#and you still have to pay for wasting our paper and ink

[mothpawbs]

gonna be one of those days that makes me wish we had a service fee for patrons who annoy me specifically. sigh

[strictlyfavorites]

A young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized, "We didn't have this green thing back in my day."

The young clerk said, "Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations." She gave him a firm stare and a hard grin and said “Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over. They were recycled.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, which we reused for numerous things. We walked upstairs because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power did dry our clothes back in our day. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. The TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded-up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades with a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

Back then, people took a bus and kids rode their bikes instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles in space to find the nearest burger joint. But the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing.”

The cashier stood there still and quiet as the old lady found her wallet to pay. Then lady turned to leave but stepped back and turned toward the cashier. She said “You have a world of knowledge in that little device in your hand. Pity you just use it to gossip, take pictures, and waste time. It would do you good to search a bit of history before you embarrass yourself like this again.

Forward this to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart-ass young person.

[gotviewsco]

A young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized, "We didn't have this green thing back in my day."

The young clerk said, "Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations." She gave him a firm stare and a hard grin and said “Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over. They were recycled.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, which we reused for numerous things. We walked upstairs because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power did dry our clothes back in our day. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. The TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded-up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades with a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

Back then, people took a bus and kids rode their bikes instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles in space to find the nearest burger joint. But the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing.”

The cashier stood there still and quiet as the old lady found her wallet to pay. Then lady turned to leave but stepped back and turned toward the cashier. She said “You have a world of knowledge in that little device in your hand. Pity you just use it to gossip, take pictures, and waste time. It would do you good to search a bit of history before you embarrass yourself like this again.

[zignaturecard]

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Digital cards live on your phone or cloud so you always have access to them - and you can update your contact information, link or even without rejuvenating anything immediately. There is a living card growing with you.

Environmentally friendly and durable

Printed business cards may be small, but the environmental impact increases. Every year, billions of cards are written, and most of all end up in waste over a week.

Digital business cards eliminate the use of paper waste and ink, and match more durable business practices. If your brand gives significance to environmental awareness, a digital card speaks higher than words.

It is easy to share and integrate

With a pressure (via NFC) or a fast QR code scan, the digital card can be divided into seconds - no physical exchange is required. Even better? You can include clicked links for your portfolio, linked site, ordering calendar or even a YouTube video introduction.

You can also enter it in your e -mail signature, include it on profiles on social media, or even integrate it into CRM or website. This has made the network comfortable.

Smart features and real -time analysis

Many digital cards provide platforms such as zignature, hi hello or poppel analysis and tracking. This means you can see how many opened your card, clicked on your link or saved your contact information.

This data provides you with insight into how networking options pay and what contacts are really related to your content.

Adaptable and on the brand

A traditional business card can only say this. A digital card allows you to express your personality and mark beyond the name and title. Customize layout, color, font, profile picture, wallpaper - even add a video message.

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In the hybrid or remote first world it is not always possible to meet a person. With a digital business card, you can immediately share your contact information about zoom, e -post, social media or any digital platform.

This time is especially useful for freelancers or companies working with fields or international boundaries.

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The paper cards were designed for another time. Today's professionals require units that are flexible, interactive and responsible. Digital business cards are just this.

They show that you are technology lovers, environmentally conscious, and further thinking and abusing many customers, employers and collaborative values.

Platform That Make It Easy

If you are ready to create your digital card, many equipment is available:

Zignature - a smooth, professional platform with rich customization

Hi Hello - great for layers and CRM integration.

Popl - NFC and QR are known for sharing abilities.

LINQ - Strong on analyzes and lead catch functions.

Most of these services offer free schemes and simple layouts, so there is no need to make no effort.

Final thoughts

The way we have connected, it has changed, and this time has also been done by our business cards. Digital companies provide card functions, stability and better first impressions. They are not just about sharing contact information - they are not about sharing the story, brand and value in the most effective way.

So the next time you prepare for a meeting, network event or job interview, leave the paper left and do Switch Digital.

Conclusions: Go Digital, Stay in front

In the digital age, first impressions are often made online - and your business card should reflect this. Whether you are an entrepreneur, freelancer or professional professional, it's not just a modern upgrade - this is a strategic step to switch to a smart business card.

From environmentalism and quick updates to smart analysis and seamless sharing, the benefits are obvious. And with platforms that offer the best digital visiting card in India, it is never easy to create a professional, brand experience traveling with you - where the business takes you.

If you want to modernize how to connect and stand in the crowded market, a digital business card platform is the future of professional networks.

[oldraysblog]

Here is a wonderful little story A young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized, "We didn't have this green thing back in my day." The young clerk said, "Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations." She gave him a firm stare and a hard grin and said “Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over. They were recycled. Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, which we reused for numerous things. We walked upstairs because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power did dry our clothes back in our day. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. The TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded-up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades with a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. Back then, people took a bus and kids rode their bikes instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles in space to find the nearest burger joint. But the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing.” The cashier stood there still and quiet as the old lady found her wallet to pay. Then lady turned to leave but stepped back and turned toward the cashier. She said “You have a world of knowledge in that little device in your hand. Pity you just use it to gossip, take pictures, and waste time. It would do you good to search a bit of history before you embarrass yourself like this again. Forward this to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart-ass young person.

[backstoriesandbackstabbings]

Everwood

(The writing here is slanted and smudged as the previous entry. It does look hastily written, and there are several water damage spots on the pages.) 

We traveled to Everwood after completing the trials for Aryndra and teaming up briefly with the Iron King and his team: Elder Banwynn & Maple (elder vampire brother to Cedar and Birch). 

The Iron King agreed to meet us here -- a meeting which I proposed to assist Tobias and his studies. I never questioned why he was so interested in the world’s first immortal. Now though, I worry that I am too late to ask. 

When we first arrived to Everwood, we took note of the giant tear in the sky and Cyrus came across a poster for a challenge that both he and Mullus were very interested in. I thought that we had more time, so I saw no harm in competing. We did a bit of shopping, I got my hair done and ran into a familiar face:  Pseudoris. We caught up briefly, and discovered that she ran away from Emerald Harbor....again.

I saw Edan in the crowd that day and my heart felt lighter than it has in the last few weeks! Of course I should have followed the crowd and the gold, the easiest way to track my slippery brother. Booze, beautiful people, and gold. Is that sacrilegious to write now that he is a God? Presumably, Edan made some good coin off of us, and of course I bet through him. As Grandmother would say: Waste not, want not. Betting on my life is a safe enough gamble, if I lose, I will be too dead to mourn the loss of coin.

Of course, considering that I am writing this entry, we survived and won. The affair consisted of three challenges, the last of which was a draconic-hydra beast. After securing our earnings from an Orc named Biscuit, the party split up for a bit, with a plan to meet back here in this tavern; The Hero’s Hearth. 

Cyrus and I went off to the library to finally meet up with Tobias. After speaking with the information desk, the elf informed me that he was sent on a mission with his tutor, Mistral. I scried on Tobias whilst in the Amerenthian Library. A spot I remember him showing me in the Dreams that we shared together. I had hoped to see him again -- in person this time. Or so I thought. I had thought I had more time. I didn’t realize he was in danger. Tobias -- (The writing here is too smudged and the paper is water damaged leaving dark splotches of puddled ink. The writing continues on a new page.)

My vision revealed to me a floating glowing ribcage atop a throne of flesh and bone. The Ribcage, Mul’s alit with an eerie pulsating red glow that cast dark shadows across the dark underground interior.  The Ribcage humming, alive with this insatiable craving, wanting, a deep endless hunger. Behind me was the sound of flesh ripping, tearing from muscle and bone. The greedy mouths of the undead devouring and consuming down to the very marrow. The zombies huddled around the remains, and I was horrified to look. Scared of the face that may stare back at me. They were not Tobias. Thank the Gods and Goddesses. One male figure stood cloaked tall and imposing nearly ten feet away. I did not recognize his side-profile, he was a stranger to me. I will kill him and make him pay if he hurt my friend. I will raise him for the satisfaction of killing him again if I should discover that Tobias came to harm by his hand. I will make him crave the sweet release of a true death. (The letters here press deep into the paper, and the quill bled, ink dripping down slightly and there is a line break between the next paragraph.)

I told Edan what I saw, and even in his stupor I could sense his hesitation and fear. His heart raced under my cheek. Fearful for me, but too protective to allow me to go alone. I hope I don’t lead us all to such grave ends. But I fear -- I think Tobias may still be alive? How else would I be able to scry upon him? Perhaps his essence resides within the Ribcage? Please...forgive me, my friend. I never meant to fail you. If you are alive in there...I’m coming.

[ikroah]

Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts

Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate​ / @socksual-innuendos​

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!

It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”

Original Pencils:

The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!

First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.

Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.

Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.

And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.

I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.

Transcript:

EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.

CASS: Hell.

EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.

CASS: Fuck.

EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.

CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.

As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.

CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.

The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.

CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.

(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)

CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—

SFX: KRAK

A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.

CASS (gasping): —uckers.

CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.

CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.

AGNES: Cass! Are you—

CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!

AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.

SFX: DTHWAK!

The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.

SFX: KRAK

AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.

SFX: BTAK BTAK BTAK

AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.

SFX: SPLUT

CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.

SFX: KBLAM

The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.

AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?

CASS: No. Just some vultures.

CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.

CASS: Ugghhn.

AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—

CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.

AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—

CASS: What!?

AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!

CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.

CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.

CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?

AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.

CASS: What?

AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.

CASS: What?

AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.

CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—

AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.

CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?

AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.

AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.

CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.

AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.

CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?

AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...

CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—

AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.

CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.

AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..

AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.

CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?

AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?

CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!

AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.

CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.

AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.

CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—

AGNES: I said hold still.

CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?

AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.

AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.

CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—

CASS raises her arm  to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.

CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...

CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.

Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.

The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.

AGNES SANDS IN: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A HURTIN’

VOLUME 2: MAKE IT BIG IN VEGAS

[jasontoddiefor]

nobody's keeping score

Ship: HideKane

Summary: In a world where ink stains the white papers of constitutions, damning the lives of ghouls, their existence is no secret or rumor, but a topic of heated debate, protests, and anonymous organ donations in shady alleys. No matter how bright the CCG appears in their white coats, their light cannot reach the dark tunnels where ghouls and sympathizers alike are plotting. And when Hide, after hours of sitting at his best friend’s hospital bed, sees him wake with one eye black and red, the difficult question is not how to get him help, but how to avoid him becoming the figurehead of a conflict threatening to turn into a bloody revolution.

AN: Notes: You ever just take a 4-year break from a fandom and return with spite fic because you remembered how much you hated canon? Yeah. This fanfic is my attempt at corralling the TG worldbuilding into something coherent that makes sense. I will keep some elements of canon, others I will throw out of the window straight away. This is utterly self-indulgent.

“And with the developments in synthetic meat production—”

Hide wanted to groan. They’d been discussing the same question for the last three hours of class and he was, frankly speaking, done with it. People were running out of arguments and circling back to topics that didn’t contribute anything to the conversation they were supposed to be having. From the way their lecturer was glaring at the latest speaker, Hide would say that she was also very done.

“Yoshimura, as stated before, we are not discussing possibilities for ghoul integration, but the mere premise of whether they even deserve the rights needed to legalize their status as citizens. The right of existence of an individual should not be dependent on what modifications would have to be made to accommodate them, but whether they deserve to live regardless.”

Hide had zoned out about an hour ago. His opinion on ghouls had always felt rather clinical, mathematically detached, despite Hide’s history. Maybe too much time had passed since he’d looked at the bloody remains of his father to really hammer home the fear-motivated rejection so many people fell to. Perhaps the CCG investigators, who had dragged him away from his father’s corpse, should have allowed him to get a little more traumatized before the kindness of his new parents had become enough to dull those painful memories.

