#CASIO: Clothing

[bundleofboys]

Poor Zarak isn't used to being the boss of a nightclub, or its lead performer who just happens to be 100% his type...

You can read the rest of the comic (uncensored) and check out more content of these two over on twitter, cohost, and bluesky!

[your-mom666]

🖤

[piratefishmama]

Fake It Till You Make It | Part 8

"Oh Steven..."

The view of Eddie was obstructed pretty quickly when Steve manoeuvred him behind him, turning fully to face his dad using his broader body to shield Eddie from view. “He’s—”

“Panicking. He’s panicking. I have eyes Steven. Lynda get this poor boy a glass of water would you?” A chair creaking from inside the room told them all his mother had gotten up to do as she was asked, and while that might have caused most to relax, Steve still stood his ground. A human blockade. “It’s okay son, you’re going to have to move eventually it might as well be now, he’s safe.”

“Is he?” Eddie rested his forehead against the centre of Steve’s shoulders, right at the base of his neck, just… rested there, Steve wouldn’t let anyone hurt him, it’d be okay.

“Well I’m not about to invite my son to send me to hospital, am I?” A wise choice, it seemed like Steve was fully prepared to do just that if necessary. “This house is safe for you both, and it always will be.” John stepped to the side a little, just enough to be able to see around Steve’s shoulder, although Steve was tempted to move into his way again, he’d put himself in the way of a train if it meant protecting someone else, Eddie was certain of it at that point “Eddie… was it?”

He’d overheard while Steve was talking to him. He knew his name. Eddie looked up, basically peeking over Steve’s shoulder. It was awkward, given they were almost the same height, but… he still felt safer there.

“Oh heavens, John step aside, you’re frightening the poor thing to death” And there was Lynda, nudging John aside with a tall glass of water in hand “Eddie, come on out from behind there,” as if ‘there’ wasn’t her damn close to six foot son “it’s okay” he was a grown man, yet he felt like he was seven all over again, hiding behind a couch away from the police who’d come to get his dad.

He’d only hidden because his dad used to tell him that if he was naughty the police would take him away, and he may have… coincidentally… drawn on his bedroom wall, he’d hidden it pretty well but… there were suddenly police bashing down the door!

Just so happened they were there for his father, who’d been doing much naughtier things.

Steve didn’t move, so that left the choice up to him. A choice he had to make, no matter how scary it was. He was there, there was no getting out of the plan now. They’d seen him, he couldn’t make a run for it… or he could but he’d never able to look Steve or Dustin in the face ever again, which left only one real option.

He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Steve’s bicep, and stepped out from behind him. Steve’s hand was very quick to find his, holding him, grounding him, a tether to keep him stable and god it felt nice to have it there, warm, and secure, fingers perfectly slotted between his own. He could only imagine what a pair they looked though.

The King and the Court Jester.

The Jock and the Freak.

Perfect and Completely Imperfect.

He knew what he looked like, how people looked at him, even in clean clothes, even having brushed his hair, he still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed sometimes, and Steve… god… There weren’t words for how perfect Steve looked.

It seemed effortless but Eddie knew Steve must have put in genuine effort. It was attractive how much effort he must have been putting in.

They all looked that perfect though. He truly looked so very out of place. Lynda in her pristine white shirtdress, a belt around her waist giving it shape and John in his expensive pale blue polo and pressed chinos.

There he was, in a hand-me-down red and black flannel, the only pair of jeans he owned that weren’t ripped at the knee (although they were getting there), hands full of silver rings, an old handed down Casio watch, scuffed Reeboks, and the one band Tee he had that wasn’t dirty.

The pickings had been slim he really should have done some laundry. He should have accepted Steve’s offer to help him clean up. They’d have been still doing it!

“Hi… I’m—I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson.” They didn’t know the family name, and it didn’t surprise him either, Wayne wasn’t raised in Hawkins, he’d just settled there after he learned Eddie would be handed to him. Traded his truck for a trailer in a random pick of a town and swapped his long haul journeys for night shifts at the plant and that was that.

They couldn’t have known his family name.

“Oh my…” it wasn’t a disgusted oh my, although her eyes did widen, he felt… seen as she looked him up and down, seemingly sizing him up, and then… she turned to Steve and all his worries seemed to vanish when she, with genuine mischief in her voice, said “he’s a bit out of your league isn’t he, Steven? I know we encourage you to be ambitious but—”

“W-what?!” And that was Steve, flustered in his response “No, I’m—he’s—”

“Sweetheart” oh she sounded so cheeky “he has tattoos” Eddie quickly glanced down at his bare forearms where he’d rolled his sleeves up earlier, bats on display, his tattoos usually a source of judgement, she wasn’t judging him though. “You’re afraid of needles.”

“I am NOT!”

“That’s not what I remember from your last round of shots.”

“I was five.” At least he was the last time they’d gone with him to get his shots done. "I've had plenty of shots since then."

“These fears don’t just vanish, Steven, how do you expect to hold onto this handsome young man if you can’t even handle a little pri—”

“Lynda please.” John interrupted what would have been a stellar takedown with a comical amount of exasperation, the man pinching the bridge of his nose as if staving off an incoming headache. Eddie, against all odds, was smiling, fighting back genuine giggles, the free hand not wrapped within Steve’s lifted to cover his mouth as if to hold them in.

“What? It’s not like it didn’t work.” She handed John the glass she’d been holding, since Eddie no longer seemed to need the water, then took a step closer to Eddie “Eddie, dear… how about you and Steven come into the living room, and we can get to know you a little, how does that sound?” There was no anger in her tone, no disgust hidden in the layers of it, she just… she smiled at him.

Where were these ‘rich assholes’ people kept claiming the Harringtons to be? Because he didn’t see them. He could understand the hesitation to trust, he was still nervous, the fear still licked at his very soul that maybe, just maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike when he couldn’t get out, but… was there any reason to be distrustful?

Had the Harringtons ever been outspoken against his people? Ever? Save for maybe one or two occasions where Steve had called someone queer as an insult back in high school, before he’d obviously grown.

People just assumed.

Those at the bottom just assumed the worst of all of those at the top. Same as most assumed the worst of him, that he was mean, that he was scary. They were just at opposite ends of the social ladder. There had to be some good among the rich, why not the Harringtons?

Why couldn’t they be good? Why not at least give them the opportunity to be good?

“Y-yeah… yeah, that’d uh—that’d be okay I think.” Steve squeezed his hand so gently, another attempt to ground him, to keep him tethered. To keep him calm, and it worked. It helped. Steve was there, Steve would keep him safe. No matter who came at them, Steve would keep him safe, not a King at all.

A loyal Knight, a Paladin, a Defender. He’d probably be safe walking through the fiery pits of hell itself, as long as Steve was there beside him. “You sure you’re okay, Eddie? We can go back to yours, we can just… try another day.” And Steve checked in with him too as his parents returned to the Living room, Lynda pausing at the door to wait for them while her husband continued on.

Steve’s hand warm around his, looking at him with a level of concern nobody had bothered to bestow upon him before.

Not even Wayne, but Wayne was kinda gruff, he showed his love in other ways. Steve barely knew him… he was just, that kind of person apparently.

“Nah, we’re here now and with you here? My very own big, strong knight in shining armour? I’m pretty sure I could brave anything.”

And that bashful little smile of Steve’s whenever someone praised him?

Beautiful.

Beautiful enough to chase any bad feelings away with their tails between their legs. Beautiful enough to give him the boost he needed to pull Steve along by his hand and into that living room with Lynda, beautiful enough to give him the strength to take on the goddamn world.

Or at least the scariest thing he could think of in it at the time, that being… being himself in front of two complete strangers who could ruin his life with zero repercussions aside from their son being angry at them.

So it was a pretty big deal, that smile of his.

The first thing Eddie registered as he entered the main living room though, was that off to the right, there was a magnificent mahogany table, complete with three chairs on either side and one at each end.

Last time he’d seen it, it’d been covered in pizza boxes and alcohol options, its majesty concealed beneath a layer of filth. “Stevie can I—” couldn’t help himself

“Later” Steve was quicker than him though, Dustin had already brought up the table before, it wasn’t hard to guess where Eddie’s mind would go.

Of course he’d shot Dustin down, but Eddie? Maybe… just maybe he’d let Eddie use it. Only once his parents left again though, something told him they’d draw a line at a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, one of the main highlights of the ongoing Satanic Panic, being held in their dining room, whether they used it or not.

“So!" John began as he found his seat once more, waiting only for Steve and Eddie to sit down on the sofa close by, side by side, hand in hand, looking like the least likeliest pair in existence, to begin. "Eddie, tell us a little about yourself, how’d you both meet?”

Straight into the deep end then. "Well..."

Part 10

[pearbunny]

the bucket list ✘ [thirteen]

series masterlist | prev | next [ ❀ spotify playlist]

summary: Fly to Korea. Check. Buy a bouquet of flowers for a stranger. Check. Have said stranger come along with you to accomplish your bucket list? Well that wasn’t on the list, but falling in love was. 

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: 18+ [MDNI] strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, fluff, angst, comfort, eventual smut. 

general warnings:  tourist!mc, adult themes including but not limited to: suggestive content, nudity, cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of death in later chapters, overarching theme of mental health, eventual smut.

word count: 5.5k

chapter content: bittersweet. everything is bitter sweet. extremely brief mention of deceased loved ones. mc and jisung go to an aquarium! angst hidden behind fluff! Conversation about fate/destiny, inyeon.

You move slowly as you start to repack your luggage for the trip back home. You’re a little tired from the dinner party last night which is why you’re taking your time with the task, but in reality it’s because the whole thing is kind of saddening. As you place your clothes in your packing cubes, you set aside the clothes you plan to wear on the plane tomorrow morning. 

Jisung knocks on the doorframe, peeking his head in. “Need any help?” 

You give him a small chuckle, looking up at him from your spot in the middle of the floor. “You don’t have to knock, it’s your room.” 

Jisung enters the room and sits on his bed, moving aside the clothes you laid out. “Well, what if you were indecent or something?” The tiniest smirk plays at his lips, finding his own joke oh-so-hilarious. 

With a deadpan stare, you playfully ball up a shirt and throw it at him, “Oh, like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

Jisung laughs and catches the shirt, folding it neatly and setting it aside soon after.  “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Your eyes drift back to your suitcase and your hands go back to folding items to pack. “I mean, I do know. I don’t wanna go back home.” You chuckle sadly, shrugging your shoulders in defeat. 

Jisung looks at you with a small smile on his lips. He doesn’t want you to go home either; he wants to say, ‘then don’t’, but he doesn’t need to. You know that's what he wants to say, and you both know that he can’t say it. Instead, he leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. “Well, you’re still here, so let’s not waste it, yeah?”

You match his smile and nod your head, placing your hands in your lap. “Okay, yeah. Can we…” You pause and think about your bucket list. When you remember a specific to-do list item, your smile wides and you release a small giggle. “Can we find a fountain to make a wish at?” 

“Yes, let's make a date of it.” Jisung places his hands on his thighs, bracing himself as he pushes himself off the bed. He takes a step towards your sitting form and extends both hands to you, palms up. 

You place your hands in his with a large smile on your face, eyes soft as you look up at him. Your head had been swimming in circles, thinking about your flight home, leaving Korea behind, leaving Jisung behind, but now, you’re relieved, choosing to only worry and think about today, not the flight home tomorrow morning. 

“So,” You pause your speech to squeeze Jisung’s hand, fingers laced with yours. The date was planned loosely, both of you decided to take advantage of the beautiful day, opting to set aside the car for a nice walk. 

