#Concrete Celebrates Earth Day

[cryptocollectibles]

Concrete Celebrates Earth Day #1 (April 1999) by Dark Horse Comics

By Paul Chadwick & Charles Vess & Moebius, cover by Paul Chadwick.

[konigbabe]

like real people do

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!teacher!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 5.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character

Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.

a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. Also, canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

divider by @benkeibear [source]

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily– “So? It’s just dinner.”

The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.

As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.

Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.

Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.

Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.

She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.

"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.

As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.

The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.

"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.

The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.

Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.

An enigma.

"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–

Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.

"He’s busy."

A pang of understanding pinches your heart.

–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.

"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.

"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"

The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."

Oh.

You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.

"The woman who picks you up–"

"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."

You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.

Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.

The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.

The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.

"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.

He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.

Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.

"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."

The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.

Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.

The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.

"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.

"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.

As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.

It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–

("He fights monsters.")

–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.

"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"

"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.

The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.

"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."

"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."

"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.

The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.

Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.

A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.

"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.

He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.

Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.

Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.

"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."

Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.

"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.

You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."

Leon nods, lips pressed together.

"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.

Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.

"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."

Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.

"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.

You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.

"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"

His face remains stoic, so you continue.

"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.

"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.

With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.

"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."

He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.

"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"

"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.

Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."

"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.

Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.

"Maybe her mother could–"

"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.

You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.

"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."

Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.

Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"

You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."

"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.

"Yes," you assure him.

"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."

You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"

Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.

"You got me there."

The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.

It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.

With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.

A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.

A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.

"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.

Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.

Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.

Mr Kennedy.

Leon Kennedy.

Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.

It’s odd. Uncanny–

You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.

–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.

As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"

"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"

"–or he’s a creep."

Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.

"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.

Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.

But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.

"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.

As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.

"Just call me Leon."

Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.

"I’d rather stick to being professional."

It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–

"You’re making me feel old," he teases.

–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.

The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.

It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.

"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."

Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."

"She’s really talented in sports."

A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.

"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.

It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.

Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.

Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–

"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."

–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.

It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.

"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."

It’s tempting.

The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.

A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.

"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."

The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–

"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.

–it makes you feel alive.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.

Only frown upon. Harshly.)

It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.

"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"

"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."

"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"

"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."

The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.

"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.

From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.

Your little freedom.

Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.

This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.

Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.

Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.

"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.

Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.

"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.

"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."

The allure of his presence tangible.

A gravitational pull.

"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."

He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.

You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–

–like a moth to a flame.

Life has a funny way of working out.

You should stop.

But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–

The world falls away.

–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.

Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.

The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".

It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.

Like a hummingbird.

A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.

"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.

With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.

"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"

It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–

He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."

It’s a command rather than anything else.

Followed by your clothes.

He has you bare before you make up your mind.

–causing your skin to crawl.

With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.

Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.

Utter consumption by the fire inside you.

Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.

He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.

Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.

Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.

Lost in the feeling.

His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.

Up and down. Up and down.

Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.

The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.

Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.

You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.

Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.

His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.

Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.

With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.

Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.

Long lost is the slow motion–

Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.

–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.

His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.

Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.

Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.

You just look so pretty underneath him.

Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.

The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.

Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.

Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.

The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.

His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.

With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.

Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.

As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

There should be some sort of regret.

Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.

The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.

There’s no regret.

Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–

(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.

A sense of desolation creeps in you.)

–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.

You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.

"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."

As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.

An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.

Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"

"I was just looking for a bathroom."

Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.

You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.

As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.

Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.

His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.

There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.

Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."

Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.

"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."

[wolven91]

Drifting- Part 5

There was an eon where Casper merely floated in the infinite dark.

The last thing he remembered before the dark was the concrete road, rushing up to greet him. He couldn't even put his hands up to stop himself as he had grabbed the other person's head with both hands, intending on either tearing it off or slam dunking it into the floor. He recalled, just as it all went blank, that he knew something bad had happened to his head and his neck in the same instance. Even now, a quick check of himself and he knew there were several problems, instinctually, like a perfect itemised list that remained constant in his mind's eye until he dismissed it. It was mainly his head, but he knew he was hurt in the stomach too.

With the destruction of his head, or at least he assumed his head was destroyed, saying he couldn't see, hear, smell or taste anything, nor could he feel anything when he reached up to touch where it should have been; he'd lost all sense of the outside world in an instant. Even if he thrashed or yelled or raged at the dark; nothing changed. His fingers felt nothing, he wasn't laying on anything. The young man couldn't even feel the sun on his skin. He was headless, in the perfect dark.

It was him and the void, all around him. He lay there and, with nothing else to do; Casper began to think.

[Am I dead?]

How does one know when they die? No one had come back to give instructions. Was this what happened? Casper thought back to Earth of all things. The planet which he'd had to flee. Where he'd left his family and many of his friends behind. He'd been on a night out, celebrating his birthday when it happened. Only one of his friends had been grabbed at the same time as him, the rest of his friends had avoided the grasping hands of the ursidains, running and jeering, throwing whatever was at hand.

Casper still didn't know if they had made it off before the end.

From the government records, he was apparently the only member of his family who made it.

Were they stuck in a void like this too?

No wonder ghosts were angry, lashing out he thought. Casper was already getting agitated, and he'd been alone in the void for... How long had he been here? Seconds? Hours? Days? How could he know? He couldn't even feel so much as his...

Then something changed.

The void didn't change, it was still dark and completely devoid of sensation, both physical and otherwise. But Casper could *sense* that he was exposed. Like the back of his neck had been flayed open, leaving his vulnerable spine exposed to danger.

Then there was a noise. A clank of a tool hitting metal beyond a door or wall. Then clattering, of claws on metal, clinking and skittering. More clanking, of something close by, mere inches away.

Then Casper was born for the second time.

Bright light blinded the man. It was so bright, cold, and harsh that he tried to cry out and shield himself with his hands, but the rebreather mask that covered his nose and mouth prevented him from forming sentences. His arms, although now freed from being crossed over his chest, refused to move with purpose; he feebly raised them, only to be shocked by the exhaustion and they collapsed onto him the moment he stopped to recuperate.

Several moving shadows blocked the light, but only for brief moments. The young man kept his eyes screwed up tight, squinting up at the creatures, he tried to prevent them from reach out to him, but all he did was ineffectually paw at them. The air was cold against his skin, and he felt sickly, as if starved and weak. Like he'd not eaten in days. He couldn't help but shiver. All the while this was happening, there was a deafening calamity that lanced pain through the man's mind, giving him a headache that crippled his thoughts. People shouting, tools slamming against metal. It was too much! Too loud!

Something cold and hard, like steel, wrapped around him and lifted him from the womb which had housed him in comfort and warmth. He cried out, but the metal claw that had grasped him between four unrelenting fingers was emotionless as it pulled him free and lowered him onto something yielding and soft.

"Get him to medical. Full check-up."

That was Wren's voice, the young man was certain of it. Her name was clear in his head, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, it was still so bright he could only see the bright red of the inside of his eyelids. He didn't dare open them.

"*Where is it!? Who was the pilot?!*" Came a harsh voice that bellowed and echoed around the apparently enclosed building. Casper felt movement, but there was no wind against him, no sunlight on his skin. He wasn't outside. He raised a hand and placed it over his stomach, but it merely slid off, frictionless. He felt pressure, but the sensation was muted. His fingers couldn't feel his skin, and his skin could feel his fingers.

The harsh voice continued to argue with something or someone but dropped in volume as Casper was apparently moved away, into another room and now that the maelstrom of noise and activity was gone? Fell asleep.

== 0 ==

The next thing Casper was aware of was discomfort. He coughed and winced, there was something stuck in his throat, irritating it. As he reached up however, he found his hand was connected to something, stopping his movements.

Finally opening his eyes, a clean white room with minimal features came into focus. Inserted into the back of his hand was a canular. His wrist was bound to the bed with a cushioned cuff. Turning his head the tubing that connected to the back of his hand, was connected to a drip of some kind, but the bag had alien runes and text on it. It made no sense to him. Next thing he noticed was with the turn of his head, something pulled tight across his face and into his nose. He winced.

With two fingers, he reached up, confused, only to jump when a rumbling voice broke the silence.

"Don't touch that. That's how they're getting food in you."

Glancing round, there was a partially pulled curtain, blocking the source of the voice.

"Who's there? What happened?" He asked, voice rough, but no longer as weak or unintelligible as when he was first torn from the oblivion.

"You completed your first dive. Piloted a mech." Congratulated the voice. It was deep and rich, Casper's translators, of the sub-dermal variety, gave the voice a female inflection.

"That put me in hospital?"

A single chuckle.

"No. But you had no drift, so your brain forgot about your body. Took you a bit to remember. I bet it'll be easier next time." The voice continued with a hint of respect, maybe even admiration.

"Who are you?" Casper asked, trying to manipulate his face to set the tubes comfortably and failing. From behind the curtain, a new alien strutted out.

She was tall, with a serious face. The head was covered in short brown fur which covered a sloped face that met at a pointed nose. Atop her head, was dominated by a pair of long ears that hung down the back of her head and rested against the front of her shoulders. The sclera of her eyes were jet black instead of white, with the black of her pupil, it made her iris intense and dangerous looking.

She wore a rough jacket around her torso, which was left open. Beneath was a nerve suit, similar to the one Casper had worn, complete with open jacks for the needles that would stab into and connect a pilot. This skintight material covered her from her neck, down her body, past her hips and only ended above her ankles. Whilst the rest of her was petit, for such a tall creature, it was her hips there were larger than normal.

Then again, as Casper laid there watching her, with the interloper suffering his study of her in silence, it didn't surprise the human that she had legs for days. If he squinted, the alien looked the spitting image, of a bipedal hare.

"I'm a lopel." She explained, in a bored tone, pushing off from the wall that she'd leant on and again, began to slowly walk around Casper's bed. His head tracked her carefully. "And you're a human." She accused, glancing at him with the golden eyes again. There was something about the way she stared at him, it wasn't a causal gaze or even her studying him as Zeet had done last week. It felt like a threat.

"What do you want? Why are you in my room?" Casper asked, mildly concerned that this thing that was watching him carefully. The way she tiptoed around his bed put him on edge, the saunter was not idle. Was the medical staff nearby?

"I want to kill you." She said plainly.

Casper immediately looked for an alert or a nurse call button but found none. She continued regardless.

"You got lucky yesterday. You ruined my rig and I want my rematch." She explained, coming to a halt next to his drip bag, looming over him whilst keeping her chin up. He could only just see her golden eyes, staring down at him as he were nothing more than filth on the bottom of her shoe... if she wore shoes.

"I'm sor-ACK!" Casper tried to apologise, but the alien grabbed his throat and squeezed. 

"Shut it! Do you know what kind of damage you've done to my-" She stopped herself, on the very edge of shouting, glanced at her hand, then let go of the young man who shrank back into the bed, staring up at her. The pain ebbed, but he was still shocked as she seemingly took a breath through her nose, closed her eyes, and took a step away, down the edge of the bed.

"You've tarnished my reputation, or at least, if anyone hears about this." She began again, with a deadly calm voice.

"I can just say I lost?" The man offered, looking for an out.

"Mm, cute. Like there wasn't a hundred eyes on us. No. I'm stuck in this contract and afterwards I'm never going to get another job again because some idiot decides they're going to bellyflop on top of me. Who the hell even taught you that?" She demanded, frowning, and shaking her face, turning to him as if it was such an incredulous idea to jump on top of someone's back. Her ears cascaded with the move of her head, like two giant ponytails.

Casper recalled that he would have landed on her back if she had stopped her 'rig' or even carried on the way she was going. The young man hadn't expected her to spin on the spot and had overshot, tearing off her 'head' and unable to protect his own.

"John Cena and it was more of a draw-" He replied, truthfully, but she wasn't listening.

"I'll add him to the list as well." She replied in a dark tone. "Next question, how did you get that mech to do that? It's the most broken and glitchy of the rigs here, literally because it's the 'pilot's first rig' mech. It's a miracle it still works!"

