#eat yo porridge

[nooooough]

Goldilocks after adopting perrito

[flowersandbigteeth]

Your Naga Lord saves your Mother

A/N: I've had this oneshot sitting in my drafts in a while, combining some old asks

Naga Lord (Leander) x F Maid reader

Word Count: 6K

General Plot: You and your family are staff in the house of a Naga Lord. Things go sideways when your childhood friend's father falls for you mother.

W: Description of murder, yandere behavior, spitting, otherwise sfw soft yandere fluff

More SFW fics here

“Hurry up now,” your mother said brightly as she ladled a bit of porridge into a bowl for you to eat. “Master Dervin will be cross if you're late with his breakfast.” 

Though the two of you were mere servants in the Naga Lord’s home, she always fed you first before you had to do your duties for the morning. 

She glanced up as you scarfed down your breakfast, her eyes warming as they met your father’s. 

“Good morning, my favorite ladies,” he said, kissing her and ruffling your hair. 

“Papa! I have to work!” You pouted, but he just snickered, stealing your spoon and taking a bite of your porridge. 

“Don't bother making yourself neat for that snake bastard,” he chuckled as his hands slid around your mother’s waist. 

“Charles, please. Someone might hear, and we'll be out on the street!” 

He shrugged. As you finished your meal, your mother arranged the morning dishes for the Naga family on a silver cart, taking a moment to smooth and repin your hair before you were to serve them. 

Your father was sure to spit in Dervin’s bowl when your mother looked away, making your eyebrows jump. He put a finger over his lips, winking at you. 

“I'm off to the stable,” he said, grabbing an apple as he went. “Have a nice day, my pretty girls!” 

You blinked at the contaminated bowl, wondering if you should throw it out. 

“What are you staring at?” Your mother chided, pushing the cart towards the door. “Get along; I can hear them coming down the stairs.” 

You hurriedly fixed a pleasant but distant look on your lips as you wheeled the cart into the dining room. 

“Good morning, Mr. Leander,” you said to Dervin's only son, as he was the first to enter the dining room.” 

“You’re radiant this morning as always (Y/N),” he beamed, taking his spot at the table. “but stop calling me ‘mister’ you never used to.” 

Your ears heated as you placed his breakfast in front of him. 

“It's not appropriate, sir. We were children then. You're to be the master of the house and will be married soon. I'm sure your fiancee wouldn’t appreciate-” 

He cut off your words with a sharp hand. 

“Don't speak of unpleasant things,” he grumbled. 

“Apologies, sir.” 

“Stop calling me-” 

The arrival of his mother cut off his own words. She was a lovely Naga, sharing Leander’s white hair and sapphire blue eyes. Like his, her tail was a shocking electric blue.

“Stop prattling with that servant, Leander,” she snapped. “She has work to do. You're bothering her.” 

Mrs. Elanore was not a pleasant woman, but she didn't like you servants to be harassed by the males of the house. Whether it was actual concern or jealousy, you didn't know, but your mother, especially, appreciated it. 

Dervin, her husband, took every opportunity to corner her, trying to ply her with gifts and sweet words. Your mother was having none of it, which is why you delivered their meals, not her, and why your father spit in his food. 

You nodded, thanking Elanore as you served her the tea she liked. 

“Where is that imbecile?” she muttered, referring to her husband. “There are so few things I ask of him, but he can't manage the simplest tasks. He is to arrive on time for every meal. There must be some decorum in this household! 

Her sharp blue eyes flicked to you. 

“Go get him (Y/N).” 

Leander slid in front of you like a vibrant  blue flash before you could even respond. 

“I'll go, mother. (Y/N) has her work, as you said.” 

She gave him a tight nod, and you took the opportunity to finish setting the table for their return. 

“I should fire your family,” Elanore mused. “your father would be happier, don't you think?” 

You glanced up for a moment to find her eyes traveling over your form. 

“You and your mother are too pretty to be maids,” she snorted. “You'll only cause trouble wherever you go.” 

“Our family has served yours for generations,” you muttered, scared she might put you all on the street. “My grandparents died here, and so did theirs.” 

 “Just like a human,” she hissed, baring her teeth. “Servile and obedient. You’d think you’d have found something else to do in all those years.” 

“Apologies, ma’am,” you said, looking at your shoes. 

She waved a dismissive hand at you, sipping her tea. 

“It’s in your nature. There’s nothing to be done. You and your mother are good at your jobs at least.” 

Your cheeks warmed at the backhanded compliment. It was different when Dervin or Leander complimented you. She acknowledged the skill that had been passed through generations, not how you looked. You and your mother knew how to run a house. Your masters needed structure to maintain their dignity. With little to do, they would become depressed slobs if you didn’t keep everything running efficiently.  At least, that’s what your grandmother told you. 

Slithering through the wide doorway, Dervin and Leander settled into their spots at the table, and you took your place in the corner, waiting in case one of them needed something. The two male Nagas looked very similar in their features, handsome with a strong jaw and wide shoulders, but Dervin’s hair was jet black, as were his eyes. They always appeared blank and cold, which frightened you. Elanore wasn’t warm, but her gaze reflected an expressive nature, not a monstrous stillness. 

Your eyes watched him take a bite of his breakfast, trying to hide the disgust that roiled in your stomach. 

“Where’s your mother?” he snapped after a few big bites. 

You didn’t speak at first, your eyes drifting to Elanore for permission. She answered for you. 

“She’s in the kitchen where she ought to be. The servants are my business as the Lady of the house. Don’t bother yourself with their whereabouts.” 

“I pay them,” he barked, but she ignored him, turning her attention to Leander. 

“You’re to visit Iris today, Leander. I’ve purchased a gift for you to bring your fiancee.” 

She snapped her fingers at you, and you hurried to her side to take the small package and walk it around the table to her son. 

“I don’t wish to bring her any gifts,” he snorted, not even taking the gift from your hand. “She’s not my fiancee.” 

Elanore rubbed her temples. 

“The two of you are infuriating, you know that? You have one job, Leander. You have to marry well and produce an heir.” 

She waved a finger at you. 

“You can keep your little maid as a comfort doll if you like, but you will do as I have arranged.” 

“I’m a grown man, mother. I don’t have to do anything.” 

Electricity crackled between their eyes as they engaged in a silent power struggle. You stood awkwardly to the side, still holding the gift. 

“I’m sick of this! I do my very best to advise you two idiots on the proper way to conduct yourselves, and you act like spoiled children!” 

Her tail snapped faster than you could see and struck Leander across the cheek with a crack. Blood dribbled down his pale skin, and his eyes hung on her, the warm blue turning to ice. 

“I should have never married a common husband like you,” she snarled, turning her ire toward Dervin. Vulgarity and Mediocrity are in your blood, and you’ve infected your son!” 

Dervin’s black eyes flashed. 

“My mediocre blood saved your foolish noble family from destitution. Thanks to my benevolence, you are able to live in the house your family has owned for generations. If not for me, you’d be begging on the streets, pleading with your relatives to take you in as a servant.” 

“Fools,” she snarled, picking up her tea and slithering out of the room. 

“Bring your mother to me,” Dervin demanded when she was out of earshot.

You let out a trembling breath as you thought up a lie. 

“She went into town this morning for groceries, sir,” you said, knowing he’d never lower himself to search for her in the kitchen. 

You screamed as the bowl he was eating from sailed across the room, shattering beside your head. 

“Father!” Leander shouted. 

Dervin gave him an amused but cool smirk before turning his attention to you.

“Send her to my room when she returns,” he barked and stormed out. 

You leaned against the wall, panting as you mentally checked yourself for harm. Leander’s warm hands cupped your cheeks, looking you over. 

“Did he hurt you?” he asked. 

Your gazes met, but words wouldn’t come, so you shook your head. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his warm arms wrapping around you and pressing you to his chest. 

You inhaled the spicy scent of the soap he used mixed with his own natural fragrance. 

“I won’t let any harm come to you.” 

When he pulled away, you found yourself looking at your feet, trying to avoid his gaze. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I dropped the gift,” you muttered, picking up the broken box. 

You plucked the pretty hairpin from the shards of ceramic, seeing it was still whole. 

“I’ll find a new box,” you said, trying to slide around him. 

He stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, curling the other around your fingers. 

“Keep it,” he said. “I’m not marrying Iris. My mother has no say in the matter, despite how she likes to posture.” 

Your gaze shifted to the red slash bisecting his cheek. 

“Let’s get this cleaned for you, sir. It will be a problem if it gets infected.” 

He frowned but followed you to the kitchen. 

“Is everything alright?” your mother asked as you pulled the first aid kit off a shelf. 

“Good morning, zhingha,” Leander said, greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek.

The word meant “mother” in the Naga’s old language. He had never considered his biological mother his; when he was a boy, he got quite attached to yours. He spent most of his time in the kitchen with you, playing and avoiding Elanore’s tantrums when you were children. The two of you had made the pantry your fort, and you’d put on little shadow plays while you lay on the floor together. 

Your mother’s eyes focused on his wound, and she clucked. 

“Poor thing, come bend down where I can reach you. You’ve grown into such a tall man,” she said, taking the kit from you and pulling out the correct supplies. 

You hopped on the counter, swinging your feet as you watched her disinfect and bandage the cut. 

“What mother in their right mind would do such a thing to their son,” she muttered as she worked. 

She already knew who’d done it because she treated Leander’s wounds often. When she was done, she patted him on the head like when he was a little boy. 

“That’s better.” 

“We should go into town today,” he said. “My father is looking for you.” 

She frowned, a flash of fear streaking across her face. 

“Don’t worry. I’m supposed to be visiting Iris. We can take the carriage, and you can visit with your friends instead. Go have Charles ready it.” 

She nodded, giving him a wan smile before she hurried to find your father. You hopped off the counter and headed to do your chores while your mother was safely out of the house. 

Before you could make it out the door, Leander’s thick, electric blue tail coiled around you. 

“Ah, ah, you’re coming too, saiya,” he cooed, dragging you into his arms. 

Your heart thumped at the silly nickname he’d given you as a child. The word meant “little bear. " When he was young, he was fascinated with your round ears compared to his, which pointed at the end. As they had so often back then, his finger traced the arch of one as he hummed his pleasure. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t,” you whispered, but Leander was too pleased with you in his arms. 

He dipped his head, nibbling at your ear. 

“I should eat you up, sweet little thing,” he whispered, making your body explode in butterflies. 

He carried you out the back door to the stable, where your father was busy arranging the horses to pull the carriage. When he saw you tucked behind Leander’s large biceps, he frowned. 

“Put my daughter down. She’s not your doll,” he said, his tone more curt than he probably should have been with a family member of the house he served.  

Out of only politeness, you were sure, he set you down. Your mother let out a light, silvery giggle, patting your father on the shoulder. 

“Oh, don’t be so strict, Charles,” she said. “He doesn’t mean any harm by it.” 

As Leander tugged you by the hand into the carriage, you heard your Dad lower his voice, so he thought the Naga couldn’t hear. 

“I don’t like those snakes touching her. They are far too familiar. Miss Elanore’s grandfather would never have allowed him to fondle her the way he does. Things were the way they should be when he was around.”

Beside you, Leander snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“He also drove the family to bankruptcy,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Listen,” your father went on as he helped your mother onto the seat next to him, and still unaware you could hear him quite clearly. “I’ve been talking with the Willards about (Y/N).” 

“The Willards?” she asked. “The tailors?” 

“Yes, they have a boy about (Y/N)’s age. Apparently, he has taken an interest in her, and his father approves. He thinks a girl raised as a maid will make a dutiful wife. I think we ought to consider it. We can visit while we’re in town today.” 

You remembered the Willard's son Joshua from when you were sent on errands to pick up clothes for Elanore. He was a handsome young man, though a little on the skinny side. He seemed nice enough. Still, your cheeks burned, and you folded your hands tightly, hearing your parents plot your marriage. 

“I don’t know, dear,” your mother hummed. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?” 

He let out a grunt. 

“I’d do just about anything to get our girl away from that snake. He’s only going to ruin her, string her along, and throw her away when he’s bored. They’re all the same. The Willard’s can give her a good life.” 

You felt Leander stiffen beside you. As the carriage took off, his tail wrapped around you so tight you whimpered. He glanced down, his face darkening to a cool blue. 

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, loosening his muscles but not letting you go. 

He gently unwrapped the hairpin, clutched in your palm, and busied himself fastening it to your hair. 

“So pretty,” he murmured, greedy eyes eating you up. “I won’t let anyone else touch you (Y/N).” 

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting. You’d always liked Leander. He was very handsome, and as children, you’d been inseparable. However, you also realized the massive gap between your two worlds. You were just a maid, and he was the only son of a wealthy lord. It wasn’t meant to be. Your father had explained to you many times before that Leander only doted on you because he was immature and unwilling to grow up. He thought he could still play make-believe with your life, and he warned you to be wary of him. 

Feeling raw and confused, you tried to keep your eyes out the window, focused on the passing countryside as you made your way toward town. When your father stopped to park the carriage, he nodded to your mother as you climbed out. 

She held out a hand to you. 

“Darling, I need you to come with me. We’re going to stop at the tailor’s,” she said, carefully avoiding Leander’s gaze. 

He, however, would not be tricked. 

“How convenient. I need to stop there as well,” he said with a grin, tugging you back towards him with his tail. “(Y/N), keep me company as we walk so I don’t get bored.” 

Your father gave him a deep grimace but was silent as he finished tying up the horses and escorted your mother by the arm down the busy avenue, walking a few steps ahead of you. You watched the two of them whisper to one another as you made your way to the Willard’s shop. 

“Greetings!” Marshall Willard said with a grin when he saw you and your parents enter the shop. 

His eyes jumped to the large Naga next you, and he winced just slightly before calling his son.

“Joshua! Come greet our guests. I’ll help the customer.” 

Joshua appeared from the back, giving you a pleasant smile. 

“Mr. and Mrs. (Y/LN). It’s wonderful to see you,” he said politely. “Can I offer you some tea?” 

Meanwhile, his father greeted Leander. 

“Young Lord Szake! What can I help you with this morning?” 

You moved to follow your parents to the kitchen with Joshua, but Leander pulled you back by the shoulders. 

“I’m here to buy (Y/N) some dresses,” he said, pushing you gently in front of him. 

Everyone in the room looked at you, and your cheeks burned. 

“What? Why, my lord?” you stammered. 

He tipped his head at you.

“If you’re to be my personal attendant, you can’t follow me around in threadbare wool dresses. You ought to represent the Szake family well.” 

“Personal attendant?” you parroted, confused. “But I’m just a maid.” 

“Not anymore,” he declared. “Every Lord has a personal attendant to handle the paperwork and their calendar…those sorts of things.” 

“But isn’t that normally a man?” Mr. Willard asked. 

Leander beamed at him, a cold smile full of hate. 

“(Y/N) has known me since I was just a child. She knows everything about me. I wouldn’t dare trust anyone else with my personal affairs.” 

Your father frowned. 

“Nonsense,” he barked. “(Y/N) is going to be married and have a domestic life, as she should. You’re a wealthy Lord; I’m sure you can find a qualified candidate.” 

Joshua nodded beside him. You looked up at Leander, eyes large. 

“I can’t be your personal attendant, sir,” you added. “It’s not proper. What will people think?” 

He smirked at you, his long, strong fingers pinching your chin so you had to look at him. 

“Fine…If your father insists you have a domestic life, you shall.” 

Your shoulders wilted with relief, and you let out a breath. 

“Oh, thank goo-” 

“As my wife.” 

Everyone in the room’s eyes were as wide as saucers. 

“What?!” they all said at once. 

Leander gave Mr. Willard another bitterly cold grin. 

“Measure her for dresses fitting the station of a Lord’s fiancee.” 

“Absolutely not!” your father said.

“Lord Szake will never allow of this!” Mr. Willard pointed out. 

“She’s to be my fiancee!” Joshua hissed, taking an incensed step towards Leander. “My father has already approved it!” 

Leander’s gaze shot to him, danger reflected in his irises. 

“There are not words on this plane to describe how little I care about whatever arrangement your families have worked out. (Y/N) will marry me, and you will dress her properly.” 

He sank into his coils, pushing you in front of Mr. Willard, snapping his fingers. 

“Now.” 

You saw the man’s jaw tick, but refusing Leander’s request would only be bad for his business, so he pulled out his measuring tape and approached you. Not sure what was happening, you gave him a pleading look, begging him to say something. Reading your confusion and fear, his stare shifted to one more gentle. 

“Lift your arms, please, miss,” he said quietly. 

The room was dead silent while he did as he was told. Joshua and your father glared at Leander, who seemed entirely unbothered, while your mother appeared uncertain. You watched her suck in a deep breath, straightening her shoulders before she approached the Naga, speaking in hushed tones. 

“Sir, are you sure this is wise? I’m not opposed to this match. I-I know…I can see you love her…I’m only worried for (Y/N)’s safety. Such arrangements between classes rarely work out well. Your fellow nobles will never accept her. Would you subject her to their cruelty?” 