You wore a flowy white midi-skirt with a slightly oversized graphic white tee-shirt, tied to be cropped and cinched at your waist. Your hair up in a messy bun with a claw clip, a canvas tote bag hanging on your shoulder carrying not only your essentials, but a light brown knit cardigan just in case it got cold in the evening. 

Jisung wore an open, unbuttoned khaki collared shirt, a loose white tee underneath, with black linen slacks, cuffed at the ankles. A simple casio watch on his wrist, a silver ring on his index finger, and a small pendant-free chain around his neck.  Both of you had on some white old beaten up sneakers, deciding to err on the side of comfort for the last day. 

“So?” Jisung starts to swing your linked hands together, looking at you with a gummy bright smile. 

“Where are we going?” You both come to a stop at the corner of the street, a small crowd of people joining you to wait for the pedestrian light. 

“Well, after food, I wanted to take you to the aquarium,” Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, as if there was no pressure into the situation. You, however, knew how much Jisung loved animals through the little facts he would sprinkle into your conversations, the books on his shelf about animals, the small wolf figurine on his desk. Maybe it didn’t mean much to him, but you were thankful that he was willing to share this time and hobby with you. 

When you and Jisung finish at a small Japanese restaurant, you quickly find that this place was one of his favorite places to visit. The owner knew him by name and  not only did Jisung have a regular order that the waitress knew by heart, but even gave the both of you the opportunity to try out an off the menu item that they were working on. Needless to say, you both left with full stomachs and happy grins on your faces. 

“Do you take all of your lady friends there, Jisung?” You rest your hand on your full and round stomach, savoring the Japanese curry bowl you had. 

Jisung laughs and gives you a raised brow, “What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?” 

You eye him with a playful smile, “Well, seemed like they were really talking you up in there.” 

Jisung laughs louder, taking a step close to you and nudging your shoulder gently. “Maybe because I’m just a nice customer!” 

“M’hmm,” You link your arm with Jisung’s, letting him lead you to your next destination. You’re not sure what comes over you, maybe it’s a slight bit of hypothetical jealousy thinking about the possibility of Jisung bringing his past love interests to the places he’s shown you. “Have you had a lot of girlfriends?” 

Jisung chuckles, rolling his eyes while he looks ahead. “No. Not at all.”

You almost scoff, “You don’t have to lie, Ji.”

“I’m not lying. I know I seem like it, but I don’t actually have the best luck in the dating department.” Jisung bites the inside of his cheek, a little ashamed. 

“What? Really?” That was hard for you to believe, especially since from what Jisung has shown you, he’s been an extremely sweet, smooth, empathetic person. There’s no way people weren’t waiting in line to date him. 

“Yeah,” He pauses, lips forming a thin line as he tries his best to explain, “A lot of the flirting is just surface level. You tell them what a person wants to hear, inflate their ego a little bit.”

You swat at his arm gently. 

He laughs and rubs at the sore spot dramatically. “But I don’t usually connect with people beyond that. Sharing feelings, holding hands, kissing… It all makes me nervous. I start to get in my head.”

”You don’t seem to have any problems doing that stuff with me.” 

“Well,” Jisung unlinks your arms and instead, holds your hand, bringing the inside of your wrist up to his lips for a chaste yet sweet kiss, “That’s because you’re different.” 

You try to fight the blush that forms on your cheeks; the bubbly feeling in the pit of your stomach that slowly climbs up into your lungs to make you feel like you’re floating on air. You know what that feeling is and you know that feeling isn't productive, not when you’ll be on a plane home tomorrow morning. 

In an attempt to change the subject, you look around to find that you were in front of a convenience store with little machines for kids to either win or buy toys from. You pointed at one specifically, filled with small plastic containers with red caps on them, little prizes or toys inside. “Look, Ji. I used to bother my mom for money to get a ring from these vending machines when I was younger.” 

You crouch down, balancing yourself on the balls of your foot, trying to get a better look at the toys inside. 

Jisung watches over you with a smile on his lips. He shoves his hand in his pocket, finding some loose change from the lunch you shared. Crouching next to you, he places a coin into the slot, hand on the knob. He’s about to turn it, but pauses to look at you, “Which one do you want?” 

You reposition yourself multiple times, trying to get a real good look at the variety of rings. There are a couple of heart shaped ones, mostly in pink or red, the usual ones that mimic large oval and teardrop shaped diamonds and gemstones, but there are also fun ones in the shape of stars and shells, even a rainbow.  Then, you point at one in particular. “I really like that one!” 

Jisung looks at it and nods, “Okay, here’s hoping that’s the one we get.” With a turn of the knob and a cranking sound, the coin disappears and out of the machine comes a plastic capsule. Jisung maneuvers both himself and his hands to cover up the ring inside, causing you to laugh and shake his shoulders gently. Dramatically, Jisung gasps, taking a peek at the toy ring. 

“What? Which one did you get!” 

You watch Jisung’s face drop, his brows furrowing, creating a crease on his forehead. He frowns, lips in a tight line. “Show me, Ji!” You don’t really care if it was the one you wanted, all of the rings were really cute, you just wanted to know which one he got. 

Playfully, you poke at his side, trying to get him to turn around to show you. He tsks at you which makes you a little upset. You stand up and cross your arms, tapping your foot. “Han Jisung!” 

Jisung laughs and rolls his eyes at your impatience. He turns around to face you, this time on one knee. He laughs nervously, taking the ring in his hand, showing it to you. “Y/N, Marry me?” 

“W–what?” You’re completely taken aback. The confusion on your face is so apparent that Jisung’s nervous laugh turns into a full grown fit, laughing from his chest with his head thrown back. Your palms start to sweat as he continues to laugh, you uncross your arms and subconsciously, you rub your hands on the front of your skirt. 

With a shrug of his shoulders, he sticks his hand out with the ring towards you. “Seungmin said we should get married so you could stay in Korea with us.” 

‘Me’, he means. He wants you to stay with him. Staying with Seungmin and the rest of them was just a fun addition. 

“And it's the ring you wanted, so.. Maybe it’s a sign.” 

You finally look at the ring and it is the ring you were hoping to get. It was a plastic light blue gem in the shape of a bear, the cuts in it making it shine brilliantly as if it were made from a real gem stone. In the center around its neck was a small chrome pink ribbon. 

Jisung holds his hand out towards you and you place your left hand in his, allowing him to slip the ring on to your ring finger. He struggles gliding it on and you laugh together when it is sufficiently stuck on the knuckle. Jisung takes it off your finger and resizes it, pulling apart the shiny plastic ring ever so slightly. “Good thing these are adjustable.” He slips it back on to your finger and it's a perfect fit. 

You admire the adorable little ring on your hand, smiling to yourself at how ridiculous it all was while Jisung stands back up from his knee, dusting himself off. Your eyes dart back to the stand of toy vending machines, looking for a ring for him as well. “I got to get you one, too!”

Jisung raises a brow, “No you don’t. Men don’t get engagement rings.” 

You scan the different machines, getting a good look of the different toys inside. Some had stickers, others had toy cars and little baby figurines. When you find one, you point at it, turning to Jisung behind you, “You’re telling me you don’t want this really cool dinosaur ring?” 

Jisung quickly goes to the machine you’re at, looking over the options. He nods his head once, as if this is the most serious matter to him. “Okay. You’ve won me over. I want an engagement ring, too.” 

You laugh and hold out your hand to him, looking for another coin. Jisung’s eyes go wide, appalled. “I’m paying for my engagement ring?” 

“Do you want the dinosaur ring or not?” 

With a melodramatic huff, Jisung shoves his hand in his pocket and takes out a coin, placing it in your open palm. You put the coin into the machine and crank the knob,a clicking-like sound coming from the machine until the ring comes out. You uncap the small plastic capsule and show him the ring inside, a large green squishy dinosaur with a long neck and tail on a plastic metal adjustable ring. “It’s a brontosaurus!” 

Jisung laughs at you and takes the ring, placing it on his finger. “It’s actually not a brontosaurus.”

You take his hand as he shows it to you, staring at the dinosaur. “It’s not?”

With a shake of his head, he adjusts the ring so that the green dinosaur sits straight, “Those don’t technically exist. Well, they exist, but that’s not what they’re called. They’re called Apatosauruses.” 

When Jisung flips his hand over in the air so that his palm faces downward towards the ground, fingers stretched out, you bring your hand up to his, placing your palms together. Easily, Jisung closes his fingers around your hand and leads you forward. With a beaming smile, you look up at him, squirting your eyes a little in curiosity, “Jisung, tell me; were you a dinosaur boy growing up?” 

“Oh yes, absolutely. Definitely more dinosaurs than cars.” 

After a bit of walking, you find yourselves in a busier area, shops and fun cafe’s lining the wider street. One in particular captures your eye. “Jisung, you know how couples have photoshoots?” 

Jisung nods his eyes, taking his phone out to look at the directions to the aquarium again. “Yeah, they’re kinda’ corny, to be honest.” 

“Oh,” You try to fight the pout forming on your lips. 

When Jisung looks up from his phone, he notices the change in your mood, eyebrows shooting up in panic. “I – I mean, they’re not something I would do normally! I just feel super awkward taking photos, that’s all.” 

“Well,” You tug his hand and his attention towards the photobooth studio down the street, “Would you at least humor me for today?” 

“For you?” Jisung leads the way to the shop, “Anything.” He laughs a little as you make your way through the doors, “And it’s only a photo booth. We’ve done this before, I thought you were going to make me stand in front of someone with a camera!” 

You laugh at his ramblings, imagining how nervous and awkward Jisung would be in front of a professional camera. Inside, you’re elated as Jisung talks to the worker. Looking around, you notice that everything is pretty self-serving. There were a couple of very large photo booths with a plain backdrop and shelves and buckets filled with accessories. 

When Jisung comes back, he guides you to the booth all the way in the back. You slip in with him behind the light blue curtain and you quickly scan through the different templates and frames of the picture strips. Jisung stops you at a certain one, “What about ‘2Gether 4 Ever’?” 

You look up to find that Jisung’s head is hovering right over your shoulder and the proximity is both comfortable and nerve-racking; comfortable because at this point in your… whatever-it-was with Jisung, his whole presence is something you seek, something you expect – never too far away –, but nerve-racking,  because it felt like today, every single word, every movement, gesture, moment, is hanging over your heads, everything was comicotragic. 

Is the universe playing a sick prank on you?

So much for focusing on just today. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t escape tomorrow. 

Jisung’s eyes mimic your own, a little bit of mirth, hope, but also that tinge of sadness. 

“Yeah,” You speak before you can even process what you’re saying, “That’s perfect.” 

Before you’re ready, the large countdown on the preview screen in front of you starts and you panic, opting for your default pose which consists of a peace sign by your face. Jisung, behind you, has a similar pose: He leans over you slightly, placing a peace sign above your head with one hand, the other hand poking at the side of your cheek. It snaps the picture. 

You smile brightly, turning your head around to him. Quickly, he loops an arm around your waist, bringing you close to him, leaning his weight into you. As you lean to the side under his weight, he holds you up. “Hey, we’re engaged, you gotta show off your ring!” 

You laugh and do so, bringing your hand forward into the view of the camera. Jisung mimics you and the camera snaps again, taking a picture of Jisung and you close together with your shiny toy bear ring and his rubber dinosaur ring in front of you. 

The screen blinks in front of you and the countdown for the next picture starts. “Two more!”

“Come here,” Jisung turns you around, and places his hands at the small of your back, pulling you close. 

You push your palms against his chest, trying to create space but it’s no use. “Jisung?”

The picture snaps and the automated voice of the photo booth lets you know that it’s going to take the final picture. 

Jisung’s lips tug into a smirk as he leans in closer, “Just kiss me. Please?” 