"I just... plugged in?" He paused before adding. "I'm not lying." This seemed to amuse her as her head flew back as she barked with laughter.

"'New Guy', you couldn't lie convincingly if your life depended on it." She pointed out, her smile, which softened her features in a lovely way; dropped in an instant. Her serious demeanour returning instantly. The room fell into silence as she pinched her chin, staring at him again. He felt a heat prickle in the space between his eyes, unable to hold her intense gaze.

"Can you blink-"

"What's your drift?" She interrupted, seemingly finding something of interest.

"Eh... A fraction of a percent? Why?"

She didn't respond, only glared at him while her hand stopped moving, still touching her face.

"I'm not-" Casper started, trying to defend himself.

"Shut up. I know you're not." She stopped him, but it wasn't her words that made the impact to the young man, but her tone. She believed him. That was evident even to him, and the 'gun barrel' stare she had been giving Casper was gone. It was a night and day change and she had barely moved an inch.

Knowledge of his 'low drift' changed the landscape for her. He'd missed something... Something important. He breathed in shakily, letting her have a moment to stop him from talking, but she remained pensive.

"How... rare is a low drift?" He asked carefully.

"Very." She stated flatly. Her golden irises flicking up, then back down as her fingers began to scratch at her chin again. She seemed to come to a conclusion and folded her arms under her chest, before tilting her head back as if unbelieving of Casper's answer even before she had asked her next question.

"So, you just... don't know about full submersion controllers?" She asked accusatively. "FSBs?"

"My planet got destroyed about... a month ago? A day before that; the most we knew about aliens was what we made up." Casper retorted, a flare of annoyance igniting in his chest. "No! I don't know *anything*!" Casper snapped back, annoyed that she wasn't getting that everything that had happened was a fluke and angry that he had to bring up such a topic just to defend himself from a mentally unstable easter bunny knock off!

It was enough though. Either his passion or his words, her next sentence was calm and low. She spoke clearly and slowly, enough for him to conceptualise what she explained.

"Fine. Just listen and maybe I can fill you in on some details our 'generous hosts' have left out for you." She offered, briefly raising her hands to air quote her words. For the next forty minutes, Qik the lopel as she would introduce herself, explained about 'full submersion controllers' or 'FSCs' and their use in the wider galaxy.

Casper learnt that mechs were not the only machine that could be controlled by thought alone. Realistically, any device could be connected to a nervous system and handled in a similar matter. Granted the more complicated a system, the more strain it put on the mind. Ultimately, the more complicated the device, the greater the drift commands will suffer. Mechs or 'rigs', were second only to full stations or battleships for complexity.

The more complicated the system, the greater the drift. The higher the drift, the more commands to the machine were lost, changed, or corrupted. Too much drift and the pilot would be lost, the machine almost becoming an animal in of itself. Taking actions without order, the pilot unable to control what now controlled them.

Ursidains had the worst drift rating of all the races. But that didn't mean they couldn't use these FSCs for their equipment, only that they were limited to 'simple' caterpillar tracked vehicles and merely targeting and firing systems for the largest equipment. The most advanced and highest trained pilots of the ursidain people could just about manage the firing mechanism of a shipbound railgun. They would leave the targeting and other systems to other parts of the crew and would merely manage the weapon's heat management and ammo selection. That was enough to give those crews an edge, but the user of the FSC would become a sickly creature; losing weight and needing to be shaved just so they could have their bodies connected to the system.

It was a well-respected, but short career with a well-paid retirement and medical coverage afterwards, Qik explained. She moved onto the other races and gave examples for them too.

Ssypnos were accomplished fighter pilots, however their mass made them quite vulnerable to gravity flight and rendered them at a disadvantage almost universally when they had to take their own weight into account. Since the smaller the ssypno meant the better the pilot, Qik spared no details when she explained it was the orphans who were selected and pressed into military service on behalf of nobles that made up the vast majority of their pilots and military. They were kept cold and hungry, ensuring they remained small and effective.

Taurian females were awful for their drift, whereas their male counterparts were much better. Their natural distain for violence however, rendered them useless.

"What about your kind? I hadn't even heard of 'lopels'." The young man asked, sat up and grimacing as he felt cold nutrient paste slowly crawl up the tube before disappearing up his nose. He felt the temperature as the gross, grey looking mixture made its way down the tube that emptied out in his stomach. He winced as his stomach protested.

"Mm, no one likes to talk about the lopel in the room. We're mercenaries."

"A whole race of mercenaries? Not a single librarian or doctor?"

"You either pay for your medical or go join the GC. Nobody wants their details in the system. Money means you can travel and eat in their zone, but we wouldn't give up or anonymity."

"So why doesn't anyone talk about you guys?"

"Because we're their dirty little secret. If two of the powers get into a fight, it's public record. If a mercenary guild are brought in to win a fight, that's a private matter."

"You're privateers?"

The brown alien shrugged and scratched blunt claws against her cheek.

"Call me what you like. I'm rich, free and happy."

"So how come you're here? Besides planning on killing me."

"Geckins were about to fight the ssypno. I've already done five sorties, and the sixth one was literally due the next day. I signed, then something happened, and everyone sent all their ships to some backend of nowhere system, calling a pause to the fighting. I'm contracted for a fight, that never happened. I signed because the same thing had happened five times before over the previous five days, how could I know the war was put on pause because of a fancy new species popped up." She grumbled, frowning, and sneering at her misfortune.

"Was the new system called 'Sol'?"

The reaction was a stiffening of the body, and her golden irises flicking up and fixing him with a stare.

"Yeah, sounds about right.

"That was us. Humans. Sorry for the delay." Casper said sarcastically, blinking and laying his head back, mood darkening. From the corner of his eye, he watched the lopel tilt her head, her ears falling to the side before she pushed up off the wall and strutted over to him. In their time together, she'd yet to stay still for more than a few moments. Even so far as to peek beyond the door every so often.

"What are you guys called again?"

"Human as a single. Humans as a plural. Humanity as a species."

"You guys use FSCs where you're from?"

"A guy successfully played a computer game with a subdermal link. That count?"

"Rudimentary, but yes."

"If you're not a fluke, and 'humanity'," she said with finger quotes. "are this low on their drift scales on average? They're going to be useful to every single species out in the stars." Qik promised, turning to sit on the bed. She gave one chuckle that spasmed her body before looking over her shoulder to admit to Casper.

"Even my own company would hire someone with *that* low a drift. Even *with* zero combat experience." She turned away and leant back on her hands, considering something beyond Casper or the room they lay in.

"Okay, so what does low drift do then?" The man asked, feeling more human as time went on. "With no drift or thereabouts?"

"No drift? That rig you were in? When you're plugged in; that's your body now. It can do what you can do. No limitations, no need for stabilisers or wasting CPU on balancing things." She turned her whole body now, lifting a leg onto the bed to face him completely.

"You put in a combat role software package into a rig and stick you in? You're going to be able to identify a weak point, select a suite of methods for capitalising on it and be ready to execute those options in the blink of an eye." Casper blinked as she snapped her fingers.

"Your rig no longer needs to think about itself, your brain will do that for you. Instead, it... and you... can focus on the target." She finished, grinning wickedly, obvious excited at the concept.

"I've never been in a fight before." Casper pointed out. He had zero training and realistically no education from back home either.

"Liar." She shot back flatly, before turning away, leaning back, and gesturing with her hand.

"You fought me. Honestly I didn't bring my Grade One game, I underestimated you and didn't have my sensor suites on." She paused and growled before grinning; her front teeth were larger than the rest of her teeth.

"Make no mistake I'd wipe the floor with you the second time round. So would anyone else... So let me train you."

There was a moment's pause as Casper waited for the second half of the joke, but all the happened was a slow stare from the lopel from over her shoulder. The grin and cool gaze remained as she waited for his answer.

"What? That's stupid! I'm not a fighter! Much less a mercenary!"

"Oh what, you got a promising career elsewhere? You're stuck in the system right now, whether that's geckin or the damn GC. Draw up a contract like mine. A single combat outing, success means you're free to draw up another one, you'll own the rig *and* you'll have enough credits to whore yourself stupid to wherever the next fight is..."

Casper paused, frowning, staring at his hands. He turned over his left one, saying his right still had a needle and tube attached that he didn't want to jostle. The back of his hand had a trio of tiny holes that had scabbed over. It was bright red at the moment, but the rings around each of the dots was already discolouring. He was going to bruise. A quick check and he found similar dots all up his arms.

"I thought you said you were stuck?"

"Until the fight starts up, I take a few pot shots, blow up a bunker or break a refinery and that's the contract complete. I'm not here to wage a war, or even fight a battle. I'm a solution to a problem the geckins have. The second this fight picks back up; I'm done and gone. I can train you between now and then. We get you on a contract, do the first one cheap so they send you with me and bam! Freedom."

"Freedom?"

"Oh yes. You join my guild, my company; and we can get you all set up with your own mech, you then work off that debt. Plus it means my defeat just looks like a failed lesson with the 'New Guy'."

"This is mental."

"I'm not hearing no. I think you'd suit something mobile. Definitely having a big engine, maybe so it can power boosters?"

Him? A merc?

The idea scared him. But it did mean he would need to get back into the rig. Something about that idea stuck. Piloting the mech, just walking around; had been great. It was like a high just for existing. But what if...

"I don't want to die."

"You're not going to. Pilots are rare New Guy, no one in their right mind would kill a pilot. Mechs fire the control pod out the back during critical failure anyway so even if you took a bad hit; your survival is more important that the machine. Friendlies grab you and scoot you back to base."

He wanted to say no. To deny her such a stupid idea. He was a kid! Barely old enough to drink! How the hell was he being told to become a solider? There was silence for a few beats.

"I heard Zeet was already building you a new rig... Looks *fancy*." She drawled.

Casper's eyes glanced up at her, she was still sat there, calm, and relaxed; but grinning from ear to ear as she gazed at him with her intense eyes. She *knew* he *wanted* to get back in.

"What would the first lesson be?" He asked, biting the wiggling bait on the end of her hook.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[kagecage]

hi there! i hope you’re having a good day and merry christmas from 🇦🇺 if you celebrate it! i have a little idea that’s been on the top of my head recently and i just need to get it out into the world (this may be a request, or just a thought) but i have been thinking. imagine a ninjago au where it’s thief/tagger (graffiti artist) reader x the ninjas.. like it could be like a specific ninja but i was thinking more smth like this (picture it)

you’re out doing your usual criminal activities and you and the ninja squad have been rivalling forever, and suddenly you get caught off guard in an alleyway where one of them appear outta no where and ambushes you, so they tease and banter for a hot second with you before you land a hit on them and run off.. but then another appears, cocking their head at you.. then they all start just dropping in onto the hoods of abandoned rusty cars and like old crates and stuff, or like behind you and #jawontheground

anyways, there’s no specific genre to that just needed to get this out of my mind 😢 if you could turn it into like a one shot i would be 😱honoured😱 but it’s just a thought ^^

AHHHHH OMG I LOVE THIS SCENARIO MERRY CHRISTMAS ML 🫶🫶 i hope everyone is having an amazing Christmas eve or day!! Now, enjoy!!

ALLEYWAY ART GONE WRONG

Bobbing my hand up and down, shaking the spray can in my hand, i brought up the messy can and sprayed up on the wall, moving it slowly, leaving a dripping effect as the paint slides off the wall. Headphones to a full volume as i hummed along the tunes.

From morning till dawn, my mural was finally finished. I climbed down the rustic ladder and stepped back a few feet to see the masterpiece in front of me. I grinned in success as i laid my eyes upon my art.

Grabbing my bag, i stuffed the rest of the cans into the leather bag and threw it up my shoulder. I crouched down to a periwinkle purse and rummaged through it, the purse had a few dirt and soot on the cover, since it was recently stolen by me.

Finding a lighter and some cigars in the bag, i stuffed the said items into my pocket as i spotted a wallet, reaching my hand out to grab it, i heard some strange noises. Seeming it was some clanging metal. Whipping my head to the right, i spotted no trace of people.

