#like... what does throwing darts have to do with poetry.......

[versegm]

Sleeping as a servant is… strange.

Specifically, the act of falling asleep when she doesn’t have the physical necessity for it  is… eerie, to say the least. There is no precursor drowsiness, no Morpheus insistently pulling on her eyelids. No; she simply lays down, closes her eyes, and at her will her entire body shuts down. Wide awake one minute, out of commission the next. It’s rather efficient.

“Artoria? Are you awake?”

Getting out of sleep mode is just as efficient.

At the sudden voice, Artoria jolts awake, summons her sword, and blindly stabs in its general directly. She sees its owner jumping backward, landing on all four, and only then does she recognize them.

“Berserker.” She hisses. Their masters may be allied now, but it doesn’t change the fact that they were enemies just yesterday. Shirou may trust them, but she does not.

Berserker straightens their back and dusts their clothes. “Yeah, I suppose I deserved that. Sorry for waking you up, Artoria.”

“Stop calling me that.” Still, she sheathes the sword away. Not like it could do much good against them anyways. Whatever Berserker’s noble phantasm is, the only way she found to get past it was by punching them straight in the face. (Not that they even flinched when the gauntlet broke their nose.)

Berserker blinks. “But its your name.” They tilt sit down, crossing their legs. “Do you not like it?”

“That is not the issue.” (Which is true; she couldn’t care less about her name. Artoria, Arthur, the important part is that she is King.) “This is a Holy Grail War. We are to kill each other. Stop advertising to everyone my true name and subsequent weaknesses.” At least people might take a moment to kink that name to that of the King of Knights. Thanks history for its gendered name, she guesses.

“Ah.” Berserker pauses, then nods. “I will… try. Sorry.”

Saber takes a deep breath. Berserker keeps throwing her off, but they do not seem hostile so far. She spent ten years without letting her emotions get the better of her, she can have a conversation with that servant. “How do you even know that name?” Briefly, she wonders if they might be an enemy strategist, but- Artoria. Not Arthur, Artoria. She can count on one hand the amount of people who called her that, and Berserker looks like neither of them.

“We’ve met. You tried to kill me a few times. I killed you back, so don’t worry, we’re even.” Their gaze is unfocused. They’re looking at her face, but their eyes keep darting back and forth, as if they weren’t quite sure where her eyes are. “Well, it wasn’t you. You never became them. But they used to be you at some point. You know?”

“I really don’t.” She replies honestly. She initially thought they might have met in a holy grail war she has yet to experience, but the way they’re talking about it…

“Mh, okay, let me try again.” Berserker interrupts her train of thoughts. “You know black holes, right?”

She first thinks of a hole in the ground, so deep that one cannot see the bottom. Then the grail unhelpfully provides her with knowledge on actual black holes, and the idea that up there the corpses of stars become swirling all-devouring voids renders her speechless.

“Right. 5th century knight. I’ll get it right eventually. Do you like poetry, Dragon? What about plays?”

“You’re getting off-topic.” Saber says dumbly.

“Get used to it. I can speak in no other way.” It’s a simple sentence, but it occurs to Saber that it is literal. During the last war, Lancelot- it’s easy to forget, because they make full sentences, because they speak and walk and act like a human- but that’s a berserker. They can speak in no other way. This is the only way they have to communicate. “There are ancient roman poems that have completely disappeared. We have no record of them whatsoever. But we still know they existed, because they are referenced in other texts. We can never read them fully, but thanks from the extracts others have quoted, thanks to what others have said about them, we can guess what they were about.”

They point a finger towards her.

“You are the poem. I have never met you. But I have read the extracts. I have met king Arthurs who used to be you, or who could have become you. Does that make sense?”

“… Kind of.” Sometimes, when Saber sleeps of her servant sleep, she feels like she’s seeing a long dream. Sometimes she crawls all the way from Camlann to Camelot’s armory. Sometimes she’s fighting on the behalf of another master. Sometimes there is a girl begging her not to take up the sword. Maybe Berserker has seen people from these dreams, too.

Berserker nods, seemingly pleased with themselves. “But yeah, that’s why I came to see you tonight. I have met so many of you, and seen so many of your knights, and you wield Caster- I wanted to know a little more about you!”

Her heart jumps at the mention of her knights- she doesn’t know what happened to them after… everything. Did any of them survive? Did any of them get to live? Gawain, Bedivere, Lancelot- there’s only a handful whose fate she’s not sure of, whom she dares hope managed to be happy after all this. But their next sentence puzzles her. “Caster?”

They smile. It’s soft and melancholic. “She was… someone dear to me.” They say this sentence with an affection Saber does not know how to describe. Maybe there exist no words at all for this emotion. “You know, the other day, there was no way you could have killed me. I don’t die that easily. But it still means a lot to me that she refused to cut me at all.”

The puzzle pieces fall. The dots connect. Saber understands.

“This…” Slowly, she takes out her invisible sword. “This is Caster?” And then, slower: “This used to be a person?”

“She is a person.” Berserker nods. “She still has thoughts and feelings and opinions. She’s made of thoughts and feelings and opinions. She just also happens to be dead. Like you and me.”

There is a brief pause. And then: “Well, maybe not you. I don’t know if you’re dead yet. Bedivere showed me that I shouldn’t assume. Besides, it’s rude to.”

Saber sets down Excalibur- sets down Caster, on her laps. The blade is cold. Did that metal use to be flesh? Did the gold use to be skin? Who does that- who would be cruel enough to ask a girl to become a sword? Who would be selfless enough to accept it? “Berserker. Will you tell me more about Caster? And Bedivere, and my knights? I… would like to hear your stories.”

Berserker’s eyebrows shoot up to their hairline. “You would listen to me, Dragon? You know how I speak.”

“I would.” Berserker is hard to understand. Their speech is roundabound and their self-awareness nonexistence.

But they have not called her Artoria once since she asked them not to.

“I will listen.” She tells this Berserker who is trying so hard to be understandable. “Please. Tell me of my knights. Tell me of your friend.”

#fate #my writing #lostbelt 6 spoilers

[weekend-whip]

I wanna know what hobbies the folks in the royalty au have. Fun facts. What do these bitches do without internet.

Well most of them do the same things they do normally, just with different context.

With the Western Kingdom being all the about the arts, entertainment, and expression, Cole's hobbies include dancing, listening to music, painting, and drawing—he'd normally be pretty chill and just vibing, if his father wasn't so gung-ho about getting him hitched. And being depressed about that on top of having limited time anymore anyway has deterred Cole from doing things for himself (which is something Jesse seeks to rectify). Also enjoys sleeping, but like, that's not a hobby, Cole.

Always constantly busy with his job(s), Jay doesn't have a lot of free time either, but he's still able to pursue a lot of his craftier hobbies, like poetry writing, cooking, and he doesn't invent so much as "improve" upon things that may or may not need to be fixed. Let's just say he's a guy ahead of his time...and is something of an adrenaline junkie when allowed to be.

Instead of being a journalist/papergirl/extreme cyclist, Antonia likes horseback riding! She also does still like to write stories, which helps occupied some dead time while guarding the boring garden gate, but they're less based on facts/rumors and more on just general goings-on around the castle.......so, Jesse and the Spring Festival are a fantastic source of inspiration for her. Also tries to learn to paint after getting closer with Cole (and inadvertently gives Jay the idea for a mystical object called a 'camera').

Can't remember if I've mentioned this in-story yet (all I know is that Cole doesn't know yet lol), but Jesse's actually a citizen of the Central Kingdom—the real (or, initial) reason he went West was in the hopes of making it big as a magic entertainer. So whenever he's not tending to the gardens or swooning over Cole, he's practicing his magic tricks (another reason why Antonia takes to him—he's really good at beating out boredom). He also likes to sing, but, he's gotta be in a really good mood for that. Also, not technically a dedicated hobby, but he does enjoy baking, even if he doesn't like to admit it (he just needs to right motivation...like a very hungry prince).

In the Southern Kingdom, they're all about agriculture and trade, so while I wouldn't call it a "hobby", Kai and Nya are both extremely skilled in farming, negotiations, and economics (Nya moreso with the farming and Kai moreso with the business). But for fun, Nya likes to spend time on the beaches watching (read: talking to) sea life or collecting shells, while Kai likes to travel if/when he can, as he likes to experience more than just his kingdom. Both of them also have a knack for crafting weapons—Kai by forging and Nya...more as crazy DIY projects, also maybe a bit ahead of her time. Nya also likes horseback riding and Kai likes jogging.

In the Northern Kingdom, they have a strong foundation in battle maneuvers and tactical strategy, so a younger Zane found himself doing a lot of studying while being trained with several weapons. He now has a fondness for archery and darts (but with throwing stars), and can easily pass the time with a nice informative book. He also enjoys bird watching like Aurora, and venturing through the forest until he gets lost, but otherwise is actually quite lonely.

...until Samurai X shows up. They're originally from Central as well, but their father and Zane's parents are acquaintances, so one thing led to another with them becoming Zane's retainer. They enjoy playing things like chess and other board games with Zane, and sparring with him, but for the duration of most the story they don't really have a lot of personal stake in much of anything.

The Eastern Kingdom is the home of most of the world's history (along with Central), so being well-read is already par for the course. What isn't common is the dabbling of magic, which is where Harumi's passions lie, especially after discovering Jesse has magic of a similar source. She reads up on ancient artifacts, studies spells, keeps a pet spider, and teaches herself to throw knives, but otherwise, she's a dreadfully bored person, and that's why she has little hesitation in butting herself into other people's problems. That's entertainment.

Lloyd, despite his well-behaved behavior to avoid trouble, has a nasty habit of pulling pranks around the otherwise structured Central Kingdom and eventually the Spring Festival (activities which are very much enabled by his retainers, and ofc praised by his father). He does this because he's good at it and hates to let a well-honed skill go to waste, and it's also something of a cry for attention. He also becomes interested in the cultures of the other Kingdoms, including but not limited to the art/stories of the west, the weapon aspects of the north and south, and the history of the east, like his mother. He also enjoys paragliding (which is something that Jay got him hooked on).

You may think visiting the Archipelago is like arriving on some tropical vacation, but the only one being entertained is its current ruler. He puts on tournaments just for sport of it, and will banish anyone for doing anything he doesn't agree with...so, Skylor doesn't have a lot of room to do very much, but on the flipside, it also means she's down for anything/everything when given a chance, as just about everything is new to her (which is what draws her to Kai and the other royals to begin with). Though one thing she is a bit guilty about enjoying is her younger self partaking in those tournaments herself—primarily due to the rush from the fact that she's never lost (and especially not to Chad).

#ninjago #tlnm #legacyverse #royal!legacy au #long post #k1ng boo #asks from nice people

[glitternightingale]

Encanto Headcanons

@hotdiggitydammit sent me. I tried to put the asks in order and commented on some.

Have fun reading!

Mirabel HCs

Mirabel got her looks from her mother, but almost everything else asides from her very motherly, empathic side is totally Agustin (not that he isn’t, but it’s clearly something Julieta and Mirabel have in common, maybe even something Mirabel learned from modeling after her Mama).

We only have to look at Mirabel when she was five years old. The bow, the curly dark hair, her calming hand gestures-- just like a young Julieta.

Pepa HCs

Pepa (general)

A lot of people tend to hc Pepa has having slept around when she was a teen and I wholeheartedly agree because almost as soon as we were given her second line of dialogue arguing with Alma I diagnosed her with being a daddy’s girl and then immediately followed that with ‘but she’s a daddy’s girl with no daddy :(‘. Idk I think she suffers more from the absence of a father figure than her siblings. Those are the vibes anyway.

Oh, yes, I agree. I see her the same way because Félix appears to be her other half, her crutch almost, differently than who Agustín is to Julieta. Pepa only wants to be understood, especially during her wacky teens when control over emotions is pretty difficult (not to mention topped with her weather powers). I think it was a desperate search for an anchor that has probably led to some disagreement and concern from her family.

In relation to the daddy issues I diagnose Pepa with, any modern AU of her would be a wasted opportunity if she didn’t have some kind of an e-girl vibe going on, no matter how bright the colors she wears.

Unpopular hc, but I don’t COMPLETELY think Pepa doesn’t know how to cook. I say Pepa is a fairly good baker because I can see her as a sugar junkie as a kid and without Julieta to make her fave desserts all the time due to work, Julieta teaches her to make them herself and she does pretty well. Cooking savory foods on the other hand is just a big fat NOPE

Pepa and romance

As a hopeless romantic, Pepa writes a lot of poetry. Whether it’s good or not is up for debate.

I imagine her prose is always very passionate and full of imagery!

Pepa thinks Mariano is too dumb and shallow for Dolores. He’ll have to work pretty hard to gain her approval. Felix is cool with him though because he trusts Dolores more to pick someone good for her.

Pepa has a knack for wanting to maintain control, over herself and her more introverted children. *looks at Alma*

Pepa and family

Do you have any hcs for Pepa and Luisa bonding?

They're both great at playing darts and like to be on the same team. They also meet up for silent reading sessions in the living room.

Julieta is best at ches(s), Pepa is best at checkers, Bruno is best at virtually any card game.

I can also picture Julieta being evenly matched with Bruno at chess. Their games can last hours, and Pepa tries to break their concentration when they bore her (throwing pillows, dancing loudly in the background, blowing over the pieces with a well-timed gust of wind).

Pepa probably had a mini identity crisis when she was old enough to be concerned about how different she looked from the rest of her family. It took a long time for those worries and self-image issues to go away, or at least be more manageable and less of a pain to wonder about. So when she has Dolores and when/if she goes through a similar issue with feeling inadequate about not looking like her mother, Pepa knows just what to say to reassure her daughter and make her feel better.

I can see Pepa and Julieta during their puberty or even mid-late teen years being envious of each other’s breasts. Pepa is pretty clearly as flat as her back and would be jealous of Julieta’s impressive breast size along with her more womanly curves. But Julieta, who has to stand in the kitchen and stand at her stall to distribute food all the time, would wish she had a smaller chest to relieve the back pain.

Pepa and Bruno probably had many self-confidence issues when they were young. But Pepa conquered them when she got older and became a mother, while Bruno still has them to this day.

#asks #my writing #my stuff #encanto #encanto headcanons #félix madrigal #pepa madrigal #bruno madrigal #julieta madrigal #pb&j triplets #madrigal triplets #mirabel madrigal #dolores madrigal #mariano madrigal #alma madrigal #agustín madrigal #madrigal family #la familia madrigal

[the-coping-dragon]

Holy fuck I am not okay

I am so stressed that my body and brain are both so tired.

This scaley patch of skin. It sorta faded when some of our Polycule came down to visit and help with stuff but it came right back. It seems a little faded but it's gotten larger so.

And my fibromyalgia is jabbing at me. My mom visited and happened to do the "affectionate leg pat" thing that our family always did and it hurt and she looked at me like I was a baby for saying OW and then didn't respond when I reminded her "I have fibromyalgia" even though she previously took it seriously and learned to not pat my fibro spots

I can't sleep enough. I wake up and my brain keeps turning sensory into dreams. Hallucinations are normal sorta. It's normal to have them while falling asleep. But they linger into consciousness for so long. I feel my vision cut out like an unplugged video feed, and dreams skitter around, and then my brain remembers how to talk to my eyes. Sometimes I recognize what I see, if I was only gone for a second. Sometimes I find myself registering some messy scribbled notes before giving in and having consciousness fall like a weight I just can't bear to carry anymore.

Who is in this brain? Ive written poetry over the years to Prozac thanking it for saving me from the looming sense that I am not a whole person. The looming sense is back. Who guides my dreams? A normal question. Who scrawled these notes on my phone? Less normal. Who keeps coming up with puns and slipping them into conversations? Theyre good puns but it scares me that they amuse me with their novelty. How can I laugh at a joke I told with a punchline I didn't know? Who knew the punchline?

Who borrowed my skin last night? Or--is it their skin? Who nudged me out of their skin last night, setting me aside so they could have their skin back, the same way a cat gets removed from a chair?

It can't be DID because I don't have the amnesia. I actually remember a significant portion of some of the switches. Ummm...sometimes the memories are locked away. Sometimes I can sense them but not review them. Sometimes I don't realize the memories are there until years later when a sliver of me refers to the memory and shares it with me.

Why do I sleep so much? Just another nap. Just another nap. No, stay awake. Just a little longer. Until you can't hold onto consciousness for any consecutive time. Then, when sleep is already stealing you, give in, if the illusion of choice is comforting.

I don't even enjoy the dreams. A crowded movie theater, a boring movie, a vaguely acquainted friend group who I wish I could escape from because they keep talking and everyone throws popcorn and rubber darts at us. Why does that stranger register as family? Where is my wife? I'm eager to get back home to the isolation of the farm. I don't mind how strange and new this town is. I am seducing the paths in the woods with great patience and slow pacing and I will learn the land so well that it fills the ache where people should sit in my heart. Where is everyone? Why are we sitting with this man? He must be a target of our family business of thievery. Ill keep him distracted. I'll ask to see the other rooms. Scouting ahead. Picking a place to hide him away so I can go help scour the trailer home mansion for pilferable trinkets.

Who is this who loves in my chest? Who pounds my heart? Who hisses hatred and malice and wants to eviscerate me?

I am sleepy and my bones ache.

#originalpostbycopingdragon

[mothandpidgeon]

Ok but since you are writing a Regency piece...could you imagine having Din Djarin and Marcus Pike fighting over you? Each of them is so different and you can't help it because you're attracted to both of them because Din is the brooding yet kind introverted man that quotes to you poetry and takes you on long boat rides (with someone else of course because he cares about your image) and you're head over heels in love but then Marcus comes along and he's dashing and sweet and a little introverted but mostly talkative whenever he has to be and although he doesn't read to you poetry, he does gush about how none of the Greek and Roman and Etruscan sculptures and Italian works of art come close to your beauty and he takes you on long walks in gardens and even invites you to go to Versailles one time with him and then the three of you run into each other during one of the balls and the two are begging just for a moment with you and you're dancing with no one else but them during the entire night and when you try to go to the garden to get some fresh air, you're bombarded by the two men and they get into a heated argument to the point where they say that they will duel for you but you stop them both because you don't want either of them to get hurt and then...oh my sweet lord...and then, you take each of their hands and kiss their knuckles and fuck you shouldn't be doing this because what if someone sees and your reputation and no no no...but they both grow even more shy and you smile at them and-

"How about you invite us over to your estate Captain Djarin? I'm sure we can all...come to an agreement. Right?"

And the two are so confused but when they look at each other and return their gaze to you, they finally realize what it is you're talking about and they're both appalled by your offer but their shock slowly subsides because they fucking crave you and they nod and you throw each one of them a wink and-

"I'm looking forward to the invitation, good evening gentlemen."

And AHHHHHHHHHHH I DIE!!!!!!!!

Ok, Maggie, you went SO HARD on this one. Phew. You really know how to torment me!!! You are always welcome in my inbox. Considering the tale you wove, I really hope this lives up to it and you’ll have to forgive me I could go on but I was already approaching 1.5k words!!

Also I hope you don’t mind (and apologies to Regency!Din) but the mention of Versailles just screamed late 18th century (an important distinction in my nerd brain) so…

A/N: 18+! This ribbon bit comes from Barry Lyndon so apologies to the ghost of Stanley Kubrick.

It was a shame that Misters Djarin and Pike detested one another so when they had so many similarities. Both of them were kind and sweet and terribly handsome.

Mr. Pike accompanied you to the opera on more than one occasion. In the privacy of your box, he would whisper sweet words into your ear and nudge the soft skin of your neck with his nose. Mr. Djarin was more of an outdoorsman. He took you riding on his estate. When you were far enough on the grounds, he would help you down from the saddle and recite poetry to you beneath a shady tree.

And yet seeing them side by side now in Mr. Djarin’s parlor where you’d just shared a very awkward tea, tension straining the air between them, they couldn’t be more different. Mr. Djarin, so reserved, dark and modest. Mr. Pike, flirtatious and warm, cheek always dimpled with a smile.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the wall between them but you’d been wise enough to plan for it.

“It seems I cannot force an accord between you but I know how men like their sport. I propose a wager. Nothing like a friendly competition to encourage affection,” you said.

Marcus cocked his eyebrow. He had wanted to win you since he’d met you last summer, pursuing you endlessly and yet this other man still stood in his way.

“I wonder which of you is a better hunter,” you said.

“And how would we prove that?” Mr. Pike asked. Din’s brow creased. He didn’t know how hunting had anything to do with your ludacris proposal, the one that they had both scoffed at at the ball. He wouldn’t have agreed to contemplate the thought if he hadn’t been so afraid of losing you.

You rose from your seat and both pairs of brown eyes watched you intently.

“I have devised a test. I’ve hidden a white ribbon somewhere on my person,” you said, trying to bite back your smile. “The better man finds it first.”

Both men looked at you in a stunned silence. Your heart was racing nervously but you were savoring their expressions. Mr. Djarin collected himself first.

“You’ll forgive me for being unfamiliar with the ways in which women amuse themselves but I hardly find such a suggestion to be entertaining,” Mr. Djarin said, his cheeks turning pink.

