shang Qinghua isn’t surprised at all when the special item speaks again as soon as it’s back in his hand.

Why would it shut up now, after all?

 “He has no name but the position he has been promised to, which he may not live to see,” the Weeper’s Eye says, which pulls Shang Qinghua’s gaze back to the demon lord waiting for him. “His father uses him as a tool. His mother is long departed. His uncle wants him dead. He has long known that these broken promises cannot be undone… but he knows new promises may yet be made.”

Mobei-Jun is frowning at the crystal eye in Shang Qinghua’s hand, looking between it and Shang Qinghua’s own eyes.

He’s not dressed-up the same way he was the last time Shang Qinghua saw him - no especially fancy robes or ornaments or jewelry. He looks like himself this time.  

 “If these ones are not kept, there will be nothing for the nameless man who will be king.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t move.

- 

AN: I mentioned exploring Mobei-Jun not having a name in the commentary on the previous chapter. I guess that’s my take on PIDW Mobei-Jun... that the man doesn’t really have anything outside of his position. He’s a king, in service to a tyrant, and he’s never going to let anyone in. He’s just... cold... the whole way through. PIDW Mobei-Jun has an icy throne and nothing else. 

PINTWILF (and SVSSS) Mobei-Jun has the Airplane version of Shang Qinghua. When Airplane saved MBJ’s life, the System wasn’t making him do it, he made that choice for himself. The System was willing to let MBJ die (and, in my headcanon, be replaced by some ice demon cousin or LGJ). So, MBJ turns around and chooses Shang Qinghua for himself. 

Shang Qinghua was like, “No! This character can’t be replaced! You can’t just dress someone else up as Mobei-Jun! You can’t just let the character die! It has to be this man in that role! No one else!” 

When Mobei-Jun is coming to talk to Shang Qinghua in this fic, in this moment, he is making this choice for himself, the nameless man who has been promised a position he might not live to see. That’s what the Weeper’s Eye is getting at. If Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to hear the promises Mobei-Jun is will to make him, there might as well not be anything in Mobei-Jun’s future to make him an individual, more than a cold figure acting out a part. 

- 

“...Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says finally. “I will not hurt you.”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze snaps from the crystal eye in his hand, back to the demon lord standing by the exit to this secret basement.

“We will speak,” Mobei-Jun says solemnly, slowly, like someone repeating the lines of a script. “I wish to be understood by you. I have not known how. Yet I must try now… in my own words… and you must listen.”

Shang Qinghua swallows.

The anger - the frustration - breaking through at the end there sounds more like the man he knows. He’s pretty sure that’s meant to be a request, but it sounds like an order.

-

AN: After their last conversation, Mobei-Jun had a lot of soul-searching to do, and one of the conclusions he came to is that he can’t take anything for granted. He has to made explicitly clear, using words, which is apparently what matters with humans and with this human in particular, everything he feels. He can’t take the risk of continuing to hurt Shang Qinghua by letting the man think that he doesn’t regret hurting him or may hurt him again someday. 

-

He puts the Weeper’s Eye down.

He’s really sick of this thing. He doesn't want to carry it around all the time.

It only tells him things he knows, anyway.

- 

AN: We’ll get into the Weeper’s Eye in future chapters, but it’s... it’s not really a mind-reading device. It kind of is. It is a little bit. But part of the reason it’s so informative here is that Shang Qinghua is holding it and Shang Qinghua actually knows a lot about his characters and the people in his life. 

Even the original characters, like Fanli, he knows well. She’s his family. He’s privy to Fanli’s problems through Jiahui and Liu Qingge if nothing else. 

With Shen Yuan, he doesn’t know the kid well yet, but his fellow transmigrator isn’t that difficult to read and he’s been where Shen Yuan is. 

Shang Qinghua putting the Weeper’s Eye down here is a show of trust of sorts. It’s a way of telling himself to get out of his own head, away from character roles and exaggerated panic, and put himself in the moment with someone he knows and... well... trusts and wants to trust even more. 

- 

Shang Qinghua follows Mobei-Jun out of the basement, removing the spiritual seal from the wall, which makes the creepy basement entrance disappear, then replacing the flower that covered it. He hesitantly follows the demon lord back to the main room of his Leisure House. He has no idea how to stand, suddenly, or where to stand.

Mobei-Jun looks very determined.

“So, ah, should we… sit?”

“No,” Mobei-Jun replies, then abruptly says, “Shang Qinghua, you do not have to fear me. I do not wish to cause you any pain. Now or in the future.”

Shang Qinghua stares, wide-eyed.

That’s not… something he ever expected to hear explicitly.

Good! It's good, though! Very good.

It's great, really.

“...Thank you,” he says, stunned. “I don’t want to cause you pain either?”

“You have shown as much. Many times.”

This is probably not the time for an “Yes, I did tell you so” in any form!

Instead, trying to remember all the speeches he prepared while waiting, Shang Qinghua says, “You have too! In your own way! I just… my king, last time you visited was a… it was a very bad day for me. I apologize for my behavior! I was speaking from a place of-”

“Fear,” Mobei-Jun interrupts darkly. “Well-deserved.”

“Ah, well…”

“You believed that I would hurt you, in your state,” Mobei-Jun says.

“I was… it was very a bad and confused state, my king.”

“...You do not trust me.”

Shang Qinghua’s voice dries up on him. He wouldn’t put it that way, exactly! That sounds pretty terrible when said in such a blunt way. They’ve moved past that, haven’t they? It’s more that he trusts different people with different things! He trusts Luo Jiahui to be Luo Jiahui, and Liu Qingge to be Liu Qingge, and Mobei-Jun… to be Mobei-Jun.

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun got really far without explicitly talking about things, but at some point that stopped cutting it. 

- 

“I have hurt you before,” Mobei-Jun says, looking at him directly. “From a place of fear… of anger… of… misunderstanding. I am… sorry for this. I will not do so again. I was wrong to treat you in such a way.”

Shang Qinghua takes in a deep breath… and out again.

Fuck, it feels like his eyes are burning.

“You have my respect,” Mobei-Jun says quietly, urgently, not letting up on getting all of these words out into the open. “You have my regard. You have my trust. Yet I have not shown this in a way that you have understood, so you could not share this. I have demanded your loyalty without being deserving of it.”

“My king,” Shang Qinghua protests, taking a step forward. “I was- I should have said-”

“You did. Many times. In many ways. I did not understand.”

“I wasn’t very clear either-”

“It was my responsibility to be clear. I must be clear now.”

“You’re being very clear now,” Shang Qinghua agrees quickly. If things get any clearer here, if any more of the things they’ve left unspoken get said, his heart won’t be able to take it. “Thank you, my king. It means- thank you."

Mobei-Jun nods. He looks relieved.

-

AN: I wanted to write a version of Moshang that felt... a little more mature? Shang Qinghua has developed a lot in this fic. He has grown as a person. And Mobei-Jun has seen this growth over the years. 

Mobei-Jun has also been able to see into this Shang Qinghua in a way that wasn’t available in SVSSS canon. I think that SVSSS Shang Qinghua was locked the fuck down. I think he was almost completely inaccessible and offered very, very few openings for connection. 

But in this universe, Mobei-Jun actually knows a lot more about Shang Qinghua. He knows what motivates Shang Qinghua. He knows that Shang Qinghua is a doting uncle and a doting older brother. He knows that Shang Qinghua has come to care for his sect. He knows that Shang Qinghua is intelligent and resourceful and funny. They drink together and talk politics! Mobei-Jun knows that Shang Qinghua is loyal and tired and trustworthy. 

So... there was an opening here that didn’t exist in SVSSS canon. 

And Mobei-Jun took it. 

- 

Shang Qinghua knows that cultural differences are a hell of a thing here, but everything being understandable in hindsight didn't make it not fucking hurt. It still hurts, even finally having the apology he never thought he'd get.

"...We’ve been pretty bad at understanding each other, huh?”

“It has often seemed as though we were not meant to meet,” the demon lord says softly.

Shang Qinghua, who can't imagine getting through his transmigration experience without meeting this man, thinks over all the unknowing irony in that statement.

"...Maybe."

“The differences are… significant.”

Shang Qinghua laughs, almost disbelieving. “That’s a word for it!”

"But not impassable."

"Ah… I… hope not."

- 

AN: I’ll probably make a separate post for this, but I love Moshang transmigrator reveals. Bingqiu transmigrator reveals are mostly about the Abyss, which is great, because that needs clearing up. MOSHANG transmigrator reveals are like, “My weak human husband is a god???” 

Also love it when MBJ is like, “Yes, this makes sense.” 

- 

“I have never known what you have wanted from me,” Mobei-Jun says next, like a confession. “Your life, you have said, time and time again. Though I am only alive by your grace. You demand none of what you deserve of me.”

“...I don’t think ‘deserve’ is a good word for this,” Shang Qinghua says, which probably isn’t the right thing to say, but he’s really too stunned to come up with anything better. He really didn’t prepare for the right conversation here. “Aha, sorry, my king. It’s just… I don’t think I like to think about it in terms of ‘owing’ anymore. Between us. At least… not like some sort of strict balance? I do something nice for you, you owe me. You do something bad to me, I get to hurt you. Not… not like that.”

Mobei-Jun thinks about it.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying-”

“You are deserving of better than what I have given you,” Mobei-Jun insists, determinedly. “I do not understand you. I have never understood you.”

Shang Qinghua feels the same way.

“But I would like to,” Mobei-Jun says next. “I would if you would allow it.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is only alive because Shang Qinghua saved him and he knows it! And Shang Qinghua has never made the demands he should have made, having that kind of leverage over Mobei-Jun! 

I’ve always wondered if this is deeply romantic by demon standards. Like, not inherently romantic. But I would bet that Mobei-Jun really likes the idea of a relationship where no one is keeping score... no one is granting favors to use like a leash of obligation... no one owes the other things they don’t want to give. I would bet that Mobei-Jun really, really likes the idea of a relationship where affection is freely given because the people in it want to give it. 

He does feel as though he owes Shang Qinghua, but I think Mobei-Jun likes the idea that his favor is his to give just because he wants to give it. 

-

Mobei-Jun lifts a hand, slowly, and holds it out.

Shang Qinghua thinks about it.

He thinks about it again.

He reaches back and puts his hand in Mobei-Jun’s own, which is as cool to the touch as always, and moves over his skin carefully. His hold is so light that Shang Qinghua could break it without any issue at all.

They stay there, like that, looking at each other.

Looking at their hands, holding without hurting, after everything. It's such a small gesture.

It feels kind of like a miracle.

