#would anyone be interested in mystery custom designs like this.......

[sqrkyclean]

yesss adoptable time.... $25 usd via paypal! first come first serve :] dm if interested!

(CLOSED) tysm!!!

[ashessonfire]

Part two of 'Intruder' <3

'Intruder' Kaz Brekker x Reader (part 2)

Prompt - A few months had passed since you stumbled into the crow club, leaving the crows curious as to who they were. How will the crows react to the most vulnerable secret of Kaz Brekker finally being revealed?

- Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Civilian!Reader (Gender neutral) - Warnings: none? again just Kaz being soft, some mentions of the break in but literally PURE FLUFF

A/N: Once again i am incredibly grateful for all the love and support, and hopefully i have done justice with this part two! it can be read as a stand alone, some of the context will be confusing, but hopefully still just as cute! if you haven't read the first part, you can find it here!!

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A couple of months had passed since your less than ideal first meeting with the crows. Since that frantic day, your locks had been switched to the latest designs, being inspected thoroughly by your lover until even he, the master of his trade, struggled to crack them.

Although you were still paranoid beyond belief each time you turned the key to your home, the knowledge that Kaz had thoroughly ensured your protection settled the nerves fluttering in your chest. Frequent visits from your husband weren’t unusual, often slipping away from his desk during the earliest hours to bask in your company, allowing you to bathe him with love and affection, something he had slowly accepted and found he thoroughly enjoyed, only on one condition.

It had to be from you.

But since that night, he came over more frequently, stopping off after heists with gifts he had ‘bought’, or dropping in to work on blueprints, stating that there was too much paper cluttering the desk in his usual space, making you smile at his blatant lies just to be closer to you.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz vigorously battled with his mind on the night you visited the crow club, having to repress his heart's wishes to stay with you, for your safety, and his peace of mind.

However, he dragged himself back, leg stiffening in the frigid air, sending sharp bolts of pain through to his bone. Yet that wasn’t what plagued the man as he limped back to the slat. What haunted him most was the idea that he would have to confront his crows about his one true weakness.

Evidently being you.

Kaz demanded each crow's presence, ordering them to his office as soon as the sun began to slowly bleed its light into the impenetrable darkness of Ketterdam. Once they were situated in the cramped room, he hardened his gaze and lowered his voice, morphing it into a deadly tone.

“I am aware that last night may have surprised you, however you are not to speak a word of it to anyone. Not to dregs, customers, or civilians. Do I make myself clear?” Kaz bit out, leading Jesper to swallow thickly, Nina to shift her gaze to the condensation on the windowpane, and Inej and Wylan to both find wonderfully interesting specks of dirt on the panels of the floor.

The crows remained true to their word, still in awe at the mysterious figure who seemed to have tamed the Bastard of the Barrel, but far more scared of the consequences that may come with disobeying their boss’s order. However, Kaz had made a grave mistake with his command, demanding your existence to remain unbeknownst to the dregs, but never specifying that they were forbidden from discussing you with each other.

You became somewhat of a legend amongst the crows, appearing frequently in gossip which they housed in their cramped rooms at the slat, waiting for the clicking sound of a cane and heavy footsteps to disappear into their owner’s office to begin discussion.

“How long do you reckon they've been together for? I mean, I have never seen Kaz holding anyone’s hand before,” Nina mumbled through a mouthful of pastry, whilst wearing a highly quizzical look.

Jesper smirked at the group, “How did Kaz even manage to find someone like that, furthermore, how did Kaz keep it a secret for so long?” the sharpshooter questioned, one eyebrow raised far above the other. “They seemed so lovely, its surprising Kaz would let someone like that so close to him,” Inej chimed in, sharing a similar curiosity towards you.

As the weeks rolled on, the crows began dropping subtle hints to their leader of their interest in meeting you formally, evidently following the rules of the warning he dealt on the night of the intrusion. Curiosity was consuming the group, and even Kaz couldn’t deny his intensifying wish to display his proudest achievement to his closest friends, his relationship with you.

Unbeknownst to the crows, you too had been troubling Kaz about meeting his friends, desperate to erase your first impression on them and truly show yourself, not the terrified stranger begging for comfort.

After several nights of thorough bargaining with your husband, he reluctantly agreed to introduce his group to you, on the condition that you would be far from the Barrel’s hotspots, somewhere unreachable by rival gang’s watchful eyes. Squeezing Kaz’s hands tight, and giving him an appreciative kiss, you bound off to prepare for tomorrows event, leaving a softly smiling husband in your wake.

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Kaz couldn’t decipher his emotions as they rushed through him at an alarming pace, feeling anxious, excited, and fearful all at once. The pair of you had settled for your favourite café, a small establishment on the outskirts of the city, residing on a flower ridden street, colourful lanterns hanging like falling stars from ropes above the houses. The sight was a direct juxtaposition of the intensity found in your husband’s usual Barrel life, but a contrast which never failed to warm Kaz’s heart whenever he stepped foot there with you.

Dressed in your finest, you waited anxiously at the largest table the cramped café had to offer, adorned with scented candles, besides an array of flowers you had picked early that morning, dew still dripping from a few of the glistening forget-me-nots. You sat beside Kaz, gripping tightly to his gloved hand, the other fidgeting with the edge of his coat as a distraction.

Kaz instantly picked up on your nervous state, squeezing your hand in reassurance and brushing a whisp of fallen hair out of your gently lit eyes, staring long enough to just catch the flicker of the candles within your irises. “They’re only my crew, darling. If they do anything wrong I will…” Kaz began, but he was cut short by your breathy laugh. Apparently, the wrath of your husband against those who threatened you extended even to his closest and most trustworthy companions.

The door swung open, revealing a well dressed set of crows, their eyes steering directly to the couple before they briskly made their way over to you. A sudden fear rose within you, but you refused to display the same expression you had at the crow club, willing to give your best performance until the feeling subsided. You shot each one a welcoming smile, exchanging pleasantries as they made themselves comfortable.

The fear shattered within you as you took each of the crow’s expressions in, which all seemed to strangely resemble awe? Excitement? Your initial confusion was brought to a standstill as Kaz turned to them, stating clearly, “Everyone, this is Y/N, my wife,” offering a tight-lipped smile to his friends.

Nina suddenly spat out her drink, eyes bulging as Jesper made a choking sound somewhere in the back of his throat. Inej and Wylan sat looking dumbfounded, the boy’s jaw hanging slightly open.

“Uhmm. Excuse me, let’s take a few steps back, shall we? Wife?!” Jesper exclaimed, completely in astonishment. Kaz took a deep breath in before tightening his hold on your hand, clearly apprehensive to reveal his most vulnerable softness to his friends, who had rarely seen more than a smirk from their stoic boss. As the crows gathered their thoughts and tried to configure logical reasoning as to what had been revealed, the elderly owner of the café hobbled over, giving Kaz a toothy grin.

“It’s been a while Mr Brekker! I was wondering when we would be graced with your presence again, I have already prepared your regular, peach pie with…” The woman began but was cut off sharply by a “Thank you,” from Kaz, as he turned his head to hide his embarrassment. Nina let out a snort as the other three simultaneously burst into giggles, causing you to fall victim to the contagiousness of the laughter.

By this point Kaz was beyond mortified, being called out as a ‘regular’ at a joyful family-run café at the edge of the Barrel, as well as having his guilty pleasure exposed to his crew who he was positive would never let this go.

Despite this humiliation, Kaz felt a drop of warmth seep into his chest at the sight of you conversing with his friends, immediately connecting with each one of them. He felt something moving inside of him, deciding it was probably you, chipping away at his apparently impenetrable walls.

As the late afternoon clouds faded into the evening haze, the group departed with delighted goodbyes and warm hugs, establishing the beginning of many trips to visit Kaz’s (now) not-so-secret wife. You left them armed with new candles for the slat, baked goods, and most impressively, trinkets from the market which you had bought personally for each crow, going solely off your husband's descriptions of each individual.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

A glowing warmth radiated from the couple as you both walked, fingers entwined, back to your home, taking in the constellations which lit up the tranquil streets you winded through. Kaz decided to reward himself with a rare but well-earnt night in, with the single intent of being doused in your affection.

Kaz smiled lovingly down at you, as you peacefully slept wrapped in his shirt and coat, wiped out by the intense emotions that poured through you that day.

Crouching down slowly, your husband fiddled with a stray piece of your hair, admiring how the serene glow from the fire softened your features, catching in your figure perfectly, framing your face in a halo of light.

He settled down next to you, exhausted but proud. Proud of how far you two had come, which flooded him with a sense of relief. Because as it turns out, his crows could undoubtedly see the same beauty he was blinded by within you.

And it was clear in this moment, both to him and his crew, that Kaz Brekker was more than just in love with you. His entire existence was plagued with sentiment for you, and for once Kaz couldn’t seem to view it as a weakness, rather a sign that something deep inside him was healing.

“I love you, darling of my heart,” Kaz whispered as he kissed you goodnight.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

tag list: @chaoticbeanz @kryptonitewizard @alanis-altair @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy <33

[biteofcherry]

Hi! ALPHA STEVEEEEE oh my actual days. i have an unhealthy attachement to GoT. If his omega was feeling insecure how would he react? I feel like he would be completely flabbergasted and considering how she is very much independent she might not tell him at first. but if he found out...

A study

alpha!Steve Rogers x omega female reader

warnings: none; fluffy hurt/comfort; alpha has unique ways of improving your mood; but there's also understanding and communication; alpha Steve is a warning okay?

Grain of Truth Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"I guess this one could work," you shrugged, watching yourself in the mirror with growing resentment.

Your words reached Steve with quite a delay. He was staring at you, his mind occupied with images of ripping the fabric off of your body to get his hands on the magnificence of your curves and softness.

You looked absolutely fantastic in that dress - and it wasn't even some revealing, super sexy evening gown, but rather a chic, modest piece. Perfect for attending a conference.

And when you first saw that dress on the display as you passed the shop, you seemed to love it. How could it change so quickly?

Steve's gaze dragged up your body until he met your eyes in the mirror.

It was the very first time you showed annoyance with your looks, even if occasionally you fussed about not fitting into your favorite clothes right before the heat, because your body was accumulating fat to survive days of endless fucking.

"What is it?" Steve's brows furrowed as he took a step closer and you felt the warmth of his body at your back.

His hands slipped onto your hips and he rested his chin on top of your head as he held your gaze in the reflection.

"Nothing," you shrugged again, instinctively leaning into your alpha's embrace. "It's a good dress, but it doesn't really matter, right?"

Steve sensed that clearly it did matter, so he waited patiently for you to elaborate.

"I just have one meaningless presentation, nobody will pay attention to it beside just politely listening and clapping after I'm done." You tried to play it cool, like it didn't bother you that there was going to be a different star at the conference.

"Unlike Hope," you muttered, your tone more bitter than you wanted to let on.

Hope was- not exactly a friend, but not an enemy either.

You went to the same university, shared some mutual friends and occasionally worked on the same projects before graduation. Then you pursued your career goals while Hope went on to rock the world with everything that she had.

She was stunning, always had a line of men and women trailing behind her with dreams of spending time with her. She had a brilliant mind, too. Honestly, she had it all, in your opinion.

Including the freedom of not being driven by designation and hormones, since she was a beta.

As it turned out, Hope now had not one but three degrees and steered her career toward medical science for the military purposes. You were proud of how you were actually helping people day to day, running your small research, but it suddenly felt less significant compared to Hope's straight road to saving the world.

When you stumbled into her an hour ago, your brief, quite warm conversation revealed she was going to be the mysterious grand star at the conference you were also attending.

And she too was searching for an outfit. Judging by the label on the bag she was carrying, Hope was going to have something designer. Perhaps even custom fitted.

Then it turned out Steve was familiar with one of her projects; he saw it used in action when back in the military.

They switched feedback and information about Hope's upgrades so flawlessly and passionately, and you just stood there with a smile, nodding your head in pretend-interest.

Hope had it all. Still. Just like she had in uni.

Including attention of your mate.

You knew Steve loved you, you didn't fear him leaving you to chase anyone else. But love didn't mean he was impressed, or interested in your meager career.

The only profit you'd gain from presenting your study at the conference would be Maria's proud face as she added to your clinic's website information about running research acknowledged at international conferences.

"Hope?" One of Steve's eyebrows quirked up, confusion settling on his face. "That beta we ran into?"

"Yes, that beta whose great improvements to the battlefield medicine-" you mocked Steve's voice- "you were complimenting less than an hour ago," you glared at him, barely stopping yourself from stomping on his foot.

"Sweet brat," Steve's hands tightened their grip on your hips, an almost painful reminder to watch your tone.

"I was a Captain in the Army and sometimes on missions things got really bad. I simply appreciate that Hope's projects helped to save lives of some of my men."

"I know her work is important." You grit out, crossing your arms over your chest. "Which is why I know everyone will look forward to her presentation and discussion panel with her. So I don't need to bother stressing over my showing."

Steve recited the full title of your presentation and research, showing you he was always paying attention to what was important to you.

"Hope's work may be desired by the big, important institutions," he said, "but it's your research that has the potential of aiding people nationally, in their day to day struggles."

Your heart melted at the conviction in Steve's voice. Through the bond you sensed a steady rhythm and a flush of fiery pride that your alpha felt about your work.

"And you know what else?" Steve bent down a little, resting his chin in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your cheek.

"Hope has nothing beyond her career. Beneath the smell of perfume, there's only the scent of the lab on her. No partner, neither long term nor a fuckbuddy. No remnants of anyone familiar, like a friend or a pet."

"Maybe she chose it that way," Steve mused, rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs, "or maybe she spends the rest of her day being as fussy as you, feeling bitter that she doesn't have a mate and love like you."

You sighed softly, uncrossing your arms. You rested your hands atop Steve's forearms, caressing his warm skin.

You tilted your head slightly as your placated insecurities slowly retreated, living room to the mentioned fussy streak. That still wasn't entirely gone, strumming inside you with a need to act out.

"So you were checking her scent?" It was a deliberate poke, delivered with a glare.

Steve huffed and closed his eyes for a second. Then he straightened and in one swift move twirled you around.

He pushed you back against the mirror, gripping the back of your neck with one of his large hands.

"If you're sporting for a spanking until you sob all your frustration and insecurities out, I will happily arrange it." His voice remained soft, but dropped to that low octave a breath away from a growl.

"Or maybe we can make you more excited on that stage?" You gulped nervously as Steve's eyes darkened.

His lips trailed along your jaw, teeth just barely grazing your skin.

"You'll be giving your lecture wearing nothing but that pretty dress, while I sit in the first row with your panties in my pocket. Knowing that as soon as you're done with your presentation, I'm going to be fucking you full of my cum..."

Steve nipped your chin in reprimand when your eyes closed, the sting making you open them instantly.

"So that when you do the rounds at the banquet later that beta you're jealous off knows that you've won something she'll never have. A true mate."

Your clamped your hands on Steve's shoulders, gripping the fabric of his too tight t-shirt.

"You can't solve everything with sex, you know," you said breathlessly, clenching your thighs as you felt Steve's free hand slide up the pencil skirt of the dress you were trying on.

"How about we conduct a longitudinal study on that?" Steve chuckled and slapped your thigh.

[chunghasweetie]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 | P.JM 1

— pairing | femceo!oc x ceo!pjm

— summary | two rival ceos competing for years. famous for their rivalry and hatred for one another. always arguing. she hated him. he couldn’t stand her.

but why was he hard after every interaction?

— warnings | bad writing (i’m doing my best) slow burn (i’m annoying), secret relationships (oc’s bsf has the hots for jk), cruel humor (oc acts hard to get), fluff, cheating (jimin won’t give up on this girl), relationship abuse, abuse, light stalking (oc’s bsf is NOSY), alcohol, angst, lying, toxic relationships, toxic love concepts, aggression, irrational behavior, misogyny, derogatory comments (oc’s bf is a DICK),

— word count | 7.4k words

— song suggestions | confident — justin bieber

Park Jimin.

One of the greatest names in South Korea. One of the greatest names in the world actually. His face was on everything. Street signs, billboards, cars, even school lunch pails.

He was a prodigy. A genius. Although his parents were successful, he needed no help from them. He owned car dealerships, clothing brands, shoe stores, etc. Anything you could name, he owned 3 of it.

All at age 28.

No children, no spouse. All of his achievements done single-handedly.

How did he become so successful? We'll never know. He's a very a secretive man.

Although there is not much known about him, he is the definition of "the female gaze."

He is an incredibly handsome man. He trends daily for his sharp jawline, his beautifully carved lips, and his beautiful siren like eyes.

He could charm any man or woman with his looks alone. His voice was like a pied piper, seducing anyone who listened.

Park Jimin was a mystery.

༊—

Yoo Jangmi.

CEO of YooMi Beauty. The title coming from her surname and her first name.

YooMi Beauty was an incredibly  popular beauty brand ranging from makeup all the way to high toothbrushes.

YooMi Beauty had makeup, jewelry, women's clothes, men's clothes, heels, maternity wear, children's clothes, even kitchen wear.

Everyone was wearing YooMi. Custom designs from Ms. Jangmi herself. She was a self made entrepreneur who turned her small business into an empire.

She was an inspiration to many women. Being an independent woman and making a name for herself all on her own, many people looked up to her.

Unlike Park Jimin, Jangmi was very interactive with interviews and customers who supported her. She admired every bit of feedback she received and was very transparent.

It was no secret that Park Jimin was her rival, and with her coming out with a new car accessory line, she knew there would be talk.

He owned a lot of different branches similar to her, so the two were constantly competing against one another.