He couldn’t pretend that the idea of undressing you didn’t make his heart pound but he hated how easily you would give yourself over to Mr. Pike. He disliked the way Pike flirted with you so openly. Of course, he knew some of it was envy— he had never been a charmer.

“I do not speak in jest, sir,” you told him.

“That is what you want?” Mr. Pike asked, his soft eyes already slipping lower. He was already thinking of places to explore.

You watched Mr. Djarin look away from you when he nodded.

“And the better man, does he win something?” Pike asked, enjoying how flustered the other man had become.

“My highest regard,” you answered coyly.

Marcus chuckled.

“Then the lady should get what she wants, don’t you agree?” he asked Mr. Djarin.

Din cleared his throat.

“Very well,” he said.

Pike came to your side and took your hand to escort you to the couch where you sat between him and Mr. Djarin.

“Perhaps you should take the first turn,” you suggested to Mr. Djarin who was looking at you with a mix of fear and yearning in his eye.

He’d been so careful with you, always so cautious not to overstep or do anything at all that might invite scandal save a few soft kisses. And here you were laying yourself out for him. He swallowed dryly and met your eye with a shrug of surrender.

“Is it in your hair?” he asked, eyes darting up to your coiffure.

You smiled at him, nearly reached out to put your hand on his cheek. That protective nature was what drew you to Mr. Djarin in the first place. You knew what he really wanted, you could see it in his eyes, but he was too polite to take what was being offered. Not without convincing.

“I believe this requires a more thorough search, Djarin,” Pike said from over your shoulder.

He cupped your hands and turned them over as in a playful inspection, then lifted both of your arms. “No. Not there.”

You laughed and the noise made his heart jump. He’d found that he would make himself a fool if it put a smile on your face. Marcus was happy to take the opportunity to move in closer, to claim you with his touch. He brushed your neck so gently, his fingers tracing a ljne from your jaw to your shoulder where the bodice of your dress began. Goose pimples broke out on your skin and Marcus put his lips against your earlobe.

“I wonder,” he mused, leaning your back into his chest.

He hooked a finger under the fabric and followed the line down from your shoulder to the swell of your breast and you gasped. He had so often admired the rise and fall of your chest, Marcus couldn’t help but caress your skin with his thumb. Din felt himself stiffen as he listened to the soft moans Pike was drawing from you as he put a kiss on your skin. Watching your lips part, Din was frozen in place.

Marcus moved his hand down the straight front of your bodice and you felt yourself pulsing beneath your skirts.

“Perhaps under here?” he asked.

You allowed him to work the front of your gown open, the silk parting to reveal the creamy ivory stays below. Din felt twin aches in his chest and his groin as he saw the other man slide the bodice off of your shoulders.

Neither had seen you in such a state of undress before. Marcus took a moment to steady himself, admiring the figure below and sliding his hand across your middle. You were hardly naked, still clad in your stays, shift, and skirts but your underthings made his cock twitch.

“Now you see how the game is played and that Mr. Pike has been so far unsuccessful,” you said to Mr. Djarin, your voice more breathless than before. “Would you care to try, Mr. Djarin?”

You encouraged him by bringing your foot to rest beside his knee, leaning back into Mr. Pike. Din licked his lips, staring at the floral pattern on your delicate shoe for what felt like a century. Finally, he gave in to his longing.

He ran his fingers up your ankle over your silk stocking, revealing the smooth line of your leg. His large hands encircled your calf as he inched your skirt up further. You let out a shaking breath, squeezing your thighs together. You could hear Mr. Pike’s jagged breaths in your ear as he watched with anticipation. He had half a mind to release himself from his breeches to relieve the torment building there.

Din was careful not to reveal any of your skin, stopping just above the spot at your knee where your stockings were tied with thick ribbons.

“These are blue,” he said, running his thumb over the bow.

You were looking down at him flushed and breathing heavy and it took everything in his power to stop from taking you then and there.

You leaned to him, putting your lips against his and letting your mouth fall open to invite him in. You heard him whimper and he clutched onto your leg. Then you turned to Mr. Pike who kissed you hungrily, his wide palm kneading at your breasts.

“I’m quite disappointed in the both of you,” you said once you could speak again. Your whole body was thrumming with arousal.

You raised your skirts up around your hips and felt both pairs of eyes lustily watching. There, tied around the thickest part of your thigh was the white ribbon. But they only noticed the slick shining between your thighs.

“We shall call it a draw. But I’m afraid that means you’ll have to share me, gentlemen,” you said.

And from their twin growls, it was clear that they didn’t mind.

#Maggie the magnificent #I’m not sure what this is but I hope it was fun #historical au #regency au #regency!din #din djarin x reader #marcus pike x reader #ask the moth

[merakiui]

welcome to the day a duck ruins your perception of items in genshin impact. i uh. made some items in genshin impact as yandere boys and what they're like sort of?? you could try and burn your eyes now. ;) adepti seekers stove- he's going to be a tsundere no buts or uhts. he's the type of yandere that's trying to be protective and failing miserably everytime. so being impatient and angsty. so, he resorts in kidnapping you instead. but hey look on the bright side! even when you're kidnapped you can have delicious meals and snacks! secretly likes to cook for you a lot, but he won't admit it even in death. just don't question why there's a lingering scent of sleeping potions in your meal and you'll be good as jolly jee! probably wants you to help him in the kitchen, since he once heard that couples do that. would probably give you self esteem issues down the line. "didn't i tell you to not get hurt? are you that much of an idiot?? here. have this it'll lessen the pain just a bit so we can walk back home. just drink it already." windsong lyre- smug bastard, smug shit. he's probably a player or just overly dramatic with everything. maybe he's righteous or something.. likes to show off his music skills a lot. he sucks at it tho. gaslights you probably in public places to add more pressure, because people are staring like you're having a performance or something. calls you love even if he's pissed at you for not listening to him, or accusing him of being toxic or suspecting him of being your stalker that always watches you from your window at 2am! would make you paranoid a lot. loves kissing your cheek and tickling you. he's a closeted pervert. you're gonna have to move in an isolated place too, he will spread rumours of you being his lover. "love, I'm sure that you're just overreacting. plus even if i was the stalker that you're talking about I wouldn't be oh so casually talking to you in public when I could've been hiding! jeez it's like your going crazy." wind-blessed harpastrum- such sweety! just so wholesome bakes you a pie in tuesday sweet. seems patient too but beware he will break your legs when you get a little bit too bratty for his tastes. touch starved too and it shows, that's why he loves to cuddle you lots! really obsessed with what you think of him. if you say you hate him he'll tear up and try to convince you that he's good, but if you pretend that you like him he'll shower you with uncomfortable affection and confessions. really great at making bombs and torture weapons too. probably sewed in a bomb inside your body threatened that he will kill you with it if you leave. bad at darts and archery. if you say that to him he'll laugh and take out his diploma saying that he's too smart for those childish games. he's impulsive in decision making. "haha. you know. you almost escaped from me back there. but hey! now you won't do anything stupid like that ever again if you can't walk." windblume balloon: listen man. im going to be killed but he's an airhead, pun intended right there. probably lowkey manipulative and doesn't even know it yet or chooses to ignore it. protective of you a lot. really delusional to the point that he rationalizes your escape as someone kidnapping you. so say goodbye to whoever poor stranger who was trying to help you escape they'll be greeted by an arrow through their head once he finds you. has a habit of holding your hand because he's afraid you might disappear from his line of sight and leave him all alone. if you let go tho he'll gorilla grip your hand, might crush it too. just very overprotective. he also doesn't know that he's an airhead. yeah."hm? why do i like holding you hand..? i just like it.. your hand makes me feel... uh. safe..? is that the word for it? ah. it was the word loved." wind catcher- he's a full on sadist. throw all of your escape plans out the window, this guy will climb a mountain and ride any wind current available to catch and torture you. persistently trying to make you like him atleast a bit. yeah, he's that kind of delusional. would teasingly push you

of a cliff as a 'light' punishment. dark humour and likes to joke about killing you from time to time. note: he can kill you. and he would also do it by ripping you in half with the wind current so just stay in his house and be a good lover that'll shower him in kisses, okay? okay. he mostly sees you as a tool of interest, but not just any tool- you're his favourite tool. "pfft! hey stop crying now! you're making me feel bad! hm? oh? why am i doing this? well i mean maybe I'm angry that someone was trying to escape. again." warming bottle- he will absolutely leave you in the cold if you were being a brat towards him. lives in dragonspine to spite you, also because he can just turn take away your blankets and anything that can give warmth so you gotta ask him to cuddle you to survive. he usually does this when he's feeling a little petty. which is so frequent. that you can almost give it a schedule. but don't tell him that. kind of a tsundere but only when it comes to physical affection since he's shy. that's why he has to take away your blankets so it looks like he's just mocking you but not because he's touch starved. he's not at home that much too but don't worry, he will make it up to you by uh.. physical activities.. "what? you're freezing? no shit we're in dragonspine. oh? you want me to hug you..? hm. fine. I'll indulge you for a bit. I am quite merciful." parametric transformer- businessman that scams you a lot lol. he's going to be a masochist because i said so, yeah i know the electric stone thing gag that's why i made him a masochist. really likes to collect useless stuff and spoiling you, so expect your room to be filled with a lot of random things from jewelry to mushrooms and crabs. has a you should be grateful i even give stuff mindset. thinks that giving someone something of vaue would make them fall in love with him instantly. also probably loves it when you fight back especially when you successfully land a hit on him, he will enjoy it. but be careful he has different responses whenever you hit him. pick your poison. spends a ton of resources on everything to keep you in line. that rope costed him 700 pinecones. "why do you even wanna escape? i give you a ton of stuff so you won't get bored! hah. maybe if i had picked up someone else they would've been grateful." portable waypoint- throw out your escape plans the season sequel. he's very quiet but has a small temper that won't last that much. maybe he's like that since he tries so hard to repress it. listen he's trying okay? escape always fails so quickly. one minute you're in springvale shouting, crying, begging for anyone to help you and then back to his house to see him sipping some tea. his punishments are cruel too- he makes sure to leave you in a den of monsters and ruin guards, waits until your in the brink of death and teleports you back to him. has a superiority complex over everyone too. probably likes to make you feel weak when you have to rely on him. loves to crush your self esteem. wants to be affectionate but thinks that you, as an inferior being, should be affectionate with him instead. so tsun. "see? this is what i was trying to tell you. you're too weak to actually survive out there. you even had to rely on me to save you. pathetic." memento lens- mysterious and elegant. he's quite cryptic to say the least. likes to watch you from a far if he's feeling a bit angsty. you try to make sense of what he says and it just leads to you being confused even more. and he likes that about you. you actually try to understand him, even if what you guess is wrong. you're going to have a tough time with this guy if you wanna escape. just avoid any fox statues and you'll be good. the problem is the shrine maidens. they basically want the two of you to end up together so they don't have to deal with him. he's actually very gentle with you punishments still suck but atleast he doesn't do it physically, he just makes you write that you're sorry over and over until your wrist are tired. loves poetry and solving puzzles, riddles, scriptures. he's

smart but soft. "spring blossoms even in the darkest depths of uncertainty, is that why you have the courage to try and escape me..?" kamera- perfectionist stalker. wants to make sure that the photos he takes of you are perfect to every extent. colour, lighting, and expressions. even if it means going inside your room and having the possibility of waking you up from your sleep. likes to take pictures of everything too. kind of like this; both of you are walking somewhere and he stops to take a picture of a sunset. he takes twenty minutes trying to find the correct angle. but the sun is already gone so he sulks. maybe- you can cheer him up by volunteering to be his model? you'll do that? right? also worships you like a god so if someone dared to even say something breath near you or celestia forbid insult you, best to say they'll be quickly disposed of by blackmail and fake shit. would not steal any of your belongings, he would just take pictures of it. so he's not that bad. "i consider everything in this world is beautiful, but you have surpassed that. so that is why im keeping you here. no one deserves even a glimpse of you!" waverider toolbox- he's such a gentlemen and a sweetheart. always there to help you with repairs, sometimes he'd add some updates to it too. just ignore the stuff going missing inside your boat thing. he probably guilt-gaslight you into staying with him in his waverider then bam your in an island stranded. ahaha, now both of you just have to survive by working together ya know? like a loving couple likes hugs and physical affection a lot! bonus points if it's given when he's tired from doing his job. as i said tired guy so appreciates all the things you do for him whether it's paying for his meal or giving him a gift. next time, he'll make sure that you won't leave the island permanently. thinks that stranded island equals date smh. " ahh? oh! is this for me? really? thank you.. i don't usually receive gifts but that just makes this even more special! say, do you wanna go on a trip? i just fixed the waverider from last time." red feather fan- mischievous little shit. likes to scare you a lot by appearing on trees and just jumping on you. knows that you're trying to escape but pretends not to since he likes to try and guess which direction you would run to. hugs you a lot even before he kidnaps you really touchy even if you say no he'll use the good ol puppy eyes! doesn't work? okay he'll just smell your clothes when you're sleeping as compensation. he likes to flirt with you a lot. some pickup are cheesy.. but others are a little- personal? acts cool by making a dramatic entrance everytime even. you know those radical superhero landing stuff? that's him. he would build a nest as your house even being a dick and placing it on top of a mountain, goodluck on trying to get down. "caught you! going to the shore was so predictable by the way. maybe you should try a different place next time, dear? hm? maybe a restaurant so we can have date? sounds great right?" serenitea pot- unhinged malewife that wants to make a the perfect living space for you- ehem. probably a perfectionist if you squint hard enough. he's delusional but just a little lucid about the stuff he does to you. likes to make a ton of furniture too! personalized the room you're trapped in with a ton of valuable and expensive materials. just don't try to escape he'll cut your limbs off just like a damn tree shawtie. owns a shit ton of pets ranging from boars to cats. all of them are like bodyguards to you during your stay. dreams about having a peaceful life with you in the realm someday, sigh. he sometimes has burnouts where he just places a bunch of furniture on a single room and call it a day. "and here is your room! do.. do you like it? i made it just for you! i didn't know what wood you would prefer so i just settled on whatever i can find! ahaha. we're kind of like a married couple living together now... right?" nre menu- he's probably going to be from the adventurers guild. really awkward and shy. takes for him a long time to

open up to you. when going on quests he's the one in charge of carrying the food and healing shit you need. really patient and nice! slightly uh mean with other people trying to talk to you but other than that everything is normal. everything is normal the long loving gaze he gives you every now and then and some food being left on your doorstep. yeah let's not question it i mean he's just so shy! he would never do anything wrong? right?? he's a closeted pervert, cliche i know but he's a pervert with a line to not cross. he just checks you out. good for him. would cry if given any ounce of affection. sweet baby. "t-that was a tough commission.. oh u-uh.. do you need some food to replenish your energy? we need to do the other commissions you know.. hm? why aren't you eating it.. something wrong with the food..?" seelies- spoiled. that's the word to describe him. really straight forward with his courting kind of dumb? but he's so damn lucky for some unknown reason that your plans to avoid him always fail. yeah the high quality rope you just bought for 1000 mora? it broke and you fell into his arms. he's probably rich by sheer dumb luck too. finds a ton treasure chests even in the places you didn't expect. people pressure you into spending time with him. since he's just so cute! how could say no to such a face? it really feels like the gods are on his side ya know? he throws a lot of very very aggressive tantrums if you're not with him. thinks he's doing a good job at courting you, with rationalize rejection as a playing hard to get. "tada! look i got you this crystal i found while i was walking! it looks like a diamond and it has a ton of colours too?? is it valuable?? would you kiss me if i give it to you??" endora- majestic, regal, and likes to explore a lot. he uh. probably trapped you in a bubble once or twice too. really curious about his surroundings, also has no personal space since it's first time going out. he would cuddle you when he feels like it homie. kidnapped you and made you his tour guide. don't try to fool him he learns quickly about stuff. fast swimmer, so no joining any expeditions in water if you don't want their ship to be wrecked by a mysterious being of the teyvat seas. he likes to see you cry. it's not a kink he just feels connected to you when you cry. doesn't have a house so you just live in a run down boat. he's doesn't know when you're lying to him sometimes. god complex bastard. "this world. at first i wasn't sure if i was going to like it or not, but ever since I've met you... I've grown to tolerate some parts.. so you should be thankful, you've convinced me. mortal." intertwined fate/older twin- listen. he's just so smug about everything he does. and he knows you love him. probably invites you out on dinner only for him to not show up. so basically he's an asshole without a doubt. toxic boyfriend that gives you false hope and has a ton of admirers. you probably think he won't settle for you right? ah, he's not that cruel. so picks you as his lover out of all the billions of people. you should be grateful! he even kidnapped you! do you know how hard it was for him to go all the way from his home to yours? anyways yeah. asshole. he likes to do the open the door for darling trick where he just gives you a small crack on the door and watch you make a decision. it's an act of your loyalty. if you escape he'll make you feel pain. if you don't then he'll reward your patience. god complex bastard 2."sigh. did you try to escape? again? patience is the key to everything you know. maybe you should learn that. i expected more smart from you." acquaint fate/younger twin- cinnamonroll he's such a sweet guy. he's always there for you when you need him. okay- he has a nice guy complex, fucking damn it. probably uses the but I've been there for you since the start trick unintentionally a lot. he just doesn't know he wants some action, so be thankful that he didn't just jump on you like a barbarian. he's kind of contradicting himself too. one hand he wants you to love him, on the other hand he doesn't

believe he deserves you. loves to give you the same things, remember that one painting you liked from two years ago? he got you that. quantity beats quality. surprisingly, he's really patient but would have bursts of anger every now and then. has a self value issues?? yeah, but did i tell you he's a touch starved guy. punshments are just him softly lecturing you about what's good and what's wrong."i always viewed myself as inferior, that i didn't deserve anything.. but this time. i want to be greedy just once." that's it- :'D i haven't proofread this but here you go mer! ill probably continue with more humanisations of items in genshin later.. if you ask why i ruined your day with this crazy idea i was watching that one video of a person humanising social media and got this idea. also i discovered how to bold out texts... i have power..ejwjdhshaj

so yeah have a great day! -🦆anon

I AM IN AWE?!?! WHOA OMG!!!!! 🦆, THIS IS FANTASTIC!! AAAAAA (≧∀≦)

All of the various characterizations… *chef’s kiss* It’s literally so good! With each one I read I kept thinking okay this guy is my favorite and then I would read the next description and my heart was stolen again. I can’t pick a favorite now. T_T

#chit chat #yandere #🦆 anon #meraki faves #YOU HOLD SO MUCH POWER #AND YOUR BRAIN IS IMMENSELY GALAXY #BECAUSE WOW OMG I AM IN LOVE WITH THE CHARACTERIZATIONS

[drakenology]

“he call me throatzillaaa” w/ bakugo, sero and kirishima inspired by “throatzilla” by slayyyter

warnings: cum (like lots of it), d*ck sucking, degrading, cussing, face fucking- just straight nasty head, 69-ing, filthy words, mentions of weed and high sex.

I recommend you listen to the song just to get a feel of the lyrics I used.

minors dni 18+

author’s note: this song came on shuffle and the idea came to mind to write about sucking dick. (one of my many favorite hobbies) Enjoy, besties!

“i know you wanna cover my face in whaaaat?.....”

- b. katsuki

bakugo’s in a testy mood and that could only mean two things

1. He’s horny

2. He’s genuinely pissed about something

more times than most it’s the first reason

so you being the caring s/o you are, you help him out *wink* *wink*

Katsuki sat on the couch scowling at nothing. He had ranted to his pretty baby that everything and everyone was just pissing him off; a telltale sign he needed a release. All that pent up aggression must have been a heavy load to carry so why not let him spill it all over your face? So being the sweet and considerate significant other that you are you happily get on your knees for him, palming at his growing dick through his jeans. Your eyes sink into his as you unzip them, Katsuki stopping midsentence at your boldness. His dick breaks free from the confines of his boxers, springing and slapping against his stomach. Hm. His proud boner stood tall, its bright red head leaking precum serving as further proof the man was just irritatingly horny.

You practically salivate at the sight, taking him into your mouth immediately. Words just took too much time to say. Your need to suck every aggression out of your bratty boyfriend nullified any other thought in mind as you slide your mouth down his length, your tongue stroking the bottom of his cock. Bakugo relaxed in his seat, watching as your pretty mouth take in his whole length. He moans when he feels himself slide into your throat, yanking your hair to bob your head up and down. You start gagging and drooling all over his dick as you pull away. Strings of your spit connect your mouth to his throbbing cock from the separation, your tongue returning and following the trail of his vein up to the head with focused and teary eyes darting into Bakugo.

“So big...” You gasp, taking him into your mouth again, your hands stroking what you can’t fit. Katsuki’s so astounded by the warmth of your mouth and all the slurping that came from it he’s a moaning mess, his head hanging back as he cussed. Your hands twist and pump his blushing cock, your spit making it feel as if he’s inside your tight walls as you work his most sensitive spots with your tongue.

“That’s it baby. Suck my fucking dick. Such a whore.” Katsuki slurred, hissing as you urge him to fuck your mouth again.