I took my headphones off, being wary of my surroundings. I stood upright and eyed the area where the sound came from, before i knew it i was pinned to the wall aggressively.

Squirming against the strangers grip, they tightened their arms and pressed on my back. I was faced to the wall with my hands behind my back. Groaning and grunting as i tried to pry out of the hard grasp, the stranger started to chuckle from behind me.

“As expected, i knew you were here.” The voice spoke out as he whispered into my ear. I recognized the voice as the earth ninja, Cole brookstone. His hot breath against my ear sent shivers down my spine. He turned me around to face him, my back against the wall with his arms beside me and a knee between my thighs.

“Theres no way to get out of this one, you were a hard catch you know that?” I laid my eyes upon his dark brown ones, i felt his finger tracing my jawline as he chuckled. He moved his arms and started to propel on his elbows against the wall. Our face a mere inch away.

I moved my hand upward, clenching into a fist as i punched his chin from beneath, his teeth hitting each other as he grunted in pain, releasing me from his arms. I lifted myself from the wall and watched as he crouched down while holding his jaw, before he could muster up a word i held the back of his head, feeling his soft jet black hair with a tug.

Pushing his head to the hard surface, his face was met with the wall he was originally on before. His knees against the cold concrete floor while his face was against the brick wall, his hands behind his back with my foot on his wrists tightly.

I felt the corners of my mouth tug upwards as i felt a smirk forming on my face, i bent down to his ear, my hand still in his hair and my left foot on his hands against his back. My breath on his ear.

“As much as i love to be put in handcuffs, i dont like the police kind” i whispered and pickpocketed his gi. Throwing his head onto the floor, i darted away from the black ninja, only to realize a dead end, by another one of the ninjas.

Kai jiang smith, the fire ninja, also known as the red ninja. My eyes laid upon his figure as we were about 5 meters away from each other. Backing up and turning away from the said ninja, i was faced with a female with a pool of water in her hands. Knowing it was Nya i groaned and heard a few metal clanging from all around me. Looking around, my eyes were met with the rest of the ninjas on top of garbage bins and old rusted metal of car pieces.

I chuckled and turned my body towards the so called leader who was glaring behind me. “You really had to bring the whole skittles pack, didn’t you Lloyd?” I brought my hand against my hip, watching the Green ninja from afar. “It’s about time you trapped me, although i was having fun with the other ninja” I used my thumb and pointed to the direction of Cole, who was now standing a few meters away from me with some crimson red liquid flowing down his nose.

Lloyd started to get into a fighting stance with his hands glowing green. “Well the fun just started.” He spoke out with a rough voice. Sprinting towards me, he jumped upwards and brought his hand back for a punch, quickly dodging to the right, his fist was met against the floor, leaving a crack in the cement. Feeling a hot temperature behind me, i whipped my head and turned my body just in time, moving away from a fireball from behind me.

“6 verses 1 i see? Kind of unfair dont you think?” Kai and Lloyd was in the air with the intentions of pouncing me, slipping my legs into a split, my thighs and legs were met with the ground, moving my torso to kiss the floor, Kai and Lloyd accidentally attacked each other as they muster apologies.

Lifting my body into a hand stand, i moved my hands and twisted my body into a circular movement, kicking Jay who was dashing towards me.

At the same time he was kicked, he sent lightning at my chest as i grunted in pain, clutching my chest i was quickly met face first to the ground, my hands on my back with a strong grip in my hair.

“And thats payback.” Cole responded as he nodded towards Zane, feeling a cold sensation against my hands, i assumed he was freezing my hands shut. I squinted and groaned as i tried to wiggle my way out of his hold, that led to cole tightening his grip on my hair and pushing my head into the ground.

I bent my knees and started to kick cole, currently my feet were in the air, kicking left and right, Jay then grabbed on of my feet while Nya grabbed ahold of the other. Bringing them together as Zane also freezed my ankles together.

Bringing me to my knees as i was sat upright, “what should we do with her now that we captured her?” Nya asked to the colourful group infront of me. Puffing away a strand of hair in my face i glared at everyone as they were in a small circle, deciding what to do with me.

Kai stayed behind and watched me on the ground, my knees making contact of the cold hard floor, i darted my pupils to the fire head.

Crouching beside me as he sat down with a grunt. We made eye contact, my eyes met his hazels. “Looks like you’re on your knees for me.” He teased and laughed, a frown appearing on my face, i rolled my eyes and shook my head at his behaviour.

“Well then, it’s settled…” Jay turned towards me and kai’s figure on the ground, “You’re staying with us.” Lloyd finished the sentence as he pointed his thumb at himself with a smug grin on his face. I yelled in shock at the answer i was given. “Theres no way you’re making me stay at your stupid hideout!!” I glared my hard eyes at Lloyd.

“Well, we don’t think it’s a good idea to have you back at the prison, since you escaped from that before.” Zane stated.

Groaning, i laid my head back on the wall.

Well this will be a fun night…

A/n: IM SO SORRY THAT THIS WAS RUSHED, i didnt really know how to end it so i just hope this is okay 😓

MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🫶

[cloverque]

up on tokio hill (msby bj)

masterlist, ch 1: the newbie is our new housemaid! (not)

upon arriving in tokio hill, a misunderstanding occurs the moment you show up. your new housemates seem like a lot to deal with– and a lot more handsome than you expected. but things will work out, will it not?

5488 words

“I swear I’ll call security on ya if ya don’t leave right now!” The blonde man before you shook his phone in the air, ready to fulfil his threat. His orbs were flaming with the fury of a thousand suns and his face was pulled back to a snarl– he looked like he was ready to drop-kick you out of the house itself.

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. I don’t even know what’s going on!” You held up your hands defensively and stood firmly (as much as you could without shaking).

The urge to take flight in the face of a livid, insanely handsome dude was so strong that you may just leave the country altogether. This was definitely not the way you imagined your first day at the share-house would go.

“Everyone calm down!” Another man begged. Behind the silver haired man is an oven with smoke leaking out of. His hands were held up as well, like the scene in Jurassic World and the raptors.

For the love of the gods, Uncle Tai, what have I gotten myself into…?

(A few hours ago…)

Tokio Hill was a quiet suburb in the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t exactly what it sounded when Uncle Tai had introduced it– you’d imagine it was a bumpy piece of land with tall grass and mice scurrying about. According to Google, it was home to plenty of rich folks, celebrities and some of Japan’s biggest sensations. It used to be a paparazzi hotspot until the local authorities decided to protect the inhabitants by conducting regular security checks. There were even a couple of police outposts in the area.

It was a wonder how a normal person could afford living in such a high end place. If it weren’t for your ‘niece discount’, you would never have moved into the area. Uncle Tai barely told you about the other tenants, but they must have been loaded. With that said…

“How on earth did Uncle Tai bag this place?” You wondered aloud as you stood outside a gated property, a pet carrier in one hand and a luggage bag in another.

This house was unlike the (extravagant) others down the road. An off white coat of paint with a deep, navy blue roof. It had a number of floors, you guessed three altogether. The fence had barely any gaps between them, preventing you from peeking through. It did a splendid job obscuring the ground floor from public view, but the other floors were visible.

A meow came from the carrier. You peered inside; a stubby Sphynx sat comfortably inside, whiskers twitching curiously. You slipped your fingers through the gaps to rub its hairless head.

“Oh Meru, I guess our new life starts today,” you whispered. Its bright blue eyes twinkled with (what you assumed was) curiosity. Your pet mewed back as you returned your focus to the house.

It all starts here. A fresh start. You inhaled deeply then exhaled. It’ll work out– it has to.

You approached a smaller gate that was off to the side of the entrance. A silver intercom was built into the gate. You pressed the biggest button, probably the doorbell. It didn’t take long before you got a response.

Static buzzed from the intercom. A man’s voice crackled, “...Ello? Hey, hello?”

You straightened up, “Hi! I’m new here. Today’s my first day, and–“

“Oh, I know you! Yeah, come on in,” The man interrupted. The crackling stopped and you the gate clunked. Gingerly, you pushed it open and entered the estate.

The front yard was huge, accommodating two shiny cars and a front yard. Concrete seemed to extend around the area, tall enough that you doubted you’d be able to see the other side without a ladder. Lining the walls were hedges; green and freshly trimmed. Off to a corner was a grassy area with an outdoor swing and bird fountain. A fish carved from stone spewed a steady stream of water into the pool.

Your eyes wandered around as you moved towards the main door. Footsteps thudded inside the house before the door swung open. A giant loomed over you and Meru. Your pet cat and you simultaneously tilted your heads up to look at him– a man with silver hair, peppered with grey tips. He was all smiles in a frilly apron.

This guy must be almost two metres tall! Both your cat and you stared in awe. You stared holes at the super girly apron. A magical girl was printed on the front. M-Moe gap…

“I was expecting you! Come on in,” he patted his hands on the apron, “I’m in the middle of something, so you can just do the second floor first.”

“Okay. Wait, what-?”

An alarm sounded inside the house. The man whipped his head towards the source before turning back to you. “Uh oh, we gotta hurry! Come on in already,” Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the house.

You clambered in, luggage and all, and Meru screeched from its rocking carrier. Full of apologies, you tried to console your pet whilst he shut the door. He noticed Meru, who stood on its haunches at the salt and pepper haired man.

“You can leave your things here first,” He gestured where you stood. When you set Meru on top of the shoe cabinet at the entrance, he reached out to you. His larger hand enveloped your wrist effortlessly and he began pulling you along. His hold was gentle enough so as to not bruise, but secure enough to make sure you couldn’t run. The unwarranted warmth on your wrist gave you goosebumps.

What on earth was going on? This was some sort of misunderstanding, right? Before you could process that thought, he stopped at the end of the hallway, where a closet awaited. He rummaged through it and produced a few items.

“Here’s what you’ll need. This, this– oh, this too…” Without looking, he handed you cleaning tools: bleach, sprays, gloves and more.

As he progressively piled more into your arms, the alarm continued beeping in the background. You practically cradled the load, “Umm, mister, I don’t think I’m who you think I am. I’m actually-”

The man ran off to the kitchen, where a cloud of grey began seeping from an oven. He screeched incoherently and began fussing over whatever it was inside. As he began murmuring to himself, you sighed. There was no way of getting through to him. At least, not now.

You took in the living room slowly. In the corner of the house was a flight of stairs. The rest of the place was split into three areas: the lounge, dining area and kitchen. The lounge was furnished with a massive flat screen television and a long couch. In-between was a paper strewn coffee table and magazines haphazardly stacked. Meanwhile, the kitchen was occupied by none other than the silver haired man, who stood by marble countertops. There was an island table as well, though it seemed counterintuitive when there was a dining table present.

The layout of the place was exactly like the photos Uncle Tai had sent you. And the place was big. As expected of a private estate in a posh area. Again, how did your good for nothing uncle score this place…?

You looked at your cleaning supplies. He said just the second floor, right? Maybe he’d listen to you afterwards. You waved goodbye to Meru and began your way up the flight of stairs, tools in hand.

When you reached the second floor, you peered around the corners to view the hallway. There were three rooms available, two on either side. One of the doors had a little sign that read ‘bath and laundry’. You peeked inside: there was a common area with a sink and mirror that stretched across one wall. Laundry machines and baskets were on the other end, with one of the baskets piled up with off-white sheets. You walked deeper in and into the connected shower room, which had a huge bathtub. On the shelves built into the walls were a mess of different bottles of miscellaneous hygiene items.

There was a lot to be done, you realised as you walked out of the shower room. You approached the laundry and realised there were jars of different powders on the shelves hanging above the laundry machines. There was even a note, a handwritten one with a few annotations. You scrutinised it with a squint.

“For every extra bedsheet, use a third of a cup of detergent. Only use this brand of fabric softener for the sheets. I will come after you if they are not properly washed,” You read aloud. A giggle escaped you, “What the heck? They sound like a troublesome person.”