For a moment, he seemed to be considering her words, eyes sliding to you. 

“My family has never been accepted into our peers good graces. You know my father was a common merchant. My mother married him out of desperation. She traded her noble title for his fortune. People’s opinions are only that. Opinions. (Y/N) and I will face the same prejudices together. Do you wish your daughter to continue her life as a maid or-?” 

He gave Joshua a dirty look. 

“Or become a servant to a husband who can never love her as I can?” 

Your mother sighed. She lifted her hand and smoothed a bit of hair that had come out of place as if he were her own son. 

“Please…for me, be serious about this if it is what you intend to do.” 

He tipped his cheek into her palm. 

“I will never betray your daughter zhingha.” 

Your father let out a strangled noise, marching out the front door, slamming it behind him. 

Joshua, who had been pacing in place, stomped over to you, grabbing you by the arm to face him. 

“Is this what you really want (Y/N)? A snake for a husband?” 

Before you could answer, Leander’s tail shot out, jerking him away from you and tossing him into the wall. 

“Don’t touch her!” 

The young man climbed to his feet, clutching his ribs. 

“You nobles can’t just take whatever you like! (Y/N) belongs with us!” 

Leander slid across the room like an elegant blue river, lifting Joshua up by his throat. 

“Do not address my fiancee by her first name again. If I see your eyes on her, I will gouge them out!” 

Joshua’s furious face told you he didn’t plan to back down. His father dropped the measuring tape, hurrying to rescue his son. 

“Of course, he wont’ My Lord,” he said. “You’ve made your intentions quite clear. Yes, Joshua?” 

He gave Leander another long look before he gave in. 

“As you say, My Lord.” 

Leander dropped him, returning to his seat near you, and jerked his head at the tailor. 

“Continue,” he snarled. 

“Go to the back and help your mother,” Mr. Willard said to his son.

Joshua gave you a last lingering glance before he disappeared. 

–

You arrived back at the mansion in a very different dress than when you'd left. Leander had insisted on buying you and your mother matching readymade dresses from the shop window while you waited for the fourteen others he ordered to be made. The soft peach satin fabric was the nicest thing you’d ever worn. 

The first thing you heard as you walked in the black door was the smashing of ceramic. 

“Stay here,” Leander said. 

Your eyes quickly flicked to your mother, who grabbed your hand and pulled you into the pantry, peeking out through a crack in the door. 

“Father?” Leander called, opening the door to the dining room. 

He ducked as a vase flew past, smashing to pieces on the stove.

“That bitch!” You heard him screaming. 

He shoved past his son, dark eyes jerking around the room. 

“Father! Calm down! What's happened?” 

“Where is the human woman?” he snarled. 

You and your mother slipped back into the shadows, trying to be as silent as mice. 

“Father! She’s not back from shopping yet. Please, tell me what’s happened.” 

His eyes narrowed, but seemed satisfied with his answer. 

“It’s your mother,” he snarled. “She’s gone.” 

“Gone?” 

He bared his fangs at his son. 

“Don’t parrot me like a dumb animal. The damn woman left! She stole the gold in the safe and disappeared! No one’s seen her!” 

He paced on his thick tail. 

“She must have paid off the townsfolk. No one will tell me where she’s gone!” 

“Has she made off with our fortune?” 

His father glanced up at him. 

“Of course not; I keep the majority of our money in the bank. Only you and I can access it. I planned for this possibility but never expected her to do it! She only got off with our emergency fund…but it was enough to live well for a long time. When will the human woman return?” 

“I don’t know, father,” he said. “But whatever you need, I can help you with it.” 

He waved a clawed hand. 

“I don’t need anything done! I’m going to marry the woman. I should never have agreed to marry Elanore. I won’t make that mistake again. An obedient human wife will suit me better.” 

Leander let out a cold chuff. 

“She’s already married, father!” 

“Easily fixed,” he hissed with murder in his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious!” 

He tried to push past his son toward the door leading out to the stable. Leander blocked his way, his icy irises determined. 

“I can’t let you do that, Father,” he said, his tone low and even. 

Your father came marching through the door a moment later, unaware of the drama playing out. He froze where he stood, eyes immediately focused on the two Naga, staring one another down. 

The opportunity in front of him was too tempting for Dervin to resist, and his tail shot out, a victorious smile on his lips. You couldn’t stay the scream that erupted from your throat, your mother rushing past you to protect her husband. 

Dervin’s focus shifted to her, and Leander lunged at the same second. Caught off guard, he threw his father to the floor, and they quickly became a writhing ball of tails and arms. 

“You’d betray me too, son?” he gasped as he tried to overpower Leander. 

You smelled the coppery stench of blood as sharp nails scraped each other's skin. More than willing to help, your father picked up a heavy cast iron skillet, making his way around the hissing Naga, quiet on his feet. 

There was a resounding crunch as the skillet descended on Dervin’s head. He flopped to the floor, limp. Blood leaked in a pool around him, but he still dragged in a wet breath. Before anyone else could move, Leander snatched a kitchen knife from the rack, jamming it through his chest. Dervin let out his gurgling last breath and then was still. 

You and your mother clutched one another, sinking to the floor. Neither of you knew what to say or do, but your father and Leander didn’t need any prompting. 

“Help me with him,” your father said, slipping his arms under the dead Naga’s. “We’ll bury him under the pig pens.” 

Leander grunted his assent, lifting the majority of the weight as they maneuvered the body outside. 

“Come,” your mother whispered, trembling. “The blood.” 

You nodded, filling the mop bucket with water before pulling every towel from the cabinet to mop up the mess. 

“What now?” you found yourself whispering, though there was no reason to. 

She shrugged. 

“That’s for Leander to decide. He’s the Lord of this house.” 

By the time they returned, you’d scrubbed everything to a sparkle, the only blood left staining your new dresses and the towels.

“Take those off,” your father said. “We’ll burn the linens.” 

The two of you nodded, slipping the heavy dresses over your shoulders until you only wore the thick shifts underneath. Leander helped you out of your shoes and slipped the red-splattered stockings off your feet. 

Your father gave you and Leander a long look before he spoke. 

“Take your fiancee to bed,” he said. “She shouldn’t have seen all this. I trust it won’t happen again.”  

Leander returned a tight nod, and something passed between their gazes. They’d forged a silent agreement. 

It wasn’t until your mother and father left out the back door to burn the rest of the evidence that the tears came. It was a relief Dervin was gone. He would have killed your father and hurt your mother, but it was still horrific. 

“Shhh,” Leander hummed, scooping you up in his arms. 

He carried you upstairs to his bedroom, curling into a tight ring to settle you in the center. His arms wrapped around you, and he pressed your head into his chest. 

“Everything is going to be okay now,” he said softly, carding the strands of your hair with his long fingers. 

“Lei, are we all going to jail?” you sniffled, his childhood nickname falling past your lips all on its own. 

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling when they met yours. 

“No. My mother did us a favor. If anyone asks, they’re touring the countryside until they're entirely forgotten.” 

“What happens now?” you asked. 

He tipped your chin with his thumb, dipping his head to slip his lips against yours. They were so warm that you felt your jaw's tension melt away. His eyes searched yours when they parted, carrying a lightness you hadn’t seen in many years. 

“I’m going to marry you, and your parents will move out of the servant’s quarters. Your father and mother have earned their place in the Szake family. We’ll find some new staff.” 

You nodded, his hair forming a smooth curtain blocking the world. 

“Sleep now,” he hummed. “All is as it should be.” 

Despite how you wanted to keep your eyes open, they slid shut against your will. 

—

“Would you like lavender or rose tea, Miss (Y/N)?” your new maid asked as she opened the tea box in front of you. 

“Rose,” you said, turning your attention back to the catalog in front of you. 

You sat comfortably in the rose garden, enjoying the sunshine as you planned your wedding. It had been a month since the terrible night that Dervin died. When Leander had informed the merchants of the town that he was getting married, they’d sent piles of samples and booklets for you to look through. You’d never realized there were so many options! It was a little overwhelming. Since you’d come from humble beginnings, it felt strange spending so much money on decorations and lace, but Leander informed you it should be a grand occasion and not to spare a cent. 

“Um…Miss (Y/N)?” one of your maids said, looking slightly frightened. 

“What’s wrong, Lily?” you asked, concerned. 

“Well…there’s a Miss Iris at the door looking for you. Should I bring her?” 

Leander was out for the day, meeting with one of his importers, so you weren’t sure what she could want. 

“Of course, bring her here.” 

A minute later, an elegant Naga came slithering into the garden. Her curly violet hair was pinned in a pretty updo and she wore an elaborate pink dress, covered in ribbons. 

“Hello, Miss Iris,” you said, waving for her to take a place at the table. “Can I offer you some tea?” 

Her brow was drawn, and she looked you up and down. 

“So…you’re who he picked,” she pouted. “Over me.” 

Your ears burned, realizing you were speaking to Leander’s former fiancee. 

“There’s no competition,” you said. 

She snorted. 

“Obviously not.” 

She narrowed her eyes at you, and you expected a verbal lashing. You were a mere maid, after all. It was absurd Leander would take you as his fiancee. She sucked in a deep breath, and her expression suddenly softened. 

“How…How did you do it?” 

Your eyebrows jumped, confused. 

“Do what?” 

She looked around, uncomfortable. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You took a breath as your maid politely poured her a cup of tea. 

“I suppose so…If you’d like.” 

“I’m relieved.” 

“Relieved…why?” 

She sipped her tea, thinking before she spoke. 

“Because I don’t particularly care for Leander. In fact, I don’t like him at all. He’s…very…intense. He kind of creeps me out. He only spoke of you when we were out on dates; it was incredibly boring and awkward. Not to mention…the way he talked about you…He was fixated on all of your little ticks. Did you know he carries a lock of your hair around with him? And sometimes your stockings! He showed up one day elated because you’d accidentally sneezed on him and used his handkerchief to wipe your nose! He was cuddling it like a treasure!” 

Your ears heated. Where had he gotten a lock of your hair? You’d never given it to him. 

“He what?” 

Iris waved her previous statement away. 

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have liked him even if he hadn’t. He’s just…too much like a Naga male. Once they have something in their mind, they get…obsessed. 

Our parents arranged our marriage. I hate that tradition. I’d never force my child into a marriage without love. That’s how you get murdered by some enterprising mistress!” 

You blinked, unsure if you should be offended or not, but she went on.  

“Honestly, there’s…someone else who has my interest. Only…he’s not a noble Naga.” 

“Oh! That is a puzzle, isn’t it?” 

She nodded, stretching her hand across the table to touch yours. 

“That’s why I need to know how you did it! How did you win over Leander’s parents? Maybe if I can tell Joshua how to do it, I can…I don’t know…” 

You giggled. 

“Joshua…Willard?” 

Her violet irises flared. 

“You know him?” 

“Ah…yes…but not well. He seems like a very nice man.” 

Her eyes glazed over, wistful thoughts playing in her mind. 

“He’s so kind and considerate. I’ve never met anyone like him, so gentle. A few weeks ago, I went to pick up a dress, and he helped me. His hands were so soft, and his voice was so sweet. Every night since then, we’ve been meeting in secret! I know he’s the right one and he thinks so too! 

I don’t want to brute of a husband. I want a kind person who I can talk to. That’s why I have to know how to convince my parents not to marry me off to some…stranger!” 

You weren’t sure how to answer. 

“I think…You should do whatever you must to protect your beloved,” you said. “I can’t tell you exactly what to do because it will be different for you. We’re all different in different circumstances.

She looked a little disappointed. 

“What I do know, though, Iris, is that if you love one another, you will find a way You two are adults, not children. No one can make you marry someone you don’t want to. It’s only a matter of how far you are willing to go, what sacrifices you will make to have the life you want.” 

She nodded, thinking. 

“But…” you started, pausing to sip your tea, “What if your parents went on a little vacation?” 

“A vacation?” 

You shrugged. 

“Once you’re married, you’re married,” you said. “Maybe by the time they return…if they return… you’ve sorted your affairs.” 

The two of you shared a knowing look, and she brightened. 

“I like you (Y/N), you’re very clever! You’ve given me hope! Is there anything I can help you with in return? I want us to be friends!” 

You smiled, picking up one of the catalogs. 

“Yes, actually. I have no idea what is proper for a lady. Can you help me? We can plan our weddings together.” 

She beamed at you, taking the catalog. 

“Of course!” 

A few hours later, Leander came slithering through the garden. 

“Iris? What are you doing here?” he asked, his shoulders stiffening. “I thought I made it clear…” 

Iris snorted and waved him away. 

“I’m not here for you,” she said, raising her nose at him. “(Y/N) and I are planning our weddings.” 

“Your wedding?” he asked, and she grinned. 

“Yes! And now that you’re here,” she wrinkled her nose at him. “I think I’ll be off.” 

She leaned down and kissed your cheek. 

“Thank you for your advice (Y/N). I’m going to talk to Joshua,” she said before sliding past Leander without saying goodbye. 

“What was that all about?” Leander asked when she was gone. 

You shrugged. 

“True love, I guess.” 

He pulled you into his coils, peeking over your shoulder at the catalogs on the table. He ran a finger over the things you’d circled. 

“Lei, can I ask you something?” you asked. 

“Anything, love.” 

You twisted around to look at him, narrowing your eyes. 

“Did you tell Iris that you were excited I sneezed on you?” 

“Ah…noooo,” he lied, his whole face darkening to a deep blue. “Wh-Why would she say something silly like that?” 

You giggled. 

“Of course not,” you said, patting his chest. “I must have misheard her. Can I borrow your handkerchief? It's a little warm out here.” 

He passed it to you and you daintily patted your forehead, handing it back. His eyes widened at the little scrap of fabric in his hand and he hastily stuck it in his jacket pocket. 

Leander might be a weirdo, but he was your weirdo and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

[sunny-mercya]

Sickly Summer

Bonten x Male Baby Reader

Masterlist

Inspired by the many Stories @reallyromealone had done! Go and check his Blog out!

Mochi had you in his arms, carrying you through the living—back and forth, swaying in gentle manner from side to side—in hopes of, finally, calming you down.

Never did Mochi thought, that you, their little precious baby boy, could cry so much during one night and throughout the day. He knows babies do cry, a lot even sometimes, but this? This seemed way too out of place to be called normal behaviour.

Then again, you weren't feeling all that healthy well right now and your only way of telling them this, was through bawling.

«Here. Maybe a lukewarm bottle of Milk will soothe him a bit, till Rinny find his pacifier and plushy.» suggest Ran, emerging out from the Kitchen, holding the bottle to you. You scrunched your face up in disgust, before burying it back in Mochi's neck.

«Huh, I think so too, bud. Papa Ran surely doesn't wanna have a repeat of last time.» emphasised Mochi, going back to rocking you into soothing as soon as he heard your sniffles again.

Ran shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He doesn't know what to do either. Mochi was right though, neither Ran nor the others would like to have a repeat of what happen 2 weeks ago.

~~~

Bonten knew you had a very sensitive stomach, couldn't handle most, if not even all, foods and drinks. You got a special Diet plan, but even then it could happen that your stomach would go into a cramping strike.

Like how it happen two weeks ago; You had Semolina porridge for dinner, something you would eat most of the time since it was stomach friendly enough. Either it was Takeomi himself or one of them, who might have accidentally poured a bit too much sugar or any kind of spices in it, but it was a literally shit night after dinner.

Kakucho had changed your diapers about three times, till he decided to just stay with you in the bathroom throughout the whole night, as you shitted into a tiny bucket and if you weren't doing that, you would vomit till dry-heaving. Worst case of Diahrrea.

Takeomi was trying to get some fluids into you again, coaxing with mostly water and diluted milk, knowing well from his own experience with his siblings, that fluids are essentially necessary during such a time. Tough case it was though, you refused every time and had enough strength left to slap Takeomi's cup offering away.

Ever since then, they did good monitoring over your diet plan and what you eat.

~~~

Rindou came hopping into the living room, a big smile on his face as he triumphal hold up the pacifier. I mean, you had a whole box of them and your dads keep extra ones in the storage and to lose them is rather easy, but you had certain favourite ones and in times like these you only want them.

«Lookie lookie, [Name]! What Papa Rin has for you,» Rindou gently put the pacifier into your mouth—which seemed to sooth you right away as you sucked on it—taking you from Mochi's arms and prepped your face with kisses.

A slight frown came over Rindous face. Sitting himself on the couch, you on his lap, he take good glance at your chubby face.

Cheeks flushed red, eyes swollen and still brimmed with left over tears. Your tiny chest heaving heavily, you weakly gripping his shirt.

«Did you two shitlings make him cry more?» Rindou give a slight glare at them, almost accusing.

«No we didn't, asshat. If you couldn't tell already, our darling baby isn't feeling goodie.»

«Thanks, Mr. Obvious. For telling me.»