Some ghouls were no different than brutal serial killers, and they had to be taken down, but the rest seemed to be getting by just fine. If a new legislation would make it even easier for them to go about their everyday lives, perhaps the number of violent ghoul attacks would go down as well. Hide was well aware that this was the view of a privileged person. Growing up in the 20th ward meant that you needn’t be scared of leaving your house when it was already dark. Kamii University prided itself on the fact that it could safely offer evening classes such as the one Hide was attending now. The same certainly couldn’t be said for the other wards. Any citizen between the 9th and 13th wards would probably advocate vocally for the extermination of ghouls. The 11th especially resembled a warzone even during the daylight. Ghoul sightings were nothing unusual there, and investigators’ mutilated bodies were displayed as trophies and warnings alike. Meanwhile, nobody had died in the 20th war for something like ten odd years. Sometimes it felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but most of the time, Hide didn’t even think about ghouls.

By the time class was finally over, Hide had taken only one or two more bullet points. They hadn’t really said anything of interest and it reflected in his writing. Usually, Hide would be sending rapid-fire texts to Kaneki now, but his friend was still on his date and Hide didn’t want to bother him. It had taken more than just a bit of teasing and probing to get Kaneki to ask that girl out and he wouldn’t self-sabotage his hard work.

It was good that Kaneki was connecting to people that weren’t just Hide.

And it would be awesome if Hide could do the same.

Codependence needed two people to work and Kaneki was definitely not the only one struggling with independence. Hide had yet to figure out how to let go of Kaneki when his relationship to the other boy had been the only stable thing in his world for the longest time. Nothing said mental health like latching onto an abused child to escape the stifling air of his brand-new foster fathers’ home.

The next time he visited his parents, he’d bring them some flowers to make up for how troublesome he’d been as a child.

Glancing at his phone again, Hide realized he had to hurry if he wanted to take the early bus home. He was just about to plug in his headphones when an unknown number flashed up on the display. Who would call him at this time? Hide was definitely someone who preferred texting. Even his parents knew better than to call unless it was serious. The only person he ever actually called was Kaneki, and that was only because his friend sometimes got so lost in a book, he forgot to text back or didn’t even hear the phone buzz. Hide contemplated picking up for another ring, then gave in and accepted. “Nagachika Hideyoshi speaking, who’s calling?”

“Hello, I am Tanaka Akako, a nurse of the Kanou General Hospital. You are Nagachika Hideyoshi, Kaneki Ken’s emergency contact?”

The blood in Hide’s veins froze.

“Yes, I am. Has— has anything happened? Is Kaneki alright!?”

The nurse’s voice was so calm, steady, and pleasant as if this was a chat between friends. Somewhere Hide knew that it probably helped most people, but it just put him on edge. “Nagachika-san, your friend and another young woman were involved in an accident. Dr. Kanou is preparing him for surgery, but as his emergency contact, we have to discuss the possible options before we can proceed.”

Hide didn’t want to discuss any options. There shouldn’t be any besides Kaneki’s survival. Hide wanted to rush into the operation hall and hold Kaneki’s hand, wishing he could turn back time, tell his friend to remain at his side and consider that girl out of his league so he’d spent the evening with him and not getting sent to ER. This couldn’t be real; he was sick to his stomach.

“What are the options?” Hide asked, panic threatening to strangle him as he rushed to the street, trying to find a taxi to take him to Kanou General straightaway.

“Kaneki-san sustained serious injuries. Dr. Kanou is willing to transplant the deceased Kamishiro-san’s organs into your friend to save his life even if her family hasn’t consented yet. The only consent we can ask for in Kaneki-san’s case is yours and—”

“Do it,” Hide replied immediately. He didn’t know Kaneki’s date, and as much as Hide loved people, argued for a baseline acceptance every day in class, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the wishes of a family whose daughter was already dead. The only thing they were still good for once their hearts stopped beating was serving the living with their remains.

Kaneki might survive because of her; what else could matter? “Do it, whatever you need to save him— you have my full permission.”

Finally, a taxi approached and stopped right when Hide waved for it. He quickly climbed inside and, paying no attention to the driver, told him to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

“And in case he doesn’t survive, may his organs—”

“He will survive,” Hide pressed because he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he were to lose Kaneki. He’d built a life around his best friend and how much they meant to one another. Hide couldn’t give up on that, couldn’t let it slip past his fingers. “He’ll survive. I know it.”

Organ transplants took place every day without any complications—

Hide’s eyes widened. “Kaneki has recessive ROS!” he all but shouted at the nurse, startling the taxi driver.

Kaneki’s father had died because of it. If Kaneki got the wrong blood transfusions or anything, his RC cells were suddenly pushed to start acting up, the dormant sickness could turn on and what if Hide had just damned him to a life of wasting away—

No.

Stay positive. Don’t freak out even more. They hadn’t done anything yet, merely asked for Hide’s permission to help Kaneki at all. He was saving his friend’s life; he wasn’t cursing him.

“Thank you for telling me, Nagachika-san. I will pass that on to Dr. Kanou. You have just contributed immensely to the safety of the procedure.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Hide said. “Just— he has to hold on. Tell Kaneki he has to hold on until I’m there.”

“We will, Nagachika-san, don’t worry. Dr. Kanou will do his best.”

His best.

The words echoed in Hide’s mind. How was he ever supposed to know if Kanou’s best would be enough for his friend? Hide excelled at being optimistic, could see the positive side of most things in life, had learned how to be hopeful at the funerals of people he’d loathed. He just couldn’t allow himself to drown in any negative possibilities.

The rest of the drive passed in the blur, either because the driver had known to speed up after listening in on the phone call, or because Hide was so out of it that he didn’t really register the streetlamps flickering by until the taxi had reached its destination. Hide passed the driver a couple bills, probably more than the transport had actually cost, but he didn’t care. What were one or two skipped meals compared to being there before it was too late? Hide rushed inside the sterile white hospital, eyes immediately set on the front desk.

“My friend,” Hide stuttered as he clung to the counter, holding it as if it were his lifeline. “He was brought in— an accident. He was on a date and there was an accident. Dr. Kanou is operating him?”

The receptionist seemed confused, needing a moment to make something coherent out of Hide’s rambles. “I need your identification before I can tell you anything about our patients.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Hide fumbled for his student ID card and put it on the counter with shaky hands. “Nagachika Hideyoshi, I’m Kaneki Ken’s emergency contact.”

“Of course, your friend is still in the operating room. You can wait here.”

Hide didn’t want to wait, but what else was there he could do? He hated feeling useless like this, unable to contribute anything productive. The receptionist sent him a kind look and, defeated, Hide crossed the entrance hall to the waiting room where he remained together with other worried family members and patients, clutching his phone so he wouldn’t start screaming. He couldn’t stop moving his legs, stress keeping him wide awake even as the hospital emptied and less and less people sat around him. How long did such an operation take? An hour? Two? Hide had absolutely no idea. He didn’t study anything like this. His major was English literature, which was about as helpful as hot air at this moment.

He could quote enough books concerned with some medical drama and family members in the hospital, but none of them brought him any comfort.

“Nagachika-san?”

Hide looked up into the kind face of an elderly man wearing a pristine white coat.

“Y- yes?” Hide replied and quickly stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Are you Dr. Kanou? Is my friend alright? Can I see him?”

“I am sorry to have caused you such worries. The operation went well. Your friend is resting in intensive care right now. He is still asleep, but you may visit him. The presence of loved ones is often very beneficial to the healing process.”

Healing.

A sob shook Hide’s shoulders. Kaneki was alive. He hadn’t died.

“Thank you,” he managed to say in between his sobs. “Thank you, thank you for saving his life.”

The doctor only kept on smiling and kindly put his hand on Hide’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly in what was meant to be comforting. “It is my job, young man. You don’t have to thank me. Nothing is more important to me than saving innocent lives. If you follow one of the nurses, you can see your friend immediately.”

Hide thanked the doctor once more, relief slowly filling the pits anxiety had hollowed out. He followed the nurse through the labyrinth of death, decay, healing, and salvation up to the intensive care station. Quietly, he was led to a room. The door opened, revealing one lone figure on a bed.

From a distance, hooked up with so many tubes and wires, Kaneki was nothing like the person who took up half of Hide’s life. He seemed so much smaller and looked like just one push could snap his connection to life.

“Please remain quiet,” the nurse told him. “And don’t move him.” Glancing at his still trembling fingers, she added, “but you may hold his hand.”

Hide nodded, then quickly crossed the room to Kaneki’s bed and sat down on the chair next to it. Kaneki didn’t move at all; not even a single muscle twitched. Hide would assume they had led him to view his friend’s corpse if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Pushing up the sleeves of his jacket, Hide took Kaneki’s hand in his own.

“Hey, Ken,” he muttered, pressing his eye close so no tears would escape them. “You scared me there. Don’t ever do that again.”

Predictably, Kaneki didn’t reply. Nevertheless, Hide imagined that just for a moment, he squeezed Hide’s hand back. Slowly, the tension bled from Hides’s shoulders and he made himself comfortable in the hard plastic chair. This was bound to be a long night and he was starting to feel his exhaustion catch up to him. He tried to keep his eyes trained on his friend for as long as possible, remaining alert for a change to his condition, but it was getting more and more difficult to keep them open.

Eventually, the darkness caught him as he fell. Hide knew he stirred a couple more times during the night, likely when the nurses came to check on Kaneki. Nobody asked him to move and leave, something he was immensely thankful for. He wouldn’t have been able to let go. By the time the sun began to chase away the shadows again, Hide wasn’t sure how much he had slept, only that it had definitely not been enough. But that was alright, he could catch up on sleep sometime later. It was far more important that Kaneki was going to be alright.

Hide turned to look at Kaneki’s face and found his friend awake, staring back at him.

One eye gray like a stormy cloud before the morning rainfall.

The other was blood-red against the night sky.

[ukiyo-jaem]

Aced. pt.2 (n.jm)

⇁warnings: smut (duh), roughness, power play, Dom!jaemin, fem!reader

⇁have fun ;)

⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀⇀

it was like torture waiting for the next session with jaemin. nights filled with lewd dreams and the craving for things to tip off like they should have.

yet, today was the day. you had taken another test and got it back, with an 'A' stamped at the head of the page. you sat at your desk, legs shaking with anticipation.

you straightened your papers last minute and sat in silence for him to walk in any moment now and to show him how well you did all by yourself.

you peered at the clock and frowned. he was always on time...and he was running late today.

your phone as if on cue buzzed on the smooth top of your desk.

'jae: can't make it today. hope you understand.'

it felt like your breath was funneled out of you all at once.

'y/n: are you okay?'

'jae: yeah, i just had a rough day. didn't wanna drag you down with my sour mood.'

you groaned and set your phone down roughly. "this isn't fair." you muttered. bullshit if he's in a bad mood. you were still feeling the consequences of cheating on the last test.

