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thisisthee-n-d · 2 years ago

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Grief Chapter 2 - Satoru

Previous | Ao3 Link Part 1 of the Iris Series, a fix-it series where Suguru still defects, but reconsiders his options after Gojo shows up on his doorstop one day. Summary: Getou Suguru left Jujutsu Society. His departure did not cut cleanly…Rather it left jagged tears that ached and tore with every reminder, with every ghost of memory that clung to the edges of their lives. A snapshot into Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru as they cope after Suguru defects. Chapter Summary: Satoru spirals, and he spirals hard. And he picks up far too many unhealthy coping mechanism in the process. (Strong references to depression, please read with caution.)

“The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time, please try again-” The robotic voice hummed through the speakers on Satoru’s phone, echoing through the encroaching emptiness that grew slowly through his thoughts. His hand trembled as he lowered his phone, eyes locked onto the screen that glowed into the pitch black of his room. A string of familiar numbers scrolled across the vibrant display, followed by the contact name. His head throbbed, only worsened by the voice that droned on, tinny, through the phone’s speakers before the call disconnected.

He thumbed through the menus until his inbox popped up, filled to the brim with his own texts that had bounced back, unable to reach their intended target. The same string of numbers was etched boldly across each message, marked this time in red rather than black. He opened his latest one, each of his breaths more shallow than the last.

Hey, Suguru. Please, I just want to talk. I’m sorry. Please just pick up the phone.

The text glinted off his dark shades, the letters reflecting in a distorted scroll across the bowed surface of the lenses. The phone closed with a click, his hand trembling hard enough that it slid through his fingers and onto the bedding below him. Each breath rasped in his throat, his lips parted to accommodate them, and his glasses slid slowly down his nose to bear the glowing blue of his gaze, now resting in a sea of red. Each beat of his heart roared in his ears, one of his hands lifting to fist in the shirt over its frantic pulse.

With his next breath, his chest hitched, tears spilling down his cheeks. Salt stained at his lips and drained down the back of his throat. His face felt swollen, his sinuses congested and overflowing. The tremors from his hands grew to encompass his whole body, his shoulders crumpling forward. His free hand jumped to cover his mouth as a sob lurched from his throat, desperate and painful. Eyes squeezing shut, he curled further into himself, trying to replicate the warmth of arms wrapping around him, the ones that always soothed him with just their gentle embrace. But it wasn’t enough.

On the back of his eyelids, the scene played back once more, as crisp and detailed as the moment it happened.

People wove around him as he stood as still as a statue in the crowd, their faces gray and expressionless as their details slipped from his notice, from the notice of even the six eyes. They weren’t his focus; they didn’t matter. The gentle roar of busy streets fell on deaf ears, nothing beaching the buzzing of his own frantic thoughts. His vision tunneled until only a single person remained in view.

Suguru…

He looked so different from when he had seen him last, a fact that drove home just how absent he’d been, just how uninvolved he’d been in everyone’s lives until now. He could still hear Yaga’s voice dictating what Suguru had done, the words practically etched into his soul. He still could scarcely believe it, not when everything he knew about Suguru told him that it couldn’t possibly be true. But looking at him now, seeing these changes…maybe it could be true. Where a neat bun once sat, black hair instead cascaded in messy waves down Suguru’s shoulders. That silly bang still framed his face, though it hung limply, the hair slicked through grease. His skin, thinly draped over hollow cheeks, was pale and lined, the bags hanging beneath his eyes so very dark against a colorless background. Frayed skin peppered his thin lips, their edges twisted firmly into a frown. He must have started chewing at them again…and after all that effort in trying to stop that particular habit. (It’s not fun kissing someone when their lips are rough and taste of blood.) Dark, baggy clothes hung over a thinner frame than the one he pictured in his memories, where corded, strong muscles had been visible through the fabric of his shirt.

But the worst was his eyes. Satoru thought he’d seen every kind of emotion in those dark eyes. Pain, happiness, adoration, heartbreak, grief…you name it. But this… Suguru’s gaze was hollow, broken. There was a fragile sort of pain etched deep within that Satoru wanted nothing more than to just erase with a wave of his hand, but Suguru was staring at him like a total stranger, like they hadn’t practically lived together for two years. And god, that stung.

How had he missed this?

Had he really been so absent from Suguru’s life that he’d missed a transformation like this?

The Suguru he’d known before couldn’t have slaughtered so many in cold blood…but this Suguru…he could believe it. There was a detachment to his gaze, a sort of crazed tug to his lips. Something in him had completely broken and Satoru hadn’t been there to help him.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, cold sweat peppering his forehead. His eyes were on full display without even sunglasses to block it, the usual protection forgotten in his rush to leave the school. Not that he would have used them anyway. He wanted to confront Suguru head on, wanted to be sure that it was him and not a fake. But now…he regretted that choice, the vulnerability tearing the wound open that much more. Surugu’s lips twisted into a sneer, disgust flashing across his visage. He spoke, but the words only bounced off static. Satoru’s heart ached with every beat, matching the rhythmic curling and uncurling of his hands by his sides.

Suguru, acceptance washing over his features, released a breath, his eyes slipping closed, and turned, his hand shoved deep into his pockets. Satoru took an automatic step forward, desperation surging up to choke him like a noose encircling his neck.

No.

Suguru paused, glancing back towards him. “You could kill me now. There would be meaning in that,” he said, apathy evident in the monotone statement. Satoru froze, the color draining from his face. His mouth fell open and clicked shut, his eyes widening.

No.

Suguru turned away once again, slowly weaving through the crowd, slowly weaving his way out of Satoru’s life. Where was he going? What did he plan to do? He was going to hurt more people, wasn’t he?

Satoru’s hand shot up, his middle finger tucked under his thumb, and cursed energy began to build inside him, surging so so easily with his eyes uncovered. Suguru continued to move further and further away, but still within his sights. He was a threat…he should end this now before he could do anything worse. Suguru would want—

“There would be no meaning in that.” A voice reaching him through a thunderous applause, diverting him from the slaughter of dozens in retaliation.

“There would be meaning in that.” A single person…A murderer of hundreds, perhaps thousands in the future.

His hand, trembling hard, curled into a tight fist, his head leaning forward until it pressed against his knuckles. White hair curtained over his features, covering his burning, but dry eyes. His breath came in clipped, broken gasps that shuddered throughout his body. The crowd continued to mill about him, not a single person even breaching his barrier.

He couldn’t do it… He couldn’t… He didn’t care about the murder. He never really had. Suguru had always been the one who cared about nonsense like morality…He just did what made him feel good. And this…this wouldn’t make him feel good. He knew he should do it now…before Suguru could hurt anyone else…but he couldn’t.

Not Suguru. Not his one and only.

When Satoru opened his eyes again and looked up, Suguru was gone, only a faceless crowd bustling about in his wake.

Satoru’s hand dragged up his face, fingers slipping on tears, until his knuckle knocked his glasses askew, a temple tangling in his hair. With trembling fingers, he pulled the frames from his face and stared at them, his six eyes able to pick out the scratch across the top of one of the lenses from where they’d dropped in the dirt during a spar with Suguru, the scuff on the bridge piece where debris had struck him dead in the face as he struggled to contain a curse that Suguru had wanted to ingest, a dent along the temple that’d happened during Okinawa when he’d been wrestling with Suguru on the beach.

(Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.)

…A piece of tape wrapped around the section that rested over his ear…from when Suguru had first given him these glasses. What’d been a gift of goodwill had turned into a fight, Satoru too proud to admit that the glasses would help with the strain of his technique, and the gift had gotten in the crossfire. One of the earpieces had come sliding off, and rather than get a new set, he’d insisted on just repairing the gifted set instead.

It’d been a gift from Suguru after all.

His hand curled into a tight fist around the frames, the thin, fragile metal bending under his grip until the lenses shattered. Tears spattered onto his palm, diluting the blood beading up from around the pieces of glass embedded in his skin. Lips pressing into a thin line, he threw the remnants off to the side, not bothering to listen as the broken pieces clattered to the wooden flooring by his bed.

Sniffling thickly, he buried his face into his pillows and tugged the blanket over his head to block out any and all light. His chest heaved and choked, nearly silent sobs jostling his whole body. The blanket draping over his body, he curled up, his arms coming up to wrap around his trembling form as if trying to hold together the broken pieces of himself that jaggedly cut deeper with each breath. But even that did nothing to soothe this ache.

What had he done wrong? What could he have done to save him? He had to have missed something. He should have been here… He should have been with him…

But he hadn’t been… And these were the consequences of his actions.

Suguru was gone.

His hand shot out to grab his phone once again, the light of the screen nearly blinding when he flicked it open. Tears blurred his vision, desperate gasps and sobs shaking his shoulders, but he couldn’t stop the urge to keep trying. Feeling as if a knife was lodged in his throat, he held down the “1” button until the phone began to ring once again.

“The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time, please try again-”

JJKJJK

The days flew by in a haze, the whole world cloaked in shades of gray that only darkened with each passing moment. People kept moving, kept working, kept acting like everything was the same when, in reality, everything felt so very wrong. But he kept a wide, toothy grin on his face. Kept joking despite how the words felt like poison pouring from his lips. Kept his energy up when he’d rather be curled up in bed. Missions were a struggle, exhausting in a way that they’d never been before now. Injuries were no longer as much of a rarity as they used to be. The infinity barrier flickered with his moods, and during missions…it didn’t always feel worth it to maintain it. What did it matter anyway? Obviously, the world would keep moving. It did when Suguru was gone.

Shoko huffed and bitched whenever he ended up in her infirmary, but her hands were always gentle. Cold, but gentle. She soothed away his aches and injuries without too much much fuss, and what fuss she did kick up was more for show than anything else, he could tell that much. And as much as he wanted her to…she couldn’t soothe the jagged cut where his heart had once been.

He sat on the examination table while she worked, his eyes unfocused and distant as he concentrated on the way her cursed energy swirled around him, like a warm blanket on a cold day. The soothing feel of it did little to ease his growing migraine, but it was better than nothing. He was here only for a minor injury today, just a small laceration on his bicep, but as with all things, it was far better to take care of it sooner rather than later. Well…most things anyway. He drew in a breath, eyes slipping closed. No sunglasses today. He hadn’t been wearing anything since…well… (He tried not to think about the pair still broken on his bedroom floor.) It took him a few minutes to realize Shoko was talking to him.

“You look like shit, Satoru,” she stated flatly, flicking dark eyes, tinged ever so slightly with concern, his way. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that you need to get enough sleep and eat something every now and then.” He stared at her, his eyes round and startled, before recoiling with as much drama as he could muster.

“What?! Are you saying I look anything but beautiful?! You wound me, Shoko, really,” he exclaimed, pressing a hand over his chest. She leveled a dull stare at him, completely unimpressed by his antics. Well, can’t win ‘em all. Finally, after a few minutes, she sighed and shook her head, reaching into her pocket for her carton of cigarettes.

“Right…well, I know you can take care of yourself and all, but don’t do anything stupid out there.” He flinched, her words cutting too close to the truth for his comfort. So, he let a large, wooden smile paint its way across his face, throwing his arms around her in a loose embrace that he couldn’t feel, that he didn’t want to feel anyway.

“Aw, Shoko! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried about little old me. No need to worry! I’m the strongest after all!” Huffing, she shoved at him, her hand stopped by infinity, but he stumbled away regardless, empty laughter spilling from his lips.

“No, you’re just the strongest bonehead I’ve ever met. Get out of my infirmary, Satoru. You’re getting your stupid everywhere.” She turned away, tucking a cigarette between her lips. Satoru watched her walk away, something akin to relief blooming in his chest. Another crisis averted.

After all, no one could know just how raw and bloody he felt inside.

JJKJJK

It started off as any other day.

He woke up in the morning to an overcast sky, forced himself to get out of bed, and stared at the basket of sweets Shoko left him on the counter before foregoing eating entirely. His technique could reverse any damage he was doing to himself anyway, right? His breath fogged in front of him in the brisk temperature of his dorm, the winter’s chill beginning to settle in. Not that he felt it, or cared. As he passed by the counter to make his way towards the shower, he paused by his phone, sitting on its charger from where he’d left it the night before.

Resting right beside his phone was a slender glasses case, wrapped so perfectly with a red bow.

He stood there, completely frozen, for a long moment, his eyes widening more and more the longer he stared. His footsteps echoed in the silence that settled over the room, each step slow, hesitant, as he approached the counter. His phone glowed faintly in the darkness, the date and time scrolling lazily over the screen.

December 7th, 2007 – 7:03AM

A helpless laugh bubbled from between his lips, his hands, shaking ever so slightly, reaching towards the small gift. It was his birthday. He’d completely forgotten. Though, this was probably why Shoko had insisted on hanging out after class today. The case, coated with simple black leather, bore the insignia of a popular optical retailer located the city, the gold of it shimmering in the meager lighting of his room. He nearly flinched when his fingers brushed over the top of the case, half-expecting it to dissipate beneath his touch. But no, it was solid, as real as he was.

Holding his breath, he gently slid the red bow, its loops trimmed beautifully with gold, off the case and cracked it open. A gleaming set of sunglasses sat nestled within, their lenses so dark they were nearly opaque. The frame, formed from thin, black wires, encircled the lenses, the temples folded delicately and resting on the velour surface that lined inside the case. His hand hovered over them, their tremor far more prominent now than it had been prior. His lips parted ever so slightly, his heart thudding in his ears.

These were…an exact replica of the set that laid in pieces on his bedroom floor.

The ones he adamantly refused to replace or even search for something that would function as an alternative.

(Migraines were a constant now, something he knew that could keep him grounded. And if he could barely think because of the pain, then that was only a bonus.)

It was then that he noticed the faint swirl of residuals, the familiar smokey tang brushing almost mockingly at his senses.

And at once, the world contracted around him, robbing the breath from his lungs and the clarity from his vision. Vaguely, he saw his fingers dip into the case and scoop up the glasses, the lenses gleaming up at him. He saw himself reflected back, saw the pale cast of his skin, the messy, unkempt hair flopping across his forehead, the bright glow of his eyes set in the dark circles that surrounded them. Hearing only static, his fingers curled numbly around the frames. An empty giggle spilled from his lips.

It figured Suguru would give him something for his birthday. He never forgot, after all, he never had before this. He must have heard about his missing glasses and thought it appropriate to replace them, without being asked. He must still be watching, he was still paying attention. And he somehow still cared enough to replace the glasses, cared enough to watch…but he didn’t care enough to show his face, or even to contact him directly.

Even on his birthday.

(He had to know he was struggling. He wasn’t that good at hiding it…Maybe he really didn’t care…)

The fucker had used a fucking curse to deliver these rather than deliver them himself.

Satoru didn’t notice his grip tightening around the frames, the hinges groaning at the pressure, nor did he notice the tears rolling in thick streams down his blank features.

It’d been months…months! And this was all Suguru could do?! Even now, his phone calls only met empty space, his texts bouncing off walls he didn’t know how to break down. And yet, he could deliver a fucking birthday gift as if he still fucking cared. His chest heaved, anger and heartache billowing hot in his chest until it felt as if it would burst. His lips peeled back to bare clenched teeth, his fingers curling tighter.

Fuck him. Fuck everything about him.

And curled tighter.

Fuck him and his morals, and his big fucking heart.

And tighter.

Fuck that soft voice. Fuck the way he said his name. Fuck those warm eyes!

Just fuck everything about him!

With a loud, rough yell, he slammed his hand down onto the counter, the glasses splintering with a sickening crack.

He panted, his breaths rasping loud in his ears, as the anger began to fade. Pain burned at his palm, the faint scent of metallic blood drifting up towards him. His eyes dropped, locking onto the mangled frames pressed under his hand. Shards of dark glass were scattered across the countertop, a growing pool of blood beginning to seep out from between the cracks of his fingers. As the anger drained away, a mounting horror flared up to replace it.

“No, no, no, no,” he gasped out, voice trembling, and lifted his hand to fumble for the twisted wires. The broken ends had stabbed deeply into his palm, his fingers slipping on blood as he attempted to tug them from his skin. As they finally slid free, the metal pieces clattered onto the countertop, crimson spattering in a wide arc around it. Glass sliced vivid cuts across pale skin as he gathered bits and pieces of it, but he didn’t even flinch at the pain, numb to anything save for his growing panic. Barely able to breath, he attempted to flatten the broken bits of metal with his freely bleeding hand, trying to reform it into its original circular shape.