You eyed the baskets– you could start with this one. The instructions written by the troublesome person could guide you for your first task. The counters and shelves could do some wiping and reorganising as well.

“Guess I better get started,” You left to return downstairs, “I better set these things down first before I drop them.”

While you laid out your cleaning appliances, a man entered the laundry-cum-wash room. The man pulled his shirt over his head, ruffling his blonde hair. It fell to the floor, along with the sweatpants he had shimmied out of. He swooped up his clothes and hung them over one of the baskets. Quietly, he closed the bathroom door behind him, forgoing the decision to lock it. After a shower, he stepped into the bathtub for a soak. With a long arm draped over one side, he closed his eyes and began dozing off. Unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the door, you had begun to do the laundry.

　The tumbling of laundry filled the room. You watched the sheets toss and turn inside the machines as you squatted, hands on your knees. Thanks to the meticulously written notes, it was easy to figure out the buttons and amount of detergent to use. While they were washing, you wiped down the counters and surfaces. Your cleaning rags were coiled up in the bottom of the pail beside you.

While cleaning, you came to the conclusion that the guy in the kitchen had mistaken you for a cleaner. Uncle Tai must have told the tenants that you’d be here, right? There’s no way that bozo would forget to inform them… right?

“Knowing him, maybe it’s not out of the picture,” you sighed and rested your face in your hands.

You heard footsteps from the hallway and your face lit up. Was he finally free to speak? You turned expectantly but came face to face with another stranger. A half-naked man wrapped in a towel around his torso stood at the doorway of the shower. His hands tried to hide his exposed chest and his face was…

Oh– This isn’t good.

He let out an ear-piercing scream.

. . .

Oh right, so that’s what had led up to this situation.

You blinked at the blonde who droned on about the cops and trespassing. This guy was a broken record, nothing was going through him. His shoulders heaved up and down aggressively. Was it from anxiety or anger? It was hard to tell.

“Tsum-tsum, you gotta chill out! It’s the new maid Taichii hired, remember? He told us about it last week!” the silver haired man clarified. He still adorned the frilly apron with the magical girl.

“The new maid’s only supposed to be here when we ain’t around, ya moron!” The blonde man said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe ya let a stalker into the house, Bo-kun! Besides, it looks like she’s moving in, not cleaning for the day!”

He jabbed a finger in the direction of your luggage. Meru, who had been anxious throughout, flinched. It hissed in the direction of a frowning ‘Tsum-Tsum’.

You blocked his line of sight to Meru, “Woah there, you’ve really got the wrong idea. I’m not your stalker because firstly, I swear to the gods that I don’t even know who you are. And secondly, I’m your new housemate– I have the contract and texts to prove it!”

The blonde raised his brows before returning to his scowl. He seemed to ponder it over.

“Huh? So you aren’t our new housemaid?” The man named ‘Bo-kun’ blinked incessantly.

“Or a stalker?” The blonde folded his arms crossly.

Before you could retort, the main door clicked open.

“I’m home!” You heard a voice call out. Footsteps thumped in the hallway before another man appeared in the scene. This person carried a bag of groceries in one hand, and a cap in another. His bright ginger hair contrasted against the cream walls of the living room.

“I saw another pair of shoes at the entrance. Is (l/n)-san finally-“ He made eye contact with you and the others, “–What’s going on?”

“Hinata! Help–” Apron guy cried as the ginger hurried over. “Tsum-tsum thinks our new maid is a stalker-!”

“For the love of– How many times must I tell you guys that I’m neither!” You threw up your hands in desperation.

The ginger blinked once at you before looking at the others, “Did you guys forget? Taichii-san’s niece is joining us here starting today. Isn’t this (l/n)-san?”

The three men turned their heads to you. A long sigh escaped you. It seemed like they would finally listen. Thank the gods for this man named Hinata.

　Meru roamed freely in the living room, sniffing the kitchen counters. It approached the oven, which was half-open. A tray of burnt cookies sat inside, and your cat ran off after a tentative sniff. Meanwhile, you stared at the men sitting across from you. They had introduced themselves briefly, and the three men across from you were known as Atsumu, Hinata and Bokuto.

Uncle Tai forgot to mention that I’ll be living with a bunch of dudes, you side-eyed your sphynx. As if it could hear your thoughts, the hairless cat mewed back.

“I’m so sorry, (l/n)-san,” Bokuto blushed. He sat across you at the dinner table, his forehead practically squished against the surface as he bowed apologetically. His form was shrunken with embarrassment, his broad shoulders drawn in.

Atsumu sipped on his mug of coffee. He appeared indignant over the situation, as much as someone could be after accusing an innocent person of a crime. He would send not so inconspicuous gazes your way too. As you stared pointedly, your eyes met and he averted his gaze. An irk mark formed on your head.

This guy hates to swallow his pride, huh? What an asshole.

Whilst sparks flew between the two of you, Hinata scratched his cheek. He sat in between the others awkwardly. “This vibe makes me feel like I should apologise too…”

“It’s been a while since I heard of the news and I… completely forgot… and mixed up the housecleaning visit with your moving in. I’m terribly sorry for making you clean the place up–!” Bokuto added, still grovelling.

You held up your mug of coffee, “It’s fine now, Bokuto-san. And please, there’s no need for you to do this. It’s okay.”

He lifted his head cautiously and you reassured him with a nod. You took a tentative sip.

“How can we make it up to you?” Hinata spoke up, to which you rubbed your chin.

Meru mewed at the foot of the table. You lit up and turned to the trio, “Oh, I know. How about you show me around the house?”

It didn’t take much convincing for a house tour. Although, a certain blonde had slipped away during the tour, refusing to entertain your questions. The remaining duo properly showed you around the house, including the backyard. They shared that sometimes, they would have barbecues with friends, though rarely. You learned that Atsumu and Bokuto stayed on the second floor, which probably explained how the former had entered the bathroom without you knowing, due to it being right across his room. Meanwhile, Hinata, another tenant and you stayed on the third floor. As for the toilets…

When you enquired about it, the guys exchanged a look before Hinata sheepishly said, “Taichii-san had specifically requested that you use the third floor’s bathroom only… Um, he mentioned that it wouldn’t be right for a lady to share a bathroom with men she had no familial relation with.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m being a bother,” Your eyes widened.

“It’s totes fine. We’re not at home much... Besides, we only have toilet fights when Tsum-tsum’s in the kitchen. Which is rare-” Bokuto rambled before Hinata slapped a hand over his mouth. The man with salt and pepper hair blinked in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it!” The ginger grinned. You raised a brow. That wasn’t reassuring one bit.

They led you to your room and the duo retreated downstairs. You watched them leave with Meru in your arms. You stood outside a room, the only one with a sign hanging on the door. It was your name arranged in hiragana with wooden blocks. A flower was even glued to the end.

Does Uncle Tai think I’m still in preschool? You tried to take it down only to realise it was superglued to the door. An irk mark formed on your head. A certain bozo was about to hear it from me later on the phone…

You closed the door behind you and set Meru down. Its tail trembled curiously as it inspected the floor. Gazing around the room, you noted the stacks of cardboard boxes in a corner. Huh, Uncle Tai really wasn’t lying when he said this place was bigger. You sat down on the bed. The naked mattress was soft yet firm, awaiting to be clothed in sheets. The evaporated stains of cleaning liquid on surfaces notified you of its recent cleaning. And much to your pleasure, the room was modestly furnished the way you had requested it to be. Just a table, wardrobe and cabinet.

Suddenly, you were reminded of your luggage at the door. You had forgotten about it during the chaos. It was the least of your worries when you were dealing with the probability of being arrested. You opened your door and peeked out of the room. Unexpectedly, your luggage bag was waiting outside. You glanced around the hall and at the stairs.

Someone has helped you out! You watched for any movement at the stairs but neither saw nor heard anything. With gratitude, you muttered thanks and wheeled it in.

You spent the rest of your time unboxing and decorating your room. Meru helped by laying on the bed and its new sheets. It dozed off in the warmth that filtered through your windows. You made quick work of unpacking clothes and arranging your decorations and merchandise. As you finished setting up your monitors, you pondered over the earlier argument.

Why did the blonde guy react so explosively earlier? Was he a celebrity of sorts? You were certain that you were up to date with pop culture, but neither his face nor name rang a bell. Though you wouldn’t doubt if he wasn’t famous. He was as prickly as a sea-urchin but undeniably a handsome man. You rummaged through your pop culture schemas but produced nothing.

A thump outside your room broke your train of thought. You peeked past your door to investigate and found yet another giant in the hallway. What did the tenants of this house eat…? This man was dressed in a stylish turtleneck and coat, and he stood across you, fiddling with the keys to his room.

Suddenly, Meru mewed. The man in the coat spun around, keys in hand. Your cat yawned and nuzzled the bed. You met his obsidian eyes nervously.

“Umm, hello…” You started. He stared back.

Despite wearing a mask, he was also quite the looker. Why was this house full of good looking dudes? Was he a celebrity of sorts too? The man had a mop of curly dark hair atop his head and two moles above an eyebrow. Wait, two moles? Your eyes widened in recognition, “Sakusa Kiyoomi!?””

Sakusa knitted his brows together. His mask twitched as he spoke, “Do I know you?”

“Are you for real? We attended class together in highschool . Remember, with your cousin Komori-kun. I was with you for all three years!” You gestured at yourself. He stared hard, as if considering what you had just said.

Heavy footsteps filled the stairway and Bokuto reappeared, “Oh! I see you guys have met already. That’s awesome,” He grinned and gestured over his shoulder, “C’mon, we’re heading out for dinner!”

“Huh? But I just got back,” Sakusa rubbed his temples with a sigh.

Bokuto simply placed his hands on his hips, “It won’t be good if you miss out, Yoomi! Besides, we’re having a welcome party!”

　By the time you set foot, it was already evening. The restaurant they intended to visit was within walking distance, on the outskirts of the city that edged towards the suburbs. Rows of shops were situated on one side of a river, where cherry trees lined along. With spring fleeing from Japan’s grasp, the trees had already lost most of their blossoms. That didn’t stop you from catching a lone fluttering blossom as you stood outside a restaurant. Warm light filtered through the paper screen doors as the sign above read Onigiri Miya.

The guys opened the doors and a windchime rang in the doorway. You peeked past their broad shoulders to take in the place. The interior was a modest mixture of Japanese and modern design, with cream walls and wooden floorboards. Customers dined at the counter that looped around the kitchen or on the floors, at the low tables. The clamour of conversation and oil crackling was almost homely, like the izakayas in back home. As your eyes scanned the place, a waiter with freckles practically bounded towards your group.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you guys!” The boy said. He must have been in high school with his doe-like gaze.

“Sup,” Atsumu grinned. He was surprisingly cheery despite the earlier situation, “Is Samu here?”

“He left earlier for a catering event. The boss has been busy lately!” He noticed you and quickly added, “Oh, who’s this?”

“She’s our new housemate. Taichii’s niece,” Hinata added, gesturing at you with a smile. You nodded shyly and the waiter beamed.

“Arighty! My name is Yuuma and I’ll be your waiter for the day!” He swooped up a few menus and gestured, “Please follow me!”

Yuuma led everyone to the back of the restaurant. This area was partitioned off with screen doors, and it was far quieter here. These rooms must be reserved for special customers. You entered the room last and everyone took their seats, leaving the only open spot next to Atsumu. It wasn’t your intention to sit beside him, so you made it clear by respectfully scooting an inch away from him. After inspecting the menu, and with thoughtful insight from the guys, you decided on a warm bowl of curry udon, with a side of a speciality onigiri.

An awkward silence fell in the room the moment Yuuma left to place the orders. You half-heartedly scratched the fabric of your clothes when Hinata spoke up.

“We haven’t had a proper opportunity to introduce ourselves, so let me start,” the ginger smiled. His amber eyes held a homely warmth that could melt the barriers of anybody’s heart. He gestured at himself, “I’m Hinata Shouyou. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“I’m (l/n) (y/n). The pleasure is mine,” You bowed your head. Mirroring Hinata’s smile, you added, “Uncle Tai and I share the same family name, so feel free to call me (y/n), if you’d like.”