Tonight they were both invited to a gathering at a casino in Las Vegas hosted by one of his competitors, Yoo Kihyun.

Jangmi's brother.

Jimin wore a more business casual outfit. Since it was being hosted by Kihyun, he could care less how he really looked. No one there would peak his interest enough to really make him want to stand out.

"Nice to see you, Park. Champagne?" Kihyun offered.

"Don't mind if I do." He answered, watching the bartender pour them a drink. "Surprised you invited me. Especially after I made your sales plummet last spring." He smirked.

"Surprised you remembered." Kihyun chuckled lowly, taking a sip of his drink.

"How could I not? I'm making it a marker of my many successes." Jimin thanked the bartender, turning back to Kihyun.

"You enjoy your night, Park. Do contact me if you need anything else." Kihyun and Jimin waved their goodbyes as Kihyun went to greet other guests.

Jimin held his chin high as he drank alone. At gatherings like these, he didn't talk to many other business owners.

Not to his surprise, he was viewed as a very arrogant man. Which he was, in moderation.

He wasn't a total dick, at least he'd say so. But he definitely was a sassy man. He was a bittersweet person.

"Sitting alone like always." A low female voice was heard behind him. "Get me something with vodka and strawberries." She ordered to the bartender, taking a seat beside Jimin.

"Ms. Yoo." He turned to her. "How lovely is it to see you tonight. Alone." He mimicked her. "You order your drinks like a toddler."

Tonight she was wearing a lilac maxi dress, sparkles reflecting off the many games and neon lights around them. Her hair was long, jet black and parted to the side.

"At least I'm not drinking boring champagne. Don't you like to try new things?"

He shook his head. "Nope. You can never go wrong with champagne. You already know what to expect."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I can expect to be face deep hurling over the casino toilet."

"How ladylike." He fake smiled. "No wonder you're alone too."

"I actually chose to come alone, Mr. Park. You have no choice." She thanked the bartender as he slid her drink over to her. "Be a doll and pay for my drink?"

"As if." He scoffed. "Why should I do that?"

"Because I'll be the only woman you've bought a drink for since you've been able to purchase alcohol." She fake smiled back to him, taking a sip.

Friendly fire is what their relationship would be described as.

They could be civil with one another yes, but they had every reason to not be.

They were in constant competition. Who could sell more in a certain amount of time. Who could please their consumers more than the other.

She couldn't stand him. He couldn't stand her. Every little thing the other did, set them off.

What made it worse was they were neighbors.

Jangmi and her brother looked so alike. The evil smirk they shared ticked Jimin off.

One thing Jimin and Jangmi both agreed on, was their rivalry against Kihyun.

Kihyun and Jangmi were siblings, but he was also her competitor.

He was shady, a cheat. He used his looks to his advantage when it came to business. He lied to a lot of his consumers and he often made false promises to them.

Although there were a few instances where he was exposed for his doings, he easily paid off reporters for their silence.

He overshadowed brands that had actual good value. Honest brands. Such as YooMi and Park Enterprises.

No one with a high power dared to ever challenge Kihyun, knowing damn well he could crush them instantly. So many remain silent.

"Aren't you just peachy to be around." He fake swooned. "Go hang out with your brother. I miss the silence before you got here."

"You know damn well that's not going to happen. I'd rather sit and drink with you than talk to that idiot." She took another sip.

"Don't tell me you like me Ms. Yoo— Awe! I'm flattered." He put his hand on his heart. "You have a boyfriend, but I'd understand why you'd want me more."

"You fucking wish. You'd have to pay me to like someone like you." She shook her head. "Especially more than him."

"I don't know. That's how they all start out. Pretty soon you'll want to sleep with me when you become a married woman. That's how captivating I am." He winked at her.

Jangmi almost gagged. "Captivating or cocky? Either way I'm going to be sick."

"I think you mean lovesick." He corrected her.

"Alright enough of that." She downed her drink, placing the empty glass on the table. "Thanks for the drink. Goodnight Park." She waved before exiting the bar.

"Goodnight Ms. Yoo." He bid his goodbyes, watching her as she walked off. He looked down at his aching lower region once she was completely out of his sight. “Shit— Am I hard?”

༊—

"Finally." Jangmi threw herself on her couch.

"How was it? How was he?" Jangmi's best friend Yeri came out of the kitchen, a bowl of oatmeal in her hands.

Yeri and Jangmi had been best friends since the age of 8 years old. The two were almost like sisters. They did absolutely everything together and they knew everything about each other.

Yeri knew the code to Jangmi's penthouse, so she'd go in and out as she pleased if she didn't see her boyfriends car in the driveway. She only lived a few buildings down but according to her Jangmi's home felt "comforting"

"You ask me that every time. Just apply at his office or something." Jangmi replied, face down into the pillow.

"You know it's not that simple!" Yeri whined. "My dads money can only do so much for me." She pouted.

"Work for it." Jangmi suggested.

"I'd rather die. Hey! Do you think Kihyun might want to—"

"I'm going to stop you right there! My brother is off limits!" Jangmi shot up from her couch.

"Are you jet lagged or something?! I meant offer me a modeling gig! You didn't let me finish." Yeri rolled her eyes.

"Thank goodness. I almost died." Jangmi laid back on the couch. "I don't get why you even think he's cute. He's a cocky bastard."

"You don't see the vision Jangmi. Jimin may not have the best personality, but you've got to admit he's very handsome."

"You call him Jimin like you guys are close." Jangmi brought out her phone. "Look, I have to run to his office anyways for a pick up tomorrow. You can say you're one of my assistants and take my place."

"Are you serious?!" Yeri gasped.

She nodded.

Yeri set down the oatmeal and ran to her best friend. She gave her a huge hug, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She squeezed her.

"Don't make me regret this." Jangmi grumbled.

༊—

Lee Minhyuk, Jangmi's boyfriend of over a year.

The man was about 179cm and just a year younger than Jangmi herself. She didn't usually go for the younger ones but this one specifically caught her eye.

Their relationship was very public. Everyone knew about him.

He wouldn't shut up about her. Although he hasn't nearly as famous as she was, whenever he'd be interviewed or featured on television he'd always manage to bring her up.

Jangmi this. Jangmi that.

He was a romantic too. Surprise roses here and there, dates outside the office.

His world revolved around her, as she was what he gloated about the most.

The media adored him, waiting daily for the man to pop the question, "Will you marry me?"

He originally was one of her Kihyun's business partners, so they met through him.

She'd say it was love at first sight the way they instantly connected after some simple phrases back and fourth.

Their relationship seemed so perfect. Barely any fighting or bickering between the couple. They were on the same page about their futures and they could communicate well.

Their relationship was perfect. As in it used to be. Out of nowhere, Minhyuk turned away from her. Pretty early on too.

Fights between the two would break out often. He'd leave and disappear for days on end. Weeks even.

She couldn't pinpoint where exactly they went wrong. She was nothing but devoted to him and treated him with nothing but respect.

He was controlling. Didn't like her daily habits. Didn't like how she ate and how she dressed.

His boasting about her was usually about her physical appearance. It was appreciated but she just wished he'd bring up something that wasn't about her face or her body.

They could be just a bit more intimate, thought Jangmi. At least towards her. They had sex often but, it didn't go down in the way she'd like to.

Often when it would come to them 'getting it on' it would only end up benefiting Min-hyuk.

"I don't want to try anything new." Minhyuk would argue, leaving a frustrated Jangmi to finish herself off later when she was left alone.

Eventually she stopped fighting it, seeing that she wasn't going to win anyway after time and time again of her trying to explain.

Maybe it's just an obstacle they'd have to overcome in the future, all couples have something they need to work on.

For Min-hyuk, the main obstacle in their relationship was her not wanting to settle down.

She didn't want to be married just yet. The girl loved to party, loved to travel. She was a drinker and she loved to explore and feel free.

She loved looking pretty. Dressing up. One of the main reasons she started her business.

Daily she'd wear makeup and "girly" outfits. She was a very feminine woman who couldn't stand looking overly simple.

Here and there she'd like to expose skin. Nothing drastic but she loved to feel comfortable in her body. She went to the gym daily. She didn't work hard just to not show it off.

Her looks weren't for anyone's gaze. Just for her and her only.

Minhyuk wanted to domesticate her already. Make her the perfect housewife and give birth to their many children. Combine their companies.

He didn't like that she loved to party. He hated that all she wanted to do was try new things and travel.

Do not get him started on her outfits. How could such a woman show off so much?

He didn't understand any of it. He loved her but at some point shouldn't she stop?

"Don't you think you're getting a bit old to be wearing outfits like that?" He asked, leaning against the doorframe

Jangmi wore a simple floral pattern dress. It was long sleeved and flowy at the bottom.

She never wore flats but today she decided to. She dressed so plain today. For once she didn't dress for herself but she dressed for him today. Her outfit was the exact opposite of what she usually wore.

It was one of of the most modest outfits she owned.

"Considering I'm still in my twenties I don't think so at all." She laughed.

"Late twenties might I add." He folded his arms. "Shouldn't you be thinking about your future just a bit more?"

"Uh I think about my future every damn day. You forget I run an entire empire." She scoffed.

"I'm just trying to help you out Jangmi. Nows the age to start thinking just a bit more about the future of us. I want kids. A marriage." He held onto her waist.

"I don't understand why my outfit is stopping us from achieving that." Jangmi tilted her head.

"Just forget it." Minhyuk sighed, a sad expression settling on his face.

"Wait— I'll change." Jangmi exhaled.

She just wanted the best for the two. Minhyuk was all she knew, so she couldn't just give up on him.

Minhyuk's pout turned into a smile instantly. "Thanks Jangmi! I love you."

"I love you too." She smiled, heading back up the stairs.

༊—

"Breathe Yeri. Breathe." Yeri calmed herself down before entering the elevator of Park Enterprises.

She was really there in the building. After using Jangmi as an excuse to see Park Jimin up close and in person, she was finally able to do it.

The smoking hot man she had seen on so many billboards and TV screens she was finally going to see in person.

She was filthy rich and her dad could get her to meet anyone she wanted but for some reason, Jimin wasn't within reach.

He was a busy man who was always traveling. And unlike an idol, he couldn't just do meet and greets.

I guess you could say she was a bit of a fan girl.

The elevators made a "ding" noise as soon as she reached the top floor.

"Okay. You just put them on the desk and leave. Easy." She reminded herself as the elevator doors opened.

Before her plans could be fulfilled, she slammed right into someone.

"Ow!" She winced as she immediately dropped to the floor.

"Oh my goodness— Are you okay?!" The man immediately stooped down and helped her up from the ground.

"Y-Yeah." She struggled to get back on her feet.

"I'm so sorry!" He bowed to her before the two made eye contact.

Damn.

'Who is he?' Yeri thought.

Little did she know he was thinking that same thing.

The two simply stared at each other for a few seconds.

She felt as if she was in some kind of drama. When she looked at him it was like cherry blossoms and lovey dovey music played in the background.

Forget Jimin. She needed this one.

"Are you here to see Mr. Park?" He asked her as he pressed on the elevator button.

She nodded.

"He's not in his office at the moment but I can take those. You're from YooMi. Correct?" He asked her as he took the files from her hand.

She nodded once more.

Damnit, why can't you speak? Yeri thought to herself. No way she was this pathetic in front of him.

"I'm sorry if I've frightened you. I'm Mr. Park's secretary." He bowed to her, her bowing back. "And you are?"

"Ah— I'm Ms. Yoo's assistant."

"You must be new. I know all of Ms. Yoo's assistants." He adjusted his glasses.

"I'm still in training unfortunately. She's just having me run some errands." She explained before the elevator came to a stop.

"I wish you luck. I know she's a pretty tough woman. But this is my stop. Sorry again." He waved goodby before getting off the elevator.

"I need him." She mumbled to herself after waving goodbye to Mr. Park's assistant.

༊—

"Jangmi, please."

"For the last time. Hell no! What are you even on about?! You didn't want a job period now all of a sudden you want to work for me? You're out of your mind." Jangmi walked past the pleading girl.

"I'm so desperate here Jangmi. Can't you find it in your heart to—"

"No." She shook her head. "Not until you explain to me what the hell you're doing this for."

Yeri had spent the last few hours researching Jimin's secretary.

There were images and videos but there were no names. Nothing to work with at all.

She needed to see him again. He introduced himself as Jimin's secretary but didn't even give her his work name. Did he not want to tell her? Was he secretive? What kind of person wouldn't even say their own name?

She figured since Jangmi and Jimin hated each other, she had to know.

"What's his name? Jimin's secretary." Yeri asked.

"Ohhh. That's what this is for." Jangmi smirked. "Finally seen Secretary Sexy up close."

"Don't ever call him that again." Yeri gagged. "That was hard to even hear."

"Whatever. It could be worse, I could like Mr. Park's secretary."

"You don't get it! Jangmi you just had to be there. He was so tall. His shoulders— Oh don't get me started. And he's polite! When we locked eyes it's like..." She trailed off. "Love at first sight!"

Jangmi simply stared at the girl for a moment. Then burst out laughing. "Whew Yeri!" She threw herself on the couch. "You can not be serious!"

"It's not funny!" Yeri began to throw a fit, stomping her feet. "It's like the whole world literally stopped for us! Music started playing and the colors in the elevator became so vibrant like in the movies!"

"The elevator is literally silver and brown!" Jangmi laughed. "Girl he's cute but not that cute!"

"You're childish." She mumbled. "You're just jealous because you're in a generic relationship. You're not in a drama like me okay!"

"And what am I supposed to be in if you're a drama?"

"Those really boring slow silent historical films that only old people watch!" Yeri immaturely pointed at her.

"Well that was just rude. But I guess that's what love at first sight does to you." Jangmi giggled, causing Yeri to huff. "Okay okay that was the last one!"

"Just tell me his name. Oh my gosh- Do you have his number?!" She jumped on the couch.

"How close do you think I am to Mr. Park?!" She exclaimed.

"I have an idea!" Yeri shot up onto her feet.

"Let's hear it." She sighed.

"Buy him."

Jangmi rose an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Yeri smirked. "There must be a reason Park Enterprises runs so well. The secretary. We buy the secretary we buy all of his secrets. Poor guy was overworked. I don't even think he has his own office. Let's march down there and let's buy his secretary!"

"That's..." Jangmi exhaled. "The stupidest idea I've ever heard of. And you just talked about love at first sight. You're an actual idiot."

Yeri whined. "Come on! It's a good idea. Don't you want to know his secrets?"

"As much as I do not like Mr. Park, you're not thinking about this logically. His secretary is bound by his contact. Equally meaning he can not say a damn thing about the Park name. We have no idea what kind of contract he even signed." She took her hair out of her ponytail.

"And to be honest. I don't care about that secretary enough to hire him. I'm not wasting my precious time on some crush that may be loyal to his company." Jangmi shook her head.

"So that's it? Me and him are through?" Yeri dramatically stuffed her face in the pillow. "I thought money could fix everything!"

"You should know very well by now it does not. At all." Jangmi rolled her eyes. Hearing how distraught her best friend was, she caved in.

"His name is Jeon Jungkook. Do you want to go drink and get BBQ?" She asked her.

༊—

"She's perfect isn't she? Beautiful face and a beautiful body. What more could a man want?" Minhyuk boasted in front of the press, arm wrapped around Jangmi's waist.

Tonight they were attending a fashion show in Seoul. The main models were wearing various designs by YooMi and Jangmi couldn't be more proud.

She hand picked the models herself years ago and now with their experience, they'll be walking their first runway.

YooMi wasn't the only brand making an appearance that night.

Park Jimin was only a few feet beside them, waving to the press.

Surprisingly he wasn't alone, but not in the way you'd think.

Secretary Jeon was beside him, answering some questions for Jimin.

It was a bit surprising considering he never really spoke up, so they got a bit more attention than usual.

She paid no attention to them, focusing on the interview in front of her.

"I'm sure he loves my persona too." Jangmi added on, laughing.

Once the interview was wrapped up, Jangmi and Minhyuk made their way to their seats after going through security.

Jangmi happily checked out the area, the room being set up perfectly as she envisioned it.

"This is going to be so good!" The girl rubbed her hands together in excitement.

"Yeah." Minhyuk mumbled, feeling unsteady.

Truth be told the guy didn't want to be here at all. If it was up to him he'd be at home with a cold beer and a porn website.

The show started once everyone took their seats, and Jangmi didn't take her eyes off the runway.

༊—

"Oh my gosh!" Jangmi clapped loudly. "Beautiful! That was so amazing! My girls and boys did so amazing! I'm so proud."

"Yup." Minhyuk looked around. "Do you think the open bar is still available?"

"What's your problem?" She questioned him.

He'd been aching to go since the interview. What could've possibly made him this uneasy?

"You can tell me Minhyuk."

"Earlier. Why did you have to say that?" Minhyuk turned to her.

She looked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sure he loves my persona too" He mimicked her. "Don't you think that kind of makes me sound like a dick? You should've been more considerate."

"Well I mean all you've done is talk about my looks all night. It was just a harmless joke so relax." She fanned herself.

"I don't need your shit right before a show." He crossed his arms, anger slightly rising.

"You act like it's your brand who's modeling. We came here for me." She scoffed.

"Whatever. It was a shit show anyway. The clothing you submitted wasn't good for shit." He muttered out, clearly ticked off.

"Are you fucking serious? You're acting like a fucking child. If you want to be a dick right now then just fucking go. I have a ride home anyway." She rose her voice.

"Fine. Didn't want to be here anyway." He stood up from his seat and stomped off childishly.

Jangmi breathed out, fanning herself some more.