Truthfully, you’re not into public displays of affection like this. Holding hands and hugging was probably the extent of affection you were okay to show to the world. Jisung, however, is not afraid to show how much he cares about you. 

“What, I can’t kiss my fiancee?” He repeats with a small laugh.

One look at him with that sly smirk on his face was all it took for you to tilt your head up to meet his lips with yours. Your hands go to his jaw, giving you more purchase for the kiss. Even after the camera takes the final picture and it starts to print out the photo strips, you're left in the tender kiss. 

When you finally pull a part, you’re breathless. 

Both you and Jisung are all smiles, pressing your foreheads together. You hold his gaze for just a moment longer before you tear away from him to get her the photo strip. With a bite of his lip, he follows after you. 

“Ji, these are cute!” You show him the photo strips, that smile still plastered on your face. 

He takes them in his hand, tracing a finger of the last pose. “Oh, honey. We already look happily married.” He brings you into his side by your waist and your grin grows wider. 

“We do, don’t we?” You take the pictures and place them into your tri-fold wallet to keep it safe from wrinkles and creases before tossing it into your bag. 

At the aquarium, you and Jisung took your time going through all of the many exhibits, from bay aquatics to tropical and reef fish. Jisung would sprinkle in some interesting facts that he learned from watching an animal documentary or even from the lid of a snapple bottle. 

The whole time, you held hands. When he would point to things close, he would use his free hand to place the pad of his finger gently on the glass – he told you it was inhumane to tap on it, ‘Have you seen Finding Nemo?’, he said – whenever he would point out something in a tank. When he would notice something across the room or hall, he would point with the hand that held yours, index finger pointed in that direction with the rest of his fingers wrapped snugly around your hand. 

Now, you’re in the main hall, looking at a map of the place on the wall. “Jisung, I want to see the jellyfish.” 

“Jellyfish, got it.” Jisung’s finger grazes over the map from your current location to the back of the building. He nods to himself and then points with your hands together towards the right maze of hallways. “That way.” While the both of you walk towards the jellyfish exhibit, Jisung’s eyes stay on the map just a little bit longer, committing the next place that you would go to memory. 

The exhibit hall you walk into is dimly lit, the low light coming from the tanks of jellyfish itself, the soft sound of waves crashing playing over the speakers in the room. Jisung guides you to the first tank, recessed into the wall. Your eyes go wide, filled with wonder. While other aquarium visitors would stop and observe the tank and leave shortly after, Jisung and you stayed longer. 

“Do you like jellyfish?” Jisung’s voice is low, but loud enough for you to hear over the calming waves. 

“I do, they look so… easygoing.” You go to the next window, watching the plump jellyfish swim across the tank.  

Jisung moves his finger along the glass with it. “These are the Japanese Sea Nettle jellyfish.”  His finger traces the long tentacles, dragging it down the glass. The orange color of the jellyfish is a beautiful contrast against the blue of the tank. The corners of his lips tug upwards in a smile so wide it reaches his eyes, “Jellyfish are 95% water, that’s why they look so different out of it. I also think that’s why they’re super interesting to watch swim. They look like they’re floating.” He laughs nervously at himself, “Well, I mean they are floating.”

You laugh with him, tugging him towards the large cylindrical tank in the middle of the room, “No, I get it. It looks like they’re weightless.” 

The tank in the middle goes from floor to ceiling and is filled with lots of jellyfish, a type that’s smaller than the Japanese Sea Nettle. The lights at the bottom of the tank change color every so often, the current purple hue casting a purple glow on the nearly translucent jellyfish. 

You stand in front of the tank, watching as the glow shifts into a cool blue. “These are my favorite ones.” 

Jisung watches your face and admires the way you look at the jellyfish. Your eyes are wide, lips in a small smile, head tilted to the side. The jellyfish and tank are reflected in your eyes and as the light changes to red, he has to tear his eyes away from you. In a quick recovery, he clears his throat. “These are moon jellyfish. They’ve got a really round and big bell compared to their tentacles.” 

You glance at Jisung briefly from the corner of your eyes and notice how his eyes move as they trace the jellyfish’ movement. “Do you know why I like jellyfish so much?” 

Of course he didn’t, but he doesn’t say anything and instead waits for you to answer. 

“I just imagine their life of floating in the ocean, going in whatever way the water takes them. I’m a little jealous of them, really.” 

Jisung looks back at you and pulls you to him. He settles you in front of him as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pressing his cheek against the side of your head. 

Once you’ve stayed for a full cycle of the color changes, Jisung whispers against your ear, “Y/N, are you ready to go to the next exhibit?” 

You nod and he retakes your hand in his and leads you out into the hallway. 

“These are some of my favorite animals here.” Jisung  walks backwards as he leads you into the room. 

The smell is really strong and frankly kind of stinky, but you get over it once you realize that you’re looking at penguins through a glass. There’s many of them, some diving in the water, others just standing on the platform meant to resemble a rock with their flipper-like wings at their sides. 

You’re not as close as you want to be, children sitting in rows in front of the large glass window. Soon, the kids stand, getting closer just as the penguins crowd around the door to the exhibit where you assume the employees enter. Sure enough, someone comes through the door with a large bucket of fish. You clap and laugh along with the other visitors as the penguins gather around for their meal time. 

You take a seat on a bench, still watching the penguins. The kids file out, someone on the intercom attracting their attention when they announced a tidal pool exhibit where they could touch starfish. 

As the penguins finish their meals and the employee leaves through the door, the penguins go about their regular business. You notice two standing close to each other on the rock, one nudging the other with its head. 

“Those two remind me of us.” You point at the two birds before zooming in with the camera of your phone and taking a picture. After a couple of pictures, you place your phone on your lap. “Here’s my animal fact,” You giggle. Not only is the possibility of Jisung’s habits rubbing off on you amusing, but you’re a little excited that you could share a fact with him for once. “Many different species of penguins will only have one mate for the rest of their life.” You take his hand back in yours again, the brief moment without it made you miss the warmth he radiated.

Jisung stares forward, though his eyes look a little distant. His smile is lopsided, a reflection of how bittersweet this whole day is.

 He doesn’t tell you, but he already knew that fact. He wonders silently if you’ve heard the story about a group of three penguins. Two were mates and the third was a female penguin attracted to the male penguin. Eventually, the male’s mate passes away and although that made him available to love the third penguin, he passed away from the grief of losing his soulmate. 

“Y/N, do you know what inyeon is?” 

You turn your head to him and notice his far-off stare. “No, what is inyeon?” You speak slowly, doing your best to imitate the way he said the word, clearly a foreign word to you, never once hearing of it or speaking it.

Absent-mindedly, he runs a thumb over your knuckles. “It’s silly, really. Koreans believe in the idea that certain people are meant for each other, but that it could take thousands of lifetimes to get it right. Maybe the penguins got it right this time, like this is the lifetime where everything aligned.”

“Hm,” You take a beat to reflect on his words. “Like fate. Destiny.” The more you think about it, the more you start to wonder: Who was that person for you? Would you know if that lifetime was the lifetime? Could this be your lifetime? 

As you lean your head on Jisung’s shoulder, your phone vibrates in your lap. One glance at the notification of your flight convinces you that it’s not. 

The night air is a little crisp when you walk out, your cardigan in your bag completely forgotten. Instead, Jisung’s body heat keeps you warm as you latch onto his arm. The pace of your walk  is set slow, the lights from the lamps on the street and from inside buildings shining through their windows illuminating your walk. 

“Where do you want to be in five years?” Jisung’s voice cuts through the bustling of the streets, the soft mumble of people talking on their own walks with friends and family. 

The question catches you off guard. Where did you see yourself? Previously, you’d probably see yourself just doing what you always did: wake up, go to work, put just enough effort to maintain relationships with your friends, see your dad once a week. You look at Jisung. He smiles at you, no sign of judgment that would follow. That gives you enough assurance and courage to even just imagine something more for yourself. 

That’s what Jisung has given to you. 

So you let out a sigh and it’s not of frustration. No, instead it’s a sigh that sheds off your own fears and judgmental attitude about wanting more than what you previously had for yourself. 

“I want to be happy.” Without knowing, you squeeze Jisung’s hand. “Maybe promoted at my job or at a better one.” You chuckle at the idea, instead of being behind a computer screen the whole time, maybe something more client facing, interacting with people. “A better relationship with my friends. More dinner parties with Robin and the girls.” You stop at an intersection and look up at Jisung. “What about you?”

Jisung smiles brightly. He’s thought about the question a lot and it’s something you admire about him. Through the challenges that life has thrown him, he was able to come out of it as a bright person.You smile back at him when you think about how his friend Chan would be happy to see him now. 

“Happy. Successful.” He laughs at how arrogant he comes off with that sentence. “I hope in five years I’m able to share my music with people” 

You interrupt him, excited while you step off the curb into the street when it is safe. “You will! You need to let the world hear your music, Jisung. It’s incredible.” 

Jisung shrugs his shoulders modestly. “I would love to see Loud Mouths continuing to do well. I mean, we’re doing great now, but imagine another Loud Mouths somewhere outside of Korea. We’ve been talking about partnerships and collaborations with other restaurants, like showcasing baked goods from Seungmin’s cafe during our brunch hours. I hope the place gets big enough that we can help smaller local companies out like that.” 

Jisung stops and that’s when you realize that you’re in front of a fountain. The water trickling sounds calm and serene in the middle of the city. The lights on the ground and in the fountain showcase the area beautifully. 

He comes up behind you and takes a coin out from his pocket, similar to how he did earlier in the day. He places it in front of your face and you take it into your palm, squeezing it with one hand over the other tightly. “Go ahead, Toss a Coin and Make a Wish.” 

As you close your eyes, Jisung steps back to give you the space and breathing room. You think about all the major events that have happened in your life; both the good and the bad. You’re reminded of both of your parents. You recall your mother’s beautiful smile, her radiant energy and how truly, all she wanted for you was to be safe and happy. Something that your dad always wishes for you. It took awhile for your relationship with your dad to get to where it is now, and you have no doubt that it will continue to get better. That same sentiment is shared by Robin – who you cannot thank enough for being so patient and having so much faith in you, even when you probably weren’t the best friend you could be. 

Safe and happy. You wonder for a moment what that looks like. 

A smile stretches your lips. 

Safe and happy looks like right now. This day. With Jisung. 

You open your eyes and toss the coin into the fountain. In lands with a plop and a small splash. 

You turn your body towards Jisung who on cue, makes his way back to be by your side, strong arms engulfing you in a warm and tight embrace. You lean into him as he cradles your body against him, gently rocking the both of you back and forth. 

“I wished th–” 

Jisung pulls apart, eyes wide in horror. “No, you can’t tell me. It won’t come true if you do.” 

When Jisung looks down into your eyes, he notices the glassy reflection. Your eyes start to sting a little as tears start to pool. However; they don’t fall, a poetic testament to the balance that is how you’re feeling right now: both untroubled in his embrace and out of sorts with tomorrow’s departure from this dream land that you’ve lived for the past two weeks. 

Jisung is right. Wishes don’t come true if you speak them out loud, but perhaps that’s why you say it. Your wish is so outlandish, so selfish, so fantasied that it didn’t matter if you said it loud. 

“I wished that this day would never end.”

ending author’s notes: don't we all, mc. we're almost done here. i love and am welcomed to all feedback. see you guys next chapter ;)

taglist

@burningchaosdeer @bat-shark-repellant, @jisunglyricist, @captivq, @lixiel0ver, @channieandhisgoonsquad, @dalamjisung, @laylasbunbunny, @beanebabyy, @leyknowsbin, @vixensss, @hyunfilms, @cutiespaghetti, @hanjisunginc, @kubuwu, @raehawthorne, @leeknowyah, @lifeissteph, @thesunsfullmoon, @bbokari711, @sunnyhonie, @aalexyuuuhm, @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

could not be tagged

[kaitaiga]

Archie “Frost” Campbell HCs ❄️

Some random hcs that’s been sitting in my head for a while :)

Loves to have Tapas and chat with Joseph. Just catching up on life or any new developments.