-

AN: I am... a huge fucking sucker for Mobei-Jun holding Shang Qinghua waaaaay too lightly because he won’t risk hurting Shang Qinghua again. Like, this man is going to take it from the top. No more assumptions. 

- 

“What do you want, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun says, voice turning up at the end, in the closest thing that the man might ever come to helplessness. “What do you want from this?”

“I…” Shang Qinghua wipes at his burning eyes with his free hand. This is kind of pitiful. “Fuck.”

Mobei-Jun lifts his free hand and uses his own sleeve to wipe at Shang Qinghua’s tears, like his robes aren’t important to him at all. “Ask,” the man says, in the tone of a promise. “You do not have to fear the future. Anything I have to give is yours.”

Shang Qinghua gives up on trying to speak and just moves forward to bury his face in Mobei-Jun’s chest. Fuck it. The demon lord who was supposed to kill his character lets him do it. Mobei-Jun holds on to him, arms heavy but still so careful, the man’s chest moving in a sigh that sounds like relief.

This really was too many unspoken things to finally say aloud all at once.

- 

AN: So, yeah! That’s what I’m been building up to with the Jiahui/Qingge marriage and the Qijiu fights and makeup, getting Shang Qinghua to think about what he wants from his relationship with Mobei-Jun. Luo Jiahui and Shen Qingqiu have basically been throwing the question at him repeatedly: “What do you want from this life, Shang Qinghua?” 

Because it can’t all be plot! You’ve taken your family for yourself, but you can have more than that! You’ve made so many choices already... you can take this last step and make this choice too. Let Mobei-Jun in. 

A lot of Moshang plots end up being “Shang Qinghua’s inability to communicate versus Mobei-Jun’s inability to communicate”. Which is great! That’s Moshang! And some external issue (a rival demon lord, Linguang-Jun, etc.) will end up being the secondary plot which acts as a scenario pusher for the primary plot of the Moshang relationship. Again, great stuff! 

But since the romance isn’t the focus of this fic, I decided it would be fun to have a more “Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun versus the problem” take. (Which also shows up in lots of Moshang fics! Definitely not exclusive to this fic at all!) I’m looking forward to having Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun actually try and tackle problems together, as a couple, inside the main “Family of Choice” plot. 

Which isn’t to say that Moshang have totally worked out their relationship here. They have only just gotten together. Mobei-Jun still has issues. Shang Qinghua still has many issues. They’ve got a lot to work out together. They’ve never been in a relationship like this before and there’s a lot of people out there who would object to their relationship! Their relationship is going to continue to grow as the fic continues. They’re going to have a few bumps in the road. 

But I really like the idea of Mobei-Jun being Shang Qinghua’s rock in this fic. This man has been so stressed. He needs a hug from his ice demon boyfriend who can soothe headaches with a hand. 

-

When Shang Qinghua feels like he has himself more under control, he draws back just far enough to say, “My king, will you kiss me?”

Mobei-Jun’s expression is already soft, at least by his standards. His gaze turns hooded before he leans down as Shang Qinghua leans up. Shang Qinghua takes the man’s face between his hands to kiss him. It feels nice, if uncertain, with the hunger of something a long time coming at the end of it. There's years worth of wanting in this.

It has been so fucking long since Shang Qinghua kissed anyone.

He breaks the kiss and has to stifle laughter, clinging to the front of Mobei-Jun’s robes, which the man never closes properly, so now Shang Qinghua is never going to be able to not thinking about touching it. It’s a very nice chest to touch. He knew it would be.

Mobei-Jun’s brow furrows slightly, his hands staying on Shang Qinghua’s hips.

“What?”

Ah, sorry! Sorry, my king! It’s just- this is such a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but your lips are kind of cold? I’ve, ah, I’ve always kind of wondered,” Shang Qinghua confesses quietly, without really meaning to actually say it. Holy shit, he’s going to blame saying something like this after that on the fact that he’s had a very long and very weird day. “Sorry. I'm really tired. It's fine. It's good.”

Mobei-Jun snorts and kisses him again, as if to say, “Deal with it.”

- 

AN: Cute! Mobei-Jun likes it when Shang Qinghua laughs. I stand by this.

[newathens]

in honor of everything that happened on aug 18th the good and the bad here is a scene from secrets that has been collecting dust for a year and may never get its moment but it is where luke castellan gets a chance to speak and it deserves to b seen at least once

LUKE:

     Fresh donuts sat up on the counter, the sweet smell of frosting wafting through the space. The place was warm; their air conditioner busted. It was a random Wednesday at eleven in the morning so there weren’t many bystanders, though the few that were around kept stealing glances towards me. A mother lost in thought touched her cheek and when she caught me looking back, ducked her head. I kept tapping the tabletop with my knuckles, wondering how hard I’d have to whine to get the waitress to give me a chocolate glaze. She’d already passed by three times out of worry.

     The shining, silver bell shook and rang as the diner door opened. 

     He stood in the entryway for a long moment, taking in the length of the diner. It took him two tries to notice me, but when he did, the neutral expression he’d worn shifted into a deep frown. He approached the booth slowly and held my gaze all the while.

    “Not funny,” Hermes said. I smiled with all the gusto of a fourteen-year-old.

    “Sorry,” I said, voice dropping several octaves as I aged ten years. “I couldn’t help myself. Too soon?” He took a seat without another word. Blonde hair, blue eyes—nothing much had changed; in fact, there wasn’t a trace of greying hair to be found. He seemed fit, youthful. “I thought we’d leave some mark on your complexions.” He gave a tight smile and said nothing, but in the silence I noticed it. An airy presence, circling around me much like the scent of the pastries. It wasn’t threatening, just curious, like a snake amongst the forest floor.

     He was checking me.

     I did the same to him and watched, rather gleefully, as his eyes widened in recognition. It felt strange, kind of annoying. Is this how gods’ felt? Striped raw, bodies vibrating like giant batteries next to one another?

       His search turned up short, but mine didn’t.

      “Jean pocket, out with it.”

      He sighed and placed a gold iPhone in the middle of the table. The caduceus shimmered on its back. 

     Oh, look who it is! Martha said.

     “Nice to see you,” I said.

     I didn’t say this was nice!

      “And you too, George.”

     Hey, Luke, he said, if you take over his position, will you get to keep us?

     “I’d hope so, you two are a riot.”

     “Comical,” Hermes said. “Both of you keep quiet.” We looked at each other again, ready to speak but unsure how to start. The waitress beat us to it.

     “How can I—oh!” She nearly snapped her pencil in half. Her eyes were wide on me, then on the next booth over, then to the other side of the diner. “Wasn’t there, I mean, there was a child—”

       “Can I have three of those delicious looking donuts, miss?” I asked. The waitress bit her lip absentmindedly.

        “Sure thing,” she said, “And you?”

        “Nothing,” Hermes said, then his eyes glowed. “Thank you, and apologies.” The waitress stared blankly, then walked off without another word. The donuts from the counter disappeared and reappeared at our table. 

      “Thanks,” I said.

      He let out a tired breath, “Lukas—”

      “Yes, father?”

     His expression soured, wind rattled the windows, but then it softened, his eyes shut. I stared at the caduceus, quiet now. He sat back in his seat, placed a steady hand on the wood, and stared out towards the street. Towards the shops and sidewalks familiar to us both.

     “We’re here to talk, correct?”

     “Yes.”

     “Then explain.”

.

     Hermes had the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, eyes closed. As the silence stretched on, the conversation played over in my head. Again and again and again. The whole time he barely said a word, not unlike him. . .but not all that comforting. The diner was empty now, though I hadn’t realized when it happened. No weapons, those were the terms, but it would be a lie to say that my palm wasn’t itching to call Backbiter to it. Martha and George slithered around the staff mimicking some sort of animated phone case.

     I should run.

     He stood without warning. I followed.

    “Let’s go for a walk,” he turned and left. Again, I followed.

     Late summer heat wrapped around us like a blanket as we exited into midday. The area was lively, busy shoppers and cyclists, joggers and freshly-washed cars. Sun shone down heavy on their exteriors and I squinted against the glint. It was way too bright—

     “There’s no one here,” he said. I turned. He was waiting on the sidewalk, body facing north, towards the path that would take you further inland. Away from the main strip, closer to the suburbs. “Just you and me.”

     “Right,” I said and shoved both hands deep into their pockets. I knew where we were going.

     Higher up the heat wasn’t as oppressive. Hot winds blew now and then, rustling dry leaves and pushing the scent of saltwater up from the bay. I breathed deeply out of reflex. We walked in silence. I kept our strides in rhythm. That was until I saw it.

     The beat-up white house with green hinges that had fallen into disrepair from neglect and misfortune was almost unrecognizable. A new coat of paint covered the siding, the chipping front door had been replaced, and curtains blew out of wide open windows. A lush, green lawn surrounded the property, split in half by a clean walkway bracketed with a rainbow of flowers. There wasn’t a single discolored, mildewed, decaying stuffed monster to be found. I jogged forward in spite of myself.

     “What did you. . .” I turned back. Hermes had slowed, taking in the scene much the same as I. He looked at me. “What did you do?”

     “Luke, this isn’t,” he stared at the house and his face twisted, “I haven’t done anything.”

     I swallowed a dry mouth and ran up the walkway, all caution lost to the innate yet unearned fear for a loved one. The door rattled under my fist as I knocked repeatedly, frantically. Hermes took his place on the tiny porch beside me.

     “Hello,” I shouted. “Hello, is anyone home? Hello!”

     “Coming! Just a moment,” a gentle voice rose from the depths of the house and a few moments later, a woman opened the door. Blonde hair, not frizzed, interrupted by streaks of gray. Green eyes; forest green, not neon. Healthy skin, not sickly. A warm smile that only grew wider as she took us in.

     “Mom.”

     “Luke,” she said and pulled me in to press a kiss to my forehead. I went as rigid as ice; she didn’t notice. “And look at you,” she said to Hermes, who hid his shock well. He had a smile on, pressed a kiss to her cheek, but I could tell somehow, that he was as clueless as I.

     The spell.

     “Come on you two,” she ushered inside. “I’m baking.”

     “Cookies?” I guessed. It was the wrong thing to say. She stopped midstep, hand on the doorknob, and stared at me. Both eyes open, mouth in a frown. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she blinked and shook her head, as if pushing away a stupor. 

     “No, pie. Do you like cookies?” She led us into the house. It was quiet, a television played low in the front room. Varied, jewel hues covered the walls, hiding the dirty eggshell they used to be. Tarps covered some furniture, though they were clearly being used. The wood floors shined from a polishing. The entire space smelled of pastry. Hermes followed faster than I. “Luke,” she called. She was leaning out the kitchen archway. “Lemonade?”