"no. i'm not waiting." you said standing up and grabbing your bag and sweatshirt. "he wants to be in a bad mood? guess i'll just have to brighten his day." you said as you walked out your bedroom door, aced test in hand.

~~~~

you'd only been to his house a couple of times. most were for studying sessions, sometimes it was for mutual friends picking something up.

this time, you were coming here for yourself. to show him your test...and hopefully it turns into something more.

his front door seemed thick and filled with such a dense feeling of bad riddance.

it opened a few seconds later to a sleepy looking jae. his sweatpants and t-shirt made him look comfy as he stared at you in confusion. a silver chain you hadn't noticed before hanging outside of his shirt but fitting his aesthetic. Ink leaked from his short sleeves that had always been covered up with a hoodie or cardigan.

"i said-" "i know what you said." you cut him off, your hand coming infront of his mouth to make him be quiet. "but i'm here to show you this." you turned the paper around and he just stared at it.

he shrugged as he looked up at you. "yeah?" his voice was laced with an attitude you'd never experience before with him.

you looked down at the paper to make sure it was the right one...and it was...A and all.

"i got an A...like on my test." you said, your smile slowly falling. "it's not rare to ace a test, y/n." his eyes rolled, looking down the street, his gaze slowly falling back on you again.

"but-" your test was now being raked over and over again, trying to find an imperfection on it. "what? you payed attention for once?," he chuckled, his arms now over his chest. you looked up at him, eyes becoming misty. "want a cookie?" he snickered, the venom of sarcasm dripping from every word that left his lips. your heart sank as your insecurities seeped through as the seconds ticked away.

the want to just crawl into a hole and throw away the test into the garbage can became unbearable. your eyes became misty in the span of a second.

"i just thought you'd care." you shook your head, a tear falling on your paper and making the dried black ink smear into a bluish mess. your stare didn't leave the paper as he realized what he had done.

"i-" but it was too late...you had already ripped your test in half. you stood there for a moment and just stared at the two pieces of paper in your hands, his eyes wide and in shock of what you had just done.

"...i care..." he whispered, taking both pieces out of your hands. you met his gaze that held so much remorse for his previous actions.

his jaw clenched and his eyes closed as he took a deep breath in. "we can fix this." he said grabbing your upper arm in one hand and holding the paper in his other. he dragged you inside the homely house and down hallways to a bedroom door that was marked with 'keep out' signs.

he pulled you into a world you didn't know he was apart of. cigarette smells filled the room and various things you had never seen before laid in his room. tattoo gun was the weirdest thing you had wandered over with your eyes.

"woah." you breathed and he rolled his eyes.

"why does everybody do that?" he asked grabbing your bag and throwing it by the door. "sit on the bed." he said motioning over to the bed.

he went over to his desk and put the pieces of paper together. work began immediately as he didn't even waste any time lighting a cigarette and leaving it hanging from his lips.

it was so weird seeing him in this environment. you just knew him as the dorky yet hot guy that you saw at varying times. yet in his own room he was a guy with tattoos who smoked, listened to music, and read.

"how long have you smoked?" you try to make casual conversation. his gaze looked confused as he looked back at you for a moment, turning right back around to what he was doing.

"you shouldn't be asking people stupid questions, baby." the name rolled off his lips so smoothly and so elegantly.

"just curious." the shrug of your shoulders happening naturally. you observed some of the different posters on his wall.

the soft guitar playing in the background as you could see jaemin bop his head along with it. the puffs of smoke would come up anywhere between 6 to 8 seconds.

"did you cheat this time?" he asked and you rolled your eyes even though you know he couldn't see. "no. as a matter of fact." you said matter-of-factly.

"so what was so different about this test than the others?" he inquired as he took tape out of his drawer, slamming the drawer back.

"i don't know. maybe our tutoring sessions are working?" that was your best answer as you brought your legs to fold so you were sitting criss-cross.

his chuckle breaking the silence as he turned around his chair.

"so what was so different about the past tutoring sessions and the new ones?" he asked, taking his cigarette and tapping it on an ash tray.

a sudden cough broke through your chest as the still recent memories resurfaced. his sat there with a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

"well," you sighed once you regained your breath. "it's been really...hands on...lately." you nodded, trying to word it properly.

"in what way?" his eyebrow arched. your body sat like a deer caught in head lights. "...i'm not going to say it, jaemin..." you said quietly.

"awe are you shy now?" he mocked, fake sympathy slipping in and out of his words.

"no."

"awe you're blushing." he coo'ed.

"no i'm not."

"well you weren't that shy when my tongue was on your pussy last week." he said and your heart started beating faster and your fight or flight was kicking in.

he was getting more impatient with you sitting on his bed when he imagined you tied to it.

"did you like it?" he smirked and just like that, you were trying to run out of his room. yet, he was just a little bit faster than you.

instead of running through the door, you were pinned against it. his hungry looking eyes trying to find pleasure in just looking at your cute form.

"you didn't answer my question, princess." you were getting drawn into his words by each syllable. your eyes were just looking at his lips now, wanting to take everything they were willing to give.

"and by the aced test on my desk...you're amazing at answering questions." he whispered.

by the second, each of you were moving closer to each other. lips moving closer together when at the last minute, he pulls away.

"so yeah...your test is fixed." he walked over to his desk and held it up.

"what the hell was that?!" you asked, still shocked of what just happened. "what are you talking about?" he rolled his eyes and you were steaming now. he was seriously not doing that.

you marched right up to him and grabbed his face forcefully. "you know exactly what you're doing, jaemin." you said and his eyes only grew colder at your forceful grip on his face.

once you were shocked back to reality, your hand loosened and a shocked face set into your own.

you didn't skip a beat though as you were now on your knees.

he watched with eager eyes but relaxed figure. "payback is a bitch." you said and automatically started rubbing at the growing hard-on in his pants.

a sharp intake of breath was paired with his hand coming down to your hand. "i don't think you know what you're doing, little girl." his voice had dropped a couple octaves from his previous spoken sentence.

"i think i know exactly what i am doing." you shoved his hand off and reached for the waistband of his sweatpants.

he watched your actions with a smirk, letting you have your fun...for now.

he watched as your eyes bulged and filled with lust at his size, knowing you weren't entirely prepared for it. the lack of experience showing as you uneasily grabbed the base.

yet, you went for it. he wanted to applaud your bravery as you started sucking lightly at the tip, inching your mouth down.

your tongue came out to lick him right up his shaft, a low moan escaping his now bitten lips. you got sloppier with it, letting the drool coat your lips and his now red and swollen cock.

"i've been such a good girl for the past week." you coo'd as you licked a bold stripe up the underside of his leaking cock. "is that so, princess?" he chuckled and your nods and lip biting along with the occasional giggles sent him over the edge.

his hand grabbed your hair and his fingers grabbed a fistful as if it was a prized position. the burning pleasure made your body more flushed. "because last time i checked... it's not so good to show up to someone's house uninvited." your eyes became big and his mind you just seemed so much more fuckable.

"what did you say earlier?" he asked leaning forward and grabbing your face. "karma is a bitch, baby. and you're in my house." he smirked. "my house. my rules." he whispered, getting closer to your now slightly intimidated figure.

"open your mouth and take what i give you." you didn't think twice as he squished your face harder so your mouth was open. he spit in your mouth, automatically shoving you back down on his cock.

his hand stayed in your hair, guiding you up and down his cock. "oh fuck. you're so much cuter with my cock in your mouth." he chuckled, forcing your mouth down so he was all in your mouth and throat.

gags was what you and him were met with.

he pulled your head off of him and pulled your hair so you were face to face with him. tear-streaked cheeks was such a pretty look on you.

you gasped for air with heavy breaths; chest heaving and knees sore from being on them for so long. his hand left your hair and made its way to your neck, slightly squeezing once it was wrapped around.

"you're so beautiful, princess." he whispered, wiping away some tears from your cheeks, his thumb running across your bottom lip. you wrapped your puffy and drooly lips around his thumb, sucking lightly while his eyes bore into yours.

"you make me want to do bad things, y/n." he sighed truthfully; his bitten lips being snatched in between his teeth. you let his thumb go with a 'pop' and nuzzled your cheek into his palm.

"then do something about it." you teased and stood up and started to turn away when you were forcefully picked up and pinned to his bed. you could feel his length pressed against your now soaked panties.

"you know the correct buttons to push to piss me off, don't you." he pressed you down more into the mattress. you felt his hand come up and wrap around your throat snuggly. "harder." you giggled and you could basically feel the heat of anger radiate off of him.

he pushed himself off of your back and all you felt was your skirt being lifted up and a rip.

a gasp was all that you could get out before he rammed into your dripping hole. "fuck, princess." he groaned. "you're so tight for me." his one arm still pinned you against the bed as the sound of skin slapping echoed. a smooth beat being distributed by the speaker on his dresser.

you let him use your body as it only brought you pleasure. he let you up just so he could flip you on your back and carry you up the bed more to the pillows. he thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world; your hair fanned out across his pillows where your scent would drift him to sleep in the upcoming nights.

his hands got lost up your shirt, pulling your arms through and bringing the cloth off your head; the white fabric now somewhere in the room. his own was lost somewhere in the process of the beginning to now.

he guided your arms around his torso and just held you against his chest for a moment. his touch was gentle as he pulled your hair back softly and titled your head so you were looking up at him and laid the most gentlest of kisses against your lips. the kiss was absolutely breathtaking.

"we're gonna do this right the first time." he said and pushed you a little so both of you laying down. his kiss was draining you of all life and throwing you into this dazed and lovely second heaven it felt like.

he was slow and sensual now, pumping into you in a way that made you become calm and wanting more. his hands just felt every part of your body, making you fall deeper into this trance.

your hands were now entangled in his hair as he did everything he could to bring you even more pleasure as the minutes ticked by.

you were his own drug he tried and just can't get enough of.

"please don't stop." you whimpered against his lips and he swore he was in heaven in that moment. he made you go numb, stars dancing across your eyelids and heat fanned across your cheeks; eyes wet with immense amount of pleasure.

jae just looked at you in awe as you came undone around him. his own high not coming long after yours.

after you both finished; chests still heaving as you both tried to calm down.

he pulled out of you but your arms held onto him, holding his head under your chin.

you felt his heart slow as he became limp. you held him as his breath slowed and you knew he had dozed off. he instinctively held onto your waist as you pulled the sheets over both of your bodies.

the sun had begun to set outside of his window as your hands ran through his damp and still drying hair.

you knew that this was going to be a regular thing now. you just hope that his feelings are still there for you behind the wall of lust.

[kiranatrix]

INDULGENCE—

a MikaLight fanfic by @kiranatrix and @my-one-true-l for @mikalightweek [Day 4- Devotion]

Summary: When Mikami realizes he’s being followed by an FBI agent, he informs Kiyomi right away. Light meets Mikami alone in the confessional of a decrepit church to hear the details for himself and requests a test of the man’s loyalty.

Rating: T for mild gore and innuendo

Teaser under the cut or read the whole fic here!

The young woman sat alone, quietly avoiding the eyes of the other passengers, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the unwanted attention from the man who had set his sights on her. There was no escaping the unwanted advances in the confines of the train. It would take nothing more than a few swiftly written strokes to bring the perpetrator to his rightful death, but Teru Mikami couldn’t do that under the circumstances. Instead, the Death Note remained in the safety of his briefcase as he exited the train and vanished into the crowd, a casual glance over his shoulder confirmed what he had suspected for days…

He was being followed. He was good with faces, and when the same one recurred in the most unlikely of places, this time sitting across him on the train, he decided it was time to pay attention to the name hovering just above the man’s head.