«Be glad Mikey and Kakucho aren't here or you two would have to put 20Yen into the swear-jar.» Kokonoi's amusing chuckling brought the Haitani Brothers out of their word squabbling. They hadn't heard that Kokonoi has come in.

The three watched how Kokonoi put some bags down onto the coffee table. Rummaging through them, Kokonoi pulled out a small stuffed frog and one of those squeeze balls.

As soon as you notice what one of your dads had in his hands, your eyes lit up and made grabby hands towards him. Koko give it to you.

«Is he getting better? Did you gave him something to drink already?»

«To both of your questions, Koko, is the answer no.» Rindou and Ran said it at the same time.

Mochi sighed, having make a cup of coffee for himself. One of the strong types, which a shot of Vodka in it. Mochi loved you, but parenting was exhausting sometimes and they all could agree to this.

~~~

It didn't take long till the rest, besides Mikey who was still in the office and probably doing some last minute paperwork's, had come home too.

You sat on the ground, in front of the TV—Ran had put on some child friendly cartoons, but you didn't pay attention to it—playing with toys, your new stuffed friend sitting between your legs.

Kakucho and Rindou sitting besides you, being your play buddies. Glaring every so often at the others, who sat on the couch and giving playful comments about how good parent they are. It was mostly Sanzu and Ran who did.

«I was by the doctor and he said it's probably the summer heat, which makes [Name] so sick right now. We should try to keep him cool and give him light foods only.» told Takeomi, crouching down to you with a Sippy-cup in his hand.

A pocky stick hanging from his mouth, a replacement of a cigarette as Takeomi wasn't one to smoke around you. He offered you the cup, filled with milk. You took it, taking a few sips from it and give it back to your Papa, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

«At least [Name] didn't refused it right away and did drank some of it.» comment Mochi, going back to reading his newspapers.

Takeomi was concerned about you. Last summer you were fine, you hadn't any problem with the heat. So seeing you refusing food and drinks, crying through night and night and not even going potty in your diapers at all, did raise red flags of concern for Takeomi.

They really need to bring you to the doctor, but you're a fussy child and just being at the front door, brought you to tears—which raise another set of questions for Takeomi.

When Mikey had come back home, he ignored the mess of toys and stuffed animals in the living room. Too tried to care about tidiness, non of them were the best when it comes to do household chores, but for you they try to do.

After changing into nightwear, which consisted of only a pair of underwear and a oversized shirt, Mikey was making his towards Kakucho room, knowing well that you're in there. You might have your own room, crib, to sleep in, but you never do, preferring to sleep in the beds of your many dads.

Mikey pried you gently from Kakucho's arms, ignoring his incoherent mumbling and going into his own room.

Laying down onto his bed, god was Mikey exhausted, he hold you close. Giving you a small kiss to the head, shushing you back into sleep, when you begun to stir and lowly whine.

Mikey and the others would do anything to keep you loved and safe. You're Bontens heir, the ray of sunshine in their dark lives and the only family they still had left.

[axcel-lucci]

I've been coughing and feeling sick, I don't feel like getting up. This one is a request where female reader gets sick, has a flu, and its set in modern au. How would Law react when he hears that female reader has a flu for about two weeks, while being taken care of by Luffy, Ace, and Sabo? See female reader didn't want to disturb Law from work, so the ASL trio took care of her. Sabo is more responsible than his brothers. Plus Luffy would bring Marco to check on reader.😊🤧😷🤒

Tell me next time, dumbass.

Trafalgar Law x reader (fluff)

A/N: hi! Sorry I took a bit long because I was kinda down myself (can't get out of bed for reasons unknown) and can barely open my phone. So I hope this is alright! (Also unedited)

My masterlist

Coming up with a fever wasn't really (y/n)'s perfect idea of winter. What she imagined was snowball fights, snowman making, snow angels. Maybe that's the reason she's sick.

She could've told her boyfriend, Trafalgar Law, that is also a doctor, about it so he could take care of her, but she didn't.

She would always listen to him rant about how hectic it is to work in hospital owned by "grandline" whatever whatever it's name was. And she didn't want to bother him by a simple fever.

But that's alright, she has his best friends to help.

The "strawhats" (what Luffy likes to call his gang of friends) would visit from time to time. Especially chopper. Robin's support dog, specialising in anxiety and depression.

Even though the golden retriever is working, he couldn't help but stay beside (y/n) whenever Robin is around to visit.

Nami would usually just lay beside her staring at the ceiling. Mostly because she herself was bored.

While the others would drop by but not as often because they're quite busy.

Luffy on the other hand, would visit with his brother's almost every day.

Ace and Sabo apparently has doctor friends as well. One is named Marco and the other is named... Hongo? Was it?

"In theory, Marco said some warm soup or porridge would help you." Ace said

"In YOUR theory or in this... Marco person's theory?" (Y/n) asked. She knew it would help but hearing Ace say such a thing concerns her

"Wat?"

"What...?"

The two just stared at each other with confusion before sighing.

"You're making me hurt my brain, Ace. Get out of here" she groaned with a frown making him laugh.

"When are you planning to tell your boyfriend that you're sick? I'm sure he's worried because you're not calling him all the time like you used to." Sabi hums softly as he hands (y/n) a bowl of warm porridge as she starts to eat

"You know I don't want to worry him..." She muttered as she ate

"Eh? What do you mean?" Luffy tilts his head, "he asks about you all the time whenever he sees me."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah! When I said Marco was also helping, he kinda got up and left. I don't know why though..." Luffy muttered to himself with a pout.

"Luffy..." The three sighed with a bit of disappointment in their face

"What? What?"

"Let me take that..." Sabo said as he took the empty bowl from (y/n), "how do you feel...?"

"I'm feeling fine... I suppose..." She muttered slightly.

"Alright..." Ace sighed, "look. You should tell him, even if you're bothering him... I'm sure if I was your boyfr- I mean him, I'd also want to know my girlfriend's state."

She laughed a bit, "I know... I'll tell him eventually..."

"We need to go... I have night shift at work today and some agendas for the next... 2 weeks..." Sabo frowned slightly

"And Garp's coming over... As well as the family reunion in London..." Ace huffed, "will you be alright alone?"

"I'll be fine, don't you worry"

Oh the last words of someone burning up, phasing in and out of consciousness.

(Y/n) reached out to grab her phone, trembling hands scroll through her contacts list, her eyes blurry but eventually clicking one profile and calling it.

Putting it on speaker, and placing it beside her head.

Once she heard the familiar sound of someone on the other end picking up, she coughed slightly.

"Can you... Come over...? I don't feel so good..." She managed to mutter before passing out entirely. All she heard last was a panicked voice of her name being called and soon hanging up.

...

Law's pov

I was sitting at the on-call room, basically glaring at my phone screen, waiting for (y/n) to message me.

"If you stared any harder, that phone would crack" Marco chuckled beside me.

I just groaned a little, "tsk. You wouldn't know the worry I have for my girlfriend because you never had one." I snapped at him with a glare

"Ouch" he rolled his eyes.

My eyes snapped back at my phone once I heard it ring and seeing who was calling, my whole body seemed to relax to realize it was (y/n). After almost three days of silence from her, she finally called.

"Hello?" I answered.

I heard her cough, which wasn't a good sign already, her heavy breathing as well. "Can you... Come over...? I don't feel so good..." she muttered so weakly, I don't think I've ever heard her so weak before hearing her just huff out a heavy breath, I don't know why, but I had a feeling she had passed out.

"(Y/n)...? (Y/n)!" I called but had no more answer than her breathing heavily.

I stood up immediately and grabbed my stuff, changing out of my scrubs as well as I panicked.

"Woah there loverboy, you can't just leave in the middle of your shift" Hongo sighed, "but you know what? I'll take your shift, don't worry. Take care of your girlfriend"

I just gave him a swift nod before leaving and hopping into my car, wasting no time to power it up and drive off to her apartment.

I left my things inside the car, but took my wallet, phone, and the spare keys I had of her apartment with me as I rushed to go and unlock her apartment door.

At first glance, it was relatively quiet. Which wasn't entirely unusual considering at this time of day, she's either drawing or just laying in bed.

After locking the door, I threw my things on the kitchen counter and rushed to her bedroom to see her curled on her bed, her phone beside her head, and her face flush with what seemed to be a high rising fever.

I didn't waste any time and rushed to check her temperature. She was already so hot to the touch, but she started shivering a little.

"Don't worry, I'm here. I'll take care of you" I whispered to her before getting up and doing what is necessary to make her fever go down.

Eventually, her fever had subsided just enough so that her temperature was 39°.

Which was still a bit too high as a human's normal body temperature was 37° but at least a bit lower and manageable than before

"Silly girl..." I frowned as I kissed her forehead.

I continued to take care of her for the next 2 days. Hongo-ya and Marco-ya volunteering to cover my shift.

I'll need to find a way to repay them somehow, but for now, my focus is on (y/n) and her slow recovery.

(Y/n)'s pov

(Y/n) slowly woke up to the smell of what seems to be an aromatic scent of... Soup? Porridge? Whatever it is, it smells delicious.

But oddly enough, she doesn't have an appetite.

The door to her bedroom eventually opened and closed quietly as she then saw, through her thick eyelashes that were blurred with some tears, that Law was now in her apartment.

She could see relief in his actions when he placed down whatever he was doing and sat beside her on the bed, placing a hand on her cheek and wiping away the tears that managed to escape while she slept.

"You're finally awake..." His warm voice calls softly and kissed her forehead, "why didn't you tell me you were sick? I could've been here for you..."

"I... It's just that... You're really busy and... I don't want to..." She muttered before being silenced with a soft hush.

"Enough of that, didn't I tell you already that if you need me, just call...?" He frowned a bit before shaking his head, "we can talk about it once you're better. For now, sit up. I'm helping you eat."

With his help, she was able to sit up with her back against the headboard.

"Ahh" Law said after blowing the steam off a spoonful of soup, "I need you to eat even just a few bites so that you can drink some medicine. Okay...?"

She sighed as she forced herself to eat, she can't taste anything but her gut told her it was delicious.

"Blackleg-ya insisted for me to make you this soup... I hope it's alright" he says as he fed her a couple more times before she refused any more.

"Alright... Wait here and I'll grab some medicine."

She nods weakly as he left, but came back almost immediately with a glass of water and medicine in hand.

"Here..." He says as she drank the medicine and water, "that's my girl..." He smiled softly before kissing her cheek.

"Law..."

"Yes, love?"

"Thank you... For taking care of me all this time..." She smiled softly at him as well.

"Nonsense... This is the bare minimum. I promise, I'll take good care of you in the future. Just call me up and I'll be here. No matter how busy I am." He placed a hand over hers, "I want to kiss you on the lips but I'm afraid I might get infected. But I will kiss you once you're all better."

"I'm looking forward to that..." She said weakly with a tender smile.

"Now, get well soon alright? I'll be here." He smiled, "oh, and one thing... You should've told me, dumbass... I don't care how busy I am or whatever time is. I'll defy all odds just to be here for you."

"That's my boy..." She smiled as he chuckled.

[makeitmingi]

Cause Baby You're My Muse [Chapter 35]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.2K

When you alarm rang, you blankly reached over to turn it off. Your arm fell limply in front of you. You haven't been able to sleep much the past few days, working yourself to the bone. Work was the only thing that could take your mind off things.

'Hey, Eden. I'm not feeling too well so I'll be working from home today. - Prod. Indigo'

'If you're not feeling well, you should just take a rest day! You're ahead of your progression schedule anyway, Indigo. A day of break won't hurt you. - Eden'

'No, it's fine. Ping me for the progress meeting later. - Prod. Indigo'

'Fine... Because I know even if I say no, you'll somehow sucker someone else into pinging you in. - Eden'

You left your phone on the nightstand and turned to face the ceiling. Even if it was just your paranoia, you haven't even been in much contact with Hanuel. You were worried about her safety.

'Hi, baby! Going to practice now! Things have been going well. Have a great day :] - Mings'

Thankfully, Mingi had become busier too so you didn't have to lie to him. He only calls you for a short while or texts you periodically. He hasn't even had the time to drop by. You knew he felt bad and you both missed each other dearly but maybe it was for the best, a blessing in disguise.

The threatening messages have even been coming in on your ghost servers, making you temporarily close them. But you weren't really concerned about that since it was a ghost server.

For those, you made sure to take picture proof in your phone just in case you wanted to go to the authorities.

*DING DONG*

You sat up immediately as the sound of someone knocking your front door. You waited for a while to see if the person would go away.

"Indigo. It's me."

Hearing the familiar voice, you relaxed. You got out of bed and went to open the door for San to come in. He had a few bags by his feet and a tray of drinks.

"What are you doing here, San?" You blinked in confusion, taking the tray from him so he could bring the bags in.

"I heard Eden hyung telling the other producers you were unwell so I came to check in. I brought some porridge and tea for you." He smiled. You melted at his words. Knowing that Mingi was busy, the other boys had all been very attentive and caring to you.

"Thank you, Sannie. That's really sweet of you." You locked the door and went over to where he was unpacking the stuff he brought in the kitchen. There was a lot.

"I also got some vitamin drinks. My dad said this brand is really good so you don't feel so tired." He pointed.

"You didn't need to get so much." You chuckled.

"You've been working so hard in the studio, skipping meals and not sleeping. You need the supplements." San argued. He put the cold stuff in your fridge while you got bowls and cutlery out.

"Does Mingi know you're here?" You asked as you poured the porridge into two bowls.

"No...? I don't need to tell him I'm here. This is your home. And don't forget, we were a family before you started dating Mingi hyung. I don't need his permission to come care for you. I was closer to you before he was anyway." He scoffed, sounding almost offended. Seeing the small pout on his face made you laugh.

"I know that, Sannie. And I don't mean anything bad. It was just a question." You giggled. San still had a displeased pout on his face, making you pinch his cheek.

"Let's eat first." You said, putting the small dishes of kimchi in the middle of the two porridge bowls.

"Thank you for the food. And thank you for bringing this to me." You smiled gratefully. Only then did San smile shyly, picking up his spoon.

"I would have made it myself like my omma but I didn't want to do it wrong and end up making it taste horrible. You should be feeling better, not more sick." San rubbed the back of his neck.

"No, it's okay. I know you're busy. You coming and bringing makes me feel better already."

"I'm glad then." He smiled.

"So I've heard that practice and comeback preparations have been really busy. Tell me how that has been going." You asked, leaning your head on your hand to look at him as you ate. San began to excitedly tell you about the choreography.

"But the vocal lessons are getting tough. Plus the extra gym sessions to keep in shape. It's alright though, all the hardwork will lead to a successful comeback." He said.

"Yeah, you're right. You've all been working so hard. But remember to take care of yourselves too. I know idols can get sick or injured easily from how harsh comeback preparations are." You sighed.

"Mingi hyung feels bad that he hasn't been able to see you as often though." He softened.

"I know, I miss him too, I miss all of you. But it's just something we have to deal with in our jobs." You forced a smile.

"It's not easy." San nodded in agreement.

"But Indigo, if you need anything, you can come to any one of us, okay? Not just Mingi hyung. We'll be there for you. We're family, no matter how busy any of us are." San held your hand.

"And I'll always be thankful for that. Thanks, Sannie." You squeezed his hand. You remembered telling San when you first joined how you were not used to being cared for since you were always on your own, you've cared for others but no one has genuinely ever cared for you. But the Ateez boys did, right from the start.

"You all accepted me right from that get go, never once questioning my mask or my name. You've never made me feel like I was alone or an outsider." You said.

"Because you're not alone with us. We would never push you to do something that would you feel uncomfortable." He promised.

"But it's nice seeing you and Mingi hyung happy together. I think you compliment each other." He told you.

"You think so?" You giggled.

"Mhmm... You both bring out such good sides of each other. Like Mingi hyung is calmer with you around and you seem less guarded with Mingi hyung is with you." He tried his best to explain.

"I guess so. You all make me feel less guarded." You said. San smiled softly at your words.

After sharing the meal together, you and San sat in the living room, just talking. He was someone that was calming to talk to. The conversation could go in any direction and be about any topic without being awkward.