She needed to calm her nerves before anxiety rose or this wasn't going to end well.

"What's wrong with Captain Hothead?"

"Not now Park. I can not deal with you right now." Jimin eyed her. Analyzing her body language and emotional state.

He didn't see the entire situation go down, but he seen enough to where he could make a good assumption.

She looked stressed from their previous outburst at her boyfriend. Uneasy.

But damn did she look good.

Jangmi had on a steel blue suit with a corset top underneath, revealing some of her cleavage and her stomach piercing which matched the rest of the jewelry she had.

She paired the outfit with diamond jewelry and 4 inch platform heels.

Jimin couldn't help himself but to take a good look at her. Sure she was his rival. But it couldn't hurt to just take a peek.

"You clean up nice." He eyed her once more. "And so did your models. Not bad Ms. Yoo."

"Thank you Mr. Park." She stood up from her chair. "Did you come here to make fun of me because I caused a scene?"

"It's not a scene if no one cares." He smiled. "The world doesn't revolve around you Yoo."

"Whatever." Jangmi was about to push past him but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Let me take you home." He said suddenly, making her look up at him.

Oddly, Jimin couldn't help himself but sympathize for her. He knew well she didn't like to look vulnerable in front of him, but he wanted to stand before her with open arms.

"What?"

"You said you had a ride. I know for a fact he took the car you both came in. Let me drive you home, neighbor." He reached his hand out to her.

Honestly, she didn't have any other choice. She didn't like the guy but she knew for sure Yeri would be knocked out sleep and there's no one she could depend on to take her home.

Jimin lived right next door, so he's all she got. But why was he being so friendly to her?

"Alright."

༊—

Silent.

It was silent in the car. Who knew they'd be so awkward around each other.

There was small talk between the two in the beginning but it ended up dying down a lot sooner than they both anticipated.

She already thanked him many times for his offer, so not much could be said about that. Jimin didn't mind hearing the praise but she definitely could've said much more.

"You don't seem to shut up any other time. Why the silence now?"

She looked up from playing with her fingers. "I'd figure I'd be nice to you considering I would be stuck at the show without you."

"Always knew you'd need me one day." He chuckled.

"Arrogant."

"What was that?"

"You're arrogant." She repeated.

"You don't like that? All the ladies do."

She scoffed. "I'm not apart of of all the ladies then. And I have a boyfriend so you don't phase me."

"Some boyfriend you have. He's a bit of a boy don't you think? Kind of toddler-like." He raised his eyebrows as he pulled into the gated community they lived in.

"You don't know him. He just had a bad night that's all. It was my fault." She shifted in her seat. "It doesn't matter anyway it's none of your concern."

He chuckled as he pulled into his driveway, turning off the car. "Yeah you're right."

She unbuckled herself and picked up her purse from the floor of the car. "Anyway, thank you Mr. Park for taking me home."

"Anytime." He unbuckled himself.

The two waved their goodbyes and Jimin watched her enter her home safely.

He locked his car and entered in the code to his home before entering.

"It is my concern Ms. Yoo."

༊—

"I'm coming!" Jangmi raced down the staircase, making her way to the front door.

The girl had her pajamas on paired with her froggy slippers. She finished her hair and makeup already for the day 'just because' since she'd be staying home.

Yeri was asleep upstairs, and Jangmi knew damn well Minhyuk wouldn't talk to her first.

So who'd be ringing her doorbell so early in the morning?

Jangmi opened her front door, seeing the very last person she thought would be ringing her doorbell.

"Hey neighbor." The charming man leaned against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Uh hey." Jangmi stared at him, taken back. "Didn't think I'd see you this morning."

One thing about Jangmi, she always avoided eye contact with Jimin.

For him being dressed so casually, he didn't look bad at all.

Why am I checking him out? Shit. Jangmi wondered to herself.

Something about those siren eyes always threw her off. They made her feel distracted.

Was she seriously checking out the guy she couldn't stand in the least? When she had a boyfriend at that?

"I just wanted to check up on you after yesterday." He parted his lips, licking them.

"Like I said, it's none of your concern." She snapped out of his trance. "Why does it matter?"

Why was he still on about it?

"You're right. Can't help but stay curious I guess." He chuckled before his face turned serious. "Eat at my place for breakfast, Ms. Yoo."

Jangmi practically choked on air. "What? Don't you think that's kind of inappropriate?"

"I don't think it is at all. Two CEOs just grabbing a bite to eat." Jimin stuck his hands in his pockets. "Boyfriend won't let you out or what?"

Jangmi huffed. She'd be damned to have anyone think Minhyuk had some sort of power that determined what she'd be doing with her free time.

She was starving, and she knew well Yeri would not be awake in time for the local breakfast diner to be open by the time she woke up.

"Fine, let's go eat. Give me time to get ready."

"You look fine now. We're both in our pajamas and it's not like we're going out somewhere nice. Just my dining room." He smiled.

"Okay." She stepped out of her doorway, walking beside Jimin as they walked over to his home.

[lakefoundtheirexit]

If I did custom character designs for $25 would anyone be interested? I'm thinking either as mystery adopts, or something like "pick a species and something else" or 3 emoji prompts

(if the cost is an issue or you have other suggestions pick other)

[sacredsanguine]

Just what it says on the tin. 18+ interaction under the cut. <3

So I feel like most of the characters could have lots of different presentations, but Some of them are just. They're very strongly coded, alright.

Andrey is an omega. He likes sniffing his love interests, he's like perpetually comforting himself with Nikolai's scent (okay and the cinnamon roll thing??? guys. it's right there.) Also the blanket nests all the time, etc. etc. He's super super physically affectionate with his partners and wants to be held/snuggled all the time - can I make it more obvious?

Taran is a beta. AND instead of those magic siphons he has sucking off his artisans, he's got some kind of meds that make him smell/seem like an alpha. I was actually thinking of a whole backstory like how instead of going to Aixois with his friend to buy a horse he was actually going to get a refill or something. Also beta!Taran definitely still has special artisans on his patronage to make him colognes designed to mimic alpha scents by amplifying certain aspects of his own pheromones.

Ariel is a beta that everyone thinks is an alpha. They have a quietly commanding presence and a way of arranging pieces to fall into place that gives off Big Alpha Energy. It also helps that they're such an enigma - major mysterious alpha vibes.

Esme is an omega on heat suppressants. She's like the POSTER GIRL for them (it's a secret still, but like c'mon). She's such a girlboss and definitely covers up her presentation to make everyone in Pheles believe she's an alpha, just like she has her whole "My name is and always has been Esme and I'm a fire mage" thing in canon. She loves being wrapped up (look at her wardrobe. homegirl does not own anything that doesn't FLAUNT THE FIGURE, and it's because she craves touch), she's literally whimpered and clung to alpha-coded people on-screen and immediately performed panic responses to cover it up, she's got similar responses to Andrey to certain magical signatures....don't EVEN get me started on how her body language around love interests changes DRAMATICALLY in public vs private.

Enoch and Nicholas are both alphas. But this one fic I read had their ruts trigger each other's instead of being on a regular cycle or triggered by an omega's heat, and honestly it was kind of genius. I think they'd keep a running count of whose rut induced the other person's (and by they, I mean Nicholas) and it'd be a competitive thing for no reason.

So magical signatures are pretty much equivalent to what I think everyone's specific blend of pheromones would smell like, but I think blockers would come in two kinds:

Mufflers - more socially accepted/common, used as a courtesy when appearing in public during a heat/rut or when you know you'll be around a lot of people and don't want to accidentally flood anyone's brain who might be close to/in their own. Don't remove or replace a scent completely, just dampen it down. Negligible side effects, even if used long-term, applied topically (rich people have sigil patches instead of a cream). Over time, your body might develop a resistance to a particular formulation, which would make the muffler less effective.

Banners - very taboo and/or illegal when used outside specific "approved" ceremonial contexts (ex. religious figures who are mandatorily celibate, deep spy missions, etc.). Completely neutralize a person's scent; some kinds also replace the scent with a blend of pheromones from a different presentation, so you could use a banner to pose as a different presentation. Betas posing as alphas or omegas aren't usually made as big of a deal out of, but an alpha posing as an omega or vice versa definitely would be a big scandal.

"Scenting" as a form of greeting is only done within Pheles and the court - like the message bubble spell, it's a ridiculous custom rooted in the archaic "alpha superiority" posturing culture (and also because exposing your neck/scent glands to a stranger used to be equivalent to "you show me yours, I'll show you mine" since two alphas meeting would have to ease their instinctual threat response to each other).

I'm gonna talk about ruts too but the alliteration was really cute <3

Even outside of heats, Andrey just builds nests. Constantly. Lowkey his actual heat nests are massive fire hazards bc of how many flammable, fluffy blankets and pillows he piles together.

Whenever he has to deal with his ruts/heats himself (I flip-flop on his presentation lol), Joel recites Farfallan verses - if it's reallly hard to get through, he does them backwards.

Joel is also the type of person to always try getting himself through without help because he doesn't want to burden anyone with taking care of him.

Esme's been coasting because she has enough girlboss alpha energy to make people placebo believe her Alpha Command Voice, but she gets found out either by her "fake" Omega Suggestion Voice working a little too well OR suddenly developing an intolerance to her suppressants and well...the fandom doesn't call her soggy for nothing. <3 First heat in what, seven years? Bitey bruises are the least of the issue.

Taran has a huge and unexplored presentation-play kink. He'll likely never get into it with a partner for fear of exposing himself.

Nicholas once had to be put into a medically-induced coma during his rut because he kept wanting to draw blood off Enoch and then the smell of another alpha's blood sent him into a raging frenzy.

Enoch tends to hide away during his rut, emerging only for necessary business or to work out (usually very destructive). He also gets more omega-like symptoms during his rut (feverish, very flushed, damp).

Plot Headcanons

Esme never realized it until way too late, but the periods where her heat would have been happening were also the times she craved playing bitey the most.

Nicholas would have put it together if he hadn't been so disgusted/busy playing bitey with her. Taran does put the pieces together because he's never seen Esme brat out like that.

Nikolai also figures it out and tells Andrey. Andrey is too busy building a nest to care (for now). Depending on divorcee solidarity status later, Esme might get an unwanted and unasked-for safe mating talk. Nikolai does the hand puppetry.

At some point, Andrey's and Esme's heats sync up and their altered behavior prompts the tabloids to theorize that Aurora is their biokid again

Alt. headcanon for how Esme gets exposed: when she's sick after ice skating and Enoch goes to check on her at her apartment....that wasn't an alpha command voice, that was a really bossy omega suggestion. And it worked. We leave it to the fanfics to decide if Enoch realizes or not!

Taran's post-sex cigarettes are for pleasure and for enhancing the dominant alpha notes in his scent.

Nesting Habits

Andrey likes soft fleecy fabrics best for nesting, decorated with silk tassels or pillowcases. He likes more blankets or his partners' clothes to wrap up in than pillows and likes burying his face in them while being "rolled up"

Esme likes the feeling of silk, but her favorite nesting material is cotton because it's softer and more breathable with the fur of her ears/tail. She doesn't like being too warm, she would rather steal a partner's clothes to wear than wrap up with lots of blankets

Joel keeps multiple rosaries on hand to decorate nests, whether for himself or a partner

Taran once jokingly called Esme a pillow princess. The scratches on his back took a month to heal

[themummersfolly]

Octoboss content: chapter 2

This is posted on my AO3 under the title Highflyer, btw.

“460 cc’s, four stroke, air cooled.” The sun was down, and the woman sat cross-legged with the bikers at their campfire. “Machined up north, me pa’s design. Ain’t nobody can make an ultralight like he could.”

“How much guzzoline’s it drink?” Tyro wanted to know. Beside him, Sketch had gotten over his disappointment and leaned in, listening with interest.

“I don’t feed her straight guzzoline; mix it with oil. But she’ll drink a lot of things. I’ll pick up old cook oil from over at Bugtown, swap it for dry fish coming south and bullet lead coming north.”

“Where’s Bugtown?” VW asked, stirring the stewpot with a ladle. Tonight’s fare was made from lizards, mystery meat jerky, and the last of the crumbled up hardtack. The woman had contributed a packet of crusty-looking dried blobs; a lifetime in the Wasteland had taught the men not to question what they ate as long as it was food, and no one asked what they were. Huxley had tried one before they went in the pot and said it was sweet, that it would go well with the lizard.

“That way.” The woman pointed northeast. “About a day and a half flying. But there’s a big patch of salt between here and there. Don’t see nobody riding on it, so I don’t think you can cross it except by air.”

The Octoboss had taken off his helmet and leaned one elbow on it. “What kind of mileage you get?”

“She’ll go for about four hours on one tank of fuel. I can go longer if I glide and use thermals.”

He pondered this for a moment. “That what you were doing when you landed? Why we didn’t hear no motors?”

“Yeah. Can’t fly with a blown motor. So I switched it off and glided till I found a good spot to land.”

VW gave the pot another stir and lifted a ladleful out to sniff. “Think it’s done.”

It was a custom the Octoboss had established years ago: his point riders ate first, then any sick or wounded. Then the rest of his crew got their share. He himself ate last. Tonight, he nodded his head toward their guest.

“Let the lady eat first.”

She fished a tin cup out of her pack and held it out to receive the first ladleful. The others followed in their usual order, then he took the ladle from VW and filled his own cup. The following silence was broken only by slurping and by Brakeline swearing when he burned his mouth. Finally, when they had all licked the last of the grease from their fingers, the woman reached into her gear and pulled out a small round drum.

“You like music?”

“Know any metal rocks?” Huxley leaned forward. The old songs were a favorite in the Horde, and Dementus was known to reward anyone who could play a banger about fast cars, pretty women, and good times. It was a good way to cool tempers and get everyone’s engines revving together. The woman thumped her drum thoughtfully.

“How ‘bout Paradise City?”

The song was practically sacred to the bikers of the Wasteland. The woman’s voice rose over them, backed by her hand drum and the growl of the others singing along, then Tyro, who was the only one of the crew who could carry a tune in a bucket, took over with a couple lesser-known verses. Paradise City was followed by Highway To Hell, the Immigrant Song, and Manic Mechanic; the woman’s voice rose like a kite or rumbled like wheels on a good smooth road, and she belted out the words with the confidence of a History Man. When Huxley suggested a song she didn’t know, Tyro sang a few bars to give her the beat and she accompanied him on the drum while he sang Back In Black. As they wound down, she shifted to a slower beat and two songs they’d never heard before: one about hard work and choking chemicals, the other a wistful number about dreams and visions and rain. The Octoboss stretched out his long legs to the fire, watching her, as lost in the song as she was in the singing. The fire died down to embers; the last notes of the song drifted up with the sparks. Sketch and VW were already asleep; Huxley was curled up under Tyro’s arm, and Brakeline lay on his back, gazing up at the stars. Quietly, the woman tucked her drum into her pack. She glanced once at the Octoboss, then turned toward her plane. He rose to his feet as she did.

“I’ll walk you back.”

The silence of the desert seemed almost benevolent in the wake of her singing. The moon was full tonight, and he studied her as they walked down the slope.

“You got some pipes on you. Like a bird.” They were almost to the plane. She glanced up at him, quizzical, and he fumbled a little. “Not a crow, I mean, something nicer…” Something he hadn’t heard since he was young, and had never learned the name of.

“A lark.” She caught the fumbled thought and tossed it back to him. “’Least that’s what we say back home.”

“Yeah. Lark.”

She returned his gaze, didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. The derringer was in the thigh pocket of her coveralls; she had crossed her arms, tucking her fingers into her armpits. He took as step towards her. She didn’t step back.

“That was a slick move you pulled back there.” His voice was low, appreciative.

“What, pulling a gun on you?”

“Pick the one the others look to and cap him. You knew they’d back down.”

“I figured you’d stop ‘em. Or else I’d give a good accounting of myself on the way out.”

“They’ve got my back. Or my front, as the case may be.”

“They gonna leave me alone?”

“They will. I told ‘em not to bother you.”

“You got a lot of faith in your boys.”

Something almost like a smile pulled at his mouth. “Yeah.” She was a full foot shorter than him; if they stood toe-to-toe, he could rest his chin on top of her head. He was tempted to try, just to see how far her fearlessness went. Instead he broke the moment off and turned back to his camp. “Watch out for camel spiders. They’re bad around here.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder, at the plane, at its pilot. “G’night, Lark.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you know of any solo RPGs that could be plausibly played using the tumblr polls as a mechanic?

THEME: Tumblr Poll Solo Games

Hello dear friend, thank you so much for your patience. Let’s see what I can rustle up.

What I tried to focus on in this post is solo games that have roll tables or similar lists. One of the easiest ways I can think of transforming a ttrpg game into Tumblr polls is to move the roll tables into options on a poll! Many solo games present a large number of options, or a series of roll tables that can be used to generate complex characters, locations and problems. In those games, the player may have to generate a few options for their followers to vote on before the polls can contribute to gameplay. To see what kinds of options are out there, let’s take a look at a few!

Sweaters by Hedgehog, by Haunted Oak Press.

You’re just a little hedgehog person trying to sell your little sweaters in your little village shop. This game is about recording a log of your most interesting customers.

Sweaters by Hedgehog is a bit unique on this list because it uses a card deck rather than roll tables. One way you might be able to use roll tables to your advantage is present the different card options on a poll, rather than shuffling the cards into 4 different decks. Alternatively, you could draw a series of cards to present a number of customers, and then present the pre-designed customers in a poll - voters are selecting which customer actually enters the store!

If you would like a cute little game about making sweaters for friendly animal-folk, I definitely recommend Sweaters by Hedgehog.