You moan around his dick, the vibrations sending shockwaves into Bakugo as he pulled your mouth off of his throbbing cock. He takes his cock into his hand and pumped a few times before erupting all over your face, your mouth open and tongue hanging out as you try and taste him. Hot, sticky globs of his cum drip all over your face much to Bakugo’s delight. You lick your lips and look up at him, eyes teary as you blink them away. Bakugo just stares down at your coated face, kissing your lips to taste himself like the filthy man he is, pulling away with lovesick eyes.

“Shit..... Go upstairs.”

“dirty talk so good it was poetry.”

- s. hanta

hanta sero is a resident “tree” smoker. 💨

so high sex is a must. he gets real horny when he’s stoned with his baby.

there’s no better feeling than smoking a blunt, kicked back watching you struggle to swallow him whole.

sometimes he’ll look at you with those pretty brown eyes all low and hazy and ask oh so nicely for you to suck his dick.

and what kinda s/o would you be to deny your sexy boyfriend the privilege of being sucked off by you?

filthy praise >>>>>>

like his dirty talk game is strong 💪🏽

like his words alone could make you wet mmhm yessir

sero just finished his blunt. you could tell because he reeked of weed and ash, his eyes low and red riddled with lust when he saw you just minding your business in your bedroom. you were reading something, laying on your stomach and swinging your legs all innocent like.

“You smoked without me didn’t you?” You question, looking up from your book to see Sero taking off his shirt. He smirks, noticing your face flush and turn back to your book. Sero walks up to you, crotch standing in your peripheral vision showing off a hefty boner.

“Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?” Sero slurred, swatting your ass to catch your full attention. Whenever Sero got high, he was insatiable in bed. You fondly remember a time you were bonded by his tape, ass up and face buried into the mattress as he fiendishly pounded at your cervix. Throwing your book somewhere, you pull Sero towards you in a heated kiss. Something in you just needed him, needed to feel him in some way or another. Clothes molt away and thrown all over the bed, making out with each other with fervor.

You’re now straddling his face, leaning down and sucking his dick to return the favor simultaneously. Sero’s tongue plays with your clit, slipping into your folds as his hands knead and grab at your plush ass. Your soft moans tingle on his cock, your head bobbing up and down to try and keep up with him.

“Having trouble, baby?” Sero teased, replacing his tongue with two slender fingers so he can talk you through the high he was about to give you.

“Your pussy’s so wet for me. Sucking my cock’s fun, isn’t it babe?” His filthy words cause arousal to resurface, your pussy dripping onto his fingers as he thrusts them inside with a deliberate pace. You’re shaking, unable to focus on sucking his dick from the seering pleasure he was giving you.

He slides his fingers out, wet sounds following as he slid them back in, lips kissing your thighs while he worked you. “Go on baby. Keep sucking my cock... if you can that is.” Sero laughed, bucking his hips up to keep you focused on your task. You gag around him, slurping as he started fucking your mouth and devouring your pussy at the same time. Tears stream down your face as Sero filled you with his tongue and dick, playful hums vibrating against you as he groaned and talked shit once again.

“Mmm.. listen to that pussy. So fucking sloppy. She likes it doesn’t she? Yeah I know she fucking does. This pussy’s mine, ya hear?” Sero moans, his fingers yet again fucking your soft walls so you hear him clearly.

“Face so pretty and my head go dumb like...”

- e. kirishima

eijiro loves you. like that’s not surprise.

and he thinks you’re the prettiest and sweetest thing he’s ever met.

so imagine his shock when he finds out you’re an absolute savant at sucking dick.

the thought of coating your pretty face in his cum just- like he short circuits.

damn like you’re the whole package.. gorgeous and you can suck dick like a pro?? scuse him while he goes and buys the biggest ring in the jewlery store.

“Fuuck, you look so sexy right now.” Eijiro gasps, feeling your warm mouth take him in. Your pretty eyes look up at him as your mouth works his length, slurping and choking on him as you drool all over it. Eijiro takes your head and holds it still to pull himself out of your mouth, holding his cock in one hand and tapping it on your tongue. You happily stick it out further, panting a little from trying to catch your breath.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y/n.” Kirishima lulled, groaning at the sight of your pretty face becoming so lewd. He loved seeing you like this, spit dripping down your chin, skin flushed and eyes teary, your mascara running all over your face.

Eijiro sticks himself inside your mouth again, missing the warm wetness as he fucked your throat. You slack your jaw, sticking out your tongue to take him in. He’s moaning into the air, spewing out his desire to cum all over your face and then bend you over to fuck you for hours with a fistfull of your hair. You moan around his dick, slipping a hand down to play with your pussy shamelessly while keeping that hypnotizing eye contact.

“God you’re so fucking sexy. I bet you’re wet as fuck right now. Mm keep going like this and I’m gonna cum all over that pretty mouth.”

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha bakugo x reader #bnha kirishima smut #bnha sero #thirst quenchers 💦 #yahh bitch yahh!

[heliads]

A Pretty Thief

After Race stumbles upon what has to be the most charming pickpocket in the entire city of New York, he’s sure he has to get to know her. It’s a good thing he’ll soon get his chance.

masterlist

Race is almost sure he didn’t see it at all.

Had he moved a foot to the left, had he blinked, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything. It was quick, hands moving with the grace of a trained pianist. Not that Race would know- he’s not exactly known for hanging around establishments with a caliber high enough to warrant a pianist. No, the Sheepshead Races are his kind of entertainment, not the top level businessmen who choose to frequent the orchestra and concert halls.

It is precisely this kind of man that Race has just seen pick-pocketed. The theft was probably the smoothest he’s ever seen- a quick slide of the hand across a back pocket and it was like watching the man’s wallet leap into the awaiting palm of the thief. The thief, as it happens, not the usual scruffy boy but a girl. That’s probably why she caught Race’s attention even before she liberated the man’s wallet- she’s pretty. Far prettier than the usual thieves Race has seen on the streets.

She glanced up once at him, as if she could sense his thoughts on her. She looked startled for a second, as if not used to being caught in the middle of a theft, then quickly regained her momentum. She flashed Race a cocky grin, tossing a wink like a penny to an awaiting newsie. Then she disappeared back into the crowd, gone in an instant despite the fact that there actually aren’t that many people on the street. Race is fascinated.

This, however, proves to be a mistake. In the time it takes for Race to linger in place, watching the pretty thief go, the man has discovered that his wallet is missing. He looks around frantically, searching for a possible suspect, and his eyes land on Race. Race watches as the man points a finger at him, the words shouting from his lips: “Thief! Stop him!”

Race pauses a moment. Surely he doesn’t mean Race himself, who’s just been standing here selling papes? But it does make sense, as few things on the streets ever make sense to bankers and street rats alike- who would steal a wallet, the couple of well-dressed shoppers or the boy dressed in worn clothes and hand-me-downs, selling papes at a couple of cents each in the hopes of not starving to death? 

It’s practically obvious that the man would turn to him. It’s also obvious what Race has to do now- it’s what he’s been doing for almost all of his life. He turns and runs, sprinting down the narrow cobblestoned streets in an attempt to get away from the banker and the crowds now turning to face him. A couple of cops attempt to chase him, but Race has always been able to outrun them. No competition.

His feet feel lighter than air, his legs a blur as he darts between couples walking on the streets and around corners. He pauses for a second, noticing the cops now in front and behind him, then makes a split-second decision and ducks into a nearby alleyway. He follows the brick walls through a few twists and turns, then curses softly. He’s hit a dead end, and there’s no way he can go back. The cops have already blocked the exit.

Just when Race is trying to figure out what his next move could be, a voice sounds from above him. Race cranes his head, trying to spot the speaker, and then he sees the arm pointing to a twisting metal ladder mostly hidden by crumbling brick. Race nods his gratitude, rushing up the ladder before the cops can spot him. He’s just managed to throw himself onto the roof of a low building before the men spill into the alleyway, but even from here Race can see their frustration. There’s no way they can find him, not now.

Race watches until they turn around and head back to the street, then lets out a quiet sigh of relief. He turns to thank his mysterious aide, but freezes slightly with surprise when he recognizes her. It’s the girl from before, the girl who stole the banker’s wallet and got him landed in this mess in the first place. Race scratches the back of his head, adjusting his newsie cap. “Thanks for the tip. I wouldn’t have found that ladder if you hadn’t pointed it out.”

The girl flashes him that same dazzling grin. “No problem. I felt kind of bad that they started chasing you. I wasn’t trying to pin the theft on you.” Race returns her smirk. “And they says there’s no honor among thieves.” The girl laughs, glancing over the edge of the roof to make sure nobody can see them. “You’re the first person to see me steal something in a while. Usually I’m too fast.”

Race raises an eyebrow. “You’se that confident in yourself?” The girl shrugs. “You tell me.” She pulls a cigar from her pocket, starting to lift it to her lips. Race’s eyes widen when he realizes it’s his. It had been in his shirt pocket, but now- His hand flies to his breast pocket. Sure enough, it’s empty. Race gapes at her. “That’s my cigar!” 

The girl hands it back after a second. “Just proving a point.” Race pretends to glare at her. “Better be. Cigars are off limits.” The girl folds her arms across her chest, expectant. “Then how did you get them? I didn’t know newsies had such wide access to the best cigars.” Race leans against a nearby wall, a grin rising to his lips despite himself. “I guess we all have our secrets.”

Then he straightens up. “Where are my manners? Honestly, you meet a goil who steals your cigars and you forget everything. I’m Race.” He extends his hand, mocking formality like he’s one of the bankers this girl just stole from, and the pretty thief copies his stance. “Y/N. Nice to meet you, Race.” Race flashes her a wink. “Nice to meet you too, as long as you stop stealing my cigars.” “No promises.”

They part ways soon after that. Whoever this Y/N is, she’s not a newsie, and Race needs to finish selling the rest of the day’s papes if he wants to have enough to eat tonight. Still, he can’t pretend he wasn’t disappointed to leave her on that roof. There was something about her that he hadn’t seen in a while. She was like a breath of fresh air in the middle of this smoke-clogged city. Honestly, that should tell Race that this girl is special. She’s practically driving him to poetry.

He doesn’t expect to see her again. Something about Y/N tells Race that she’ll only be found if she wants to be found. Yet a couple of days later, Race is walking back to the newsie Lodging House when he sees a familiar silhouette. It’s late in the day, the sun already slipping back into dusk, but he could recognize her in the middle of a dark and stormy night if need be. She’s walking quietly, arms wrapped around herself as if hoping that the press of her forearms alone could keep her warm. Race has lived in Manhattan long enough to know that it never will.

Race jogs to catch up to her, shouting a greeting from down the block. Y/N turns around, a somber expression instantly glittering into a smile when she sees him. Race slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close like he’s known her his entire life. “You want to tell me why the best goil in ‘Hattan is walking around like she’s been living a funeral?”

Y/N glances at him over her shoulder. “You think I’se the best goil in ‘Hattan?” Race shrugs. “Maybe all of New York. Maybe the entire world. But that’s not the point. What’s got you feeling blue?” Y/N’s smile slips from her face. It’s strange how she looks without it- older, maybe. More used to the stresses of being a teenager who has to work day in and day out to survive the city.

“I usually have a job in one of the factories, stitching clothes and whatnot. I’se had it for a while. It’s not the easiest or the safest, but at least it’s indoors.” Race winces at that. He’s heard a lot about the factories, about dozens of girls crammed together in small rooms, eyes strained over tiny stitches for hours and hours until they practically couldn’t see or move their hands at all. For some reason, the thought of the flighty, high-spirited Y/N stuck inside that dim and darkened room makes his heart clench in his chest.

Y/N is continuing now, and Race puts aside his pride to listen to her. “Or at least, I had the job for a while. Today, the bosses came out and said that they was going to fire a bunch of us to make sure they had enough profits. I was one of the people they selected at random, because I’se one of the youngest and they don’t trust us kids to do the best work. They’ve done stuff like this before, but they always hire us back. It’s been a couple of days now, and I’ve showed up every day. They should have hired me back, but they haven’t. I think they’re serious about this.”

She flops her head into her hands. “I’m worried, Race. The factories are already stuffed to the gills with new workers as it is. I don’t know that I’ll be able to find a place to work so quickly. Besides, my landlord’s going to kick me out if I don’t have a way to pay my rent. It’s the smallest apartment on this side of Manhattan, but it’s all I’ve got.” Race feels his spirits sink as he listens to Y/N talk. It isn’t fair that she should have to go through this, that any of them should have to work this hard just to live. But New York has always run at double speed, and the city that never sleeps has rarely cared about the welfare of the kids it relies on to function.

Race pulls Y/N closer, pressing a kiss against the top of her head despite his head screaming at him that this is not something he should be doing with a girl he’s just met. “You can stay with me. Us newsies have our lodging house, you know. It’s not much, just a bunch of troublemakers stuck together in a mess of bunks, but it’s home. If you need a place to stay, it’s here for you.”

Y/N looks up at him through a mess of lashes, and Race feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. “You mean it?” Race tries to force indifference, but he doesn’t think he could do it if he tried. “Of course I mean it. We look out for each other, right? Now I’m looking out for you.” Y/N beams at him, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re the best, Racer. Honestly.” Race feels like a giddy schoolboy. “Hey, it’s no problem. Want to go now?” “Absolutely.”

They make their way back to the lodging house, trading jokes and smiles as they go. Now that Y/N’s got a place to stay and at least start to stay on her feet, she’s decidedly happier. This in turn makes Race happier. He’s not sure why, but every time she looks over at him with that beaming smile Race feels like he could run a hundred miles and never stop, or jump right up to the moon and make her a place to stay. The other newsies would laugh at him and call him starstruck, but it doesn’t matter. Y/N’s curling her fingers around his, and he can’t think about anything else.

They pause in the doorway of the lodging house. Y/N looks back to Race as if double checking that he’s serious about this, and he gives her a reassuring smile. Race steps forward, opening the door and guiding Y/N into the main room of the house. From the second they enter, Race can feel all eyes shift to them. Great. It’s not often that the newsies bring a goil into the lodging house, and certainly not one as pretty as Y/N. Race can already hear the questions they’re dying to ask, and sense the stares from Albert, Elmer, and the others.

Luckily, Jack is the first one to step forward. Honestly, of all the newsies to first talk to Y/N, Race is glad it’s Jack. Jack happens to already have a girl to hang about with, and such a vibrant, fearless girl is Katherine that Race knows Jack would never think twice about another girl. It’s kind of like how Race feels about Y/N. 

Jack looks between the two of them, a grin settling decidedly onto his face. “So, Racer, you want to tell us about your, uh, friend?” Race gives Jack a look. “This is Y/N, she’s a good friend of mine. She needed a place to stay so I offered up a bunk over here.” Jack grins. “I bet she’s a very good friend.” Race makes to hit him with his cap, and Jack dances away. “Alright, alright. Just teasing. Y/N, we’d love to have you. If you can stand Racer, you can stand any of us. Stay as long as you like.”

Y/N laughs, the sound echoing around the room like a bell. “That sounds great. Thank you.” Race repeats the thank-you before practically pulling Y/N away, desperate to get a chance to talk before the other newsies try their hand at stealing away his goil. Race wants to shake himself at the thought. Y/N isn’t his girl, remember? He would do well to keep it in mind, although the thought keeps slipping from his head the second she looks back at him.

At first, Race doesn’t know what he was thinking, bringing Y/N to the lodging house. Would she get annoyed by all the other newsboys? Would she like it at all? Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry. She seems so happy to have a place to stay, somewhere with a ton of new friends that she doesn’t complain at all. In fact, she seems to be enjoying herself.

When it’s time to go to sleep, Race isn’t sure what to do. They offer Y/N one of the spare bunks, and she takes it, but he can tell that Y/N is still awake even long after the other boys fall asleep. Quietly, so as to not wake anyone else, he whispers over to her. “You can come over here. If you want. You know, if you can’t sleep.” For a second, he thinks Y/N is going to laugh at him, but then she whispers a quick thank-you, hurrying across the room on footsteps almost too light to hear.

Y/N settles into the bunk next to him, wrapping the few threadbare blankets around her. Y/N lays her head down on his chest, and Race pulls her close to him. He can already feel himself starting to drift off to sleep, but he can still hear her whisper something in the quiet of the night. “Thank you, Race. For everything. You didn’t have to do all of this, you know.” Race smiles, the expression slow in the night air. “Of course I did. I care about you, you know. Couldn’t leave you there on the street.”

The words hang in the air for a second, and then Y/N’s voice comes again, sweetened with a smile. “I care about you too, Race. More than I should.” Race raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” Y/N grins. “Yes. But now I’m going to sleep.” She pulls the blanket higher, closing her eyes despite the look on Race’s face. He considers this for a moment, what it means, what he can’t believe she just said. Then sleep threatens to drown him whole once more, so he presses one last kiss to her cheek before finally letting himself drift off to sleep at last. If the other newsies can see the two of them, holding each other close together in the quiet of the lodging house, they don’t say a word until morning.

#race imagines #race x reader #race oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #race higgins #race higgins imagines #race higgins x reader #race higgins oneshot #newsies race #newsies race imagines #newsies race x reader #newsies race oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live oneshot

[recurring-polynya]

[Renji birthday] Hey, hi. What about Orihime does smt to surprise Renji for his birthday, a thank-you him helping her at New Year celebration? Include fireworks that Renji secretly enjoys? Thanks. Anything (fic, hcs, sketch..) is fine.

I’m sorry this is late, but it’s still the Renji - Orihime Birthday Weekend, so I think it’s okay!

I love the idea of the Renji - Orihime BroTP, but somehow it’s so hard for me to write, I always do a bunch of false starts or get stuck. For this round of prompts, I was trying to do the ones that inspired me the most and I liked the idea a lot more than I had ideas, if you get my drift. Anyway, I love them both too much, though, so I muscled through.

I’m sorry if this is a little ramble-y and quite silly and I didn’t manage to squeeze in fireworks (I’ve written several fireworks scenes in the past and didn’t want to repeat myself), but what it is is four thousand words long. Also, I managed to remember that Kon exists, this is possibly the first time I have ever put Kon in anything. I hope you like it!

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🎁    🎈    🎊

“Inoue,” Renji hissed. “Why am I here?”

Orihime took a quick step backwards as Keigo ran past, screaming. Ryo followed a second later, also screaming. Renji, who had served at Squad 11 for many years, managed to leap out of the way just in time. “It’s Ichigo’s birthday party,” Orihime explained. “He wanted you to come.”

“It’s not though,” Renji pressed. “It’s Arisawa’s birthday, and we’re at Arisawa’s house. I don’t think Arisawa even knows who I am.”

“Yes, she does, silly,” Orihime replied. “I told her lots of stories about you and she said she wanted you to come. There’ll probably be a football match later, and Ichigo told her we could have you on our team, as long as he got Rukia.”

“I got hauled in all the way from Soul Society for football?” Renji asked, sounding not-at-all upset about this.

“No, I told you! Ichigo wanted you to come.”

“But it’s not his birthday.”

“But it is his party. He and Tatsuki share, you see, because their birthdays are so close and they have all the same friends. It’s Tatsuki’s year to host the big friend party. Ichigo just had a little family party on his actual birthday.”

“Ohhhhh,” Renji replied, finally understanding. He nodded for a moment. “What’s a family party?”

---

Orihime cleared her throat, and tapped her in her palm. “Thank you all for coming to this very important meeting.”

Chad, Ichigo, and Tatsuki were all crammed together on Orihime’s couch. Rukia sat on the arm, next to Chad, Kon in her lap. Uryuu sat in Orihime’s desk chair, which she had hauled in from her room.

Orihime thwapped her pointer against the large pad of paper on an easel that she had borrowed from the Student Health Advisors Club. On the first page, she had drawn a large picture of Renji and written his name. “It has come to my attention that Our Friend Renji has never had a Family Birthday Party.”

“Quick question--” Tatsuki interrupted. “Is he wearing a… fur bolero in that picture? And is the bone dragon an actual thing or just...Orihime artistic spice?”

“It’s a cowl,” Rukia said, at the same time as Chad said, “It’s a stole,” and Uryuu said “It’s a capelet.”

“Thank you, that cleared up nothing,” Tatsuki replied.

“It’s his bankai form,” Ichigo said, grumpily. “His sword turns into a giant flying snake skeleton that screams like a pterodactyl. It’s super sick and he let me ride on it twice and that cape thing is really soft, actually, but he says it gets hot. As far as I know it has nothing to do with his birthday.”

“Er, no, I just got carried away while I was drawing,” Orihime admitted. “Your bankai is very cool, too, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Got it, right,” Tatsuki nodded, sounding very much like she just wanted to move on. “He doesn’t have a family?”

“I think you’re worrying over nothing, Orihime,” Rukia said, sounding a teensy bit defensive. “Many people in Soul Society don’t have families. If there’s anyone in Soul Society who’s good at scraping up friends to spend a holiday with, it’s Renji. Everyone likes him. Half the Gotei turns up at the bar for his birthday parties.”