"Yes, Hongjoong hyung?... I'm just... out." San paused the conversation when Hongjoong called him. You knew that Hongjoong was probably asking where he ran off to.

"Indigo's not well?" San feigned innocence, eyes casting over to you. You stifled your laughter.

"I'll see you back at the company... Yes, hyung... Alright, bye." He bid the captain goodbye and hung up, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

"Joong's looking for you?"

"He's always looking for us, making sure we're not getting into trouble and at our schedules. But I'm on a break now, my gym session isn't until 2pm." San informed. You nodded your head, checking the time.

"I have a progress meeting at 4pm with the other producers. Eden will be pinging me in virtually." You replied.

"Yeah, that's why Hongjoong hyung brought up that you were unwell just now. He mentioned that he wants us to sit in this time to listen to the producers' conversations with him. At the same time, he wanted to make sure that I stay behind after my workout with the others." San explained.

"I should go, to give you time to rest and prepare for the meeting. I'll go to KQ and warm up before my session." San patted your head, standing up from the couch.

"I'll text our manager hyung to come pick me." He took his phone out to text his manager.

"Thanks for dropping by and bringing so many things for me." You walked him to the door, grabbing his jacket from the chair for him.

"You're welcome." He smiled. You both shared a hug.

"If you still feel unwell, don't attend the meeting okay? I'm sure the others will understand, people get sick. You've been working so much, you're only human." He said after pulling away.

"Okay. If you see Mingi later, is it okay if you don't tell him I'm unwell? I don't want to worry him. Knowing him, he might just skip practice and come down to take care of me. I'm fine, really." You assured. San nodded and reached over to give you a friend kiss on your forehead.

"Bye, Indigo." He waved.

"Bye, Sannie. Have a good workout session, stay safe." You wished. He gave a final wave before disappearing into the lift. You let out a long breath, closing the door and locking it.

With that, you went into your studio and shut the door. You put your headphones on to isolate you in the world of music before starting your work.

Mingi bowed to the vocal instructor as he left the small room where he just had his lesson. He let out a tired sigh.

"Still nothing?" He checked his phone. You haven't texted him all morning, which was weird. But Mingi knew you were very busy and didn't want to bother you with his overthinking.

"Oh, Mingi ah." Seonghwa called. Mingi stopped in his tracks, lifting his head up from his phone.

"Hwa hyung." Mingi blinked.

"Just finished vocal lessons?" Seonghwa tilted his head, looking at the notebook the taller had tucked under his arm. Mingi nodded his head as they walked together.

"The teacher said my condition wasn't very good today I shouldn't strain my voice too much, I guess. You're headed for the producers' meeting too, right?" Mingi asked. The oldest of the group nodded his head. They took the lift together to the floor with all the meeting rooms. Some people were there already.

"Hongjoong ah." Seonghwa called. The captain broke away from his conversation with Yeosang to wave to the two members. Mingi and Seonghwa bowed to the others that were in the room.

"The members are sitting here." Yeosang said softly. They nodded and took their seats.

"The producers are here." Yunho stated. The Ateez boys stood up to greet Edenary, who entered the room.

Mingi craned his neck and realised you weren't there. He was about to take his phone out to text you, Eden cleared his throat.

"Producer Indigo is feeling under the weather so she will be joining us virtually. She apologises for the inconvenience." Eden said. Mingi's eyes widened at his words.

You were unwell? Is that why you haven't been texting him the whole day? There was a panic going on in Mingi's head now. Yunho seemed to have taken notice, placing his hand over his best friend's leg and patting it gently to calm him down.

"Indigo~ Can you hear me?" Mingi heard Maddox speak.

"Uh huh. Thanks, Maddox."

Your voice was heard. Maddox smiled, happy the connection was working well. He set the computer on the table, making sure it was plugged into the wall outlet.

"Hi, boys." You waved to the Ateez boys once Maddox turned the computer around.

"Hi, Indigo." They greeted back.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Hwa. Thanks. I just needed to rest for a bit." You giggled. You had your mask on so Mingi couldn't really tell if you were okay or not. But he couldn't go to you now, you wouldn't like that.

"Sorry for the inconvenience everyone." You said when Eden was going to start the meeting.

"Nonsense. You shouldn't even be joining the meeting if you're sick." Eden scoffed. After that, he began the meeting. The other Ateez boys just listened to the conversations that were taking place. The ones that participated were Mingi and Hongjoong. Although Mingi was more concerned about you.

"I've sent in track 4 to Eden. Still need some time to arrange track 6, it's not sounding right yet." You informed. Eden played the tracks that you have sent him for everyone to listen.

"I'll polish up the tracks and submit them to the CEO." Eden said when the track finished.

"Yes, please." You replied.

"Since the main track is done and we're practicing the dance, the current update from the team is that we'll be filming the music video in about three months?" Hongjoong said.

"The team has to come together to decide on the locations and logistics. Then the stylists will have a concept meeting." Eden added.

"Am I needed in any of those meetings?" You asked. You've never been so participative in the entire process of an artist's promotions before so this was all new to you. Was a producer needed at a creative concept meeting?

"Maybe not the stylists meeting but the story boarding and the music video concept meeting? It would be good to share your concept and vision with the team since it is your track, Indigo."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there. Loop me into the communications so I can schedule it in, please." You requested.

"Sure, I'll let the team leaders know." He nodded.

Mingi sat there in worry. This was just another thing to add to your already crazy schedule. He didn't want you to have something new to stress about.

"Before we end the meeting, anything to add from the boys?" Eden asked. You looked up from the iPad you had been scribbling your notes on to focus on what the boys were saying.

"Nothing from us. Thank you all for your hard work." Hongjoong bowed his head and the other 7 followed suit.

"You're all working hard too, giving it your all. Do well in promoting the album!" You giggled.

With that, Eden summarised set the deadlines for the producers' different submissions and concluded the meeting. The boys stood up and bowed repeatedly to the producers as they took their leave. You waved and bid everyone goodbye before hanging up. The Ateez boys left the meeting room after.

"Did you know Indigo's sick?" Wooyoung asked Mingi while they walked to the dance studio.

"I didn't know. I texted her this morning but she hadn't reply. So I thought she was just busy." Mingi frowned slightly. Yunho nudged Wooyoung to not ask anymore.

"Maybe I should go check on her to see if she's okay or bring her something." Mingi thought out loud, stopping in his spot.

"Maybe you can see her after practice. Indigo sounded fine during the meeting earlier." Seonghwa stepped in before Mingi could decide to just leave now.

"She's fine, right San? You went to see her this morning." Yeosang said. All heads turned to San.

"You visited her, hyung?" Jongho asked.

"Yeah, I had some time before coming here and I went. I heard she was not well so I went to get her some food and vitamin drinks to help her recover. Then we ate together. She was fine, just seemed tired." San recounted, nodding his head.

"Thankfully you had the time to go see if she was okay, San ah." Hongjoong patted the younger on the shoulder. The others nodded their heads in agreement, just glad to hear that you were okay.

But Mingi wasn't. There was a weird feeling in his chest, a sort of heaviness. Did you tell San you were sick and not him?

He admits that it was probably jealousy and the fact that you two have not been able to see each other recently. But something felt weird, something felt wrong.

"You good?" Yunho asked as the two of them trailed at the back of the group.

"Mmm..." Mingi nodded.

"Call her." Yunho encouraged, knowing it was the only way for Mingi to calm down and focus for the rest of the practice session. He didn't want to see his best friend get scolded by Hongjoong.

"Yeah." Mingi took his phone out and slipped into the handicap toilet, locking the door and sitting on the closed seat.

"Oh hey, Mings. What's up?" You answered after a few rings. Since it was a video call, you had propped the phone up against the bottom of your monitor to continue working. Mingi watched as you continued to work, now feeling guilty for bothering you while you were obviously busy.

"Mings? Are you okay? You're not saying anything." You stopped typing, looking straight at the camera. You picked up the device and blinked in confusion.

"I just wanted to hear your voice." Mingi forced out.

"I miss you too, Mings." You smiled softly. He finally relaxed, his tense shoulders falling slightly as he let out a shaky sigh.

"You know you can tell me anything, right baby? I'm never too busy for you. I'm a phone call away." He said. You nodded with a hum, eyes still trained on him to give him your full attention.

"And likewise for me too, Mings. Don't think that you're bothering me or interrupting my work. Just call me at any time." You said.

"I don't have morning practice tomorrow so I'll come over tonight?" He tilted his head.

"I'd like that. You know that you can come over whenever you want to. I love when you're here." You chuckled.

"Alright, I have to go before the others wait too long for me. But I'll see you tonight. I love you, baby." Mingi said, voice full of unwillingness to hang up.

"I love you too, Mings. Have a great practice session. See you later!" You wished before hanging up. With another sigh, Mingi stood up and left the bathroom to go to the practice room. He bowed apologetically to the members that were waiting for him.

"Sorry, let's start." Mingi said. From his warm up spot, Yunho looked at Mingi through the mirror. He guessed that the phone call went well because there was now an almost excited pep in his step.

Practice went well. After running through a few times, the 8 boys split up to work on the choreography in smaller groups.

"And 1, 2, 3, 4." Wooyoung counted as he worked in the small corner with Yeosang and San.

"Something is weird." Jongho laughed as he and Yunho worked together. His moves looked a little different from the taller male's. Yunho couldn't help but giggle.

"Like this, Jongho ah." Yunho directed.

RINGGGGGGGGG

"Yah, I thought I said phones on silent during practice." Hongjoong yelled from his spot, a frown on his face and his hands on his hips. He didn't know whose phone it was. But Jongho jogged over to his bag, picking up his ringing phone. His phone is usually on 'Do Not Disturb' but there were exceptions.

"Sorry, hyung. Family emergency." Jongho said and exited the room to take the phone call.

~

Series Masterlist

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

gratuitous nord demon backstory. following the battle of kastav, 1E392. tw: imprisonment/kidnapping

They hadn't bound her hands. Thank Kyne, thank Tsun, thank Mara, thank dead Shor in the ground, they hadn't bound her hands. Even with the gag forced into her mouth, with her hands free Barfok is not without a voice: she can sign, she can make herself known, even if her protestations are witnessed only by the walls of the dungeon and the back of the half-dead boy they threw down here with her, but oh, by Kyne, by Tsun, by Mara, by dead Shor in the ground, doesn't it make everything better? She flips off her captor when he throws her in and it is utter bliss.

So, hours into being in this dungeon, she sits against the wall, practising her signs the way she used to when Ysmir first taught her how to sign it. Ahg. Aak. Ah. Bah. Bah, ah, rah, fu'u, og, kah. Yo, su, mah, ikh, rah. She finds herself keeping tempo with the dripping water coming from one corner. There's a bucket under the drip, and she realises, slowly, that's the Whiterun men's idea of water for a guest.

Yo, su. It's a slow drip, or she'd go bathe.

She hears a soft groan. Kah, eg, mah, ah.

She's not alone in this prison. Her companion, the boy, proves himself to be a little less than half-dead. He's lying on the ground with his back turned to her, not his fault, just how he landed when they tossed him in. Barfok watches with mild curiosity as he slowly rolls himself onto his back, cranes his neck up, gasping for air. He, too, is gagged. His eyes are closed, his hair is long and only red-ish and plastered to his face with sweat. His breathing comes very shallowly.

He'd lost the battle for them. His first battle, sorry luck, that. He'd been wielding the thu'um and cantering through a Whiterun wheat-field alongside her when they'd speared his horse and he'd gone flying and landed hard on his chest in a way that Barfok was surprised hadn't killed him. No wonder he now gasps like a fish. Su, tah, ug, hag, nah. The wheezy little breath he's making is profoundly annoying.

The dungeon is cold. The floor is hard beneath the sad clumps of rotten hay that line it. Barfok's hands are growing clumsy, so she tucks them into her armpits for warmth.

She settles back against the wall, listening to her fellow Tongue die. It is going to be a long night.

-

Her fellow Tongue does not die. His lungs learn a way to work despite whatever wreckage lays inside him, and his breathing steadies, and his throat stops its wheezing. After the first night (there's no window, but it feels like a night) he stops moaning in pain. He lies very still in a certain position after that, reluctant to move, but he is breathing deeply, and not moaning in pain.

Their captors realise that as two Tongues of Morrowind they might be worth keeping alive. In the morning they're brought bowls of cold gloopy porridge and glasses of milk. The gag is narrow enough that, with some effort, the porridge and milk can be crammed around it, so Barfok eats inelegantly, smashing porridge through the fabric with lusty grunts of undignified gusto. She's used to being starved, thank Ysmir for his diligent tutorship, and the breaking of a fast never loses its thrill.

The boy half-dead watches her. He's finally opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side to look at her; he has very blue eyes, pretty in his fine features, even bloodshot and puffy-red as they are. Just for fun, Barfok locks eyes with him as she crams fully half of her porridge-coated hand into her mouth around the gag. His eyes narrow, and he looks away from her again, the expression of disgust unmistakeable-- prudish nobility!

Still, she doesn't touch his food. And some time in the supposed afternoon he rises unsteadily, shuffles the cell door, and eats with his hands, just as absent of dignity as she was.

-

There's an old fire-pit in their cell. In the fire-pit, there is charcoal. Some of the charcoal is in sticks. The sticks are long enough to write with.

Barfok thinks the other Tongue broke his ribs. It's in the way he keeps one arm folded over his chest, his shoulder stiff and raised. He favours one side in movement, holding the left, the one he fell on, very rigid. When he accidentally folds his abdomen he hisses and whimpers and then his breathing gets shallow again. Barfok signs to him, and he clearly understands her, but he never replies. He refuses to move his arm from his side. He lets the pain drive him from conversation.

Drawing, however, he can do. When Barfok sits next to him and writes: 'I am Barfok' on the cell floor in Dovahzul, he leans over awkwardly and writes, beneath it, unsteadily, 'Kema.'

So they talk like that. They just write to each other. There's nothing else to do down here, and he can manage it well enough with one hand. They switch to a wall when they run out of accessible floor. They sit close together so that passing the charcoal is easier.

They write to each other about the battle. They write about Morrowind and Monahven. They talk about Ysmir. They talk about his horse-riding. They talk about her home in Whiterun. They talk about their families, and her massacred hometown, and his assassinated mother. They ponder to each other if they'll be ransomed. They ponder to each other if they'll die.

She makes him laugh, by accident. The way he groans she worries it will kill him again.

-

There's no window in the cell. After long intervals a guard comes down to give them food-- porridge and milk, or bread soaked in milk. Mushy food that can be eaten around a gag. Not enough to sustain them but enough to prevent immediate death. Despite the cold, Barfok starts to sleep a lot, out of boredom as much as exhaustion. She does the trick she learned on Vvardenfell, where she curls up with her knees squishing her stomach to make it smaller, to make herself feel less hungry. It helps. She doens't have a choice but for it to help.

When she's awake, Kema draws for her.

(That's not his name, she recalls Ysmir using one with more vowels, when planning for that stupid, stupid battle. But she likes the simplicity of Kema. Kah, eg, mah, ah. She's so glad he's in too much pain to write out the extraneous letters.)

Kema is a good artist. He draws her pictures of his childhood home in the elf-land, a marvelous palace with a strange shape. He draws the Queen of that palace, who Barfok finds very beautiful. He draws Monahven, and Barfok stares at it, squints at it, pretends she's looking out of the window in her own childhood home.

Barfok cannot draw. Nonetheless, she tries: she copes his drawings of Monahven, and then adds her own of a stone circle and of a baby goat she once owned. She draws Red Mountain and an implausibly rotund Ysmir with a scraggly beard before it. She draws a bunch of leeks, because it's the only thing she can think of that she knows how it looks.

The drawing of the goat is so bad it makes him laugh again, and then their fun ends, because he goes back to lying very still with his arm bent up.

Later, once he runs out of chapters of his short life, he starts drawing horses. Barfok adds horns to them. Unicorns. A stick-figure Hircine with a spear in the background. He draws guars for her, round fat shapes sharing a banquet of hay. She adds another stick-Hircine, scratching his head in confusion. Did Hircine ever go to Morrowind? He spends a long time drawing a dragon, and Barfok, lying on her belly beside him, adds in a veritable feast for it: homesteads, fleeing figures, hawks, bears, squids, a whole army succumbing to its flames. Lying flat, her stretched-out stomach growls.