Stephen Loud. That would be easy enough to remember until he was home and could find the answers he already knew. Coincidences happen, but the more likely scenario was he was suspected to have connections to Kira and if that was the case…Kami was in danger.

As he approached his apartment, a nonchalant scan of his surrounding put him at ease. Mr. Loud was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, though Teru was not about to dismiss that which could be out of his sight.

He wasted no time using his good name and contacts to discover that he was being pursued by none other than an FBI agent. The blood drained from his face as it all sunk in. He had little concern for his own fate. It was Kami he worried for. There was no way of knowing how long he had been being tailed nor could he be certain of the extent he had been investigated.

Keeping this to himself would not do. He had to warn Kira, even if it meant falling out of his good graces.

Takada. I need to talk to her.

Looking up her number was unnecessary. He had memorized his only lifeline to Kira the day he was chosen. With trembling fingers, he dialed and waited impatiently for her to answer.

Kiyomi Takada was in the back of her limousine, heading to the television studio, when her phone rang in her purse. It’s HIS ringtone. She quickly leaned forward and pressed the button to bring up the dark-tinted glass (and soundproof) partition between her and the driver, then immediately answered the call. “Kiyomi here.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice-- she’d specifically told Mikami not to call her during the day. It was difficult enough to secure complete privacy at night. However, she was in luck in this instance-- her driver was loyal to Kira. Still, she whispered, “This better be an emergency.”

“I wouldn’t call otherwise.” Teru had a million thoughts swarming his mind and only a split second to sift through them. “I’m being followed.”

Kiyomi’s breath caught, and she nearly broke her ladylike facade and swore. She shifted the cell phone to perch between her cheek and her shoulder as she rummaged in her purse for pen and paper. “Followed by who and for how long? I need their name and where you’ve been seen.” She clicked the pen and poised it above the paper. “I’ll have to tell him right away.”

Teru drew a deep breath before he spoke. “An FBI agent by the name of Stephen Loud. I noticed him a few days ago, mostly around my gym and a few times outside of court, but today he sat across from me on the train ride home, so I can only assume he knows where I live as well.”

“FBI!” Kiyomi’s pen trembled ink onto the paper until she pressed it down firmly, trying to ground herself. This was news of the worst kind-- the FBI was working with the SPK here in Japan, and if they had sussed out that Mikami was working with Kira, Light would be very unhappy with that exposure. Mikami’s value had been in his anonymity. And Mikami has Kira’s power! “This is...unexpected. Did you happen to get a picture of him? Or find one you can send to me? I can pass that information on and we’ll take care of it.” She took a deep breath and carefully wrote down the details that Mikami had relayed.

Teru could feel Kiyomi’s displeasure on every word she spoke, certain it would only worsen with what he was about to say. “No, I didn’t, nor was there a photograph of him accompanying his file. Careful measures have been taken to conceal his face. It would seem I’m the only one who knows what he looks like.”

“I see.” Kiyomi frowned and wrote ‘no picture’ on the notepad, underlining it angrily. “I suppose that’s what we should expect from the FBI, but it makes things difficult.” She glanced out the window, seeing that she was almost at the TV station. “I’ll speak to him and call you back. Stay by the phone, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up and immediately calling Light on his secure line. Shit shit shit… He picked up on the sixth ring, which meant he’d probably had to duck out of something with his team.

“Yes?” Light was on his guard-- it was very unusual that Kiyomi would call him rather than the reverse. He didn’t have long either, just the duration of a normal bathroom break. “You know how I feel about personal calls at work, love.”

“I know, but I just spoke with the caterer, dear.” Kiyomi knew better than to ever use any of their real names. Even if the phone lines were ‘secure,’ Light didn’t trust it when he was with the Task Force. “He’s run into a snag on our order.”

Light stayed quiet for a moment but understood her meaning perfectly fine. Mikami was in some kind of trouble, and it was bad enough for Kiyomi to call him right away instead of waiting for one of their usual meetings. “Oh? Surely it’s nothing that can’t be resolved. Send me the invoice tonight.” Send me their name and face.

Kiyomi sighed and said, “Seems like the invoice is missing some items. Only the caterer knows it.” She drummed her long red nails on the armrest nervously. “Secret recipe.”

Hmm. Light knew that meant that either the name or a picture of the person’s face was missing, and since Mikami had shinigami eyes, it was likely the face. “Remind me, dear, was this a rush order?” Is this an emergency?

“Yes. I’d really hate to call off this party.”

So, something that can’t be ignored. “I understand. Perhaps I should meet with the caterer myself and work out the details? I’ll text you the place. 11 o’clock?”

Kiyomi knew that wasn’t really a question, it was an order. Light wanted to meet Mikami and hear about this for himself. “Of course. I’ll set it up for 11.” A dial tone hung in the air as soon as she agreed. She stared down at her phone and waited for the text.

Send the caterer to Saint Joseph’s. He’ll need to confess the recipe.

Kiyomi deleted the text right away, then called Mikami back.

Teru paced his living room, eyes fixed on the phone he clutched in his hand. He wasn’t one to drink, but tonight it was harder to fight the lure of his liquor cabinet, sparse in contents as it may be. Kira had caused him more restless nights than he would ever admit, but this was an entirely new kind of torment. He had failed his god, inadvertent as it may have been. Intention didn’t matter and had no place in his shame.

Each second that passed equaled two until the phone rang, answering it with a simple rushed response. “Yes?”

“He wants to meet with you. Alone.” Kiyomi hoped Light knew what he was doing, but she certainly wasn’t going to question Kira’s decision. “There’s an old church in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Saint Joseph’s. It’s open all night and the priest is half-blind, drunk most nights. No one will see you.” She knew the place well and had met Light there a few times herself. “Go into the confessional and wait for him. 11 o’clock.” She paused for a moment and added softly, “Make absolutely sure you’re not followed. He’s trusting your discretion.”

He wants to meet with you alone.

The words sent a shiver down Teru’s spine. He swallowed hard at the thought. Meeting Kami. Never had he dared to dream of being fortunate enough to have such an honor, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, Teru couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the notion. Even if this meeting could mean the end of his life, everything up to now would have been worth it to be in Kami’s presence. “I can give you my assurances. I will not be followed.”

Disappointing Kami again was out of the question.

“Good luck.” Kiyomi hung up the phone and texted Light, ‘caterer booked.’ She’d be nervous for the rest of the day but there was also relief-- it was out of her hands. If Light needed something, he’d ask. I just hope I’m still as useful after he meets Mikami. Walking into the television studio to again act as Kira’s spokesperson, she knew she was, for now.

Read the rest on AO3 here.

[ibijau]

part 11 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

As winter settles in, Lan Xichen and Huaisang hear concerning news coming from the other Nie camp.

Huaisang and Lan Xichen, both usually early risers, ended up oversleeping the next morning, and didn't stir until Meng Yao called them from outside, asking if they were alright. 

“Don’t wanna get up today,” Huaisang grumbled in a low voice, nuzzling against Lan Xichen’s chest. “Tell him to go away. We’re staying here today.”

It was a tempting suggestion, certainly, but Lan Xichen still told Meng Yao that everything was fine, and they just needed a little time to get ready. This earned him a betrayed glare from Nie Huaisang.

“What happened to wanting to be taken seriously as a responsible adult?” Lan Xichen teased him.

“Boring,” Huaisang yawned. “I don’t care anymore. Just want to stay here and make love all day.”

Lan Xichen laughed, and though the proposition was quite attractive, he still extricated himself from his husband’s embrace and started getting ready for the day. Huaisang complained at length, calling Lan Xichen cruel and unfeeling, but in the end he also washed quickly and got dressed.

“You’ll pay for this,” Huaisang said as they left the ger, pretending to be cross. He would have been more believable if he hadn’t immediately stolen a kiss from Lan Xichen, before heading off to see if Zonghui needed his help with anything. Lan Xichen’s eyes followed him a moment before finally turned to acknowledge Meng Yao, nodding at him.

Meng Yao didn’t return the greeting, nor react in any way. His entire attention was on Lan Xichen’s neck, his expression tight, almost pained. Lan Xichen first thought that, having dressed a little quickly and while distracted, he might not have been as neat as he preferred to be. Indeed, when he brought his hand up, he found his collar to be completely crooked, exposing far more skin than would have been proper. It wouldn't be so bad, except… 

Last night, Lan Xichen had been very careful with his husband, trying not to leave any marks on him since they would take so long to disappear. Huaisang had had no such qualms, kissing, biting, and sucking at every bit of skin he could reach. Lan Xichen had felt no reason to complain at that moment and still wouldn't, except for Meng Yao looking at him as if he were bleeding to death rather than marked by a few loving bruises. 

"I guess Huaisang got his way after all," Meng Yao said, his tone so severe that it dampened Lan Xichen's joy. 

Embarrassed to have accidentally put on display the signs of his marital activities, Lan Xichen silently nodded while trying to put more order to his clothes. At least only Meng Yao had seen him, who was his friend. If it had been one of the Nie, he would have been teased to death for sure. They were rather more relaxed with joking about these things than Lan Xichen preferred. 

“So in the end, the Khan was the only thing protecting you,” Meng Yao noted with a slight grimace of disgust.

“He certainly was in the way,” Lan Xichen mused, blushing again as he looked away. Even though things were getting better with his brother-in-law, he was in no hurry to see him come back. Privacy was a very nice thing to have. Lan Xichen then looked back at Meng Yao and noticed his friend’s horrified look. He felt first ashamed for even discussing such things at all, then upset about feeling ashamed. “You know, we are married,” he pointed out to Meng Yao, trying not to be hurt that his friend was apparently the sort to be disgusted by intimacy between men. “Of course something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I hope you don’t think less of me for it.”

“Of course not! Lan gongzi, we are friends, no matter what!” Meng Yao exclaimed, reaching for his hands and squeezing them gently. “And I understand, in this situation… it can’t be avoided. Even someone like Huaisang has needs.”

Lan Xichen nodded, his face burning as he thought that Huaisang definitely wasn’t the only one with needs. If they hadn't had other obligations, he would have enthusiastically taken Huaisang’s offer to stay the day in bed. He kept that thought to himself, and quickly changed the subject. Meng Yao still looked worried for a while, and only reluctantly let go of his hands. They went on about their business for the rest of the morning without mentioning this again, but Lan Xichen thought he could feel the disappointment and pity of his friend the entire time. 

After a brief lunch, Lan Xichen ended up spending the afternoon with Zonghui and those of the young men who hadn't left with Mingjue. He was becoming rather proficient with a blade, he liked to think. Not quite yet to the level of the nomads, and he wouldn't get there for a while longer, but Zonghui thought he had potential and insisted that he start carrying his sword around everywhere he went, like the rest of them. 

"In case you want to play with wolves again," a boy remarked, triggering a few laughs. 

Lan Xichen accepted the sword with perhaps more gratefulness that such a blade deserved, when Zonghui himself conceded it was of inferior quality and the only thing he could spare at the moment. Lan Xichen was in an emotional sort of mood, and so felt touched by that mark of acceptance from the Nie. 

After a while, Huaisang and Meng Yao came to watch them train, chatting together like old friends. It comforted Lan Xichen a little to see that whatever Meng Yao’s opinion was toward men who cut their sleeves, at least he wasn’t letting it damage his friendships. Of course Meng Yao still looked uncomfortable when Lan Xichen and Huaisang retired for the night, but he was clearly making an effort, and that was what mattered.

-

The days that followed were peaceful enough. Lan Xichen kept busy helping around while there was light, then returned to the ger when it got dark again to enjoy his husband’s company. With nothing but moonlight to illuminate the ger, Lan Xichen found it difficult to give the painting lessons he so wanted to share with Huaisang. The most they could do was for Huaisang to practice holding an empty brush by pretending to trace shapes on paper so he could get used to the gesture. Lan Xichen thought he had some skill for this sort of things, but of course it was difficult to know when they were both hesitant to waste what little ink and paper they had. Besides, those lessons always ended up rather short lived, because when Lan Xichen pressed himself against Huaisang’s back to hold his wrist and guide him, brushwork soon became the last thing on their mind.