He could fix this. He could fix this. He could—

Another wire snapped as he twisted it, his hand jolting up with the momentum.

Satoru froze, staring down at the thin piece of metal pinched between trembling fingers. Blood dripped thickly onto the mess of glass and wire, the dense smears beginning to obscure the tinier pieces. His heart pounded, his desperate gasps for air roaring a cacophony in his ears. The wire dropped from his fingers, blood eagerly clinging to the metal curves to drag it under its rippling surface.

He backed away, one step, then another, then he turned and ran. The bathroom light sprang to life beneath his touch, a gleaming handprint pressed against the light switch. Frantic eyes scanned the bathroom before locking onto the shower, desperate for any relief from the thick, grimy feel of failure, of regret that clung to his skin. Stumbling into the shower stall, he twisted the nozzle with an alarming ferocity. It squeaked, loudly, and the pipes groaned before water began to spit out of the shower head, ice cold at first, but slowly growing hotter and hotter.

(He hadn’t meant to break them…he hadn’t meant to…)

Blue eyes stared blankly at the wall as steam misted up around him, thick stripes of his pale hair plastered to his forehead. His hands burned and stung, blood, now diluted heavily by water, dripping from his fingers to swirl down the drain. Water spilled down his cheeks, but whether it originated from his eyes or from the shower nozzle, he couldn’t be sure, but it wasn’t like it mattered anyway.

He failed…He’d failed so badly he had no idea where to start unraveling the mess. Suguru had left because he hadn’t been there, because he hadn’t been enough to keep him at his side. And now…the last gift Suguru had give him was broken beyond repair…

And wasn’t that an apt metaphor…

A giggle, empty and half-crazed, burst out from between his lips, his body hunching over at the force of them, and more kept spilling out until he was choking on laughter, suffocating on the hysterical sound of it. One arm rested against the wall of the shower while the other braced against his abdomen, his eyes still wide open and staring down at the tile flooring. His fingers scraped against the slick stone, leaving bloody streaks in their wake. Water soaked slowly into his clothing, the rough fabric plastered against hot, reddening flesh.

But still he laughed, feeling his sanity dribble away with the water bubbling down the drain.

Why did he even bother? Honestly. Everything would return to nothing eventually anyway… Why should he even bother caring anymore?

One of his giggles cut off into a sob, his eyes squeezing shut as he swung out with a fist. The tile cracked, thin spiderwebs splintering out from the impact, and the wall shook hard enough that the water sputtered briefly before spraying out stronger than ever. Mm…not good enough. He reared back and punched again, infinity flicking off just in time for his knuckles to crack against the broken, jagged edges of the stonework. Pain shot down his hand and down his arm, blood dripping in vivid streams against the white tile before swirling down into the drain.

For a moment, that pain was enough to dull everything else around him. But that too faded and it all came crashing back, like a meteor crashing to Earth.

Another sob choked its way out of him, his legs crumpling under him like paper. He hit the ground hard, knees screaming at the collision with the flooring, and he sagged pathetically against the wall, shifting his weight in order to drag his legs up against his chest. Tears (because he could no longer deny what they were) streamed down his cheeks with the water pounding down on him, his body shaking hard with the sobs ripping through him. They echoed around him in the shower, bouncing against the walls to mock him with their gasping, desperate sound.

The water was hot enough to sear at the skin it soaked, his face and shoulders glowing a vibrant red with how long he sat under the stream. One of his arms snaked up to wrap around his legs, clinging to them desperately, as if they’d provide the comfort he was searching for. The other continued clutching at his abdomen, something jagged tearing at him as his grip tightened on his shirt. Blood trickled in thin rivers from his hand, his knuckles split and crooked and painful.

Somehow the pain felt more comforting than the arms around him.

He didn’t know how long he sat here, choking and crying and desperate, on the floor of his shower, but at some point, the water began to run cold, cold enough to numb the raw patches of skin burned into place by the scalding temperature. Despite that, he continued to sit here, clutching onto himself, as tremors began to overtake him.

Why had it come to this? Why did Suguru have to leave him? Why hadn’t he talked to him first before any of this happened?

His fingers dug vivid stripes into his skin, but he couldn’t feel it anymore, any sensation long gone in the frigid water washing over him. And oh, that felt nice, to not feel anything for once. This cold numbed even the constriction around his chest that had been steadily moving up towards his throat like a noose, slowly cutting off his air until he had none left. His head thudded against his knees, his tremors slowly subsiding.

He was so tired…

Maybe…just maybe if he went to sleep here…when he woke up, everything would be back to the way it was before…

The door to his dorm slammed open, the sound vaguely reaching through the growing static droning in his ears, but he just continued to lay here, one of his hands clutching onto his arm while the other curled into a fist against his stomach. Pain throbbed dully at the edges of his consciousness, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, the icy water numbing each of his nerves one by one until nothing remained.

“Satoru!” a voice pierced through the fog, pitched high with fear that sounded out of place. He blinked at the sound of it, his eyelids drifting down lower and lower as the seconds ticked by. The spraying nozzle shrieked as the flow was cut off, the squeal of the knob screeching through the haze to reach him. But before he could react, before he could protest, hands closed on his shoulders, pushing him flat against the wall. He flinched, hard, at the sheer scalding heat of the touch, a startled whimper lurching from his throat.

Brown eyes stared down at him, fear visible in the way that the whites of her eyes were visible all the way around the dark hue. Brown hair was half drenched, plastered against the side of Shoko’s face, as she shook him, the color draining from her features. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her, couldn’t answer her. Those hands moved down his arms, almost frantically peeling back his sleeves to bear the skin of his forearms. He almost laughed at her worry.

Silly Shoko. He wasn’t brave enough to do anything like that…

Her brows pinched, a frown carving deeply across her features. Her fingers gently uncurled his fingers one by one to bear his palm, which twitched oddly at being moved, the skin sticky and stiff. That frown only deepened as he watched, her shoulders slumping. She kept staring down at his hand, focused so intently on what she was doing. It was strange, watching her work but not feeling her touch, nor the pain, nothing. His eyelids drooped lower across his eyes, his head lolling back against the wall behind him.

Shoko pulled a large shard of dark glass from his palm, the jagged edges gleaming with blood, and she stared at it for a long moment before her dark gaze flicked back up towards him, alarm flashing across her features. His eyes followed the arc of the shard as it was flung to the floor, ignoring as bloodstained hands cupped at his numbed cheeks, tapping frantically to force his attention. The glass shattered against the tile, splintering into thousands of pieces that sprinkled like glitter on the floor.

Heh…just like him…

His eyes fluttered shut, and darkness closed over him.

JJKJJK

When Satoru woke next, he was warm, almost oppressively so. Blankets were tugged up to his chin, tucked tenderly around him in a thick cotton embrace, and his head, as aching and sore as it was, rested on a mostly flattened pillow. Sweat clung to his skin, slicking snowy strands of hair flat against his face. Faint traces of antiseptic and smoke wove through the ventilated air, alerting him almost immediately to his location. He released a shuddering breath, the sound bordering on a whine.

He’d managed landed himself in the infirmary…Though he couldn’t say he was that shocked…not after the…surprise that he’d stumbled upon in his room…His eyes cinched tighter closed at the image of the smashed glasses glaring up at him from the bloodstained countertop, regret twisting with the shame in his stomach. This was ridiculous… All of this was ridiculous! The strongest sorcerer done in by some stupid memories and a fucking shower. This was a new low…even for him. Everyone would be talking about this one for a while. He could already see his mission load increasing, just to test how far they could push him until he broke entirely. The higher ups were cowards, as always, and they were scared of him. So they’d definitely attempt to use this to their advantage and try to do away with him. This was all kinds of not good…

(Maybe…if Suguru was really watching…that’s when he’d step back in, to protect him.)

(But no, that was just silly wishful thinking.)

But at the same time…with his foggy head, he felt…better. That constricting, tearing, all-encompassing pain dulled with the sluggishness of his thoughts. His body ached, and god, his eyes burned, even though they weren’t even open yet. If it was this bad with only the light glowing through his eyelids, he didn’t even want to know how it would feel if he opened them. But his head was calm, still even. Relief billowed hot in his chest, each breath slightly congested, but free and easy.

Maybe this was the solution. Or if not a solution, at least a bandage, or a salve.

A hand, soft and cool, pressed against his forehead, drawing a flinch from him at the suddenness of the touch, at the concept of being touched at all. Fuck, infinity must not function in this state. Somehow, that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should. The hand retreated with a sharp intake of breath, followed closely by the comforting feeling of cursed energy curling around him, a familiar signature that was only growing more familiar as of late. He should probably open his eyes to greet her, but honestly, the lights may very well do him in if he were to try.

“Gojo, are you awake?” Shoko called, the mattress dipping slightly as she leaned over the bed, likely to check him over. The scent of cigarette smoke intensified with her nearness, his nose twitching irritably. He released a breath, his head rolling to the side. Pain spiked up his neck at the movement, his expression twisting. Okay…he was amending his earlier statement. Yea, his head was quiet, but the rest of him fucking hurt. Shoko leaned back, her cursed energy pulsing. “Gojo?”

“‘m here,” he rasped, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed. Shoko huffed, the sound more relieved than annoyed, and moved away without another word. After a few moments, the lights flicked off, the sudden relief from the pain causing him to sag into the mattress.

“Is that better?”

His eyes fluttered open, wandering over to focus on Shoko. “Much,” he breathed, a faint smile flickering across his features. Shoko rolled her eyes, the bags beneath them somewhat darker than normal, and she sat in the chair by his bed, the exasperated twist of her lips flavored with fondness, or so he hoped and chose to read it as. Her arms crossed and she scanned him over with a critical swipe of her gaze.

“Well…you’re looking better. Fever’s gone down a bit too. I might even be able to send you home by the end of the day,” she reported casually, her eyes locking onto his. “All in all, way better than yesterday. Lucky you. If it had been any worse, I might have had to send you to a real hospital.”

“A real hospital?!” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. “Why the fuck would-whoa…” His hand pressed against his temple as dizziness swept over him, the world going foggy around him. His vision pulsed in time with his heart, his ears ringing loudly as he sagged back against the pillows. Okay…maybe moving hadn’t been the smartest move. Suguru would have—

He cut off that thought before he could finish. Nope. He wasn’t going there. Not right now.

When his surroundings slid into a proper focus once again, Shoko was hovering over him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tugged the blankets back up to cover him. Noticing his eyes on her, she scowled. “Can you see why I might have sent you to a real hospital now? Fucking hell, Gojo. Stop pushing yourself. One day, I won’t be here to pick up the pieces, and then where will you be?” Tension trembled in her shoulders, her movements snappish and irritated.

“Sorry, Shoko. Won’t happen again.” Sighing heavily, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, running a steady hand through her hair. Only experience kept her hands from trembling, something he noticed about himself too.

“It better not fucking happen again.” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, her gaze drifting off towards the wall. Her teeth tugged at the fraying skin of her lips, her brows pinching bit by bit as silence stretched ominously between them. Satoru could almost see the thoughts churning in her head, could almost see them in the way her fingers twitched, as if yearning for a cigarette. Finally, she sighed and closed her eyes, resignation weighted in her shoulders.

“…so you gonna tell me what happened?”

The words dropped into the empty silence between them, Satoru tensing at the mere sound of them. His eyes skirted away, in the opposite direction from Shoko. His hands curled into tense fists under the blankets, a faint wisp of the jagged agony slipping back in at the mere question. Swallowing hard, he forced his gaze back onto his longtime friend, a large, wooden smile stretching across his lips. “Nope. I don’t think I do,” he responded cheerfully, the words forced out from his tight, aching throat.

Shoko pushed herself off the bed, her shoes hitting the tile with a soft tap, and sighed. “Oh yea? So I get no explanation for why I walked in on you sitting in an ice cold shower, completely soaked in your own blood? Or why you were clinging onto a broken piece of glass like you were going to carve yourself open?” Her voice was flat, controlled despite the slight tremor hidden deep in her words. She kept her back to him, arms crossing over her chest. “I know you’re grieving, Gojo, but goddammit, you can’t do stupid shit like this. Hurting yourself isn’t going to make him come back!”

“How do you know that?!” The words spilled from his lips before he could stop them, his blood like ice in his veins. Shoko whirled around, her dark eyes widening as they met his wild, desperate gaze. His mouth clicked shut, inhaling sharply as he realized exactly what he had just said. Dammit, dammit. He was supposed to be better than this. Shaking his head, he rolled over onto his side, leaving her staring at his back. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Gojo…you…”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this! Leave it alone, Shoko!”

Silence. He could feel her eyes boring holes into his back, but she didn’t step any closer. If Suguru were here instead—

No, stop. That kind of thinking would only end in pain.

Ah, well, he supposed it was a little late for that.

Shoko sighed, soft footsteps finally making their way towards the door. “Fine… But Gojo, don’t keep this all inside. That’s how Geto started. Just keep that in mind, okay?” He didn’t answer, her words dredging up the pain that his illness had done such a good job of hiding up until now. The door creaked open. “I’m going to see about getting your dorm cleaned up…Just get some rest, Gojo. You’ll probably be able to go home tonight.”

And with that, she walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

It was only then that Satoru closed his eyes, tears burning like acid behind his eyelids.

JJKJJK

As promised, Shoko let him return to his dorm room that night, although he was under strict instructions to rest for the next few days. The leave had been approved, but he didn’t envy what Shoko had to go through to make that possible.

He locked the door behind him, faintly remembering that he had forgotten to do so when he’d been here last. Not a mistake he was going to make again. His head still swimming from a residual fever, he scanned the room, unsurprised that the mess he’d left had been cleaned. Both pairs of smashed sunglasses had been removed, the set on the counter and the set that had made its home beside his bed. The faint scent of bleach wove through the air, the blood that had been caked onto the floor and counter completely scrubbed clean. Sighing softly, he made his way towards his phone to check the flood of texts that was surely waiting for him.

But only one notification blinked across the small screen.

Brows crumpling, he moved over towards it and flicked it open, only to freeze in place with what he saw. Only a single message filled his inbox, a result of Shoko probably having cleared his messages. He’d have to thank her for that later, honestly. A familiar string of numbers, no longer attached to a contact name (he’d deleted the contact name a while ago in a fit of rage), labeled the text. Breathing shallowly, he scrambled to open the message, his fingers fumbling over the buttons and causing him to miss the correct command several times.

Hey, Satoru. I hope you’re feeling better. Be more careful, okay?

His heart lodged in his throat, he frantically dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. After a few rings, the call transitioned into the same robotic message he normally found when he tried to contact him. Drawing the phone away from his ear, he stared blankly down at it. Sure…he wasn’t answering still…but he had contacted him…

His eyes glanced towards the dark bathroom, a crazed smile tugging at his lips.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #shoko ieiri #satosugu #my writing #iris series #Remember what I said before about how this fic was going to be a ride #DO YOU SEE WHY NOW #I’ve chosen gojo as my current stress ball and I’m squeezing until he squeaks #enjoy the spiral

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elysiantouch · 4 years ago

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someone who knows coding,,,,, help

#doing muse pages YET AGAIN #and i cannot fix the scrolling/overflow :/#also will be changing tags once i figure out a Nice style i like :/#the goal is to return here sometime this week or next week once its all said and done !#❛ / 𝐌𝐔𝐍 : ooc

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idrellegames · 4 years ago

Note

So I had a coding question that I've been trying to find the answer for, for a while. I've tried searching up information online and such but haven't been able to find anything.

I was wondering though how exactly someone would go about creating a main menu screen with the whole being able to create a new game, load one or change the settings? Like I said I've tried searching it up but haven't been able to find anything except for information on creating a transition screen.

You’re going to need an understanding of CSS for this, but I’ll do my best to walk you through it, alongside some basic functions of the UIBar and UI APIs. Also, like pretty much anything to do with coding, there is more than one way to do something (and there may be a more efficient/effective way than mine).

Like all of my tutorials, this is written for SugarCube 2.34.1. Since this one mainly deals with CSS, I’m sure you could adapt it to another format, but I’m not familiar enough with Harlowe, Snowman and Chapbook to add specifics.

Additionally, I use the Twine 2 editor version 2.2.1. This tutorial can be used with later versions; some of my example images may look not look exactly like what you have because later versions of the editor launch test files in your default browser (the 2.2.1 version creates its own mini-browser).

Making a Main Menu Page

Step 1: Hiding the UI Bar

If you want a clear main menu page without the UI bar, you can hide it in several ways.