      “Sure,” I said but couldn’t move. Then Hermes called my name and I scoffed. 

      The kitchen was different too. All the grime had disappeared. All the appliances updated. The old, retro table had been replaced with a long wooden piece, and on top of it, were strawberries. Buckets and buckets of strawberries, contained in plastic, straw, wicker; anything that would hold them. The sweet scent was nearly overpowering here. My mom held out a full glass and brought my hand to it to make sure it didn’t drop.

     “Strawberries?” I asked.

     She looked at the table, “Oh! Yes, I’ve grown quite an affinity for them,” she shrugged. “Not sure why but. . . they’re pretty aren’t they?” A beep sounded.

     “May,” Hermes said as she pulled a tray from the oven. She looked over her shoulder. 

     “Yes?” 

     “May, are you alright?”

     My mother smiled—with a gorgeous set of pearly whites. Not possible, her teeth had yellowed and rotted years ago. “Of course, I am. It’s a beautiful day and I have two of my favorite people right in front of me.”

     “May,” Hermes said a third time, this one pained. I realized where I felt confusion, he felt hurt. My mother noticed. Her smile dropped and her eyes along with it. “May, the last time I saw you. . .it didn’t look like this.”

     She placed the tray on the stove and took a heavy seat at the table. The towering strawberries seemed to suffocate her figure. “I was very different, wasn’t I? But I don’t like to think about it. Why not have some pie and then you can go? I don’t expect you to stay very long.” She looked at both of us. “You never can.”

    Hermes huffed in misery. He came to sit by her side. I felt like I was watching a television show. This couldn’t be mine, this couldn’t be my parents. 

    He took her hand, “I don’t mean to put you through pain but I’m a little shocked. Your condition. . . wasn’t exactly fixable. I’d like to know what happened.”

    “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “About a year ago, I woke up. . .at least it felt like that. The presence of that thing disappeared, mostly. I could think straight again. I started cleaning up, there wasn’t anything else to do. The calendar on the wall was from the nineties. Found out someone had been paying the bills all this time,” she touched Hermes cheek and he smiled. “One morning I started working on the lawn. . .” she gave a sad, little laugh. “Apparently, I’d gained a reputation. The neighbors were so worried they tried to take the shears out of my hands, but once they realized. . .they helped me. People helped me fix up the house, gave me food, took me to the dentist, taught me how to use these new phones. They were so kind,” she sniffled. “I really didn’t deserve that much kindness.”

     “Of course you do,” Hermes said but she lifted her head towards me.

     “I don’t remember much. I get glimpses, pains even. But what I can recall, none of it is good. The memories. . .and the visions. Luke, honey, I’m so sorry.” The air was so thick I could’ve cut through it with Backbiter. I scuffed my boot against the linoleum. Silence snaked its way through the kitchen, like Martha and Geroge slithered on that phone.

    “There’s nothing to apologize for, Mom,” I said finally.

     “But there is,” she tried. “All that happened, the things I did, and then I just let you—”

     “There’s nothing you have to apologize for,” I said and the air shifted from thick to frigid. Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his gaze from my mother. Whatever. “So did you chuck all my old stuff? Not that it matters, I’m a little too old for Power Ranger pajamas.”

      My mother wiped at her eyes, “Oh no, I haven’t touched your room. Go take a look, it’s all there.”

.

     The tiny, off-white carpeted room with one square window was exactly how I’d left it a long, long time ago. The bureau had one drawer open. Angry crayon marks covered a low corner of the wall. The small, twin bed was made, but wrinkled. I walked up to it and ran a hand across the blanket. 

     I had the sudden urge to stay.

    It hit me like a brick to the solar plexus, knocking the wind from my lungs. Anger followed soon after. What are you thinking? I thought to myself.

    You could go to college.

    You lost your right to a future.

    You don’t get to leave, Annabeth’s voice echoed.

    Through the window I could see the road; children playing across the street; a man starting up a lawn mower. It felt surreal, freakishly abnormal.

    Maybe this was a type of punishment.

    “What are you thinking?” Hermes asked. I hadn’t heard him enter.

    “I’m thinking I’m too big for this bed,” I said and turned towards him, hands in pockets. His cadecaus was out now. The snakes slithered the length of it, restless. “Not that it matters.”

[ladywaifuuwrites]

The Hotel

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Sanemi goes to your peculiar hotel which is for dead people.

Warnings/Tags: Hotel Del Luna! au | blood | verbal torture???

a/n: Major manga spoilers ahead! Picture not mine!

I have been aching to write this for months and finally here it is. I added some elements of the hotel on my own since it’s been so long since I last watched it, so forgive me if there are some differences. This is not drama accurate okay?

I don’t know why but I feel like using “(Y/n)” instead of “You’ here.

The hotel is operating as usual in the night, the main floor is busy accommodating the lost souls. The hotel changes its appearance during the night, growing into a taller building towering among others in the city. People would freak out if they saw a building pop out of nowhere, but normal people can’t see the hotel.

Dead people would.

They would naturally find themselves at the front of the hotel as if it were calling their name. It was indeed calling his name as Sanemi found himself standing in front of it. 

The architecture was different compared to the other buildings in the city. It was majestic and quite ahead of its time, like it was separated from the rest of Japan. He was staring up at the hotel, mouth slightly open because it was his first time seeing something like it. 

Then a cold breeze passed by him and when he looked beside him, his eyes were gonna pop out of its sockets. 

“Hello Shinazugawa-san!” A bloodied demon slayer was beaming at him brightly. The smile on the demon slayer’s face dropped down as if he realized something. “Are you dead too?” The boy asked but Sanemi didn’t answer, so the boy sighed. “I hope Muzan will be defeated soon. I trust our comrades.” He mumbled under his breath.

Sanemi couldn’t speak a single word for he was confused. Dead? Was he dead? Then he remembered the previous events, he was thrown to a building by Muzan’s tendrils. He looked down to the ground and he was indeed dripping with blood but he can’t feel any pain. He faced the young demon slayer. “You go ahead.” He said hesitantly and the boy nodded happily, opening the wide doors of the hotel.

“What is this place?” Sanemi walked in and found himself agape in awe. To his right side, there was the front office with a huge key rack. A weird door stood in front of him, and a bright crystal thing was dangling above him. Everything was so new and beautiful that it filled Sanemi’s empty heart with joy.

He curiously trudged forward, having a staring battle with the weird door. He tried opening it but it was hard as steel. But he still pushed it with all his strength but no luck. 

He sighed as he parted his hair in frustration. Wet trickling sounds came closer to him as he felt a colder breeze. Sanemi’s heart jumped at the sight beside him. A woman who was bloodied and drenched in water pushed the circle button and the doors opened.

The woman entered and Sanemi followed suit. “Thank you” He said quietly but he heard no response. 

What the fuck is this place?

Sanemi could feel that he was moving upwards and he felt quite nauseous. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The moving finally stopped and he heard a “ting!” sound.

When he opened his eyes, he was not prepared to see all of these. It was an even bigger floor than the one earlier. A large shining crystal chandelier hung on the ceiling, big grand staircase at the middle, luxurious looking furnishes, illuminating bright lights and people everywhere. He stepped out of the elevator and circled, taking in the marvelous sight around him. It was like a breath of fresh air, everything was so foreign. So enchanting. 

He finally stopped sighing in awe when two large guys approached him. They grabbed both of his arms and dragged him away. 

“Stop it! You fuckers! Don’t touch me!” He struggled with all of his might but the two large men was far more strong, possessing impossible strength.

He was brought to a tall wooden door adorned with intricate golden details and expensive polished wood. One guy knocked, not letting go of Sanemi. They waited for a few seconds until a feminine voice spoke.

“Come in!” 

They pushed the huge doors and Sanemi was welcomed into an equally large room. The room itself screams luxury. But the woman sitting prettily at the center sofa was even more luxurious and beautiful. 

Sanemi never saw someone as beautiful as her.

“What is this?” 

“A human at the lobby.” The woman’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an “o”. She blinked a few times and stood up. “Leave us” She ordered and the two large men exited.

(Y/n) furrowed her brows and took a closer look at Sanemi. “You’re not dead.” She said in an amused tone with a slight smirk. (Y/n) sat down and poured tea into two cups. 

“Sit down” She ordered and Sanemi sat down opposite her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was an aura in her that was commanding and enticing. Her hair was tied up, stray hairs framing her beautiful face, she was wearing a long beautiful kimono which Sanemi was sure that was made of expensive silk, exposing her collarbones. 

(Y/n) pushed the tea forward to him and gestured for him to drink it and Sanemi bowed before drinking, he seemed to have calmed down. 

“(Y/n) (L/n)” She introduces herself.

“Sanemi Shinazugawa.” He introduces himself which brought a smile to the beautiful woman’s face.

Her eyes went to the blade attached to Sanemi’s hip and you let out a snicker. “There’s an awful lot of you coming here tonight huh?” (Y/n) said in a teasing tone but somehow there was an underlying hint of pity. 

“A troop of demon slayers came in about an hour ago. It’s like I was watching a demon slayer parade.” (Y/n) lightly chuckled, sipped on her tea and continued. “They were confused about being dead, poor kids losing their lives so early.” She says while shaking her head.

“They were the ones who didn’t follow your master’s command. Stubbornness leads to death I suppose.” (Y/n)’s eyes creased as she she keeps on talking to the man in front of her. Sanemi’s eyes widened because how in the world did this woman know that information?

(Y/n) kept talking and Sanemi grew impatient by the second. Anger bubbled in Sanemi because this girl who was living in the lap of luxury was taking his comrade’s deaths so lightly. 

“Listen here.” Sanemi says with a stern voice that made (Y/n) look at him in surprise.

“Those demon slayers fought with their lives to protect civilians like you. Those kids were brave until their last breath so don’t speak shit of them.” Sanemi spat which brought a smile to (Y/n)’s face.

She was about to say something but was interrupted by a knock on her door. (Y/n) said to come in and an old man with smiling eyes laid a folder on her table and left.

“That is the manager of the hotel. He’s the only human here.” (Y/n) said as she looked at the pages inside the folder.

“Hotel? Only human?” Sanemi asked in confusion but (Y/n) didn’t answer because she was focused on what she was reading. It took her for a few minutes to answer and put down the folder, shifting her focus to Sanemi.

She hummed in agreement, legs crossed and hands intertwined. “But apparently there are now two humans in the hotel. One of them is you.” (Y/n) points at Sanemi.

“Listen here.” She playfully mimicked Sanemi and leaned closer to him. “My hotel is called Hotel Del Luna. This is a hotel to accommodate souls before they go to heaven.”