“I know that,” Orihime said quietly. “I know that because last New Year’s, when I was lonely, he played badminton with me, even though he was very, very hungover and pretending like he wasn’t, and then he went and rounded up all my friends in the middle of the night, and before he left, he told me there was nothing wrong with making your own holiday. But family birthdays are different! Family birthdays are about the people who love you most doing special things, just for you!” Orihime set her jaw. “When I was little, Sora always tried to make my birthdays super special! We didn’t have a lot of extra money, but he would take the day off just to spend it with me and we would go to the park or watch movies or he would let me paint his nails and braid his hair. He would take a picture of me and put it in my special birthday album with my height and weight and current favorite food.” Orihime’s mouth snapped shut. Everyone was staring at her. She’d said too much, just like she always did. Her cheeks started to burn.

“When I was little,” Ichigo suddenly said, a little bit too loud, “my mom told us that we could have whatever we wanted for dinner on our birthdays. One year, I…” he paused, his eyes darting over to Tatsuki. “I had just seen Kiki’s Delivery Service, and I was obsessed with that fish and pumpkin casserole the old lady makes?”

Orihime gasped, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Uryuu rolled his eyes. “Who wasn’t, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo snorted, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Anyway, it took her most of the day, and I think she must’ve gotten really frustrated at some point because me and my sisters got sent over to Tatsuki’s house so the Old Man could help her. It came out kind of lumpy and huge, but it was delicious, it was exactly what I had imagined it would taste like.”

“I remember that thing,” Tatsuki added. “She made us come over for dinner because there was so much of it. It was incredible.”

“We didn’t do Birthday Dinners for a few years after she died,” Ichigo said slowly. “But then after Yuzu got good at cooking, she said she wanted to try doing it again. My dad really likes the Godfather movies and he always used to ask for spaghetti for his birthday, which it turns out isn’t that hard to make. Karin and me helped out, and we’ve been doing it again ever since. We don’t usually do fancy stuff, it’s just nice to get to pick.”

“Ichigo made me omurice on my birthday and let me use his body to eat it!” Kon announced.

“You didn’t have to tell everyone that,” Ichigo stammered, turning pink. “It’s the only thing I’m good at making.”

“My abuelo always used to sing Las Mañanitas on my birthday,” Chad put in. “First thing in the morning. Sometimes he would come into my room and wake me up. Sometimes I would come down for breakfast and he would be there, with his guitar. He wouldn’t even say ‘good morning’ until he’d sung Las Mañanitas.”

Orihime’s spirits lifted a little. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Rukia crossed her arms over her chest. “Renji gets up at the crack of dawn. I’m certainly not going over to his place to sing at him while he mixes up his horrible protein beverages.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have to be exactly that,” Orihime went on. “I just thought, since his birthday was coming up in a few weeks, maybe we could throw him a party here, in the World of the Living that was… I don’t know… a little more heartfelt than just going out drinking.”

“I think that’s a very thoughtful idea, Inoue,” Uryuu said.

“Oh! I was worried you wouldn’t want to help, because… you know.”

“I had a row with Ryuuken last week,” Uryuu sniffed. “I’m honestly in the mood to do something nice for a shinigami. Besides, it’s Abarai, he doesn’t really count anymore.” He paused for a moment. “You either, of course, Kuchiki.”

“You wanna have it at my house?” Ichigo offered. “Since me and Tatsuki are the only ones with backyards, and I don’t imagine Tatsuki would want to explain this to her mom.”

“I appreciate that,” Tatsuki put in. “I can help though, if you want. In my family, we like to decorate, and I still have a bunch of streamers and balloons left over from last week.” She gestured at Orihime’s drawing. “We could probably make him a banner or something out of that. It’s pretty good!”

“Oh, that’s such a good idea!” Orihime exclaimed. She should have known her friends would be helpful. She flipped to a new page on her notepad, and began to write things down.

“I can help decorate!” Kon piped up. “I am very artistic, you know!”

“I can bring my guitar,” Chad offered. “I don’t know if Abarai wants to hear me sing…”

Ichigo shoved him in the shoulder. “Shut up. We always want to hear you sing and you never do. If Renji doesn’t want to hear you sing, he’s got no taste and also, he can suck it.”

Rukia rubbed her forehead, like she felt a headache coming on. “Renji goes to all his friends’ poetry readings and community theater and open mic nights. I am sure he would be overjoyed to be serenaded by Chad.”

“What about you, Uryuu?” Orihime asked. “I know you and your father don’t get along, but is there anything that you associate with feeling special on your birthday?”

Uryuu’s face contorted for a moment. “Ah, there is, but I’m sure it’s not helpful.”

“Maybe it will give us an idea,” Chad prodded.

Uryuu frowned. “Well, when I was very small, my mother used to make me a new kimono every year. She was… a very skilled seamstress.” He frowned. “I don’t have Abarai’s measurements, and besides, he couldn’t take it back to Soul Society anyway.”

Kon perked up. “Ichigo! Ichigo, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Ichigo jabbed a finger Uryuu. “Yuzu just got a bedazzler and she has a ton of t-shirt paint! We could bedazzle him a t-shirt! For his gigai! I’ll even keep it in my closet for him with all of Rukia’s crap!”

“Kurosaki, no,” Uryuu insisted.

“Kurosaki, yes,” Ichigo insisted. “It’s like you’ve never even met the man. I’m gonna make the most Renji t-shirt you’ve ever seen and he’s gonna love it so hard he’ll make me his new best friend.”

“I want to help,” Chad put in.

“You may,” Ichigo replied magnanimously.

“It was my idea-- whoa, Rukia, watch out!” Kon cried as he went tumbling to the ground.

Rukia was practically crawling over Chad, trying to punch Ichigo in the head. “He’s my best friend, you ass!”

“He is for now,” Ichigo replied ominously.

“You are my beloved protege, but I will end you, Kurosaki.”

“Kuchiki-san?” Orihime asked tentatively. “Do you think you could come up with a way to get him to come here? I think it should be a surprise, so you would probably have to make up a story...I understand if you don’t want to.”

Rukia looked up from where she was half-hanging over Chad’s shoulder. “Of course I can do that. I love lying to Renji. He can usually tell when I’m lying to him, but he’ll go along with whatever I say anyway.”

“Oh, good!” Orihime replied, a wave of relief washing over her. She had no idea how they would get Renji here otherwise. Mr. Urahara, maybe. Maybe.

Rukia’s brows creased as she rearranged herself to sit on the back of the couch between Chad and Ichigo. “Did you think I would say no?”

“Well… it didn’t seem like you thought this was a very good idea.”

Rukia’s cheeks colored and she waved her hands. “No, no! It’s not that at all! I think it’s a great idea! It’s really sweet of all of you. Renji’s so easy-going, people always… never mind! I’ll help however I can!”

“Try to find out what meal he might like,” Uryuu suggested. Kon was now sitting on his head. “That sounded nice and I can help cook.”

“That’s a no-brainer,” Rukia replied. “He hasn’t stopped talking about Chad’s burritos since the Advance Team mission ended.”

“Burritos are easy,” Chad agreed, “especially if Uryuu helps.”

“What about you, Rukia?” Tatsuki asked. “You have a brother, right? What do you do for family birthdays in Soul Society?”

Ichigo made a Big Yikes face, and Rukia shoved him in the head again. Orihime had stayed with the Kuchiki siblings when she was training in Soul Society, and while Byakuya could be pretty stiff, she was under the impression that he and Rukia were both working to have a better relationship.

“Kuchiki birthdays are very formal,” Rukia said regally, and then frowned. “Mostly, a bunch of Honored Relatives come over for dinner and you have to wear fancy clothes and it’s kind of a pain.” She thought for a moment. “Brother gave me a beautiful set of colored pencils for my last birthday. It’s hard to buy him presents, because he’s so particular and he usually just buys the things that he wants. He writes a lot of letters, though, so I went to my favorite stationery store and bought him some pretty paper I thought he would like. I figured that if I picked wrong, he could just use it to send letters to people he hates.” Rukia’s eyes softened. “He really liked it, actually. I guess he’s not very used to getting gifts that people have spent any time thinking about.”

“Thoughtful gifts are such a nice idea!” Orihime nodded eagerly.

“It’s hard, though,” Uryuu added, “because of the whole matter conversion issue.”

“What,” Ichigo bit off, “is not thoughtful about a t-shirt covered in rhinestones?”

“If all of you help me think of something, I will buy it for him back in Soul Society,” Rukia promised. “Not sunglasses, though. I already bought him sunglasses.”

“Isn’t his birthday, like a month away?” Ichigo frowned.

“Sometimes I plan ahead! Shut up!” Rukia scowled. “Brother and I also like to make each other cards. Brother is an amazing artist, obviously, mine hardly compare to his, but he is very gracious about my efforts.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Rukia!” Orihime agreed, writing down “cards” on her notes. She looked over her list. “I think this is shaping up to be a very good birthday!”

---

“Thanks for agreeing to come along,” Rukia said to Renji when he showed up at her front door on the morning of August 31. “How’s your head?”

“I feel great, but I hydrate tirelessly and also, I wasn’t the one who got into a drinking contest with Captain Komamura. How’s your head?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rukia replied.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just go? I’m sure I can-- did I read your text right? Ichigo got his soul stuck in Kon’s lion body and we have to go get him out? I… can probably handle that if you need to stay home and sleep it off.”

“Learn to read, oaf. Ichigo got his soul stuck in Kon’s lion body and we are going to laugh at him. Obviously, I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

“Ahhhh, okay, that makes a lot more sense!”

“C’mon, we should get moving before Orihime takes pity on him or something.” She waved him inside. “Don’t worry, Brother said it was fine to use the family senkaimon.”

“Ah, good morning, Captain!” Renji said, his voice bright with nervous energy.

Rukia turned around and blinked. Sure enough, Byakuya was looming in the foyer. He had definitely not been in the entry thirty seconds ago.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Byakuya replied. “How delightful to see you in my house on a Sunday morning.”

“Brother, we talked about this,” Rukia pressed. “We had a whole discussion.”

Byakuya ignored her and plowed on. “I did not expect to see you today, but since you are here, I have something for you.” He held out a handsome, hardcover book. Gingerly, Renji accepted it and frowned at the cover. “It is the next book in the Tales of the Iron Army series,” Byakuya explained. “You are a fan of that series, are you not?”

Renji’s mouth gaped a little. “This isn’t… out… yet…”

“The publisher is an acquaintance of mine,” Byakuya said, looking off into the middle distance. “He offered me an advance copy, so I asked for two.”

“Uh, um, thanks, sir!” Renji managed.

“Think nothing of it,” Byakuya said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am extremely busy this morning.”

Rukia stared, gape-mouthed at the spot where Byakuya had been standing a moment previous. She wasn’t allowed to use shunpo in the house.

“What?” Renji choked out.

“Sometimes people just give him things,” Rukia shrugged, trying to play it off, but secretly fuming. She had told Byakuya that Renji was coming over and to (1) not mention his birthday and (2) not be weird. 0 for 2, Brother.

“Rukia,” Renji reiterated, and when she finally looked over, he was holding up a little slip of cardstock that had apparently been tucked into the front cover of the book. On it was painted a little watercolor Wakame Ambassador. He was wearing a humorous hat. In Byakuya’s immaculate calligraphy were the words ‘Congratulations. You are now older. You will still never defeat me.’ Renji stared at Rukia, as if this were somehow her fault. “W-h-a-t?” he mouthed very slowly and deliberately, no actual sound coming out of his mouth.

“Give me that!” Rukia snapped, grabbing both the book and the card out of his hand. “I told him we were going to the Living World, I don’t know why he couldn’t have given you this when we got back. Mikan!”

Rukia’s loyal maid immediately appeared at her elbow. “Yes, miss?”

Renji blinked. “How does everyone in this house move like that?”

“Hold onto this for Renji until we get back, okay? You can put it with the, um, other stuff.”

“Yes, miss.”

“What other stuff?” Renji asked, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just said ‘put it with the other stuff’?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You must have misheard, Lieutenant Abarai,” Mikan added sweetly.

“Maybe you should clean your ears out once in a while, dummy,” Rukia suggested.

“Are we really going to the Living World today, or was it just a ploy to get me over here?” Renji asked, doing a double take when he realized that Mikan had disappeared again.

“We’re really going!” Rukia protested, marching into the bowels of the house. “‘A ploy’, ha! You wish.”

“It is my birthday,” Renji pointed out, sounding a little suspicious.

“And we had your birthday party last night! What more do you want?”

“Nothing, actually! Very good birthday, as birthdays go!” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. “As if I wouldn’t come.”

Renji shrugged. “Well…you didn’t, for a long time. And those weren’t as fun. So thanks. For coming.”

Rukia opened her mouth and then closed it again. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Fortunately, Renji had a keen instinct for changing the subject when things got awkward. “Were you there when Rangiku’s boob fell out? She says that since it was the right one, it’s a sign that this is going to be an auspicious year for me.”

“I did! I was talking to Momo and we were basically at Ground Zero when it happened! I can’t believe Hisagi was in the restroom.”

“He’s probably still sobbing about it.”

They continued to recap the best parts of the party as they traveled through the senkaimon and picked up their gigai from Urahara’s, but there was something nagging at Rukia, something that had been nagging at her ever since Orihime, with her giant, squishy heart, had suggested that Renji deserved something better on his birthday, something which Rukia knew was unequivocally true.

“Oi, Renji,” she said suddenly as they turned onto Ichigo’s street. Renji was in the middle of a story about Iba’s sideburns, but she’d heard it before, and they both knew he was only telling it to fill the time.

“Eh?” he replied.

“I, uh, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry that our birthdays were so shitty growing up,” she said quickly. “Sorry in the sympathy sense, not the guilt sense. We were just kids, it’s not like there’s much more we could have done. Just... it sucked and it’s not fair and I’m sorry.”

Renji was staring at her with a look of mild horror on his face. “You thought our birthdays sucked?”

Rukia stared back at him. “They weren’t great, that’s for sure.”

Renji’s face fell a little. “Oh. I’m sorry you feel that way. We… we did try, you know. I remember stealing blankets for your birthday, to make sure we had enough for all of us. We always used to try to make sure we had something to eat that day, too.”

Rukia flushed. “I wasn’t talking about me, dummy!” She paused. “You did? Crap. Now I feel even worse.”

“My birthday’s in August,” Renji shrugged. “We didn’t need to worry about freezing our asses off. And we almost always managed to do something fun that day. Going fishing or making a bonfire or lying on the roof and looking at the stars.” Renji gave a rueful little chuckle. “You know, it’s fun when everyone gets together to get smashed on my birthday, but there are so many people and you can hardly hear what anyone is saying. Those old days… I dunno. I guess maybe they just felt a little more personal. When we were here on Tatsuki and Ichigo’s birthday, Orihime was telling me about family birthdays, and I think our old birthdays were a lot like that. Just some nice time spent with the people I like best.”

“You’re such a sap,” Rukia said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.

“Like you didn’t know that,” Renji snorted. “I’m definitely gonna give Ichigo a hard time, but I’m actually kinda glad he managed to pull this bonehead move on my actual birthday. It’s a good excuse to come see him, and I got to spend a little quality time with you, to boot. Was kinda nice to see the captain, actually, even though he made a quick exit.” Renji sucked his teeth for a moment. “After we get Ichigo sorted, I don’t ‘spose you’d mind taking a little stroll around town and seeing what the other kids are up to today?”

Rukia had her hand on the gate that led to the Kurosaki back yard. “That… could probably be arranged.” She pushed the gate open.

“SURPRISE!”

Confetti filled the air. Someone was blowing an air horn. Everyone (except Uryuu) was wearing very bedazzled t-shirts. Even Kon, sitting on Chad’s shoulder, wore a tiny one with an even tinier lion on it.

“Happy birthday, Renji!”

“Happy birthday, you old geezer!”

“We made you burritos!”

Rukia looked up at Renji. He had one hand clapped over his mouth and his eyes were wide. “Happy birthday, dumbass,” she said softly.

“Excuse me, I will be right back,” Renji said, turning on his heel and walking out the gate.

Orihime’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no! What did we do?”

Rukia held up her hands. “Just give him a second, he’s fine.”

The Karakura kids barely had time to exchange worried glances when Renji burst back in through the gate, at full volume. “What the Hell is this?” he roared. “And where did you get those t-shirts?”

“We made them!” Ichigo shouted back, and thrust a poorly wrapped bundle into Renji’s hands. “We made you one, too!”

Renji enthusiastically tore open his present and held up its contents. “Rukia,” he gasped. “Rukia, look.”

“Chad drew the Hihiou Zabimaru,” Ichigo explained proudly. “I was the one who wrote ‘OH YEAH!!’”

“It’s so beautiful,” Renji sniffed. “Here, Rukia, hold this!” He shoved the shirt into Rukia’s arms and immediately began to wrestle off the one he was currently wearing.

“Uh… buddy…” Tatsuki frowned, trying to throw her hand up in front of Orihime’s eyes, but also unable to tear her eyes away. “That is… a lot… of tattoos…”

“It’s okay, we’ve all seen it,” Orihime reassured her, pushing Tatsuki’s hand away.

“Never mind seeing it again,” Kon added philosophically.

“How does it look?” Renji asked, once he’d gotten dressed again. He was flexing his biceps for good measure.

“It’s a little tight,” Rukia replied, but it didn’t stop her from looking.

“That’s how hot people wear their clothes, Rukia,” Ichigo informed her. “Get with it.”

“I love this so much!” Renji declared, looking down at his own torso again. “I can’t believe you all made this for me. I am so happy!”

“Brace yourself, Abarai,” Uryuu said, “but this is about 1% of the birthday festivities Orihime planned for you.”

Orihime’s cheeks turned pink and she waved her hands frantically. “Everyone chipped in, I hardly did anything!”

“We know you don’t like cake, so we put a candle in a burrito for you,” Ichigo said, jerking his thumb toward the picnic table. “Come sit in front of it, so Chad can sing you your birthday song.”

“We saved you the lawn chair without any wobbly legs,” Kon added generously.

On his way past, Renji slung his arm around Orihime’s shoulders. “Thanks, kid,” he murmured.

Orihime looked up at him. “You’re our friend and I just wanted you to know how special we think you are on your birthday.”

Renji stared at her for a moment, an expression on his face like he wasn’t sure how to make words come out. Suddenly, he tightened his elbow around his neck and crashed the knuckles of his other hand fiercely into her scalp. “I love all of you, too!” he laughed.

“You can’t noogie Orihime!” Ichigo and Tatsuki yelled at the same time, and promptly tripped over each other in an attempt to tackle him. Uryuu flung a pinecone at Renji’s head. With his typical perfect aim, it would have been a direct hit, except that Kon had leapt from Chad’s shoulder directly into its trajectory and got beaned in the face instead.

Orihime was laughing and shouting “That tickles, that tickles!” Renji was cackling. Chad stood, dumbfounded, his guitar hanging around his neck.

“Rukia… avenge us…” Ichigo groaned from the ground.

“On one hand, it’s his birthday and Renji should get to noogie whomever he wants,” Rukia declared loftily. “On the other hand, Orihime is a precious angel. On the third hand, suck it, Abarai!”

She launched herself at him.

#renji's birthday 2k21 #my writing #please excuse my kon liberties #i've read too many murderlight fics

[blueforpercy]

Apollo Cabin Headcanons

☀️ Once a week they have a game night amongst all of the cabin members to play Operation

☀️ Whoever wins doesn’t have to do any cabin chores for a week

☀️ Will seems to win more often than not

☀️ But he usually does his chores anyway because he’s a sweetie

☀️ They also have a dart board hanging on the wall to throw darts at when they’re bored or anxious

☀️ The cabin usually gets cleaned up pretty well by the Apollo kids that sway more towards the medicinal side

☀️ But the art and music kids always tend to mess it up again, leaving sheet music and instruments on their beds and the floor

☀️ or there will be paint and clay splatters on the walls

☀️ New drawings and sketches are pinned up daily by specific bunks or on a wall dedicated to art

☀️ When the art starts piling up, they either put the ones they don’t care about as much in a bin or other campers offer to buy them

☀️ No matter how much they clean to get ready for the cabin checks, there will always be charcoal and pastel dust embedded deep in the floorboards and corners of the wall

☀️ Not only do the Apollo kids help with physical injuries, but they also hold therapy sessions for the campers who need mental healing (especially after the war ends)

☀️ Other campers tend to go to the Apollo cabin when they’re having troubling nightmares

☀️ Their voices are like magical lullabies that send them right back into a dreamless sleep

☀️ Music can always be heard when standing within 20 feet of the cabin, whether it be the campers themselves making music or a stereo

☀️ No matter what it is, the genre of the music is always changing

☀️ The Apollo kids hold poetry reading nights every once in a while

☀️ All of the Apollo kids have a slight fear of snakes because of Apollo’s story with Python

☀️ The Hermes cabin knows this and often make snakes the main subject of their pranks on the Apollo cabin

☀️Since Apollo is the god of knowledge, the Apollo campers actually love reading

☀️ Books can be found everywhere in the cabin; next to beds, under pillows, stacked up as a makeshift easel, anywhere you can put a book really (they’re mostly about art, medicine, archery, etc. )

☀️ They hold a majority of the books, however, in a large bookcase on one end of the room with beanbag chairs and fluffy pillows and fairy lights

☀️ Overall, the Apollo cabin is a safe and comforting space meant for learning and creating and taking care of each other

#percy jackson hc #percy jackson #apollo cabin #cabin seven #cabin 7 #pjo headcanon #will solace #percy jackson x reader

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when you think he has an ex-girlfriend

This work, 当你误会他有前女友, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

You feel slightly indignant.