<<run UIBar.destroy();>>

This will remove the UI bar completely from your game. Not recommended unless you have an alternative way of adding access to the Save, Settings and Restart functions.

<<run UIBar.stow();>>

This stows the UI bar. It will still be partially visible on the side and the player can interact with it to open it. The UI bar can be unstowed manually (without needing the player to do it themselves) on the next passage with:

<<run UIBar.unstow();>>

If you don’t want the UI bar to show up on your main menu, but you want to have access to it later, you can use:

<<run UIBar.hide();>>

To bring it back, you will have to use the following on the passage where you want the player to have access to it.

<<UIBar.show();>>

You may want to use the stow/hide and unstow/show functions together. Hiding the UI bar only makes it invisible; it will still take up space on the left-hand side of your game. Stowing and hiding it makes it a little more even.

To use them together, you can do this:

On the passage you don’t want the UI bar:

<<run UIBar.stow();>><<run UIBar.hide();>>

On the passage you where you want to restore the UI bar:

<<run UIBar.unstow();>><<run UIBar.show();>>

TIP 1: Using <<run UIBar.stow (true)>> gets rid of the slide animation as the UI bar collapses/restores, so you may want to use this so you don’t have any weird animations when you menu passage loads.

TIP 2: If you main menu is the first passage of your game, you can run the scripts for storing and hiding the UI bar in your StoryInit passage and it will run it when your game loads.

TIP 3: You can also use the Config API to have the menu bar be stowed automatically when your game starts.

Pop this code into your Javascript:

Config.ui.stowBarInitially = true;

However, if you have any links that navigate back to the main menu without restarting the game, the UI bar will be in whatever state the player left it in last. If you can only access the main menu by launching the game or hitting restart, don't worry about this.

If you want to double-check the SugarCube documentation for these functions, see here.

Step 2: Tagged Stylesheets

If you want to create a menu page that has a different appearance to your game’s default look, you can do so by using a tagged stylesheets. When using a tagged stylesheet, every passage with the same tag will have its appearance overridden to match what you’ve adjusted in your Story Stylesheet.

Let’s make one called main-menu. You can tag passages like so:

You can also tag the passage a different colour to make it special passages like this one stand out.

Step 3: Adding CSS

Now that the passage is tagged, you need to add a new CSS class to your stylesheet to change its appearance.

To change the appearance, you need to decide which selectors to target and what about them you want to change. Every default SugarCube game has the same set of selectors (you can find them here in the documentation). The most important ones are:

body – the body of the page. You can use this to change the foreground and background colours.

.passages – the element that contains your game’s main text. This is where you can change things like the colour that displays behind your game’s text, the font family, line height, letter spacing, all that stuff.

For the sake of this example, I am going to use the default SugarCube stylesheet and edit it from the ground up. You can find the code for SugarCube’s built-in stylesheets here.

In your stylesheet, you will want to use the tag you created earlier as the new class name.

.main-menu

Put this with the selectors you are going to change.

Let’s start with the body.

body.main-menu { color: #fff; background-color: #000; overflow: auto; }

The color property controls the colour of the font. Here I’ve set it to the hex code #fff and the background-color #000.

So now I have a black page when I start the main menu passage, and thanks to the code for the UI bar I put in earlier, the UI bar is gone.

Adding a Background

Now, we might want to spice up the background with an image to make it more interesting.

To add an image to the background, you need to use the background-image property.

body.main-menu { color: #fff; background-color: #000; background-image: url("images/main-menu.jpg"); background-attachment: fixed; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: cover; -webkit-background-size: cover; -moz-background-size: cover; -o-background-size: cover; background-position: center center; overflow: auto; }

You can read more about the different background properties and what they do here on W3Schools, but the code above will center your background image in the middle of the page and also make sure that it covers the entire container.

IMPORTANT: If you intend to upload your game as a ZIP file containing a .index HTML file (this is recommended if you have a lot of image assets or don’t want to link to an outside host, like imgur), you will need to use relative paths with any image URLs in your game.

Relative paths mean that the file is relative to the directory it’s in. In the example above, you can see that the background URL is "images/main-menu.jpg". This means that when the file is uploaded to itch.io, it will find the file—main-menu.jpg—inside the images folder, regardless of where the images folder is located.

For reference, this is what my game assets folder looks like for Wayfarer:

Relative paths are different than an absolute path, which begins with the drive letter. For example, the main-menu.png may be stored on my personal computer in a path like this one: C:/game/images/main-menu.jpg.

If I use this absolute path in the game, the image asset will not show up for players once it’s uploaded to itch because the image is not hosted on the player’s device in C:/game/images/main-menu.jpg.

This can cause some finnicky issues with the Twine 2 editor because the editor cannot find and display images from relative paths (unless you’ve put the editor in the same directory as the one you’re storing your assets in; I haven’t bothered to try this, so I’m not sure).

While working on your game in the Twine editor, you may need to use an absolute path to see what your asset looks like while you're editing. When it comes time to publish, make sure you switch it back to a relative path, otherwise the image will not load for players.

Step 4: Adding & Styling Links

Now that we have a background, we’ll want to tackle the links themselves.

Adding Links

You can link to the starting passage of your game using your preferred method—the [[ ]] link markup, the <<link>> macro, etc.

But for Saves and Settings (and also a Resume Game link, if you’re using the autosave feature), you’ll need to manually call the functions for accessing those dialogs. You can do that with this code here:

This will add a Load Game link that opens the Saves dialog when clicked.

<<link 'LOAD GAME'>><<run UI.saves();>><</link>>

This will add a Settings link that opens the Settings dialog when clicked.

<<link 'SETTINGS'>><<run UI.settings();>><</link>>

This will add a Resume Game link that loads the player’s last autosave.

<<link 'RESUME GAME'>><<run Save.autosave.load()>><</link>>

TIP: To enable autosaves on your game, add this code to your Story Javascript:

Config.saves.autosave = true;

This will autosave on every passage.

Config.saves.autosave = ["bookmark", "autosave"];

This will autosave on passages tagged bookmark or autosave.

Styling Your Game Title & Links

So this is where you can get get fancy with your CSS. For now, we’re going to keep everything within the .passage element (which is where any text inputting into the editor goes), but I will show you how to move the links and title to wherever you want further down.

Importing Fonts

First, go font shopping.

Google fonts has a very large library of free-to-use fonts that you can import directly into your game via your Story Stylesheet. After you browser Google fonts for the fonts you want to use, scroll down to the Use on Web section and click @import. Google will automatically generate the code you need to import the fonts you want to use.

Ignore the <style> </style> and copy everything else inside it and paste it in the top of your Story Stylesheet.

For this example, mine looks like this:

@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Almendra+Display&family=Nova+Cut&display=swap');

TIP: If you are importing fonts that a bold weight and italics available and intend to use bold and italics, make sure you import the bold weight and the italic versions of the font as well as the regular one. This will stop your fonts from having weird printing issues when you use bold and italics (especially on non-Chromium browsers like Firefox).

Below the import button, Google will show you the CSS rules for each font family. Keep these in mind, you’ll need them later. Mine, for this example, are like this:

font-family: 'Almendra Display', cursive; font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive;

Basic Styling

In your stylesheet, you’ll want to target the .passage element with the .main-menu class.

.passage.main-menu { background-color: transparent; font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive; font-size: 3.5em; text-align: center; }

Make sure there isn’t a space between .passage and .main-menu, otherwise it won’t work!

Here, I’ve changed a few properties.

font-family – this changes the font to Nova Cut

font-size – this changes the font size. I’ve used the unit em, which is relative to the element size (you can read more about CSS Units here)

text-align – this centers the text to the middle of the .passage element

I have also added:

background-color: transparent;

This makes the passage background transparent so you can see the background image. This is only necessary if you’ve added a background-color to your default passages.

Now, for the links.

Links have their own separate selector.

a means is the link as it usually displays

a:hover is the link when the player hovers their cursor over it.

It's generally a good idea to use different colours on the links—one for the normal display, one for the hover—so the player can visually see that they are hovering over a clickable link. If you don't want to use different colours, you should consider using some other visual cue to make that differentiation.

.passage.main-menu a { font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive; color: #C57C25; text-decoration: none; }

.passage.main-menu a:hover { font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive; color: #dcb07c; text-decoration: none; }

I’ve added an additional property here:

text-decoration: none.

This gets rid of the underline that happens on all default links in the default SugarCube stylesheet. Currently, this only targets the links on passages tagged main-menu; if you want to get rid of the text-decoration on all links, you can change the styling of your links like so:

a:hover { text-decoration: none; }

Choosing Colours

If you’re not sure where to start when it comes to picking hex codes, color-hex.com is a really helpful site. It gives you related tints and shades of for every hex code, which makes it a lot easier to find colours that are slightly darker or slightly lighter than your base hex code.

For choosing colours initially, there are plenty of hex code colour palette generators available online. One of my favourites is the one on Canva, which lets you upload an image and then it creates a colour palette from there. You might not want to use the exact colours it pulls, but checking the colours on color-hex can help you narrow down something that works for your aesthetics.

This is what our template now looks like:

Giving the Title a Unique Style

Right now, the title is styled by the .passage.main-menu selector and it’s default font size and font type is the same as the links below it.

If you want to style it differently, you can make a new class for it. In this case, I’m going to drop the .passage.main-menu and make a class called .game-title.

.game-title { font-family: 'Almendra Display', cursive; color: #ca893a; line-height: 1.0; font-size: 1.8em; text-shadow: 1px 1px #dcb07c; }

Because the font I selected didn’t come with a bold version, I cheated a bit a used the text-shadow property to bulk it up. I also had to adjust the line height. SugarCube’s default .passage styling gives everything a line height of 1.75 and there was too much space once the new font family and font size were applied.

To add this styling to your title, go into your main menu passage and wrap your game’s title in a span, like so:

<span class="game-title">GENERIC FANTASY GAME</span>

It now appears like this:

TIP: If you want to play around with your appearance, you can use your browser’s Inspect tool to see the page’s CSS and play around/edit it. Either right click and hit Inspect or hit CTRL + SHIFT + I to open the Inspect tool. Once opened, you can go in and adjust things. If you make and a change and like it, remember to copy the code over to your stylesheet before you close the inspect tool.

Placing a Title & Links Outside the .passage element

If you want your game title and menu links to be elsewhere on the page, you’re going to need re-write some of your CSS and add some additional CSS.

The first thing is that you’ll want to remove the styling from .passage.main-menu. I’ve left background-color to transparent, but you’re not going to be using this to style your game title and menu links.

.passage.main-menu { background-color: transparent; }

For the title:

I’ve created two elements, one called .main-title and one called .main-title-item.

.main-title creates a container that will hold the title. This is what I use to tell it where on the page to appear.

.main-title { display: block; justify-content: space-evenly; position: absolute; top: 10%; left: 4%; }

.main-title-item styles the actual text.

.main-title-item { font-family: 'Almendra Display', cursive; text-transform: uppercase; font-weight: normal; font-size: 6.5em; line-height: 1.0; text-align: left; color: #cf944d; text-shadow: 1px 1px #cf944d; }

To apply this to the game title, go back to the main menu passage and apply your new elements to the game’s title:

<div class="main-title"><span class="main-title-item">GENERIC FANTASY GAME</span></div>

For the menu links:

Here, we’ll do something really similar—a container to hold the links and a separate element to style them.

.subtitle { display: block; flex-wrap: wrap; flex-direction: column; width: 60%; justify-content: space-evenly; position: absolute; top: 46%; left: 8%; }

.subtitle-item a { font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive; font-weight: normal; font-size: 3.5em; text-align: left; color: #cf944d; line-height: 1.3em; }

.subtitle-item a:hover { font-family: 'Nova Cut', cursive; font-weight: normal; font-size: 3.5em; text-align: left; color: #dcb07c; text-decoration: none; }

Go back to your main menu passage and apply the elements. Because all of the menu links will be in the same box, you only need to open/close the .subtitle element once.

If you want to change where the title and menu links appear, you can use the Inspect tool to figure out different percentages and spacing until you find something that works for you.

There are a lot more things you can add (like animations that appear when you hover your cursor on the link), but I’ll leave it there for now.

Additionally, if you intend to make your game mobile compatible, you’ll want to read up on media queries and learn how to adjust font sizes and any other units of measurement for different viewports. This is how you shrink things appropriate to fit on small screens.

I hope this helps! If you have any questions, please let me know. I’m still a newbie at CSS (so I’m sure there are ways of doing things more effectively), but these are some of the things that I have helped me along the way.

#coding in twine #coding help #twine #twine game #interactive fiction #resources #answered #long post

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rvmmm21 · 4 years ago

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[ V V S her diamonds ]

summary : seungwan is an idiot, joohyun is an idiot. cupid rips his hair out in frustration.

small note : please yell at galaxygerbil for me. for putting justin freaking bieber’s ‘anyone’ in my head on loop for centuries and for the hectic mess that i am when i read their fics. this is an attempt the only genre i have been skirting around because i just cannot read/write angst. if this ages decently, yay.

p.s. characters are from my first wenrene university au (you know who i am?) so it’s identical in regards to characters and the au itself, but a different plot.

tw : slight angst (but it’s all cupid’s), perpetual urge to scream.

[senior!irene x junior!wendy]

. . .

[5:15p.m.] Seungwan rushes past the temptation of bookshops, restaurants and arcades. She silently curses when she very nearly falls flat on her face from an uneven bit of pavement.

. . .

“Seungwan-ah!” Yerim calls out, retracting her debit card from the exasperated cashier and waving Seungwan towards her. “Come, hurry up and order something.”

The blonde shyly weaves through the crowded little arcade cafe, eliciting pointed looks and grunts from hungry patrons. She leaves the ‘I-dare-you-to-challenge-my-best-friend-right-now’ stare to Yerim.

Seungwan reaches the counter with a huff. “What are you guys getting?”

“I got bibimmyeon.” The younger glances over her shoulder at Seulgi who’s scrolling through her phone at the table in the corner. “Uh, i think Seul got pork mandu.”

Seungwan holds up two fingers and a polite smile. “Two bibimmyeon, please.”

The cashier inputs their orders with a click of a button, swiping Yerim’s card through the reader.

The duo shuffle away with a number card on a metal stand, heading for the table under the stairs. A harassed Seulgi barely notices her friends sitting down.

“You’re here?” She clicks her phone off and begins rummaging through her Muji pencil case for a pencil. “What did you get? I think we’re pulling an all-nighter.”

“Bibimmyeon, same as Yerimie.” Seungwan grimaces, more at the possibility of another sleepless night. But such is university life. Plus, she’d much rather her friends keep her accountable than procrastinate alone. Especially on projects that weighed so heavily on her final grade.

Yerim elbows Seungwan, who suddenly notices she’s the last to get her materials out.

Like clockwork, the three get to work, the clicking of their keyboards overtaken by frantic plastic clicking of various 90’s arcade machines.

Thankfully, food is served right as they’re wrapping up chapter three, the worst one of them all. Seungwan, Seulgi and Yerim scarf down their food like girls ten years starved, focused on feeding the demands of their stomachs rather than their assignments.

. . .

The sun retires past the blue-purple horizon, leaving three burnt out students standing outside a closed cafe, clutching laptops and notebooks in the dark. They hastily make plans again for next week’s study date, sweeping the forgotten all-nighter under the rug, all too eager to head home and shut the door in the faces of their due dates and exams.

“Same time next week?” Seungwan asks after a yawn.

Seulgi shakes her head, squinting at her calendar app. “I have dance tryouts then. Can we do Thursday instead? We can meet at the same time then, or even earlier.”

Yerim agrees to everything, seconds away from falling asleep on her feet.

“Alright,” the blonde sighs, plugging the aux cable into her phone and flipping through her Spotify. “See you guys then. Yerimie bring your own highlighter next time.”

Everyone mumbles, turning their own ways.

. . .

“YAH!”

The rude exclamation of a tall, red-faced boy while his smaller friend stands meekly behind him blares attention bells to the furthest corner of their university cafeteria.

Seungwan pauses mid-chew to shush a pouting Yerim, who’s upset that her funny dog story was interrupted right as it was getting good. They face the commotion and Seungwan beholds a pair of steely eyes gazing boredly from underneath the brim of a black Yankee baseball cap.

That signature glare belongs to none other than Bae Joohyun, someone the junior recognises instantly from (truthfully much more than) one of their shared literature electives. And of course, beside her stands her equally as intimidating friends, Park Sooyoung and Kim Jennie.