“Can I call you (y/n)-chan? That’s such a pretty name!” Bokuto straightened up and thumbed at his chest, “Ah– And I’m Koutarou Bokuto! It’s real nice to meet ‘cha!”

Bokuto’s gaze arrowed at the blonde beside you. The former seemed to be staring expectantly for him to introduce himself. Maybe because of the awkward incident from earlier. Ah… this awkward introduction gave the vibe of adolescents during a mixer, or something.

“Miya Atsumu,” the blonde practically exhaled. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes. He thumped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on it, “Nice to meet ‘cha, I suppose.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Miya-san,” Your smile wavered. Even if he mistook you for a stalker.

“Atsumu will do just fine.”

A half hearted sigh escaped you internally. Then there was Sakusa, who seemed disinterested in the conversation from the start. He had his gaze fixated on the wall behind you this whole time. Your eyes met for a brief second.

He spoke up softly, “Sakusa Kiyoomi. But you seem to already know that.”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me. I was the class president in all our years in high school,” You leaned forward a little. Would that be enough to jog his memory?

Sakusa looked up at the ceiling, seemingly disinterested. You sighed with a dejected smile. Figures. It had been a number of years after graduation. So this reaction wasn’t much of a surprise. Your shoulders drooped in defeat.

“Sooo… does that mean you attended Itachiyama Institute?” Hinata spoke up. “What was Sakusa-san like?”

“I’ve attended since middle school all the way to high school. I may be wrong, but Sakusa-san transferred at the start of his first year of high school,” You lit up. Grinning, you cheekily added, “Girls were all over him for the next three years. It was never a boring day.”

“It was annoying,” Sakusa admitted. His focus remained on anything but you, but he indulged in a half-smile. “The only good memories I had were on the court.”

“Somebody’s shy,” the blonde beside you sniggered, “I’m surprised he had chicks when he’s this much of an asshole– Ow!”

Something thumped under the table. You could only assume Sakusa had kicked Atsumu under. A nervous smile creeped up on your face. Beneath his mask of calm he must have been riled up a little by that comment. Who knew he’d grown to be so petty.

Meanwhile, Atsumu grinded his teeth, “Fall over and shrivel up!”

The waiter returned with trays in hand. In a sing-song voice, he said, “Atsumu-san, please keep it down.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and pouted. What was he, five? While Atsumu hyper-fixated on a dent in the floor, Bokuto helped Yuuma place the dishes on the table while Hinata began distributing cutlery. You took a pair of chopsticks and pulled your meal closer to you. The five of you shared a quiet meal, as much as one could when a blonde was seething beside you.

After some time had passed, you asked, “So are you all from the Kansai region? Except for Atsumu-san, the rest of you don’t sound like it.”

“Yoomi and I are from the capital, but Hinata’s from Miyagi.” Bokuto responded with a mouth full of ebifry. He took a swig of beer before exclaiming, “Woo! This stuff is great!”

Sakusa leaned away from Bokuto, a disgusted expression on his features. He shifted his meal away from the guy, who dropped a shrimp tail from his mouth. Meanwhile, Atsumu nagged at the guy to eat less sloppily.

Hinata chuckled before turning to you, “Yup, I’m from the more rural side of the prefecture. What about (l/n)-san?”

“I also lived in the countryside up until grade school. That’s when I moved to Tokyo,” you took a bite of a potato. It was soft and tender, like the rest of the veggies in the curry.

“I totally get it,” Hinata grinned. I can imagine it was a big change!”

“And now you moved from Tokyo to Osaka.” Bokuto prodded with half another ebifry sticking out from his lips. “Why’s that?”

You stopped mid bite. You raised your head to meet Bokuto’s eyes. The others were preoccupied with their food, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t listening. Like wisps of steam on a hot day, your appetite dissolved. Suddenly your curry udon and speciality onigiri didn’t smell so appetising anymore. With a far off look in your eyes, you managed a timid smile.

“I… guess I needed a change of pace.”

. . .

“And then she said to me… ‘Who do you think you are, asshole?!... And- Oh, I don’t feel sho gud…’” Gurgled Bokuto, who remained limp in Hinata and Sakusa’s grasps. They were practically dragging him at this rate, with how in and out of consciousness he was.

“He’s a goner,” Sakusa announced. He jabbed a finger into Bokuto’s face before clicking his tongue, “I even told him to hold back a little.”

Hinata chuckled. The tips of his ears were dusted pink but not as saturated as Bokuto’s. “He’s the life of a party. You’d know by now that Bokuto-san can’t stop once he starts.”

“I’m well aware of my teammate’s awful drinking habits, but we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. He’s going to whine about his hangover during practice…” Sakusa trailed off.

Night had long fallen upon Osaka, and the way back was arduous with a passed out drunk in your party. You laughed light heartedly as the trio in front of you stumbled over a pebble. A flurry of insults at the unconscious man in the group spewed from Sakusa. Poor Hinata tried to defuse the situation on behalf of a man who was too drunk to care. Frankly, it was hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” Atsumu mumbled beside you. He was also tipsy, but not as bad as Bokuto. The two of you trailed behind the others.

Your smile fell, “Umm, it’s nothing.” You didn’t want him to misunderstand, so you quickly added, “I haven’t had this much fun in a while. I’m really happy.”

He hummed, seemingly in thought. A few moments of silence passed, and just when you figured that was the end, he muttered.

“Hey, about earlier.”

“Earlier…?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” the blonde said quickly, jamming his fists into the pocket of his hoodie. The warm light emanating from the street lamps cast a gentle glow on the contours of his handsome face. His brows furrowed, “I’ll be honest with ya, I jumped to conclusions and said some pretty awful things, my bad.”

He must not have been used to this– he was chewing on his bottom lip. It looked like it took everything in him to apologise, if you could consider this an apology.

The corners of your lips tilted up, “It’s okay. I would’ve been pretty spooked if some stranger appeared in my bathroom too. I may have done the same.”

“Oh, I mean. It’s not like ya did something wrong. Something like this happened before… sorta.”

This had happened before? Your surprised gaze was missed by Atsumu, who fixated on the path ahead. His eyes were downcast, and you frowned. With a face like his, it wouldn’t be out of the question to have obsessive fans. But stalkers were a different thing, no?

“I think I misjudged you,” you commented. “You seem like an okay guy, Atsumu-san.”

He gave you the side eye, “Hey, just because I apologised doesn’t mean you can make fun of me.”

“You call that an apology?” You chuckled when Hinata called out suddenly.

“(l/n)-san, Atsumu-san! Can you help buy us some painkillers? We ran out and need some for Bokuto-san tomorrow!” He gestured at the FamilyMart nearby.

Atsumu groaned. He flashed an okay-sign to the guys before looking at you. “Boy, yer going to witness an ugly sight tomorrow. We’re going to buy five different types of painkillers only for Bokuto to refuse to eat any.”

He entered the store first. Staring at his back, you looked behind your shoulder at Hinata, Sakura and Bokuto. They were fussing over the guy in the middle whose eyes were barely open.

A smile crept up your face. Who knows? Maybe living with these guys is going to be alright.

“(y/n)-san,” Atsumu called. He stood at the doorway, arms crossed.

“Be there in a second!” You hurried over, shoes clacking on the pavement.

With the trio waiting outside, Atsumu and you searched the aisles for medicine. You took a handful which Atsumu dumped into a basket. As the two of you waited in line, your phone– which you had left behind on your desk– buzzed with notifications.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I was thinking about Duergar after listening to Critical Role S1. I don’t care too much for the blatantly evil brush they used but I still want them to be antagonistic. Reading the Explore D&D article on them I took that and looked for inspiration. I thought a blend of the paranoid police state of Stalinist Russia with the political intrigue and back stabbing of imperial Rome. Vast underground cities of brutalist architecture. A culture of conformity, order and a nihilistic outlook. Atheist philosophy cults of the forge or other practical oriented ideologies. Power by any means is a virtue in this society so mages and warlocks are also prevalent. Holidays and celebrations are scheduled well choreographed events. Individuality is scorned. Even hair styles and clothing are limited and enforced by literal fashion police. Gulags are kept well stocked with routine purges of dissidents and a thriving slave trade. All this keeps their cities nearly impenetrable but also undercuts their expansion. Trade with the outside does exist but it’s extremely bureaucratic. They make FANTASTIC concrete.

Footnotes on Foes: Duergar

The problem with the grey dwarves is that they're a little too close to their surface world counterparts compared to the other underdark Wario fantasy races. There's a literal night and day difference between elves and drow , humans and grimlocks, and to a lesser extent gnomes and svirfneblin, but if you looked at surface dwarves (traditionalist, work in metal and stone, warriror culture) there's really nothing all that different about the Duergar other than a grabbag of magic powers and the Duergar being SUPER assholes all the time, while surface dwarves are only assholes some of the time.

I’ve tried a few different versions of the duergar in my writing including mercenary legions of migratory exiles hunting through the underdark looking to conquer territory, and willing collaborators and footsoldiers for illithid colonies, but I think this ask specifically gave me something cool to work with: A focus on Psionics is what ahould seperate the duergar from regular dwarves, with the totalitarian state described above ramped up to its fantasy world extreme by the fact that the secret police can read your mind, and if they can’t find evidence of thoughtcrime they can use mindfuckery to put it there.  The social conformity is seen as a way of detecting rebellious thoughts as if they were social contagion.

This also gives the grey dwarves a distinct aesthetic that is separate from vanilla dwarves: Crystals, be they shaped into weapons or architecture or floating about the heads of psionic casters, which goes to supplement their already textual psychic powers. As an added means of differentiating them, talk about how duergar metalwork is shit, soldiers wearing slave-foundry pig iron while their commanders wield elegantly carved sceptres of nightmare infused rock.

Also, just to have a bit of fun, have the duergar low-key anxious about the existence of the sky, to the point where many of them believe it's a myth made up to scare them as children.

Hooks:

Despite the draconian control they keep over their own populace, the rigors of living in a realm of ever shifting stone require the Duergar to utilize numerous means to secure the territories around their grim cities: Fortress outposts built to control passage in and out of their cavernous realms, psionicly propelled vessels of iron plate that prowl great tunnels like levitating battleships, treaties and client-state contracts with rival and subjugated creatures set up as buffers. Travelling through underdark controlled by duergar is a different sort of dangerous then normal travel in the below.

Escaping from prison before she could be lobotomized, a powerful psion has made it to the surface world with a gang of fellow thought-criminals, working as mercenaries using their unusual skills and eventually forming a rivalry with the party.

The earth writhes. A series of violent quakes cause damage in several cities across the kingdom, setting off numerous small disasters and the appearance of subterranean monsters that'll keep the party and the powers that be busy for weeks. When the cause is eventually determined, it's discovered that in a hunger for more pisonically charged crystals, a duergar warlord has awoken a primordial which now thrashes against its restraints and shakes the world as its pained excavation continues.

Art

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

A heartwarming moment of Nessian charm, unfolding in the bustling world of the Night Court after ACOSF. Amidst the ceaseless duties that command the attention of the Night Court denizens, Nesta offers to watch Nyx for the day, giving Feyre and Rhys the opportunity to attend to external court duties. As Feyre brings Nyx to the House of Wind, she stumbles upon Cassian and Nesta finishing their morning workout. Nyx's arrival sparks a playful competition between his aunt and uncle leading to spirited sparring for honor with a mix of banter and teasing for good measure.

No warnings needed other than mild swearing and wooden sword fights

______________________________________________________________

It had been a long, hot, brutal morning. Before the sun even peeked over the horizon, Cassian had summoned Nesta to the training ring for some early morning sparring, insisting it was essential before his departure to Windhaven for the day. Nesta had pleaded for a reprieve, arguing that his day's training at the camp would be more than sufficient and that an additional morning session might only exhaust him. However, Cassian's playful threat to haul her from bed by her ankles had her reluctantly rising and dressing for the occasion.