When you went over to LFG to invite Victor out for dinner, you were told that he was in a meeting. Planning to wait in his office, you discovered that it was already occupied by someone.

A woman.

An impeccably and gorgeously dressed woman.

You take the coffee from the secretary’s hands, donning a professional and mild smile as you enter the room. “Miss, please enjoy.”

The woman lowers her head, staring at her delicate nails. “LFG’s service is as thorough as always. But I prefer cappuccino. Vic knows that.”

“Vic”...? Isn’t that an intimate term of address?

You laugh wryly in your heart while maintaining your blank expression. “How should I address you, and may I know how you’re related to CEO Victor?”

“My surname is Lin. As for how we are related - According to our former relationship, you could say that I’m LFG’s female boss.” Miss Lin exudes an arrogant aura, causing your blood to boil.

An ex-girlfriend?

Before you can probe further, the door is pushed open, and Victor strides in.

“Vic, you’re here~” Miss Lin stands up, unconcealed joy in her eyes.

Victor takes a step backwards coldly. “Hello, Miss Lin.”

The business-like manner he’s treating her causes your bubbling anger to dissipate. 

“Why are you being so distant? Just call me ‘Cha Cha’~” Happiness seeps into Miss Lin’s voice. “Can we have dinner tonight?”

Victor furrows his brows, walking past her and to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist. “Apologies. I’ve already made a reservation at a restaurant with my wife.”

“Wife?! You’re married?!” Miss Lin exclaims in a shrill voice, her face stricken in disbelief as her eyes flit to you, looking as though she’s suffered a wrong.

Ah, so she is his ex-girlfriend.

“The wedding invitation was sent to your parents.” Victor lifts his wrist to look at the time. “It’s late. If an opportunity arises, LFG will collaborate with your parents. We’ll make a move.” He gestures to her to leave the room.

She bites her lip, eyes welling up in tears as her storms off, her high-heels clacking against the floor so loudly that the entire company can hear them. Just watching her makes you worried that she’d accidentally sprain her ankles.

“See you again, Miss Lin~” You wave at her, grinning broadly.

Miss Lin almost trips on her feet. She tosses her head around, gives you a harsh glare, then leaves LFG.

-

After the troublesome person is gone, you peel Victor’s claws from your waist.

“What’s wrong?” He gives you an odd look. “Are you throwing a fuss again?”

What does he mean by “a fuss”?!

“Hmph.” You face away from him, refusing to talk.

Victor knits his brows tightly, turning your head around so that you face him properly. “Speak.” 

“Victor, you’re being fierce towards me! Because of your ex-girlfriend!” The more you talk, the more maligned you feel, tears swimming at the edges of your eyes.

“I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.” 

He sighs, wiping your tears away gently. His finger pads brush the corners of your eyes, grazing your skin. “She’s just the daughter of a business partner, and a junior two years younger from university. I helped her resolve a few issues.”

You turn your face away, huffing. “She said you knew her preference for cappuccino.”

With a look of resignation, Victor tidies your slightly messy hair. “That was the only type of coffee we had in school back then.”

Does he think you’ve never read romantic fiction books on how people from the same school and graduate into the same profession end up together easily?

Seeming to be in a pleasant mood, he pinches your cheek. “Jealous?”

You’re livid. It’s bad enough that this man doesn’t coax you - how could he be happy right now?! 

“You’re the one who’s jealous!”

“What nonsense.”

Victor leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “In university, I was busy learning how to run a business. Where would I find the time to bother about such things?”

A warm kiss meets your eyebrow. “Also, I spent 17 years looking for you. In this life, there’s only you.”

“Don’t stand so close to me - I’m still angry!” You poke his chest, pushing him away timidly.

“Angry?” He gives you a mischievous glance. “In that case, let’s call off the reservation at the restaurant and go straight home.”

“Victor!”

-

[ GAVIN ]

Gavin has been acting weird recently.

He often holes himself in the study room, where he would remain for at least half an hour. At first, you thought he was troubled by an unresolved case. But when you bumped into Eli in the STF, he commented that the officers have been pretty idle these days.

So what exactly does Officer Gavin do in the room?

You peek through the door furtively, meticulously observing every movement by Suspect Gavin.

Gavin is in front of the desk, its middle drawer opened halfway - the only drawer which has a lock.

On the table rests a small, pale pink box that you’ve never seen before.

The colour clearly doesn’t gel with Gavin’s usual style.

Wanting to have a closer look, you instinctively inch closer, and end up pushing the door further and catching Gavin’s attention.

In one swift motion, he hurriedly covers the box and stuffs it back into the drawer, twisting the lock. It’s as though he has a guilty conscience. If you weren’t suspicious that he was hiding something from you, you would have applauded him for how smooth his actions were.

“W-what’s wrong?” Mr Gavin has never been good at lying, and he stammers.

“Nothing. I’m just here to tell you that dinner’s ready.” You try to pretend that nothing happened, but you just can’t suppress your curiosity. “What are you doing?”

Gavin’s eyes dart around. “I was... looking at files.”

Who stores files in a pink box oozing with a feminine aura?! Does it contain wanted posters for absconded Disney princesses?!

You release a gloomy noise of acknowledgement, turn around, and head downstairs.

Behind you, Gavin sees that he has successfully evaded suspicion. With a sigh of relief, he double-checks that the drawer is locked properly before trailing behind you.

-

You’re upset.

Gavin has his own little secret. And it’s a pink one.

Your head is plopped on the office desk, not a single word typed on the proposal document even after half an hour. Finally, you decide to call Minor in.

You pull the curtains closed, increase the intensity of the lights, and glare at Minor fiercely. Like an interrogator, you question: “Let me ask you this - do you know why your Bro Gavin has a small box?”

Minor shrinks into the sofa. “I know.” 

He adds softly, “And it’s pink.”

So even Minor knows about it but you don’t... :)

“What’s in the box? Don’t tell me it’s ‘files’.” Just thinking about the obvious lie Gavin spun makes you angry.

“Eh, there’s nothing much. It’s just things belonging to the girl Bro Gavin used to like. He just adds things into it from time to time.”

-

A girl Gavin used to like.

Then again, Gavin is so outstanding. Before you reunited with him, how could he not have had a girlfriend? Anyway, those things happened in the past, so you should be more magnanimous, and not care about it.

“Not care about it”?! What a joke!

After receiving the acknowledgement that Gavin has an ex-girlfriend, you’ve been in an incredibly bad mood. It’s akin to finding a good pig, and then discovering that one of its trotters has been fractured by someone else.

What’s worse is that Gavin remains in the study room to look at the box frequently, and even adds things to it! Doesn’t this mean that she’s still constantly in his mind?

The more you think about it, the more enraged you are. After work, you storm off, your high heels clacking against the floor noisily.

When you reach home, you find that Gavin is already back, and is current in the study room.

Good. Very good. You’ll settle the matter with him once and for all.

Fuming, you push the door open and exclaim, “Gavin, you’re still thinking about your ex-girlfriend even when you’re already with me?!”

“???”

Your sudden action startles Gavin, leaving him unable to hide the box in time.  He stares at you, frozen in place.

He recovers after a moment. “I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.”

Nonsense. “Minor told me everything. That box stores the things related to the girl you used to like!”

“Minor?” Blue veins pop out on his temples as he balls his hands into fists.

He picks up the box and brisk walks over to you. “There isn’t another woman. These... are all yours.”

A hand-copied “Byron’s Poetry Collection”, photographs of you from various angles evidently taken in secret, a worn out copy of Franz Liszt’s “Liebestraum”, a ginkgo bookmark, and pictures of the both of you...

They are indeed related to you.

There’s practically not a shred of anger left in your body. 

You lean into his arms. “Since they’re related to me, why did you have to be so secretive about it? I even thought you...”

He sighs. “I wanted to give this to you during our wedding. But it seems I have to do it earlier now.”

Why do you feel strangely guilty?

You purse your lips. “I could pretend that I didn’t see it?”

Gavin gives you a resigned smile as he pats your head. “If you see it again, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He lowers his head, burying it in the crook of your neck, greedily drinking in your scent. “But I guess we could bring the wedding earlier.”

-

[ LUCIEN ]

“Good afternoon Ah Ming, have you had lunch?”

It’s 9pm, and you just received an overseas call from Ah Ming, who is now in London. You guess that they’ve had lunch not too long ago.

“We’ve eaten. Teacher’s Wife, don’t tell him I said this, but Professor just went into a jewellery shop to get a custom-made brooch. Apparently, it’s very suitable as a gift for one’s girlfriend. It’s definitely for you. I’ll send you a picture.”

It was indeed worthwhile to buy Ah Ming small bites behind Lucien’s back. Having eaten your cakes, he’s on your side. 

Since Lucien didn’t tell you about it, it must be meant as a surprise. In that case, you pretend not to know about it.

-

After Lucien returns, you take a meticulous look through all the gifts he gave you, but there’s no sign of that brooch.

Could Lucien be waiting for an even more suitable time to give it to you?

But after waiting for a long while, he doesn’t seem to have an intention of giving you the brooch. You gradually sense that something is not quite right. Lucien custom-made a brooch meant for a female, but it’s not for you. 

So could it be for another woman?

-

This question receives an answer in the best biological centre in the country, where you see a woman sitting on a stone bench, wearing the brooch you saw in the picture Ah Ming sent.

Your initial high spirits in coming here to invite Lucien out for dinner was doused with a bucket of cold water.

Finding a conversation topic, you decide to engage in small talk with her.

“Hello, are you waiting for someone?”

The woman seems to be a good conversationalist, and she answers your question candidly.

“Yes, my boyfriend is a professor here.”

Since the topic has arisen, you can dive straight to the main topic. “Your brooch is beautiful. Did you buy it from somewhere?”

The woman lowers her head and fiddles with the brooch. A sweet smile subconsciously surfaces on her face, a complete contrast to the emotions in your heart. “My ex-boyfriend gave it to me, so I don’t know where he bought it. from.”

??

Who in the world smiles so happily at the mention of their ex-boyfriend??

No - the important thing is that Lucien is her ex-boyfriend?!

Or rather - she is Lucien’s ex-girlfriend??

-

Jealousy overwhelms you, causing you to find this woman and even the building unpleasant to look at. Much less Lucien, who has just appeared at the main entrance.

Seeing him walking towards you, you get to your feet. He opens his arms, waiting for you to rush into them as you usually do.

Gripping your bag, you turn around and walk away.

Lucien: ???

He hurries after you, tugging your arm and pulling you into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Despite struggling, you’re unable to free yourself from his grasp, so you simply give up.

You’re angry. “Don’t hug me. Go hug your ex-girlfriend!”

The more you speak, the more angry you feel.

“Ex-girlfriend?” 

It’s rare for Lucien to be astounded, and it seems he doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“There.” You tilt your chin towards the direction of the woman.”She said it herself - that brooch is from her ex-boyfriend!”

Lucien looks over in the direction you’re signalling towards. When the woman notices his gaze, she gives him a nod.

Such an interaction - do they think you’re blind?! 

You’re so enraged that the corners of your eyes have reddened. He once said that you were the only colour in his monochrome world - what nonsense! Right now, you feel like you’re just a streak of green in his colourful and vibrant world!

“The Little Butterfly has misunderstood me.” Lucien looks as though he’s been wronged. He draws closer to your ear. “That’s Professor Huang’s girlfriend. More accurately, his fiancee. What she meant was that Professor Huang was her ex-boyfriend. Now, he’s her fiancé.” 

Very quickly, Lucien catches your drift. “Professor Huang asked me for a favour to have the brooch custom-made while I was abroad. It was an engagement gift to her.”

...how would you have known what she meant...

You let out a “hmph”, lowering your head and refusing to speak.

He ruffles your hair. “Look over there.”

You lift your head, and see the woman lunging into the arms of a bespectacled man. Just like the countless times you’ve lunged into Lucien’s arms.

After verifying that you had really misunderstood the situation, you apologise softly. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien presses his hand on the top of your head, giving it a rub. The smile on his lips is tender and affectionate. “I’ve never had a previous girlfriend. You’re my first, and the only one. However...”

He steers the topic of the conversation.

“I’m very happy to see my Little Butterfly jealous. It’s very cute.”

-

[ KIRO ]

Kiro is really good when it comes to his skills.

Not in terms of cooking, but in terms of make-up and fashion.

Each time you fret over your dressing when attending all sorts of gatherings, meetings, and even day-to-day activities, he always pick out the most appropriate outfit for you.

At first, you thought this was a necessity for artistes. At least, that was until you visited him at his workplace once, and heard Savin being in awe at how skilled Kiro was when he arranged your hair out of boredom. “If the both of you could work together when writing songs, would your output be as good as your hairstyling?”

“...Savin, having one’s hair tied up isn’t good for the scalp. I can’t bear for my Miss Chips to go through such pain. I used my own special model before this~” Kiro pats his own hair as he stares into the mirror, then helps loosen the bun he tied for you.

His own special model?

But this is the first time he’s trying out this hairstyle on you.

You tilt your head in suspicion, looking at Kiro.

Kiro senses your eyes on him, and he turns around to meet them before averting his gaze.

Something’s odd. Kiro is definitely hiding something from you.

Make-up, pairing accessories, hairstyling... these things are close to the hearts of women.

Does Kiro have an ex-girlfriend?!

With such a thought in mind, you start viewing Kiro in a new light.

It’s not good to cause a scene when there are so many people around, so you decide to suppress your emotions for now. 

Make-up artistes at the side watch Kiro and comment politely, “It’s rare to see Kiro being so meticulous. Yesterday, as usual, he asked my daughter about make-up. Specifically, make-up suitable for Loveland City’s Golden Horse Film Festival. He even recorded down pointers in a small notebook.”

‘As usual’? ‘Golden Horse Film Festival’?

You haven’t received an invitation to this award ceremony. So Kiro was definitely not asking the make-up artiste on behalf of you. 

He really has an ex-girlfriend!

A staff member pushes the doors to the make-up room. “Savin, there aren’t enough people outside. The director wants Kiro’s make-up artistes to help out.”

Savin makes a sound of acknowledgement. “The two of you - stay here, and don’t move around.” He then brings the make-up artistes to the filming venue.

Seeing that they’ve left, you decide to settle the issue once and for all.

You stand up and shift further away from him.

“Miss Chips, did I do something wrong?”

Since just now, Kiro could sense that something was off about you. Moreover, you’re deliberately staying far away from him. If he couldn’t see that you were angry, he'd truly be a fool.

Your eyes redden as you bite your lip. “You’re so skilled. Did you... practise with your ex-girlfriend a lot?”

He immediately grabs your arm and denies it. “I don’t have an ex-girlfriend.” His eyes are filled with the seriousness of KEY. “I’ve only had Miss Chips.”

Although you really want to believe him, you need proof.

“In that case, why did you say that you have a “special model”? You’ve never tried that hairstyle with me before, and I’ve never won a Golden Horse Film Festival award...” Your voice grows soft, and you can’t help but choke at the end.

At the sight of you crying, Kiro becomes frantic, forgetting that there are tissues on the table. He lifts his arm, using his sleeve to wipe your tears dry.

“I was referring to an actual model. It’s the one in our basement storeroom - the mannequin with the same hairstyle as yours.” 

He didn’t think his words would cause you to misunderstand. He explains further. “As for the Golden Horse Film Festival, I didn’t want to bring it up yet. I thought you would have preferred to find out from the officials. I think they should be sending you the invitation tomorrow, my ‘Best Producer’~”

The news is too sudden, like a streak of lightning in a clear sky. You’re unable to react, and can only stare blankly into his blue eyes.

“Miss Chips?” Kiro waves his hand in front of your eyes.

You have no reaction.

Like a gigantic Apple Box, he jumps up and down.

You finally return to your senses, lowering your head and speaking softly. “I’m sorry...”

“Your suspicions hurt my feelings.” He holds his chin, as though in deep thought. “Your punishment is to accompany me to the amusement park this weekend~”

-

[ SHAW ]

There’s something off about Shaw.

In the past, he used to send messages in the open, and you wouldn’t intrude on his privacy. But whenever he gets a notification these days, he’d first cast a glance at you to ensure that you aren’t looking before he replies.

You didn’t really care at first. But as it happened more frequently, you started becoming suspicious that he was up to some shady business behind your back again. It was as though he was planning to swindle someone - and you had a feeling that the victim was going to be you.

-

Another notification sounds, and his eyes subconsciously flit towards you.

You arch your brows. “What do you want!?”

“Nothing. Continue watching the television.” He blocks the screen from you secretively.

There’s definitely something going on.

After replying to the message and checking that his phone is locked, he sets it down on the coffee table, leaning back against the sofa and watching the television.

After a while, he gets up, preparing to get a glass of cola from the kitchen. He tells you sternly, “Don’t look at my phone.”

You purse your lips.

-

Another notification.

“...”

It would have been better if he didn’t specially tell you not to look at it. Now, you’re even more curious.

You glance towards the kitchen, and decide that it should be a while before Shaw returns. You wouldn’t be discovered if you just snuck a quick peek, right?

Judging from the name alone, it’s obvious that the sender is a female. Troubled, you tap open the chat.

“It’s been so long. How’s it going at your end?”

“I’m all prepared. You can tell her tomorrow.”

“Mm, she doesn’t know about it yet, but she seems to be getting suspicious since I’ve been hiding from her when I send messages.”

“Why do I feel like my existence shouldn’t be known?”

“That has always been the case.”

“Sigh. Be careful then.”

���Sure. I’ll leave tomorrow to you.”

“Existence shouldn’t be known?” You repeat. In the realm of relationships, the person who fits such a description is usually a third party or a mistress. 

Or could it be Shaw’s ex-girlfriend?

“Hey!! Why did you peek at my phone!?” With Shaw’s sudden return and how you forgot that you were supposed to be doing this in secret, Shaw catches you red-handed.

It’s a good thing you can confront him in person. After all, you’re the “existence who has been known”.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one.” He looks as though he has nothing to hide. But after interacting with him for such a long time, you aren’t sold at all.

“Is she your ex-girlfriend?” The more you think about it, the more you believe in your inferences.

Shaw’s eyebrows arch upwards at this unexpected question. “What are you thinking? What ex-girlfriend?”

“Then why don’t you want me to know, and why are you hiding it from me?” You shoot him a cold expression.

“You’ll know tomorrow.” He snatches his phone from your hand, turns around and walks into the bedroom.

-

That night, Shaw tries to hug you to sleep as usual. But after you struggle from his grasp, he sighs and gives up, lying on the bed properly.

You don’t sleep.

In the morning, you feel Shaw getting out of bed. For someone like him who doesn’t get up until noon, this behaviour is yet another dubious point.

You don’t stir, pretending to be asleep while he changes his clothes. 

Before he leaves through the door, he glances in your direction. “I have something on in the afternoon so I won’t be back. Tonight at 8pm, I’ll be waiting for you in Live House’s break room.”

He knows that you didn’t sleep.

Without an appetite, you skip breakfast, and have something simple for lunch to stave your hunger pangs.

At around 5pm, you start questioning yourself. Giving up would be an impossibility. Back then, Shaw was the one who confessed his feelings to you first.

You change into a sheath dress, which very appropriately showcases the sophistication and beauty of a mature woman. If the other party is a white collar employee, you’d show her the aura of a company’s boss. If the other party is a younger girl, you’d let her experience the cruel workings of society.

After applying make-up meticulously, you’re all set, and you drive to Live House. 

-

Today, Live House isn’t as crowded as it usually is. It could almost be described as desolate.

The large hall isn’t lit, so you use your phone as a light source as you make your way to the break room.

Once the door is open, cream clematis flowers flood your vision, and you’re at a complete loss.

“Happy birthday.”

Shaw is standing in the middle, holding a present. On the table next to him, there’s an exquisite birthday cake.

You forgot that it was your birthday today.

“Shocked silly?” He walks towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards the table.

“That wasn’t my ex-girlfriend. It was the boss of the floral shop. I let her decorate the break room for me.”

You come to your senses. “Then why were you acting so secretively?”

“Stupid. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” He pinches your cheek. “Make a wish.”

“My wish is to have three more wishes.”

“Wishes don’t come true if you say them out loud.” He holds up a cake knife. “All right, since you’ve ruined your wish, let’s enjoy the cake~”

“Shaw!” You twist his ear angrily.

“Just kidding. I’ll give you three chances to make a wish. For real this time.”

Under the soft illumination of the candle lights, your shadows meld together, just like the cream clematis flowers.

-

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #cheri shortcake

[mess4wanted]

you belong with me: a byler au

pairing: mike wheeler x will byers

parts: 1/?