The type to have 5 photos of his family but about 1000 of his cat, Vader 🐈‍⬛

Speaking of Vader, he is a very chatty cat. Struts around Archie’s apartment like he owns the place. Very clingy, always having his nose in whatever Archie is doing.

He drives a BMW F82 M4 in dark grey. Red interior.

I mentioned in his profile that he self-taught himself various mechanical and electrical engineering concepts, however he also taught himself programming too. In his spare time he likes to tinker and do various projects with Raspberry Pi.

I like the idea that once Archie joins Task Force Dagger, the rest of the members occasionally train him up with CQC. Archie isn’t particularly a great fighter. Sure he flies a fighter jet and all but without it, he’s stripped of the majority, if not, all of his power. The boys agree that SERE is just a baseline and that now he’s in TFD, he’s exposed to more risky situations. The real deal.

His clothing style sticks to neutral colours. He likes to wear quarter Polo zips, jeans, knit sweaters, vintage leather bomber jackets and converse sneakers.

He also likes to wear Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses and a Casio G-Shock watch. RAAF x IWC watch for formal occasions.

For Archie’s birthday, Joseph gifted him a Lego Star Wars Republic Gunship set. Unfortunately as he was about to finish, Vader knocked it off the table and it shattered. It now sits unfinished in the corner of his room.

He secretly feels out of place in TFD.

Archie promised his grandfather that he’d be able to watch himself fly for the first time in whatever fighter jet he was given. It happened, his grandfather who was too weak to stand and was bound to his wheelchair still made it to the base, dressed in his old leather flight jacket from WW2 and cap watched Archie soar across the skies. With all the strength he had left and some help, he managed to give Archie one last final salute before he passed a few days later.

Archie prides himself on his cooking ability. He was so fed up with cafeteria food that he spent a great time learning to cook. He likes to have a nice glass of red wine with some jazzy music playing in the background as he does so. Oh, and a few candles to create a warm atmosphere.

His favourite food is a nice steak cooked ‘til medium well with roasted veggies, gravy, herb butter and chips.

On average, he drinks at least three coffees a day. Usually black or with two sugars and a dash of milk. He likes black tea too, his favourite being an Indonesian brand - Sariwangi - that was introduced to him from Daniel.

He wants two more cats: Luke and Leia, both orange cats. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the time or space currently.

[sibyl-of-space]

Yesterday, myself and a group of friends released THOUSANDS OF PIXELS IN YOUR HANDS. This is a 6-track collaborative concept album of original art and music themed around the GameBoy Advance console. The album in full is viewable above with timestamps for each piece. For individual track uploads/BandCamp release (planned for the near future), check the NeoCities Page where they will be embedded when available.

Tracklist:

Sealed Chamber by Error Sparrow (Vapor) ft. digital art by DarthButcher

Fuchsia Zone by ZeroJanitor ft. mixed 2D+3D gif by Aaron (AReallyFrog)

When the Levee Remakes by Joey Puricelli (CaptHayfever) ft. mixed media cross stitch by nyankat

My Internal Battery Has Run Dry by Leo ArcanaXIX ft. photography by DarthButcher

Liquid Crystal by Revolver Project ft. digital art by Marcus Bower (SpriteDude)

Adventure's End by Monstrman ft. painting by nyankat

Piece descriptions below readmore.

I. SEALED CHAMBER | Music by Error Sparrow (Vapor) | Digital Art by DarthButcher

Musician Notes: Sealed Chamber is an instrumental ode to the legendary Pokemon of the Gen III pokemon games (Ruby, Sapphire and Emerald), specifically Regirock, Regice and Registeel. It's an ambient, dungeon synth-kinda track meant to capture the mystique of the elaborate quest through Hoenn's secret areas - undersea, underground and elsewhere - that the player undertakes to find all three Regis. The instrumentation is 100% Pokemon RSE soundfont (with some effects and such thrown in).

Artist Notes: Digital watercolor and ink pen using Adobe Fresco on iPad. May has heard the legend of three bionic beasts and finally thinks she has come upon the cave of legend. She has searched far and wide across Hoenn to try to find the entrance and after a series of trials, her quest may prove fruitful. What she doesn’t know is that while she searches for them, they stand alert to her presence ready to pounce when the moment is right. Stylized with inspiration from Ken Sugimori for a watercolor aesthetic, my first time working with the medium.

II. FUCHSIA ZONE | Music by ZeroJanitor | GBA 2D+3D Gif by Aaron (AReallyFrog)

Musician Notes: Inspired by the translucent pink Game Boy Advance model, officially known as the Fuchsia model. Instrument samples are taken from Sonic Advance 3, and the voice samples are from the LingoJam robot voice generator.

Artist Notes: I created this little animation by exporting the frames from Blender, drawing over them in Aseprite, and then exporting them as a gif. I think the gif struggles a little but I’m happy to have gotten to try combining 2d and 3d animation!

If you’re interested in homebrew games for the gameboy family there are a few collections of roms (.gb/.gbc/.gba) on my itch page I try to keep up to date.

III. WHEN THE LEVEE REMAKES | Music by Joey Puricelli (CaptHayfever) | Watercolor + Cross-Stitch Mixed Media by nyankat

Musician Notes: Arr. for voice, jaw harp (x2), shaker, wood handles, bongos, drumkit, & Casio PK-5.

I had the opening lines of the first verse looping in my head for weeks before I finally had time to hash out the rest of it. There really were a metric buttload of remakes on this system; this song cites 38 (though maybe I’m cheating to include Game & Watch Gallery) & that’s just where I stopped researching because I thought I had too much. My nickname for Kirby in verse 3 came from the American NiD commercials, which for some reason used the theme song to the 1960s spy show Danger Man.

Artist Notes: Watercolor on paper and Aida cloth, cross-stitch. As soon as Joey laid out his idea I was inspired to do a mixed-media piece. This is basically a reimagining of the old Pokemon Kanto intro screen, in a forest clearing, with one side cross-stitch/“low res” and the other watercolor/“high res.” I asked Joey what else he might end up referencing besides Pokemon and went from there. (I presented him with a word map before starting the actual design; this piece was an absolute boatload of work. But I’m pleased to say I captured his intended vibe on the first try!) The full piece depicts Nidorino, Kirby, Piranha Plant, and Samus (low res) vs. Gengar, Meta Knight, Baby Mario on Yoshi, and a Metroid (high res). Let me tell ya, stitching on Aida that you’ve already painted is very difficult! But it made for a really cool effect. Thank you for the collaboration (and your patience lol), Joey!

IV. MY INTERNAL BATTERY HAS RUN DRY | Music by Leo ArcanaXIX | Photography by DarthButcher

Musician Notes: My concept for this was to sample sounds from doing a GBA cartridge internal battery surgery and use those sounds as instruments. I took inspiration for the form of the song itself from "Clockwork" from Castlevania: Circle of the Moon, a GBA game with both an internal battery and a banger soundtrack.

Artist Notes: Shot on a Sony a7IV, Sigma 24-70mm f2.8 DG DN, 70mm, 1/40s, f/7.1, ISO 1000. Nothing says cartridge repair more than actually dismantling a cartridge and beginning to conduct surgery. Utilizing photography with a strong key light, contrast of the system on one side and additional cartridges behind it, and some mild post-production to bring out the colors, this piece tells a story of frustration that a beloved game may have seen its last days.

V. LIQUID CRYSTAL | Music by Revolver Project | Digital Art by Marcus Bower (SpriteDude)

Musician Notes: This song began with the intent to write a dark-step inspired drum & bass track using the Game Boy Advance internal synthesis. I set out researching the best homebrew Tracker/DAW for the console, and discovered that my ancient flash cartridge wasn't fully compatible with the majority of them. As a solution, I used a branch of LSDJ which maintained compatibility with the GoombaGB wrapper for GBA.

I opted for a harsh and bright industrial guitar style to compliment the harsh synth and percussion sampling of the GBA, which may sound familiar to older Revolver Project fans. All of the percussion and the majority of the synths were originally voiced using the GBA's internal synth and sample abilities. They were then heavily edited on a PC DAW, into the final sounds you hear. Notable exceptions include some bass sounds, which were created using a semi-modular Behringer Neutron.

I hope after listening to this, you'll be inspired to fire up a GBA and play your favorite Metroid or maybe a racer. Just remember to turn a light on if you're playing on an original model, don't let that LCD stay dark. ☻

Artist Notes: AI was pretty much the perfect match for me, as we’ve worked together many times in the past and we always seem to be on the same wavelength. In fact, he suggested “neon lights and cyberpunk” for the theme of the piece after I had already started drawing just that. Other than that, it’s pretty much just a fast-paced super-foreshortened actiony sci-fi piece. The guy is just a random cyberpunk dude I made up, and the drones are supposed to kinda look like metroids.

VI. ADVENTURE'S END | Music by Monstrman | Acrylic Art by nyankat

Musician Notes: I wanted to make a song that really captured the finality of finishing a game on the GBA. In reality it’s more about the experience of completing all your games in general, but since it’s GBA themed I added some flavor. The intro/outro was written on my guitar first, then I made the rest in my DAW.

Artist Notes: Acrylic on canvas, 8 in. x 8 in. I listened to a very early draft of Tim’s piece, which reminded me of the ending screen of Mega Man 2, where he walks away through different landscapes. This evolved into the piece it is now, with a person facing away from the viewer with a guitar over his back, next to a GBA set on a table and showing the message “Thank you!” I’m not particularly strong in figure drawing, so I asked Tim to pose as a reference, and I think that turned out quite well. I also asked him if he wanted the GBA or the curtains a specific color: The GBA is silver like the one he had growing up, and the curtains are OG GBA blurple. Thank you for the collaboration, Tim!

[anonymous-dentist]

HC NameMC Spoilers!!!!

What are THESE???

Grian? TBH, it looks good. Idk how I feel about the vest, but I like his little Casio watch. Solid 10/10

Scar? There literally isn't a look he can't rock, he's literally perfect in everything he wears. It's a shame his tiny little short shorts had to go, but, frankly, the undone tie makes up for it a thousand percent. 10/10

Skizz? My fucking lord, this man's muscles exploded his clothes off. 10/10

[rose-n-gunses]

10 and 26 for the unusual asks 💖

Hi babe thanks for the ask!

10 - How would you describe your style?

Hmm. Lotta band shirts, lotta denim. Bootcut jeans always. A good portion of my clothes are black so there's that. I really like the western- and gothic-influenced styles you sometimes see amongst 80s hard rock and glam/heavy metal bands so I try to incorporate some of that into my accessories (silver, denim, leather, concho belts, rings, stacked bracelets, cross/saint medallion necklaces, boots, etc). I can't really afford to buy a ton of legit vintage stuff but I do try to find like. Modern items that are similar in style to those vintage designs (think Reebok club Cs or the Casio F91W-1 I just ordered lol). I also have this problem where I like to cut the sleeves off and crop my tshirts so I have a handful of those that I wear a lot

I wore uniforms when I was in middle/high school so I never really had a chance to develop a sense of style beyond whatever jeans and tshirts I wore after school and on weekends so I'm still working on expanding my wardrobe and pushing the limits of my comfort zone with it but it's fun.

26 - How many pillows do you sleep with?