And the hothead is the only person who’d be stupid enough to challenge a trio like that: fresh campus casanova, Wong Lucas. Seungwan’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, but she isn’t surprised.

Everyone’s attention has been commanded now, but if the boy cared, he didn’t show it.

“Yah, freshman.” Jennie snaps, gripping her mocha latte and stepping to the front while Sooyoung suspiciously eyes him and his friend. “Speak with some respect. What’s wrong with you! We’re your seniors.”

The meek girl behind him looks terrified, curly mousy-brown ponytails shadowing the cold sweat visibly beading on her forehead. She almost moves to say something but Lucas stops her with a firm hand, turning back to continue berating the girl in the cap.

“You couldn’t even let her talk?!” The irony is lost on him, as a frown settles on his arched eyebrows, frustration frosting over his features. “She told me you rejected her before she could finish. Did you have to speak so rudely? Do you know how hard it is to confess?”

A hint of apprehension creeps into Sooyoung’s expression and Jennie fights the urge to splash her drink right in his face. Followed by the cup.

Bae Joohyun simply resists a yawn.

“Can you move? We’re busy.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken since the outburst, and Seungwan feels her palms sweat.

The girl behind Lucas finally speaks. Her eyes are glossy and wide, overflowing with hurt and betrayal. “It’s okay, s-sunbae. B-but I… I was hoping we could still–”

“I’m not interested,” comes the cut and dry reply.

A bystander innocently tries to diffuse the rising tension. He lightly places his hand on the boy’s shoulder, darting his gaze between the two teams. “Alright I think that’s enough.” He turns to Lucas. “No need to be so hostile, be a gentleman and apologise.”

“Whatever.” Lucas irritatedly shrugs him off, piercing stare fixed on the senior who couldn’t look more disinterested. “You deserve it. You think you can just talk however you want just because you’re pretty? Self-centred trash, fix your attitude first.”

Sooyoung’s jaw drops, Jennie goes wide-eyed, and Yerim is fumbling around with the record button as quietly as she can.

Seungwan’s heart quickens in pace.

Joohyun doesn’t even realise she’s lunging forward.

. . .

The cafeteria disperses with hushed whispers and repeated glances over shoulders until it’s just Seungwan, Seulgi and Yerim left. They’re glued to their seats, astounded at the sight of Wong Lucas on the ground, clutching his nose in pain while Song Yuqi stands frozen to the spot, paled in horror at witnessing her crush just sock her older brother square in the face.

It’s so silent save for the moaning and groaning from the floor.

“Did you see that?” Seungwan murmurs back at her friends, unaware that her eyes glint with obvious admiration. “That was kinda cool.”

Seulgi’s lip quirks in disbelief. “It’s definitely broken. Look at her, she’s insane.”

“Right?” Yerim snickers, already posting the video clip to their group chat. “Insanely co-ordinated. Best thing that’s happened all day.”

“I’m gonna offer her a Band-Aid,” Seungwan spontaneously decides, ignorant to the horror plastered on both her friends’ faces.

Yerim makes tiny, urgent neck slice motions while Seulgi quickly yanks an eager Seungwan down hard by the sleeve.

“Ow, Seul!” The blonde mouths, brows furrowing in annoyance.

The dancer takes the opportunity to knock some sense into her. “Seriously, are you crazy?” she whispers harshly, her own nerves flaring at the thought of being overheard. “It’s an insult! She’s going to kill you.”

Both girls try to stop their friend from making the dumbest decision of her life, but Seungwan frees herself from their frantically grasping limbs, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading to the crime scene.

She reaches just in time to feel Lucas brush angrily past them and out the doors. Yuqi slinks after him, casting Joohyun an apologetic look.

Way to get rejected twice, Seungwan sympathises. Poor kid, with a sibling who’s an idiot Hercules.

It takes all her willpower to wrestle her racing heartbeat and her self-preservation instinct into submission. The junior approaches with care, trying with everything she has to convey that she comes in peace.

Joohyun shifts her focus to her and Seungwan’s legs almost go jelly, but something about Joohyun draws her in like a spell. She hated playing good samaritan in situations like these, but it isn’t as though Seungwan hasn’t been dying to talk to her impossibly attractive senior since the first day of class.

You miss any chance you don’t take, right? Yes, obviously.

“H-hi sunbaes,” Seungwan greets with a cautious bow. This is the closest she’s been to the black velvet trio and it’s certainly leaving an impression. She doesn’t even have to look back to know that her block-head friends are gawping at the scene, wondering how their loser of a friend is so okay with dying at the age of twenty two.

Blinking, Seungwan washes her thoughts of how dazzling Joohyun looks, even when she looks like she’s out for blood. Especially when she looks like she’s out for blood.

Suddenly remembering the other reason she came over here, the small blonde holds out some alcohol wipes and Band-Aids like gifts. “Are you h– are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Joohyun responds curtly. She surely knows her icy stare crumples Seungwan’s insides like butter paper. Perhaps that’s why she does it. “It’s over.”

“A-are you sure your fist knows?” The junior tries, all too aware the girl in front of her could have her wiped off the face of the earth with the snap of her fingers.

A scowl ghosts across Joohyun’s face before she drops her eyes to where her fist is still clenched and trembling slightly.

Seungwan fills the silence with an awkward chuckle. “Just thought you might want to clean up after the battle.”

Jennie and Sooyoung’s unimpressed looks are replaced with shock when Joohyun actually accepts a wet wipe from the younger’s shaking hands. Her eyes are pinned to the wipe as it glazes over bruised, rosy knuckles.

The shorter girl internally swoons. Her mere offering has been received! – and not just received regularly, but received with a frosty ‘thank you’, to top it all off.

As the three seniors are leaving, Seungwan secretly prays that Yerim used her brains and recorded this moment too.

She flinches out of her thought bubble when Seulgi lands a palm clumsily on her shoulder.

“Wah, daebak,” the Cadbury-haired dancer congratulates her crazy, bodacious friend. “So what was that, like your first date or something?”

Yerim scoffs, hooking her arm around Seulgi’s bicep and dragging her out. “Come on Seul, we might as well start eating bugs and singing ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight’. Wannie unnie can’t see us anymore.”

Seungwan rushes after her best friends, picking up her pace when they break into a power walk to the bus station.

“Yerm-ah! Did you get that? Please tell me you got that!”

#red velvet #wenrene #wendy #irene #seulgi #yerim #university au #light angst #slow burn #sorry lucas i love you #you are a true casanova #red velvet writing #yuqi you stay faithful to your soyeon okay #jennie has a latte always i swear

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yamalegacy · 4 years ago

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OVERLOAD & BUNNY GIRL

[ prologue ]

SUMMARY: A new small group of villains is spreading chaos all over Japan and no hero agency seem to know what to do about them — they are perfectly organized, always manage to escape arrest, never cause any casualties and its members remain impossible to identify. All heroes can do is wait for them to strike again and hope that they will be able to capture them.

mirko x villain!female!oc

Any place that made it impossible to avoid large crowds made it on her list of things that she found too obnoxious to deal with, though they often could be found of her ‘Places that cannot be avoided to lead a life worthy of a decently responsible adult’ list. Either way, she hated every entry on both those lists, as they brought nothing but misery to her antisocial existence.

Subway trains were among the worst of the worst. The overwhelming stench of sweat emanating from the man behind her and his bag digging into her ribs were not helping her enjoy the experience right now. At least that one was not one of the touchy kind who thought he could allow himself to feel her up and throw a shitty excuse along the lines of “Sorry, train’s packed”, which was no excuse at all, really.

Things only got worse at the next stop. Distracting herself by unlocking her phone and scrolling through social medias, she had not paid any attention to the new passengers who had stepped inside the train. When she felt something oddly warm and soft tickling her nose, it was too late.

Fluffy bunny ears. There was a pair of fluffy white bunny ears tickling her nose. Fucking obnoxious.

"Hey, bunny girl," she called, and the ears twitched at the sound, "could you keep your ears out of my face?"

"Fuck, sorry," the bunny girl said as she glanced above her shoulder. Sharp red eyes struggled to meet soft green ones — much higher than the little bunny seemed to have expected.

The taller woman blinked. Those red eyes and long lashes, those sharp features and that beautiful, seemingly flawless tan skin. She knew them. She had stared at the little Pro Hero figure discarded on her desk at home just before leaving for work that morning, and even if it had been hours, she hadn't forgotten. That Mirko was a lot prettier than a low quality figure had given her expectations for.

"I don't sign autographs when I'm not in costume," the bunny said after an uncomfortable moment of mutual silent staring.

"I don't want one."

The bunny turned her back to her again, a fluffy ear hitting her smack in the face, and she was certain that she had noticed a flustered blush on the pint-sized Pro Hero's cheeks. How cute. Heroes really were something else, with their out of proportions egos and inability to handle rejection. One more reason to her to loathe their very existence.

But well, that Mirko woman was cute when blushing. (At least it was a discreet blushing, not like her own overwhelming red flush that reached all the way to the tip of her ears whenever she got embarrassed, which thankfully only happened on rare occasions). Poor little bunny.

There was only a handful of stops left before she could step out of the train to walk the rest of the way home, get away from those fluffy ears still too close to her face, from all those people standing too close to one another. Too close to her. And she could not have been more grateful.

As the doors opened yet again, a crowd pushed inside the already packed train. Too much. She could feel too many people pressing against her body, an elbow jabbing her in the ribs as someone struggled to stay upright, a knee harshly bumping into her own. Her left hand cramped up immediately, pain spreading up her entire arm at the tension building inside her body, ready to boil over and explode at any moment.

Bad. It was bad. Real fucking bad.

She gritted her teeth, breath coming out in heavy, shallow puffs, and shut her eyes tightly to focus on keeping it together. Too much noise. It felt like her head was about to implode, threatened the pressure growing inside her skull. She needed to step out, to breathe—

Just before the doors could close again and seal her disastrous fate, strong, calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist and dragged her out, pushing through the crowd for her.

She heard the train leave the station, and before she could process anything else, she was sat on a small, uncomfortable bench. The first thing she saw was a pair of red eyes staring right back at her, as if to try and see through her, to read her thoughts.

Mirko, the Rabbit Hero (Was she really Mirko the Hero when she wasn't wearing her ridiculously revealing bodysuit?), was kneeling in front of her, looking at her with a slight frown, wrist still held tightly in her firm grip.

"You okay there? You look like you're gonna explode, or something."

There was a hint of teasing in the bunny girl's voice, and the woman found herself scoffing at the tone, at the words. She wasn't about to explode, but close enough, considering how messy things could get when her Quirk got overloaded. That bunny had definitely saved many lives without even realizing what she had done.

"I'm okay. Don't worry your pretty Pro Hero head over me."

Through shaky breathes and the pain invading her body, blood pumping against her eardrums, she almost couldn't recognize her own voice. Had she always sounded so pathetically weak? There was no way in hell her voice had always been so croaky... right?

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?" the bunny cooed. That teasing tone again. Though it was much more obvious this time.

But bunny girl wasn't looking at her face anymore, her gaze instead focused on her left arm — she stared for several seconds that seemed to drag on forever, before she started to press the pads of her thumbs roughly over the tensed muscles, massaging the pain away. Her fingers were calloused, but there was a level of knowledge in the way her thumbs moved up and down; it was genuinely helpful.

"You got some water in that bag of yours?" the bunny asked, throwing a quick glance at the messenger bag that had been discarded on the floor. When she nodded in response, Mirko reached for it with one hand, the other one still rubbing at her fingers, and easily took out the bottle, and held it between her thighs so that she could unscrew it open with only one hand. "Drink up. You need to stay hydrated. Cramping like that isn't normal, ya know."

Was that stupid Pro Hero genuinely worried about her health? She wanted to roll her eyes, to laugh, but she found herself unable to. So she grabbed her bottle and drank.

"It's just my Quirk acting up," she explained, unwilling to give the fluffy little Pro Hero more details. "It's not usually that bad, is all."

The bunny girl's hands moved up from her fingers, to her wrist, to her forearm, applying pressure with her thumbs. A shiver ran up the woman's arm as a finger found its way just under the material of her rolled up sleeve. She should have put an end to it, moved her arm away from that hero's grip — but it actually helped, eased the pain of the cramps, made the dangerous tension recede and quiet down to a whisper.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Uh?"

Mirko frowned.

"You could have just ignored me. Everyone else on that train ignored me."

The bunny girl shook her head.

"There should always be someone willing to help. And just ‘cause I'm not wearing my costume, it doesn't mean I don't wanna help others, right?" Mirko smirked. "And my face was right into that dude's smelly armpit. Good excuse to get outta there, ya know."

The woman wanted to laugh, but, still struggling to catch her breath, she just coughed instead. She noticed then that Mirko had retrieved her hands now, that the massaging had stopped. She almost missed the warm contact, the way it so effortlessly eased the pain that had been building up for months now.

"What are you? Eighty and retired?"

"Do all heroes insult the citizens they are supposed to serve and protect?"

"I sure as hell do!"

The Pro Hero was grinning, her teeth pearly white — a pretty smile, no matter if it was overflowing with too much confidence and cockiness.

"Think you can get up?"

At the bunny girl's question, she merely nodded, still unsure. The pain had eased, but it had not left. It coursed through her veins, ever present. She knew that she needed to do something about her Quirk soon, or things would not go as smoothly next time she would feel that pressure inside her body again. There wouldn't always be a stranger in a train willing to help her. Bossman really needed to hurry the hell up.

She watched as the bunny got back up from her kneeling position and extended a hand towards her. She took it and allowed herself to be hoisted up from the bench. And, before she could try to reach down for her bag, the bunny had already grabbed it for her, going as far as hanging it over her shoulder.

“Be good and take better care of yourself, doll face, ‘kay?”

She scoffed at the comment and shook her head. Being lectured by a Pro Hero known to be reckless — she only knew that Mirko was reckless because she had done some research after (accidentally) acquiring the stupid little figure — was a new low in her life.

“There won’t always be a hot stranger in the train to help you.”

The sentence was punctuated with a wink. The only reaction that she could give the hero was a mere roll of her eyes. Who knew a bunny girl could be so obnoxious without even having to try?

“Is flirting part of your Quirk?” she inquired, eyes fixed on the shorter woman.

“Nah, that’s just my natural charms! C’m’on, let’s get out of the station before a crowd comes in, don’t want you to explode, right? Wait— you wouldn’t actually explode?”

“Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t,” she answered, shrugging. It earned her a bark of laughter from Mirko.

They walked side by side for a handful of minutes, not exchanging a word. It was weird. She didn’t know how she had gotten herself in such a situation, playing nice with a Pro Hero.

“Alright, doll face—”

“Stop calling me doll face.”

“Then tell me your name.”

The hero was smirking, proud and cocky.

“You could call me Yumeko, but we’re not going to see each other again, bunny girl.”

The hero extended a hand towards her.

“Usagiyama Rumi.”

“Thank you for helping me. Goodbye, bunny girl.”

“Bye, doll face! Try not to explode all over the pavement!”

AOYAMA YUMEKO ( 青山優芽子 )

QUIRK:: lock & load. allows yumeko to absorb shocks and store them in her body to weaponize them by concentrating the energy of the shocks in certain parts of her body.

#bnha oc #mha oc #mha oc x canon #my hero academy oc #🖊️ overload & bunny girl

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mogadichu · 6 years ago

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SOAST DRAFT TWO CHAPTER TWO

The Monastery of Kelsh stood at the heart of the green island, rich burgundy wood carved in patterns of leaping carp and blooming water lilies swept up in lapping waves. A gleaming gold sun stood at each curved tip of the green tiled roof. The inside was paneled with dark wood, the walls varnished with oil murals of sailing ships and groves of cherry trees. The floors were inlaid with shining squares of gold and turquoise stone. Sahn’s footsteps echoed as he weaved through the maze of the corridors, pausing at the cavernous scriptorium, where graying monks copied sacred texts by the light of an arsenal of candles and lanterns, their necks growing forward instead of upward. Tentatively, Sahn peered over one of their humped shoulders. With steel fingers, they painted a map of Kelsh along the thick beige paper.

Kelsh and only Kelsh.

“Did she fix them, Ue?” Kale poked his head out of the library’s threshold, hearing Sahn’s footsteps echo throughout the stone corridor. He reeked of sweat and grass, his clothes stained from his morning work in the fields. Sahn grinned, holding up the mended scrolls. Kale huffed in relief. “Thank the Baltha and all who came before.” Sahn followed his father back into the room, barely wide enough for a grown man to lay down in. The walls were lined with octagonal shelves stuffed to the brim with scrolls, each covered in a fine layer of dust, from the molded wood floor to the timbered ceiling, skewed slightly like a lopsided honeycomb. This held all of Kelsh’s knowledge. This was all they knew of the world, and Sahn and Kale knew every one forward, backward, and sideways.