This can’t be happening! Was the thought that flashed fluorescent lights in my head. Giving up following the pace of the crowded hallway, I struggle to pass between the bodies, with no time to check who’s been hit by my thick algebra book — exclusive and uniquely designed to hit whoever is nearby in front of me — but being polite enough to cry out in despair “Get out of the way! Get out! Get out! Excuse me! Oops, sorry! Get out of the way!”.

Tempted not to be the next to be pushed — very likely — moved by my tone of voice — unlikely — whatever their motives, I’m heard, and suddenly I’m running like never before as the crowd makes way for me. Holy algebra book! Holy 836 pages!

The cafeteria is as it always was. Empty tables exposed to the sun, and small groups sitting cross-legged on the impossibly green grass. As if we were on a spiritual retreat or some kind of shit, because on top of everything there were guitar cases scattered around. I was sweating in my dark jeans, trying to stave off my anxiety on the way there.

The first step was to locate one of my friends. The second was to pray that most of them were stuck in the classroom.

I feel like luck kisses my feet when I spot Lucas alone with his back against a flowering tree. I dart over to him, throwing my book and backpack to the floor when I reach him.

“Lucas, I think I screwed up,” I say in a single breath.

Lucas doesn’t take his eyes off the damn comic he's reading when he responds.

“And does it affect me?”

“No.”

Still staring at the comic in his hands, he says:

“So suffer in silence.”

“Affects Mike.”

Lucas closes the HQ with suspicion at once and looks at me.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, technically. But I thought I’d do something stupid, stupid, shit like I’d never forgive myself,” I say, biting my lip.

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he says in an awkward tone.

The situation is as follows: during the last week of class before exams, we read haiku in English class. Haiku was a Japanese form of poetry, brief, disciplined. A haiku had to have only 17 syllables, no more, no less. I used to focus on just one clear image that was linked to some specific emotion. I liked the English classes, even though it was just that. But there was something about the concept of haiku that sparked my imagination. The idea made me happy. Haiku was good poetry. I thought that because it was structured poetry. There were no secret rules. Seventeen syllables, an image linked to an emotion and that’s it. It was clean, it was utilitarian, it was completely contained, and it depended on its rules. I even liked the word itself, a slope of broken air as if on a dotted line with the sound of the “k” deep in the mouth: haiku.

After working hard over a period of twenty minutes (with a break to pretend to be paying enough attention to algebra class), crossing out too long words, changing, deleting, I came up with this:

Colorful dream

the sun dances with the moon

you with me.

I thought of an eleven-year-old Mike recounting his dream in many colors, how we danced in sync with the stars, his happy smile and the conviction in his voice when he said it was the best dream he’d ever had. I thought of Mike, my best friend before we knew what the term meant.

“Are you telling me you wrote a romantic poem for Mike?” Lucas asks, boredom dripping from his voice.

“A haiku,” I correct him.

“Oh. Sure. A haiku,” he says sarcastically, then regains his serious expression. “And...?"

“Thought I’d put it in his locker! I wouldn’t reveal my identity, obviously, but I thought maybe I’d like him to read it,” my voice is in disbelief. “He would never find out. He was 11. But it wouldn’t be a problem; I knew it.”

Lucas is analyzing me like I’m some functional idiot saying something even more idiotic.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he mutters.

“What? I’m not kidding about anything! It’s very serious, Lucas, for God’s sake,” I reply in a high-pitched tone. “If it wasn’t, do you really think I would look for you?”

“So let me recap,” the sarcasm returns to his tone. “You did a haiku”, emphasizes the word. “A cute, gay haiku for Mike, and now you’re freaking out like it’s come to occur to you that there’s even the slightest possibility that you’re in love. It’s not that? Seriously, Will, do you want me to clap my hands? You’re too late.”

I frown.

“Am I what?”

“Late,” he repeats, now smiling. “I already knew it. Everyone already knew that.”

“Everyone who?” My voice is a whisper.

Lucas is still grinning. “Everybody like Suzie and Max and Dustin. You’re just not the last to realize you’re in love because Mike can be dumber.”

Shock washes over my face with each passing second, and my expression goes from shock to confusion, from confusion to dread, and eventually to denial.

“In love!” I scoff. “Have you lost all sense, Lucas?”

“Do you know how I know you’re in love? You came here in complete desperation, pulling your own hair out, because you wrote a silly, cheesy poem. You wanted Mike to read and interpret it the way you did.” He flashes a bright smile. “Guess what, Will? I know you and I know how your unscrewed head works.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Serious? So why do you even care that you wrote a poem thinking about a silly dream Mike had about you when he was a kid? Why would you have to hide your identity?” He answers his own question right away: “Because deep down you’re aware that you’re in love, but you don’t accept it. I wouldn’t mind writing a silly cheesy poem for Mike, but that’s because I love him as a friend.”

“Lucas…” His name leaves my lips with a resigned sigh.

He shrugs.

“I just can’t understand what the problem is, Will. What would change if you were boyfriends? Anything. I bet he was your first kiss.”

My cheeks heat up.

“He wasn’t! My first kiss was with Madison Hamilton in junior high.”

“Are you expecting me to believe it?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Lucas!”

“Just admit it.”

I glance across the lawn, avoiding his appraising eyes. “We didn’t even know what we were doing.”

“Thanks God!” He raises his hands in the air. “A concession. Now admit that you’re in love.”

I feel arms wrap around my neck and I jump with fright, and when I’m about to curse whoever it is, a smacking kiss is placed on my cheek and chin.

“Hi,” Mike says to me, quietly. “Who’s in love?”, he directs the question to Lucas, who smiles smugly.

“Will”, Lucas replies and after a long second adds: “For the comic book character I’m reading. You know I hate to borrow my HQs, Will,” he shakes his head.

“True,” I return the fake smile. “But I promise I won’t chew your comic with nails.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lucas says, getting up and picking up his things. “I need to go to the bathroom or I’m going to pee my pants. See Max around, Mike?”

“Art class in the auditorium,” Mike replies. “If I were you, I would think twice about going there.”

Lucas stops and looks at him. “Why?”

“Wait for her to look for you.”

It’s obvious that Lucas won’t expect anything. “Okay. See you later.”

Mike watches him go and then settles in the same tree Lucas was leaning against.

“You didn’t wait for me today,” he accuses in an irritated tone, but I know he’s not really mad. “Why?”

“Sorry,” I say. “Just wanted to run away from algebra class and forgot to wait for you. I haven’t had lunch yet, are you hungry?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Mike keeps his eyes on me and as if to curse me, Lucas’ words and the haiku spiral in my head.

Colorful dream...

I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them Mike’s still staring at me, and his soft expression only confirms what I already knew; he’s not annoyed that I didn’t wait for him. But it looks like he’s dying to say something.

The sun dances with the moon...

“Will,” he finally says, pressing his lips together.

“Yes?”

You with me...

“Max is in a bad mood because Lucas forgot the dating anniversary,” he says.

I just shake my head and laugh, feeling sorry for Lucas for the indifference he’ll get from forgetting their anniversary again.

But that’s not what he wants to tell me, and it’s visible in the way he stares at me, as if he expects me to predict his next thought.

“Lucas is terrible with dates.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Sigh. “What’s up?”

Colorful dream...

He blinks several times. “What?”

“Is it possible that you don’t know that I’m not a telepath?”, I mock. “I will only know what you want to say to me if you open your mouth. It’s no use staring at me like that.”

The sun dances with the moon...

“Fine,” he concedes. “I have something to say.”

“Go ahead.”

“Jane asked me out.”

You with me.

“She did?”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head.

“And you denied it?”

His eyes are pleading. “I accepted.”

This is something Lucas can’t understand: I can’t be in love with someone who isn’t for me.

First I swallow the lump in my throat, and then I’m grateful I didn’t leave the haiku in his locker. Undercover identity or not, I can’t let him read it.

When I get home hours later, I burn the haiku written on a crumpled postcard.

#byler #byler tumblr #byler fanfic #willmike #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things 4 #stranger things #lumax

[stufftippywrote]

good dream

@hellokyochan​ requested:

The bed had at least been big, which was a consolation to Wei Wuxian when he realized there was only the one. Lan Zhan of course offered to sleep on the floor, but that was a waste of a perfectly good mattress. It's only a couple of nights for a dumb professional conference, and when your company won't pay for your hotel (seriously, screw Wen Enterprises), you make do with a roommate. And Lan Zhan's an easy roommate: he's neat, he doesn't get drunk, he doesn't hit on women and then drag them back to the hotel room and leave a condescending note on the door. He's really the ideal partner for situations like this.

What Wei Wuxian hadn't counted on, though he really thought he had exhausted every possibility, was the way Lan Zhan looks when he's asleep.

It's morning, rays of sunlight drifting over the bed, and Wei Wuxian is lying on his side, utterly fascinated. They've drifted closer in their sleep, Lan Zhan all of a sudden so near to him, and Wei Wuxian is marveling at the shape of his lips, the way his eyebrows have relaxed from their usual scowl. The soft noises he makes, half-asleep, a puff of breath and a murmur.

He's gorgeous.

He's handsome awake -- anyone with working eyes can see that -- but asleep, with his guard down, he's the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian has seen in years. His hair is a waterfall of shining black, illuminated with the sun's rays, and his eyelashes are delicate splashes of the same dark water. His skin is pale with only a hint of rose. He's like a painting. But he's real, and he's here and oh so defenseless. Wei Wuxian is overwhelmed by the desire to touch.

He lifts his hand and inches, slow, toward Lan Zhan's chin. The heat radiates into his fingers. So close -- two fingers just shy of the line of his jaw --

-- and Lan Zhan stirs. Wei Wuxian snatches his hand back, clamps it tightly at his side. He should probably look away, too, but he can't quite tear his eyes from Lan Zhan's lips as they purse, then part -- just barely part, as though dreaming of a kiss.

Bleary golden eyes open, then blink. His pupils grow, then shrink, trying to find focus.

"Wei... Ying?" he says. His brows narrow into a frown.

Damn, he's been caught looking. Wei Wuxian gives his most innocent smile. "Hi."

"Am I ... dreaming?" Lan Zhan's voice is hesitant and hoarse. It almost doesn't sound like him. He still can't quite focus on Wei Wuxian's face. His confusion is almost pitiful-looking, and Wei Wuxian wants to laugh.

He almost says no, but a wicked idea flashes through him. "Yes," he says, "this is a dream."

He expects Lan Zhan to maybe say "oh," and fall back asleep, or scowl and tell him he knows he's awake, but that's not what happens.

Instead, the corners of Lan Zhan's mouth turn up, and he reaches out.

"Good dream," he says, and pulls Wei Wuxian into his arms.

All of a sudden Wei Wuxian's face is pressed into Lan Zhan's shoulder and his heart is drumming wildly. He can't even struggle. What is happening? Lan Zhan is ... holding him?

Lan Zhan is holding him. In strong arms, warm arms, and Wei Wuxian's brain is humming with so many possibilities all at once. Is Lan Zhan thinking he's someone else? Does he just get hug-happy in his dreams? Does he think he's having one of those weird dreams where you're with someone you don't like in real life?  Is he still really asleep?

Or does he really dream about Wei Wuxian?

"Lan Zhan," he starts to say, but can Lan Zhan even hear him? His head is buried in Lan Zhan's shoulder, and he's being held too tightly to pull away. He really needs to struggle. He should struggle. He should find some damn willpower and pull himself out of Lan Zhan's arms and pretend the whole thing was just a joke.

Then he feels the press of lips against his hair. "Wei Ying," Lan Zhan murmurs. The low sound rumbles right into Wei Wuxian's bones. God, even his bones are warm right now, all of him is warm and wanting, and his hands still itch to touch Lan Zhan's skin.

"Lan Zhan," he tries again, "Lan Zhan, wake up, this isn't a dream..."

"My Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says, a louder voice now, like he's protecting Wei Wuxian against a horde of admirers, like he's claiming his territory. His lips touch Wei Wuxian's hairline. Now his temple. Now the patch of skin next to his ear. Lan Zhan's hands are tight on his back, unyielding.

Lan Zhan whispers next to his ear. "Don't wake me up."

His breaths are glancing against Wei Wuxian's face now, soft and warm, and Wei Wuxian has never in his life wanted to be kissed the way he wants Lan Zhan to kiss him now. His hands ball into fists, clutching the folds of Lan Zhan's T-shirt, and he lifts his head, yearning.

"This is a dream?" Lan Zhan asks again, in a voice that says he's coming to. He lowers his head so their foreheads touch, eyes only half-open. Wei Wuxian looks at him, looks at the inscrutable emotion in those half-lidded eyes, and all of his control melts into nothingness.

"Yes," he whispers halfway to Lan Zhan's lips, "you're dreaming."

Lan Zhan's lips are achingly soft against his.

Lan Zhan is trembling, shoulders wracked with shudders, and Wei Wuxian can't believe it. This is Lan Zhan? This is the man whose very existence is all about control? He's shaking against Wei Wuxian's hands, breathing short, and -- and -- and kissing him back, oh so slow and sweet, kisses like honey and champagne that make Wei Wuxian dizzy.

They kiss, and they stop and breathe, and they kiss again. Heat is curling in Wei Wuxian's core, but it's lazy heat, and he's content to just feel it. One of Lan Zhan's hands rises to touch his face, a gentle palm, and it's grounding. The sureness of it. The steadiness of Lan Zhan that keeps them both in the dream.

And then, all at once, it's over.

Lan Zhan pulls away, blinks twice. His eyes widen. He pulls backward on the bed, then bolts up to sit, one hand clapped over his mouth.

Wei Wuxian props himself up on one elbow. He's still getting his bearings after being kissed half to death. "Ah, Lan Zhan," he complains, wanting that warmth back.

Lan Zhan takes in the sight of him, lifts his eyes to where the sunlight is streaming in the window, looks away. He forces his hand down to his side. "I'm sorry," he says, the words short and clipped.

"No, no, it was my fault," Wei Wuxian says. "I told you you were dreaming."

Lan Zhan is unmoving and unspeaking. There's a rose tint at his ear, but his face is deathly pale.

Wei Wuxian sits up to meet him face-to-face. "Lan Zhan," he says, suddenly gripped by shame for what he's done, "please don't worry about it. I was just having some fun. I won't tell anyone."

His answer is a shake of the head and a deeper flush on the shell of Lan Zhan's ear. He's really upset, and Wei Wuxian's spitballing now, just trying to find the right words that will lift the anchor of awkwardness that's holding them both down. "Look," he says, "look, we'll just pretend nothing happened. Like it never happened."

More stony silence.

"Ummm.... help me out here, Lan Zhan, I'm running out of ideas." Wei Wuxian throws up his hands. "Would it help if I said I liked it?"

Lan Zhan turns, abruptly, and stares at him with wide eyes.

A reaction, thank goodness! Wei Wuxian smiles, but it's a shaky smile, and he can't keep it steady. "You either like that idea or you really hate it. Lan Zhan, please say something, because I'm not sure if you're going to kiss me again or challenge me to a duel."

"You..." When Lan Zhan speaks, it's always poetry -- straightforward, unwavering, truth. But he's tripping over his own words now, like his tongue's made of lead. Seeing him like this makes Wei Wuxian's heart flutter in his throat. "You liked it?"

"Well, of course," Wei Wuxian says. He knows he sounds carefree and light, but he feels the weight of the words as they come out. "I'm bi as hell, and you're hot as hell, in what universe would I not enjoy kissing you?"

Lan Zhan keeps looking at him with that incredulous stare that might equally be horror and excitement. "You'd enjoy...?"

"Okay, Lan Zhan, I get that you're still groggy or whatever, but get with the program here," Wei Wuxian chides him. "Number one: you're hot. Number two: I liked kissing you. You get to tell me what number three is."

They're sitting up in bed side by side and Lan Zhan is staring at him and Wei Wuxian is grinning because that's his go-to expression when he has no idea what's going on (which is right now), and Wei Wuxian is a little afraid they're going to be frozen like this for a solid half-hour before either of them can think of anything else coherent to say.

Frozen, and then without a single breath of warning Lan Zhan's hands are on his face and Lan Zhan's lips are on his again.

This time it's hot, and it's possessive, and Wei Wuxian's gasping against Lan Zhan's mouth, breathless and wrecked. How long has Lan Zhan felt this way about him? The question flickers in his mind, then sputters out and all he can do is hang on for dear life as Lan Zhan kisses him deep and rough, like he's been dying for it. Lan Zhan's tongue strokes his and it's all Wei Wuxian can do not to go up in flames right there.

Lan Zhan tries to shift, to push him down onto the bed, but Wei Wuxian breaks free, laughing, and resists. "Please, Lan Zhan. Let's at least go on a date first. Okay?"

Lan Zhan tries to slow his breathing. "Okay."  

Wei Wuxian smiles and darts in to peck him on the lips. "Let's start with breakfast?" he says.

"Breakfast," Lan Zhan echoes. He seems to be slowly pulling himself together. "Yes."

They dress and head down the hall side by side toward the elevators. As they descend to the lobby, Lan Zhan slips his hand into Wei Wuxian's. When Wei Wuxian looks at him, he sees soft eyes and the barest hint of a smile. His heart stutters.

Maybe he's the one who's dreaming.

#it's too early to post this #but whatever #stuff tippy wrote #i kind of want to write the sequel to this #wangxian #wangxian fic #wangxian ficlet #the untamed #the untamed fic #the untamed ficlet #cql #cql fic #cql ficlet #mdzs #mdzs fic #mdzs ficlet

[amydancepants-peralta]

mr mendes just released a new song & i was wondering if you could write something inspired by the line: "i wonder what it's like to be loved by you" 😌✨

Ericaaa I loved this prompt! 💕 Of course I had to throw in some Pining because it’s so good ... hope you enjoy! (here it is on AO3)

to be loved by you 

It’s a secret to absolutely no-one that Amy Santiago is the kind of woman that likes to excel in any skillset.  Unapologetic in her badass-ery, she can (and has) chase a perp through the boroughs of Brooklyn in boots that have a higher heel than three of her male colleagues put together.  Her finely tuned memory - the same one that has led Trivia Newton John to seven straight victories - helped solve a series of long-dead case files, and her problem solving skills are the reason that one of the city’s biggest kingpins is currently behind bars.   

With this in mind, one could consider it safe to say that Amy regretting her natural ability to ace any situation would be up there with hell freezing over, or for a flock of pigs to soar across the sky. 

But tonight, here in Shaw’s bar as she watches Jake have what seems to be a lovely date with Sophia; Amy just might be, if only maybe a little, slightly regretting her highly graded observation skills (yes, the same ones that pushed her into the highest percentile when graduating from the academy - which she very rarely brags about, and she really should - it was mentioned in the commissioners speech and everything).  

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad.  She could, for example; hear the jukebox in the corner, playing Come on Eileen for the fifth time in a row - unknowingly settling into a duet with squelching sneakers as a bunch of drunken frat guys danced, all of them too far gone to notice any repetition.  Plus, she could pick up on the subtle click of the acrylic nails on the woman at a neighbouring table, listening to them tap against a series of her friends’ photographs, rotating between descriptions of priddy and gawgeous.  

Mixed with the scent of spilled beer and day-old peanuts, it was exactly the combination that to others may appear seedy, but to Amy and the squad, just seemed … familiar.  Shaw’s was their watering hole, the basement bar each could disappear into and drink to forget their days, and despite the five empty glasses on her table and the half-full one in her hand, Amy was finding it incredibly difficult to stop noticing just how sweet Jake was with his girlfriend.  

Even more impossible was to stop imagining what it would be like if she were the one standing near the dart board, with Jake’s arm resting comfortably over her shoulders.   

It had all started earlier today, when she had glanced over at her partner just in time to pick up on the tiny little smile that grew on his face when he noticed a text from Sophia.

(Okay, it’s possible that it had actually started back at The Maple Drip Inn, with that look he’d given her after maybe, yes, a little.  It had definitely led to a series of Thoughts after Teddy’s departure, of which she’d only given herself just that night to think about.)

(Except ‘that night’ then turned into that week, and okay fine then it had turned into ‘just that month'; and now here she is, several weeks later; completely unable of getting Jake Peralta off of her mind, and it’s becoming very likely that this is more than just a little crush.)

It had been so endearing to see, that tiny glimpse of joy and enchantment as he’d read Sophia’s message - just fleeting enough for Amy to wonder if anybody had ever reacted to a message from her with such glee.  (Teddy, she remembers, preferred not to text; and would instead express his affections by saving her the last bottle of his favourite pilsner, or brewing a new concoction ‘inspired by her’ … sweet, but somehow didn’t hold the same sentiment.)

So she’d kept her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her as she listened to Jake pick up the phone and order a bunch of flowers to be delivered to Sophia’s office - using his debit card, and not a combination of the five questionably balanced credit cards under his name - which in itself is huge.  Pretended not to notice the multiple kiss emojis in his reply, or the soft tune that he hummed for a few minutes after, focusing intensely on the case file in front of her as she described a recent interrogation in finite detail.  Kept up the facade of all that stuff with us is in the past as he recounted a romantic weekend to their squad in the break room - laughing along in all the right places, doing her very best to keep the wistfulness out of her eyes.  

And all the while, Amy’s mind had kept contemplating if she would ever get to know what it would be like to date someone like Jake: to have somebody who would take all the black and whites of her life and show her the beautiful greys in-between. 