She smacks her glossy lips and Sanemi can’t help but follow her movements which places a little smirk on (Y/n)’s lips. 

“As for your case, I don’t know why the hell you are here when you are not even dead. You are just on the verge of death with all the injuries you’ve been sporting.” She points out his now healed injuries. His clothes were not bloodied anymore too. 

“My room door has a magic beautifier and healer because no filthy being can enter here, but those injuries will come back when you wake up so don’t expect anything.” She continues. “You need to go out of the hotel because you don’t belong here. Besides if you stay here for long, you will really die.” 

(Y/n) stands up and motions Sanemi to follow her. “Let’s go wind hashira.” 

Sanemi’s heart jumps at her calling his title of wind hashira. The way it rolls of her lips is different from when others say it.

They are now outside the hotel and the outside turned into a tunnel. “This wasn’t the entrance before.” Sanemi thinks to himself, his train of thoughts is cut when (Y/n) calls out his name. 

“Go through the tunnel and you will find your way back. Don’t look back or you’ll be stuck here forever as my slave.” (Y/n) says half-playfully and half-serious, but she was mostly serious. 

Sanemi looks at the dark tunnel and back at the hotel owner. “How can I see you again?” Sanemi asks, he really wants to see her again even though it seems quite impossible.

(Y/n) laughs. “Die.” 

She deadpans which erases Sanemi’s hopeful look. But she laughs again which made the air around them lighter. “I don’t want you to see me again.” (Y/n) said in all seriousness and Sanemi could feel his heart become heavy.

“Because I will be the one to see you, I will visit you.” She says while smiling at Sanemi, and the man’s hopes returned, making a soft smile appear on his face. (Y/n) pretends she didn’t want to melt at his smile.

“Oh, don’t worry about your brother. He’s in good hands.” Sanemi smiled when he heard this and tears filled his eyes but he didn’t dare let them to fall. A comforting silence fell upon them until Sanemi spoke.

“Sayonara.” The white haired male said to her and she nodded her head slowly. 

“Sayonara.” She replied to his goodbye.

Sanemi turned around and headed towards the dark tunnel. But before he could be near to the entrance of the tunnel, (Y/n)’s hand tugged at his wrist. Sanemi could feel that her (e/c) eyes were sparkling with hope. 

“Muzan is long overdue, I trust you and the demon slayer corps that this night will be a successful one. I trust that you guys will bring that demon to me.” (Y/n) says with a smile and Sanemi held both of her hands. 

“We will.” 

*Sigh* 

“Don’t tell me this guy is gonna die again?!” (Y/n) stares at Sanemi’s collapsed figure. She crosses her arms while looking at the kakushis who are giving medical aid to the wind hashira. (Y/n) could feel her anxiety starting to grow by the minute because Sanemi won’t open his eyes. 

A moment after she sighs again, Sanemi opens his eyes and (Y/n) let out a breath of relief. She heads over to where Sanemi is laid, hovering above his body. He can’t see her right now because she is on invisible mode. (Y/n) caresses his cheek and Sanemi let out a “Fuck...”  

She chuckled and moved away from them. Then she glanced at the red haired boy with the hanafuda earrings, (Y/n) smiled and silently thanked everyone’s efforts before making her way back to where she belonged. 

BONUS

“Finally, Muzan Kibutsuji! I’ve been waiting for you...” (Y/n) says with a sinister smile, her red polished nails gripping Muzan’s shoulder tight. 

Muzan glares at her in annoyance, his dark locks falling in front of his face. 

“You’re so pathetic that you expected to pass down your legacy don’t you?” (Y/n) pouts in front of Muzan’s face, wanting to see his limits. The demon attempts to move but he just winced in pain.

“Uh oh. Have you forgotten 400 years ago? I tried slaying you but I wasn’t successful, and you tried killing me but you can’t. We’re just going back and forth back then.” (Y/n) laughs thinking of the time where she attempted to slay Muzan.

(Y/n) sighed mockingly. “Sadly, I’m not the one who will punish you. It’s not my job, my job is to make good souls comfortable. And you’re not a good soul. Wait for the mago, vengeful spirit.” (Y/n) winks at Muzan provokingly who’s tied down with a heavy enchanted chain. She walks away and closes the door behind her, leaving the demon in the darkness. 

Finally, everything was in place. 

She can’t wait to visit Sanemi after this!

a/n: (Y/n) got that Tamayo energy. Tamayo mvp. 🥳

[sjw-publishings]

Retrospective Division

Josh and Henry walked hand in hand down the hallway, directly to the office in which they resided. The young men were in charge of small LGBTQ business in the building...only to be kicked out due to being too ‘liberal’, making room for tenants who were closer to his ‘Retrospective Vision’.

So much so, that the taller one had to voice it out.

“I’m...I’m going to send an email to the higher ups!” Josh spoke.

Josh Ming was the older of the two, only slightly older though at the age of 23. Fresh out of college and directly ready to start business with his newlywed husband.

Dressed in a pair of of white loafers with matching pair of beige khaki shorts, he wore a light blue buttoned polo underneath his pink checkered sweater vest with rainbow flag pin over his right breast...

Was that the final straw for the clearly conservative owner to kick them out after just a few months? If it was...

He scratched the back of his head, left palm messing with his wavy raven locks before briefly adjusting his rectangular half-frame specs. Something was real off...and he really wanted to get to the bottom of it.

This sudden rising passion of energy within him was also different, tightening his grip on his boyfriend, he would usually remain quiet and reserved, ignoring the such attitude towards them...but being kicked out? That really ticked him off.

“Honey, I like that attitude!”

Meanwhile, Henry was quite astonished by drive his husband was showing. Sure they both took turns in the bed and was Jeffery incredible when he was top, but he had never seen this side of him until today...

The 22 year old caucasian smiled, loving every bit of the drive from the other male, considering he was usually the one taking charge vocally.

Placing his right hand on his waist, swishing his hips in those pink bermudas while strutting in his own pair of slip-on, navy blue formal shoes that he recently got.

They had the right to dress liberally and freely, he would never sass directly-he and his boyfriend’s clothing says it all! With a matching light blue buttoned down-minus the sweater and throw in a white cardigan for variety.

Swooshing his blond curly locks, his sky blue eyes narrowed in admiration towards his partner, freckles rising with his cheekbones.

“Heh...must’ve gotten it from you~”

“Awww.”

In a matter of seconds, they reached the entrance to their office. They were told to pack up and go in the middle of the night, and with the full moon shining directly at them from a open window behind.

They immediately released the grip from the other as they walked in without question.

Not even realising that they won’t be holding the other this way when they come out.

————————————————————

As they entered, the room stayed mostly the same for now, with the only major difference, is that their desks are apart, parallel to one another.

Just like their formerly interlocked hands.

“Of course! the owner doesn’t support us working side by side directly!”

Josh noted, rolling his eyes as his tone got snappy. Folding his arms, not realising his lisp fading slightly with the remark.

“No worries hun, that just means I’d get a better look at you~”

He turned to his boyfriend, who looked lovingly at him at the side. At Eye level, re-assuring the other that everything will be alright. He blinked, did Henry just get taller all of a sudden? He definitely did not notice it earlier...must be the new shoes he was wearing.

“Right back at ya love~”

“Ooooh now there’s that attitude I love!”

PINCH!

“Oof!”

With that, Henry gave a tight pinch to his behind, smirking as he walked to his desk. Of course, it was far harder than usual, that tease. His husband liked to do that especially when he was happy, which was great when he was happy despite those remarks from the owner!

But something about the pinch...really set him off.

Playing it off, not noticing his larger steps as he strode to his side of the room. Legs stretching wide apart, feet grounded to the floor as he stood like a 1930s cartoon, except with more realistic proportions.

PLONK!

Landing butt first on his chair, he winced once again, he sat with more force than intended. Probably due to the aggression towards the owner, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion he and his husband brought from home on his-

Sleek Office chair, the modern kind without the comfort. Just pure professionalism like the way the owner demanded. Did that arse remove his-

Meanwhile Henry from across looked comfortable in his...’Chairman’s chair’. Like he was a higher up overseeing him, with a smug grin, but it was just cause he found him cute right?

“Sit up straight hun...wouldn’t want the owner to think otherwise.”

“Got it...! Thanks for reminding me!”

“No problem love...”

He responded quickly...though kind of irritated, he knew it was the owner’s policy too, about a ‘straight back leads a straight life’. He often made visits to everyone of his tenants or so he claims...especially them.

How ridiculous of a ‘motivational message’, though Jeff did like to keep his back straight for proper posture and presentation, not cause he was...

Anyways...what is with the fact that his fiancé is on a grand chair while he was stuck lookin’ like a subordinate. Sure Henry was slightly older...and taller than him, but the difference between them was huge.

He shouldn’t let that get to him...but its kind of pissing him off, specially with that smug grin on the older male’s face.

Mustering up all his professionalism, he spoke to the other male about their situation, holding in as much anger as he could.

“Say...how else do you think the owner expects us to behave?”

“Don’t know, probably...like him...”

Older days...yeah that sounds about right. Blinking, Josh watched as numerous LGBTQ posters and photos he framed up on his side taken down in an instant, replaced with framed photographs, mainly black and white of men and women in retro-esque attire.

But the main thing were the fact was there were only happy heterosexual couples in the wedding pictures that he took...where wuz’ all the gay ones huh?

Meanwhile, Henry’s side had the pictures reshaped into various expensive degrees and award certificates apparently. Josh wasn’t sure when his senior was such a stick in the arse and show off his life, but apparently its the reality they live in now.

Mixed with the wood panelling, their office walls split into two. With his fiancé’s side having a more polished grey shine to it...and his having wallpaper of grey rocks right behind him.

He was pissed, all his hard work gone to waste when the boss removed all his...stuff, doing renovations...Sure he kinda liked the new decor, always felt sturdy where he wuz at. But still it was his stuff!

Though then again, he also did help take some of those conference photos for the boss when he had met with several of his big league associates, a proof of skill he could use when advertising his talent to the boomers...

Whatevah! He was still goin’ to be typin’!

As he had started up his trendy PearPC, he blinked as the load in bar showed up. Tapping his fingers impatiently, not realising the shiny light weight frames becoming heavier and grounded as the quality of the pixels dropped tremendously with every second.

“Something is not right! And I’m gettin’ to the bottom of dis!”

“Whatever you say, hun...”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s statement, the older male was not as passionate as he was when it comes to delivering the truth. Not fighting as hard as he was, whateva’!

He was doin’ it HIMSELF!