Lan Xichen told himself that they were just trying to make the best of things before Mingjue returned and they had to return to their previous lack of intimacy. It was a perfectly valid excuse to behave a little lasciviously… though even when they learned that Mingjue might be gone all winter, it didn’t quite calm down their ardour.

The news came one afternoon. Lan Xichen was checking on the cattle when a rider arrived from the other camp, and thus missed the messenger entirely. Huaisang had to share the news with him that evening, when the man had already left again to let the Khan know his family had been informed he would remain absent. By then, a certain gloom at fallen upon the entire camp, and not without reason.

To everyone’s shock and surprise, Wen riders had been spotted coming worryingly close to the other camp, which was situated closer to the border with their territory. Since that camp was only used in that season, and the Wen had never yet dared break the winter truce, that unfortunate location had never been considered a problem before. Now though, the Khan had some real fear the camp might be attacked as soon as the weather improved in early spring, or even during the cold of winter itself, should the Wen spit on all their traditions.

“Would they really?” Lan Xichen asked his husband that night when they were alone in the ger, hiding together under heavy furs. For the first time since Nie Mingjue had left, neither of them was in the mood to make love, but Huaisang still asked to be held close, and that was something Lan Xichen would never have refused him, least of all when he too felt worried.

Huaisang shrugged. “Ruohan is a dangerous man,” he said. "His sons are hungry for power, and so is he. Maybe they would really fall that low. I spoke with Zonghui," he added with a deep, weary sigh. "He says next year, we will probably move the other camp somewhere safer."

"You don't seem happy about that." 

"I'm not. It's difficult to find a good spot," Huaisang explained. "It needs good grass, stable ground, decent weather, and all this close to our camp. Mingjue will be busy with that all summer, unless we can inflict them a strong enough defeat that they stay hidden a year or two." 

Unsure what to say, Lan Xichen pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. He had never seen war outside of history books. But of course, his life with the Nie had been full of new experiences, and he knew raids were part of the ordinary for them.

The idea of a war terrified him. He didn’t think he’d be forced to take part in a raid, not even if his skill with a blade improved, but staying behind with Huaisang wouldn’t be without risk either. They could be attacked, and would have to defend themselves. Lan Xichen might have to find out if he was the sort of person who could kill others, something he would surely never have wondered about himself if he’d stayed home. Worse still, he thought he already knew the answer. If someone threatened Huaisang, or even Meng Yao…

Lan Xichen shivered at the thought. Huaisang felt it, and pressed himself harder against him, holding him close.

“It’ll be fine,” Huaisang claimed with absolute confidence. “Mingjue is a great warrior. He’ll protect us all. He’ll protect the other camp until the snows melt, and then in spring he will call the other clans, tell them about the Wen, and we’ll deal with them for good.”

Lan Xichen smiled at his husband’s assurance, but remained so anxious that he barely slept that night.

In the days after learning of the threats against the other camp, everyone acted a little more nervously. Zonghui made every young men and women prepare for battle, in case they should be urgently called to help their relatives, or if the Wen decided to be particularly foolish and attack this place instead. Everyone thought it unlikely, since they were so far from Wen territories, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. The herds were kept under closer surveillance than usual as well, especially after one night, a few horses disappeared. There was some worry about wolves for a while, or thieves, but thankfully the horses eventually returned, all except Meng Yao’s own mount. The young man was quite distraught about that turn of event, and even asked to be allowed to go look for it, but Zonghui refused. The Khan would never have accepted to let Meng Yao ride out alone, and they couldn’t spare anyone to go with him.

“This spring, I’ll pick another horse for you,” Huaisang promised Meng Yao to comfort him. “A strong but gentle one, perfect for you!”

Meng Yao smiled sadly at those words, as if doubting such a thing would happen. Lan Xichen thought that perhaps his friend believed the Khan would refuse him such a privilege, since he was always ready to expect the worst from Mingjue… but if Huaisang had started proving he was trustworthy, surely the same could be accomplished for Meng Yao, Lan Xichen decided.

Perhaps one day they would all four of them get along and be on friendly terms.

In the midst of so much danger, Lan Xichen found comfort in that hopeful thought.

-

Lan Xichen woke with a start. It was dark inside the ger, and it took him a moment to notice a silhouette hovering above him, hands on his shoulders. It couldn’t be Huaisang, he felt the weight of his husband’s head on his chest, and no one else had any right to be inside their home in the middle of the night. Lan Xichen opened his mouth, ready to shout for help, but a hand pressed hard against his lips to silence him.

“Lan gongzi, it’s me,” a familiar voice urgently whispered. “I need to talk to you, but we have to be quiet.”

Having heard his voice, Lan Xichen started to recognise Meng Yao in that silhouette. He nodded slowly, and Meng Yao removed his hand.

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Lan Xichen yawned.

“No, there’d be too much risk of being heard. Please, Lan gongzi. You know I wouldn’t bother you at this hour unless it’s important.”

Lan Xichen nodded again. Meng Yao was always considerate of those around him, trying to avoid causing any disturbance for fear it would finally ruin what little goodwill the Nie still held for him. If he was there, it had to be important.

“I’ll wait for you outside, please hurry,” Meng Yao begged before leaving the ger.

Much as Lan Xichen tried to hurry, it was not easy to get out. Huaisang didn’t wake up, but it was a near thing when his living pillow started moving, and it took Lan Xichen great effort to extricate himself from his husband’s embrace. Even when he managed, Huaisang whined weakly at the loss of warmth and started blindly reaching out for him in his sleep. If not for Meng Yao waiting outside, Lan Xichen would just have laid down again and pulled his husband in his arms. Instead, he hurriedly dressed up and joined his friend outside, hoping there was a good reason for this.

With only a few days left to the new moon there was little light outside, yet even like this Lan Xichen, finally starting to wake up, could only notice how anxious Meng Yao looked. His friend made them both sit in the snow, in the ger's doorway, and kept glancing around, as if fearing to be discovered.

“Did something happen?” Lan Xichen asked with a yawn he couldn’t quite refrain.

“It’s less something that has happened,” Meng Yao explained, “and more something that is about to happen. I know for sure, now that they sent back the horses like agreed. And I hesitated so much to tell you… but in the end, I thought you might need the time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

Meng Yao wringed his hands and glanced first behind himself, inside the ger where Huaisang still slept, then over Lan Xichen’s shoulders toward the rest of the silent camp.

“Lan gongzi, you’re a practical man, just like me,” Meng Yao said with a weak smile. “We’ve both done our best to survive here, of course, but… surely you must long for home as much as I do? You must wish you could go back and put everything the Nie did to you behind you?”

“I’m…”

“Maybe you even want revenge for what you’ve been made to suffer?” Meng Yao insisted, taking Lan Xichen’s hands in his. “I thought my situation was bad, but then what they did to you, forcing you to submit to a brat like Huaisang… I swear, I would have stabbed him in the throat for tainting your honour like this, night after night, if only it wouldn’t have ruined everything else!”

Feeling completely awake now, Lan Xichen shivered from more than the cold. To hear dear, kind, sweet Meng Yao speak so viciously of killing Huaisang was a shock, yet Lan Xichen forced himself not to react, wondering how much it would take for that sudden hatred to turn against him. 

“What’s ‘everything else’?” he asked, as calmly as he could, while pulling his hands away from meng Yao's. 

Meng Yao grimaced, his eyes darting around before he leaned closer.

“Lan gongzi, our ordeal will soon be over,” he confided in a whisper. “I made a deal with the Wen a while ago, when the Khan’s anger made me try to run for my life. I happened upon their king, and found an ally in him.  We agreed that I was to warn them when there would be a good opportunity to attack, using certain signals we came up with. I’d hoped to push Huaisang to rebel so the Nie would be weakened, but he’s just too stupid to stand against his brother’s tyrany and I was starting to get hopeless when you arrived and changed everything. If you hadn’t helped me… I would never have been able to convince Huaisang to be more reliable, it was a stroke of genius. The Khan would never have divided his forces so much before, and now he won’t be here when this camp is attacked. He's going to lose half his people when the Wen strike en masse!”

Lan Xichen’s heart sped inside his chest. It took every bit of self control he had not to shout at what his friend, their friend, was telling him.

“A very bold plan, Meng gongzi,” he whispered. “And the Wen are to take us home when they’re done dealing with the Nie, I assume?”

Meng Yao nodded, a cruel smile of triumph deforming his usually mild face.

“I’ve been promised that we will be taken back to the border, and those barbarians hold their promises to be sacred” Meng Yao explained, as if not remembering that the winter truce was also meant to be sacred. “Then it’ll just be a matter of contacting my father. He’ll be delighted when I tell him that the nomads are in disarray! He is great friend with a general who is a personal friend of the emperor. Once they're all weakened by infighting, the imperial troops can swoop in, those nomads will all be destroyed before next winter, and nobody will have to fear anything when travelling.”

“You’re doing all this for your father?” Lan Xichen mumbled.

“He will recognise me if I manage this,” Meng Yao feverishly confirmed, beaming at the thought. “He told me as much before leaving me here. And I have managed it now, or will soon, all thanks to you. You have my eternal gratitude, Lan gongzi.”

Half a day earlier, Lan Xichen would have smiled at a declaration of gratitude, and reminded Meng Yao that they were friends, that it was only natural for them to help each other. Now though, realising in what danger the Nie clan was, and being told he would bear his share of the blame in the bloodbath that was to come, Lan Xichen felt nothing but disgust for the man he had so recently called his dearest friend. All he wanted was to get as much information as possible on this coming attack, and wake Huaisang to warn him of the danger. 

“Do you know when they will attack?” Lan Xichen asked, trying to sound uncaring but unable to keep his voice from trembling.

“The agreement was I would send a group of horses running toward them,” Meng Yao explained, “and they would return all of them save my own to signify they’re ready to attack on the night of the next new moon. That way, they’re less likely to be spotted. I’m thinking we could offer ourselves for watch duty anyway. Huaisang and Zonghui trust you enough for this, it’ll be easy to…”

Before Meng Yao could finish that thought, Huaisang jumped out of the ger holding a metal ladle which he swung at the back of Meng Yao’s head with enough force for him to collapse. Lan Xichen stared a moment at the motionless body of his friend, shocked by the speed of that attack, by the bloody indent on his skull when he’d never known Huaisang to be capable of violence. When he turned his eyes to Huaisang, Lan Xichen found his husband glaring at him, the ladle stained with blood already raised again, ready to strike another time if necessary.

“It was all a lie then?” Huaisang hissed, tears glistening on his cheeks as he waved the ladle in threat. “All this time, you were just lying to kill Mingjue and me?”

[cecilspeaks]

176 - The Autumn Specter

Lips are the toes of the face. Welcome to Night Vale.

[spooky theme song]

It’s Halloween again, Night Vale, my favorite day of the year. As a kid, my mother used to dress my sister Abby and I in homemade costumes and take us door to door, vaguely threatening our neighbors until they gave us candy. When I was a teenager, I got a little old for trick-or-treating, so I started going to haunted houses with my friends. A lot of those haunted houses were kind of predictable with all their chain saw killers and Victorian ghost children singing nursery rhymes, who would follow you home and sing by your bed for months afterwards, but they always got to me. I loved the emotional rush of being scared. I still do. Of course, I don’t go out much to haunted houses, but I still love good old fashioned scary stories. I thought today would be a great day to share some of my favorites with you. I had my new intern, James, put together a few spooky tales that are perfect for putting you into Halloween mood.

But first, let’s have a look at the Community Calendar. This Saturday night at the New Old Night Vale Opera House, is the annual costume gala. This event is the Opera House’s largest fundraiser and one of the most prestigious costume contests in the region. A panel of judges will be on hand to determine the best costume at the ball. Last year’s winners were Joel Eisenberg and his partner Danny Jimenez, who dressed in a tandem outfit of a stegosaurus. I was there, listeners, and it was impressive! The creature was so realistic-looking. The craftsmanship of the costume was top notch, but listen, I have to confess I’m always more into high concept creativity rather than realistic details when it comes to costumes. Like I remember the 2015 gala, when Amal Shamun came dressed up as the concept of ennui. She made herself 12 feet tall, dressed in a taupe long coat, and created a constant drizzling rain inside the ball room. Anyone who looked at her got super sad and wanted a hug. But Joel and Danny’s stegosaurus was fine.