Taken by the Shadows, by Mundos Infinitos.

A plagued city, a rogue with supernatural abilities.

The County of Arthath has been struck by The Muridae Plague. Riots caused by the dying common folk have weakened the military power. Count Vikkus has decided to establish The Stability Decree to strengthen security, place a curfew and close the border. 

But rumors about someone with the necessary skills to break these measures arise... Someone gifted with mysterious supernatural talents... A Masked Thief capable of taking whatever she wants from anyone, without ever being caught... 

Taken By The Shadows actually has a Duet mode, in which one player is the Oracle while the other is the player. This might also be a good match for Tumblr polls! There are randomly rolled options to set up your character and world, as well as a number of tables to establish the Jobs available. I think it might be really intriguing to roll on the tables to present a list of Jobs, and then use the Polls to determine which Job your character takes!

If you want a game about sneaking, smuggling, and spying, you might want to check out Taken by the Shadows.

Headlines from Hell, by Zeshio.

A cabal of overlords from hell called the ‘Lizards of the Roast’ have set a plan in motion to overthrow the mortal ruling kingdoms. Instead of using an overt army, hell is slowly corrupting officials. The overlords plan to seize power when enough mortals have been corrupted.

As an investigative reporter, you sense something is wrong. However, no one will believe you without evidence! Find enough information to unite the ruling kingdoms against the overlords of hell before their seeping corruption becomes absolute!

HEADLINES FROM HELL is a solo Table-Top Role Playing Game (TTRPG). In the game, you are a news reporter attempting to sway public opinion against corruption. To win the game, you need 20 EVIDENCE points. You lose if hell gets to 20 CORRUPTION.

This game contains two tracks that race against each-other in regards to how quickly they fill. One is the evidence track, which your character wants to fill in order to reveal the corruption of the Lizards. The other is the Corruption track, which increases each turn and makes it more difficult for you to uncover new information. 

Tumblr Polls can be used to help you out with the Headline Generator. You could present each Roll table separately, or roll on the tables to create a number of headlines, then present them to Tumblr for the final verdict. With each selected headline, you’ll also have to roll for public opinion, which could also be turned into a poll! (Very thematic if you ask me!) If you want a game that’s very tongue-in-check and feels like a race against the clock, you might want to check out Headlines From Hell. 

Wonderfall, by Catscratcher Studio.

WONDERFALL is a solo hexcrawl RPG about exploration and community building in a post-apocalyptic world. Your people was separated, but playing as a WANDERER (a cute anthropomorphic adventurer!), you'll recover and preserve lost knowledge and culture, help your community heal, and help the world rebuild!

Wonderfall is full of random tables, great for option generation. However, it also has a hex map involved, so this might require greater dedication if you want continue a storyline completely on Tumblr, as you might have to draw and then upload images of the hex map onto your blog. However, almost all choices presented to you can be generated by your followers: Origin Perks, people, encounters, Quests, Problems, etc. 

If you like a challenge, if you love map-making, and if you like the idea of anthropomorphic animals wandering a post-apocalyptic fantasy landscape, you should check out Wonderfall!

ScareBnB, by Jacqueline Bryce.

You're a ghost. You're haunting a quaint little bed and breakfast, in the city or the middle of nowhere. Halloween is coming up fast, and both the mortal and natural communities are in a tizzy. What's your unlife like around such an important holiday, in such a liminal space?

ScareBnB is a solo journaling game that requires only 1d20, writing materials, and as much time as you care to devote to it. It comes with a sample week-long scenario, sixty prompts for people and events, and a wealth of potential names for characters.

The character options for ScareBnB are lists of various descriptions and details that help you establish your Bed and Breakfast. There’s also a guest generator, which can be used to present a number of guest options, as well as a sample itinerary, which you could include in each poll to set each list of options within a larger narrative. For example, in New Arrivals, you could generate a couple of possible first-time visitors with the theme of encroaching on your ghosts’s space, and then ask your followers who the most exciting visitor is.

If you’re looking for a Halloween-themed game, or a sliding-scale between goofy and scary spooks, ScareBnB might be for you!

Sapling Soul, by breathingstories.

You are a Sapling Soul. You belong to the Forest but the Forest does not belong to you. The Forest is bigger than you in more ways than one, and you regard it with awe.

Most days you lead an average life, not so different to your peers. But some days you hear the Forest call and you answer. Always you answer.

Tonight the Forest calls to you again. There are always mysterious creatures in the Forest, but tonight something is amiss. There is a newcomer who may cause trouble. You are a Sapling Soul, you are called to help.

There are a few different pieces of Sapling Soul that could be re-designed for polls. One way is determining your attributes: Nurture, Empathy and Unknowable. You can roll 3d6 three times and assign them to your traits following what is voted on through your polls.

The majority of the gameplay works somewhat like a choose-your-own adventure; you could potentially present each option through a Poll, and then document the results of each choice. 

If you want to document a potentially haunting and definitely mysterious story of slowly becoming embraced by a Forest that doesn’t want to let you go, you should check out Sapling Soul.

Last Tea Shop, by Spring Villager.

You run a tea shop on the border of the living and the dead. The recently deceased visit for one last hot drink before their long journey into the Great Beyond. 

Time is strange here. Days and memories blur. Nobody visited yesterday—you are sure of that. Someone passed last week, but you can't recall their face.

The fog thins. A figure approaches. You stoke the fire.  

Last Tea Shop is a one-page solo game about tea and conversation. Set up your stall and wait for visitors to emerge out of the mist. Over a cup of tea, chat to the visitor about their life and help prepare them for their trip into the Lands of the Dead. Record their thoughts, fears, dreams and hopes in your journal for posterity.

There are a lot of lists in this game, from where your shop is located, what kinds of visitors you have, the weather of the day, and the supplies you have to help you make tea. You could potentially present polls for your followers to vote on for each list, interspersing each poll with a description of what happens!

This game also comes with a stall sheet, which can be used to outline how long you’ve been running the stall for, and which visitors have come and gone. If you’re looking for a cozy game that has a lovely setting, I’d recommend Last Tea Shop.

Goncharov: Goncharova, by StickyHunter.

Goncharov: Goncharova is a short journaling game following you—a screenwriter, given Martin Scorsese's personal blessing to create a sequel to Goncharov. This sequel will follow Goncahrov's wife, Katya Goncharova, framing the events of the first movie through the lens of her own experiences.

What kind of script will you write?

What better way to play a roleplaying game on Tumblr than by adding to a myth that originated on Tumblr itself? Goncharov: Goncharova has you writing a sequel to Goncharov by interspersing your own scenes with scenes from the original movie.  

There are eight options on the Scene Table, which can be translated into a Poll if you want your followers to choose what happens first. Each new scene must be followed by an iconic scene from the original, of which there are 12 (to represent the hands on a clock, no doubt).  Once you write the Final Betrayal Scene, the game is over - and you are free to tie up any loose ends. 

If you want the most referential, in-joke game that you can experience on Tumblr, I heavily recommend Goncharov: Goncharova.

[thescrapbookingscientist]

Biweekly Media Roundup

- Trigun (Anime) - The current trend in the fandom is to draw Knives as a McDonalds worker to “Make his desire to kill all of humanity reasonable as a customer service employee” which. Hilarious, I love people.

- Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (Video Game) - Obviously I’ve been having a blast with this, I love exploring the sky islands and caves, the Zonai and new monster designs are awesome, and the memes of messing with the Koroks and creating batshit machines have been wonderful. My main complaint so far is how they handle the NPCs memory of Link, I’d be fine with the main ones remembering him and the rest having a Tony Hawk-esque knowledge of Link without realizing he was in front of them, but it’s kind of sad to run into NPCs that Link definitely helped in the first game only to have them forget him - Like the people of Tarry Town and Hateno village. Ganon’s design is incredible though, amazing job there.

- Monster High (Cartoon) - Finished up the Monster High TV series and while it’s definitely aimed at a pretty young age group, I thought it was cute enough. I like a lot of the new designs with their differing heights and body types, I like how the characters hang out with multiple friend groups and seem to generally get a along with the whole class, and I like the LGBTQA+ and Autism representation being handled well in a show aimed towards children. 

- SSS Class Revival Hunter (Webcomic) - I was really craving more S-Class adjacent content and was led to pick up the next few series since I could get through the chapters in a couple days. This one was okay? I liked the time travel by death mechanic and the brain roommate force ghost, but the series lost quite a bit of momentum in the recent arc with it’s protagonist purposely dying of starvation to learn fighting techniques so that two groups of people could go back to happily murdering each other which. hmm. yeah I’m not feeling it homie, I basically disagree with all of your philosophies here. I might pick it back up after a few months of updates as I do appreciate the larger cast of largely unsexualized women, but ehhh It might just not be for me.

- When the Third Wheel Strikes Back (Webcomic) - I picked this up for the same reason as the previous series, and while there's very few chapters out I am enjoying it as an opener. As tropey as it is the world does at least seem interesting with several mysteries and complicated intrapersonal relationships mixing with political ones, which is fun. I also like the protagonist is a confessional Priest as that’s a pretty fun way to have him hear interesting lore and meet oddballs, so that’s cool. Honestly I’m biased because I always appreciate the “love triangle but the axis is not who you think” dynamic., but I’m looking forward to updates.

- Trash of the Count’s Family (Webcomic) - Reread this as it’s the Holy Trinity series I’m least familiar with. I do still like it quite a bit, and Cale in particular is a fun protagonist, but so far the rest of the characters are cute but a bit flat. Obviously that could change as the story goes on, and it’s possible they are more fleshed out in the novel, but for now I’ll still rank this as the least interesting of the trifecta, if not still an enjoyable series on it’s own. There’s also some great fanfic out there if you’re looking for wholesome found family stuff.

- The Locked Tomb Series (Books) - Harrow is really going through it huh. I miss Gideon.

- Crazy Ex Girlfriend (TV) - As I mentioned before, this series is turning out to be way better than I thought it would be, and honestly that it has any right to be considering it aired on the CW. I’ve been listening to the songs on loop, I love all the different styles, the rhythms, and the humor. 

- The S Classes That I Raised (Webcomic) - Still having a great time.

Listening to: A bunch of Crazy Ex Girlfriend songs, including I’m a Good Person, After Everything You Made Me Do, Nothing Is Ever Anyone’s Fault, and The End of the Movie, The Herse Song by Rusty Cage, Hey I Don’t Work Here by Tom Cardy, Jet Lag by Simple Plan, All Things End by Hozier, Lent by Autoheart, The Sound of Silence cover by Disturbed, and Holy Water by Michael Ray.

[ganeshdigital]

The Inside Scoop: Bhartiya Airways - Real or Fake

New gamers often emerge within the dynamic global of aviation, promising groundbreaking offerings and exceptional reports. Bhartiya Airlines is one such contender that has sparked interest and raised eyebrows to an equal degree. The burning query on anyone's mind: Is Bhartiya Airways real or fake? permit's dive into the depths of this mystery to discover the reality in the back of Bhartiya Airways.

Unraveling the Mystery

Bhartiya Airlines burst onto the scene with formidable promises and grand aspirations. Its website, adorned with glossy designs and tempting offers, beckons travelers with the appeal of seamless journeys and unforgettable reports. From home routes to worldwide locations, Bhartiya Airlines paints an image of convenience and comfort for its prospective passengers.

 Isolating Truth from Fiction

 As with all rising entities, skepticism abounds, casting a shadow of doubt over Bhartiya Airways' authenticity. several factors contribute to this air of uncertainty:

1. Elusive background- Despite its flashy look, Bhartiya Airways stays shrouded in a thriller about its background and operational details. Concrete records about its fleet, operational bases, and regulatory approvals are significantly absent, leaving many questions unanswered.

2. Questionable Credentials- The shortage of verifiable credentials, in addition, fuels suspicions regarding Bhartiya Airways' legitimacy. attempts to authenticate its registration with the regulatory government just like the Directorate of Civil Aviation (DGCA) yield inconclusive outcomes, elevating issues regarding compliance with industry requirements.

3. Dubious conversation Channels- Reliable conversation is paramount in the aviation industry, yet Bhartiya Airlines' conversation channels appear unreliable. reviews of unanswered calls and emails contribute to the air of skepticism surrounding the airline, leaving ability passengers wary of engaging with it.

Searching for Readability

In the face of mounting doubts, transparency is the key for Bhartiya Airlines to dispel misconceptions and earn the agreement of discerning tourists. to establish its credibility as a legitimate participant in the aviation industry, Bhartiya Airways ought to make decisive movements

1. Provide comprehensive Information- Bhartiya Airways has to provide distinctive insights into its operations, along with its fleet composition, routes, and regulatory compliance. Transparency concerning its ownership structure and key personnel would foster trust amongst clients.

2. Make sure dependable communication- Retaining dependable communication channels is crucial for addressing purchaser queries and concerns right away. Bhartiya Airlines must prioritize responsive customer service through cellphone lines, e-mail, and social media platforms to build credibility.

3. Achieve Regulatory Approvals- Securing necessary approvals and certifications from the regulatory government is vital for demonstrating compliance with aviation policies and ensuring passenger safety. Bhartiya Airways ought to prioritize obtaining those approvals to function legitimately.

Conclusion

As the debate rages on about Bhartiya Airlines' authenticity, one issue remains clear: transparency is paramount. simplest by addressing concerns, supplying verifiable statistics, and prioritizing regulatory compliance can Bhartiya Airways establish itself as a reputable airline worthy of tourists' trust.

For those seeking the facts at the back of Bhartiya Airways, go to (www.bhartiyaairways.com) and choose for yourself.

[sparrow-stunned]

soft winter rain | yan childe x reader (x yan zhongli)

content warning: yandere, brief not sfw (suggestive), slight dubcon, possessive behaviour, references to stalking, unequal power dynamics, unhealthy relationship, etc. etc. reader discretion is advised.

notes: suddenly wanted a mafia au, and here we are. somehow zhongli snuck in at the last moment... he knew the entire time what was happening, so of course he'd sneak in here. don't know if i should continue, but it's an interesting au, so we'll see. (also, shameless plug that my comms are open, so if you wanna see something specific written by yours truly, my dms are open)

word count: 2.0k

There's this one customer at your tailor shop. He introduces himself as a businessman and calls himself Childe—a moniker, you're sure, because what kind of person would be named after a title so archaic? At first, you didn't care too much about the mysteries surrounding the man; being such a high-end store, having the occasional eccentric customer was nothing new. When one has enough money, anyone would let it get to their head a little. 

But the requests he makes are just a little too… specific for you to not notice. If could make this material dark enough to hide blood, he'd request, or I'd like an extra pocket here, big enough to hide some daggers or a pistol. Childe was rich enough to hire a bodyguard—no, an entire legion of bodyguards—so the requests didn't make any sense for a mere businessman.

And he would always make these requests in person, as if to gauge your reactions for any winces or shudders, fear or apprehension. 

Well, you haven't stayed in the business being a coward, and the man pays good money for his special requests, so you bite your tongue and smile placidly, following up his requests with questions of your own, suggestions of colour and design—never to ask his purposes for the clothes. Never to pry.

Childe must appreciate your silence on the matter though, because he makes sure to tip your services very well, sometimes even more than his actual bill. So when he begins to get more friendly with you, asking personal questions that you could never ask him, you indulge him. 

What did it matter if he knew your age, your favourite colour, your favourite food, your favourite genre of books? It’s not as if he’s going to use it for anything nefarious, other than to bring the occasional gifts, his voice proclaiming every time, Guess what I’ve brought for my favourite little tailor, some way too over-the-top luxurious chocolate or watch or phone. You try to reject his offers, trying to maintain your professional boundaries with this pushy client, but it would always be easier to just accept on account of how annoying he gets with the pestering. 

You don't take notice of how much closer the distance would become with each and every visit, how the gap between the two of you would shrink every time he dipped his head to speak into your ear, voice low and crooning. You’ve pushed back on his closeness many times, scolding him about personal space, sir, but he would always laugh. Hold up his hand and say, Okay, okay, I understand, even though he would do it again and again, to the point where you’ve gotten too used to it to even think about reprimanding him. 

Now, when he gets too close, you sigh and resign yourself to the occasional wandering hands that brush up against you—never quite in places that were inappropriate but close enough to send the back of your hair up in warning, like your hands, the small of your back, the exposed nape of your neck, followed by some excuse of you had something there, lint maybe? even though you were a tailor shop. When would you ever allow something as unbecoming as lint in your presence? Still, you tolerate it, because even though you had rich clientele, there were none that were as friendly or free with their money as Childe was, his funds always seeming limitless no matter what you quoted. 

You’ve also learned to disregard that sly gleam in his eyes every time you reveal let details that were a bit too personal slip from your tongue, such as where you were born, who was in your family, monotony loosening your tongue while you hum and take down his measurements, all the while trying to make casual conversation with him. 

Strangely enough, he begins showing up near you outside of work too, accidental meetings in your favourite coffee shop or in that cake shop you love to frequent on the weekends. You’d be checking your phone and he would tap you on the shoulder, making you jump from how silently he’d moved behind you. He’d chuckle in response. Always some kind of offhanded excuse, a common denominator of I didn’t know you shopped here too! What a coincidence, comrade. But since we’re already here, may I join you?

And after these instances, the questions would turn even stranger, even more intimate than they usually were, about whether you had any lovers, any enemies, any desires, any annoyances. You demur, trying even more to keep your personal divided from work, but with enough insistence, you eventually cave. Money didn’t rain from the sky, after all, and for some reason, business had been a little slow as of late. Even the long-time clients you usually had, when you’d phone them regarding their scheduled orders, would sound clipped and a little uneasy, as if you’d been stalking them or threatening them, which was just ridiculous. 