The monastery was meant to be a beacon of knowledge, a scholar’s jewel, a place for every Kelshin, no matter their station. Most of the population being illiterate was either an unfortunate accident or a cruel twist of fate.

The monastery may have been a marvel to behold, but the scrolls remained unread, the gleaming stone never grew faded from the feet of a curious reader. All but few of the people of Katha ate and slept and plowed from the cradle to the grave without ever learning their letters. “I’ve got no time for letters,” Old Og, a rice farmer with thin arms and a pot belly, grunted when Sahn had asked about it. “I wake up in the morning, I plow, I muck, I seed, and I go home and sleep. Besides, knowing your letters doesn’t make you smart.”

“But my ma and da know their letters,” Sahn had protested, “and they’re smart.”

Old Og had scoffed. “If your ma were smart, she would have stayed and been obedient, not run off and opened her legs to foreign trash.”

Tongueless monks glided past the door as the two worked, dust swirling around their thick wool robes as they walked. Sahn breathed in the room’s musty scent, wanting more than anything to vanish among the hundreds of scrolls that surrounded him. He trailed a finger across one of the carved wooden covers, nodding in satisfaction when it came back clean. Not a speck of dust would touch these shelves on his watch. He ascended the ladder, sliding the scrolls back into their proper place. The ladder’s bottom step was missing, obliterated from its brave attempt to hold his father’s two meters of muscle. Kale’s massive feet never left the ground again after that day. Instead, he unrolled one of the scrolls, surveying Maudra’s handiwork. “Amazing,” he said. “You can’t even see the tears. How much did you owe her?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. She always makes people pay. How much?”

“Nothing,” Sahn repeated. “She was… busy.” He went still, the runes on the wall barging back into his thoughts. He repeated them over and over like a catchy song, wondering what they could have meant. “Da, could you pass me a pen and parchment?” He drew the symbols in a straight line, forming a sentence. It was surprisingly maddening. They looked like Old Kelshin, but they didn’t make any sense. Open there a to gate with… with… the final three runes, he had never seen before. “Can you read this?” He passed the parchment to Kale, not needing to look too far down to meet his eyes.

Kale studied the parchment for a long while, saying nothing, his eyebrows, like two mice resting above his eyes, knit together in puzzlement. He stroked his thick shallow beard, his chest rumbling in a low, constant hum. Then, he looked up, smiled, and tossed it back. “Ue, if your making up your own language, again, you should know that I won’t understand it.”

“It’s not a fictional language, Da. It’s Old Kelshin.” Sahn hopped back down to the floor, recounting the incident in the temple. “So, is Sister Maudra going mad, then?” It made far too much sense. The Daughters of the Moon had been fading for years, each one dying off with no heirs brave enough to take their place. Sister Hada was the only one left. Sahn had tried to give her as much company as he could. But the poor woman was still alone in that great empty temple, day in and day out. Moons, Sahn did not even know her age.

“I heard where you were this morning.”

Sahn and Kale both turned to stare at Shay, bent backward slightly from the weight of the crate in her arms, overflowing with jars and packages filled with fresh apothecary herbs. Sahn looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. Kale’s face glowed as red as the clover fermenting in its jar. He rushed to her, seizing the crate. “Let me take that, my love.” Shay’s amber eyes never left Sahn as her arms fell away. Sahn went back to work, suddenly very interested in the alignment of the shelves. Behind him, he heard her footsteps padding closer and closer, until he felt her warmth at his back. “You went to the Daughters’ Temple today,” Shay sighed. “You know how I feel about them.”

“Sister Maudra just mended some scrolls, Ma,” Sahn mumbled.

But there was no fooling Shay Darru. “She’s mad,” she pressed, more forceful than usual. “She’s always been mad. That’s why she’s alone.” Sahn flinched as though she had slapped him. “Of all the people on this island, why do you go to her?”

Sahn said nothing, putting scrolls in the wrong places, then the right, then the wrong again. The first warm day of spring wafted into the open windows of the outside corridor, blocking in the heat like an oven. Specks of dust waltzed about the sunbeams. Sahn wished he could be one of those specks, dancing out into the corridor, into the courtyard, anywhere but here. “First there was the old man in the northern monastery,” Shay went on. “Then, there was that homeless boy. Then, your cousin- oh, your cousin.” He could hear her rubbing her brow. “I just don’t understand-”

“Am I not allowed to talk to anyone, then?” He had not meant to sound churlish, but it came out as such.

“Listen, Sahn. We…” she trailed off. Sahn still did not turn around, but he knew she stood there now, her hands on her hips, her eyes on her feet. His irritation began to melt like ice in the sun. Of course, his mother wanted him to talk to people. She just didn’t want him to talk to Kelshins.

In her eyes, he may as well have been talking to skoiias.

Shay tried again. “There isn’t anything for us here, Sahn. These people won’t… Ever since Jehra…” Her voice fractured. Now she truly could not go on. Sahn faced her then, touching his brow to hers. He breathed deeply, prompting her to do the same, in and out, in and out. The pain, the heaviness in her eyes made her somehow look both too old and too young at the same time.

It was the one story that she could never tell; the story of a girl who ran away from a man who bought her, and returned ten years later with a Vyornish husband, a toddler son, and a pregnant belly. Both she and Kale thought their children did not notice the scornful glares, the pointing fingers, the giggles and smirks. It weighed on them like boulders, their shoulders hunched, dragging them through the mud and muck. The monastery was the only place that gave them work (the pension was barely enough for coal, but it was better than sleeping in a rubbish heap). Kale could help in the fields, but that was expected. The other men could only work for a few hours at a time, but Kale could glean until the sun Tuma made his leap across the sky, pulling the plow himself, leaving the munts to graze happily to the side. Shay sighed heavily, turning her head to rest on the hollow of his shoulder. Sahn wished he could take her pain from her like a dirty cloak and throw it in the river. But all he could do was hold her until, finally, she pulled away, meeting his eyes.

“We’re leaving soon,” she whispered. “Don’t forget that.”

Oh, Ma… Sahn stifled a sigh, forcing a smile to his lips. Shay kissed his temple before trotting off back down the corridor, leaving Sahn to lose himself in the silence.

“You can’t kiss a goddess, Da.”

“And why not? You can kiss a ghost.”

“You cannot.” Sahn’s laugh sputtered into a groan as his stomach twisted again, reprimanding him for leaving it unfed. He hadn’t realized that he had missed both lunch and teatime until the library grew suddenly, immensely hot. He looked up from his scroll to see the sun Tuma searing in through the windows. It mercifully vanished behind the slope of Gleaner’s Hill as Sahn and Kale ascended the zigzagging streets.

“I’ll show you,” Kale scoffed. “One day, you and I will both climb up to the Baltha itself and-”

“Kiss a goddess?” Sahn asked, wry.

“Well, now. I didn’t say that. I said-”

But Sahn had already accelerated his pace, hollering toward the glowing windows of their house. “You say you’re going to kiss a goddess, Da? I hope Ma knows.”

“Quiet, you.” Kale slung his gargantuan arm around Sahn’s neck, silencing him with a deep, throaty laugh.

The Darrus’ house stood tall and lopsided, built upward rather than outward, squashed between two squatter buildings like a scroll shoved into a too-small space. The street was bare, everyone else already inside enjoying their dinners. Smells wafted from the string of open windows; fish and rice, wines and sweets and frying bread. But the cloying perfumes of Shay’s apothecary herbs could not be masked. Despite the previous heat of the sun, the evening but with cold, and Sahn craved the delicious warmth that awaited him inside.

“Halt.”

Sahn and Kale stopped short, turning to the threadbare curtain draped limply beneath the front steps. “You are not taking another step,” the voice announced, “until you witness my latest creation.”

The curtain flew open in a flurry of metal shards catching in the dim light. Every inch of Arelya’s cloak was covered in assorted gears and screws shoddily sewn. Some held fast, some dangled precariously from their strings, clattered to the cobbles as she twirled around. The noise was like tinkling bells. “What do you think?” she asked, beaming.

Sahn’s mouth hung open in humoring amazement, but Kale was blunt. “What is it?”

Arelya shrunk a bit. “Well, it’s nothing, really. I just decided to sew everything to my cloak.”

“Why?”

Arelya only sighed. “I’m unappreciated in my talents.” With that, she hopped onto Sahn’s back, her knees pressing into his sides, arms constricting around his thin neck. “Onward, my prized stallion,” she cried. “There is food to be eaten.”

“Ari,” Sahn chuckled through his startled coughs. “Please. If you keep this up, I’ll gain a hump on my back.” “Good,” said Arelya, planting a hard kiss on his cheek. “It will make it easier to climb. Now, hush. Horses don’t talk.”

Sahn began to walk- hobble, actually- up the steps. “Come on, Da,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m sure Ma didn’t hear your intentions.”

His smile fell immediately at the sight of his father’s face. Kale gaped down the dimly lit street, his face blanching from copper to beige, as the two hulking figures stalked up the hill toward the three. Sahn was suddenly unaware of Ari’s weight sliding down his back. Kale backed away deliberately, placing a steady hand on Sahn’s shoulder. One of the men nodded. He nodded back stiffly, herding Sahn and Ari into the house, leaving the door open behind him.

“Finally,” Shay called from the dining room. “I nearly started without you. Come and eat.”

#saga #storyteller #chapter #two #original #fiction #fantasy

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this-lioness · 6 years ago

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Feeling a little overwhelmed.

The kitchen cabinet doors still need to be done. This is taking a lot of time because they have to dry pretty thoroughly between each coat, and each one needs 3 coats + a light touch-up. Then we still have to do the edges. This is not helped by the fact that Marc didn’t sand the primer coat before he started painting the first side (which was supposed to be the “front” of the doors), meaning that with each coat of paint on top all the goopy drips and imperfections became more and more obvious. So now I’m going super slow on the other side so that it will be nice enough to be the display side. I’m not mad I’m just disappointed.

We have a gala coming up in two weeks, and I still haven’t sat down to design / paint the mask I’m supposed to use, nor put together any of the little details. We are doing a 5k in a couple more weeks that we are only now starting to “train” for. I’m less stressed about this than it sounds, but it’s still frustrating.

Both of my parents have birthdays coming up, and an anniversary. And my stepfather really wants to get back out to the lake in time to see the colors in what he personally considers “prime time”, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s really looking for, because yesterday everything looked beautiful to me? And if I take him too soon he’s going to be disappointed, but if I take him too late he’s also going to be disappointed, and my mother is just 100% disappointed with everything 100% of the time.

Marc asked me about five times what I was planning on doing for my Halloween costume until I was finally like, “I’m just going to wear the “candy witch” costume I have up in the closet. And I think he’s disappointed, because he loves Halloween (so do I!) but I just do not have the bandwidth to come up with and assemble a costume this year, just to stand around and hand out candy to kids, and also it’s going to rain on Halloween. I sense he’s disappointed that I’m not as “into it” as in previous years.

I am excited for the holidays, but can I just express how much I hate the huge pile of empty decor boxes that sits behind the couch for 3+ months until they’re all over? I fucking hate living around the clutter of holiday decorations PLUS the clutter of the boxes that the decorations are stored in.

We also still haven’t done the photo for our Christmas card this year, and we need to get on that SOON. Not only does the photo need to be staged, but we need to be sure we have our outfits, and then there is a LOT of digital editing that needs to be done afterwards. Like a good couple hours, at least.

I also have 4+ design commissions that I haven’t even STARTED on! And I’m running out of things to tell these people that aren’t, “I PHYSICALLY CANNOT.”

Oh hi, Thanksgiving is also coming up. His Mom will be coming over the night before, and my mother is pretty much only able to eat liquids and gruel, and then afterwards we like to be “those people” and go out for Black Friday. I NEED to have the kitchen done before all this.

Because the kitchen and dining room is complete fucking disarray I have not been able to clean the house! And a messy house is a huge, huge stressor for me. I was going to try to do laundry yesterday, but the guy was doing the furnace, and so clearly I couldn’t occupy the same space. I am thinking of skipping the gym tonight just so I can put a dent in the huge pile that is accumulating in the bedroom.

Marc has not paired socks in like three weeks? Despite the fact that he knows this must be done regularly, like every time I do the laundry? But it just keeps piling up and piling up and piling up, and no matter how many times I’m like, “SOCKS????”, he’s just like, “Well, I didn’t know where you put them!” (1. They are in the same place they always are and even if they weren’t 2. You could ask) or the excuse is, “I didn’t know they needed to be done, you should have put them where I can see them? (1. You are a grown ass man who wears socks EVERY SINGLE DAY AND WE HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR ALMOST FOURTEEN YEARS. YOU ARE FULLY AWARE THAT SOCKS MUST BE PAIRED AND THAT IT IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. 2. Last time I put the overflowing box of unpaired socks immediately onto your side of the bed, and you MOVED IT TO THE FLOOR AND BLISSFULLY CONTINUED LIVING A LIFE OF UNPAIRED SOCKS.)

We also have THREE events coming up: an author expo, a Christmas craft fair, and A SECOND Christmas craft fair. The summer fair at the cemetery was SO GREAT because people bought a ton of stuff, but this means that I need to rebuild my inventory. And “rebuilding my inventory” isn’t just hopping online and buying shit! I need to design it, and craft it, and then finish it, and do I have enough materials on hand to do it all?

The garden still has not been put to bed for the year, and I don’t know when the hell we’re going to have the perfect combination of time and weather!

Also, I still have two fucking bags of clothes that I need to stage and photograph so I can post it online!

And I haven’t even S T A R T E D photographing my own jewelry to create an online store! Nor do I have any idea when I’m going to have the time to do it!

Also, I would like to be able to draw and paint!

Also, I was supposed to write 10k words in September, and I didn’t fucking write ANY, because how??? Even if I can work up the momentum to finish this goddamned book, when the fuck am I supposed to do it?

And Rosie is getting fixed at the end of this month, and Bones needs to go back to the vet for bloodwork next month to make sure his kidneys aren’t failing and he hasn’t lost any more weight.

So yesterday, on the way home from the gym, when I’m like, “I cancelled the second Christmas fair, the one at the school. It’s just too much for me,” and he’s like, “It’s too much? Are you kidding?”

And I swear to God... I swear to God I would take a bullet for this man, I would literally murder people for this man, and he has my whole heart, but I may have never wanted to fucking strangle him so much as I did right then.

JESUS EFFING CHRIST DUDE. Y’know, I would also like to spend twenty minutes twice a day sitting on the toilet and browsing my phone. I would really also like to check myself out of all responsibilities every time there’s a football game on TV that I want to watch. It would be really great to never have to fucking think about HOW EVERYTHING IN OUR LIFE OPERATES ON TIME AND WITHIN BUDGET AND HOW LITERALLY EVERYTHING GETS DONE, except I CAN’T DO THAT. Last night when we were supposed to be “relaxing” in bed, I sat there sorting through mail so that everything would get paid / done on time, while you sat there scrolling away on your STUPID PHONE THAT I HATE SO MUCH.

He has a bare minimum of responsibilities:

1. Take the garbage bins to the curb and back again.

2. Feed the cats (I occasionally help with this)

3. Do the afternoon litterbox scoop (this frequently gets “forgotten”)

4. Load / unload the dishwasher, hand-wash anything that cannot go in the machine (this maybe gets done once a week, it frequently goes until the sink is so filled with shit that I cannot prepare meals)

5. Take the trash out to the bins (this has been known to sit WAY LONGER than it should)

6. Clean the bathrooms (There are 3 -- 2 full and 1 half. One of the full baths does not need to be regularly cleaned because it’s only there to hold litter boxes, we don’t actually use it. That leaves 1 full bath and 1 half bath, the latter of which is STRICTLY HIS.) The bathrooms are cleaned maybe once a month.

7. Clean the floors (vacuum and mop). This ONLY gets done when guests are coming over, or when I complain that the floors are disgusting and they REALLY need to get done. Half the time he will vacuum (and not thoroughly), and then say, “I’m going to hold off on mopping until right before X gets here, that way they’ll be fresh and clean”, and then will conveniently forget to mop at all.