Rubbing his palms, as his ‘doorframe’ retro PC lit up, being an older model did not hinder his goal as he opened up the word processor and began typing away!

He was always a fast typer, especially when his grandpapy trained him when he was younger. Though that did not sound right? They didn’t have computers back in the day and age!

As Josh blinked, the digital letters seemed almost printed out the more he starred into them. As he continued typing on his keyboard, he didn’t notice the swiftness of his fingers as he crunched on the keys effortlessly, neither did he mind the metallic clicking sound with every syllable.

Precisely, rubbing his eyes, the glossy flow shifted into simple paper. Grinning to himself, retro it is! Right in front of em’, a policy that the boss really stood firm in his heart.

“Not that I mind, Chief.”

Muttering to himself, Joshon was raised by a highly conservative grandfather who drilled him in the importance of staying true to their values.

Not noticing with that remark, his rainbow flag pin stretched like taffy around his neck, solidifying into a black monotone neck tie as the collar of his Polo tee stiffened.

And folded down.

Sweater vest splitting into two, the sleeves merging with the polo as the vest thinned out. A long row of buttons trailed down the merged too, colour bleaching white into a straight, iron-pressed dress shirt.

Even though he was sorta queer, there was no way he’ll be outrightly pissing his grand-papy off! Folding his arms determinedly, as the pinkness of the remaining vest fabric faded to black, looping into straps with a big criss-cross over on his back.

SNAP! Wearing his suspenders with grey pride.

It didn’t really matter to him in the face of a scoop. Especially when it comes to whatever the owner of the establishment is doing, he was determined to write it like the reporter he was.

You can say, it was going to be the scoop of the century!

“Did you say something?”

Gohen got up from his throne, dressed in a thick black suit, with faint white checkered patterns all over, with the typical office dress shirt and matching tie he always wore.

Sauntering over to the reporter’s side of the room, possessively. The hispanic-caucasian stared at the pan-asian male...though its less so love and more so-

“What are you doing?”

But oh man, does he piss Joshon off.

Yeah they’ve been engaged, but the way he breathes down his neck makes the reporter sick. Arms toughening with strong toned biceps, as a healthy dusting of hair lined his forearms.

The roughness the two exhibited even in bed was less out of love and more so...pent up frustration, especially lately. No matter how the conversation went, its just conflict after conflict.

“I’m just typing away the new article, lovah!”

His lover’s been clinging onto em’ again. Examinin him like a piece of meat, even though they just get engaged recently...though it was more so the lawyer’s idea rather than Joshon’s.

Tied down to another guy like that, even that was too gay for his liking.

“Why don’tcha just-TALK TO ME?”

“I AM TALKIN’ TO YA!”

He was so ANGRY with his lover, getting up, hands pressing against the other...and with a-

PUSH!

The impact left a huge blow to their relationship.

Flinging both men back to their side of the room, onto each of their seats. Rings morphing into simple tie pins as they stuck onto their new ties. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing to personal with the other male.

They just anger each other.

First came the realisation of the older male, who tugged relentlessly below, surging through age and maturity as his weathered face took on a caramel tan.

Hair styling into natural curls, shortening into a dark brown, embracing his new identity of a conservative single man in his fifties. Letting loose any notion of being attracted to anyone but his future-

“Hermosa!”

The hispanic BOOM-ER’ed his manhood, letting loose all his reservations and kindness as a dark glare rested on the male. Deep eye bags alongside a faint beard.

Dusting himself, the middle aged man made sure he appeared presentable, despite still in a hazy afterglow.

Shaking himself out of his trance, the older man glared at the younger male.

“Get out my office.”

Walls fell down between the two, a complete division of interests as the attorney faded from his sight.

“Well who needs ya?”

Still thirsting for release, his face contorted at any thought of attraction to the older man. What wuz he? Queer? That kind of shit gets ya kicked outta office!

Which was why he liked it ere’!

“PANSY!”

A young handsome guy free to be chasing the ladies! Hair slicked to the side, as his skin embraced that peachy caucasian tan of his new ethnicity.

“QUEER!”

The tense fights he had with his competitor and rival next door. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Grinning arrogantly at the triumphs he had over the man, especially when he told Gomez about the queer vibe he got from those chicks.

And both ladies turned about to be lesbians!

Imagine how much the owner of the establishment would be proud of him, how his grandpapy would be proud of him.

His arrogant sneer framed by his squared jaw, licking his lips as his signature five o clock shadow lined his masculinity. Narrowing his much larger eyes, blowing a large-

“GOT DA SCOOP RIGHT ERE!”

And so the incredibly heterosexual reporter proclaimed, kicking back as his hard member came and came like the single retro business owner he was.

Slumping back in the afterglow, immersing in his heterosexuality like he always did past midnight as he-

Knock!

Jolted up, zipped his trousers, and crossed his arms as his boomer rival barged in.

“Matt! Will ya keep it down?!”

“Shaddup Diego! As if you and your crusty balls didn’t jerk off for the third time this evenin’!”

Of course, they initiated their famous, tense, stare down at the other. The caucasian reporter remaining in his position as the hispanic lawyer made his way to the seat in front of him.

The two of them fought ever since they met. With Gomez being being really disapproving towards Johnson as a result.

The Chief’s colleague vouched for their grandson Johnson to be a part of the many businesses in the building, claiming he will be a value asset to his ‘conservative vision’.

Of course, Reporter Johnson was a prodigy. Being raised in the art of the press by his Grand-pappy, the ins and outs on the ‘black N white days’ without too much influence from the modern world.

It was no surprise that the chief, the owner of dis ere’ place, gave him an office of his own.

Even bypassing Attorney Gomez’s approval, who, besides being the prime defence lawyer against any allegations towards the property owner, was also the one who made the deciding vote on whether someone was able to rent an office in the Chief’s estate.

Of course, the idea of a man, over a decade younger, having this much influence in the building had ticked the hispanic boomer to his very core. And ever since then, it became a non-stop cycle of one upping the other.

“Listen Matty, you know how it goes as much as I do. We’re men and still single, we need women.”

Though despite their numerous arguments, over the years, they may never admit it...but when it comes to getting partners, they were both unfortunate enough to remain single this long.

In their late thirties and fifties respectively, flirting with ladies and getting rejected like some 50s comedy routine.

“Never understood how did some guys get married immediately after college...bunch of queers.”

“Agreed, especially for a hot rich lawyer such as myself, being single is definitely out of the equation.”

“Hey! Hey! You think the ladies care about an old man in a suit when a hot stud like me is around?”

“Not when you are far from tactical with your words! Besides, you should see how the women look at me when I walk down the hallway.”

“Oh yeah? Well Chicks can’t resist spankin’ my arse with every step!”

And so the argument continues, like almost every time they met. Like a married couple, except they were straight and talking about women women women.

And for some odd reason, because of this fact, despite their glaring differences in almost about everything. They knew they had each other’s back when it comes to this.

“Anyways...the owner said he’s found two ladies working in an office below us...and that they are not only interested in us...but-”

Taking out the photographs from the brown folder, in them were two gorgeous women that these straight men could not peel their eyes off. Like an alluring magnet of compatibility, that kind that they were unable to resist.

The left one definitely screamed the ‘mamacita’ that Diego desired. As he placed his matured palm over that photograph, red tints could be seen over his cheeks as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Of course, Matt’s hard on throbbed at the sight of the right chick. Like a lesbian who turned straight in front of his lens, the kind of Gal he would spend his life with, and for some reason he knew she would too.

“You in?”

Lawyer Diego Gomez folded his arms, but barely hid the incredible pheromones of attraction towards his lady. Sandwiching his manhood and rubbing it, desperately needing her immediately, closing his single case once and for all.

Reporter Matt Johnson mirrored the older male, and not wanting to admit it, is thirsting for that retro babe like the scoop of the century. He really desired for her...but he ain’t gonna show weakness in front of his rival! He was taking charge, hungry eyes blending in with a determined expression.

“You be my wingman this time Gomez, and you’ve got a deal.”

[middleearthpixie]

In Time ~ Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: Before they leave Rivendell, there is one last thing Amara wishes to share with Thorin, who is a little hungover and a lot grumpy and just might ruin it with his crankiness.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Amara of Rivendell (female OC)

Characters: Thorin, Amara

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,217

Tagging: @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @tschrist1

Thorin snored.

Loudly.

Amara rose onto her elbow, gazing down at him in the darkness of his chambers. He lay on his back, dark hair spread out beneath him, one hand flung over his head, the other resting on the sheet drawn over his stomach. His mouth was softly slack, and with each inhale, it opened a little wider. For one who was used to sleeping alone and in silence, this was quite the new experience, indeed. Especially since he hadn’t snored the previous evening.

Then again, he’d had more than enough mead at the party. Perhaps that played a part in his noisiness now.

It had been one of the most wonderful evenings she’d ever had. First the party, then the fountain… she smiled, her body still tingling from his attentions as he fulfilled his promise to make love to her beneath the waterfall, and then again when they returned to his chambers. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, her head snuggled in the curve of his shoulder and chest.

Only to be rudely awakened by his snores.

Still, it was difficult to be annoyed as she gazed upon him. Seeing him sleeping here was far different from keeping watch over him in the Healing Room. Although the years seemed to fall away from his face, and the traumas and tragedies melted away just as they seemed to in the Healing Room, he just seemed far more restful now. More at peace.

Finally, he went quiet finally, and she savored the sudden silence, sinking back to curve against him, and the arm that had been above his head came down about her shoulders and tightened against her. She smiled, snuggling closer to him, draping her arm over his hips.

“Why are you studying me?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“You woke me up with your snoring.”

He cracked one eye to peer at her. “I do not snore.”

“Oh, but you most definitely do.”

“You have me confused with someone else.”

“I don’t, but I also don’t wish to fight about it. There was one last thing I wished to share with you before we leave and dawn is the best time to see it.”

“See what?”

She pressed a kiss into his beard, then slipped away to move to the edge of the bed, where she swung her legs over the side and said, “You have to come with me.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s almost dawn. Trust me.”

He let out a heavy sigh and sat ups rubbing his eyes with both hands. “When I fall from my pony later, it will be your fault.”

“You won’t fall.” She slid into the gray leggings and tunic she’d worn earlier and straightened to see him still sitting against the headboard, the sheets pooled about his hips. His dark hair lay tangled about his shoulders and he still rubbed one eye. “Thorin, please… I really would like to share this with you and I may not get the chance to do it again.”

“Very well.”

She watched with no little appreciation as he rose from the bed and strode across to where his trousers lay draped over the chair in the corner. He climbed into them, turning as he fastened them and it took every bit of will she possessed to not throw herself at him right then and there, but she truly did wish to share this with him before they left.