So when Childe asks you, Do you have any significant person in your life, little tailor? I’m just curious, you know. Can’t have other people poaching you from me now. You only sigh and say, No, sir. Can you tell me which patterned tie you’d prefer with this suit now?

And when he asks you if there was anyone you hated, any annoyances you’d like to be rid of, you would offhandedly mention some schoolyard bullies from your teenage years, or that one neighbour of yours who would always party too loudly at 4AM in the morning. That strange gleam would be back in Childe’s eyes as he nods and sympathizes with your little pet peeves, a stray murmur of It’d be a pity if something wasn’t done, wouldn’t it? If only there was someone who was trained in these matters… Hm? Why are you looking at me like that? I was only joking, comrade! Do I really look so dangerous to you?

Not to you, but you’ve seen the way he acts around others. Cold, haughty, and just the slightest bit too arrogant. But it’s not as if you can control what he says, so you just shrug it off. Strangely enough though, the names that you’d drop with your complaints would all vanish within the week that you bring it up. Always with a phone call before, of a hurried voice saying, I’m sorry for bothering you! I’ll never do it again, or talk to you again, or see you again! So please, don’t—!

You set down your phone afterward, stare at the ceiling, wondering why your life was falling apart and yet somehow going so well, after meeting this stranger of a client who wants more closeness than you knew how to give.

His gifts too, turn a little too intimate. Combs and earring and necklace adorned with jewels. Sometimes the same shade as his blue-grey eyes, sometimes the same shade as the red earring in his own ear, and when you put them away, say, They’re beautiful, but I can’t take it, he would then just leave it behind with his departure, you left staring at the glimmering translucent gems sitting at your countertop. 

And what could you do? 

You couldn’t displease him; he was quickly becoming your most valuable customer, one of the only ones left behind from the mass exodus that has happened to your customer base. Your shop was rarely ever visited now, left alone busy, and the only time words are ever spoken within its four walls is when his leather boots stride past your opened glass doors. It was as if your name, your shop, had been stamped onto some secret book, forever blacklisted by anyone who knew anything of the underground. But you didn’t know that, did you? You were just a simple tailor, trying to make due with a budget that increasingly depended on just one man.

So you sigh. Pick up the earring. Hold it up to your ear, comparing it to the simple gold studs you're wearing right now. They’re fancier, but they’re not you. But you still take out your simple earring, hook on the crimson earring in your right ear, because he wears his on the left, and resist the urge to flinch at how it looks, dangling next to your neck like a miniature ruby blade.

The next time Childe sees you, he breaks out into a smile and pats your head. "So you put it on after all," he says. "Should I take that as an acceptance then?"

And this time, his fingers strays down from your head to the curve of your back and then pivots to your hips. His head dips down, other gloved hand trailing against the curve of your jaw, lips about to meet yours, an invasion of new territory that leaves you stiff, even more helpless than usual. You don’t stop him as he nips at exposed flesh, don’t stop him as he breathes against your skin, don’t stop him as he holds you in his arms like a puppet. Even though it’s broad daylight, in the middle of your sunlit shop, you don’t say anything even as you feel something hard grinding against your clothed thigh, a soft grunt from his lips as he slips his hand up your shirt, a slow roll of his hips against you—

The bell at your door rings. Your gaze flies to the entrance, and Childe’s does too. 

There’s a man. Amber eyes, brown spiked hair that tapers off into a ponytail, gloved hands and an extremely well-designed suit—vicuna, your experienced eyes knew with just one glance—and he’s looking at you. Not Childe, but you. Curiosity in its orange-flecked depths, and a slightest hint of something you’ve also seen in Childe’s eyes.

“Zhongli-xiansheng,” Childe says, half a complaint and half a threat. “Did you have to come at such an inconvenient time?”

“I’ve let you run wild around these parts for so long, the least you could do is greet me properly,” the man named Zhongli says, smooth and baritone voice sending a shiver up your spine.

Childe notices the movement—when does he not notice anything about you—and pulls you even closer to him. Rests his chin on your head and says, “This person is important to me, xiansheng. Find your own.”

“I’ve not come to take your toy, Tartaglia,” Zhongli says easily. His gaze flickers to you, and you shrivel back. Childe clenches his hands around the span of your hips, almost hard enough to bruise. “I know how protective you are of what’s yours. But you haven’t been answering your phone. As your… business partner,” Zhongli decides on, after a moment of consideration, “I had become concerned. There had been a missive sent from our Inauzman operatives. We will need to address it promptly. You may have a new assignment.”

Childe makes a noise of disgust at the back of his throat that rumbles through you. “Do we have to do it right this moment, xiansheng? Can’t it wait…” He shoots you a glance of longing, blown pupils with a ring of blue, and you resist the urge to look away. Smile weakly in response. “...Just an hour later,” Childe purrs. And then adds on, “Or two. Best to give us three, just in case. Whatever unsavory things I’ll have to dirty my hands with can’t be that urgent, can it?”

Zhongli chuckles, a meaningful flicker of his eyes from Childe to you. “Not now,” he says finally as he turns around to leave. “You’ll have all the time in the world—but only after this meeting. So stop behaving like a dog in the midst of mating season. Come.”

"Hey! I resent that," Childe says, pouting as he drags himself off of you. Gives you a look of promise, intermingling of lust and possessiveness in his darkened eyes as he winks and presses a kiss to your cold cheeks. You blink, and he smooths out your hair before curling his thumb below your chin. “Wait for me, little tailor, hm? We wouldn’t want you to be running off, now,” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” you say, and even to your ears, your voice is weak, faltering. 

“Well, even if you run…” Childe laughs and follows after Zhongli, but not before tossing out, “I’d find you right away. You know that right? So, I'll be seeing you soon, little tailor. I promise.”

You remain in the sunlight until fading sunset, heart hammering at your ribs. Frozen in place, stuck waiting for a customer who'd return to you with bloodstained gloves and crimson-smeared jaw. But you didn't know that. You only knew that you were asked to wait. You had to wait.

So you do.

[collectivesigh]

The Crow Head Cane | Kaz Brekker x Reader

word count: 3.5k 

summary: you reminisce on how you met Kaz. 

A/N: for anyone who doesn’t know, “zowa” is the Zemeni word for grisha and for the fic’s sake the reader is Zemini (or at least raised in Noyvi Zem). this isn’t overly romantic, but I could totally see writing a part two to this so lmk if you are interested!

warnings: parental death, general violence, fire, cursing

Your apartment is tiny, but it’s home. Deep in the Barrel, it’s about all you can afford and really all you need. A bed, a trunk for your belongings, and a rickety desk adorn the room, bathed in candlelight. A heavy duty lock sits neatly on your doorframe. It’s probably one of the most expensive items you own, but it was a splurge you were more than willing to make. You sit at the desk, pulling out a pen and paper to keep track of your recent customers. Mr. Beenhouwer – custom exploding bullets, 15 kruge each. Madame Janssen – slow-release double chambered flask, 200 kruge. Mr. van Vilet – custom lock, 700 kruge. You sigh as you recall that particular commission. Mr. van Vilet had a problem with people breaking into his grain stores and stealing all they could carry, so he came to you seeking out a one-of-a-kind, impossible to pick lock. The damn thing took you days to design and even longer to make. He sent back word that it worked like a charm, so you suppose it was worth it for the nice lump of kruge and the free publicity. 

The desk wobbles, one leg has been worn short and it drives you crazy. As you get up to find something to prop under the short leg, a knock resounds through the room. Adrenaline surges through you. Even after all this time you haven’t been able to stamp out the fight or flight response so deeply ingrained into you. You push back the curtains that cover your window and glance out at the street below. No Stadwatch, no soldiers. The tiniest bit of pressure releases from your chest. You grab a small blade before making your way over to the door before pushing back the bolt and throwing it open, leveling your blade at the chest in front of you. 

“Easy there, killing a cripple might dampen your glowing reputation,” Kaz Brekker says dryly. You sigh in relief and relax your arm.

“Kaz, it really would be nice if you could send word that you’re gonna show up at my apartment in the middle of the night before you do it,” you respond. The Bastard of the Barrel just shrugs, visibly holding back a grin. He’s dressed in all black, as usual, with his leather gloves adorning his hand and his cane in his tight grip. He looks like a mercher, something that never fails to amuse you. Ketterdam’s most cunning thief, masquerading as a businessman. He walks into your apartment, as he has done a thousand times, and perches himself on your bed. 

“So,” you begin, “is this a social call or does it need a touch up?” You motion toward the crow head-shaped cane in his hand. 

“A little of both,” he admits, holding the cane out to you. You take the cane from his hand before sitting on the chair near your desk. You focus on the particles in the metal head of the cane. It has a considerable amount of wear and tear, that much you can sense. 

“How many heads have you been bashing in?” you ask the man across from you, only half-joking. 

“A good few,” he answers wryly, making you chuckle. Kaz’s…profession is not a mystery to you and while it entails an amount of brutality you can’t bring yourself to commit, you never judge him for the life he leads. Barrel rats do what they have to to make it in this world, Kaz is no different. 

You begin reinforcing the metal of the cane, shifting particles to support the weakest parts of the crow head, relocating the weight for maximum damage. As you work in silence, you can feel Kaz’s eyes watching you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Suddenly, his voice cuts through the silence. 

“Do you remember the first time I came to you?” he asks. You smile to yourself.

“How could I forget?”

§

Shivering in your damp room, you curl up on the thin straw mattress using your coat as a blanket. Only 13 years old and brand new to Ketterdam, you’re scared. Terrified even. The boat that brought you to Kerch is long gone by now, probably almost back to Novyi Zem to pick up another round of immigrants. You managed to scrounge up a bit of money before you left, but you had run out days ago. Doing odd jobs here and there, you’re managing to keep a roof over your head and at least something in your stomach, no matter how small. 

The jobs are menial: running errands, mending clothes, fixing tools. You’re young, but you work practically for free and the Kerch can never say no to a good bargain. Admittedly, the jobs are made easier as a Fabrikator. Mending tools can be done in minutes and rips or stains in clothing are repaired with a wave of your hand. You were always a gifted zowa, far surpassing any of the other students at your small school. You used to spend hours at the dinner table, tinkering with whatever you could scrounge up: rusted nails, scraps of burlap, a small potted flower. One time, when you were very young, you managed to turn an old can into something that resembled a flower and gave it to the boy in your class you had a crush on. Those were simple times, when being zowa was a blessing, not a curse. Both of your parents were zowa as well, your mother what the Ravkans call a Fabrikator, your father a Squaller. You inherited your talents from them, along with their penchant for bad luck.

§

It all went to shit a few months after your thirteenth birthday. You woke up one morning in your home in Novyi Zem feeling sick, so you stayed home from school. Papa murmured some of his childhood stories to you while Mama made you broth, their presence warm and comforting. Sleep had almost welcomed you into its loving embrace when, suddenly, Mama dropped her wooden spoon. It clattered to the floor, scattering tiny droplets of salty broth across the stone floor of your house. 

“Get her in the cellar now!” Mama shouted at your father. He looked out the window and let out a string of curses that would’ve made any sailor blush. You were still groggy and heavy-headed, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Papa scooped you up in one swift motion and carried you down into the cellar. It was an old, musty storeroom, the kind of place you never went unless you had to. The stairs were rickety and the walls were lined with dusty jars of preserves, surplus for the cold winters. Tears welled up in your eyes as Papa placed you between shelves of orange jam and pickled fish. You didn’t know what was wrong, but the urgency in your mother’s voice and your father’s protective grip told you more than words ever could.

“You need to stay here,” Papa commanded, the tenderness in his voice replaced with a hard urgency. 

“Papa,” you cried out softly. “What’s happening?” He pressed his lips together and paused for a moment.

“Drüskelle,” he responded simply. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding your head tightly in both hands. With that he stood up and bounded up the stairs latching the trapdoor on his way out. That one word was enough to set a cold, hard stone of dread deep in your stomach. You sat in that dark room for what felt like days, but was likely only a few hours. There were muffled sounds of angry voices, shouting, and a series of loud bangs. Terrified and alone, you cried silently until you were out of tears to shed. As you began to pass out from exhaustion, you heard the trapdoor’s latch unlock. Springing unsteadily to your feet, you grabbed an old piece of timber laying on the floor and held it like a bat, readying yourself for a Fjerdan soldier. What you got instead was the elderly lady that lived next door, Ms. Costas was her name. She peeked her head through the trapdoor and sighed in relief upon seeing you. 

“Come, child, you are safe now,” she said soothingly, extending a wrinkled hand toward you. Mama and Papa always said you could trust Ms. Costas, so you tossed the plank of wood to the side and clambered out of the cellar. As you took in the sight of your home, your lungs felt like they were collapsing. Chaos, everywhere. Books were strewn across the floor, pages ripped out and missing. Plates were shattered to pieces with the faintest hint of porcelain dust adorning the walls. Someone must have thrown them at the wall. Your breath came in short rapid gasps, unable to process the sight in front of you. Clothes were scattered across the living room, tables were overturned, and anything fragile was smashed against the floor. Everything you had ever known was sprawled out in front of you, violated and reeking of despair.

“Mama? Papa?” you called out, panic creeping into your voice. Ms. Costas tried to grab your hand but you violently shook her away, hurrying toward the bedrooms in the back of the house. 

“Mama! Papa!” you screamed, tearing through the house, searching desperately for a family you knew was gone. You heard someone crying, off in the distance, a terrible howling sound. A sound of grief. 

“Sweet child…” you heard Ms. Costas murmur. You whirled around and grabbed her fragile shoulders. At only thirteen you were taller than the older woman and looked deep in her eyes. 

“Where are they? Tell me where they are!” you shouted hysterically between sobs. You weren’t wise to the world yet, but you knew of the drüskelle. Your mother had told you about what they do to zowa, that you should always be cautious around outsiders. In your mind, drüskelle represented the worst of humanity. How could anyone see the gift that zowa have and think it unnatural? You stared into Ms. Costas’ face, searching for any hint of an answer, any clue that might help you find your parents. She carefully grabbed your hands in her own and led you to your bedroom. She pulled a travel bag from the closet and set it on your mattress, which the soldiers had ripped to shreds. 

“Your parents are gone, child, you will not see them again. The drüskelle have taken them. I am so very sorry,” she began. Your world began to spin, your ears rang, your mouth filled with the taste of copper and bile. No, she was wrong, you were sure of it. Surely this couldn’t have happened? Not on a day so peaceful, so loving.

“Listen to me,” Ms. Costas shook you gently to bring you back to the present. “I promised your mother and father that should anything happen to them, I would see you to safety. We need to leave immediately before the soldiers find out there is still a zowa alive in our village. Pack your bag, necessities only, your ship leaves at dawn.” She grabbed a bag of her own and left the room, presumably to the kitchen to pack up whatever food she could find. 

Faintly, you recall the world shifting beneath your feet, followed by a dull ache in your knees. You must’ve fallen. You don’t really know, all you could do was replay her words in your head: you will not see them again. You will not see them again. You will not see them again. You will not see them again. Air rattled in and out of your lungs in short, uneven spurts. Sweat dripped off your forehead, but your body ached and shivered with the cold. You’re not sure how long you sat there on your knees, eyes trained on the wall before you unsteadily rose to your feet, grabbed your bag, and began packing. Clothes, shoes, important tools. As your hands floated across your room, seemingly detached from your body, they paused over one item in particular: a blanket made from dyed blue wool so soft you were sure it was made from clouds. Your mother made you this blanket, many years ago, to comfort you and keep you warm. Without thinking, you grabbed it and shoved it in your bag before joining Ms. Costas in the kitchen. 

As you left the village, Ms. Costas tried to keep you from looking around, even going as far as to try and cover your eyes, but you fought her off. You wanted to see it. You had to see it. To see the destruction the Fjerdans had caused. The entire village was quiet, a silence so intense that it felt suffocating. Not even the wailing mourner from before could be heard. A house near the center of the village was consumed in flame, carrying with it an acidic, vile smell. You knew in your heart it was the smell of burning flesh. It popped and it cracked and the sound was so loud, you thought it might consume you. You hoped it would. You hoped the flames would eat away at your numbness and your pain until all that was left of you was a memory. But, then again, you never were so lucky.

It took hours for you and Ms. Costas to reach a port, but you made it to the dock in time to purchase a one way ticket to Ketterdam. She told you that it would be easier for a lone girl to get on there than it would be here. It would be easy to survive in anonymity in such a large city, she had said. Either way, you didn’t really care, you didn’t really care about anything. She pushed a leather pouch of money into your palm before guiding you to the ship and helping you get on. As you disappeared below deck, you glanced back at her, taking in her stark white hair and dark, worn skin. You never saw Ms. Costas again. 

§

A few months later, you found yourself huddled against that damn straw mattress in a shitty room for rent in the Barrel. You had little to no recollection of how you got there, or what events transpired between you boarding the ship and the night that you met Kaz, but you knew that you had been taking odd jobs and crafting unique items in private and selling them on the street, using your gift to produce one-of-a-kind work. As you shivered in your damp room wearing the same clothes you had on when you left Novyi Zem, you thought that surely, this would be the place you would die. Not surrounded by family with fresh air in your lungs and unfiltered sunshine coloring your face, but alone on the stained floor of a hotel in a stinking city. 