It’s not as if he’s not aware. We have talked about this. He FREQUENTLY AND WITH HEARTFELT SELF-DEPRECATION will confess that he is terrible about keeping up the house, and promise that he will get better, and it takes everything in my power to say, “No you won’t. Can I just stop pretending that I believe you when you say that, because you clearly do not actually mean it or, if you do, you have no intention of putting forth the physical and mental ambition to follow through.”

And you know what? I DON’T CARE! I love my house and I love taking care of it. I married him knowing these things about him, and he is such a good partner otherwise that I was willing to overlook it, and we laugh about it most of the time and it’s fine. It’s actually fine! I’m not just saying that!

What gets me -- what borderline made me want to murder him -- was the incredulous, “Really? The second craft fair is too much?” last night, and I think the dark depths of my silence afterwards must have clued him into the fact that he had been a Dumbass Supreme, and he spent a good 20 minutes reminding me how awesome I am.

Yes. Yes, I know I’m fucking awesome. Sometimes I just want you to be a little fucking awesome too. PLEASE.

#oc #ugh

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tryagainmv · 7 years ago

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spark up! (finale)

prev ❧

y/n’s playlist

➷ y/n is jaemin’s childhood friend, but when she moves back to her hometown all different types of sparks fly.

when the morning had rolled around, you had doubled the size of your eye bags. you had spent your last night at home staring at your phone, scrolling through your old texts with him, crying to yourself that you had really chosen this stupid option.

you had chosen to leave him.

and you still hadn’t told him that you were leaving today.

your flight was in five hours, and you had stuffed every article of clothing, your electronics, your toiletries, your framed pictures, your sketchbooks, everything and anything that you had that you couldn’t part with into a suitcase and carry on bag.

you were all ready to go, but why didn’t it feel like it?

why was everything moving so fast?

the only thing that felt natural was you and jaemin. it had been so long coming, and everything had felt so smooth.

now, you were giving that up because of everything, because of your mom and your grandma and your heart wanting to reconcile whatever had become of your family.

but you were giving up the boy you had fallen in love with. you had just gotten back, you had just confessed, you had just kissed and you had just gotten closer. he protected you, he respected you, he was with you as long as you could remember. it was always you two.

you couldn’t believe you had to pick.

you couldn’t believe you had picked.

you couldn’t believe you were leaving.

you couldn’t believe the regret you felt.

you couldn’t believe that you had no other options.

you couldn’t believe that this didn’t feel right, that the closure you were supposed to feel was absent.

your grandma knocked on your door, two quick knocks before she came in. her eyes were puffy, but she held a small smile on her face as she walked in.

“are you ready? i called you a cab,” she said, looking you up and down like she was trying to imprint the image of you onto her eyelids.

“yeah, i’m all packed. i still have a while though,” you hesitated, resting your hand on your luggage.

“you remember what you grandpa had always said —“ she started.

“it’s better to be early and sit then to be late and stand,” you both repeated, voices tender.

“yeah, i guess i should go,” you murmured, pulling on jaemin’s hoodie on that you had pulled out of your luggage at the last minute.

you thought it would give you the courage to tell him, the constant reminder of his presence.

it hadn’t.

instead, it had made everything so much harder. you smelled him, you smelled the salty waves of the beach and the butter popcorn and the honey and green tea of his kiss. you couldn’t separate your heart from your head.

“do you want me to come with you, honey?” your grandma asked as you walked down the stairs, lumbering luggage in tow.

“it’s ok, i think that you should take it easy and relax,” you said.

you just didn’t want her to see you so weak. you didn’t want her to see you defeated, your heart snapped and swollen and burnt beyond recognition. you had to be strong, you had to let her see you be strong. she had endured so much. she was being so strong for you, too.

“ok, hon. please, text me before you take off so i know you’re safe and good. i love you,” she said, pulling you in her arms again. she was trying so hard not to cry, not to squeeze you and refuse to let you go.

“goodbye, grandma,” you said, and you finally let your arms drop.

it felt so real. you hated it.

you shot her a reassuring smile to cover up your broken heart and a small wave, walking out the front door of the townhouse that you had been raised in, that had the cute little gardens with the trellises that the ivy had never grown on, despite your grandma’s best efforts. one of the rungs had snapped under jaemin’s weight when he had brought you the crutches.

that felt like ages ago.

now, it was the townhouse with the for sale sign pitched in the yard.

why was everything moving so damn fast?

why did everything feel wrong?

the cab driver honked, and you were snapped out of your reverie that you didn’t even realized you had entered. you apologized and quickly rolled your suitcase down the cracking sidewalk, opening the already popped trunk to put your suitcases in and then slid into the back seat.

“airport?” the driver asked, and you responded with a grunt of acknowledgement. he pulled away from the curb, and you pressed your forehead to the window, your eyes hungrily imprinting the image of the home you’d never visit again onto your brain.

when it faded from your view, you drew your forehead off of the cold glass and leaned back in your leather seat.

you felt one more piece of your heart die.

the drive was silent, the only sound the engine and the planes flying into the international airport. every second made everything more real.

when you pulled up to the drop off curb, you thanked the driver who responded with a curt nod and you gathered your things, walking so slowly into the terminal with feet that felt like cinderblocks.

after following the whole process of security and ticketing, you took a seat in the waiting room with four hours to spare before your flight back would depart. it was empty.

your phone buzzed, and you reached into the lined pocket of your — not your — hoodie.

oh god.

jaemin.

how would you begin to tell him?

it was him who had texted. a simple “baby?”. you hadn’t responded to anything, not even lucas or jungwoo or your twitter. nothing.

you had to tell him something. anything.

you found your fingers locating the contacts app, and scrolling to the j section. they found the name they were searching for.

you were the one who pressed dial.

the phone rang once and was immediately picked up.

“baby, oh my god, how are you? what’s going on?” he rambled out, voice wet and rushed.

“hi, jaems,” you murmured. “jaems, i’m at the airport. i have a flight out.”

“you’re leaving me? you didn’t tell me? y/n,” he cried out, and you heard a door slam and keys jingle.

“please don’t be mad,” you mumbled, your chin shaking. you couldn’t handle this. nothing about this was easy.

“baby, i’m not mad, i promise i’m not mad. please, what terminal are you in?”

you heard a car start.

“3,” you croaked out.

“stay on the phone with me, please, babygirl, y/n. talk to me. how was your night? how did you sleep?” his voice was so scratchy, it was holding back something tangible and all too real.

if he let go of that gate, you thought you would cry.

“i slept like shit, i barely even closed my eyes. i was thinking so much, about how to tell you and how fast my world is crumbling and how much i miss my grandpa. i made you a playlist.”

“i know, it’s so hard, i was the same... have you eaten? and can you send it to me later?”

“i had something small this morning and some water. sure.”

“eat more, you barely slept and you need your energy. thank you.”

“i’m okay for right now. no problem.”

“okay. did you wear something comfortable?”

“yeah, your hoodie and some sweatpants, i find planes are always so cold.”

“i’ve still never been on one.”

“never? it’s been so long, jaems.”

“never had anywhere to go. baby, can you meet me where the cut off for non-ticketed passengers is?”

“you’re already here?”

“i broke a few laws.”

“i’m coming right now.”

you got up, pulling the handle of your suitcase and rolling out, jogging through the atrium and down to where jaemin was standing just outside of security. ending the call and putting your phone in your pocket, you ran through and he turned off his phone, his arms open. you let go of your suitcase and he drew you in, squeezing you and pressing his lips to your forehead.

you tilted your head up and kissed him.

it was different this time.

it wasn’t like the others, it didn’t have tension undercutting it or a rush molded to it. it wasn’t hungry. it was definite, it was consuming, it was healing, it was slow.

it was loving.

it was patient.

your arms wrapped around his neck and you breathed shallowly through your nose, refusing to let go. your hands tangled in the short strands that were growing out on the back of his head, and his hands held you flush to him.

when he pulled away, lips scarlet and cheeks rosy, he sniffed and chuckled.

“why didn’t you just tell me?” he said. “why?”

“i was — i was so scared. i promised not to let you go, remember?” you said, voice so quiet in the early morning of the airport. “i’m doing a pretty bad job right now.”

“i remember,” he admitted. “is there anything i can do to stop you from going?”

you sniffed back pooling eyes and shifted.

“everything seems so final,” you blurted. “i don’t know. i feel like i’m being swept away in a tide. i’m never in control, no matter what i do. i don’t know how i can fix this. i don’t know what i’m going to do.”

“what — what if i asked you to stay? what if i got on my hands and knees and begged for you to stay?” he choked out, hands migrating from your torso to cupping your face.

“please don’t do that, we’re in public,” you laughed out. “i don’t know, jaemin.”

“what if i promised you that i loved you?” he said, voice quieter and eyes more intense.

“i promise that i love you too, jaemin,” you admitted, and you felt the tears overflow.

he wiped them away with his thumbs and kissed you again, deeply and hopefully and full of something so invisible. something that inflated your heart.

they say the heart can see what the eyes cannot, but you almost felt like you could see the desperation in his eyes. you felt it. you felt the love and the want and the need surround you, radiate from his body. you hoped he felt the same.

“please don’t go. you don’t have to go,” he said, a tear rolling down his face just like yours. “you just got here, you just got back, i just got you.”

“i don’t have another option, jaemin,” you sobbed out. “my flight is in 4 hours.”

“you can run from this. run with me, please, y/n. it can be us. it was always us,” he insisted. “it was always, always us.”

“it was always us,” you repeated, more to yourself than to him. “it was always you.”

he pressed more honeyed kisses to your shaking lips, more green tea kisses to your rosy lips. they were full of hope, pleading.

“you’re unenrolled in school now, we only have a few weeks left anyways. you can just tell your grandma and mom that you’re not going and then stay with me. i can take care of you, i’ll go to college, i was accepted a culinary college a few months ago. i was so surprised, i can’t believe i had forgotten to tell you. my mom left me some money for that that i had never touched. you can paint and we can make a life for ourselves. we were never good students anyways, and i can work and you can sell your paintings. i always used to make us meals, remember?”

you did remember. he never put any energy into it, but he had some quality about his food that was so naturally good. he hadn’t cooked for you since you had gotten back.

but could you really run? your mom was expecting you, your grandma was expecting your text when you had boarded. would you be happy if you had left and followed your head? would you be happier if you stayed and followed your heart?

you already knew the answer.

you had always known the answer.

“please run from this,” he whispered, forehead pressed to his. “i want to kiss you when i wake up and when i go to bed. i want you to throw out my bongs and my weed and my alcohol, i’m done with drugs because you’re my drug and you make me feel a way that drugs never did. i want you to make your famous egg recipe you really just learned from jamie oliver. i want to teach you how to board and i want you to teach me how to paint. i want it to be us, forever. please let it be us forever. i want this forever. i missed you so much.”

you had always known the answer.

you had always known it was going to be him.

everything clicked into place.

it was jaemin. it was you two.

now, it felt right.

“okay.”

“okay?”

“really.”

“you’ll run with me?”

“i’ll run with you.”

“let’s go.”

“now?”

“now. why’d you say yes?”

“don’t you remember?

i promised to never let you go.

i still promise to never let you go.”

bonus:

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vignetttes · 6 years ago

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let’s do thissss

my procrastination level is high this holiday season.

still, I owe myself a lot of time for reflection and introspection. a little too much consumption. I could have written much more. I cannot and must not drown in the amount of information that I feed on every day.

hello last day of 2018. It’s past 9pm. I’ve had (sort of) my favorite food downed and laundry is waiting for me in the machine. But I shall force myself to get thoughts penned down here. Feels like my thoughts are everywhere and they’re just shooting themselves out into thin air, leaving me little content for penning down.

So yes, I rather be alone with my favorite food and some down time to reflect (yes, hopefully I get this out) and hopefully squeeze in a TV show episode or some reading - than to be out partying. FOMO doesn’t apply to me here. People can be partying all night- I value comfort over over-stimulation the senses without loud music and big lights and all the chaos that is seemingly fun. HAHA. Dayumm I sound like a party pooper! Close friends aren’t meeting up, closest bestie these days/most of the year is out working and watching over the nation while they party on the rest of 2018 - yes I rather be resting after sadly, a full day’s work. Energy levels these days are, sadly, on the low side.

Yes I haven’t been running. Cutting the gym bill has help me with savings - sort of caught up with the massive saving deficit of the first year. But I do need to be more active or else this is gonna cost me a long term health deficit... I need a kick in the butt to be disciplined! Sleeping and waking up when it’s time to. Doing things when it’s time to. I’ve definitely made more connections this year (yay PTL!) but that also means I should making meaningful conversations and not mindlessly scrolling thru the gram..

Much backlogging to be done. A lot of bible to be read. Journaling to be done. But I’ll take it step by step. Baby steps to a better self - good thing that certain backlogs aren’t really backlogs because they are timeless. I might have already lost out on health a bit because of the year or little exercise - but I pray God restores full health as I look to improve my activity levels.

Many things could have been done better, but much to be thankful for as well. Decluttering has been, well, running well - although I do need another decluttering sesh coming up 2019. I certainly gave more of my time for others - although I feel that my own faults have clogged up my life and made me feel tired from time to time - leaving little space to serve another. But pulling myself together and giving has paid off - people do the same for you. I guess that’s what friends are for. :) Definitely, Ben filled a big space - although I consciously need to make space because humans need space for one another. Space for faults and space for growth. Not to say, an infinite space, bottomless sea for happy moments.

Well I guess things are simple.

Filling myself up with God’s goodness will bring me to an overflow. Easier said, but it’s the only fact and thing that is worth pursuing first. Now the flesh has to die and crucified before anything else. Not succumbing to distractions and the noises of the world. Eyes fixed. I speak God’s grace over my life and people around me. And Your hand to Lead me on the path that is leading to a good life.

#musings

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diamondsharkz · 3 years ago

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I hate that you cannot report ads on tumblr.. just got served a full ass website with cookie notice and all as an ad. It had a lot of text continuing in an hidden overflow but sadly i could not scroll. My feelings were played with tumblr either fix it or hire me so i can complicate the hell out of your codebase fixing it

#hellsite #ads #fuck ads #web dev #tumblr hire me

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perri-berry · 4 years ago

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Tales of Anearth: Fate and Fight

You know what? I’m just gonna go for it and post my WIP novel as I’m working on it for funsies. If you wanna read it go for it(and maybe tell me if you liked it?) If not, keep on scrolling.

Darkness consumes the world. That chill that dances along your skin. The one that sinks into your flesh, making its way down your spine until you’ve become numb to all except the bite of the monster. The world felt this chill as it was consumed by the void of death. Power-mad druids bring the dead to life once more. No one direction. No one target. Every town was empty. Burned, broken and abandoned with not even a ghost haunting them. Every soul had two options; flee the wake of destruction or be unwilling drafted into the ever-growing army of the undead. To overturn whole capitals. To swallow the world.

In a never-ending nightmare survivors swarm the coast. One stronghold to shelter the trembling hands of humanity. Even though it was in the middle of Sunnas there were no sun rays or warm breezes to be found here, only grey skies and fog shroud this harbor town. Waves crash violently against the shore. Rain splatters down onto the city; stirring up the mucky roads and leaving its people to slosh in the filth. Death cannot be avoided even inside these walls. Unmarked graves and burial pits are overflowing. Sickness grips itself to any living thing it can find. So the rain is the least of their troubles, so they simply let the droplets fall down their faces and soak their bodies.

Peasant parents attempt to give their children some shelter from the growing storm while the higher born have already found safe haven indoors. Warm, dry and well-fed, even at the end of the world money can still fix some things. It doesn’t surprise her but her blood only boils slightly. The rain rolls off her hooded, black leather cloak as she cuts her way through the crowds. The cloak which is covering her tall, black finely laced knee-high boots in mud. It saves her pants however, so she was grateful. She always knew wearing pants that were two-toned, one leg a much lighter brown than the other, would be subject to more cleaning but this was at the bottom of her list.

Her hardened admiral blue eyes look up at the inn sign rocking gently in the breeze; the hinges groaning and dribbling with rainwater. Upon entering, she moves from the way of other patrons. Crowded and noisy, she scans the dimly lit bar. Although it was loud, there was no celebration. Weeping, arguing, and drunken slurs mixes together in languages from all over to form one song of desperation. Weaving by tables and around drunks, she squints.

She finally spots what she is looking for. A small, delicate hand covered in intricate swirled light blue tattoos waving to her. A very short Elven woman softly smiled to her. As she sits down, she is greeted with “Pippa! What took you so long? We were worried you had gotten lost”.