He paused, one brow rising as he said, “You have that look in your eye.”

“Me? What look?”

“The same one you had before you lured me into that fountain.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No look. I think the darkness is playing tricks on you, dwarf.”

He tugged his discarded henley over his head, his, “I don’t think so,” somewhat muffled by the fabric.

She caught him by the hand. “Hush and come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You will see.”

He let out a husky sigh. “Why can you not just tell me?”

“Because even if I did, it would mean nothing to you.” She rolled her eyes as she led him out of his chambers and along the colonnade toward the western lawn. The canopy was still up, the tables beneath it still there, but completely cleared, and Amara did a double take when she saw feet poking out along the northern side. “Is that—?”

“Bofur.” Thorin finished grimly. “He’s good for this. He came to Erebor late because he’d gotten so far into his cups the night before we left and wound up missing the boat. Spent the night under the Lake-town master’s kitchen table. Let’s pay him no mind, the fool. Someone will come along and knock him awake.”

“I hope Elrond doesn’t get upset.”

“It would serve him right if he did.”

She glanced over at him. “You are grouchier than usual, Mr. Oakenshield.”

“I’ve a headache. And I did not plan on being up at dawn.” He squinted up at the sky which was still mostly midnight blue, with only hints of the first pinkish-gold light of dawn. “And it isn’t even actually dawn yet.”

She didn’t answer right away, as she certainly did not wish to start the day off with a fight. Carefully, she said, “Perhaps you had one too many tankards last eve.”

“As if that was even possible,” he scoffed. “A short night’s sleep doesn’t help, either.”

“Oh, are you actually complaining about having to sleep with me?”

“What?” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand, then shook his head. “No. No, of course not. It’s simply I am tired. With a headache.”

“Grump.” She led him away from the colonnade, and toward the southwestern corner, where there was a break in the low marble wall. “When we return, I will make you a headache powder and you will feel good as new.”

“Can we just go back now then?”

She stopped and with a sigh of exasperation, said, “Fine.”

With that, she spun about and started back toward the palace when he caught her by the wrist. “I’m sorry, amrâlimê,” he murmured, tugging her back toward him. “You’re right, I am grumpy and I probably did have too much to drink last eve. Come, show me what you wished me to see. No more complaints, I promise.”

She glared at him, but then relented. “Fair enough. Now, come along.”

He slipped his hand down to lace his fingers with hers and brought her hand up to his lips. “Show me.”

Her irritation faded and she resumed her stride toward the break in the wall. A narrow path began at that break and he paused. “This isn’t like the Northern Pathway, is it?”

“No. It’s far better. Trust me. No orcs.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but to her relief, he held his tongue and let her lead him along the narrow dirt trail that wound through leafy oak trees and rose bushes that had just begun budding. It was still dark, but that didn’t matter, for she knew it like the back of her hand.

“When I was still training,” she said, her voice low to keep from spoiling the magic of the woods, “I would come here when things grew too hectic, or if I’d had a terrible day. It’s so peaceful and was a wonderful place to come and think or just get away from everyone else. I tend not to come here so often now, as I need to stay closer to the Healing Room, but that hasn’t dimmed my love for it.”

He looked around, gazing up at the trees that seemed to go on forever. “What is this place?”

“It’s just a wood, Thorin. A place to come and think, or just let your mind wander wherever it might go. I come here now when I have trouble sleeping and need to put as much distance between myself and everyone else as possible.”

“You have trouble sleeping?”

She nodded, looking over at him. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you are the most serene person I have ever met,” he told her, drawing her up against him. “Nothing seems to trouble you.”

“Plenty troubles me,” she said, slipping her free arm about his waist. “I came up here quite a bit when you and your nephews first arrived.”

“Did they give you a hard time?”

“No. Only you did.” She held his gaze. “You were a difficult patient in the beginning, you know. Very angry and very frustrated and while I understood, it didn’t necessarily make it any easier to hear.”

His eyes softened. “I am so sorry for anything I said then, Amara,” he murmured. “I was not in my right mind.”

“I know. And you are absolutely forgiven. You were in terrible pain, engulfed in guilt, and angry at everyone and everything around you. And that’s not why I brought you here at all.” She slipped her hands free to catch his face between them. “So, I do not want you feeling guilty about what you said or did in those first few weeks, because I, of all people, understand where those words came from.”

“I will always feel the guilt I carry over what I have said and done,” he told her softly. “How can I not?”

She bit back a sigh and shook her head. How did she convince him that it would be all right for him to forgive himself, when everyone else around him already had? His people, his nephews all made that very clear to her. They loved him, respected him, would still do whatever he asked of them, and yet…

“Come. We’re almost there.” She pulled away to lead him once more. The path rose and wound about until they were up on a high promontory. “This is what I wanted to share with you, Thorin.”

As she spoke, she led him to the edge, were rocks ringed the edge like a natural barrier. In the distance, Rivendell’s main waterfall spilled from high above, into a large pool that glimmered like a polished opal set into the earth. To the east, the sun’s rays had just begun to stretch like golden fingers across the paling sky. As those rays touched the earth, Thorin came up behind her, easing his arms about her waist to pull her against his chest. He said not a word, his thumbs brushing lightly against her stomach. She leaned against him, smiling as he pressed his cheek against hers and murmured, “Abnâmul…”

“Isn’t it? I love the sunrise.”

“I meant you, amrâlimê.”

Her eyes stung at his whispered words, her hands coming down to cover his. His arms tightened about her as the sun broke over the horizon to streak the sky coral and gold. The golden fingers reached to the ends of Middle Earth, or so it seemed, and somewhere, in that distance, stood the Lonely Mountain. Thorin’s home. Soon to be her home.

Dawn broke, the light bringing the world to life as birds began their morning songs. She leaned her head into Thorin’s cheek and said, “My mother once told me that the birds sing in the morning because it is their way of letting their partners know they survived the night. It’s a song of hope, of a fresh start to a new day. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve always rather liked the idea that it might be.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I thank you for sharing this, Amara.”

“It’s always been my favorite spot in Rivendell,” she said, her throat tightening as tears stung her eyes, “and I will miss it.”

“We have sunrises in Erebor, you know. And I will gladly watch one with you any morning.”

She turned toward him. “Even if it means a short night’s sleep? When you’ve had too much to drink?”

“Even then.” He nodded. “Not that I had too much to drink, mind you.”

“Of course you didn’t.” She smiled as she met his gaze. Even a short night’s sleep and too much mead the night before couldn’t make him look bad. He was simply too handsome. The morning light caught the amethyst in his hair, the smoke inside it swirling slowly. “I love you.”

His eyes softened once more and he leaned in to brush her lips with his as he whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Amara hated to break that soft, teasing kiss, but she knew he wished to depart Rivendell in only a few hours, and so she pulled back. “We should make our way back. I still have a few things I need to pack.”

“We can come back, you know,” he told her as they made their way along the path toward the palace once more.

“Oh, I know. But it is such a long journey, I doubt we will do so often. Especially once we have children.”

“I say we come back more often then and let them splash in the fountains as well.”

“You just want to see Elrond crack, don’t you?”

“It might be a sight to see.”

“You are evil, Thorin Oakenshield, do you know that?”

“Tell me I am wrong, though.”

“If only I could.”

[pinro]

《 ◇ 》

°•A BREAK FROM IT ALL•°

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Characters used: Floyd leech, Jade leech

Reader: gender-neutral Mc! (They/them)

Scenario: getting a rest from Nrc shenanigans

Word count: 1,658

Writer's note: I always thought it was alot to take in for someone who came from earth and now needs compromise to survive don't you think?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

-Ramshackle dorm (your room)-

Feeling sluggish after waking up, you decided to get off of the bed.Grim didn't seem like he had any plans to open his eyes ;it was early after all. You check the mirror before anything; there's nothing that's planning on appearing nonetheless you decided to check just in case; occasionally ,random things appeared from that specific mirror, from 'dreams' about The great seven statues , and then there was this 'person' (rather a hallucination) called Mickey.

-Hallway-

A Lot of things have happened since you started attending this school as a student ..then a prefect. Sigh ,you just wanted a break from it all, it all feels surreal. Making your way out of your room , you didn't encounter the ghosts , you wonder what they are up to whenever they don't spend their time in Ramshackle dorm. 'what do ghosts do in their free time ?' You decided to ignore that question for now.

As you made your way down the steps, you cross by a crack on the wall, it takes you back to the time Ace had a fight with Grim in the middle of the hallway. Literally. Grim collided against the wall and the wall , being fragile, cracked easily. You tried to repair it with glue you've borrowed but it only seemed to get worse. 

- Lounge -

You made your way to the kitchen, you were feeling a little thirsty , you would love nothing more than something refreshing. You opened the fridge with blinded expectations just to be shot with the cruel reality. Oh right. Food and what not in this dorm is nothing but a distant dream. You saw some canned tuna at the corner , but you don't think Grim would give you the end of it once he wakes up. "Guess i will go for a walk".

- Entrance -

"He doesn't seem to be around…" you pouted as you looked around for your friend 'Tsunotaro' ,or well what he goes by , you liked the nickname you assigned him to; you believed it fit him and it helped with familiarity around each other rather than being formal; He calls you 'child of man' instead of your actual name as well. The friendship is already blooming well if you're already assigning cute nicknames to each other! 

Staring off to the distance you started to feel rather lonesome; usually Ace and Deuce would come around your dorm to hang out; it's a 'little' noisy and a 'bit' troublesome but it's something you would put up with for their company; it can be fun and hectic sometimes. The peaceful atmosphere was just something you're not used to, in fact , you're surprised you're not up doing something to clean up after that headmaster. 

It's too early in the morning ; you wouldn't want to bother them just because you have nothing better to do, it just seemed unreasonable . You decided to think of something to do for the meantime to pass time.

You felt the breeze brush against your skin. With a sudden "ah!" You checked your uniform pocket "are they even open at this time?" You had an idea to visit Mostro Lounge for something to drink; although , you're not sure if your currency is close to what the menu has to offer. "In that case I will just order water" you concluded, placing back your pocket money. 

Water wouldn't be expensive, right?

- Main street -

Making your way to the Lounge , you could hear the leaves bustling in the air , it wasn't the usual atmosphere you were used to in a place called 'Night Raven College'. You sped up with Journey Mostro Lounge. You felt like you needed to see someone right this instant. Anybody.

- Monstro Lounge -

Clank!!~

As you opened the door upon Mostro lounge , you were greeted by casual music that always played in the lounge , although a little quieter than usual.