A sharp knock pulled you out of your hazy thoughts. You sat up on your mattress, instantly on edge. You glanced out the window, searching frantically for any evidence of drüskelle, but there was none. Ever cautious, you grabbed a scrap piece of metal you pulled from the garbage a few days earlier, using your gift to hone the piece to a wickedly sharp point. Tiptoeing to the door, you listened carefully for any voices, but heard absolutely nothing. As you swung the door open quickly, you thrust the metal toward your guest, stopping just shy of their neck. In front of you stood a boy, not much older than yourself, dressed in dark clothes. He was tall and pale and had the hard look of someone who had spent too much of their life in a city that wished for nothing but to see them drown. He looked down at you, gaze steely and unwavering. 

“Who are you?” you hissed, masking your fear with anger. The boy didn’t seem convinced. 

“A customer,” he stated simply, before holding out a small pouch, sagging heavily at the bottom. Your attention piqued at the prospect of earning enough money for a decent meal, but recent experience had made you untrusting. 

“I think you have the wrong person,” you stated flatly as you swung the door closed. The boy stuck his foot in the frame at the last moment, catching the door and pushing it open.  

“I don’t have the wrong person, I know who you are. I know what you are.” Your blood ran ice cold. Fear began to claw its way up your throat and you fought to keep your hands from trembling. 

“Oh? Then tell me why I shouldn’t gut you where you stand.” You had never killed anyone before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything, especially in the Barrel. You would do anything to avoid suffering the same fate as your parents. The boy’s lips curled up into something halfway between a smirk and a snarl. 

“Because you need kruge, badly, and I need you to make something for me,” he said simply. 

“How do I know you won’t tell people who I am as soon as I make this mysterious object for you?”

“You are far more valuable to me alive than dead.” You narrowed your eyes, silently debating whether or not to entertain him when he held out a folded piece of paper and a smaller sack of money. “These are your instructions and a down payment for the materials. I’ll be back in a week to see if you’ve made it.” He pushed the items into your hand and limped down the hall, disappearing like he was never even there. 

You closed the door and examined the folded piece of paper. Roughly sketched on the inside was a cane with what appeared to be a crow’s head as the hand grip. You furrowed your brows, wondering what a fourteen year old could possibly want with a cane like this. You shifted your attention to the writing at the bottom of the page. There was a list of measurements at the bottom: height of the cane, width of the head, the works. He listed what materials to buy and where to use them. But what caught your attention most was a command written in dark, bold letters at the very bottom, underlined twice for good measure. 

“‘Must be weighted to break bones’?” you read aloud, incredulity lacing your voice. Who was this guy, coming to your room late at night, throwing around casual threats, and demanding a cane that can break bones? You loosened the tie on the sack of coins, spilling them into your palm. As you counted them, your eyes grew wide. If this was his version of a down payment the actual payment would be considerable to say the least. With one last glance at the paper, you settled into bed, ready to track down the materials first thing in the morning. 

§

“I worked on this thing day and night,” you tell Kaz as you work on a particularly damaged spot, smiling softly at the memory. 

“So you keep reminding me,” he quips back. You glance up at him, surprised by the tenderness of his expression. As your eyes meet he clears his throat and glances away, gloved hands fiddling  with a blue knit blanket absentmindedly. Your friendship with Kaz has always been easy. Although you threatened to stab him when you first met, he had been a constant ever since. After the initial commission, he kept coming by with more projects for you, some so menial that it made you suspicious. One time he came to your apartment just to have you straighten out the oyster knife he kept in his pocket, something that any ordinary blacksmith could do. I only accept the best work and you, well you’re the best, he had told you. You blushed at just the memory of those words, words you held near your heart. 

It didn’t take you long to find out his position as pseudo-leader of a Barrel gang, but that never changed your opinion of him. For every brutal rumor you hear whispered in alleyways you have a memory to match. One filled with soft light, peaceful silence, and the type of companionship that can only come from two people who have looked suffering in the eyes. You don’t know much about his past, but you don’t feel the need to. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

“I’m glad you knocked on my door that night,” you blurt out suddenly. You’re a bit taken aback by your sudden declaration, usually opting to keep those thoughts to yourself. Kaz’s face remains stoic as ever, flat and unreadable even in the best of circumstances. Holding your breath you wait for a reply, hoping you didn’t push your luck by trying to be overly sentimental. Instead, what you receive is the barest ghost of a smile, so subtle that if you hadn’t been examining his face already, you would’ve missed it. 

“I’m sure you are, I single-handedly bought you dinner for the next two weeks,” he replies. You roll your eyes, picking up a scrap of paper and tossing it at him. As you continue working on his cane, your heart fills with warmth. You never felt particularly lucky in life, but in this moment, in the warmth of your tiny apartment, basking in the presence of your only true friend, there’s no place you’d rather be. 

[dyk3bait]

HI OKAY SO I READ THROUGH THE PLUMTREE AND I STILL HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS — like who are allen’s parents and where are they now? and what happened to alaina? and can poet be my grandfather pretty please 🙏🏽 i’ve absolutely fallen in love with this story i’d LOVE to read whatever else you have!!! the characters are so rich and intricate, plus their designs are just. chef’s kiss. that crossed-out eyebrow...

baya u better stop rn or ill keel over n die 😭😭 u have no idea how much it means to me ur interested, i never follow thru w my sims story ideas cuz the pressure of "will anyone even give a shit?" stops me before i even begin, so this is v assuring im sad to say i prob will never do a story with the biker gang. as much fun as itd be to do a story about elders (they r rlly untapped potential in the sims community) the biker gangs story is pretty much complete in my eyes, i just see them being happy and together forever, yk?

and for ur questions 1.) allen was made by em @insipidsims and she made up his background before i made the bikers. i THINK we decided that allens mom was rain's daughter from her previous marriage. she grew up and married into family with Money. allens parents r deeply disappointed in both him and rain, and they dont talk much. 2.) the answer to this is gonna b disappointing; i wrote these bios 3 years ago and dont really remember 😞 it was intended to be a bella goth-esque mystery cuz the bikers were townies in my custom save, but i plain forgot what my plan was there. theres honestly a lot in those bios that id change now, but id say the main thing would b killing alaina off. 3.) OFC HE CAN, hed adore u and being ur grandpa thanks again baya for sending me all this encouragement, u are honestly the fuckin sweetest and if u wanna talk about this or anything ever, my dms r open for u

[interact-if]

Day 9, 1/2 of the A/PI Heritage Month featured authors interview! Please welcome to the stage... Bubs!

Bubs, author of To The Whistling Winds

A/PI Heritage Month Featured Author

You’re a pretty normal young adult living in the 21st century: you have exceeding amounts of student loan debt, a housemate, and a job that pays just above minimum wage. You didn’t exactly dream of being a tour guide for the historical Chester Theme Park, but you’ve grown used to your every day life.

You thought you knew the park better than anyone, but as the friendly surface begins to crack and unexplainable events begin happening, you’ll need help dealing with the vengeful Fae, who seem to have a bone to pick with you in particular. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—there seem to be a Covey of fae seekers that might be inclined to help you…

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT)

Q1: First of all, introduce us to your project! What is it about?

Hi! My interactive fiction game is called “To the Whistling Winds,” and it’s a magical realism mystery set in modern day. The player plays as a tour guide at a Southern Californian theme park, where strange events have begun occurring.The plot and lore of the story draws from folktales about the Fae, as well as the general air of conspiracy and mystery revolving around liminal spaces such as theme parks.

Q2: If it’s not too spoilery, what are you most excited about your project?

I’m really proud of my cast of characters and the stories they each have. Each of the non-playable characters that the player can choose to bond with have their own dynamics and inner turmoil unrelated to the player, and I really am excited to explore them. Furthermore, there are some twists and more dramatic scenes I’m excited to write,especially considering that the earlier chapters thus far have been pretty slice-of-life.

Q3: What inspired the current project you’re working on?

Theme parks and spaces designed specifically for amusement, especially certain ones that have been around for a while and have established their own brands, really have their own modern folk stories told about them. There’s a common thread between the kinds of stories told about theme parks that were once told about space such as open fields or mysterious meadows, and I really wanted to explore it!The idea of nostalgia and a “perfect memory” is also really interesting to me. So much of the appeal of theme parks has to do with reliving the past or recapturing a certain feeling, and Fae folktales often feature listless protagonists who are aspiring after exactly that.

Q4: Do you pull from your own identity for inspiration? How has that been reflected in your work?

I think being Asian-American has definitely influenced my story, from the player character to the general setting. For example, character customization is really important to me, and I’m careful that the MC doesn’t have a set ethnicity. It’s not uncommon for IF games to have a racially-neutral MC, but then go back and say something about their parents having blue eyes, or them having specifically celebrated something like Easter, so I try to be mindful about that. I also have a lot of fun writing my cast, many of whom come from different backgrounds! There are two romanceable characters that are Asian: Clémence Choi (who’s Korean with French nationality), and Alejandro Flores, who’s Filipino. Additionally, the player character’s roommate, Julia Reddiar, is Indian-American.

Being Asian is a pivotal part of Clémence and Alejandro’s respective backstories - they more than their ethnicities of course, but that doesn't mean it doesn’t have an impact on their life. Alejandro’s an aspiring actor, and part of the reason he struggles to find work is because roles for white actors are just easier to come by. Clémence has spent a lot of her life wanting to fit into just one box - Korean or French. I was also mindful of a lot of stereotypes relating to Asian romantic interests while writing their romantic routes: such as how Asian women are often exoticized and hypersexualized, while Asian men are desexualized and brushed off as unattractive. That's not to say that either of the characters are me, or that I only relate to the Asian characters! I actually think the character I most relate to is Bridget Sweeney, who’s white Irish,but is very creative and restless in a way I can really identify with.

Q5: What’s been your experience so far? With writing,with the if community...

The community has been really great! I think I’ve been relatively lucky in my interactions with my fellow authors and players: most people I've met have been really nice and helpful. Talking to them always motivates and inspires me. Some real life events have gotten in the way of more steady writing, but I’m hoping to update the public demo again soon!

Q6: Do you have any future projects in the works?

Honestly, something I’m debating is just moving TTWW from ChoiceScript to Twine, but that’s mostly hypothetical right now. I’m not the kind of person who multi-tasks well, so I wouldn’t start another interactive fiction until TTWW is done, but I’d love to write a classic murder mystery on a train.

Q7: Finally, what piece of advice would you give to fellow authors?

Nothing’s helped me more than the website MyNoise (not sponsored, LOL). I love listening to different soundscapes to get me into the mind of my character, whether it be a mysterious forest or a busy tourist destination. It really helps!

[littlefreya]

The Crystal Ship - Part 1

Summary: Henry is the most dangerous crime lord in England, he has everything he wants and women throw themselves at his feet, but what really gets him off is what’s hard to get.

Pairing: AU! Mafia Boss!Henry Cavill x OFC (Ash)

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: Smutty Smut, MaleDom Vibes, Stripping, Bad language, Sexual innuendo, dry humping, bodily fluids.

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write this for a while and I only hope you guys will like it. As usual, I am nervous. It was supposed to be a one-shot but ended up being longer than I expected so I am dividing it into two parts for now. Many thanks to @agniavateira my sweet beta and helpful muse. Cover designed by me.

Please leave feedback  💖🥺 and more importantly, enjoy.

Title: The Crystal Ship

The sweet, smoky scent made his nose curl in repulsion. It was thick in the air, like a fruit that was too ripe, mere moments before rot sets in. Henry dreaded coming to the Imperial, even though it was the only safe ground to conduct business without having to deal with the district attorney's snout or any unwelcome eavesdropping. The club felt musty, drenched with bodily fluids and not in a good way. The men who frequented this place were foul animals; being amongst them made him feel as if their filth was rubbing onto him. 

Sitting at the bar, he downed his whiskey, hissing while the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat. The bartender stood behind the counter, polishing some glasses and looking at the large man as he brooded on the sleek black marble of the counter.     

Plastic neon lights flickered magenta and turquoise on the slick surface. An offensive contrast to the gloom that played inside Henry’s head. Life lacked vividness when everything was handed over on a golden tray. Money, beautiful women, fast cars. 

The women of the club were especially keen on throwing themselves at his feet, thirsty for his attention and money which he was never willing to give.

“Please fuck me, Henry.” “Please let me suck your cock.”

As any man, he was flattered, though if he wanted to see a woman naked, he wouldn’t need to pay for it. Still, they circled him, desperately whining at his feet whenever he stepped into the club.

All except for her. 

Big, almond-shaped eyes the colour of fertile light brown earth with a touch of green. Sitting on a barstool in the opposite direction. She was one of the girls working the club, no doubt. He didn’t imagine she was a gangster wearing fishnet stockings and a tight corset.

New girl, he gathered. He had never seen her pretty face before tonight. It was apparent she could sense his glance. Her body shifted uncomfortably, her irises focused on the straw of her tall glass of orange juice yet she never bothered looking back. Not even a smile on her nude lips. 

Henry scoffed as a spike of interest surged through his mind. He spotted the long-haired beauty earlier as he sat through an infuriating meeting. Her big hazel eyes cut into his attention abruptly, focusing on his glare for a wisp before she swung away. 

Treating him as if he was a nobody.

She chose to ignore him, much to his contempt. 

Girl likes to play tough? Well, I happen to like bending things in my hands.

-----------

Ash felt her hand prickle as she waited on the bar stool. Sipping on an orange juice, she watched as an ageing rich couple made out on a red vinyl booth while a curvy girl danced on their table. Candy-Apple, the girl who she was paired with for the night, disappeared to one of the VIP rooms with a customer. Instructed her to wait and not to take any customers alone, being still a trainee. 

The Imperial had some strict dos and don’ts. 

Little did Candy know, Ash had the miraculous gift of getting herself into sticky situations and for reasons she couldn’t explain, tonight felt like one of those nights. 

Taking another sip, she exhaled nervously, the corset tight around her ribs, further pushing her already strangled lungs. It was her very first shift and she seemed to have fallen on a busy night. The customers were not too pushy, though. No one has smeared himself onto her while holding a pitcher of beer and smelling of peanuts on their breath. Candy promised that the owners won't touch the girls and don’t let anyone else touch them either. The Imperial might be a “gentlemen’s” club, but it was one of the safest joints for girls to work at in London.

It didn’t do anything to calm the anxiety that waited at the door as she felt the presence of the tall stranger who kept his eyes on her for the last couple of hours. 

She “bumped” into him earlier as she walked around the ground floor. Broad shoulders and a face that looked as if it was put together from all the best parts found in heaven. He sat with three other men, looking like the superior one in the group. Fury burned in his eyes, yet his posture was composed which only made him look more frightening. It was a mistake to gander, she knew it deep in her heart, but he was an impressive specimen of a man. She couldn’t look away, not soon enough before their eyes met.

Now he was sitting a few meters away. A spiced drink sits in his glass, a ghost of a smile loomed over his face while his fingers were pressed to his temple in some sort of dark intrigue. He stared with the confidence of a man who knew he could have everything and it seemed like she fell on his aim.

Feeling uncomfortable, Ash broke her gaze and slipped off from her seat, wishing to find a place where she could hide from his hungry curiosity. This man had trouble written all over his arrogant posture and if she learnt anything about herself, it was that she was a magnet for chaos. She turned on her stilettos and crouched down for a second to rearrange the fishnet stockings around her thighs before straightening up moving on.

In the most natural order of things, the stranger was there to stand in her way. 

Broad and mysterious, the man towered above her with a small smile edging his mouth. Up close, she noticed his copper-brown curls and eyes like smooth steel. They shone like sharp knives through the club’s neon lighting. His jaw was cut marble, defined lines soared across his high cheekbones and even his lips had the perfect cupid’s bow. 

Ash registered him carefully and her heart murmured. No man should be this good looking; he was beautiful in manners that seemed unearthly.

“May I buy your precious time, love?” 

His voice hung low and deep, smooth like a chocolate truffle that melted on one’s tongue. 

The scent of danger filled Ash’s nostrils; it smelled like peated scotch, aftershave, and heady musk. Judging by his cool-grey tailored suit, it was quite clear that he was a businessman from the underworld kind.  

He burnt hot, and a part of her was immediately drawn to the flame. Yet despite the thrill, he seemed much more perilous than any of the other criminals who lurked around the club. This man could easily fuck up some poor girl’s life. 

In the dark cold cavern of the club, with his shadow casting over her face, the stranger seemed more like Hades than just the ordinary mobster.   

“Maybe some other night”, she forced herself to refuse, doing her best to sound polite yet stern while offering an apologetic smile in the hope that he would accept her refusal and let her go. 

She knew right away that wouldn’t please him. It was clear as vodka; he wasn’t a man who took no for an answer. The thought alone made her nerves shiver as if someone was sliding ice on her skin.

Henry ran his knuckle across the dimple of his chin. The signet ring on his pinky finger flickered on her hazel eyes in blinding silver. He took her in with a deep inhale. No, not even a drop of appreciation on her pretty face but he did detect a tinge of fear.

Interesting he mused, a small grin stretching his defined lips. The little dark-haired woman was either completely oblivious to who he was, or she was one of them ladies who had principles. 

Whichever it was, it spiked his intrigue and made for a curious turn of events in a very boring night.

“Isn’t that what you do, darling? Dance for money?”

He asked as he waved two £50 bills between his long fingers as an offering. His accent was posh and not a fake one either. She imagined he grew up wealthy. How does a man who presumingly, could achieve everything in life wound up into a place like this, she wondered. Not that the Imperial club was anything sort of sleazy. It was owned by the largest underworld family and had a taste of an old cabaret. Male celebrities often visited the club aside from gangsters and corrupt politicians.  

“It’s my first night I’m not really...”

Henry reached into his pocket, drawing six more £50 bills and offered it to her. The steel in his eyes softened for a moment, yet the peril still hovered on his face. 