So when he’d shown up at Shaw’s this evening, with Sophia’s hand carefully wrapped around his own and a grin that announced his contentment to anyone who cared to look; Amy had felt her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.  Her painted smile had just lasted until the couple retreated to the corner for a crazily competitive game of darts, and Amy had decided tonight would be a great opportunity to drown her sorrows in a few glasses of whiskey, doing her absolute best not to notice all the little things she will never have.

Like the way Jake would punctuate each congratulatory high five with a kiss, even when it meant that his girlfriend had beaten him at a game.  The gentle way he steered them away from a rambunctious crowd, keeping an eye on the raised voices as his unaware girlfriend played her shot and came so close to hitting the bullseye.  Or the way Sophia’s hand would rest on Jake’s chest as he held her in his arms (just the way that Amy wishes she could do), and the way she would laugh so happily as he commented on the drunk guys dancing near them.  

It was all very simple, but undeniably sweet, and Amy doesn’t know how she ever doubted that Jake would be anything but. 

“Your covert skills need work, Santiago.”

The chair beside Amy scrapes angrily against the worn floorboards and she turns, startled by the interruption, quietly praying that her face isn’t quite as red as it suddenly feels.  Terry, far more interested in taking the last sip of his scotch than commenting on her appearance, settles in to his new location next to her, and his glass hits the soaking cardboard coaster with a slap.  

“Wha-huh?  Covert skills?  You really must be drunk, Sarge.  We’re not even on a stakeout right now.  Unless you’re talking about us staking out the contents of that fridge behind the bar haha!”  

(She’s rambling - she knows she’s rambling; but cannot stop the desperate need to pretend that she hadn’t just been completely busted for spending her entire evening staring at a life she may never know.)  

“Ugh.  Okay fine.”  Her mouth stretches out into a cringe, eyes flickering to the colleagues Terry had just walked away from.  “How noticeable are we talking here?”

“Noticeable enough that Charles has spent the last 40 minutes lamenting on ‘the beautiful tragedy of unrequited love’”.  Dropping his air quotes, Terry rolls his eyes, one eyebrow lowering as he returns to his drink.  “He lost me when he started quoting poetry.  Terry loves Shakespeare, but he could do with a little less soliloquies - and a little more spirits - tonight.”

“Oh!  You know what, there was just a Shakespeare play in Polonsky that starred - ” Terry overlaps her last words with his own heavy voice, and Amy’s stops in it’s tracks.  

“Dianne Wiest.  Terry knows.  That was his segue, Amy.”

She nods, sensing the need to dig up.  “Should have known.  Charles loves his Wiest feasts.”  Terry grunts his assent, pressing his lips together as he savours another verse-less sip, and Amy seizes the opportunity to cast another furtive glance at the happy couple.  

“Seriously, though.  Just because Peralta hasn’t noticed, doesn’t mean the rest of us haven’t.”

Amy brushes her hair to the side, swirling the liquid in her glass with her free hand.  “Okay, so maybe I haven’t been very subtle tonight, or whatever.”  Her gaze returns to Jake, drawn to him like a magnet, and her heart squeezes once more.  

To his credit, Terry gives her a moment; waiting for a silence to settle over their table before leaning forward in his chair, ignoring the sticky residue of the tabletop as he rests his arms on either side of his glass. 

“Out with it, Santiago.”

She shakes her head, swallowing hard to push down the burgeoning lump in her throat.  “They look really happy together, don’t they?  He looks … happy.”

Terry shrugs, glancing in the direction of Amy’s eye line.  “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“He does!  All shiny and cheerful and just .. happy.”

“I don’t know.  Terry remembers a time when you and Teddy looked just as content.”  His look is pointed, and followed by the unsubtle raise of his eyebrows.  Amy nods, draining the last of her drink.  Somehow, she has a feeling that Sophia’s underwear isn’t lined with mesh like Teddy’s had been (and even if it was, it would be some kind of inexplicably sexy mesh, for sure). 

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem, sarge.”

“You know that works both ways, don’t you?”

Nodding again, Amy wipes her thumb along the smudged lipstick print on her glass, choosing to remain silent.  Terry didn’t get it - none of them got it, really.  She’d had her chance, the very first time the words romantic styles were uttered, and she’d let it slip away.  And now, she has to live with the consequences.  

Clearing his throat, Terry continues.  “I mean … she is a defence attorney, you know.”

“But see, even that isn’t something that I can fault.  Not fairly, anyway.”  Clocking the look of disbelief on Terry’s face, Amy shrugs defensively, waving her hand vaguely in Sophia’s direction.  “I know we all like to joke and call them evil, but really … all they’re doing is making us prove that our findings are beyond reasonable doubt.  If anything, it’s people like her that push us to do better - to work harder to make sure that we’re definitely charging the right person.  And as annoying as that can be, it’s definitely not a reason to hate her.”

“Kinda sounds like you do, though.”

She shakes her head, feeling the sense of defeat sink into her bones.  “I really don’t.  She’s incredibly smart, and funny and beautiful … she honestly looks like she should be in a commercial for shampoo or something.  She’s perfect for Jake, and I’m just …”

“You’re just … ?”

Shrugging, Amy slots her thumbnail into the edge of the coaster underneath her glass.  It, like her heart, had seen better days, and it was time for her to cut her losses.  “I’m just … going home.”

“What?  No.  Stay!  Our squad kicked butt this week, Amy.  We all deserve a drink.”

Painting another smile onto her face (she really is getting good at them), Amy pushes her seat away from the table, allowing herself one more glimpse at Jake’s smile before shaking her head at Terry.  “Sorry sarge, I just can’t seem to celebrate tonight.”

Heading towards the exit without a second thought, Amy doesn’t see Jake pull away from Sophia, taking a half step in the direction of the door as he watches her leave.  She doesn’t notice him pull out his phone, start to type a message before hesitating, pocketing it without hitting send.  The night moves on as Amy walks away, and the streets are deafeningly silent as soon as the bar door closes behind her.  

The sky seems to feel just as morose as Amy this evening, tiny droplets dropping onto her grey work blazer as she waits for a cab; too lost in her thoughts to take in the frivolity of a parting crowd.  As the rain increases and the splotches on her blazer turn into tiny Rorschach Tests she decides to give herself one more night - one last night of wishing for things that will never be. 

In the backseat on her ride home Amy twists her hands together, linking her fingers and imagining not for the first time that one hand was Jake’s (she would imagine similar .. later).  She thinks of what it could be like to have his warm presence near hers .. to have his hand resting on her leg, not out of possession but just to be near.  Watching him get out of the car first, only to turn and offer a helping hand for her exit, every time without fail.  

She pictures what it would be like to feel the brick exterior of her apartment against her back as Jake presses his soft lips against hers, kissing the life out of her, making her see stars before pulling her into the apartment for so much more.   

He wouldn’t always be the perfect partner - and lord knows, neither would she - but Amy knows that through it all he would remain her best friend, because even through all of this yo-yo pattern of denial and admittance, thats who Jake has been for her.  After all these years, he’s become the only one she wants to talk to, at any given moment of the day, who knows her coffee order better than his own and remembers her Abuela’s birthday, even when she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks.  

The scent of rain lingers in her apartment as Amy readies herself for bed, casting her pantsuit aside with drunken abandonment and giving her face a half-hearted wash before stumbling towards her bed.  She closes her eyes, the thoughts of what could have been still so loud in her quiet apartment, hugging the pillow beside her tightly while her mind begins to wander.  

As she finally drifts off to sleep that night, Amy tries not to remember the smile that Jake gave her as they danced so long ago at the community hall - that special kind of smile, that made her think that maybe it was solely for her - and tells herself once. and. for. all. that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you’d hope.

* 

* * 

It’s a rush of cool air that alerts Amy to a brand new morning, the drop in temperature squashed as quickly as it arrives by the wrapping of a warm arm around her middle.  She smiles into the pillow as it completes its protective loop, letting her body get pulled closer to the human hot water bottle in the middle of her bed, and if there was a better way to wake up on a cold day, Amy is yet to see it.  

She lets out a sigh of comfort as the bridge of a prominent nose digs into her shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his breath through her old academy shirt, nestling closer until her legs are well and truly tangled amongst his.  It’s late, later than she would normally allow herself to sleep, but the two of them were far too invested in basking in the afterglow of a rainy Saturday filled with sex and movies to consider leaving the bedroom anytime soon.  

Jake’s voice is rough, the remnants of a deep sleep obvious in his throat.  “Today’s Sunday, right?”

Amy nods, wriggling herself just free enough to turn within her boyfriend’s embrace.  His hair is sticking out on all ends - unaided, she is certain, by her hands the night before - and she runs the tip of her thumb along his right cheekbone.  Though his eyes are still closed, he leans into her touch, and she grins.  “Definitely Sunday.  A rainy Sunday, but part of the weekend all the same.”

He nods, the short and prickly fibres of his morning stubble scratching her palm.  “Good.  More time for time machine building.”

“… we’re building a time machine?”

“Yeah, one that lets us skip past all the boring work stuff, and leaves us with all the time in the world for more of this.  Kinda like that movie Click, but a lot less ‘trying to change the past’ stuff, and a lot more sex.”

She chuckles, and his left foot rubs along the side of her calf under the blanket.  “You’re crazy, Peralta.”  (Although, she will admit - the ‘a lot more sex’ part did sound kinda great.)

His eyelids flutter open, gaze growing soft as a smile stretches across his face.  “You’re beautiful, Santiago.”

Amy feels her cheeks begin to heat up, resisting the urge to cool herself down by tucking her hair away, completely unable to move as long as Jake continues to look at her like that.  There’s a pimple growing underneath the surface of her chin that is going to rival Mount Vesuvius, and her morning breath could probably wilt the flower pots living happily on her kitchen’s windowsill.  But here, in bed with her boyfriend of almost two years, she feels more beautiful than all of her best days put together.  

“I don’t think I’ve told you this today, but I love you, Jake.”

Leaning forwards, Jake’s soft lips press against Amy’s, and he winks as he pulls away.  “I mean, we’ve both been awake for a sum total of three minutes, so yeah, you’re pretty late with the love you’s today, babe.”

Her free hand flies out from under the cover, delivering an indignant smack to Jake’s chest, and he grabs it back before she can pull away, linking their fingers together and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  “I love you too, Ames.  Even if you don’t want to build a time machine with me, I still love you.”

She laughs - a giggle that starts in her belly and bursts through her lungs, something that she’s been doing a lot more of these days - and pulls Jake in for a longer kiss, morning breath be damned.  

One day, in eight or so years time, they’ll have a son - a miniature version of Jake that, much like his father, runs to the beat of his own drum; and answers to the name Mac.  Amy will fall pregnant again, and when they explain to their son that he’s going to be a big brother, his response is so perfectly him that it makes Amy’s eyes tear up with laughter.  

For they are, by Mac’s decree, now officially a Ninja Turtle family.  He is Raphael (or ‘Rafel’), Jake Michelangelo due to his love of nunchaku, and Amy nabs Leonardo purely out of homage to one of her favourite artists.  The mini-Peralta still growing in her womb is, by default, Donatello (or Donatella, depending), and even though there was a time when Amy truly felt like she could never be this lucky, she will love their little family with all of her heart.  

But for now, she has Jake; and together they have warm bedsheets and no plans for a future that isn’t together - no matter what obstacles may be thrown their way.  

And Amy realises, as Jake begins to trace a series of kisses along her side of her neck; truly, being loved by him is better than she could have ever imagined.  

x

#it's all about the yearning #pining!Amy #fic prompts #has the ninja turtle family thing been done? I can't remember #b99 fanfic #peraltiago fanfiction #b99fic

[arisefairsun]

What do you think would've happened if Juliet never met Romeo and got married to Paris instead?

I think it’s hard to say, because Juliet repulses Paris, but I’m not certain how much that disregard derives from her love for Romeo. ‘Proud can I never be of what I hate,’ she says about her marriage to Paris. But would she be so opposed to it if she wasn’t in love with (and married to) Romeo? The Nurse says that Juliet ‘had as lief see a toad, a ver toad, / As see [Paris]. I anger her sometimes, / And tell her that Paris is the properer man; / But I’ll warrant you, when I say so she looks / As pale as any clout in the versal world.’ I think these lines  can be read in different ways—did she say those things to Juliet before meeting Romeo? Afterwards?

But whether Juliet’s aversion to Paris is influenced by her feelings for Romeo or not, I think Paris’ personality could hardly satisfy Juliet. Their conversation in act IV, scene I seems full of tension to me. Juliet is quick-witted, intelligent, her use of language wonderfully nuanced. But Paris can’t decipher the true meaning behind her words—he doesn’t really try very hard. This is a man who is about to marry a woman he’s never talked to. ‘You say you do not know the lady’s mind. / Uneven is the course, I like it not,’ says Friar Lawrence. Paris answers that Tybalt’s death has saddened her so much, surely marrying a man she doesn’t know will make her feel better. But he does not imediately ask about her well-being when he interacts with her; on the contrary, he talks to her as if she were his wife already: ‘Happily met, my lady and my wife.’ Juliet answers evasively: ‘That may be, sir, when I may be a wife’. ‘That “may be” must be,’ he assures rather bossily.

That contrasts greatly with Juliet and Romeo’s first exchange, in which they build a sonnet together, the poetry blooming willingly. They often share lines (verses that would remain incomplete without each other’s input), mirroring each other through internal rhymes. But Juliet and Paris use single lines only, their dialogue plain and strict, forced.

Given that Juliet is utterly meek and obedient at the beginning of the play, I think she might have agreed to marry Paris had she never met Romeo, just to please her parents. She thinks of her own heart like a dart which her parents are to throw to their liking, her agency non-existent (’no more deep will I endart mine eye / Than your consent gives strength to make it fly’). But would she have been happy? Would she have become the fiery sun she is in the play? She is silent and submissive in the first act. But then? Boundless seas roaring within her, galloping through her dreams like fiery-footed steeds, breaking caves with her screams of love. Her poetry is raw, her thoughts radical. She feels greater than Verona itself, defying customs and prioritizing her own will.

What makes it so enchanting to me, so charmingly radical for a 400-year-old play, is that Juliet loves to contradict Romeo. Hell, to cut him off mid-sentence and teach him to express himself earnestly. O, swear not by the moon. Shut up, Romeo. Not like this. She asks him to marry her (and I’ve noticed this is something that authors and filmmakers tend to change whenever they make an adaptation of the play loosely inspired by the original dialogue). Then in the wedding scene, he asks her to describe the happiness they both feel, but she turns down his offer: ‘Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, / Brags of his substance, not of ornament.’ She says whatever she wants, however she wants, whenever she wants. She takes control of herself. Just look at these lines. The yearning. The zeal.

And Romeo? Romeo is delighted. This foolish boy, the heir of the Montagues, expected by everyone to be bold and aggressive like the other men of his household—he gladly accepts Juliet’s assertiveness. ‘I would I were thy bird,’ he tells her when she says she wishes he were a little bird she could pet (she feels so intensely, she fears she might kill him with ‘much cherishing’ if he were her bird). Later on, he is ecstatic when he wakes up from a dream: he dreamed Juliet found his lifeless body ‘And breathed such life with kisses in my lips / That I revived and was an emperor.’ Such life. Juliet is his prince in a shiny armor. The title of the play might be Romeo and Juliet, but the very last words are ‘Juliet and her Romeo.’

Would she have displayed such ardor, such fierceness if she had never fallen in love freely? To me, Paris seems far too cold, too conventional, too sober to further Juliet’s yearning for liberty. Would they have become ‘Juliet and her Paris’? The way I see it, Paris represents everything Juliet ought to be (Capulet’s obedient, shy daughter, who gets married to a count to benefit her family) and everything she is not (this exuberant, outspoken girl who secretly marries the heir of her family’s worst enemy and dreams of turning him into a constellation that will make the world fall in love with the dark).

#Romeo and Juliet #Juliet #Romeo #Paris #thoughts #answered #I'm not Paris' biggest fan

[isabilightwood]

The Problem with Authority - Chapter 4

Or, Sacrifice Summon! Jiang Yanli is here to make things right, be the ultimate big sister (step 1: bring back her dead brother), and maybe steal the Peacock throne in the process

[AO3][1][2][3]

“A -Su ! I’m so sorry!” Lan Xichen grasped her hands to pull her to her feet. “I wanted to give you a gift, not a bump on the head.”

He was flushed, his eyes bright and manic, his forehead ribbon dangling around his neck. His soft gray geometric patterned outer robe was hanging off one shoulder, revealing the pale blue inner robe beneath. Jiang Yanli felt strangely like she should offer to give him his privacy.

Though they were outside. In the courtyard of her house.

Jiang Yanli felt entirely uninjured, but perhaps she had hit her head after all, and was merely hallucinating the impossibility of a discomposed and rumpled Lan Xichen. “Lan-zongzhu…?”

“Erge, wait!” Jin Guangyao sprinted towards them from the direction of the guest rooms. He stumbled to a halt, doubled over and panting. “You shouldn’t talk to anyone while you’re drunk, remember? Let’s not repeat the Moling incident. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He grabbed Lan Xichen’s wrist and tugged, but the taller man didn’t budge.

“But I haven’t given A-Su her thank you gift yet.” Lan Xichen looked around, wide eyed and innocent. “Where did the rabbits go?”

Jin Guangyao sighed loudly. “We don’t have rabbits here, Erge. This is Lanling, not the Cloud Recesses.”

“But rabbits are the best gift. Wangji and A-Yuan both think so.” Lan Xichen pouted for a moment, then perked up. “Someone must have rabbits in town.”

Jin Guangyao’s face convulsed.

Lan Xichen nodded decisively. Dropping his sword so it hovered in the air, he tried to climb onto it. Combined with the alcohol, Jin Guangyao pulling on his sleeve was enough to unbalance him, so he fell backwards into his lover’s chest. Jin Guangyao stumbled backwards, but managed to hold him up.

Lan Xichen hummed, tugging on his arms to pull him closer. He seemed to have entirely forgotten his goal, content to remain where he was.

Stymied in his efforts to steal his lover away with minimum embarrassment, Jin Guangyao turned his head towards her. “Erge overindulged by mistake, my apologies. I will get him to his rooms — my rooms, I suppose, shortly.”

“None needed. I was merely startled.” Startled, yes, but also having the time of her life. Doubly so, considering the incoherent gibberish of Qin Su’s thoughts.

“Erge, it’s nearly midnight. You wouldn’t want your uncle to know you stayed up past nine, would you?”

“But Shufu is in the Cloud Recesses. He doesn’t like crowds.” Lan Xichen said as though revealing a great secret. “Wangji is somewhere in Qishan. He doesn’t like crowds either.”

“I could always write him a letter. ‘Lan-Xiansheng, I am sorry to inform you that Lan-zongzhu has taken liberties with the disciplines. Please have him copy the rules with the novices for the next month.’”

“A-Yao, you wouldn’t.” Lan Xichen let his head loll back against Jin Guangyao’s shoulder - somehow without tipping the shorter man over — and stuck out his bottom lip.

“I wouldn’t.” Jin Guangyao confirmed, his expression turning ridiculously sappy. “Please come back with me anyway?”

“But I haven’t thanked A-Su properly yet!” Lan Xichen grasped her hands and squeezed tightly, earnestly shaking them up and down. “Thank you, A-Su! I will take good care of our A-Yao.”

She doubted Lan Xichen would ever have mentioned it, if he wasn’t drunk.

“My deepest apologies for this.” Jin Guangyao grimaced, his cheeks flushed pink. He turned to face Lan Xichen, cupping the back of his neck and stroking the front of his throat with his thumb. “I’ve arranged to have dessert delivered to my room. I’ll feed it to you, if you’re good.”

Lan Xichen perked up, dropping her hands and —thankfully — dragged him away before she and Qin Su could be subjected to anymore unwanted details of their relationship.

As they vanished from sight, headed for a discrete side entrance to Jin Guangyao’s room, Jiang Yanli felt a twinge of guilt. Lan Xichen did not deserve to be shackled to a man who had killed his own son.

But she did not feel as much guilt as she would have liked to.

Because she had told Lan Xichen the truth, and he had chosen to do nothing.

Jiang Yanli had gone to him after she learned what she’d slept through in the aftermath of A-Xian’s defection, after Luo Qingyang left the sect and Lan Wangji slipped away unnoticed. After A-Cheng left for the Burial Mounds without her. “A-Xian did not do this unprovoked. The Wen siblings saved our lives, at great risk to their own.”

He smiled in appeasement. “Be that as it may, he killed the guards, and took away all the prisoners. You must understand what this looks like.”

Jiang Yanli’s patience had been hanging by a thread, and the patronizing you must understand snapped it. “I remember starving, terrified, dirty prisoners dressed in rags being used as target practice.” She laughed, a short, crazed thing too like A-Xian’s. “Oh, but you prefer to forget things that might upset your precious peace. Even if it dooms innocents, or breaks your brother’s heart.”

Lan Xichen stared at her, and Jiang Yanli remembered she was supposed to be the level-headed, soft-spoken one. No matter how little she felt it. “My apologies, that was uncalled for. It is simply that my brother cannot do anything, without your support.