  "Oya? Are we having a customer already?" Your eyes laid upon a figure polishing the glass cups. Once your eyes meet , Jade blinks before greeting you with a smile "oh it's just you prefect , we're still getting ready to open but please feel free to take a seat." , you felt a little embarrassed ; as in you felt like you weren't allowed here but went in anyways. "Ohhh!~" Floyd cooed as he got in from the staff-only door "someone is already here!~" his voice echoed in the lounge from how loud he was being, he walked up to you "hey there shrimpy!~ you decided to have fun with us?"he would lean on the table you're sitting at with a cheeky smile. Jade chuckled "Floyd it isn't like you to be up at this time of the day" he glanced at his brother curiously , even if he were up this early he would be on about messing around campus or at his dorm. "Mehh~! The school is empty at this time of the day , it's so boring! " Floyd would stick out his tongue in annoyance "so I decided to check on what you were up to~" .

"Ah is that so?" Jade would ask rhetorically. You watched as the two got caught up over a conversation. "Hey shrimpy! What are you doing here?" He would suddenly flash you a question, "do you want me to take your order ?" Jade would offer "Hey i will do that! Stay right there!" Floyd would cut Jade off standing up from his spot. "I don't need to check the menu to know my demise-" you would mumble to yourself "I will just have water." you averted from your past words covering it with an awkward smile. Jade would chuckle "If you're in for something less of value you can check my secret menu~" he would look at you suggestively "Ehhhh! What about MY secret menu!!" He would snap at Jade "Check it out too shrimpy!" He would flip the menu for you.

 You awkwardly took the menu ….both of them have questionable titles..although they were for a good price. "How come it's so cheap?" You would shoot the two a suspicious glance, surely there's a catch there , Jade would place a hand on his chin "oh my~ it disheartens me for you to think that way of us, we wouldn't add anything unpleasant to the menu, isn't that right Floyd?" He would roughly attempt to hide his grin as he tilted his head towards Floyd ,"surely! Even if we did so, Azul will be on our fins about it! He's so annoying when he's nagging~" Floyd would pout thinking about the amount of times he had to put up with Azul's 'nagging' even if it was reasonable. Floyd was just not in that type of treatment. 

"Besides…" Jade would trail off "Both azul and my own brother have this uncertain hate for my well-taken-care-of- mushrooms...that they would want me to get rid of every trace of them...what a tragedy!" He would pretend to look wounded,"although they surely value much more ..don't you think it's better off to mend for them than just throw them off? " he would speak to you suggestively then avert his eyes shyly "that's why I decided to sneak in some mushroom recipes.." he would speak to himself. "As if!" Floyd would stick his tongue out in disgust "mushrooms are really nasty and it would only drive the customers away! How can you not understand that?" He would glare at his brother "oh please , aren't homemade ingredients convenient for Mostro lounge? That's what Azul said after all.." Jade would reply.

There..seems to be a commotion between the two ..you decided to break it off by picking a random recipe from the menu "i will have that please .." you would get in the middle of the two. Suddenly the twins became silent, until Floyd sighed leaning his body to the side "aghhh..wish people would pick somethin from my menu for once~" he sounded disappointed as he walked back to the counter, defeated. "Fufu~ i'm truly grateful for your selection prefect~ " whereas Jade sounded overjoyed ; does he want people to try his mushrooms that badly ? The two got to work.You decided to look at the lounge's tank as fish different in color and size swam by; it was oddly relaxing. 

As you glanced around the tank you noticed a large tail poking at the end of the tank ,you decided to walk up to it then place a hand on the tank. "Oh hey shrimpy!~" Floyd ,from inside the tank would jump at you causing you to take a step back from surprise "look! I'm a fish !! "He would twirl in front of you then laugh at your expression "hehe~ shrimpy looks cute all flustered~ ♡" "this is my payback for not choosing my special menu!" He would nag as he held the tank glass and twirled his eel tail. "I-i thought--" you were taken aback, you surely believed that you just saw Floyd head for the counter to get to work, how did he get there so fast?? Reflecting on your reaction ..it actually made you laugh a little. "Floyd. Didn't Azul say swimming in the tank during opening hours is prohibited ? You will terrorise the poor guests~" Jade would state from the other end of the lounge , with a tray at hand that held your dish. "Your order is ready, why don't you take a bite before it gets cold ?" Jade would call for you , and that was your cue to get back to your seat. 

"Ehhh!! Shrimpy come back!!" He sounded heartbroken, "fufu~ if you want to see them that badly why don't you get out of the tank?" Jade would suggest. "Don't wanna!!" Floyd folded his arms. You laughed along with Jade then processed to eat your food. It was ...refreshing.. this feeling ...it was comforting..

"So?~ Did you like the recipe I've prepared for you ? Then How about visiting the lounge more often, hm? " 

"We will be more than happy to play with shrimpy!~ so please tag along~" 

《 ◇ 》

[cardinalnuggets]

Date Night

Pairing: Ayna x f!mc Word count: 3430 Rating: T Summary: Kennedy just really misses Ayna so she enlists Dionne to help her see her again. Warnings: mentions of cancer (they talk about Ayna's dad) Enjoy my lovelies!

“Di?”

“Hmm?”

She had her feet propped up on the coffee table in their shared space, painting her toenails a vivid red. As concentrated as she was, she didn’t look up as Kennedy entered the room.

“You know how you set up that secret date for Ayna and me?”

“Hmm,” she replied again, focussed on wiping excess polish off the skin next to her toe, “you mean the one that you’ve already showered me in thanks for? I may love the attention, but you can stop now.”

“Yeah. But that’s not why…” Dionne looked up at her finally with a bored look on her face. “Anyway, what I was going to ask is…would you be able to help me plan something similar, but with me surprising Ayna this time?”

Dionne’s face lit up like a burst of fireworks in the night sky. Hastily, she waved her hands in front of her toes, as though that would dry them faster so she could be on her feet again.

“Really?” She squealed, in a voice so loud and high pitched that it probably broke the sound barrier.

“Yeah. Please.” Kennedy sighed, plopping down onto the sofa next to Di. Her mood seemed almost exactly the opposite of her suitemate’s. “I know I see her everyday in class but it’s…not the same,” she said, pulling a face as she realised how pathetic that sounded out loud. “I miss her. A lot. And I’m not sure when I’ll next get to see her alone what with all the paparazzi around. I don’t want to drag her into another scandal but,” she shrugged half-heartedly, “I just really miss her.”

Another fire-alarm like squeal left Dionne and her whole body was practically vibrating. “Are you kidding? I’m living vicariously through your love life and I LOVE planning surprises. Of course I’ll help you.”

She leaned over to put the nail polish safely on the coffee table and grabbed her phone instead, fingers already flying across the screen.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do…”

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

Several hours later, Kennedy found herself pacing back and forth across the floor in their living room, wringing her hands together. Evening had not long fallen and the last of the day’s light was disappearing outside. Ayna should be here any minute if all went according to plan and that should have put her at ease but…what if she doesn’t show. As much as she trusted Dionne and her fool proof planning, there was this little niggle of doubt that something would go wrong, and it would all be for naught. And, as time marched on, that little niggle had become a full-blown panic.

“Ugh, pull yourself together Kennedy,” she berated herself, forcing herself to quit the pacing. She shook out her hands as though she could just shake the nerves out of them. Pulling herself up to her full height, she took out her phone out to check for any updates but deflated when she saw that there were none.

“Please let her –”

She didn’t get to finish her thought before there was a quick, sharp knock against the door to their suite. Her head whipped towards the door, eyes widening.

“Oh,” she whispered, taking a moment to fuss at her hair and outfit before she started towards the door. After pausing to take a last deep breath and plaster a smile on her face that hopefully didn’t belay her nerves, she all but threw open the door.

Ayna stood on the other side wearing the same tight skirt and blouse she had been wearing in class. Even though she didn’t look any different than she had a few hours before, Kennedy still thought she was breath-taking. And just like that, she felt the last bit of worry melt away.

“You look amazing,” Ayna stuttered out, eyes bulging as her gaze ran down Kennedy’s body.

Kennedy ran her hands down the tight burgundy dress hugging her curves and grinned at the desire glittering in Ayna’s eyes. If that wasn’t a confidence boost, Kennedy didn’t know what was. How did she manage to get so lucky that such a beautiful woman wanted her?

“You like the dress? Dionne helped me pick it out.” Dionne had forced her into it, more like. But if it was getting this kind of reaction from Ayna then she couldn’t complain. In fact, she’d have to remember to thank Di. Again.

Making sure to accentuate the movement of her hips, Kennedy stepped back from the door to let Ayna into the suite. She didn’t move, however, her gaze simply falling to rest on Kennedy’s ass.

“Wow, you really do like the dress,” Kennedy said with a melodic laugh.

Those expressive dark eyes were burning when they snapped back up to meet Kennedy’s and Ayna’s lips were pulled into a wicked grin.

“The dress is nice,” she began, finally stepping over the threshold to the suite and snaking her arms around Kennedy’s waist, “but it’s youthat I like.”

“Oh?” Kennedy questioned, mimicking her cheeky smile. She let the door snap shut behind Ayna, leaving her arms free to wrap around her neck.

Instead of answering her, Ayna leaned in and pressed her lips to Kennedy’s. It was little more than a peck but Kennedy could already feel herself melting. A week was far too long to wait to feel those lips against hers again, feel the warmth of her soft body pressed against hers.

“Hi,” Ayna breathed as she pulled back to press a kiss to the tip of her nose and then her forehead. “Dionne was very secretive about what you were both up to but told me to be here for 7.”

With an unladylike snort, Kennedy disentangled herself from her. Grasping her warm hand in hers, she led her down the short hallway leading to the main living area. The room was bathed in the soft glow of several candles dotted around the room. The kitchen island was set for 2, complete with a bottle of wine and an array of take-out food. Sitting in a vase in the middle of the coffee table was a bouquet of brightly coloured flowers.

Kennedy turned, delighting in the look of awe on Ayna’s face as she took in the cosily decorated space. “I wanted to take you on a date, but with the paparazzi only getting more invasive instead of losing interest, I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out somewhere. So,” she paused to sweep her arm towards the room as though presenting it, “this is what Di and I came up with instead.”

She reached towards the vase of flowers before holding them out to Ayna. “These are for you.”

Ayna’s eyes were shining with emotion as she reached out to accept the flowers, but her smile was brilliant. “You did all of this for me?”

“Well, there was a good bit of selfish motivation there too. I missed you.”