-

A few hours after their fifth meal-- or is it a few days, or a few minutes? Is it weeks? Is it years?-- after their fifth meal, as Barfok is trying to doze, the door is slammed open.

Barfok scrambles to her feet, raising her balled-up fists. A string of drool slips out of the corner of her gag.

There is no meal for her.

Here, instead, is Jarl Olaf in the flesh.

She might have lunged. She balls her fists, she prepares for it. But he, unlike they, has no gag in his mouth. The fus he breathes is not enough to send her flying, not enough to even send her stumbling, but it is a warning nonetheless.

Olaf stands in the doorway and surveys his spoils of war. His gaze on Barfok is so loathsome that she worries she might vomit around her gag. She cannot stop shaking, not with fear but with an animal desire to fling herself upon him, to tear, to rip, to maim, to hurt--

And then he is no longer looking at her. "Kul-se-Chimarvir," breathes Olaf towards his other prisoner. "Son of Chimarvir of Mournhold. No?"

When Barfok turns she sees that Kema is folded up against the back wall of the cell. He is sitting. He has not moved. He glares resignedly at Olaf.

"Perhaps not," drawls Olaf. "Mournhold has refused to ransom you."

Then Olaf turns to Barfok, and he says, "And you. None from Monahven know of you. Who do you belong to?"

Barfok's hands refuse to be unclenched from their fists. She takes several short sharp breaths, as if this will make her bloodlust less. She cannot even think for her own rage.

"How feeble Kjoric has become," drawls Olaf. "The Tongues he sends against me, unwanted children and nobodies. Tell me, at least," he addresses Barfok, "Give me the name of someone who will cough up a few coins for your safe return, won't you?"

Thank Kyne, thank Tsun, thank Mara, thank dead Shor in the ground they've left Barfok's hands unbound.

Barfok flips him off.

-

Olaf must think she's of some value to somebody out there, because the beating the guards give her is comparatively light. She ends up with a bloodied nose and a swollen lip and a swollen-shut eye and a few big boot-shaped bruises around her stomach, but her bones are pleasantly intact, and she's not coughing up blood, so she feels a smug sense of satisfaction, like she's gotten away with something.

Nonetheless, the aching starts up a while later, and it sets her in a foul mood. So, after she's washed her face the best she can with her filthy sleeves, she lies down in her corner, grumbling under her breath at every little ache. For not the first time she realises how unpleasant the gag is getting in her mouth, crusty and stinking pungently of curdled milk and her own rancid breath. Her clothing is scratchy for the sweat and dust caked into it. Her joints hurt from lying on the hard floor for so long and the beating hasn't distracted from that. At that dark moment, she feels very sorry for herself.

Kema, too, has been lying very still in his corner ever since Olaf's visit. He hadn't even stirred during her beating-- not that she can blame him for that, really. But lying there in the dark she hears him breathing in a weird way. She hears him shuffle around, then gasp in pain, and then he sucks in some hoarse breath, and moves against the ground again. This goes on for quite some time.

He's trying to puncture his own lung. Barfok realises this with a dim disinterest. This thought comes moments before she falls asleep.

-

Herma-Mora appears to her. She's sitting very still against the wall when the blackness before her blossoms into a thousand emerald eyes. A staring fractal descends upon her, infinity's watchfulness coalescing on a prisoner.

She thinks that he'll have the usual offer: he helps her and her soul wears away a little bit more. But he doesn't say anything. She can't say anything, either.

So she hangs there in a miasma of swamp black and forest green, being blinked at.

After a million years, or three hours, or a minute, or a second-- was she asleep?-- she blinks and he's gone again. The torches have been lit in the hallway again. She wonders if Herma-Mora would pay a ransom for her.

-

One day, the jailor throws in a blanket, so now Barfok and Kema sleep side by side, Barfok pressed against his back so as not to harm his broken-up front. They don't really talk any more, they've run out of charcoal and he still won't move his arm. Barfok paces around the cell sometimes, and washes daily from the water-bucket, and signs poetry to herself, but Kema seems to have given up. Most of the time he just lies there. He seems to like staring at the old drawings they did together, of the horses and the dragon with its feast. When they wrote to each other, Barfok had offered condolences about his dead horse, and he'd said that he was sad about it, too. Krosis. Geh, Krosis. Men love their horses.

One day Barfok tries looking for more charcoal-- she wants to tell him about the Herma-Mora vision, she wants to confess to someone before she's dragged into Apocrypha the moment they die down here-- but they've used it all up. There's no word for Herma-Mora in Nordic Sign so she's forced to keep the secret.

On a different day, Barfok offers in sign to bathe him. He doesn't agree but he doesn't refuse either, and he doesn't fight when she unbuttons his now-crusty tunic and pulls it aside.

Below the fabric his chest is a tapestry of blue and purple and yellow and black. When he breathes the movement is asynchronous, the two sides of him rise at different times. His eyes are closed and he is breathing very shallowly, as if he's trying not to breathe at all, as if he's willing himself to be elsewhere.

Barfok uses a corner of his the blanket to clean the dirt away from his chin and his neck. It must have been trapped there since the battle, since he fell from his horse. There's even still strands of straw in his hair. He blighted all the wheat in the field. She'd never seen a thu'um like that; she found it-- finds it-- so horrifying it doesn't bear thinking of. But her own stomach remains empty, and she cannot help but feel just the tiniest bit gleeful, at the thought everyone up there will be going as sad and hungry as she is.

Barfok is not the caring sort. After a half-hearted attempt to clean him up, she braids his hair for him instead. He has very long, very pretty hair, and now that it hasn't been washed for a very long time, the colour has gone from flirting-with-blond to a definitive rusty red. Like an old wagon's axle, like the half-eaten blade of the sword her little brother found in the forest once. She puts it in very bad braids and then she leaves him to his sulking, overcome with her own misery.

He looks so dumb in those awful braids. They don't suit him at all. But he falls asleep with a peaceful comforted expression, unaware of the violence she just wrought upon him.

-

They are sitting on opposite walls and Barfok signs a question to him:

"When we get out, do you want to keep being friends?"

He's holding his arm rigid by his chest, the way he always does. She's surprised he's even sitting up. He's been growing more and more quiet over the past few-- what unit of time are they in, is it the next era already?-- and she thinks he's looking paler, that he's not breathing very well.

She is more surprised when he uncoils both arms and signs back to her:

"If."

-

The door is thrown open. Barfok had been asleep, and she's barely realised she's conscious again when the jailor barks: "Up."

For some stupid reason Barfok obeys; she's on her feet before she's even fully awake. Flustered with surprise, she flails both hands at the jailor, the universal Nordic sign for "What?"

"You've been ransomed," the jailor tells them. "I'm to take you to Dunmeth pass. Get up, come on, it's a long trip."

There's a drumming in Barfok's ears that she only belatedly realises is her own heart. She signs, "Who?" And then she raps out a series of letters: Yo, su, mah, ikh, rah? And then she signs the symbol for dragons. The symbol for king. She's babbling with her hands before she realises the jailor doesn't read sign.

"On your feet, now," the jailor barks again, and Barfok hears her friend also struggling to his feet. She does not go to help him but she doesn't hear him fall.

Then the jailor is leading them out, and they're walking through the hallway, walking together, walking… out of the cell, up the stairs, out of Oblivion, back into the world of mortals. They're crossing from one plane to another, treading over a billion stars.

Every step hurts. Her muscles feel very weak, the bruises from her beating are groaning with protest. She can hear Kema breathing through his nose in a way that suggests he's fighting back sobs. But the jailor walks before them, leading them boldly out, and he pays no notice to their agonies.

In fact, he's self-absorbed-- he's complaining to himself, though saying it as if he's addressing him. "Primitive heathens," he's spitting, "Imagine leaving your child to languish in an enemy dungeon for a week. A whole week!…"

-

They make it to Dunmeth pass, though Barfok does not recall the trip. Ysmir is there with the ransom, and the elven Queen is also there, and she is much prettier than she was in the charcoal drawing. And then, like wheels of cheese at a farmer's market, two young prisoners of war are passed off to their loved ones, and they're free, and they're safe, and they're home.

… There's a healer from Kogoruhn who sees to them. There's a special knife to pull away the gags, and there's Barfok, yelling, screaming at the top of her lungs just to get it all out. It's a gleeful sort of screaming, the delighted raucous of a goat kid learning to use its lungs for the first time-- incoherent hollering until Ysmir gives her a gentle slap about the head to shut her up. Then there's food, food, food! There's a cup of very strong flin with some sort of medicine in it, there's a clean tunic to get changed into, there's Ysmir, steady as a rock beside her, beside her, here, here. Barfok babbles through her mouthfuls of food, gleeful to be speaking aloud even more than she is for the nourishment and the rescue. She swears to Kyne, Tsun, Mara, Shor, all she wanted to do was talk. All she wants to do is talk and talk and talk. She's never loved the sound of her own voice so much.

They get on the road as soon as they can. There's a whole caravan that's come for them, carts and soldiers, a small army Ysmir's brought, he doesn't trust the Alessians. There's a second army that Barfok is told belongs to Mournhold. Reveling in her regained voice, Barfok hangs off of Ysmir's arm and chatters to every soldier that comes her way. Ysmir pretends not to approve of this display, but he lets her hold onto his arm, and he's never done that before, so she knows he must be pleased to hear her voice again. Ysmir's arm is terrifically warm.

And finally, after she's talked at Ysmir until her throat sounds like a frog croaking, after her lungs are burning and her head is swimming with flin, Barfok wanders off to find her newfound dungeon friend.

She finds him in a cart in the Mournhold half of the caravan. They've made a bed for him, he's lying in a nest of soft wool blankets and silk sheets. His filthy clothes have been changed for some soft-looking elven robes, and the Queen of Mournhold is sitting near his head, studiously untangling his hair from the horrid braids Barfok had put it in. A healer sits at the other side of him, preparing some pungent mixture to slather on his deformed purple-black chest.

In the light of day he looks closer to death than he had in the dungeon. Barfok even thinks he might be asleep, resting so peacefully in this decadent cart-back bedding. But when the Queen stops her work at Barfok's approach, he opens a single eye. He tilts his head very slightly and stares down at Barfok, half-lidded, his bloodless lips drawn into a thin line.

Barfok is half-drunk from medicated brandy, Barfok has an eye swollen shut from being beaten and is wearing an old ill-fitting tunic from Ysmir. She is not fit for an audience with nobility. She greets them nonetheless.

"Wow." Barfok says. And then, "You look like shit."

Now he opens both eyes, and he raises his head from his pillows to stare down at her.

"I'm Barfok," Barfok follows up, her voice unsteady. "And you're, eh, you're Kema, right?" She feels herself sway a little. "Kema of Mournhold. Yeah. Of Chimarvir."

He blinks very slowly. The Queen who sits behind him looks vaguely unimpressed.

"It's pronounced Chemua," he says, hoarsely. "And you are the most annoying woman I've ever met."

[alienssstufff]

yo yo o/ dont want to pester u too much (also no need to answer this! if its intentional then im so sorry!!!) but i think you might be shadowbanned? (if that even is a word on tumblr) you dont show up in my notifs even when i see your reblogs from me on a timeline, also i tried to find you in a search bar and you dont show up as well so..... again so sorry if you already knew this!!

(whwhw /lh dw ur all good) ... and shadowbanned you are correct ! oomf anon (presuming u are one of my moots then hiii ^_^ <3) they threw me in JAIL for a crime i didn't commit! they're making me eat PORRIDGE dowb here its horrible T_T!!

Today marks Day 20 (i actually dont remember) in The Prison and this will be the second letter I sent to Support whwhwhw so hope that works out

[barfok]

wrt last post fuck it. gratuitous nord demon backstory. after the battle of kastav

tw kidnapping/imprisonment

They hadn't bound her hands. Thank Kyne, thank Tsun, thank Mara, thank dead Shor in the ground, they hadn't bound her hands. Even with the gag forced into her mouth, with her hands free Barfok is not without a voice: she can sign, she can make herself known, even if her protestations are witnessed only by the walls of the dungeon and the back of the half-dead boy they threw down here with her, but oh, by Kyne, by Tsun, by Mara, by dead Shor in the ground, doesn't it make everything better? She flips off her captor when he throws her in and it is utter bliss.

So, hours into being in this dungeon, she sits against the wall, practising her signs the way she used to when Ysimr first taught her how to sign it. Ahg. Aak. Ah. Bah. Bah, ah, rah, fu'u, og, kah. Yo, su, mah, ikh, rah. She finds herself keeping tempo with the dripping water coming from one corner. There's a bucket under the drip, and she realises, slowly, that's the Whiterun mens' idea of water for a guest.

Yo, su. It's a slow drip, or she'd go bathe.

She hears a soft groan. Kah, eg, mah, ah.

She's not alone in this prison. Her companion, the boy, proves himself to be a little less than half-dead. He's lying on the ground with his back turned to her, not his fault, just how he landed when they tossed him in. Barfok watches with mild curiosity as he slowly rolls himself onto his back, cranes his neck up, gasping for air. He, too, is gagged. His eyes are closed, his hair is long and only-red-ish and plastered to his face with sweat. His breathing comes very shallowly.

He'd lost the battle for them. His first battle, sorry luck, that. He'd been wielding the thu'um and cantering through a Whiterun wheat-field alongside her when they'd speared his horse and he'd gone flying and landed hard on his chest in a way that Barfok was surprised hadn't killed him. No wonder he now gasps like a fish. Su, tah, ug, hag, nah. The wheezy little breath he's making is profoundly annoying.

The dungeon is cold. The floor is hard beneath the sad clumps of rotten hay that line it. Barfok's hands are growing clumsy, so she tucks them into her armpits for warmth.

She settles back against the wall, listening to her fellow Tongue die. It is going to be a long night.

-

Her fellow Tongue does not die. His lungs learn a way to work despite whatever wreckage lays inside him, and his breathing steadies, and his throat stops its wheezing. After the first night (there's no window, but it feels like a night) he stops moaning in pain. He lies very still in a certain position after that, reluctant to move, but he is breathing deeply, and not moaning in pain.

Their captors realise that as two Tongues of Morrowind they might be worth keeping alive. In the morning they're brought bowls of cold gloopy porridge and glasses of milk. The gag is narrow enough that, with some effort, the porridge and milk can be crammed around it, so Barfok eats inelegantly, smashing porridge through the fabric with lusty grunts of undignified gusto. She's used to being starved, thank Ysmir for his diligent tutorship, and the breaking of a fast never loses its thrill.

The boy half-dead watches her. He's finally opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side to look at her; he has very blue eyes, pretty in his fine features, even bloodshot and puffy-red as they are. Just for fun, Barfok locks eyes with him as she crams fully half of her porridge-coated hand into her mouth around the gag. His eyes narrow, and he looks away from her again, the expression of disgust unmistakeable-- prudish nobility!

Still, she doesn't touch his food. And some time in the supposed afternoon he rises unsteadily, shuffles the cell door, and eats with his hands, just as absent of dignity as she was.

-

There's an old fire-pit in their cell. In the fire-pit, there is charcoal. Some of the charcoal is in sticks. The sticks are long enough to write with.

Barfok thinks the other Tongue broke his ribs. It's in the way he keeps one arm folded over his chest, his shoulder stiff and raised. He favours one side in movement, holding the left, the one he fell on, very rigid. When he accidentally folds his abdomen he hisses and whimpers and then his breathing gets shallow again. Barfok signs to him, and he clearly understands her, but he never replies. He refuses to move his arm from his side. He lets the pain drive him from conversation.

Drawing, however, he can do. When Barfok sits next to him and writes: 'I am Barfok' on the cell floor in Dovahzul, he leans over awkwardly and writes, beneath it, unsteadily, 'Kema.'

So they talk like that. They just write to each other. There's nothing else to do down here, and he can manage it well enough with one hand. They switch to a wall when they run out of accessible floor. They sit close together so that passing the charcoal is easier.

They write to each other about the battle. They write about Morrowind and Monahven. They talk about Ysmir. They talk about his horse-riding. They talk about her home in Whiterun. They talk about their families, and her massacred hometown, and his assassinated mother. They ponder to each other if they'll be ransomed. They ponder to each other if they'll die.

She makes him laugh, by accident. The way he groans she worries it will kill him again.

-

There's no window in the cell. After long intervals a guard comes down to give them food-- porridge and milk, or bread soaked in milk. Mushy food that can be eaten around a gag. Not enough to sustain them but enough to prevent immediate death. Despite the cold, Barfok starts to sleep a lot, out of boredom as much as exhaustion. She does the trick she learned on Vvardenfell, where she curls up with her knees squishing her stomach to make it smaller, to make herself feel less hungry. It helps. She doens't have a choice but for it to help.