But Lan Xichen only shook his head regretfully. “Both my sworn brothers have sworn to me that only dangerous prisoners were confined to the camp. I’m sorry, Jiang-guniang, but I cannot.”

Lan Xichen had not believed her. And perhaps he had doomed A-Xian. Perhaps it would have changed nothing. But for what she had done — was doing — to Lan Xichen, she clung to her rationalizations.

What just happened? Qin Su asked.

We just experienced the reason why Lans are forbidden to drink. Strange that Lan Xichen would get drunk like that, though. Thanks to A-Xian, she knew the Lan’s rule about alcohol was really because of the main clan’s low tolerance, but —

But I’ve seen him drink before. Qin Su’s confusion was like bubbles popping on surface of her mind.

Jiang Yanli had too. A-Xian once mentioned a trick Zewu-jun used to burn it off, while he was deep in his cups and reminiscing longingly about how cute Lan Wangji looked when drunkenly attempting to straighten his crooked forehead ribbon. Had Nie Huaisang switched their cups by mistake? A prank, perhaps?

Where was Nie Huaisang?

Jiang Yanli pushed open the door to the Fragrance Hall and froze.

That answers that question.

Nie Huaisang swore as a device he was holding up to the mirrored portal to the treasure room rebounded towards his face, using both his hands to force it back to the surface. There was a focused intensity to his expression that Jiang Yanli had never seen before, a far sight from the whining puddle who’d dragged the Chief Cultivator from his own banquet.

But then, she’d never paid him much attention. No one had, save perhaps A-Xian. “Nie-zongzhu. Is there something you need from the treasury?”

Nie Huaisang startled, glaring with a focused intensity that vanished so quickly she might have imagined it, as he threw himself back from the portal. He sprawled inelegantly on the ground, covering half his face with his fan. “Is that what it is? A treasury? I really didn’t know.”

Is it just me or is that bullshit? Qin Su did the mental equivalent of narrowing her eyes.

Jiang Yanli shut the door behind her. “So you didn’t just hide a talisman-engraved device you were using to inspect the wards up your sleeve?”

If Nie Huaisang is competent, I think we can safely say everything I thought was wrong. What will we discover next? Does my  father remember my birthday? Has Yao-zongzhu been possessed by a gossip-loving spirit for years?

“I was just curious, I don’t know!”

She supposed he’d never bothered to come up with another line because this one had worked for his entire life. “Let me satisfy your curiosity then.”

He gave an exaggerated wail as she grabbed his wrist. But whatever else Nie Huaisang might be, he was not strong. Jiang Yanli was able to easily pull him through the portal. He stumbled against her, and, as she reached to steady him, bit her hand.

“Ow! What was that for? Are you a dog?” She demanded, wiping off her knuckles on her outer robe.

“You made unfounded accusations and dragged me in here!” He slumped inward, making himself look smaller. “I don’t know why! I felt unsafe.”

Sure he did. “You wanted to see inside. Now you’re inside. Take the chance or leave it.”

He took it. “Well, if you insist. There is some interesting art in here. Is this where the paintings of the Crimson Swan ended up? Tragic. I could help display them properly, if San-ge gave me half a chance. But no, it’s too soon. Half the sects would throw a fit, and Lan-xiansheng would kidnap me for remedial schooling. I can’t go back to the Cloud Recesses! I simply can’t!”

Qin Su snorted. At least some things stay the same. He’s still annoying.

Jiang Yanli watched Nie Huaisang dart around the room, peering at items on shelves and lifting curtains in what seemed to be no particular order, keeping up his narration all the while. “You know, the Wen really had some gems in their collection. This poetry collection is priceless, and yet here it is, tragically gathering dust — Oh, dear.”

His arm knocked into an ornate vase that had been placed too close to the edge of a display.

Jiang Yanli plucked a talisman from her sleeve and threw it, so it hit the vase, freezing it in place tipped halfway off the shelf.

Nie Huaisang turned, squinting at her with an air of smug satisfaction. “You’re not Qin Su.”

Nie Huaisang of all people notices? That’s it, good night. Wake me when things make sense again. Despite her words, Qin Su remained alert and attentive.

Jiang Yanli tamped down on the urge to throw another talisman, this time at him. “That’s quite the accusation.”

“Qin Su would have reached for her sword when I knocked over that vase. You stopped it from falling with a talisman. Also, she never calls me Nie-zongzhu.” He perched on a vase-free table, his hands folded perfectly, but one leg bounced to the rhythm of his thoughts. “The question is, are you possessing her, or are you using one of Xue Yang’s human skin masks?”

“Neither.” She held up Qin Su’s sword, and drew it. “Do you deny that this is Chunsheng?”

“So that is Qin Su’s body, but you say it’s not a possession. Hmm. Did Wei-xiong find a way to permanently inhabit a living body?” Nie Huaisang jumped disturbingly close to the truth with his second guess.  “Are you Wei-xiong? But no, Wei-xiong wouldn’t have chosen a nice woman like Qin Su.”

Aww. He thinks I’m nice. So long as he’s just a sneak, I forgive him for the deception.

“I’m definitely not A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli realized her mistake even as it slipped out. She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening.

“Jiang Yanli!” He cried, delighted. “Oh, I have to know how this happened.”

“I don’t know what —”

“No, don’t protest. You’ve been caught. But don’t worry. I’m certainly not going to tell anyone in Koi Tower about you. What would be the use of that?” Nie Huaisang was positively gleeful, and she didn’t trust him for a second.

Qin Su didn’t disagree, but sighed. Unfortunately, I think you’d better tell him.

“Take a seat.” She hung up a talisman to alert her if anyone approached the portal, and checked under every curtain, just in case. Once she was certain the room was secure, she knelt across from him. “You were correct that it was A-Xian’s work that made this possible, but it was not his doing.”

“Obviously, it was Wei-xiong’s invention. His most powerful imitator is Xue Yang, and he has the creativity of a sea slug.” Nie Huaisang sank gracefully to his knees, balancing his fan across them. Seeing him now, a stranger would never guess his reputation. “Now, who is this mysterious benefactor? Do tell.”

She briefly detailed the mechanics of the array. From his performance in the Cloud Recesses, she would not have expected him to understand it, but he nodded along without interrupting. “Qin Su found the wrong journal at exactly the wrong moment. Now I’m in her body, and she lives in my head.”

Was it the wrong moment? Qin Su wondered, and digressed before Jiang Yanli could contradict her. Insult his fan for me, that’s sloppy work. His mountains still look like Jin Guangyao’s hat.

Dutifully, Jiang Yanli repeated her words.

He gave a startled laugh. “Ah, Qin Su has long been my worst critic. Sadly, this revenge business leaves little time for developing my painting skills.”

“Revenge? Does this have anything to do with why you were trying to break in here?” If so, his grudge could only be against —

“Naturally. Jin Guangyao killed my brother.” Nie Huaisang asserted this claim as though it were common knowledge. “He also set up yours, which seems relevant.”

Jiang Yanli stiffened, lightning racing though her veins. “A-Xian? Didn’t he lose control?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t be sure, I wasn’t there.” He said lightly. Jiang Yanli was beginning to believe he was allergic to acting serious. Dropping this on her as though it didn’t shake her entire worldview. “He is, however, the reason Jin Zixuan went to Qiongqi path that day.”

Jiang Yanli could have sworn she heard a dizi playing as she died, when Chenqing was hanging loose in A-Xian’s grasp. But she had been dying — that memory was not to be trusted. And just how clever would Jin Guangyao have to be to plan all of that? Surely not everything that had gone wrong could be laid at his feet.

Maybe we should consider the possibility anyway. Qin Su, for whom all the greatest cruelties of her life could be laid at the feet of that same man, suggested.

Jiang Yanli was uncertain that knowing would do anything more than make their losses hurt more. She sat in stunned silence for a long moment, and wished for a plum to let her retreat and reset. A reply to Tan-daifu’s latest letter was overdue, she thought hazily.

Tan-daifu would say that the truth helps. Qin Su seized the chance to turn her own nagging about Tan-daifu’s advice back on her, which didn’t seem fair.

But the truth would only help if she was ready to face it.  Jiang Yanli still woke every day expecting to see A-Xuan beside her, was thrust back into sepia-tinged memories of afternoons on the Lotus Lakes at the distant sound of adolescent laughter.

She would not be ready until the day she saw A-Xian again.

What day? Yanli-jie? Qin Su asked, but Jiang Yanli was uncertain why she’d thought that. A-Xian was dead. She could not simply trade someone else for him.

“How did you learn this?” She asked, finally.

Nie Huaisang looked up from a book he’d snagged from a nearby shelf while she was lost in her thoughts. “I have my ways.”

“You have spies.”

He picked up his fan to flick it dismissively. “Just a few informants. Mostly, we Nies are simply very good at out-drinking people.”

She had a feeling he was downplaying the extent of his network. “What else have you learned from your spies?”

“I just ask people to keep an eye out, it’s hardly espionage.” He insisted.

“Sure.” She said, seeing this was a hill he would die on.

Mollified, he continued. “Jin Guangyao also killed his father.”

“I’m aware. Shockingly, I’m not actually upset about that one.” Perhaps Nie Huaisang had finally run out of shocking revelations.

But no, he had another left in store. “Who is? No, the interesting part is he left a witness. A little bird told me that somewhere in Koi Tower, there’s a woman trapped in a hidden room.”

Jiang Yanli would never get used to having to sit side by side on the Peacock throne with Jin Guangyao. She had been meant to share it with Zixuan, as not only his wife but his equal.

She hadn’t expected her husband to want her as anything other than the mother of his children. Not until their second engagement, when his earnest, awkward attempts at wooing her had turned to learning each other over the course of honest conversations that slowly grew less stilted. Finally, their words had begun to flow like a mountain stream thawing in spring, and Jiang Yanli knew her heart was right to choose him.

A-Xuan had listened, and confided he needed her help, not only with things like courtesy and public speaking, but in knowing what needed to change.

Jin Guangyao, she thought, was so certain that he was the smartest person in the room, that he didn’t notice his wife-slash-sister was an entirely different person.

Qin Su had nearly always sat in silence during conferences, listening perhaps half the time as she thought about lesson plans and inspected the attendees’ robes and ornaments in case anyone had discovered a talented new artisan. So for the moment, Jiang Yanli did the same, albeit paying the debate her full attention.

No matter the length at which Sect Leader Yao complained about issues that did not remotely involve him (Gusu’s high land tax rates), internal sect matters not on the conference agenda (how a small temple sect and town sect on his lands kept driving yao and gui into each other’s territory), or were entirely out of left field. “See! There’s proof! The Jiang have been hoarding the Yiling Patriarch’s inventions for themselves!”

A-Cheng, who had just reached the point in his status report regarding Yunmeng’s taxes, blinked. Clearly used to  Sect Leader Yao, he didn’t even get angry, merely rubbed his knuckles against his forehead. “The Jin have all of Wei Wuxian’s heretical writings. I explained this last conference. And the conference before that.”

Sect Leader Yao continued to prove himself the least astute cultivator in the room. “But you’ve never let anyone into Lotus Pier to check for themselves!”

At that, the flush of anger filled his cheeks. But in an impressive-for-him show of control, A-Cheng only snapped, “What, exactly, are you insinuating, Yao-zongzhu? Would you like to share Xixia’s cultivation techniques with the class?”

“I see that Yunmeng’s recovery is continuing ahead of schedule. Let’s move on to…” Jin Guangyao blanched, as he realized who was next. “Qinghe. A-Sang, if you please.”

Nie Huaisang got to his feet, looking around with what she had to assume were faked nerves, clutching his fan close to his chest. He stuttered through the beginnings of his presentation, before swaying and kicking a bird cage hidden beneath his table into the center of the room. It spoke, in a disturbingly accurate imitation of A-Cheng.

And all right, that was entertaining. But mostly, the conference continued to star Sect Leader Yao.

At least today, A-Ling was perched on the wide throne beside her, making it a little more bearable.

Leaning into her side, his tongue caught between his teeth, A-Ling scribbled on each new sheet of paper. Ostensibly, he was practicing his calligraphy. And he did do a bit of that, with messy strokes, but only when he noticed her looking down. Mostly, he scribbled blobs that he proudly declared were all the dogs he would someday own, when she asked.

Black flecks of ink spattered the front of her robes, but Jiang Yanli could not bring herself to care. She’d missed so much. She’d take every second with her son she could get.

Jiang Yanli’s continued efforts to pay attention were stymied by Qin Su’s running commentary on everything from the tackiness of the gilded everything to the dust bunny that had attached itself unnoticed to Sect Leader Ouyang’s beard, taking the chance to say everything she’d never been able to.

It’s a shame I never tempted Ouyang-zongzhu’s tailor away. He doesn’t deserve her. And oh, look, Su She’s imitating the Lan more obviously than ever. It’s almost like he sold them out to the Wen or something and misses the status. The off-white and teal blue of Su She’s robes were at most a single shade away from Lan colors, and the wave embroidery on his hems was suspiciously cloud-like.

The most notable detail of Su She’s presentation was the way the Lan disciples — save, of course, for a slightly off-color Lan Xichen — pretended not to snicker as he claimed the peasants in his lands were superstitious about musical cultivation.

She’d ensured Sect Leader Ran was next to him, and noted the two of them speaking quietly during one of Sect Leader Yao’s disruptions. This time, he was one insult away from starting a cat fight with Sect Leader Tang, over some minor territorial dispute. Jin Guangyao actually got up and went over to them to smooth ruffled feathers, though his efforts were stymied by A-Cheng’s utter apathy over whether his young, hotheaded vassal stabbed Sect Leader Yao in the eyes with her chopsticks.

It’s not a cultivation conference if no one tries to murder Yao-Zongzhu. Someday, someone will take one for the team and actually do it. Qin Su sighed wistfully.

From the way Jin Guangyao’s dimples twitched when he returned, he’d contemplated it.

During their break for lunch, Sect Leader Ran approached the Peacock throne. As she’d expected, he asked directly for a meeting with Jin Guangyao to negotiate terms for the implementation of watchtowers.

Sect Leader Zhai’s approach was more surprising.

“Xiandu, Jin-furen.” Sect Leader Zhai bowed to each of them. “I would like to request a private meeting with both of you before I leave Lanling. Jin-furen brought up some interesting points yesterday that I would like to discuss further.”

“Both of us?” Jin Guangyao was a man who planned everything himself, who seemed to believe that seeking a second opinion meant smiling and nodding and then explaining why the other person was wrong.

The implication that his here-to-fore apolitical wife had made a better offer appeared to have broken him.

“I think that could be arranged.” Jiang Yanli said. “A-Yao?”

He recovered quickly, gesturing for his assistant to put a note in his schedule. “Yes, of course. I believe tomorrow, immediately after dinner would be an ideal time.”

“Excellent. I look forward to it.” Sect Leader Zhai bowed again and turned away, without waiting for their dismissal.

Tempers frayed in the afternoon, and Jiang Yanli had to pass A-Ling off to his minders for a nap. As Sect Leader Yao rose for his actual turn to report, Nie Huaisang made his move.

He screeched, jumping to his feet as though bitten, and bumped into Sect Leader Yao hard enough to knock them both to the floor. The wine jar in his hand shattered, sharp edges lacerating his palm. He stared at the cuts for a long moment as they began to bleed. And, clutching his wrist, he drew in a deep breath, and howled.

The majority of the room promptly began to find their teacups or the nearest tacky golden peacock drapes utterly fascinating. But his elder brother’s sworn brothers were at his side in an instant.

“A-Sang, please. Let us see.” Jin Guangyao pleaded.

I think Jin Guangyao really does care about Huaisang. He’s never going to see him coming. Qin Su said, and they both winced at a particularly high-pitched cry. Nie Huaisang should have been born to a theatrical troupe.

“Oh, that looks —” Lan Xichen caught only a glimpse of the injured hand before he had to let go to avoid Nie Huaisang’s wildly swinging other arm.

“Ergeeeeeee,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “I’m bleeding out, aren’t I? You can say it.”

“No, no,” As Jin Guangyao finally captured the flailing hand, Lan Xichen pressed down on the wound with his own handkerchief. “You should see a healer, just to clean and bind it properly.”

“Will you take me?” He sniffed, his eyes wide and filling once again with tears as he looked between the two men.

Jin Guangyao exchanged a pained glance with his theoretically secret lover. “I can’t leave right now, can you?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. “I’m scheduled to speak on our findings about suppressing ghosts summoned with spirit flags next.”

“Right. Right.” Jin Guangyao stared into the distance for a moment. Qin Su hoped he was watching his plans for the conference crumble before his eyes. “Huaisang, you’ll have to go with one of your disciples —”

Nie Huaisang sobbed harder.

That was her cue.

“I’ll take him to get patched up.” Jiang Yanli offered, already striding towards them.

Jin Guangyao looked around at the determinedly apathetic audience, then back to Nie Huaisang. He sighed. “Thank you. A-Su will take good care of you, please let her take you to a healer.”

Nie Huaisang kept up his whining until they were out of sight and earshot of the hall, though still under an awning away from the downpour outside. Then, with a glance around to make sure no one was watching, he plucked a vial of salve and a bandage out of his robes. He only asked her to pop open the salve, but she took it and the bandage from him, gesturing for him to hold out his hand.

“I can do it myself.” He insisted, the vapid act vanishing in an instant.

Jiang Yanli rolled her eyes. “Bandages are more secure when someone else wraps them. It’ll help stop the bleeding.” Cultivators were always such babies about receiving help.

“All right.” He gazed at her with wide and uncertain eyes. As though no one had offered to help him without something in return, or a fit of hysterics, in a long time. Yet even as she finished tying of the bandage, that incongruous seriousness took over once again. “We have at least until the end of the evening banquet, though it would be better if you returned for that. The house should be near the kitchens, in what looks like an empty space.”

They walked back and forth past the kitchens several times, but found nothing. The hems of their robs were soaked from the rain, the line between wet and dry creeping higher with every step.

“Right. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.” He pulled one of A-Xian’s Compasses of Evil out of his pocket. “Only Demonic Cultivation could hide a building like this, but it must be shielded somehow, or people would notice a cluster of resentment in the middle of Koi Tower. I wonder… hold this.”

He thrust his umbrella into her chest, expecting her to hold it over his head. Bemused, she did so.

“A lightning talisman, perhaps, to imitate the effects of Zidian.” He mused, sketching in the air with his injured hand as though it didn't pain him. “Yes! It’s this way.”

As they walked, she watched him closely. “I had no idea you were so…”

“That I’m in possession of a working brain? Yes, I prefer it that way.” He said brightly.

Being underestimated had its advantages, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

“I was going to say that I thought you didn’t cultivate beyond the basics.” Jiang Yanli corrected. “Cultivation has no bearing on intelligence. I would know.”

“Yes, I suppose you would. I’ve always preferred talismans to sword cultivation, much less those horrible life-draining sabers, despite Dage’s wishes. Did you think Wei-xiong was only friends with me for my sense of humor?”

She hadn’t spent much time thinking about their friendship at all, not when she was occupied watching A-Xian fall in love.

What sense of humor? Qin Su said. Teasingly, so Jiang Yanli repeated it, earning an insulted gasp.

But Nie Huaisang’s methods bore fruit, his compass leading them to their destination.

From the outside, the building looked like a shed. One of the many near-identical buildings that housed tools or out of use decorations, albeit with an unusual amount of space on either side. But when she looked closely, Jiang Yanli glimpsed a shimmer of golden energy, mixed with writhing shadows. Wards, and made from a combination of resentful and spiritual energy at that. No wonder neither of them had so much as glimpsed it before.

Jiang Yanli stepped forward to inspect the wards in detail. They looked to be designed to hide the building, and keep someone in. Though the details looked overly complicated for concealing a single person, she and Nie Huaisang agreed. Keeping anyone who knew it was there out would require a level of intricacy that risked collapsing the entire ward every time someone passed through.

Their presence would not be detected.

Still, Nie Huaisang stepped through first, claiming, “I can talk my way out of this, if we’re wrong. You, on the other hand…”

When Jiang Yanli stepped through, there was a wave of disorientation, like stepping onto solid ground after hours on a boat. It passed, and a two-story pavilion of modest size stood before her. Far less elaborate than her own, she thought it might once have been used to house servants, before it was repurposed into a prison.

Keeping out of sight of anyone who might look out, they approached the open windows on either side of the door. Jiang Yanli plastered herself to the wall, and peered inside.

She and Nie Huaisang had agreed that if they found the woman’s prison, they would only scout from the outside.

But what Jiang Yanli saw through that window changed everything.

A young woman in linen servant’s robes knelt at a table, her shoulders hunched over as she methodically ground herbs into powder. A text depicting the anatomy of a human body was open to her left.

The woman looked up, and Jiang Yanli was certain she was seeing a ghost.

#the untamed #cql #wangxian #yanqing #qin su #my fic #the sacrifice summon! JYL fic #where the summoner (qin su) sticks around #this time featuring drunk! LXC #NHS's acting skills #and everyone's desire to kills sect leader yao