He was a man trying to appear harmless and the risk never seemed so alluring.

Chewing on her cheek, she stared at the money. It was enough to stock the fridge for at least a month but it wasn’t as even half as seductive as her stranger’s haunting charm. 

Fuck it.

Taking a deep breath, her slender fingers reached toward the hand that held the cash. She snatched the money from between his digits and tucked it in her garter belt. Henry beamed, pleased that she agreed. Two large dimples creased his cheeks as if this man needed any more attractive features.

Ash wrapped her fingers around his wrist and led him through the depths of the club while her heart thundered in her chest. For some reason, it felt as if she was walking freely into a trap. 

And yet, excitement boiled in her blood. 

The cracks between their silent contract were filled by the beats of the monotonous music. They passed by the abundance of half-naked women who were coaxing different men around the bar, touching and smiling sweetly, serving them with nothing but the illusion that they are wanted, when in fact they were needed for nothing but a paycheck. 

Henry followed the petite woman, anticipation coating his veins and spiralling a small grin on his face. He guessed that without her heels she’d be at the height of his shoulder, this pretty little thing with raven black hair. He was intrigued by the way she bravely withstood him, almost to the point of irritation. It seemed as if his spell was useless on her as she carried herself carelessly, unlike the many women who threw themselves at his feet, begging to be fucked.   

There was something provoking in her, to the extent of him willing to break another one of his own rules and get a sense of what she felt from the inside. 

Her fingertips pressed on his wrist, sensing the pulse within. His heart ran strong and confident but she imagined it would only be a matter of time until she’d have him a complete mess. 

They all have the same weakness, no matter how much power they have. 

The large spacious club narrowed into a slim corridor while teal and magenta-coloured lights danced diagonally across a mirrored tunnel. Their own reflections appeared several times, accompanying them as they arrived in an open room, guarded by a huge, square-shaped bodyguard with a shaved head, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb.

Henry eyed him carefully, giving him a small nod before following her into the room. The interior was dark, with a black ceiling and a black shiny floor, embellished with white LEDs that reflected on her red stiletto heels. An onyx leather couch waited in the middle next to a small edge table holding plenty of bottled hard liqueur.   

“Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward the seat and shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath as she felt a slight increase in her heartbeat. In the confinement of the small space, the brooding man had the energy of a lion, hazing her senses and making her feel like nothing more but a fluffy little rabbit. 

The leather squeaked beneath his weight as he shifted slightly, wide thighs spread open while he glanced at her rear. She turned to tinker with the stereo system, selecting a tune to dance to. 

Browsing through the selection of beverages, Henry decided to treat himself to a bottle of smoked whiskey. He unturned a clean lowball on the table, the sharp hiss making her flinch and then slump her shoulders at the sound of thick liquid being poured. The odour of spiced ashes filled the room, mixing with his musk and her sweet perfume.  

“Should I pour you one as well, pet?” 

“I would rather not drink on the job,” she replied and pressed play. Soft synth tunes played through the speakers and Ash turned to him slowly, giving him a seductive glance. 

“Depeche Mode, really?” He crooked an eyebrow and smiled with amusement before pressing the glass to his lips and eyeing her carefully.

“I thought this song is fitting for my first VIP client” she answered, and made sensual steps towards him, already feeling captive by the daggers on his eyes. Henry took another sip of the amber-gold drink and placed his glass aside, pressing his fingers against his temple while examining the woman who was running her hands over her corset.

“You’re my first too.” 

“Bullshit,” she mocked, entering into the space between his knees. 

Henry tilted his head, a small warning glare crossing his chiselled face. “Mind your tongue, sweetheart. You’re a lady, act like one.”   

She bit her tongue, avoiding the small tremor that flapped from her chest all the way up to her throat like a tiny caged bird. The dominance and authority in his voice made her shiver, making her feel as if she was owned by more than just his money. She wondered what made a handsome man like him even bother paying for something he could get for free from any woman he wanted.

“Fuck,” she provoked, keeping the fear on her breath tucked well behind a sweet sultry smile. She took joy in the dissatisfaction that danced on his face as she cursed. “You know how this works, then?”

“You take off your clothes and dance on my lap like a good girl?” 

“I can touch you, you don’t touch me.” she warned, and slowly fell to her knees between his thick thighs, following the hollowed drop in the melody. Henry stared down at her with a pleased look on his face, his eyes hued with wanton as she rolled the laces of her corset between her fingers and unwrapped herself like the sweetest present. 

It wasn’t her first time giving a lap dance. She worked in strip clubs outside of London, but those were much smaller clubs that held no more than 40 guests. And none of her customers looked like Big Handsome Boss. 

“That seems unfair,” he answered as she spread her corset open. Her perked nipples teased through the loosened fabric while she gave him a pouty look and pulled at the laces delicately until she was free of the confinement of her bodice. 

Henry shifted in his seat uncomfortably while she revealed her body to him. Small breasts glowed heavenly in the LED lighting, skin pure and smooth like honey. He was forced to reach a hand to adjust the huge bulge that pooled with arousal while her fingers began stalking up to his knees like two big spiders. 

Big boy, she noted, trying to deny the small electric tingle that ran mischievously between her legs.  

“Many things in life are unfair, Mister…”

“Henry.”

“Henry,” she answered, her French-manicured nails scratching his thighs, eliciting a low growl from him that made her spine crawl. “Not that I imagine that a man like you would know.”

He let out a small chuckle, she wasn’t far from being right. The hardest thing in his life right now was the fact that a beautiful nymph was dancing between his thighs and he wasn’t allowed to touch her. Yet.

The little vixen clutched his thighs tightly and pushed herself up steadily, spine curving, her breasts displayed an inch from his lips. She climbed to his lap and straddled his waist, pressing her panty-clad crotch against his caged erection. A rogue moan escaped her lips as she felt the mass of his bulge between her legs, much to the large man’s delight.

It appeared she wasn’t all immune to his spell. Her breath was shaking in her throat as she pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the hard pecs under the soft cotton of his grey shirt. Henry was sturdy and large. She couldn’t help but wonder what he hid beneath his well-tailored outfit. His biceps were bigger than her head as he kept his arms folded; those thighs beneath her ass felt thicker than logs.  

Her lustful gaze swayed to meet the sky in his eyes up close, detecting a slight imperfection in one of them: an earthly taint of brown. He gave her a slanted grin, descending to feast on the sight of her half-naked form with a flick of his tongue across his lip. 

Red flags waved at the back of her mind. This man was the epitome of danger, drenched with dark lust and sinister grins. The fact that he was a sweet, sugary treat for a starving girl made for a sinful mixture, causing both distress and stickiness between her thighs.

Henry placed both his hands on the armrests, fingers digging into the onyx leather to hold himself from grabbing her slim waist and grinding her onto his cock. Her mound felt fiery hot onto the fabric of his trousers, and the slow tidal sway of her hips did nothing but engorge him even more.        

“What’s your name, little minx?” He asked, his breath heavy and sweet with whiskey against her neck. 

She hummed in response, closing her eyes and throwing her head back while her hands held onto his broad shoulders. The dark waterfalls of her hair streamed down behind her. Her torso stretched, bare breasts a delicious sight while she danced on his groin, increasing the friction that ran like smouldering heat. 

“It’s… Lilith…” she answered, licking her lips as she felt the blood vibrating between them.

Henry groaned, enjoying the brush of her body against his. She moved in sensual waves- slow yet hard, like a storm inching an ocean. Her voice hummed softly in his ear, her almond-shaped eyes tricking him into believing he was desired, needed. 

And perhaps he was, as her lips swelled red with passion and she danced on his cock with as much urgency to please herself as to please him.

“Your real name, pet.”   

Ash closed her eyes and shook her head. “I am not allowed to tell you.”

“Fair enough,” he growled. He felt her increase the pace, pushing harder onto him. His self-control was vastly challenged. His breath became fervent fumes. He felt the moistness beneath his hands as he clutched tightly on the soft leather as if his life were dependent on it. The pulse in his organ became as rageful as a volcano.

“You look like you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he murmured, letting his lips inch dangerously close against her neck. “I wonder if this sort of thing would happen with anyone else, or I’m special.”

Goosebumps spread through her skin, her nape felt a cold shiver. Ash swallowed hard. If this was a thriller film this was the point where she was supposed to turn back and save her skin, yet all she fancied was to push her cunt against menacing Henry and mewl as tinders of joy licked between her legs.

“Is that a problem, if I am?” She dared.   

Unable to control his body’s natural instincts, Henry broke and bucked his hips roughly into her mound, giving in to her grind, growling as the collision created sparks of fire that increased the flame between them. 

“Not at all,” he grunted, feeling droplets of sweat forming on his brow. “Only that I paid you.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.”

And tendrils of pleasure were indeed within her grasp. Ash felt a tremble in her thighs. He was large and hard, demanding to be let inside her. She’d be lying if she didn’t want the same, imagining just how large a man of his size was. 

She wondered how he’d fuck her, would he be as slow and rough as their carnal dance, or would he throw her on the bed and wreck her till she cried. 

The dark gaze in his eyes made her lean toward the latter and darn if he didn’t look at her as if she was the most intoxicating woman on earth. Feeling the flush ride from her cheeks down to her chest, she turned around, pushing her ass against his cock instead. She wanted to come so badly, the throb between her legs mingled with the fear that tingled in her chest. She wanted to remind herself she was protected by the owners of the club and the man standing right outside, yet Henry made her doubt herself. 

And for some reason, it only made her more excited.

“Touch me!” She demanded in a voice tainted with desperation.

There was no need to ask more than once. Her handsome stranger groaned the most beautiful melodies in her ear and reached his aching hands to squeeze her breasts. They moaned together as the much-needed bond had formed. Henry’s thumbs circled her nipples while his fingers kneaded on the fat of her flesh. She knew this was a mistake, he would leave his violet fingerprints all over her skin yet her judgment was clouded by the pleasure his touch elicited on her desperate flesh.

“Lilith.” Henry gasped, allowing himself to nuzzle the girl’s hair as she seemed completely lost to her own desires. “Do you fuck your boss?”

“I’m not a prostitute.” she answered breathlessly as one of his hands climbed up to her neck and held her jaw, drawing her head back onto his shoulder. His hips bucked harder against her ass, the pounding in his cock was nothing but white-hot fury. He held her tightly while she dug her nails into his thighs. 

“Not what... I asked…” he gasped, his voice breaking between grunts.

“No.” 

Ash felt his cock twitch beneath her and his moans chanted repeatedly, becoming louder and louder. The pulsating need inside her was unbearable yet it wasn’t enough, not for her. She needed to feel something inside her throbbing cunt yet she feared breaking the rules. Henry pushed against her ass with vigour, emitting inarticulate sounds until he clutched her tightly and gasped with pleasure. 

For a few seconds, the room felt like the most radiant thing on earth.  

Ash breathed out as his hot mess was sticky against her ass. Slight disappointment danced in her chest as she didn’t share his climax and her heart was still in rageful turmoil, furious for not being let to feel the much-needed pleasure. Yet a part of her was relieved that their contract has expired. 

She might have managed to avoid trouble for once. 

“Good.” Henry breathed out, panting heavily as he tried to adjust his lungs. His hands still covered her breasts, sensing the dampness of her skin against his sweaty palms 

“Because I am your boss, darling.”  

Her mind still fuzzy, Ash let out a confused chuckle which quickly died as the man beneath her didn’t join in her laughter. The rigidness on his breath sounded dead serious and the signet ring on his pinky finger suddenly felt cold against the softness of her breast.   

“Cavill.” she called out, panic pitching her voice higher. “Henry Cavill…?”

“Mhmm.” he hummed with approval, an arrogant smile spread from the corners of his lips as he noticed the obvious shift in her mood. Still seated on his lap, she let out a trembling wheeze as her heart sank to her gut.

“You are not joking, are you?”

“No,” his voice rumbled, vibrating low and thick against her prickling spine. 

Ash felt the sweat turn cold on her skin. Giving a small turn, she was unable to determine whether she should get up or remain seated on his groin. She could see the shit-eating grin on Henry’s sharp jaw from the corner of her eye and decided to gather her shaky feet to stand, nearly losing her balance as her heels suddenly despised her.

“Mr. Cavill, I’m so sorry,” she dropped her gaze to the floor, her hands covering her breasts nervously out of the misled thought she offended him. If he felt threatening before, now she felt pure terror making her blood sting. The Cavills were the most notorious organized crime family in the United Kingdom. Their web spun across each district, and they owned half of the police force in London.

She just made a filthy mess out of the trousers of a man who kills much more important people than her.

It was very much clear to her that it would take little to no effort to make a no one like Ashleigh Carr disappear. 

The room began to feel as if it was depleted of air all of a sudden.

“Considering you just made me come all over my pants, you can call me Henry, or sir.” he corrected her in his deep voice while his piercing steel eyes focused on the obvious stain on his crotch. 

Ash blinked, terrified as Henry reached for the phone at the back of his trousers. A muscle strained in his jaw while he scrolled through the device and then placed it against his ear. She opened her mouth to apologize once again, yet was silenced by Henry holding up his index finger gesturing “wait”.

“Sean, I will need a clean suit brought to the Imperial, ASAP. Make it a dark one.”

The crime lord ended the call with a friendly yet authoritative “Cheers,” before lifting his gaze to the slender girl who still stood at the same spot with eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Never in his life had he had a naked girl look at him with so much fear on her face. 

It was an interesting new aspect. 

Reaching down between his knees, Henry fished for her flimsy corset and pulled his heavy body upward. His long legs stretched as he stepped toward the horrified girl. Giving her a smile, he handed her the piece of garment. 

She snatched it from his hand with slight hesitation while he stared down at her, his head tilting as if to further study the features of her face. She was too afraid to break eye contact, strapping the corset back around her body without saying another word.

“Lilith…” Henry called, his spiced breath hot on her face.

“Ash...Ashleigh,” she admitted.

“Ashleigh,” Henry pronounced her name softly in his low voice, giving a small dreamlike smirk as if it was the most beautiful name he ever heard. His tongue licked over his bottom lip while he drank the sight of her in. 

“I’d like to fuck you.”

Ash stared at the man in front of her with surprise, lust still blooming between her thighs, her skin tingling with the imprint of his touch. Inside, she seared with passion and he was undoubtedly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen with his kissable lips and crystal blue eyes.

But she detested the idea of being a whore. She never slept with a customer, nor was she willing to sleep with her boss. 

Even if it cost her life. 

“As I said, not a prostitute.”

“I have no intention of paying you,” he answered with a dry chuckle.

“You just did,” she answered and then took a deep breath, choosing not to say more. She still valued her life after all, no matter how pitiful it is. 

Henry gave her a slanted smirk and began circling her like a predator stalking his prey. Careful eyes followed him, her breath measured with every step he took. 

There was a spirit in her, warm and feisty. Defiant despite the fear that sparkled as clear as water in her beautiful eyes. In the cold, secluded room of his sinful club, he finally felt the thing he chased after for years. Passion. Desire. 

And it was booming in his heart.

“I find you interesting, Ashleigh,” he replied and shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a sharp silver card.

“But I am not one to beg, nor do I take pleasure in pressuring women to sleep with me.”

The card gleamed like a knife as he held it between his digits while waiting for her to accept it. 

“This is my driver’s number, just in case you decide you do want to spend your night with me.”

*

Read Part 2

________________________________________________

[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask

At long last, It is finished! Happy Halloween! 

Below the line is a lighthearted fic taking place in the “Coffee Shop” AU (( @doodledrawsthings​ ))with Magic! Family fun! Low stakes! And a gratuitous cameo by my OC because of course Nell is here 

Seriously though this fic is about as lighthearted as it gets. At the end of the fic are a few sketches I drew but didn’t end up coloring. 

((There’s going to be an alternate ending posted separately at a later date, but its not relevant to the fic)) 

Enjoy! 

--

Fall in Subcon Forest came in gently as always, and by the time Halloween rolled around, everyone was firmly in their sweaters and beanies and thick leggings and hiking boots that were only occasionally used for hiking. The leaves of the trees and the shining sun framed the town in such lovely muted colors that it looked like a picture right out of a magazine.

Not that anyone in the Horizon was looking out the window to see it - the curtains were closed in an attempt to not blind the employees and clientele.

It was that time between the end of school but before trick or treating, which meant that all of the teachers and parents were coming into the Horizon with their kids to get the new specialty drinks - well decorated and tasty, and more importantly, not hilariously overpriced. The kids in particular seemed to love the “Ghoulishly White Hot Chocolate”, and the teens flocked to the “Jack-O-Spices Frozen Pumpkin Latte”

Luka was almost certain that the pumpkin spice smell would burn itself so deep into his nose he’d never be able to un-smell it. A small price to pay for the rise in business, he supposed.

“Luka, Two Snatcher-ccinos!” Clover called from the cash register.

“I still hate that!” He responded with a light tone

“Too bad, make ‘em!” She teased back with a light laugh.

“Don’t get all testy, you two! We’re only open for another hour!” MJ called, grinning before turning back to the coffee machine, where they were effortlessly making yet another latte.

“Too long!” Clover argued, grabbing a muffin for a customer from the bakery display

“You’re telling me, and I still have to take Bow and Hattie trick or treating” Luka huffed, finishing up one of the “Snatcher-ccinos” and moving onto the next one.

“WE are!” MJ corrected. Luka just playfully rolled his eyes.

The conversation ended up dying rather quickly as the business went through its last rush, and, at long last, 4 o’clock came, and the store shut down. The three employees did a rather quickly clean up this night around - they were all eager to be anywhere but work that spooky night.