When she's awake, Kema draws for her.

(That's not his name, she recalls Ysmir using one with more vowels, when planning for that stupid, stupid battle. But she likes the simplicity of Kema. Kah, eg, mah, ah. She's so glad he's in too much pain to write out the extraneous letters.)

Kema is a good artist. He draws her pictures of his childhood home in the elf-land, a marvelous palace with a strange shape. He draws the Queen of that palace, who Barfok finds very beautiful. He draws Monahven, and Barfok stares at it, squints at it, pretends she's looking out of the window in her own childhood home.

Barfok cannot draw. Nonetheless, she tries: she copes his drawings of Monahven, and then adds her own of a stone circle and of a baby goat she once owned. She draws Red Mountain and an implausibly rotund Ysmir with a scraggly beard before it. She draws a bunch of leeks, because it's the only thing she can think of that she knows how it looks.

The drawing of the goat is so bad it makes him laugh again, and then their fun ends, because he goes back to lying very still with his arm bent up.

Later, once he runs out of chapters of his short life, he starts drawing horses. Barfok adds horns to them. Unicorns. A stick-figure Hircine with a spear in the background. He draws guars for her, round fat shapes sharing a banquet of hay. She adds another stick-Hircine, scratching his head in confusion. Did Hircine ever go to Morrowind? He spends a long time drawing a dragon, and Barfok, lying on her belly beside him, adds in a veritable feast for it: homesteads, fleeing figures, hawks, bears, squids, a whole army succumbing to its flames. Lying flat, her stretched-out stomach growls.

-

A few hours after their fifth meal-- or is it a few days, or a few minutes? Is it weeks? Is it years?-- after their fifth meal, as Barfok is trying to doze, the door is slammed open.

Barfok scrambles to her feet, raising her balled-up fists. A string of drool slips out of the corner of her gag.

There is no meal for her.

Here, instead, is Jarl Olaf in the flesh.

She might have lunged. She balls her fists, she prepares for it. But he, unlike they, has no gag in his mouth. The fus he breathes is not enough to send her flying, not enough to even send her stumbling, but it is a warning nonetheless.

Olaf stands in the doorway and surveys his spoils of war. His gaze on Barfok is so loathsome that she worries she might vomit around her gag. She cannot stop shaking, not with fear but with an animal desire to fling herself upon him, to tear, to rip, to maim, to hurt--

And then he is no longer looking at her. "Kul-se-Chimarvir," breathes Olaf towards his other prisoner. "Son of Chimarvir of Mournhold. No?"

When Barfok turns she sees that Kema is folded up against the back wall of the cell. He is sitting. He has not moved. He glares resignedly at Olaf.

"Perhaps not," drawls Olaf. "Mournhold has refused to ransom you."

Then Olaf turns to Barfok, and he says, "And you. None from Monahven know of you. Who do you belong to?"

Barfok's hands refuse to be unclenched from their fists. She takes several short sharp breaths, as if this will make her bloodlust less. She cannot even think for her own rage.

"How feeble Kjoric has become," drawls Olaf. "The Tongues he sends against me, unwanted children and nobodies. Tell me, at least," he addresses Barfok, "Give me the name of someone who will cough up a few coins for your safe return, won't you?"

Thank Kyne, thank Tsun, thank Mara, thank dead Shor in the ground they've left Barfok's hands unbound.

Barfok flips him off.

-

Olaf must think she's of some value to somebody out there, because the beating the guards give her is comparatively light. She ends up with a bloodied nose and a swollen lip and a swollen-shut eye and a few big boot-shaped bruises around her stomach, but her bones are pleasantly intact, and she's not coughing up blood, so she feels a smug sense of satisfaction, like she's gotten away with something.

Nonetheless, the aching starts up a while later, and it sets her in a foul mood. So, after she's washed her face the best she can with her filthy sleeves, she lies down in her corner, grumbling under her breath at every little ache. For not the first time she realises how unpleasant the gag is getting in her mouth, crusty and stinking pungently of curdled milk and her own rancid breath. Her clothing is scratchy for the sweat and dust caked into it. Her joints hurt from lying on the hard floor for so long and the beating hasn't distracted from that. At that dark moment, she feels very sorry for herself.

Kema, too, has been lying very still in his corner ever since Olaf's visit. He hadn't even stirred during her beating-- not that she can blame him for that, really. But lying there in the dark she hears him breathing in a weird way. She hears him shuffle around, then gasp in pain, and then he sucks in some hoarse breath, and moves against the ground again. This goes on for quite some time.

He's trying to puncture his own lung. Barfok realises this with a dim disinterest. This thought comes moments before she falls asleep.

-

Herma-Mora appears to her. She's sitting very still against the wall when the blackness before her blossoms into a thousand emerald eyes. A staring fractal descends upon her, infinity's watchfulness coalescing on a prisoner.

She thinks that he'll have the usual offer: he helps her and her soul wears away a little bit more. But he doesn't say anything. She can't say anything, either.

So she hangs there in a miasma of swamp black and forest green, being blinked at.

After a million years, or three hours, or a minute, or a second-- was she asleep?-- she blinks and he's gone again. The torches have been lit in the hallway again. She wonders if Herma-Mora would pay a ransom for her.

-

One day, the jailor throws in a blanket, so now Barfok and Kema sleep side by side, Barfok pressed against his back so as not to harm his broken-up front. They don't really talk any more, they've run out of charcoal and he still won't move his arm. Barfok paces around the cell sometimes, and washes daily from the water-bucket, and signs poetry to herself, but Kema seems to have given up. Most of the time he just lies there. He seems to like staring at the old drawings they did together, of the horses and the dragon with its feast. When they wrote to each other, Barfok had offered condolences about his dead horse, and he'd said that he was sad about it, too. Krosis. Geh, Krosis. Men love their horses.

One day Barfok tries looking for more charcoal-- she wants to tell him about the Herma-Mora vision, she wants to confess to someone before she's dragged into Apocrypha the moment they die down here-- but they've used it all up. There's no word for Herma-Mora in Nordic Sign so she's forced to keep the secret.

On a different day, Barfok offers in sign to bathe him. He doesn't agree but he doesn't refuse either, and he doesn't fight when she unbuttons his now-crusty tunic and pulls it aside.

Below the fabric his chest is a tapestry of blue and purple and yellow and black. When he breathes the movement is asynchronous, the two sides of him rise at different times. His eyes are closed and he is breathing very shallowly, as if he's trying not to breathe at all, as if he's willing himself to be elsewhere.

Barfok uses a corner of his the blanket to clean the dirt away from his chin and his neck. It must have been trapped there since the battle, since he fell from his horse. There's even still strands of straw in his hair. He blighted all the wheat in the field. She'd never seen a thu'um like that; she found it-- finds it-- so horrifying it doesn't bear thinking of. But her own stomach remains empty, and she cannot help but feel just the tiniest bit gleeful, at the thought everyone up there will be going as sad and hungry as she is.

Barfok is not the caring sort. After a half-hearted attempt to clean him up, she braids his hair for him instead. He has very long, very pretty hair, and now that it hasn't been washed for a very long time, the colour has gone from flirting-with-blond to a definitive rusty red. Like an old wagon's axle, like the half-eaten blade of the sword her little brother found in the forest once. She puts it in very bad braids and then she leaves him to his sulking, overcome with her own misery.

He looks so dumb in those awful braids. They don't suit him at all. But he falls asleep with a peaceful comforted expression, unaware of the violence she just wrought upon him.

-

They are sitting on opposite walls and Barfok signs a question to him:

"When we get out, do you want to keep being friends?"

He's holding his arm rigid by his chest, the way he always does. She's surprised he's even sitting up. He's been growing more and more quiet over the past few-- what unit of time are they in, is it the next era already?-- and she thinks he's looking paler, that he's not breathing very well.

She is more surprised when he uncoils both arms and signs back to her:

"If."

-

The door is thrown open. Barfok had been asleep, and she's barely realised she's conscious again when the jailor barks: "Up."

For some stupid reason Barfok obeys; she's on her feet before she's even fully awake. Flustered with surprise, she flails both hands at the jailor, the universal Nordic sign for "What?"

"You've been ransomed," the jailor tells them. "I'm to take you to Dunmeth pass. Get up, come on, it's a long trip."

There's a drumming in Barfok's ears that she only belatedly realises is her own heart. She signs, "Who?" And then she raps out a series of letters: Yo, su, mah, ikh, rah? And then she signs the symbol for dragons. The symbol for king. She's babbling with her hands before she realises the jailor doesn't read sign.

"On your feet, now," the jailor barks again, and Barfok hears her friend also struggling to his feet. She does not go to help him but she doesn't hear him fall.

Then the jailor is leading them out, and they're walking through the hallway, walking together, walking… out of the cell, up the stairs, out of Oblivion, back into the world of mortals. They're crossing from one plane to another, treading over a billion stars.

Every step hurts. Her muscles feel very weak, the bruises from her beating are groaning with protest. She can hear Kema breathing through his nose in a way that suggests he's fighting back sobs. But the jailor walks before them, leading them boldly out, and he pays no notice to their agonies.

In fact, he's self-absorbed-- he's complaining to himself, though saying it as if he's addressing him. "Primitive heathens," he's spitting, "Imagine leaving your child to languish in an enemy dungeon for a week. A whole week!…"

-

They make it to Dunmeth pass, though Barfok does not recall the trip. Ysmir is there with the ransom, and the elven Queen is also there, and she is much prettier than she was in the charcoal drawing. And then, like wheels of cheese at a farmer's market, two young prisoners of war are passed off to their loved ones, and they're free, and they're safe, and they're home.

… There's a healer from Kogoruhn who sees to them. There's a special knife to pull away the gags, and there's Barfok, yelling, screaming at the top of her lungs just to get it all out. It's a gleeful sort of screaming, the delighted raucous of a goat kid learning to use its lungs for the first time-- incoherent hollering until Ysmir gives her a gentle slap about the head to shut her up. Then there's food, food, food! There's a cup of very strong flin with some sort of medicine in it, there's a clean tunic to get changed into, there's Ysmir, steady as a rock beside her, beside her, here, here. Barfok babbles through her mouthfuls of food, gleeful to be speaking aloud even more than she is for the nourishment and the rescue. She swears to Kyne, Tsun, Mara, Shor, all she wanted to do was talk. All she wants to do is talk and talk and talk. She's never loved the sound of her own voice so much.

They get on the road as soon as they can. There's a whole caravan that's come for them, carts and soldiers, a small army Ysmir's brought, he doesn't trust the Alessians. There's a second army that Barfok is told belongs to Mournhold. Reveling in her regained voice, Barfok hangs off of Ysmir's arm and chatters to every soldier that comes her way. Ysmir pretends not to approve of this display, but he lets her hold onto his arm, and he's never done that before, so she knows he must be pleased to hear her voice again. Ysmir's arm is terrifically warm.

And finally, after she's talked at Ysmir until her throat sounds like a frog croaking, after her lungs are burning and her head is swimming with flin, Barfok wanders off to find her newfound dungeon friend.

She finds him in a cart in the Mournhold half of the caravan. They've made a bed for him, he's lying in a nest of soft wool blankets and silk sheets. His filthy clothes have been changed for some soft-looking elven robes, and the Queen of Mournhold is sitting near his head, studiously untangling his hair from the horrid braids Barfok had put it in. A healer sits at the other side of him, preparing some pungent mixture to slather on his deformed purple-black chest.

In the light of day he looks closer to death than he had in the dungeon. Barfok even thinks he might be asleep, resting so peacefully in this decadent cart-back bedding. But when the Queen stops her work at Barfok's approach, he opens a single eye. He tilts his head very slightly and stares down at Barfok, half-lidded, his bloodless lips drawn into a thin line.

Barfok is half-drunk from medicated brandy, Barfok has an eye swollen shut from being beaten and is wearing an old ill-fitting tunic from Ysmir. She is not fit for an audience with nobility. She greets them nonetheless.

"Wow." Barfok says. And then, "You look like shit."

Now he opens both eyes, and he raises his head from his pillows to stare down at her.

"I'm Barfok," Barfok follows up, her voice unsteady. "And you're, eh, you're Kema, right?" She feels herself sway a little. "Kema of Mournhold. Yeah. Of Chimarvir."

He blinks very slowly. The Queen who sits behind him looks vaguely unimpressed.

"It's pronounced Chemua," he says, hoarsely. "And you are the most annoying woman I've ever met."

[cherry-liss]

OMG !!! HELLO!!!

CAN YOU PLEASE DO A

SLEEPY BOIS X LITTLE SISTER?!!!

A VERY normal day with the big bro's, Sleepy Bois! |

DSMP/ Dream SMP : Ph1LzA,Tommy,Techno,Wilbur x Little Sibling!Reader

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

request from grace-bladee ~!!! hiiii :D:D thank u for all the request!!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"LIL' SIS!! WAKE UP!!" Tommy shouted into your ear. You screamed, "TOMMY!!!" You crossed your arms as you looked mad at him. "I was having such a good dream of delicious cakes- WOAH-!" "Don't care about that, we have porridge that Phil made!" Tommy exclaimed, picking you up.

"Yo, morning lil' sis." Wilbur waved as he stopped playing the guitar to look at you. "Morning big bro Wil." You groaned.

Dadza laughed hysterically, "Good morning mate."

"Morning Dadza!" Your mood suddenly lifted up, while being on Tommy's shoulders. "I made porridge for everyone, wait, where's Techno?"

"Bruuuhhh...." Technoblade says, getting out of his room. "You called?" Techno asked. "Porridge?" Phil asks as he gives a bowl of porridge to Techno. "Thanks." Techno says as he goes up to the dining table.

Tommy lets go of you and sits at a chair, "Hey! This is my chair!" Wilbur speaks in a strong british accent. "Well I sat here first Motherfvcker!" Tommy replied, seemingly angry. "Language at the table, you little fvckers." Phil says.

"RIGHT BACK AT YOU!" The two say, continuing to argue. You facepalmed and continued to eat your porridge.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

words: 190 characters: 1,129

this one's got me very very very lazy...

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ~ cherry~liss

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 10: Borborygmi

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

The builder was admiring the rings and pasty colors of Saturn through the telescope, when all of a sudden, a strange gurgling noise came from their right, where Qi was standing. They looked up at him. “Was that you?”

Qi put a hand on his stomach. “It was. I haven’t had anything to eat yet tonight.”

The builder shot upright with widened eyes. “Huh? Well, what the hell are you doing here? It’s almost midnight! Go eat something!”

Qi shrugged. “I was planning on having my dinner after you left. Don’t worry, I’m not starving myself.”

“Uh…okay? Why not have it earlier, though?”

“I was busy with a diagram for Mi-an earlier. It took longer than I expected, and soon enough, you arrived at the usual time. Only then did I realize that I hadn’t paused for dinner, but I wasn’t about to break our routine without notifying you first.”

The builder brought a hand to their head. “Ah come on, Qi. We’ve both broken the routine before. You don’t need my permission to not show up if you’ve got more important things to do.”

“Is this not important? I can maintain my bodily functions at the pace of my own choosing, but this social engagement is for a specific timeframe. Naturally, the more restricted event takes priority.”

The builder felt like their eyes were about to pop out of their head. “Ju-just bring your food up here then! Do whatever, just eat!”

Qi’s brow raised. “Oh! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” He turned on his heel and jogged down the steps. The builder could have looked back up at the sky then, but they continued to stare at the landing where Qi was just standing, tapping their foot nervously. They knew Qi. There was always a non-zero chance of him getting distracted by the work he inevitably put aside and completely forgetting about everything else.

Thankfully, he was soon back, blowing on a hot bowl of porridge. He walked back over to his place next to the builder, looking out at the sky as he took small sips. The builder still couldn’t bring themselves to look back up, staring at Qi with a vaguely puzzled look. Feeling their eyes on him, Qi glanced over at them. “Something the matter?”

“…You allergic to anything?”

Qi frowned. “Er…no. Why?”

The builder only nodded absentmindedly, and took a hold of the telescope again. Qi regarded them with confusion for a moment, but eventually turned back to the stars, seeing that there would be no answer from them. There was only silence on the rooftop for the rest of the night.

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

A week later, Qi was seated on the roof as usual, waiting for the builder. They were about 20 minutes late compared to their average arrival time. Not quite as drastic as that one week during the water tower crisis, but still unusual. Was something else holding them up?