Sunday afternoon is the fall craft sale in Old Town Night Vale. An inscrutable maze of stalls showcasing the finest products from our town’s artisans. There will be cultural events for children, like finger painting classes, puppet shows, and a visit from the Autumn Specter. The Autumn Specter returns. It comes to collect its crops, with its great and sharp sickle. [creepily] It will harvest every ripe soul in Night Vale, the Autumn Specter is hungryyyy! It is Octoberr and it is timme to feeeeeee-duh.

Hey James, this Community Calendar doesn’t seem right, it’s just a bunch of stuff about the Autumn Specter. Also this font size, what-what is this 32 point? That’s just much too large. And it’s printed in red ink and that is a waste of our color toner, James. Eww, eww! This red ink is still really damp. OK, plus there’s nothing about start and end times of the craft fair, or anything about the food trucks, like if the Autumn Specter is hungry, surely it wants some falafel or Korean barbeque or tacos. James, could you just redo this story? James? James? [clears throat] Well, listeners, I don’t know where James went. Um, I can hear him breathing, but I don’t see him anywhere. Yeah, it’s fine, let’s just get onto our first spooky story.

[static, old-fashioned music] One quiet moonless night, not long ago and not so far away, a teenage girl sat in a house that was not her own. It was the home of Tony and Sheila McDowell. The girl was their babysitter, and she had just put the two young McDowell children down to sleep. The girl watched TV alone in the dark living room, only the bluish flicker of a scary movie illuminating her face. The phone rang abrupt and loud, startling her. She raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she said with a slight quiver. “Have you checked on the children?” came a raspy voice. The babysitter ran quickly upstairs, opening the door of the kids’ bedroom. She flicked on the light, and there they were, fast asleep. She went back to her movie, but the phone rang again. “Haave youuu checked on the childrennn?” came the same voice, only more sinister. The babysitter again hurried upstairs, opened the door, turned on the light, and saw the children still asleep. The caller called again and again and again. “Have you checked on the children?” The babysitter, so scared, barely able to move, hung up the phone before the voice could finish its repeated query. When the phone rang once again, she answered and shouted: “Stop calling me!” But this time, it was a different voice. The person on this occasion said: “Ma’am, this is the police. We’ve traced the call. The call is coming from inside the house. Get out, get out!” The babysitter panicked and started to run, but then she remembered: she never called the police! How would they know to even trace the call? So she crept fearfully upstairs to the children’s room, and the phone was ringing again, the clamoring bell igniting her fright. And she cracked open the door and she saw- She saw the young McDowell boy and his little brother hunched over a phone and giggling! They were pranking her, and she felt relieved but embarrassed. And she told them to stop fooling around and go to sleep. And they all shared a good laugh.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. [papers rustling] Um.. OK, well I don’t seem to have a traffic report from intern James. Also James isn’t here right now, because I sent him out to go pick up lunch a few m- Oh, hey James, James, James, James – wait, why are you standing in the control booth? You were supposed to go get lunch and also I’ve asked you a couple of times not to wear that burlap bag over your head. I mean yes it looks great, with the Jack o’ Lantern face drawn onto it, I mean the mouth is a bit lopsided and the eyes are a tad uneven,  you know kinda flat and emotionless, but all in all it’s a cool look, but it’s decidedly not allowed in Station Management’s dress code. Oh, you’re holing a knife, too! So did you get- did you already get that lunch then? Well if that- if that’s the case, you don’t need to cut my sandwich in half, I’ll-I’ll take it whole. And also I need that traffic report, thanks. James? What are you waiting for, the Autumn Specter to do it for you? [chuckles] Hop to it! James?

[clears throat] Well, while James is working on that, let’s get back to my favorite spooky Halloween stories. This one isn’t a story so much as a fun Halloween game. The legend of Bloody Mary.

According to the lore, if you turn off all the lights, and stare into a mirror, repeating “Bloody Mary” three times in a row, she will appear and tear your face off! I’ve never tried this because I don’t own any mirrors, but my husband Carlos conducted this very experiment in his science lab. He said he darkened the room and repeated the name and nothing happened for a long time. But then a figure of a woman appeared, silvery gray and shimmering, and she approached Carlos slowly, her hollow white eyes never blinking. She brought her face only inches from Carlos and said: “Are you for real?” And Carlos said yes, he was indeed – real. And Bloody Mary said: “OK because this time of year, I just get a bunch of giggling, screaming teenagers, and I’m really tired of ripping off their faces for no pay whatsoever!” And Carlos gave her some resources for starting a union and she thanked him and she offered to tear his face off in exchange for the consulting, but Carlos said no, he liked his face, and wisher her luck. Night Vale, pay your malevolent spirits! They’re overworked especially around Halloween. And a 20 per cent gratuity for poltergeists, phantasms, revenants, and ghosts is standard.

And now for t- what the, oh you- [papers rustling] Wait, OK. You know, I thought intern James had handed the traffic report to me, but this is just a piece of parchment with a 9-pointed star seemingly drawn by a finger dripped in blood. And then there are a series of ancient runes scrawled around the outer edges. Now I took runic in college. I mean, most of my friends took Spanish as their language, but I thought living here in the American Southwest, it would be more useful to study ancient Scandinavian and Germanic alphabets. And from what I can make out, these are a message about the return of the Autumn Specter. Ugh, alright. OK. I love that intern James loooves Halloween and whatever this the Autumn Specter is. In fact, James is still in the break room right now construction a sacred totem out of ash tree branches and twine. He’s been muttering to himself all day in a language that I don’t recognize, and the only words I can understand are “Autumn Specter”. But I still have neither my traffic report nor my lunch! Wait, do you think James is… Naah, put it out or you mind, Cecil.

Let’s tell another spooky Halloween story. There once was a beautiful young woman who wore a green ribbon around her neck. She won the affection of a handsome young man. They fell in love and one day the boy asked the girl why she always wore a green ribbon around her neck. She would not tell him. One day the man and the woman were to become husband and wife. In her white bridal dress, the woman still wore her green ribbon. The man asked her on their wedding night if he could untie the green ribbon, but even on the  most intimate of evenings, she said no, and he respected her answer. But he longed to know what she was hiding behind the ribbon. Through the years, the man asked the wife again about the ribbon, but she never removed it, nor answered his questions about it. She only warned him that he would not like what he saw if she were to remove it. He asked less and less, but his curiosity grew and grew. And they became old, very old, and they knew their time left was short. The man asked one more time: “My dearest wife, love of my life, tell me that I may remove the green ribbon from around your neck.” And the old woman said: “My adoring groom, here in our room after all these many years, yes you may. But I caution you, as I have many times before, that you shall not like what your eyes behold.” The man hesitated, but finally reached his weakened, wrinkled fingers to the green bow along her nape. And he tentatively pulled the ribbon, and suddenly it unfurled, falling from her neck, and the man gasped. Upon her neck was a series of ornate letters spelling out “GOTH LIFE”. The woman said: “I got this tattoo in high school but kind of outgrew it and it’s super embarrassing.” And the man replied: “It is for sure weird, but also pretty cool. I like it.” And she never wore the green ribbon again.

You know, listeners, I’d love to bring you that traffic report, but right now, um, I’m facing something much more urgent and more dire. My studio door has opened on its own, and as I turned around, I could see down the long faintly lit corridor of our offices. And at the end of the hallway stands a figure, and he wears a Jack o’ Lantern mask, his head crooked to one side like a dog asking a question or like a hanged man, or both. And it is intern James, and he holds a long knife and he walks, he walks slowly toward me. And he is speaking at first in a mutter, but now louder, a strange shout in an obscure tongue like a magician casting a wicked spell, and he is moving much faster toward me, like a limping run, and his blade is raised high, and James is not an intern, Night Vale, bu the Autumn Specter itself come to reap my soul!

But before he does that, Let me take you to the weather.

[“Welterweight” by Nels Andrews. https://nelsandrews.bandcamp.com/]

So. During the weather, I went to human resources and requested a file on intern James. Oh I’m fine, by the way, and James is not the Autumn Specter, but I’ll get to that. So I found a copy of James’ résumé and cover letter for the position of radio station intern. His application was originally submitted in 1845. “That’s almost two centuries ago!” I exclaimed, but according to HR, they’re pretty backlogged on the intern apps. “What are you gonna do, we get to them when we get to them,” they said from the bottom of their abandoned well. Paperclipped to James’ application was a wrinkled and yellowed news clipping from the Night Vale °Daily Journal, and the article says that James died on Halloween night in 1849 when he was hit by a train. I then went to the hall of public records and found that our radio station was built in 1950, atop the very train tracks where James met hi send. James’ soul has been wandering the halls and offices of our radio station ever since. For all James ever wanted was to be a radio intern. To serve the listening community, to lift high the voice of journalistic truth. And it was his death that led to the shutdown of those train tracks and the eventual construction of a new station home, and the building we still use now. So I was wrong about James. He was an intern, after all, and not a malevolent Halloween spirit.

But I was right that the Autumn Specter had come for me. For when I turned to see James running down the hill, I did not notice the Autumn Specter behind me, with its bony hands and scarecrow mouth, and I did not notice its soul reaping sickle, which it had raised high above its oversized head and stick thin body. And James had given his life for the building of our radio station, and in death, gave his soul for the very same cause. And James threw himself upon the Autumn Specter, and he tried to stab the Specter’s neck and chest, but it-it- it did nothing. And the Spectre pushed James aside and then turned its black coal eyes upon me. And it raised its curved blade once again and swung! I tried to duck, but was too slow. And just as the sickle’s edge reached my face, James dove in front of it and vanished in a burst of white flame, as he was struck. And the room was empty and the Autumn Specter was gone too.

To the family and friends of intern James, he was… an OK intern. Not always on  top of his writing deadlines, but he literally sacrificed his soul for our radio station. I can’t bring you a traffic report today, but I will live to bring you one tomorrow.  If we find a new intern. And HR tells me that we have hundreds of candidates, although  most of them are not yet aware that they are candidates.

Stay tuned next for our new cooking competition show, “Flay Bobby Flay”.

And as always, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: The road to hell is paved with cobblestone. It’s super bumpy, not at all comfortable, and really bad for your car’s suspension.

[raffinit]

Sylvaina first fight over a stupid thing 🤪

this became a monster and I’m sorry i can’t cut this under a read more sobs

your ask came in twice so I’m gonna do a clownery one after this

for now here’s drama

——/——/——/—

It wasn't difficult to find things to be annoyed at Sylvanas about. They weren't exactly the most compatible pair, but Jaina liked to believe that she'd been very generous with her tolerance since they'd been married.

‘Tolerating’ Sylvanas, though, proved to be a greater feat of patience than Jaina had first anticipated.

She knew that the Warchief would go to some extremes just to annoy her. She expected it; if the warnings she'd received from Vereesa and Alleria about their sister's wicked sense of humour and refusal to surrender were anything to go by.

In short — Jaina fully expected Sylvanas to annoy the living shit out of her.

What she hadn't expected was how...painfully tolerable Sylvanas as being. Frankly, it annoyed her more to know that Sylvanas was barely making any effort of acknowledging her existence at all.

They shared a chamber for appearances' sake, but Sylvanas was a rare one for the bedroom. Jaina was grateful in some sense, though there was still a strange and niggling sensation of loneliness in the cold nights.

Despite her cutting tongue in the war room and desert drawl through audiences, Sylvanas was otherwise...pleasant.

Not sharp. Not cruel. Not unnecessarily vicious in her treatment of Jaina or anyone else, for that matter.

Not exactly present, either.

If anything, the thing that galled Jaina the most about her wife was how absent Sylvanas was.

One night, they sat together. Each at their respective desks within the adjoining study; desks that were pushed together and such that they were facing one another. Sylvanas was in her line of sight no matter how low she dipped her head to scrawl in her ledgers.