"Cassian, I swear to gods, if you pull that stunt again, you'll regret it," Nesta warned, though her position on the ground, disarmed and defeated, left her little leverage for threats. She was sprawled on her back, knees bent, trying to prop herself up on her forearms after Cassian skillfully disarmed her and sent her crashing to the earth.

Cassian's response was a teasing laugh. "Nes, there's nothing for me to regret. You've yet to pose a real challenge this morning."

He bent down, offering a hand to assist her up, which Nesta promptly swatted away. "Don't bother helping, you ass."

Retracting his hand, Cassian's smirk widened. "Still sore about the last few rounds, then?"

Nesta rolled onto her side, stretching her arm toward the wooden sword that had been unceremoniously knocked from her grasp and tossed out of the ring. "Just shut up," she muttered.

Cassian chuckled again before walking away to fetch some water, leaving Nesta to push herself up to her hands and knees. She then stood, releasing a sharp hiss as she clutched at her hip, the source of a sharp pain from her most recent tumble. She knew a significant bruise was forming, a painful souvenir from their strenuous session.

From behind her, Nesta heard the door to the training ring creak open. She turned to see her sister, Feyre, accompanied by her nephew, Nyx, ascending the steps. Nyx, who had just celebrated his third birthday, was proving to be more of a handful than ever before. His newfound ability to run had Feyre and Rhysand perpetually on alert. Often, they found that turning their backs for just a moment was enough time for Nyx to vanish from the room and dash down the hallway, leaving them scrambling in his wake.

Nyx leaned his small frame into the door, putting his whole-body weight into his effort as Feyre gently pressed her fingers against the top to prevent it from snapping back on him. His determined tiny grunts coaxed a smile onto Nesta’s face. Catching her sister’s eye, Feyre released an exasperated sigh and gave a helpless shrug conveying a resigned “what can you do?” amidst the chaos of the toddling heir of the Night Court.

Once the door was opened wide enough to meet his standards, Nyx gave it one final shove before dashing away, leaving the door to swing back in Feyre’s direction. Having just removed her hand, Feyre was unprepared for the impact; the door smacked her shoulder with a thud, eliciting a soft “ow” from her lips. Nesta held back a laugh.

“Cass!” Nyx’s voice rang out, his little feet pounding across the concrete as he made his way across the training ring.

Cassian, who had just finished downing the last bit of water, glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of Nyx barreling toward him, his run more a clumsy charge than a sprint.

“Nyx!” Cassian called out in response. He quickly turned and dropped into a crouch, arms open wide, ready to catch the enthusiastic toddler in a warm embrace.

As Nyx collided with his uncle, Cassian theatrically threw himself backward with Nyx in his arms, pretending as if the little one’s impact was enough to knock the sturdy Illyrian warrior off balance. A loud “oof” escaped Cassian at the feigned impact. Nyx erupted in raucous laughter, thrilled by the sensation of flying back with his uncle.

Nesta shook her head, a bemused smile playing at her lips as she turned back to her sister, who was making her way across the ring towards her. Extending an arm, Nesta enveloped her sister in a light, warm embrace.

“Hands full?” Nesta teased.

“You have no idea,” Feyre responded, tucking a strand of heir behind her ear. “It took us 45 minutes just to leave the house this morning. Nyx was adamant he could tie not only his shoes but mine, Rhys’s, and Elain’s too. And gods forbid we try to tie our shoes ourselves or help him with his – no, that would lead to a meltdown like we had torched is favorite toy.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, does Nyx actually know how to tie shoes now?”

“No. That’s exactly why it took 45 minutes,” Feyre said with a sigh, crossing her arms. She glanced back across the ring, where Cassian lay on his back, feigning defeat with arms splayed out, while Nyx, with one of Cassian’s hands in his grasp, leaned back, trying his best to haul the Illyrian warrior along with him.

"Cass," Nyx whined, tugging harder at Cassian's sizable hand.

With an exaggerated sigh, Cassian played along. "No, no, Nyx. Your hit was so powerful I can't possibly get up. It seems I'll have to just lie here forever, baking in the sun, all alone, so very lonely."

Cassian then threw his other arm over his forehead in a dramatic gesture, lamenting loudly, "Woe, woe is me."

At the sight of his uncle's theatrical display, the boy couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"No one knows how to entertain Nyx quite like Cassian," Feyre mused

"It's because Cassian is essentially a giant toddler himself. For Nyx, it's probably like playing with someone his age who just happens to be ten times his size," Nesta quipped.

"You're just jealous because he came to me first," Cassian called out to them.

"Jealous?" Nesta retorted, her voice laced with sarcasm. "It's hard not to notice you first when I can smell you from across the ring."

At this, Nyx let out peals of laughter, releasing Cassian's hand to dash over to his aunt. "Cass is stinky!" he chanted gleefully as he ran.

Nesta scooped Nyx up into her arms, enveloping him in a warm hug. "Hi, my little warrior," she greeted, planting a gentle kiss on his temple.

Nyx, bubbling with giggles, wrapped his arms tightly around Nesta's neck.

Cassian finally got up from the ground, brushing the dirt off the back of his training leathers, before walking over to join the group. "Well, Auntie Nesta, I doubt you're smelling like roses yourself after all this," he teased.

Nesta responded with a sharp glare, unamused by his comment.

From the snug embrace of her neck, Nyx chimed in, "Auntie Nessa smells good like cookies."

Nesta's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but break into a large, sarcastically triumphant smile directed at Cassian. "See? Auntie Nesta smells like cookies," she declared, basking in the small victory.

Cassian rolled his eyes playfully and reached out to scoop Nyx from Nesta's arms. Lifting the boy onto his shoulders, Nyx steadied himself by grasping Cassian's long hair.

"Thank you for watching him today, Nesta," Feyre said.

"Of course! Anytime I get to spend with my little warrior is time well spent," Nesta replied warmly, reaching up to wiggle Nyx's little boot.

"We shouldn't be gone too long," Feyre added, placing her hands on her hips. "I think Rhys plans to return from Windhaven sometime tomorrow early afternoon, and then I'll head back tomorrow evening."

"No rush, come back whenever you're ready," Nesta assured her.

"Rhys mentioned he'd be over to pick up Nyx around noon, so you won't have to worry about lunch for him."

"Auntie Nessa," Nyx queried, looking down at Nesta from his perch on Cassian's shoulders, "Why aren't you going with Daddy and Cass to the camp?"

"Well, because someone has to stay here to spend time with you, right?" Nesta replied with a smile.

"I wanna go to camp, too!" Nyx declared with the confidence only a toddler of Rhys's could muster.

"No, no, you don't want to go there, buddy," Cassian quickly interjected. "All that's there are some big, stinky males and lots of mud."

"Cassian, you're describing his paradise," Feyre pointed out with a laugh, knowing full well the appeal such a description might hold for Nyx.

"I wanna be big and stinky and play in mud!" Nyx exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight at the thought.

"Nyx, if you're big and stinky, then Auntie Nesta won't want to play with you," Nesta teased, trying to sway his enthusiasm with a playful warning.

"Then you're with the wrong male," Cassian smirked.

In response, Nesta punched Cassian in the shoulder, causing him to stagger slightly, a mock expression of hurt flashing across his face.

"How about this, Nyx? You stay with me today, and we can go swimming, do some drawing, have ice cream, and maybe even play in some mud?" Nesta proposed, laying out an enticing plan.

"Can I jump off the side into the pool?" Nyx negotiated, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

"As many times as you want," Nesta assured him, her offer sealing the deal.

Nyx's grin spread across his face, clearly delighted with the plan. His gaze then drifted to the sword in Nesta's hand. "Auntie Nessa, were you fighting?"

Nesta glanced down at her training weapon. "Oh, Cassian and I were just practicing.”

Cassian laughed, giving Nyx a gentle spin while he was still perched on his shoulders, eliciting a joyful squeal from the boy. "More like Cassian was wiping the floor with Auntie Nesta," he teased.

"You were not!" Nesta retorted.

"Nes, you've spent more time on the ground than on your feet today," Cassian continued to goad, his words sparking a light-hearted challenge.

Nesta jabbed her training sword into Cassian's mid-section with a playful menace. "There, I stabbed you. Now die."

"If we were going by those standards, you'd have pulled a Rhys and Feyre about five times by now," Cassian shot back, unfazed.

"It's 'cause Cass is better at fighting than you, Auntie Ness!" Nyx chimed in.

At Nyx's words, Nesta felt her blood boil, while Feyre's eyes widened, anticipating the escalation that was about to unfold. Cassian, on the other hand, erupted into a roar of laughter. "The kid's got brains, Feyre; that’s how I know he’s yours," he joked.

Nesta fixed a glare at Cassian but then turned her attention to Nyx, deciding to play along. "You know, Nyx, most of the time when Cassian and I practice, I can knock him off his feet faster than anyone else."

"Yeah right," Cassian scoffed in disbelief.

"It's true. Uncle Cassian just doesn't seem to know how to fight against me," Nesta claimed, lifting her hand to inspect her fingernails, feigning indifference to his skepticism.

Sensing the impending showdown, Feyre reached up to gently pull Nyx from Cassian's shoulders. "Here we go," she whispered, her voice laced with both amusement and a hint of resignation at the inevitable display of competitiveness between the two mates.

"Oh yeah, Archeron? Pick up that sword and prove it," Cassian goaded, his challenge hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown down.

"I would, but I don’t want to embarrass you in front of Nyx," Nesta retorted with a smirk, her fingers theatrically inspecting for lint.

"You’re just scared of landing on your ass again," Cassian taunted, his sword tracing intimidating arcs in the air.

Feyre, sensing the inevitable clash, carried Nyx to the sidelines of the ring, settling him in her lap. "Nyx, you've sparked a battle we can't stop," she half-joked, brushing his tousled hair black hair from his face.

Nesta, not one to back down, casually lifted her sword, letting it rest casually on her shoulder. "So, general, you ready to clash swords, back up those words with some action?" she teased.

"With you, Lady Death? Anytime," Cassian replied, bowing laced with sarcastic respect and a hint of flirtation, his gaze lifting to meet hers with a teasing, almost seductive smile.

Nesta pivoted sharply, moving to the outskirts of the ring with the grace of a seasoned fighter. Her stance was low, agile, ready, with her sword held in balance. Cassian, in contrast, approached his position with a relaxed swagger, his sword moving lazily through the air as he laughed softly to himself. He positioned himself on the opposite side, his demeanor exuding confidence. "Watch and learn, Nyx," he called over to his nephew, his voice carrying the hint of a showman.

Seizing the moment Cassian's attention wavered, Nesta launched herself across the ring, her sword aiming for Cassian's exposed left flank. However, Cassian's reflexes didn't fail him; he swung his sword in a swift counter, their weapons clashing with a wooden thump. As he parried Nesta's strike, their swords entwined only to be forcefully separated. Cassian countered with a downward strike, but Nesta was ready, her sword rising in defense while her foot shot out towards his midsection.

Cassian's reaction was immediate; his hand caught her foot, drawing her in, her balance momentarily compromised. In this close encounter, he planted a swift, teasing kiss on her nose, that elicited a fierce growl from Nesta. With a swift twist of her leg, she broke free from his grasp, retreating to regain her footing and composure, her sword once again poised for attack.

Cassian, undeterred, quickly closed the gap between them, attempting a swift maneuver to deliver a strike to Nesta's right side. She adeptly sidestepped, causing Cassian's momentum to carry him forward, and with a cheeky nudge to his back, she sent him stumbling slightly. Nyx's delighted squeals filled the air as Nesta flashed him an encouraging smile, much to the boy's amusement.

Chuckling at his own overreach, Cassian quipped, "I didn’t mean for you to actually kick my ass, Nes."

"You should've been more specific then," Nesta retorted with a smirk, her focus unwavering.