His nose suddenly picked up the scent of something warm and savory. Like freshly cooked rice and rich stock. That couldn’t have been coming from the saloon, could it? No, impossible. The research center was never downwind of it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar-sounding set of footsteps on the stairs. Up came the builder, carrying two plates in their hands. They gave him a slight smile in greeting as they made their way over to him, careful not to spill what they were holding.

“Here you go.” They handed him one of the plates. It looked to be some sort of beef stew, neatly spread next to a fluffy bed of rice. The same aroma he picked up on earlier completely enveloped him. It was heavenly, almost hypnotizing. “You looked like you were gonna skip dinner again when I saw you earlier today, so I figured I’d save you the trouble.”

The only response from Qi was the growling of his stomach. The builder chuckled. “Looks like I was right!” A fork suddenly appeared in front of him, which he mindlessly took and started to eat. “I don’t exactly know what you like, so hopefully this’ll do.”

Thick, flavorful gravy, hearty potatoes…

“Tell me if you want anything in particular. I can bring it some other time.”

Tender beef, soft carrots…

“Pretty good, huh? I’ve been tweaking the recipe for a bit now. Think I’ve finally got the gravy down right.”

The builder kept filling the void in conversation, lightly talking about their day as they tucked into their own plate, not minding the silence from Qi. It was only after every last grain of rice was cleaned off his plate that Qi remembered that they were there. Seeing his empty plate, the builder grinned. “I take it you like it?”

“Oh. Yes. It was…good. Um. Thank you,” he said dumbly. They laughed, taking the dirty dishes out of his hands. “You made this yourself?”

“That’s what I said, right?”

“Oh. You…didn’t have to.”

“I know. But I wanted to.” A strange, serene smile crossed the builder’s face. Qi felt a small warmth grow from somewhere inside his body. From the hot stew, he figured.

“I see,” was all he could think of saying. “The quality of your cooking is…proficient. I’d even argue that it rivals that of the saloon’s.”

They looked away, a hand hiding their bashful expression. “Aw, don’t do Owen dirty like that. Or are you saying my cooking’s as bad as Grace’s?”

“Er–! No, no, nothing of the sort,” he blurted, shaking his head vigorously. “…Though, i-if we were to average the quality of the saloon’s food between the two chefs—”

His rambling was cut off by a laugh from the builder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“Oh,” he said for what felt like the millionth time. His mind was still a bit out-of-sorts, and the builder’s jesting wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“Well, if you like my food that much, I can bring more some other time. Anything you want? Oh, and anything you don’t want? That’s probably more important.”

“I’m not exactly keen on fish, but anything else should be fine.” With fishermen for parents, Qi had already eaten more fish in the first 2 decades of his life than any sane person should eat in their entire lifetime.

“No fish. Gotcha,” they hummed. “Heh. Maybe I can guess when you’re gonna skip dinner again.”

Qi raised an eyebrow. “How’d you manage to figure it out this time?”

The builder only shrugged. “Just a hunch.”

“...A hunch,” he echoed with a squint.

“Yeah, a hunch,” they said in a light, playful lilt. “Intuition. Gut feel. Uneducated guess. ESP. Whatever you wanna call it.”

Qi wasn’t sure how to respond to that aside from a funny look.

The builder simply let out an amused snort and stood up. “Well, hate to cut it short, but I gotta head back. Need to wash these–” They nodded at the dirty dishes in their hands. “–and I gotta sleep. Need the whole day for mining tomorrow.”

“Alright. Good night, then.” He waved absentmindedly as they disappeared back down the stairs.

It was only after a solid minute of staring at the empty landing that he realized that he had nothing more to do up here. He got up and walked down.

What a bizarre night.

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

Qi’s mind kept humming as he got ready for bed. Even as he put his books away, it buzzed. Even as he brushed his teeth, it stirred. Even as he changed, it whirred.

He turned off the lights and got under the covers, staring up at the darkened ceiling.

His thoughts drifted to what had happened just above it only a few minutes ago. How had the builder known that he would miss dinner? Not even he anticipated it. Nothing he did or said during their morning visit seemed to telegraph that either, did it? And then they took the time out of their own workday to make him something themself… All because…

“I wanted to,” echoed the builder’s voice in his mind.

That odd warmth in his stomach returned, warmer than the blankets around him. It was almost like a response to his insistent thoughts. He gave up trying to find a suitable answer to his nagging questions, and let it drag him into a peaceful slumber, filled with dreams of moonlight and fresh rice.

And this time, he couldn’t blame it on the stew.

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

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PIANO DUO FOR THE LEFT HAND[左手のための二重奏]

The Mononoke Journal by Shuzenji-sensei[中禅寺先生物怪講義録 先生が謎を解いてしまうから。]

Shikanoko Nokonoko Koshitantan[しかのこのこのここしたんたん]

A, Sore Pon desu![あ、それポンです！]

I LIKE BIG BOOBS, BUT I GOT REINCARNATED IN A BL WORLD[巨乳好きなのにBL界に転生しました]

BLESS[ブレス]

WILD YOUNGLADY APPEARED!![あ！ 野生のお嬢様がとびだしてきた!!]

Itsumo Baka ni shitekuru Bishoujo-tachi to Zetsuen shitara, Jitsu wa Ore no Koto ga Daisuki Datta you da.[いつも馬鹿にしてくる美少女たちと絶縁したら、 実は俺のことが大好きだったようだ。]

Do you swear to center me?[私をセンターにすると誓いますか？]

IN CLARITH WE TRUST[国産少女クラリス]

URAHARA Joushi no USAGI ga Poron[ウラハラ上司のウサギがぽろん]

Who Killed "OKUDERA SHO"?[誰が奥寺翔を殺したのか？]

Sharty and the City of Alchemists[シャディと錬金術の町]

BILLION DOLLAR SLAVE[ビリオンダラー・スレイブ]

Record of Highserk War[ハイセルク戦記]

OFF-kai Shitara Tonde mo nai Yatsu ga Kita Hanashi[オフ会したらとんでもないやつが来た話]

Joso shite OFF-kai ni Sanka shitemita[女装してオフ会に参加してみた。]

Eh! TAMER wa Tsukaenaitte PARTY kara Tsuiho shita yo ne?[え、テイマーは使えないってパーティから追放したよね？]

Wagamama Oujo ni Tsukaeta Bannoushitsuji, Tonari no Teikoku de Saikyou no Gunjin ni Nariagari Musousuru[わがまま王女に仕えた万能執事、隣の帝国で最強の軍人に成り上がり無双する]

Roku-hime wa Kami Goei ni Koi wo Suru[六姫は神護衛に恋をする]

VIRUS Tensei kara Hajimaru Isekai Kansen Monogatari[ウイルス転生から始まる異世界感染物語]

"Kukuku...... Yatsu wa Shitennou no Naka demo Saijaku"[「ククク……。奴は四天王の中でも最弱」]

AROU(ND) FOR(TY) Eigyou-MAN, Isekai ni Tatsu![アラフォー営業マン、異世界に起つ！]

SUPERIOR HEALER WITH INFERIOR MARK[劣等紋の超越ヒーラー]

Oshi ga Shinda no de TIME LEAP shite Seizon ROUTE Kakuho shimasu![推しが死んだのでタイムリープして生存ルート確保します!]

Hazure SKILL《Kinomi MASTER》[外れスキル《木の実マスター》]

Dantoudai ni Kieta Densetsu no Akujo, Nidome no Jinsei de wa Gariben Jimi Megane ni Natte Heion wo Nozomu[断頭台に消えた伝説の悪女、二度目の人生ではガリ勉地味眼鏡になって平穏を望む]

Outaishi-sama, Watashi Kondo Koso Anata ni Korosaretakunain desu![王太子様、私今度こそあなたに殺されたくないんです！ ]

MADA MANIAU![まだ間に合う！]

Considering I'm being forced into the villainous rich girl role, I will first eat some porridge.[強制的に悪役令嬢にされていたのでまずはおかゆを食べようと思います。]

Suiyou Kyoudai[水曜姉弟]

KEI×YAKU[ケイ×ヤク]

I Never Thought I Would Be Living on My Own[私がひとりで生きてくなんて]

TALES OF CRESTORIA[咎我人の罪歌]

Utsu Kon!![ウツ婚!! ]

The last wizard of the Sword Emperor Academy[剣帝学院の魔眼賢者]

Gal Assistant[ぎゃるアシ]

Taking Care of My Sister-in-Law[兄ヨメさんの世話を焼く]

CLOSING PANDORA

[tsuki-sennin]

Yes I'm late again, sorry, but Taro Tuesday is just as worthy of celebration as Momo Monday! Rest assured, if I'm late again, the Juto will come for me.

Spoilers, I guess...

-OOOOOOOOOH JIN

-So, I guess Sonoi's ancestors put Jin in Dad Jail?

-They didn't even give him socks, smh

-So, if Jin's supposed to keep them out, how exactly does he do that? Is he a living barrier, or is he like actively banhammering them?

-Yep, visiting hours are over. Get outta here.

-Origami = Evil, gotcha. I'm pretty sure that was a running theme among the Deadmans over in Revice Land.

-Hail to the Origami King.

-Looks like Sayama's still got his job despite how much of an obvious liability he's being.

-OH NO THEY FOUND DOG MAN

-"Hey! I'm buying my girlfriend EVERY dress, get on it!"

-Oof. Fired just like that.

-Wow, no respect for restaurant owners, smh

-OH HE RUNNIN'

-Jumpin' too!

-Yeah, cut your losses Tsubasa

-OH HE TELEPORTS TOO

-Yep, Sayama's fucked.

-Ninja master.

-Oh epic, Taro's a qualified ninja now!

-Oh, yep. This old dude's our Hitotsu-Ki! ...is he Ninja-Ki, Ninpuu-Ki, or Shuriken-Ki?

-Oh, Tsuyoshi too!

-Did eating that piece of newspaper fuck up his insides?

-Yep, called it!

-What a kind man, nursing a stray dog back to health :)

-"You were that crazy yellow girl who this guy held me hostage with! ...I'm Tsuyoshi, I'm a happily married man of 33 and my wife is the most beautiful woman in the world :D"

-OHHHHH HE OUT

-OOOOOOOW THAT HURTS

-I see Haruka went to the Hana Natsuki School of Drawing Blood with Palm Technique.

-HE FUCKING KICKED HER

-"PLEASE STOP KILLING EACH OTHER I'M JUST ONE MAN!"

-Ohhhhh, the Professor has come~!

-Lotta Shuriken emphasis... yep, Shuriken-Ki!

-This guy's definitely as extra as Takaharu, at least.

-Wow, Don Momotaro has nothing but disrespect for this man lmao

-"Hey, how about you go commit medical fraud?"

-"Ooooooooh, if only we knew who that pheasant guy was!"

-Sooooo, if Tsuyoshi was barefoot when he transformed, does that mean his feet weren't protected in battle? Seems like a bit of a design oversight, if you ask me.

-Wow, that was a quick hospital visit. In and out, just like that. Every country's healthcare is better than American healthcare, smh

-My man has constipation

-Oh, now Tsubasa's suffering has increased tenfold.

-Rice porridge, lovely. I sure hope he gets more than that, at least. Maybe some chicken soup.

-The suffering these two men go through on a daily basis, I swear.

-Time for Professor Saruhara's ultimate forbidden healing technique.

-...salt. Head.

-Prayer.

-Don't you dare spill a grain of that!

-Oh my god, they're making him do busy work to avoid fucking up anything else.

-"OH MY GOD THE PHEASANT'S THE WIFE GUY"

-OH SHE'S BACK

-...Miho, I promise, Tsuyoshi's not been having an affair.

-OH FUCK MIHO

-N-Natsumi? Natsumiho?

-Tsubasa-kun! It's time for walkies!

-"Whoa, nice salt strat!"

-...Ohhhhh, because salt is used for warding off evil! Pretty slick double meaning you've got there, Inoue!

-Don Robotaro~! Yo, sekai ichi~!

-Oh yay, Don't Boo~!

-We did it, fam~!

-Guess ninja dude calmed down and picked up a thing or two. That's nice~!

-OH NO

-Miho-chan's a Juto! D:

-That's one hell of a crane though, goddamn.

-What, we're combining next episode!? You don't just show that after that! ...then again, I really want that Don Onitaijin on screen as soon as possible... well, they got me good! I'm hooked!

[teddyniffler]

In the Shadows of Friendship Forever

Chapter 2, part 2

The twins had said hello to him properly. From that day, he had always been with them, a little tap on his arm announced one of their arrivals, although he often couldn’t tell them apart at first. They sounded so alike, even from their walk, their touch. Then he had moved into Sebastian’s dorm when another student moved. Each day he was with the twins. He had often wondered what they looked like, if they were exact copies of each other, or different. He eventually worked up the courage to ask them to describe themselves to him a few weeks into term. It resulted in a lot of laughter, apparently Sebastian’s face was full of little dots, but Ominis couldn’t feel them when he touched Sebastian’s cheek. He didn’t know if that was a lie or not. They became his best friends. They had been his eyes until he found his footing. Often they helped him over the infamous trick step because his wand didn’t identify it as a hazard. They had become his home when he cut off his own family. Now his home was broken.

He snapped out of old, happier memories as he entered the Common Room to the daily mutterings. “There he is, that’s him” Somebody whispered quietly on the other side of the room, but for Ominis’ hearing they might as well have been shouting next to him. “-He’s the one who betrayed Sebastian, it was him who turned Sebastian in, I know it – “ “Do you think he would turn his entire family in too? Aren’t they all dark wizards?” “He’s not really a Gaunt, you know? I heard his mother adulterized with another wizard. – what scandal, such a Strumpet! - So his father isn’t really from the Gaunt bloodline? – Nope, I heard his real father is Professor Black, that’s why they are so close. Mr Gaunt was so angry he cursed his wife and her child, that’s why he’s blind.” All around him he heard them. They kept their voices low and stopped if he came close, but he was often the topic of most conversations these days. Whenever the Daily Prophet ran a new story, the mutterings started up more. Ominis held his head up, they didn’t know of the torment within himself for turning Sebastian in, he doubted they would offer any comfort to him either way. It was time for breakfast, he only hoped some appetite would visit him on the way to the Great Hall, as right now his mouth was dry.

Entering the Great Hall, he made his way to the Slytherin table on the far left. He could hear hundreds of voices all talking as one, some conversations were loud, some quieter. The tiny click, click, click of cutlery as it tapped against the side of bowls rang out. He had once told Sebastian that it was so loud in here, people really were careless with what they talked about. Sebastian didn’t understand what he had meant, nobody truly could unless they lived in his shoes. His wand led him half way up the table and then it stopped. Ominis felt the bench before him, then climbed onto it, taking care not to kick the table with his knee. He sat and held his wand out. “Porridge.” He said to it. The wand moved to find a bowl, which Ominis took, feeling for a spoon he picked it up and began to eat. Between mouthfuls, he felt his robes to make sure he wasn’t spilling any food down himself. Normally Anne would discreetly clean anything spilt without drawing notice, but he didn’t have her watchful eyes anymore. He was able to eat untroubled by any rude comments, the only thing really catching his ears was the sound of Professor Black up at the teacher’s table laughing loudly every so often. The sound of a soft thump paused him eating, something had landed on the table in front of him, he could hear it fluffing its feathers, the tapping of claws on the table. “Good morning.” Ominis said to the owl, he reached forward carefully, owls were not really forgiving if you poked them in the face by mistake. He knew that from experience. He found its outstretched leg and the cord tying the newspaper in place. “Your payment is with my father, you know where he be? My family house.” The owl hooted and flew off, its wings causing Ominis’ hair to blow. He had asked his father for a subscription to the Daily Prophet, his family still supported him financially for anything he needed. Cant have a Gaunt in rags now, his father would rather see the House of Gaunt destroyed then allow one member to wear worn robes. There was always something about the unknown Hogwarts student on the cover. The Daily Prophet was running a sensationalist long term story on Sebastian, with fresh, shocking and absolute false allegations every other day. According to the Daily Prophet, Sebastian had recently got back from a year at Durmstrang, where he had been enticed into the Dark Arts by wicked goings on at that infernal school. Holding his wand at the paper, Ominis commanded. “Read.”

Today’s weather promises – “No, stop” Ominis said, he was holding it the wrong way. He turned the paper over to the front page before once again asking his wand to read.

Daily Prophet. September 1891 HOGWART’S Dark Wizard Student Named!

Name and first pictures of the Hogwarts Student imprisoned in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet can at last put name and picture to the so far unidentified youth who was arrested and sentenced to Azkaban, thanks to a Ministry of Magic insider who wishes to remain anonymous, writes Judith Skeeter, special correspondent for The Daily Prophet. Sebastian Sallow, age 16, was in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he first used Dark Magic on a fellow student within the confines of the school. Once a resident of Feldcroft, a small village close to the magical school, Sallow is now a resident of Azkaban after the murder of Sallow’s own uncle, Solomon Sallow, a highly respected ex-Auror in the Wizarding community. Auror Sallow met his end at the hands of his own nephew. The Daily Prophet wishes to casts no doubt upon the character of this boy, for we can now reveal Sallow’s closest friend at Hogwarts is no other than a member of the infamous Gaunt family, decedents of Salazar Slytherin himself. Known for generations for being Dark Wizards and following in their ancestor’s footsteps, they possess an intense hatred for Muggles and anybody not of pure blood statues. Sallow’s other peer is a mysterious student who joined the magical community only last year, and has since vanished after the suspicious death of a Hogwarts’ Professor at the end of term. Perhaps Professor Black should look into stopping the admissions at Hogwarts of dark wizards in training rather than Muggle-Borns, particular in Slytherin House as parents today will be surely questioning allowing such dangerous magical families into the school. It is also believed, as we can now reveal, that Sallow’s twin sister was mysteriously cursed by Dark Magic in the summer before her fourth year. We can only ponder the possibility that Sebastian Sallow is also guilty of that. Was this boy using Dark Magic before his arrest in his fifth year and she was his first victim? The Daily Prophet also understands that Sallow’s own parents died in mysterious ways that was ruled as unexplained accidental magical death. Perhaps this boy was simply born evil. Parents no doubt will be demanding answers as to why the identity of this student has been concealed by Hogwarts School for so long. We shall have more on the Sallow family in issues to come. DO YOU KNOW SEBASTAIN SALLOW? HAS HE TRIED TO CURSE YOU TOO? All owls to the Daily Prophet are confidential and your name will not appear in this publication. Sebastian Sallow and all we know of him, page 2 and 3. Sebastian Sallow’s dark friendship circle, page 4. Memorial and tribute to Solomon Sallow, page 5 and 6. Pictured: Sebastian Sallow, aged 13 here with sister Anne Sallow, on their first trip to Hogsmeade village. Pictured: Ministry of Magic file photo. Sebastian Sallow with Azkaban identification number. Pictured: Slain Hero Auror, Solomon Sallow.