Just when Kennedy didn’t think Ayna’s smile couldn’t get any wider, it somehow did. “I missed you too,” Ayna breathed, hugging the vase of flowers to her chest with one arm so she could wrap the other around Kennedy’s waist. “And thank you for all of this,” she added before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“Shall we eat?” Kennedy asked, gesturing towards the waiting food.

Conversation flowed smoothly as they ate and enjoyed their wine. They spoke of everything and anything from their childhoods to their hopes and dreams for the future. It was so effortless between them, one topic just flowing naturally into the next, soft glances and touches shared between them.

As they finished up their food, they fell into a comfortable silence. With Ayna focussed on watching the other woman’s thumb stroke the back of her hand, Kennedy took the opportunity to let her gaze wander over Ayna’s face. She was entranced by her sharp jawline, the cute little ears that peeked out from behind the curls framing her face and the long, dark eyelashes hiding her beautiful eyes.

Had she not been so engrossed in every flicker of her expression, Kennedy probably would have missed the way her lips pulled down in a subtle little grimace. “Hey,” she said softly, nudging her foot with her own to get her attention, “everything alright?”

Ayna’s eyes snapped up to hers and for just a moment, Kennedy could see an intense sadness glistening in her eyes before she blinked it away. “Yes,” she answered, squeezing Kennedy’s hand, “I was just thinking about how we’ve spoken of so much tonight, but there’s one important thing I haven’t told you yet.”

A long pause followed this, and Kennedy could see her steeling herself for what she had to say. Quietly, she continued to brush her thumb across the back of Ayna’s hand, willing to give her the time she needed to gather herself, despite the curiosity and worry she felt at what could evoke such a reaction in her.

“My father was diagnosed with colon cancer last year.”

Although it wasn’t any more than a whisper, Kennedy froze at the revelation. Not for a second would she have imagined that this kind, amazing, happy (or at least she had always seemed to be) woman was hiding something so painful.

“Oh, Ayna, I’m so sorry,” Kennedy breathed, reaching over with her free hand to wipe the solitary tear that tracked down her cheek. “Is he…okay?” What a stupid question to ask, she thought to herself, but she couldn’t think of any other way to ask is he going to die that wasn’t so blunt.

To her relief, Ayna nodded, a small smile curling at her lips, though it didn’t reach her sad eyes. “He’s been having chemotherapy and it’s shrunk the tumours enough that the doctors think they’ll be able to remove them successfully.”

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, Kennedy squeezed Ayna’s hand tightly in hers. “Good. That’s good. And how are you? It can’t be an easy thing for you to go through.” From how highly she spoke of her father, Kennedy could tell just how much he meant to her. Coupled with the fact that she had lost her mother so young, Kennedy could only imagine how hard it must be on her. Even if Kennedy didn’t often see eye to eye with her mother, being her only living parent, she knew she’d be beside herself if anything ever happened to her.

“I’m okay,” she replied, sending Kennedy a tender smile, “or at least as okay as can be expected. I’m terrified of losing him, but he’s been so optimistic the whole way through this and it’s so infectious. There will still be times when the fear and the sadness wins, but he always taught me to see the positive side of everything.”

The love Ayna feels for her dad shines through as she talks about him, even as she talks about something as sad as this. Kennedy once again finds herself in awe of this amazing woman, and so damn lucky that some day soon, she may love Kennedy with the same fierceness and depth.

“You know you can lean on me when you need to? You don’t need to go through this alone.”

Ayna flashed her a grateful smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

Shaking herself out as though she could shake away the whole conversation, Ayna stood. “Enough of that,” she declared and held out a hand to Kennedy, just as the song playing in the background changed to something slow and romantic. “Dance with me.”

Chuckling at the abrupt change of conversation but not wanting to push her if she didn’t want to talk about it more, Kennedy accepted her hand. They each wrapped their free arm around the other’s waist, cradling their joined hands between their chests as they swayed to the beat. Having Ayna in her arms was a kind of bliss she didn’t think she’d felt before. She’d truly do anything to feel the warmth of her body against her. Given how she could feel Ayna’s body loosen and melt against her with each of their gentle movements, Ayna must have felt the same.

“Thank you for this,” Ayna whispered against Kennedy’s neck as she buried her head there. She seemed to fit there like a previously missing puzzle piece, and Kennedy couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment than this. As cheesy as it may be, she wished they could stay like this forever – alone and without a care for what was happening outside of their little bubble.

“You’re wel – oh.” A surprised whimper cut her off as she felt Ayna’s lips languidly explore the skin of her neck. Her pulse jumped against Ayna’s lips and she knew she would be able to feel her heartbeat quicken from so simple a kiss. If it didn’t feel so good, she would have been embarrassed, especially as she felt Ayna’s mouth curl into a smile against her skin.

Her hands grasped the fabric at Ayna’s back as her lips climbed up her throat, sucking gently before the velvetiness of her tongue soothed any sting. Eyes falling shut to savour the feeling, Kennedy’s head fell back, to give her better access to her throat. Warmth bloomed under her skin, radiating to every corner of her body. All she could feel was Ayna - the heat from her body, the silkiness of her shirt scrunched in her hand, her hair and breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck.

Ayna’s hand buried itself in Kennedy’s hair and tuggedas she nibbled on the skin over her jawbone. A startled moan escaped her, and she tugged Ayna impossibly closer.

“Either you really want me or you’re far too easy to rile up,” Ayna breathed as her lips hovered over her ear. Despite the teasing tone of her voice, Kennedy could hear that she was just as affected as she was and it made her shiver with delight.

“Can’t it be both?” she laughed, her voice huskier than normal. Ayna pulled away to grin at her, and the evidence of just how much she wanted Kennedy too was swirling like a tornado in the depths of her eyes. For a moment which could have been a second or a lifetime, they lost themselves in each other’s gaze, balancing on the knife’s edge of freefalling into one another.

Like two magnets, they surged towards each other, lips meeting in a kiss that was as messy as it was passionate. Kennedy’s world narrowed to Ayna and only Ayna – the silky feel of her tongue tangling with hers, the feeling of being securely held in her arms, the taste of the wine and the chocolate strawberries they’d eaten lingering in her mouth mixed with something that was so uniquely Ayna and the floral scent of her perfume surrounding her. It was everything.

Kennedy grasped tight to Ayna’s back and walked them backwards until her own back met the counter behind her. Picking up on exactly what she needed, Ayna’s hips pinned her there as her hands plunged into her hair. Tugging Kennedy’s head back, she impossibly deepened the kiss, and God, Kennedy swore she had never been kissed quite like this before. It was like she was adrift, lost and Ayna was the only thing anchoring her but somehow, she was still getting lost in her.

A sharp squeak that came from neither of them had them jumping apart as though they hadn’t already been caught. Two sets of wild eyes turned towards the noise, both of their chests heaving to try and get their breathing back under control. And there Dionne stood, a look of triumph on her face, even if her cheeks were darkened in embarrassment, obviously having not realised what she was going to walk in on.

“By all means don’t let me interrupt you,” she all but cackled and in that moment, Kennedy wanted nothing more than to shove her back out the door she’d just come through. She wondered how both her and Ayna had been so lost in each other that they hadn’t heard her come back home.

Kennedy glanced over at Ayna to see her cheeks flushed darker than she would have thought possible. How much of that was embarrassment, and how much was left over desire from where they had been headed two minutes ago, Kennedy wondered. Carefully avoiding both her and Dionne’s gaze, Ayna was running her hands over her clothes, straightening them after Kennedy’s wandering hands had rumpled them. That one look at her was enough for Kennedy to know that Dionne had well and truly ruined the mood.

Quietly mourning the end of one of the best dates she had ever been on, Kennedy turned back to Dionne, jerking her head towards her bedroom. “Give us a minute, Di?”

Dionne very much looked like that was the last thing she wanted to do. In fact, she looked like she was ready to burst with all the questions she had. Reluctantly, however, she dragged her feet towards her room. Thinking she was being smooth, Dionne left her door ajar, and Kennedy just knew she would be perched right next to it to listen to whatever they said.

“Door!” Kennedy called before she turned back to Ayna.

“You’re no fun,” came a quiet huff from Dionne’s room before the door snapped shut.

Barely holding in her laughter, she reached out to take both of Ayna’s hands in her own. Those soulful dark eyes finally looked up at her and they softened as they took in the grin on Kennedy’s face. Her whole posture loosened then, as though she’d needed confirmation that Kennedy wasn’t ashamed to be caught in a compromising position with her.

“Sorry about her,” Kennedy began, jerking her thumb towards the door her suitemate had disappeared through. “At least she only walked in on us kissing. Could have been worse.” Which it most likely would have been had she walked in ten minutes later.

She finally let the laughter she had been holding onto escape her as she saw Ayna’s lips quirk up in a small smile. It didn’t take long before Ayna joined her, the two of them having to lean against each other to stop them toppling over from the force of their giggles.

Ayna’s laugh sounded so joyful that Kennedy found it sobered her quickly. She pulled back enough that she was able to see her face, so full of happiness that Kennedy was honestly awed by it. She looked so damn beautiful, and Kennedy couldn’t believe she ever could have gotten so lucky to meet someone quite as amazing as the woman in her arms.

“Thanks for such a wonderful night,” Kennedy’s breathy voice whispered. Her gaze wandered down to Ayna’s lips and she began leaning in, as though hypnotised.

Ayna’s lips met her half-way in a kiss much softer than those they had just shared. Her lips were so warm and silky that Kennedy knew she could easily get caught up in her again. Needing to taste her again, Kennedy’s tongue ran along Ayna’s lower lip, asking to be let in. Instead of opening her mouth for her, however, Ayna gently pulled herself back, though her grip around Kennedy’s waist didn’t loosen.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispered a mere breath away from Kennedy’s lips.

Begrudgingly, Kennedy knew she was right and with one last lingering kiss, she stepped away from Ayna and headed towards the door.

“Thank you for this, Kennedy. I really needed this.” Ayna stepped up beside Kennedy, cradling the vase of flowers Kennedy had gifted her against her chest with one arm.

“Me too,” Kennedy replied as she leaned in to brush her lips against Ayna’s cheek. As she pulled away, her hand found Ayna’s.

“See you tomorrow.” Ayna pulled open the door and started out of it, but Kennedy refused to let go of her hand until she was too far away to reach anymore.

“Bye,” she breathed, watching her as she slowly faded into the distance, turning once to wave at her before she disappeared around the corner.

With a sigh that was half happy, half miserable at watching her go, she turned back into her suite. The minute the door closed behind her, Dionne was tearing out of her room, all but pouncing on her with excitement. It was almost enough to chase away the last bit of gloominess she felt at Ayna’s absence.

“So, tell me everything!”