Like 4 I think? Two or three regular pillows and my unicorn pillow pet that I've had for ages lol. I also have an IKEA djungelskog named Jason Bateman that I use as a pillow sometimes but i don't think he counts

Unusual Asks

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @nightwingshero & @vampireninjabunnies-blog <3 | Tagging @direwombat @fourlittleseedlings @socially-awkward-skeleton @poisonedtruth @strangefable @nightbloodraelle @detectivelokis @adelaidedrubman and anyone that would like to treat us with a little something this week <3

I'd probably be dropping multiple snippets from this chapter down the line because of the length and different settings. The scene takes place after the previous WIP snippet I had posted recently.

"She'd be terrified if I showed up like this. I- thank you." The words slipped before she could stop them, she hoped he hadn't heard the last part thanks to the running water as she scrubbed her face vigorously, though she meant what she had said. Focus. He's not your friend. Sabrina looked back into the mirror steeling her features as she took a deep breath. John's not him. He doesn't exist, the sooner you realize it, the better. "You're welcome.", came from the outside after a long pause and to his credit, it sounded sincere. Once her face looked presentable, she went at her hair next, but it felt like a lost cause, she needed a shower just as much as she needed sleep. Sabrina went to grab the clothes left for her when it hit her, "Uh, your bathroom has no door, not sure if you've noticed…" "And?" "I have to change." "And?" She sighed. A child, he is a child. "Are you for real?" "I'm not looking at you, Deputy." She was certain he was fucking with her, but she wasn't one to back down. Two can play this game, Seed.

"Fine. Just don't you dare then say I'm trying to seduce you, am I clear?" He laughed at her bossy tone, "Yes." As she stood in the bathroom her boots came off first, she was keeping those, not ready to ditch the knife hidden within anytime soon. The second her uniform joined her shoes on the floor, she could feel him staring and a quick glance from the corner of her eye confirmed her suspicion: John was not only watching shamelessly, his thumb running over his lips, but his chair was turned so it was directly facing the doorway. Lying bastard.

Sabrina hurried to put on the jeans Mathias had sourced, then she unfolded the shirt, the giant Eden's Gate cross on it glaring back at her. She turned, meeting John's eyes as he raised an eyebrow at her, "Thought you said you weren't looking. And, I'm not putting this on, no offense." "I said "I'm not looking", not that "I won't be looking, Deputy." "Gee, almost like you're a lawyer or something. Excuse always ready." John got up from his desk, giving her a pointed look as he went past her, "Can say the same about your detective line of questioning." With few strides he was at the wardrobe, pulling out a blue sweater with a zipper and passing it to her on his way back. "I'm fine in my top." "Just put it on, Sabrina. Don't make this harder or waste time with arguments.", his eyes had grown serious. "Fine.", she muttered as the shirt engulfed her. The sweater looked oversized on her, the same cologne that was on his jacket attacking her senses. Out of habit she rolled up the sleeves, her hand feeling strange without her father's watch she never took off. "Ready, Deputy?" "I- one more thing…" John leaned against the desk, another pose that looked rehearsed. "The Miss Universe competition would love to have you, yes. I just need to see your wave first." In another situation Sabrina would have waved, then quickly flipped him off, instead she kept her temper in check, choosing to ignore his comment as she asked, "My watch. Your men must have taken it. Any idea what happened to it? It's an old, golden Casio watch, I've never taken it off-" Before she could finish her sentence, he was opening one of the locked drawers and pulling out what she was looking for. Sabrina breathed a sigh of relief, the watch was one of the very few things she had left from her dad, she felt close to him when she wore it. John walked over so she put out her hand, expecting him to pass it over, instead he placed the watch against her wrist. "Who did it belong to, Sabrina?", it came out as a whisper, his hot breath fanning her face. "My father." His fingers brushed over her skin as he fastened the clasp, the unexpected touch making her own breath hitch. The whole time his eyes remained on hers, darkened with something that equally scared and excited her. At his height he towered over her with few inches to where if she was to break the eye contact, the only other place to stare at would be his chest, at a crude scar visible from the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. And that felt like an even worse idea as thoughts of past visions entered her mind. This can't happen.

"It's back where it belongs then.", his voice was raspy, the watch was secured but his hand remained grasping her wrist, gently and in such contrast with whatever storm was happening in his gaze. Her mother's words came to her then, the end to her usual lesson in seduction of targets.

"… He'd be a goner before you know it. But, darling, you have to know when to emerge from the water, to leave him behind, else he'd end up dragging you down with him, drowning you both."

Sabrina took a step back, making John recover from whatever spell he was under and release his hold.

"Thank you.", she cleared her throat, "We should go." The mask of indifference slipped back on his face and she hoped her own schooled expression hadn't completely dissolved, making a show of her conflicting emotions, "Yes. After you, Deputy." They passed through the door, leaving his office and whatever moment had happened between them behind.

[bundleofboys]

Playing around with what I think Casio would wear when he’s not performing onstage—lots of loose, oversized, and comfy clothes.

[discoizdead]

I love you My vintage casio Keyboard that doesn't work. I love Philips cd player. I love you xbox 360. I love you lucio overwatch keychain. I love you kingdom hearts and berserk manga. I love one piece and pokemon cards. I love you 1999 green day dookie cd. I love you iron Maiden poster. I love you beetles poster. I love you 2007 Spongebob wall clock. I love you random halo headband. I love you pile of clothes on my chair. I love you pins on my bag. I love you random leds hanging on my wall I love the world.

[univvrse]

the coven (chapter 4)

tw: graphic depictions of violence, character death

previous parts can be found on my masterlist

reader x bakugou x shinsou x kaminari x kirishima

Coven- a formation of at least three or more vampires He told you they were dangerous- why didn't you believe him?

on my ao3 if you'd prefer

1.4k words

A 58 year old man named Haruto Manaka was at home, about to go for his morning run. His doctor had suggested it to him after his heart attack last Christmas. A Christmas he had spent alone. Haruto Manaka lived a lonely life, not many friends apart from the ones he saw at work. His parents had died two years ago, 6 months from each other; and his ex-wife, well let’s just say she wasn’t his biggest fan.

He had dark eyes, with deep purple circles under them taking up a good half of his cheeks. He hadn’t been able to sleep lately, he had been afraid though he was not yet sure what of. He had pin straight black hair that flowed just below his ears. Manaka had been quite the looker back in his day, he still was now though no ladies he had met recently seemed to think so.

Anyway, the man was about to go on his morning run, clad in his black cotton shorts that stopped just below his knee and grey t-shirt. He didn’t bother taking his phone, he was sure no one would need him in the hour or so he would be missing from his home.

As he jogged across the familiar streets of the neighbourhood he had lived in for half of his life, he felt the presence of somebody following him. It was still incredibly early- most people probably weren’t awake. He kept an old Casio, digital watch on his wrist that read 5:29 AM.

It was still dark outside and so he didn’t see the brief flashes of 2 people overtaking him, running impossibly fast only a few metres from his face. At least he didn’t see them until they stopped, 5 metres in front of him. Manaka frowned- he had never seen these people before, and more importantly, what were they doing in the forest at 5:30 AM. They were both blonde, attractive but with piercing eyes that shot through the darkness and shot through his soul, an undeclared order to run.

He swallowed back a wave of anxiety, "this is a safe area." he thought to himself; a desperate attempt to soothe his nerves.

The runner stopped suddenly, looking around to find any sort of route that would divert him from these eerie strangers. He opened his mouth to ask them to move, but closed it immediately when he felt bile crawl up his throat.

The streets were dark. Had the moon not been near full, it would have been almost pitch black outside. A cold shiver ran down his spine and through his nervous system as he realised they were just far enough from any houses that no one would hear him scream.

The two boys disappeared from his Manaka's line of vision. He almost breathed a sigh of relief. The man put it down to his mind playing tricks on him. Perhaps his medication had sent him delusional. He would arrange a visit with his doctor about it tomorrow, for now he would turn back. He'd simply have to run slightly further tomorrow to make up for the lost few hundred meters.

Turning around to jog the way home, Manaka stopped dead in his tracks. He was now face to face with the young men he swore he'd been hallucinating. "Don't be crazy." he thought sternly, "You just need more sleep." But the boys' eyes didn't move from his neck, no matter how many times he blinked.

They disappeared again, however this time the unfortunate runner didn't even have time to sigh before they appeared at his side. The slightly taller one grabbed Manaka roughly, dragging him by his shoulder before he opened his mouth. The moon glinted against his disgustingly sharp before he drove his head into his victims neck, sinking his needle-point fangs into the carotid artery there.

Pain ripped through Manaka's body as he felt his neck being ravished with no remorse. His own blood soaked his clothes, drowning his shirt in the warm redness. It was spraying from his neck like the most magnificent fountain you have ever laid eyes on. He could feel his body being drained of blood and the pain was searing. Manaka let out a guttural cry, feeling the blood drench his face as his attacker pulled back to lick his lips.

He seemed to have had his fill as the last thing Manaka saw was the sadistic smirk playing across the man's lips before his body gave up on fighting and he fell to the ground, limp and useless, but still bleeding, rapidly expelling all blood from his body. His head had hit a rock as he fell and he could feel it begin to drown his thick, dark hair in blood. He was sure he was nothing but a puddle of dark red liquid at this point. The crimson streamed down his face, blinding him and and filling his throat with its coppery taste. He gurgled, choking.

He fought off the invasion, gagging and coughing with all his might, but the blood had found itself in his airways and he began to slowly drown as he bled out there on the road he'd run down so many times. Why couldn't he have just gotten a gym subscription like everyone else who was trying to keep fit? He gagged one last time before gurgling out an unearthly noise. A sort of mixture between an anguished cry and a dying croak. Then he was dead.

“Katsuki, I thought the next one we saw was mine to kill”, Denki complained. “And he would’ve been yours if you hadn’t been so slow”, Katsuki replied, crushing the skull of the dark haired man with his shoe until he had no clear face, making the body unrecognisable.

The vampires had been thirsty, likely exaggerated by hanging out with a human for most of the day. All four of them had been hunting in a forest, not so far from the one they had met you in a day before, about an hour in a car but only around a 10 minute run for them all. They picked up unlucky civilians who had just happened to be going out so early in small teams of two.

They had about 9 victims all together, two each apart from Katsuki who had now beaten Denki to his second kill and now had three murders under his belt that morning.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile you woke up suddenly. It was dark outside, your duvet wrapped around your comfortingly, hang on. You were in your bedroom? What? Crazed thoughts flickered through your mind; had you dreamt it all? Was your subconscious mind playing tricks on you?

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, trying to think clearly about the mystical world you had been in seemingly moments ago. No. That wasn’t possible, you would be the first one to admit you had a few screws loose but, this was something you couldn’t make up. Besides, you were still in the clothes you had remembered putting on 24 hours ago before you found yourself hanging out with the undead.

You could feel your phone in your pocket, uncomfortably pressed between your leg and mattress. Grabbing it without a second thought you checked the time, 2:30 AM. Way to early to be waking up, yet you had still slept a very long time, your throat was dry, and you were in desperate need of a shower. You pulled yourself out of bed and drowsily shuffled towards your shower.

You sat around for a few hours in your living room, mostly full of boxes you had meant to unpack the day before, before you had gotten side-tracked. Other than that, your living room had an old sofa- left there by your apartment’s previous owners and a television that you had brought with you from your childhood bedroom that sat on boxes a few inches in front of your face.

You lazily flicked through channels, not interested in actually watching anything just distracting yourself by pressing buttons and fidgeting with the remote control. As the sun began to rise you heard a knock at the door. You raced to the door, hoping it would be one of the immortals you had spent all morning thinking about.

Through the semi-transparent glass of your door, you could see the shape of spiky red hair through the glass at the window. Your jaw fell as you opened the door. It wasn’t a dream!