It was a rare night to see them together at such an hour, but tax season and temperamental harvests meant brokering new levies and negotiating relief efforts for farmers situated in more barren lands.

The Warchief was perched in her seat, face was impassive as ever as she leafed through reports and signed each one with an idle scratch of her quill. She was leaned back in her seat, stretching out enough to sprawl somewhat languorously across it.

She must have stretched out her legs as well, because Jaina felt them cross at the ankles beneath the desks.

Then they nudged against a foot.

Jaina arched a brow and moved her feet aside, pursing her lips.

Sylvanas' face did not move; she kept signing her papers.

Then her feet tapped against Jaina's ankle.

Unwilling to feed the irritation brewing in her belly, Jaina crossed her own and tucked them primly beneath her seat.

She kept her attention on the report at hand, though the scratching of her quill became a touch more pointed.

Sylvanas took in a breath and shifted in her seat, bracing an elbow against the armrest. Her black-tipped nails began to tap against the wood; sharp, punctuated beats that made Jaina's ears ache and jaw set. It went on for a moment, though each passing second felt like an agony of time stretched between them.

"Stop that!" Jaina snapped, setting her quill down with a slap. "You're making my ears hurt."

Sylvanas arched a brow and curled her hand into a fist obligingly. She said nothing in return, only returned to skimming reports. But the sound of each flick of parchment suddenly seemed just as grating to Jaina's ears; the scrape of each page and the warble of it in the air as they settled.

“Must you make so much noise when you read?” she ground out, glaring beneath her lashes at Sylvanas.

“It’s just paper,” Sylvanas replied, turning a page, eyes trained indifferently on the deep set of red ink on parchment. “If you must work in silence, you’re free to leave. The libraries were renovated for your leisure.”

“I wouldn’t need to move if you would just stop.”

An ear flicked at her mildly. “I can’t stop paper from making noise. If you have such trouble working in close quarters, then it might be wise to reconsider the clauses of our marriage.”

"You're doing this on purpose," she accused, huffing as she rose to her feet, pushing away from the desk indignantly. She began shuffling her papers together brusquely, stacking them into a haphazard pile in her arms. "If you're going to act like a child, I'll work in the library."

"Childish behaviour, indeed," Sylvanas drawled, eyeing her with something that was equally bright and steely. "I'm not the one between us throwing a tantrum at the slightest inconvenience."

"I'm trying to work," Jaina hissed, glaring viciously. "I can't work around you."

Lazily, Sylvanas replied, "You apparently can't stand me regardless."  She straightened upright in her seat as she set her reports aside. "You find my very presence infuriating. Clearly."

Jaina paused, blinking incredulously at the Warchief. "I don't — that's not —!"

"Don't bother wasting your breath, Proudmoore," she said, mouth twisting into something wry. "I have no qualms with your hate. Despise me if you like." She shrugged and began rearranging the stack of parchments at her elbow, shuffling papers between her hands again. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

A boulder of something cold and sobering settled in the depths of her belly. Jaina swallowed back the taste of bile in her throat and stared at Sylvanas as she found wherewithal to speak. "You think I hate you for fun?"

Again, Sylvanas shrugged. "We must all have our hobbies, I suppose."

“I don’t hate you for fun,” Jaina insisted. “Of course you would think that. You think the worst of all of us. You just always — gods, you —”

“— apparently infuriate you to the point of fluster,” Sylvanas intoned.

Jaina slammed her reports back down onto the table. It didn’t matter that it made her all the more petulant. “You’re never here!” she burst out. “You can’t infuriate me because you’re never around. You’re never in the room, and you barely find the effort to even pretend I exist outside of the council meetings.”

She could feel her cheeks burning from the heat of her fury, felt it coiling in her fists curled tightly at her sides.

Was it fury at that point or shame?

Sylvanas regarded her for a long, tenuous moment. “Is that all?”

Is that all?

“Do I need more?”

“You could have just said that you wanted company,” Sylvanas mumbled, fussing with her reports. She stacked them and restacked them, tapping them against the table without there being need.

Nervous. Was the Dark Lady nervous?

“Is that what this is about? You think I’m not paying enough attention to you?”

“You’re not paying any attention to me,” Jaina retorted. She wasn’t sure if it was bitterness or longing in her voice.

Sylvanas made a perplexed frown, tapping her papers against the desk one last time and setting them aside. “I can’t read your mind, Jaina,” she said mildly. “It’s not exactly easy to tell if you want my attentions or resent them.”

Folding her arms defensively, Jaina replied in a brisk tone, “I’m not expecting you to read my damn mind. I just expect you to at least pretend that we can be civil. Even if it’s just for show.”

“Haven’t I been civil?” Sylvanas asked quietly. “Do you want me to play at affection?” The roll of the word on her tongue made Jaina’s cheek heat unexpectedly. “Should I touch you, caress you; kiss you, for the sake of appearances?”

Jaina swallowed back the frog in her throat. Still, she croaked, “We’re married. We should at least learn to tolerate one another if we’re going to stay married.”

“And how would you propose we do that?”

Huffing in frustration, she ran a hand through her hair, unravelling the already wild mane from her shoulders. “I don’t know. Talk, maybe.”

“We have precious little in common to share idle conversation.”

Jaina sighed in annoyance. “Do you have a better idea?”

Sylvanas said nothing. Only rounded the desks and grasped Jaina’s face.

The next thing she knew, she was being kissed.

It was a good kiss, as far as kisses went. Sylvanas’ lips were cool, colder than living flesh, but soft and fuller than expected. It was a good kiss, but a short kiss, and before Jaina could really think to do anything more than blink, it was over.

There was a pause; only an instant, but it was enough for her to stare up at burning red eyes in shock, but she couldn’t find the will to pull away.

Sylvanas released her face and stepped back awkwardly. “I should go.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” She reached up in a surge, fisting Sylvanas’ tunic in hand and yanking the Warchief to her again.

[lovelytsumu]

‧₊˚✧ ཻུ۪۪ ᵕ̈ ART

chapter 1 — “drawings„ 

sakusa kiyoomi x reader | mlist

is having a soulmate necessary? — a bunch of connected stories.

Soulmate AU; if you write something on your skin it will appear on your soulmate skin too.

wc: 1,5k | no trigger warning.

Everyone has a soulmate, everyone deserves love, also if they don’t believe it. Sooner or later, in your sixteenth year of life, if you wrote something on your skin, it would show on your soulmate’s skin, same writing, same place.

Sakusa had never cared about soulmates, probably because a relationship wasn’t one of his priorities. He also thought no one could love him, mainly for his strange, cold and blunt personality, for his germaphobic attitude, and he thought girls liked to go out in crowded places with their boyfriends. He just didn’t care, and he hoped to have a soulmate who didn’t care either.

It happened all of a sudden, while he was writing on his notebook, he saw something appearing on his left wrist: “;”, a semicolon. At first, he thought his pen was bleeding a little ink, but when he tried to rub on it, nothing changed. It was like tattooed, and he couldn’t do anything. A couple of minutes after he realised he had a soulmate. Well, another problem added to his germophobia and mysophobia. Instead of panicking for the small amount of black colour on his wrist, he just pulled on his sleeve to cover it.

He wanted to keep it a secret, at least for now.

Some days have passed since the semicolon, and everytime it got erased, maybe from a shower or a bath, his soulmate was quick to draw it again. For him, if it was just that small symbol, it was okay. “Sakusa, what’s that flower on your arm?” Komori, during the whole practice his eyes were glued to his friend’s forearm, noticing that something was appearing out of the blue. “What?” he was focused on spiking the balls, that he didn’t saw the outline of a flower which started to mark his skin. “Guys! Our ace as a soulmate! And she’s also pretty talented!” the libero said to all his teammates, who got near Sakusa to admire the beautiful drawing on his arm. “Stop, I don’t like having you squished around me like this” he said, trying to move away from the small crowd composed of his teammates.

When Itachiyama’s ace got back to the locker room, he noticed that the drawing on his arm was a sunflower, and now there were also some leaves around it. The outline was perfect, without any kind of mistake or imprecision. But why? Why draw something so big and beautiful which can be easily erased with water and soap? Maybe, his soulmate did it just to annoy him, or because she didn’t care about him. He hoped it was the second.

Practice ended, and he was free to go back home, but something on his way caught his interest. A faint light coming from the art room. Minding other people’s businesses wasn’t his favourite activity, and he didn’t want to annoy who was inside. He stood near the door, and with surprise, a [h/c] hair coloured girl was standing near a canvas, and she was looking for more paint. Then, he looked at the unfinished drawing, representing a sunflower, very very similar to the one on his arm.

He was just watching her looking for some spare paint around the class. Carefully, without wasting a single drop, the girl put the colours on her palette, now looking for an appropriate brush to start her piece. The [h/c] student began painting with a yellow brush stroke, the firm hold of the brush was in contrast with the delicate move. He couldn’t see her face, but he bet it was plain, paying attention to all the small details, careful of what she was doing.

To almost everyone, that movement may seem normal, but there was something more. Her precision, her gentle brush stroke, her concentration. It was almost unnatural. She was in her personal world, a free, peaceful, imaginary space. When you do something you deeply love, it’s like this, reading, playing an instrument, playing your favourite sport... also if you don’t notice it.

While Sakusa was thinking if she really was his soulmate, he didn’t pay attention to the painting, where the petals of the sunflower were almost finished. Yellow, mixed with a bit of orange. Then, she moved on, and picked a dark brown bottle of paint. The girl started placing some dots in the center of the sunflower.

The artist felt eyes on her, but she didn’t care. Art is made to be seen and appreciated, is made to feeling part of it, is made to reveal your own feelings. Writing a story, composing a poem, singing a song, painting a drawing... are just a few of the ways art can express itself. It’s something magical, or at least, she would describe it like that.

“You know, drawing is a really good activity to reduce anxiety and sadness” she said without turning, knowing someone was leaning on the doorframe. Sakusa stayed still and didn’t answer back. “It also helps your concentration and creativity. Someone thought about how our psychic state reverses itself on the paper which we are drawing on. It sounds impossible, but it’s true.”

— 🌻 — some time after

Sakusa was staring to the ceiling of his room, laying on the bed. He was still thinking about the words he had heard before, also if he didn’t know that girl, the one in the art room, he couldn’t do anything besides being impressed. Her technique, her delicate touch, her thoughts.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, but the drawings, the sunflowers... was her his soulmate? Was it that easy find the person who the fate decided to pair you with? Strange. It was common to hear people who had to do kilometres and kilometres before finding their half. Maybe he got lucky.

He didn’t want a relationship, he didn’t define himself as someone who desperately needed a girlfriend, but, for the first time, he had to think again about that idea. Sakusa has always liked who put a lot of effort in what they were doing, as for the girl at school, or him when he was playing volleyball.

He rolled up his sleeves, to see if the flowers were still there. Luckily, everything was like that afternoon: the big sunflower on his arm and the small semicolon on his wrist. He didn’t scream of joy when he thought about his first “move”, because it meant ruin his skin with a pen or marker.

A little arrow pointing at the flower, and “I like this. You’re good at it.” without mentioning who he was. Also his soulmate started drawing on his skin out of the blue, so why couldn’t he write on his own arm? Then, he was just staring at the small comment, waiting for an answer, that could never be written.

Meanwhile, ___ was taking off her clothes to have a shower. The hot water was already running, but before opening the shower glass door, she paused in front of the mirror, looking at her arm. Her soulmate had left a comment near her drawing.

“I like this. You’re good at it”. She couldn’t do anything than smile. She had just received a positive opinion on her sunflower. For someone who doesn’t care about art, or just draw because they have nothing to do, that may sound as nothing special, but for her it was different.

It hasn’t been a lot of time since she had started painting again, and receiving a compliment on one of her favourite subjects made her heart flutter, especially because that comment was from who the fate tied her together with. Also if she didn’t want to be in a relationship, or at least, at the moment she couldn’t be the best girlfriend ever, as she said.

It was the starting of a new era of her life, after a lot of sadness and tears, she was finally standing up again, and maybe, this time she wasn’t alone. She got under the shower, and watched silently how the ink on her arm was already smudging down her arm. “I want to draw it again”.