Ominis’ wand was describing the pictures to him, but he heard none of this. His porridge suddenly felt like led in his stomach, which was twisting horrifically with guilt. It almost felt as if his insides were boiling over, with an intense cold that left him shivering. They had named Sebastian. While it was bad hearing lies or even the truth about his friend, they had been some comfort knowing the world at large outside of Hogwarts didn’t know the name Sebastian Sallow. Even some of the students from other houses didn’t know Sebastian’s name, they just knew a fifth year Slytherin had been arrested. Now they would all know Sebastian’s name. People in the streets at Hogsmeade, in the three broomsticks, they knew Sebastian well in that pub, he was always going in there for Butterbeer. He could picture a witch he imagined as Sirona in low conversation with her regulars, eyes shifting to the door in case any Hogwarts student walked in. He could imagine faceless wizards and witches in a street he had imagined as Diagon Alley, all talking about his dear friend as if they knew him, but they wouldn’t be talking about the real Sebastian, the one who had slept with a soft bear, a last gift from his parents, hidden in his bed for the first two years at Hogwarts, they would be talking about a Sebastian conjured up by the Daily Prophet. Evil and cruel, casting unforgiveable curses at anybody walking past him. The next Dark Wizard whose best friend killed Muggles for sport.

Ominis did not care right now that the Daily Prophet had named himself and linked him back to his family. Maybe later he would, but in the current moment all his anguish was for Sebastian, and for Anne. He sat, suddenly not hearing any of the voices all around him. He retreated back into his own little world within his head. The pale white light from daylight was all he ever knew, an empty void that could sense sunlight but knew not of its beauty. Once Sebastian and Anne both filled the empty world he knew. Their voices and laughter, the sound of their breathing they didn’t even know they were making, the odd sniff, the odd scratch of skin, Anne redoing her hair and the sound of her comb moving through the stands, even Sebastian’s bones making the odd click as he flexed his hands. Being around them he had pictures in his mind of what they were doing. They were his enrichment, without them he felt nothing would distract him from his own insecurities and anxieties. He knew then with terrible certainty; he had been experiencing extreme doubt and regret all summer long. He had been feeling it the second Professor Black’s office door had closed behind him, cutting him off from Sebastian, his oldest friend. He had made a terrible mistake.

It took a while, but Ominis slowly brought himself back to the world inhabited by all the voices, all the sounds. The Great Hall was still busy but the volume had dropped a little, replaced by feet on the stone floor walking out of the corridors. The small clicks of cutlery had died down, which told him it was almost time for class to start. He didn’t want to go to class, there was a plan already forming in his mind. Branches of thoughts and ideas all racing off across his brain. Once again Professor Black’s sarcastic laughter rang out. So loud. So obnoxious. The headmaster was so carefree right now it sounded to Ominis, but for how long? He checked his timetable again with his wand, it told him he was due in History of Magic shortly. The perfect class, because nobody would be awake long enough to question him on his suspicious activity.

[realhankmccoy]

How it feels for me to occasionally think within the land of the lost? Well, as a person who thinks a little, almost accidentally, for I never try to think -- thinking being a bit, well, disturbing -- but I guess I got a bit more courage than the typical American so that's why thinking keeps happening.

But here's an example:

"Team Player" in America is what they command the cattle to do, a giddy high associated with it, a Britney and Kevin -- I'm not talking Spears and Federline but a different duo -- giggles and feeling good and feeling compassionate -- but the moment you switch 'Team' to 'Collective' or 'Commune' or 'Co-Op' suddenly every smile turns to an angry furious and paranoid and destructive frown, a rage, THE END OF CIVILISATION AS WE KNOW IT GET OUT GET OUT HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU!

You know what the difference is, kids? The main difference?

A team is for total and utter cucks.

A team is for people so cucked that they generally need owners and logos and mascots to be branded by the hierarchical forces that be.

A 'Co-Op'? Why, they can almost smell the poverty, the walls of having to actually give a shit about others closing in on them, the walls of actually having to using their brains and think about where they place their own elbows instead of fulfilling a function delineated by the Man -- they would no longer be cookie-cutter and replaceable able to be fired -- why -- why -- they could be -- nooooooo! that's the unknown! that's the end of FREEDOM TM -- oh my fucking god bro oh no no nonononononononono a co-op sounds so... so... scary! the poverty oneself has never known is down there all those losers hahahhahaha those hippie losers hahahahahahha like Kurt Cobain the GB of grunge said, that pennyroyal tea doesn't work, hippie, hahahahhahhaa but i wrote a song about it to capitalise despite how it don't work well actually my wife wrote a lot of it hahahahahhahaha hahahhahahahah it's too much capitalism is too much i chose capitalism and now it's eating me alive oh my gawd oh my gawwwd

Yes, these people are cucked by the dollar more than anything, and were born into so much money that they are uninterested in co-operation. they're just slotting to fill a role... on the team... disposable to themselves and others as cows, it's a temporary arrangement that promises gain within the capitalist scheme... and they're eager to give it the old college try

To the American:

Team - incredible, free, proud, strong, rules all written in advance by straight white others, living the dream! v. Co-Op - the worst, most form of poverty and lack of freedom, how dare yo, get the fuck out of here you idiot, that'll never work

... that's American life, kids. they truly are this stupid and stupider. I mean it's like the tip of the iceberg with American stupidity because I'm not even intelligent enough to have figured out how stupid it truly gets. I can't Being John Malkovich my way into their minds and walk around in there to see how this hateful and paranoid shit they spew at me feels to them. And what did I do to deserve the way they treat me? Well, I managed to have two brain cells and be too humble and generous towards them.

That's all I did, but even that is enough to trigger a Goldilocks into wanting you fired, for you're not like her or the others who she wants to be. A Goldilocks will sense that she's in the house, perhaps, of the bear who made the porridge she's eating, even if you're a vegetarian bear who thinks mauling humans is uncivilised. And she knows if that bear ever acted as naughtily as she likes to act or played by her value system, she'd be in big big big big trouble.

In upside down land they will fuckin' hate you if you're not as stupid and selfish and Trumparrogant as they are.

[al-ghoul]

11, 24, 43, and 56 for the asks! :) -@jcbbby

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Instant porridge (oatmeal), left till it's cold, with exactly two cookies. (Cookies are there to distract me from the porridge, which I hate, it being cold serves the same purpose). (Come to think of it, it being instant also serves the purpose of reducing my hate - the less it resembles some gross slime the better XD)

24. favorite crystal?

Hematite. Second favorite is malachite. Can't get enough of those two.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

ooohhh. MMMmmm. Well, for me it's obviously a hoodie on account of me having lots of them, more than half a dozen, I can't count for shit today. (it's not that I'm bying them that much it's rather me not throwing them away ever - the oldest one is more than 20 yo). If it's on someone else - tough choice, but I'd go for leather jacket I think.

56. favorite tradition?

ohhhh, it's even a harder one! I had lots of traditions when it comes to holidays, but with time I'm dropping more and more of them. Tangerines on new years eve are mandatory. If my house doesn't smell like orange peel for a week, it's not winter.

My father had a very specific tradition regarding buying stuff for the household. Basically, if you buy an appliance, or a furniture, or electronics, any kind of those big stuffs that happen once in a lifetime, or at least once in a few years, next thing you do is you go and eat something fancy to celebrate. (In our case the fancy food was mcdonalds, lol). Like, if we're already spending money, might as well spend a little more and have fun. I like that one a lot.

(weird asks that say a lot)

[greatamericansatan]

Spooktober 2022, Day Thirty-Three?

Content Warning:  This could’ve, perhaps should’ve, gone atop every Spooktober entry.  Many horror genres are ableist at their core, some ageist or sexist, etc.  I’ll be less scrupulous about ableist language in this post than my blog’s usual rules.

Spooktober is a 31 day event of coming up with original horror ideas based on prompts my writing group argues over.  This should be last post on the topic this year.  The voting left a trail of bodies in its wake – prompts that did not win.  Ranked by the number of votes they received, with the most popular first, they were:  Psycho-Biddy, Devils & Demons, Ghosts, Killer Toys, Wintery / Snow, Home Invasion, Mad Scientist, Possession, Backwoods, Folklore, Mutants, Giant Monster, Noir, Psychological, Splatterpunk, Alien / Space, Dark Web / Technology, Killer Animal, Body Horror, Body Snatchers, Creepy Kid, Creepypasta / Urban Legend, Mummy, Psychic, Stephen King, The Swarm, Teen, Comedy Horror, Holiday, Kiddie Horror, J-Horror / Asian Horror, and Anime.  As I use the prompts below, you’ll see the name of it appear in parentheses.

SPOOKTOBER DAY #33? — Bonus Spooks

TITLE:  Weird Blade (ウイーアド ブレード)

PREMISE:  A three-part anime (Anime) OVA called “Weird Blade,” inspired by the structure of Cyber City Oedo 808, which had three main boys, and each had their own special episode.  The setting is a futuristic Japan (J-Horror) in a smaller city near a spooky forest.

Episode One:  Sukeko the Lady.  Sukeko is a purple-haired trans gal, hacker, and party girl.  (She’s the one in the pic with the high pony tail.)  In a club scene we meet her friends Chisaku and Kurochimaru.  Chisaku sleazes on her and every other lady in anime rake fashion, Kurochimaru just likes to play with his yo-yo and dance.

But that life is just her time outside the house.  At home she has to take care of a mean old grandma (Psycho-Biddy), and stay closeted to her.  She has a sense of obligation based on some childhood experiences, being cared for by the crone before she turned mean.  Little does she know Grandma is a mad scientist (Mad Scientist), a hacker in her own right, who has married the world-wide web to the underworld of ghosts (Ghosts) and devils (Devils & Demons).  Every time Sukeko leaves the house, Grandma slips on the VR goggles and gloves, and cyber-stalks her wayward grandchild.

Snow begins to fall on the city.  Grandma and Sukeko have a very tense conversation over food, like, “you’re poisoning me!” “you’re nuts, eat your porridge,” that kind of thing.

Grandma calls her Sukeko instead of the deadname, and Sukeko realizes she knows.  The conversation shifts to that, with Sukeko cautiously optimistic this will be a “I know you’re queer and accept you” situation.  It is not, and they stomp out of each other’s presence.   Grandma jacks in and runs “possess.dmn” file to hAx0r Sukeko’s brain (Possession).

Sukeko has to abandon her own VR rig and flee the house in a panic.   She runs up a snowy trail (Wintery / Snow) into the woods.  Close to dying of cold, she finds a cabin in the woods (Backwoods).

The cabin-dwellers are nice, but Grandma hacks their brains and makes them try to kill Sukeko.  She holes up in the computer core of the cabin, with the possessed trying to beat down the door.  In a cold-blooded and frosty state of mind, Sukeko jacks into the computer core, assuming the avatar of a yuki-onna (Folklore).  She sneaks past grandma’s home defense, riding the hack signal back to her house.

There she remote controls grandma’s doll collection to become murderous (Killer Toys) home invaders (Home Invasion).  Grandma tries to run and hide, but ultimately she gets got.

The yuki-onna melts into Sukeko and she has a little cry as a virtual projection into the crime scene.  But she has a weird vision – the doll that killed Grandma is a one-eyed girl from the club scene, Noriko, and she’s holding a weird blade.  The club girl flies away, leaving just the doll with the letter opener.

Episode Two:  Chisaku the Bullet.  Chisaku is an aqua-haired hard-boiled PI and typical anime perv.  He narrates his part of the story (Noir).  A sexy lady comes into his office and gives him a case.  Her dad, mom, and uncle were all killed by animals, but how?   Doesn’t make sense to her, though the police closed the case.

He investigates the scene of the crime – the cabin where Sukeko had fled.  Did she do the murder?  The audience has to wonder.  Chisaku finds a clue she was there and he calls her up.  She says to meet her on the Dark Web (Dark Web / Technology).  On his way out of the cabin, he is set upon by feral dogs (Killer Animal) that almost kill him, but he shoots ’em all.  He is a The Bullet.

At the cyber-den of a trusted ally, suspecting both his home and his office won’t be safe, he jacks in to do the meetup.  Sukeko is in yuki-onna mode in a virtual cafe, says she didn’t do that murder, leaving open the possibility she did others.  Chisaku doesn’t press the matter, but he begins to suspect this isn’t Sukeko.  “Are you really Sukeko?” “Are you really Chisaku?”

Oh shit, he thinks.  She hit him with an existential crisis virus, that makes you not know what’s real (Psychological).  “Nice try toots, but I don’t know what’s real on the best of days.”  He jacks off.  I mean out.  I mean logs off.  It was bravado, but there was some truth to it.  He knows the only way to fight the doubt is to take everything he sees at face value, and has the presence of mind to give that a go – at least until he can get the virus cleared.

The world is weird.  His friend is mutated into a techno-organic mess with his own computer core.  Outside he sees the dogs from before have come back from the dead as mutants (Mutants), and tracked him to the cyber-den.  He shoots them again, and hustles through the streets.   Since his friend can’t clear the EC virus, maybe actual Sukeko can.

The dogs come back again, mutated into a giant monster (Giant Monster), assisted by passers-by on the street, who seem to have become part of the menacing force that is loose in the world (Body Snatchers). Old shop ladies twist their heads around and trip him as he runs, that kind of stuff.  At Sukeko’s house the gate is locked but he gets over the wall, leaving the snatched bodies outside.  But the giant dog-thing gets over the fence and he has to kill it with every gardening implement he can find (Splatterpunk).  Where the blood and gore splashed on his arm, he starts to mutate, the flesh merging with his gun so he can’t put it down (Body Horror).

Inside he finds Sukeko looking like a cosmic horror, but talking very calmly, trying to pretend everything is normal.  “Grandmother is upstairs, she is not feeling well.  You shouldn’t be here, Chisaku.”  He explains he got the virus and she helps hack it out of him, and the world goes back to normal.

They stand in the doorway looking at the lawn.  Was there a murdered dog, or worse, a murdered person?  Noriko is in an action hero crouch over a pile of dead dogs, a weird blade in her hand.  She does back flips high into the air, disappearing into a flying saucer that zips away (Alien / Space).

Episode Three:  Kurochimaru the Blade.  Kurochimaru is a dark-green-haired martial artist and dropout.  At the club, the girls all want to get with him because of his physique and his fun-loving nature, but none of them make the cut.  Noriko tries to make a pass at him and whiffs.  But before he leaves, she gets his attention with something.

“I found something I think you should have.  It’s the ghost of a ninja’s sword.  I’m a humble space alien, it should be in the hands of a real Japanese martial artist.”  He takes the weird blade, like, “Uh… thanks?,” and jets.

His home is on the waterfront, a community straight out of Stephen King, where folksy accent-having salt-of-the-earth types rub shoulders with generically named middle class people, and everyone has dark secrets or weird gross sex stuff they do behind closed doors probably (Stephen King).

The blade feels weird in his hand and he takes it to an antiquarian’s shop.  The weirdo there is a secret mummy (Mummy) who monsters out and tries to get him into suspension bondage, and he cuts the bandages to escape.  This is played for laughs, as is the whole of this episode.   When something horror happens, it’s mixed with pratfalls to keep the spirit light (Comedy).

Out on the street, he’s like, “Now how will I find out what’s up with the weird blade?,” then sees a sign outside the high school that says “occult club meeting tonite” (Teen).  He goes inside.  A spooky janitor points him to the art room where the weirdos meet.  The Occult Club kids are annoyed that he busts up the seance.  They have stereotypical high school interactions with each other about it.  Probably a secret hot girl is wearing glasses that camouflage her hotness, I don’t know.

The scoobies decide to take him to the neighborhood psychic kid (Psychic, Creepy Kid).  Guy has the Shining, perhaps.  The kid looks like a miniature version of a character from Mob Psycho, and after Laurel & Hardy-ish shenanigans, gets his hand on the blade, to do a psychometry.

When he touches the sword, he activates its power, and starts chasing Kurochimaru and the kids around with the sword and an army of bugs and frogs and such (The Swarm).  The teens are all killed in Goosebumps-esque ways (Kiddie Horror), until just the hot girl and Kurochimaru remain.  Then the kid appears, fully transformed into a Jeff-the-Killer-esque edgelord form, blood coming out of his eyes (Creepypasta / Urban Legend).

They get to a mall which is doing the Japanese version of crimbo festivities (Holiday).  Sukeko and Chisaku are there on a date, wearing santa hats, but looking haunted by previous events.  The mall is attacked by the swarm and the creepy kid, turning into a violent free-for-all.  Chisaku spots Noriko dressed like a sexy elf, and Sukeko uses hacker powers to run “exorcism.exe” on the weird blade.

With the magic of the ghost sword dispelled, the alien loses interest in the world and leaves again in her UFO.  The three heroes walk through the devastation in shock.  Kurochimaru starts playing with his yo-yo again.

HORROR ELEMENT:  The horror of shoehorning as many concepts as possible into as small a space as possible.  Wasn’t easy!

Posters by AI, modified with photoshop.  Here’s the unmodified BS I wrangled into the poster, tho I’m not including all the sources for elements I cobbled in.