Noticing your surprise, Eijiro looked you in the eyes, a small falling upon his lips and said; “What you didn’t think that we would just drop you of here and forget about you. Did you?"

[adelleandlaura4ever]

Skin

.

I wish I could pull away the clothes, the dress
Your mind is easiest when we both undress each other
Underneath the southeast sky, I asked you for a light
Now I'd do anything to keep us together
Don't say that you're giving up

.

What if you decide that you don't wanna wake up, too?
I don't know what I'd do
'Cause I've built my life around you
Don't you know the skin that you're given was made to be lived in?
You've got a life
You've got a life worth living

.

Bussing down to Waterloo just to feel control
I can't fix everything, as much as I want to
You were in and out of thinking you could live past twelve
You're so much different now, it can't destroy you
So don't say that you're giving up

.

What if you decide that you don't wanna wake up, too?
I don't know what I'd do
'Cause I've built my life around you
Don't you know the skin that you're given was made to be lived in?
You've got a life
You've got a life worth living

(Songwriter: Danny Casio / Joy Elizabeth Akther Crookes / Matthew Jonathan Gordon Maltese)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️   ❤️ ❤️ ❤️  

My beautiful Soulmate!

You know it, I know it, we belong together. For more than six years already our souls have chosen each other and with this day the common happiness began. I’m so happy that you are in my life.

I love you deeply Adelle  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🌈

@adelle4ever

@adelleandlaura4ever

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

There are people who spend hundreds or thousands of dollars finding the exact period accurate brands of Marty's entire ensemble; burnt orange Class-5 down vest, gray and blue Guess denim jacket (which was custom made for the film and never commercially available), enamel pins (which most people don't even know exist), short sleeve Shah Safari checkered button-up, purple Calvin Klein underwear, white and red lowtop Nike Bruins, Zeiss aviator sunglasses, Casio CA53W-1 calculator watch, etc.

Then there are people who wear this t-shirt...

...which, like, isn't the WORST Marty McFly costume. If you wear this, it means you actually took the time and effort to order a t-shirt online, so it's not quite half-assed, more three-quarters-assed (ehh, five-eighths)

A real half-assed Marty costume would be something like a red t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up so it looks kinda like a vest, or maybe just a blue jacket (not even denim) and nothing else. I dunno, it's hard to picture a particularly offensive Marty McFly costume that isn't just normal fall clothes. I am, as I'm writing this, wearing a red t-shirt and jeans, so does that count as a bad Marty costume?

I wore an okay Marty costume in like 2017.

The only things I didn't already own were the denim jacket (actually a long sleeve denim shirt, which I got at Ross) and the vest (which I got on ebay). I can say with confidence that mine is not the worst. Middle of the road. Slightly above average, maybe. Good enough for a college Halloween party, not quite good enough for a convention.

Anyone else got any Martys they wanna show off?

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Flake's podcast - Books

published on YT 2020-06-12, but likely already podcast before that..

A podcast on the topic of books, but pretty much without books, because Flake (0h12) has the habit of giving away books he really likes, because a good book should be read by others as well. Not many books, but plenty of good music instead, and some anecdotes..

After marvelling briefly (0h11) on two-person bands, Flake realises he's been in one too: Die Magdalene Keibel Combo, with Paul. They would occassionally have a guest-drummer when playing concerts, but otherwise it was just the two of them, travelling to go and play somewhere. Because they knew eachother for a long time, they didn't have much to talk about, and with just two guys, the usual band-banter wasn't there either. Flake likens them to two vacuumcleaner salesmen on the road 🍀

Flake tells us (0h35) about, when he was young, going to the rehearsal room where various bands practiced in the hope they would let him play along. And because Flake was one of the few keyboarders in East-Berlin who could bring his own keyboard (he had his small portable Casio), they often did let him play when a keyboard was needed. After band practice one or two would stay behind and they would jam together some more. One time a song 'Es regnet Scheisse' (It's raining shit) was ad-libbed, which happens to be something Flake knows from real life, when he lived (illegally) in a flat which had seen a fire before he lived there and part of the ceiling (floor of the apartment above) was gone. One day sewage water (and shit) flowed down from the ceiling and along the walls, and it turned out the drain of his upstairs neighbour had burst. Because he didn't live there officially he didn't know where to turn, so put down buckets and used an umbrella indoors. Eventually Flake moved out (although he can't recall how).

At 0h51 he thinks back at Feeling B's old drummer (I'm assuming Alexander Kriening) who after practice would jump into a hangmat (fully clothed, with coat and shoes) and sleep a few hours, then got up and without changing would get in a car and drive to a concert. Flake thought that was very cool (himself always having to undress and get in his pyjamas before he could go to sleep).

At 1h29 he talks about hanging around in bars a lot at the time, especially in the very popular (with the alternative scene) Cafe Westphal, where they would drink, meet people and form new bands for which they would mainly discus naming the band, how cool the band would be, how much succes they would have, and not so much thinking about the music. Most of these band ideas were forgotten the next morning. Once Flake on his way to the pub was knocked down by a guy who just got out of jail and was totally freaked out about going to jail in 'the east' and getting out 'in the west'. When beaten-up Flake got to the pub, he had to tell the story several times, got a big glass of beer with each retelling, got cocky and was thrown out of the Cafe Westphall himself (which was an achievement in itself).

And at 1h17 he tells us what his biggest wish was at the time: to get a harmonica. But these weren't easy to get in the east, and they come in different keys, so if you really want to play you need several. Eventually he did get someone to send him one from the west, and wasvery happy to carry it around. In his shirtpocket obviously, because in the pantspocket the harmonica would get muddled in with the handkerchief and get all kinds of stuff on and in it. Flake once ate a salami sausage before playing; the harmonica still smelled of salami a year later 😊

🎹

more rambles on Flake's podcasts

[docpiplup]

@asongofstarkandtargaryen There's a triology I recently discovered that I want to read. It's the Banu Qasi triology writtenby Carlos Aurensanz, about the Banu Qasi and Iñiga-Aritza/Jimena families and their surroundings. The books can be downloaded on Internet (I have added the links for the download of each on of the books in esch of the titles if anyone wants to read them)

I. Los Hijos de Casio, 2009 (The Children of Casio)

"The exciting story of the rebel who came to be considered the third king of the Iberian Peninsula"

Musa Ibn Musa was destined from birth to rule and lead his people in the troubled region of the Upper March. His mixed blood (he is the son of a Muslim and a Basque woman) and the traits of his character, proud and refractory to submission, will make his government a unique case.

Musa knows exile, but he recovers and accepts his destiny, taking over the government of his people, a consubstantial ally of his Basque brothers, to seize Tudela from the Cordovan army of Al Ándalus. His decisions as ruler, inspired by a correct sense of justice but also by tolerance and a desire for sovereignty, earn him the respect of neighboring governments and at the same time arouse envy and a desire for revenge.

Elevated to the rank of wali of the city of Zaragoza by the Emir of Córdoba, Musa ibn Musa will live out his years of splendor surrounded by his relatives and seeing how the medinas reach their zenith of their cultural and economic development. But the difficulty in maintaining the political balance in the area will mean that Musa must constantly face an insoluble conflict: maintaining loyalty to his blood ties, which related him to the Basque Christians, or loyalty to the Muslim government of Al Ándalus.

Sample: Year 788, 171 of Hegira. Onneca was breathing heavily, clinging to both edges of the wooden bed, while the kabila leaned over her to speak to her in a calm but forceful voice. His hands, hidden under the folds of a rough linen sheet, revealed determined and precise movements: not in vain had the most experienced midwife in the region been notified. Every few minutes, the woman's face contorted in pain, her knuckles turning white as she felt the contractions. The midwife had ordered a table with two basins of clean, hot water and several cloths to be set up next to the bed. She herself had protected herself with an apron that covered her to her feet.

From time to time she inserted her fingers into a cylindrical clay container that contained a dark and oily substance, and continued his maneuvers. Meanwhile, two maids struggled to carry out his orders, trying tohide their fear and nervousness. They had tried to heat the bedroom with two metal braziers that were replaced periodically, but the wind slipped through the thick curtains that blocked the view from the central patio of the house, in the citadel of Arnit. Zahir ibn Fortun waited impatiently. The woman who was about to give birth in the next room was the widow of his brother, who had died three months ago in Saraqusta. Though she tried to put the tragic moment when the news was delivered from her mind, the memory fought to come back, and a familiar feeling of anguish clenched her stomach. His brother, Mūsa ibn Fortún, had been called to Saraqusta to put down the rebellion that had arisen in the city after the accession to the throne of Qurtuba of Emir Hisham I, led by Said al Husayn. Mūsa managed to master thethe revolt after getting rid of the ringleader, and took control of the city, although he had to remain in it to ensure stability. The danger seemed to have been passed, and Saraqusta returned to her calm. But after three weeks, a freedman from the rebel Said assaulted Mūsa as he left the mosque after Friday prayers and pierced his heart with a dagger, without his guard being able to do anything to stop him. At that very moment, Zahir was unable to push away the image of his lifeless brother, because in the next room the last son of Mūsa came into the world, an orphan.

Onneca was a strong woman, like all of her Basque race, originally from the Pyrenean valleys. She had married Mūsa for the second time, after the death of her first husband, the Basque leader Enneco Jimeno, with whom she had had her first two children: Enneco and Fortuño, who were already eighteen and seventeen years old. After Jimeno's death, Onneca moved to Arnit with her new husband, but her children remained in their native valley, to grow up in contact with the town that one day they were destined to lead. Although the separation was painful for Onneca, he was aware of the important role that the men of his lineage had played among the Basques for generations.

Hearing the sounds from the next room, Zahir's thoughts returned to Onneca, widowed for the second time and about to give birth to a son who would never know his father. The voices of the kabila became imperious, confused with the moans of the mother. For a moment there was silence, broken at last by the crying of a child. The midwife had cut the umbilical cord and opened the child's orifices with her fingers. Then she began to wash it, while the mother watched from the bed. The kabila was an experienced woman, and she knew that that blank stare was caused by the exhaustion of childbirth. But in the case of Onneca something else was guessed: a sadness that arose from the depths. The midwife took long strips of linen that she had ordered the maids to cut, and began to wrap the small body, swaddling it until it was practically immobilized. Then she lifted the newborn in her arms and brought him closer to the bed, inviting the mother to take him into her lap. For a moment Onneca seemed not to understand, but finally she reached out her hands and settled the child against her chest. "A precious child, strong, healthy and well formed," said the kabila. "Like his father," Onneca answered with a small voice.

The midwife pretended not to notice the tears that slipped down the mother's face and continued with an animated voice: —Now I'm going to finish you off, we'll clean all this up and let you rest. I have chosen a trustworthy nurse who will be there when you arrive and will take care of the little one.

Onneca nodded slowly and let the woman do it, who took the child again and placed it carefully in a small wicker cradle prepared next to the bed. Finished with her work, she allowed the two maids, calmer now, to take care of removing the bedclothes. "It's the cradle that all my children have used," Onneca said in a whisper to the girls, outlining a smile. Zahir jumped to his feet as the door to the next room opened. He had no experience as a father, because his only marriage had not been blessed with the arrival of children. His wife had died years ago, and he hadn't taken another, so the birth he'd just attended was the closest thing to parenthood he'd ever experienced. The midwife, who was leaving the house, informed her: it had been a boy, and both mother and son were fine. He turned his head in the direction of the Qibla and gave thanks to Allah. "The mother wants to see you, and I must say goodbye." Do not hesitate to send a message if any setback arises. "We won't hesitate," he replied, at the same time he deposited a small leather bag in her hand. We appreciate the work you have done. Zahir entered the bedroom, and looked at his brother's wife, who opened her eyes when she felt his presence. The man approached the bed, and Onneca took his hand. "He is a child, whole and healthy," she announced. "I know, Onneca. At least this has gone according to your wishes. Onneca nodded gently, though her eyes had blundered again. "Now that the child is here, you must put into practice everything we have planned together." My children…” “Rest now,” Zahir interrupted. Time will have to take care of that when you recover. "Just one thing: I've thought about the name I'm going to give the child." His name will be Mūsa, like his father: Mūsa, son of Mūsa. “Sounds good, Mūsa ibn Mūsa…” “You know? I have a good feeling,” he confided. I'm sure he's going to do great things. It's not easy for me to explain it, but it's as if a star had gone out in our lives and with it another one lit up. Zahir agreed withwith a smile and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he squeezed the woman's hand until he noticed that her breathing became regular and slow. Then he got up carefully and left the bedroom.