Once in the back of the store, Luka seemed to almost melt in relief, leaning further and further into the wall.

“Ugh, my limbs feel like Jelly” he commented as his voice gained its echo

“For all we know, they are,” Clover teased. “We’re meeting at MJs in an hour, right?” She stretched.

“Yeah.” Luka nodded “Have they already run off?”

“Yup. They’re excited” She chuckled “You gonna get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks. See you later”

“Later!”

0o0o0o0o0

That stupid, cursed thing of a mask had not moved in weeks since he’d found it, and its stupid grin had started haunting the corner of his vision when ever he was in his studio.

It seems like it's decided that sitting on the desk in his art studio was its happy place. At least it was out of the way, and in a place he didn’t frequent often.

Though its eyes definitely still moved, which gave MJ hives like you would not believe. Why he kept it in his studio he wasn’t sure.

Tim had told him that the thing was mostly harmless, that it just seemed a bit… off, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Timmy even said that he got “good vibes” off of it, which was a strange phrase to use on something that felt at the very least mildly cursed.

Finishing with the caplet for his costume, gently clasping it, he looked in the mirror and gave himself a smile.

It was obscure, sure, but he’d put a lot of work into it! The legend of the “Lonely Man” was well known in these parts, maybe someone would get it. Someone had to.

Whether or not anyone got it, he was still happy with the tattered thing. That faux old age took forever to get right.

As he straightened out his clothes, his eyes caught the mask once more.

His hand picked it up off his desk, and his thumb rubbed on the odd surface. He couldn’t really tell what it was made of, but it was… oddly smooth, he thought. His brow furrowed as he looked at its eyes, a single pupil in its left eye, and a cascade of diamonds in the other. It was certainly an interesting and eye-catching design. He also liked the blue and reds, and that weirdly off-putting grin.

Such an odd thing.

He held it up with one hand over his face - not putting it on, but getting a look in the mirror at how it would look with the outfit.

He found it utterly bizarre that he could see clearly through the eyes despite what seemed like thick paint over it.

The mask itself wasn’t actually that scary when taken all at once. Oddly enough, it seemed to match with his outfit - at least, color wise. It didn’t even seem evil or anything. It seemed… kind.

That was an odd word to use. MJ tended to flip flop on how he feels about the damned thing

Before he could think any more about it, his doorbell rang, and the mask was left on his desk, forgotten the moment company arrived.

“Who is it?” He asked as he approached the door

“The Dread Pirate Roberts!” A little voice announced as the oak opened up.

To his absolute delight, Harriet was dressed indeed the Dread Pirate Roberts, missing nothing but the mask (The town doesn’t allow masks on minors, for some reason. A weird little policy). Next to her stood an excited Bow, grinning from ear to ear. He knew exactly who she was, but still asked-

“And who are you?”

“My name is Inigo Montoya” She said with all the faux-seriousness she could muster, holding up a foam sword “You killed my father, prepare to die!”

“Oh, goodness, the finest swordsperson in the world and The Dread Pirate Roberts have come to my home, I don’t stand a chance!” He moved out of his way as the kids ran into the apartment, and their father walked up behind him.

When his eyes went to Luka, he let out a snort. The man was dressed in a slightly silly looking prince outfit dyed almost completely purple, and his form was mostly purple as well - an energy-saving tactic if ever there was one.

“And you are?”

“He’s the ghost of prince Humperdink” Bow grinned. “This was the best costume we could find for it”

“I honestly think he shoulda died at the end of the movie so I'm cool with it.” Harriet commented as MJ moved to the side and let the group in “Is Clover here yet?”

“Not yet, I’m sure she’ll be here any minute and we can get right along with trick or treating!” MJ announced

“Yay!” the girls responded in unison, taking their place on MJs couch and turning on his old television for a brief moment of entertainment

Mj looked at Luka and grinned “Well, you’re lookin’ spooky, Luka”

“You kind of do too… what do you look like?”

MJ snorted “I’m the ‘Lonely Man of Subcon forest’. Heard of it?”

“Nope, don’t think I’ve been here long enough” Luka shrugged “Does look nice though. Very zombie-ish.”

The two chatted for a bit before there was another ring barely 10 minutes later.

“That must be Clo” MJ pushed himself off of the wall. “Can you get that? I want to grab my wallet so we can get the kids some ice cream before they go running around”

Luka nodded, giving him a grateful smile before turning to the door to greet the final member of the trio

MJ popped back into his studio, grabbing his wallet… and looking again at the mask.

He pocketed his wallet, and picked the mask up again. His thumbs rubbing against the strange texture of the mask’s sides.

He couldn’t help but admit that he was tempted.  Maybe, he could just see what it’d look like, just for a moment. Who knows? Maybe this has all been anxiety for nothing and the mask is just… weird.

He looked back into the mirror, and placed the mask on his face.

There was a moment where he stared amusedly at his reflection - it added a certain air to his outfit. Maybe wearing it out wouldn't be so b-

And then his body seized

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He trembled and a pain started from his head and traveled down his spine. It was like the worst shiver from the cold he’d ever experienced. Like ice was pressed directly against his skin. It dispersed like a fog, freezing freezing, and, suddenly-

It stopped.

Panting heavily, MJ pulled themselves back up to a standing position - when had they bent over like that? - and lifted their head, making eye contact with themselves in the mirror.

“GAH?!”

They were - blue! And - and the mask was very much not a mask!!!

When they blinked, it blinked. When they moved, it moved. When they grimaced, the mouth moved along to create the expression. their eyes scanned over the crescent shape, past their neck and then landed on their-

“H-hands!” They stared - they were missing a finger and - had claws?? They clenched their fists in disbelief, eyes catching on a glinting just under their sleeve.

.. Where had the chains come from?

“MJ? MJ are you okay?”

Clover

“D-don’t come in, its fine!!” They panicked, “I’m uh, just, finishing up and stuff with my costume!”

“It looked finished to me” Luka commented “Did something rip?”

“Y-yes?? yes! Something totally ripped“

“They’re lying!” Hattie pointed out

“Sounds like their lying voice” Bow added.

Curse these adorable, smart little girls!

“I-I’m fine!” They yelled out “Totally fine, just fine”

“... MJ I’m opening the door, be decent”

“No, Clover, I - “

But the door opened anyway

And Clover - dressed up as “Generic princess” - looked in, and … stared.

“.... MJ?”

“.... H-hi, Clover.”

“Clover, what are-” Luka cut himself off “Uh….”

“It’s me! Its MJ, I uh - “ They tried to come up with a succinct explanation for the situation, despite not having any real idea.

“The mask” Luka quickly concluded, recognizing the face after MJs unfortunately previous run-ins.

“I … yes” MJ’s shoulders slumped a bit.

“Hey, at least you still have feet” Luka commented, causing MJ to look down and see that he did in fact still have his shoes on. Thank heaven for small mercies.

“What happened, what is it?!” Harriet pushed her way through, her eyes wide as saucers once they landed on the recently transformed adult “... Whoa”

“I … I put on the mask. I was curious and - and it..” They looked back down at the pale, blue hands, nervously moving the fingers and claws. “I felt like I was freezing, my whole body and then…” They trailed off.

“Whoa..” Harriet approached him slowly “It's like, Majora’s Mask!”

Lukas put his hand on her shoulder to stop her from jumping - now really was not the time “... I suppose that's one way to describe it.” He gave a deliberate, thoughtful face towards his transformed friend.

Bow was very firmly behind the adults, staring rather intently and slightly bewildered. Sure, she had been getting used to Mr. Princeton as a parent but.. This was somehow very different.

“... We need to talk to Tim.” Clover concluded

“Tim’s out of town” Luka reminded the group with a grimace “He and Timmy had some kind of meeting thing with other magical people. We don’t…” Luka huffed, his hair fluffing up a bit “We don’t know anyone else whose adept at magic like they are”

Harriet furrowed her brow a bit, looking at the discomfort that MJ was experiencing, rubbing their hands together. Could they be stuck like that? She wanted to think that maybe this really was like the Zelda game, but who could tell? It's not like they knew anyone….

“Yes we do!” She snapped her fingers“I kinda hate that Mu was right, but there is a witch in town!”

“What?” Lukas’ brow furrowed “Who?”

0o0o0o0o0

Getting to the edge of town was… novel, to put it simply. The group was rather lucky that Luka was used to doing this sort of thing. And he was about 4 times larger than the group, so that helped in flying them around.

With the sun kissing the earth, red rays crawling into the darker sky, they didn’t have too much time, but followed Harriet and Bow as they got past the town center, and led them down to-

“Wait, why are we at Nell’s place?” Clover stared ahead at the Mint-green home, succulents hanging from pots and a radio sitting on the edge of the porch.

“Because Nurse Nell is a witch!” Harriet announced walking up the two steps of the porch.

“What- Harriet!” Luka startled.

“Its true!” Bow defended as Hattie knocked on the door.

“Kids, we’ve known Nell for a long time, she’s not-”

“She is!” Hattie argued “We saw it!”

“She made us promise to keep it a secret!” Bow added.

Said nurse opened the door as MJ tried to speak up

“I wasn’t expecting trick-or treaters,” She greeted before looking out the door, “But I do-” She paused as her eyes landed on the strange group at her front porch.

There was a rather awkward, extended silence as her eyes scanned MJ through her thick lenses with a gaze that conveyed a strange kind of surprise.

“.... Inside, now” She pulled the door open further, leaving no room for argument.

The adults shared a glance, but did as she said, entering her small living room. She greeted them with a nod as they entered, and shut the door behind them, motioning for MJ to approach her.

She didn’t say a word as they did so, and very slowly lifted her hands to their face, holding it steady as she scrutinized. “What happened? Less than 3 sentences” She half asked/half demanded. Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was serious.

“Uh, I put on a cursed mask and it uh… did this” They tried to sum up.

“Where did you get the mask?”

“I found it in the forest. I thought it was abandoned from the spirit festival”

“And why did you pick up an abandoned mask in the forest?”

They awkwardly didn’t respond. She sighed

“I get it, hun” She responded, resigned. “Stay still”

“I am”

“Stiller”

Clover and Luka watched her with some skepticism, seeing the woman take a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her hands suddenly glowed dimly, tapping at the side of MJs head.

“Hah! See! Told you!” Hattie pointed, jumping slightly

“Shhhhhhhh!” Bow shook her “She’s doin’ magic stuff!”

“Hm…” She masterfully ignored the yelling children “Well, good news is that the magic isn’t very strong, Just… aggressive.” Nell announced. “And it's not malevolent” She let go of their face.

“... I… How can you tell?” MJ asked, their own hand tapping their blue cheek.

“.. Let's say it's a feeling” She summed up. “You can sit down. I need to grab something from my library”

And she left the room

“.... I don’t think I’ve ever seen Nell that serious” Clover spoke out “Also the uh, glowing hands? Didn’t know she could do that”

“How did you not know she had magic?” Luka asked with a rather incredulous tone

“It never came up!” Clover retorted

“How did it never come up?”

“Its cool!” Harriet jumped into the conversation

“It think its cool too” Bow agreed “I always wondered how my paper cuts at school always healed so fast…”

MJ had sat themselves down, hand staying on their head, feeling the strange curve of their forehead with a certain fascination. Nell’s words - said with so much affirmation- did make them feel better about the situation.

The nurse returned, her expression still relatively serious, but calmer as she carried an old, thick book with a rather overly ornate cover in a faded blue.

“You’re lucky I collect these old things” She commented for a moment, sitting down next to MJ. She flipped through the pages, finding a two-page spread with a plain mask listed on it, and text printed so small that MJ just could not read it. “Here we are.”

Harriet climbed up next to her “What's it say? That’s a lot of words!”

Nell chuckled a bit at her eagerness “It is, but... “ she hand rested on the book for a moment, and then she lifted it, and the text glowed, lifting and circling around her hand like a ring.

“Whoa…. It's like the unknown from the Pokémon movie!” Bow jumped, causing Nell to laugh more.

“A little, I suppose” Nell responded, and she looked over at the other two adults, mostly at Clover, whose bewildered stare caused her to laugh again “You okay there?”

“... How did I not know this about you?”

“Never came up, dear. Don’t think too hard about it. You too, “Snatcher”” The woman gave a smirk. Luka cleared his throat. “Now…”

A simple flick of her hand, and the letters were floating around MJ’s head, and some of them glowed just a little bit brighter “Hm….. Alrightie, that's a good sign” She snapped, and the letters, very suddenly disappeared as if popping a bubble. “Well, Give until dawn, and then you should be able to take off the mask. If you can’t, come to me. I don’t work tomorrow”

“Oh… Well, that uh, wasn’t so bad. I’ll be okay?”

“Of course” Nell nodded, shutting the book “I’d’ve called the Kagai’s the moment I let go of your face if I thought otherwise”

“The who?” Hat questioned.

“Another time, Hattie, another time” Nell placated. “Now….” she exhaled, putting the book on her coffee table and clasping her hands together “I just realized I haven’t even said hello to any of you”

Something about that sentence finally broke the tension, getting a laugh out of Clover and Luka, and a snicker out of MJ.

The next ten minutes consisted of Nell reassuring the group that MJ would be fine, and reiterating that they needed to come to her if the mask did not come off by sunrise.

“There’s a lot of magic in this that I can sense. So uh, just be careful.” She warned. “I don’t know a lot about that, so you’ll have to ask Tim”

MJ nodded “Uh, thank you, Nell”

She gave them a kind smile “Don’t mention it. Next time you need me though, have Clover send me a message or just call me, alright?” She looked passed them to Harriet, who gave her a sheepish smile.

“Got it” The transformed barista nodded.

“Oh and, don’t be too worried about people seeing you. Just say it's a costume” She recommended as they walked out with their family waiting just beyond the porch. “Happy Halloween!” She called before abruptly shutting the door

“So……” Bow started

“Can we go trick or treating now??” Hattie finished.

Luka looked up to MJ, who seemed much calmer than before, despite continuing to lift their hand to their weirdly shaped head.

“.. Yeah, yeah i think we can” they gave Luka a grin “And thanks for getting us the help, Hattie” MJ reached down and picked her up “Who knew the Dread Pirate Roberts could be such a help!”

The girl giggled before being put back down “Then let’s go!!”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

MJ was initially a bit tittered when they entered the town, but the moment anyone noticed them, the compliments rolled in.

“Wow! You look like a spooky zombie!”

“What game is that cosplay from?”

“How did you get the prosthetic to look like that, damn!”

“Wow, that is a really cool idea for the Lonely Man!”

MJ was beaming at the semi-undeserved praised as they took the kids from neighborhood to neighborhood, filling their pillow cases close to brimming with so much candy that Luka kept making a face and seemed to be mentally preparing to hide all of it, whispering to Clover and MJ about taking some of the candy so that it wasn’t all in his apartment.

“Seriously, all that candy?? They’re going to get cavities and I cannot pay for dental work like that.” The father aggressed. MJ just laughed a bit, looking ahead at the two girls who were trying to run ahead to the next house.

And then Bow’s foot caught a crack.

“Ah, Bow!” MJ startled, hand reaching out - but there was no way they’d reach her before she fell-

And then, she just stopped falling, stuck in midair as if floating.. But she wasn’t.

Upon closer examination, she was held up by a variety of red strings, connected to MJ’s clawed fingers

“... Uh”

“Whoaaaa” Hattie gaped “Magic! Cool!”

Bow pulled himself up to a standing position, and MJ put their hand down, the strings disappeared

“.. Thanks” Bow cleared her throat “That was really cool”

“It kind of was... “ They commented, looking down at their hands “I’m gonna be having a heck of a long talk with Tim when he gets back from wherever he is”

“Yeah, definitely” Luka nodded in agreement.

Lucky for the group the rest of the night went without incident, with MJ joining Luka at home and the two of them staying up until the sun started showing through the windows.

“Ready?” Luka asked him, the being no longer human shaped, as he’d finally reached his limit

“Yeah.. I think so” MJ took in a breath “She said it can just… come off like how I put it on…”

“Alright….” Luka’s voice trailed off as MJ reached their hands up to their face, thumbs by their cheeks, but then - wait! The edge, the mask! They felt it.

Barely bothering to breath, they mentally counted… 1… 2… 3!

they pulled it off and gasped as that icy feeling went through them even faster than last time, trembling and nearly falling over as Luka kept them up with their tail.

“Hey, hey! You okay MJ?”

MJ looked up, nodding “Yeah, uh, how do I..?”

“You’re back to a nerd, if that's what you’re asking” Luka lightly teased

Their hands went back up to their face, and gasped when they felt their regular skin, and their glasses (Where had they gone? Didn’t matter)

“Oh, thank god” The tired barista flopped onto their partner, “That was exhausting. Thank goodness the Horizon is closed today…”

“Hah, ready to sleep?”

“Oh, definitely” MJ commented, looking down at the mask still in their hand, its smile seeming not nearly as spooky than before.. “Hm..”

“What?”

“.. Why’d it choose me, I wonder” They muttered, sitting up and placing the mask by the window sill “But… we’ll see about finding out more, hm?”

“.. Yeah, we will” Luka confirmed.

MJ gave him a smile, hugging his partner with a slight nuzzle “Come on, we need to sleep. Hattie and Bow-”

“Oh, don’t remind me. We’re in for a hell of an afternoon” Luka groaned, but he was still smiling.

Saying that things were “back to normal” was never correct with this group, but things were still pretty okay. Maybe better, even.

Moonie figured they’d just have to wait and see.

--

BONUS:: 

Costumes! I wasn’t able to finish these in time, but I hope they suffice!