Without warning, Cassian spun, sword descending in a rapid arc. Nesta, unphased, met his attack with a precise counter, initiating a fast-paced exchange of blows. Cassian pressed forward, his strikes pushing Nesta toward the edge of the ring marked by a chalk line. Just as she neared the boundary, Nesta deftly sidestepped to Cassian’s left, circling to his rear. He quickly adjusted, continuing the assault, but Nesta's agility kept her a step ahead, evading his strikes with ease.

Cassian's frustration manifested in two more swings that met nothing but air. "Come on, Nes, are we sparring, or are you just running away?" he taunted.

"You’re not moving fast enough to make me run. It's more like a leisurely stroll," she shot back, her words sharp.

Cassian's next move was a surprise pivot over his other shoulder, momentarily catching Nesta off guard. Yet, she was quick to defend, her sword raised high above her head. Now, Cassian fought with renewed determination, as if the possibility of being bested by Nesta in front of a child spurred him to push harder.

Nesta, sensing an opportunity, dropped into a lower crouch beneath the arc of Cassian's sword, using its momentum to propel herself forward. She slid gracefully between his legs, emerging swiftly at his back before he could react. In a bold move, she leapt onto him, securing her position by wrapping her legs tightly around his midsection. Her sword came to rest lightly around his neck, effectively anchoring herself in place.

"Nesta, this is fighting dirty," Cassian observed, attempting to dislodge her grip by reaching for her ankles.

"All's fair in love and aggressively fighting with weapons because a toddler doubted my prowess," Nesta retorted, her breath heavy with exertion.

Cassian's laughter rang out as he considered his next move, ultimately deciding to drop his sword to the ground in apparent surrender.

"Yielding?" Nesta teased, sensing a momentary victory.

However, Cassian had other plans. With a swift movement, he grabbed Nesta's ankles, yanking them apart and propelling himself forward. The sudden motion sent Nesta tumbling over his head, the wind knocked out of her as she landed with a thud.

From the sidelines, Feyre winced, anticipating the bruises Nesta would sport the following day.

Cassian, feeling a rush of triumph, turned to Nyx with a victorious grin. "See Nyx, that's how—" His gloating was cut short as Nesta, with lightning reflexes, swept his legs from under him, quickly pinning him down once again, her wooden sword mock-threatening his neck.

Cassian surrendered with laughter, raising his hands in defeat as both he and Nesta were left panting and laughing.

Nesta eased off, standing yet still hovering over Cassian, when suddenly, Nyx joined the fray, leaping onto Cassian with all the enthusiasm of their earlier play.

"See, Nyx, Auntie Nesta can knock Cassian off his feet," Nesta declared with a triumphant smirk.

Cassian, ever the flirt, responded with a suggestive, "I'd like to see some of those moves outside the training ring, if you catch my drift," and winked.

"Pig," Nesta snarled, though her retort was softened by a playful smile.

Feyre, amused and slightly exasperated by their antics, stood and approached, pulling Nyx away from the pile. "Alright, sweet boy, it's time for mama and Cass to head out." She lifted Nyx into her arms, planting a raspberry on his cheek, eliciting laughter from the delighted toddler.

As Cassian stood, he made a move as if to tousle Nesta's hair, a gesture she promptly warned against with a raised hand, threatening to throw him back to the ground if he attempted it. Instead, Cassian opted for a gentler approach, placing a tender kiss atop her head. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.

Nesta took Nyx from his mother’s arms, placing him firmly on her hip and handing him her wooden sword. “Get out of here,” Nesta waved them off.

Feyre blew he son one last kiss as Cassian tousled Nyx’s black mop of hair before turning and heading out the door of the training ring.

Nesta turned her head to her nephew who beamed at her. “So, pool?” She asked.

“No, I want to learn how to do that!” Nyx pleaded, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

[mrs-monaghan]

Honestly I don’t get people at all. First if all, who told anyone that guy is Jimin’s friend? Pple just assumed i guess cuz he had an old photo if them which no one knows where he got it from. Second, pple are gullible as hell. That guy basically shot himself in the foot when he answered that question the way he did. If he is a friend of Jimin’s or Jikook like some pple claim, why on earth would he answer the question of Jikook being real with “no. fake love”? Lmaoooo. Doesn’t this already show that, whoever that is is no friend of Jikook? Also, let’s assume he really is a friend of Jimin or Jikook, are these imbeciles expecting him to say “Yes Jikook is real”? That is crazy as hell. I don’t even mind that the cult is celebrating what bothers me is that some jikookers are actually bothered by it. Like really? Even if some jikookers celebrated that first picture he posted, it wasn’t because we were getting tea, it was because atleast finally we had more concrete proof that the pple under that arch were indeed Jimin and jungkook. That’s it. Nobody knows who that person is and how he is involved with jikook so pple thinking that is something to worry about gets me everytime lol. And the last pple to be celebrating anything are Taekookers. Jikook is getting debunked by a complete stranger on the internet who for all we know might be a weird person trynna start things up, while Taekook has been directly debunked by both parts of their ship multiple times. And no debunking will top seeing Tae walking hand in hand in Paris with a woman who just happens to be his girlfriend. So taekookers lurking here, this is not the drag u think it is. We would be on the same level as you the day jikook tell us to get out of our imagination, the day Jk looks disgusted at the mere idea if living with Jimin or the day Jikook or one of them is caught holding hands romantically with a woman while taking a stroll by the sea. Until then, Jikook 3- Taekook -0.

If the dude is a friend then it makes perfect sense that he didn't confirm Jikook. He could have skipped the question though but chose not to so that was very trolly of him. Also yeah, agreed. Jikookers bothered by this need to get their shit together.

Idk why we still take the vermin seriously. They ignore things and people that debunk their ship everyday. Including V himself. But the moment some guy says Jikook isn't real they can't wait to believe every word 🤡🤡

Anygays, this French article talking about Taennie

And then we have this thing that I didn't know about

[haggishlyhagging]

I gave religion up without a backward glance, and I gave it up forever. That doesn't mean that I ceased to believe in a beneficent universe, a universe that wishes all life well. As far back as I can remember, I was always aware of a reality that could be neither seen nor heard, but only most overwhelmingly felt. When I gave up religion, I gave up the nonsense I was taught that this experience of transcendence was named God, that it was male, that it was other, outside me, independent of me, and much superior to me in every way, superior beyond description or imagination. I gave up the idea of "worship" altogether. It made me feel small and weak and I knew by then that the true expression of my spirit made me feel invincible.

While I was still in the Church, however, belief in Mother in Heaven provided a transition for me from Father-god to god-within, and I was learning that before there was God, there was the Goddess. But I had no desire to go back to ancient Goddess religion. I rapidly rejected the notion of putting a skirt on God, calling him "the Goddess," and worshipping essentially the same sort of being, enwrapped in dogma and hierarchical trappings. God in drag is still God.

Yet I speak of the Goddess often, lovingly, and carry the image of her in my mind, an image that helps me counter the image of male deity which still insinuates itself in a dozen ways into my psychic landscape. I know that Goddess ritual, insofar as it generates reverence for and celebrates that which is female, which is us, is fiercely empowering, and that her image in our minds—images of ourselves as deity—is necessary as a blueprint for a more authoritative mode of being in the world. The Goddess is a metaphor for our own and all women's creative, healing, transformative powers, a representation of our inner selves; “something tangible, a concrete image [that] captures our full attention and draws [us] into the metaphoric process. . . .” But she must remain consciously metaphorical and only metaphorical or we risk externalizing and losing our power again, we risk relinquishing responsibility for our lives again. Even with the Goddess established securely in our minds only as metaphor, we must be careful to avoid participation in any Goddess rituals or events that stress our helplessness, our need to be rescued or to be dependent on strong spiritual leaders, rituals which encourage self-indulgent emotionalism or involve us in thoughtless theatrics. Genuine spirituality for women will always have its foundation in a radical feminist analysis. Feminism is spirituality. But it is not "religion." It is about the rising of the spirit of half the human race. It is the foundation of the women's movement which is the greatest spiritual revolution in world history, producing globally the most profoundly transformative human change ever wrought.

I came to view that impetus for growth and for good in the universe with which I felt in greater harmony every passing day not as outside me, but within me, not as separate from me, but part of me as I was part of it, not as infinitely wiser and better than I but as my peer. Together, shoulder to shoulder, we were the creators of heaven and earth and all that lives in them.

Sonia Johnson, Going Out of Our Minds: The Metaphysics of Liberation

[talonabraxas]

White Lotus Day is a celebration of Theosophists. It is celebrated 8 May, the anniversary of the death of Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, founder of the Theosophical Society.

“White Lotus Day is a celebration that encourages meditation about the metaphor of the lotus. The lotus is born under the mud, growing through the water to achieve the surface, and therefore the air and the light of sun. This growth is identified with man’s life, born in earth but desiring the elevation to the air; representing his middle stage between animals and the ultimate reality.”

The underlying idea in this symbol is very beautiful, and it shows, furthermore, its identical parentage in all the religious systems. Whether in the lotus or water-lily shape it signifies one and the same philosophical idea—namely, the emanation of the objective from the subjective, divine Ideation passing from the abstract into the concrete or visible form.

The Lotus, or Padma, is, moreover, a very ancient and favourite simile for the Kosmos itself, and also for man. The popular reasons given are, firstly, the fact just mentioned, that the Lotus-seed contains within itself a perfect miniature of the future plant, which typefies the fact that the spiritual prototypes of all things exist in the immaterial world before those things become materialised on Earth. Secondly, the fact that the Lotus plant grows up through the water, having its root in the Ilus, or mud, and spreading its flower in the air above. The Lotus thus typifies the life of man and also that of the Kosmos; for the Secret Doctrine teaches that the elements of both are the same, and that both are developing in the same direction. The root of the Lotus sunk in the mud represents material life, the stalk passing up through the water typifies existence in the astral world, and the flower floating on the water and opening to the sky is emblematical of spiritual being. --The White Lotus, Mme. Blavatsky

White Lotus Talon Abraxas

[bizarrequazar]

GJ and ZZH Updates — August 20-26

<<< previous week || all posts || following week >>>

This is part of a weekly series collecting updates from and relating to Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan.

This post is not wholly comprehensive and is intended as an overview, links provided lead to further details. Dates are in accordance with China Standard Time, the organization is chronological. My own biases on some things are reflected here. Anything I include that is not concretely known is indicated as such, and you’re welcome to do your own research and draw your own conclusions as you see fit. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or additions. :)

[Glossary of names and terms] [Masterlist of my posts about the situation with Zhang Zhehan]

08-20 → The Instagram posted three photos of “Zhang Zhehan” in Tibet and six scenery photos.

08-21 → The Zhang Sanjian TikTok account posted a video where “Zhang Zhehan” did the haizhe hand signal wrong and distinctly had breasts rather than pecs.

→ Hogan posted nine behind the scenes photos (1129 kadian) and a video from their recent shoot with Gong Jun.

→ Fresh posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun. Caption: “Love is a romantic surge day and night, and it is also a brave rush across mountains and seas. In the days when we can't see each other, I subconsciously want to put everything about the other party higher, including their address. This year's Qixi festival, Fresh joins hands with the spokesperson @ Gong Jun Simon to wish all long-distance couples a happy delivery and a harvest of love.”

→ Madame Tussauds posted a promotional video spoken by Gong Jun for Qixi. [subbed video]

08-22 → 361° posted two photo ads featuring Gong Jun.

→ A special episode of Hello Saturday was released for Qixi featuring Gong Jun and several other actors from Legend of Anle. (Filmed 07-22, the same day as the other episode.) (Not on YouTube yet, a link will be added here once it is.)

→ The Instagram posted two photos of “Zhang Zhehan” and seven scenery photos.

→ Gong Jun’s studio posted ten photos of him from the Hello Saturday episode. Caption: “His Royal Highness the Prince (Qixi Edition) @ Gong Jun Simon is back for a limited time, adding a little sweetness to your Qixi Festival~”

→ Rare posted a photo ad featuring Gong Jun.

→ Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted a video of him learning a Douyin dance. Caption: “Dancing miracle”

→ Ranyi Music announced another Zhang Sanjian concert, this time in Kuala Lumpur. As a reminder, [here] is my post collecting information about how the Bangkok concerts were sketchy as fuck. The venue for this one is inside a mall that is largely empty aside from the concert hall itself and adult-oriented stores.

→ Fresh posted a promotional video spoken by Gong Jun.

08-23 → Gong Jun’s studio posted a promotional image for Fox Spirit Matchmaker to celebrate 2 million users setting notifications for its airing. Caption: “It’s hard to cool down with a passion in the blood, and he is unrestrained between heaven and earth. The number of reservations on the site has exceeded 2 million! Dongfang Yuechu @ Gong Jun Simon will see you soon!” Gong Jun Outdoor Office posted the same image without the text overlay, caption: “Posted the original picture!“

→ The Fox Spirit Matchmaker Weibo posted a promotional image of Gong Jun and his costar Yang Mi to celebrate the same milestone.

08-24 → Gong Jun’s studio posted a promotional video for 361° and the Asian Games spoken by him. 

→ The Instagram posted ten photos of “Zhang Zhehan”, a dog, and scenery. The caption included 🐶😺 and ⛰️ and reeked of desperation.

08-25 → Rare posted two photo ads featuring Gong Jun. (1129 kadian)

08-26 → The Instagram posted a video promoting their money laundering concert.

→ Da Zhangwei, one of the other regulars from Go Fighting!, posted a video Gong Jun filmed sending him a support message.

Additional Reading: → Flora finished translating the article on money laundering that she started last week. [follow up on how this potentially relates to the situation]

<<< previous week || all posts || following week >>>

[mourningcrypt]

Medical Monday: What was Catherine of Aragon’s real cause of death?

Catherine of Aragon, first wife of King Henry VIII- passed away at age 50 on January 7, 1536  while in exile following the divorce in 1533 at Kimbolton Castle. When news arrived to the court of the former queen’s passing- rumors spread she died due to poisoning- which was done in some way by Henry. How he acted after the news would almost prove he was guilty. He and his second wife, Anne Boleyn wore yellow- which its debated if it was a sign of mourning as it was believed yellow was the color of mourning in Spain, or if it was a sign of celebration. Henry would even cry “God be praised that we are free from all suspicion of war!” Now he and his new queen could be together in peace it seems. (Though we all know how long that lasted)

Eustace Chapyus- imperial ambassador would write in a letter to Charles V on January 9th- noticing that Catherine fell ill after consuming a welsh beer stated “[Her] illness began about five weeks ago… It was a pain in the stomach, so violent that she could retain no food.” After consulting her Physician, Miguel de la Sola- they both would draw the poisoning conclusion, writing “He said he was afraid it was so, for after she had drunk some Welsh beer she had been worse, and that it must have been a slow and subtle poison for he could not discover evidences of simple and pure poison; but on opening her, indications will be seen.”

But, actually- poison was not what caused the death of Catherine. Despite Henry’s harsh choice to celebrate his exes death, the more plausible cause of her death by historians was more believed to be cancer, specifically cancer of the heart or a melanotic sarcoma. A melanotic sarcoma is a malignant kind of tumor often affecting the pigmentation of cells. Which often makes the color of it very dark or even black.

Prior to burial, her body would be prepared by a servant (chandler) of the household, not a physician. Chapuys would chronicle the procedure to Charles in a January 21st letter by saying her internal organs were healthy, “except the heart, which was quite black and hideous”. As well as including “some black round thing which clung closely to the outside of the heart”, which is believed to be a secondary  melanotic sarcoma. The chandler even going as far as to cut the heart in half and attempting to wash off the black from the heart, but to no avail. Though, at the time- Cancer was not an understood cause, which is why the quick belief of poison was more accepted.

During her last days, it was reported she was very weak, had stomach pains and was unable to keep food down. When researching sarcoma symptoms; weight loss, abdominal pain, and fatigue would be found as main contributors.

Unfortunately given the centuries between Catherine’s passing and medical advances we are unable to concretely diagnose what she went dealt with in her final moments on this earth, but with the letters from Chapuys its gives us a glimpse of understanding as to what more likely happened to the once Queen of England.

Sources for research: The death of Catherine of Aragon, Catherine of Aragon’s Black Heart and Poison: The Primary Sources, Medical History: Black Hearted

[sourdoughservitor]

Imbolc - Spring's Beginning

Originating from Gaelic tradition, this sabbat recognizes winter's gradual decay into spring. Snow melts, days begin to get longer, and plants spring up from the fresh soil. Animals become more active and the world begins to brighten. As a whole, Imbolc signifies a time for rebirth, rejuvenation, and new growth.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

This is the first festival of the Wheel of the Year, and marks the midpoint between the Winter Solstice (Yule) and the Spring Equinox (Ostara). It is held on February 01 each year. It is a powerful time for a witch to get in tune with the Earth and its natural cycles, and to align oneself with nature's processes.

Witchy practices for Imbolc:

show gratitude for the Earth, for nature, and for the coming of spring

plant seeds for your indoor or outdoor garden

care for and fertilize your plants

eat mindfully and thankfully

clean your home, both physically and spiritually (spring cleaning & cleansing)

make concrete, actionable plans to reach your goals

reaffirm love to loved ones, friends, companion animals

create blessed/holy water, and use it to bless one's home and loved ones

Brigid

Although I am an agnostic witch, Imbolc is closely associated with the deity Brigid (or St. Brigid). Brigid watches over and protects Ireland, Scotland, and the Isle of Man, and as such many witches, pagans, and even Christians feast or celebrate Imbolc as a method of worship and reverence.

The Brigid's Cross is a decoration woven traditionally from corn reeds and hung over doors and windows to protect from negative entities and unwanted spirits.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚✿˖°˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚✿˖°˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆˚✿˖°

Happy Imbolc, witches! Rejoice as today marks the last day of winter. Spring awaits, and with it good tidings. Take care of yourselves and stay warm.

Bb

see my Year of the Wheel masterpost for more!

[artofjoshuaclarke]

KAIJUNE DAY 02: IRONCLAD

It came clad in iron.

When the wreck had wandered back to the depths, its hide scorched and blackened, torn and sundered by every weapon we could think of, we celebrated. Surely it was slinking off to die, the keening wails it had sounded had blown out eardrums, like the largest whale ever heard calling unanswered, a devils prayer to the depths. But still we celebrated.

When the next nightmare came it came clad in iron. It was heavy, so very heavy - until the end it might have been the single heaviest walking abomination we had seen(even in the hubris of our despair we would learn we had a limited imagination). It moved ponderously, all things this large move slowly but it lurched and shuddered as if it ran on clockwork and every gear was heavy and rusted. We watched it heave itself onto land, faces grim as it gouged a furrow through steel and concrete and asphalt. But it was ridiculous we exclaimed. The Wreck had laid waste with torrents of ice and we had sullied and despoiled it, great beast it might have been.

Then the blade emerged, and cleaved the air, the earth, a rending terrible blade to cut all things living and dead, a blade of fire stained with blood. It was a butcher, and the blade was iron.

[orthodoxadventure]

SECOND DAY OF THE NAITIVITY OF OUR LORD: THE SYNAXIS OF THE MOST HOLY THEOTOKOS

On the day after the Nativity of Christ we celebrate the Synaxis of the Most Holy Theotokos, and come together to give her glory and praise. This is the second day of the three-day Winter Pascha.

Combining the hymns of the Nativity with those celebrating the Mother of God, the Church points to Mary as the one through whom the Incarnation was made possible. His humanity—concretely and historically—is the humanity He received from Mary. His body is, first of all, her body. His life is her life. This feast, the assembly in honor of the Theotokos, is probably the most ancient feast of Mary in the Christian tradition, the very beginning of her veneration by the Church.

Six days of post-feast bring the Christmas season to a close on December 31. At the services of all these days, the Church repeats the hymns and songs glorifying Christ’s Incarnation, reminding us that the source and foundation of our salvation is only to be found in the One who, as God before the ages, came into this world and for our sake was “born as a little Child.”

Father Alexander Schmemann, The Services of Christmas (1981)

O Most Pure Mother of God, your holy Synaxis is adorned with many diverse splendors; and gifts are brought to you by many peoples of the world, O Lady Theotokos. In your mercy, loosen the bonds of our sinfulness, and save our souls.

He Who was begotten before the morning star by the Father without a mother is incarnate of you today on earth without a father. Therefore, a star announces the glad tidings to the Magi, while Angels and shepherds sing of your undefiled child-bearing, O you who are full of grace.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 28/10/2023

Sidelined Symphony

Season 3 Featured on: The SiIvaGunner Spooktacular Halloween Horror Special Collection '17​-​'19

Ripped by l4ureleye

Part of Spooktacular Week! ● Requested by fezaki (Discord)

In all these Halloween events, there's obvious jokes that we all know to expect. Typical spooky music from video games, Five Nights at Freddy's the 8-BIt Beast, horror media, David S. Pumpkins, and so on and so forth. The events aren't always quite so all-encapsulating as to *only* be spooky-themed rips, but broadly speaking you know what to expect - the kind of rips I've posted in the last few days, that is. But amidst all of this, some rips get rather creative in the ways they celebrate the Season. And yes, I do know how ironic it is for me to be praising creativity when I'm here making my fourth post covering a Stickerbush Symphony rip, after Satinpanties Symphony, Stickerbrush State of Mind and Bramble Blast Collab. Look - they're all too good not to talk about, okay?

Sidelined Symphony falls in line with the many other excellent lo-fi rap mashups done by ripper l4ureleye, yet upon playing you'll no doubt recognize the man behind the vocal performance. Early in 2018, as Season 3 was just getting into gear, a very peculiar meme started circulating all around the internet - that of Burger King Foot Lettuce. It was borderline inescapable during the time, all thanks to the bizarrely straight-faced narration of such a ridiculous story by content creator Chills. The guy is seemingly very well off, with his own channel sitting above six million subscribers, and the channel he narrated the video for being similarly well off, yet...there's no doubt that being the target of a large-scale meme basically just about making fun of his voice likely got to him, mentally.

I can't speak to anything concrete about the situation, granted, other than that it seems like Chills is taking it well nowadays (and maybe always was) and is even embracing it through things like his cameo on Smiling Friends. Althesame, when August rolled around later in the same year, Chills released his first venture into music with Sidelined, a rather melancholic and openly emotional rap tune. With lyrics like "Been trying to get away for some time - part ways with the life I chose" - it gives the feeling that Chills was rather conflicted about the situation he was in.

All of that is to say, that seeing Chills' top comment in Sidelined Symphony's YouTube upload, thanking the SiIvaGunner team for the arrangement...it really warms my heart, and feels almost like a reconciliation. Even if there wasn't ever any true bad blood between Chills and the memes made of him, the rip serves as a reminder to us viewers that the guy is MORE than a walking meme - that he's an actual creative, a human being worth loving and cherishing. And that's easier to do than ever through the rip - Bramble Blast's emotionally poignant instrumentation and progression lends itself incredibly to the raw honesty of rap lyrics as the aforementioned Stickerbrush State of Mind already demonstrated, yet its given an entirely unique vibe in Sidelined Symphony thanks to all the other tweaks made to it. The lowered pitch of the original song, the sound effect samples from Super Smash Bros. Melee and Brawl, and the way the song knows when to let Sidelined take more emphasis in the song during the midway point of the rip.

It all comes together to a rip that's absolutely swirling with emotions in so many ways, and in so many directions - empathy and respect for Chills, nostalgia for Super Smash Bros. Brawl and the SiIvaGunner channel itself, and utmost admiration for the rippers that continue to make such incredible music out of love for the internet. Sidelined Symphony is, beyond being one of my favorite rips to listen to, just one of my favorite rips for all that it stands for. Peace and love on planet earth. And foot lettuce from Burger King.