He entered the room where Mutarrif was waiting and found the boy sitting on the stone bench near the fire, his eyes lost in the flames that heated the room. Noticing his uncle's presence, he gave him a questioning look, but managed to hold his ground in an effort to hide the uneasiness he felt. Zahir saw the worry in his too-bright eyes and smiled reassuringly before speaking, “Everything went well, Mutarrif. You have a new brother... a boy. Your mother is well, although very tired. The boy nodded and smiled but remained silent. His uncle sat next to him. On the bench on the opposite wall, little Fortún was sleeping soundly, judging by his regular breathing. The two brothers usually slept there, on light mattresses stuffed with straw that served as seats during the day. "Your mother is resting now, but tomorrow you can see both of them." -Thank you. Zahir leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her hands cupping her face as she suppressed a slight yawn. The day had been long and exhausting. "Mutarrif," he said, sitting up, "I want you to know that I've been talking to your mother...The last few months have been very hard on you and your siblings, I know. Your father's death has affected all of us greatly. He paused to take a deep breath, calculating how to continue, "You are fourteen now, Mutarrif, almost a man, and now we must face the future." Allah Almighty has allowed the death of my brother, but in his mercy he has only wanted it to happen when you and Fortún are not children anymore. The boy made a gesture that indicated that this did not comfort him too much. “I have promised your mother,” Zahir continued, “that I will take care of you as long as it is necessary. Not only in terms of your maintenance, which we have secured due to the position we occupy, Allah be praised! What should concern us the most from now on is your training. As I know my brother had in mind, you must devote all your effort to study and training in the military. My father had already discussed it with me.

He wanted me to start accompanying him on some of his expeditions. He just had to wait until he was fifteen. Zahir noted the effort the boy was making to keep his voice steady. 'Yes, I suppose so, Mutarrif. However, we will have to modify those plans somewhat. I know your taste for the militia, and I have arranged with the officers of the garrison your transfer to their dependencies. You will live with them while you are introduced to the use of weapons and military arts. For a moment Mutarrif's face lit up. "But you must not neglect your learning at the mosque school with the other boys your age." I don't mean to scare you, but the imām is ready to work hard for you,” he said in a nonchalant tone, trying to break the tension. "I have to learn to ride well." My father said that to be a good army general you have to know how to handle weapons on horseback. "Ah, I think I can help you with that, it's my specialty," he replied briskly. This time Mutarrif looked at his uncle and smiled slightly. A moment later they had melted into an embrace. "Don't worry, boy… it's going to be all right," Zahir managed to say. We are going to understand each other.

Year 799, 183 of Hijra. The instability in Saraqusta continued after the death of Mūsa ibn Fortún. Revolts and attempts to seize power by different Arab factions followed one another, and the emir of Qurtuba, Hisham I, was forced to send his armies to quell the riots in what was considered the most important square in Uādi Ibru.

However, Saraqusta was not the only problem that kept Emir Hisham I busy. Since his accession to the Cordovan throne, he had had to face rebellions within Al Ándalus itself, in addition to successive campaigns against the northern border territories. His father, Abd al Rahman I, the first Emir of Qurtuba, had had three sons, but had not appointed his eldest son, Sulayman, to succeed him, but rather the second son, Hisham. At the time of the emir's death, Hisham, who was in Marida, hurried back to Qurtuba to take possession of the throne, but when Sulayman heard of his brother's proclamation, he rose up in arms and set out to conquer. of Qurtuba. The third brother, Abd Allah, who had not welcomed Hisham's elevation to the emirate, joined the eldest. Thus, one of the emir's first tasks was to fight for the throne against his two brothers. He had to mobilize the army to repel Sulayman's attack and encircle Tulaytula. After a year of conflict, the two brothers offered submission to Hisham and, after receiving from him seventy thousand gold dinars, went into exile in the Maghreb. The support given by the Banū Qasī family to the emir in Saraqusta, which had cost Mūsa ibn Fortún his life, was not forgotten. Mutarrif had just turned twenty-one when he was summoned to the capital by the governor of the march. Since his father's death, the boy, along with his brother Fortún, had dedicated every minute of their time preparing to assume the leadership of the family that would one day correspond to him, under the control and support of his uncle Zahir. When Mutarrif set out from Arnit in the direction of Saraqusta, following the route that skirted the river, little did he know the reason for the call. Eighty years ago, when the Muslims reached the lands of the Ibru under the command of Tariq, they were under the rule of Mutarrif's great-grandfather, the Visigothic count Casio, who did not hesitate to sign a pact with the newcomers and become the caliph's maula of Damascus. But the leaders of Banbaluna, as in many other Visigothic cities, opted for a different relationship: they maintained their control of the area in exchange for an annual tribute for the Qurtuba coffers. Non-payment of said tribute was a frequent reason for the emir's armed intervention, as had happened precisely in Banbaluna, which was under the control of the Baskunish, whose leaders dominated the area of ​​the western Pyrenees.

A new attempt to break away from the commitment had forced the governor of the March to intervene, and to guarantee the continuity in the payment of the tribute, he decided to leave a wālī at the head of the garrison representing the power of Qurtuba. The interview at Saraqusta was brief, for the governor was not a man of many words. He exchanged proper greetings with Mutarrif and praised his father's role. Precisely in recognition of this role of the Banū Qasī, he said, he had decided to call the young muladí to his presence: he would be the new worth of Banbaluna. He had to move to the city without wasting time and assume his new duties. After being informed by a high official of the details of the situation in the land of the Basques, and after receiving the appropriate instructions, Mutarrif left Saraqusta at the head of a large entourage. Since then, four years had passed in which things had changed a lot for the Banū Qasī.

After Mutarrif's departure, Fortún had grown into a strong and proud young man who had managed to earn the respect and consideration of his comrades in arms in the Arnit garrison. Gradually, he had seen how all the inhabitants of the area recognized his condition as a natural leader, just as it had happened with his father and before with his grandfather. Mutarrif had been at the helm of the Banbaluna government for a year when news of Hisham I's untimely death arrived in Qurtuba, who had been succeeded to the throne by his son Al Hakam I, who was only twenty-six years old. Since Mutarrif arrived in the city, relations had been strengthened with his brothers on the mother's side, Enneco and Fortuño, who were still on their lands in the Pyrenean valley of Salazar, two days away.

On several occasions Zahir had accompanied Onneca there to visit her older children. Little Mūsa traveled enthusiastically, eager to see his stepbrothers again, for whom he professed boundless admiration. During the first years of Mūsa's life, the stays in Isaba, where Enneco had his residence, were rather short, and they were limited to the summer season, when the good weather allowed the boy to enjoy playing in the green and endless meadows, bathe in the icy waters of the river, scare the sheep and milk the cows. However, over the years, the visits were prolonged, and Mūsa began to spend some time in the care of his brothers, especially the eldest son, who was amused by the little one's bright and spontaneous character and allowed him to share some of his memories with him. activities. During those summers, Enneco became the father Mūsa had never known. There were also many occasions when Fortún, from Arnit, went to visit his brother Mutarrif in Banbaluna. Zahir attended these interviews with satisfaction, and felt proud of these two young people in their early twenties who, perhaps forced by circumstances, acted with a maturity almost beyond their age. In such meetings they dealt with the political situation in the area, mainly in Saraqusta, where instability once again reigned. But the situation was not calm in Banbaluna either: a large group of Pamploneses, led by Balask al Yalaski, opposed the emir's authority over the city, and some attempts at confrontation had arisen. News reached Mutarrif that Balask and his followers were in favor of establishing relations with Charlemagne, the Carolingian monarch whose vast territory extended beyond the Pyrenees. The two brothers knew that the leadership role of their family in the lands of Uādi Ibru, after the hiatus imposed by the death of their father, would sooner or later lead them to intervene in the events that were taking place in the March, mainly in Saraqusta.

For this reason, according to Zahir, both decided to leave Arnit and move with the bulk of the military garrison to Tutila, located a shorter distance from Saraqusta and better communicated. Tutila was then a small town located at the confluence of the Uādi Qalash with the Uādi Ibru, at the foot of an elevation crowned by a modest defensive fortress. The existence of a bridge over the mighty riverbed made the enclave a strategic point in communications throughout the valley. Many of its inhabitants still recounted to the younger ones the passage through the city, twenty years ago, of the imposing army of Charlemagne on his return from Saraqusta, on the way to Roncesvalles.

II. La Guerra de Al Ándalus, 2013 (The War of Al Andalus)

The Upper Border of the Ebro, where the descendants of the great Mūsa ibn Mūsa resumed the path of revolt, ceded part of its leadership to the emirate's Córdoba, the nascent kingdom of Pamplona, ​​the mighty King Alfonso III in his new court in León and Bobastro, "the eagle's nest", refuge in the Malaga mountains of Umar ibn Hafsún, the muladí rebel who would end up jeopardizing the very survival of Al Ándalus. With surprising historical rigor and clear language free of artifice, Aurensanz masterfully intertwines the adventures of the protagonists in this diversity of settings, and offers an ambitious and complex story that will once again captivate the reader.

Fascinating second part of the saga already started with Banu Qasi: Los hijos de Casio that takes up the narration of the events carried out by the muladí clan that gives its name to this story.

Sample: Year 863, Hegira 249, Qurtuba. Sunset was undoubtedly the time of day that Onneca preferred. Although this was the third summer that she would spend in the capital, she had not managed to get used to the intense heat of the Córdoba summer and, if he missed something from his native land, there in the north, in Basque lands, it was the sunny but cool days of the mountains, which allowed him to maintain activity even during the hottest hours of midday. Not so in Qurtuba, of course. When the sun reached its zenith, both she and Fortún, her father, used to already find themselves sheltering in their comfortable rooms in the Dar al Rahn, the magnificent building destined to house the numerous political hostages of the emirate. The House of Hostages occupied a privileged space between the aljama mosque and the wall that separated the madinat from Uādi al Kabir. The main access to the building was next to the Puerta del Puente, a place of continuous movement of people and merchandise that delighted the young Onneca. At fifteen, she was a jovial and alert girl, in her father's opinion perhaps too much for a society like that, in which women had perfectly defined limits that they should not cross. The first weeks of his stay in Qurtuba had been hard: he still kept on his retina the images of the destruction of Pampilona and all the Basque villages that Muhammad I's army had had devastated in its path. She remembered her anxiety during the negotiation in which Fortún had to agree to be transferred to the capital as a hostage, and how she threw herself at her father's feet to beg him to take her with him. Those images returned to her again and again wrapped in a cloud of unreality, which lasted in the three interminable weeks that they used to cross the entire territory of Al Ándalus from north to south. Three years. Only three years, but for Onneca it seemed like an entire existence had passed. In Qurtuba she had discovered a completely new way of life, of which she had only had references through the stories of her Muslim relatives from the Ebro. But then she was a girl, and for her all those stories of emirs and concubines, lavish palaces and enormous mosques they did not differ at all from the rest of the stories they used to hear during the cold nights in old Pampilona, ​​comforted by the warmth of the fire.