Pippa throws her hood down, some of her short wavy jet-black hair sticking to her wet face. Giving her a smile, Pippa sits at the table with the rest of the group. Illuminated by candlelight certainly makes them look a bit more menacing but that isn’t the case.

Straight across from Pippa is A’ommi. The small Woodland Elf has dark-bronze skin that reminds Pippa of melted chocolate, the way it makes her stomach all warm. Brushing her well-muscled frame all the way down to her calves was lovely strands of straight copper hair, that if she were to stand in the sunlight it would light up like a mane of unchecked fire. A’ommi’s round, striking golden eyes look to Pippa with a small sense of humor. If she had heard A’ommi’s joke Pippa’s small smile would have become a steady grin but instead her eyes continue strolling down her body.

Even with the rain and muck A’ommi never wears anything other than simple deer leathers. Not shoes, not a cloak, or even a hair tie to hold all her hair back. They’re poor quality and very worn, the edges starting to break away but they get the job done as they cover the parts to keep her decent but leave enough showing to show off her trails of tattoos consisting of moons and stars. A sharp jab in Pippa’s side grounded her back in reality. “Ah! Denali, watch the nails please” she reminds with a short, distracted chuckle.

With an amused smile and excited carnelian-colored eyes, the silver-hued devil girl titters “I’m sorry, you just weren’t paying attention”.

She has such a sweet voice, so happy and confident. With a thin face, tight-pursed lips and deep purple ram horns on either side of her head the playful girl was easily the most distinguishable girl of the group. Most people just called them called them Durgians, devil-folk, servants of the god Undullos, or any manner of hateful slur but those with open minds just knew they were people with horns and tails. Denali was no exception. She was just a kid after all, only twenty-two.

A kid with a kind heart and cheeky, sharp tongue. Denali always dresses herself in clothes to match her personality. An elegantly made deep ocean blue, knee length dark blue skirt and white top with a sweetheart cut and puffy sleevelets. Tilting her head she slowly starts to braid her lavender colored hair, smiling all the while.

While Denali was taller than Pippa and towered over her mother by a whole two feet she was only the third tallest out of them all. “I wish it wasn’t raining” Denali whines, looking out the nearby window.

“But what would little devil do? It’s much too crowded to play!” Mogar rebuttals, pulling Denali onto his lap.

A...half-man, of few and choppy words. Pippa chuckles very softly under her breath. All heart and muscle; lots of muscles. From the waist down, Mogar’s legs are human. The sight of the upper half of Mogar however makes everyone flee, well almost everyone.

Half-man, half-bull. With a thick neck and broad, wide shoulders Mogar was covered in short, coarse black fur from snout to hips. His well-built chest is littered with jagged battle scars from the years. His long cow ears are comparably soft to the rest of his body, and perhaps the tip of snout right before his wet nose. It makes Pippa smile whenever she sees Denali running her hands over Mogar’s head, all the way to the top of his tall, thick, dark sandy colored oxen horns.

The two enjoy one another's affections greatly. The sheen in his fiery, ember golden eyes make many wonder if a demon of Hell was upon them but never her. Two of the same; like a fire, burning steady and true with unbridled excitement. One feeding the other with bravery and curiosity. Never far apart from the other, they do everything together. A romance only found in stories.

Pippa rolls her eyes before catching A’ommi’s wide-eyed stare. They are fixated on the opposite wall. Turning her head she sees out the rain splattered windows people running and shouting. Several people point towards the shore.

“What the..”. Before they can even get to their feet, the bar door slams open.

A wet, filthy human man with a scruffy face shouts to the curious patron. “There’s a ship! It’s huge and she’s making port!” he shouts before running back out.

“A ship?” Denali echoes.

“We should go check it out” A’ommi states, already out of her seat.

Nodding, the rest of them follow her lead. Soon as she stepped outside, Pippa notices the sky; still cloudy but the rain had ceased. Surrounding the docks, the mass of survivors clamor in hopeful excitement. They part like waves seeing Mogar heading towards them, making it easy for Pippa and them to reach the dock end. A normally tense walk in town felt strangely calm as icy stares fixated on the ship rather then the elf walking with them. Yet another thing to be grateful for.

Pippa’s mouth falls softly open. Fog rolls off the side of the massive ship. Ten thousand dark wood planks create the elegant curves of this tall ship. Masts as tall as castles held white sails embroidered with an unknown yellow sigil are puffed full of wind. The water meets her bows with the dignity of a queen. Creating her own waves, waves that presented them with a new path.

A man wrapped in an emerald colored cloak stands at the end of the boarding ramp. Tousled wisps of black hair fall out from his cloak's hood. The shaded face of a man can be seen from under it. He lifts his head, letting his hood fall to his shoulders. While his body was well toned and muscular his apricot skinned face was skinny with his cheekbones almost making him seem like a skeleton. Almond-shaped, pale green eyes scan the crowd. From them radiates intensity but also an honest kindness. His lips curl upward.

“Citizens! I am Soren SwordBreaker” he declares, his voice booming over them. Pippa takes a step back at this sudden voice.

“I come from the island of Kelradan! Where I have been sent by King Belleran to provide the survivors of the mainland safe passage to the city of Erantel!”. Soren looks out to the confused, murmuring people.

“You’re safe now” he tells them. Although his smile seems reassuring, Pippa is filled with unease.

#Fantasy #beta readers #WIP #writing

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classyfoxdestiny · 4 years ago

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The Himalayan Music Videos of Reshmii Dhaagey & Bismil cross a million views each – ThePrint

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Mumbai (Maharashtra) [India], September 6 (ANI/PNN): Abhishek Ray was launched by Gulzar Sahab in groundbreaking albums. His recent collaborations with the talented Bollywood singer Anwesshaa has caught on like wildfire amongst the audience crossing millions of views.

The grand music videos of these cinematic songs, namely Reshmii Dhaagey and Bismil, were shot deep in the unexplored river valleys, rhododendron forests, and apple orchards of the Kumaon Himalayas.

Known for contributing to the original music of famous Bollywood films like Paan Singh Tomar, Welcome Back, Saheb Biwi Aur Gangster, I am Kalam, etc. Abhishek continues his original album legacy creating one video song every month for his YouTube channel exclusively for music lovers. Abhishek is also a recent recipient of the national Mirchi Music Awards for best non-film songs.

“We went far and wide with a large film unit to shoot these exquisite music videos so that people locked at home due to Covid get to experience some spectacular landscapes,” says Anwesshaa.

She is well known to have sung in multiple Indian languages apart from delivering Bollywood hits in films like Prem Ratan Dhan Paayo, Raanjhnaa, Golmaal Returns etc.

“It feels amazing whenever a good composer gives me some of his finest melodies. What our senses can capture, gadgets can’t fully. But still, these videos have managed to bring a slice of the grandeur of the Himalayas. The more the audiences incline towards independent music, the more empowered artists would feel as this is a space you can own if you have overflowing courage and talent,” she adds.

Abhishek Ray, who’s both the composer and video director of the two songs, feels that independent music is the future in the post COVID era. When people cannot go to theatres anymore to enjoy large songs on the big screen, it is important to give them the same experience sitting at home through cinematic music videos.

Keeping that in mind, Abhishek has been religiously producing one single a month with the icons of Bollywood like Shreya Ghoshal, Sonu Nigam, Shaan, Hariharan, Kavita Krishnamurthy and others.

Abhishek Ray has collaborated with four generations of artists, starting from Gulzar Sahab, Asha Bhonsle to younger voices like Bhoomi Trivedi, Pratibha Baghel, Neeti Mohan. He feels that the world needs original melodies and fine voices to break the clutter of versions and covers.

Anwesshaa adds, “Abhishek Ray intricate compositions are original and lyrically rich as he is very particular about which writers he’ll work with. Reshmii Dhaagey wouldn’t be possible without Avinash Tripathi Ji’s poetry. I enjoyed recording Bismil equally, if not more. Abhishek Ray’s tune, arrangements and his and Syed Gulrez’s lines transport me to a different time zone.”

“Anwesshaa is one of the finest and most accurate singers of Bollywood today, and after having worked on a dozen songs with her, there are many more of our singles coming up to enchant you soon,” says Abhishek.

Abhishek Ray is also known worldwide for being the creator of Sitabani Wildlife Reserve, India’s first private wildlife reserve with a tiger presence. He was recently awarded Swabhiman Bharat for his extraordinary contribution to wildlife conservation. A large part of these music videos has been shot around the reserve.

Watch the song at: https://youtu.be/UAJDFtXkHbQ

https://youtu.be/UfjxJKHi9kc

This story is provided by PNN. ANI will not be responsible in any way for the content of this article. (ANI/PNN)

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mintaka14 · 4 years ago

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In the Temple of the Firebird

Put on your war paint

[The Phoenix: Fall Out Boy]

Daisuke had a weird sense of disorientation as he felt the cold paving stones under his hand. He crouched in the sideways shadow cast by the eaves of the building behind him as the sun rose on the eastern horizon, and looked up into the unwinking gaze of a red and gold bird statue spreading its wings over the edge of the roof. A broad white marble terrace stretched out in front of him, stained pink by the dawn sky, until it dropped away in steep stone steps to a courtyard and the three scarlet gateways beyond with their dark, curving roofs.

Past the gates, the courtyard rose again in layer upon layer of terraced steps and carved marble balustrades up to the vast, blood-red shape of a temple that loomed over everything. Then the raucous noise of crow calls caught his attention.

The shadow of wings flitted over the wide, white expanse of the courtyard below where he crouched, growing thicker and louder as the crows closed in. More crows were sweeping in, spiralling around someone at the gates.

In the middle of the hurricane of wings, Daisuke could see a splash of brilliant red and gold. A girl about his own age in scarlet silk and gauze robes had her arms thrown up, the gold and jewels in her headdress glittering like fire as she tried to fight off the birds flurrying around her. She backed up against the pillar of the gate, the sweeping, embroidered hem of her gown almost tripping her and her hair unravelling as claws caught in the elaborate braids and coils. Daisuke could see the flash of a red sleeve and a flicker of dark hair as the girl snatched up a broken pole from the ground beside her, swinging it to smack one bird into a tumbling fall, but there were too many to take its place.

The crows in the air were dangerous enough, but as they touched the ground they morphed into more of the gangly, tattered warriors that had attacked Daisuke near his home, all beaky noses and wicked black eyes with deadly blades in their hands. The girl lashed out again with her broken stick, but she didn’t stand a chance against two dozen of them.

“Where is He?” one of the crow-creatures demanded harshly. “Where is the god Suzaku?”

“The ceremony didn’t work!” the girl shouted back. She swung her stick, and the crow-creature danced warily out of reach. “He’s not here!”

There was a hiss, and a crow fell out of the air with a scarlet arrow through its heart. Daisuke’s head snapped around at the sound of a shout. Another arrow whistled through the air, and another one, and more crows dropped. On the other side of the courtyard, past the gate, Daisuke could see the distant figure of an archer standing in the doorway of the tiered temple, coolly fitting another arrow to his bow. Two more figures were running towards the steep steps leading down from the temple, but Daisuke could see that they were too far away. They wouldn’t get to the girl before the crows had done serious damage.

He was rising to his feet, his hand dipping into his pocket and out again to flick his butterfly knife in an arc even as he broke into a run. Daisuke vaulted over the balustrade and fell on the crows from above.

Beaks and feathers fluttered blackly at the edge of his vision, and morphed into lanky creatures with cadaverous, hungry faces. Daisuke ducked blades and striking talons with unthinking ease, and snapped his foot into the side of the nearest creature. He slid a little in a thick puddle of blood and straightened, bringing his blade up to catch another one in the ribs. At the distant edge of the courtyard Daisuke caught a glimpse of broken pennants and overturned braziers still smoking, as if they had only just been abandoned.

The girl screamed as one of the crows raked at her arm from above. It was her. The voice that had called him.

Daisuke spun towards her and struck out at a creature closing in behind him, turning under another grasping claw as he came up. The crow warriors skirted around him, tumbling back over themselves as they circled cautiously. His blade flashed out again and another of the half-human half-crow things collapsed in a shower of feathers. Daisuke came face to face with the girl.

There was fear in those dark eyes and pale, pointed face, and more than a little fire.

Movement flickered to her right and with a wordless cry Daisuke threw himself at her. She tumbled and fell as his shoulder hit her, and his blade shot out, catching the creature across the throat. The world faded around him and focused into the feel of metal on bone, each sharp stab and each high shriek meaning that he'd struck home. The rake of claws across his back and the flicker of pain along his arm was an irritation, nothing more, and hardly a distraction.

He was dimly aware of two more figures joining the fight. The one in the short black tunic moved like shadow through the battle, and Daisuke caught only a brief flash of light on a blade before another crow warrior disintegrated.

The warrior in pale silk robes was sunlight to the shadow, and the air fairly glittered as his sword swept through it. He moved in a deadly pattern that brushed the crows from the sky and turned the ground-borne creatures into nothing more than feathers and blood.

Then Daisuke was too caught up in the battle to pay attention to them.

Until there was nothing left to fight.

Daisuke wiped his knife on his jeans, and casually swung it shut. He looked around to find the girl they had been defending hurrying up the steps of the building he had landed in front of, her torn skirts bundled up in one hand and her dark hair dishevelled and caught in the glittering beads of her headdress.

“You could say thank you, sugar!” he called after her.

“Thank you!” she responded without breaking stride. The sunlight and shadow warriors both followed, their entire attention on the girl. Daisuke frowned, and tailed after them, looking for answers.

The dim light in the building left him blinking after the early sunlight outside, and it took Daisuke a moment to make out the outline of red columns and the ornate altar with the tablets of the ancestors. On each side of the altar were elaborately carved shelves stacked with scrolls and books, and the dark-haired girl was moving rapidly along the shelves, scooping books into her arms. Her elaborately embroidered red and gold robes were trailing on the floor behind her in tatters, but she seemed completely indifferent to their state, or to the long, bleeding scrapes that Daisuke could see on her arms and cheek.

The shadow fighter moved to stand in the doorway, his eyes trained on the sky, but the one who looked like a prince or an elf from a big budget drama strode over to the girl in the red robes.

“Priestess, you should not have risked yourself like that for the Chronicles of Suzaku,” he insisted, reaching to take them from her hands. “We cannot take the books with us.”

She yanked them out of his reach, hugging the books to her chest.

“I need them,” she said fiercely.

The princeling tried again, and the dark-haired girl backpedalled to put the altar and the ancestors between them.

“I need to find out why the ceremony didn’t work, and what I did wrong, otherwise I can’t fix it. It’ll be in the Chronicles. It has to be,” she added a little desperately. The princeling moved slowly as if he didn’t want to startle her until he was on the same side of the altar.

“Marin, it is not like you to be so unreasonable. More tengu will be coming soon, and the oni demons will not be far behind them. We need to go back for the rest of your Seishi warriors, and we need to leave here before the demons arrive.” The princeling’s hands closed gently over hers clasped tightly around the books. “I know you think you need these books, but they are not worth your life.”

In that moment, Daisuke pushed himself forwards.

“Wait,” he drawled, “you went through those crow things, and you called me here, because of some books?”

Everyone swung around to look at him. He was aware of the way the princeling’s hand dropped to the hilt at his side, and the way that the dark-haired girl reached out to touch his wrist, easing it away from the sword.

“What do you mean, I called you?” she demanded.

“I mean one minute I’m at home, then I hear you yelling for help and here I am.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing around the Temple, and turned his gaze back on this unknown girl. “Wherever here is. Care to enlighten me?”

“You’re from Japan?” she asked faintly.

“Arakicho district, Tokyo. I’m getting the feeling that you’re not from around here either.”

“I’m from Ichibancho.”

Daisuke’s eyebrow lifted, and he suppressed a whistle. Rich girl.

“Zifeng! There are more tengu coming!” the shadow guy in the doorway called urgently to the princeling, who was watching Daisuke and the Priestess with a frown. Dark specks were drawing closer in the brilliant blue sky.

The princeling called Zifeng looked around quickly, then turned back to the girl with her armload of books.

“Marin, you cannot take them all,” he caved in. He reached down and snatched up a long, deep basket that was obviously used for carrying the books, and held it out to her. “Take as many as you can fit in here. The protective wards are still intact, so the archives will be safe until we can return for them, but we have to go now.”

The Priestess he had called Marin said nothing, her jaw tensing, but she began loading books into the basket until it was overflowing. Daisuke noticed that in spite of the haste she was being very careful with how she stashed the volumes.