After she came out of the bathroom, she quickly drew the semicolon on her wrist, and then, a smaller sunflower on her forearm. This time she added a phrase under it. “Thanks for the compliment, I’ve read it just before showering. I hope you won’t hate me for this, but at the moment I don’t feel like meeting you or having a relationship” she cursed at herself for the last sentence, but some words were already appearing again on her skin.

“Don’t worry. I am not the type of guy who wants a relationship for now.” somehow, both Kiyoomi and ___ felt relieved when they read each other’s words.

Maybe their story wasn’t meant to be as one of the thousands clichè love movies.

[to be continued]

🌻 Taglist: @itsmattsunshinehere

[vex-bittys]

Flufftober 2020: Day Three

Prompt: College/University AU

Pairing: SpicyHoney

Category: Romantic

----------

Stretch walked into his Human Cultural Studies classroom on his first day of college and nearly turned around and walked right back out again. Of course his brother had criticized him about his decision to delay college for a few years… and then a few years more, but he never imagined that he’d put off his education long enough that a childhood friend (and unrequited high school crush) would end up being his professor.

Obviously, Edge considered his education and career a priority and had focused on it immediately following their high school graduation. It didn’t surprise Stretch. He admired the goal-driven skeleton for his ambition and tenacity, the very same attributes that made scoring a date with the other skeleton extremely unlikely for a dedicated ne’er-do-well like himself. As if to underscore this fact, Edge scowled at him the moment he slouched into the classroom and sank into a seat in the back of the room.

The scowl maintained its position on Edge’s angular features as the skeleton professor prowled through the room, handing each student a hefty course syllabus. When he arrived at Stretch’s seat, the scowl transformed into a smirk. Stretch reached for the syllabus, and Edge yanked it away, holding it just out of his reach.

“NICE TO SEE THAT YOUR MODUS OPERANDI OF PROCRASTINATION AND LAZINESS HAS SUBSIDED, CARROT,” Edge said, voice pitched low so that only Stretch could hear his words. Stretch could see that Edge’s tongue was still as sharp as his cheekbones, but he loved antagonistic repartee. 

“wrong as ever, Edgy McEdgelord. i intend to procrastinate lazily throughout my entire indenture as a student here until i receive a degree that i will never use as i pursue my preferred career of wasting my life entirely through inactivity,” quipped Stretch, loudly enough for the other students to overhear. Several of his classmates tittered, but Edge just gave him a slow, knowing smile.

“GOOD LUCK TRYING TO PASS MY CLASS THEN.” He slammed the syllabus down on the tabletop in front of Stretch and stalked off with his usual grace, though his usual grace involved a hip sway that Stretch couldn’t help staring at.

It was going to be a long semester.

The first near-perfect test score might have been a fluke, but the next few established a pattern that Edge couldn’t deny. He stood next to Stretch’s usual seat near the door, shuffling through mediocre and abysmal papers to present the highest score in the class to the student that he had expected to do the worst. Secretly, though, the grumpy skeleton professor was proud of Stretch for applying himself and showing off the intelligence that few knew he possessed.

“TOP SCORE AGAIN, CARROT. AT LEAST SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS PAYING ATTENTION.” He actually handed the paper with its marked absence of red ink to Stretch instead of tossing it down onto the table as he so often did.

“when you’re up front lecturing, i just can’t look away,” Stretch admitted honestly. His SOUL ached, feelings that he thought had been laid to rest long ago stirring again any time the professor so much as glanced his way with those dangerous red eyelights. “to be honest, though, i’m surprised you remembered me that first day. i didn’t think you ever noticed me in high school.” Stretch winced at his own babbling.

“OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU. HOW COULD I FORGET SUCH A-” Edge closed his mouth abruptly, scrambling for a word to replace “handsome” and change the tone of the sentence “- SUCH AN UNRELENTING SLACKER.” Edge lifted the other students’ test results to cover his blush and hurried back to his own desk.

It was going to be a long semester.

By the time the course ended, the tension between the two skeletons had only gotten stronger. Edge avoided Stretch like a highly contagious plague, and Stretch’s notebook contained more sketches of his professor than lecture notes. The end of the class should’ve been the end of the awkward teacher-student interactions, but Stretch couldn’t help checking the online course list for more classes taught by his rekindled crush.

Stretch’s eyelights scoured the classroom for any sign of seating and found none. Perplexed, he watched Edge stroll into the classroom, wearing something that definitely was not his usual tailored shirt, tie, and slacks. To Stretch’s untrained fashion eye(socket), the outfit resembled pajamas- something Stretch might wear on the first day of class, but Edge would never leave his house in under normal circumstances.

Stretch hid his confusion by calling out a question as Edge strode past him. “what am i in for this semester, Edgelord? philosophy of ancient civilizations? monster-human history and politics?” Stretch had picked a more advanced course, looking for a challenge… and another chance to impress the other skeleton.

“THIS IS ADVANCED JUDO,” Edge stated flatly. 

For once, Stretch had no response, and a wide smile crept across Edge’s features when he realized that he had the upper hand. Moving as swiftly as a striking cobra, Edge grabbed Stretch, spun, leaned, and tossed the slacker over his shoulder and onto the mat. Stretch laid on his back on the ground with an audible “oof,” completely stunned and just a little bit in love. 

“nice pajamas,” he wheezed.

“IT’S A JUDO GI,” sniffed Edge loftily, staring down at his student. “I AM GUESSING THAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS CLASS SO THAT YOU COULD SPEND YOUR TIME LOLLYGAGGING AND BEING UNCONSCIOUS ON THE FLOOR, BUT I AM HERE TO TEACH YOU. NOW GET UP.”

Edge offered Stretch his hand. Not suspecting any foul play, Stretch tried not to blush when their hands touched. Edge tugged Stretch upwards, then dropped backwards, falling to his back and using one leg to propel Stretch over his body and onto the mat behind him.

It was going to be a long semester… but Stretch kind of liked it.

The moment enrollment opened after the summer break, Stretch sat at his computer, scrolling through a list of professors to see which classes were available from Edge. He considered filling his entire semester exclusively with those classes, but he needed to work his way through the recommended curriculum if he actually wanted a degree and not just a chance to stare longingly at a handsome skeleton professor.

“is this advanced judo 2?” Stretch asked, a picture of innocence as he sank gratefully into a chair at the back of the classroom. Edge paused midway through writing a lesson outline on the whiteboard.

“NO. THIS IS PHILOSOPHY OF ANCIENT CIVILIZATIONS, THOUGH I’M NOT ABOVE PUNCTUATING MY LECTURES WITH JUDO FLIPS IF YOU’D PREFER THAT METHOD OF LEARNING.” The writing resumed.

The judo flips proved to be unnecessary; Stretch aced the course as easily as he’d aced the others. The lanky skeleton was a single semester away from an Associate’s Degree with a sterling 4.0 grade point average and the acclamation of every professor and department head that he encountered. His chosen degree entailed English credits, though, and Stretch could no longer put them off. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Edge led the English department and handled all of the high level courses personally. 

Basic English and literature classes filled quickly, but the high level classes required Edge’s personal stamp of approval for any student who dared to request them. Stretch submitted his course schedule online, and Edge invited him for an interview the very next day. This would be a one-on-one meeting in Edge’s office, and Stretch found himself uncharacteristically nervous at the thought of facing Edge alone.

Stretch knocked on the door to the English administrative office, and when Edge called for him to enter, he did so with an attempt at his trademark humor.

“is this the Doki Doki Literature Club?” he asked, stepping into Edge’s unsurprisingly spartan workspace.

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT IS,” Edge answered drily, “AND I SUGGEST YOU ACTUALLY READ YOUR COURSE DESCRIPTIONS IN THE FUTURE. NOW HAVE A SEAT, OR WOULD YOU RATHER CONDUCT OUR MEETING FROM YOUR BACK ON THE FLOOR.”

Stretch pretended to consider the offer, and Edge stood up and reached for him across the desk as if to grab him for a flip. His face moved close to Stretch’s, and without thinking, the lazybones leaned forward and kissed him.

Startled, Edge kissed back, taking far too long to shove the other skeleton away. “SUCH BEHAVIOR IS INAPPROPRIATE BETWEEN TEACHERS AND STUDENTS,” he rasped, shaken, and Stretch, face flaming with an orange blush, fled the office and the campus. Edge regretted his severity immediately, but immediately was too late.

Taking any English classes at the college would now be impossible for Stretch. The conflict of interest could cost Edge his career as a professor. Edge had rejected him anyway; seeing him on campus would hurt too much.

The counselor, unaware of Stretch’s reason for dropping out of college in his final semester, argued for him to stay. Stretch refused. Dropping out of college seemed fitting for someone with such slothful habits. The only thing he truly regretted was running away without telling Edge how he felt. Hood pulled over his lowered head, Stretch left campus for the last time…

… and bumped into someone carrying a box full of odds and ends.

“WATCH OU- CARROT?”

“professor?”

“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?”

“i dropped out. i didn’t want you to risk your job…”

“I QUIT MY JOB,” said Edge. “I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO DROP OUT IF…”

“if?”

“IF WE STARTED DATING.”

The two skeletons stared at each other. Edge had already resigned. Stretch had already dropped out. The staring continued until Stretch broke the silence.

“soooo, boyfriends then?”

Edge let out a long-suffering sigh. “YES. BOYFRIENDS.”

READ ON AO3

DAY TWO | INDEX | DAY FOUR

[blacklight-au]

The Note (After Death)

(TW death and mutilation ment.)

Johnny sat at his desk, distantly wondering why he kept feeling eyes on him.

He looked up and there was a piece of paper stuck to one of the cracks in the wall.

Looking behind himself, the statues of the Doughboys stared at him. As he picked out the note in the wall, he recognized the paper, recognized the handwriting.

He sat back down and started to read.

"..Who are you to play Judge?.." it read. "Who are you to play Jury? Or Executioner? Who gave you the say to kill all these people, Johnny?"

Johnny eyed the paper suspiciously, it couldn't be..

"I've talked to quite a few of your victims and when I was alive, their families." The writing was strained and thick. Too much ink and it was scratchy.

"You didn't know these people. Did you really disembowel a girl who called you a stupid playground insult? Did you seriously sit and torture a man because he commented on your shoes?" The page was bent and ripped in places, and Johnny squinted at the paper in complete disbelief.

"If only you fucking paid attention to all the monsters I've wiped from this world as well as those idiots that you seem to love, but those monsters I've scrubbed from this plane don't fit your demonization of me now does it, Edgar!" Johnny stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back as he looked around.

Just then he dogged a pen flying right to the wall, it stuck to it as Johnny huffed out of anger.

"Were you just going to berate me the entire note? Show yourself you coward!" Johnny yelled as he stomped his boot down every so often.

The light flickered and blew, the sunset now casting the light into the small dilapidated room.

Johnny froze as he felt a very harsh grip on his shoulder. He whipped around and saw a very keen vision of Edgar, mutilated and angry.

Johnny rolled his shoulder, "What happened to you?"

Edgar swayed and coughed, "You happened.."

He walked closer as Johnny stepped back cautiously.

Blood spilled from just about everywhere, as Edgar approached he heaved, "You miserable, insignificant, waste of fucking oxygen. You did this to me!"

He grabbed Johnny and pinned him to the floor. The air was heavy and still, the sun casting stark shadows everywhere except Edgar.

"You can't kill me, I can't die you stupid fuck! Don't you think I've already tried?" Johnny tried to push Edgar off, to no avail.

"I know you've tried, but what your feeble little brain can't seem to comprehend, is that I'm already dead, so it would be easy to drag you to our Hell if I took control of you." Edgar seethed.

"What is your reason for this Edgar? Why didn't you leave?" Johnny huffed, his chest getting heavier.

Edgar grabbed Johnny by the sides of his head and started to smash him to the floor, harder and harder as he yelled, "You should know! You still have my stuff! I'm here because you didn't bother to throw my shit away! I'm here because you're making me fucking stay!" He screamed in Johnny's face as he let go of his head.

Edgar got off him and looked down at Johnny on the floor, a small puddle forming from under where his head hit the hardwood.

"This is what you've made me..this is something you've put onto yourself. The Devil will pay his dues, and he will continue to suffer if he does not stop in his path and find a way to change."

Johnny groaned and blinked up at Edgar, weary.

He then closed his eyes.

And then he opened them. He shot up from the floor and felt the back of his head, no wound.

He looked over to the desk and the wall and there was nothing out of the ordinary. He caught his breath and stood up, he needed to go find Edgar's possessions and dispose of them.