Their treatment from day one had come as a surprise to both her father and her. Even during their transfer, they had been provided with unthinkable comforts in the rear of a huge army such as that of Muhammad I. It is true that the haymah they occupied during short nightly rests was permanently guarded by four members of the emir's personal guard, but the The mounts they rode on were excellent, the food they were offered was more than dignified, and they did not lack a pitcher of fresh water while they crossed the endless plains of the center of the Peninsula.

With her mother dead, the separation from her father, whom she adored, would have been unbearable. Having him by her side, being able to accompany him during his captivity, had made her feel strangely lucky from the start. The House of Hostages was a spacious and well-preserved two-story building whose rooms opened onto a patio that even had a singing fountain in the center. Fortún and Onneca occupied a lodging made up of three rooms attached to the southern wall, a location that allowed it to receive the first rays of the morning sun and kept it in the shade during the hot hours of the afternoon. The girl was one of the few women who lived in the building, whose inhabitants were mostly men, younger than old, belonging mostly to part to lineages of high birth.

Despite the diversity of origins and religions, the captivity had established strong bonds of friendship between them, and they had adopted the lively Basque as the daughter or sister that everyone would have wanted by their side. From the beginning, Onneca had worked hard to make her father's life as easy as possible. He would get up at dawn, to devote the coolest hours of the day to domestic chores that might involve some effort, and before the sun warmed they would go out together to the nearby market, where they would be greeted by the familiar bustle that so pleased him. At that early hour, the stalls were overflowing with merchandise from the nearby orchards and farms, and soon the basket that hung from her arm contained what was necessary to supply the small pantry. In In recent months, the person in charge of carrying that load had been Abdel.

In the first interview they had with the chamberlain, they were offered the possibility of having one or two slaves to attend to their needs, and Fortún was grateful and willing to accept the proposal. As soon as they were alone, however, Onneca made another suggestion to her father. She would take care of the simple household chores, and in return Fortún would ask for something on the quarterdeck. Ever since she learned her fate, Onneca had decided not to waste time during her captivity, and the first goal she set for herself was to speak the Arabic language correctly. Although it was true that he already knew its rudiments, thanks to contact with his relatives and with the many Muslim merchants who visited Pampilona, ​​he did not intend to miss the opportunity offered by his forced stay in that splendid city, the capital of the emirate. But he needed someone with enough knowledge at his side.

Abdel entered the Dar al Rahn only two weeks after Onneca's arrival. He was a seventeen-year-old boy, tall, thin, and dark-haired, whose gaze barely lifted from the ground, and whose company became habitual since he introduced himself to both of them with a low voice. Every day, in the hottest hours, Fortún retired to his bedroom, and it was not surprising that he fell asleep hearing his daughter repeat old Arabic sentences over and over again, occasionally corrected by the masculine voice of her young teacher. Little by little, his visits became more frequent and extended to the central hours of the morning. With a studied gesture of surprise, He would pretend to bump into Onneca in the market, offer to carry her basket, and accompany her to the House of Hostages. Once there, they both looked for any excuse to prolong the meeting, and with Fortún's acquiescence, the boy ended up accompanying them in their frugal lunch, before beginning the daily lessons. In the middle of the afternoon, after a brief rest, Fortún would return to make an appearance in the spacious room, and then Abdel would get up and with a slight bow he would say goodbye to both of them. That was the moment when Fortún, taking advantage of the shadow of the buildings and without ceasing to admire the superb southern wall of the main mosque, used to cross the square in the direction of the fortress.

He had discovered what for him it constituted the greatest treasure in the palace of Muhammad, a treasure of which he had already had complete news through the abbot of Leyre, there in the distant foothills of the Pyrenees: the magnificent library of the fortress housed thousands of volumes, and a part nothing insignificant of these was translated into Latin. It had not cost him any effort to obtain the necessary permits to access its premises, and in those years he had established a relationship of frank friendship with the senior official to whom the emir personally delegated his authority as responsible for the conservation and expansion of that center of knowing. Although the hours for Fortún passed quickly there, his desire to enjoy his daughter's company did not diminish, so he soon began to borrow scrolls and volumes with which to fill his time without having to leave the Dar al Rahn. His Christian faith had taken root firmly under the influence of both his father and the Bishop of Pampilona, ​​Willesindo, confessor and friend of the family, so his first readings had been directed to the works of the fathers of the Church, who with great surprise had found in those immense shelves. There he had discovered De civitate Dei, by Agustín of Hipona, and had even had the opportunity to enjoy some of the twenty volumes of the Etymologies of the old bishop of Ishbiliya, Isidoro. The deep meditations of the old masters were a balm for him, as they somehow compensated for the impossibility of practicing worship in the city's churches, something that the sovereign had prohibited at the beginning of his reign, after the serious events carried out by christian martyrs who, led by Bishop Eulogio, had defied the religious laws of the emirate until they ended up executed. That afternoon at the end of summer, in the middle of the month of Rajab, the city was abuzz with rumors, as the return of the victorious Cordovan army, under the command of Prince Abd al Rahman, was imminent. Apparently, Alaba's campaign against King Ordoño of Asturias had been a real success. No inhabitant of Qurtuba expected anything different, since, last spring, they had seen with their own eyes the enormous display of men from all the groups of southern Al Ándalus who had gathered on foot and on horseback on the esplanade of the musara, ready to leave. The narrators who walked the streets and squares of Qurtuba spared no praise for a sovereign that had led them to a new victory against the infidels of the north: twenty Christian counts had bitten the dust according to the stories that circulated by word of mouth, and King Ordoño's own brother had been killed during the battle. Onneca had expressed concern about the fate of her relatives, but Fortún was able to reassure her after confirming in the fortress that on this occasion the people of Pamplona had not taken part in the conflict. Undoubtedly the vanguard of the army was approaching the city, for the Bab al Qantara, the nearest gate to the river, was wide open, and a high-ranking procession from the quarterdeck was heading towards it flanked by the crowd, there was also expectation in the Dar al Rahn.

The men were preparing to leave, and Onneca, after trying to glimpse something of what was happening outside above their shoulders and heads, headed determinedly to her lodging, where she found Fortún devoted to reading a heavy volume. "Father, the army is coming!" They are already coming out to receive them. Fortún looked up and regarded the girl with a slight smile. "Ah, youth…" he said with a sigh. You want to go out and you want me to come with you…” “Perhaps it won't be necessary, Father. Abdel can do it, he's still by the door, I can see him from here. Fortun studied the pages before him. - Be it, my daughter. However, you must not go far from the building. And be back before nightfall. Onneca's face lit up, she kissed her father on the cheek and left the room, hiding her hair under a light scarf. He ran across the courtyard, not giving much thought to the decorum that a girl of her position was supposed to hold, she slipped through the people grouped under the lintel of the gate and, once outside, looked around for Abdel. He did not find it immediately, since the boy did not count on his presence and had tried to approach the entourage, but due to his height his head stood out above the rest. Onneca managed to almost push his way through, and laughed heartily at the shocked face of the young man as he stood beside him. "Onneca!" You should have warned me! It's not safe for a girl…” “Shhh! he snapped. Who are they? he asked, his eyes fixed on the two superb horsemen approaching from the opposite end of the esplanade. “They are the sons of Muhammad. The first is the crown prince, Al Mundhir. The one who advances behind the guard is Abd Allah.

No doubt they are going to receive their brother Prince Abd al Rahman right here, who is returning to lead the troops. —How can they be brothers being so different? Al Mundhir is dark and has curly hair, but look at Abd Allah: his skin is fair, his hair is blond... and those blue eyes. 'Both are sons of the emir, but certainly conceived by different wives. I understand they were born the same year. But Abd Allah is much more like his father. "How many children does Muhammad have?" Onneka asked. —At least twenty males and fifteen females... But look at their clothes, and their mounts... they are magnificent! "Let's get closer," Onneca said as she tried to push through, curious. The crowd barely allowed us to walk. Whole families went to the streets to see the heirs to the throne up close, a spectacle that was not repeated often. Onneca advanced sideways and, at the cost of enduring some complaints, made a place for herself in the front row, next to a woman with a young child who was looking at the procession with astonished eyes. Al Mundhir was passing in front of them, and Onneca took in his face, beautiful but pockmarked. He also observed that a dog was running naturally among the riders, as if wanting to take part in the party. The boy also saw it and separated from his mother to approach him, but the animal backed away in fear, until it was just a few elbows from Abd Allah's horse, which was waving to the crowd gathered on the sides. Onneca sensed the danger immediately. The mount reared, raising its front legs into the air.

The mother gave a warning cry, but it was Onneca who rushed towards the little boy, took his arm and, with a jerk that landed both on the ground, prevented the horse's hooves from crushing his body at the last moment. tiny. When the boy was already cared for by his mother and Abdel was advancing towards her, the girl looked up and discovered that the prince was trying to control his mount without taking his blue eyes from her face. The scarf that covered her head had fallen off, and she suddenly felt exposed to all eyes. Unable to control the situation, he pushed through the crowd and disappeared in the direction of the Hostage House. Abdel tried to follow her, but a voice behind him stopped him. -You! Do you know the girl? asked Abd Allah gravely. Abdel stopped and adjusted his posture to address the prince respectfully. “I know her, my lord. It is the daughter of one of your guests, Fortún, heir to the kingdom of Banbaluna. He is staying with his father at the Dar al Rahn, and I myself have been assigned to improve his knowledge of our language. The prince narrowed his eyes and seemed to smile. He waved the boy away with one hand, so Abdel, with a slight nod, stepped back to follow Onneca's steps. He had to report on the conversation he had just had. When a footman from the keep entered the Dar al Rahn's quarters the next morning with a scroll in his hand, Fortune took it with a trembling hand. He was sure he knew its contents.

III. La Hora del Califa, 2015 (The hour of the khalifa)

At the dawn of the 10th century, the Iberian Peninsula was divided between the Christian kingdoms in the north and the emirate of Córdoba in the south, places where this story takes place. Caught between the two, the Banu Qasī clan, already in low hours, defends with blood and fire their most precious possession, the city of Tudela. However, the domains they have held for two centuries now find themselves in no man's land, where the inevitable clash between two irreconcilable civilizations will take place. With the historical rigor that has characterized him since the first installment of the trilogy, Aurensanz delights us once again with his enormous ability to turn documents into a narrated story and transport the reader, through detailed descriptions, to another time and another place. In this latest installment, he makes it clear that he has a formidable narrative talent that seems to have reached its absolute maturity.

Sample: The emir remained standing in the middle of the silence, broken only by the whistling of the wind through the branches and the screeches of the birds of prey that flew over the cliffs, until he looked back at his son and, with a gesture, asked him to it will come closer. “Remember while you live this moment, Al Hakam. The road to get here is drenched in the blood of tens of thousands of good believers. Fifty years and the tenacity of four emirs have been necessary to break the resistance of this nest of perdition. When I was born, the Umayyad state as you have known it, the same one that seems so immutable to you now, was about to give up under the pressure of the rebels who had their refuge in this place. You know, because I have told you, that the chief who governed in Burbaster came to set fire with his projectiles in the aljama mosque of Qurtuba. The efforts of many men have been necessary so that you and I can tread these paths. Open your eyes and ears wide, because the stories you are going to hear and what you are going to experience in these days are the foundations on which we have to build the future of our dynasty. Today is the first day, listen to me carefully, of a new era for the Umayyads. A day that has taken longer to arrive than the person responsible for all this could ever suppose

Characters II Locations II Words & Etymologies