“Hurry!” the lookout urged, and Marin swung the basket onto her back, staggering a little at the weight.

“Marin!” the princeling interrupted from the doorway, and Marin hurried towards him. She glanced back over her shoulder at Daisuke.

“Well? Are you coming?”

So Daisuke followed as they ran down the steps and bolted for the broad red gates across the courtyard. He could hear the first sounds of the crow demons in the sky behind them now. Through the arch of the central gate, the massive shape of the Temple loomed in front of them, casting its tiered shadow across the paving stones. They hit the first of the steep steps just as the tengu swept overhead.

A black feathered body fell to his right, splayed on the carved stone slab running up the centre of the staircase and blood trickled around the engraved figure of a phoenix, staining the stone dark red. Another bird tumbled out of the sky with an arrow through it. Crows rained down around them as they ran, until they neared the top of the steps and Daisuke could see another group of people in the Temple doorway. The archer he’d seen before was standing, braced, a little to the front, putting arrows into the air with impossible speed, and another girl was running purposefully towards them with a sword in her hands and skirts of rose-coloured silk and gauze swirling around her. Jewels sparked in the flying strands of her smooth, black hair.

“Princess Meixing!” Zifeng shouted at the girl. “Get back!”

The running girl ignored him. As she drew closer, Daisuke could see how very young she was, but she held the sword as if she knew what she was doing with it, and there was a fierce light in her eyes. She swung in behind Marin and turned to face down the approaching crows.

“Meixing!” Zifeng repeated, a note of fear or anger in his voice.

“Get the Priestess to safety,” the young princess cut him off. She spun the sword in a tight curve, her feet braced, just as one of the other members of the group closed in on her other side. There were no weapons in the big man’s hands, but he held them open as if he were about to throw something and there was stern purpose in his tall frame. The plain brown lines of his linen jacket were oddly stark next to the princess’ bright glitter, but they both stood their ground, an odd pair, as the crows rushed down at them.

The princeling stopped himself on whatever he’d been going to say, his expression grim, and wheeled around to sweep Marin and her basket of books through the door of the Temple. Daisuke followed after them, not sure what else to do.

The moment Marin was safely through the doors, Zifeng spun around in a swirl of perfect hair and pale silk robes.

“Fall back!” he ordered, his voice ringing over the clamour of the crows. Daisuke glanced back to see the Princess Meixing sweep another crow out of the air, and another crow morph into that weird, spindly demon form as it touched the ground only to be engulfed by a tide of vines that climbed out of the stones to drag it down and break it. Daisuke’s eyes drifted to the tall young man in the unprepossessing tunic as he lifted his hands again, as if he were drawing something out of the ground. Another fountain of vines erupted into the air, commanded by the sweep of his hands, and the crows scattered in noisy alarm.

“Fall. Back!!” Zifeng shouted again, and they pivoted and broke into a run for the doors. Crows shrieked in the air behind them, closing in. The young princess skidded through the doors with the vine guy close on her heels, and the huge doors were slammed shut.

“The wards will take care of the tengu,” someone said.

Daisuke could hear the birds’ bodies slamming against the wooden doors, but the sounds eventually died away, and outside was silent. Inside, he looked around with interest.

The Temple was lit with the fire burning in the bronze brazier in the middle of the hall, and its light caught on the pattern of the constellations marked out on the marble floor around the brazier, and on the gilt figures painted on the vast red columns. Daisuke’s gaze followed the columns up and up into the shadows far above.

And Daisuke found himself looking up into the bright ruby eyes of the massive firebird towering over him. Light caught on the great claws of the statue and flickered like fire on the golden feathers. Daisuke felt something crawl down the back of his neck. He shivered slightly.

"What is this?" he breathed.

At the sound of his voice, Marin spun around, startled, as if she had forgotten he was there. It was interesting to note how many of the roomful of people were now standing between Marin and him with weapons in their hands. Vine guy and the young princess with the sword were watching him fiercely, and the archer had his bow half-pulled. Daisuke had no doubt that should he make a wrong move, there would be an arrow through his heart before he could blink.

The young man in the shadowy grey tunic from the courtyard was standing just out of Daisuke’s line of sight. When Daisuke turned his head slightly to include him, he was the only one who didn’t seem to have a weapon in his hand but he was holding himself with a balanced tension that Daisuke recognised. He gave Daisuke a brief, enigmatic nod. Daisuke lifted an eyebrow.

"Now, there's a warm welcome," he muttered wryly. He counted seven defenders between him and the Priestess.

"How did he get in here?" a boy with the beads and robes of a monk, and a very un-monk-like scowl, growled. He held a long, rough staff in a fighting stance.

"I walked through the door."

"How did you get through the Suzaku wards? Only the Priestess or the Seishi bound to the god Suzaku should be able to get in here.”

“And that’s another problem I need to solve,” Marin said from behind the wall of protectors, her voice shaking a little. “Along with what he’s doing here in the first place. I really don’t need this right now, on top of everything else.”

“Hey, this is all on you, lady. You’re the one who yelled for help, and here I am. So how the hell do I get back home?”

“Show some respect when you speak to the Priestess of Suzaku,” the monk boy snapped.

“I’ll respect Her Worshipfulness plenty when she sends me back where I came from.”

“Does this really look like the time to be arguing about this?” she shouted at him.

“We do not have time for this,” Zifeng interrupted decisively. “There will be another flock of tengu arriving soon, once they realise that the last cohort failed, and while we are safe in here behind Suzaku’s wards we cannot remain here forever. We have to take the Priestess to safety.”

“Yes, but where?” Meixing asked.

“Somewhere where I can work out what went wrong with the Summoning Ceremony,” Marin said. She shot Daisuke a stricken look as she hefted the basket of books a little higher on her shoulder, revealing another deep gouge on the side of her neck.

“And somewhere I can tend to those crow scratches before they turn septic,” a young woman said from the other side of the Temple. She stepped briskly towards them, the stiff white brocade of her gown rustling as it brushed against the stone floor, and reached to tilt Marin’s chin with a practised efficiency. Her lips tightened slightly as she inspected the bloody marks.

“Can it wait a little longer, Xuelian?” Zifeng asked her. “If there is no imminent threat to the Priestess’ health then we need to leave.”

“It will have to,” the young woman said reluctantly. “I don’t like the look of those wounds, but Marin isn’t in immediate danger.”

Daisuke shot a look at the dark-haired Priestess, but she said nothing. Her gaze had dropped to the ground, and in the flickering light it looked like her already pale face was growing paler.

“Then we move now,” the princeling was saying, and he turned to the doors. “Stay close, and keep the Priestess under cover.”

“Even him?” the young monk asked, jerking his head towards Daisuke.

“We are not leaving him behind,” Marin spoke up, lifting her head.

“Daisuke,” Daisuke said casually.

“What?”

“My name is Daisuke.”

“Marin Hoshimiya,” she told him vaguely, her attention stil focused on the princeling. “Can we finish the introductions when we’re not in mortal danger?”

“Yes, Your Worshipfulness,” Daisuke said mockingly, and followed the source of his current predicament out of the doors.

“We will make for the Zhuque Gate,” Zifeng decided, and Daisuke noted the way his eyes were already scanning the horizon, but the brightening dawn sky remained clear with no specks of black to mar it. The group moved across the broad terrace towards the steps, and Daisuke found himself falling in beside the Priestess.

The chaos out here was as bad as the northern doors had been. There was a litter of pennants and musical instruments everywhere, as if people in the middle of a celebration had abandoned them and run. Crows lay in pitiful little heaps of feather and bone and broken wings, but some of the bodies were human, with shattered swords in their hands. A woman lay slumped under a broken piece of balustrade, her eyes still blankly open under the deep red claw marks scored across her face.

“Oh, gods, there were still people here when it started,” Daisuke heard the Marin’s horrified whisper, and he glanced over at her. The Priestess’ face was paper white beside him, her attention fixed on the unmoving mounds.

“So what’s a classy girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, and she shot a distracted look in his direction, her attention pulled away from the bloody chaos, as he’d intended. “Where is this, anyway? Ancient China? Have we travelled back in time?”

“Not exactly.”

“What are those things, anyway?” he asked curiously. He nudged one limp little heap with the toe of his shoe as he passed, and it shed a few feathers. A black beak knocked against the stones as he rolled it over. They were definitely crows.

“Tengu,” Marin said shortly. “Crow demons. They live for mischief and destruction, and one’s a nuisance but in a flock like that they’re deadly. You should be dead now, fighting them with just that little knife of yours.”

“Hey, I’m tougher than I look,” he protested. She shot him a flat look.

“Are you as crazy as you looked, fighting a flock of tengu with a teeny tiny knife?”

“So, tengu,” Daisuke deflected, not sure he liked the direction things were going, but at least she had a bit of colour back in her face now, and she didn’t look like she was going to throw up anymore. He glanced around him. “That doesn’t sound like they should fit in here. It doesn’t sound very Chinese to me.”

“No, they’re not. But this isn’t exactly China.”

“Well, I don’t know where this is,” he said in some exasperation. “I just know it’s not home, and it’s not Japan, and frankly I don’t care where we are as long as I get home soon.”

“For whatever I did that dragged you here, I’m sorry, okay?” she snapped back. “I really didn’t mean to pull anyone else into this mess. I’ve been fasting for three days now for that damn ceremony, and I’m tired, and in case you haven’t noticed we’re in the middle of a crisis here. As soon as I have a moment to think straight I will work out how I brought you here and I will send you home, because the gods above know that I really don’t want to spend another minute dealing with you on top of everything else.”

She broke off with an angry gasp as the group passed under another row of elaborate gates carved and painted with fantastical creatures. Daisuke looked up into the curious eyes of yet another red and gold bird staring down at him with its wings outspread, and he scowled up at it.

Beyond the gates, the broad street in front of them boiled with chaos. Everyone seemed to by scrambling to get out of the way, the street choked with carts and overturned baskets. The air was loud with the noise of shouting, braying animals, and crying children. Some of the shops closest to the Temple had their awnings pulled down and an abandoned air about them, and scattered fruit rolled in the street to be trampled underfoot. The battle in the Temple grounds had clearly spilled into the streets beyond as people had escaped from the tengu attack.

Daisuke glanced to the right, where the Temple street opened up into the main street. He could see helmets moving towards them against the flow of the crowd, their red plumes and tassels bobbing as they ran.

“Not that way,” Meixing insisted behind him. “I’m not risking going back to the palace.”

In the distance, Daisuke heard the sonorous boom of a massive drum, and a deep bell began to toll over the city. Zifeng came to a stop, holding up a hand. For a brief moment, the scrambling crowd around them seemed to freeze, carters and scholars and soldiers with their heads all turned towards the south as the bell continued to toll and the drum thundered its cryptic message.

Zifeng’s serene face betrayed a crease of tension as he exchanged a look with the shadow guy.

“The city is under attack,” Zifeng said quietly. “Which means that the gates will be closing, and our retreat is restricted. The Imperial Guards will be searching for us, or rather for the Priestess and the Princess.”

“I’m not going back there,” Meixing repeated fiercely. “And you need me if we’re going to try to summon Suzaku again.”

“We don’t have much time,” the shadow guy said to Zifeng. “The tengu will regroup and return soon. And the southern gates are no longer an option, if I’m reading the drum code right. That’s where the attack is coming from.”

“We make for the harbour,” Zifeng decided. “It will take us an hour or so to reach there, but that is our best chance, and my family has a ship berthed there.”

He turned to the rest of the group. “We will have to split up. Tian Zhen, take the Princess and Xuelian with you. Do you know the way to the western docks? Keep heading downhill, and look for the ship with the vermilion bird on the hull when you get there. Xuelian can get you past any checkpoints. Do not use your power unless you have no other choice, Tian Zhen. We do not want to draw attention if we can avoid it. And Meixing, no heroics.”

He held the young girl’s gaze for a long moment until she gave a reluctant nod.

“Zhu Yi,” Zifeng turned to the archer. “You and Zhang Yong should skirt around the inner walls until you get to the Liang Gate. That will be one of the last to close.”

He pivoted to the shadow warrior. “Jing Yun…”

“I’m with the Priestess,” Jing Yun said pleasantly, his hands tucked casually in his belt. “Your powers are formidable, but you need to keep her out of sight of the tengu and the guards, and you’ll need my… skills.”

“You can get us past the outer gates?”

“I have a plan.”

“Does it involve your Suzaku-given talents?”

“We might need to save that for emergencies,” Jing Yun said, and Zifeng nodded.

As the others divided up and melted into the crowd, leaving Zifeng and Jing Yun with Marin, Daisuke caught the speculative look that Zifeng gave him. Marin must have seen it too.

“He’s with me,” she told him firmly.

“Am I?” Daisuke asked drily.

“What’s your alternative?” she shot back.

Daisuke glanced around at the street and the buildings and world that looked like it was straight out of ancient China. The bell still rang its sonorous warning of a city under attack, and the drums rumbled over the city. He had no idea where he was, or how to get home. He turned back to the girl who had somehow brought him here.

“You have a point,” he conceded.

They set off again, and Daisuke lost track of the houses and shops they passed. He heard someone calling out to offer fortunes told and futures revealed, and a sharp voice cutting over the noise to announce the freshest fish in the city. Men in faded livery jogged past carrying swaying sedan chairs. At the edge of the road, a group of children were kicking a leather ball between them. The pandemonium of the tengu didn’t seem to have spread this far from the Temple, and the warning drums hadn’t stirred panic yet in spite of the black specks circling the sky above them. A few people turned towards the sound, but there was no urgency in their faces yet

Jing Yun led them through the crowds, past the noisy baskets full of ducks and the poles covered in dried eels, dodging close to the teetering towers of ceramics and the bright piles of cloth.

Daisuke didn’t realise what he was up to until he stopped in front of a small brick building that had seen better days. The sign hanging over the doorway looked as though it had been stripped of all but the barest hints of blue and gold.

“This is your plan?!” Zifeng said in an outraged half-whisper. “To break into a guard house and steal armour?”

“Seems like a good plan to me,” Daisuke put in, and Zifeng turned a frigid stare on him.

“Can you think of a better way to stay out of sight and get through the outer gates?” Jing Yun muttered, his attention on the padlock on the door. Daisuke raised an eyebrow as Jing Yun slipped a thin piece of metal out of his sleeve and fitted it into the lock.

“You have got to teach me how to do that,” he said enviously. Jing Yun looked up with a grin.

And the door swung open.

“What’s more important here?” Jing Yun asked Zifeng reasonably. “Playing by the rules, or keeping our Priestess safe? The city guards are looking for us, and the tengu are still hunting, and it seems like a bad idea to be arguing about this in the middle of the street.”

“Can we decide quickly what we’re going to do, because the longer we stand here the more chance there is that we’ll be caught,” Marin interjected, and Zifeng’s frozen look melted a little.

“Your safety is paramount,” he conceded.

Jing Yun stepped inside without waiting for Zifeng’s approval. Daisuke was stopped as Zifeng blocked him, his eyes grim in his perfect face. There was a challenge in that look.

Zifeng said darkly, “Perhaps we should leave him here.” Marin turned on him.

“How many times do I have to say it?” she snarled. “Somehow I brought Daisuke here, and he’s a part of all of this. He’s my responsibility, so until I work out what’s going on and how to make it right and send him back to Tokyo, and how to save the whole damn world, then he’s coming with us. So stop trying to thwart me, Zifeng!”

Zifeng had backed up a startled step.

“Marin, this is not like you,” he said, and Marin’s face crumpled with guilt and fatigue. She buried her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sounding exhausted and on the verge of tears. “I’m really sorry. I’m just… so tired, and the world keeps spinning around me, and I screwed up the ceremony somehow and now there are tengu and demons and people dying and I don’t know how to fix it!” she wailed softly.

Daisuke shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to comfort her. He didn’t think that her two protectors would appreciate a dangerous stranger touching their Priestess. She lifted her face from her hands, a lost look in her eyes as she turned to Daisuke.

“I’ll fix this. I will fix this and get you home,” she said with the weight of the world in her voice.

“Then let’s get you somewhere safe so we can work it all out and get home again,” Daisuke told her gently, and held the watch house door open for her. She passed inside, and as Daisuke moved to follow her he found his path blocked again by Zifeng, whose perfect features were rigid with fury.

“You heard the lady,” Daisuke said cheerfully. “I’m with her.”

And he pushed past Zifeng into the watch house.

#fushigi yuugi

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